#but Gil has never been more proud of himself

[softquietsteadylove]

omg I love possessive Gil in your 10 things AU so much🥵 can you please write more smut like that? (with any AU you want)💌❤️‍🔥

Thena laughed at the man's joke, who was happy to receive her payment with a sleek smile. His hand even floated down to her shoulder. Their exchange continued, but that hand felt the need to linger.

Gil watched it the entire time.

Thena was on her doctor mandated break, from both performing and even teaching for at least two weeks. He was happy to take care of her at home, but almost at the end of her time off, she was getting restless. So, seeing a show seemed like a great idea.

Thena had a great time--at least he thought she did. He had asked if she knew anyone in it but she hadn't recognised any names from the show program. That made this even worse.

The male lead had just happened to recognise Thena, purely from running in similar professional circles. Gil was proud of it! She was an amazing ballerina, of course she should be recognised for it. That wasn't the problem. This guy was the problem.

"I'm honoured I could finally meet the Swan herself," he schmoozed right in her face.

Gil tugged at his tie. He called her that, thank you.

"I've seen so many of your shows, I should be the one dying to meet you," he continued. His hand left Thena's shoulder, but only to trail down her arm to clasp her hand in his. He was really pushing it.

"Nonsense, you're the crown jewel of your company," she countered his flattery, although she hadn't yanked her hand out of his yet, much to Gil's distaste.

"If only I were the crown jewel of yours." Okay, this guy definitely knew what he was doing. Gil stood straighter as the man even raised Thena's hand to his lips.

"Oh," she blinked, blushing faintly as he did so.

Gil cleared his throat loudly. He had stood by for enough of this. He moved in without a thought to the jostling of everyone. He elbowed the man out of his way and captured Thena's waist in his arm. "Sorry, we're late for something."

"Gil!"

"Of course," the man sighed dramatically. He waved as Thena was dragged away from him. "It was a pleasure, ma cherie!"

"I'll show you pleasure.

"Gilgamesh," Thena huffed as he ushered her into an empty dressing room and slammed the door behind them. "What is-!"

He pulled her close, taking her lips in his. He cushioned the back of her head with his hand, although her back hit the door as he pressed as close as he could get.

Thena moaned against his lips, their tongues moving fluidly and her hands on his cheeks. Her shoulders bunched up, surprised by his urgency.

He moved his shoulders, eager to get her elbows out of his way. He moved his hands from her waist to grasp her behind through the light layers of her pretty dress.

"Gil!" she all but yelped. He hoisted her, hands grasping her behind so he could move them from the door to the mirror. He plunked her down onto the table of it, her shoulders pressed against the cold glass. She gasped. "What are you doing?!"

But he wasn't in the mood. He was in a very different mood. He grasped the insides of her knees to help them wind around him. These things were the perfect height. "You want pleasure?"

"Gil," Thena attempted to scold him, but he could watch the tiny twitches in her face as he trailed his hand up the inside of her thigh.

"You can have it," he breathed into her ear. He dragged his teeth over it, enjoying the flush of red that followed. She shivered. He used the other hand to trail over where he had watched that asshole do exactly the same. He would replace that man's touch on Thena's body with his own. "Because you're mine."

"Gil," she bit her lip as he latched onto her neck. His one hand continued to trail lightly from her hand up to her shoulder, back and forth, up and down, so lightly it was almost ticklish. But he reached her shoulder and planted it more firmly. "We can't."

"What did I just say?" he whispered roughly, his other hand reaching its goal and easily pushing aside the white lace she was wearing. He remembered it well; he had watched her select that exact set and then joke about not going.

Thena whimpered as he skipped any sort of warm up and instead pushed in just the tips of his fingers first.

"Miss Thena," he teased, pushing in to the second knuckle. "What did I tell you?"

"You're mine," she panted, her hands finally moving up his chest and around his neck to his back to pull him closer.

He chuckled. It was close enough. He liked rendering his Swan all ruffled and speechless. He dove, dragging his teeth from her neck down her clavicle to her cleavage. "I said you're mine."

Thena let out a deeper moan as he pushed his fingers in completely, simultaneously using his teeth to drag down the front of her dress. It had been sitting just off her shoulders, teasing him all night.

He reached for the back zipper, freeing her breasts completely. Its tightness had offered her some lift. He admired the way they bounced, now at gravity's mercy again.

"Gil, please," she whimpered, moving her hips with his fingers.

He could multitask. He continued to watch the rhythm of her breasts, eventually bending his head to take a nipple between his teeth. He bit a little more firmly than necessary. Her back arched but he pushed his thumb into the dip of her collar bone, not needing any pressure to keep her shoulders against the mirror. It was fogging up.

Thena whined as he pulled his fingers away. She was panting for breath and a light sheen was fighting the setting layer of her makeup. "Jealous and a tease?"

If he could give her behind a little smack, he would. But he kept her firmly planted on it, deliberately pulling both hands away from her to undo his belt. She watched with hunger in her eyes. "This what you want?"

She nodded.

He undid his suit trousers, pulling himself out and grasping himself at the base. Fuck, he was hard. "Say it."

"I want you," she managed, her voice full of breath.

He bent her knees more, forcing the skirt of her dress up and out of his way. He gripped the flesh of her inner thigh, a fine mix of natural fat and firm muscle. It clenched as he massaged little circles with his thumb closer and closer to her hip. "Ask for it."

A flash of stubbornness passed over her. He raised his eyebrows, just touching his tip to her warmth.

Her eyes lowered as she looped her arms around his neck, "please, Gil?"

"Please," he moved closer to her ear again, letting her fold her swanly form around him. He nipped at her earring, "what?"

"Please," she whimpered again, the red from her ears shooting down her neck. "Fuck me."

"Good girl," he congratulated her as he pushed in. She moaned, her knees tightening around him before stretching out and then closing in again. "You're mine, aren't you?"

"Yes," she gasped, her whole body adjusting to him in this position as he kissed along her throat.

"And this," he grinned, rolling his hips and hitting up and forward within her. Oh, this was a good spot. She tightened around him and he nipped at her cleavage again in thanks. "This is mine."

"Yes," she moaned, trying to urge him into moving more.

He leaned forward, pushing them both more firmly against the mirror behind them. It was completely fogged up from their heat now. Thena's bare shoulders squeaked against the glass. "All mine?"

"Yes," she whined, digging her heel into the back of his thigh.

"Say it," he teased again, moving lightly, as if they had all the time in the world for him to fuck her in a strange theatre full of other patrons.

"I'm all yours."

"Good."

Gil slammed their hips together, picking up a completely frantic pace. He gripped his arm around Thena, keeping her at the perfect precipice, close enough to the edge for him to push all the way in but also safely planted on the counterspace. These things were not meant to be fucked on; he could hear the braces of it in the wall as they moved.

Thena made a buffet of sounds for him to enjoy. Her head rotated between leaning down, searching for him, and pressing the bun in her hair against the mirror, smearing the steam. "Gil!"

He ran his hand down her arm again, bringing her hand to his lips, then her wrist, then up her arm. "Mine, mine, mine."

"Yours," she repeated back to him. He wasn't sure she was really in the depths of territorial need like he was. But so long as she was enjoying herself, that was what mattered. "Fuck, Gil, I'm-"

"Coming?" he snarled, trailing his tongue from between her breasts and up her neck. He nipped at the sharp angle of her jawbone. "On whose cock?"

"Yours," she answered again, although her voice was so breathy and high in pitch it was getting hard to hear her.

"Say it," he grunted, changing angle, pushing the top of his head down and burying his face in her breasts. Her fingers ran through his hair.

"Your cock, yours," she obeyed, pulsing around him frantically. He gripped her hips and pulled her, slamming and grinding them together where they were joined. Her shoulders slipped down and she gripped the corners of the counter edge as she came.

Gil held her by the waist, lifting her bottom half completely to keep them firmly joined. He came with her, both of them erupting with nowhere to go. He opened his eyes slowly, coming down from the high as they both gasped for breath.

The skirt of her dress pooled around their hips and drooped down from where he was holding her. But he heard a faint dripping sound that made him feel positively feral.

Thena attempted to call out his name, but she was shaking all over, especially her arms. He moved closer again, helping support her again. She leaned over him, her back to the mirror and her front to his chest. She whimpered as he slipped out of her.

Gil examined the damage, slipping her panties back into place, not that she didn't squirm at that. He glanced briefly at the floor as he stuffed himself back into his trousers and did up his belt.

Thena cleared her throat. He looked at her and she looked positively scandalised. Although, her glaring and pouting would do a lot more if she weren't so flushed, and such a cute shade of pink. "Gil."

He chuckled, knowing exactly what she was asking. "Yes, Miss Thena."

She looked away as he wiped the evidence of them off the floor. Her legs were crossed and she was gripping the skirt of her dress over her lap. "I like this dress, you know."

"I'll have it dry cleaned, Gorgeous," he promised, kissing her cheek as he gently helped her slide off the counter. Her heels hit the floor but they clattered and skidded as she struggled to stand upright. "You got it?"

She grumbled into his chest, trying to find the strength in her knees.

"Hm?" he hummed, observing the top of her head and how even her bun was a little messed up now. He picked at it, trying to make it seem more deliberate. She swatted his hand away.

"I said you were insufferable," she huffed as she finally managed to take two straight steps without wobbling.

No, watching some stranger paw at his girlfriend was insufferable. This was quite pleasurable, if he did say so himself. He tilted his head as Thena paused at the door. "Sweetheart?"

She turned, positioning herself behind him. "Tell me if it's all clear."

His poor Thena. She could be so adventurous at times, but when it came to the consequences of their lovemaking, she would prefer not to deal with them. He gripped the handle, ready to strut his stuff.

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 8

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44

Dreamcasting: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Content Notes for Part 8: Grief, Mourning as themes; loss of parents

Part 8

Two Weeks Later

It was difficult for the Eldar to get drunk. Not unheard of, certainly - Dwarvish ale and the liquors of Men were seldom up to the task, yet the Elves’ own wines could often render one senseless. There were casks in the royal cellar, in fact, that Gil-galad had been wary of breaching. 

But now, as he stared at the page in front of him, now might be the very occasion.

Her tender heart I feel

O! Beloved!

Her tender flesh I taste

O! Beloved!

Her tender kiss I share

O! Beloved!

A river flows, a lily blooms

A proud tree rises as a sapling in springtime.

This was getting him nowhere. 

He was sure that Círdan’s advice had been well-meant, but the shipwright had never wed. He would have no concept of whether Rúmil’s writings were accurate - and indeed, Gil-galad was not sure he would either, even after his wedding night. The language was so vague and couched in metaphor, there were any number of things it might apply to.

But perhaps that was the point. Perhaps Rúmil was attempting to describe something that could not be described.

Although that bit about tasting…?

There was a soft knock on his door, and with relief, Gil-galad looked up.

Quickly, he closed the book and slid it under one of the stacks of papers on his desk. As useless as it was, he was not fond of the idea that someone might realize what he was attempting to do. This was private, and the only one he desired to be thinking about it besides himself was Linnea. 

He wondered what she was thinking. Did she share his trepidation? She had no more experience than he did, after all. Would she worry about pleasing him, just as he worried about pleasing her? 

The idea nearly made him laugh, and it offered reassurance. The heat that welled up in him every time he kissed her - no, she had no cause to fear. And he had seen the desire in her eyes, felt her tremble at his touch. They would find their way together.

The knock came again, and he rose. “Enter.”

Gil-galad had been grateful, all told, that Elrond had spent so much of the past weeks in Imladris. Construction was proceeding rapidly, and he knew that much of it was due to Elrond’s attention to detail - as well as his way of kindly encouraging the best from anyone around him. 

It had been a necessary sacrifice, losing his herald to bigger and better things. And one he had not resented bearing - save for the matter of his pending wedding. More than once he had wished for Elrond’s help; they had worked together for long years, and while his replacement Nendir was entirely competent, it was just not the same.

He had been too proud to ask, but he was not too proud to have felt relief when Elrond had arrived two days ago, and had - very politely, and very delicately - begun assisting Nendir with composing the letters of invitation. Elrond’s arms were laden with them now as he entered, a dozen neatly rolled scrolls that awaited the royal seal and Gil-galad’s signature.

“High King.”

“Lord Elrond.” 

Elrond stepped over to the desk, beginning to set down the scrolls and arrange them. Linnea and Adabes had dealt with the list of recipients, and he was glad to see that it had not expanded since the last time he had seen it. That thought of privacy pushed at his thoughts again; it was not too late for him to toss Elrond’s efforts into the fire and go find Linnea and have it done with. 

But a royal wedding was more than just the bonding of two souls; it was an opportunity to renew friendships, plant seeds for the future, strengthen alliances. 

And perhaps, rebuild them as well.  

He glanced over the letters that Elrond had opened and set ready for him as he re-seated himself at the desk. Oropher and his family, yes; Amdír and Amroth of Lórien; various other lords and high Noldor that were already well aware of the wedding, but the formal invitation still had to be sent. And drafts of the proclamations that would be issued throughout Lindon and carried to Imladris as well, Linnea’s coronation at the Tree that was open to all.

He smiled at that last page, and Elrond saw it. “There will be a great party of the survivors that come from Imladris, High King,” he murmured. “Lady Linnea is one of their own.”

“I trust you have informed Adabes of their number?”

“I have. The arrangements are all well in hand.”  

“Good.”

He calmly reached for his quill, betraying no hint of his plans, and began to sign the pages. Elrond fell into their old rhythm quickly; no sooner had he finished with the quill than Elrond was ready with the hot wax, and he pressed his seal to stamp it. Easy and familiar; it would come with time, with Nendir, but the resumption of routine, even for a few moments, was peaceful.

Unfortunately, he was about to shatter that peace.

Gil-galad sealed the last of the announcements, and set the brass seal off to the side. “I have another task for you.”

“Of course, High King.” Elrond’s attention was on organizing the finished pages; his tone was distracted. “I am, as ever, at your service.”

Gil-galad had written it himself. He had thought long and hard over the matter, and he knew it wouldn’t even be considered a slight if he didn’t; they could simply send an announcement after the fact and have done with it. There would hardly be any expectation otherwise.

In the end, as he suspected he would do so often in the years to come, he had asked Linnea what she thought.

A wedding is a time for joy, she had said, as they had shared their evening tea. Let that joy be the mortar that fills the cracks between Elf and Dwarf, and the water that smothers any fires that yet burn.

He took the letter, and passed it to Elrond silently. And it only took the former herald one glace to understand.

“ ‘Esteemed Prince Durin,’ “ he said quietly, his eyes flicking across the top of the page. “High King, I - “

Gil-galad held up a hand. They had spoken little of the late arrival of the Dwarves to Eregion; it had not been a subject that they needed to discuss at length. And apart from sending a polite acknowledgment of their help, and thanks for the offer of further aid, there had been scant correspondence between the realms since the siege.  

But they would need every ally in the fight to come. 

“You will deliver it personally,” he said, keeping his voice firm. “We must begin to mend this rift between our two peoples. What has transpired is past. Your friendship with Prince Durin may be the key to unlocking the power of the Dwarves against our enemy, and you know as well as I that it will be needed.”

“High King,” Elrond said again. And this time there was heat beneath his voice, the coals of betrayal that had not yet burned low. “We placed our faith in Durin once. Our dead might have been fewer in number had he held to his word. It is a fool who stores his jewels in the same casket they have already fallen from.” 

“And yet, the Dwarves have reason to mistrust us as well,” Gil-galad said quietly. “They bear the consequences of our lack of sight, of Celebrimbor’s pride in allowing Sauron’s influence over his craft. The Dwarven rings cost them dearly, as Durin himself knows full well. There are wrongs on both sides, and someone must be the first to extend a hand.”

Elrond stared down at the letter in his hand. “A mighty hand indeed, to invite the Prince of Khazad-dûm to the High King of the Noldor’s wedding.”

“Khazad-dûm still roils with unrest. None of the factions competing for the throne after King Durin’s passing shows any signs of triumph. This may be our chance to tip the scales. Our public acknowledgment of his claim - to the exclusion of all others - sends a message.” 

Elrond looked thoughtful. “Some of the lords may count it as much curse as blessing. They may withhold their support of Durin knowing he allies with us.”

“You speak truly, but Durin did come to our aid at Eregion. Those who would deny him their backing will have already done so. And those who are swayed by power will see that Durin has our confidence.” 

Elrond licked his lips, glancing down at the page again. And what he said next proved just how far he had come, in so short a time.

“Does the lady Linnea approve of this?”

He almost chuckled at Elrond’s implication. It was possible that there would be times to come when he would have to overrule her wishes for the sake of the realm, but he would never have considered it for this. If she had objected to the Dwarves being invited to their wedding, he would have found another way.

“My lady bears no grudge,” Gil-galad said. “And if she does not, we have no grounds for it.”

Elrond winced. It was true that what he had said was an oversimplification, but the underlying principle was clear. Elrond had not been wrong when he had said the Dwarves might have stemmed their own losses - but that also held true for the brave defenders of Eregion. Linnea would have had more reason than most to object, and she had not.

The thought seemed to take the wind from Elrond’s sails. His shoulders relaxed, and he looked down at the letter for a moment more before he began slowly rolling it. 

“As you command, High King. I will depart immediately for Khazad-dûm.”

“Oh, Eressie.”

The dressmaker smiled, casting her eyes shyly down at the floor. For her part, all that Linnea could do was stare, letting her eyes drink in the beautiful sight.

It had taken her weeks to decide on the fabric, but Eressie hadn’t wasted the time. By the time she had finally found it - a heavy cream silk shot with gold and copper, almost as if it were lit from within - the design had been complete, and Eressie had taken her scissors and needle to the stunning fabric with more bravery than Linnea herself would have shown. 

And this was the result.

The neckline of the dress draped softly around Linnea’s chest, revealing the soft swells of her breasts above a corset that covered from breast to hip and laced in the back. The skirts fell from beneath the bottom of the corset, layers upon layers of the heavy silk, lapped one over the other like the petals of a rose. Tight undersleeves, made of pale gold silk, were fitted beneath longer, fuller sleeves of the cream. The edges of the neckline were embroidered with golden leaves and accented with pearls, as were the cuffs of the undersleeves and a band of the oversleeves around her upper arms. More leaves were embroidered here and there on the layers of the skirt - giving the impression that they had been captured in mid-flight, falling from their tree.    

It was beautiful. It was incredible. It was perfect.

She had almost been afraid to touch it. But she knew Eressie needed to see it on her one last time, to make any final alterations. The wedding was in two more weeks, and knowing that the dress was done would be one thing off the list that she needed to think about.

Two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks.

“My lady? Will you step up, so that I may check the hem?”

This had been the very reason for her visit; her shoes were finished, retrieved just that morning from the cobbler. She moved to the wooden dais that Eressie had set up for just this purpose, and stood still as the seamstress knelt and fussed with the edge of the dress.

She wondered what Gil-galad would be wearing.

He would look stunning, whatever it was. But he had adamantly refused to tell or allow her to see any bit of it. The only hint that she’d gotten was when he had asked what color her dress was, and had looked immensely smug when she had shown him a small sample of the fabric. But he wanted to surprise her, and so she had followed his lead, making that glimpse of color the only clue he got in return.

Eressie finished with the hem and sat back on her heels, smiling up at Linnea. “I need do no more, my lady. Your dress is finished. And I shall have your nightclothes completed within the week.”

Nightclothes. Yes. She slept in silk and satin now, not the soft cotton and linen she had always known, but for this night she had wanted something even more special. She would only have one wedding night in her entire long life, and so would Ereinion. He deserved for her to come to his bed as beautiful as she could make herself.

Her heart quickened, thinking about it. Thinking about the wisp of a gown that Eressie was finishing, about how Ereinion’s hands would look on the soft white fabric. 

And how they would feel once that fabric had been removed.  

But she kept her composure, stepping down and turning so that Eressie could unlace the back of the dress, and then quickly changing out of it and back into her regular gown. She handed the wedding dress to Eressie, who swathed it carefully in a long strip of pure white wool to protect and conceal it.

She was just finishing when there was a soft thud from the back of the shop, and a small blond boy came hurrying out.

“Mother?”

Eressie’s son was still very young by the standards of their people - and every time she saw him, Linnea’s heart ached just a little, knowing how difficult it must be to grow up without his father. But the child seemed to be doing well, if a trifle shy, although perhaps that was simply his nature. Eressie herself was such.

The boy saw her and instantly halted, bowing. “Your Grace,” he said, very politely. “Mother.”

“Negen,” Linnea greeted him, smiling. “I am pleased to see you. You look well.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Eressie looked nervous at the interruption; she had become more comfortable with Linnea over the last months, but she was still finding her way around the propriety that had been drilled into her for interacting with the nobility. “Negen? Is aught amiss?”

“No, Mother. But I have finished my reading for the day. May I have some fruit?”

Eressie let out a small breath of relief. “Yes. Yes, of course you may. You know where it is.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Negen turned and departed the way he had come, through the door in the back of the shop that led to their living quarters. The sight made Linnea’s heart ache in a different way; their weaving shop in Eregion had been built in a very similar manner, and it felt as if she herself could walk through that door and be in their little kitchen, with her mother washing vegetables over a basin and her father tending the fire - 

“My lady?”

Linnea shook her head, pushing the thoughts back. And it was not for the first time.

The memories of home and family had lingered close over the last weeks, and they had prickled at her mind like thornbushes that she was gingerly trying to find her way through. Every so often, she was scratched.

“I am sorry,” she said quietly. “It is just - being here reminds me so much of home. I was distracted for a moment. You are fortunate in your child; Negen is a fine boy.”

Eressie dipped her head in a small bow. “Thank you, my lady. He - he has dreams of being a soldier like his father.” 

Oh, she could not imagine how that must feel for Eressie, to have her son’s ambitions lie in the same direction that had been his father’s downfall. Linnea swallowed hard, past the tightness in her throat, and tried to think of something to say.

“I am sure that whatever path he walks, he will succeed,” she managed, and was proud that her voice stayed even. Another sign that she was learning how to be a queen.

She was saved from having to find more words by a soft tap on the shop door. A moment later, it opened, and Hellathas leaned inside.

“Lady Linnea,” she said quietly. “The light begins to fade. We should return to court as soon as you are ready.”

That had been another change over the last weeks. 

Work was still ongoing to bolster Lindon’s defenses, and with the army so reduced, Gil-galad had issued orders that only the most necessary activities were to be pursued after sunset. The streets were now quiet in the darkness, the only steps to be heard those of patrolling soldiers. It had lent itself to an aura of caution and agitation among the inhabitants, but Linnea could not fault his reasoning; it would be much easier to identify intruders this way. 

Lindon itself breached. The thought was scarcely conceivable, but it was Gil-galad’s role to do just that, to consider every possibility and plan accordingly.

Their role.   

She nodded at Hellathas. “Thank you. I will be with you directly.”

Hellathas stepped back and closed the door, and Linnea turned to Eressie. The momentary distraction had helped her settle herself, and she was able to smile fully at the seamstress.

“I will return in a few days for the nightclothes,” she promised. “As always, your work is beyond compare.”

Eressie blushed, dropping her green eyes to the floor even as she dropped herself into a curtsy. “You are too kind, Your Grace.”

Adabes was lying in wait when Linnea returned.

She had tried to establish that when she was out, Adabes was welcome to enter her rooms and wait for her if there was need. But Adabes hadn't gotten quite that far yet; she stood outside the door, holding her writing desk, as poised as she always was.

“My lady,” she said, as Linnea stopped at the landing. “The King is still in session with the council. Do you wish to dine before we review the wedding ceremony?”

Inwardly, she sighed. She had been hoping for a quiet dinner with Gil-galad, but council meetings had been extending longer and longer as of late. He would not expect, or want, her to wait.

“Have you eaten, Adabes?” she asked. “You are welcome to join me, and we can converse at the same time.”

“I have eaten, thank you. But you need not delay on my account, Your Grace. I am happy to wait until you have refreshed yourself.”

Linnea shook her head; that simply felt rude to her, and like an abuse of her position. “No, please come in. We can talk first. I am anxious to hear about the ceremony.”

Adabes stood aside then, and Linnea opened the door to her rooms. 

She had added a few furnishings since her arrival in Lindon. Although she had been fairly sequestered, still acclimating herself to all of the change, some of the ladies of the court had taken it upon themselves to seek her out. She had added more seating in her front room as a result, and also a small frame loom in the corner. The looms in the weaving room were much larger and more suitable for bigger projects, but this one would accommodate scarves or shawls or similar things. She was weaving one such now, in fact - a gift for Adabes, a silk shawl in a pattern of deep gold and pale green. It had made her smile when Adabes had admired the colors, and she was looking forward to the surprise. 

One rather nice thing about being the future queen was that her needs were always anticipated. Even though she had been absent from court for several hours, someone had come and lit the lanterns and candles, and had built and lit the fire. The rooms were toasty warm, and Linnea settled down on one of the chairs by the hearth, motioning to Adabes to sit as well.

She had been eager for this discussion, an outline of what the actual ceremony would entail. She had of course attended weddings before, but that was quite different than it being her own. And she was anxious to ensure that there were no traditions she needed to be aware of, things that the Noldor did but that the Sindar did not.

Adabes positioned her writing desk just as she liked it, across her knees, and took out her quill.

“The ceremony itself is quite short,” she began. “As neither you nor the High King have living parents, you will invoke the blessings yourselves. There is no traditional point at which to carry out the ritual, but I would suggest waiting until the end of the feast, and then proceeding directly to the coronation.”

Linnea nodded. She had learned very quickly that any suggestion Adabes made was well-considered and had ample reason behind it, and the logistics of what she was saying were sensible. “I agree. Are there - that is, the blessings I know are traditional for the Sindar. But are there different words used by the High Noldor?”

“Not to my knowledge, my lady. Obviously there will be some slight alterations, as you will say the words yourselves, but they are no different in essence. The King will say, ‘May Manwë Lord of Wind watch over us’, and you will say, ‘May Varda Star-kindler hear our calls.’ And each will end with, ‘And may the - " Adabes paused, clearing her throat. “ - the Father of All bless us.”

Linnea understood the slight pause. It was no light thing, to invoke the name of Eru Ilúvatar; that would wait until that very moment when she and Ereinion were holding one another’s hands, the blessings hovering between them, one of the silken threads that bound them together for the rest of eternity.

She tried not to think about how that call to Varda and to Eru would sound from her own lips, and not her mother’s.

Lhénes had had a low, quiet voice. Perhaps it would have rasped slightly as she spoke, as she held back tears of joy at seeing her daughter wed so well. Being queen would not have mattered to her, but the knowledge that Linnea had found love, that her true soulmate had been out there - that would have pleased her greatly.

More of those thornbushes. She pushed them back, returning her attention to Adabes.

“Very well,” she said. “And the exchange of rings afterward?”

“Yes, Your Grace. The wedding bands have been commissioned from the smiths. You will return the King’s betrothal ring to him, and he yours.”      

Linnea smiled. She had a suspicion that the silver star would find its way back onto another of her fingers soon after the wedding; it was too beautiful to be set aside and kept in a casket. “It seems simple enough. I had feared the Noldor would have other traditions, especially for a wedding of this importance.”

Adabes hesitated.

It was an uncommon occurrence, and it made Linnea look at her more closely. Adabes was ruthlessly efficient; this was most uncharacteristic, and she wondered at the cause.

“Adabes?”

Efficiency won out, and Adabes gave a small sigh. “There is one thing, Your Grace. I am sure that it is of no consequence, given that you are Sindar and that your parents are no longer with us.”

Her stomach twisted. 

“And what is it?” 

“It is customary among the Noldor for gifts to be given to the bride and groom, by either their parents or another relative. The father of the groom to the bride, and the mother of the bride to the groom. A jewel that can be worn is the most traditional. But again, I am sure that no one will expect it. Certainly the King will not.”

He might not expect it, no. But had it been something he had hoped for? Would he feel any lingering sadness that the wedding had not been quite what he’d dreamt of? And the other Noldor lords - the conflict between Noldor and Sindar that went back thousands of years - would this validate some long-buried judgments, that she was not worthy of their High King if she could not manage so simple a thing?

She felt Adabes’ eyes on her and looked back up. “I see. I will consider that, thank you for telling me. Was there anything else?”

Adabes looked like she wanted to hide - which was, again, most unsettling. “No, my lady. Once the rings are exchanged, the public ceremony is finished and the coronation will begin.”

On another occasion, Linnea might have asked about that part as well. But she knew that she would need Gil-galad for that; he doubtlessly had plans, likely a speech to give - or more than one. There was ample reason to delay that discussion, even if she had been able to manage it at this moment.

Her mother Lhénes would never see the wedding dress she had tried on that day. She herself would speak the blessings that Lhénes should have. Lhénes would never choose a jewel for Ereinion, something he could wear to remind him of his wedding day; her long and elegant hands - so like Linnea’s own - would never give it into his keeping, much the same as her only child.

She took a deep breath, and couldn’t keep it smooth. Not with the memories crowding around her, not with the thornbushes drawing in so tight.

“Thank you,” she said again. “Then I believe that is all for tonight?”

To her vast, vast credit, Adabes seemed to sense that anything she might say - any apology or condolence - would only make things worse. Instead she quickly stowed her quill and rose, curtseying briefly, and murmured. “Yes, my lady. I shall see you in the morning. Goodnight, Your Grace.”

And she left.    

Linnea sat, her mind fixated on what Adabes had said, like a fish caught on one of the cruel hooks that Men used.

It is customary among the Noldor for gifts to be given to the bride and groom. A jewel that can be worn is the most traditional.

I am sure no one will expect it.

Well, they had not expected her, had they?

She rose then, her hands clenched into fists, striding over to the ironwood chest that sat next to the frame loom. Sinking to her knees, she flung the lid open and plunged her hands into the neatly folded fabrics that were stacked inside, scattering the dried lavender and rosemary that had been set to keep the moths away. She had traded three lengths of fine silk for Ereinion's ring, but much remained of what she had saved from Eregion.

The Noldor had enough jewels. Enough finery. But she could make Ereinion another gift; she was upending tradition anyway, with no female relative to perform the task. She might as well embrace it.

Her fingers dug deeper. She was barely aware of the tears that had started to fall, dripping down and landing on the floor beside the chest as she touched the cloth. Each one held memories; her hands had woven parts of many of them, the work of her mother and her father and herself all intertwined. Impossible to tell who had done what anymore. 

But this - 

She pulled out the object of her search. 

The fabric was deep brown, a blend of wool and silk. Lhénes had finished it not long before the siege; it was one of the most versatile fabrics she had ever created, woven both for warmth and for lightness. And Lhénes had employed every aspect of her craft - not only was the fabric itself a marvel, but she had laid protective charms over the threads. It would offer concealment to the wearer, and would turn a blade or an arrow that was not crafted by skilled hands.

Linnea had helped her warp the loom when she had begun.

We oft know what our work’s purpose will ultimately be, Lhénes had said, as they had threaded the heddles together. The threads speak to us of a gown, or a wall hanging, or some such. Yet this I do not see, only that it wishes to be made.    

Not a gown, no. Not a wall hanging. Not a blanket or a robe or a table covering.

Her hands could wield a needle, not as skillfully as Eressie but enough for this. There was time enough to complete the task. She would finish what her mother had started, and this would be her gift at the wedding. 

A war-cloak for a King. 

She hoped Lhénes would have approved. 

But that dam that she had sensed when first she had arrived in Lindon - the dam that she had known would eventually burst - it finally broke, as she held the fabric and felt Lhénes’ love woven into it, her care and concern and the magics she had employed, the magics that would ultimately protect her daughter’s husband and the father of her grandchildren. The bolt of brown wool dropped into her lap and Linnea collapsed, a sob tearing from her as she fell forward onto and into the chest, clinging to it like a raft in the middle of the sea. 

There had been no time. Grief had been pushed aside, but it would have its due.

She didn’t know how long she cried, her tears salting the wood of the chest and the fabrics within. The entire tower might have fallen down around her and she wouldn’t have noticed.

Melethel?     

The whisper caressed her ear, and Linnea looked up, her body still shaking. 

Her rooms were empty.

She leaned back down, resting her forehead on the edge of the chest, tears still running down her face and onto the floor.

But then, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. And there was only one place they could be coming from, for them to be so clear. 

Gil-galad had just returned; that much was plain as he emerged from the stairs that led up to his rooms. He was still wearing the silver samite robe he preferred for council sessions, but the weariness that normally dragged at his handsome features after the meetings was nowhere to be found. Instead, his face was filled with concern as he saw her, and he hurriedly made his way across the room, dropping to kneel at her side and putting his arm around her in one unbroken movement.

“I felt you,” he said, with no preamble. “I felt your sadness, melethel. What has happened?”

She was not too proud to lean into his strength, letting him tighten his arm and draw her even closer into his chest. It felt so silly; she would see her parents again in Valinor someday, they would even be able to meet Gil-galad, although hopefully that day was long hence. 

She felt him run his hand over her curls. “Tell me, I beg you,” he whispered. “Whatever burdens you, it is mine to carry as well.”

That made the tears start flowing again. He had so many cares, especially now; the idea of adding to them was too overwhelming.

“I heard you,” she whispered instead. “I thought it was the wind or my own fancy. But I heard you…”

His hand was still stroking her hair. “I called out to you in my thoughts. But I did not expect you to hear - I did not think the ósanwe would be so strong so soon.”

He was right; she hadn’t even considered the idea. The ósanwe, the interchange of thought,  normally took time to develop between Elves - although perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. She knew enough to know that it was strengthened with affinity, with urgency, and with authority. She had no trouble believing that Gil-galad’s power as the High King was enough all on its own to reach across the forests of Eriador. And with love and worry backing it? She could likely hear him from Valinor itself.

The reminder of that love loosened her tongue, and she let herself speak.

“I have thought of my parents today, more than any other,” she murmured. “And when Adabes told me about the ceremony, about how we must change the words of the blessings…and the Noldor tradition of the gifts, and I knew that my mother could not do that for you, that that would be a part of our wedding that you would not experience, and…”

“Oh, melethel.” She hadn’t thought it was possible, but his arm tightened even more. “Think you I care for such things? I vowed to you that we could be wed in an instant if you desired it. I need only you.”

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against the softness of his robes. “I know it. But it seemed so important, with everything else. And I have no other to perform those offices. The other Noldor, they may find me unworthy…I am alone, I bring no great House to ally with yours…”

Ereinion’s free hand worked itself between them and tipped her chin up.

“No one of any consequence would find you unworthy,” he said firmly. “There is none in Arda that I would have at my side, save you. There is none other I would have as queen; there is none other I would have as the mother of my children. I regret only that I will not know your parents, and that my parents will not know you. I would have taken joy in their knowing how fortunate I have become. But someday they will know, and until then, I need only you.”

He always knew what to say. Doubtlessly it was a skill he had built over the long centuries as King; his rule had been, for the most part, peaceful, and he had more often wielded diplomacy in lieu of blade. And he was speaking true; she could feel that. None of it mattered to him. Their wedding would not disappoint, no matter how it took shape. 

“I wish they could have known you, meleth nín,” she whispered. “They would have liked you.”       

She felt his lips gently press against her forehead. “It means much to me, that you speak so. That they would have found me worthy of you.”

That made her laugh - a small chuckle at least, punctuated with hiccups, but it was a laugh. It would be a rare thing indeed that he was unworthy of. At the sound, she felt Ereinion relax as she leaned against him, relieved that she was starting to recover herself.

“Come,” he murmured. “I would guess you have taken no food yet this evening, and I have not done so either. Let us go see to that. And afterward, you need not return here. Not this night.”

She jolted backward, staring at him. She understood immediately what he was offering, and it was tempting, so tempting, but -

“The guards,” she said, her voice catching. “They will know. And the servants - it is still two more weeks until the wedding, we should not - "

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Hush. Often the crown is more prison than privilege, binding us to tradition and obligation. Yet with it comes the power to disregard those things on certain occasions. And in my mind and my heart, you are as much my wife as if we had been married a century ago, and had lain together a thousand times since then.” He smiled, gently caressing her still-damp cheek. “And I would be a poor husband indeed if I left you to be alone in your grief. Stay with me tonight, melethel. Rest in my arms. Let me ease your pain as much as I am able.”

Any argument she had had crumbled in the face of that. 

And besides, she had been in Lindon for months. Since the day she'd arrived, her rooms had been directly beneath his, connected by the private staircase. If anyone were going to talk, it would have happened already. And their kind knew when another was wed; it was in the eyes, the voice, unmistakable. As much as she and Ereinion were already bound together, it would be obvious to anyone who looked that their union had not been consummated yet, regardless of where she had spent her night. 

And so she nodded, and he got to his feet and then helped her up. 

“I will summon your attendants,” he murmured. “And I will tell the guards. All you need do is come to me when you are ready.”

He wasn't being the King, not at that moment, but it was simply part of his nature to take charge when it was needful. She was grateful for it, and more; she knew it helped him, feeling like he was doing something about her hurt besides just being there. 

He brushed a kiss over her lips and then turned, moving purposefully towards the door as she seated herself at her dressing table. She heard the door open, heard the brief instructions he issued with absolute certainty and not a care in the world.

The queen will remain above tonight. Fetch her attendants.

The door closed, and she heard his steps coming back to her, pausing in the doorway. In the mirror she could see him, his eyes still full of concern for her, making him somehow even more beautiful.

“Gi melin,” he murmured. “I will await you.”

Continue to Part 9 - WARNING, SMUT AHEAD!

[beethebisblog]

The boys all being big brothers except shy guy is perfection.

Betty and Gil being siblings is unexpected but adorable!! Their sibling banter was hilarious, and accurate. Gil and his crush on Olivia is actually adorable. The fact that he has five sisters makes the way he treats women in comparison to the other guys in the show make so much since. Also the way he would not let Richie steal Potato’s dad’s lucky dollar was so sweet :( “I’ve been the man of the house since I was eight years old and I’m exhausted” 😭😭😭

Potato taking care of his younger siblings and letting his dad sleep :( he’s so sweet. It makes his funny guy friend persona make so much more sense. He is such a good guy. The way he loves his dad :( his dad’s ptsd affecting the whole family :(

Shy Guy boxing is such a juxtaposition to his personality, but it makes sense. He’s a big sweetheart and later in the episode when Richie tries to use his size for intimidation purposes, you can really see how much that hurts him. He’s just a big teddy bear. He’s so valid for standing up for himself in the parking garage.

Richie 😭 him having no clue how to regulate his emotions😭 him getting the whole group in trouble and them trying to stop it 😭 him beating himself up in the parking garage 😭

THE WAY THEY ALL CRY TOGETHER BUT ARE LIKE IM NOT CRYING AND THEN THE DUST THING SO THEY CAN HUG WITHOUT HUGGING 😭 it’s so representative of the way boys and men are taught to not show their emotions at all and so they have no healthy way to process it.

The way they were so proud when Shy Guy did his lines 🫶

Buddy’s journey this episode was so necessary for him as a character. He’s the good guy, rich kid character that’s never really had to try for anything and learning that there’s a reason he didn’t have to try is devastating. He feels like he has never done anything to deserve anything he has and now has to process that.

His solo was really good. I’m glad he stuck up to his dad. He’s still not my favorite because every time he seems to be making a real effort to change, he seems to take a step backwards.

We love open and honest discussions about our feelings. Good job for not pushing, I’m actually really proud of Richie.

Also: last episode when they were like “Cynthia and Hazel are so the same size” brooo ain’t no way

[wyvernquill]

One more snippet of the Dreamling Anastasia AU

...in which we witness Hob and Murphy's very first conversation (spoiler: it doesn't go well). Please enjoy!

Link to the Masterpost!

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

---

For a moment, the scene unfolding before Hob makes him think he’s stepped into a fairytale - or perhaps a sweet and strange dream, haunting you ever so gently even after waking.

Once upon a time, thinks Hob, there was a Dream King draped in a cloak of midnight, and he held court over the ravens in a silver-winter forest under heavy, snow-laden boughs…

But then he blinks, and the silly, fanciful vision fades. The cloak is but a dark coat three sizes too large and marked by at least ten years’ worth of dirt and wear, the forest only a small and pitiful park fenced in by roads, and the snow a dirty grey, barely more than half-melted sludge where countless feet have trodden it down.

And the Dream King is only some beggar called Murphy, of course, uncanny resemblance be damned.

But there are ravens. Birds of all kinds, really, the sounds of their wings and their various songs nearly managing to drown out the noise of the city around them. Yet Hob is a practical man, and knows that they gather around their ‘king’ only because they’re clever little buggers waiting to be fed, and not thanks to any strange magics.

(Magic died when humanity rose up and brought the Endless low; and what little survived has fled, concealed itself, and would know better than to enchant a hundred or so birds in broad-if-cloud-dimmed daylight.

Magic died with Dream of the Endless, and all that is left are shadows and cheap facsimiles.

Magic died, and nothing will bring it back.)

And yet… there’s potential there, Hob thinks, as he watches Murphy draw his giant coat more tightly around himself, shivering but still holding his head high and proud, surveying the assorted fowl around him as if they were his subjects. There’s a sharp, delicate arrogance in his bearing that will serve their deception well.

And. Christ alive. He does look like him, doesn’t he. Like the Sandman himself, made flesh and bone and sweat and dirt. Made human. If Hob didn’t know, with absolute certainty… he could swear...

Ridiculous thought. Dream of the Endless would never sink so low as to get himself thrown out of a pub swearing and spitting, human or not.

Murphy’s eyes suddenly snap up, and Hob flinches instinctively, contemplates ducking behind the next tree or the column advertising the latest local plays - but the man’s gaze passes over him carelessly, long neck craning out from the ratty scarf wound around his throat as he scans the sky.

It’s the raven. The large, coal-feathered beast Murphy had with him at the pub, with the clever glint in its eye - and in its claws, it holds a whole loaf of bread, clearly pilfered from some bakery or street stall.

The raven drops the bread into Murphy’s lap, and then lands on his shoulder, cawing and nudging its beak against a sharp cheekbone in a strange avian gesture of affection.

Murphy rasps some sort of acknowledgement in his dark, hoarse voice that Hob is too far away to parse, stroking a finger along the bird’s side, before turning his attention to the bread.

His spindly, dirty fingers tear into it with the hungry desperation of a man who remembers with precise clarity when his last meal was, and also that it’s been far too long since then, and Hob’s stomach gives a sympathetic pang. He’s been there. Not so much recently - but he knows the slow gnaw of starvation, and will never forget it.

(He hasn’t gone hungry since meeting Gilbert, who’d rather skip on his own technically unnecessary meals if it meant his young human companion could eat his fill. Sometimes, Gil even hands Hob fruits he’s seemingly conjured up out of thin air, which are never as filling as the real thing, but taste heavenly enough to stave off hunger for a few more hours at least.

There must be some dream-magic there, something to do with Gil being, in all technicality, a meadow - but Hob doesn’t think about it too much. It’s sweet, the actions of a friend who truly cares, and that’s enough for him.)

Murphy raises the first morsel of bread up to his mouth…

…and feeds it to the raven.

Hob blinks.

Watches, as the man takes his own bite, chewing ravenously, and then tears another bit off the loaf, throwing it to the ground, birds immediately flocking around it, picking for their share.

The process repeats. Murphy goes through the entire loaf that way. One bite for the raven who stole the bread, one bite for Murphy himself, and one for the flocks of birds around him. Halfway through, the raven refuses its bites, presumably full, and from then on it’s one bite for Murphy, two for the birds. It’s already not the largest loaf, and a third of it is hardly enough to sate a grown man’s hunger - strangely selfless, this Murphy character. No wonder he’s thin as a rake.

(Then again, Hob supposes there’s strategy in it, teaching the birds that they’ll be well-rewarded for any bounty they bring him.

Altruism, or shrewdness? Hob wonders.)

Soon, there’s nothing left of the bread. Murphy still looks hungry, but it’s an exhausted, resigned hunger that’s there to stay. Hob doubts the man can remember a time he wasn’t hungry. This city is not kind to the starving, to the poor - Murphy might get a place in a workhouse, if he tried, but Hob doubts that quiet pride still shining through the veil of hunger would let him. And besides, they’re dying institutions, these days, workhouses - the modern world is turning up their noses at anything that might help the destitute, even as it churns out more and more of them. It’s a dark and miserable time they’re living in, and none of the glamorous parties the rich so love to throw these days will convince Hob otherwise.

But, well. If their scheme goes off without a hitch, then at the very least the new ‘Dream of the Endless’ will never go hungry again. Hob’s doing a public service here, if you look at it from the right angle - though he’ll be the first to admit that his main motivation is anything but selfless. Immortality is too rich a prize to pretend he doesn’t want it with every fibre of his being.

And he’ll not get it standing idly by and watching, that’s for sure.

Hob straightens his coat lapels, takes off his hat to comb his fingers through his overlong hair, places it back at a jaunty angle - and walks over to finally officially make this Murphy character’s acquaintance.

“Afternoon,” Hob says, still a few steps away, smile widening into a grin when Murphy’s gaze immediately fixes itself onto him, cold and filled with the sharp suspicion of a man most people go out of their way to ignore, and who does not trust direct address.

(The eyes give him away. Dream of the Endless had eyes like midnight stars, the depths of space and the glitter of distant galaxies eternally reflected in them. Strange eyes, inhuman eyes, endless eyes.

Murphy’s eyes are a pale, washed-out blue-grey, slightly sunken in their sockets, and perfectly ordinary.

No matter - they will already have to sell some cock-and-bull story about Dream having been forced into human form, the eyes will be the least of it.)

“What do you want?” Murphy growls, and that is perfect. The voice. Easily his best asset, besides the overall look. It’s right, scratchy and roughened by disuse, but just as deep and sonorous as Dream of the Endless's was. The harsh tone and tendency to curse like a sailor Hob witnessed at the inn will need to go, to be sure, this man speaks too much like a London gutter rat and not enough like the Lord of Stories - but, well, nothing a few lessons can't fix. Nobody else ever got the voice even remotely right, and this’ll already give them a lot more to work with.

“A moment of your time, m’lord. Nothing more.” Hob affects a cheeky bow, and does not waver under the cold disdain he receives in return. Mr. Murphy’s not a fan of teasing and gentle mockery, evidently - unfortunately, that is about 50% of Hob’s personality. They’ll get on just splendidly, won’t they. “Hob, at your service. Are you aware your lady sister is looking for you?”

A quick blink, even as Murphy’s entire scrawny body and haggard face goes very, very still.

“...I do not have a sister.” He says, only the slightest edge of uncertainty and confusion wavering in his voice. And then, “piss off, Robert Gadling” he adds, uncouth and vulgar, a scowl scrunching up his face. Oh, they’ll need to train that out of him, most certainly.

(Hob has not introduced himself as Robert, and certainly not as Gadling. That Murphy has named him thus nonetheless goes over both their heads.)

“No?” Hob smiles. “You’re not Dream of the Endless, then?”

Another blink - and then Murphy laughs, a horrible dissonant sound that seems like it ought to hurt his throat, the raven on his shoulder letting out a single caw alongside him.

“Are you drunk?” He snorts. “Dream of the Endless is dead. Every child knows it.”

“Every child believes it to be so. There’s a distinction.” Hob tries to take a step closer, but the sea of birds at their feet steadfastly refuses to part for him, so he thinks better of it. “You look exactly like him, you know. You might well be.”

“And you would know that, would you?” Murphy raises an arch eyebrow. “I think I’d remember having once been the personification of dreams.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Memory can be a funny thing.” Hob shoots back. “We don’t remember being born, do we? And some lose track of even more than that. How’s your recollection of your childhood, hm?”

Ah. Jackpot. The moment he speaks of remembering and childhoods, Murphy looks away, uncomfortable. Hit a sore spot there, has he? Memory issues. How interesting. How perfectly convenient.

“...you’ve had your fun now,” Murphy rasps, shifting uneasily, no longer so willing to defiantly meet Hob’s eyes. “I want no part in whatever game you’re intending to play with the London Poor, Gadling. Fuck off, before I make you.”

“Now, now, I really do think we’re on to something, here.” Giving up, Hob knows, is for fools who don’t really want to become immortal. “I’m quite certain-”

“Fuck. Off.” Murphy repeats, and turns his pale, unfortunately-human eyes on Hob again.

So do nearly a hundred birds, feathers ruffling and beaks clacking. The raven on Murphy’s shoulder caws, low and threatening.

Hob swallows, and takes stock of his options. Wonders if tactical retreats might not be just the thing for intelligent men who don’t want to die by bird before ever getting to take their stab at immortality.

“I’m only saying-” Hob tries instead, because he’s a reckless idiot.

Murphy’s eyes narrow, and he spits out a throaty sound like a command, the flock of birds rising as one, led by his personal raven jumping into flight with a sharp battle cry.

Shit.

Gilbert glances up when Hob returns covered in feathers and bird droppings, skin smarting where sharp beaks have pecked at him until he fled.

“I take it young Mr. Murphy was not particularly amenable to your proposal…?” He asks, delicately, lip twitching around a politely-repressed smile.

“Can’t say he was.” Hob shrugs easily, only wincing slightly at the way the movement pulls on his skin. “But I think I can convince him, Gil. Given enough time.”

“If you say so, young friend.” Gil, for his part, does not look particularly convinced either. He rarely is, when Hob first pitches his ideas, but he always comes around.

And so will Murphy.

Hob knows it’s only a matter of time… and, perhaps, some clever bribery.

[valdiis]

Character Traits: Daephrin Astramente

— B A S I C S

Name: Daephrin Rosamar Astramente Nicknames: Dae, Lark, Samar, 'hey asshole!' Age: Somewhere around 32 Nameday: 15th sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon Race: Ishgardian Elezen Gender: Cisgender male Orientation: Bisexual and yes, please Profession: Sky pirate, treasure hunter, leather-worker, professional scoundrel

— P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Warm black and windswept; straighter when it's very short or very long, wavy when it's a little shaggy. Eyes: Vivid emerald. Skin: Sun-tanned and lightly freckled. Tattoos/scars: No tattoos, a fading burn scar on his upper shoulders.

— F A M I L Y

Parents: Lucarian Astramente and Ilystra Rochenoire. Lucarian was a Temple Knight and Ilystra a noblewoman. When Lucarian married her, the official name of the noble house changed to his surname instead of hers. House Rochenoire was known for producing profound intellects and the Astramente line a knack for navigation. Ilystra died of pneumonia and several months later, Lucarian dropped dead of a heart attack. They say that couples in love rarely survive one another. Siblings: His older brother, Sarin, was a lancer and died in the Dragonsong War. His younger brother, Onaerion, is currently the head of House Astramente. Grandparents: Daephrin never knew them, but the Rochenoires were stiff, devout Ishgardians who had fallen on hard times and were very pleased to marry their daughter off to a relatively wealthy Temple Knight. The Astramente family was proud to count a Knight among their sons; they were mostly traders and trackers, barely a step above scoundrels but for their wealth. Wealth hides a multitude of sins. In-laws and Other: Though he is formally dating one man and unofficially entangled with another, Dae doesn't have any in-laws at this point. He has an Astramente uncle he's never met, but his mother was an only child. Pets: While he would like to have live pets one day, he fears he can't care for them at this time with his lifestyle. Instead, he has Sniffer, Spotter, and Sparrow - mammets made for him by his lover, Jaxon. Sniffer is a delightful little cat-dog mammet that sniffs out treasure. Spotter is a spider-like trap finder. And Sparrow is a bird-shaped recording device.

— S K I L L S

Abilities: Daephrin is quite a decent leather-worker, though he makes no fuss over it. More of a fuss is made over the fact that he's a crack shot with any ranged weapon of any kind (a manifestation of the Echo), including thrown knives. Just don't hand him a lance; he'll put someone's eye out. He knows Allagan programming language and technological construction. He can play piano pretty well. Hobbies: Aforementioned leather-work and Allagan treasure hunting. Airship maintenance for fun and profit.

— T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Dae is charming nearly to a fault. He can convince snakes to dance on their tails and Monetarists to part with their gil. He's got the perfect mix of a kind air, a clever mouth, and a fast mind; it makes him easy to trust, even when you probably shouldn't. Most Negative Trait: He is horribly, terribly self-centered. He struggles to put himself in other people's shoes or to think outside himself. He's working on it, but he's still pretty selfish.

— L I K E S

Colours: Black, gold, green. Smells: Well-oiled leather, bay rum, sun-warmed wood, his lovers' colognes (Jaxon and M'rath smell different, but equally amazing), fresh citrus. Textures: Silk, leather, black cat's fur, lacquered wood. Drinks: Whiskey, tea, hot chocolate, coffee, the occasional orange juice.

— O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Not anymore. Drinks: Sometimes. Drugs: Once in a great while, though he did more when he was younger. Mount Insurance: Uh... No? His usual mount is a motorbike, as he has not the facilities to care for an animal. (In practice, he rides a kamuy because I love them, but he wouldn't know what a kamuy is.) Been Arrested: He has so far escaped the law, but his luck may one day run out.

[thevikingwoman]

another letter reached Meryta before she sets out for the Rak'tika Greatwood

Fandom: FFXIV | Words: 786 | Read on Ao3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Meryta Khatin x Tansui | during A Little Faith | romance Rating: Teen. Letters, longing

LETTERS AND LONGING, PART 3

The next letter finds her at the Imperative. They’re looking for remnants of the Church of the First Light, but before she starts looking in earnest, the post moogle bounces into her view.

“I came all the way from Fort Jobb, Kupo! You better be grateful.”

She ensures it she is, and sends it off with her thanks and a plea to wait and rest at least a little, to give her a chance to write back. The moogle hums and agrees, scuttling off to rest in the shade.  It’s not been long since she sent her last letters, but when she opens it, it’s clear Tansui has received his already. The moogles – or Feo Ul – must be working overtime. Perhaps it helps to be king.

Tansui congratulates her on her win, and she’s not sure what to make of that. She fights and she wins and it’s what everyone expects. It feels different in his words, however, his expectations more like support, and less like a duty. Like he seems equally proud and concerned for her, between his teasing words. Or perhaps that he wants her to win for herself, and not because anyone else expects her to. He sounds relieved too, and it feels good to know he’s concerned.

Tansui tells news from the Confederacy, a long story about a hapless captain unwilling to let go of his cargo when met with mostly newer recruits. Until one of them had put an arrow between the man’s feet, perhaps backed up by Tansui’s scowl. His letter downplays his own role, and she can feel how proud he is of the people he trains. It had turned out that the captain had spent his very last gil on his cargo, and in a vain hope of maximizing his profits had all but forgotten about the ruby tithe. The ship’s hold had been filled with Hingan furniture bound for Eorzea, and now the Confederacy is the proud owner of gleaming red-lacquered garden benches.

She imagines it, pretty benches in the sand. Mayhap they will pass them on to Doma in a trade, but truly she does not know if the Domans need them any more than the Confederacy.

She chuckles at the story, as she sits on the stairs as she reads. Thancred passes by, a curious look on his face, but he doesn’t ask. She should help with the search, but mostly the letter makes her want to go to him again. With his letters, she knows that he did not tire of her visits, that he wants her. The thought makes her happy, warmth coursing through her. He says as much too, that he misses her, that he wants to hold her, kiss her, touch her.

She looks at the aetheryte, the sparks of aether currents humming about it. It would be so easy, to throw herself into the lifestream, to see him. To feel his hands on her.

His lips.

The warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, his beard scratching across her chest…

Minfilia bounces up the ramp to her left, a white blur of motion. Meryta shakes her head. As much as she wants to, she can’t leave now. Not even a day’s rest here, and who knows if a trip will be an hour or a week on the First. Maybe soon, when they’ve met with Y’shtola, she can find time. Or mayhap when they’ve delt with the next Lightwarden.  

She shudders at the thought. She’ll keep going, no matter how terrified she is, for the sake of those she can save, but right now her mind turns to Tansui first. His smirk and the challenge in his eyes. The affectionate words in his letters, and the appreciation in his hands.Curiously, she finds determination in thinking of him, a promise to see him again, her battles done. There’s a hunger to not only win for herself, or the scions, or everyone else; but so that she can go to him, victorious. She’ll never give up and flee a battle, that is not her nature, but this kind of longing is new.

Across the courtyard, Urianger braces himself against a heavy door. It’s probably stuck from disuse. He seems to have the task well in hand, as it swings open, and he disappears into the darkness.

She should write tonight, at least. She wonders what he’d think if she put her desires, her yearning, on paper, but she’s not sure she can find her words as easily with pen in hand as in her mind. He surely wouldn’t mind, his boldness always evident. She blushes, want running through as she think of his touch again, and tucks the letters into her clothing.

[pocketstoriesstore]

NSFW +18

You found your old job partner. And that’s how it goes on.

“Well, didn’t expect to see you here…”

You had to visit the old office to take some archives for your boss. You decided to make it silently, cuz you didn’t want to see anyone of your old team, including him, who decided to do the very same and take documents of some old missions for his leader, in the very same time.

Leon listened to you, sitting in his old chair. Eyes reading every step closer you took.

“Two years ago you left, didn’t say a word to anyone, so i’m pretty sure you didn’t expect to see me anywhere for the next decades…”

You felt your face melting.

It was good to feel all the frustration in his voice, especially when you thought he wouldn’t care if you were close or far from him. That’s what you used to feel since the last time you both been together.

It was a fast mission and your team was the administrative part of it, so you only got to see each other in the end of the day, like, conversations and stuff, while congratulating him and the rest of the team for the successful mission. You both locked eyes since the first minute of the meeting, ending things in his bed as you both wished for months.

…

After hearing that, you laughed. Accidentally exhaling surprise in your voice.

“Well, i did my best.” You said.

“At what, exactly?”

“Well, i… You know, you had something going on. You and one of your partners, the long haired girl. Cmon, Leon. Don’t be silly. You know i’m not being a freak.” - You finally protested, feeling bored by the soft investigation on your arguments.

“What? what are you talking about? You left me on read for two years because you were jealous of… what are you saying?”- He now was on his feet. “I’ve always tried to get closer, especially when i knew you was about to move. You’d never let me say everything i wanted to, always cutting me off and vanishing. It was all because of that? Impossible!”

“Look, i really have to grab this to Gil, so i have to go. Was good to s—“ Now he held your hand:“No way. You’re doing that again. Being a freak.” You stood static, starring at him in the eyes, no blink.

“Please, it’s all ok. I just have to go” - “You’re getting red. Phill said you still have a crush on me. He said you’d never forgot me. Is that true?” His hand holding your chin, cautiously.

You felt your face chicks burning.

“This conversation is so weird. You must be joking, right?” You awfully tried to simulate a giggle, but was a waste of time.

“Cmon, you just told me you was jealous about someone i was TEACHING!” He laughed, playfully and proud of himself for taking that off of you without even try. “Liz is a friend, she was new at the corporation and i was his leader. We’re actually friends, but she has her own girlfriend. Ain’t it fun? and you say me that… We know nothing about anything in the universe, don’t you think?”

Your face was literally on the floor…

“Do you know what? I choose the perfect day because i didn’t meant do be through anything like that. What the hell are you doing here? What the hell are you telling me?” He laughed more: “Answering your old doubts before you go ahead thinking more and more bullshit, as you did for the last two years. Now tell me if Phill was telling the truth. d’You like me?” He was seriously looking into your eyes. He was a little uncomfortable too, you could judge, but only because he had to go on since he played about that.

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“Ok.”

You stared at each other.

“I’m sorry for making this uncomfortable, I also wasn’t prepared to see…you. Anywhere, but here?… impossible.”

“I missed you so badly, Leon. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to bother you, so i avoided any gossip, and choose to keep those thoughts to myself. But i still miss you. I think about us every single day, every time. I’ve been so fucked up about it. But hell i missed you. In my days, our hellos and goodbyes and our e-mails, the meetings in the parking and everything. I miss your skin on mine, Leon. Are you happy now?”

“I miss all of that since the day we kissed for the first time. I miss you a lot. I’m fucking serious, girl.”

He got even closer and held your neck strongly in his embrace. You left every paper cautiously in your table and held him back, tightly. His nose shoved in your messy hair, and his heavy arms pressing your body as if you were about to vanish in any moment.

“Never, ever, do this to me again. Let me know things. Be mine, please. Please.” He said, kissing you hardly.

“Leon-you said in a whisper- Phill was so fucking right.”

And then he said in a groan, while searching for your bare skin underneath the fabric of your skirt, cuz you made the way easier for him to go on: “I know that, love.”

[shieldbcund]

Coerthas gradually, over time, became more and more like home to him. He'll never forget the warm sunlight filtering through the great boughs of the Black Shroud, nor the bustling of adventurers filtering through the Caroline Canopy's open arms. He doesn't forget the warmth the Shroud manifests in the lush greenery, trickling streams, and his mother's bubbling laughter in the summer nights.

He'll never forget the warmth from the Shroud, but Coerthas has started to take him in. Perhaps not the same as his homeland, but its lamplights, crackling fireplaces, and forged friendships wrought in deep conversations and tender embraces were a start.

If not influenced by his mother's welcoming and amicable nature, then it's Romilda's friendliness and patience that forged the warmth in his heart. Acceptance, too, for what is and isn't known. He can recount many afternoons sitting in the Canopy, watching the airships do their rounds and exchange adventurers like marketplace gil. Whenever he sees the highlander's silver armor and red hair, it's like Starlight all over again.

Those Starlights have come and gone; he can't remember how long it's been since seeing his knight in shining armor.

Coerthan snow crunches underfoot, slowly giving way to the Falon Nest's cobblestone. Elouan strolls up the ramp and his side aches in remembrance, but he doesn't give it a soothing touch. Instead, he walks on with Soleil as his shadow in the growing sea of people. Elou finds himself passing House Knights and adventures, a mix of greys and coppers and golds of armor, until the glint of silver catches his eyes again.

Silver shining under the Coerthan sun, not unlike the blades and spears Ishgard's knights hold at Her gates. Instead of protecting a nation, this protects a memory. Memories, many times over, that have since been drowned and lost in sand, blood, and tears.

Elouan's breath catches in his throat and his heart skips multiple beats. Is--she's still--?

She's here?

"Romilda?"

The name escapes his lips before he can close them, voice soft and easily lost to the wind. Part of him hopes it's forgotten, mistake left in the past like his memories, but emerald eyes flit from a Durendaire knight to him. Elouan swallows. He freezes.

"...Elou? Mister Elouan, is that really you?" Her voice braves the cold, bringing warmth to the highlands that the Calamity eradicated. If the scar on his side is one he wants to forget, her voice redeems the area in its stead.

He doesn't feel any braver in this moment, but feet propel him forward on the innate need to know, to understand and hopefully realize what isn't a dream and what might very well be fantasy. It starts as a tepid walk and turns into a heartfelt, anxious jog over to his childhood hero. When he finally stops a fulm before her, he's no longer looking up to him. Rather, Elouan's looking down to meet her eyes. "I--I didn't know if I'd see you again. I, and--"

Romilda reaches, grabbing his hand in hers and brings him in for a hug. The paladin gives his hand a squeeze and he's wordless, swallowing whatever stammering thoughts that surface in his head.

"You did it."

"I'm proud of you, Elouan. Or should I say Ser Elouan."

She looks up to him, smile lifting her cheeks, and wraps an arm around his side for a solid, firm hug. Elouan's muscles initially tense, but those words take all the worry out of him. He melts into her hug and holds that hand like a lifeline; if he lets go, he'd not be standing. The elezen wraps an arm around her shoulders and hides his face into her hair, holding back tears as much as he can. He fails, ever the emotional thing, as they run down his cheeks.

You did it.

He did, didn't he? After all these years, he's become a paladin. All it took was one highlander and many, many afternoons at the Caroline Canopy. Elouan tries again for words, but his lower lip quivers and his breath comes out in shaky, soft draws. She just hugs him tighter, a soft chuckle leaving her lips, as she speaks once more.

"You've gotten so tall, but you're still a soft thing. I'm so proud of you, but you need to tell me your own stories, you hear?"

"It's time I listen for a change."

[dannygpino]

What were your thoughts when it was revealed that Nick got back together and married Cynthia?

Honestly, I was only a little surprised, lol.

I thought they had continued as friends even if they had said their feelings and relationship were real in 14x17. We only saw her again in 14x24 looking as beautiful as ever.

However, it makes sense that he'd end up with someone he has history with.

Before that though, I think Nick had to do a lot of personal growth and being comfortable with himself, learning to love and accept himself. Learning that it's okay to be alone but that doesn't mean he is alone, if that makes any sense. For example, he was clearly still in touch with Amanda after he left and I don't doubt he was in touch with Olivia, Fin, and Munch as well. Maybe he tried dating, maybe he didn't. I don't think he believed marriage was on the cards for him again until Cynthia.

That said, I do not think Nick and Cynthia jumped into marriage right away, lol. Since season 14, they clearly had been rebuilding their friendship organically and both were cognizant and respectful of any boundaries the other had. He told Gil he'd talk to her when Gil mentioned they may be moving to San Diego. I think they kept rebuilding their friendship after Nick moved to California. Maybe one day, something clicked and they both realized they wanted to date the other again. They were both ready. Maybe that was a few months after he moved, maybe it was a year.

I think they dated for a while (see: years) until marriage was even brought up, even in passing. I think Nick would have to feel comfortable with himself and the relationship, and he'd make sure Cynthia felt comfortable, too. I could also see them having a long engagement, maybe another year or so until the wedding.

He is clearly very happy, content, relaxed in a way that maybe he had never been before. I would have loved to have a little more insight on their marriage in the 500th episode but that is not the Nick Amaro way.

I am glad that he married someone who loves him, knows him, will support and accept him in all the seasons of his life. Maybe even tell him how proud she is of him for how far he's come from being undercover and working at SVU to now. To contradict myself from earlier, I am glad that he didn't end up alone.

After all he went through in life, the man deserves to feel loved, supported, safe, accepted. Taken care of.

Of course, he'll do the same for Cynthia. When Nick Amaro loves someone, he loves them with his whole heart.

And he's got a big heart.

[healingagoddess]

Is this forever? (Run part 3)

Request(?: @the-camiluchaa​ said “Great writing! Do you think is gonna be part 3? I would love that, full of action😍“ and I miss Ajak, so of course I did!

Note: I had written this and had more action in it! I was so inspired and then it got deleted!! I don't know how it happened, but it just didn't save after I saved it! So, here's a quick chapter i came up with just right now. I felt really bad after it did not save, that i just wanted to post something tonight since I had planned to do so. T-T

Warnings: English is not my first language.

Pairing: Ajak/F!Reader

Tags: @fivemillioneyes <3

Part 1 Part 2

The ambiance upon arriving to the Peruvian Amazonia in your search for Druig was heavy. You kept close to Ajak, avoiding Ikaris as much as you could. Sersi tried to keep her distance and remain composed around him. She was doing amazing and you were so proud of her. On the other side, Kingo and Sprite had been at it for hours. You had forgotten how much Kingo liked to tease everybody, and it was getting to Sprite leaving her in a moody state. It was better to keep close to Ajak, who was looking after Thena along with Gilgamesh.

It was strange to see a village stuck in time, clearly under the influence of Druig. It didn’t take long to find him. And the awkward silence of the first two minutes in that chapel felt like an eternity. Until he spoke, and then Ajak revealed everything. He took it far better than you did, but it was going to take some time to convince him to join you.

“I’m not going to say anything other than I knew you were wrong.” Druig states directly to Ajak.

Ikaris gets up and gets on Druig’s face

“You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“You always wanted to be mother’s  favorite. Yet, it seems she has chosen someone else.” Druig nods towards you.

You close your eyes in annoyance, but say nothing to avoid upsetting Ajak some more. If only Druig knew the whole truth, if only everyone else did like Sprite and Sersi do. Ajak was still protecting Ikaris.

You disperse to cool off after Druig, Kingo, Ikaris and Ajak got into a heavy discussion that had nothing to do with Tiamut.

“Do you think he can do it?” you ask.

Both you and Ajak were sitting against a tree not far from Gil and Thena.

“I believe his power is strong enough to put Tiamut to sleep.”

“What happens if he can’t do it?”

“He will. I think he-”

A distant screech cuts her off, and you both immediately stand to your feet. You look at each other for a moment focusing all your senses on the distant sounds. Suddenly, you watch Ikaris being dragged by a deviant and your fighting mode activates as you begin to duplicate.

“Go with Thena!”

You shout before both you and Gilgamesh go to Ikaris aid.

You slam against the deviant and send it a few meters far away from all of you. You try to go again with a kick,  but the deviant senses your cosmic energy and charges back to Gilgamesh and Ikaris. You and your replicas end up colliding into thin air. You are quick to respond and charge back to help them both, but Gilgamesh intends  to take the deviant himself in a one on one match. You try to help, but soon are distracted by Ajak’s voice.

“Thena… remember who you are.”

You hear her soothing voice and turn to find her with her hands up in the air channeling cosmic energy. Similar to the lights forming on Thena’s face. You worry as you send your replicas after the deviant, and making your way back to Ajak. It is difficult to control both your main power and your focus on helping Ajak. You can feel it wavering as you get closer to her, slowly as to not scare Thena.

“Ikaris…” you say never looking away from both Ajak and Thena. “Help Gilgamesh.”

You see him debating for a moment and you start to lose patience.

“Go with Gilgamesh.”

You repeat yourself noting how Thena is struggling against her illness.

“I follow no orders from you.”

He says before getting in the middle of Ajak and Thena, finally getting her to act out and lose herself. They start fighting each other as Ikaris tries to stop Thena, and she tries to murder him. You feel your cosmic energy expand out your body as your replicas disperse into two directions: to help Gil and to help Ajak as you try to keep both Ikaris and Thena to stay alive as well. And it is chaos.

Your head feels like breaking into three different sections, and you are everywhere at once trying to make sense of every situation. You notice that at least five replicas are helping Gil, and three are taking Ajak further into the forest hiding from the spot that has now turned into a battle camp. You mediate between Ikaris and Thena. Suddenly, he hears something and takes off. Leaving you now with the death stare from Thena. And she comes at you at full speed with sword in hand. You have no time to think and your replicas come back to you as you try to keep Thena from hurting you and hurting herself. You barely make it the first time, but the second time she gets you with her sword piercing your stomach. And you feel the air leaving your body as the thrill sends a shiver all over your body. Pain and panic take over as you try to stay focused everywhere.

You prepare to die as Thena dematerializes her sword, expecting her to summon something bigger to end you. It never comes, instead she stands there blinking several times trying to remember something as she stares at something behind you. And in a matter of seconds she turns around with tears in her eyes, lights still forming in her eyes. Then, you see Gilgamesh being held by the deviant as it drains his cosmic energy. You try to rush to his aid, but stumble on your feet before a single replica takes after him. But it’s too late, and you watch as Thena kneels in front of Gil. In a matter of seconds, everything turns black.

_ ✽ _

The first thing you notice upon waking up is how humid your surroundings feel. Your senses spread to the rest of your body as cosmic energy still lingers there. Ajak is holding you, her face is stained with tears, and you can feel them on your face as well. She is not looking at you, instead, her broken gaze lies elsewhere. Sitting up the first thing you notice is a platinum shape; it is Thena. You get up immediately, as you remember the final encounter with the deviant. Thena sobs on the ground with her forehead pressed against Gil’s, and you confirm that he has in fact passed. No. He was murdered. Looking around you take notice of everyone else's presence with the exception of Druig. Your eyes search for that one eternal in the crowd, and when you find him a fire is set ablaze within your core. A new found rage fills your soul, and you march towards Ikaris before slamming him into a tree. This catches Thena’s attention.

“Y/N! Don’t!” Ajak rushes in your direction with pleading eyes.

“This is all your fault!” You yell out as you place your hands on his shoulder with a tight grip keeping him from escaping.

“I was just trying to help everyone else.” The words slide out his mouth with bitterness.

“No. You know what you did. It is your fault that that deviant got what it wanted.” Your furious eyes look into his icy cold ones. “Why don’t you tell them the truth?” You whisper the last part.

Ajak looks away as Sersi steps closer with tears forming in her eyes. Nobody else knows the truth other than Sersi and Sprite.

“Tell them… tell them how you tried to kill her!” The sound of your voice pierces through the forest like a thunder. “Tell them how you took Ajak to that lake with your big lies only to try to get her killed by the same deviants. How you planned for us… for ME to find her body there. All because she changed her mind about this mission.” You press him harder against the tree.

Nobody talks for a moment, but you notice everyone has gathered around keeping some distance from the both of you.

“Is this true?” Kingo asks.

Ikaris remains in silence giving the confirmation that Kingo needs.

“You don’t do that.” He says in all seriousness. “You don’t do that to family. Even if we don’t agree with their newfound plans or beliefs, we don’t harm our family.”

“He plans to get rid of everyone that comes between Arishem and his mission. He is just waiting for the right moment. And Gilgamesh was the first to pay for this.”

As you say the last part Thena gets up summoning her weapon. Ikaris pushes you away with force before taking flight. And you swear that for a moment you saw his beams forming in his eyes.  

“Coward!” Thena yells out after him.

“Wait! Take me with you!” Sprite says before materializing into an illusion of hundreds of bees as they both escape.

“They’ll come back.” Thena states.

“And when they do.” You reply.

“We’ll be waiting.” She finishes.

You go towards Ajak, who in the middle of the argument left to kneel beside Gilgamesh. Thena returns as well, and they both weep for him. The others remain talking about Sprite’s sudden betrayal. Your arms come to wrap around Ajak from behind as you place your head on her back offering support. She turns in your embrace and cries into your arms as you rock her gently in soothing and consoling motions. The sight is heartbreaking and as soon as Druig shows up a funeral is prepared.

_ ✽ _

Nobody sleeps that night as thousands of questions and thoughts from the events of the day swirl in their minds. Somewhere during the night, you find Ajak staring at the ceiling wide awake, unable to sleep just like you.

“Have you spoken to Arishem?” You ask softly.

Ajak turns to look at you slightly taken aback. “No.”

You keep staring at her waiting for an explanation.

“Every time he just informs me when the emergence will occur… and there is nothing else he needs from me. My deed is done… and that’s it.” She says lost in thought.

“Have we ever been like this?” You finally ask. “In our past lives?”

She looks at you for a moment choosing her words carefully. “No. This is the first time I experience this.”

For some reason you don’t feel sad about your past life knowing you didn’t have to suffer for Ajak at the end of times.

“But,” she continues “You are new to my missions.” She manages a gentle smile.

And you can see how she tries to smile through her tired eyes as well before you fully digest the new information.

“Wait… do you mean what I think you mean?”

Ajak nods. “This is the first time we met… so, it’s really nice to meet you.”

Tears cloud your eyes at the realization of how much Ajak has changed thanks to you.

“What was it like for you?”

“It was different… from all the times I had done this. Some come and go, and that’s alright. But you have a passion that is so unlike everyone else’s.”  She makes sure to stare deep into your eyes. “I told you this before; you make your own rules. And also,” she pauses to give you a flirty look. “You are the first one to look at me like this.”

You chuckle before getting closer to kiss her lips.

“Do you think this is our last night like this?” You ask her.

“No, I know it’s not. I have faith in Druig.”

“And then what will happen?”

“And then… we wait.”

“For what?”

“Arishem.”

“Do you have any idea-”

“We’ll sort this out. And we’ll warn everyone else in this whole universe.”

And you take her word seriously putting all your trust in her, so you nod once and kiss her sweetly before trying to rest.

_ ✽ _

As promised, during the emergence Ikaris and Sprite show up. You duplicate as soon as you see him, you launch at him with your replicas surrounding him and taking turns in puching him around. The look in his face when he corned Ajak in that cliff, her face at the realization of what was happening, Sersi's tears for him, Druig's and Gilgamesh's death, all of that is coming back to you. The pain he has caused you and your family is all coming out at this moment in the form of revenge.

After he takes down the domo, and Thena joins in the fight. You are sure that you will get him this time, at least the satisfaction of seeing him in this position is almost enough. You want more, and so does Thena as she goes for the last deviant. You have no idea how many times all of you have taken Ikaris down only for him to get back up and attack you. Ajak has been holding on her own very well, with Phasto's techonology you've been able to fight beside her. But the fear you feel as Ikaris goes after Sersi is huge, some part of you knows that he is incapable of hurting her. And it is confirmed when she completes the final puzzle and is able to continue with your plan; killing Tiamut with her bare hands and your power convined.

The glorious victory against them only makes the promise of being with Ajak forever more real and emotional. You embrace her as soon as Tiamut remains frozen in time. Your lips reach for each other and seal your forever with a passionate kiss in the presence of the celestial as you still feel its power connected to you. It feels like nothing but pure bliss, you have not just gained your ever after with Ajak, but you have saved this world and all its wonders. You celebrate your victory with the love of your life and your family. And soon you find yourself in another adventure with Ajak as both of you leave to explore the universe in search of others.

“Will you miss this world?” You ask before you leave the planet Earth’s atmosphere.

“No, I have everything I need here with me.” She smiles as she pulls you close.

“I feel the same way.” You grin with your eyes. “I’d follow you ‘til the end. Whenever that is.”

[koolkat9]

2, 4, 20!

Fun meta asks for writers

2. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

I have a fic planned with the idea that Gil is Ludwig's dad and him panicking over it and wishing Germania was there to guide him. We don't have enough good dad Germania which is a shame because according to canon he really loves his family.

---

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Oh gosh let's see...

"The icy caverns that were once Matthew’s eyes burned bright and hot like blue stars. He was no longer that little boy in the bush, and he was no longer that young dominion that needed Arthur to fall back on. He was Canada, wild and rugged, a force to be reckoned with. What Arthur had always wanted him to be. But now, he just hoped that sweet little boy was still in there somewhere. "

-Time Ticks Away

One, I really liked the simile I used. Blue stars are actually the hottest and brightest stars in the galaxy so very fitting for Matthew's rage induced blue eyes (my astronomy class was good for something).

Two, I just love how the dynamic turned out here. Up until this point, Arthur has only known Matthew as a quiet, anxious little boy. But he's grown, and he's angry and his strength is on full display. Arthur had always worried that Matthew was too sensitive, that he needed to teach Matthew hide that all away like how he was forced to as a child. He wanted Matthew to be strong, to be a fighter, to be tough as nails. And in the trenches of WWI Matthew has finally embraced those qualities. But looking at his son, angry, vengeful, hungry for blood makes Arthur feel sick. And this line gives me chills. We always don't know what we have until it's gone (or think it's gone).

---

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

I never include symbolism or hidden references or callbacks. At least not on purpose most of the time. But I will ramble about my fic Ludwig.

The barebones of this fic have been in my mind since I started shipping GerEng three years ago. I only ever seen the whole Germany = HRE debacle through a primarily Ger//Ita lens (I was lucky if I got some exploration of what that means for the german bros on the side). So when I got into GerEng, I wondered what it would mean if GerIta wasn't together. ''

I also started liking the idea of Ger//Ita where Feli just loves Ludwig because Lud looks like HRE or was HRE. I say "was" because I like to imagine Ludwig as his own character even when working in the realm of the Germany = HRE. Regardless of what version of a theory I'm going off with (they are exactly the same or they're separate souls that share the same body) there is a distance between Ludwig and HRE. Ludwig has become his own person and his past as HRE doesn't feel like it's completely his own.

Anyway, GerEng Week rolls around almost 3 years later with a prompt absolutely perfect for these two ideas. It turned into more of an introspective of Ludwig's conflict with his identity. But I really love how the dynamics turned out.

I've loved the idea of toxic Ger//Ita for a few years now, but I'm terrible at making these characters bad people so I never really got to write it. But here, Ger//Ita becomes toxic because Feli is projecting his feelings for HRE onto Ludwig who is no longer the same boy Feli remembers. Not to mention how he's in a vulnerable state, head over heels for Feli and willing to compromise himself to make Feli happy. They don't mean for it to get toxic, but it does. Ludwig realizes this eventually, that he's losing himself, that Feli doesn't actually love him. He also realizes his feelings for Feli had gone out decades ago, only reignited in this one moment where he thought he could connect his present and past self. And Feli knew deep down for awhile that what he was doing wasn't right. And his revelation and apology is one of my favourite things I've ever written. "It’s clear your heart doesn’t belong to me and I’m sorry for feeling entitled to it because of the past" gets me every time.

And Arthur, being one of the only relationships Ludwig has where the other party wasn't so close to HRE. Unlike the others, he isn't blinded by the happiness of being reunited and sees Ludwig struggle. He becomes one of the only people Ludwig feels comfortable talking to to let it all out. Arthur becomes the one to pull him out of the role he put himself into to try to appease others. Because he loves Ludwig for Ludwig. Not for who he used to be. The romance may have been a little rushed at the end and I wish I made reference to Ludwig's crush on Arthur earlier in the fic, but I think it's sweet. Arthur had to pull Ludwig out of a funk once before and he did again proving he'd be someone Ludwig could count on.

[softquietsteadylove]

But also!!! I love the headcanons!!! Can I request more for a different AU? (your choice for which AU, I can honestly say I’d read novels about any of them and I want to know EVERYTHING)

You...you want to hear my headcanons?

Okay!!!! (I'm so excited)

So let's talk Ballerina/Boxer AU, because that's another one with a lot of in-between things I've imagined but haven't appeared in any stories, even if I've alluded to them in the tags.

Mutual pining--my absolute favourite. Thena saw Gil a few times going into his studio across the hall. Sersi immediately called her out on it because Thena does not stare at guys. Thena doesn't really notice guys, for the most part. Until the handsome boxer smiles and waves at her. Sersi is on high alert.

Likewise, Gil noticed her because who wouldn't? He adjusted his schedule so he could come in a little earlier and catch a glimpse of her before class. Once he was smiling and waving and walked right into the propped open door. He felt like an idiot and avoided eye-contact for a week, but she was completely charmed by it.

Thena is all grace but at home she's a little forgetful. She's so exhausted that by the time she gets in the door everything is getting dropped on the spot. Then she comes out the next morning looking for her bag, her shoes, her water bottle, everything. Having Gil around has actually helped her keep her stuff organized better, she just doesn't want to admit it.

Gil loves spoiling her. He thinks it's so cute to get to see his graceful and beautiful swan curled up on the couch in a grumpy little ball. She loves watching tv with her head on a pillow on his lap with his fingers running through her hair. She has no idea what's happening in any of the shows they watch together because she always falls asleep, but Gil gives her the gist of what happens. It's super all-over-the-place and she still doesn't know what happens, but it's sweet.

She used to let him help her with her cool down after classes and rehearsals but it always ends up with them getting up to other things so now she has to ban him until after she's done or she won't stretch properly.

He brings up the locker room incident on at least a weekly basis.

Thena has never been in all that serious a relationship before. She's embarrassed and thinks it's terrible, but Gil doesn't care. He's happy and proud to be the first man she calls her 'boyfriend'. Sometimes he jokingly slutshames himself in comparison to her.

Thena only owns one pair of jeans, and one white leather jacket. Everything else is...what you might imagine a professional ballerina to own. Again, she thinks maybe this isn't a good thing, but Gil doesn't care of she dresses super casual or not.

Once they started seeing each other he immediately got his regular suit re-tailored and bought three new ones, so he could have options for her show nights, or if she went to fancy events and stuff. He just wants to feel like he belongs with his Gorgeous Swan.

Ben knew Thena had a thing for Gil from the first moment she mentioned him. All she said was "Gil, the boxing instructor in the studio across from ours" and he went oh yes, your future husband.

Thena was never nervous for performances until Gil started coming to them. It's not terribly nervous, maybe more like excited butterflies. And when she comes on stage he makes a loud 'whoo!' which everyone hates and is inappropriate for the venue, but she loves it.

Thena is much more eager to experiment than Gil. He's up for it, of course, but she's the one who's actively searching for ways or excuses to get up to wild things together. Unless he's going to ask her about it later, in which case it never happened.

Early on, Gil asked to do her warm up with her, for a change in his routine. It nearly broke him.

Thena is completely at the mercy of her students. First it was them calling Gil her boyfriend before they were really that official, which was why she would get so flustered. She didn't know that he loved them doing that. They go 'oooooh!' every time they see him, which embarrasses her every time. Soon they'll start asking if they're going to get married, at which point she will explode and burst into flames on the spot.

Sersi will say 'yes, they will', like a traitor.

Gil has a more distanced but friendly relationship with his boxing students. His oldest and friendliest student is Makkari, who was the one to tell him to just talk to Thena for a month before he ended up actually doing it.

After her fall, Gil starts subtly asking if and when she would ever give up performing for any reason (he's just worried about her).

Gil would never do anything as petty as retaliate against Lara for how she treats Thena. But he did once see her and her husband getting out of their car one day downtown. He called and had the car towed by claiming it had been there way past the allowed parking time.

When they move in, Gil will move in with Thena, because she has more stuff, it's easier, he's always there anyway, and he thinks her apartment is nicer than his.

The rose he gave her the first night he asked her out is dried properly and sits in a vase on a shelf on her wall above her bed (very romantic).

When Gil meets Jack, Jack asks if he and Aunt Thena are in love, to which Gil excitedly says he's head over heels for her. Thena is eavesdropping and has to stick her head in the fridge to recover.

[warrenwilkinson]

Continuation from here

@witheredpetalsmses (Gilmore)

" Relived? " Gilmore spits back, how could Warren think of such a thing." I have lost enough already to not want to lose a brother, if anything I expect that you remain a constant in my life if nothing else!" Their frown deepens as Death goes on." I have nothing, I yearn for nothing but at least I could count that you, Freddie and Pestilence would be here, with me in this no matter the circumstances! " It was selfish on their part, to want them to stay even when it was clear that Warren desired for something more, he had always loved too deeply.

" Yes, I would rather!" Gil shakes their head." I thought you knew better than this Warren, after all we have been through but I see now that is not the case." " This one thing? It is never the one thing, you always want more, you desire passion and so you look for it. It's Maya now but it was Barachiel before, who you proclaimed to love so dearly." Gilmore breaths in, this was not how they expected the evening to go." I do not care. You will do as you please as you always have and I'll be there to pick up the pieces of what is left. If you want then do call Pestilence, I'm not sure what they can bring to the table."

Warren was proud of himself for not losing his temper like he usually did. He would have yelled and destroyed things when feeling this cornered and offended but not this time. Not here in their home so he shook his head, taking a deep breath, "Me being a constant in your life doesn't mean it was a good one. We're bonded by our creation and destiny but I'm tired to live like that's all I am. Aren't you?" He asked tiredly, "we can't change what we are or run for it, but at least we can escape it for a little while. I'm sorry. I really am sorry you lost the one thing you ever wanted. I wish you have never had to experience that loss and pain but it was not my fault and you can be angry at the work and at me if you want but you have no right to deny me the one thing that had made me less of a monster. And you can't deny me either to leave this world under my own circumstances, Gilmore. I love you but I'm not changing my mind on this," he said in a final tone. "Are you even listening to yourself? You prefer to have a slaughter to clean up after my rage than letting me go? So all those lives don't matter? Weren't you the one asking me to stop killing indiscriminately millenia ago? Why can you change and not me?" He asked shaking his head because even with his job, Gilmore wasn't really vicious like he and pestilence were. This came out as a big bitter surprise now. Warren huffed and raised his voice this time, "exactly you idiot! Exactly! I don't want you to have to pick up the pieces of anything! I don't want more of yours and the other resentment. I know I'm not gonna be with Maya after we pass but at least I won't be here making everyone's life a hell," he said with a broken tone.

Gilmore stares ahead, they often tried not to think too much about their existence, what they were, an anomaly of sorts and while they could understand where Warren was coming from they could not deal with the truth of the matter." Is that how you see us? Monsters?" Death steps back, hands turning into fists. "You are right, I cannot. You have always made up your mind with little care for others opinions and this will be no different, you are set in your ways." Gil closes their eyes, trying to hold themselves. " That is not what I meant, but you are capable of staying without achieving those things and between the two of us who is the one that has changed. Warren you have allowed yourself to feel things, to live your life with the pain that comes with it and in the end you will do as you please!" Finally Death stares back, they want to tell him there is no resentment from their part but they can't, because there is. " You carry yourself too high Warren."

Warren stood up, holding their glance in challenge, "not you. Me. I am a monster. The things that I've done, the people I've hurt. The pain I've unleash is not short of what a monster would do," he admitted looking uncommonly guilty. It stung that Gilmore threw to his face that he never cared for others and always did as he wanted, "I never thought the price to live this life your so high. Even back with Barachiel. I really tried not to feel things and spent long centuries without feeling anything for anyone until her. Maybe this is how it was supposed to be. Maybe that's why you spare her life," he said with a little hope in his voice, not wanting them to have such a negative conversation when they had managed to be so civil with each other for so long. It hurts to see their sibling so mad at him, "it was never my intention to hurt any of you when I decide to live my own life. Even less when I fell in love," he said apologetically, "life as we had it before playing human wasn't a life at all. I don't want to go back to that. I don't want you to go back to that either. Numb, emotionless, empty. You deserve better, Gil."

Gilmore relaxes for a moment, features softening." You are not a monster Warren. Yes, you have caused a lot of hurt in your path but that, it was then, you feel remorse and that shows change." They grow quiet, Death was still not sure why they had helped Maya on that awful night, they remembered that it would not cause too much of a problem to lend her a hand. They weren't sure if they believed in faith. " I'm not asking you to return to it, I wouldn't ask that of you." Gil confesses." But that is not the case for myself Warren, there is no better for me." And they truly thought it was the case, Uriel had been an expected surprise one that would not come again.

Warren's expression softened when Gilmore said he wasn't a monster, "someone once told me I wasn't able to change. That I have a lot of red in my ledge and that won't ever change," he said with a sigh. "I know you might think this is a whim, but it's different than it was with Barachiel. Maya is just too good even with all the bad things she has gone through," he said with a small smile, "I just want to make her happy," he admitted. He moved closer and placed a hand over his sibling's shoulder, "you don't know that. I know it feels like that but you already learned there is something good and some positive things to feel," he said seriously, "I'm still here for you," he assured.

Gilmore gives in, a sigh escaping their lips." I know." They say, deep down they knew the reason for their outburst, they were jealous of Warren to be able to love as he did and to be loved in return." She makes you happy and as much as I hate the thought of you leaving eventually, I know that there is a good reason for it."

Death shakes their head." No, there is not nor do I wish it to be. " But at least they weren't alone, Warren and Freddie were here as well as Trevor." I know that you are, I do appreciate it Warren. I apologize for... My strong reaction."

Warren relaxed a little when Gilmore sounded more understanding of his reasons, “Thank you, Gil. I know I’m stubborn and normally a huge idiot, but I promise this time it’s more than just that,” he assured.

He sighed, “and you dare to call me stubborn uh?” he shook his head, “just try not to close yourself completely,” he almost pleaded. Warren smiled a bit, “No need to apologize, I understand where that came from, I just wanted to explain…” he sighed, “have you considered adopting a pet?” he asked suddenly, wondering if maybe something like that could help his sibling’s heart not to freeze entirely, “Maya adopted a dog before we moved in together and then I adopted two kittens, they’re the cutest thing,” he smiled  uncharacteristically, “I realized those little creatures are good incentives.”

" You are stubborn." Gilmore agreed with his statement." As long as you speak to the others as well about your plan, that is all that I ask." They wouldn't want to be the one to deliver the news once the time came, having to deal with whatever questions the other horsemen might have. Gilmore rolls their eyes." Yes and I will make no such promises." Death raises and eyebrow at the question." A pet?" They hadn't really consider it, usually they were satisfied with the ducks but they would never take them from their home. " I see, I'm not sure about myself but I will take it into consideration."

Warren grinned, "I know. It's part of the charm. Sometimes at least," he joked. "Hell no! I'm not telling Pest about it. I don't want to talk to them if I can avoid it. Freddie can deliver the news," he said with a grin knowing Gilmore didn't want to be the one telling them. "fine, make no promises but just remember you're capable to feel more than you allow yourself," he asked softly. He smiled, "If you ever consider it, I can help you pick a pet. I also have a horse cause we have a stable at home so if you like to have one we have the space for it," he offered.

Gilmore sighs." But of course you wouldn't tell them of the news. I'm not sure why you and Freddie avoid Pestilence so much, they can be good company." They joke lightly. " You have a stable?" Gilmore almost wants to sigh again,what didn't Warren have." I will consider it and if needed I will go to you for help but for now I am content with the ducks by the lake."

Warren rolled his eyes, “Cause they’re annoying as fuck. I don’t think Freddie is avoiding them, I think he’s hurt he was sent away,” he shrugged, “only you think Pestilence is a good company,” he huffed. “I do. When I got the house Maya and I live at now, I made sure I had a space for my horse and Freddie’s horse is there too now,” he grinned, “ok, as you want, the ducks do seem to like you a lot,” he smiled.

[wrongeddeadthenevermourned]

Malcolm offered a shrug. He did notice he was getting under her skin with this. However, he had never been one to deviate from things just because he got on someone's nerves. Just being himself got on JT's nerves and he hadn't relented, just because of that. He wanted to be their friend, but he wasn't one to sacrifice who he was, just to please people. Well, usually, anyway.

As Azalia called him an asshole, he glanced down to the floor, looking for anymore snakes, and taking that insult in quietly "Okay." He muttered, swallowing thickly. Dani was watching, then looked toward Azalia, who she was closer to, as the woman moved toward her. Malcolm looks up when Azalia spoke to her, about him being in charge of her next rescue.

Dani gives a nod of her head toward Azalia "Yeah. Of course." She agreed, looking over toward Malcolm before she is also moving away to continue working.

Malcolm watched Azalia leave before looking around and trying to find more to help out with.

Gil moved away with Azalia as she walked out before sitting in the car with her. He listened to her vent while she did. Then he offered a shrug and a sympathetic look toward her "I didn't exactly have a choice in it. He's quicker than me." Gil reasoned with her then, smiling slightly. Malcolm was of course like a son to him, so he was probably more so proud with Malcolm's actions. Though Malcolm was clearly not the most mentally sound at times.

"Well he cut that mans hand off, to save him. And he risked being bitten by a snake, to save you. I'd say that's good in my book." Gil explained "Not exactly the most crazy things he has done…"

Malcolm moved on talking to Edrisa and Dani, and some of the others at the scene while everyone was trying to figure more out about the crime, and gather more evidence along the way.

The moment the snakes were off she couldn't help but feel relieved. Now able to fully breathe catching herself on the wall. This asshole! “For me? No how bout you?” she questioned raising an eyebrow. Allowing air to enter her lungs for holding her breath too long.

“You are an asshole.” she glares slightly crossing her arms. Finding the courage to finally leave the scene. Walking towards Dani. “Next time…Don’t let him be in charge of rescuing me from poisonous snakes,” she mumbled. Climbing in her dad's car. There was work to be done and she needed to do it. If she didn't do it her brain would just travel to a different subject and she couldn't afford that. Her mental health couldn't.

“Daddy, you left my life in the hands of a crazy man? You forget he cut off someone's hands just last week,” she questioned reaching for her seatbelt and buckling up while complaining.

Of course, she needed to let her anger out before Malcolm found his way to the car. She had to make herself hate him. A list of reasons why!

[imagineimagineimagine]

Your writing is sooo good, it brings me joy! If I may make a request, could you do headcanons of master comforting their bond level 10 servants when they're extremely upset&close to breaking down? Servants being Enkidu, Andersen, Da Vinci Caster and Da Vinci Rider. Whatever the reason is (it's just too much of everything or they had a nightmare/nasty memory resurfacing, literally anything that brought them into that state) master is always there for them

Andersen, Enkidu, and Da Vinci (Caster & Rider) Being Comforted By Their Master

Hans Christian Andersen:

Despite the sheer magnitude of complainants he will make and his rather pessimistic outlook on life, Hans Christian Andersen truly understands and values those who attempt to live their life with everything they have; even if he himself will claim to only want you around as a source of inspiration for his next novel (Interlude). But despite his many harsh words to the contrary, even a man as blunt and arrogant as him, couldn't help but begrudging come to care about you as you're bond with one another continued to grow stronger (Bond 4+5).

There aren't many things which can cause Andersen to breakdown. Always ready with a least one sarcastic quip and absolute zero sense of shame (London Singularity), a man like him is far too proud to ever breakdown in front of others. That is however until you nearly die while attempting resolve one of the many singularities. While the mission itself was a success, and your servants managed to bring you back to Chaldea, you sustained a lot of injuries which put you out of commission for a while.

When you do eventually wake up, Andersen will ask you one time if you're alright before giving you the most savage verbal beating you have ever received. He won't yell, he won't scream, he won't even exaggerate his insults. Every insult he utters will be cold and harshly accurately. But dispute all that, its pretty easy to tell he was just worried. So the best way to comfort him in times like these is just to listen, and let him get everything out. And when he's done and angrily awaits your retort so he can yell at you some more, tell him you're grateful for how much he cares, and you're sorry for having worried him. He'll insult you some more, but they won't have nearly as much bit to them.

Enkidu:

Both the game and the character refer to Enkidu as being neither male nor female. Therefore I used the pronouns they/their/them

Sorry Anon, but Enkidu is not a servant who will ever need comforting or have a breakdown.

One important thing that needs to be understood, is that the Enkidu summoned to Chaldea is not the same Enkidu who eventually gained emotions as a result of meeting King Gilgamesh. When the gods of ancient Mesopotamia created Enkidu, Enkidu was in essence, a container with no personality. Enkidu's existence for example was similar to that of a computer which has all its hardware components but no software installed (Interlude 1). Because of that, it was simply Enkidu's initial state that was recorded to Throne of Heroes and not his later "self" which eventually did gain emotions.

The polite and agreeable personality of Chaldea's Enkidu is simply software optimized for Mater's ease of use with interacting with them (Interlude 1). And because Enkidu has no emotions (at least none which they are willing to admit), they will never be in a position in which they request comfort.

If for some reason they did have a breakdown, then more than likely either Gil Archer or Gil Caster would step in, or Enkidu themselves would go to one of them (Something you like).

The headcanons for Da Vinci Caster & RIder contain major spoilers for Solomon and the Lostbelts respectively. You have been warned.

Leonardo Da Vinci (Caster):

Ever since the beginning your crazy little adventure, the Universal Genius known as Leonardo Da Vinci has always been by your side. Whether in the command room, her workshop, or on the battlefield, her ever confident attitude and unparalleled intelligence have always made even the most impossible of situations seem winnable. And it is precisely because of those many great qualities that have resulting in her always being the one to provide you with comfort and not the other way around.

That was however until the sacrifice of Romani during the Solomon Singularity.

Da Vinci has never been someone who liked to cry. As she said herself,

(Da Vinci): I'm sure you've heard the saying, "No use crying over spilled milk"? Me, I've always had a different take on it: "You can't put spilled water back in the pot." I think that's about the perfect summary of human life. (Interlude 2).

After Romani died, it fell to her to be the commander of Chaldea. And to do her job effective she needed to be strong and project the image of having it all together; even if to you it was obvious just how much she was hurting inside.

So the best way to comfort her would be to go into her workshop at night and ask her to take you flying in her ornithopter (Bond 4). High above the clouds and away from the staff of Chaldea, ask Da Vinci to tell you story after story about her time with Romani. You'll notice the next day just how much happier she seems, having had remembered all those wonderfully happy memories.

Leonardo Da Vinci (Rider):

You wanna know how to comfort this wonderful Da Vinci-chan? Here's how:

Read the comic "Sleepy Da Vinci" on Reddit (Click me)

Read the comic "Spoiling Da Vinci-Chan" on Imgur (Click me)

Unlike her predecessor, Da Vinci Rider is much more likely to feel and express how overwhelmed she is. After all, it wouldn't be an overstatement to say that a lot of things are riding solely on her tiny little shoulders. As best as she tries to hide it, its rather apparent to everyone just how hard she is pushing herself in order to make sure that humanity survives. So what can you do to comfort this wonderful genius? Why praise her course! For everything she does she deserves to be praised. Tell her how amazing she is, how much you appreciate everything she does, and how she of all people deserves a nice long rest. You'll have her feeling better in no time.

[armenelols]

There isn't enough appreciation for Elrond's and Isildur's friendship.

I think much of this comes from the movies, where our only image of Isildur is his 'no' and Elrond yelling 'Isildur!', and then we see him die because he dives into the river while running away from a battle because the One Ring falls from his finger. Sure, there is some scroll Gandalf reads, but it only makes Isildur seem even more obsessed with the Ring than he already seemed. Add to that Aragorn's rambling about how he and Isildur share blood and weakness and you've got the perfect receipt for evil Isildur and 'cast it into the fire' memes.

Movie!Elrond's 'men are weak' really isn't helping.

So to start with, I think it is necessary to say that I am talking about book!Elrond and book!Isildur here, and while I don't recall either of them calling the other friend, it's a headcanon I have and it is to some extent supported by the books.

In the chapter The Disaster of the Gladden Fields in Unfinished Tales, Isildur shares a few exchanges with his son, Elendur, that I would like to show here.

Elendur went to his father, who was standing dark and alone, as if lost in thought. 'Atarinya,' he said, 'what of the power that would cow these foul creatures and command them to obey you? Is it then of no avail?'

'Alas, it is not, senya. I can not use it. I dread the pain of touching it. And I have not yet found the strength to bend it to my will. It needs one greater than I know myself to be. My pride has fallen. It should go to the Keepers of the Three.'

And later in the chapter:

'My king,' said Elendur, 'Ciryon is dead and Aratan is dying. Your last counsellor must advise, nay command you, as you commanded Ohtar. Go! Take your burden, and at all cost bring it to the Keepers: even at the cost of abandoning your men and me!'

'King's son,' said Isildur, 'I knew that I must do so; but I feared the pain. Nor could I go without your leave. Forgive me, and my pride that has brought you to this doom.'

Earlier in the chapter, we also get this passage talking about Isildur:

When he at last felt free to return to his own realm he was in haste, and he wished to go first to Imladris; for he had left his wife and youngest son there, and he had moreover and urgent need for the counsel of Elrond.

Nearer to the end of the chapter, when talking about Isildur's death, Tolkien writes this:

There suddenly he knew that the Ring had gone. By chance, or chance well used, it had left his hand and gone where he could never hope to find it again. At first so overwhelming was his sense of loss that he struggled no more, and would have sunk and drowned. But swift as it had come the mood passed. The pain had left him. A great burden had been taken away. There he rose up out of the water: only a mortal man, a small creature lost and abandoned in the wilds of Middle-Earth. But to the night-eyed Orcs that lurked there on the watch he loomed up, a monstrous shadow of fear, with a piercing eye like a star. They loosed their poisoned arrows at it, and fled.

And last from this chapter, this bit about the Ring itself:

It was little more than two years since it had left his [Sauron's] hand, and though it was swiftly cooling it was still heavy with his evil will, and seeking all means to return to its lord.

So what does this tell us? And in addition, where was I coming to with Elrond & Isildur friendship?

1. For all of Isildur's refusal to give up the Ring after the war ended here:

'Alas! yes,' said Elrond. 'Isildur took it, as should not have been. It should have been cast then into Orodruin's fire nigh at hand where it was made. But few marked what Isildur did. He alone stood by his father in that last mortal contest; and by Gil-galad only Círdan stood, and I. But Isildur would not listen to our counsel.

' "This I will have as weregild for my father, and my brother," he said; and therefore whether we would or no, he took it to treasure it.

- The Council of Elrond, Fellowship of the Ring

Isildur realized he was wrong. The Ring was still at its most evil, and it wanted to corrupt him, it wanted to go back to Sauron, yet Isildur resisted enough to be able to almost give up the Ring willingly or at least consider it.

When he was slain, he was already taking the Ring to Elrond. Whether he would have the strength to do it later, he resisted the Ring enough to at least consider it. How many would be able to do so? Of course, there was the factor of the very touch of the Ring paining him, but compared with the Ring's will, that's hardly enough to convince a man to give it up.

And at last, when the Ring slipped from his finger, he did not dive after it. He gave it up, and swam away; and even as the orcs killed him, they killed him a free man.

2. He was bringing the Ring to Elrond. At the very beginning I said this post is about Elrond's and Isildur's friendship, and finally, I am talking about it.

It should go to the Keepers of the Three, Isildur says of the Ring - and for that, he would have to know who the Keepers are, or at least know of someone who knows. And it is said repeatedly that he seeks Elrond's counsel, that he goes to Imladris; did he know Elrond has Vilya?

The location of the Three is one of the greatest secrets kept from Sauron, and it is said many times that almost no one knew of it. Did Isildur know, suspect? In addition to this, Elendur seems to have the same knowledge, which, as he is repeatedly called Isildur's greatest confidant, isn't much of a wonder.

All in all, Isildur either connected the dots well enough to realize that out of all high elven lords, it is Elrond bears a ring of power (and Isildur is clever, this is a possibility); or Elrond was not careful enough and Isildur figured it out from his missteps (which, considering Elrond's experience with cursed jewellery isn't very likely); or Elrond gave him hints on purpose; or he just. Straight up told him.

The last two options seem to be most likely to me, which brings me to Elrond trusting Isildur enough to reveal such a secret to him, which leads me to my Elrond and Isildur are friends agenda.

Should the first option be true, props to Isildur for figuring it out by himself without any clues from Elrond other than him being important. Should Isildur be bringing the Ring to Elrond in hopes that Elrond knows who the Keepers of the Three are, without knowing Elrond is one of them, it still shows Isildur trusted Elrond enough to bring him the Ring even for temporary keeping.

(there is also the matter of whether Isildur knows the other Keepers of the Three, as he mentions them a few times, but never enough to indicate if he knows who they are)

3. Parallels. It is said that Elendil and Gil-galad, the two high kings of their people are friends. Is it really so unlikely that Elrond, Gil-galad's herald (and possibly heir, even though he took no crown), and most trusted advisor besides Círdan; and Isildur, the heir of Elendil the Tall and his second in command, would strike a friendship?

The Isildur we are presented with is both bold and wise - he saves the fruit of the White Tree of Númenor alone because it needs to be done, and then he does it again, and he does it because it's the best for his people. He takes the Ring, and tries to make it listen to him, and realizes he made a mistake; he tries to fix it, and wants to bring it to Elrond.

The Isildur we are presented with has courage, and wisdom, and hope.

Do you know what does this remind me of?

Edain. Their ideals. The reasons why they got the gift of Númenor, greater wisdom, longer lives.

They resisted the evil, no matter how strong; they were loyal, true to their beliefs, brave and courageous.

Elros was chosen as the king of the Edain and really, I highly doubt Edain would choose him as a king just because of his heritage, or because someone told them to do so. Sure, someone could have pointed out Elros to them and say 'hey, look at this dude, he could be a nice king, what do you think?' but in the end, while they might start following Elros because someone else told them, I doubt they would let themselves be led by someone who wasn't the best representation of them. In Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth, Andreth does not shy away from telling Finrod her beliefs, the beliefs of her people. And I don't think that changed with time.

What am I trying to say? I think Elros and Isildur were both similar in many ways, in ways that made them the leaders they were - and that in a way, Elrond saw Elros in Isildur, as well as himself; for Elrond still connected strongly with his mortal kin, and as I mentioned earlier, their political positions were similar.

And while Isildur was his own person and had done things neither Elros or Elrond would have done, and had his own good and bad qualities, it doesn't erase the similarities.

4. Aragorn was raised in Rivendell, by his mother and Elrond and his people. Of all the people there, it is easy to see which ones would influence him the most: Gilraen, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir. It is repeatedly shown how close he was to them. To some extent we may include Glorfindel, for they were friends, but not as much as the above mentioned four.

Now, as Estel, he wasn't aware of his heritage. He is shown to be proud of his heritage, of his descend from Isildur; and yes, this could be a simple pride in one's ancestors. It could have been that he simply liked Isildur as a historical legendary figure and it became greater after he learnt of his descend from him. Or it could have been that he was told many tales of Isildur, of his deeds and personality, and his family, and decided I want to be like him, and like Elendil, even without knowing he was in any way related to them.

And really, when it comes to the above-mentioned people, who would be the most likely to tell him stories of Isildur? Gilraen who only knew him from stories, or Glorfindel who was never mentioned around Isildur in the books, or Elladan and Elrohir, born after Isildur's death, who could have any number of first-hand stories about hundreds of Aragorn's cool ancestors but not Isildur himself?

All I am saying is there is a potential for Elrond to be telling stories of his old friend Isildur and Elendil and Gil-galad to Estel, and Estel loving them.

There is also the fact that in the chapter The Disaster of the Gladden Fields, Elendur, Isildur's son, is said to be very similar to Aragorn. And I love the idea of Elrond's and Isildur's sons paralleling each other, in a strange way, thousands of years apart.

5. In the books themselves, we do no see Elrond speaking about Isildur much. (I checked almost every mention of Isildur in most of my Tolkien books. So yeah.) On the Council of Elrond, Elrond talks about Isildur the most, but it is mainly in historical manner and 'the Ring should have been destroyed that day' manner, as you can see in the passage from the book I mentioned above in point 1.

This doesn't tell us much about their relationship, much less their friendship - and thus as a source for my image of them as friends, I give the place to The Disaster of the Gladden Fields, thinking they would make a good duo, and the potential of how Isildur's death may have had affected Elrond.

Isildur's death was unexpected. No one expected the road not to be safe - there is a reason why Isildur and his men were unprepared for a battle. They were simply journeying on a familiar road, to Rivendell and then Arnor. Not even the Orcs that ambushed them knew of the Ring. In Rivendell, they learnt of what happened only thanks to Ohtar, Isildur's squire who survived; and even then, the specific circumstances of his death were not revealed until Aragorn found Elendilmir and the chain which bore the Ring among Saruman's things.

In all honesty, I don't think even Elrond knew Isildur planned on giving him the Ring. I do not doubt he expected him, for his wife and youngest son were in Imladris - but I found no reason as to why he might know of Isildur's plans with the Ring.

That could give him a reason to speak ill of Isildur, couldn't it? Yet when he speaks of him, he only speaks of facts and what should have been done - he doesn't call Isildur too weak to give up the ring, or power-hungry, or proud - and by the latter, Isildur calls himself several times (as can be seen here, in the passages I used above)

It needs one greater than I know myself to be. My pride has fallen.

And here:

Forgive me, and my pride that has brought you to this doom.

And yes, it was a formal Council - Elrond had no reason to speak of his personal feelings towards Isildur. Yet I think the little he said reflects his thoughts well. He might have felt some bitterness towards him, especially as he later learnt what the Ring's nature truly was; and especially as he had no knowledge of Isildur being willing to give the Ring to him, for better or worse, whether he would find the strength to do so or not.

Still, once Elrond learnt of the Ring's Nature, I think he might have understood Isildur better - especially as he himself did not dare to even touch the Ring.