#four poems have been written

[questionably-audhd-oracle]

I am so fucking desperate for this beautiful boy that I’m crocheting him a bouquet of his favorite flower (cherry blossoms) to give to him on the first night of the play that he got a lead role in (not sure if I’ll have to make it a flower crown because they are limp) and I wear cherry blossom perfume as a last ditch effort to subconsciously sway his opinion of me

[onyxhellebore]

x

[neverendingford]

.

[obsessedwhyyes]

Chasing Lightning

Summary: You've spent all day teasing, tempting, taunting - you've really tested Astarion's patience this time. But pushing his boundaries is your favourite past time. Now, here you are, over his knee, about to receive the punishment you longed for, all according to your devious plan. Not that you'd ever admit it, of course.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2003 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader Content: Shameless smut, bratty reader, Dom!Astarion, spanking, light BDSM elements, rough sex, PiV.

Gif by silverformymonsters on Tumblr!

A/N: This, uh... Yeah, no, this is just shameless smut. I am so sorry. Behold, my spanking fic, written in a moment of madness.

You lay over his knee, eager, anticipating - a willing sacrifice on the altar of his desires. Each trail of his fingertips across the bare skin of your backside is a promise of what is to come.

You deserve this, you think to yourself. All your teasing, all your temptations. The way you pressed yourself against him when no one was looking, your face a pretty picture of faux innocence; the way you swayed your hips as you sauntered ahead of him, glancing back to meet his eyes, knowing they would be heavy with that predatorial hunger which ignites the flames of arousal deep in your belly. All part of your plan, which he is more than willing to oblige.

You hear Astarion’s voice, dark and dripping with honey.

“I propose a game, darling. A test of your intuition, shall we say?” You hear the wicked smile in his voice and it sends shivers of sweet anticipation coursing through your body. “I'll think of a number, one through ten, and you'll have to guess it based on how hard I spank you. Guess wrong, and I'll spank you again - the same strength - until you guess correctly. Understand?”

“Yes,” you breathe, wilfully yielding to him . There’s an intoxicating power in surrender. Your submission is a choice, freely given, and that makes it all the more potent.

In yielding, you become more. More alive, more aware, more you than you've ever been. The world narrows to the point of contact where his hand meets your skin. You are the ocean, and Astarion the moon, pulling you into new shapes with the inexorable force of the tide.

“Very good,” he purrs. His thumb rubs the gentlest of circles on your wrists as he binds them behind you with his spare hand. “Of course, if it becomes too much, just say the word. I can be merciful… on occasion.”

The game begins, a dance of unseen touches and breathless anticipations. Astarion’s hand hovers above you, its presence like the charge before a lightning strike.

“Let’s start with a simple one, shall we?”

His touch against your bare arse is a whisper at first, cool fingertips ghosting across your skin. More caress than slap. You shiver, every nerve alight with anticipation.

“One,” you murmur, more exhale than voice.

Astarion’s chuckle vibrates through you, a low rumble that you feel more than hear as you bury your face into the fabric of his shirt. “Oh, my dear. We’re barely getting started.”

The next strike lands with purpose - a sharp, precise sensation that blooms across your skin. It’s not quite pain, not quite pleasure, but something exquisitely in between that draws a gasp from your lips.

“Four?” you venture.

“Warm, but not quite.”

He strikes - the same strength once more, as promised.

“Three!” you gasp, revelation and pleasure mingling in your voice.

“Good girl,” Astarion praises and gods, how those words affect you. They sink into your skin, sweeter than honey, headier than wine. You crave his approval like air, each word of praise stoking the flames of your arousal higher.

The dance continues, each strike a new verse in this poem written on your skin.

Smack.

Five is a starburst of sensation. You feel this once, twice, three times until you finally guess correctly.

Smack.

Seven lands with the force of a thunderclap, reverberating through your body and leaving you trembling in its wake.

Smack.

Nine leaves you gasping, teetering on the knife-edge between pleasure and pain. The sting melts into a deep, throbbing warmth that pulses in time with your racing heart.

With each strike, each caress, the heat builds, a delicious tension coiling tighter in your core.

Four. Two. Six. Six again. Eight.

You find yourself arching slightly into his touch, eager for more, your body's reactions beyond your control.

Then, finally, comes ten.

It cracks across your flesh like lightning splitting the night sky, a white-hot streak of sensation that sears itself into your very soul. For a moment, the world whites out, every nerve ending alight with electric sensation. You cry out as the sensations overwhelm you, the number torn from your lips. The pain is exquisite, pushing you to the very limits of your endurance.

In the aftermath, you float in a sea of endorphins, your body humming with the echoes of Astarion's touch. Each point of contact throbs in time with your racing heart, a map of exquisite sensation etched onto your inflamed skin.

His cool hand soothes over the heated skin. The contrast sends fresh shivers through you, and you moan gently in response, despite yourself. Your skin is hypersensitive, your mind a mess of exhilaration and desire, eager for more, more, more.

Through the haze of lust, Astarion's voice chimes clear. “My, my. Such enthusiasm,” he purrs. “Tell me, darling, did you spend all day dreaming of this? Because I certainly did… in excruciating detail.”

You turn on his lap to look up into his eyes, suppressing a smile. “Who, me? I would never!”

Astarion's eyebrow arches, smirking at your obvious lie. “Is that so? So the way you rubbed yourself against me all morning like a worg in heat was just a coincidence, was it?”

You can't help but giggle at his accusation, which only seems to fuel his amusement.

“Do you have any idea how long you left me aching today?”

“I'm sorry,” you pout.

“Sorry who?”

“I’m sorry, Astarion.”

You don't mean it. And he knows it.

You could be good - a sweet, obedient little thing. But to be bad - to challenge him, to tease him, to test his patience until he finally brings you to heel - why, that's just so much more fun.

“That’s better,” he coos, his voice and his praise caressing you like silk along your skin as he gazes back at you, expression equal parts warmth and something much darker - hungrier - beneath. “Cheeky little pup."

He pauses, and the air becomes heavy with anticipation.

“But I'm not done with you yet.”

He rises and shifts you in a blur of motion, bending you over the edge of the bed, leaving your face buried in the soft sheets. Suddenly, you're exposed to him, your arousal on full display, and you feel the air against your hypersensitive flesh. Yet, in this moment, there is no place you would rather be than at his mercy. You are eager, dripping with expectation.

In the midst of your lustful haze, you hear the rustling of clothes - the familiar sound of his trousers unlaced. It sends your imagination soaring. Your core aches with what is to come.

But Astarion, the cruel man he is, doesn't enter you. Not yet.

Instead, you feel the head of his cock slide maddeningly, agonisingly slowly up the slit of you. You feel him become slick with your arousal as he slides down, and back up your slit once more, just barely skimming your clit, which throbs desperately with need. Such delicate, teasing touches - enough to drive you to madness.

“Do you want it?” He purrs.

“Mmhm,” you mumble pathetically into the fabric.

“Tell me, love.”

“I want–”

He inserts himself before you finish, colliding with you with the force of planets, stealing the breath from your lungs. The union is electric, a completion so intense that it borders on painful.

His desperation is evident, at odds with the image of restraint he was attempting to conjure as he ruts into you with wild abandon. His hands are everywhere at once, desperate and searching. Your own fingers claw at the fabric of the bedsheets, mindlessly, drunk on the sensation of him.

Astarion’s hands soon settle on your hips, pulling you to him as you collide again, again, again. You aid him, pushing yourself against his hips with each thrust, needing to be closer, always closer. You move together in a frenzy, chasing that elusive peak with single-minded determination. The world beyond ceases to exist; there is only this moment, this need, this all-consuming desire.

Breaths come in ragged gasps and are punctuated by moans and whispered pleas. “More,” you beg; “please,” you exclaim, though you're not sure how he could possibly get any closer, any deeper within you.

You feel his hand slide beneath you, and you lift your hips to greet him. Your throbbing clit welcomes his expert touch as he begins to unravel you as easily as he picks locks. He rubs circles around the bud, gently, in stark contrast to his wild rutting - indicative of the tiniest threads of self-restraint which remain within him, spared only to bring you to your peak. But gods, in the heat of the moment, you are especially sensitive, and his touch quickly brings forth rippling waves of sensation which threaten to overwhelm you. Your body twitches of its own accord and you know your climax fast approaches.

Your own voice surprises you, high and desperate. Soft whimpers escape your lips, growing in intensity and frequency as the tension builds.

Behind you, Astarion's sounds are a primal counterpoint to your own. His usual smooth tones are roughened by desire, a gravelly undertone that sends shivers down your spine. Low growls rumble from his chest - they speak of a hunger barely contained.

As you both near the edge, your voices mingle and intertwine. The sounds blur together - gasps and moans, growls and whimpers. The volume rises, unchecked and unashamed. You care not who hears you now.

It is you who first reaches the point of no return. A cry escapes your lips, raw and primal. Your body quakes, and pleasure crashes over you, a torrent of sensation that drenches every nerve ending. You're swept away in the deluge, currents of bliss pulling you under, spinning you in their depths.

His release soon follows and, although you don't see him, you feel the intensity in the air, in his increasingly erratic pounding, in his breaths. A growl rumbles from deep in his chest, vibrating through your bodies like rolling thunder. His grip on you tightens, fingers digging into your flesh as he releases into you, claiming you as part of his tempest.

He collapses against your back. His weight is solid and grounding like the calm after the storm. He pants slightly, aftershocks rippling through you both like distant thunder.

Slowly, the world comes back into focus.

Astarion's weight shifts behind you as his arm drapes lazily over your wrist. You feel his cool lips brush against your ear, and he nips it gently.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he muses, “I would say you enjoy being punished.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound still slightly breathless. “If that’s what I get for misbehaving, I might have to do it more often.”

"Careful what you wish for, darling," he murmurs, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I have a whole arsenal of 'punishments' at my disposal. This was merely a taste."

“Is that a promise or a threat?”

“Why not both?” he replies, his tone rich with suggestion. “I do so enjoy keeping you on your toes.”

As he rises to his feet and helps you to yours, he kisses you, his gentleness a stark contrast from your earlier activities. Where there was an inferno, now there is now the warming comfort of the hearth. Where there was urgency, now there is patience. Eventually, you find yourselves settled once more, cocooned in the soft comfort of the bed. The lingering scent of your encounter mingles with the fresh smell of clean linens, a heady reminder of the night's activities.

“Alright?” Astarion’s voice is soft.

You nod, words unnecessary in this moment.

As you nestle closer to him, a contented sigh escapes your lips. Being bad certainly has its thrills. But these moments, wrapped in Astarion’s arms - these are treasures in their own right. The mischievous spark in you knows you'll seek out more opportunities to 'misbehave', but for now, you revel in this gentle aftermath, every bit as intoxicating as the storm that preceded it.

No Pressure Tags: @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @sparrowbard @chonkercatto

Masterlist can be found here.

[dontfearrr]

Heard it through the grapevine

sorry guys i been so mia i literally have been in a weird funk but here’s a longer fic for u thrandy lovers and lmk if u want a part 2 maybe???

kisses to everyone, enjoy my elf sluts💋💋💋

Pairing: Thranduil x human!reader

Summary: reader keeps receiving gifts at her balcony, she has no idea where or who they’re coming from, she’s determined to find out…

Warnings: mild spicy content nothing crazy though

Category: fuck idk, fluff/hot n steamy?

Word Count: 2.1k

—————————

“strawberries and grapes this time!”

You shouted out to Tauriel who sat on your bed. She was just as intrigued with these series of gifts you’d been receiving. You both have been trying to narrow it down to who it could be, there was very few elves in this realm who spoke to you but the few that did, didn’t seem interested in you. So they were kind of at a dead end, yet the gifts never stopped.

You lifted the white basket off the floor of the balcony where they always were delivered, somehow unnoticed. You sighed and set the basket on the bed next to Tauriel as you both opened the note together. The thought of having a secret admirer was quite endearing, however it seemed a bit childish almost..but very intriguing nonetheless.

“read it out loud! i can’t do it!” you giggled as you handed Tauriel the note and she laughed with you, sharing the excitement. She cleared her throat dramatically and gave you a slight smirk before looking down at the note and she began to read.

“the grapes of the finest wine, the strawberries of the finest vine. for a woman oh so devine.”

She spoke out in a teasing tone. Your face heated up in embarrassment, these poems were always so corny, but who could be so brave enough to share them with you! “oh my, Tauriel..that is absurd” you laughed and shook your head.

You took the note from her and examined the hand writing, trying to get some kind of idea of who it could be! You thought for a moment, the gears in your brain turning ferociously until you tilted your head and looked at Tauriel.

“grapes from the finest wine…finest vine…Tauriel, arent these fruits from the private garden??” you spoke, picking up one of the grapes, it was bright purple, these were the grapes used to make the town wine. Tauriels eyes widened and nodded, they were in fact from the private garden! well this is something at least. “yes those grapes specifically are kept in the furthest corner, only very few people are allowed in that area” she told you, picking up the strawberries. “these are also from the same area. finest fruit indeed” she sent you a teasing wink and you just rolled your eyes at the elf’s childishness.

“are you able to get me a list of the people who are allowed to enter this area of the garden?” you asked her hopefully and she chuckled a bit, causing you to tilt your head in confusion.

“when i say very few people, i mean very few. grab something to write with.” Tauriel told you and you wasted no time scurrying off to find a quill and paper. Once you returned, you handed it to her and she began writing. you were nervous to see who was on that list, hands fidgeting eagerly as you hovered over her shoulder.

Six names were written on the list, this was amazing news. You snatched the paper from her hand and scanned your eyes over the list, it read:

Thranduil

Legolas

Lesysus

Elrond

Haldir

Aman

You were beyond perplexed. This list only made things even more difficult. The first thing you did was process of elimination. Elrond, he was in rivendell currently. Haldir, who was also with Elrond in rivendell….and that was it.. okay so six to four, not bad. But these were royal figures of the realm! There is no way any of these elves were even close to possible..

You looked at Tauriel who gave you a sympathetic look, she could tell you were stressing yourself out over this.

“do not dwell on it, my friend” she spoke gently, and you sighed deeply, setting the paper on your table and looked out the arched window of your chambers. “this was fun until now” you grumbled to yourself and looked down at the paper once more. “I think i’m just going to give it a rest, it’s clear whoever is doing this doesn’t want to be discovered so i suppose i’ll respect that” you told Tauriel and she quite literally laughed in your face, in a friendly way of course.

“i really love your optimism but we both know you’re not giving it a rest. just sleep on it, maybe you’ll get an idea soon.” she stood from your bed and gently rubbed your arm in reassurance before taking her leave.

You on the other hand, had a plan. A very determined one at that. You were going to do a steak out, spying over the royal garden! How incredibly stupid of you, but if the elf who was doing this was allowed in there, you saw no problem with taking a peek…for the entire night.

It was late now, nearly one in the morning, you decided it was a good time to go and spy on the garden. Tauriel had showed you a way to climb up into the trees to look down upon mirkwood, you figured this was perfect, that’s if you don’t get caught and probably executed. You chuckled to yourself at the thought as you threw on an elven cloak, putting the hood up and dressing yourself in your darkest garments to blend in with the night.

You may have been human but you had lived with the elves long enough to pick up on their gracefulness and swift movements. you swung from branch to branch, getting high enough in the twisting tree, maneuvering until you had a good view of the garden. You were crouched on a branch, quite high enough to go unnoticed hopefully. You hadn’t really thought through how long this would take but there was no going back now.

Three hours had passed by and your legs were beginning to ache so you moved to a simple sitting position, legs dangling off of the tree branch you sat upon. Your head snapped in the direction of the garden after hearing some noise, then you saw a shadow of a figure enter the garden. God damned elven sight, that was the one thing you didn’t have. It was simply too dark to see who had entered the garden, you were squinting and squinti-

“i know you are there, young one.”

A deep voice boomed through your ears and your eyes widened. They could see you? They knew you were there? This is ridiculous! Your mind raced but kept quiet until you heard the voice again.

“there’s really no use in hiding if i’m fully aware of your presence. come down. don’t be rude now.” the voice spoke again, you stared at the dark figure and sighed. Carefully jumping down the tree, landing on the top of the brick wall that separated the garden from the forrest then hopped down to the garden, standing slightly behind the very..tall figure. “i apologize, i was- i was…” you couldn’t even make up an excuse, you just accepted your fate at this point.

“you were spying on my garden? for a very obvious reason that is..” his voice was now VERY familiar to you, your face went white and your blood went cold. You’d just been caught red handed by the king. You watched him lift his arms and pull his hood down and slowly turn around to face you. He wasn’t wearing any kind of crown, not even a circlet. His white hair fell down his shoulders along with his hood and he stared down at you intensely.

“m-my lord.” You began to bow but he held up a hand, halting your movements. You obeyed and stood straight, looking at him.

“i see you’ve been receiving my gifts well. a curious one you are..” he said, a bit of amusement laced in his words. If he was being honest, he was quite impressed with your little idea, however he assumed it was only a matter of time.

“and please, call me by my name” he asked, stepping closer to you.

Your heart had fell all the way to your stomach, Thranduil was your secret admirer? this cannot be. you didn’t believe it for a second. That was until his hands reached up to pull your hood down, revealing you to him. “you are quite breathtaking, even in the darkness.” you could feel his index finger ghost over your cheek, the blood immediately rushing to your face causing you to blush deeply at his simple actions. The presence of the king was usually a lot more intimidating, but this felt almost..intimate?

“why me?” you asked quietly, looking him in his eyes despite it being quite dark, you were still able to make him out clearly.

He let out a low chuckle and dropped his hand back down, clasping his two hands at his front elegantly. “you think because you are mortal, that i cannot pursue you? i’ll have you know, i’ll pursue who ever i see fit..” he told her truthfully. He’s had a fascination for the girl for quite a while, though she had no idea of it.

He brought a hand up to your chin, gently lifting your face up so you can look at him properly, and so he can admire his sweet human. your face was warm and beet red, you were beyond flustered and truly had no idea what to say. “you wish to pursue me?” you asked him with a little bit of disbelief behind it and he simply nodded. God Tauriel would lose her mind if she seen what was happening! Your heart was beating rapidly, his touch felt like a dozen swans on a sweet pond. His thumb swiped over your jawline tenderly, causing you to take a step closer to him. He was more than pleased by this.

“i’ve desired you the moment i laid my eyes upon you” his hand was now cupping your cheek, his fingers threading through the hair behind your ear. “Thranduil..” was all you could muster up. He had you weak in the knees from a simple touch, it was quite cruel really. He absolutely loved the way his name sounded on your tongue, causing him to take a deep breath the calm himself down before he did something he regretted.

“will you have me?”

You placed a hand upon his chest, feeling his breath hitch in his throat as you did so. You slid your hand up, never breaking eye contact, feeling the porcelain skin of his neck as your hand continued higher, allowing it to rest on the back of his neck, your fingers nearly tangling in his perfect tresses. “i don’t want anyone else..” you told him and his caused his grip on you to tighten only ever so slightly. His thumb ran over your cheekbone before he dropped his hand, you were almost disappointed until his hand was now on your waist, pulling you against his own body.

Your body was on fire in this intimate moment, you were crumbling at his hand. He could tell you to jump off of the highest cliff and you’d comply without question. His head lowered down to your ear, his lips barely ghosting over your earlobe. “you keep me up at night, young one..” he purred, you could feel his warm breath against the skin of your neck.

You gasped at this and leaned your head to the side absentmindedly at his action, he took this as a delicious invitation as his head fit perfectly in the nook of your collarbone and neck. His lips connected with your skin, leaving open mouthed kisses to your neck, then unclasped your cloak, allowing it to fall to the ground. his free hand pulled at the material of your tunic, exposing your shoulder as he hungrily continued his sweet kisses to your skin.

“Thranduil please..” you breathed out, the torture was far too much. Your legs were trembling and you gripped onto his cloak as if he was going to disappear. “please what, my love? use your words with your king..” his voice was like smooth honey, melting into your ears delightfully. You wanted to cry out in agony, but refrained from doing so as his lips connected with your collarbone this time.

You couldn’t take it any longer, you gently ran your fingers through his hair and cupped his face, pulling his head back to face you, his eyes were half lidded and filled with lust. Your mouth parted slightly as your breath slowed and you leaned your forehead against his, closing your eyes for a moment. You could feel his breath against your lips, you felt this was too much and decided to take matters into your own hands and you closed the gap, his lips molding perfectly with yours. he gripped your waist a little harder, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you with hunger and passion. You tugged his hair, earning a groan from him and backed him up against the brick wall.

The king had fallen completely under your spell at this point, he was yours…

[w4w4lycsss]

HE'S LIKE A POEM | PERCY JACKSON

summary: You are a very dry person when it comes to showing feelings but somehow you manage to express all the love that exists between you and the PDA boy (Percy) pairing: Percy Jackson x Hypnos!male!reader « now playing . . . so american, olivia rodrigo↬ ♡ »

[ ... ]

'Dress up and make yourself look attractive, keep quiet. Even if you have to act silly.' It's what you've heard so much coming from your mother for years and years, now more than you have a boyfriend. It has always been difficult for you to express your emotions, or just your expressions; Your face has always been a blank canvas that you have wanted to paint yourself, but due to pressure you only limit yourself to observing everything from tired eyes and a neutral almost sarcastic expression.

Everything changed when you met Percy, that loud and so affectionate boy that he made you nauseous, you never knew why he agreed to be your friend or how he fell in love with you, you never expressed anything different towards him than how you behaved with others. Or so you thought.

It was one night when you realized it; you two were sitting on the roof of your cabin watching the stars, he was exhausted from talking up to his elbows and leaned back on your shoulder to rest his eyes, 'curiosity killed the cat' and with your powers of a son of Hypnos you slept Percy without him noticing. You entered his head, you could see how he dreamed of you quite often, you saw only the superficial, you were even afraid to investigate the head of a fifteen-year-old teenage man.

You came out of his dream, you didn't know what to say or what to do, for you everything was too fast, for the first time you felt that you were making a genuine expression and not just being bored, you realized that Percy could do that. You took a deep breath and went back into his head, no matter how afraid you were of yourself. He had an insecurity: he didn't know anything about you.

It was all a lie, Percy knew every detail about you, he knew how to read your non-existent expressions, your tone of voice, your body language and your sarcasm. He knew what you liked and what you didn't, what made you angry and what made you happy, your favorite food, your favorite place at camp, your bedtimes, and your problems with your mother. Percy Jackson was simply the perfect man for you because he knew you from head to toe and from the inside out.

You left his head for the second time and proposed something; be more expressive. Maybe because of him but deep inside you would like people to understand you, not just one person. By the next morning you had written about four poems, drawn three drawings, and written seven letters. Even if you wanted to send them all at once, you knew that one wrong step and you would lose the right guy. You were going to start slow.

Four months had passed since the meeting on the roof and two since you had been sending letters, drawings and poems. Nothing anonymous. You pretend not to know what Percy is talking about when he asks you about all 'that', and you keep sending it.

The nerves consume you little by little until it becomes too much, you were going to end this and send the last letter to find out if he wanted a serious relationship like you had been idealizing.

"I apologize if it's a little too much, just a little too soon But if the conversation ever were to come up I don't wanna assume this stuff But ain't it love? Think I'm in love."

When you started a relationship, he noticed your attempts and efforts to show that you loved him, and he was also very good at showing it. It was like PDA ran through his blood, he couldn't get enough of it. His dedication was to read and read everything you gave him, no matter how dyslexic he was.

[crownedwithstars]

Hot Takes and Conspiracy Theories About the Silm by Fourth Age Gondorians

(this post stemmed from the idea of the Silm as a part of some very ancient manuscripts Tolkien was just translating, and how it may compare to real world epics like Edda - stories that may have started as poems and songs written down centuries after the fact in a completely different mode and by someone with very different cultural background than the original context of the poems and possibly with motives about promoting himself or his ancestors. so what if this was how Fourth Age Gondorians regarded the Silm as well and had schools of thought and self-taught enthusiasts debating what the stories actually mean? what kind of takes would they come up with?)

The Two Trees

Valinor did not have some special light-emanating trees and they did not actually die, it's just a nature myth that metaphorically talks about a period when the sky literally darkened; this was caused by some unknown natural disaster (like the explosion of a supervolcano).

references to Tree-light and Elves being enhanced by it is just Noldorin propaganda. 

The Silmarils were not real. At least not as they are portrayed in the Silm. 

there are various theories as to what they really were (religious artifacts? some mandate of rulership? just really pretty jewels and everybody exaggerated how special they were? some kind of a super weapon?), but also more philosophical suggestions that the Silmarils are the elements of air, water and earth itself (hint hint that's why they eventually become part of these), and the struggle over them represents the struggle over rulership of Beleriand/Middle-earth. that in the end the Silmarils aren't really possessed by anyone reflects how all kingdoms eventually fall and nobody under Eru can be a master of the world. 

Fëanor was not a real guy and the sons of Fëanor were not actually related to one another.

like who even is that great and perfect?

he's probably just some kind of a bogeyman made up by the Sindar

did anyone in Beleriand ever even see him? CONVENIENT that he spontaneously combusted almost immediately after he came to Beleriand

also who names their kid "the spirit of fire"??? what if it's not a personal name of any elf but more like a title? or a name associated with some entity that had religious following in Valinor?

there's a clue to this in how Fëanor's supposed sons are mostly referred to as "the sons of Fëanor" or "Fëanorians": it bears thinking that they were not actually related to one another, but "Fëanorian" was a title in a same way that "Fëanor" was a title. It doesn't mean an ACTUAL son to a guy named Fëanor but a devotee to whatever the entity or title named Fëanor represented. 

(they couldn't be real brothers because there just can't be that many hair colours in one family.)

MAYBE FËANORIANS WERE SOME KIND OF A CULT

it was probably some kind of a death cult obsessed with blood and murder, considering their body count 

also because of this they were kicked out of Valinor and all stories about how they WANTED to leave are propaganda. 

Celeborn was at least three or four different guys.

How else do you explain the different versions about who he was?

the one who fathered Celebrían was Galadriel's real true love, but he died in obscure circumstances

this theory you don't really want to talk about much, because you don't want to insult Queen Arwen. Also the current Celeborn may come after you. 

Beren did not actually die and come back

his first death is a symbolic one: he had been estranged from his relatives and people, but by marrying Lúthien he completely leaves behind that life and "dies" as a member of the House of Bëor to become a part of the House of Elwe

he did not come again among Men after marrying Lúthien, in other words he was dead to his original society

the sequence in Mandos where Lúthien pleads for pity was originally a description of a courting scene that got bastardised along the way; she had to go to the remaining members of the House of Bëor and ask for Beren's hand in marriage. They would not agree unless Beren gave up his claim to the title of chieftain, i. e. he has symbolically died. 

Melian was actually Ungoliant

that's why Doriath lasted so long, Morgoth was still scared shitless of her and didn't dare go anywhere near her

Nan Dunghortheb was literally her backyard!!!

why else Lúthien would be able to weave weird dream cloaks???

Húan wasn't a dog, he was an Elf

the idea that he was a dog came from: 

he was the best tracker in Aman, so in Beleriand he was called "The Hound of Valinor". Later generations thought this literally meant he was a dog.  

whoever wrote down the legends about him was a wishful idiot who loved dogs and wanted them to be able to talk (understandable)

Something Weird Was Going On With Maeglin

aside from the obvious, of course

were Aredhel and Eöl really his parents though? was Aredhel even married to Eöl? 

maybe Maeglin was a thrall of Morgoth, or was born in captivity and brainwashed to be loyal, and his task from the beginning was to bring Gondolin down

Aredhel did leave Gondolin like the Silm says, but stuff did not go down like the story tells. 

-during her wanderings, Aredhel somehow found Maeglin and saw him as her shot to stage a coup in Gondolin by claiming he was her son (and male heir for the kingdom). Eöl never existed. Or if he did, he was a random guy Aredhel met and used to her own ends. 

Turgon found out about Aredhel's plans (but not about Maeglin) and he was the one who actually killed her.

maybe she was a Fëanorian cult member in secret and was trying to take over Gondolin for them

Túrin son of Húrin, Mormegil, Turambar and the other aliases associated with The Children of Húrin were actually all different guys

nobody can get up to that much weird shit

the real Túrin probably died in Doriath and Melian covered it up

Elured and Elurin survived. They changed their names and became Elrond and Elros. 

Maglor is the Bigfoot of Middle-earth. There is a dedicated fanclub that keeps track of sightings (which are as obscure and bonkers as you could imagine). 

if you subscribe to "Fëanorians were a death cult" theory, then Maglor is actually an ominous cryptid that foretells misfortunes. 

Thingol is alive and lives as a hermit somewhere in Mirkwood.

Thranduil is aware of it and in fact he has helped to keep it secret all this time.

There are also hot takes about Eärendil and Elwing and whether they were real people. 

Eärendil is a half-elf, actual Star and God's favourite little guy. He has a flying ship and travels in space. He keeps an eye on Satan himself. His birth was foretold, he fought and killed the biggest dragon in history in a massive air battle that caused an entire mountain to collapse, and he may have killed Ungoliant. No real person is that special. 

Elwing wouldn't do what bunch of men (who were maybe in a death cult) told her, she's obviously a villain if she existed. She can't die (was directly prevented by divine powers when she tried to) and chose to be immortal. Also being God's favourite little gal and having the ability to turn into a bird? Very suspicious. 

Silmarien and her descendants were the true heirs of Númenor and if they had ruled, Númenor would still exist

the ruling line had many problematic characters that were not well suited to the role

it also culminated in Ar-Pharazon and all the tragedy that his actions brought

Silmarien inherited some of the most important heirlooms from the First Age, which proves that even her father thought she was the true heir

also Silmarien's descendants survived to maintain was what left of the culture and wisdom of Númenor; further proof of Silmarien's right.

[zvdvdlvr]

— Leaning to Live Again.

— 🪻. Synopsis. It’s been four and a half months since your fall. You’re starting physical therapy, and the team (and your husband) is there for you every step of the way- as Aaron gets started on filing a product liability lawsuit.

— 🪻. Warnings. Foul language. Frustrated reader. Female reader. Welder reader. Husband Spencer. Physical therapy. 1.6k fic. Mildly rushed ending. Not mych dialogue. I have no physical therapy experience, so I apologize for any incorrect terms/activities/phrases. Pet names.

— 🪻. Extra. Welder!Reader is getting a lot of love :))) Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

— 🪻. Other Welder!Reader fics. Lunch Break. Alive and Breathing.

You spent five weeks in the ICU, four of them in a medically induced coma. The doctor said that it was so you actually gave your body time to recover; the first few weeks after surgery was always the rockiest stage of any major injury.

Spencer spent every waking hour with you, if you were conscious or not. He read to you, had conversations with you, and told you anything that came to mind because he knows you love his voice. After three nights straight at the hospital, the nurses practically begged Spencer to go home, rest, recuperate, and get cleaned up. And Spencer admits, he felt a lot better after going back to your shared home.

When the doctors decided it was time to wake you up, Spencer was all but shoved out of the room. Something abour “not overwhelming her” or something. Spencer wasn’t listening anyway. After texting JJ, she told Spencer she’d let everyone know the news as they were currently in South Dakota catching a serial rapist and killer. And then Spencer resolved to pacing, reciting each song lyric you told Spencer reminded you of him. He repeated the few poems he had gotten you to read, voice softening as you read the words. And Spencer repeated the vows you and him had written for each other, remembering your face and your voice, the way you stood and how you smelled. He relived it as you were being pulled out of the darkness of your unconscious.

“Dr. Reid?” The nurse asked, pausing Spencer mid-step. He watched a few other nurses file out, and Spencer felt his heart beat a little faster in his chest.

“Yes?” He answered, breath held.

“Mrs. Reid is awake. You are more than welcome to go in there, but don’t put her on any additional stress.”

Spencer had barely said ‘thank you’ before he was hightailing it to the side of your bed. He felt the wind rush out of his lunge when he saw you blinking harshly, eyes trying to adjust to the light.

“Hey sweetheart,” Spencer whispered, tears trailing down his cheeks. He sat down and carefully took your callused hands in his.

You cleared your throat. “Hi,” you said finally, voice gravely from disuse. “You okay?”

A watery laugh bubbled out of Spencer. “You fall off a building and you ask me if okay. Baby, I love you so much.”

“Takes more than a fall to take me away from you, husband,” you murmured, letting your hand trace Spencer’s cheek. “But… how is everyone doing? I heard some of the things you guys said when I was… out, but I want to hear from you.”

The genius looked away, salty tears dampening his beautiful eyelashes. “Hotch is planning to prosecute the guys who made the safety harness that you wore because we all know you never would have worn something that was unsafe or had been recalled. We’ve just…” Spencer sniffled, turning his head to look back at you, “I guess we’ve just kept busy.”

You hummed. “How long will I be out of the showbusiness?”

Spencer looked at you, your eyes tired despite all the sleep you had been getting. He knew your world would shatter when he told you that you’d be in recovery for at least another year and a half. Your lipped twitched- an attempt to get the man you loved to smile. Yet again Spencer felt his heart crack: this was going to break you. “Doc says… about two years.”

The pointer finger still tracing Spencer’s face stilled. Your face blanked and Spencer felt the ari leave his lungs at how you looked at him. “What did you say?”

Spencer took your hand in his, kissing your knuckles as his tears fell onto your own and then slid down down down to the cold hospital floor. “Two years, baby.”

“Years. Tw-Two years,” you repeated in a whisper. “Two years.”

Spencer’s eyes shut. Your head fell back on the pillow, eyes boring holes into the ceiling as your own tears welled in your eyes.

“I know, baby, I know,” Spencer cried as you wept silently.

“You got this, wife,” Spencer whispered, pecking the crown of your head before going to stand across you, metal bars on either side of the wheelchair you carefully stood from.

It was your twenty third day of physical therapy, and boy was it hell. Your entire bottom half hurt, feeling as if fire consumed your muscles as you shakily got used to being on your feet again. Your back hurt the worst, though. You tried to play it off the best you could, but when the shooting pain took hold of the sensitive nerves of your spine, you couldn’t do more than screw your eyes shut andprace your head for the inevitable fall.

It had been getting better, you thought. Taking your first six steps was getting easier. Getting out of the pool was easier, and you could stand up without yelping in pain. But still, as you pushed through eveey PT session, you couldn’t help but feel disgusted at yourself for not being able to do basic human activities.

Spencer really atuck to his vows, remaining steadfast at your side through everything. He was at your every beck and call, updating you on your coworkers and all the other people you’d grown close to as a welder and as a woman. Spence took pride being able to help you, being your rock as you always are for him.

Aaron was actively prosecuting the company that produced the faulty equipment. As requested by Spencer, Aaron didn’t tell you much. It was better in both of their minds that you focused on recovery and not having Hotch dumb down the details of legal stuff- not that you were dumb, you just weren’t as educated as Spencer and Aaron. Obviously.

Penelope made a point to bring you food every other day. With her she brought a big hug, warm smile, and hot tea. You listened closely to the gossip she had to share, grateful that she didn’t try overly hard to comfort you- she was just like a sister in that way.

Emily stopped by when she could, but understandably had other plans for her time off; i.e.: napping. When she came Emily brought a book or two she had seen and thought of you about or a magazine.

J.J. tried as hard as Penny did, bringing Henry and Will whenever possible. You appreciated the family, feeling fully accepted as J.J.’s soul sister, despite only knowing Spencer’s coworkers for almost a year. Henry had clicked with you right away and told you stories as he snuggled up to you in the hospital bed. When he fell asleep, Will and J would make conversation with you.

Derek had dinner with you and Spencer every weekend. He brought something new every time and always shut sown your protests at how expensive it must have been, aspecially since the three of you combined could eat $300 worth of food- having fast metabolism and being an athletic person was worth bragging about while shoving half pound birgers into your mouth. Despite just the good food, Derek made sure to talk with just you, offering a deep conversation or a lightheard bickering session, letting you know you weren’t alone.

Rossi visited every time he had time. David had grown fond of you and your personality. You were a hardworking, sincere, and (painfully) honest person. All admirable traits, Rossi thought. He always brought flowers, chocolate, and a milkshake/smoothie for you. Though his visits were shorter in comparison to Derek’s or Penny’s, David visited more frequently. He filled you in on details of the lawsuit Aaron was working on, staff drama, and other fatherly conversation.

Slowly, the months passed.

60 more days passed before the hospital finally brought up your discharge.

Through all that time you had managed to re-gain the ability to walk, run, swim 2 laps uninterrupted, and were improving daily.

You were proud of your progress, but especially thankful of all the people that had stood by your side the entire way. Your eyes burned just thinking about the love Spencer’s family your family had for you.

When one of the nurses you had grown close to finally brought up your discharge, you threw your arms around her and practically cried tears of joy. Spencer kept his composure better, but you could see the shine in his eyes as he discussed the details as you pulled yourseld away from the nurse.

The team was on a case when you reported back to them, but J.J. and Derek immediately set up a quick video call to voice their happiness. Even Aaron stepped in frame, a warm smile on his face as he spoke of how happy he was for you. David showed up right at the end. You swear you saw a tear roll down his cheek as he told you how proud he was of you, how strong you are, and how thankful he is that you’re okay.

Beside you, Spencer ran his hands through your hair with a shaking hand. He, too, cried.

It was two weeks later when you shoved your bags in the back of your truck (you insisted it be the vehicle Spencer drove home) and left the hospital.

“I love you Spencer Walter Reid.”

The two of you stood, leaning against each other, in front of your home. The feeling of Spencer’s warm body under your touch made you feel alive- electric, even. You felt like you could do anything as you carried your own bags into your own home with your own husband.

With Spencer by your side, you were finally learning how to live again.

[ruthplaysthesims]

Sims 4 Life and Death Expansion Pack: Story Prompt List

Hey y'all. I hope y'all didn't miss me too much but I am back with another prompt list for those of you who want to start writing stories on Tumblr and those who wish to find inspiration to play the sims 4 with the life and death EP

- Prompt One: Your sim is a funeral director. After a well deserved break recovering from a messy break up, your sim gets hired to plan a funeral for a family. Upon research, your sim is shocked to find out the funeral is for none other than their ex's mother, who just so happens to be one of the reasons your sim and their ex broke up.

- Prompt Two: After laying the family matriarch to rest, your sim's family seem really eager to read the will. When the lawyer shows up, something feels off. The lawyer pulls out a torn piece of paper, gives it to your sim to read and walks out. Your sim seems to be the only one who understands what is written while the family starts fighting and arguing about the will.

- Prompt Three: Your sim's sibling passes away and everyone is gathered around their corpse as the grim reaper does his thing. Your sim attempts to plead for their life but is met with a scythe a few inches away from their neck. The reaper gets the job done and goes on his way. Determined to bring them back, your sim decided to join the Undertaker career. Be the best intern and get your sibling's soul back to their body.

- Prompt Four: Your sim has been murdered. They are fortunate enough to be reincarnated into whomever they please, so they reincarnate as someone close to their murderer...

- Prompt Five: Your sim has been in the same toxic relationship for the past five years. Your sim begins to lose hope in love... That is until their toxic partner kicks the bucket. They are crying and getting ready to plead for their lover's life... But an encounter with a charming grimtern changes their mind...

- Prompt Six: After living a long, fulfilling life, your sim now wanders around as a ghost. Scaring the sh*t out of the living, messing around with objects, it's the same thing. One day, your sim finds out about the newest resident in Ravenwood. Your sim is rather intrigued, ready to cause some chaos when they realize this new resident can see and speak to ghosts...

- Prompt Seven: Your sim is a mortician. The job is as mundane as mundane can be. One day, your sim is embalming a corpse that has a rose tattoo with a nice short poem on it. As the days go by, your sim notices a recurring pattern with the corpses they tend to: all have a rose tattoo with what seems to be the continuation of a poem that eventually sums up into a story... about a cult.

Please note that these are based on what we know so far. The list will be updated the more info comes out about the EP.

Shout out to my girl @authorspirit for discussing this with me!! If you do happen to use any of these prompts, please do tag me @ruthplaysthesims so I can see your wonderful stories and characters!! Can't wait for this pack to be released.

[a-998h]

Each nations festivals for the Creator.

Mondstadt

It is known as The Ventus Dies Natalis (Latin: The Winds Birthday Festival).

Time of year: Spring

How long it lasts: 3 weeks/ 14 days

Origins: The people of old Mondstadt wanted to honor the creation of the winds. Do to this they planned a festival that at first was a serious religious affair that lasted for a week, before it became a 3 week festival.

Traditions week by week

Week 1

Day 1: The people go to the cathedral plaza or inside the cathedral for prayer and to present offerings of Calla Lillies, Snapdragons, Dandelion Wine,and Fruits of the Festival, Mint Jelly, Moon Pie, and Northern Apple Stew.

Day 2: A tournament between the knights is held from sunrise untill noon. Once the final round has ended, the winner is given a crown of Calla Lillies, Snapdragons, and being honored with the title of Ventus Fortitudinis (Latin: Wind of Strength). The winner is beilved to be blessed with good fortune for as long as they retain the title, the current title holder is Bennett for two years in a row.

Day 3: A tournament is held between Mondstadt's archers from noon to sunset. The winner gains the title of Sagittarius Ventus (Latin: Archer of the wind) along with a Calla Lilly and Sanpdragon flower crown. The winner is beilved to be blessed with good fortune for as long as they retain the title, the current title holder is Amber for four years in a row.

Day 4: From sunset to midnight a contest for bards is held and the winner gains the title of Vates Ventus (Latin: Bard of the wind). The winner is beilved to be blessed with good fortune for as long as they retain the title, the current title holder is Venti for six years.

Day 5: The three winners throw a ball, similar to the Ludi Harpastum games, but these balls have two flower crowns on each ball. The three winners throw the balls and those who cath any of the balls and gain one of the six flowers crowns is believed to share in the original winners good fortune. After this the people good to play games, eat, and drink.

Day 6: This day is most for prayers to local shrines or at the cathedral.

Day 7: People go and either, buy of pick Calla Lillies and Snapdragons and spend time making flower crowns for their friends, family, or lovers. A large feast is had and people gift the flower crowns they made to each other.

Week 2

Day 1: People return to the Cathedral area for another prayer and this time no offerings are put at the statue offering table.

Day 2: Those who are willing with travel out to the separate shrine near the Thousand Winds Temple in order to deliver written prayers of the people.

Day 3: In cetian locations in the more rual areas will have games set up, like wind glider races.

Day 4: This is a day with many bards who share their poems, song, and stories with people in the plaza during one act performances that last from noon until sunset. Once the sun sets, people will spend their night drinking and eating.

Day 5: This is another rest day.

Day 6: drunken partying with lots of food.

Day 7: people gather around campfires or fire places and tell stories.

Week 3

Day 1: The church choir sing a few songs to start off the final festival week.

Day 2: The petals of Snapdragons and Calla Lillies are picked from the flower and case to the wind carrying prayers, often down by those who do not wish to write their prayers.

Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6: drinking, feasting and games.

Day 7: The people all blow on dandelions, making wishes as the fluff blows in the wind. A large feast like at the beginning of the festival is held in oder to cap off the festival itself.

Liyue

The Creator has been celebrated on Lantern Rite on few occasions.

The Creator has a festival of their own called Lóngfèng jié (Chinese: Dragon and phoenix festival).

Time of year: Spring

How long it lasts: 15 days/ 1 week and a day

Origins: When the adepti roamed the land along side humans, they saw how the humans would worship the Creator on the same days of worship for Rex Lapis. Once he was told, Rex Lapis said that the people shall have a festival for only the Creator every spring for 10 days before it became strethed to 15 days over the centuries. The times during Lantern Rite where the Creator was worshipped, happened during times where the spring was to rainy and dark for the typical festival.

Day 1: The citizens gather at their nearest shrine and present offerings of Snapdragons, Violetgrass, Lotus Flower Crisp, Stir-Fried Shrimp, and Stone Harbor Delicacies. This happens after the people say a prayer for good fortune.

Day 2: a parade is held with a dragon and phoenix being made to look like it is dancing by being controlled by a team of performers.

Day 3: There are kite design contests for both children and adults. Once the designing is done, there is a contest for who's kite can go the highest and farthest.

Day 4: A feast is held to honor the Creator's role in making the Archons.

Day 5: The Liyue Opera puts on a performance of the Creators brith from the stars and Celestia.

Day 6: Bouquets of Violetgrass and Snapdragons are traded between those who are close.

Day 7: People place a Snapdragon or Violetgrass flower into the sea as a prayer for good fortune.

Day 8: The shrines are decorated with Snapdragon Violetgree garland and only drink offerings are placed this day.

Day 9: A feast is held to celebrate the Creator's role of making the adepti.

Day 10: The Liyue Opera puts on a performance about how the Creator made the Archons, adepti, and humanity.

Day 11: Prayers are written onto pieces of paper and are then burned, they believe the smoke carried the prayers upto Celestia for the Creator to grant.

Day 12: A contest is held for who can make the best sculpture of the Creator from sunrise to noon. The winner is given the title of Shítou yìshùjiā (Chinese: Artist of stone) and the current title holder is Madam Ping. From noon till dusk a tournament is held to see who is the strongest fighter, it was used to see who would be a good guardian to the Creator, the winner gets the title of Fènghuáng wèishì (Chinese: Protector of the Phoenix), current title holder is Beidou. From dusk till sunset a contest held to test who would be a good advisor for the Creator, the winning title is Míngxīng gùwèn (Chinese: Advisor of the Stars) current title holder is Xingqiu.

Day 13: People tell smaller stories and myths about the Creators interaction with Liyue's archon and adepti at home or on stage.

Day 14: A final feast is held for the Creator's role in making humanity and everything on the mortal world.

Day 15: The Liyue Opera puts on a performance on the death and rebirth of the Creator. Kites with prayers and wishes written on them will be released as the streets are lit with lanterns. In Qiaoying Village, wusho dances are held, in which Gaming is usually the main star.

Inazuma

The festival is called Hana-shin matsuri (Japanese: The flower god festival).

Time of year: Summer

How long it lasts: 10 days

Origins: The yokai started holding a small festival to thank the Creator for giving them life. When yokai and humanity became friends, the yokai shared some of the traditions with humans while making sure they were followed and done properly. Eventually the festival became a common part of life in Inazuma. It became even more important when the arachons of Inazuma were seen in public for the festival.

Day 1: A prayer service is held at Grand Narukami shirne in which special incense are burned and offerings of Dendrobium, Sakura, Sakura Mochi, Sakura Shrimp Crackers, and Tri-colored Dango.

Day 2: Kabuki theaters put on performances that tell important myths about the Creator, similar to the Liyue Opera.

Day 3: Sangonomiya shrine holds a prayer services with the same offerings as the first prayer day.

Day 4: A parade with floats moves through the streets of Inazuma city. Each float follows a set theme for the festival that year.

Day 5: The samurai and Inazuman warriors hold a contest of strength and skill. The winner gets the title of Hoshi no senshi (Japanes: Warrior of the stars), and current title holder is Kujo Sara for 4 years in a row.

Day 6: Onikabuto trading, collecting and fighting amounts children is seen as a way for them to test their strength, Itto is still trying to win.

Day 7 and Day 8: Are the rest days untill the evening, in which there is a large feast.

Day 9: Sakura and Dendrobium flowers are put floating into the sea and a way of wishing or prayer.

Day 10: Fireworks are fired into the sky as way to end the festival.

Sumeru

This is known as Laghayati Parvan (Sanskrit: Color Festival).

Time of year: Summer

How long it lasts: 7 days

Origins: The people of Sumeru believed that since they were closest to nature, that they were closer to the Creator. They treat this time of year like a 7 day funeral service as it is believed that the Creator drew their last in the Avidya Forest, however it has become more light hearted in the last 20 years.

Day 1: People clean their homes and the nearest shrine before leaving offerings of Sumeru Rose, Mourning Flower, Padisarah Pudding and Baklava along with prayers.

Day 2: People get markings on their body in symbolic patterns using an ink made with Henna berries.

Day 3: The people lights bonfires to tell stories about the Creator and Greater Lord Rukkhadevata. People in Sumeru ship them. (After Lord Rukkhadevata get erased, those stories are replaced with stories of a parent daughter relationship)

Day 4: People adorn their homes and local shrines with flower garlands and lanterns.

Day 5: People throw colored powder made with Henna berries at each other and decorate their homes and shrines with it.

Day 6: The colored Henna Berry powder is thrown as a welcoming gesture for the Creator.

Day 7: A clean up of all the colorful powder from the streets and buildings.

Fontaine

This is the Dieu créateur Carnival. (Fench: Creator gods carnival.)

Time of year: Late winter/early spring

How long it lasts: 7 days

Origins: It started as a way for devoted worshipers of the Creator to mark the end of their fasting period. Fontaine kept it like this for the whole time untill Furina became archon. Furina thought the Creator deserved a more fun and colorful celebration.

Day 1: Rainbow Roses and Romartime bouquets are gifted to shrines as offerings along with Fruity Trio and Fontaine Aspic.

Day 2: An 18 float parade goes through the streets lead by the king, queen, and carnivalon on floats. These floats are offer followed with performers from all nations.

Day 3: Another parade during those in costume on the floats throw up to 10,000 flowers into the crowd. During this time boquets of Rainbow Roses and Romartimes are exchanged between lovers, it is believed to bless the relationship with years of good luck so long as the partners are together. This parade is called the défilé de fleurs (French: flower parade).

Day 4: This is a repeat of the parade on day 2 expect the floats are decorated with lights of various colors. Known as Défilé de lumières (French: Parade of lights).

Day 5: On this night, people par take in games and drunken fun while dressed in costumes and masks.

Day 6: This is a day full of performances all having a common theme of myths about the Creator.

Day 7: The days in which people clean up from the weeks events of chaos and fun.

Currently all nations are either starting or preparing a festival to welcome the Creator back to Teyvat. I will explore these a bit more in the main plot line.

[youzicha]

Some quick impressions of translations of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

I fell in love with Marie Borroff's translation just from reading the preface, which is very insightful (definitely do read it, whatever other translation you pick!) and also unusually useful for the reader. We don't crucially need a translator's thoughts about what the themes of a story are because we can read it ourselves first, but Borroff talks about the tone (elevated, ironic, playful?) and that is really useful, since it is so easily obscured by time and translation.

Borroff's biography is extremely impressive: before even starting the translation, she spent a decade of her professional life reconstructing the pronunciation and meter of each line and the provenance of each word. Unsurprisingly, the translation is excellent; by the usual standards (accuracy, fluency, transparency/"invisibility") it seems hard to improve on.

Simon Armitage's translation seems to consciously reject fluency and transparency, creating "choppiness" as a deliberate aesthetic effect. Consider for example the use of modern colloquial English here:

and in the other hand held the mother of all axes, a cruel piece of kit I kid you not: the head was an ell in length at least and forged in green steel with a gilt finish

"Piece of kit" and "I kid you not" date the translation to the last few decades, while the "ell" unit has not been used for 400 years. By dragging the reader back and forth in time like this, the translation draws attention to itself. But it is not only a matter of choice of words, we get a similar effect from the ways Armitage breaks up or enjambs lines:

Gawain […] so bore that badge on both his shawl and shield alike. A prince who talked the truth. A notable. A knight.

This was a single sentence in the original, which got "chopped up" into four, including a full stop in the middle of a line.

George B. Pace's translation is the subject of a very charming story somebody posted on tumblr. It is abridged (12k words, versus 21k in the original), and translated into modern-sounding English prose, but if you are interested in the plot rather than the poetic devices it seems like a reasonable approach. I mostly didn't miss the parts he cut, although I do wonder about his focus when he e.g. omits lines of dialogue between Gawain and the Lady but leaves in the decorative filler about the zephyr warming the lands.

I have no particular thought about Burton Raffel's translation, except for one interesting pitfall. He translates most of the poem into prose (although it is kept divided in lines), but the four rhyming lines at the end of the stanzas are translated more loosely in order to make them rhyme. In theory this makes sense: for a modern reader the rhymes and iambs are very salient while we are not very attuned to alliterative verse, so translating just the bob-and-wheel into verse preserves most of the poetic effect.

But in practice it doesn't work so well. First, Raffel just isn't that good at it: Borroff and Tolkien manage to make their translations rhyme while sticking closer to the sense. But more interestingly, the rhyming couplets obviously draw the attention of the reader, and the author uses them to highlight the most load-bearing words, which are often chosen to be nicely ambiguous. The tale is written in 'lel' letters, which could mean that it's true, or only that it is composed in valid alliterative verse. King Arthur waits 'stif'ly to hear a tale or see a wonder, which (says Borroff) could be a heroic "resolute" or an ironic "stubborn". The lady enters Gawain's chamber and banteringly offers him 'my cors', which could mean "myself" but of course literally means body. And what were they doing to that deer? Actually these lines are the parts where you need to be most careful about the meaning.

J.R.R. Tolkien's translation is interesting because he seems to try something different. While Borroff and Armitage try to approximate the effect the poem would have on a 15th century reader by translating into current English, Tolkien uses archaic syntax ("him" for "himself", "we come not" for "we don't come" etc) and archaic vocabulary (the book includes a glossary, which you need to use to understand the translation at all). I think the idea is to capture what it is like for a modern reader who knows Middle English to read the Middle English original, with the particular pleasures of puzzling through a text as a non-native speaker.

Reading this (and even more his translation of Pearl in the same volume) I was surprised by how skilled Tolkien was at verse—he carries over a lot of the formal aspects, and I think his version sounds the best.

[jolalibrary]

sometimes you have to do the thing that makes you happy and have that be enough. it may not be the next big thing. it may not bring you engagements, reblogs or conversations, but it’ll make you happy and that has to count too.

do the thing that’ll make you happy because it’s been rotting in your brain, making the day go a little quicker until you can get back to it. do it because it makes you excited—like, a genuine smile trying to show (if it doesn’t crack over your face) as you put pen/pencil to paper or screen, or words to sentences, sentences to paragraphs, and paragraphs to scenes.

create the art, write the fic, make the gif or write the poem that’ll make you grin. tell or show the story that sits in your head and tries to silence all the others—even if it means abandoning (for now) a story that’s made you popular or the thing that made you feel “seen”. do it, even if you’ve never drawn/created/or written before, and share it because you want to, not because you feel obligated.

take this as your sign to do the things that make you happy—whatever form that is. and be kind to yourself, you’re allowed to change your mind or swap fandoms; you’re allowed to make mistakes and draw four fingers instead of five or leave an obvious typo. because you’re human, and because we all start somewhere—even when you move fandoms, even when you just made a tumblr or AO3 acct.

and because it’s okay to just create for fun and happiness.

[koishua]

not—𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐔𝐕 [ 𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐍 ]

what they would never, ever tell you!!

fluff. gn!reader. no warnings. like, reblog, feedback!

✧ heeseung has never told you this, but he'd actually tried sixteen times to muster up the courage to ask for your number and a date. it had taken him an entire year, sixteen tries, and five meltdowns to finally approach you and not instantly turn back around in a moment of weakness. he would never tell you that, however, because he thinks that you believe him to be a suave man. what you don't have the heart to tell heeseung is that jay had snitched on him and his various failures. you think it's adorable, so when you first teased him with this information, he'd gone pink as the cotton candies in your hands.

✧ jay will take this secret to his grave and not for reasons you may think. it had been two years into your relationship with him preparing sweet little lunch boxes for you to enjoy during your days of working and it had just occurred to you that he must have payed an honestly concerning amount of money on your groceries. when you had asked him about it, he'd laughed, shaken his head and brushed it off. this was the one thing in life he would want to do without a single payment back. he simply loves you to the moon and back, unconditionally. let him keep at least this to himself.

✧ jake was the person who'd bring stacks of well-taken and organized copies of his notes and put it under your desk back when you were at school. the mysterious, generous note giver had never revealed themselves to you for years. the writings on the papers were the biggest reason why you were so successful those years and it had crushed you not being able to thank the person properly other than stick-it notes you'd past under your desk for them to see whenever they came by. four years later when you'd reunited with jake and started a relationship with him, you realize how awfully familiar the handwriting looks.

✧ sunghoon would rather dive off a cliff than to explain what the clanging sounds in the kitchen for the past two weeks has been all about. you weren't allowed to enter it to help him with whatever he was doing, too. it would be your birthday soon and he'd fought tooth and nail to get every ingredient he'd ever need in order to make you the world's best birthday cake yet. the issue was the fact that he didn't know how to bake— not a single clue under the roof. so, he's taken it upon himself to practice making cakes every day until he could get it right. so far, every attempt has been a total failure. he still has a few days, so until then, he swears you off the kitchen.

✧ sunoo had written a few lengthy love letters to you as a child, not that he would ever tell you. he was eight years old and a hopeless romantic. he would spend hours coming up with rhymes for his poems about you and include them in the letters confessing his love for you. he was utterly smitten and charmed by your cute littles smiles (still is now). he'd never sent them to you, though, in fear of rejection, so he'd hid the notes in a box under his bedroom. ten years later, you were hanging out in the very same childhood bedroom and your feet hit a plastic box in the corner of his room. once sunoo sees the box and remembers about the contents in it, he feels absolutely mortified.

✧ jungwon was popular all throughout his childhood and teen years with many admirers, boys and girls alike. he was, however, thought to be uninterested in any romance, because he would instantly reject anyone that approached him. the small detail that no one knows about is how he'd walk the same route home a few times a day in hopes of one day catching your eyes from behind window as he'd pass by. no matter which clothes he wore or how he'd styled his hair, his subtle attempts would never work. months of hard work and the only thing that had worked was just going up to the counter with a box of juice and a small paper with a series of digits written on it.

✧ riki is a prideful boy and it would destroy his fragile ego if you knew how he'd stayed up a few nights and searched for tips on how to make someone like you on google's incognito mode. he was clueless and desperate to get you to like him as much as he liked you, so he'd scrolled through many wiki hows and blog articles. he even took a compatibility test to see how you matched and he prayed that you wouldn't ask why he was asking for your time of birth and star sign. you didn't ask, thankfully, and you did end up reciprocating his feelings in the end, but only because he'd charmed his way to your heart on his own— not because of wikihow's tips.

[sashi-ya]

𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 [+𝟏𝟖] 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗! 𝚊𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚜𝚞𝚔𝚎 𝚡 𝚏! 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

⬥ Happy birthday, Aizen-sama! ⬥ tw: +18. vag, fingering, possessive aizen taicho. I included many references: one of his phrases in hueco mundo, poem 12, the ink because of his lessons of calligraphy, momo and the letter to momo, Kyoka Suigetsu's meaning, the "untouchable" aspect of his personality and the development of his plan. toxic aizen.⬥ wc: 2k

“I refuse to let you go” “Sosuke, you are making this way more difficult than it should be. Please, stop it”

Your knees carve into the wooden floor of his room. The sun hasn’t even risen in the Seireitei, and you wanna leave before it does. But he won’t let you. Sosuke Aizen’s reiatsu is way stronger that the rest of the people know about. He can make you choke with just a simple stare from his deep brown eyes.

You cough, in all fours, spiting on the ground and panting. You need oxygen. “Sos…Sosuke… just- stop this… you are gonna kill me”

He stands up from the bed you were tangled with him a few moments ago in, and puts on his glasses. “Don’t go. I told you, I won’t let you go” he says, almost like a child throwing a tantrum for a sweet.  

He stops that rib crushing pressure and extends his hand to you. You look up at him, with eyes filled with tears. It still hurts that he thinks is ok to control you with that. Yet, controlling you with Kyoka Suigetsu could be worse. But he said he never will… right?

“Why- why are you wearing your glasses after all?” you ask, bitter. You know his secret. Captain Aizen isn’t that innocent after all.

“Because- never mind” he sighs, taking them off. “Stay. I need you here” he replies, as he leaves those supposedly fake glasses over the desk where a letter that has already been written lays.

You shake your dizziness away and stand up with difficulty. “No. Why? Call that little girl you like to fuck better” you grunt, believing that you have already decided you won’t be next to him when the “treachery plan” starts.

He laughs. “Are you serious, right now? I thought you were more intelligent than that, (Name)” he tries to gaslight you while walking towards you in a peaceful but dominant way.

His hand surrounds your wrist; but Aizen isn’t hurting you, not even grabbing you strongly enough for you not to leave. “Jealous? For me? Are you jealous, (Name)?” he asks, then taking his thumb to your lips.

You are tired of always succumbing to his lustful, so sinful approaches. He is unsatiable, and you are the only one knowing such thing. Because for the rest, the sweet captain of the fifth division of the Gotei 13, could never do such nasty things to their subordinates. Right?

“Aren’t you satisfied already? How much more you would like to use my body, Sosuke?” you spit, venomously.

“Why are you angry exactly? Is it because I told you tomorrow night not to come? Or because you want to come with me?” Sosuke asks you, making you walk backwards until your legs hit the desk behind you.

You swallow. Truth is that, you want to go with him to Las Noches. And also, you don’t want him to sleep with that annoying one… even if, it would be only Kyoka Suigetsu.

“Because… fuck you, Sosuke. That’s why” you back up, being the only woman able to talk to him that way. He would never, ever, allow anyone else call him by his first name, and much less insult him. But he knows where all of this comes from, and he is having so much fun with it.

You try to look away; Aizen is barely wearing his lose pants over nothing. If you focus on him, your eyes will only fall into the trap of his caramel skin. If you look past him, into the wrinkled sheets of his bed where he just fucked you.

“Look at me, (Name)… you really wanna go?” he asks grabbing your chin in between his thumb and index. So delicately he makes you look at him, as he comes closer and whisper into your ear. “You want to come with me, then? You really wish to be a traitor? You will be considered a criminal by the Soul Society. Would you go that far for me?”

You close your eyes. Frowning in pain… he is absolutely right. And he wouldn’t do the same for you; you just know that. You know he will never ask you to trust in him, if you do… it is just because you wish for it.

“I would go further, Sosuke. Even if I know, you will never, ever, protect me” you murmur, accepting an inexorable truth that makes you wanna cry.

You can hear him gasp. Somehow, your words were… surprising for him? For a man who has every step planned?

Aizen passes his hands behind your legs and lifts you up, sitting you over his desk. The calligraphy tint spills, falling like dark tears into the floor. Your palms get stained in black ink, almost like traces of blood that hasn’t yet been spilled… the blood of your people in the Gotei 13. You, knowing the truth of Aizen’s plans, and hiding them, make you already a criminal to them.

In between your legs he comes closer, pressing his forehead on yours. His chocolate eyes, as sweet but also as bitter, can’t look at yours for a couple of minutes. Aizen takes your hand to his chest, place in where you leave your handprint.

“Who said I won’t protect you, (Name)? No matter what may happen… As long as you walk by my side… There shall be no enemy that can stand before us.” He murmurs, giving you the gift of empty words, you chose to believe in.

You let your head fall over the crook of his neck. The smell of his skin, the deadly perfume you inhale and feel like your body relaxes instantly; the protrusion of his collar bones that call you to bite; the tickling sensation of his soft wavy hair… so inevitably irresistible.

He plants a warm kiss on your shoulder, grunting and inhaling your skin perfume. His hands travel to your arms, pulling down the yukata you quickly grabbed from the floor to cover your nudity.

He scoffs, sexily. “Where you planning on going out like this? with my clothes?” he asks, as he exposes your skin once more. “You want the rest to know you are mine. Don’t you, (Name)?”.

The way your name sounds with his deep voice, and the way he so subtly degrades you to his absolute sex doll makes you shiver. Your cheeks burn. He is not exactly right, but neither he is wrong, you want the rest to know you are his, and how much of yours he is.

“Is not that… I- Sosuke, please” you beg, what exactly… you don’t know. “Mhh? What?” he asks, smirking so deadly, as he slides his two fingers inside you.

You throw your head back, biting your lower lip. Even if you are still sensitive and swollen from before, you want more. Your body screams for more of his sweet torture.

Aizen knows perfectly well where and how to touch. The perfect rhythm, the ups and downs. Your body is yet another subject of investigation, one of his most successful ones.

“If I go without you, who would you fuck if it’s not me, mh?” Aizen inquires you, with tricky questions that have no right answer. He only wants to have a reason to punish you, even if he doesn’t really need one.

“No- Nobody” you murmur, in between whines and little moans. His fingertips bury right on the spot, making your inner thighs to tremble and your lower part to lose the sense of control. Your stained hands make a mess of his back, with nails that carve in marks that soon time will erase.

He keeps going, fingering you with merciless pace and enjoying every little whimper coming from your lips. Ah, so swollen lips he attacks with nibbling teeth that could make you bleed. Just like the love you have for this man, painful but so addictive.

It hurts, but keep biting, pulling, possessing me.

Aizen rejoices with the juicy sound of your cunt being violated by his fingers but is never enough for him. As much as he enjoys control over you, it is him who is losing it for his own body. For some reason, tonight he wants so much more than any night.

Is Aizen afraid of something? Of losing you? Even a genius like him sometimes feels doubt in his heart when it comes to love and loss.

“Let’s go to bed…” he murmurs. Usually, he wouldn’t care to fuck you almost everywhere. His desk, the floor, the bathroom, or his secret laboratory. But, tonight Aizen seems soft.

You nod, surrounding his waist with your legs, allowing him to carry to his bed. It is still warm from your bodies, even perhaps a little wet. And now, it’s about to become stained with ink, too.

When he deposits you on the mattress, you sigh loudly. His topping body over yours always leaves you out of breath. Sosuke looks at you, with eyes that aren’t proper for a man like him. Eyes that hide a tint of longing, there, where you can only see.

None of you speak. Would have made any difference? Absolutely not. The calm before the storm is always the most silent moment.

He takes your arms up and pin them above your head. With his free hand, he unties the cord that holds the hakama up, offering you a slow-motion show of his hips being revealed. It will definitely be painful when his body won’t be here to admire no more.

The stain of your hand remains there, in the middle of his chest, like the hollows, like the outcome of his plan… There, where your fingerprints have been left, will be then something shiny and powerful. Something that, in the end, will be the death of him, of you.

“Sosuke… if this is our last night, could you please make love to me?” you ask, moved by the painful ideas you just had. Love, what a stupid word to name in front of him.

“Love…” he whispers, letting go of your hands. At this point you are sure he will start giving you a three-minute-long speech on why love is stupid, and only belongs to humans.

But instead, in total calm, he takes his hand to your cheek, giving you the sweetest caress ever given by his soul. “Yes, I will…”

Your eyes widen, and probably your pupils do too. Your lips separate, but they are immediately tightly closed by his overwhelming kisses. If this is some kind of hallucination created by his Zanpakuto, you don’t know… but you definitely want him to keep going.

His hips search for your open legs almost naturally. He doesn’t need to see, his own hardness knows the way. The tip of Sosuke’s sex grazes your wetness, dragging your fluids up and down, pressing against your clit.

You let your hands printed all over his back and neck, as you clench with passion to his body. His intrusion is violent, but it flows so perfectly. Mixing both in one, feeling his impaling lust.

You can feel the way his back muscles move on your palms, the grunts coming from his mouth. Wishing for some moments to be able to see him fucking you from away… as beautiful and dangerous to enjoy, as a flower in the precipice for so many… and yet, a jump into the abyss just for you. A deep hollow, in which you drown.

“Take me with you… I’ll do anything” you bargain. “Take me with you, or kill me”. “I’m… taking you with me… I can’t- I- yes…ngh” he moans, turning you to the side, with him still deep connected with you.

You face him, noses touching. His hips going in and out, non stop, both reaching climax together, in the peak of pleasure and lust. One million finger prints all over his body, like the imprints of a love that could soon meet the end.

His façade, in pure ecstasy, is like those famous paintings of the human world…

“Aizen Sosuke, you are pure art. Like the reflection of a beautiful flower in the calmed waters of a lake…But, will I ever be able to touch the flower?”

You are the only one, who has ever touched it, (Name)… because even if I become untouchable, there are stains on my skin that will never fade away”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤAnd the blade crossed your heart, but it didn’t hurt. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤAfter all, you didn’t need to betray Gotei 13…

taglist: @stygianoir @vexronicaa 💖

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: BEN SHIMONI

Full English text of this sign about Ben at the bottom of the page

Ben Shimoni, 31, was celebrating peace at the Nova music festival in southern Israel on October 7, 2023 when the event came under massive terrorist attack by a barbaric well-armed horde of killers and rapists. Amid carnage and chaos, Ben dodged bullets to reach his car and then picked up four strangers. He maneuvered their way out of the festival site and drove thirty minutes to Beersheba, where his passengers got out of the car. To their shock, Ben said he was going back to rescue more people. They tried desperately to change his mind but Ben turned the car around and headed back to hell. 

Ben was very familiar with the roads around the festival area because he spent his childhood in Gaza. Ben lived in Gush Katif, a tight-knit, warm community of Jews. In 2005, when Ben was only 13, his idyllic life was hideously disrupted when his family and all the other Jews in Gush Katif were forcibly ejected by their own government in a tragically misguided attempt to conciliate the Palestinians. Families who’d harvested land and built businesses over a lifetime had to hand it all over to their enemies. The Palestinians immediately destroyed the farms and factories, elected Hamas and began building terror tunnels to kill Jews. Now 18 years later, paragliding terrorists on a mission of destruction were at the Nova music festival and Ben was on a mission of his own: to rescue as many people as possible. 

Like a firefighter rushing into a burning building, Ben drove into a field that was still under massive attack. He immediately filled his car with five more terrified strangers, and drove them to safety in Beersheba. This group, too, was shocked because once again, after reaching safety, Ben chose to go back to the festival site. He’d already saved nine lives but made one more desperate and valiant attempt. He picked up three frantic girls and almost got away until they were stopped at a checkpoint manned by heavily armed soldiers. Ben’s girlfriend Jessica Elter was on the phone with him and heard what happened next. Jessica told the Jewish Chronicle: “Suddenly I heard Ben asking, confused but not afraid, if some people in the road were Hamas terrorists or Israeli police. I heard the girls in the back screaming and pleading with Ben at the top of their lungs to ‘Drive, drive, drive.’ I heard a lot of yelling in Arabic and a big crash, some shooting and, after a minute of quiet the phone just hung up.”

Ben’s car was later found riddled with bullets but empty and he was initially classified as missing. However after five days Ben’s family was notified that his body had been identified, some distance from the car. Nearby was the body of the girl who’d been in the passenger seat. They had both been shot. The two girls who were in the back of the car have never been found and are presumed to be hostages in Gaza. Jessica is praying for their rescue and hoping to learn more from them about Ben’s final minutes.

Jessica says that Ben’s heroic self-sacrifice to save at least nine other people was completely in character. “He was shy, loyal, very honest with every person he met, and never said no to someone in need. He always put others before himself, truly. He had the best heart ever. And the thing he did that morning testifies to the person he was.” Jessica and Ben had attended several previous Nova festivals. Jessica would have been at that one too, except that she had recently grown more religious and stayed home to observe Shabbat.

Ben was a successful businessman who worked in the restaurant industry and appreciated the Israeli night life scene. His brother Avinoam remembers that Ben “loved life. Loved cars, traveling and parties. Always puts himself last and wants to help, so it’s not surprising that the last action he did in his life was trying to rescue his friends from hell.” 

Israeli band Synergia released a song based on a poem written about Ben Shimoni. It begins, “Who is the person who goes back into hell, a moment after he escaped?”

At the Nova festival site, Ben’s loved ones put up a sign about Ben’s life and his heroic actions on October 7, 2023. May his memory always be for a blessing and may his soul have a great elevation!

Full text about Ben (from the blue sign in the image above) at the memorial site, written by his family:

Ben Binyamin Shimon was the first born son to parents Pnina and Rafi Shimoni after many efforts to bring children into the world. Ben has younger twin brothers, Avinoam and Chai, and Chai has special needs. The three of them grew up in Dugit of Gush Katif near the sea. Following the Israeli disengagement from Gaza, Ben’s parents Pnina and Rafi divorced. Ben moved to the north with his father, and two years later, his brother Avinoam joined him, spending their teenage years there together. After completing his military service, both Ben and his father decided to leave the north and move to Modiin to start a business together, which led Ben into the world of business and back to the south. In recent years, Ben moved back to live with his mother and brother Chai in their home in Ashkelon. Later on, his partner Jessica also joined them. Ben always loved extreme sports, cars, and motorcycle racing. His friends and close-knit family were his whole world.

He was always ready to help, even when not asked. Ben loved to celebrate life and live in the moment; nightlife and parties were an integral part of his life. He owned several businesses related to food and nightlife.

In the last few months of his life, he decided to leave these businesses and began working as a sous- chef with his good friend Matan Zafrir at the Pitmaster restaurant in Petah Tikva, with a bright future ahead in the industry. His coworkers recount that they had never met a more professional, caring, and dedicated person than him. 

That Saturday, Ben decided to stay home for the second holiday of Sukkot, a decision that, as it turned out later, saved his mother and brother Chai from traveling to celebrate at the home of their friend from Dugit, Tova Goren, who lived in Kfar Aza and was murdered in her home along with her daughter Eran.

On October 7th, in the early morning hours, Ben left for the Nova festival, where he met up with his friends Tom Peretz and Michal Ohana. His partner Jessica, who was inseparable from him, surprisingly decided to stay home that evening with his mother and brother Chai. When the attack began, Ben immediately called his mother to inform her that there were rockets and to wake up Jessicaand take everyone to the safe room (bomb shelter).

Ben wasn’t afraid of the rockets; he got in his car and started to flee. He knew the area well, having grown up there and served there during his military service. Ben was an experienced driver and knew how to navigate the roads of the Gaza envelope. At the beginning of the journey, he picked up four passengers he didn’t know; Jude Kotler, Amit Shalit, Mashi Lindner, and Tal Gozal. From their testimonies, we understand that Ben quickly grasped the situation and did everything to calm them down and bring them to safety.

He rescued them to Be’er Sheva. On his way there, he contacted his father, who lives in Be’er Sheva, and asked if he could bring them to his house.

His father was at work in Omer (another city in the South) and told Ben to come and get the key. Ben realized this would delay him and decided to drop them off at a house he didn’t know at the entrance to Be’er Sheva. There, they begged him to stay with them and not return to the festival area, but he was determined to save his friends who were still there. That morning, during the rescues, Ben managed to speak with his friends and family. Everyone had the chance to talk to him; his father Rafi, his mother Pnina, his brother Avinoam, and his girlfriend Jessica.

They were all proud of him for saving people, and asked him to come home and not return to the area of the festival. However, Ben was determined to save his friends. He returned and managed to save another eight people he didn’t know to the Netivot area. Only ten months later we were connected with these people and learned that they were physically healthy but not mentally. Afterward, he returned to the festival area for a second time in hopes of finding his friends Tom and Michal, even though they told him not to come.

Nevertheless, he drove to the last location they sent him. But when he arrived at the location, Tom and Michal were no longer there (probably because their phone battery died, and they had already moved to their next hiding place). Today Tom and Michal are safe and sound. At that time, Ben knew that Gaya Halifa (Z”L), who worked with him at the Pitmaster, was also at the festival, so he contacted her and understood she was in danger. He asked her to send him her location. Gaya was with her friend Romi Gonen; they were hiding from the terrorists’ gunfire in a small bush near the Re’im parking lot.

Gaya sent Ben the location, and along with it, she wrote, “Don’t come; there are gunshots.” Despite this, Ben chose to look for them. He found them and got them into his car. In addition to them, Ben saw Ofir Tzarfati (Z’L) and offered him to join them in the car. Ofir had just made sure that his friends and girlfriend were rescued into another car and there was no space for him to go with them, so he joined Ben’s car.The four of them began driving towards Ashkelon on Road 232. Gaya managed to speak with her father, Avi and tell him that Ben rescued them and they were on their way out, asking him to pick her up from Ashdod. Romi texted her friends and family that a friend of Gaya’s from work (Ben) came to rescue them and that they were on their way out. After a short drive of a few kilometers at a crazy speed, during which Ben was on the phone with Jessica, he told her that he saw figures ahead and asked, “Are they terrorists? Arabs?” Immediately after, Jessica heard gunfire and screams. At 10:12 AM, at the Alumim Junction, they encountered an ambush by terrorists who slaughtered them.

The car stopped, and Ben and Gaya were murdered on the spot. Ofir and Romi were injured and half an hour later, kidnapped to Gaza. All this was recorded on a phone call between Romi and her mother, Mirav. After 54 days, we learned that Ofir was murdered in captivity at Shifa Hospital, and his body was found and returned for burial in Israel. As of today (ten months after October 7th, at the time of this writing), Romi is still held captive by Hamas, and we all pray for her safe return to her family, healthy in body and soul. Ben and Gaya were declared missing for five days. After extensive searches and understanding that something terrible had happened, we hoped that perhaps they were injured or even kidnapped, but the bitter news came. Ben planned to continue living life to the fullest and build his life his way, but fate chose for him to die a hero. Ben left behind a grieving family, friends, and a girlfriend who miss him, are proud of him, and love him deeply.

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

jealousy, jealousy || Han x Reader

Summary: You and Han have been dancing around your feelings for each other for… a while, if you're being honest. It doesn't help that your self-doubt makes it hard to make any move, that you're mean enough to scare most people away and oh, yeah, that his ex hates your guts. So when the three of you are at a party together and there are drinking games involved, what could possibly go wrong?

Word count: 4.2k

Genres: college AU, friends to lovers

Warnings & Tags: implied past bullying/ostracizing of the reader, jealousy (duh), kissing (rating T on the verge of rating M, so it remains fairly tame), mentioned alcohol, drinking games, self-deprecating narrator, language.

series masterlist

A/N: this took forever because I was almost done with it when I realized what I'd written didn't work with the theme, so I had to start all over again. This is also my first time writing Han, so I hope you'll enjoy it!

As usual, you hear Jisung before you see him. It's not all that surprising, the boy’s pretty loud, and, if you didn’t have a misanthropic reputation to uphold, you might even admit that you like hearing his laugh when you walk across campus, or when you catch him mid rant as you walk into the cafeteria.

Thing is, it also means that he’s around people, and you don’t… do… people. So, even though seeing him is invariably a highlight in your day, when you hear his voice, you find yourself debating whether you should head in another direction. If you don’t, you’ll have to talk to him, and as a result, them, whoever they are, because it would be weird not to, right, and you’re just not sure you have the energy for that right now.

Or ever.

Today, as isn’t uncommon, you freeze for a second, take a step back, then decide to push on. If anyone noticed that, you probably just looked extremely weird, but it’s likely that no one was paying attention, and so you keep going with a minimal amount of mortification, for now anyway. You might ruminate over it later today, like you will if there’s any hitch in the conversation that's coming, but that’s a problem for 2 a.m. you.

You’re somewhat relieved to find that Jisung’s chatting with Chan and Changbin. You’re not close with them, but you kinda get along with Changbin, and though you find Chan intimidating, your interactions with him so far have been fine, which is high enough of a bar to clear as far as you’re concerned.

Jisung notices you almost immediately, which fills you with pleasant warmth, and he waves at you with a bright smile. You choose to take that as an invitation to come closer and an indication that you wouldn’t be interrupting anything — if it’s not, that’s on him because it was unclear — and make your way over to them.

“On your way to an exam?” Jisung asks you once you’ve reached them.

“Do you think I would make myself late to talk to you?” you reply with a frown.

It makes him laugh. Sometimes it worries you, how funny Jisung seems to find you when you’re being mean. If it was when you’re being a dick to someone else, why not, but to him too? Is he okay?

“I can’t tell if this is you being a good influence on him or not,” Chan says, tilting his head. There’s an amused glint in his eyes too. Okay, that means you’re not doing too bad.

“Are you guys done with classes?” you ask. “Were you heading to the studio?”

“No,” Jisung is quick — maybe a little too quick — to answer. “We were just talking about a track we’re working on.”

Four eyes narrow on him, and Changbin grins.

“Yeah, ‘cause Jisung here’s been feeling all romantic lately, right?”

Jisung throws him a horrified look.

“You’ve been turning in very sappy lyrics lately, hm?” Chan keeps going.

“I’m the draught, you’re rain, I’m paper, you’re a poem, wasn’t it?” Changbin quotes from memory, a wide, shit-eating grin on his face.

“Do you want to die?” Jisung asks, eyes so wide they look like marbles.

The two guys exchange a knowing look, both grinning. It’s not that often they get the drop on Jisung and can tease him, for a change. They obviously find that to be a nice change of pace, but you’re not sure where that leaves you.

Because, okay, you’re not completely clueless. The lyrics could be about you. Jisung’s expressed interest in you before. He’s kissed you. Remains the question of whether that interest was romantic or just sexual.

But the thought that the lyrics are not about you? That he feels that way about another person? It fills your stomach with stones and makes it sink to the bottom of the ocean. Just thinking about it make tears spring to your eyes and you glance to the side to will them to go away.

This is bad. You’re way too far gone. What a fucking dumbass you can be, for someone who’s as academically gifted as you are.

“At least it’s not about cheating, hm?” Jisung says, staring at Chan who seems to find the ground very interesting all of a sudden.

“That’s an uncharitable interpretation of the lyrics,” he mumbles, but he appears quite eager to drop the subject after that. You find that a bit suspicious and you’d kinda like to find out what the golden boy on campus might be trying to hide, but Jisung seems relieved to be able to drop the subject as well.

“Hey,” Jisung says the second the topic’s been let go of, attention snapping to another idea so fast it sometimes makes your head spin, “I’ve been meaning to ask—”

“Oh right,” Changbin says, glancing at his phone, “there’s Sana’s party tonight. You guys coming?”

Jisung pulls a face, but you’re not sure why. It’s not like he doesn’t get regularly interrupted — and it’s not malicious either, it’s just that he, uh, talks a lot. Sometimes people end up cutting him off. In Changbin’s case, you suspect he didn’t even notice.

“I already told her we would,” Chan says, and Jisung’s face gets longer. You suspect he’d completely forgotten about it.

“Are you coming too?” he asks you, a hint of pleading in his voice.

See, even this is a dilemma. Going to a party means you’ll be forced to be in the presence of people who dislike you and who you find fundamentally uninteresting, especially since Seungmin’s been a no-show to most of these now that he’s dating. Even if you go only to see Jisung, you know people will be trying to get his attention all night, and you’ll be lucky if you get to spend ten minutes alone with him before midnight — maybe you’ll get him to yourself for a whole half-hour at around four am though. On top of that, there’s a significant risk that people will talk to him while he’s standing next to you and completely ignore you, and you’ll spend the whole time praying for a hole to open under your feet.

On the other hand, you can’t refuse him anything, and it would be far more devastating to pass on the chance to spend some more time with him.

So you just say “Sure”.

After spending more time on your outfit than you feel comfortable admitting — this isn’t a date, dammit — you show up at the sorority Sana’s a part of. Though your dress feels too short, you’re relieved to feel self-assured on your high heels. Yes, it took practicing walking in them, but it’s paying off in confidence, and it’s a price you’re willing to pay.

People are already there when you arrive, gathered on the porch, filling the house, spilling out on the balconies. You get a few looks, but it’s not like you’re not used to them. At least you’re not pretending that you don’t give a fuck. Many of them don’t like you, and you don’t like them either.

Walking in, you find yourself hesitating. Would it be weird if you just tried to find Jisung right away? Should you try to socialize, spend a few minutes talking to the rare people you know and get along here?

You may not particularly care about what people think, most of the time, but you do care about what he thinks. And the thing is, you know people talk, especially about him, especially since 3racha’s popularity blew up last year. The last thing you want is for him to think that you’re some desperate, embarrassing idiot who’s been misreading—

Enough with the line of thinking. If he’s not interested, he shouldn’t have kissed you. And, okay, the first time was a week after the break-up with his girlfriend, and he was crying, and you don’t think it meant anything to him, but the second time, this summer? It had to have meant something. He wasn’t cruel like that— You didn’t think.

You’re still grateful to make eye contact with Changbin, because it makes things a little easier. You go up to him, exchange a few words, he introduces you to some of the people who’ve flocked to him, they pretend to be interested, and once you decide that you’ve made enough of an impression, you leave them with a polite, though forced, smile.

Finding Jisung isn’t all that hard, you just have to follow the laughter.

You know that he likes his peace and quiet, too, but on a night like that, he’ll be prepared to entertain. Someone else might think that it comes naturally to him, the jokes, the antics, the comedy, but you know better. You know that there’s a surprising amount of work that goes into how good he is at this, how easy he makes it look. You know that, when he’s around you, he’s actually fairly quiet, that he sometimes hangs out on your couch, on his phone, while you’re reading, but pouts if you leave the room.

When you find him, it seems him and the group he’s with are in the middle of some drinking games. You hesitate, again. You recognize some of the girls there as part of the girls’ swimming team, the one whose captain is Jisung’s ex. Who’d hated your guts since first year, independently from Jisung, and then, uh, dependently from Jisung, you’re pretty sure. She was single-handedly responsible for half of campus thinking you were a bitch, a feat that even you find somewhat impressive.

You’d almost respect it, if, you know. It hadn’t made your life hell until you managed to stop giving a fuck.

But Jisung spots you. He always does. You don’t know how he does it, half suspect that he’s on some Spiderman shit, but he finds you in the crowd, and his eyes widen, and his smile brightens, and God, it’s not fair, how he makes you feel when he’s not even yours.

Having Jisung’s undivided attention is— one of the best feelings in the world. Genuinely. He just has a way of making you feel like you matter. It’s a bunch of things he does, one of them being the way he makes people laugh. He always— caters his jokes to the person around him. That means he pays attention, means he remembers, means he cares. That’s already a lot.

“You made it,” he says, a soft edge to his tone, when you reach him. His hand reaches for your arm, pulling you into the circle, then hovers at your elbow, sometimes brushing against your skin. This is another one of the changes that have happened since the summer. He’s more— tactile, and it does all sorts of things to you.

You don’t mind. You don’t mind at all.

“You look good,” he adds, voice low enough that you’re the only one to hear it. You do your best to repress the shiver it sends down your spine.

“Thanks,” you reply, your usually sharp tongue unable to find something to reply.

“Jisung!” some voice calls, and you manage at the last second not to roll your eyes — thank God, ‘cause there’d be hell to pay if you had.

Because it’s Jihyun. Because of course it is. If there’s one thing you can’t take away from her, it’s that she always has impeccable timing. Not for you, naturally, for herself.

If it was just you, you’d be out the door in seconds, leaving the scene before risking any kind of confrontation. Being with Jisung right now means that she won’t directly be a bitch to you, she’s never done it upfront in front of him. She instead goes the passive-agressive route which, bless his precious heart, he basically never picks up on.

You also never spoke about it with him. At first because she was his fucking girlfriend and he clearly adored her, even if there was so much that set them apart, and since then because, well, you’re still afraid you’ll come off as some jealous bitch or he won’t believe you or, worse, take her side. Tell you that you were every bit the bitch she says you are, and that she was right for the shit she put you through.

You only have seconds to brace for impact. But as you compose yourself, not bothering to smile, Jisung’s hand settles on the small of your back.

Which, hmmm, you’d be happy about in pretty much any other circumstances, but right now? Right now it might not be the best thing for you.

“It’s been a while,” she tells Jisung with a stunning smile. “How have you been doing?”

Jisung smiles too, though somewhat tighter. They’re on good terms, from what you’ve heard, but that’s not really something you’ve discussed with him. You force yourself to tune them out quickly, letting your eyes wander in the room. Just being around her makes your chest tighten. You feel on edge, feel the need to watch all of your gestures and anything that leaves your mouth in fear that it will be used against you.

Fuck, you were supposed to be over that.

Whatever Jisung answers, it makes her laugh. She leans forward, puts her hand on his arm. She makes it looks so easy, so natural. Same with how she pushes her hair behind her ear, keeps her voice at the right pitch, even laughs the right way, light and airy. If you tried to flirt the way she does, you’d only embarrass yourself. You'd look delusional. There’d be nothing sexy or attractive about it.

You’re just bad at making people like you.

It’s impossible not to be reminded of the fact that this is who Jisung went for. You don't know if you can go as far as to say she’s his type, but he did choose to date her, and you know how much he cared for her.

With her around right now, it’s really fucking hard to think that he would go for someone like you and that you haven’t been letting yourself get carried away.

On a related note, are you going to have an emotional break down in the middle of the room?

“…and things are looking pretty good for the team, we think we’ll get to the nationals this year,” Jihyun concludes cheerfully.

Wow, that’s impressive! Shouldn’t she be training for that then?

Maybe she has a point. You are a bitch.

“That’s cool,” Jisung says. “Well, it was nice running into you again.”

Her smile falters, just barely, but you don't miss it. She’s good at hiding things, but you’re better at noticing them. Know your enemy and all that.

You’d almost feel bad for her. If you’d had Jisung’s undivided time and attention, and you lost it? Yeah. You don’t know how you’d cope.

But then her eyes light up again, and again, she’s really fucking good at that shit.

“What are you guys playing?” she asks. “I’d love to join.”

You’re not unaware of the way Jisung’s hand closes slightly on your back. As he turns around, he ends up pulling you a little closer to him and your stomach tightens. Less because of his proximity, though obviously that affects you too, and more because you have the sinking feeling that this is about her. Is he— using you to make her jealous?

No. There’s no way. He would never do that.

Right?

“Just some never have I ever for now,” Sana chirps in answer. She gives the three of you a warm smile, and you think she means it. You’ve never gotten shit from her, and that says a lot. Normally you’d argue that people shouldn’t be neutral or anything, but in your case, neutral seems to be too much to ask for, in most cases.

“Alright!” Jihyun grins, lifting her cup as if to signal that she’s ready to enter the game. “Never have I ever… had sex with someone at a party.”

She drinks almost immediately, a cute giggle slipping past her lips, and so do a bunch of other people.

“None of you get close to my room,” Sana warns sternly, and several people laugh.

It’s not until you feel Jisung moving to drink from his cup and catch a glance of his burning red ears that you realize what Jihyun’s point was. With someone else, it might be self-centered to assume you were the intended target. With her, you don’t doubt it a second. Just a little reminder that he used to be hers.

There are a few whistles at Jisung’s attention, but he keeps his eyes down. It doesn’t surprise you that it would make him uncomfortable. It kinda surprises you that she wouldn’t care, though. She’s evil incarnate, but she seemed to care about him, in her own way.

“Aw,” she says, staring straight at you with her sweetest smile, “don’t worry, we’ll find you someone.”

There was a time where that might have upset you, but right now you won’t give her the satisfaction. You let your gaze flicker over her, face-shoes-face, and then glance away with a scoff. It makes you look like a haughty bitch, but, well, you’re already known for being a haughty bitch, so who cares.

Jisung chuckles discreetly next to you. That makes it worth it.

The game goes on without catching much of your interest after that. Jihyun’s sentences remain pointed — either towards Jisung or you, you’re pretty sure, though you doubt anyone notices. At least Jisung doesn’t move away from you for most of it, chin sometimes coming to rest on your shoulder, fingers running gently over your arms, the occasional whispered comment in your ear.

Heat pools in your stomach the whole time, and you’re unable to focus on anything but him. His firm body’s pressed against your back, his proximity overwhelming. You feel that you should drag him away and finally talk about what’s going on between the two of you, but you’re afraid you’ll break the spell if you do.

Eventually, he’s the one who does, peeling himself away from you when Chan shouts from downstairs to get his attention.

It feels cold when he’s gone.

It feels colder when Jihyun’s eyes zero in on you.

Hm. Maybe flight would be the better option right now.

You’re not sure how it happens, but the game shifts not long after Jisung’s left. A bottle appears on the floor, and you tilt your head. Aren’t you all too old for that?

Apparently not, or at least not when so many people are that drunk and giggling at the idea. Soon, some are making out. Others excuse themselves and find a more private spot — Sana reminds everyone that her room should not be that spot, but you’re not sure how efficient that is.

You’re thinking about retreating when you hear someone call your name and again, of course, it’s Jihyun. She gives you a warm smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“It’s your turn!”

There’s tension in the air as you just stare. You don’t want to—

“C’mon, it will be fun!”

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care about what she makes you out to be. But in that moment, you’re back to your first-year self who was still trying to fit and figure out how to make people like you.

So you lean forward and spin the bottle.

It takes you less than a second to realize that that was some dumb fucking decision making. You don’t want to kiss anyone here. The idea vaguely nauseates you, actually, but less than the uncomfortable realization that no one here wants to kiss you. You might be seconds away from facing a harsh, unpleasant rejection. That was probably her point, actually. You fold your arms over your chest, but you still feel your shoulders sink. You know you’re unwanted. You don’t need—

The bottle’s grinding to a stop when a hand shoots out to grab it.

You frown, glance up.

And it’s Jisung. He flashes you a bright smile, then winks.

“Wanna make out?”

Jihyun laughs lightly, tells you to ‘go get it’. But even you can see her heart breaking in her eyes.

None of it matters when Jisung strides over to you and takes your hand in his to pull you away. More people than you’d have expected cheer.

He pulls you into some random room, closes it behind him, and then hesitation appears in his eyes when he looks at you.

“We don’t have to— I mean, I wasn’t trying to make you— If you want to go kiss someone else—”

It sounds like he is down to kiss you, and even if you hadn’t wanted to kiss him before that, you think that little knight in a rock band t-shirt moment would have gotten you going anyway. So you shut your brain up, grab him by his t-shirt, and in the stunned silence that follows, an extremely rare occurence with Jisung, you pull him down towards you.

His lips crash against yours, warm and soft, and after the first few seconds of surprise, during which you see him blinking at you with impossibly wide eyes, he kisses you back like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. One of his hands comes up to cup your face while the other’s at your waist, squeezing and bringing you closer, not quite daring to make the move to your ass. Yet, anyway.

There’s urgency in the way he tilts his head to get better access to your mouth. Your hands trail from his shirt to his arm, feeling his toned biceps underneath you fingers, and you feel him grin against you.

“Find something you like?” he teases, before kissing you again.

This time his tongue brushes against yours, and a moan escapes you. You could feel self-conscious about it, but you don’t, not with him. If anything, it only seems to spur him on further, and he gets closer, his toned thigh pushing between yours. You feel hot all over, anywhere he touches you set ablaze, and oh, do you want this. One of his hands slides up your leg, hitching your dress higher.

“Have I told you I really like this dress?” he asks, because apparently he can’t shut up even in moments like that.

He doesn’t let you answer though, and again he’s kissing you, making your head spin. You can’t figure out what to focus on. The softness of his lips, the warmth of his mouth, how his hand is slowly making its way higher up your thigh, setting your skin ablaze, probably intentionally teasing you. Whatever it is, you’re melting under his hands. You want more, undeniably so.

He pulls away for just a second, catching his breath. His chest is heaving quickly, his lips swollen, and you can’t help but think that this is your doing, a thought that somehow turns you on even further. Dark, dilated pupils meet yours, and you think you see a desire that mirrors your own. He licks his lips briefly, glances at the bed in the room. Then his eyes meet yours again. He swallows.

“Do you—”

You jump away when someone tries to open the door.

“Is someone in there?”

Shit. Shit.

It’s Sana.

“No one better be in there,” she says threateningly.

You exchange a panicked look. She’s the sweetest person in the world, but you don’t want to cross her.

In a second, Jisung steps away from you and he’s at the window. He opens it, looks out, and then he throws one leg over the edge.

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“Saving our lives,” he replies very seriously, stepping out fully on what you assume is the roof over the porch. “Come on,” he adds, “I’ll help you out.“

You roll your eyes, walk over to him and close the window, shooing him away with a gesture of the hand. Then you open the door, and though Saya eyes you suspiciously, you think she believes your story about being tired and wanting a rest and not having realized you’d locked the door.

Then you walk downstairs and let yourself fall on a couch, right next to Jisung, who seems to be all pouty that you refused to escape with him. His thigh brushes against yours, and your stomach does a somersault, but neither of you says anything about— well. About the thing you should be talking about. The moment’s passed, and self-doubt is assaulting you all over again.

Still, right now, you’re the person who gets to let your head fall on Jisung’s shoulder, and it’s your hand he intertwines his fingers with.

In that moment, you’re sure that the two of you will be alright eventually. It’s probably going to take a while, ‘cause you’re too much of a coward and Jisung’s— well, you’re not quite sure what his deal is, but there’s definitely something there.

But, eventually, you’ll be alright.

And there is no space in your brain, at that moment, to spare a single thought for Jihyun, because she’s lost him a long time ago.

Even if neither of you seem to be able to admit it, in all the ways that matter, he’s already yours.

okayyy, again, there's kinda Lore there. i don't know if i'll end up writing it, but in case you're wondering, OC was paired with Jihyun for a class during their first year. essentially, Jihyun was pretty busy due to being on the swimming team and other personal stuff. OC ended up constantly doing all the work for the both of them, and sometimes Jihyun would say she'd do stuff and not do it. eventually, after OC was forced to complete stuff in one night and abandoned for a group presentation, there was a nasty altercation with Jihyun and the teacher became aware of the situation, resulting in a bad outcome for Jihyun. lots of people felt that OC was unfair and should have been more understanding, and OC still doesn't know if that was the right thing, but felt used and upset during the situation. Jihyun also vilifies OC when talking about it, a lot, and OC ended up being kinda ostracized after that. so yeah.

if you read all this, uh, thank you, i hope you enjoyed this, it's my first time writing Han and I love him dearly and I hope this works. it would mean the world if you could reblog this, leave a comment or anything like that! as an author, this is really the only way we get to see that our work is appreciated and it's trully what keeps me writing so it's super important :) thank you for reading and i'll see you later for Hyunjin!