#especially the foist one

[skeletonpendeja]

Flowing into the Light

[positivelyapunovexponent-good]

I am visiting extended family and experiencing a spectrum of shrimp emotions both positive and negative. Positive because I love them and love spending time with them. Negative for reasons I feel so self conscious about I can’t bring myself to explain them outside of the tags even in my anonymous personal blog. I can’t sleep even though I’m exhausted. every night I’m pacing from anxiety as I try to figure out which parts of me to be honest about and which to conceal for the sake of not? Deeply hurting the people I care about? Even though I haven’t done anything wrong so if they are hurt that’s not on me.

[dollypopup]

the absolute unbearable cruelty that the writers foisted upon Cressida

a woman taught from the beginning in her home, by her own mother, that she cannot trust any other women, who finally, FINALLY felt she had a friend- who didn't care for her much at all. a woman who grew up in a house that is more akin to a mausoleum, a woman dressed up as a doll and made to masquerade and sing and dance for the attention of a half decent man, never to be considered seriously. a woman who is foisted onto a man old enough to be her grandfather, who wants 4 children from her, and intends to keep her locked up in his estate with at most 1 social outing a month, who didn't believe in listening to music, or art.

a woman who goes to the only person she ever considered a friend, saying 'I need to save myself. Run with me. Write with me. Help me.' only for that friend to turn her back on her, and talked ill of her for the rest of her time in her society. a woman who tried to claw her way out of a horrible circumstance, only to be told she's too stupid to do so. a woman who's mother wrote the article that insulted her friend's family, an article she still regretted. a woman who tried to save herself and was then sent off to an aunt even less warm than the circumstances she'd grown up in.

what was Cressida meant to do? she had no one to turn to, and when she tried, she was turned away. she had no options left to her, she exhausted all of them. yes, blackmailing Penelope was harsh, but I would have done almost anything to save myself from sexual assault at the hands of a husband old enough to be my father twice over who was clearly intending on mistreating me, especially if I was dropped by the only person I ever considered a friend.

Cressida's story is so fucking tragic. My heart cracked clean in half for her

[mimi-911]

not to hashtag not like other girls myself here but popular fandom opinions usually fucking suck lmao

[stars-obsession-pit]

Pest Control

The League of Assassins has killed a lot of people. That’s kinda their whole deal. And deaths, especially emotionally intense ones (such as, you know, being murdered), can cause ghosts.

Which means they’ve got plenty of experience fighting off angry spirits.

The battles were extremely challenging at first, but eventually they had a breakthrough. Treating a blade with Lazarus Water—either during the forging itself or as a temporary coating later—can render it capable of harming ghosts despite their phantasmal nature.

With this advantage, the fights gradually began to lose their challenge. Sure, the ghosts may have powers, but they were new and completely lacked training or experience in their usage. Not a real fight. More just… an annoying chore to foist onto the lower ranks. Pest control.

Well, that was until a ghost actually thought about their situation and chose to flee and spend time training and gathering allies so as to even the odds…

Optional addition that’s more Danny-centric, for you want to include him/Amity specifically rather than just the concept of DP ghosts in general:

Danny is concerned about the new ghost that showed up in Amity Park.

It’s not that they’re particularly dangerous—if anything, they’re rather weak at the moment—but they seem incredibly determined about preparing for something. They’ve clearly been training, growing stronger between each battle, and are constantly asking other ghosts about potential team-ups.

It’s suspicious. And Danny has to get to the bottom of it before anyone gets killed.

(He of course doesn’t know the most important murders already happened and that this is about avenging them)

[blindmagdalena]

just because antony starr posts so much about his dogs ... how would homelander feel if vought gave him a dog to raise? you know, to bump up his numbers or something so he couldn't get out of it haha

i'm firmly of the opinion that Homelander doesn't like animals, and animals generally don't like him. he's the kind of guy who poses with horses and gets bit. cats hiss at him. dogs tuck their tails and give him whale-eye.

the thing is he was never raised with animals. he doesn't speak their language any better than he speaks our social language. they stink, they shed, they're lesser. pets are just another thing in this world that he was denied, and instead of letting that be one of many heartaches, he chooses disdain. he can't be hurt by it if he never lets himself want it in the first place.

it's precisely because of this that i really enjoy the idea of a dog being foisted onto him. especially one that inexplicably does like him. an excitable young golden retriever that was born and raised under fluorescent lights, destined for doom in a lab, but some genetic or behavioral incompatibility with the project caused it to be rejected.

he'd be extremely put out. there's something infuriating about the way it wags its tail whenever he so much as looks at it. he wants nothing to do with it, and yet it still follows him absolutely everywhere he goes. it barks and whines when he shuts it out of rooms he's in. it drives him crazy that the thing just won't take the hint.

"You're pathetic, you know that?" he says, practically seething. not even he's completely sure why.

he fucking hates the way it begs. those big dumb eyes not understanding his rejection. how it reflexively performs little tricks over and over and over for any scrap of approval, no matter how many times he tells it to go away. hell, it even starts to get excited about that because at least he's paying attention to it, and god, that's all it wants.

"Would you shut up!"

it's just too much. the whining, the hair, the constant demand. it overstimulates him.

deep down, what he hates is how much of himself he sees when he looks at it. the desperate pleading part of him that barks and sits and fetches when told to. the part of him that always obeys. that always wants to obey.

"What is it gonna take for you to get it? I don't want you!"

Nobody wants you. You're not like them.

he never hurts it. never lashes out physically. he's been told what to do with it and for better or worse, he's going to do it. albeit the most bare minimum.

but then he comes home one day and there's no scratch of paws skittering over wood floors. there's no wagging tail, no excited yelps. his gut churns and for a second he thinks the thing must be dead. instead he finds the pup curled up in its bed by the window, staring vacantly out at the skyline.

maybe there's something worse than seeing what you hate about yourself in something else. maybe it's becoming just like the people who made you the way you are.

after weeks of rejecting the thing, he has the audacity to be hurt that it's given up on him.

who gave it that right? why is this stupid little animal allowed to give up when after years and years and years, Homelander is still Vought's show pony?

"Hey!" he snaps, all anger and hurt and rejection.

the dogs ears pin. it looks at him. and there's just... nothing there. no hope, no expectation. who knew a dog could look depressed? he finally got his point across.

and he hates everything about it.

so he kneels down next to the dog bed, jaw tight. he stares for a long while before he just... gives the dog a pat. he's bad at it, his touch stilted and awkward through the glove, but he sits and he pets the damn dog.

eventually, that little tail thumps lightly against the bed, and he feels something tight in his chest loosen slightly.

"Good boy," he says quietly, a little surprised by how easily the words come to him.

he's always thought of praise and affection as something difficult. something hard won. his life doesn't make sense if it isn't.

the dejection doesn't go away instantly. it's a slow thing, like a wilted flower coming back after too many days without water.

but one day he comes home to the skitter of paws and a flurry of fur, and for the first time, it makes him smile.

[tmbgareok]

Evening Mr. Flansburgh!

I am an aspiring musician! I really want to create my own songs, but since I'm an absolute beginner starting from the ground up, I am soul-crushingly daunted by which skill I should focus on learning first, especially with the amount of resources available to me online (Singing? Lyric writing? Learning a particular instrument? Mixing? Music Theory? etc).

Do you remember what skill(s) you focused on doing first when you were just getting into music, or have any recommendations about the order to do then in?

Much appreciated!

JF: reflecting on it, my experience was extremely organic, slow-evolving and combined so many of my interests and obsessions I am not sure it is necessarily that universal. (For instance I was kinda obsessed with recorded sound before I started writing and recording songs on a tape recorder, which I did for a couple of YEARS before I ever played in front of another human being). So I came to writing songs with some extra skills that actually facilitated my earliest efforts.

An art history professor of mine said "Art is foisting your obsessions on the world" and I think he was right. Another art professor of mine said if you embark on a dozen creative projects, the odds of creating an inspired one greatly increases over simply working on one. I think this is very good advice, and is echoed by a lot of folks writing about the nature of creativity.

If you can't play chords, or move your hands around a keyboard or a fretboard fast enough to play a chord progression, saddle up to a screen with a movie and practice scales so your fingers get stronger. Do it everyday for some time. Then practice toggling back and forth between two chords as quickly as possible. Get a metronome. You know why!

Yes, a song is exactly the confected thing your mentioned in your request--it's a lyric, a melody, a progression, a beat, an evolving musical notion. But those parts are often created at separate times and simply smushed together. It doesn't have to be done in one go, and if the whole enterprise seems odd, or your skill set is underdeveloped in one way or another, assembling a song from the various moving elements might be an easier way to approach it.

(also a couple of days ago someone was asking about singing and I pointed at a few ideas there--essentially taking advantage of these free online vocal warm up videos)

I think you should gather a small clutch of tools--a tape recorder or a DAW that is simple enough to master quickly--there are multitrack recording apps that you can install on your phone that are intuitive. A couple of instruments-a guitar or keyboard, maybe an auto harp.

Find a place to work where you can make noise and not be heard.

I think you should start writing in a physical notebook where you can write down your ideas and revisit them. I wouldn't do it on a computer. It's slow writing, and the screen just creates distractions.

Write a bunch of lyrics without trying to write music: Make one about you but write it like it's about someone else, one about someone else's experience but sing it first person, write one about a group of people. Be positive. Be negative. Be regretful. Be optimistic. Express anger. Be as extreme as you can stand. Experiment in writing in every mode you can think of. Here somebody would write "express your own ideas", but ALL of your ideas will be your own! You are making choices based on musical notions that inspired you, but what comes out of you will almost certainly be different enough, and if it's too close to something else, shimmy it around so it isn't distracting! Write a few chord progressions. (A two chord progression that just sounds interesting going back and forth. A four chord progression. Make a beat, or find a beat online, and write a bass line or just a sequence of single notes on a keyboard or guitar to make a pleasant, evolving line. And see if you can write a "song" or two with a two or four chord verse, and a chorus that is a different chord progression.) Write it down and revisit it! Record it slow. You might want to speed it up later when it's "under your fingers."

Pretty soon you will have all the component of what you need to put lyrics to music. You can also try just singing lyrics over a beat, and then figure out the chords underneath AFTER you have a notion of a melody.

That's enough free advice. Go write some songs!

[vintagerpg]

This is The Mask of Cthulhu (1958), one of two explicitly Cthulhu Mythos collections by Derleth published under his name at Arkham House (the other is the superior, but not by much, The Trail of Cthulhu, 1962).

After all these years, I’m still trying to figure Derleth out. He obviously knew Mythos stories would sell, and Lovecraft Mythos stories in particular (hence the five or so volumes of “posthumous collaborations” Derleth published at Arkham House). But his own Mythos tales feel so half-hearted. They lean into some of Lovecraft’s worst tendencies (particularly litanies of unpronounceable names) and casually misunderstand the source material, as evidenced by the foisting of a weirdly black and white morality onto a cosmology Lovecraft emphatically portrayed as based on meaninglessness. The stories here are hard to get through, honestly, especially when you compare them to Derleth’s really fucking fantastic horror, like “The Lonesome Place” (do yourselves a favor). And yet, our modern conception of the Mythos is largely understood through Derleth’s bored tinkering. Call of Cthulhu, the RPG, certainly owes just as much to Derleth’s half-hearted taxonomies as it does Lovecraft’s raw cosmicism. And these crummy Mythos stories really do overshadow Derleth’s really good work, almost by design. It’s weird.

Anyway, whatever about the stories. This cover by Richard Taylor is perfect in every way. The color, the typography, the big group of happy frog people enjoying a quiet moonlit evening outside. Totally perfect. I love it.

[presidenthades]

Alicent and Daemon.. That's a whole pack of worms

How would they even get along enough to make 4 kids 😭

Daemon swearing up and down to despise Otto and Alicent and then marrying Alicent and fathering and targ bro's and Helaena...

It actually would be really interesting how Daemon would treat the targ bro's and Hel,where he isn't insulting them every two minutes 💀

So here’s how I would make a “Daemon and Alicent get married and have the Targbros + Helaena” fic happen.

They probably get married around the same time Alicent married in canon, maybe because Viserys realized it might not be a great idea to secretly see a 15yo girl in his rooms…and then he foists responsibility onto someone else, i.e. his brother. Instead of banishing Daemon from court, Viserys annuls the Rhea Royce marriage and tells him to marry Alicent to show harmony and friendship with Otto. Viserys marries Laena instead.

Otto is horrified. Daemon is also horrified, until he realizes Otto hates it, and then Daemon decides he’s going to use this marriage to make Otto miserable by winning Alicent over from her father. Alicent might disapprove of some of Daemon’s activities, but we see in the Episode 1 tourney that she does seem to find him attractive at least. She is probably secretly relieved not to become the queen, although marrying Daemon would also cause a lot of friction with Rhaenyra.

I doubt Daemon would be an especially good husband to Alicent, but he would keep up appearances to fuck with Otto. Alicent is probably content to maintain appearances while mostly being left alone to care for her kids. She is less stressed about her kids being murdered, because they are very far down the line of succession, and few people are willing to mess with Daemon’s children.

In my AU, I tweaked the kids’ ages so Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond are only one year apart from each other. Baby #1 is conceived quickly during the honeymoon period. Daemon names him Aegon after his deceased younger brother and the Conqueror. Daemon is happy he has a healthy son so quickly, so this might prolong the honeymoon period.

Baby #2 shows up. It’s a girl, so Daemon lets Alicent name her, as long as the name sounds Targaryen. Baby #3 is another boy, and Daemon just rearranges one letter in his name ➡️ Aemond. So creative.

Rhaenyra gives birth to Jace around the same time Aemond is born, and a few moons later Laena gives birth to Baela and Rhaena. Laena survives and the twins are healthy, but complications render Laena unable to conceive again. Viserys still has no sons, so this cements Rhaenyra’s position as heir. Velaryons are disappointed but ultimately OK with this because Laenor is married to her and already has one legitimate child, so their blood is getting on the throne.

It does not escape Daemon and Otto’s notice that the only Targaryen males of the next generation are Daemon and Alicent’s kids. When Rhaenyra’s next kid is another girl, our favorite good-son and good-father duo reluctantly cooperate to scheme how to get their blood on the throne. The obvious solution is betrothing Aegon and Jace. Alas, Viserys is still in his “keep Daemon away from the throne” era and strongly discourages Rhaenyra and the Velaryons from accepting.

Daemon and Otto are still determined to marry Aegon and Jace for the Iron Throne, and also Aemond and Luce for Driftmark. Then they realize they should have at least one more boy to marry to Baela. By this point, Alicent is no longer starry-eyed about her marriage, but she’s carved out a space for herself at court, and her kids are all safe and healthy. She’s OK with having another child (it helps that Daemon is not a rotting corpse), and so Baby #4 is born. Daemon swaps one letter in his own name ➡️ Daeron.

Rhaenyra gives birth to Joff a few moons later. She has no interest in having any more children, since childbirth is so risky. Her three daughters are the most desirable marriage prospects ever, so there’s a lot of competition, and Viserys is not in favor of the Targbros. Luckily for them, their dad and grandpa 10000% prepared to be their wingmen 😎.

Ooh I almost forgot to answer how Daemon would treat his kids!

He and Aegon bond over a love of partying and roaming around Flea Bottom. Daemon is better than Viserys at keeping Aegon in shape, because Daemon is actually paying attention to his kids and ensuring they are competitive suitors for Rhaenyra’s daughters. Aegon is more inclined to listen to a dad who takes him out to gambling dens and ale houses for father-son time.

Aemond tries very hard to be like his father, which pleases Daemon. They do a lot of sparring together and talk about Valyrian history. Since Laena is still alive, Aemond can’t have Vhagar, but Daemon might take him on a secret outing to Dragonstone so he can claim Vermithor. Even though they are similar on a surface level, father and son probably still argue a lot because their pride gets in the way.

Daeron is very happy and friendly. Daemon has no idea where he gets it from. Daeron is the baby, so Daemon indulges him like everyone else does, but he really starts paying attention after Daeron is old enough to be whacked around the training yard/thrown onto dragonback.

Daemon isn’t sure what to do with Helaena at first, but unlike Viserys, he realizes that her prophecies aren’t just nonsense. Daemon has a healthy dose of skepticism (“dreams didn’t make us conquerors, dragons did”), but he would be intrigued by the idea of his daughter being a dragon dreamer. Considering Helaena’s abilities and the fact she’s Dreamfyre’s rider, Daemon might decide it’s better not to marry her away and just keep her at home. This makes Alicent happy.

[bullet-prooflove]

ATF!Series Part Five: That Kind of Love - David Hale x Reader, Jax Teller x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@hatersaremymotivators@bennykk@kelpies-shed

ATF Series:

Part One: A Rabbit You Don't Want To Chase - Stahl makes an unwelcome return to David's life.

Part Two: Fucked - Stahl fucks up you entire life in pursuit of Jax Teller.

Part Three: Hell or High Water - David visits you in jail.

Part Four: Damage Control - David tries to contain the damage and makes a decision about the future.

Everyone thinks the relationship between you and Jax was just sex but the truth is it wasn’t. There are things that Jax told you throughout your time together that he has never told another person. His suspicions over his father’s death, his dismay at the direction the club is taking under Clay’s leadership, how trapped he feels by the legacy that’s been foisted upon him.

Those three months you’d spent together he had found himself falling in love. You were so different than the other people in his orbit, open, free spirited and you didn’t say a single thing you didn’t mean. That’s the reason he’d had to end it with you, because you were so unapologetically yourself it was detrimental.

When he hears you’re leaving for Santo Padre, he knows you won’t be coming back. The art scene over there is bustling, it’s the perfect place for a budding artist especially one of your calibre. He is surprised that Hale’s going with you. That man hasn’t taken so much as a vacation day since he graduated the academy and how he’s taking an eight week sabbatical so that he can that he can be with you over the summer.

It's just another way that Jax would have failed you because if he were in Hale’s shoes, he wouldn’t have been able to leave Charming, Clay would never have let him.

All of this shit you’ve been through recently, the arrest by Stahl, the vandalism charges, losing your placement in San Franisco, all of that’s on him. You’d had it in your power to put him back in prison, to take down the club and instead you’d set your life on fire. He’d like to think it was because of him but the truth is, he knows you were protecting Hale. If Clay thought you were a threat he would have come after you and Hale, he would have got caught up in the crossfire.

That man would do anything for you, he’d proved it when he used all of his political leverage to keep you out of jail. The promotion Hale had been seeking, it’s gone, he doesn’t have the juice for it anymore but he doesn’t seem to care. His priority is you, it has been since the very beginning.

When Stahl shows up at the club that night to wipe that in Jax’s face, he sees the writing on the wall. This bitch, she’s not going to stop just because the two of you have hightailed it to Santo Padre. She tells him as much as she sits in her car in the Teller Morrow forecourt, the engine still running. She’s going to follow you, try and use the Mayans connection to come at SAMCRO. Those guys may be running legit now but there’s still skeletons in their closet, ones that could lead back to Charming.

That’s the reason he gives Clay when he shoots her at point blank range in the head, he was protecting their business from a possible RICO case but the truth is, he was protecting you because Stahl. That cunt was never going to stop, not until she destroyed you, Hale and the club.

They make it look like it was the IRA. It makes sense to the AFT, she was tracking Galen, and now they’ve found her on the outskirts of town, carved up with the Butcher of Belfast’s signature. When Galen turns back up in Ireland, the investigation is torn from their hands and the ATF withdraw from Charming once again.

The night before you leave for Santo Padre Jax turns up outside your house. He wants to say goodbye, to tell you that you’re safe, that you don’t have to worry about repercussions from Stahl or the club. He barely has time to get off his bike before he sees Hale’s Jeep already pulling into the driveway. The other man doesn’t see him, he’s too busy collecting his bags out the back of his car.

You’re wearing one of Hale’s t-shirts and a pair of his boxers shorts when you open the door. It rankles Jax to see you in another man’s clothes, he remembers the mornings you’d slip from his sheets wearing a shirt of his that barely covered your ass. Hale smiles when he sees you, his fingers threading through your hair as the deputy kisses you with a tenderness he had never exhibited before he met you.

This is what love looks like, Jax understands, the kind of love that he can never give you.

He waits until you’ve gone inside before he starts his bike. He doesn’t want to infringe on your life any more than he already has. You deserve a man who puts you first and Jax has always known it could never be him.

Love David? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[hlficlibrary]

HL Fic Library 🩷 Meet Cute Fics

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

🩷 You Make Lovin' Fun by @homosociallyyours {E, 109k}

Harry is a 28 year old travel writer at a gay magazine who gets the assignment to go a lesbian cruise. She figures it's a nice chance to have some fun in the sun, but she's not expecting much else-- even if her partner and best friend are both encouraging her to hook up with someone while she's there.

When she locks eyes with a gorgeous silver fox from across the room, she starts to think she could've been wrong. There are lots of things standing in the way of anything real happening with her and Louis, but that doesn't stop them from falling for one another. True love isn't always easy, but they do make lovin' fun.

🩷 Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds by @2tiedships2 {M, 38k}

Broadway shows were one of the few things that could keep Louis’ attention for a full two hours without needing to move about. But not tonight.

The alpha next to him was both infuriating him and practically turning him on at the same time. He needed to leave. The alpha, that is. Louis was staying.

Or the one where Louis is a nonverbal omega who has accepted the fact that he will never find an alpha that will treat him as an equal. On the other hand, he’s never met anyone like Harry.

🩷  hymns for restless stars by @turnyourankle {E, 37k}

Every Holiday season Louis has his pupils write down their Christmas wishes for class. He's read almost every wish under the sun, but one girl's wish takes him by surprise. It's for her uncle not to be alone anymore. It's not a wild wish by any means, but Louis had no idea that former teen idol Harry Styles was lonely in the first place.

🩷 From the Start by @allwaswell16 {E, 32k}

Louis has no idea that one act of kindness will cause his life to spiral out of control. But that's what happens when his new friend fake proposes to him and a video of it goes viral.

🩷 On This Winter's Night by @reminiscingintherain {T, 27k}

When a random bloke offers his lap for a seat on a busy bus in December, Louis' Christmas ends up being much different, and far less lonely than he was expecting.

🩷 What Side Of Love Are You On? by @fallinglikethis {T, 25k}

Ever since Harry finally made the decision to come out to his mother as bisexual, she’s been foisting women on him left and right, determined it’s just a phase. But when she puts out a personal ad to find the perfect partner for her son, things really get complicated. Suddenly, Harry’s heart is being pulled in two very different directions. On one side is the sweet, caring woman he has fun with, but doesn’t know his mother chose for him. On the other is a man who seems to be his mother’s worst nightmare, but makes Harry’s heart flutter in ways he’s never felt before. When all is said and done, maybe they’ll all learn that when there is no clear path to go down, the best option is to follow your heart.

A Because I Said So Au with a bisexual twist.

🩷 A Road To Something Better by @taggiecb {E, 25k}

Louis Tomlinson, famous romance novelist, has just had the rug pulled out from under his feet when his boyfriend leaves him without notice. What's the most appropriate response to this? Move a thousand miles away and seclude himself in a tiny lake town, of course. But nothing is as he expects it to be in the very best way, especially not the handsome mayor of McAll, Idaho.

🩷 Naked & Proud by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou {E, 18k}

The town itself is tiny, as evidenced by the ten minutes it’s taken Louis to drive the entire thing. There’s not a single recognisable brand in sight—no Tesco or McDonald’s or even a bloody Starbucks. Lining the streets instead are mom and pop stores with names like ‘Jerry’s Burgers’ and ���The Market Basket’ and…

“'Naked & Proud?'” Louis almost slams on the brakes at the outlandish sign, the name written in a seemingly innocent font, words curved around a large cartoon peach. He can’t help turning into the carpark, easing the car into a spot next to a beat up truck.

He isn’t sure what to make of it. Surely it isn’t a strip joint or sex shop, not with the families and little old ladies going in and out of the establishment. Some kind of nudist hangout, perhaps?

And, oh, God. Did Louis’ mother accidentally send him to live in a nudist colony?

In which Harry runs an organic store, not a nudist colony, and Louis doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

🩷 Single Bells Ring by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense {M, 16k}

A holiday singles event is not where Louis wants to be tonight, but there he is, helping his best friend find love. Just as Louis is settling in, ready to have a terrible time, he meets the fittest alpha he’s ever come across.

🩷 love so soft, you ain’t had nothing softer (series) by @neondiamond {E, 15k}

Louis is an Alpha with an odd obsession for gummy bears. Harry is an Omega who makes friends a little too easily. They meet on the bus.

🩷 Breathe me in, breathe me out by @lunarheslwt {G, 14k}

Louis was just passing the autumn collection, when an unfamiliar but addicting scent tickled his nose. Cinnamon. He turned as he realised something. He felt calm. Relaxed. The permanent agitation that he carried was melting away the more he breathed in the scent, as faint as it was. Consumed by the crazed desire to seek out the specific candle, Louis began picking up candles and sniffing them madly, when a deep voice piped up, startling him. “Uh, sir, we don’t allow candle fetishists in here.” Louis froze mid sniff in mortification. Willing himself to not blush, he turned, a retort at the tip of his tongue. Except, it died in his throat as he took in the man before him. “I uh,” Louis blurted out accidentally, temporarily rendered speechless by the frankly unfairly beautiful man before him. Only at the man’s grin widening did he regain his wits. “You’re gonna kink shame me?��

Or, Louis is drawn into a quaint candle shop in his desire to find ways to soothe himself while struggling with touch depri. It takes him two more run-ins and with the lovely alpha sales assistant, and a drop, to figure out the source of the scent that imprints upon him and calms his omega. Idiots to lovers

🩷 Far Afield by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird {T, 11k}

Harry Styles is a witch who owns the best flower shop in Manchester. Lottie Tomlinson is planning her wedding, and brings her brother along to her first appointment. Both men have been having a bad day and sparks fly.

🩷 The Art of the Giants by asphodelknox / @iamasphodelknox {G, 10k}

Louis is dancing away from an old relationship when he meets Harry at a bookstore in the busy streets of Seattle. Harry is just a bookstore owner hoping his handsome weekly visitor could become something more.

🩷 All Shook Up by @littleroverlouis {T, 9k}

Memphis, Tennessee is looking to crown the Ultimate Elvis Tribute artist. A majority of the contestants are content to shake their hips on stage, but singer-songwriter Harry is taking it more seriously. He is confident his voice and charisma will send him straight through to the finals.

He is already polishing his crown before even setting foot on stage, until he meets a fellow competitor. Louis is talented, charming, and a natural born performer. He commands the stage— and Harry's attention.

Harry has his eye on the prize and the Ultimate title, but what happens when someone becomes the ultimate prize?

🩷 The Way to My Heart by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13 {T, 6k}

Louis' having a bit of a dry spell, until he bumps into an attractive alpha in the supermarket and leaves with his number. It was a hard bump. Very... muscular.

The only problem is, said alpha asks Louis to cook for him - which is not exactly his skill set.

🩷 Only Reason by @letsjustsee {NR, 5k}

“We are so lucky to have with us one of the leading experts on beekeeping in the modern age, Dr. Louis Draper.” No. No, no, no… “I know I speak for many of us when I say that this man’s books have guided our practice, or helped us get started,” Harry continued, and Louis watched as the crowd nodded their heads in agreement. Oh shit. No. What? No. But then Harry was gesturing towards him, saying “Dr. Draper?” into the microphone, the crowd was applauding, and Louis found himself walking up the stairs to the stage.

Or, Louis is most definitely smitten with Harry from the second he sees him, but he is also most definitely not the world's foremost expert on beekeeping. He decides to roll with it anyway.

🩷 Unplant by @hellolovers13 {M, 4k}

Please do not disturb my plant She needs 2 hours of sunlight a day and I live in a sunless flat I’ll be back to collect her soon Thank you and stay well.

or Louis should've looked where he was going, then he wouldn't have to desperately try to save a little flower now.

🩷 Validation by @lululawrence {NR, 3k}

“Hey, how are you?” Harry asked. He’d found that sometimes just a smile and a kind face was all that was needed to brighten someone’s day.

“Oh, uhm. I’m alright. Can you validate me?”

Harry chuckled inwardly, but decided to go ahead and take him literally.

Or the one where Harry worked in a parking garage and he totally didn’t mean for this, the whole validation of people as well as their parking tickets, to become a thing. It just kinda...did.

🩷 more than that by @nouies {NR, 3k}

Harry looks for the best bread in France. He finds Louis.

🩷 an honest mistake by @disgruntledkittenface {NR, 2k}

“You look different when you’re not covered in come,” he blurts out, immediately regretting each and every life choice that has led to this exact moment. Elevator Guy is going to hate him.

Louis has ridden the elevator with his neighbor all week. The first time they speak, there’s a misunderstanding.

[linksthoughtbrambles]

HUMMMMMM

What about Links to Zelda’s point of view of pre relationship after calamity BOTW, where everybody and their brother (AND SISTER) is in love with Zelda and hits on her, she’s oblivious of course because, yknow super in love with Link.

Every place they travel to post calamity, poor links cheeks STAY clenched.

Thanks for the prompt, @raziasark! I have been very slow, so I decided to post this one in installments. This first one is about 1100 words. I hope you enjoy the beginning and I'll try to be less slow 😂

Thanks @newtsnaturethings for bouncing ideas back and forth with me!

---

The Princess Vibe

At first, Link didn’t notice. He had a lot to deal with, and he was disoriented. Who could blame him? He’d just shot a giant purple boar on magenta-fire with magical golden arrows which somehow emerged from his soul while riding Geranium (who had somehow materialized in Hyrule field despite Link knowing for a fact when he last left him, he was happily munching hay at Riverside Stable).

Zelda’s arms around him were even more disorienting.

“Thank you, Link. Thank you,” she said, over and over like someone still half-dreaming, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

He held her firm, but so, so careful—she deserved every ounce of support he had in him, but she was his Princess, half-remembered and half an ethereal vision from his life before. Was it real? Was she real? Did he love her? He thought he did, but nowhere in all those glimpses of his past life had he said or done anything about it.

He could be imagining things, especially if they were in the past.

His head could be coping with all that secondhand drama.

Past-him might’ve just been doing his duty.

Past-her might’ve expected him to do his duty, too, and that was it.

Now-her might be glad he finally finished his duty, but that’s all.

Zelda shook like a dry, crackling leaf against him.

Link stroked her hair without thinking. He winced, waiting for an objection, but she just kept thanking him. He swallowed the taste of malice-fire, acrid and sulfurous in his dry throat.

She was free for the first time in a hundred years. She deserved that freedom. He wouldn’t foist his own feelings on her.

Later, he found himself wishing everyone else would see it that way.

--

They arrived, filthy and exhausted, at Riverside Stable.

“Huh?!” Ember said, his mouth agape as they approached on the unmistakable giant horse. “When’d you take him out?”

“Snuck him out like a thief in the night, eh?!” Gotter said, squinting at Link. “Why didn’t you ask us like normal?”

Zelda’d been half-dozing against him in the saddle, but her head rose at that. “Indeed not. I teleported him.”

“You-“

“What?!”

“I apologize for any inconvenience,” she said.

They stared at her.

As Link dealt with Ember and the logistics of re-boarding the horse, Gotter seemed unable to stop staring at Zelda, who’d sunk onto a stool to rest.

“Eh- do you- teleport often?” the portly stablehand asked in a strange tone of voice.

“Only recently,” Zelda replied.

“O- oh. I see, so- eh-“ Gotter wrung his hands and took a step closer to her. “What kind of things have you- tried?”

“Only Link and that horse.”

“Oh! You can teleport people?!”

“Not anymore,” she said.

“Eh? Why not?”

“I suppose it must be due to my renewed corporeality.”

Gotter scratched his head with a befuddled squint.

Link finished exchanging rupees just in time to see Zelda listing sideways. He rushed over, thinking to scoop her up, but she hugged his leg instead.

“Thank you,” she said.

He blinked. “You’re welcome.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up to see a sort of intense vacancy on Gotter’s face, totally fixed on Zelda.

Link hadn’t planned on staying there overnight anyway, but it gave him the creeps. He whipped out the Sheikah Slate. “Ready?” He asked.

Her face turned up, her eyes glazed and smeared face pale. “For what?”

“Let’s get you somewhere to rest.”

“Oh! Oh, there are beds here!” Gotter said.

Zelda started pulling herself up with Link’s thigh as anchorage. He helped her. Gotter reached out a hand, then pulled it back with an odd little…

Giggle?

“Oh- you have it, haha,” Gotter said.

Link had enough of the weirdness. “Ready?” he asked again as her arms wrapped around his neck. At her nod, he reached around her shoulders and tapped the icon for the Myahm Agana Shrine.

He adored her little gasp by his ear as the blue energy shivered through them. It was lucky, really—he could pass his own shiver off as that, instead.

--

They spent days just recuperating.

Zelda slumped onto a seat at his table as soon as they walked in, but he didn’t let her stay there. He carried her to his bed, deposited her there, and took her sandals off for her—she was already asleep.

He wrapped the comforter around her, grabbed a bedroll, and laid it out on the floor beside her. (This, it turned out, was unwise, since she stepped directly on his bladder about two hours later when she awakened to empty her own).

That incident aside, they each slept the rest of the night and morning away. Link awakened to the gentle pat of Zelda’s fingers on his cheek, and he turned to find her hanging partway off the bed to reach him.

“Where do you get your drinking water?” she asked.

Link was up like a shot and trotting to the well around back for her. He drew three hot baths that day, too—two for Zelda and one for him.

Time passed in a complete haze while they got used to being rested, clean, fed, and safe again. Link kept startling with this sudden feeling he’d forgotten to do something important—a false sense of urgency, leftover signals rattling around his nervous system (except on that first day, after Zelda’s first bath, when he realized with horror the only women’s clothing he had was his vai outfit, and he would feel like a monumental ass if he offered her that, so he offered his typical day clothes instead and that was worse—the way she looked coming out of the bathhouse with his undershirt and—shorts?!).

“Oh, uh,” he'd said with a nervous tremor in his voice. “Yeah, so those are undershorts, the pants are-“

“Too tight, I’m afraid,” she’d said with a furious blush (Link felt awful for embarrassing her), “around my- ah- posterior.”

Link had started to sweat as he feverishly searched his brain for the meaning of the word “posterior," which he knew he knew when his internal monologue wasn't screaming.

“Perhaps,” she’d said, “you could spare those Sheikah tights instead? They ought to stretch.”

“Oh! Sure,” he’d said, extremely happy for the excuse to escape any potential revelation of his temporarily-depleted vocabulary.

He later had a small moment of enlightened panic when he realized how she must’ve known about his tights (“every step” of his journey? Every single one?!).

There were quite a few other small panic attacks involved in not looking at all, not one little bit, at how those tights fit her. Eyes up, straight out at all times, absolutely no looking anywhere below neck-level at Zelda. None.

But apart from those things, his jumpiness was nothing but leftovers.

At first.

---

[To be continued! Not sure how long this will be, but clearly a multi-installment fic!]

[milliesfishes]

Could you please do shy!reader with chronic pain x Billy, and she's so shy and hates asking for help to do anything, especially simple things?

౨ৎ꣑ৎyou have chronic pain and billy helps you౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Your pains were his pains. Billy reminded you of that over and over.

“You’re my girl, ‘n I take care ‘f what’s mine,” he whispered softly into your hair one night. “Lemme ease your burdens.”

Billy knew you suffered from a pain that plagued you at all months, flaring up randomly, whenever you’d been working too hard or stressed.

Honestly, you probably wouldn’t have told him of your ailment had it not been for a particularly painful night when you’d wept in his arms, inconsolable over your aches and pains. He’d been comforting, but confused at the cause. You’d been fine earlier. That was when you confessed your troubles, told him you’d been dealing with it for most of your life.

That same night he promised he’d always be there to comfort you. And he was. Whenever you told him.

Truthfully, you felt a significant amount of guilt over it. This was something he never signed up for when he started loving you. You didn’t want to be a burden.

So most times you kept it quiet. And he thought you were doing better. He even commented on it a couple of times, both incidentally during a flare up, saying he was “happy his girl was feelin’ so good lately”.

You were a good actress, due to the nature of your upbringing. The oldest of five, it had been hard for you to see yourself as deserving of anything good unless you worked for it. Your problems were yours. They were not to be foisted upon anyone else.

It felt silly to burden the one you loved with such things. Billy was kind and good and caring. But his past was also heavy, the nature of his work hard. You had no desire to add to his plate of worries, which already included you. He was a protector, and you couldn’t change that. You could control this.

Even though you hid things well, he knew you inside and out, and he could always tell when something wasn’t quite right. So of course he’d ask. And you came close to telling him a few times. The thing that stopped you was always that look in his eyes, that blatant exhaustion from the day’s events.

It was easier on your conscience to wear a smile and kiss his cheek and say you were fine. It worked like a charm until one day.

You’d been out for most of the morning and into the afternoon in town running errands. And then when you came home there were a multitude of chores waiting for you. To top it off, your lower back and knees had been killing you all day, the most common places for you to get pain.

Still, you worked through it, deciding to tough it out instead of resting. But it seemed nothing would go your way.

Chores took longer than you’d expected due to your aches, and when you finally finished you were sniffling, trying not to cry from how much it was hurting. Still you were determined to pull through. The day isn’t over. The day isn’t over.

When you finally reached the house, you breathed a sigh of relief, back throbbing, until you felt something in your bloomers. Since you were alone, you bunched up your skirt and pulled them down, even though you already knew what it was.

A little dot of red. Your monthly had decided to come.

That was the final straw. You dropped your skirts and sank to your knees and burst into tears, burying your face in your hands and sobbing, trying to erase this horrible day.

You loathed yourself in that moment, resented your body. Why did it always make things worse for you? Why couldn’t it just function normally like everyone else’s? The wish only mounted your frustrations, sending a fresh wave of tears down your cheeks.

Apparently the door had opened but you hadn’t heard it, because suddenly you felt a hand on your shoulder and another at your opposite arm. Then a familiar, comforting voice was whispering, “Ohh, sweetie, baby, what happened?”

Immediately you turned into his body, holding him tight. You were too exhausted to be strong right now.

“Today’s been awful,” you choked through your crying, and he cooed, soothing a hand through your hair and holding the back of your head.

“Ya hurtin’ sweet girl?” Billy mumbled, holding you close. You were too desolate to offer anything but a pitiful nod.

“Mmkay, alright honey,” he murmured, bringing you to stand with him. Before you could start to walk, he scooped you up, cradling you against his chest and walking swiftly to the bedroom.

Even though you’d only let him see you so vulnerable a handful of times, Billy still knew the drill.

You admitted tearily that you were on your monthly as well, and he nodded, disappearing into the bathroom and coming back with a fresh rag in his hand, digging through a drawer for a new pair of bloomers.

He brought them to you shamelessly, helping you get your dress and shoes off, and bunching up your chemise to pull the stained bloomers off. Tenderly he replaced them with fresh ones, stuffing the rag in to catch your womanly blood.

When that was over he squeezed your hands, noting the look of pain across your face. “Want one of my shirts, honey?” Your eyes lightened and he gave a slight smile, getting up and grabbing your favorite- a button down the same blue as his eyes.

You discarded your chemise, replacing it with the shirt, only fastening one button. It was much too big, but you felt comforted being surrounded by his scent, something that was so undoubtably his.

Billy kicked off his boots and helped you get under the covers of the bed, smiling softly when you reached out for him. He settled in with you, keeping you on your tummy so he could rub your back soothingly. “M’ poor baby,” he mumbled, stroking your spine. “Don’t deserve one bit ‘f this. My sweet angel.”

You sniffled, one of your legs bending slightly. “It’s been hurting so bad all day.”

“Aww, sweet girl,” he leaned forward and kissed your head, lying on his own stomach so he could hold you better, hand slipping under the hem of your (his) shirt so he could settle a warm palm at the core of the pain. “Hasn’t happened in awhile, huh?”

You didn’t respond, more guilt building up at the fact that you’d been lying. There wasn’t a fig of energy left in you to keep it up. “It has.”

His motions stopped briefly. “Whatcha mean, baby?”

You shifted on your side so you could see him. “I haven’t been telling you-“

Whatever you’d been about to say was cut off by him pulling you into his chest, burying his nose in your hair. “Ohh, baby. ‘M so sorry. ‘M so sorry you felt like ya had to do it all by yourself.”

Now your tears had returned, and you pressed your face into his chest. “I didn’t wanna worry you.”

“That’s my job, darlin’,” he muttered. “Worry boutcha anyways. Don’t need ya to be in pain while I’m doin’ it.” Billy pulled back slightly, giving you a fond but firm look. “Don’t go hiding’ it from me no more. I can’t have my girl hurtin’ so bad all by herself.”

The look in his eyes was so sweet and sincere that you nodded, squeezing his hand. Truly in your life you’d never had anybody look at you like that. Never had somebody love you so unconditionally. Billy was selfless to his very core.

He pressed a few gentle kisses to your face, sealing his promise to always look after you. Pulling back for a second, he said, “Can I get you anythin’ my love? Brandy? Maybe some tea?”

Your tears dried up as you giggled at the first suggestion. “Only you would offer brandy.”

Billy grinned, stroking your hair. “‘M a cowboy, honey. The drink’s the only cure-all remedy we know.” He kissed your forehead. “Tea then?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, and he gently untangled himself from you, pecking the part in your hair and telling you he’d be back in a minute.

When he came back with a steaming mug of chamomile you nearly cried again. And you did cry when he rubbed your back, whispering how strong you were, how his baby was sweeter than candy and didn’t deserve such awful things to happen.

Somehow he eased you to sleep that night, swaddled in his arms and his shirt, and all you could think of was how much you loved Billy, and how wonderful it was to be loved by him.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

part of my problem is that I read the entire Left Behind series when I was like, 12, and so even as an adult who realizes that there was very little theologically sound in those books, whenever there's especially bad natural disaster like the hurricanes and wildfires this season, it makes me freaked out because I'm like wait no Jesus don't come back quite yet I want to persist in my earthly life for a bit longer I want to figure it out a little better in this world and come to terms with eternity 😭 the funniest part is that this "bad natural disasters = end of the world and Jesus' second coming" isn't a thing that my church or parents foisted on me. I saw those books on one too many thrift store shelves and decided they looked cool all on my own 😭 I had to convince my parents to let me read them 😭

[echo-bleu]

Noldor hair headcanons (1/4)

With AO3 down, it seems like a good time for some good old tumblr bullet-point pseudo-fic (I'll post it on AO3 eventually).

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3

Note: Inspiration for some parts of this came from @mynameisjessejk's wonderful Otter Mayhem series which you should go read when it's possible again.

The Noldor wear their hair in elaborate braids.

Hairstyle is a status thing, so noble Noldor have the most complex styles. They’re meant to show off craft, so there’s a lot of jewellery and gemstones involved, and the nobles’ hairstyles purposefully can’t be self-braided.

But touching hair is a very intimate thing and it’s never done by servants, always by family (spouse, siblings, parents or children). It’s a show of love and respect, if someone has a particularly complex hairstyle it’s supposed to mean that they’re well-loved.

Now Finwë as the king must have the most complex hairstyle of all. Míriel was of course very good at it, she’d weave and sew beads into his hair every morning, making each hairstyle a work of art.

When she fades, Fëanor is still really young, and he has to learn real quick to do his father’s hair, which he of course takes as a challenge. He starts making all of Finwë’s hair jewellery himself, he experiments with dozens of braiding styles. In the early months/years of their grief Finwë finds a lot of comfort in having his hair braided and they’ll both spend entire days beside Míriel’s body, with Fëanor braiding his father’s hair over and over.

Then Indis comes along, and hair braiding is traditionally the spouse’s work. It’s very hard for Fëanor not to feel like he’s been replaced (and not just his mother), especially since Indis has zero interest in it and Finwë’s hairstyles grow markedly simpler. Which is also not great for his reputation.

Nerdanel and Fëanor, once they marry, are extremely competitive and keep trying to outdo each other’s braids. It’s highly entertaining to outsiders, especially since it’s the only remnant of the Crown Prince’s more playful side. When little Maitimo comes out with red hair like Nerdanel’s, Fëanor bitches about having to make even more copper jewellery (he’s secretly overjoyed because he loves Nerdanel’s hair).

Fëanor is also careful to always have better braids than his half brothers, though Findis starts braiding Fingolfin and Finarfin’s hair as soon as she’s old enough, and she’s pretty good at it, unlike Indis.

Anairë’s hair texture is very different from anyone Fingolfin knows. He’s never been that into hair before, but he learns to do her braids with his tongue poking out. Once she figures out what to do with straight hair, she braids his into brand new styles that Fëanor is terribly jealous of.

Fingon has extremely thick kinky hair that takes a ridiculously long time to braid, and he’s very proud of it, thank you very much.

Thankfully for Fingolfin and Anairë, none of their other children have hair quite as thick.

Eärwen is Teleri and keeps her hair mostly loose. She wants none of that nonsense, especially not gems in her hair, come on. If she puts anything in her hair it’s gonna be pearls. She’ll do Finarfin’s hair if he really insists on it but if he wants the children to follow Noldor rites so much, he’ll have to take care of it himself. (He’s pretty good at it, actually.)

Maedhros and Fingon start doing each other’s hair in secret before Fëanor’s exile.

Celegorm switches from Noldor style to hunting braids when he joins Oromë’s hunt. They’re more practical and involve a lot less metal.

People have whole legends about how great it must be to braid Artanis’s hair, but it’s actually really fine and fragile and a nightmare. She insists that the only one who can do it right is Finrod. He tries to foist that chore on others a lot.

Aredhel and Curufin bond over hating to have their hair touched (sensory issues). Eventually they start doing each other’s hair because they know what to avoid.

Fëanor asking Galadriel for her hair is an Actual Taboo given that they’re not close (by the time Gimli asks, Galadriel has adopted Sindarin hair practices, but it’s also a fuck-you to Fëanor that she accepts).

At Losgar, (lightly-toasted) Amrod has part of his hair burned off. He is, after that, the very first elf to sport a side-cut, as hair won’t grow back over the scars. He never let anyone but his twin do his hair again.

Crossing the Helcaraxë, Fingolfin’s people try to keep up with tradition, but hair-braiding is hard when your fingers are constantly frozen stiff.

Still, Fingon insists on doing his father’s hair every day, even when he nearly loses fingers to frostbite.

He refuses to let anyone do the same for him, though, and he’s the first to start braiding his own hair. That’s when he starts braiding in golden ribbons, because they’re easier to do than beads, and frozen metal can burn skin.

Gradually they move away from long flowing braids and start making up crown-braid styles that protect their ears. As they progress, braiding becomes less and less about status and more and more practical.

Turgon and Elenwë (who adopted the Noldor style upon marrying) still keep to the tradition and braid each other’s hair and Idril’s right up until Elenwë dies. After that Turgon doesn’t let anyone touch his hair again until Gondolin (and then only Idril).

Finrod and Galadriel do each other’s hair. Galadriel’s fine, brittle hair suffers a lot in the cold, and for a long time she’s afraid that it will never go back to its former glory. It does eventually, but it takes decades.

In Beleriand, Maglor’s main contribution as King Regent is the invention of Mourning Braids (and also a slightly unhealthy number of laments).

Let’s be honest, he’s wearing them more for Maedhros than for Fëanor or Finwë, even though Maedhros is demonstrably still alive.

(No one thinks that will last.)

(Maglor can’t go save his brother and the guilt is staggering.)

(For some reason, Curufin is the one who does Maglor’s impossibly complex Kingly Mourning Braids.)

Then Helcaraxë Team arrives with their frozen fingers and their crown braids and It’s A Mess, Actually.

The Sun has just risen and Fingon’s golden ribbons are really blinding, no one can even look at him.

Listen, they haven’t had proper light in about forty years, they’re really light-sensitive now.

Everyone argues, Fingon makes at least two attempts to sneak out to Thangorodrim but he’s caught because he’s just way too shiny.

Third time’s the charm.

The only reason Maedhros doesn’t see him before he hears him is that he’s even more light-sensitive and just keeps his eyes closed. Also he’s tired. So very tired.

In Angband, Sauron took great pleasure in hacking Maedhros’s hair off and messing with it. When he’s rescued, what has regrown is a tangled, discoloured mess and they have to cut it all off.

Fingon stays with Maedhros a lot throughout his (physical) recovery, which in my mind takes at least the 55 years between his rescue and Dagor Aglareb, and he braids Maedhros’s hair every day, even at the start when it’s barely past his ear. Eventually Maedhros stops fighting and crying when someone touches his hair.

Mostly.

Fingon does tone down the golden ribbons eventually. Mostly because he runs out of Valinorian gold and has to do with Beleriand gold, which just isn’t the same.

To be continued.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Rafal headcanons (not all have a basis in canon):

He doesn't and will never get hype culture much to Rhian's chagrin.

He probably has some item, like an article of clothing, such as socks, that he buys duplicates of, so he doesn't have to waste thought and energy on them everyday.

He likes olives, especially the sour ones, in some of his sandwiches.

He suffers from "irony poisoning" by a certain stage in life.

One of the worst things in the world to him is writing Thank You cards, usually to people like alumni who send generous donations. He always foists the task off on Rhian because he can’t bring himself to sound sincere or fawn over anything. Also, it irrationally humiliates him to have to thank someone for something in person, even if it's something small. He doesn't know why he feels that way, and doesn’t care enough to find out. It’s an unplaceable, inexplicable feeling, and it’s just there.

On the converse, Rhian lets him respond to the letters of complaint and petitions for reform. He vetoes almost everything.

He likes to manipulate the sky and weather patterns, particularly lightning, to look more foreboding, as if nature were his personal backdrop. He secretly lives for drama as long as it stays a spectator sport for him. (This one might be canon going by the Snow Ball edict scene in Rise, but it's sort of unconfirmed.)

If he ever appreciated sentimental elements in the tales (unlikely), he’d never tell anyone. And he would only play those things out in his head where there would be no record of them.

In his own thoughts, or if he were a writer, of course he’d write about taboo subjects, but the one obvious thing he intentionally wouldn’t write about would be love (or specifically romantic love). He’d probably write around love. He’d write the negative space that makes love’s presence known, but somehow not engage with it directly, eye to eye, and instead define it by what’s not present in his work.

He’d avoid thinking or writing about the human condition, even if all writers, by default, end up writing about human condition in some shape or form, by hazard of being a human. He’s immortal and he’d view himself as above human and above humanity as a sympathetic trait. Simple as that. (He’d be in denial, essentially.)

And yet, he’d write about it. Incidentally. The same way he’d write around love—somehow managing to snare everything he’d circumvent into his works while he circumvents it.

His critics and fans would have a field day, trying to parse out what might have been intentional or not on his part.

For his part, he’d never give interviews, and would let his works stand for themselves, alone, as art, as they’re meant to be read: gone into blind. He hates it when educators flatten his works, so they can be consumed by a broader, apathetic (in his eyes) audience. He hates abridged versions.

He even hates abridged versions of the tales the Storian writes, and he unconsciously spurns the laymen of the Woods.

Even if he wouldn't write about love, a subtle, recurring theme of his would be sacrifice. Sacrifice for personal gain and ambition, or whatever else there is that he’d value, that wasn’t always in his hands, that didn’t always drop into his hands immediately, if he couldn’t orchestrate it.

He wouldn’t admit to valuing Rhian, but well… that’s one other “thing” he keeps like an object to be owned. It’s a form of "love." And to him, sacrifice is a form of "love" or devotion, because you let go of everything else for the one gain, in pursuit of it.

He often thinks along the lines of “all-or-nothing," "the thought doesn't count," and “actions, not thought, not words.”

If he wrote, lectured, or thought around love, he'd also leave a gap for his students or readers to fill in for themselves.

And it's just as well that he probably would only ever write the povs of hard-boiled figures like detectives, or the solvers and perpetrators of crime that would never fall prey to emotional appeals. He can’t stand putting himself in the shoes of the “fool” or the duped, even in an imaginary world, even in the safety of his head—because what if it bled into his real life? He's not superstitious, but what if, one day, he were played for a fool? Never. He would never allow that.

And it makes sense really, as, ironically, writing these figures, the least emotionally vulnerable characters for an audience or outlining them on the blackboard for his students when discussing a tale is probably at once the most impersonal route and also the most revealing. To his students, those behind-the-scenes decisions are themselves telling in some way.

It’s all just up for interpretation—because, what would he be if he didn’t leave gaps and holes in his character? The chinks in his armor are left there for others to do the work for him because he’s impressively lazy and apathetic about "introducing” himself, and has the good fortune of having a job that doesn’t require introductions to new faces, aside from the students he doesn’t truly need to know by heart in order to teach. They can just fill in the gaps however much they want, ideally or relationally and so on.

And he’s content to leave them with a false image of himself because even that’s less unnerving and disconcerting as people being too close for comfort, and knowing too much of what he can no longer moderate in the privacy of their own minds. You can’t unknow something or someone after all.

He’s afraid of the "mortifying ordeal of being known" in a less conventional way. To an extent, humanity is fear-driven deep down. Thus, he doesn’t want to give anyone a window into his psyche—lest he be taken advantage of, so he contents himself with not being known at all, feeding into his paranoia that the world is out to get him.

Why give it more ammo? He should deprive the world of anything it could use against him. Maybe he has a fear of being mocked for however he really is? Though, if there is a facade (I mean, he is a public figure), it's not actually that far removed from whatever he doesn't reveal anyway.

Perhaps, he would respond to mockery internally the way he did at his own Nevers expressing their hatred of him with a brief, sharp, jabbing twinge of hurt, at the disapproval he largely never cares about, but that under the right conditions, he may indeed care about.

Now, he's no longer in a position to be mocked, but perhaps, before becoming School Master, he used to tell others harshly: "Do. Not. MOCK. Me." whenever they would mirror him because he did not think as far as to realize that emotional reciprocation was two-sided, especially with Evers and their behaviors. Yet, he mocks Rhian, Evers, pirates, and everything else in sight. Nothing is immune from being subject to his irreverence, and he is both hypocritical and hyper-critical.