#Dale Appreciation Post

[zzyzxtourguide]

I might just have the time to do this

How would you all feel if I made a list of everything Dale has said or everytime he was mentioned in the history of ever

[sartieparty]

[elialys]

This story takes place a few months after 2.06 “Fireworks” so mind the spoilers.

Following a tragedy that leaves Dale spiralling even more out of control, Helen flies back home. Because despite the mess they’ve become, they will always be that person for one another.

At least, it remains true as far as she’s concerned.

Loyal to a fault.

[newsatsix1986]

With the words that have been shared by some members of The Newsreader's community in the recent month or two, it's been a complex minefield for me to navigate. Outwardly I have appeared happy and business as usual, but internally it's been a bit different.

The Newsreader to me and many others is a mixture of a lot of things; beautiful stories of connection between complex characters, strong, lovable characters we can see ourselves in and can be inspired by, and stories from history that are compelling, joyous and also harrowing and gutwrenching. I try to focus on everything here at News At Six 1986, and to further tell all the stories that the writers have started, with as many characters as I can utilise for this.

For a good while this month I have been finding myself second guessing a lot of things I've done in relation to my content. It's been like I've felt alienated from the community just because I wasn't further fuelling the fire of a certain headcanon ship, and offering a holistic experience and a perspective that was different to that. Was I really seeing the show the wrong way because I personally don't follow that narrative eagerly? Was I the weird one to see it as being more than just the Dale and Tim show and wanting to create fan content focused on more than that? Was there even a place for my content at all? Some things said in relation to Dale and his sexuality - both explicitly and in a round about way - have also hit very personally for me as a bi girl too, making me question myself in that regard too; something that I shouldn't be made to feel or do.

With the reassurance of some wonderful people behind the scenes, I have reconciled that there IS a place for what I create, and there are definitely some people that will appreciate it. So continuing along this path is something that I shall do!

I want this post to serve as a gentle reminder. It is okay and lovely to fiercely love a ship in a show, but it is not kind at all to go on the posts of people who offer the different perspective to try to derail it or dissuade them from it, nor is it okay to say that the writers have made a "mistake" by not following through on your personal wishes for the show. I am personally Helen × Dale, but I will never go on someone's Dale × Tim post to dissuade them. There was one user here on Tumblr I had to block due to harrassment on my posts and also showing similar disrespect to friends and the writer's vision for his own show.

It's also vital that you ensure the way you do discuss Dale and his sexuality does not intentionally or unintentionally perpetuate messages of biphobia. He wouldn't be automatically happier if he had an intimate relationship with Tim - his self-acceptance journey is more complex than that - and his queer identity is just as valid when he's in a relationship with Helen. I wasn't any less queer when I was with my ex-boyfriend; for example, nor was I just gay in denial. My complex feelings about my self-acceptance wouldn't be automatically resolved if I had a girlfriend; there's more to it than that. Both sets of feelings co-existed genuinely. The world is more than just gay and straight - the in between exists, and as this show stands right now, that's what it represents.

Also please ensure that how you speak about Helen doesn't further spread mental health stigma or underlying misogyny - holding her to a higher standard than the male characters for the times she might make rash decisions, voices her opinions, or struggles. She should be afforded the same empathy as Dale in her moments of crisis. The show is a dual lead and her story matters too.

Michael Lucas - the show's creator - has made it very clear that Dale's love and attraction and need for intimacy with Helen is real, whilst obviously acknowledging his attraction to men, and that both characters don't neatly fit into labels in relation to their sexuality (Dale) and mental health struggles (Helen); that there is a purposeful sense of ambiguity and an unconventional nature to their relationship, but the love and care between them is undeniable. They sit authentically in the mess of life, and many have identified with them, including myself. I see myself in both of them. How lucky we are to have them, and they both should be celebrated, supported and accepted as such. As should everyone in general.

~ Erin 💖

[itsonlydana]

"Flower On My Skin" | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x human fem!reader 👑

Thranduil gets his hair braided and thinks too much.

warnings/tags: bittersweet, more fluff tho, swf, King Thranduil needs a break

words: 1,9k

an: this is a gift for the lovely @tigereyesf who always comments on my posts on ao3 🤍 the lyrics are from Noah Kahans song "Your needs, my needs'

+ masterlist +

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Thranduil understands that permitting you to be near him might not be wise. It could very well rank among the least advisable decisions he's made in ages.

But he did, he invited you again and again, sending horses and carriages to transport you ever since he found out you traveled all the way from Dale by yourself whenever he sent a letter.

Until he didn't need to anymore.

Not because you wouldn't come, but because you didn't leave.

Never in a million years would anyone have guessed that the stoic Elvenking would invite a human to his palace on more occasions than his own kind and surely no one would have ever thought that he would start courting them.

Yet here he was, sitting in one of his many blooming gardens, swatting away the hand that was currently trying to gather his hair.

"Stop this," Thranduil's stern voice would've had any other shiver in fear of losing their head, though it only makes you giggle.

"Please, let me braid it again," you stable yourself with your hands on his shoulders and lean over, chest pressed against his strong back.

"No, you little nuisance. I shall not! You know of the meeting I will attend later, we do not have the time."

Even though he can't see your face, he knows you roll your eyes at him, he can feel it in the huff you let out before letting go of him. The warmth of your body disappears as you stand up from the bench and throw one challenging look over your shoulder.

Thranduil watches how you lift the skirts of the gown you're wearing, the finest of silks that you've adorned with little handmade bows from the village, and flop down into the grass. There is not one care on your face that the hems will surely stain and that there are perfectly suitable marmor benches all over the garden and only one of those occupied by Thranduil himself.

You seem to ignore them every time you two spend time out here, he noticed you are much more content with your naked feet buried in the high grass and your hair intertwined with the flowers that grow here.

At first, he couldn't understand the fascination you harbored with nature.

Of course, he had a deep appreciation for the forest surrounding his kingdom, the strong resistance of the trees had been an inspiration for the winding halls, the water flowing through the roots and gifting life and the ever so steady wind reminded someone who lived a thousand years that some things, though they change, never completely disappear.

You, on the other hand, could not be separated from nature in any way whatsoever. There had been the flowers, first only on your side of the bed when he'd invited you to sleep next to him, and one day he woke up to find a vase filled with Astilbe flowers on his nightstand and on his vanity as well.

You also spend most of your day either wandering through the woods (which left him restless and worried until you accepted the sword he had his blacksmith forge for you) or meeting him here in the gardens. He would never tell you but before you, he hadn't walked or maker-forbid, sat there for decades.

Now, he found himself soaking sunshine more days than not, reading Elvish poetry to you while you rested curled into his side with one of his hands brushing your hair, or, chasing you on his Elk through the forest, following the sound of your horse and your laughter.

Your infatuation with nature and the stubbornness of pulling him along made him fall for you, deeply and most ardently and he knew that one day he would need to survive the sight of forests and gardens and flowers without the urge to burn them to the ground for outliving you.

As he watches you examine the colorful flowers and gather them in your lap, he isn't sure if he will be able to contain that anger against the gods if the time comes.

You are oblivious to the dark clouds hanging onto his thoughts, he makes sure that you'll never see the heartbreak he lives through while loving you because he knows, he knows that you would do everything in your power to make him happy.

This is who you are, a human that lives and loves and pours all that you are into those around you, he sees it in the gentleness of your hands cupping the flowers before plucking them, in the way your tongue learned a new language for you wouldn't accept not studying it for an answer if you lived here.

You live to love and love to live.

Thranduil shifts, forgetting that there are guards stationed around the gardens who could see their King doing the unthinkable but he doesn't care.

Not with you sitting a few feet away from him, your dress spilled around you, a full smile on your face as you collect the flowers growing there for you, their little heads turning to you as if you are the sun for them as well, and not just for Thranduil.

If you notice him standing up, you give no sign, you don't even stop humming, and the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth at this stubbornness is far too strong to stop it.

"Melethril nîn," he says quietly and his shadow falls over your body. The symbolism and fear of him taking away the sun from you has him clench his jaw. His pain is impatient as if it doesn't know he's going to live longer than he wants to and that it has all the time to break him down.

He quickly shuts those thoughts away behind the sight of you tipping your head back to smirk at him.

This is not the time to dwell on the future, not if he can exist in the moments he shares with you instead of fearing the time when he'll have to think back on them.

"Don't tell me you missed me," you tease.

He scoffs and –surprising you enough to let out a squeak– lowers himself onto his knees next to you.

Eye to eye, he feels much more comfortable, despite the stains that he knows now graze his robes.

"You know," he starts and lets his gaze wander over the flowers in your lap, however, you managed to collect this many of them in such a short time awes him, "the meeting can wait."

You catch onto the meaning instantly, your eyes lightening up even more. The golden rays of the setting sun reflect in them and he reaches forward to cup your face in the palm of his hand and gently leans towards you, capturing your lips in a long kiss that has you gasping.

"Now," Thranduil swipes his thumb over your lower lip, as you separate, tugging playfully at it and giving into another kiss before he continues, "Have your way with my hair, my love. I know you did not collect those flowers for any other reason."

You gasp ingeniously. "You are by far the wisest Elf I've ever met," you say and scoot –maker, he makes a note to get another dress just like this made because surely this will be ruined by the time you leave the gardens– behind his back.

While you gather his hair in your hands, this time without him trying to stop you but relaxing into the soft tugging, you mumble: "So wise, they should make you King."

He chuckles at that. "Ah, but I would need a Queen by my side. Do you know where one could find on–ahhh," his teasing words get swallowed by a sigh as your fingers collect some fine hairs on the side of his head and surely completely on accident run over the shell of his ear to the delicate tip.

"Ooops," you sing and just as his body calms, you repeat the action, even have the gall to scratch the skin with your nails and he melts into a puddle.

His ears burn, not just the one your breath hits but the other one as well and he can feel the blood shoot into his face as well, crumbling the stoic and straight-laced composure of the King who is already on his knees.

"You witch," he presses out between his clenched teeth and hears you giggle. "I should have never told you about that," he murmurs more to himself, trying to regulate his heart beating inside his chest like a wild rabbit on the loose.

You laugh once, a "Pah!" while you tug on his hair, "You didn't tell me," you say and he feels something get pushed inside the braid you are working on, "I found out all by myself."

Thinking back to the night that started this completely outrageous behavior trait of you fiddling with his ears whenever he doesn't pay you enough attention or he says something that teases you a bit too much, he can't tell if you are right or him.

A few years ago he would have shut you down completely because the King would never be wrong but now he grumbles under his breath, agreeing that you must be correct.

Then again, there are many new things that you brought into his life.

He laughs more freely, and not just out of spite of viciously.

He cares more, for you, for his son, for nature and sometimes even for the dwarfs he trades with.

He is formed by you, shaped by your untamable ways of never letting a rainy day ruin your mood.

He is nothing but wax in your hands.

Here, sitting in the gardens and letting you weave flowers in his precious hair, he is no King, he is just a soul yearning for your touch, a flower reaching to bloom in your golden light.

Thranduil's eyes flutter shut as you braid and weave and run your hands over his scalp and through his hair.

He may have fallen asleep, lulled into a trance by the warm sun caressing his face and your voice humming a melody as sweet as any words that you speak, because when you let go of the delicate braids and let them fall into the rest of his hair, he opens his eyes to a pink and purple sunset.

The birds sing their last song and the trees rustle, shaking their branches and leaves as if they would ready themselves for the animals coming to rest in them.

There is a pleasantly chilled breeze that comes with nightfall, one that brings the smell of flowers and grass.

"There," you press a gentle kiss to the skin right behind his left ear, "all done."

For a moment Thranduil is disappointed that you are finished but then he turns to find your smile and all is right.

"Thank you, meldanya," he says, already closing in to express his gratitude with a soft kiss.

You nudge your nose against his, eyes shut in contentment. "Thank you, for letting me. Le ni meleth," you say quietly.

"Always," Thranduil's gaze wanders over you, bathed in rosé and golden hues, the cheeks flushed from the air, your hair wild and untamed, and flowers all over your lap. He grabs a few of them, inspecting the stems and probing them with his sharp nails.

"Let me repay the favor," he effortlessly lifts you, smiling wide at the laugh bursting out of you as he sets you between his legs and onto his robes.

"I want my Queen to wear a fitting crown."

[fountainpenguin]

I've been working on some other posts that delve into the rich families in FOP, so take some thoughts that've been eating at me out of context.

It is unfathomable to me how much better of a parent Dale is than both Remy’s parents combined.

Timmy wished for Remy to have more time to spend with his parents, and the universe decided that meant shipwrecking them together was the only possible way they wouldn't question spending time with their son. And according to Remy in "Remy Rides Again," that worked for 3 seconds before they ditched him despite all being shipwrecked on an island together, fighting for survival.

Dale just spends time with his son for free. He is paid $0 to do so... Yes, he's distracted and inattentive to him, but he lets Dev be near him. He gives him tasks... He explains things when Dev asks him questions. He greets his son when he comes home from being outside and asks how his afternoon was.

Wishing Dale had more time for his son is no guarantee good things would happen, but I don't think a shipwreck would've been required. He'd just... come out of his room.

Dale can absolutely be a better parent, and his neglect should not be excused, but comparatively... he is a functioning parent.

I think Remy's parents would pay someone to bury their son unmarked in the woods, but I do not think you could convince Dale to do that to Dev no matter how much you offered him. He's messed up, but he's not THAT messed up. That's his little guy! He's a Dimmadome...

Family history - and family future - is important to Dale in a way that it's straight-up not to the Buxaplentys, and that makes all the difference. Dale sends Dev to a private school (implied) and canonically makes donations to that school ("28 Puddings Later").

Like… Remy KNOWS his parents think he's a waste of time and space. They make this clear to him when they remind him he's not worth more than 2 minutes per day of their time. They can't even remember his name. At the end of "Fairy Fairy Quite Contrary," Remy was delighted his dad called him Liam. Because it's wrong, but it was better than nothing.

Remy is literally the reason his parents survived. He foraged for food for them while they counted the money that survived the shipwreck. He's 11... That should not have been his responsibility.

Dale is always calling Dev by name. He also built the au pairs to look after him (implied), he takes Dev to events, he remembered his birthday this year and made an attempt to do something nice even if he couldn't be there in person…

Dev appreciates his dad and tells us flat-out he thinks he's cool... That's why finding out his dad cared more about boots broke his heart.

Remy wouldn't have bat an eye because it wouldn't have surprised him that his parents care more about money. He makes it very clear that he was still wearing rags when his mom opened a hotel. She was too, but still... He was just out there wandering the beach with a ripped-up shirt and no shoes and all she thought about was money...

Holy flip, the Buxaplentys are so bad...

[showsandstuff]

Ways to make a Dale Dimmadome redemption work:

Hi! So, as a self proclaimed Dale Dimmadome redemption truther, I wanted to make this post explaining why a redemption is, in my opinion, very much possible. (I am not nearly as confident about this as I am pretending to be)

Buckle up, this'll be a long one folks!

First, why do I think a Dale redemption could happen? Let's go through it:

It's still a kids show. I find the conclusion to the story that Dale will never love his son a bit grim for a show for children. You could of course make it work by using the found family trope with Peri instead, plus there are plenty of kids shows that have used the evil father of secondary character/antagonist trope, without the father getting a redemption but I do think a Dale redemption is the most satisfying conclusion for this show.

Even Remy Buxaplentys parents started caring for Remy at some point, so I got hope. Though to be fair, they were incredibly one note.

His past with Vicky makes him a bit more sympathetic. Knowing what he went through in his childhood, it makes sense he probably wouldn't know what a child needs. I'm just saying it means there's room for improvement

He emotionally neglects Dev, but his physical needs are met. Which is something, right? Like Yay... And all...

We don't know if Dale doesn't love Dev. I think there's a possibility that he does care but just doesn't know it because he's taken his child for granted. That's not an excuse of course, but it would make a redemption more plausibel. If Dale genuinely does not love Dev whatsoever, I'll give up on my redemption hope.

How could they pull it off, if at all?

Assuming that Dale does love Dev, deep deeeep down, and just doesn't realize it because he's so focused on his company, the best way to show this is through a choice.

Dev doing things that benefit the company has never helped their relationship, Dale just gets happy because Money and it doesn't make him appreciate his son more, Dev just becomes someone useful to him.

But if Dev causes Dale to lose money, that's a good start to see what Dale truly prioritizes deep down.

Dale choosing Dev over his company is what I need if they decide to redeem him. I need Dale in one way or another show us that he truly cares. Maybe have Dale spend so much money to find and save Dev, that his company goes bankrott? Or have his company explodes and Dale's main concern could be Devs wellbeing. Or Dev goes behind his father's back and intentionally hurts the company, but instead of lashing out at Dev, Dale reflects on himself.

Now... That's all incredibly out of character for Dale and I would hate for an unearned redemption. I'd need there to be a lot of build up to that moment, some foreshadowing that hints at Dale not feeling entirely indifferent about Dev. Small moments, nothing too grand. Maybe he'd be worried if he finds out that he had left Dev with Vicky at one Point, and that could be the catalyst to show us that he isn't as awful as we were shown previously.

And after we had enough of those moments and already have a feel that Dale isn't all uncaring, we get to the grand moment where Dale shows us through his actions that in truth, he cares far more about his kid than his cash. It would feel earned and not be out of nowhere then.

Now before yall call me delusional, I know that this is extremely unrealistic and I'm just setting myself up if these are my expectations. Good thing they aren't. I do expect Dev to have something equivalent of his father's love at the end of the show, but that's it.

Here are some examples of what I actually believe would happen:

Hazel and Dev become friends (again) but this time their friendship is explored more. Maybe Dev also befriends Hazel's friends and finds fulfillment through that. (although I think that'll happen regardless and would be unsatisfying if that was all we got)

Involving Peri in this mess and giving him a character arc of his own would work as well. He realizes that Dev doesn't need a Fairy to be happy because, as Cosmo said in the finale, what Dev truly wants isn't something he can get through wishes. Dev, being super rich, is already used to getting "stuff", but love isn't stuff. So Peri basically becoming a parental figure for Dev, which is what he is supposed to be as a godparent anyway, could work. Besides, Peri already solidified himself in this role in the finale when he told Dev that he cared about him. It was a heartwarming moment. We all loved it so ofc we would want more of that.

Anything involving Irep, another Fairy or even Timmy. Dev needs someone that cares for him. My top three go to characters are obviously Peri, Hazel and Dale, but they're not the only ones that could fulfill that role. We just need to wait and see what the writers do.

So yea, a Dale redemption is my first pick for a season 2 finale (or technically my first pick is a hint at a Dale redemption in the s2 finale and the actual redemption happens way later because slow burn) but I do understand that it's pretty unlikely and would be very much satisfied with Peri becoming his godparent with Emphasis on parent, or even the power of friendship with Hazel, though that'd be harder to execute without it feeling cheap (I got faith in the writers)

So this was very long. And I am going to sleep now. Thanks for reading.

[sillylotrpolls]

69.3% of voters (nice) think Legolas is definitely a third-age Elf, perhaps 2,000 or 3,000 years old, which is probably about as much consensus as is possible given the lack of canon details we have for our little green leaf.

Meanwhile, 9.4% of you think it's more likely he's a time traveler, which, okay. I would have side-eyed that a few months ago, but have recently discovered a surprising penchant for "Legolas and/or Gimli go back in time to prevent Thorin from fucking up too badly" fics, so why not?

This was a great poll for people to share their headcanons, and if you haven't already I really recommend checking the notes. Some good stuff in there, and it seems the more you know about LotR lore the more fun it is to slot Legolas into the most apocalyptic scenes.

(No relevant reading below the poll because lol, there is none. There are a couple notes though.)

As Elrond only seemed to record birthdays for Elves and Men he was closely related to, Legolas' age is a matter of some debate. (We also have no idea how old Thranduil is, or Glorfindel, or Haldir, or...) The "official" age quoted is from a movie guide that presumably did not have a lot of oversight and definitely was not based on anything in Tolkien's extended canon, but you can certainly go with it if you want to.

For comparison, Elrond's sons Elladan and Elrohir are 2,889 at the end of Return of the King, and Arwen is 2,778.

[shadowuponstorm]

Stay Away From The Coach's Granddaughter

A/N: I recently started watching One Tree Hill and when I searched it, I noticed it's rarely posted about on this platform. So, I thought "Why not write up something for it and be a part of those who want to keep it alive?". Hope you 'Ravens' enjoy! (I just wanted to mention, I love all the endgames! This is just another scenario separate from the show)

Summary: Coaching basketball for Tree Hill always seem to be first place on the list of Brian "Whitey" Durham's pride and joys, when it's in actually fourth place. The third place belongs to his son, Dale, the second for his granddaughter, and the first place is always reserved for Camila. When he gains custody of his granddaughter, he vows to always have her best interest at heart, even if it means warning his boys to stay away from her. What would happen if one of them breaks one of Coach's rules?

-4 YEARS AGO, WHITEY'S POV-

I was about to sit down to eat dinner when a knock came on the door. I grumbled as I tried to get out of my recliner, complaining that all I needed was peace and quiet. I opened the door to see two police officers standing there, with the lights on the squad cars still on.

"You Whitey Durham?" The officer on the left asked as I nodded my head and confirmed I was, "Your son, Dale, was in a car accident. I'm sorry to inform you, sir, that he didn't make it to the hospital."

Hearing those words, ripped a chunk of my heart out. "No, no, not my boy." I kept thinking over and over again, trying to stay upright.

"Thank you for coming all this way to tell me," I said to the officers as they nodded in understanding of my reaction to the shocking news I've been given, "H-have you informed his ex-wife? What about my granddaughter, was she with him?"

"Someone is going over there right now to tell her," The officer on the right responds, he then tells me, "As for your granddaughter, we have her in the back of the squad car. She wasn't in the accident with your son."

I sighed in relief as I looked past the cops' shoulders to see her just sitting there, looking devastated, and I couldn't blame her, she just lost her dad. I asked, "Is there any way you can allow her to stay with me? I mean, her mom lives pretty far from-"

"Oh, Mr. Durham, she isn't going to her mom. Social Services came by the hospital and explained to her that she was to live with you if something were to happen," the officer says as I see his partner go down the steps of my porch and get her out of the car.

"Why don't you go on in? I'll finish this up as quickly as I can," I told my granddaughter as she passed by me to enter the house.

After a few more minutes, the police left and I shut the door behind me to see Charlotte sitting on the couch, as quiet as she could be. She turned to look at me after hearing the door shut and whispered, "What am I going to do without my dad? I'm only 13."

"Oh, sweetheart," I said as I took a seat right next to her and pulled her into a hug, "I know this is going to be hard, but we'll get through this. That's what us Durhams do."

"I'm glad he and Grandma Camila are reunited at least," I hear Charlotte whisper as I tell her that was a good way of thinking.

I will do everything in my heart to keep her safe and protect her as best I can from harm's way.

-PRESENT, Charlotte's POV-

"Come on! Let's Go!" I hear Grandpa shout at the boys as I try to study on the bleachers, "Focus on practicing the plays, not showing off!"

I chuckle to myself and roll my eyes as I witness Tree Hill's star player, Nathan Scott, doing the exact opposite of what he was "asked" of. My phone buzzed beside me and I picked it up to see a text from Haley.

Haley: "Hey, wanna study at Karen's cafe?"

I text back, "Have to ask Grandpa first, but that would be greatly appreciated!"

After I put my phone back down, I glanced back at the court to see Nathan looking in my direction and proceeded to wink at me. I looked around to see if Peyton was sitting nearby, but couldn't see her anywhere.

"Nathan, you got something in your eye son? If not, stop blinking!" Grandpa yelled as the other boys laughed and I shook my head.

I packed up my stuff and headed down the bleachers toward Grandpa to ask him, "Hey, Haley texted me asking if I wanted to study over at the cafe. Can I go?"

"Sure, go ahead," Grandpa said as he glanced his attention to me for a split second, "Stay safe and remember to keep your phone."

"Yes sir," I respond as I walk toward the exit, but not before turning my head to yell over my shoulder, "See you guys at the game!" prompting the guys to hoot and cheer, much to Grandpa's annoyance.

After I arrived at the cafe, I sent a quick text before opening the door to see Haley helping Karen out behind the counter.

"Oh hey sweetie," Karen says as she spots me walking in and putting my schoolbag on the counter, "Your grandpa's yelling was too much for you?"

I laugh at her little joke and respond, "I wish I could say I'm not used to it, but I'm used to it. He's stressed about the big game and Nathan was busy showboating. Speaking of Nathan, he did something strange."

"What did he do?" Haley asked as I pulled out my notes and textbooks, "Did he flirt with you?"

"Okay, one, you know my grandpa's rule about me fraternizing with his "boys" so flirting is out of the question as well as dating. Two, no, he winked in my direction, but Peyton wasn't on the bleachers or there."

"Hold on, you say he winked in your direction, but Peyton wasn't around?" Haley asked as I nodded my head, "Charlotte, he was winking at you."

"No, he wasn't," I respond skeptically as I look over at Karen, who has the "Yeah, he definitely winked at you" expression on her face, "There's absolutely no reason that Nathan Royal Scott, who is taken mind you, would want to wink at me."

"Why not? You're intelligent, funny, and such a beautiful girl," Karen says as Haley voices that she agrees with that.

"Nathan lives up to his father, which means, he is not going to go for the smart and nerdy girl, he's going for the pretty cheerleader," I respond before mentioning, "No offense to Peyton, she definitely rocks it."

"Well, believe me when I say this, something is going off in that boy's brain when you're around," Haley says as she grabs a biscotti from the jar.

"Who are you guys talking about?" Lucas asks from behind, making me jump a little, "Oh, sorry, thought you heard the door open."

"It's fine, we're good," I said as I turned my body in his direction, "Also, none of your business who we were talking about because it's nothing of importance."

"Nathan winked at her and she thought Peyton was nearby," Haley responded as I shushed her from going further than that information.

"Well, they're always breaking up and getting back together, so I didn't know," I said as Lucas nodded his head in understanding of my theory before mentioning, "He and Peyton have broken up for good."

"There, now you have a shot at becoming the star player's girlfriend," Haley says as I roll my eyes and remind her that I'm also the Coach's granddaughter, so there's a little to no possibility of that happening, "You never know, maybe Whitey will go soft at the fact you're finding love."

Despite doubt running through a loop in my mind, maybe Haley's right about this. Grandpa is always telling stories about how he and Grandma were soulmates in love, he would want me to have a similar experience.

-BASKETBALL GAME-

"Hey Charlotte, if we win this game, how about we grab some dinner together?" I hear Tim shout at me, making me roll my eyes and yell back, "In your dreams! Now focus before he chews off your head or worse, benches you for the rest of the game."

I could've sworn I saw a little smile on Grandpa's face when he heard me rejecting Tim's offer. After my dad's passing 4 years ago, it was in writing that Grandpa was to get full custody of me since my mother wasn't acting like an actual mother and being reckless with everything regarding money, drugs, and especially men. It was honestly the best decision my father made because he didn't want me to be exposed to the fact my mom put those first instead of my health and well-being. I understand why the "Stay Away From The Coach's Granddaughter" rule is in place, but doesn't help when most of the boys are actually really nice.

"Hey Charlotte!" I heard someone shout and I looked to see who it was, "Down here!

I turned my head in the direction of the voice to see it was Martin McFadden, or what he likes to be called, Mouth.

"What Mouth?" I asked as I walked down the bleachers to his spot, "Did you need extra help with something?"

"No, it's not that, here," Mouth says handing me a folded-up piece of paper, and before I can ask, he mentions, "If your grandpa asks, just say it's my number so we can keep in touch in case we're working on something."

"Got it," I respond as I put the paper in my pocket and head back to my spot on the bleachers, with part of me itching to want to read the note now.

-AFTER BASKETBALL GAME-

As always, the Ravens kicked ass and my grandpa gained another win to his record. Grandpa and I were on our way home when he asked, "What was that kid giving you? The one with the big lips."

I laughed a little before saying, "His name is Martin, but he goes by Mouth as a nickname. He just wanted to give me his number for his phone in case we're to be working together on a project."

"You sure it isn't a love note? It was folded up pretty good," Grandpa responded as a little joke, prompting me to shake my head.

"No, just a friendly communication between the sportscaster and the granddaughter of the coach," I say as Grandpa parked the car in front of the house.

After dinner had been eaten and dishes cleaned, Grandpa went into the den to watch TV in his favorite recliner as I went into my room. I pulled the paper from my pocket and unfolded it to see a very recognizable handwriting, Nathan.

"Hey, I know this is not ideal, but you know, your grandpa has that rule of his set in stone and I don't want to be benched for the rest of the season. Here's my number xxx-xxx-xxxx, in case you want to talk or text."

I chuckle at how bold this boy is, using his friend to give me this note and bypassing my grandpa's rule. I pull out my phone and text the number, "If this is a prank, I very much don't appreciate that."

Nathan: As fun as that sounds, it's not. Guess you got my note ;)

Me: You know very well I did, it happened right in front of you, and you also had Mouth help you. Good game today.

Nathan: Thanks, that wink was towards you by the way.

I looked at my phone screen in confusion before texting back, "I know, you texted it to me just now."

Nathan: No, I mean earlier. You were looking around like it was meant for someone else.

Me: Can we switch over to a phone call?

Nathan: Wouldn't Whitey overhear you?

I closed my phone and put it in my pocket as I left my room to head towards the den.

"Hey, is it alright if I go for a night bike ride? I won't be gone long," I said as Grandpa nodded his head, "I have my phone on me."

"Stay safe, love you," Grandpa shouts as I yell, "Love you too."

After I shut the door behind me, I started biking down the road that goes toward the River Court. I pulled my phone out and called Nathan as I leaned my bike against the bleachers. He answered on the first ring and said, "So what excuse did you give?"

"Har har, very funny, I gave him an honest one. He's used to me doing rides at night, as long as I'm not out too late," I respond as I hear Nathan laugh, "What? I'm serious, I've never broken any of his ground rules, as of now."

"What a way to break the old man's heart, betrayal," Nathan said as I rolled my eyes and rebutted, "At least I'm always on his good side."

"Touche, question, why were you looking around when I winked at you?" Nathan asked as I ran my hand over my face and groaned.

"It's embarrassing," I respond as Nathan hits me with a "Try me."

After I took a breath, I said, "I thought Peyton was around, so when you winked at me, I looked to see if it was for her since she's usually your girlfriend."

Nathan laughs a little before saying, "We do break up a lot, don't we? Yeah, we're done for this time. Don't worry, that's not something to be embarrassed about."

"Jeez thanks, Scott," I respond jokingly before pulling my phone away from my ear to see the time, only have 15 more minutes before I have to start biking home.

"How much longer do we have on this call?" Nathan asked and before I could ask how he knew, he said, "I heard you pull the phone away."

"We have 15 more minutes before I have to bike home," I respond before I hear his voice change when he asks, "I'm sorry? Did you say bike?"

"Yeah, I thought I mentioned that," I said before clarifying, "I don't have a car yet and I think we both know how my grandpa feels about your dad, so there's no way my car is coming from him."

"Yeah, probably best if you don't," Nathan agrees as I add in, "Sorry, know he's your dad and all, but he can sometimes be an ass."

"Oh no, feel free, I feel the same way," Nathan responds as I start to feel bad about the way how unhappy he is talking about Dan.

To change the topic, I asked, "So, what's the real reason you wanted to talk to me?"

"Just to get to know you, the real you. You know, finally know your personality, not just the fact you happen to be related to my basketball coach," Nathan responds as I feel the inside of my body warm up and blush.

"Didn't know Showboater Scott actually had a heart," I say sarcastically as Nathan laughs and mentions, "Just takes the right person to make it skip a beat."

"I really should get back before Grandpa sends a search party, I'll see you tomorrow," I respond as Nathan agrees and tells me goodnight.

After I told him goodnight back, I closed my phone and started biking back up the road. I entered the house to look into the den to see Grandpa snoring and see the TV was playing a video of an old Ravens game. I grabbed a blanket to cover him up and I kissed him on the forehead to whisper, "Goodnight, Grandpa."

My phone buzzed to signal a text came through as I entered my bedroom, I pulled it out to see Nathan texted me.

"Had to tell you goodnight again, hope your dreams are sweet and have me in them ;)"

I laughed before putting my phone on charge and getting dressed for bed. Maybe tomorrow will bring something more into my life.

-TOMORROW-

"Have a good day today, I'll see you later," Grandpa says as we both exit the car and head toward the school.

After I told Grandpa to have the same, I headed toward my locker to see Tim leaning against it. I thought to myself, "Great, another day to reject his advances, again."

"What do you want Tim?" I asked as I stopped in front of him and shoved his shoulder to get him to move, "And get off my locker."

"Just thought I'd try to serenade you to go out with me, no one can resist my charm," Tim says smugly like he thinks he'll be successful in his attempt today.

Before I can say something, I hear someone say, "Tim, she's never going out with you, so stop. Besides, Turner's looking for you, it looks like you're in trouble as always."

"Aww man, I gotta hide," Tim nervously says as he bolts down the hall and keeps looking in all directions to try to avoid our principal.

I turned around to see Nathan standing there with a smile on his face.

"Clever, is Turner really looking for him?" I asked as Nathan shook his head and said, "Nope, thought I'd save a damsel in distress."

I open my locker to get my textbooks before saying, "I could have handled it myself, but thank you. I swear he just never gives up."

"Yeah, that's Tim for you," Nathan responds as I laugh, "Did you make it home in time? You didn't respond to my text."

"I did, thanks for being concerned. I did get your text, was nice," I said as he plastered an "I take offense to that" expression as a joke and whispered, "How dare you? I worked on that text for hours."

"Fine, it was funny, better?" I respond as Nathan nods and looks around for who I assume is my grandfather to make sure he isn't nearby before he leans in, "I really enjoyed our phone call, we should do it again."

The school bell rings and everyone starts rushing the hallways, causing my attention to be distracted and when I looked back, he was gone. So I pulled my phone out to text him, "We should."

I entered class to take my seat and the teacher started teaching his material when I saw a folded piece of paper get thrown on my desk. I looked towards the person who put it there and they shrugged their shoulder, meaning they were only told to give it to me. I started to unfold the paper when the teacher called my name.

"Yes sir?" I asked as he glanced toward the paper in my hand and asked what I had in my hand, "I'm not sure, I was given this just now."

I handed it to him after he asked for it, knowing he believed me since he knew I was not the type of student to break school rules, opening it to see what it said, before folding it back up.

"Sir, isn't it your rule to read notes aloud?" I hear a student asks before the teacher responds, "Yes, but in this case, I'm not going to."

"Not fair to the other times you did it," Another student says before the teacher looks at me with a somber expression and apologizes before he unfolds the paper to read what it said.

"Charlotte, you should wipe your existence off Planet Earth because of how ugly you are, no wonder your daddy is dead and your mommy didn't care to want you."

My stomach dropped and my veins turned cold hearing those words,

"I-I-" I tried to say but sentences weren't forming in my brain nor connecting with my mouth, "I can't."

I suddenly grabbed my bag and ran out of the classroom with tears streaming down my face. I didn't even know I was going outside the school until I was actually outside, standing on the sidewalk.

"I can't stay here, I don't want anyone to see me like this, especially Grandpa," I kept thinking over and over in my head.

I walked back into the school and towards Turner's office, who was surprised to see me.

"Charlotte, how can I-. Is everything alright?" He asked as I shook my head and told him, "I'm feeling sick and can't stay for the rest of the day. Do you mind telling my grandpa I went home?"

"Of course, hope you feel better soon," Turner says after I thanked him and left the office towards the parking lot to grab my bike.

After I biked home, I got in the house and that's when I finally decided to let out a scream and started sobbing, where no one could hear or see me this way. I've been bullied like this a lot by Rachel, and no one knows about it, not even Grandpa. I don't know why she's doing it, she's only been in Tree Hill for a few months. "I wish she would just stop."

I went into my bedroom and practically slammed my whole body onto the bed to grab a pillow to hold. I must've fallen asleep for a few hours because my phone buzzed with a text and I looked at the screen name to see it was Nathan.

"Hey, where were you? All the guys asked Whitey and he said you'd gone home sick."

Me: I did. A bug must be going around and I caught it.

Nathan: You looked fine this morning so I know that's a lie. What's going on?

Me: Nothing, I'm fine. Aren't you supposed to be practicing?

Nathan: Practice is over, didn't you see the time?

I looked at the time to see it was 5:30, which meant Grandpa would be home in an hour or so from mingling with his friends.

Me: Didn't realize, oops. Sorry, I had to miss seeing Grandpa yell at you guys.

Nathan: I need to hear your voice, phone call?

I sighed and tried to make my voice sound like I hadn't been crying before pressing the call button.

"Hey, how did practice go?" I say with a hint of crackling in my voice, which I silently curse that I let it slip

"About how it is sometimes, are you really okay?" Nathan asked with concern in his voice.

"Yeah, I might've just caught what's been going around. I'll be fine," I said as I heard a car door shut nearby, "Shoot, Grandpa's home early, I'll talk to you later."

After Nathan and I said our goodbyes, I made it look like I'd been sleeping since I got home. The door creaks open as Grandpa's footsteps enter my room and they stop as he sees my appearance. I hear him set down something on my desk and walk over to kiss my forehead to whisper, "Hope you feel better sweetheart, whether the bully is getting to you or you're actually sick."

I open my eyes to see a soup container and by the smell, it's from Karen's cafe, which means it's bound to be delicious. First, I need to talk to Grandpa, so I exit my bedroom to enter the den.

"Listen, I'm really sorry-" I started to say before Grandpa stopped me and said, "I know, your teacher got worried so he came to see me and showed me the nasty note. Then Turner came and told me you left because you weren't feeling good."

"Does that mean I'm barred from going to the next game?" I asked as Grandpa shook his head and told me the skipping class rule doesn't apply to me, "I promise, it's a one-time thing."

"Oh really? So, you're not going to skip class even if Nathan asks you to?" Grandpa asked, making my eyes widen in shock, and before I could ask, he said, "I see the way he looks at you, and I admit, maybe my rule is a little harsh."

"It's not, I understand why," I responded as I mentioned, "He doesn't know about the note or the bullying. This is all recent."

"Well, you outta tell him, he was worried about you when he didn't see you in the bleachers," Grandpa said as I sighed and responded, "I know, I just- I don't know why I'm allowing their words to hurt me."

"Those words hurt me too, seeing those awful things said to part of my whole world, hit me in the core," Grandpa said as I went to sit on the sofa, "You know your daddy loved you so much, loved you to the point he thought of the world of you and ensured you'd be with me as well as protected."

"I know, and I appreciate him for that. The mom part though, struck a chord since it's true, she loves those things more than me," I mention as Grandpa shakes his head yes, "At least I have the best parental figure take her place, because it makes me miss her less."

"Now you're just pulling my leg," Grandpa says to try to make me laugh. I shout, "I'm not! I'm serious."

"I know, just wanted to see that smile of yours, which I hope you've been showing Nathan," Grandpa responds as I blush and say, "We just started recently talking on the phone, but you can say he has since I have a tiny crush on him."

"As much as I don't like the fact he broke my rule, I'm glad," Grandpa said as he smiled and mentioned, "He'll be excited to see you back in the bleachers."

-BASKETBALL GAME-

I sighed, trying to keep the butterflies at bay, before pushing open the door to the gym to enter the basketball game. I looked up at the scoreboard to see the Ravens are winning by 5, hopefully making Grandpa pleased.

"Hey Charlotte, glad to see you're feeling better," I hear Peyton say to me as I walk near the cheerleaders, causing me to turn my head and respond, "Thanks, Peyton."

Before I even passed by the cheerleaders fully, I heard from behind me, "You look like you need a good purging, why don't you go into the bathroom real quick?". Rachel, she's on the squad?? I decided to ignore her and keep walking, but she apparently didn't like that because the next thing that came out of her mouth was, "Hey fatty, did you hear what I said to you?"

"Rachel, stop," Brooke said, genuinely worried, "Don't you realize who you're speaking like that to?"

"Oh I don't care that her grandpa is some big-shot coach, doesn't excuse the fact she looks like that. Probably why her parents didn't want to be near her," Rachel responds with a smug look on her face.

Before I could turn around and call her out on her disgusting behavior, I heard Nathan shout, "That is enough!" causing the whole gymnasium to be quiet.

"Oh come on, you know it's true," Rachel says as if she believes Nathan is on her side and will get the others to join in.

"No, it is not. And you have no right to speak to her like that," Nathan responds as he inches forward, "Ever since you came to Tree Hill, you've been acting like a real bitch to Charlotte, who has never done anything to you. Despite what you've done to her, she remained silent because she knew what it would mean if she spoke up."

"It's not like I'm going to get in trouble for this," Rachel says as Turner speaks up, "Rachel, we know it was you who wrote that note to Charlotte, we'll be discussing your punishment."

When Rachel turns to look at me, she had pissed written all over her face. "You are so fake! People need to know the truth about the real you." Rachel shouts, looking desperate for attention to be on her.

"She's not fake," Nathan says as he moves to be closer to me, "She has a heart of gold, she's kind to everyone around her, she's so smart, she's funny when she thinks she isn't, and doesn't pay any notice if someone is admiring her from afar."

"Nathan, I-" I started to say, fear of my grandpa's rule creeping in when he said, "He gave me permission, it's okay." He took my hand in his and squeezed it in comfort before whispering, "Now, you have another person in your life to love."

I looked up into his eyes to see sincerity swimming in them before I pressed my lips against his and kissed him. I felt him wrapping his arms around my midsection and picking me up, causing everyone to cheer and hoot. Meanwhile, Rachel stormed off with a fuss, but no one was paying attention to her. I pull away before whispering against his lips, "Now go kick some ass, boyfriend."

"Not a problem, girlfriend," Nathan said as he put me down and I smiled as I watched him run back onto the court.

I looked over to see my grandpa smiling back at me and I gave him the thumbs up before going to my seat next to Haley.

-WHITEY'S THOUGHT-

"Camila and Dale, you would be really happy and proud of our girl. She's doing amazing and found herself the best boy I'd imagine she falls in love with and he treats her like she deserves to be treated. Keep watching over us and blessing us with what we need most.

[grool-intentions]

Mike Patton Glasses Appreciation Post

(Found through Pinterest and tumblr with thanks to Denise Dale Roberts, IW Patton, Carol Patton, VK.com, BabyBungle, PerfectIsASkinnedKnee, and Kristin Callahan. Please let me know if your photo is attached without credit and/or if you would like for me to remove it.)

[illdiealonelyguy]

Spencer Reid random headcanons

I think a couple of these are actually canon (like the doctor who one) Anyways, I originally wrote these for fun, then remembered how much i enjoy reading other people's headcanons, so i thought i'd post these for anyone who'd like to read them... so enjoy...?

*************************************************************************************

~ He owns This Empty Northern Hemisphere by Gregory Alan Isakov on vinyl.

~ He watches Doctor Who.

~ A physical media man.

~ Loves coffee, but to unwind after a case drinks herbal tea (thanks to Garcia. oh, and uses Mildred to drink out of)

~ Has about 10 books haphazardly stacked on his bedside table at all times.

~ Loves The Little Prince - and can even be one for appreciating the film - it makes him cry.

~ Owns a jellycat - courtesy of a shopping spree JJ, Prentiss and Garcia went on once - it lives on his bed, or his reading corner.

~ Watching Doctor Who led him to other british dramas - like Sherlock - and was taken aback by how much his apartment looks like how Sherlock's does in the series.

~ Keeps his own blanket from home on the jet - it's a creature comfort.

~ He loves lavender. He dabbles in the use of lavender oil before sleep and keeps lavender spray in his apartment for extra comfort.

~ Once travelled to watch one of Alex Blake's lectures after she left yet chickened out of actually talking to her.

~ 'England' by The National was listened to religiously when Emily was away with Interpol.

~ Decorates his apartment for the autumn season - pumpkin spice candles are a must.

~ Elle introduced him to Elliott Smith, through the song 'Clementine'

~ Really started drinking coffee after watching (and obsessing over) Twin Peaks and noting Agent Dale Cooper's enthusiastic dependency on the beverage.

~ Very reliant on the watch he always wears. Will never get a new one, just mends it if it breaks.

~ Enjoyer of Santo & Johnny.

~ His third space is the local library and coffee shop.

~ Trinkets are scattered all over his apartment. Crystals, fossils, the gifts his mother sends him when she writes to him.

~ On that thought, the facility she stays at has an abundance of herbal teas, so she sends a new tea for Spencer to try when she writes to him.

~ Collector of rare coins. After her time in London with Interpol, Emily brought Spencer a bag of rare £50p coins - including the Sherlock Holmes one - which he carries in his pocket at all times.

~ Classic horror fan.

[elialys]

Story summary: This story takes place a few months after 2.06 “Fireworks” so mind the spoilers.

Following a tragedy that leaves Dale spiralling even more out of control, Helen flies back home. Because despite the mess they’ve become, they will always be that person for one another. At least, it remains true as far as she’s concerned.

Loyal to a fault.

[belleishavingamentalbreakdown]

i feel like as a whole we don’t speak about how much Dale was such an amazing father in S1 Ep 57! When Alexis was turned into a shadow knight. Him and Corey as well deserve more love! Like Corey was full prepped to protect his family which is honestly so admirable. And Dale was ready to murder for his child even if that meant costing his own life, honestly brings tears to my eyes because Dale loves his family so much despite all his flaws he’s such a good dad and so proud of his kids 😭 SO HERES AN APPRECIATION POST FOR THEM 💞

[frootiest-loopdee-doo]

Working on a fun cool FOP New Wish au ask blog! Lots of horror and fun silly stuff. There are two sides to the plot, A & B.

A plot is Peri, Dev and somehow Dale is here.

B plot is Hazel, Cosmo and Wanda.

This AU/Ask blog is going to be hosted on a separate blog, and have a recommended 16+ rating for dark horror content, slight suggestive content (With adult characters and no NSFW/Explicit content tho I promise!), triggering content and I’ll add warnings when needed. Any posts with darker content will have a warning banner and cut so that no one on the character tags sees it by accident. To be honest, my target audience is other adult horror likers who grew up with kid’s show inspired horror like in the MLP, Steven universe, Invader Zim fandoms etc- but I made it 16+ bc i think 18+ would imply this is something that this definitely isn’t.

Think darker 2019-2020 Steven Universe ask blogs kinda when it comes to what kind of content to expect. I’m not gonna hold back too much!

You can ask either Hazel, Cosmo, Dev or Peri questions, and if it’s a question directed at someone else they can relay that question to that character.

For example, you can ask Dev a question meant for Dale and he’ll answer it, or you could ask Hazel a question for Wanda and she could ask Wanda for an answer. You can ask questions directly targeted at any character, but Hazel, Cosmo, Dev and Peri will deliver your questions basically.

Hazel, Cosmo and Wanda, the B plot, are answering questions while trying to understand the consequences of [EVENT] and figuring out how this effects their magic.

Hazel got caught up in the same mess that Dale and Dev did, but didn’t get snatched up by Peri as she’s

A:Not his godkid and

B: Cosmo and Wanda protected her and got her to safety- though a little bit late (not as late as Dev tho- sob).

However, Hazel’s proximity to the [REDACTED] hasn’t left her without unusual symptoms. She just didn’t [REDACTED] like Dev. She’s definitely more in control on her end of the plot, unlike Dev and Dale who are pretty much following whatever Peri does at the moment.

Dale is literally only here because he was injured and dying and Dev freaked out so Peri just grabbed him. Lucky Dale? Maybe not. Peri is a little evil here, not really a villain- but definitely darker Peri here!

Anyways, back on earth, Hazel, Cosmo & Wanda have to navigate the effects of what happened after the battle. I’m being vague bc this all gets revealed through the ask blog and I don’t want to spoil anything before a I drop the plot.

Now here’s a little request for help, I’m watching some FOP lore vids and watching seasons 1 & 2 of FOP completely to refresh my memory, but I don’t have time to re-watch the series. If you know any good sources for FOP lore, and maybe something with a list of all the most important episodes to watch please let me know. I want this to line up with previous lore as much as possible, so I’m not dropping the AU until I’m confident that it’s pretty consistent!!!

Any help is appreciated!!!!

[itsonlydana]

Find a cure for my heart | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x human fem!reader 👑

On the eve of the battle, you and Thranduil spent a night that spurred a flurry of letters while Dale grew as a city and you both grew too, first apart, then closer again. However, you couldn't bring yourself to burden him with the truth that your health was deteriorating with each passing day.

warnings/tags: sickness, angst, mentions of death (reader is actively dying but only realizes after Thranduil helps) hurt/comfort, happy end

words: 5,6k

an: finally finished this fic after working on it since January. If you are interested in being tagged when I post new fics– comment that under this post or send it to me in my inbox!

+ masterlist + rules

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Contrary to general belief, the elves did not return to their forests immediately after the battle.

In the stories told, there would be remarks, on how the Elvenking offered his help to the yet-to-be-crowned King Bard once more, bringing aid with however warriors he had left for disposal to search the endless chaos and ruins of Dale for survivors until many sunsets later.

They would speak about the sorrow of losing friends and family and neighbors to a war that had been won at costs no one could comprehend yet, and they would mention how the great Elvenking guided them through the darkest of nights for he had experienced this all before; the grief, the helplessness and the colossal question of What now, who's to say we haven't lost ourselves as well as those we have to bury?

Many had their own experience with the Elvenking, whether it was a hand pulling them off the ground, a loaf of bread delivered to them after days of fighting, or a warm blanket to huddle under to finally lay their body to rest under the watchful eye of Elves that had sworn to protect them.

You had your own story. A different one.

But it wasn't one with the Elvenking, no; the night before the battle, where the air was filled with the sound of blades being sharpened and children crying for their parents, you had met Thranduil, King of the Woodland Elves but most importantly: a set of strong arms that caught you as you stumbled out of Bard's tent.

You needed to run away from the discussions over how to draw the dwarfs out of the mountain.

You'd been a friend to Bard for many long years but standing in that luscious tent, being offered wine as the Wizard, Bard, and the Hobbit pondered over what was about to happen while you weren't sure your mind caught up on what had happened already, there was no room for friendship inside your panic-riddled chest.

Just as you flung open the tent flaps and tried to dash away to get some air, your foot caught on a root, and had it not been for Thranduil's fast reflexes, you surely would've planted your face into the dirt and mud.

Up until now, you had no idea what had transcended between the two of you at the moment where his arms held you up, his softening face looking down at your widened eyes filled with tears and your tongue too tied up and heavy to say anything other than: "Air– please"

Whatever it had been, likely an unspoken wish – by Thranduil or you, or maybe you both; it didn't matter – for someone who would not pass judgment over the urge to disappear from your skin and role and crown for one night, a fallen star flung across the darkened skies at the right time.

It felt as though Thranduil had pulled a sheet over your heads; your world narrowed down to this other soul and how beautiful and divine his body felt on yours as you found a way to survive the night before life as you knew it turned once more and the solid ground beneath your feet shifted and broke.

A few nights, while unforgettable and brooding with feelings neither of you admitted to, did not change that you had to move on somehow.

Although the Elves did not depart for Mirkwood immediately and Thranduil and you were given time in the aftermath to find the other in the cover of the night and under the pretense this was nothing more than mere distraction, a wishing star could only do so much shining before dimming out.

The day you awoke to a sunrise bathing the debris of Dale in a pinkish and warm light, pillars being rebuilt dipped into molten gold, and the cracks glued together, Thranduil's strong arms were wrapped around your middle as if he wanted to hinder you from sneaking away, you knew it was him who would leave you before the day was over.

And so he did.

Sunrise came and went and soon enough all the tents were packed up on horseback and wagons, leaving flattened grass as the only reminder they had been there at all if and there were goodbyes, political between Bard and the Elvenking who parted from the weary man and his children with the promise of support, and between you and Thranduil in the form of a slow nod.

Thranduil sat high on a dark stallion, dressed in silver and long robes that hid fingerprints that spoke of an attempt to cling to transience. His chin lowered, though his eyes were fixed on you.

You knew that nod carried the conversation you had whispered into the morning mist.

And it was all that wasn't said that motivated you to step away first and turn your back on the caravan that took away a King and a Lover.

There was much to do, the looming task of building up Dale needed everyone's full attention, and that included you.

Especially you.

There were houses to plan, accommodations to be made so that no one needed to sleep under the stars.

No one could ever pry the reason why you were keen on getting a roof under everyone out of your hands; a lonely part of you wanted the stars to remember you and Thranduil lying in the grass. And no one else.

The first letter arrived a few weeks after you hadn't had the heart to watch him go and threw yourself into one task after the other, dismissing even the smallest hint of sickness, like the heaviness inside your chest every time you lifted something heavy, or tiredness crashing down onto you in moments to catch your breath, to continue working, that you wouldn't find a moment to admit how much you missed him.

That utterly ridiculous mindset stopped as soon as the messenger Elf rode into the city and hand-delivered you the first of many envelopes with the nearly indecipherable handwriting of Thranduil.

Or the Elvenking.

Because the first letter, despite being addressed to you as well as Bard, who wouldn't have been able to read it in the first place, was a list of things the King would send and a question of what else was needed that he could provide.

"It's fine," you said to Bard through a smile that didn't reach your eyes as you read aloud the letter twice, from the greeting to the last paragraph that was signed 'the Elvenking Thranduil Oropherion, Lord of Mirkwood and friend of Dale'.

In the flickering light of the candle dripping wax onto the table between you, the dark circles under Bard's eyes were all the more prominent than when he was running around the city and there was a bottomless pit in your stomach that wouldn't want to add to the many things he was already worrying about.

"It's totally fine," you said to Bard when he asked if you had skipped over a private note from Thranduil or if there truly wasn't one (there wasn't, you had turned the letter over and over in your hands until the edges became soft and wrinkled) and you both knew that to be a lie.

You answered the letter in the same professional manner because even though you wanted to, you couldn't send a letter to a King helping however he could and expecting nothing in return with a smeared "I wish for your heart and our nights and for your voice to tell me we are alright" written under tears in another sleepless night.

The next few letters follow the same pattern, Elvenking Thranduil Oropherion would inquire if there was anything Dale needed and answer Bard's question on leadership and share his knowledge of what was fundamental for a new King, and you would write for Bard on the other side.

The weeks passed and so did the hope of rekindling that fire you had thought to burn in the both of you.

That Thranduil didn't see the need to reach out was a punch to the gut that left little room for anything else but disappointment of putting your effort into pulling on a rope that wasn't attached to something on the other end.

Why waste the dwindling energy of your exhausted body on someone who would live longer than the memory of you?

Every time a new letter arrived by messenger you would find Bard until one late evening you opened the letter by yourself and saw your name written in that beautiful sharp handwriting, not Bard's added in front or behind; only your given name and not your title.

Your hands shook as you stood in the frame of what was to be your house and the ink glued together the cracks of your heart.

'Forgive me for not writing to you sooner and for how sentimental I must sound. It has been weeks since I last saw you and every time I wander through my familiar halls, I find there is no soul around that could understand me how you did, whom I could tell what plagues my mind. The time we spent together has not left my thoughts. Neither has the promise to not grow apart too much and I apologize for not contributing to that. Now, if you would still have me, I would like nothing more than to hear how you are faring. As for me…'

Nothing had the power to stop you from running off that giddy feeling that spread through your chest as Thranduil, finally Thranduil, wrote about the happenings in Mirkwood; not even the cough that sat deep where suppressed laughter spilled into the grass you fell into– the letter clutched into your hands.

Thranduil and you fell into a routine then, one that was no obstruction for the many tasks at hand but made room for each other to hold on to the promise.

You would send out two letters, one on behalf of Bard whom you taught his signature as well as a few more words every fortnight you sat down together, and one addressed to Thranduil, filled with all the thoughts that ran through your mind that you wanted to tell him.

It was by no means as precious as the talks you had now many weeks ago, not when there were days you had to wait for a response instead of seconds.

You appreciated them all the same, every bit of himself that Thranduil wrote into his messages was countered with a confession of your own.

When he said he wished to know where his son had disappeared to or rather if he followed the direction Thranduil had given to him, you admitted to the nightmares that still plagued your mind, the dreams of fire and a monster that still rested in the lake.

You offered piece after piece, chipped bits of your heart into every letter that you sent away, and after a few weeks had passed, and Dale was taking shape with its houses raking their roofs to the sky and its people planting seeds and flowers, rooting themselves into what now was theirs, there was not much left of your heart that was completely yours and not Thranduil's and the letters of his proved that the same could be said about him.

What you did not mention, not with one drop of ink, was that the nightmares were no longer confined to the few hours of sleep you fell into.

There was a dragon, not just in the cold lake where your old home lay in ashes and was drowned in the ruthless darkness, but by the heavy weight on your chest, it felt like there was one inside you as well.

You were coughing as if there was smoke blocking your lungs, blackening out what little air you heaved for when a coughing fit took over your whole body.

It started small, a cough then, a sleepless night there; both accumulated to an uncountable amount and it got only worse as the season changed and the autumn winds lost their last warm touches and the trees bared their wooden arms.

You waved it off as a common cold, nothing that would hinder you from your tasks to becoming a liability the city didn't need in its time of growth.

Then, the coughing got worse, rougher, sometimes taking your voice for a moment until you found some water although that only helped for a small moment, like trying to extinct a burning building with just the water your bare hands could carry.

The worst part was the blood that stained the cloths, the sweats that not only held you awake at night but weakened you at day as well.

"I'm better!" you promised Bard on a night when he had to sit next to your bed, wringing out the cold cloths that lay on your fevered forehead.

His voice was a low whisper when he dabbed away the sweat, pushing your wet hair back with hands that were far too gentle for what you deserved for rotting in bed and not pulling your weight, "You're not, an' that's clear for everyone but you. Did you tell him?"

"Yes," you lied through your teeth, eyelids dropping close from exhaustion but you knew sleep wouldn't come, "he said it would pass, nothing to worry 'bout."

Three days later you were on your legs again, if not a bit shaky and needing more breaks than ever.

You sat in Bard's kitchen, a warm bowl of soup in front of you that tasted like ash and firewood, and ignored the silent pleading in his eyes to tell him what was going on and why you could barely lift the spoon of a soup that you clearly did not enjoy.

Winter wore your body down like rough sandpaper on soft oak, the cold winds and dark hours an enemy far worse than what you had to encounter on the battlefield. This had no logical explanation, nor was there an enemy you could see.

Your own body betrayed you and you had no idea what you had done to deserve it.

You knew that somewhere was a solution to it all, that was the string of hope leading you through the snow outside and the fire in your blood and bones, singing down what little fight was left on the days when the sun pushed away gray clouds and you felt normal and healthy.

The sole reason why you lied in letters filled with otherwise honesty as pure as heaven's snowflakes was that you did not want to be a bother.

Thranduil wrote how much of his time the dwarfs and their trading demands swallowed; he did not need another burden and you would be damned if he came because you had a small cold you couldn't get rid of.

You had promised Thranduil to visit him in spring when the soil was rich enough for the seed to take and the livestock could roam the meadows. If you weren't better by then you would ask him.

Until then work demanded all of you. Even if that was through a white knuckle grip on the last bits of health in aching bones.

⸺

Spring brought forth daffodils pushing through the cobblestone streets. Tilda, the youngest Bardling and a wonderful distraction on the days when getting out of bed was the hardest bounced excitedly beside you and pointed at the flowers.

"Like stubborn trumpets proclaiming winter is finally over!" she said as you followed her outside. "Spring is finally here!"

You disregarded the pain echoing through your body, the weight of guilt forcing you to spend the day with the girl.

She had been knocking on your door every morning, angelic eyes asking if you wanted to come and play with the lambs that she had taken too and this morning, you couldn't disappoint her.

"Aren't they just so pretty?" Tilda crouched down, gently cupping one of the blossoms in her small hands.

Lowering your gaze from the burning brightness of the sun you got a short glimpse at the yellow dots decorating your doorstep.

Then, suddenly, black spots appeared on the edge of your vision, taking you by surprise though they have been your companion for the better part of the last few days.

"Tilda–"

You tried to hold on to your doorframe, bruised hands frantically searching for a grip on the warm wood but they slipped and caught only the edge.

The last thought that crossed your mind was that you should bring Thranduil some of those flowers before you blinked and crumbled to the ground.

⸺

You woke up to the confusing taste of grass on your heavy tongue and the dizzying realization that you were not spread out on the street but tugged inside your bed.

Above you, moonlight fell through the opened window in the slanted roof above your head and you immediately closed your eyes again.

This had to be a dream.

Though your dreams had not been like this in a long time.

Peaceful. Comfortably warm. Silent except for the croaking of toads, the buzzing of insects outside, and the laughter and clattering of your neighbors probably enjoying the night more than you.

A groan passed your lips as you tried to sit up; a seemingly impossible task with the heaviness of your bones as well as the mountain of blankets that covered you.

"What do you think you are doing?" a voice you knew all too well sneered.

For a second you thought it to be a hallucination, a projection or your dazed mind still lulled in the fog of unconsciousness.

The bones in your neck cracked as your head snapped to the other side. There was no way you did not imagine the tall figure that should be across the woods in his palace; not in your bedroom.

"What are you doing here?"

"Merely strolling through the neighborhood," Thranduil's voice dripped with sarcasm, yet a subtle tension marked his stance beside the bed. "Now, enlighten me. Did you conveniently forget to mention this sickness in your letters?"

Ah, straight to the point.

"It's trivial," you waved it off, attempting to assert yourself by sitting up.

Naturally, consciousness promptly slipped away once more.

This time you were not that surprised by the sharp taste of grass on your lips when you came to your senses once more, pushed back into the pillows that had never felt this stuffed. You were still unable to move your leg more than from one side to the other under the blankets and Thranduil was still there, glaring at you through dark furrowed brows and hardened eyes.

You wanted to say something to break the heavy silence but all that passed your lips was a giggle that was more desperate and closer to insane than amusement.

One brow lifted. "Oh, how glad I am you are entertained by this," said Thranduil. He was as rigid in a frightening calm way but all of that was overshadowed by the cloud of confusion that muddled your thoughts.

"Noo," you drew out the word and continued giggling. This had to be insanity. "You jus' look very out of place here – wait. Turn around? I need to make sure you're really here."

He didn't fit into the cramped space of your house, his fine clothing stood out against the poor backdrop of crooked furniture, used towels hanging over stools, and the small layer of dust that covered the areas you hadn't been able to clean in a while; which was most of the bedroom and you didn't dare think about the state of the kitchen.

Where he deserved a throne out of gold you could only offer the chair next to your bed, the one that was crooked and leaned heavily to one side.

That being said, nothing took away the sheer amount of power he radiated.

It easily filled every nook and cranny or tight corner of your humble house, his voice as well as the image of Thranduil, King of the Elves, towering over your bed in long robes and bathed in the light of the night sky, glittering silver like the moon knew the importance of the Elf in front of you.

Thranduil remained stoically still. "I will definitely not do that," he said. "I am here. Where I should have been a while ago."

The accusation would have hit harder if you weren't drugged up on whatever medicine he had apparently fed you while you were out cold.

You shrugged your shoulders as well as you could with your arms bundled under the blankets. "I saw no reason, it was just a cold. Nothing I couldn't manage."

Well, you hadn't managed to handle it, that was the worst realization of the whole lie.

"Clearly," Thranduil said sarcastically and ground his teeth against each other. His arms were behind his stiff back and the way he tilted his head down to you made you feel like a child being admonished for bad behavior. "Do you know how much despair I felt when Bard's letter arrived this morning?" His voice was even but there was a resonance in it – a deep rumble akin to the ominous approach of distant thunderstorms over the sea. "Nearly indecipherable scrambles where he begged me to come; telling me that you have been asleep for two whole days?"

A crack in the form of a small tremor broke through the mask of the all-mighty Elvenking.

"This morning?" you asked, caught up by the first part and ignorant of everything that followed after, and you huffed while running the calculations through your head. "Thranduil, this can not be, the journey is not manageable in one day."

"Is this truly the point you consider most important?" He closed his eyes as a pained expression passed over his face. "You deem it impossible, yet I assure you, nothing could have hindered my arrival here; the boundaries of possibility, for once, were not a barrier but an aid. It reveals your scant regard for your circumstance if your worry fixates on my journey through the land. Not on the sickness that nearly stole you from this world. Two days –" Thranduil took a deep breath, "two whole days where those around you had no idea if you would ever awake again."

"But –"

"No, you can speak when I am finished," he commanded sharply. "You were reckless. Ignorant of your health as if your life was not precious." Thranduil spat the words out cold yet they burned. He was blind to the way you flinched and lowered your burning eyes to the blankets.

You shrunk deeper into the pillows, a hollow ache inside your chest that had felt empty from the pain ever since you awoke the first time.

"But –" you repeated helplessly. This time, he allowed you to continue and you did so in a whisper: "I didn't want to be an inconvenience."

"An inconvenience?" he sneered back at you, the flickering lights of a few burned-down candles casting shadows over the creases of anger edged into alabaster skin.

He took a step toward the bed and you saw a twitch in his lips that had you blanching.

The fury brooding inside him was not new, you had seen it on the battlefield before. In ice-cold cuts of his sword as he flawlessly executed the most brutal movements while his face resembled a mask of the most dangerous kind of rage – stillness.

Now, there remained little of that stillness.

"You were a greater inconvenience by nearly throwing away your precious mortal life, all because of your unfathomable stubbornness!"

"There was lots to do!" you snapped back. Shortly but surely, you were fed up with his anger and the insults he was throwing at you. "This town was suffering far more than me and don't you dare tell me I'm wrong," you had to bury your teeth into your lower lip to stop it from shaking. "Dale needed me!"

The pale skin was flushed red around his heaving chest and delicate ears. "And I do not?" Thranduil road and his voice boomed through your little bedroom loud enough for the cicadas outside to fall silent.

Immediately, your eyes watered. You felt trapped under his gaze, engulfed in pure heat hotter than any dragon fire.

You searched for a response inside you but found none.

All there was was chaos – the loud beating of your heart against your chest like iron being beaten and shaped though all that was formed was pain sharp like a sword edge; cutting through the layers of protection you had wrapped around your heart.

Thranduil slightly lifted his nose, staring down at you through thick eyebrows and a clenched jawline. "You were dying," he said and his nostrils quivered. "I can not fathom how you through that would not have been a greater inconvenience.

His expressions made up in sound for the lowered voice he'd used to speak about what you previously refused to acknowledge.

Never before had you seen him this out of control of his emotions, not even on the nights he had bedded you where he still had a hold on himself.

The way he stood before you, dressed in fine robes not fit for riding, the hem of them stained by dirt, his boots muddy, and his face full of anguish, it was as if he could have been kneeling at your feet.

You ignored the tears slipping silently down your cheeks. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"It was indeed, and far beyond that."

The tears made it impossible for you to continue looking at him and your head dropped down as a sob broke through you. "I didn't know," you panicked, "It didn't happen fast so… so I thought it'd pass but – and then it got worse and worse and I was so afraid to speak to anyone about it." The words tumbled into your lap, where, under the blankets, your hands were balled to fists now that the strength to do so had returned to your body, "I – I couldn't," the night air stung as your breaths turned into gasps, "They – Bard was exhausted and –"

Thranduil's face softened ever so slightly, pushing away the furious frown. "You are too pure for this world," he said quietly and – dealing a fatal blow to your ever-fragile heart – slowly went down on one knee next to the bed until you were eye to eye and his cold long fingers could gently caress your wet cheek.

He stopped, most of his fingers covered in the glistening tears he'd freed you from and his thumb rested on the plushness of your lower lip. "The world would have lost its sunshine had you perished," his robes rustled as he drew closer, silver hair falling onto the blankets like stars flying across the skies, "You must promise me to be more careful or darkness shall be my companion from that day on."

How could you do anything else but break into tears once more?

They flooded your face too fast for Thranduil to catch them with his hand and he did what seemed more reasonable yet utterly out of character: he rose to push away some of the blankets and sat down on the mattress.

While his face showed some revelation of his thoughts at the meek bed of hay that surprised him, he said nothing except for a lowered: "Hush now, shh." while his arms found your shaking body and pulled you into his side.

He cradled you until there were no more tears to cry, until your cheeks hurt and your lashes clung together awfully damp, and then some more, his hands on your back, cooling down the firing heat that spread through you and the other in your hair. With tenderness, he massaged his fingertips into the areas where your head throbbed uncomfortably.

You cried for all the nights where you had suffered, drawing closer to a death you hadn't seen coming.

You cried out of relief that this was finally over, that you could breathe and inhale only the rich scents of Thranduil instead of smoke.

You sobbed uncontrollably long into the night, not caring one bit that by the time the wailing grew quiet and exhaustion rendered you weak enough to fall into his chest even more, Thranduils robes needed to be padded dry.

"Thranduil?" you asked and burrowed your nose into a spot of fabric that wasn't salty. "Can you tell me what was happening to me?"

He didn't start directly. Thranduil waited, his heart stuttering for a second that made you marvel that the muscle was affected by you at all despite the many proofs he had laid to your feet.

Were it not for the pounding headache you fostered and tried to push away by shutting away all the lights and leaving your eyes closed, you would have looked at his face to check for those minuscule expressions he only showed to you.

"At first I could not figure it out," Thranduil admitted at last and his previously stilled hand continuing the circular movements against your scalp, gathering hair between his fingers, "and that frightened me more than anything else. There was not a scratch or a wound, nothing that explained why you were hardly–" he flinched and his other hand held your waist tighter, "hardly breathing. Bard was the one who explained how much you fought against this illness all winter, ever since autumn to be precise. He spoke of the meals you denied, the coughing and shaking, the blood-soaked cloths, and how.. how you rarely slept and if you did, he told me he heard your whimpers and sobs whenever he passed your door."

"He noticed it all?"

"He loves you," Thranduil said, "He loves you just as much as his offspring."

You shut your eyes even closer, turning your head more into his chest as another layer of protection against the feeling of pain that flinched over your face like a stone skipping on water, leaving ripples of agony at the memory of the many times Bard had pleaded you to talk to him. "I never wanted him to hurt at my expense."

"He is aware you thought it to be better this way," Thranduil lovingly stroked your hair – and it was love, soft and beautiful like the elf who abandoned his kingdom to race to save you – "To go against his word to you declares him a strong man and leader, Dale will flourish under his guide and your gentle hand will provide your people all they will ever need."

"So what was it?" you asked the question eating away at you, "This sickness?"

Thranduil's fingers twirled a lock of hair as he hummed lowly, "The beast in the lake is at fault," he said, "and its body infesting the in any case dirty water that you used to still your thirst."

You lifted your head at that, staring up at Thranduil whose gaze was already on you. "The dragon?" you repeated perplexed, "I got sick because of that damned dragon?"

Thranduil nodded, "I sent out the order to have its carcass removed this instant, so no one else has to suffer this fate."

You drew your eyebrows together, the hard crease between them immediately found by Thranduil for him to smooth the frown away with his thumb and a soft click of his tongue.

"So I was the only one?" The conclusion was confirmed by another nod that sent you down another spiral of confusing thoughts and loose threats of a riddle that made no sense to you.

"A mystery," Thranduil said as if he could read your thoughts, "There is no explanation as to why you solely were affected and quite intense at that. I was glad to have brought Asëa aranion with me – although you required more than a handful until your heart finally calmed."

In a moment of contemplating silence, you barely managed to stifle a yawn.

Now that your body seemed to be fine again, all your muscles yearned for the sleep that had evaded you for the longest time.

Thranduil's pleasantly warm body around you lulled you into a state of calmness, his body heat and the memories of his touch you replaced with the feeling of his strong chest in your back, and his hands threading hair through his fingers.

He was curled up in your bed, in your home, not some tent under the stars though you could see them if you looked up and through the window.

As you did so, your eyes didn't travel further than Thranduil and the watchful look on his face.

"You're as beautiful as the day you left," you remarked in a whisper like a slip of your tongue but you meant every word.

While your body ached and wore new scars his hands and mouth hadn't explored yet, he could've been away for a day or less.

You lifted a hand to stroke over his left cheek, over the faint scarred muscles that you knew by whispers hid what he deemed hideous.

Thranduil caught your hand before it reached his cheekbones and his lips pressed a light kiss against the calluses, the signs of hours of work.

"Rest, meleth nîn, you need it."

There was no denying that the elvish words had meant something important, that was clear by the way his tongue had wrapped around the words and breathed them out like a kiss but his lowered lashes and downturned lips hindered you from asking what he had said.

This was not the time to question what was probably just for him.

Later, when you were not falling into the depths of sleep cuddled against Thranduil's chest, when you would step outside your house with his looming presence in your back ready to help you with every foot you set on the grounds, there would be stories awaiting you.

Stories of the Elvenking storming into the city on horseback and all alone, the wind seemingly carrying him faster than possible and the fury and worry on his face lowered all citizens to the grounds as he yelled for their King.

They would speak about the way he nearly broke down Bard's door and how he carried your unconscious body in his arms to your house, demanding for the crowd to make themselves rare before he had them all seized and locked into his halls for obstructing his path; and even though he had no authority, Bard was close on his heels and no one dared to object.

You would hear about the day he sat by your side, caring for you and barking out orders for more water, not the one from the lake but from the springs, and how Bard and his children were the only ones allowed to visit – explaining the yellow flowers that took up every single glass your house had to offer.

Thranduil would tell you the meaning of the words he had said that first night he had spent in your bed, fully awake and watching your sleeping form in his lap until the birds woke you up in the morning; and he would say these words on all the nights that followed.

With him in Dale, or you in Mirkwood – never apart from then on.

[scribble-dee-vee]

Writeblr Intro circa 2024

Hi writeblr!! Sooo, I've been around here since about 2014. (Yes, I am ancient.) However, I've been dormant for the past 4-5 years. Blame college and a brief stint on Twitter. Now that I'm active again, I thought I should make an updated writeblr intro so ppl know my Deal. Basically, I want to engage with other folks who write fiction (esp original SF), and that's a little easier if I have a clear post that outlines what I do. Here to make connections and hear about your blorbos :)

About me

Hi, I'm Vee! They/them, 23, 💖 🤍 🧡

I do journalism/comms in western New York

My literary jam is feminist/adult SF and gothic lit (OG or modern) 🥀 ⚔️ 🌙

Enthusiastic about gay people, body horror, and sociopolitical allegories

I cook, run, play tabletop games, and occasionally draw. Other than that, I'm mostly writing (for work and for fun)

If you were on pre-2020 writeblr, you likely know me from my eight billion daily tag games. (I still like tag games and appreciate u for tagging me. I have also gained adult responsibilities and better mental health, so I respond very slowly now. <3)

Always happy to get asks or dms, tho as I've noted: I may reply slowly.

Sometimes open to beta read! I only read one longer project at a time, but it's always super fun :)

I tag very consistently – happy to tag triggers for followers/moots

Fun fact: I love mushroom hunting and worked as a mycology TA. #cottagecoreera 🍄 🧚‍♀️ 🌱

About my creative writing

I write,,,, feminist/adult SF with gothic leanings (surprise!)

Longform and short! Trying to do more short writing this year, and I'll likely share a bit on Tumblr. It's easier to clip a short story than a 150k novel, god bless.

The Aesthetic: moral g(r)ays, Victoriana, androids/cyborgs, Women™, monstrous femininity, incessant Hamlet/Frankenstein motifs, extremely boring socioeconomic worldbuilding, evil queens and/or dilfs, psychosexual witchcraft, probably a cat. Also, an ominous, plot-relevant letter laced with anthrax from your unhinged and brilliant ex-wife. Open if you dare.

Major projects

I'm going to be writing some short work this year, but these are the longer projects that I have going in the background. If I reblog blorbo-related text posts, they probably have something to do with these.

Let me know if you want to be added to any project-specific taglists 😎

Heart of Lead – Series

The big one

Perpetually evolving

Never ceasing

Pls send help I can't stop adding shit

5-book gothic fantasy epic that I'll definitely publish one day but probably no time soon! My bastard child, my wicked firstborn, my greatest love <3

Character-oriented political drama set in a pseudo-Victorian, dystopian oligarchy where everyone's heart is made out of metal. It's about coming of age and discovering queer identity in a world that is absolutely fucked. God is an extraterrestrial lesbian who gives ppl very traumatizing magic powers. There are cyborgs, shapeshifters, and morally gray women in STEM. It's tight as fuck idk what else what to tell u.

Book 1 is about achillean monarchists, and book 2 is about sapphic anarchists. There are only two genders, I guess.

At this point, I've drafted most of the books at least once. Working to refine a lot of raw material atm!

Tag: "heart of lead tag" or "hol tag"

Lost Letters – Book

Aka the current active HoL WIP, and book one in the revised series structure

Length: 80k as of now; around 120-140k when the first draft is finished, I presume.

Genre: adult fantasy, gothic, noir detective drama?? um?? If you want me to frame it in BookTok terms (why?) it's a dark academia villain x villain tragic romantasy. Hrgh.

Summary: Cyborg soldier goes to college, joins a shady socialite frat, and falls in love with the jilted heir-apparent to the throne. Hilarity ensues.

(By "hilarity," I mean a militant revolutionary faction and a tragedy of Greek proportions.)

POV characters: Charles (the cyborg), Dale (the heir), and Cecelia (Charles' sister, a junior detective, the love of my life and potentially the Chosen One???)

This book is twisty and dark and immensely fun to write.

I'm about halfway through the first full draft! Hoping to share snippets and vaguepost about my children here.

Tag: "lost letters tag" (also "hol tag," tho that one's less specific)

The Last of Mortal Tourists – Book

The next longform project on the docket!

Length: a standalone work that will hopefully fall on the shorter novel/novella spectrum.

Genre: literary SF, cyberqueer, psychological space quest

Summary: The consciousness of a dead coding genius, trapped inside a spaceship, seeks a new planet to sustain their sister, the last surviving human, after the destruction of Earth.

If you're here to get wildly philosophical about gender and the myth of essential self, this is the story for you! That's why I'm writing it, lol. 🏳️‍⚧️ 🚀 🤖

This one started out as a short story (100% finished) which I want to expand.

POV: Archer Alto, the coder. Spaceship? Human? Soul?

Supporting Cast: Pandora, the last human, and Abby, a holographic impression of Archer's childhood consciousness

Tag: "the last of mortal tourists tag" or "tlomt tag"

If you read all this way, you get a whole bouquet of flowers that are certainly NOT poisonous: 🌸 🌹 💐 🥀 🌺

<3