#bloody confusing gender stuff

[child0feden]

HONEY HAMILTON

lewis hamilton x wife! reader x ( platonic! ) oc daughter

♡ how winnie hamilton / honey came to be!

୨୧ just some really fluffy girl dad stuff with lewis <3

♡ related smau available here, related hc available here and here | view my formula 1 masterlist here

reading music recommendations: no moon at all by julie london - oceans by new navy

♡ you found out you were pregnant right around christmas time!

୨୧ to say you were excited to tell lewis would be an understatement…

♡ you were practically bouncing off the walls, thinking of cute ways to tell him! he noticed how smiley you were but didn’t comment on it, figuring you were just excited for christmas

୨୧ you decide to wait until christmas day to tell him, preparing a little box with a miniature version of lewis’ race suit inside reading “ mini hamilton ” on the back, wrapping it and placing it under the tree when you were happy

♡ eventually, christmas rolls around and you tell him to please leave that gift for the last! he’s a little confused but thinks it’s just something really good ( oh yeah, it is )

୨୧ when he finally gets around to it, unwraps it and opens the box… he thinks it’s a little outfit for roscoe at first but when he really pulls it out and looks at it, you can see the gears turning in his head, the exact moment it clicks and his brown eyes light up like the sparkling lights wrapped around your christmas tree

“ are you serious? oh my god… bloody hell, i thought it was for roscoe… c’mere love ” ( you spend at least five minutes just hugging on the floor while he tells you this is the greatest christmas gift he’d ever received )

♡ when you guys tell the other drivers, they’re all so happy for you! they quickly decide between themselves that there can only be one favourite uncle…

୨୧ this leads to way too many gifts, some things that the baby won’t even be able to use until they’re older!

♡ though it does make you and lewis laugh when you walk into the paddock and are immediately bombarded by drivers giving you wrapped gifts

୨୧ george decides he won after he bought a custom made mini replica of lewis’ race car ( you think he won too, i mean it’s just too cute and unique )

♡ lewis is just the absolute best when it comes to you being pregnant, he sort of really wishes you’d sit on the couch with your feet up and a drink in your hand while he paints your nails but if you feel sad just sitting around constantly, he’ll gladly go on walks with you and roscoe around the countryside

୨୧ once on one of these walks, your foot made a weird movement and almost twisted but he caught you as soon as it happened… he swears he felt his heart stop beating in his chest!

♡ when you find out you’re having a girl, lewis is over the moon! he’d be happy with any gender but he can’t wait to have a little girl and do her hair and spoil her rotten and play barbies with her…

୨୧ you both have a little cry in the car outside of the clinic, just so happy to know your baby is healthy and you’re getting a girl… the crying doesn’t last long though, soon enough you’re craving a milkshake with french fries and ask lewis to grab some takeout on the way home

♡ when you’re giving birth, lewis just feels terrible… he can’t handle seeing you in so much pain :(

୨୧ but he comforts you the best he can, drawing patterns on the back of your hand while you almost break his

♡ when you finally give birth, lewis starts crying right along with his baby’s first cry

୨୧ when he does skin to skin, you ogle him from the hospital bed which he quickly takes note of and sends a cheeky wink over to you

“ careful with your eyes love, we don’t need you getting pregnant again just yet… ” ( you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face )

♡ the absolute hardest thing lewis has ever had to go through was winnie’s teething process…

୨୧ he was a MESS! he didn’t know how to cope

♡ he absolutely hated seeing his sweet little baby winnie in so much pain, knowing there was nothing he could do to help her except keep giving her the ice teething toys :(

“ awh, winnie, i’m sorry, i know it hurts honey, i know… you’re being so strong though hm? my brave girl ” ( you’d make sure to give him lots of reassurance that he’s doing the best he can to help her through it )

୨୧ unsurprisingly, winnie’s favourite cartoon turns out to be winnie the pooh!

♡ she watches it religiously with lewis, constantly letting out airy giggles around her bottle while lewis admires her with nothing but love in his eyes

୨୧ he nicknamed her honey because… well… y’know, winnie the pooh loves honey and she’s as sweet as honey ( not to mention she got his beautiful eyes, brown but almost golden, like a pot of honey ) he thinks it’s pretty straight forward <3

♡ sebastian is a HUGE fan of the nickname, he thinks it’s just adorable and calls her honey bee whenever he comes to visit! he’s her favourite uncle for sure, you guys have trouble getting her out of his arms, she sticks to him… sticks to him like honey <3

୨୧ everytime lewis is abroad for a race, he goes into the city to buy her a new plushie!

♡ it became a ritual between them super early in winnie’s life, he felt horrible for having to leave her for races so he’d bring back a plushie that made him think of her to make up for it and she’d have a piece of him at home whenever he left again

୨୧ her room is absolutely full to the brim with plushies now… she has shelves lining her walls to showcase them! there are at least ten winnie the pooh plushies

♡ when she’s old enough to come abroad to races with him, you do take her! the plushie collecting doesn’t stop there though, he just takes her with him to the stores to pick her own plushie!

୨୧ her absolute favourite places to go are countries with big beaches

♡ she’s a major beach baby! when you took her to a beach for the first time, she was super freaked out by how the sand felt and lewis thought it was adorable… holding her hands and standing her on the warm sand while you cheered her on and recorded from the side

୨୧ but when she got over how different the sand felt and sat down on a towel, she couldn’t stop picking up sand in her tiny chubby hands and watching it fall through the cracks of her fingers

♡ she thinks roscoe on the beach is just the funniest thing ever too, constantly giggling while he attempts to dig a whole in the sand, her happiness only adding to yours and lewis’

୨୧ whenever she brings him little seashells she’s collected, he keeps them! usually he’ll get them made into super nice necklaces or bracelets or just collect a big handful of them and you guys will make it into a cute little art piece to put on the wall <3

♡ he kind of keeps ANYTHING she gives him…

୨୧ if his winnie gave it to him, there’s no way he’s putting it in the bin! piece of string? thank you honey! rock from the driveway? how thoughtful!

♡ all of the random things he’s collected over her toddler years are stored in a big jar that sits on his desk

୨୧ because of how much winnie loves the beach, you and lewis made the decision to move into a house in a beach town!

♡ with the beach basically being in your backyard, you can never get winnie off the beach now… same goes for lewis

୨୧ you’ll walk out of the back door and spot them sitting on a towel together

♡ usually making a sand castle or lewis covering her lower body in sand, moulding it to make her look like a mermaid and taking pictures <3 lewis usually spots you and calls you over

୨୧ christmas time is extremely special to you and lewis since you found out about your little winnie’s existence near christmas and he found out on christmas day!

♡ so you guys go all out for her first christmas! he gets the biggest, most beautiful tree and you decide to make it winnie themed! the ornaments consisting of custom made porcelain winnie the pooh characters and tiny photo frames showcasing pictures from all different times in your relationship… roscoe lays sleeping on the couch in a little reindeer costume

୨୧ lewis holds her on his hip, leaning her up gently and letting her place almost all of them on whilst you take pictures before joining them

♡ when christmas day rolls around, you spend almost the whole day in your pyjamas, relaxing in front of the fireplace! only getting dressed when you go to visit lewis’ parents house for christmas dinner <3 winnie gets dressed up in the cutest little velvet red and black dress with bow in her hair, matching you, whilst lewis wears a sleek but comfy outfit going by the same colour scheme! safe to say his parents were big fans of winnie’s outfit, cooing at her the entire time you were there

୨୧ when the day rolls into night, you guys are home and winnie is put to bed, you and lewis stay on the couch for a bit… just cuddled up with roscoe by your feet, eventually you feel his eyes on you and ask him if he’s okay

“ am i okay? i’m amazing love… just can’t believe i’m here, with winnie and you… i love it, i love you and her so much, you know that? ” ( the soft kisses he placed on your lips after were so full of love, so full of admiration… he was just so content )

♡ you and lewis decided this was the best christmas you’d ever had, just barely beating last christmas because winnie is actually in your arms now

୨୧ lewis and winnie are ALWAYS making you breakfast in bed!

♡ well, lewis is always making you breakfast in bed… winnie is usually just sitting in her high chair at the breakfast counter, letting out high pitched giggles at the mere sight of roscoe trudging around below her feet, lewis leaning over and feeding her tiny pieces of fruit every couple of minutes

“ good strawberry, winnie? yeah? thank you honey, my little food critic ”

୨୧ lewis eventually gets a little tattoo of a honey pot on his upper chest, just above his heart… he says he wanted something that symbolised his love for his honey <3 something that would always make his honey close to his heart…

♡ and close to his heart she is…

lewishamilton and ynln: winnie’s first christmas, filled with nothing but love and presents for our honey 🍯 🎄 🎁

georgerussell ✔️: did she like my present?! i put a lot of thought into it

> lewishamilton ✔️: yeah, she loved it mate! thanks again, yn says thanks as well

> georgerussell ✔️: only the best for my niece 💪

lewynforever: oh my god… she’s getting so big already

> f1lover: right? i remember when they posted that they were expecting a baby 🥹

> lewynforever: time flies…

sebastianvettel ✔️: sending lots of love to you guys and your little honey bee! have a good christmas lewis and yn - sebastian ❤️

> ynln: thank you sebastian! sending many kisses from honey, merry christmas ❤️

[earthlybeam]

Hii, if your requests are open may I please request something a bit bittersweet but with a good ending? Sort of?? With Legolas , Thranduil and Haldir (and/or anyone else you'd prefer more!)Something like them and the reader being separated in war/battle and them thinking the other is gone but then they reunite after a long time and it's tears and happiness and all that soft stuff. Bonus points if the reader is also mortal/human

A bittersweet tale with a heartwarming ending—featuring Legolas, Thranduil, Haldir and bonus character Elrond love him too much. 🫶❤️‍🩹

So Imagine the reader you a mortal (gender is up to you as non state) , and the elves being separated during a fierce battle or war. Both sides believe the other is lost, the grief of separation weighing heavy on them. Yet, after an agonizingly long time, fate intervenes. Against all odds, they reunite in a moment filled with overwhelming relief, tears, and joy. It’s a tender celebration of love enduring through loss, hardship, and the passage of time. 🫶🥹❤️‍🩹

If anyone else has any requests feel free to ask 🫶

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

𐂂 The Battle of the Five Armies had come and gone, leaving behind scars that no time could ever truly heal. For Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, the toll of loss weighed heavily on his heart. Amidst the chaos—the relentless clash of swords, the anguished cries of the fallen, and the suffocating haze of smoke—he had searched for you. His human love. His heart. His beloved starlight. He had fought against the tide of battle, his mind only on you, but in the confusion and chaos, you had been swept away, lost to the carnage.

In the days that followed, Thranduil himself took to the battlefield, disregarding the pleas of his soldiers to return to safety. His silver armor, once gleaming, was now dulled with blood and ash, his movements precise yet desperate as he turned over fallen bodies, scanned the shattered terrain, and searched through shadowed crevices. When the wind carried no trace of your scent, his heart constricted. When he found only a scrap of your bloodied cloak caught on the jagged rocks of a cliffside, he knew despair.

𐂂 Thranduil did not cry out. Kings did not weep in the presence of their people. He held the torn fabric tightly, the blood staining his palm as he returned to his soldiers with an expression that betrayed nothing. His orders were delivered with icy precision: count the dead, tend to the wounded, prepare for the long journey home. The Woodland Realm must endure, for he was their king, and they needed him to remain steadfast.

𐂂 But that night, in the solitude of his chambers, Thranduil crumbled. He sat on the edge of his ornate bed, your bloodied cloak still clutched in his hand. The walls of his chamber, once grand and filled with life, now seemed to press in around him, cold and suffocating. The emptiness in his chest felt like a wound that would never heal, and his grief clawed at him like a living thing. The silence mocked him, for he knew the sound of your laughter would never fill these halls again.

𐂂 Thranduil had lived for centuries, enduring losses that few could understand. He had stood on the battlefield when his father, Oropher, fell during the War of the Last Alliance, his grief then a sharp and sudden wound. He had watched his beloved wife fade away, claimed by the creeping darkness that plagued the woods. That grief had been a slow, relentless ache. But this? This was different. Your absence was not a wound or an ache—it was an emptiness, a hollow void that had been carved into his very being.

𐂂 He missed you in ways that made his chest tighten and his breath catch. He missed the sound of your voice, so soft and full of warmth, the way it caressed his name when you spoke it. He missed the human lilt in your Sindarin words, a melody that was uniquely yours. He missed the way your laughter would echo through the halls, bright and carefree, a sharp contrast to the somber atmosphere of the palace.

𐂂 He longed for the nights you spent together, tangled in one another’s arms beneath the moonlight. He could still feel the press of your lips against his, kisses so full of passion and fire that they left him breathless. A kiss from you had the power to undo him, to strip away his crown and his burdens until he was not a king but simply a man who adored you. He missed the small, human things you brought into his immortal life. The way you would coax him out of his solemnity with your mischievous smiles and playful demands. One rainy evening, you had dragged him into the gardens, insisting that he join you to dance in the storm. At first, he had resisted, scolding you for risking your health, but when your fingers entwined with his and your laughter rose above the thunder, he had relented. Together, you had spun and swayed beneath the deluge, your hair plastered to your face and your clothes clinging to your skin. In that moment, he had felt something he had not felt in centuries—freedom.

𐂂 Thranduil’s grief was sharpest in the quiet moments, when the absence of your presence was most keenly felt. He missed waking up before the sun just to hold you a little longer, your body warm and soft against his. He missed how your fingers would trace the elegant lines of his face, your touch reverent, as if you were committing him to memory. He missed the ritual of dressing together each morning, your hands brushing as he fastened the clasps of your gown/robe or adjusted the delicate circlet you wore.

𐂂 Evenings in the library were the hardest to endure. The two of you would sit close, a fire crackling softly in the hearth as you read to one another. Your voice, clear and melodic, would weave through the ancient stories, and he would pause every now and then to press a kiss to your temple or trace a finger along your jawline. You had a way of making even the longest nights feel too short. Without you, those evenings felt endless and empty.

𐂂 There were nights when you’d set the books aside, pouring glasses of deep red wine and lingering over its warmth. He’d sit on the floor between your knees, his broad back leaning into your lap, while your fingers deftly braided his hair, weaving intricate patterns as you talked. You’d trade stories, share secrets, laugh until your sides hurt, and unravel the mysteries of one another until the fire burned low.

𐂂 Eventually, you’d settle together on the chaise, his arms wrapped around you, his head tucked into the curve of your neck. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat would lull you into a sense of peace, and you’d wonder how hours could slip by so quickly when they were spent in his arms. Without you, those evenings felt endless and empty—a hollow echo of what they once were.

𐂂 He missed your presence at his side during council meetings, your steady gaze meeting his when the weight of his crown became too heavy. Though you were mortal, you had a wisdom that he cherished, and he often leaned over to murmur in your ear, seeking your insight on matters of politics or war.

𐂂 He missed the sound of your voice. How it could rise in fierce defiance, matching his intensity when you challenged him, or soften into a gentle melody when you spoke of your dreams. You had a way of looking at him that unnerved him at first, piercing through the layers of his arrogance and pride, as if you saw the man beneath the crown. And he had let you see him—a rare gift, one he now regretted giving so freely, for it left him feeling more exposed in your absence.

𐂂 Thranduil carried himself as a king should, his grief hidden behind an unyielding mask. But when he was alone, the cracks in his composure showed. He wandered the halls of his palace late at night, his silver cloak trailing behind him like a shroud. He imagined he could hear your footsteps, the soft echo of your voice calling his name.

𐂂 The gardens, once a place of solace, now only deepened his sorrow. He would kneel by the flowers you had tended, his fingers brushing over their leaves as though he could touch a piece of you. He remembered how you had once knelt beside him, your hands dirtied from planting new blossoms, and how you had laughed when he teased you about your lack of grace.

𐂂 He would sit beneath the ancient trees, staring up at the stars, and wonder if you could see them too, wherever you were. His fingers would stray to the ring he had meant to give you, the one he had carried in his pocket for months, waiting for the perfect moment. That moment would never come.

𐂂 Thranduil’s grief was a testament to the depth of his love. He had lived for centuries, but you had taught him what it truly meant to live. Your absence was a void that no amount of time could fill, and though he remained every inch a thin the walls of his heart, he was simply a man mourning the you who had been his world.

𐂂 Three years had passed in the lonely corridors of his palace, years marked by an unrelenting stillness that clung to the Woodland Realm like a shroud. The celebrations of the victory at the Battle of the Five Armies had long faded into memory, their songs and triumphs reduced to whispers of the past. For Thranduil, there was no solace in victory, no joy in the enduring peace. His thoughts, no matter how he tried to quell them, always wandered back to you.

𐂂 He thought of your laughter, so bright it seemed to illuminate the shadowed halls of his realm. He thought of your touch—soft, grounding, and warm, a balm to his weary spirit. He thought of the way your eyes shone, even in the darkest moments, like stars breaking through a storm-laden sky. But these thoughts were no comfort. They were daggers, sharp and cruel, reminding him of the emptiness that had taken your place.

𐂂 The elves whispered of their king, pitying him. Thranduil, who had endured centuries of loss and seen his kingdom thrive despite it, now seemed diminished. His grief was a weight that bent him in ways his people had never seen. Once proud and untouchable, he had become a man lost in memories, a king trapped in mourning.

The return:

𐂂 Three (or more up to you) years had passed since fate last smiled upon Thranduil. Three years of silence, of searching, of despair. The Woodland Realm had recovered from its battles, but its king had not. His people spoke in hushed tones of his sorrow, how he spent long hours gazing toward the edges of his forest, as though willing you to emerge from the shadows. Yet the forest, which once seemed endless and alive, had remained achingly empty.

𐂂 Then, on an autumn evening when the air was thick with the scent of fallen leaves and the golden hues of the forest began to fade into dusk, hope returned. A scout came to the palace, his face grave but his icy blue eyes bright with news. A figure—a lone, weary traveler—had been seen wandering the edges of the forest. The description matched you.

𐂂 Thranduil needed no further confirmation. Without so much as a word, he swept from the council chambers, the echo of his departure leaving the room stunned in silence. Mounting his great elk, he rode out into the deepening twilight, his silver armor catching the last remnants of the sun. The colors of autumn blurred around him as the wind tore at his hair, but he paid no mind to anything except the direction the scout had pointed.

𐂂 He pushed his elk harder than he ever had before, the urgency in his heart an unfamiliar but undeniable ache. As the shadows lengthened and the forest grew darker, Thranduil urged his mount deeper into the woods. The only sounds were the rhythmic beat of hooves against the forest floor and the faint rustle of leaves. It was then, when all seemed still and silent, that he heard it. A voice. Faint, carried by the wind like a song drifting through the trees. It was fragile, almost unreal, but it was unmistakably yours. “Thranduil.”

𐂂 His hands tightened on the reins, his heart stuttering in his chest. Could it be? The voice that had haunted his dreams, the name spoken in a way only you could, both familiar and utterly sacred? Fear warred with hope. What if it was a trick? An echo of his grief? Yet deep in his heart, he knew it could only be you. Urging his elk onward, Thranduil rode toward the sound, his sharp eyes scanning the darkening forest. The trees seemed to bend and shift as though guiding him forward, and at last, the forest opened into a small clearing bathed in the soft glow of twilight.

𐂂 And there you stood. The Sight of You. The world seemed to stop. Time itself held its breath as Thranduil dismounted, his cloak swirling around him in a cascade of silver and forest green. He moved forward slowly, his steps hesitant, as though afraid that the vision of you might dissolve into mist. But you were real. Time had touched you, softening the youthful glow of your face, marking you with lines that spoke of trials endured and years spent apart. Yet you were unmistakably, gloriously you.

𐂂 You turned at the sound of his approach, your eyes widening with shock and disbelief. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then, as though the earth itself shifted beneath your feet, you ran to him. Thranduil caught you in his arms, lifting you from the ground as though to anchor you to him, to banish the years of emptiness that had carved their mark into his soul. His grip was unrelenting, his hands clutching at you, trembling as they mapped the reality of your form.

𐂂 “Thranduil, my love,” you whispered, your voice breaking as your hands framed his face, tracing the sharp angles of his cheeks, the curve of his jaw. Your touch was desperate, needing to confirm that he was real, that this was not another cruel dream.

𐂂 “You… you are here,” he murmured, his voice cracking with disbelief. His icy-blue eyes brimmed with emotion as his hands rose to cradle your face, his long fingers trembling against your skin. “Alive.” He traced the curve of your cheek, the line of your jaw, as though committing every inch of you to memory. A shuddering breath escaped him, and his composure—the centuries of restraint he had so carefully mastered—crumbled in the wake of your presence.

𐂂 Then, unable to hold back any longer, he kissed you. It was a kiss that spoke of years lost and love enduring. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that bordered on desperation, as though he could pour every ounce of his grief, his longing, his unyielding devotion into that single moment. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. For the first time in centuries, Thranduil wept.

𐂂 Tears slid silently down his pale cheeks, unchecked and unashamed, as he rested his forehead against yours. His breath came in uneven bursts, and his voice was thick with emotion as he whispered, “I thought I had lost you. I searched every shadow, every corner of this forest. I found nothing. I thought…” His voice faltered. “I thought you were gone.”

𐂂 Your hands tightened on his cloak, clutching at the rich fabric as though to anchor him to you. “I told you, my king,” you said, your voice trembling but steady with conviction. “It would take more than a war to keep me from you.” Your words broke the last of his resolve. He let out a sound—half a laugh, half a sob—and pulled you closer. “You never stopped hoping,” he murmured, his tone one of wonder. “I never stopped,” you confirmed, tears shimmering in your eyes.

𐂂 For a long moment, there were no more words, only the silence of the forest and the quiet communion of two souls reunited. The weight of the years, the pain of your separation, melted away, leaving only the undeniable truth of your love.

𐂂 When Thranduil finally led you back to the Woodland Realm, his people watched in awe. Their king, who for centuries had been distant and untouchable, now radiated a warmth they had never seen before. It was as though you had brought life back to him, restoring a light that had been long extinguished. Though the years apart had changed you both, your love endured—fragile in its mortality, yet unyielding in its depth. And for Thranduil, who had carried the weight of loss for so long, you were his salvation.

Aftermath:

𐂂 Thranduil had always known what it meant to love a mortal. He had known it from the moment his heart first stirred for you, from the way your smile softened the edges of his carefully guarded world. He had known it when you walked beside him through the gardens of the Woodland Realm, your steps so light yet leaving an indelible mark upon his soul. And he had known it when he held you for the first time after your return, the warmth of your presence a bittersweet reminder of how fleeting your time together would be.

𐂂 He no longer let the weight of his duties keep him from your side if you needed him he try get their as fast as he can. Every stolen moment was precious, every shared glance and quiet word a treasure. He found himself lingering in the small, human routines of life that he had once dismissed. He would rise before dawn to watch you sleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest a melody that soothed his ancient heart. He would sit beside you in the evenings, reading to you in the lilting tones of Sindarin, the stories of old taking on a new significance with you nestled against him.

𐂂 Yet, beneath the surface of his newfound joy, a shadow lingered. He could not ignore the truth of your mortality. It was a quiet ache that never left him, a silent countdown that ticked away in the back of his mind. He knew there would come a day when your hand would no longer be there to hold, when your laughter would no longer fill the halls of his palace. And though he was no stranger to loss, the thought of losing you—his love, his heart—was a wound he could not bear to dwell upon.

𐂂 On days when your mortal strength faltered—when the weariness of your journey or the limitations of your human frame caught up to you—he would lift you into his arms without hesitation. His steps remained graceful and unhurried, as though carrying you was the most natural thing in the world. You protested at first, laughing softly at the indignity of being treated like a child, but his calm, unwavering expression silenced you. “You are mine to protect,” he would say simply, his voice gentle but firm. “Let me carry you.” And so you would rest against him, your head on his shoulder, as he bore you through the forest. The warmth of his embrace and the steady rhythm of his steps became a comfort you cherished deeply.

𐂂 The evenings were your favorite time. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars emerged one by one, you and Thranduil would retreat to the quiet solace of his private gardens. The air was rich with the scent of blooming flowers and the hum of life, a testament to the harmony he had nurtured in his realm.

𐂂 You would sit together beneath the spreading branches of an ancient oak, the soft glow of lanterns illuminating the space around you. Thranduil often brought a delicate glass of Dorwinion wine for himself and a fragrant tea for you, brewed with herbs from the forest.

𐂂 “I have lived so long,” he said one night, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “Too long, perhaps. And yet, in all that time, I have never felt as I do now.” He turned to you then, his blue eyes bright with a vulnerability few had ever seen. “You have given me something I thought lost to me forever: hope.” You reached for him, your fingers brushing his cheek in a gesture of comfort and devotion. “I’ll stay with you as long as I can,” you promised, your voice soft but resolute.

𐂂 His hand covered yours, his thumb caressing the back of your fingers. “I know your time here is fleeting,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I will not waste the gift of your presence. Every moment with you is a treasure, meleth nín, and I will cherish it until the end of my days.”

𐂂 Though the inevitability of your mortality weighed heavily on him, Thranduil chose to focus on the present. He insisted on celebrating the small joys of life: the laughter you shared over a quiet meal, the way your eyes lit up when he presented you with a token of his affection—a delicate circlet of silver leaves or a rare flower from the depths of the forest.

𐂂 He became fiercely protective of you, ensuring that no harm would ever come near. His guards were instructed to keep watch over you whenever he could not, though he was rarely far from your side. Even Legolas, upon returning to Mirkwood, marveled at the bond between you.

𐂂 “You have done what I thought impossible,” Legolas said to you one day, his tone both teasing and sincere. “You have softened my father’s heart.”“I didn’t do anything,” you replied with a smile. “He was always this way. He just needed a reason to show it.” In the years that followed, Thranduil made good on his vow. He loved you with an intensity that belied his normally reserved nature, his devotion to you a constant in a world ever shifting. And though he knew your time together was but a blink in the span of his immortal life, he found peace in the knowledge that you had returned to him.

Bonus part :

𐂂 Thranduil had planned to propose before the Battle of the Five Armies had changed everything. He had commissioned a ring crafted from mithril and set with a stone as clear as starlight, a design as enduring and timeless as the love he felt for you. It had been hidden away, waiting for the perfect moment. He remembered vividly the day he intended to ask. The two of you had walked through the forest, the world quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of life around you. You had smiled at him, teasing him about his pensive mood, unaware of the question he carried in his heart. But then the drums of war had sounded, and everything had unraveled.

𐂂 After your loss in the chaos of the battle, he had buried the ring deep within the treasure vaults of his palace, unable to look at it without feeling the sharp sting of grief. But now, with you back at his side, the thought of that ring returned to him, a quiet but insistent reminder of what he had almost lost. One evening, as the stars glimmered above and the forest glowed with the soft light of fireflies, Thranduil led you to the same clearing where he had found you again. The air was cool, carrying the scent of autumn and woodsmoke, and the world seemed to hold its breath as he turned to face you.

𐂂 “I meant to do this long ago,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with emotion. From the folds of his cloak, he drew out the ring, the mithril catching the faint starlight. “Before the battle… before everything, I wished to ask you something.” You looked up at him, your eyes wide with wonder and tears glistening at their corners. He took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he knelt before you, his regal composure melting into something infinitely tender.

𐂂 “I know that our time together is fleeting,” he began, his voice low and reverent. “But that is what makes it precious. You have given me a joy I thought I would never feel again, a love that has restored the parts of me I thought lost to the shadows of the past. Will you, for as many days as we are given, be my star, my light, my heart?” When you nodded, tears spilling over as you whispered your answer, he slipped the ring onto your finger and rose, pulling you into an embrace that spoke of a love too vast for words.

From that night onward, Thranduil treated every moment with you as a gift. He ensured that your days together were filled with joy, laughter, and the quiet, unshakable intimacy that defined your bond. The two of you traveled to the farthest reaches of the Woodland Realm, exploring hidden glades and ancient groves. He showed you the secrets of his kingdom, sharing stories that only the trees had witnessed.

𐂂 Yet he also prepared himself for the inevitable. Thranduil, who had faced countless wars and losses, steeled his heart for the day when you would no longer walk beside him. But he made you a promise: when that day came, he would not let his grief consume him. Instead, he would carry your memory like a flame, a guiding light in the endless expanse of his immortal life.

𐂂 And when the time came—years later, in the gentle embrace of a quiet spring—Thranduil held you close as your mortal body surrendered to time. He did not fight the tears that fell, nor the ache that gripped his soul. Instead, he whispered words of love and gratitude, promising that he would find you again, in whatever form the world allowed.

𐂂 For Thranduil, your love was a paradox fragile in its mortality, yet unyielding in its depth. It was a love that defied the constraints of time, enduring not in the years you shared but in the eternal mark it left on his heart. And though he lived on, an immortal king bound to the world, he carried you with him always—a love that transcended even the bounds of eternity.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

𖧧 The battle had been chaos—a maelstrom of blood, steel, and fire. You had been separated in the thick of it, pulled away from Legolas by the tides of war. He had seen you fall, your mortal body collapsing beneath the weight of the enemy’s blows. He had screamed your name, but the battle’s cacophony swallowed his voice. Despite his best efforts to reach you, the press of the enemy and the demands of leadership had dragged him away, forcing him to retreat with his people.

𖧧 Days after the battle, Legolas returned to the site, his heart heavy with dread and hope. The battlefield, once a scene of turmoil, was now eerily silent, save for the whispers of the wind. He searched desperately among the broken bodies and shattered weapons, his eyes scanning every corner, praying to find you—alive or at least at peace.

𖧧 But all that remained was the tattered remnants of your cloak, caught on a jagged stone. His fingers brushed the fabric, trembling with a mixture of grief and disbelief. No sign of your body. He fell to his knees, the weight of the loss sinking deeper than the cold earth beneath him. The battle had taken so much, and now, even your remains seemed to have vanished into the void.

𖧧 Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and yet the memory of your last moments haunted him. He could not forgive himself for failing to save you. Every arrow he loosed, every step he took in the forests of Mirkwood, felt hollow. For an elf who could live forever, the weight of eternity without you loomed unbearably large.

𖧧 The Fellowship, though sympathetic, could only do so much. Aragorn offered quiet support, Gimli shared in the mourning in his own gruff way, and even the hobbits, who knew loss all too well, tried to cheer him with stories. But nothing could ease the ache in Legolas’s heart.

𖧧 Five years passed, and the world around Legolas moved forward, but he remained stuck in the past, as though caught in a never-ending cycle of mourning. The war was over, the Ring destroyed, and Middle-earth had begun to rebuild. Yet, every step Legolas took in the woods of Mirkwood felt hollow. His heart, once full of the song of the trees, had become a silent, aching void. He no longer found joy in the endless beauty of the forests. The trees, once his closest friends, now whispered their sorrow to him as much as they did their solace.

𖧧 He had watched, for centuries, as the seasons changed, but he had never truly understood how fleeting they were until now. The impermanence of life had never struck him so deeply. He had lived through countless ages, witnessed kingdoms rise and fall, seen friends come and go, but none of it had ever hurt like this. The thought of you—the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the way you held his hand in yours—was a constant presence in his mind. He longed for you in the quiet moments, in the stillness of the forest, when the noise of the world faded away.

𖧧 The ache was a part of him now, a permanent scar that could not be healed. Legolas missed you more than he ever thought possible. He missed the way you would hum soft songs to him when you thought he wasn’t listening, the way you would laugh at his awkward attempts to fit in with the others, and the way your eyes would light up when you spoke of something that brought you joy. He missed the way you would lay beside him on quiet nights, your head resting on his chest, listening to the heartbeat that was steady and sure while your own was more fleeting, yet so full of life.

𖧧 He missed the softness of your touch, the warmth of your hand in his, the way you would hold him close when the world outside seemed too dark. He missed the feeling of you nestled beside him in the evenings, when the world grew still, and the air was thick with the scent of the forest, the fragrance of pine and earth that he had always loved. You were so different from him, so mortal, and yet so full of life. You had a way of seeing the world with fresh eyes, finding wonder in the simplest things. It was that wonder, that joy you radiated, that had drawn him to you.

𖧧 But now, the world felt empty. The laughter that had once filled the air now echoed hollowly in his memory. The wind, which used to carry the melodies of the forest, now whispered your name in his ear, a constant reminder of what he had lost. Legolas would often wander deep into the heart of Mirkwood, lost in thought, searching for some kind of peace, but he could never find it. He would find solace in the quiet rhythm of the world, in the stillness of the ancient trees, but it was never enough. The trees had always been his companions, but now they felt distant, like they too mourned your absence.

𖧧 His nights were the hardest. Legolas had always been a creature of the day, a warrior and protector, but it was in the quiet of the night that his grief truly took hold. He could not sleep for the thoughts that churned in his mind. He would find himself sitting at the edge of the forest, staring out at the stars, the ones you had once pointed out to him, tracing constellations with your fingers as you shared stories of ancient times. Those memories would bring him some comfort, but they also deepened the ache in his chest. It was as if the stars themselves were now distant, removed from the world that had once been shared by both of you.

𖧧 In the years since the war, Legolas had done everything he could to honor your memory. He had planted trees in your name, hoping they would grow strong and tall, just as you had. He had given himself to the land, using his hands to heal the scars left by battle, to restore what had been lost. But even this work, which once brought him peace, no longer satisfied him. The trees, the rivers, the creatures of the forest—they all reminded him of what he had lost, of the life he could never have with you again.

𖧧 He longed to hear your voice again, to feel the warmth of your hand in his. He wished for nothing more than to see your face once more, to run his fingers through your hair, to kiss you as he had done so many times before. But you were gone, and all that was left was the echo of your presence, lingering in the spaces between his breaths.

𖧧 The grief had become a part of him, woven into the fabric of his existence. And though the passage of time had dulled its sharpness, it had never truly faded. The elves, ever perceptive, could see the change in him. They knew something was missing, though they never spoke of it directly. Even Thranduil, who rarely showed emotion, could not deny the shift in his son. But no one could truly understand the depth of Legolas’s loss. None but him could feel the weight of eternity without you.

𖧧 And yet, amid all the pain, there was a quiet hope, a longing that refused to die. It lived in the quiet moments when Legolas would catch himself smiling at a memory of you, or when he would find a token—perhaps a flower or a small stone—that reminded him of you. It lived in the whispers of the trees, in the soft rustling of leaves that felt like a whisper from your soul. It was the hope that, somehow, one day, fate might be kind enough to return you to him. But until that day came, he would continue his lonely path, living in a world where time moved on, but his heart remained still.

Your return:

𖧧 It was in the quiet solitude of the grove, the sunlight filtering through the new leaves of the saplings that had sprung to life in the wake of war, that Legolas first heard it—a voice that seemed to tear through the thick fog of his sorrow. It was so familiar, so dear, that it sent a chill down his spine.

𖧧 “Legolas?” For a moment, everything around him ceased to exist. His heart stopped in his chest, and the world seemed to tilt. The voice was unmistakable. It was yours. He whirled around, his elven senses alert, searching the trees, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings with frantic intensity. And there you were. Standing among the trees, as if time had folded itself, and all the years between that fateful battle and now were nothing but a fleeting dream.

𖧧 You were alive. You were real. His breath caught in his throat. Your form, though unmistakably yours, bore marks of hardship—scars that told stories of the pain you had endured, the battles you had fought, and the life you had fought to cling to. But it was you. The same warmth in your eyes, the same gentle smile that had once lit up his world.

𖧧 For what felt like an eternity, neither of you moved. You stood, frozen in place taking in the sight of one another. Legolas’s heart hammered in his chest, each beat louder than the last, as if it, too, was trying to catch up with the reality unfolding before him.

𖧧 Then, without thinking, without hesitation, he moved. In a single, fluid motion, his legs carried him to you, his arms reaching out and enveloping you in a fierce embrace. His strength was overwhelming, as though he feared that if he loosened his hold, you might slip away again, like some fragile dream. His breath came in ragged gasps, his face buried in your hair, as if he could breathe you back into existence, pulling you close, unwilling to let go.

𖧧 “I thought you were gone,” he whispered, his voice strained and thick with emotion, the words almost strangled by grief and relief. His chest tightened painfully as he spoke, the weight of the years he had spent mourning you pressing on him, only to now find you before him, alive and real. “I saw you fall. I mourned you.” The sound of your voice, trembling but steady, broke through the tension. “I thought I was gone too,” you whispered against his chest, your voice cracking. “I was taken, Legolas. Injured, captured… but I survived. I kept hoping I’d see you again.”

𖧧 Your words were a balm to his soul, though they only deepened the ache in his heart. He could not imagine the pain you must have suffered, the darkness you had endured, separated from him for so long. And yet here you were, standing before him, alive and whole, despite everything.

𖧧 He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. His fingers traced the familiar features he had longed for—your jawline, the curve of your lips, the eyes that had haunted his dreams for years. His touch was soft, reverent, as though he feared he might be dreaming again, that this was a fantasy that would vanish as soon as he blinked. His voice, barely a whisper, cracked with emotion.

𖧧 “Meleth nîn, you are here. You are alive.” His gaze locked with yours, his blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. It was rare for him to show such vulnerability, but this was different. You were back. The emptiness in his chest had been filled, but now the overwhelming flood of emotion threatened to break him. “I should have searched harder. I should never have given up—” Before he could speak another word, you gently pressed your fingers to his lips, silencing him. You felt the weight of his guilt, his self-blame, but you needed him to know—truly know—that none of it was his fault.

𖧧 “You didn’t give up,” you said, your voice soft but firm, your hands covering his. Your touch was a grounding force, reminding him that this moment was real, that you were truly here. “You thought I was gone, as anyone would had. But now… now we have this.” You said the words with such certainty, such warmth, that it eased the last of his lingering doubts. There was no room for regret in this moment. Only the overwhelming joy of being reunited with the one person he had feared he had lost forever.

𖧧 Legolas leaned in then, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that began gentle, almost tentative, as if he were testing the reality of the moment. His lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant, as though the very touch might dissolve. But then, the floodgates opened, and the years of longing, of pain, of separation poured into the kiss. It deepened, and the gentle touch became an urgent, desperate need to feel you close, to make sure that this moment—this precious moment—was real.

𖧧 His hands moved to your back, pulling you against him, his heart hammering in his chest as if trying to convince him that you were truly there, that this was not a dream. He kissed you as though he could shield you from time itself, as though he could protect you from everything that had kept you apart. He wanted to erase the years of pain and loss, to replace them with the warmth of your embrace and the sweetness of your love. For a long time, neither of you spoke. There were no words necessary. The kiss said it all—the years of grief, the lost time, the quiet hope that had never faded. It was all there, in that one kiss, that one embrace. And in that moment, Legolas felt whole again, as if the missing part of him had finally returned.

𖧧 He pulled away just enough to look into your eyes once more, his chest rising and falling with each breath. There was still so much he wanted to say, but for now, words were unnecessary. Instead, he smiled, a smile that was both bittersweet and full of hope, as though he were daring to believe that this time, you were truly here to stay.

Aftermath:

𖧧 The elves of Mirkwood were overjoyed to see their prince returned to them, though many of them struggled to understand the depth of the emotions that had taken hold of him. Legolas had always been composed, the epitome of grace and quiet strength, but since your disappearance, a shadow had clouded his spirit. The change in him was not subtle. The elves, who had witnessed centuries of sorrow and joy alike, understood the weight of grief, but even they had never seen such a profound transformation in their prince.

𖧧 It was not just his grief that marked him; it was the overwhelming joy that followed your return. There was a light in his eyes now, a light that had long been missing, and it was this light that brightened the entire Woodland Realm. His once-distant gaze had softened, the sorrow that had bound him now replaced by a quiet, hopeful contentment. The elves were accustomed to the stoic nature of their kind, but Legolas’s transformation was like a beacon of hope, one that spread through the woods like the first light of dawn after a long, dark night. Even the leaves seemed to shimmer more brightly in his presence, as though reflecting his renewed spirit.

𖧧 Though many of the elves had long accepted the sadness of time’s passing, and the inevitable cycle of life and death, there were still those who found themselves cautious about attachment to mortals. They had seen how fleeting the lives of men and women were, how quickly the ones they loved could be lost. The idea that an elf—immortal and bound to the land—might form a bond with someone so transient had always been a subject of quiet discomfort. Yet, they could not deny the bond that had been rekindled between Legolas and you. The joy he now radiated was something none of them had seen in centuries. It was a testament to the power of love, and the elves, for all their wisdom, could not ignore the beauty of such a rare and pure thing.

𖧧 Even Thranduil, the king of Mirkwood, who had always been reserved and cautious with his emotions, could not hide the soft pride in his eyes when he spoke of your return. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the realm in twilight, he sat with Legolas and you beneath the towering trees. His expression, though still composed, betrayed a warmth that few ever saw from the elven king. “My son has been… unrecognizable without you,” Thranduil admitted, his voice low, his gaze resting on Legolas with an unspoken understanding. “Your return is a gift, one I did not dare hope for. In your absence, I feared he would never recover. I see now that I was wrong.” His eyes met yours for a brief moment, a silent acknowledgment of the role you had played in bringing the prince back from the edge of despair.

𖧧 Legolas, ever the devoted partner, became almost protective in the days following your reunion. His presence was constant, his devotion unwavering. He rarely let you out of his sight, his gaze always seeking you out, even in a room full of others. His fingers often brushed against yours in passing, a small but deliberate gesture, like an anchor in the ever-shifting tides of life. His touch was a quiet reassurance, a constant reminder that you were still there, that you had returned to him, and he to you.

𖧧 Though the weight of mortality still hung over you like a shadow, it only made the time you spent together more precious. Each moment with you felt like a rare treasure, something he could never take for granted. Legolas began to show you the parts of the forest that he cherished most—hidden glades where the trees seemed to hum with ancient wisdom, sparkling streams that wound through the land like veins of life. He shared with you the quiet, sacred places where he had once wandered alone, his heart heavy with grief, and now filled with love. His heart ached with the knowledge that, as much as he longed to share eternity with you, time was never on his side.

𖧧 Still, despite the knowledge of your eventual passing, he held fast to every second. He cherished each touch, each laugh, and the fleeting moments of joy that seemed to glow more brightly in the presence of the inevitable darkness of mortality. When you walked together beneath the trees, your fingers entwined, he would often smile softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and sorrow, knowing that each passing day was one closer to the end of your time together.

𖧧 One night, as the two of you lay together beneath the canopy of stars, the world around you seemed to fade into a dreamlike quiet. The only sounds were the soft rustle of the leaves and the rhythmic pulse of the earth beneath you. Legolas’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, as though he could shield you from the inevitable, protect you from the fragility of your mortal form. He pressed his lips to your forehead, his voice a soft whisper against the cool night air.

𖧧 “I will love you until the end of my days, meleth nîn,” he murmured, his words laced with the depth of his emotion, “and far beyond that.” His voice trembled slightly, as if he, too, feared the passage of time, but in the same breath, he expressed his unwavering resolve to love you for as long as he could. “Even when the days of your life are gone, my love for you will endure, woven into the fabric of time itself.”

𖧧 For an elf like Legolas, eternity had always been a distant horizon—unchanging, inevitable, and timeless. He had always lived with the knowledge that his existence stretched on, forever unmarred by death. But with you by his side, the brevity of your mortal life gave him a new understanding of eternity. Even as the seasons changed and the world around them shifted, the love they shared became a constant. It was as if, in your fleeting moments together, you had given him a glimpse of the infinite. And for Legolas, that was enough.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

➳ The Battle of Helm’s Deep had come to a grueling end. After hours of fighting, the once serene valley had turned into a chaos of cries, clashing steel, and the smell of smoke. Amid the victory, there was sorrow. Haldir had led the Elven warriors with unmatched skill, but the cost was heavy. The loss of comrades, of friends—he had witnessed it all. But there was one more wound, one that cut deeper than the others: the sudden absence of you, his love, the one who had fought at his side.

➳ When the battle raged, Haldir had seen you fall. In the chaotic madness, there had been no time to reach you. The desperate hope that you had merely been knocked unconscious had been the only thing that kept him from succumbing to despair. He had searched the battlefield, and when the fighting ended, he had found no trace of you just the promise ring they both have. (That promise ring haldir had picked up and wore it on a necklace around his neck after that day), The hope had died then, buried with the fallen warriors.

➳ Days passed, and the darkness of grief settled upon him. The laughter of his brothers, the joy of their victory, felt distant to him. He withdrew into himself, ever vigilant, though there was no enemy left to face. The world around him had grown quiet, and the shadows of the past kept whispering in his mind, haunting his every waking moment.

➳ Haldir never spoke of it. Not to Aragorn, not to Legolas, nor even to Galadriel in his thoughts. How could he? To show weakness, to admit that his heart had shattered would have been a betrayal of his duty, of the pride of Lothlórien. So, he carried on, but it was harder now, each day a battle against the emptiness within.

➳ Not even year had done little to ease the ache in Haldir’s chest. The Battle of Helm’s Deep, a triumph for the free peoples of Middle-earth, had left him with a deep, unspoken sorrow, one that haunted his every step. The absence of you, his love, had carved an irreparable wound in him. At first, he had fought to hold on to the belief that you had survived, that perhaps the chaos of the battle had merely swept you away, leaving you battered and bruised but alive. But as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, that hope began to slip through his fingers, like the softest of sands in the wind.

➳ The ring you had given him (promise ring), the one he had promised to wear until the end of his days, had been the only tangible connection he had left to you. That promise had felt like a lifeline in those early days after the battle, as if by keeping it close to his heart, he could somehow keep you with him, even in your absence. But when the cold reality set in and the ring was the only thing he had left to hold on to, it became both a comfort and a torment. He wore it on a chain around his neck, hidden beneath the folds of his tunic, never once letting it out of his sight. It was the last piece of you, the last reminder of the life he had once dreamed of sharing with you. And it ached, pulling at his heart in ways he could not bear to voice.

➳ Each time he touched the necklace, a memory of you would flood his thoughts—the sound of your laughter, the way your eyes would light up when you spoke of dreams and hopes for the future, the way your hand felt in his, warm and steady. He missed the little things, the quiet moments that had meant the most. The way you had always known what he needed without words. How, even in the midst of battle, you had found a way to offer him comfort with a mere glance or a soft touch.

➳ Haldir had always been someone who took pride in his stoic demeanor, in the discipline and duty that had shaped his life. But you had changed him in ways he could never explain. You had brought softness to his heart, a tenderness he had not known he was capable of. And with you gone, that tenderness had hardened into an unyielding shell, keeping the world at arm’s length.

➳ He missed the warmth of your presence, the way you would sit beside him in silence, content just to be in each other’s company. He missed the way your voice would soften when you spoke his name, how your touch would linger in the small gestures—a brush of your fingers across his hand, a fleeting kiss on his cheek. There was a quiet intimacy in those moments that had grounded him, reminding him that no matter how distant or aloof he appeared to others, there was someone who truly understood him, who saw the person behind the warrior. And now, in your absence, the silence felt deafening.

➳ He often found himself standing at the borders of Lothlórien, staring into the vast expanse of the forest that had once felt so alive, so full of purpose. The trees whispered in the wind, their leaves rustling with secrets, but none of those secrets brought him peace. He longed for the sound of your voice in the trees, for the echo of your laughter in the quiet of the forest. The land that had once been a sanctuary now felt like a cage, a place where he could not escape the memories of you.

➳ As he went about his duties, he felt the weight of the years pressing down on him. He had remained steadfast in his commitment to Lothlórien, never faltering, never straying from the path of duty. But deep inside, he wondered what it all meant now. Without you, what was he protecting? Without you by his side, the endless vigilance, the watchful eyes that never let anything slip by, seemed almost pointless. His people, his homeland, they deserved his protection, but so did you. And in failing to protect you, he had lost a part of himself.

➳ His younger brothers—Rúmil and Orophin—had noticed the change in him. They had watched him withdraw, bury his grief beneath a mask of duty and honor. They had seen the way his eyes grew distant, how the fire that once burned so brightly in him now seemed dulled. But they knew him too well to press him, too well to ask what was on his mind. They had seen the way he would glance at the empty places where you used to stand, and the way he would pause, as if listening for your voice in the wind. And in those moments, they said nothing, offering him the silence he so desperately craved.

➳ Six years had passed, and in that time, Haldir had hardened further, the memories of you still fresh in his mind but buried beneath the weight of his responsibilities. The world had moved on, but Haldir had remained rooted in the past. He had not forgotten you—not once. And yet, he had convinced himself that you were gone, that the hope of ever finding you again was a dream too far gone to reach.

The return:

➳ Then, one fateful day, the summons came. The familiar call to return to the borders of Lothlórien, to watch over his people once more. The weight of his memories pressed heavier as he made his way to the edge of the forest. And there, among the trees that had witnessed so much of his pain, he prepared himself for what he thought would be another lonely journey. But fate had other plans.

➳ Haldir would never forget the moment his eyes fell upon you once more. It was as if the world had stopped turning. The forest stood still, the breeze held its breath. And there you were, standing before him, as real and as alive as the day he had lost you. His heart stuttered in his chest, and for the briefest of moments, he thought he might collapse from the weight of the emotions flooding through him. He had never stopped loving you, never stopped longing for this moment.

➳ For the first time in six long years, Haldir felt his heart beat again—not with the cold, unrelenting rhythm of duty, but with the warmth of hope. It was a warmth that had been absent from his life for far too long. It was like waking from a dream he had resigned himself to, the world around him suddenly sharp, vivid, full of possibility. The years of grief, of self-imposed solitude, had worn away at his spirit, leaving him hardened, distant, a shell of the Elven warrior he once was. But now, in that single breath, that fleeting moment when he first saw you, all of that shifted.

➳ His pulse quickened as he stood frozen, eyes locked on you as if you might vanish in an instant. His mind struggled to make sense of the impossible. You were here. Alive. Standing before him. Every ounce of restraint he had built up over the years crumbled in that instant. There had been no signal, no warning—just the quiet approach of your footsteps, the sound that shattered the numb silence of his existence.

➳ He took a step forward, but his legs felt weak. The elation, the disbelief, the agony of the years spent apart—they all surged through him, overwhelming him in a torrent of emotion. His breath caught in his throat. “Y/N…” His voice was barely a whisper, a sound so fragile it could break the very moment in which you both stood. The years of pain seemed to melt away with that single word. It was as though the years of separation, the endless nights of wondering, the grief of not knowing if he would ever see you again, all came rushing back to him in a heartbeat.

➳ Then, as if on instinct, he moved. He didn’t even think. He simply acted, crossing the distance between you in a few swift strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close with a desperation that had not been part of him in years. His body trembled with the force of his emotions, his hands clutching you with such intensity that it almost hurt—but you didn’t mind. You, too, had lived with this ache, the gnawing emptiness that came with the loss of the one you loved. And now, in this instant, that loss was erased.

➳ Tears welled in his eyes, and though he fought them back, they came anyway—silent, betrayed by the depth of his relief. He let them fall, uncaring for once, for this moment was far more important than any of the self-control he had once so fiercely held on to. The warrior within him, so composed, so unshakeable, had melted into the man who had loved you more than anything. “I thought… I thought I had lost you forever,” he whispered, his voice breaking, as if speaking the truth aloud made it all real in the most painful way.

➳ His arms tightened around you, his hands trembling slightly as they moved to stroke your back, as if grounding himself in the reality that you were truly here. He buried his face in your hair, taking in the scent of you, a scent he had never truly forgotten, even as the years had dragged on. In your arms, he was whole again. “I thought I would never see you again,” he murmured against your skin. “I thought… I thought I was alone in this world.” His words were desperate, a quiet confession of how much he had fallen apart in your absence.

➳ “I’m here, Haldir,” you whispered, your own voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I thought I had lost you too.” You felt the trembling in his body, his silent sobs that shook him to his core, and you pressed yourself closer to him, letting him know that you were real, that you were here, that he was not alone anymore.

➳ He pulled back slightly, enough to look into your eyes, his gaze searching yours for some sign that this wasn’t a dream, that it wasn’t some cruel trick of the mind. He reached out, his fingers gently tracing the outline of your face, as if he had to remind himself that you were really there. He knew you were real; the warmth of your body in his arms, the steady rhythm of your breath, it all confirmed it—but still, the disbelief lingered in his eyes. “How?” The word came out in a breathless whisper, barely audible, but it held all the confusion, all the questions that had plagued him in the years since your disappearance.

➳ You shook your head softly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I… I don’t know how. But I survived, Haldir. I survived for you. For this moment.” You took his hand, holding it to your chest, where his heart had always belonged. “And now… now we’re together again. That’s all that matters.” He blinked, his eyes welling up again, and this time he didn’t fight it. The tears spilled freely, tracking down his cheeks, a testament to the weight of his heart’s release. He let you see him—truly see him—unmasked in his vulnerability. The man who had carried the world on his shoulders, the warrior who had fought countless battles, was no longer untouchable. He was simply a man who loved and had nearly lost everything.

➳ His lips trembled as he spoke again, the words thick with emotion. “I feared I would never see you again,” he said, his voice quiet and raw. “You were my heart, Y/N. I feared I had lost you to this war. I feared that the one thing worth fighting for would be taken from me.” His hands cupped your face gently, as though he could keep you with him by sheer force of will. “But here you are. Alive. And I—” His words faltered, breaking under the weight of everything he felt. “I never want to let you go again.”

➳ “I will never leave you, Haldir,” you whispered softly, your voice breaking as you rested your forehead against his. The words felt like a promise, one that neither time nor distance could take away. “Let me heal you now,” you murmured, your hands brushing his cheek gently, wiping away the tears. “Let me be here for you. Let me show you that we can find peace again, together.” For a long moment, the two of you simply stood there, your bodies entwined, hearts beating in unison. The war was over, but in its place, there was a new battle—one of healing, of rebuilding what had been broken. But with each breath, each soft word exchanged between you, the weight of the past began to lift, and the love that had never faded began to blossom once again.

➳ When Haldir finally pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a smile full of quiet promise. “I will never let you go again, meleth nín,” he murmured, his voice steady once more, but with a tenderness that had been missing for so long.

➳ And in that moment, the world outside seemed to fade into nothing. There was no war, no grief, no loss—only the warmth of your presence, the unwavering connection that bound you together, a love that had withstood the tests of time and distance. No matter what came next, Haldir knew he had found you again—and this time, he would never let go. Together, you would face whatever came, knowing that your hearts had finally found their way back to each other.

Aftermath:

➳ In the days that followed, the world for Haldir felt both new and familiar. The reunion with you, the love of his life, had been everything he could have dreamed of and more. Yet, as the days slipped into weeks, there remained a shadow that followed him—a shadow not of war or grief, but of time itself. The realization gnawed at him, a quiet ache in the deepest part of his heart. He had lived for countless ages, seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, watched the world change in ways that few could comprehend. His existence had stretched into eternity, a timeless rhythm, a slow and steady beat of life that allowed him to witness the birth and death of the seasons, the turning of the world on its axis.

➳ But you—his beloved—were different. Time would not wait for you. You would age, you would grow frail, and one day, far too soon, you would slip from this world as quickly as you had come into it. Haldir could no longer ignore this, though he tried. It lingered in the back of his mind as he held you at night, as he kissed you in the early mornings, as he laughed with you over meals. Every moment with you, every touch, every word felt precious. But the love he had for you was colored by an undercurrent of sorrow, one that grew more pronounced with each passing day.

➳ He would not be able to protect you from time. There was no shield against it, no sword to fight it, no battle to win. Time would take you, as it had taken so many before you, and no amount of Elven strength or magic could prevent it. At first, he tried to bury his fears, to hold on to the joy of having you in his arms, of sharing this time together. The two of you found moments of peace amidst the tension that clung to him—walking through the forests of Lothlórien, whispering sweet words to each other as the stars flickered above, listening to the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. You brought color back into his life, warmth where there had only been the cold emptiness of mourning.

➳ But time continued its inexorable march, and with each passing season, Haldir’s heart grew heavier. He could see the subtle changes in you—the faint lines beginning to form at the corners of your eyes, the softening of your youthful skin, the occasional weariness that would settle over you, even when you tried to hide it. He noticed how you moved, no longer as quick and unburdened as you once were, how you laughed less freely, as though each moment of joy was now a little more fragile.

➳ And it was in these moments—when the years seemed to press against his heart—that he would withdraw. He couldn’t help it. The pain of knowing that the love they had shared would someday be cut short by the passage of time was too much to bear. He would wander the forest alone, seeking solace among the trees that had stood for millennia, the ancient trunks whispering secrets of a time long past.

➳ The memory of his brothers, the other Elves of Lothlórien, came to him in quiet moments. He had lived so long with them, shared their experiences, their pain, their joy. But he knew none of them could understand the weight of his loss. They did not have to face the crushing knowledge that one day, the light of his life would fade as the seasons turned. His kin were eternal, as was he, but you—his beloved human—were not. The thought of losing you, of watching you grow old and fade from the world, was a constant ache that he could not escape.

➳ One evening, as the sun dipped behind the distant mountains, casting a soft glow over the forest, he found himself staring at you, lost in thought. You were standing near the water, the light catching your hair as it blew gently in the wind, your back to him. He could see the way you held yourself, strong yet weary, and the thought of someday losing you was unbearable. He stepped forward, quietly, until he stood beside you. You didn’t turn to look at him, but you could feel his presence beside you, the weight of his gaze upon you. Slowly, you reached out, taking his hand in yours, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. Words felt unnecessary; the quiet understanding between you both was enough.

➳ “You’re thinking of it again, aren’t you?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Haldir didn’t answer at first. He didn’t need to. You knew him too well, had seen the way his gaze would wander, the way he would pull away in moments of silence. He had never spoken of his fears, not aloud. But you knew. “I can’t help it,” he murmured finally, his voice thick with the weight of emotions he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years. “Time is not kind to you, meleth nín. I—”

➳ “I know,” you interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. “I know, Haldir. But don’t let fear steal what we have now.” You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his, filled with both understanding and sorrow. “We can’t stop time. We can’t change what’s to come. But we have this moment. We have today. Let me love you in this moment, and tomorrow, and every day that follows.” Haldir’s heart clenched at your words, the rawness of them cutting through his carefully built defenses. He wanted to hold on to you, to keep you here forever, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Still, your love was the greatest gift he had ever received, and he would not let fear overshadow that gift.

➳ “I will love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Every moment, every heartbeat, I will love you.” And for a while, the fear that had gripped him so tightly began to loosen. He couldn’t change what was to come, but he could choose to live fully in the time they had together. Even as the years slipped away, he would cherish every day with you, every touch, every word, every shared silence. In the end, that was all any of them could do—love as fiercely and fully as they could, until the time they had together ran out. And Haldir, for all his pain, was determined to make every moment with you count.

Bonus as I’m a smitten for Elrond god love the man (love older version Hugo.) 🫶🥰❤️‍🔥

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

✶ The winds of war had long been howling across Middle-earth, and Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell, found his heart weighed down with an unbearable burden. Years had passed since you had left to join the free peoples in their fight for survival. Your mortal life called you to the front lines, while Elrond remained behind, bound to his responsibilities in Rivendell—offering counsel, wisdom, and healing to those who sought it. But despite his centuries of knowledge and the depth of his experience, Elrond could not escape the gnawing fear that something terrible would happen to you. Every day that passed brought him closer to the heart-wrenching reality that, sooner or later, he might never see you again.

✶ The day had come when Elrond, alone in his study, When the news came—the dreaded news that your battalion had been lost, that you were presumed dead—he could not have prepared himself for the devastation that followed. The feeling of his heart sinking, of his entire world unraveling, was something Elrond, despite his countless years of wisdom, had never experienced before. He had always prided himself on his ability to remain composed, but in that moment, he felt as though everything within him had shattered. In the silence of Rivendell’s halls, the place that had once been full of life and laughter, now stood cold and empty to him. The absence of your presence left an unbearable void in the very air he breathed. His beloved—his heart—gone forever…Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, felt a heaviness settle deep within his heart. He could no longer ignore the gnawing fear that had consumed him for years—the fear of losing you. The love of his life, his heart, his soul—lost in a war that he could not protect you from.

✶ Every report from the front lines brought a fresh wave of dread, though he clung to the hope that you would return, even as the weight of time pressed down upon him. He had known of your courage, your strength, but no amount of wisdom could prepare him for the moment when the news arrived—your battalion had been lost, the battle you fought in was disastrous, and you were presumed dead. The world seemed to collapse around him as he stood in the silence of Rivendell’s great halls, a place once filled with hope and life, now haunted by the absence of your laughter and love.

✶ He searched for you, though he knew, deep down, that the chances of finding you were slim. He traveled to the battlefield where your battalion had fallen, desperate to find any trace of you, hoping against hope that you had survived, that you might be out there, somewhere. But when he arrived, all he found was your brooch—the one you had stolen from him in jest, a gift he had given you years ago, which you had always worn. Now it was stained by the dirt and blood of the battlefield, and Elrond knew, in that moment, that he had lost you forever. His heart ached with a sorrow so deep it seemed to permeate every fiber of his being. The brooch felt like the final testament to the love they had shared—a love that seemed to have been ripped away from him by fate.

✶ In the three years that followed, though Rivendell remained a haven untouched by the horrors of the outside world, Elrond could not escape the weight of his grief. He threw himself into his duties—leading, guiding, offering counsel to those in need—but nothing could ease the longing that had taken root in his heart. There were moments when he would sit by the river in Rivendell, the waters glistening beneath the stars, and he would think of you. He would remember the way you would sit by his side during the evenings, talking about the future, discussing everything and nothing, always with the same warmth and laughter that had drawn him to you all those years ago.

✶ Elrond never let on how much he missed you, but you had always had an uncanny ability to see through his stoic exterior. You knew when something was wrong—knew when the weight of the world had become too much for him to bear. And you always knew just how to lift his spirits. The best way to cheer Elrond up, you had learned, was to talk to him about the future you both dreamed of. A future together, one free from the pain and loss of the present. He would listen, his face softening as he imagined the life the two of you would share: growing old, discovering new wonders, finding peace in each other’s company. The thought of those days yet to come always made him smile. He would hold your hand, his fingers warm against yours, and for a moment, the burdens of the world would fade away.

✶ When you were sad, Elrond was always there for you, offering his unwavering support. He would make sure you had everything you needed—food, warmth, anything that might ease your discomfort. He would never leave your side until he saw that familiar smile return to your face. You, too, had your own moments of melancholy, but Elrond’s presence, his devotion to you, always helped chase the shadows away.

There were those quiet evenings when Elrond would retreat to his books to escape the stresses of his world. He would sit, absorbed in the words of ancient texts, letting the pages carry him far from the weight of responsibility.

✶ You would leave him to his solitude, knowing that he needed the time to rest his mind. Yet, it was never long before he would beckon you over, silently passing you a book of his own. “Your presence calms me,” he would say, his voice barely above a whisper, though his lips often curled into the smallest of smirks as you would look up, embarrassed by the attention. Those quiet, shared moments were the moments he cherished the most.

✶ Elrond missed those times. He missed the way you could always make him laugh, even on his darkest days. He missed the way your presence could fill the air with warmth and light. But most of all, he missed the simple, quiet comfort of knowing that you were there, just beside him, in a world that seemed to keep shifting and changing.

✶ He missed you with a depth that words could scarcely convey. He missed the sound of your voice, so full of laughter and light, even in the darkest of times. He missed the way you’d always manage to draw him out of himself, coaxing him from the shadows of his responsibilities to enjoy the simple joys of life. There was a day, early in your time together, when you had convinced him to go out into the gardens, despite the pouring rain. At first, he had been reluctant—Elrond, ever the reserved and composed half-elven, did not see the appeal of dancing in the rain. But your eyes, bright with mischief and love, had won him over. “Just one dance, Elrond. I promise, you won’t regret it,” you had said, your voice warm and full of promise. And so, he had relented, allowing you to lead him into the rain-soaked garden, the droplets falling all around you both.

✶ You laughed as you twirled him in the wet grass, and though he had protested at first, soon enough, Elrond had found himself laughing too, lost in the joy of the moment. Of course, you both ended up drenched, shivering from the cold, and neither of you could stop giggling as you tried to dry off afterward. It had been one of those rare, carefree moments in his long life, the kind he cherished the most. But as the days wore on, Elrond found that those simple, shared moments with you became more precious than ever before.

✶ Afterward, he had caught a cold, something that had been all too rare for an elf of his stature. You took great pleasure in teasing him for it, even as you carefully nursed him back to health. You insisted on bringing him hot tea, wrapping him in blankets, and refusing to let him leave his chambers until he had fully recovered. The memory of your gentle care, your laughter as you made him rest, was something Elrond held close to his heart when the darkness of the war began to weigh too heavily on him.

The return:

✶ Then, one evening, as the twilight bathed Rivendell in its soft, golden glow, Elrond found himself walking alone along the banks of the river. The waters of Imladris flowed serenely, a timeless current that had witnessed the rise and fall of ages. The air was cool, fragrant with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the land around him seemed still, as though holding its breath in the presence of the moment. His mind was heavy, filled with the weight of years gone by, years in which you had been absent, lost to the war that ravaged the world. He had spent countless hours contemplating the future, wondering what would become of his people, of his family, and of himself. But more than anything, he had wondered about you.

✶ And yet, every day the gnawing emptiness in his chest seemed to grow deeper. How many times had he walked these very halls, the memories of you so vivid in his mind? How many times had he sat by the hearth, imagining what your voice might sound like in the quiet evenings, the firelight dancing across your face as you spoke of your dreams, your hopes, your future?

✶ Elrond’s footsteps were almost soundless on the stone path, his cloak trailing lightly behind him. He was lost in thought, his gaze fixed on the river that had been a constant companion throughout his long life, when, from the corner of his ear, he heard it. A faint sound, barely perceptible, a soft footfall on the earth. At first, he thought it was the wind—after all, Rivendell had a way of carrying the wind’s whispers through its woods, the rustling of leaves and branches almost sounding like distant voices. But then, it came again. A sound so delicate, yet unmistakable—a footfall, the lightest of steps, as though someone was walking toward him through the quiet dusk.

✶ His heart stuttered in his chest, an unfamiliar jolt of hope coursing through him. “Meleth nín.” The words slipped from his lips before he even realized he had spoken them, a breathless whisper full of longing and disbelief. He had not allowed himself to hope in so long, but now, in the depth of his soul, he knew—he felt—something had changed.

✶ He turned, and there you were. You stood in the soft light of the evening, your form outlined by the fading glow of the sun, the last rays of the day catching the delicate strands of your hair, which seemed to glow like starlight itself. For a long moment, Elrond could only stare, his breath caught in his throat, his entire world shrinking to the vision of you before him. His heart beat in his chest, each pulse like thunder in his ears, a sound that seemed louder than the river itself. There you were, alive, your eyes meeting his with the same warmth, the same strength that had once made him feel as though nothing could touch him. The agony of loss, the years of uncertainty and grief, all of it seemed to vanish in an instant, swept away by the overwhelming flood of joy and disbelief.

✶ His legs nearly gave out beneath him, as if the sheer weight of your return had drained all the strength from him. Without thinking, he crossed the distance between you in a few swift strides, his hands reaching out as though to touch you, to make sure that you were truly there, truly real. He clasped your hands in his, pressing them gently against his chest, as though to prove to himself that the ache in his heart, the longing that had consumed him for so long, was finally coming to an end.

✶ And without a word, Elrond sank to his knees before you, pulling you down to him as if he could not bear the distance between you for a moment longer. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, his face buried in the soft fabric of your clothing, your warmth the balm to a wound that had festered for far too long. His tears, long held back, shimmered in his eyes but did not fall. It was as though the weight of all those years, the grief, the fear, the longing—everything—had been too much for him to bear, and now that you were here, it was as though he could not bring himself to release the sorrow, even though he felt a profound relief flood his being.

✶ “My heart…” Elrond’s voice was thick, raw with emotion, trembling with the weight of the years that had passed. His words were soft, barely above a whisper, yet they carried the grief of lifetimes. “I thought I had lost you forever. The ache within me… it has been unbearable.” He shook his head slightly, as though the thought of a world without you in it was simply too much to fathom. “I… I could not bear the thought of losing you. Not again.”

✶ You cupped his face in your hands, your fingers brushing against the dampness on his cheek. His eyes were filled with a sorrow so deep, but they held something else now too: the flicker of hope, the tenderness that had never truly left, no matter how many years had passed. “I am here, Elrond,” you whispered, your voice low and steady, yet filled with a strength that only he could hear. “I’m here, my love. I never stopped thinking of you. I never stopped longing to return to you. The war may have stolen so much, but it never took my heart. It always belonged to you.”

✶ Elrond’s heart swelled at your words, and without thinking, he pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with everything he had longed to say, everything he had carried with him for all the years of uncertainty and pain. The kiss was full of tenderness, the kind that only time and separation could breed. It was the kiss of a love that had endured the test of time, a love that had never truly faded, no matter the distance or the years apart. He kissed you as though he feared that if he did not hold on tightly enough, you would slip away again.

✶ When the kiss finally broke, Elrond rested his forehead against yours, his breath shallow, his heart racing in his chest. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, as if it too were taking a breath, giving you both this precious, fleeting moment. His voice was firm, yet filled with all the tenderness in the world. “Together,” he whispered, his eyes closed as if to hold on to the moment. “Always together, my love. No more distance between us. I will never let you go again.”

✶ And though the world beyond Rivendell still carried its burdens, though the shadows of war still loomed over Middle-earth, Elrond knew that with you by his side, he could face anything. The love between you had not been lost, not even by the ravages of time and battle. It had only grown stronger, deeper, and as the stars began to glisten overhead, you both knew that your hearts would forever remain united—no matter the storms that might come. The world might change, but your love would endure. Always.

✶ In that quiet, timeless moment, as the stars twinkled above and the river flowed gently at your feet, Elrond felt as though the world had finally returned to balance. The pain of the past, the loss, the war—it was all still there, but it no longer had the power to tear them apart. With you, his heart was whole again. And together, you would face whatever the future held, side by side, forever.

Aftermath:

✶ The days after your reunion were a haze of joy and sorrow, a bittersweet blend of love and inevitability. Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, had lived countless ages, seen kingdoms rise and fall, and had endured the loss of many dear to him. Yet none of it, none of the weight of time and fate, could have prepared him for the agony that would come with the knowledge that your time with him—your mortal life—was limited.

✶ Even now, as he walked through the halls of Rivendell with you by his side, his heart could not fully rid itself of the weight of that truth. The joy of your return, of having you here with him again, was overwhelming, but it was marred by the shadow that always lingered in his thoughts—the shadow of time slipping away. It was always there, lurking, like a dark cloud on the horizon, and despite his efforts to remain present in each moment, it tugged at him, reminding him of the fragility of your existence in a way that no mere mortal could ever understand.

✶ He had known this truth long before you had returned to him. The years had always been numbered for you. He had watched countless mortals come and go, each one touched by the brevity of their lives, and though he had lived with that knowledge, knowing you would one day fade away had never been a burden he had been willing to bear. Your love had been worth the sacrifice, and he had cherished every moment, every second, as if it might be his last with you. But now, as he held you in his arms, that knowledge had become more than just an abstract thought. It was a constant presence, a weight pressing on his chest, that your time was slipping away, and he could not stop it.

✶ The passage of time had always been something Elrond had managed to bear. He was an Elf, and he had known loss and grief before, but to love a mortal—you, the love of his life—was a different kind of agony. It was a cycle of beauty and pain, joy and inevitable sorrow. He would not force you to endure the years of his existence; his love for you was too great to watch you grow old, your body changing, while he remained the same. And yet, to see you face the years that slipped away so swiftly… it tore at him in a way that even the countless wars and losses he had endured had never done.

✶ There were mornings when he would wake beside you, watching the sunlight play across your face, feeling the warmth of your breath against his chest. In those moments, his heart would swell with joy, and he would hold you tighter, as though afraid the very light of dawn might fade before he could hold you in his arms again. But in the quiet moments that followed, in the spaces between, his thoughts would inevitably turn to the future—your future. He knew he could not stop the inevitable. Your time was finite. In the stillness of the night, as you slept beside him, Elrond would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind lost in the torrent of his emotions, knowing that each day with you was one day less.

✶ He had never wished for immortality in the way his brethren had. He had not desired to outlast the world, nor to be untouched by time. But now, as he watched you—his beloved, his heart—grow more tired, more fragile with each passing day, he longed for something he could never have. He wished, more than anything, that he could turn back time, that he could change the rules of fate, and grant you the same immortality that he had been blessed with. But he knew this was impossible. He had known from the start, from the moment he had fallen in love with you, that this was the price he would pay. And yet, knowing it did nothing to ease the ache within him now.

✶ As the years wore on, Elrond tried to focus on the moments, on the love you shared. He lived for the quiet evenings by the fire, the shared laughter, the moments when you would walk together through the gardens, your hand in his, your voice filling the spaces between the rustling leaves. He cherished the mundane, the small, beautiful things that often went unnoticed. He would often find himself gazing at you as you spoke, your voice soothing his restless heart. He would listen to you tell him of your hopes, your dreams, the little things that made up your mortal life, and he would hold onto each word as though it were a treasure.

✶ In the quiet moments when the two of you would sit together, reading, or in deep conversation, Elrond would push the future aside, focusing solely on the present. You spoke of the life you had lived, and of the life you still hoped to live, and you shared your stories of the world, of the beauty you had seen. These moments were everything to him—his heart was full in these precious intervals of time, and he would give anything to stretch those moments, to keep you by his side for just a little longer.

✶ But the inevitable truth would always return, creeping in like a shadow in the corner of his mind. There would be a moment when he would see you—your face pale, your movements slower, your strength fading—and the ache would return, sharp and relentless. It was then that Elrond’s heart would break all over again, as he realized that no matter how much love and care he poured into every moment with you, there would come a day when the passing of time would take you from him.

✶ And yet, despite the pain, despite the grief that clung to every passing day, Elrond never let go of you. He refused to. He held onto you, fiercely and without reservation, because he knew that this love—your love—was worth every moment of suffering that might come. The years might take you, but they could not take away the love you had shared, the memories that had been forged in fire and warmth, and the quiet promise that no matter what, he would always carry a part of you with him.

✶ When the time came—and it would come, as it always did—Elrond would be ready. Not because he had accepted it, but because he loved you, and that love would remain even when the world had moved on. He would hold onto you, always, knowing that every moment spent with you had been worth more than all the centuries he had lived.

✶ And so, he would cherish the time left, every second, every heartbeat, until the inevitable came. Even in his sorrow, he would find peace in the knowledge that he had loved you truly, deeply, without regret. In the end, the love that had bound you together was the truest, most eternal thing in a world full of fleeting moments.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

My hand aches from all the writing I’ve done, but it was completely worth it. It was so deep tears streamed down my face when I was writing like this, so honest and profound, feels like diving into the core of my soul. It’s painful yet beautiful goddamm wish it wasn’t fictional characters love to he their in middle earth. 🫶🥹❤️‍🔥

But enjoy my dearies. 🙏

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[hiorintruther]

I think hiorin is absolutely winning right now with the Egoist Bible. First of all, you can make a solid argument that Rin fits Hiori’s ideal type, the thing that makes Hiori happy, AND Hiori’s fetish. (Note: while his fetish uses a woman as reference, his ideal type is gender neutral and he said he received chocolate from a guy on Valentine’s Day while specifying that he rejected a girl in the year above him, so any ‘straight Hiori’ arguments mean nothing to me).

Hiori’s ideal type is “someone who can leave me alone”, which fits Rin absolutely perfectly. Rin wouldn’t be clingy, needy, overbearing or smothering. That’s exactly what Hiori wants in a partner. Of course they would still be intimate, it’s not like Hiori would want to be alone 100% of the time, but he wants someone who knows to take a step back and let him have his space when he wants it.

Likewise, the thing that makes Hiori happiest is “being left alone”. Once again, Rin would not be constantly hovering around Hiori, needing Hiori’s attention or getting upset when Hiori doesn’t smother him with love.

Hiori’s fetish is “fractured girl fetish”, which everyone is still a bit confused by but it seems to be referring to seeing injuries that are bandaged up (he specifically references the actress Todo Erika in SPEC, where she wears her arm in a sling and cast). It’s a bit fucked up (not to kink-shame) but then again Hiori is a self-described ultra-sadist so I’m honestly not surprised at all. Now then, out of everyone in Blue Lock, who have we seen get injured multiple times and need to be tended to? Rin. Not only that, but Rin’s predisposition to violence and getting hurt is a part of his truest nature. He was scolded and considered weird for it in his childhood and would become nervous if his parents were about to tell him off for his destructive tendencies. So imagine Hiori, someone who categorically does not mind that Rin is this way, wants to help bandage him up and tend to his injuries, and never once scolds him. We know from the U-20 match that Hiori’s first instinct is to ask Rin if he’s alright and help him, but now there’s the added layer that Hiori would enjoy seeing this side of Rin, not being weirded out or put off by it. I think for Rin that would be a massive relief. Hiori wouldn’t be actively trying to hurt Rin or encourage him to get injured all the time, but he would accept Rin for the way he is and never be disappointed if Rin turned up bloodied and battered, in need of bandaging up.

We also got other info which I think can be used for hiorin too. Hiori is now a confirmed Dead By Daylight player, and since that’s a multiplayer horror game I think he would enjoy playing it with Rin (who as far as we can tell only plays horror games). Specifically, Hiori likes to play the killer, so Rin would get the thrill of fighting for his life even if it destroys him while Hiori gets an outlet for his own sadistic mindset.

In the character rankings, Rin and Hiori were ranked 1st and 2nd respectively for who would most likely have psychic powers. Hiori also ranked first for ‘best listener’ meanwhile Rin ranked first for ‘worst listener’. Rin might be hard to get along with but Hiori is the immovable object to Rin’s unstoppable force.

Then of course there’s the stuff we already knew from the Twitter QnAs. Hiori and Rin both love ochazuke. They both game. Hiori’s favourite season is the rainy season which nicely compliments Rin’s connection to water.

Honestly we have so much fuel to work with. Hiorin doesn’t get a lot of canon material at all in the main manga so it’s nice that the extra info provides so much fuel. I doubt any of it is intentional but we have a really nice basis to work with regardless.

[thesharktanksdriver]

A wish for a happy life (romantic)

The Readers gender I’ve tried to leave ambiguous

This is being made when there’s only 4 episodes out (and I haven’t yet seen them all) so there may be inaccuracies to stuff later revealed but who cares!

I got inspiration to write this after seeing @ice-cream-writes-stuff bucchigiri fic that you can find here. Please check it out

There need to be more fanfics for this show pleaseeeeee 🙏🏻

To say you were a handful as a child was an understatement

From the moment you could remember anything your knuckles were always bruised and bloodied

Bruises littering your arms like medals of a successfully won fight

Tousled hair and busted lips

Glowering and prideful eyes daring someone to be next

Fighting was almost as natural as breathing to you back then

Speaking with your fists to get across the message of not being messed with as playground bullies ran off

Violence was all you knew as a way to get attention

Crying and begging for the orphanage attendants or preschool teachers to listen was for naught

They brushed it off

Crying was white noise

But the yelling and sounds of an arm being broken on school property was heard loud and clear

On all accounts you should’ve ended up as a delinquent

For hells sake you even started a gang at some point

On all accounts you were Someone on the “wrong�� path in life fated to be some lowlife scum

It was expected of you by just about every grown up

Even looking at yourself in the mirror, busted and broken you knew how you’d likely end up

You didn’t want that but what choice did you have?

You wanted to be loved, to be seen, to have a happy life

But fate didn’t seem to have that cut out for you

…at first

But despite it all

You changed

And it all started with a woman own a small Chinese restaurant and her son

Despite your track record

The scornful look on your lips and gritted teeth as the other children lined up to be picked as you sat off to the side

That kind woman and her son saw you

The kid off to the side

The unwanted

The “trouble child”

And despite the fact they should’ve picked one of the more well behaved kids they chose you

Arajin often talks about the look on your face that day

The pure disbelief

Shock

Confusion

And most of all the tears

The expression of finally being seen for the first time in your life without having to quite literally pummeling it into someone

Your expression remained that when they brought you home

A room already made for you and left for you to eventually decorate how you want

That night laying in your new bed you vowed you’d change

You’d put your life on track

Not only for yourself but for your new family

Arajin (platonic)

Arajin can removed with a whole heart the first time he met you

It was before bringing you into the family

He was training with Matakara at the time as some older kids from some gang showed up

They were probably gonna rough them up

Arajin was ready to fight when suddenly someone beat them to the punch

“Oi! You fucking meatheads I told you to leave civ’s alone!” You stood there, a scowl on your face as the others cowered. Your eyes turned to him and Matakara, sympathy flashing through the hardened eyes of steel and diamond. The unspoken words of “I’m sorry” in them.

After that he saw you around town

Never going up to you but watching in curiosity

Maybe once upon a time he’d see you like any other punk

But that day changed something

There was compassion in your eyes

Even compassion in the way you seemed to fight for others without admitting it

He could see at heart you were a good person

Someone who fought for others because no one fought for them

He didn’t know why you did what you did until he and mom ended up at that orphanage

And in the back he saw you there

To the side with a resented sadness

Knowing you would never be picked

Never be loved

Never have a good life

His eyes connected with yours and he swears he sees them widen in that moment

You were seen

You were chosen

You could have a good life now

That night he remembers your silent sobs of joy in the next room over

The next morning he design comment on your reddened eyes and neither does mom

Both just focus on how you eat with a smile

Still a little jittery as if wondering if this was real

He pats your shoulder to remind you it is

In the months following he can’t help but smile when noticing your room grow with things of your interest

The way you seem to find clothes that properly fit you

The way in which you talk with him while cooking with mom

You grow with him

Hang out with Matakara who welcomes you with open arms

When he becomes interested in base you save up your buy him one for his birthday and when it comes yours he does the same bit with a drum set

In every way possible Arajin sees you change for the better

Perhaps your temper never went away but you know how to handle it now

Use it for good

Use it without lashing out wildly

He sees that you help mom out, call her mom too

You call him Ara, call him your brother

In every way possible you look out for him as best you can

When he looses his old physique and dream you take the place of protector instead

No matter the situation you step up for him even if his idiotic actions lead to his ass being beaten

You love him like he’s actually your brother

And he loves you the same

When moving back to the graffiti covered hometown you both were born in he can’t help but see your nervous

It’s easy to tell for him since he sees past your stoic facade

Your hands fidget

Eyes glancing from place to place

Breath getting heavy

When your shared teacher talks about the class he sees your hands fidget once more

For so long you’ve protected him

And in the moment your both in front of the class he protect you

He introduces you by his nickname for you

Your stoic face breaking a little with gratitude before he immediately sits down beside a cute girl in the back of the class

You aren’t surprised, damn horny teenage boys

The sentiment of what he did thought resonates with you though

Much more than you’d ever admit to your stupid little sleez of brother

That girl he’s looking at with goo goo eyes is trouble (also vaguely familiar)

But you’d be damned if he’d get his asskicked if you weren’t there to save him

…….later on when he ends up in a temple almost completely naked and ends up shooting both himself and you with two old ass guns you almost give him the ass kicking of the century

But fortunately for him you don’t

But unfortunately for the both of you two beings appear instead

“Ara, when we get home I’m kicking you in the ass for shooting me in the stomach”

“Just don’t kill me before I lose my virginity”

“God your a degenerate”

Senya and Astḗr (platonic)

The two Majin appear from a burst of smoke swirling smoke of red’s and purples

Two magical beings demanding to know what both your and your brothers wish was

The Majin your brother was granted is much more intimidating in nature than yours who leisurely relaxes on a cloud

Their much more and lithe androgynous appearance paired with an elegant and sly smile

Whilst Senya pokes at Arajin for being a wimp, Astḗr stares at you with interest in their golden eyes

A curious expression on their face as they examine your glare of both fear and defence

A lavender tinged hand reaches out

Your frozen in fear

And then-

“Kyaaa!! You’re such an adorable human!” The Majin wraps their arms around you, choking you in a massive hug as the other lightly laughs at their behaviour. “Ah! Mind my manners! I’m Aster, now what’s your wish?”

“Huh?…w…what?”

“What’s your wish?”

“My wish?…” you think it over for a moment before a memory plays in your head as you one night watched a shooting star “I wish happy life”

The Majin grins at that, “as you wish”

And then Arajin wishes to lose his virginity which makes you and the two Majin stare at him in both shock and disbelief

Before you them rightfully punch Arajin in the head for both shooting you and wasting a wish for literally anything in the world

Meanwhile both Majin laugh their metaphorical asses off

The Majin are only seen by you and Arajin despite Ara trying to get others to see the two

Despite the fact that you had a mental breakdown when first meeting Senya and Astḗr you become quickly used to their presence

Senya is the more battle hungry of the two, enthusiastically asking you of your past experiences once hearing you had your fair share

Despite his initial impression he seems to be quite a fun guy

He even has an almost puppy like expression at times when you explain new human things as Aster listens with a look of amazement

Speaking of Aster your Majin is seemingly the youngest

Apparently their first time even experiencing the human world

Senya has granted wishes a couple times within the span of few centuries but Aster is doing it for the first time

It leaves Senya looking on like a big brother as Aster engages with you with enthusiasm

You soon realize though that your wish for a happy life was soon much more complicated than you initially wishes

“Aster why am I seeing shojo anime sparkles?!?”

The Majin giggles “well you said you wanted a happy life right! Well I watched some of those shows your mom was watching and some fairytales and well…they seem to be living a really happy life! Plus you used to live here right? Whats more happy and romantic than reuniting with your old friends!”

As much as you like Aster your gonna strangle them

Mahoro (romantic)

The girl your brother is listing after and sits beside seems worryingly familiar to you

Even she seems to notice this as she looks your way as Ara is too love stricken to notice she’s looking behind him

It’s so odd

She rings a bell in your head yet you can’t place a finger on it

Until it’s after school and you end up at a small stationary shop selling cute stuff

Even back in your delinquent days you had a soft spot for cute stuff

It was a secret you hid in the depths of your soul for your reputation

Except to two people in particular

One of which who you gifted a small my melody keychain to match your kuromi one

In that small store you pick out the cutest stuff of your dreams without any hesitation you used to have

By the time you leave your bag is filled to the brim

It’s there you bump into that pretty girl

She looks at you with big pink eyes

And it’s there passing her you notice her my melody phone charm

It’s there you realize it’s “Mai-chan” as you used to affectionately call her

The only person you felt comfortable in talking about your love for cute things

Back in the day she used to have the biggest crush on you

She’d follow you around and cling to you like a stray puppy and glaring at anyone in a 3 feet radius

She even had the gull to argue with her big bro about being to close to you

In retrospect maybe a little obsessive but at the time she was one of the few you felt…soft with plus it was probably just puppy love

Around everyone you had to be ready for a fight

You were the ruthless leader of a gang after all

You couldn’t have to to just simply sit down and enjoy something like Sanrio

Someone but yourself to put bandaids and wrap your bruised knuckles

But with her you let your guard down

She was someone you could simply be you with

And because of that, because you were her shield and someone who would genuinely listen to her

You could simply be you and she could be herself without people just perceiving her for her looks

When you were adopted though you cut contact for everyone’s sake

Because how would she feel if she saw you were a completely different person

In some sense you were ashamed

In another you thought it was best for anyone to know

When you leave the shop she stares at the kuromi merchandise you bought

Distantly you hear her nickname for you but you pretend to ignore it

When Ara asks about his prospects with his “sweet Mahoro-chan~” you can’t help but sigh

She’s doing that old habit of luring guys in for her brother to beat up since you won’t do it anymore

You tried to warn Ara but you assume you’ll have to step in personally when the time comes

“Oni-chan! I think I saw them again! And they’re hanging out with some boy! You know what that means!”

Matakara (romantic)

The moment you stood up for him and Arajin as kids he looked up to you

Despite the fact you were the leader of those kids you clearly had morals

Even watching your fights against other kids he noticed you were honourable

And that’s something that stuck with him

Sure, it didn’t take much for you to bloody your knuckles but you didn’t play dirty

You fought fair

Sure maybe you were rough around the edges but he saw in you like Arajin a kindness

One that was on display that day and even more so when you were taken in

He didn’t know you for very long until you and your family moved but when he did it was something he’d never forget

You were more kind at heart than he imagined

When he an Arajin would train you’d alway cheer them on and have celebratory snacks ready

When he pushed himself to the limit of got hurt you’d patch him up

Washing his scrapes and putting cute little bandaids on them

He was heartbroken when you left and as were you

So it’s a surprise when he suddenly sees Arajin again

And by extension that means your back too

When you both run into each other again your much more happy than Arajin

In fact his men can hardly believe it when he’s suddenly tackled hugged by you

Never can he but he then spins you around in pure joy

All the while his men Zabu and Komao watch in awe

Before you turn your attention to them

And pause

And then turn back to Matakara with an expression which could only be described as “pissed and wanting an explanation”

So turns out he joined a gang

And turns out you don’t like that much since you then suplex him onto the ground

Of all the things he learned from you it should’ve been not to get affiliated with gangs

It’s literally what you told him and Ara everyday

But nope, this block headed puppy dog did the one thing you told him not to do

Zabu and Komao almost attack you if not for Matakara laughing it off

Even if your upset with his decision he’s at least happy that your still the same you

Temperamental but compassionate

Sturdy yet gentle

Stoic and emotional all at the same time

He asks if sometime you’d like to have lunch or train at the dojo his relatives own and you agree

But only if it’s non gang related and he smiles

Zabu and Komao can practically see hearts buzzing around him and the gentle look in his eyes as you leave

They can’t really blame him for it either

“Other than joining a gang (which I’m still upset about) what have you been doing?” You ask sitting down beside him with your bento box and his. Mom made one specially for him

“Well I’ve been training. Arajin may have given up but I haven’t, it seems like you still train too” he says with the same kind smile as usual

You feel yourself get a bit flustered at that “how else am I supposed to keep that idiot brother of mine safe. I swear he walks into danger sometimes” at that Matakara laughs in agreement.

Marito (romantic)

Back when you started your gang there was only ever one person that ever came close to your strength and that was Marito

When you had defeated him it was as if he became a parasite that latched onto you (you say this lovingly and out of annoyance)

He had stuck with you like glue and became your right hand man

Quite literally helping you claw your way to the top of the metaphorical food chain

Marito and his sister were the only two people at the time that saw you for who you were

Saw where you’d slink back off to at night

Saw how utterly hopeless and alone you felt

You were strong yes, that’s what drew him to you in the first place

It was (as he says) “love at first fight”

But beyond that he began to see the person who did his sisters hair

Gave other tips In how to throw a proper punch

Allowed their mask to break In his presence and crumble

It made him grow to love you more

Respect you more

And most importantly grow to care for you despite your inability to properly see it

Despite what you thought so many people respected and looked up to you

Him included

For fucks sake his own sister got jealous when he once had to carry you or when your attention was on him too much

You didn’t see this though, perhaps couldn’t with the constant feeling of invisibility and insecurity instilled into you at birth

It’s because of this that one day you seemingly disappeared and left a note saying you gave up your position as leader to him

It hurt

It hurt a lot more than he wanted to admit

everyone felt your absence, him and Mahoro especially

But despite that Marito never gave up on trying to find you

He would get it through your thick head one way or another that he cared for you

That he loved you damn it

And if there was one thing people would agree on about Marito is was that he never gave up on something

Especially for someone he loves

So when years pass he’s still looking for you when something catches his attention

His sister mentions that she thought she saw you

It seems you were back

And with a guy? Who was also once again wrapped around her finger

He wasn’t surprised at that but moreso you were with someone

So maybe after that he got a little bit heated more than usual when interrupting Mahoro’s “date” with him to beat the shit out of him

And maybe he does get a little obsessed with his punch

And then you show up with that beautiful stoic and cold look on your face as you give him your famous combo moves

And he falls in love with you all over again

I mean how can he not?

Especially when he punch back and you simply spit the blood out to the pavement

And how can he not be jealous when you go help Arajin before realize through a now pissy Mahoro (upset he got to be within 4 feet of you) that’s your brother

From the look on his face of lovesick and determined you can’t help but feel a bit nervous in class with Arajin as Mahoro practically looks behind you and you hear some footsteps quickly approaching your classroom

“Looks like big boss is back in town! I wonder how long I’ll need to fight them to get it in their thick head how much I love them” he says kicking his feet as newer members look in confusion. The older one though know

“Oni-chan you better not hog them from me!” A huffy Mahoro grumbles

You really wish you could’ve wished for something else

Your having the feeling Arajin wishes the same

It seems they were right about having wishes always turn out in the worst of ways

Senya and Astḗr don’t seem to be doing it maliciously but rather out of obliviousness

But maybe it was both your faults for not asking for a straight forward wish from two entities that haven’t interacted with humans for centuries (or for in Astḗr’s case ever)

[luna0713hunter]

Please more writing for shanks! It's so good

Author's note : I've come back from the death!!!i just had one of my final terms today and saying im exhausted to bone is a misunderstanding. Anyways!!!i hope u enjoy this!!

A safe place to rest

Shanks x reader

Summary : being a pirate,may seem like an easy job. But after fighting marines and looking after your crewmates,you cant help but to feel exhausted.

Warnings : none,hurt/comfort,overworked reader,pet names such as "princess,darling and etc", gender neutral ,metion of blood

*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘˚˳°*.✧∘

Peeling the bloody shirt off of your body and throwing it on the wooden floor of the ship,you sit heavily on your bed and heave a heavy sigh; today was exhausting.

It started out like any other day;with you waking up to your crewmates loud banter and getting dressed as you made your way over to the kitchen to have a simple breakfast. Soon,a small land was found,and it was time for reloading the stuff you needed to sail off again.

Helping everyone was as always,a challenge. As you tried to stop your crewmates from making any mess,and at the same time remembering every single item on the list. And simply putting them in the storage had took all your afternoon rest. And if that wasnt enough,everyone on the ship had agreed to go out and drink because it's been a while since you had hit the land.

And if your day wasnt exhausting enough,all hell broke loose as you stepped inside the bar.

Everything was good for the first thirty minutes. That is,until a group of young marines had barged in; seemingly have heard from the locals about the pirates luring around.

The fight was ugly.

You take your head in your hands as the images of the fight flashes across your eyes;the sickly smell of blood still lingering in your nose.

Gods above,you were beyond tired. You were ready to crawl under your blanket and never get out,when a gentle knock broke you out of your trace.

You hastily throw a clean shirt on,and slowly open the door only to be greeted by a flash of red.

Shanks,your captain, gives you a small smirk as he takes in your appearance and leans against the door frame.

"comfortable there, princess?"

You give him a confused look before taking a good look at what you're wearing and then your cheeks are burning bright red. You swallow down your embarrassment and fold your arms against your chest with a slight pout.

"your fault for leaving it in my room,Cap."

Shanks lets out a free laugh and raises his single arm up in mock surrounder.

"dont get me wrong. I love to see you in my clothes more than anything."

You hum,a slight comfort taking place in your weary bones as you lean against the door as well.

"more than wine?"

Shanks leans slightly closer,and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear,and you try to look away when he gives you the softest smile.

"more than air itself,my dear."

You lean in his touch shyly and look up at him from under your lashes.

"would you like to come in then, captain?"

Shanks nods and closes the door behind himself.

Its not his first time in your room;after all,its been a while since the two of you started dating. But it still made you slightly awkward having him in your messy room.

A slight tug at your hand and warm fingers interwining with yours,makes you look at the red haired man standing in front of you.

"what're you thinking about,doll?"

And just seeing him there;in the comfort of your own room and under the soft glow of the candles;in his cloths,has you letting out a soft sigh and leaning your forehead against his shoulder.

"I'm just... exhausted,Shanks. Today was alot. Everything is alot."

A strong arm wraps itself around your shoulders and pulls you flush against his chest. You feel Shanks' lips press firmly against the crown of your hair and you close your eyes upon the feeling.

"Take the day off tomorrow. No,take a week off;a month if you need,my dear. It kills me to see you wear yourself thin,and I've been meaning to ask you to take a break. Lets just,rest until you feel better yeah?" You raise you head up and look at him,only to see him smiling softly;his hand caressing your hair, "no need to push yourself. My princess deserves the best."

You blink rapidly;only to get rid of the stray tears stinging your eyes. A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips before you're pulling yourself up on your tiptoes,and pressing your lips to his stubbled cheek.

"i appreciate it,Cap."

A horse chuckle escapes his lips,and before you know it, you're being lead to your bed.

"then how about we start from sleeping this awful night off. What do you say?"

And when you pull him down along with you and let out a relaxed sigh as you lay your head on his chest,a genuine smile finally blooms on your lips.

"sounds just wonderful,my love."

And you let the sound of Shanks' soft breathing and waves,lull you to sleep.

[the-90s-music-colosseum]

Round 5, Match 2

propaganda below the cut! (wall of text warning)

Selena:

"truly probably one of the most beautiful women to have ever walked this earth. voice of an angel, dazzling smile, looks like she smells good"

"if u don't vote selena ur mexicanphobic /j"

Brian Molko:

"Gender"

"IM GOING TO EAT HER. He is soooo beautiful and freakish and small and weird and girlfriend and tiny like a little princess bug fairy. Literally gorgeous she has to win"

"When he flipped over the table with the little limp wrist.... someone find the video"

"1998 woman of the year"

"Brian Molko is peak gender envy, gender bending and being yourself without caring about other people's opinion, on top of all that he is a great guitarist that writes amazing songs"

"Brian’s gonna win this. I think we all kinda know that."

"Tumblrinas would be nothing without Brian molko"

"Kills her kills her kills her kills her kills her kills him kills her. He's my everything <3"

"He came 10th in the list of hottest women sometimes in the 90s. Gender goals."

"No one in the world can sound so nasal and look so angelic....."

"don't you wish you had his gender"

"Single-handedly took my gender by the scruff of the neck and threw it in a washing machine at full speed. He talked about not expecting to "get away with" passing as a woman to the degree that he did when he started purposely presenting feminine. He talked about the importance to fuck with people's heads through his appearance and behaviour, the importance of ambiguity. About how being in the band allowed him to do stuff he couldn't have done otherwise, to exaggerate some of his traits. He had the fuck ass bob makeup nail polish dresses stuff down, but not in an overly sophisticated way, especially in the early career 90s days the vibe was more shabby punk rock chick. Also he fantasized about being in an all-girl band called Skirt and playing guitar and singing backing vocals in drag. According to a 1997 melody maker interview bandmate steve hewitt called him "the most confused woman he's ever known". And if you go down that rabbit hole there's just more of this. Lots of material to focus on if you like genderweird bisexual unclean libertines (song ref) who will just say Anything in interviews. It's fun."

"I've drawn him as saints and martyrs such as saint sebastian and joan of arc. Or all bloody lying in a wet alley after being thrown out of a club. Or unconscious on a snowy road. Or dying in a glue trap. Or shocked after seeing a dead body. Also as a nun and as rose mcgowan in the doom generation. This is because I'm normal."

"She's a sick little angel faced freak. My theythem girlboy queen. He reminds me of an ant. He's like 5 foot 4 or something. My goth girl boyfriend. <3"

[winnieiscalmeth]

Hello, can I ask Balalaika x male or gn reader scenario?

Basically, Balalaika is with the reader whom she thought was just an ordinary kind and religious man who loves her for who she is, but one day the reader gets kidnapped by a gang, Balalaika is about to rescue the reader but the reader shows up in front of their doorstep covered in blood, Balalaika begins to question the reader on why are they covered in blood?, how did they escape? and are they injured? The reader just sits on the sofa and tells Balalaika "You have told me your secret it's about time I tell you mine" The reader tells Balalaika about their past about their childhood, how they created a syndicate, how they got the nickname the conquering devil, when they tired of the life their living back then how they found solace and peace in religion and turning a new leaf, how they escape the gang who kidnapped them up to now.

Balalaika x Reader

Мой маленький дьявол= My little devil

Notes: This is a little ooc and highkey cringe but here you go! Might mention a gender so if you see it just ignore.

TW: Substance selling, alcohol abuse, neglect, murder

Proof read: Nope.

"Brought back into hell"

Balalaika never expected to fall in love with someone like you. You were just a nun/monk roaming around the city and She is a mafia boss. But her perspective changed about you after a few hours of no call from you.

Shaking off the nagging feeling, she continued fliping through files on an upcoming assignment she was going to give the Lagoon company.

"Captain" Boris called out to her. "I've heard some news about Y/n," he said.

"Oh really? I mean, it's nothing new when it comes to them sticking their nose into stuff that's not their busines-"

"They've been kidnapped," Boris interrupted. "A few of our soldiers came back with this after finding it out on the street." He pulled out a bloody neckerchief.

Balalaika froze. Why were you even out at night? Where were the people she hired for you?

Balalaika inhaled before standing up. "Gather up the guards that were supposed to be protecting them and start a search party." Boris nodded and wrapped her coat around her. She turned to walk out the door.

"Should I call for more people?" Boris followed her. Balalaika shook her head.

"No. This shouldn't take long." She twisted the knob on the door and swung it open. When her eyes adjust to the darkness in front of her, a silhouette is shown walking up.

"I was going to call you, but I didn't want my fingerprints on the payphone." The figure spoke. Recognizing the voice, Balalaika looked back at Boris. Boris looked back at her with an equally confused expression. You waved your bloody hand at her. Both of them stood there, confused.

You awkwardly stared back at them. "I'm gonna..go clean up." You walked past them.

"I'll speak to you later, Sargeant. Right now, I need to figure out what the hell happened to Y/n" she said, turning to follow you. By the time she reached your room, you already had some of the bloody clothing off of you. Before you knew it, she was grabbing you and checking to see if you had gotten hurt.

"Are you okay? How did you get out?" She removed her hand from your face and stared at the blood on it. "Whose blood is this?!"

"Calm down!" You grabbed her hand. Balalaika sighed and sat down. Silence filled the room. "I didn't think I was going to be brought back into this life. I even tried to be religious." You laughed at the irony. Balalaika watched your figure slump down into the chair.

"What life?" Her eyebrows furrowed. You sighed.

"Y'know about the 'conquering devil?'" You asked her. She nodded. "That is- was my name."

Balalaika folded her arms. "I had a feeling. But I couldn't convince myself that you were a killer." You rolled your eyes.

"I took offense to that." You two shared a heartwarming laugh before falling back into silence. "My life has never been all sunshine and holiness, though. My dad was an alcoholic, and my mom was never really there. I swore to God that I would never become like him, but sometimes things don't go as planned."

"I started selling cocaine. Just enough for some food and a place to stay. We gathered a small crew, and when we got tired of selling drugs, we went into robbing, then got hired as assassins. We got more popular, and that's where I got my name. Our small crew got bigger with me as their leader. People started to fear us, but then one of our members had to go and fuck it all up by killing the wrong person. "You leaned forward more in your chair." The look in that woman's eyes still appears in my memory. Cleaning her blood off of my carpet was a wake-up call.

"After sleepless nights, I just left. I left everything behind to start a new life. I started going back to church and volunteering for small community get togethers. Then some basterds just had to bring me back into hell. " You put your head into your hand. Balalaika held your hand and listened patiently, just like you did when she opened up about her past. "The dumbasses didn't tighten the rope enough, and I managed not to get shot as I ran out." She looked you up and down.

"It doesn't explain the blood."

"Not mine." You said. Balalaika chuckled and stood up. "Well, Мой маленький дьявол. We should get you cleaned up before it sticks to you." She grabbed your hand and lead you to the bathroom.

"Ooh I see what your doing" You smirked at her. Balalaika had a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"What? You deserve it after what you went through" She squeezed your hand mirroring the same smirk on your face.

[popcornforone]

DECEMBER

A part of the Marcus Pike Fan Fic Diary

Masterlist

November

It’s here

The final entry of the Marcus Pike Diary & if I’m honest I’m really gonna miss the soft writing for him. He has finally got the life he deserved & I want to thank you all for coming on the 12 month journey with me. It’s been a pleasure. Please check out the Masterlist for the rest of the story.

Synopsis:- You have to convince Marcus to go wreath making.

Word count:- 800

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! Swearing, alcohol, pregnancy(dont worry they don’t drink) piv Dex, teasing, pda, extremely fluffy & romantic, remember this is a diary so it’s all I.

Thank you all so much for reading the Diary. It’s really appreciated.

Marcus wasnt keen when I booked this up back in August, just before we went on holiday. He was like why do we need to do this. But today it all paid off & he’s been excited to do this for the last week.

We went wreath making. The little craft shop 2 blocks away does festive nights & I thought this would be the perfect chill evening for us both. I’ve done one with friends a couple of years ago & he said it was the best wreath ever, but this year I said we should both go. A nice couples evening.

We weren’t the only couple there. It was a mix of friendship groups, couples & sibling. All listening intently to the instructions. Marcus of course thought he was all over this. 5 mins in he was swearing.

“Fuck” he said after the 3rd Holly sprig poked him. “Bloody holly” he said having a sip of his champagne. He’s happy I’m pregnant, means he can drink & not worry, because I will be happy to drive him home. I mean he’s happy I’m pregnant for lots of reasons obviously but it means we don’t have to pay for taxis this holiday season.

“Language Marcus” I said not shouting when I drew blood a few minutes later.

“I just want it to be perfect baby” he said kissing my neck. Marcus is loving the PDA at the moment. Something about my bump showing is making him even more loving that usual. Or is it just my breast looking so fabulous & full.

80 minutes in & the hard part of the wreath was done. Holly, pines, eucalyptus, Christmas tree, all sorts of green Shrubbery covered them. Now it was time to decorate.

“Do you trust me Marcus?” I said as I went to go get items for us to put on the wreaths.

“Always baby” he said as he moved into another glass of fizz. His eyes widened when he saw how much stuff I brought back. “That’s a lot” he chuckles.

“Yes it is but I have an idea” I said. “We use all the same main materials but for the bells, stars, candy canes & glitter one of us uses pink & the other blue” he smiles.

“Oooh that’s a good idea” he says “hang on thought you didn’t want a gender reveal party” he said looking confused as we had talked about this.

“I don’t but it your family & mine will be together at your parents cabin for Christmas. We will know next week what we are having so we can arrive at the cabin & present them all with the correct colour wreath & the other one can be on our door at home.” Marcus kisses my forehead. His hand coved in sap from sorting out the greenary rubs my now showing bump.

“Clever girl” he says.

“I have my moment.”

Once our wreaths are made & we both look at them happily we take a photo of us holding them both wondering what we will be blessed with.

“Are you going to post all of your pregnancy on Instagram” he joked as we made our way back to our places once it was all over.

“Not all of it”

��Well seems like you have so far”

“Do you want me to post some of those naughty photos we took in the waterfall baby & that lagoon so everyone knows where bump was conceived” he turned bright red.

“True but I think when we get home I’m gonna need a reminder.”

I love my evening baths at the moment I’m having 2 a week & usually Marcus joins me for one a fortnight. Tonight was that night. The candles at the end of the bath. Soft rnb playing. How I sat in his lap. The way he washed my with the sponge. The way I feel so sensitive every time he pushes inside me. His fingers on my clit as I turn my head back to nip & kiss at his ear & neck. Soft moans as we slowly grind together. The water enhancing my pleasure. He still loves to pleasure me. Says even when I’m gonna be to tired & not physically able to be thrust into that he will still lick me out, make my pussy pur & make his face glisten. He loves me & he loves that my body is glowing with pregnancy.

I can’t believe the year is almost up diary. I’m now sat in bed while he does to make me a honey & hot water drink to have before bed. When he said new year new us back on New Year’s Eve, im not sure I really believed him. But I now know that next year will be a new beginning all over again.

I’m so happy with my life, my bump & my Marcus Pike. The man I would do anything for. My rock, my souls mate, my man.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Hold Still ~ X.T.

A/n: Gender neutral pronouns were used, so gn reader for this one! Pure fluff after the last angsty fic <3

Request: “Xavier x werewolf!reader where R gets into a fight with another student that Xavier pulls them out of and helps patch them up. R is still drunk on adrenaline(or like mildly concussed lmao), and they keep being annoying trying to steal kisses from him while he’s literally trying to help stop their face from bleeding.”

Word Count: 1500+

MASTERLIST

Xavier had gotten there too late to see how it had started, but it was quickly quite clear how it was ending. Y/n wasn’t shifted at all, only their eyes glowing as they went to town on the person underneath them. Xavier had only managed to slip through the crowd and hook his hands under his partner’s arms, hefting them up and away. They had fought, and though Xavier was taller they were stronger and they almost got away. If him not groaning as their foot came in contact with the sude of his leg and them recognizing his voice, they probably would have gotten away clean.

Distracted by Xavier though, their focus changed quickly as they turned from the guy that Xavier didn’t even recognize - except that they weren’t from Nevermore. Which made no sense because they were at school. The town people never came here on their own.

He focused on his partner as their hands ran over his shoulders and down his arms, eyes scanning for injury.

Despite himself, Xavier smiled. “I’m okay.” Of course they had the time and energy to be worried about him when they had a forming black eye, split lip and bloody nose.

Xavier was a little proud to say the other guy looked worse though. Y/n had handled him well.

Not that he should he encouraging that.

Weems was on the scene in the next breath, leaving no room for further discussion. Her eyes ran over something before her worry turned cold and hard as her eyes landed on the boy still on the ground. No one had even tried to help him up, which confused Xavier even more.

Then he saw it.

When Xavier’s art in town had been painted over last year, Weems had given him permission to do something at the school. He had put all of the effort he had into this one, absolutely sure that it would be safe inside the school at the very least.

The wall he’d had his second painting was white, the paint only on enough to cover what he had worked so hard on, underneath. Over the white was splattered, “Monster” in big blocky red letters. At the bottom of the scene on the wall was an open and prepped bear trap.

Xavier felt himself go pale.

The trap was a message of course, the boy probably hadn’t meant to actually catch Xavier or anyone else. But it would have been easy not to see it if you were lost in a book or practicing some practical magic or in regular school stuff - even if you were in a hurry on the way to class. There was a corner that someone could turn around and completely not see the trap at all.

This kid had not only ruined Xavier’s portrait, he had put every single person at Nevermore in very real danger.

No wonder Y/n had gone for the throat.

Weems leered at the boy at her full height and the boy on the ground shrunk into himself. “You won’t press charges, or spread word on what happened here. If you try to I will expose the instigating actions and very illegal trespassing and assault you’ve done. Don’t even get me started on the physical safety threat you’ve made.” It wasn’t totally accurate, but it would he only too easy to play off if anyone tried anything.

Weems had grown a backbone. That was nice to see.

The boy nodded and, once dismissed by Weems, scrambled to freedom. She then turned to Y/n. She didn’t reprimand them as expected. Her gaze simply softened and she sighed. “I know things have gotten difficult for you since getting arrested,” she said softly to Xavier. His eyes fell to the ground, unable to look at his ruined painting.

For the second time now.

“Make me something for my office instead okay?” She asked.

Xavier nodded, looking at her as she kneeled down to check on how Y/n was doing. “Thanks, Weems.”

The woman smiled. “Of course. Now go get your partner patched up.”

Xavier smiled softly, helping Y/n to their feet. The pair left to Xavier’s dorm. Usually they’d be sneakier or at least get some light hearted joking teasing from teachers or reminders of curfew, but today they just walked and everyone left them alone.

Y/n had stepped up for Nevermore ajd taken hits for it. They could have this one.

Once inside, Xavier sat them down on his bed (It smelled like him and he knew they’d like that). Then he got a wet rag, disinfectant and a few bandages. He sat next to Y/n, reaching over to hold their chin as he used the rag to softly dab and wipe the blood away, cleaning the cut.

They hissed, leaning away on instinct. Xavier shot them a half amused look. “We love a knight in shining armor but now I have to patch you up like the good boyfriend I am. So please stay still.”

Y/n did a little pout. “Can’t you just kiss it better?”

Xavier chuckled. Then he sobered a bit as he realized their eyes were dilated and their gaze seemed a little unfocused.

Shit.

“Hey, are you feeling anything abnormal other than the pain from the bruising and cuts?” He asked, trying to move their chin so their eyes would meet his. They seemed to struggling with the task.

Y/n just shrugged. “My head hurts a little. He got like, two good hits in. But only in the beginning. I landed on the ground before he got on top of me and then I sort of flipped us over and-“ They shrugged again.

Xavier frowned. “Did you hit your head?”

Y/n laughed at that. “Several times. Between his fist and the concrete I got a few good whacks.”

Xavier bit back an angry comment. That wouldn’t help them right now. He would chide Y/n for being reckless and apathetic with their well being another time. “Y/n, you have a concussion.” He raised an accusing eyebrow.

Y/n grinned. “Not surprised I got a bit roughed up falling for you.”

Xavier snorted, rolling his eyes and dodging his partner as they went in for a kiss. “You cannot flirt your way out of this. You should have told me that you hit your head. I could have made it worse.”

Y/n sighed, leaning against the end of the bed, first pushing a pillow behind him so the post didn’t dig into his back. “I’m sorry Xav I just. Tired.” They nestled into the bed and closed their eyes, as if to sleep.

Xavier pulled them into a sitting position, heart swelling when they whined. They were so adorable right now…

He had go focus.

“You can’t fall asleep when you have s concussion darling we don’t know exactly how bad your concussion is.”

Y/n rolled his eyes but conceded. “Fine. Continue your treatment Doctor Thorpe.”

A smile ghosted at his lips again, unable to help himself. “Okay sit still and I’ll try to get the rest of your face.”

“Not my face,” Y/n groaned. “My money winner!”

A chuckle bubbled from Xavier as he was caught off guard by the near drunk way Y/n was acting right now. He seemed to be able to focus more easily now and wasn’t slurring his words, and he seemed to be keeping his balancing sitting up fine enough so Xavier was unworried enough to be able to enjoy the shenanigans. “Whatever, Y/n.” He reached the rag forward to wipe more of the blood away. Y/n ducked the rag and leaned in again for a kiss. This time they got a peck before Xavier ducked out of the way. “Y/n,” he chided.

The put on their best pleading face. “One kiss and I’ll sit still?”

Xavier sighed, taking a second before conceding. “Fine.” They made a squeaky noise of celebration before puckering up, leaning in. Xavier chuckled before shifting his hold from their chin to their jaw, leaning in for a long and deep and sincere kiss. When he leaned away they whined and he found himself suddenly sickly in love. “Please let me finish?”

Y/n hesitated, eyes locked on the details of Xavier’s face, drinking in how he was looking at them right now. They pursed their lips. “Xav. You know you’re not a monster, right?”

Xavier felt something warm settle in his chest. Y/n was always so aware and caring of him, even when they were concussed.

God he was lucky. “I know.” His thumb brushed across their cheek, expression soft. He was melted to the floor in love with them.

They smiled. “Good.” They settled into a single spot, lifting their chin and offering their face for cleaning. Xavier went back to work, thanking whoever was listening above that even though people were cruel and mistakes haunted you even when the mistakes weren’t yours - that despite all the bad in the world, Xavier had Y/n. Someone so good they single handedly balanced everything else.

He could paint another picture. They were worth that.

[demon-sneeze]

🎉it’s my birthday!

So I wanna finally post some of the things I promised. Mystic Messenger fanart and Crowley fic!!

I wanna post my Crowley fic in three chapters possibly. Theres stuff with the s8 finale church, then s9 dungeon bonding, then a little time skip and self indulgent s12 smut for the last part.

So! Here is my blurb to hopefully get someone interested! This is basically the first chapter that I’ll publish on AO3 later after some polish and maybe another hundred words at the end to wrap up the scene better.

Please someone enjoy!!

———

- Crowley (SPN) X Reader

- 1k words

- Gender neutral reader

- hurt/comfort but basically just the comfort

- POV switch

Description: Reader cleans the blood off Crowley’s face in the church between Sam doing the trial.

———

Sam stepped out of the church for air. I waited a few beats before sighing and looking back to the bloody half-demon confined to the chair in the center of the room.

His eyes had also followed Sam out and remained on the closed doors.

He looked resigned, anxious, thoughtful, but overwhelmingly tired. I guess gaining your humanity, or most of it, after so long would feel like the ultimate emotional bombshell. Every bad thing you’ve ever done being recontexualized through a sense of guilt that was absent and nonexistent up until then. 300 years of bad experiences needing to suddenly be processed. All this while being in grave danger, the threat of death very near and assured.

Though maybe that part feels like a comfort. Does it feel like a comfort to someone who knows what happens to a human after death? Would he still die like a demon?

Not that I’d let that happen. I know they wanna close the gates or whatever but killing him afterwards is unnecessary. If I’ve learned anything from Frankenstein it’s that once you make a man, you gotta take responsibility for him. We aren’t in the people-killing business when we can help it. If Sam wants to ruin this guy’s life as he knows it, he can’t just discard him when he’s done.

A fresh start is a fresh start. I can’t blame a demon for being a demon and I can’t blame a human for what they did when they were soulless. Sam of all people should know that.

His eyes drifted to me with a blink. No smart ass remarks this time.

He looked crushed. Face still tear stained and covered in blood. The needle marks in his neck forming an angry patch of red dots.

I always had a soft spot for him a mile wide.

I broke eye contact to look at the things we brought. There were all of the necessities for what we were trying to accomplish of course, but there was also a first aid kit brought in from the car. I grabbed my own water bottle and some sterile wipes from the first aid.

He watched me. I could feel his eyes, though they weren’t as piercing as before. He was sort of spacey, which was completely different from his usual aura of caution and intensity. Resigned to whatever fate was in store and losing his will to resist it.

It was unnerving on some level due to his sudden change in character but moreso because, I’ll admit, I was genuinely concerned for him.

I took the clean cloth and my water bottle with me as I walked closer to him. Stepping over the markings on the ground carefully as not to disturb them. When I looked back up at his face he just looked confused.

I poured some water onto the cloth before setting the bottle on the ground and getting close enough to touch him.

“Don’t bite me.” Is all I say before starting to gently wipe the blood from a tiny cut near his temple.

“I won’t.” Was all he said back. No quips, no threats.

---

They started at his temple. Far more gentle than was necessary.

He had been looking at them the whole time, but at the feeling of the cloth he closed his eyes. The human blood in his veins had his nerve endings acting sensitive. He almost flinched at a particularly painful swipe.

They had apparently noticed anyway. Mumbling, “Sorry.”

He wanted to cry again. Not at the pain of course, but at the kindness he felt like he didn’t deserve and had not really experienced… ever? He was sure that in 300 years he had been shown kindness at some points but this… was different. He had hurt them. He had hurt their friends. But still they got close enough to his face to feel their breath while they gently wiped off the blood and dirt that had accumulated. To say sorry at the slightest cause of pain?

And why? For pity, or just some practical reason? Was it kindness?

The human blood made him more sensitive physically and emotionally in this moment than he had felt even as a human the first time around.

Their face, at this distance, looked worried of course. But because of the worry he noticed the shape of their eyes. He noticed their eyelashes and eye color and he wondered what they would look like in direct sunlight, what they would look like unbothered by flickering candlelight. Instead of here, looking exhausted in the dim greenish-blue light of the abandoned shack that passed for a church.

They made eye contact for a second but then looked back and held it when they realized he was looking at them.

They didn’t say anything. Just blinked. Inviting his questions.

“Why?”

“Why not? I need something to do, and I like you.” They said simply. They refreshed the water on the cloth and started at a different point, moving farther behind him. There was less to do back there and they both knew it but it was the easiest way to avoid making conversation or eye contact.

That seemed like a poor excuse for so many reasons.

He felt them working the cloth gently against the side of his head, moving to the back of his neck. He had to stop himself from vocalizing when their nails lightly scratched at his hairline.

Damn that felt good. It all felt so good. Even when they got to the most sensitive place, the needle marks, they were so gentle he didn’t feel worried, just leaned his head slightly to give them better access. It felt relaxing, to pretend to be cared for.

Sam was rough and didn’t care for his comfort in the least. When they touched him though, they were almost laughably attentive. He felt more like a child getting a cut cleaned by a mother (not that he would know) than a demon being… what, taken pity on by a hunter with a bleeding heart?

He felt a horrible ache in his chest for a moment when he realized it was over but then remembered himself.

He was almost looking forward to Sam putting him out of his misery by this point.

[cazuela-time]

Ok so I've been having a sexuality crisis now that i got a boyfriend and got to experience stuff with a guy. I thought about it a lot and i reached the conclusion that a) i like him platonically, and b) I'm probably a lesbian. and i was super sure about it today but i saw the quiet place movie a few hours ago and i love male characters that are so wet and pathetic - but like, in a cat kinda way?? Like i would kiss them but in the same sense i would kiss my cat for being cute. Not in a particularly romantic sense but i do think that they're very cute?

Anyway i was thinking that and being like shit maybe im not actually gay if i like these male characters - i obviously like their personalities and shiet but the thing that makes me really like em is their look

By look i mean wet and pathetic, bloodied or fucked up in some sense, tired and nerdy looking (eric from quiet place, newt from pacific rim,etc) and then i has a small thought non thought? Like i thought it but it caught me by surprise, because for a second i was like "i wish i was him" and the thing is im non binary in the sense that i dont percieve my gender - HAVE I JUST WANTED TO LOOK LIKE THEM THIS WHOLE TIME ARE YOU KIDDING ME? IS THAT IT?? I WANTED TO STEAL THEIR GENDER PRESENTATION?

Im being so fr i always thought they were cute and so i assumed it was attraction. Did i confuse gender envy with attraction?? I am having a crisis.

WHAT EVEN IS ATTRACTION IM SO CONFUSED.

Like, i like how these brand of fictional guy look - their personalities and aesthetic are very appealing to me and sometimes i like them to the point of wanting to put them in my pocket and like, squeeze them like a little stress ball.

And if i think about real guys in my life, ive liked 3 guys -

first one i have absolutely no recollection but my mum said i had a crush so whatever (also fun fact a lil boy tried to kiss me as a toddler and apparently i wanted to NOT so bad that i got a head injury by banging my head on furniture while backing up FAST lol).

Second was in elementary and we were friends. I dont remember liking him before i asked who he liked to make conversation but i remember i thought he implied he liked me and i liked him from there on (which was like two hours lol) and later when he admited it was another girl i felt heartbroken but i immediately got over it lmao.

And last was in high school - we were becoming fast friends and i liked him a lot, but when i thought about like kissing him and stuff i got this nervous feeling like it was wrong somehow. Also i chose a guy to like in middle school but i dont count that one.

To me, all these seem very shallow? But i dont know if thats normal or if im remembering wrong or remembering what i want to remember or what.

But if i think ab it, i could never have sex with them i think. And this applies to all men ive met too - If i imagine it the whole thing feels cold,,,like detached? Like i guess it'd be fine and we would be closer as a result (like, to bond?) But i dont think it'd be particularly fun?

THEN IF I COMPARE IT TO WOMEN i dont really like many female characters? Like I'm struggling to think of any i really really like besides Grace from ready or not and Pearl from pearl (and Maxine from x and Amber from Scream - the blood thing and that they can kill is cool ngl) and while I've thought about a friend like "i wish we could be together forever" type of thing, ive never had a crush on a girl -

But if i think about sex, if i picture it with a girl, it seems warm. Like it'd be very peaceful and like joyful? Like it would be fun. But its similar to when i think of it with men: it has no passion? Is that wrong? Am i not supposed to be passionate about it?

The hardest part is that i can't figure it out because I DONT FEEL ANYTHING?? WITH ANYONE???? PEOPLE TELL ME THEY LOOK AT CERTAIN PPL AND THEY THINK "oh yeah i wanna fuck and kiss that person" and im like WHAT??? IVE NEVER IN MY LIFE THOUGHT ABOUT THAT??? i look at people and im like, yes, thats a person who is good looking, but nothing else?????

Like, i read and love nagata kabi's works and she has this part about how she and other people have a lust thing? And i looked at that and was so confused because I've never felt anything like that - bit i related to a lot of things she says. So maybe I'm asexual?? Or demisexual???

So yeah, im confused as fuck.

I somehow feel like I'm a lesbian (i literally made a huge list detailing every sapphic occurrence in my life, like for example the fact that my one and only "sex dream" was about a blonde girl in a bathtub) but i also kinda feel like what if I'm wrong? What if I'm lying to myself and I'm actually straight or bisexual?

[lawnmowereater]

hello! i was wondering if you could make a fic even a short one on how bakugou (boyfriend) would react to seeing the (old) scars on your wrist for the first time. Just how he'd react for not noticing it before and stuff.

Authors Notes: omg yes i can! your my first person to request something so thank you so much. if you wanted a longer story im sorry. (also this is not my gif)

Trigger Warning: S-lf H-rm

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Gender Neutral Reader, Like One Use of y/n

Bakugou seeing your old SH scars.

yall would probably just be chilling in his dorm

like having a little date night or romantic sleepover

and you just changed into your pajamas and they show a lot more skin than the outfits that you usually wear

you both were probably just scrolling on your phones together or watching tv, then bakugou got bored. he just started looking around in curiousity

then he looked at your revealed skin, and kinda started looking at it. he did end up dating the hottest person in the world, so he might as well admire them

but his heart dropped when he saw tons of old, small sc-rs all along your skin. they seemed healed which was good, but that didnt bother bakugou the most

his voice sounded small and a tad bit scared when he spoke "hey y/n..?"

you looked at him confused. he normally never sounds this scared unless something is really wrong. so you ask what's up

"those sc-rs look pretty bad, and before you say anything. dont lie to me, i know that you couldn't have gotten that many sc-rs that bad from training"

his voice sounded a bit harsh, but you knew that he was just scared and worried.

your eyes widened in fear when he pointed them out. you quickly grab a blanket and cover yourself before trying to lie your way out of the situation. but its too late

bakugou knew what those sc-rs were from, he wasnt an idiot.

when he spoke, his voice now sounded a bit shaky. and his eyes looked glassy, it seemed as if he was holding back tears

"no, dont lie. i know that you got those from s-lf h-rm." bakugou takes a deep breath "but.. why?"

his red eyes shimmered with held back tears as he waited for you to answer him. he was so worried but he didnt want to show you.

eventually, you told him why you s-lf h-rmed (idk why you did). it took a lot of courage to open up to bakugou, and he realizes that.

when you're done, you look up to bakugou for his reaction. although your teary eyes slightly blur up the view

bakugou has a few dried tears on his cheek. and he looks like a lost puppy. his eyes are wide with worry and concern.

he never really had comfort and support for his mental health growing up. this whole concept of opening up to your loved ones is still kinda stange for him

"im sorry, i.. i had no idea" he doesnt really know what to say, but he'll be damned if he doesnt try his best.

"but, just come to me the next time that you feel like doing this. i cant have you going around with bloody sc-rs like its nobodies business."

he looks at you and your teary eyes. he thinks for a moment, but then he opens his arms for you to climb into.

you slowly climb into his arms and onto his lap. his arms go around your torso as your arms goes behind his.

and you guys just kinda stay there for a while, not saying anything. its a comfortable silence, and you both definitely need it.

eventually after god knows how long, bakugou whispers into your ear "why didnt you tell me sooner?"

bakugou was worring this whole time about why you didnt tell him. was he not trust worthy? did he do something wrong?

you sooth his worries by telling him that you were just scared of what he would say, and if we would take it well.

a wave of relief washes over his body when you say that. he thought that he did something wrong.

then, he says "good. this better not be my fault."

he pauses to think for a bit.

"do you need food?"

he couldnt think of many other ways to comfort you, so this will have to so.

happily, the two of you walk into the kitchen for dinner, and prepare to spend a whole lot more time cuddling tonight.

[sloppyneedybmxboy]

fav supernatural episodes

3x03 rabbits foot bella episode 3x08 supernatural christmas super wincest so sweet so sad 3x10 dream a little dream of me, bobby i just love you 3x11 mystery spot, like groundhog day with dean dying a lot SO ANGST between sam and dean 3x12 jus in bello, super tense dude they're in a demon siege goood ep 3x13 ghostfacers, so so funny so spoofy

(*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

4x01 dean comes back from hell whole thing shot like gay porn i love it 4x03 and 02 not my fav episodes ever but incredibly gay destiel scenes at night 4x06 anxious dean 4x07 awesome ep. castiel meets sammie. DESTIEL scenes like the bench scene ZOMG 4x09 just a great ep loads of drama. anna !

4x10 good for drama. anna kisses dean and cas is like :o 4x15 uhh the reapers have been kindapped. castiel and also alistair and pamela. its a fun time (sort of ) 4x16 ON THE HEAD OF A PIN. my favest episode so far, so much drama. dean angst! torturing alistair! bloody cas. cas at deans bedside . i was getting too close to the humans in my charge etc etc 4x18 chuck, good ep ft dean praying to cas for first time

4x20 tense. not the best ep ever but ft jimmy novak aka cas' vessel and funny just for the complete lack of sexual tension between dean and jimmy without cas inside him and dean's confusion

4x21 oop. sam getting demon blood detoxed. angst and greatly enjoyable

4x22 best epppp so good so good. so fun always good to rewatch. much destiel

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

5x02 "i rebelled i did it all for you" destiel speech um also awesome ep war comes to small town etc rufus ellen involved very ethel cain 5x03 dean and cas go on a case together for the first time! very gay¬! 5x04 endverse cas and dean, apocalypse, gayness 5x06 good ep with the kid antichrsit it just pisses me offf 5x07 old dean, so funny, bobby angst, loves it 5x08 changing channels! it truly has it all. gabriel, cas, funny sam dean stuff, dr sexy …. 5x10 cas and jo and ellen and dean and bobby and stuff aaaa my heart. they tracked lucifer down. sexy cas scenes 5x11 a true fever dream of an episode … the boys admit themselves to a mental asylum … I don't know if this deserves to be on this list but it was kinda funny idk. minus points for no cas. 5x13 worth it only for the cas!whump scenes hurtcas ! he sends them back in time to fix things with john and mary 5x14 MY BLOODY VALENTINE! consumehimnatural destiel my beloved 5x16 worth it for the cas losing his faith in his father/god plotline. angst cas 5x17 DRUNK BITCH CAS ep.! always good fun to watch him be mean to sam. dean's like WHAAAA? one of my fav eps 5x18 "last time someone looked at my like that, I got laid" DESTIEL ALLEYWAY FIGHT SCENE, angst!dean, so many good scenes !!! one of my fav eps 5x20 wonderful crowley ep, really funny antagonistic & good gay times 5x21 cas in hospital! cas saves the day! not the best plot wise but plenty of fun and crowley involved too so all the boys :D

(☆▽☆)

6x01 NOT the best episode at ALL but really fun to watch in terms of dean gender studies. dean living normcore life with ben and lisa 6x03 CAS IS ON ONE! "we do have a more profound bond" very funny iconic destiel lines, balthazar included

6x04 BOBBY POV EP! YAY! supa funny silly lighthearted I loves it 6x05 Twilight/vampire. I am hesitant to put this one on the list but it is homoerotic vampires dean gender studies moments so I think it has to be here. minus points for soulless sam and samuel cos they sukk 6x06 ICONIC destiel whiskey pouring scene.Rest of the ep is fairly skippable. I sometimes slow this scene down to x0.25 and watch it because there's so much being said nonverbally thru their body language and eyes so watch careffffully. much to unpack, ripe for analysis. sad!Cas

6x09 dean fight the fairies episode. so much fun 6x10 meg! crowley! cas! the boys! they're all fighting. supa funny cas/crowley bits and cas sexual awakening 6x15 HOLA MISHAMIGOS! meta ep. so funny so silly so light

6x18 this ep truly has it all ONE OF MY FAV OF ALL TIME dean gender silly dress up cowboy, b plot is gay cas and bobby getting angel fisted umm 6x19-22 obvs THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING ARC !!!

7x01 GODSTIEL ARC 7x02 godstiel arc continued. for first 10 mins or something 7x06 -7x12 ok so these are by far not my fav episodes but. there's something to say for them. I thought season 7 was gonna be balls without cas but there's something quite Classic Supernatural going on in these eps which is comforting and/or dean gender studies and/or dean pining for cas which makes them good actually. ft frank & some garth . ALSO bobby being a dad and bobby death sequence eps 9/10 7x17 CAS RETURNS! Emmanual!Cas awesome destiel scenes like the trenchcoat bit ….. 7x18 party on garth. truly an incredible episode. garth-centric 7x20 CHARLIE CHARLIE CHARLIE! 1st charlie ep leviathian heist style plot quite fun and silly 7x21 crazy cas! off his rocker cas! cas and dean play a boardgame! cas is so charmingly aloof and offhand! "when castiel first laid hands on you in hell he was LOST!!!" ft. kevin tran 7x23 weird boy bestfriends behaviour … also "i'd rather have you, cursed or not" destiel scenes ft. the Iconic castiel crowley meg dean love triangle

8x01 unbelievably gay purgatory flashback episode. deranged dean. big gay benny! very queer coded. really fun !!! one of my favs ft kevin 8x02 "too much heart was always castiel's problem" OK? ft kevin tran and his MUM. also pining recently returned from purgatory dean. overall fun ep 8x05 dean x benny ep so Very gay ….. some purg flashback and destiel parallels …. 8x06 garth therapises the Boys! it's always a good time when it's a garth ep ok

[messed-up-little-driftwood]

Y'all. This is straight from my messed up little brain. I don't even know what to label this other than: horrifically fucked and morally non-existant, and yet I wrote this to comfort myself during a bad night.

THIS WAS MADE FOR MY ENJOYMENT. I OPENED MY NOTES APP WHILE WATCHING HOUSE OF 1000 CORPSES AND MY THUMBS JUST STARTED MOVING; I HAVE MY OWN MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES I'M WORKING THROUGH, AND WRITING HAS ALWAYS BEEN AN OUTLET FOR ME, SO......I GUESS I'LL SHARE SOME OF IT WITH THIS HELLSITE.

BY NO MEANS IS THIS ENCOURAGEMENT FOR YOU TO 'GET WORSE'. PLEASE STAY HYDRATED AND TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, AND HAVE A SNACK IF YOU HAVEN'T EATEN IN A WHILE.

I JUST LIKE WRITING DARK STUFF, IT IS THERAPUTIC FOR ME. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SEEK HELP IF YOU THINK THIS IS HOW HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS WORK.

IF YOU HAVE SELF-HARM ISSUES, I WOULD ADVISE YOU TO PROBABLY NOT READ THIS, BUT AS ALWAYS, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME, I'M NOT YOUR PARENT AND NOR DO I WISH TO BE.

I DO NOT give ANYONE permission to copy or repost my work.

(Going back to elementary school; if you have nothing nice or helpful to say, STFU.)

WARNINGS:

(self-harm, graphic depictions of cvtting and blood, Otis in general deserves his own warning. He calls you 'mama' and 'rabbit', 'bastard' once. No explicit gender is mentioned. Manipulation, but reader knows it's happening and likes it. Dubious consent — but no smut. Definitely and 100% romanticizing branding and mental health problems. Reader is severely mentally ill, and Otis exploits this for his own amusement. Blood!play, knife!play. Reader is down bad for Otis, and I wayyyy over-use ';' '—' these. — If I forget any, don't hesitate to let me know!!!!)

Dark content below cut. MDNI.

Otis Driftwood x Reader: Carve My Love

"Did you carve my name into your thigh?" Otis asks, looking from you, to the jagged lines on your thigh that spell his name like a bloody tattoo, and drip small droplets of blood across your skin like raindrops on a car window.

You glance down as if you were just remembering they were there; even though the knife is still resting at your side, dried blood on the edge that lays the whole situation out like blueprints for Otis' keen mind.

"....yes," you answer, trying to keep the confusion from your tone as you look at him for approval, merged with slight embarrassment. What were you gonna do — lie when the truth is spread like butter on hot toast?

He blinks for a moment, processing the situation, and can't deny the tug of possession in his chest when he sees your feeble attempt at marking yourself with his claim. Something primal awakens inside him — the kind of urge he normally gets before a kill; but he doesn't want to kill you. Not yet; not when you have so much simmering potential waiting to be pushed to the surface.

That he could push to the surface.

"You stupid bastard," he grumbles finally, after a silence far too long for your liking, and stalks forward. "That's not gonna scar. I'll give you a proper fuckin' brand."

And then he's grabbing the blade from your side; one rough hand holding down your thigh, and the other gripping the hilt of the blade with familiarity. It was his knife you were using, after all.

He doesn't ask permission, or give you any type of warning before he's pressing the tip of the knife back into the open wounds, pushing down deeper as he traces your previous lines. Deeper than the epidermis, past styro, and into the first fat layer. Your thigh twitches like a freshly slain bug as he drags the knife through layers of skin, and you hiss at the pain (or pleasure). Your fists grip the sheets as he works carefully, his own fingers digging into the fat of your thigh as the blade tears it open further to keep you still and as unmoving as possible.

Long fingernails break your skin as he holds you down to prevent the blade from slipping, therefore ruining the masterpiece. He's precise; the lines are sharp and perfect, which is unsurprising considering the years of carving people's skin off their bodies was basically all practice for this moment.

"There," he mumbles, drawing the blade back and brushing his thumb against the gaping, bloody slits, swiping the blood across your thigh like a painter's brush stroke. You inhale sharply at the sensation, both painful and satisfying. "Perfect. Now that's a fuckin' brand."

Otis licks your blood from his thumb as if it were melted chocolate; smooth and decadent.

"You know, not all blood tastes the same. Yours is... sweet; like the nectar of an angel," he says offhandedly, almost sarcastically, but there's more. He never drops compliments without some kind of catch.

He collects more blood, almost entranced as it rolls down your thigh in a steady stream; staining yet another pair of sheets as it drips onto the white cotton.

Otis sucks more crimson off his thumb with a pop and a satisfied hum.

"Makes me wanna bleed you dry."

You'd let him; he knows this. You've got this fucked up devotion thing down pat, and you were his even before you were officially branded by him — what's a little blood? A little more of you; like he was stealing pieces, aspects of you, and rearranging them in order how he saw fit. How it suited him best.

"What do you think, rabbit? Should I bleed you like stuck pig?"

You pause, staring at him. Most would call it Stolkholm Syndrome — but you know you were down bad the moment he manhandled you into his car all those years ago, giving you no option. He came at a good time too — life was too much. There were so many decisions, and you weren't good enough for anything to work out in your favour anyway — mental health dragging you down into the depths of your own hell, turning you into a college dropout and shell of everything you used to be.

He took all that away — filled you with lies, with corruption, and his crooked thoughts and opinions.

You didn't need to be coerced or convinced, or even forced, but why not be when you like being manipulated into his world? Molded into whatever he wanted, when he wanted: an enthusiastic play-thing, pet; sometimes partner, when he had his flashes of humanity.

"Can you do hearts?" you ask, blown pupils on Otis as you scoot a little closer, giving him more access to your bloody and scarred skin. It's both an answer and a request: Ruin me, but make it pretty.

There's something evil in the smile he gives you – with a small touch of what looked like admiration, maybe. Your devotion ran deep — maybe deeper than the marrow in your bones; and Otis wasn't one to lay idle and trust your words; he'd test them. Push the limits – see how far he can take it before you break. And then some.

This was like a game to him, and you were his favourite piece; malleable, trusting, and yet, intelligent. You know who he is. You choose to stay, even when given the option to run. And you stay; because yes, it's all horrific and toxic — but underneath it all, you know this is where you belong. You love who you get to be with him. There's no social expectation, it's just pure, disastrous instinct and loyalty. You get to be the animal inside you that craves the hazardous edge — the rush of danger and adrenaline; the acceptance of letting yourself go completely and become how fucked up you feel inside. Otis gave you that freedom. And maybe you liked the way he pushed you down, broke you, just to put you together again for his own amusement. Maybe you liked the game.

"How many you want, mama?" he asks, pressing the tip into your plush skin, but not pushing down just yet. He likes to watch you squirm, to try to get comfortable in place that's anything but — with him, no less.

"As many as you think I deserve," you reply breathlessly, letting your doubts and fears leave you, focusing only on this moment. Only on Otis.

"What makes you think you deserve any?" he asks, pushing the blade a little deeper; barely deep enough to break skin. Your breath hitches in your throat, searching your brain for answers.

Otis smiles at your desire to please him; to give him what he wants even if you have no fucking clue what it is.

"You don't know?" he pushes, and laughs chidingly, making you feel small and vulnerable. Just how he wants you — break you down to your bare-bones just so he can build you up again however he wants; rearrange your parts in full. "Well, then, I'll tell you what you deserve."

And then he's pushing the knife deep into your skin again — carefully, with a deliberate pressure that tells you he's more than aware of what he's doing to you. To your being. It's gross, disgustingly toxic— and yet, you feel like you've just won the lottery, despite your waning personhood.

"You deserve this," he tells you, tone purposeful, yet focused like he's simply explaining something nonchalant to you. "You deserve whatever I give you, because I know what's best for you. I own you."

You whimper at his words, his messed up version of love; of devotion, desire. This was a candle that shouldn't be lit, but fuck, you want it to burn like the flames of hell.

Otis grins, but it's not kindly. It's more predatory; the gaze you'd expect from a man who's about to take everything from you, and become everything to you. It's the grin of a man who knows he's already succeeded both feats.

"Awe," he hums, finishing the last curve of his first heart, and you're pushing your butt and heels into your bed, squirming with pain that feels euphoric. "You know I'm right, don't you?"

You nod as he looks at you with his head tilted slightly to the side so he can look down on you as if you were mere lint on his sleeve.

"My obedient, little, rabbit," he praises with a tone coated in velvet; like he were giving you a massage instead of cutting you open like a parcel. "Now, be good, and I'll carve your body into a work of art."

You nod again, watching closely, wordless and  mesmerized by the way the sharpened edge eases through the resistance of your skin with calculated precision. Otis looks utterly handsome; hair framing his face with a long tuft tucked behind his ear to keep it out of his face whilst he works. There's a peace that you can see within him, a kind of peace that simmers just below boiling. Similar to when he's working on his 'sculptures', he's finding a sense of calm as he works on your stinging flesh with deft swipes across the pulsing skin.

Otis' hand holds down your leg with little to no effort – but his grip is bruising nonetheless. He wants to mark you up — like a dog claiming it's territory. You are his, all his, and he be damned if you'd forget it.

Or anyone else. No one touches what's his, and that includes you.

You're scarred, bleeding from his love and violent affections — but Otis is like a drug. Addictive, and liable to ruin your life. It was something you'd accepted long ago — long before he had his claim on you.

"You look so pretty covered in blood, mama," he hums distractedly, but his eyes never leave his steady workmanship as he licks the side of his hand where some blood was stained onto it from his last heart. "Kind of makes me regret not killing you. Though, there's still time for that, isn't there?"

He's smirking, more than aware of his effect on you. The fear, mixed with growing anticipation and utter loyalty behind your blood-drunk gaze is like his kryptonite.

Soon enough, he's pausing his ministrations to grab your chin and force eye-contact on you with the knife to your throat this time, tracing gentle cat scratches across it. He wanted to see the confusion, the fear, the affection, all of it. You bore it all like a tattoo, and it got him bothered when you looked at him with so much trust. God, he wanted to ruin you — and he certainly would.

Knife pressing against your soft skin and his calloused fingers pinching your chin, he's pulling your mouth to his for a kiss that's basically all teeth. It's not friendly, not gentle or loving. It's raw, messy, unfiltered and possessive. Otis only has one goal in mind when he presses a finger to your open wound — and snickers against you when you whine into his mouth, giving him all the access to you he could want.

His hand slides up the back of your neck, grabbing a handful of your hair, only to tug it back, hard. You release a whimper, the action hurting pleasantly, but he bites down on your lip as if to tell you to shut up, and take what he's been kind enough to give you without bitching — and as if that wasn't threat enough, his knife presses firmly into your neck again; a reminder of who's in charge.

So you take it. You take his possessively hungry mouth; swallowing hums and groans, as well as a mixture of both your blood from chapped, bitten lips until he pulls away – looking satisfied with himself as he holds your chin to keep your eyes on him.

Blood is smeared on his mouth — it's unclear who's. Likely a mix of both, as if proof of some kind of blood oath.

He points the knife at you, tip pressing against your sternum."You're all mine now, needy little rabbit."

Otis let's go harshly, thumbnail scratching your bottom lip as he adjusts his grip on the hilt of his knife before resuming his tight grasp on the fat of your thigh to keep you still.

"And I'm gonna make you bleed for me until there's nothing left of you."

[the-90s-music-colosseum]

Round 4 Match 4

propaganda below the cut! (massive wall of text warning)

Miki Berenyi:

"shes the most beautiful woman i have ever seen. her hair is amazing and she's just gorgeous idk what else to say or how to fathom her beauty"

"I met miki berenyi a few weeks ago and shes the coolest and nicest person I've ever met so down to earth and nice and lovely which imo makes her incredibly hot"

"Founding mother of Shoegaze"

"I want to hold miki so tenderly and tell her jokes that make her laugh like we’re childhood friends and have a sleepover where we do each others makeup and then fuck so nasty the neighbors get alarmed and debate with each other whether or not to call the cops"

Brian Molko:

"Gender"

"IM GOING TO EAT HER. He is soooo beautiful and freakish and small and weird and girlfriend and tiny like a little princess bug fairy. Literally gorgeous she has to win"

"When he flipped over the table with the little limp wrist.... someone find the video"

"1998 woman of the year"

"Brian Molko is peak gender envy, gender bending and being yourself without caring about other people's opinion, on top of all that he is a great guitarist that writes amazing songs"

"Brian’s gonna win this. I think we all kinda know that."

"Tumblrinas would be nothing without Brian molko"

"Kills her kills her kills her kills her kills her kills him kills her. He's my everything <3"

"He came 10th in the list of hottest women sometimes in the 90s. Gender goals."

"No one in the world can sound so nasal and look so angelic....."

"don't you wish you had his gender"

"Single-handedly took my gender by the scruff of the neck and threw it in a washing machine at full speed. He talked about not expecting to "get away with" passing as a woman to the degree that he did when he started purposely presenting feminine. He talked about the importance to fuck with people's heads through his appearance and behaviour, the importance of ambiguity. About how being in the band allowed him to do stuff he couldn't have done otherwise, to exaggerate some of his traits. He had the fuck ass bob makeup nail polish dresses stuff down, but not in an overly sophisticated way, especially in the early career 90s days the vibe was more shabby punk rock chick. Also he fantasized about being in an all-girl band called Skirt and playing guitar and singing backing vocals in drag. According to a 1997 melody maker interview bandmate steve hewitt called him "the most confused woman he's ever known". And if you go down that rabbit hole there's just more of this. Lots of material to focus on if you like genderweird bisexual unclean libertines (song ref) who will just say Anything in interviews. It's fun."

"I've drawn him as saints and martyrs such as saint sebastian and joan of arc. Or all bloody lying in a wet alley after being thrown out of a club. Or unconscious on a snowy road. Or dying in a glue trap. Or shocked after seeing a dead body. Also as a nun and as rose mcgowan in the doom generation. This is because I'm normal."

"She's a sick little angel faced freak. My theythem girlboy queen. He reminds me of an ant. He's like 5 foot 4 or something. My goth girl boyfriend. <3"

[forabeatofadrum]

It’s bloody Sunday. Hewwo everyone and thank you @you-remind-me-of-the-babe​, @thnxforknowingme​, @martsonmars​ and @larkral​ for the tags, hi back @cutestkilla​ and yes @caramelcoffeeaddict​ I am indeed tagging you!

To no one’s surprise, I have written nothing apart from my thesis. On Thursday I basically went “into the zone” (my teacher would apply the flow theory here) and I wrote for 3.5 hours and ever since Thursday I have been adding stuff, but it is mostly done. Mostly. I only need to do the more general theory on representation, but since it isn’t specifically queer, I care less lol. Basically right now my theoretical background is “Representation” (basic stuff), “Queer representation” (the consequences of queer rep, the history of queer rep, gay assimilation vs. queer liberation, queerbaiting, heteroflexibility, Bury Your Gays, intersectionality) and lastly “the queer gaze” (queer reading of texts, positive queercoding, queer female fandom).

But uhm, I am actually super duper proud of my work, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ have some stuff about why there might be more queer men in media than queer women:

First, gender is generally still portrayed in a skewed way: there are more men in the media than women (Daalmans et al., 2017; Gallagher, 2014). Second, intimate relationships between two female characters are more often seen as something platonic (Russo, 2014). As an extension of this, women who sometimes enter into relationships with other women are not portrayed as queer, but as heteroflexible (Annati & Ramsey, 2022; DeCeuninck & Dhoest, 2016; Diamond, 2005; Jackson & Gilbertson, 2009). This means that relationships between two women are portrayed as a joke, a phase, a party trick, or as a way to attract male viewers (Diamond, 2005). This heteroflexible portrayal is not necessarily a bad thing, as it can also promote the beginning of a discovery of a queer identity (Symes, 2017), but most often a heteroflexible storyline ends with a woman being affirmed that she is straight and therefore she is not a threat to the heterosexual order (Jackson & Gilbertson, 2009). This is also consistent with the 1990s “lesbian chic” movement, in which sexual relations between straight women were presented as a fun, provocative trend (Dow, 2001; McNicholas Smith, 2020).

These are actually six sentences. Original is under the cut.

Will y’all ever be able to read this? Who knows. People, both online and offline, have expressed interest, which delights me. There is a thesis repository at my university, but a) my thesis is unfortunately in Dutch and b) I am using a copyrighted cartoon. I actually have permission to use it from the cartoonist (fuck yeah), but I obviously only asked permission for the use within my faculty so I’ll have to e-mail her again.

And now, the weather: @quizasvivamos @blurglesmurfklaine @coffeegleek @esperantoauthor @otherworldsivelivedin @sillyunicorn @bazzybelle @dragoneggos @raenestee @tectonicduck @nightimedreamersworld @urban-sith @captain-aralias @takitalks @justgleekout @cerriddwenluna @tea-brigade @ivelovedhimthroughworse @moodandmist @whogaveyoupermission @bookish-bogwitch @confused-bi-queer @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @ionlydrinkhotwater @1908jmd @special-bc-ur-part-of-it @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @nausikaaa/@wellbelesbian @artsyunderstudy @facewithoutheart @shrekgogurt @boyinjeans​

 The Dutch one: