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areyouwell · 4 months ago

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Nostophilia

Noun: An extreme fondness for returning home. For returning to where the heart belongs.

Ch.10

Ch.9, Ch.8, Ch.7, Ch.6, Ch.5.5, Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <-

Pairing: Mutant!Reader x Logan Howlett

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: did y'all really think i was gonna leave it like that? im mean, but im not that mean <3

Taglist:@badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik @whyamistillontumbler @maddiedinosaur @bethexo07 @pwpwppeepeoor @y08h

“Hey firefly,” Logan murmured as he set his jacket down on the back of the only chair in the room. The only piece of furniture in the room. It was unspeakably cruel, he thought, how much of your life you’d spent in clinical rooms such as this one, only to spend the rest of eternity in the exact same setting. The sphere of shadow pulsed dully with light like usual, an endless back and forth between your mutation and your brothers. Light encased in dark.

It had been two years since you’d done this. Since you’d saved the lives of everyone you held dear by doing the one thing you’d always been warned against. You’d known the consequences. Of course you had. Charles hadn’t been subtle in reminding you that using your own shadow would result in this. But you’d done it to spare everyone.

Crossing the empty, white room, Logan set his hand against the solid, thrumming surface, feeling the small pulses of energy within the prison of your own making. He hoped, somehow, you could still hear him. Still sense his presence, even though he knew it was unlikely. Jean had said he was just hurting himself by continuing to see you. But he dared to hope. For the first time in his godforsaken life, he allowed himself hope.

“Hi sweetheart,” he murmured again, resting his brow beside his hand. He swore he could still feel you in there. Still smell that one shower gel you used to use. Smell the cherry-flavoured chapstick across your lips. “Sorry s’been a while. Charles has us run ragged with the government. Yeah, they’re still up in arms about the whole thing. Stuck-up pricks.” He growled, smoothing his thumb over the glassy surface of the sphere. “Tryna play it off like they had no goddamn clue any of this was happenin’.” He knew it was his mind playing tricks on him, his own hopes manifesting in his brain, but he indulged in the way he thought he felt you react, a ripple of irritation within the endless well of darkness. “Yeah, I know. We’re workin’ on it, kay? Promise.”

He didn’t mind Charles working everyone overtime to figure everything out. He owed the Professor big time for working this deal. In exchange for everything the team knew collectively, he was allowed to come in and see you, or what was left of you, every now and then. No cameras, no observations, just you and him. Of course, it hadn’t been like that the first few times. Whatever you had done was completely new in terms of containment, and he used to grit his teeth at the way they poked and prodded what you’d become, searching for any kind of reaction. It was too reminiscent of what you’d already gone through, and he fucking wished you could have been held beneath the school. At least then he didn’t have to wait for fucking government permission to see you.

It was torture, waiting for every request to be approved or denied, pacing in his room after Charles sent the first email, heading out on Scott’s bike just to blow off some goddamn steam and hoping the faint adrenaline rush would be enough to knock him out by the time he returned.

It never was.

With an exhausted sigh, Logan dragged the chair closer to you, the steel complaining beneath his weight as he took a seat. “Wish I had more to catch ya up on but uh, not much’s happened since the last time I was here. Kitty’s beggin’ me to bring her along, by the way. So’s Morgana.” Once again he let his hopes manifest, eyes tricking him into seeing the light within flicker slightly in what he interpreted as excitement. “Yeah? Well alright then, I’ll let 'em know.” He smiled slightly, before his expression faltered, a wave of heartbreaking longing spearing his heart.

“They miss you, ya know. Kitty and Morgana. Fuck, we all miss you, but they both took it hard. Morgo’s kinda filled in your role, and Jade’s role before you, bein’ like a big sister to her. Oh, and you’ll be pleased to hear Marie and Bobby are finally datin’.” His mind saw the shadows ripple once again, the steady pulsing of light becoming irregular for a moment. “You’re tellin’ me. She kept cryin’ on my shoulder because he wouldn’t notice her or some shit like that. Guess he finally did.” He shrugged, resting his hand back on the surface of your prison, feeling the warmth of your phantom laughter. It sparked his own series of slight chuckles, his thumb smoothing over the surface of the darkness.

“Erin dropped by the other day with Atlas. They’re uh, engaged now, if you can believe that.” He still couldn’t stand to be around her. After everything she did, the role she played in your death, whenever she would stop by, which was extremely few and far between, he’d always find somewhere else to be. In the weeks following your death, she’d stayed beneath the school in recovery. There was only so much Atlas could do against a slash to the throat, but Morgarna refused to speak to her for a full month afterwards. Even now the redhead was curt with her, only exchanging the briefest of pleasantries whenever they ‘were in the area’. Logan could see right through her ruse though. She was trying to drown her guilt in the empty forgiveness from her friend. Atlas may have been able to understand why she did what she did, but it had almost resulted in your death.

That was something he could never forgive.

“I won’t be goin’. To the wedding. Sorry if you wanted to hear how it goes but I think Morgo might make an appearance then dip pretty quick so I’ll get the details from her if ya want.” Something deep within the prison rippled slightly, and he couldn’t make up his mind whether or not it was anger or excitement. Though he guessed, with the last interaction between the two of you, it was most likely the former. Not that it was real. He had to remind himself of that. None of it was real.

A heavy sense of loss weighed in his heart. Thinking about Erin and Atlas’ wedding made him feel physically sick, but not because of his deep hatred for the girl. But because he couldn’t stop thinking that it should have been you and him. One day, far off into the future, it should have been the two of you getting married. Starting a life together. Maybe one day, even a family. You’d never expressed explicit interest in having kids, but it was something he’d entertained before in the afterglows of your nights together. Something he was always too fucking afraid to bring up.

Now he’d never get the chance.

“Sorry sweetheart,” he gave the surface of the sphere a soft pat as if you could sense his sudden shift in demeanour. “Just… gettin’ to that time again I guess,” he explained quietly. He never really knew what to do on the days of your anniversary. Should he celebrate? Should he mourn? Should he try and spend it with you in this fucking alabaster room or should he drown his sorrows in liquor and try to forget? The last two years he’d spent it doing the latter, whether he’d intended to or not. It burned to think of the life he could have lived with you, the things you could have done together. But it burned more to ignore it completely.

Pain was a funny thing. No matter what he did, there really was nothing he could do to escape its claws. A rogue tear lined one of his eyes, and despite promising you he wouldn’t cry during these visits, there were times that even he couldn’t stop himself. “Fuck I miss you, Firefly. So fucking much…” There was so much he still had to say. So much he still had to do. And there had been for the last two years. He was stuck in this purgatory state, not really living but being unable to die. Just… existing. Surviving. And he knew you’d kick his ass for it. He vowed to live a life you’d be proud of, but that proved a lot harder than he thought it was going to be when the woman he wanted as his life partner couldn’t be by his side.

The surface of the orb shimmered, the glow within stuttering slightly to his grieving mind’s eye. You were telling him off. That much he knew. “Yeah, ‘gotta get my shit together at some point’, right?” He chuckled to himself as he remembered the ways you would attempt to imitate his voice, the way your chin would tuck against your neck to reach the lower parts of your voice and yet still get nowhere near close to his registry. The way he would tell you to stop when, in reality, he wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if you did it forever, as long as you were by his side.

But you weren’t. He couldn’t protect you. And he knew you’d beat his ass to the ground for the guilt he felt, but he couldn’t help it. He was supposed to protect you. Supposed to keep you safe. And you’d died doing the very same thing for him. The irony wasn’t lost on him, and if it didn’t feel like razor blades to the chest, he’d appreciate the way fate worked.

If only.

His phone bleeped from his jacket pocket and he grit his teeth together, closing his eyes against the spike of irritation that flared through his system. He knew who it was and what they wanted, but that didn’t mean he was going to answer straight away. That was until there were three more consecutive notifications, and with a rough sigh, he thrust his hand into the pocket and snatched out his phone.

“Alright darlin’. Duty calls, somethin’ about a string of real strange murders in the area Chuck wants us to investigate. Thinks it’s some mutant goin’ on a spree,” he paused, feeling the energy within your prison shift uncomfortably. “When’ve you ever known me to be reckless?” The ghost of your mutation spiked beneath his palm and he blew out a laugh. “Okay, yep, I’ll be safe.”

Logan had a moment of self-awareness and the sinking realisation that he must be going insane. Who else would talk to the embodiment of their dead ex’s mutation as if it could hold a conversation? As if it were replying to him. He was going mad.

With a heavy sigh, he stood from the chair, dragging it back to the corner of the room before swinging his jacket across his shoulders, settling the leather around his arms. After having such an intense moment of realisation, he forwent the usual kiss goodbye. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Promise,” he mumbled, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here. Anywhere else he could be drinking himself into an early grave. Or he supposed, earlier grave. Maybe then he could see you again.

Logan turned to leave, pausing as if to look back to you but decided against it. That was until he caught the reflection of the sphere in the glass of the door. Whilst yes, he was happy to admit he was crazy, he also knew when he was gaslighting himself, and when he was feeding his own delusions, which stopped the moment he stood from the chair.

Then if that was true…

Why the fuck was the glow within the prison convulsing like that?

He turned back to the sphere, his head tilting to the side as he took a slow step forward. This wasn’t his imagination. Or if it was, he was a lot more tired than he thought he was. But no, it wasn’t his grief playing tricks on him. The light was fading and growing rapidly, like panicked breaths. And it wasn’t his imagination that felt the sharp, almost burst of kinetic energy when he placed his hand against the surface. There was always a hum of power that accompanied the sphere, but not like this.

Logan’s eyes widened slightly, fear icing his blood. What the hell was going on? If this was where he’d watch you fade away after two years of being like this, he didn’t think he could handle it. A bullet to the head wasn’t enough to kill him, something he’d already tried, but living after seeing what he dreaded to see simply wasn’t an option.

A low, almost imperceptible hum accompanied the frantic pulsing, rising and falling with each anxious glow until even somebody without enhanced hearing would have been able to pick up on it. Taking a step back, Logan couldn’t help but feel yet another overwhelming sense of guilt. He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. Did he touch the surface too much? Disturb whatever fragile balance you’d found with your brother? He swore lowly, looking around for anything or anyone that might know what the fuck was going on.

Crossing to the small control panel on the wall by the door, Logan jammed his thumb against the speaker, pressing the alarm multiple times before anybody came to the receiver.

“What?”

“R’you not seein’ this? The fuck is goin’ on?” He snarled, panic rising in his voice as the usually solid surface of the prison started to writhe and hiss like a ball of angry snakes.

“Hold please.”

“Don’t you fuckin’–” Logan couldn’t believe he’d just been told to hold whilst your mutation had started going fucking crazy. “Motherfucker!” He shouted loud enough to grab the attention of any officials who may be in the control room. Though he couldn’t tear his attention away from the now rapidly deteriorating shadows in the centre of the room. “No… no no nonoNO!” he roared desperately, his voice catching on the ghost of a sob. “I can’t… I can’t do this again, Firefly– please… please don’t make me do this again…” Logan fell to his knees, his head bowing hauntingly similar to the way it did the first time he lost you. “Don’t do this…”

“You didn’t kiss me goodbye.”

Logan felt as if he’d just been struck by lightning, every hair on his body standing on end as goosebumps prickled his skin. He thought he would have to die before he heard that voice again. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his head.

And his mind went blissfully blank, his heart freezing in his chest. He had to be dead. There was no other way this could be happening otherwise. No other way he’d be looking at you standing across from him, as beautiful as the day he lost you.

“Hey, handsome.” Your smile was so fucking soft, he didn’t even attempt to cease the tears lining his eyes, flowing down the sides of his face. He staggered to his feet, unable to take his eyes off you. You were exactly the same other than one noticeable change.

One of your eyes had shifted golden, your iris now the exact same hue as the ones your brother had.

He whispered your name so delicately, as if any louder and you’d shatter in front of him, and he’d wake up from this dream. But you just smiled wider, nodding gently. He’d intended to approach you slowly, to work his way over to you, wade through the quagmire of confusion, elation, and heartbreak before he got to you. Until your knees buckled beneath you and you collapsed. He surged forward, his chest expanding as his hands graced your sides, pulling you into him as he cushioned your fall.

You were real. This was real.

You were corporeal, here, in his arms, with him.

His mouth fell open with silent sobs, crushing you into him with careful force, in case you would shatter. Your scent wrapped around his heart like a blanket of comfort, inspiring the same feeling he would get as if he’d just come home to you after a long day. But it was the other way around.

You’d come home to him.

“Sorry…” you murmured a little weakly against the scruff of his beard, your nose tucked into the side of his neck. “Been a while since I used legs…”

“Wh… how? I don’t– I thought– why?” He had so many fucking questions dancing in his head, a carousel of confusion twirling about his mind as he pulled you back so he could look at you. Truly look at you.

“I said. You didn’t kiss me goodbye. Pissed me off.” You explained as flatly as you could whilst being utterly exhausted. Logan blinked rapidly, your explanation meaning absolutely nothing in the face of reality.

“I don’t… understand. You came back after two years because I didn’t kiss you?”

You chuckled tiredly into his chest, barely strong enough to hold your own head up. So he did it for you, his hand cradling the back of your head, supporting you in any way he could.

“I’m kidding. Jus' took me a while to thread myself back together, honestly. Look, new arms!” You lifted your arms as high as you could, which really wasn’t much considering your severe lack of strength. But Logan gently took your wrists in his hand, his thumb smoothing over the clear skin. No scars. No marks. Just you. And whilst those scars were a testament to everything you’d been through, everything you’d survived, the new meaning wasn’t lost on him.

This was a fresh start.

“And Rowan…?” He asked slowly, his eyes raking from your smooth wrists back up to your face, taking note of each vanished blemish he’d come to know so well. Your lips pulled into a slightly sad smile.

“He’s still here… just, not around, if that makes sense?”

Brushing back a stray hair from your brow, Logan really took in your new appearance, unable to stop himself from smoothing your cheekbone beneath your one golden eye. “Yeah… it makes sense,” he kept his voice as steady as he could in the face of more emotion than he’d felt since losing you. He felt like he was trying to hold back a tsunami with a spatula, wanting nothing more than to crush you into his chest and cry until his voice was hoarse. “So… you could hear everything?”

“Every word.”

“And I wasn’t…” going crazy, he finished in his head, unable to voice his thoughts. But you knew. Your soft smile of understanding told him you knew.

“No, you weren’t. It was all I could do, send little wisps and waves to let you know I was still there. Still listening.” You fell into a contemplative silence for a moment, your eyes closing as you rested tiredly against his chest. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Not giving up on me…”

The dam holding his emotions back cracked, breaking apart completely when he watched tears filter along your lash line. Knowing you didn’t have the strength to hold yourself up, he braced a broad palm against your back and the other against the side of your neck, pulling you up towards him and finally, finally sealing his lips to yours.

He kissed you with fragile passion, terrified that, with nothing more than a light breeze, you’d be taken from him again. But the way your hands managed to slide up his chest to the scruff at his jaw, the way you leaned into him as much as you could, the way your lips parted for him to find his way home to you. It told him all he needed to know.

No more experiments.

No more Kreva.

No more fear of who or what you were.

This was a new beginning. A fresh start. The start of the rest of your intertwined lives. The other half of his soul had come back to him, knitting together the shattered remains of two years spent grieving.

Everything he wanted to say to you. Everything that was still left unsaid. He had a second chance. You’d gifted him a second chance. And he wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers. Not again.

Never again.

“Never gonna give up on you, Firefly” he whispered against your lips, carding his hand through the roots of your hair.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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earthlybeam · 10 days ago

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Requested by @morganas-pendragons

The elves reacting to the different types of kisses (forehead, cheek, jaw, wrist elven ear, nose, shoulder, lips...)

Gil-Galad version below

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Forehead kiss

The night had woven its silent tapestry across the land of Lindon, the golden hues of sunset fading into the cool embrace of twilight. From the tall window in his chambers, Gil-galad gazed out over the vast, calm sea. His mind, however, was far from tranquil. It was consumed by the weight of leadership—by the ever-growing responsibility he carried as High King of the Noldor. The lands of Middle-earth were in turmoil, and the shadow of Sauron continued to creep closer, threatening to engulf all in darkness.

He stood alone, the faint light of the stars reflecting off the water, yet his gaze remained distant, lost in thought. His posture, usually so composed and regal, now bore the unmistakable signs of a man wearied by time and the endless battles he had fought, both in war and within himself. His crown, symbol of his authority, felt like an unrelenting weight atop his brow.

You entered the room quietly, your footsteps light against the polished floor, barely making a sound. The space between you and Gil-galad seemed to dissolve as you approached, the world outside temporarily forgotten. You stood beside him, your presence grounding him in the present moment, offering him the comfort only you could give. Without a word, you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your lips gently brushing his cool skin.

For a brief instant, he stiffened, his sharp, elven senses startled by the unexpected tenderness. His head tilted slightly, as if to feel more of the warmth of your kiss. He closed his eyes, a rare flicker of emotion crossing his face as a soft smile, one that was seldom seen, tugged at the corners of his lips. In that fleeting moment, the burdens of his kingship, the fears of impending war, and the loneliness that often plagued him seemed to lift, if only for a breath.

Gil-galad’s breath deepened, a sigh of quiet relief escaping his lips. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forehead against yours, drawing a strength from your presence that words could not express. The turmoil of Middle-earth, the weight of thousands of years of his people’s history, faded, and in its place was a simple, peaceful stillness that only you could provide.

With his forehead resting against yours, he whispered softly, his voice more vulnerable than you had ever heard it, “You ease my heart like no other, my moonlight.” His arms, always so composed and restrained, slipped around you, pulling you closer in a rare display of vulnerability. There was no grandeur in his embrace—just a king, a warrior, a soul who had long borne the weight of the world, finally finding solace in the warmth of another.

The room fell silent, save for the soft rhythm of your shared breaths, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. In that space, it was just the two of you—his eternal protector, his light in the darkness, and he, the ever-resolute leader, allowing himself to rest.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Cheek kiss

The council chamber was bathed in the warm glow of the torches lining the walls, their flickering light casting shadows across the faces of Gil-galad’s advisors. The discussion was tense, fraught with the political intricacies of war, alliances, and the preservation of their people. Gil-galad sat at the head of the table, his posture regal and composed, though his mind was racing, analyzing every word spoken, every angle considered. His thoughts were sharp, every decision weighed against the future of Middle-earth.

As the meeting wore on, the air became thick with tension. Even the most capable of advisors had their concerns—one wrong move, one wrong alliance, and the fate of their realm could be forever changed. It was a heavy burden to bear, but one that Gil-galad did with unparalleled grace. Amidst the intellectual sparring, your presence was a quiet relief. You had been there in the background, listening intently to the discussions, your support always steady. Yet, when the room began to fall into a momentary lull, your gaze met his, and without a word, you quietly approached him.

In the midst of the complex conversations, when the weight of the room felt too much, you leaned toward him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. The moment your lips touched his skin, a subtle shift occurred within him—his sharp, calculating gaze softened, his usually unflappable demeanor cracked just for an instant. For a brief moment, he turned his head, meeting your eyes. His lips parted, and though he said nothing aloud, there was a flicker of something tender in his expression—a warmth that was reserved for you alone. The briefest of smiles danced at the corner of his lips, almost imperceptible to anyone but you.

Outwardly, Gil-galad was still the stoic, unwavering High King—calm, composed, and collected—but those who knew him well would have caught the quiet shift in his expression. His eyes lingered on you as you stepped back, and for the briefest moment, there was a depth of connection between you that surpassed the words of politics around him. As the council session drew to a close and the room emptied, Gil-galad found you once again, this time in the quiet of the balcony, the moon casting a silvery glow upon your face. He stood there for a moment, watching you, his gaze soft and full of affection.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and filled with a mixture of gratitude and something almost playful, “You’ve spoiled me with your affection.” His words were laced with warmth, the rare playful side of him emerging. He had seen countless battles, but your love, this quiet intimacy, was a gift he cherished deeply.

He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours, and he brought it to his lips with a tenderness that was almost reverent. The touch of his lips against your skin was gentle, as if sealing the moment in time, marking it as something precious. For a king who had faced the most difficult of decisions, this was his solace: your love, pure and unwavering. Standing together in the silence of the night, the world felt more at peace than it had in ages, and Gil-galad knew that no matter what the future held, he would always have this moment with you—a reminder of the love that kept him grounded, no matter the storm outside.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Jawline Kiss

The night had drawn a veil over the land of Lindon, the bustling sounds of the day now replaced by the soft rustling of leaves in the wind and the distant murmur of the sea. In the quiet sanctum of Gil-galad’s study, the air was thick with the scent of parchment and ink. The only light was the soft glow of a candle on his desk, flickering faintly as it cast dancing shadows on the bookshelves that lined the walls, each holding ancient texts and scrolls filled with the weight of history.

Gil-galad stood by his desk, his sharp eyes scanning the reports his scouts had brought him, each letter and number informing his decisions for the days ahead. His expression was one of intense concentration, a furrow in his brow as his thoughts moved at lightning speed, calculating, analyzing, and planning. Yet, despite the storm of responsibility swirling around him, he was keenly aware of you. You had been standing near the door, silently watching him, but you had already long since become the center of his world, a presence he could not ignore.

Sensing the quiet tension between duty and affection, you made your move—playful, yet full of affection. You crossed the room softly, your steps light as you approached him, a glint of mischief in your eyes. Without warning, you leaned in and pressed your lips softly against the curve of his jawline. The kiss was tender, but the unexpectedness of it broke through his focus like a gentle breeze through a storm.

Gil-galad froze, his body reacting before his mind could fully comprehend the interruption. His jaw tensed, and for the briefest of moments, he felt himself torn between the responsibilities that defined him and the love that enveloped him. But then the warmth of your kiss lingered, and a soft exhale of laughter escaped him—a sound so rare, so filled with genuine amusement, that it made your heart flutter.

His head turned toward you slowly, his usually impassive face softening as his eyes met yours. His lips curled slightly, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners, a smile that had no place in a king but existed only for you. His voice, a deep and rich baritone, was laced with affection, as he murmured, “You’re terribly distracting, my heart,” his tone teasing, but there was no real reproach in it. Only warmth.

A faint blush colored his high cheekbones—an acknowledgment of the rare vulnerability you drew out of him. His normally commanding presence softened as his gaze turned more intimate, more vulnerable. He turned his face toward yours, as though seeking more of that warmth, that affection you so freely gave him.

You could see the longing in his eyes, the hunger for this connection, as his lips parted slightly, and he leaned closer, eager to close the distance between you. His arms reached out, encircling you with a tenderness that belied the strength of his frame. He pulled you close, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breath, and let out another quiet laugh. This one was deeper, richer, as though he was marveling at how easily you could affect him.

In that moment, the weight of the kingdom, the burden of leadership, all faded into the background. There was no crown, no duty, no war—just the two of you, in the quiet intimacy of the study. You had become his sanctuary, and he had found solace in your embrace, something he would never have imagined in the midst of his endless responsibilities.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Wrist Kiss

The evening air was crisp, a refreshing chill that carried the scent of the sea from the distant shores of Lindon, mingling with the earthy aroma of the gardens that surrounded the palace. The night sky stretched overhead, a blanket of stars twinkling with a timeless elegance. The gardens, so often alive with the sound of laughter and voices, were now silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Gil-galad had removed his cloak, revealing the fine, dark fabric of his tunic, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the strong, elegant curve of his wrist. His posture was relaxed, though the weight of his thoughts could still be seen in the way his brow furrowed as he gazed out at the horizon, his mind seemingly lost in the vastness of the world beyond Lindon. The far-off lights of other elven realms were faint pinpricks in the distance, but here, in this quiet corner of the kingdom, he allowed himself a rare moment of stillness.

You stood beside him, captivated by the way the light of the stars seemed to reflect in his eyes, as though the very heavens themselves had taken residence there. You reached for him, moved by a deep and overwhelming affection that surged within you. With a delicate, reverent motion, you reached out and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist. The warmth of your lips against his skin was a silent declaration of love, a tender act that spoke volumes without the need for words.

The touch was so gentle, so unexpected, that it sent a shiver through Gil-galad’s frame. His entire body stilled, his gaze softening as he slowly turned toward you, his heart stirring with an emotion so powerful that it almost rendered him speechless. He had always been a king, a leader, but in this moment, you had made him something else entirely: a man who could be loved without reservation.

Without a word, he gently took your hand in his, his long fingers curling around your palm. His touch was a perfect balance of strength and tenderness, and he pressed a kiss to your knuckles in return. The gesture was simple, but there was an undeniable weight to it, as though he were offering you a piece of his soul, something that had once been guarded so fiercely, now freely given to you.

“You humble me, my little flower,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. The words were sincere, filled with gratitude and devotion, as though he were offering you a promise in return—one that spoke of protection, of loyalty, of love that would endure no matter the trials to come.

His hand lingered in yours, the strength of his grip a quiet reminder of his resolve, of the king he had to be. But the gentleness with which he held you spoke of a man who, despite the weight of his crown, had found solace in the love of the one he cherished above all else.

As the two of you stood in the garden, the world seemed to pause. The stars overhead, the soft rustling of the leaves, and the distant sound of the sea—all became a quiet backdrop to the love you shared. It was a love that needed no grand gestures or declarations, for it was woven into the fabric of every quiet moment, every tender touch.

Gil-galad, once the proud High King of the Noldor, now stood beside you, no longer just a ruler, but a man who had found peace in the simple devotion of the one he loved. And as the night stretched on, you both stood there, lost in the warmth of each other’s embrace, knowing that no matter the storms that would come, this moment of quiet tenderness would always be a sanctuary—a place to return to when the weight of the world became too much to bear.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Lips Kiss

The night had grown still, the stars scattered across the velvet sky above Lindon, their soft glow shimmering over the water that kissed the shores of the city. The distant hum of the ocean waves created a quiet symphony, a lullaby that seemed to harmonize perfectly with the peaceful atmosphere of Gil-galad’s private chambers. The flickering candlelight in the room cast long shadows, softening the edges of everything around you. The usual burden of responsibility that weighed heavily on Gil-galad’s shoulders seemed to vanish in this moment, leaving the two of you in a rare, intimate space—a space free from the demands of kingship.

Gil-galad stood close to you, his tall frame looming slightly above, but it was the warmth of his presence that enveloped you, drawing you in. His hand rested on your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of your tunic, the touch firm but gentle. His usually commanding gaze softened as his eyes met yours, filled with an intensity that spoke of everything unspoken. His usually composed expression was a little undone, as if in your presence, he could release the weight of being High King. The soft tension in his jaw betrayed his vulnerability, though he did not speak of it. His eyes were filled with longing, an emotion he rarely allowed himself to show so openly.

The silence between you was thick, heavy with anticipation. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, matching yours in a rhythm of quiet understanding. His breath, slow and deliberate, seemed to synchronize with yours, as if the very act of being near you grounded him in ways he could not articulate.

In a soft and almost imperceptible movement, you closed the gap between you. Your fingers brushed against his chest as you leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his lips. The kiss was slow at first, gentle and cautious, as if both of you were savoring the moment before allowing it to deepen. There was no rush, no urgency—only the quiet reverence of two souls coming together. Your lips lingered on his for a heartbeat longer, as though each second was a treasure, a fleeting eternity that you both wanted to hold onto.

Gil-galad’s response was immediate and just as deliberate. His hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair with a careful urgency. He pulled you closer, as though in that moment, he could not be near enough to you. His lips parted gently against yours, allowing the kiss to deepen. The world outside ceased to exist—there was no kingdom, no court, no burden of rule. There was only the two of you, lost in the quiet intimacy of a single kiss.

When the kiss finally broke, Gil-galad did not pull away. Instead, he kept you close, his forehead resting against yours, as if grounding himself in the connection you shared. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns along your back, a subconscious gesture of affection that only he could offer. His breath was steady, but there was a tremor of emotion beneath it, a quiet reverence that spoke volumes.

“Every time you kiss me,” he murmured, his voice rich and low, carrying the weight of his heart, “I am reminded of why I fight for this world. For you.” His words were simple, but they were everything—his devotion, his love, his reason for enduring the endless trials of his kingship. In this moment, you realized that his fight was not only for the safety of his people but for the love you shared, a love that gave him purpose beyond the crown, beyond the battlefield. He was not just a king in this space—he was simply Gil-galad, the one who loved you deeply and without question.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Temple Kiss

The evening was peaceful, the firelight flickering gently and casting dancing shadows across the room. The warmth from the hearth provided a quiet comfort, but it was Gil-galad’s presence that truly made the space feel like home. His usually composed demeanor had softened tonight, his shoulders relaxed as he sank into the deep chair near the fire. His regal air was still present, but there was something different in the way he carried himself, a sense of fatigue that spoke of the days spent bearing the weight of leadership.

You had convinced him to take a rare moment of rest, knowing that the demands of his kingship often overshadowed his own need for reprieve. Now, as you sat beside him, the silence between you was companionable, an unspoken understanding filling the space. Gil-galad’s gaze was distant, his mind undoubtedly still swirling with the concerns of his kingdom. His eyes occasionally fluttered shut, a fleeting escape from the constant pressure he carried.

Noticing the slight tension in his brow, you reached out instinctively, brushing your fingers gently through his hair. The touch was soft, tender—a silent gesture of care that spoke volumes. He turned his head slightly, just enough to catch your gaze, and there was a softness in his eyes that was rare. It was a glimpse of the man beneath the king, a man who carried the weight of so much yet allowed himself to be vulnerable in your presence.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his temple, just below his ear. The contact was a quiet offering, filled with a depth of affection that had no need for words. As your lips touched his skin, you felt his breath hitch, his body going still for a brief moment. The vulnerability of the gesture seemed to catch him off guard, and his eyes fluttered open, the usual mask of control slipping away just for a moment.

Gil-galad let out a soft sigh, and in that breath, there was an unspoken relief. His gaze softened as he looked at you, and for a moment, he seemed far less like the ruler of a kingdom and more like a man who had found solace in the arms of someone who truly saw him.

“You bring me peace in ways I cannot describe,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. There was warmth in his tone, a softness that melted away the usual command he carried. He raised his hand, gently cupping your cheek in his palm, as if to ground himself in the tenderness you offered. His touch was a silent plea for more—a desire to bask in the comfort you gave him.

As he leaned forward, he nudged his nose against yours, the gesture affectionate, intimate. His breath was warm on your skin before he planted a soft kiss on your forehead, a gentle, loving act that spoke of his trust in you. It was a kiss that held no pretense, no politics—only raw, honest affection.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes soft as they met yours. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude. “For this… for giving me a moment to simply be.” His hand remained at your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin, as though trying to memorize the sensation of your closeness.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Neck Kiss

The study was dimly lit, the golden glow of the candlelight casting long shadows over the walls lined with ancient tomes. The atmosphere was quiet, save for the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the occasional rustling of parchment. Gil-galad sat at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sifted through the pile of reports that had been sent from his scouts. His face was etched with the weariness of leadership, the weight of his duties pressing on him as the king of Lindon.

Hours had passed, and yet he remained deeply entrenched in his responsibilities, his mind a maze of strategy, war, and the unending demands of the kingdom. The air around him felt heavy with the burden of decision, and despite his usual composure, there was something in his posture that hinted at a growing fatigue.

But you noticed. The subtle twitch in his jaw, the way his hand lingered a little too long over the parchment. You knew him well enough by now to recognize that look in his eyes—one of weariness, of being caught in the eternal dance between duty and the weight of his title.

Without a word, you moved closer, your footsteps light on the cold stone floor. You came up behind him, standing close enough to feel the warmth of his presence, but not quite touching him. For a brief moment, you simply stood there, watching him as he remained engrossed in his work, as if the world outside of the papers before him didn’t exist.

But you knew better. You knew how the burdens of his rule could consume him, how they could trap him in a world of paperwork and diplomacy, far from the quiet peace that only moments with you could provide. Your fingers gently brushed the tops of his shoulders, a light, soothing touch that seemed to draw his attention away from the paperwork before him. His body stiffened for the briefest moment, but then, as if he were pulled from the depths of his concentration, his head tilted slightly to the side, allowing you closer.

With a softness that matched the intimacy of the moment, you leaned in, your lips finding the side of his neck. The kiss was tender, lingering just below his ear, the warmth of your breath ghosting over his skin. The contact was unexpected, and for a moment, Gil-galad froze. His usual calm and unshakable demeanor faltered as a soft, low chuckle—so rare for him—escaped his lips.

It was a sound of pure surprise, one filled with warmth and affection, a stark contrast to the commanding king who typically filled the room with his authoritative presence. You felt his body relax, the tension in his shoulders dissipating as your lips pressed gently against his neck. His head tilted just a fraction more, an unspoken invitation for you to continue.

“Are you trying to undo me, my love?” His voice was soft, tinged with a playful affection that made your heart flutter. There was no reproach in his words, only a rare vulnerability that you cherished deeply. His gaze softened as he looked toward you, his eyes twinkling with a quiet amusement.

You smiled, a teasing glint in your eyes as you leaned in once more, brushing a soft kiss along the curve of his neck. His lips parted slightly in response, and the once-unshakable king became simply a man, caught in the intimacy of the moment.

His arms reached out toward you, pulling you into the space between him and his desk. This time, there was no royal command in his actions—only the quiet, tender strength of his affection. As he drew you close, his lips found your forehead, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your skin. The weight of his crown, of his kingship, seemed to fade into nothingness, and in its place, only the warmth of his love remained.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Hand Kiss

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its light casting a warm, flickering glow across the room. The air was filled with the comforting scent of wood burning, a scent that somehow made the world feel more intimate. Gil-galad had been working tirelessly all day, his mind consumed with the demands of his kingdom. His brows furrowed as he sat in his chair, one arm resting lazily on the armrest while his other hand, fingers tense, drummed lightly against the wood. His gaze flickered between the stack of reports in front of him and the distant shadows in the room, his mind still reeling from the weight of his responsibilities.

But when you entered the room, everything seemed to slow. There was something about the way you moved—your presence that seemed to fill the space with quiet grace—that immediately soothed the tension in his body. His eyes, tired from hours of leadership, softened as they met yours. For just a moment, the noise of the world outside seemed to fall away, and it was only you and him in the room.

You watched him for a moment, the subtle lines of exhaustion etched on his face, the ever-present tension in his shoulders. Gil-galad was a king, a leader to his people, but in this moment, you saw him as he was—a man who carried an impossible weight on his shoulders, yet still yearned for moments of tenderness and connection.

With quiet steps, you crossed the room to him. The firelight illuminated your face as you reached his side, your gaze gentle and filled with understanding. Slowly, you extended your hand toward him, the gesture simple yet full of meaning. As your fingers brushed over his, his gaze flickered toward you, meeting your eyes with something akin to a soft sigh of relief.

Without saying a word, you raised his hand to your lips, pressing a light kiss to the back of his hand. The contact was brief, but the effect was immediate. Gil-galad’s breath hitched ever so slightly as the tenderness of the gesture seeped into his soul. For a brief moment, the weight of his responsibilities seemed to fall away, replaced by the quiet intimacy between the two of you.

His eyes closed briefly, savoring the touch. The gesture was simple, but to him, it spoke volumes. You had given him something that no crown or title ever could—a reminder that, despite all that was expected of him, he was still human, still loved. When his eyes opened again, he reached for your hand, drawing it to his lips in return. His kiss was just as gentle, just as full of reverence. It was not the kiss of a king to his subject, but of a man to the one he cherished most. He kissed your hand with a quiet vow of devotion—of love, of gratitude.

“You honor me more than I deserve,” he whispered, his voice low, the words filled with sincerity. His fingers gently traced the outline of your cheek before traveling upward to press a kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering long after he pulled away. You looked at him, the weight of his gaze steady, filled with quiet adoration. For a brief moment, the room felt timeless, as though the rest of the world could fade away, leaving only the two of you in your quiet, unspoken love. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. There was only peace, only love, and only the two of you.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Shoulder Kiss

The night unfolded with a tranquil stillness, a serenity that contrasted with the weight of the world outside Gil-galad’s chambers. The soft flicker of candlelight created delicate patterns across the room, casting long shadows that seemed to fade into the quiet. The fire crackled in the hearth, sending a steady warmth into the cool air, yet it was the peace in the room, in his presence, that truly calmed you. The night was not just silent but pregnant with an almost palpable sense of ease, a rare gift in the life of a king burdened with so many responsibilities.

Gil-galad sat by the fire, his profile illuminated by the golden light. He had shed the formalities of his day—the crown, the armor, the posture of command—and now sat in an almost contemplative stillness. His broad shoulders, usually squared with unyielding strength, were relaxed, his frame slouched slightly as he leaned back into the high-backed chair. Even his posture spoke of weariness—the tiredness of a king who had borne the weight of many lives on his shoulders, day after day.

But in this moment, as you stood in the doorway, watching him in the flickering light, you saw not just the king but the man beneath. The man who, in moments like this, allowed himself to be vulnerable, allowing the silence to fill the space where words or demands would otherwise go.

You moved quietly across the room, each step measured, until you stood behind him. He did not turn, but you could feel his awareness of your presence, an invisible pull that tethered him to you in ways more profound than anything he could express. Slowly, your hand reached out to rest lightly on his shoulder.

His breath hitched for a moment, his body tensing at first, but then he relaxed. A soft sigh escaped his lips as his head tilted slightly, surrendering to the touch. The tension in his muscles seemed to melt away, but there was no spoken word, no request for peace. Only the touch that said everything.

Without a word, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the curve of his shoulder. The kiss was tender, the warm press of your lips lingering, a momentary touch that held so much unspoken. His body stilled completely at the sensation, as though the kiss grounded him in a place of softness he often neglected. The warmth of your breath, the intimacy of your touch, eased something within him that even the fire’s glow could not.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His hand, which had been resting at his side, slowly covered yours on his shoulder. His fingers were gentle, almost as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace you had created. When he spoke, his voice was low and laden with a quiet kind of relief.

“You ease me in ways I cannot explain,” he murmured, his words soft but filled with an emotion that went deeper than gratitude. There was a tenderness in his tone, an openness that revealed the vulnerability he often kept hidden behind the armor of kingship. Your kiss had brought him back to himself, reminding him that, despite the weight of his rule, there was solace in being cared for, in being loved. You stayed close, not speaking but simply offering the comfort of your presence. Your hand remained on his shoulder, your touch a silent promise. In this moment, there was no kingdom, no war, no responsibility. There was only him—a man, at peace in your arms.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Nose Kiss

The moonlight spilled through the open window, its pale beams casting a soft, ethereal glow over the room. Outside, the quiet night enveloped Lindon, the world beyond seeming distant, far removed from the tender quiet within. Gil-galad stood near the fireplace, his back to you as he gazed out into the night, his profile framed by the silvered light. The ever-present weight of his duties seemed to have faded for the moment. For the first time in what felt like a long time, he was simply… present.

You watched him for a moment, standing silently in the doorway, observing the stillness that surrounded him. The stoic king, usually so focused, so burdened by his kingship, now appeared almost serene. He had let go of the rigid air of authority, the crown heavy upon his brow, and stood in the quiet peace of the moment, wrapped only in the warmth of the fire and the silence between you.

There was something about the way he stood there, so unguarded, that made you smile. You couldn’t resist the urge to approach him, to remind him that even amidst the gravitas of his life, there was room for lightness, for laughter.

You moved toward him, your footsteps light, and without a word, you slipped up behind him. As you reached him, he turned slightly, sensing your presence before his gaze met yours. His eyes softened at the sight of you, his lips curving into a small smile, though there was still a touch of weariness in them.

Before he could ask what you were doing, you leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. It was a quick, playful gesture, but one filled with affection. His reaction was instantaneous—a small intake of breath as he blinked in surprise, his elegant brow arching in mild confusion. It was a gesture so unexpected, so lighthearted, that it seemed to momentarily break through the walls he so carefully maintained.

A soft chuckle escaped from him—gentle and warm, a rare sound from the King of Lindon. The chuckle was followed by a mischievous glimmer in his eyes as he leaned closer, the playful side of him revealing itself with an almost teasing smirk.

“Are you trying to undo me with such sweet, playful gestures, my dearest?” His voice was rich with affection, but the amusement was clear, and for a fleeting moment, the burdens of his kingship fell away, leaving only the man before you.

You smiled back at him, feeling lighter in his presence, before he leaned down and returned the gesture. His lips gently brushed against your nose in a soft, reciprocal kiss. It was a kiss that seemed to echo the simplicity of the moment—no power, no duty, just the shared joy of being with one another.

“You remind me to cherish these fleeting joys,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity, but with a touch of warmth that made the words all the more meaningful. There was no pretense in his voice, no weight of the crown. In this moment, there was only love, a reminder of the joys that existed between you—simple, fleeting, but precious all the same.

As your foreheads touched gently, you both remained close, basking in the peacefulness of the moment. There were no demands here, no expectations, only the quiet contentment of being together. In that fleeting kiss, in that shared laughter, you had found something timeless: a connection that would endure through everything.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Elven Ear Kiss

The night had settled in like a soft, comforting blanket, enveloping the world outside Gil-galad’s chamber in stillness. The fire in the hearth crackled lazily, sending occasional sparks that illuminated the room with a warm glow. Shadows danced across the walls, and the air was thick with a sense of calm. Gil-galad, as ever, sat by the window, his posture perfect and composed, as if the weight of the world rested upon him—even in moments like this when the night seemed to slow down the rhythm of the world. His gaze, though distant, remained sharp, focused on the stars outside as if the answers to his questions were written there among the constellations.

It was these quiet moments, when he thought the world had slowed and his responsibilities were distant, that you cherished most with him. His regal aura never truly left him, even in the absence of the duties that called him away. He had learned to wear the mantle of kingship so well that it was part of him—perhaps more than he realized. But tonight, you wanted him to feel something different: a soft moment of intimacy, unclouded by royal duties and responsibilities.

You approached him slowly, your footsteps light against the floor as you closed the space between you. The night air, cool and fresh, seemed to mingle with the warmth from the hearth, and the scent of wood smoke and the faint earthiness of the outdoors filled the room. Without a word, you moved behind him, stepping so close that you could feel the quiet energy that radiated from him. His shoulders were slightly tense, betraying the constant weight he carried. His back, though straight, held the hint of exhaustion that he never spoke of.

You leaned in, your breath warm against his ear as you gently pressed your lips just below its delicate curve. The kiss was soft, a playful touch meant to stir something inside of him. Your lips lingered for a moment, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath brushing against his skin. Then, as you withdrew, you whispered something sweet in his ear, just for him to hear. The words were soft, meant to make him feel the simplicity of your affection rather than the grandeur of his kingship.

The effect was immediate. Gil-galad’s entire body shivered, just the slightest tremor, but it was enough to send a surge of affection through you. His composure never faltered, but his usually stoic face was slightly flushed, the flush of someone unaccustomed to such intimate, teasing affection. The faintest tremor in his shoulders—barely perceptible—was the only sign that your touch had affected him. He turned his head slowly, not quite fully meeting your gaze but enough to see the playfulness in your eyes reflected in the soft light of the room.

His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of amusement beneath it. “You are far too bold,” he murmured, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. His eyes held a glimmer of something—warmth, perhaps, or the recognition of how rare these moments were, moments when the weight of the world slipped away and the two of you could simply be. Despite his words, there was no chastisement, only a soft affection that hinted at his enjoyment of the intimacy you had just shared.

He didn’t pull away, instead tilting his head just slightly, a silent invitation for you to stay close. The warmth between you both lingered, settling over you both like a protective blanket. In that moment, it was as if the world had paused—no kingdom to command, no crown to wear, just the two of you in a space where love and affection existed outside the confines of duty.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Back of the Neck Kiss

The day had been long for Gil-galad, a blur of strategy meetings and weighty discussions that never seemed to end. His mind had been sharp and incisive, as always, but the strain of making decisions for his people, his kingdom, weighed heavily on him. Hours had passed with little time for rest, and now, as the evening finally crept in and the world outside darkened, he retreated to the solitude of his chambers. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the walls.

You had been observing him from a distance throughout the day, noticing how the relentless demands of his kingship had taken their toll. The regal composure that always seemed to define him was now overshadowed by a quiet tension in his shoulders, the lines of his face taut with the weight of responsibility. His back was slightly hunched, a subtle sign of the fatigue that had settled in after hours of standing at the center of power.

You knew that these moments, where he could let go, were few and far between. You seized the opportunity to offer him a comfort he so rarely allowed himself. You approached him slowly, silently, not wanting to startle him, and stood behind his chair, where he sat with a scroll in his hands. His eyes were fixed on the document, yet the furrow in his brow never quite disappeared. His attention was wrapped up in the duties of the day, but you could see the exhaustion in the subtle tremble of his hands.

Without a word, you reached out, your fingers brushing the back of his neck with a gentle, soothing touch. The soft contact, at first, was barely noticeable, but it was enough to interrupt the tension that had built in him throughout the day. His body stiffened instantly, an involuntary reaction to being touched, as though caught off guard by the sudden tenderness. For a brief moment, he straightened, as if preparing to shield himself from the vulnerability of the gesture. But as your fingers lingered on his neck, massaging the muscles that had grown tight under the pressure of his responsibilities, you saw him release the instinctive barrier.

Gil-galad closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips as his body finally relaxed into the soothing rhythm of your touch. He hadn’t allowed himself this kind of respite in so long, and it was almost as if the burden of the day was slipping away, if only for a moment.

You continued, your hands moving with a tender care, kneading the muscles that had been strained under the weight of leadership. His breath grew slower, deeper, and with every moment that passed, the tension in his body seemed to melt away. Then, without warning, you leaned forward, pressing your lips gently against the nape of his neck. The kiss was slow and soft, lingering just long enough to convey the affection that had been building in you throughout the day.

Gil-galad’s breath caught for a moment, his muscles tightening briefly at the unexpectedness of the kiss. For a split second, it seemed like he might pull away, but instead, he let out a soft, audible exhale, the kind that came when he allowed himself to relax completely. The kiss, simple yet deeply affectionate, was like a balm to his weary soul, and the final traces of tension in his body faded.

“You test my composure, my love,” he murmured, his voice husky with a mix of surprise and affection. His hand, slow and deliberate, rose to rub the back of his neck, an unconscious movement that betrayed the vulnerability he usually kept so hidden. You could feel the warmth of his skin under your lips, the subtle tremor of his muscles as they unraveled beneath your touch. There was no rebuke in his voice, no sharpness; only the soft, intimate tone of someone who had found solace in your presence.

As you gently placed your hand over his, he guided it to rest on top of yours, his fingers curling gently around yours. There was a moment of silence between you both, but it was a comfortable silence, filled with understanding. For a brief instant, the king was not in the room with you. He was simply a man—no crown, no duties, no obligations—just a man who felt the weight of everything he carried lighten with the tenderness of your touch.

“You have a way of reminding me that I am not just a king,” he whispered, his voice low, vulnerable. The hardness that so often defined him had faded, leaving only the soft warmth of someone who was allowed to feel loved and cared for. His eyes, usually so sharp with authority, were now gentle, searching yours with a quiet gratitude.

Without saying anything more, he pulled you closer, his hands guiding you into his lap. The gesture was unexpected but natural, as though he had longed for this intimacy, the closeness that only you could provide. You settled there, your body fitting against his like two pieces of a puzzle, and he rested his head in your hair, inhaling deeply. The moment was serene, grounding him in a way that only your presence could.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as if to draw strength from your warmth, and his fingers softly threaded through your hair. His breath was steady against the crown of your head, and there was something incredibly intimate in that small space between you both—a space that only the two of you could fill.

“I am not used to this,” he murmured after a while, his voice barely more than a whisper. “To this… peace.” His hand drifted to your back, smoothing over the fabric of your clothes, as though he were memorizing the sensation of holding you. The weight of the world seemed to fall away from him in that moment, his heartbeat steady and calming against you.

You stayed like that for a while—no words needed, just the quiet rhythm of shared breaths, the feel of his heartbeat, the warmth of his touch. The burdens of kingship had not disappeared, but in the quiet of this moment, they were nothing compared to the depth of the affection you shared. In his embrace, you both found peace, however fleeting.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

#Gil galad #Gil galad x you #Gil galad x reader #gil galad high king #elvenking gil galad #gil galad supremacy #gil galad rings of power #gil galad headcanons #ereinion gil galad #gil galad daddy #lord of the rings #the hobbit #lotr elves

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pigfacedbitch · 1 year ago

Text

Are You That Dense?

summary : what do they do when their crush is oblivious of their feelings.

word count : 0.5k

type : headcanons

pairing/s involved : Arthur / Merlin / Morgana x Reader

warning/s : it's kinda sad on Merlin's part (at least for me)

here is my masterlist!

Arthur

Arthur would be clueless as you are, maybe even worse.

The prince of Camelot wasn't raised to process his feelings properly (no thanks to dear old daddy), so he thinks his infatuation is under the pretense of friendship.

Many find it hilarious. Everyone knows how much Arthur loves you... except the two of you.

He just doesn't understand why he's always wanting more than the platonic affections you give him, yearning for you when you're not around, or thinking about you all the time.

Don't get me wrong, he knows he enjoys your company. Both his whole world and time stops when he's with you; the heavy responsibilities of the crown and endless problems are temporarily forgotten.

Arthur also feels the need to impress you, sometimes more than Uther. He already likes showing off to a crowd but when you're watching him? There will be 1000x more effort.

"Why do I feel this way, Merlin?"

"You are in love with (Y/N), clotpole."

"Oh. I suppose you're right."

"Is this the moment where you order me to get her flowers?"

"...Yes."

Merlin

I'm sorry but Merlin prefers it that way.

As much as he desperately wants to to straight up confess to you— to be able to touch you, kiss you, and love you openly, he doesn't want to put you in danger.

Apart from a secret that will get him executed, he deals with dark entities all the time and those will eventually catch up to him. He can't risk it, especially if it's you.

There will be a lifetime of labor and hardships if you choose to be with a manservant. Being with a druid will likely get you hurt or killed too. You deserve better than what he can offer. You deserve better than him.

His feelings for you may not be obvious as Arthur's but for people who are perceptive (ehem Gwen maybe?), they will encourage him to court you. He'll only reply that there's no use and you'll never see him as something more than a friend, especially if you're a noble or royalty.

However, Merlin is only human. There will be times when he can't help himself, giving you small gifts or favors he won't do for anyone (even Arthur).

"Thanks for the help, Merlin."

"I would do anything for you, (Y/N)."

"Why?"

"Uhh... Cause we're friends, right?"

Morgana

Morgana will make you her own amusement.

Best believe she will test you, to see how long can you remain unaware of her feelings. It entertains her to no end, better than the performers Uther hires in banquets.

She will go all out— giving you all sorts of touches that's reserved for lovers, bringing you expensive presents, always spending time with you, and even kissing you in both public and in private.

Morgana will search for any reaction on your face every time. But you just continue to innocently smile and thank her for being a 'good friend'.

Everyone thinks you two are dating because of her public display of affection but you shrug it off whenever someone asks you about it. Morgana, on the hand, just smirks and winks.

If it takes too long and she begins to get impatient, she will just knock on your door and confess her love.

"I am in love with you, (Y/N)."

"You are?"

"YES! How can you be so blind—"

"I thought we're just friends?"

"HOW IS MAKING OUT WITH YOU, PLATONIC?"

Until then, she and Gwen will be laughing at your obliviousness as they enjoy their afternoon tea.

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #emrys #arthur pendragon imagine #arthur pendragon x reader headcanons #merlin x reader #merlin x reader headcanons #bbc merlin imagines #bbc merlin headcanons #arthur pendragon #arthur pendragon x reader #morgana #morgana pendragon #morgana x reader #morgana x reader headcanons #morgana le fay #bbc merlin preferences

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princess-of-morkva · 2 months ago

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heeey, you know how in the legends Morgan le Fay was the one looking after King Arthur in Avalon?

Imagine Morgana ending up in Avalon after her death. You know. Because she's a High Priestess and they were basically the show's version of Avalon's sisterhood of fay?

Imagine Morgana, now with pointy ears and fabulous wings, being saddled with the task of caring for her brother's body and sleeping spirit?

Imagine how angry she is, now immortal and with endless time on her hands, but bound by Avalon's will, having to spend her eternity caring for a brother whom she helped kill?

Imagine how she shouts at him, but receives no response, hits him but leaves no mark. Because he is dead and she has to look at him. At his blank, peaceful face.

(Imagine how after centuries, she learns to let her anger rest

Imagine how after millenia, she does her duty properly and heals his wounds and spirit and lets the Once and Future King rise again

And now that her duty is done, she may leave Avalon and walk the human world again)

#morgana pendragon #morgana le fay #avalon #lady morgana #morgana #morgana bbc #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #once and future king

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misandriste · 11 months ago

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KATIE McGRATH as MORGANA PENDRAGON 𝕸𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓 ⧽ 𝟏.𝟏𝟎 “𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔐𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔗𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔥”

#ough… her fingers……#katie mcgrath #endless morganas #morgana #morgana pendragon #morgana le fay #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #merlinedit #merlingif #tv #tvedit #tvgif #tvgifs #perioddramaedit #gifsbymisa

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whydon-twego · 2 years ago

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Arthur's blankets are the softest and warmest blankets Merlin has ever slept under.

The night is unbelievably cold in the winter that never seems to want to end, and the snow and wind bang violently against the castle walls, but Merlin is under Arthur's blankets, with Arthur beside him stroking his hair while the candlelight behind him forms strange shadows.

Arthur's arms encircle him as Merlin plays with the hairs on Arthur's chest -who sleeps shirtless even in the coldest winters, but now Merlin has to admit that trapped under heavy blankets and furs, hugging each other tightly, even he can get warm- running his skinny fingers through them and being fascinated. It may be the heat that goes to his head, it may be being held in an endless embrace or perhaps the hand stroking his hair or Arthur's chin resting on his head, but Merlin finds himself thinking back to the first time he set foot in Camelot.

He remembers the boy full of hope and eagerness to learn who set foot in that kingdom for the first time, he remembers when he thought he was a monster and how Gaius' words had comforted him, he remembers when he met Arthur (and smiles) and everything that has happened in those last ten years. The battles, the subterfuges, the lies, the torture, the friends lost, the people met, the goodbyes to Lancelot and Gwen, the death of Morgana, the tears shed and the heartbreak felt and the loneliness and the sense of abandonment and catastrophe and-

"What are you thinking about?" asks Arthur, from above his head, as Merlin's hand continues to caress his chest and Arthur's hand descends to stroke his back.

Merlin lifts his face slightly but the angle is too strange and he can only observe Arthur's jaw, but he knows Arthur's every imperfection by heart, his every sharp edge that he does not need to see his face to know he is smiling. Merlin kisses his neck, settles back comfortably in that cocoon made of arms and blankets and sighs, grateful.

"That I am happy."

Because Merlin is. Because he would do every single thing all over again just to be in that perfect moment with his king.

#merthur #merthur prompt #merthur ideas #merthur fic #merlin emrys #merlin prompt #merlin ideas #merlin bbc #bbc merlin #arthur pendragon #king arthur #my writing

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hopelessromantic5 · 8 months ago

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Last one for the night.

Sorry for the content dump. 🫶

Regency AU clip. Arthur and Merlin inspired by Anthony Bridgerton and Kate Sharma.

Arthur’s father, The Viscount, decided he had let Arthur ‘pursue fanciful whims’ long enough.

He wanted Arthur to find a wife this season.

Oh, joy.

It was for this reason, Arthur went for an early morning ride, to let out his overwhelming frustration and to get out of that blasted house with his siblings, more specifically, his elder sister and her eyes full of pity.

Morgana knew that Arthur wanted to hold out for love, the kind of love their own parents shared. Arthur felt it his duty to find someone who would one day become Viscountess, have his children and help him continue his family’s long-standing reputation.

The only problem, which isn’t really a problem, more of an inconvenience, was that Arthur didn’t like women, in the slightest. Romantically speaking, that is.

He found this out the hard way when his college mates tried to throw him into a room full of naked women.

Arthur was…curious. But nothing beyond that, women were a complete mystery to him so he was really just in awe of their natural bodies and how objectively beautiful they were.

But it did nothing. No part of him stirred or got excited. That’s when he started to become uncomfortable, because he’d always known, deep down, in a place no one ever sees.

He left rather quickly.

Thankfully, his friends had disappeared by then.

The ride led him farther into the woods than he usually went, but he knew his way around them.

He slowed his horse to a trot as he went lost in his thoughts.

That was quickly interrupted when he heard galloping approaching. Very fast.

Before he could think twice, the horse and the person riding it, raced just past Arthur, causing his own mare to stumble a bit.

Well, I’ve got to see what this is about.

That was the only thought to cross his mind before turning the other direction, taking off as fast as he could.

He spotted the horse and rider immediately. Arthur rode harder and urged the animal below him to follow.

He had almost caught up, when a branch that seemed to come from nowhere caught Arthur’s jacket and caused him to pull back on the reigns, involuntarily.

He slowed to a stop, laughing hysterically.

That was fun.

“You’re laughing a lot for someone who lost.” The voice was deep.

Arthur hadn’t realized the horse in front of him also slowed and stopped, unwilling to turn the opposite direction and face him.

Arthur took the stranger in, finally. All he could see was a blue cloak with the hood pulled up, hiding all identity.

The skilled hands gripping the reigns wore gloves.

“To be fair, we never agreed on a stopping point and that limb was interference, divinely guided as it may have been.”

“Oh, divinely guided, was it?” The man snickered, but it was closer to a giggle.

Arthur couldn’t read the stranger very well when he could not see him.

He took matters into his own hands and rode past the other man, then spun to see the horse-whisperer directly, face to face.

“Oh.”

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting.

But it was not to have his breath stolen.

He could not even see all of the man’s face, but what peaked out from under the hood was pale flawless skin and perfect pink lips.

Hooded eyes pointed to the ground between their two steeds.

“You’re awfully quiet for someone who won.” Arthur quipped.

The man finally raised him eyes in a glare that didn’t hold much heat behind it.

God, those eyes.

Blue like the ice that forms from dripping water on the window sills. The lightest clearest parts of the ocean. Pure and endless.

Wow.

Arthur had never been struck by a person’s beauty before.

“You’re a complete stranger, what if you have ill intentions, or try to rob me blind?”

Arthur threw his head back in a laugh at this.

“You aren’t that inattentive. My intentions are pure, you have my word. I am a gentleman.” Arthur smirked at the blue eyed wonder. He got a small smile in return.

“Well, I have to be getting back.”

No.

Arthur’s whole body practically howled the word. He’s not unable to control himself.

“Will I see you again?”

The man was already turning around to return from the way they came.

“Perhaps you will, my lord.”

Arthur sputters.

“How did you know I was-“

“I’m not that inattentive.” The man called over his shoulder before tapping the side of his boot on the horses flank and taking off into the trees.

Well, that was truly something.

#merthur #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin and arthur #merthur fic #from the drafts #bbc merlin #regency au #Bridgerton inspo #kanthony

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captainkirkk · 1 year ago

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🦇🎃 WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP 🎃🦇

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Merlin

The Hunt for Red Emrys by darkbluedark

King Arthur sets out to keep his promise to the spirit of the Druid boy by repealing his father's ban on magic. Unfortunately, this is easier said than done, for reasons including but not limited to the following:

(1) He can't change the law until he understands magic better, but no sorcerer is willing to explain magic to him until he changes the law;

(2) The sorcerers all have some strange obsession with Merlin, which is awakening all sorts of feelings in Arthur that he really doesn't fancy examining too closely;

(3) He is starting to feel like the butt of some Druid-population-wide inside joke involving the mysterious phenomenon called Emrys; and

(4) Oh yeah, Morgana is still trying to kill him.

Thus he embarks on a journey of discovery, diplomacy, accountability, and self-improvement, and maybe even falls in love along the way.

Welcome to Demon School! Iruma-Kun

Kalego-sensei is...dead? by IcyPheonix

The Misfits come to school one day to discover that they have, a substitute teacher. They decide that this can only mean one thing; Kalego-sensei, has died.

He hasn't but that's not gonna stop them from pretending he has of course.

SVSSS

The Moon's Beloved Shadow by mofumofu

Shen Qingqiu is a man who hides his twin brother from the world with the ferocity of a phoenix-eyed mother crane.

Shen Yuan is a helpless transmigrator who wishes Airplane-bro had given even a single bit of backstory for this side character he's inhabiting!

Luo Binghe isn't doomed to face the Endless Abyss, but he is forced to confront something infinitely more frustrating: an overly protective brother.

Natsume Yuujinchou

What Colors Do You See In This Monochrome World by mermorgie.

Natori's voice brought him back to the present. "You alright there, Natsume?" The look the exorcist was giving him was warm and a tad concerned. Natsume gave him a small, but earnest smile. "I'm fine, Natori-san. Just a bit nervous." This was the truth. He had no idea why the head of the Matoba Clan invited him this time, but he was sure that the man was up to no good.

Or: Natsume gets invited to an exorcist meeting. He is not too happy about it, but at least the view is great.

Harry Potter

Three's Family by darkbluedark

It’s May 1979 and the Order has just apprehended a pair of mysterious wizards who look remarkably like a Potter and a Malfoy. Naturally, James Potter and Sirius Black are called in to identify the strangely familiar strangers and determine their backgrounds and loyalties.

(This would be a lot easier if their captives weren’t convinced everyone they talk to is dead. It would also be easier if they didn’t spend half their bloody time bickering.)

“Just ask them questions only they would know the answer to,” Malfoy suggests.

“There’s not a single thing that I know about either of them from the first war that any old Death Eater couldn’t find out.”

“How is that possible?” Malfoy huffs. “He’s your father!”

“Am I or am I not famously an orphan?” Potter snarls.

Once More Unto The Boggart by darkbluedark

Professor Lupin let out his breath very slowly. “So this is why you think you’ve been struggling to make progress with the Patronus charm? Because a part of you wants to let the dementor close, in a way, in order to hear your parents?”

Harry nodded again, though more guiltily this time. “I want to let the boggart out, just once, and, er, not cast the charm."

Those Who Have Seen by darkbluedark

Only those who have seen death can see thestrals.

It turns out, thestrals look different for those who have seen Death.

#happy halloween!!#this isn't a spooky/halloween themed post #i'm just excited that it's halloween #my posts #fic recs #weekly fic round up #hp recs #merlin recs #m!ik recs #ny recs #svsss recs

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romancemedia · 5 months ago

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King Triton's Gifts with a Sad Backstory

In The Little Mermaid sequels, King Triton gave Queen Athena and Melody, his beloved wife and precious granddaughter a gift: A music box and a locket. Although the gifts are different, they're both a lot alike in more ways than one.

They were each given during a joyous celebration (Triton and Athena's anniversary and Melody's christening) and also played a special song that was meaningful to Athena and Melody: Endless Sky and Down to the Sea.

However, just shortly after he gave them their gifts tragedy struck that tore the royal family apart: Queen Athena's death by pirates and Melody was forced to away from the sea in fear of Morgana. Both times, cruel fate had intervened that resulted in King Triton being separated from his precious loved ones and now the gifts had become a sad reminder of what he had lost.

It was too painful for him to keep them and as a result... he threw them into the ocean to be lost forever.

Until years later, they were found again and once they were, it changed everything and in the end, reunited the royal family once more and healed the sea king's heart.

Although Queen Athena is gone, her memory will always live on and her legacy is honored when music is brought back to Atlantica.

At long last, King Triton is reunited and gets to meet Melody again and with Morgana gone, humans and merpeople are reunited.

#The Little Mermaid 2 Return to the Sea #My Thoughts #The Little Mermaid 3 Ariel's Beginning #Disney #King Triton #Melody #Queen Athena #Ariel #Comparison

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maespri · 5 months ago

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assigning one word to every persona 5 character

hiii local girl (me) got bored and decided to make this character analysis post of sorts for fun!! so here's one word i think each persona 5 character embodies, as well as my explanation... <3

ryuji: acceptance

ryuji is the first character we formally meet and befriend in persona 5. to others, he's rowdy, unpredictable, and not very pleasant to be around. we're warned multiple times about him and about what he's done. we also get to witness for ourselves how easy it is for him to form a grudge and hold to it for dear life, whether it be toward a corrupt adult, other students, morgana, some of the other phantom thieves, etc.

one of my favorite things about ryuji's character arc and growth is actually how subtle it is, especially for a game that (bless it's heart, i love it, but-) has very little subtlety at times. it kind of just occurs in the background and you slowly watch him change.

he goes from openly despising, attacking, and badmouthing kamoshida to simply saying "it's all in the past" when asked about it in one of his future confidant events. he goes from desperately wanting to be viewed as a hero to accepting that some things have to happen in secrecy. he even becomes kinder to morgana and the other phantom thieves when previously, he wouldn't hesitate to verbally jump them. my point is, he comes to accept a lot of things and leave them all behind in the pursuit of just being happy with what he's got now.

the antithesis of this is also true, where ryuji doesn't accept any of the corruption that happens around him, another aspect that is a huge part of his character. he's usually one of the firsts to suggest infiltrating a palace or heading into mementos.

overall, ryuji's character arc really just involves a whole lot of moving on and letting the past be the past in order to facilitate his own change and his own path toward having peace. and i love it!!!

ann: connection

i felt as though a lot of ann's character was centered around the idea of connection. when we first meet her, she has only one friend, and she puts herself into a terrible situation with kamoshida just to make sure that friend doesn't lose her spot on the volleyball team. she's established as somebody who clearly values her connections very deeply.

but there's also a flipside to this, in that. y'know. ann only has one friend at the start of the game. in one of her confidant events, she also talks about how she had no friends for a while when she first came to japan due to her appearance, ethnicity, and nationality, and how she often faced adversity due to this.

when she does befriend joker and ryuji, it is a rocky beginning- but she comes to value her friends so much. when she meets yusuke, she gives him a chance. when she meets makoto, she's the first to reassure makoto that she doesn't hate her for stalking them, and that she actually wants to be friends. when she meets futaba, haru, you name it- she is always trying to be kind to them. to immediately become their friend and connect with them.

during akechi's battle in shido's palace, she's the one who suggests he join them in taking down shido. she's the one who wants him to be a part of them, even after everything.

she also has a passion for connecting with the world around her, most notably, i would say, through modeling.

it's clear ann values connection a lot. she goes to great lengths for the people she loves, she encourages befriending people, and she enjoys involving herself in the things that go on around her. i think it's really great to get to watch as her trust in everyone, and her relationships with them, grow stronger.

yusuke: passion

yusuke's arc is very much centered around passion, from the moment you meet him to the end of his confidant events. he's on an endless search for the perfect muse, to make the perfect painting, to become the perfect artist.

so much so that when he finds out that the person he looked up to the most lied to him, and when he finds out that the person who came before him (his mother), who had the exact same passion as him, was killed by the person he looked up to the most- his world crumbles.

he loses that passion some, or at least struggles to figure out how he's going to ever paint something worthy again now that he knows the one thing he loves to do was built off of something so heinous.

but you see over time how he finds that passion again, through his friends, through trial and error, through just going at it over and over again. to the final realization that maybe that passion has dissipated some, but it's still within him. he can never paint the way he used to, but that isn't the bad thing he thought it was- it's good.

his passion is also just a central part of his character. he can come across as melodramatic or "a bit much," as he even says himself at one point during a confidant event in mementos-

but the people he's surrounded himself with don't think so, and love him anyway. so... safe to say his passion and his love for the beauty in the world is what carries him throughout all of persona 5.

makoto: practical

definitions of "practical":

(of an idea, plan, or method) likely to succeed or be effective in real circumstances; feasible

suitable for a particular purpose

sensible and realistic in their approach to a situation or problem

makoto is my favorite character in persona 5 right next to yusuke, and i think the word "practical" describes her in many great ways.

the first reason being that both the word itself as well as its antithesis apply to makoto very well. she is rather deceptively practical in some ways, in the sense that she comes across as well put-together, intelligent, and sensible when you first meet her-

until you find out she's actually the same as any other reckless teenager out there, running to kaneshiro and getting herself and all the other phantom thieves into a blackmailing scandal.

she also does this because a big part of makoto's character during this arc is the idea of being useful to somebody- being, as the second definition says up there, "suitable for a particular purpose." she just wants to help somebody. she feels like a deadweight to sae, she's doing everything she can to be a top student in school and it still isn't enough, and she's getting nowhere in the one task her principal assigned to her.

being useful to someone is very important to her.

then she actually joins the phantom thieves and the meaning of this word flips a little bit, because makoto is practical, in the sense of being sensible and intelligent. she's the "brains" of the phantom thieves-

but she no longer has to be "worth something" or "useful." i think ann is the one who explains this concept to her, of how they just want makoto to be their friend. not to be some sort of tool.

so makoto instead turns her attention to just being helpful where she can rather than ruining her life over it. she asks for help when she needs it, such as when she's trying to help one of her friends with his weird boyfriend and asks joker to help her out. and she does try to help her friend with her weird boyfriend, another example of trying to contribute. and she's a part of the phantom thieves, an organization that literally devotes itself to ridding the world of corruption and evil figures.

for her, i think what is really important is how 'practical' goes from her constantly trying to be presentable, constantly bending over backwards to help other people, and constantly hating herself for being 'useful'... to allowing herself to be honest with her friends, and be silly and confused and ask for help, and do what she can to help other people without killing herself over it.

so, yeah. i think she has a really lovely arc in this sense as well.

futaba: freedom

this one i feel like is a given... futaba's arc, in many ways, is centered around the idea of freedom.

freedom from blaming herself for her mom, freedom from her bedroom, freedom from being afraid of being around or talking to people. leaving behind all the things in her past that brought her so much pain, and moving forward in her life.

i'm surprised i don't have much more to say, but honestly, i feel like it's kind of the obvious word for futaba. her entire arc is surrounded with the idea of escaping her self-blame and the tomb she trapped herself in. and she gets that through hanging out with the phantom thieves, and through doing her promise list with ren, and through just. freeing herself from all of her blame.

i also think the word embodies her carefree nature and openness to trying things, even when they scare her. she isn't bound by social norms or what she thinks she's supposed to act like. i also think these traits really help the people around her let loose as well. she also strays from the norm in the sense of her being her own little NPC in battle. you don't know what she's going to do for you. she's free as a bird!

anyway. i love her!

haru: action

haru was difficult for me to pick a word for because there were so many i could've gone with, but i settled on 'action' for a few reasons.

the first being that, for quite a while in her life, it would appear as though haru doesn't take action. doesn't try to change the things she dislikes, just meekly goes along with whatever life throws her way. she's trapped in her engagement and just does whatever her father wants her to do.

but there's definitely something bubbling up in her, a desire to lash back out and actually change her situation.

which is why when she does enter the metaverse for the first time, meets this talking cat, and is told to just go along with whatever morgana says... it's no wonder she instantly jumps on board. this is her finally doing something for herself, not for anyone else. this is her straying from the norm.

when everything with the phantom thieves and the metaverse is explained to haru, she's quick to grow, and transform, and work with them to take down her father.

finally, haru gets to actually do something about her situation, and she isn't hesitating at all. she's jumping headfirst to acting on what she's always wanted to do. taking action.

this is just a side note, but i also think haru empathizes with akechi on a more personal level. she knows what it's like to abhor what somebody in your family has done, and to want to end it- they're two sides of the same coin, they just went about their situations in completely different ways.

it floored me when i saw how forgiving she was toward him even after knowing he killed her father. but none of that kindness is coming from a place of forgiving him, or absolving his guilt, or from complacency- it's from understanding his desperation. he wants to be free just as badly as she wanted to. on some level, haru understands this.

anyway. i know i say this about all of them, but man... i truly love haru. <3

akechi: worth

akechi's character is arguably one of the most fun to study in this game. he's difficult to get a grasp on at first outside of what he shows the player, a facade of pleasantries and friendliness. but at his core, akechi's character and ideals revolve a lot around the concept of worth.

it starts with himself. obviously, he views himself as worthless, says as much, and has spent his entire life trying to shake off that self-imposed title. he's worked so hard to become somebody people want to be around, somebody they support, somebody they revere.

so much so that when he abandons ship (no pun intended) and shows the phantom thieves who he really is, he's disgusted by the fact that they aren't disgusted. he's someone who wholeheartedly believes that being worth something to someone is the only important thing, is the only way to be appreciated, is the only thing worth fighting for.

its why he despises the weak and wants to take down those who have made him feel worthless (namely shido). and he'll do those things, he'll kill tens of people with little regard, because it's worth it. it is worth it if it means he'll be able to kill the root of his worthlessness.

he talks all about how he wasn't wanted as a child, he's just some bastard child, everything he's done has been a lie in an attempt to make people love him. he says he thinks the phantom thieves are terrible, "licking each other's wounds," that they'e idiots for showing him mercy, and yet, he accepts it.

he accepts it, because for once, he's worth something to people who don't want anything from him in return. he's worth something to people who have witnessed the absolute worst parts of him. he's worth something to people who are worth nothing to world because of him. the person he killed outstretches his hand toward him and tells him he wants him to be a part of this. to be a part of his life.

unlike makoto, worth to akechi is internal. he doesn't just want to be useful, he wants to be liked. he wants to be appreciated. he wants someone to see him for who he is and love him anyway, but he buries those desires under a hundred layers of "i don't need this, i just need to get revenge, i just need to make my father pay."

his obsession with being perfect is also the reason he holds so much anger toward joker. joker didn't have to try at all to be liked, to make friends, to have an entire group of people at his side, willing to do anything he asked. i think the line drawn between akechi and joker is born from a simple fundamental misunderstanding of how relationships work. akechi thinks they're built on mutual gain, on being admired, on having power over them. joker knows they're built on simply loving someone despite all the things you don't like about them.

anyway, overall, worthiness obviously means a lot to akechi. man he's a tough nut to crack... but i hope i did him some justice...

that's it!

thank you for reading <3

#aaand the torrential tagging starts again #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #p5r #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #ryuji sakamoto #ann takamaki #yusuke kitagawa #makoto niijima #futaba sakura #haru okumura #goro akechi #vees persona meta

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