#he probably gives the best hugs

[orionssbelt]

a hug from him would save my life

[honey-bunches1345]

Todays meal:

And for dessert…

[vacantgodling]

I NEED TO DRAW JENNA AND CARLOS!!!!

[hey-august]

bark bark bark

Summer body Buggy in horrible shorts . flashing his tіts on some trashy concert

[izzystizzys]

TW: discussion of something approximating suicidal tendencies but with the usual crack programming of this blog

“Ah, High General Windu”, says Fox, pleasantly. “So we meet again.”

High General Windu raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him, Fox thinks, though it’s getting hard to tell with all the blood rushing to his head. “If I let you go, will you try to throw yourself out of another window?”

Fox makes a vague shrugging motion - or tries to, anyways. It’s hard to tell where any of his limbs are going, hanging upside down in the air as he is. “I am willing to discuss terms.” A bridge will do just fine.

Impossibly, the High General’s eyebrows climb even further up his forehead. “A compromise, then, esteemed Commander.” And so, he righths Fox the head way up in the air, but leaves him floating just above the ground, at which point several painted shells come skidding around the corner followed by billowing robes and screeches.

“WHAT”, says Kote, calmly, “THE BANTHA-KARKED, FORCE-LOVING KRIFF, FOX.”

“You’ll short out your helmet mic”, Fox advises him, sagely. Fondly, he thinks back to decimating his own on only his second time in the newly-christened official Coruscant Guard Scream Closet. He’d just received the comm about the Zillo Beast being transported to 000, and made sure to take his bucket off thereafter to improve the quality of his closet time.

High General Windu’s face does something complicated between sympathy and constipation.

Because the Galaxy doesn’t hate Fox enough already and Cody wasn’t enough on his own, Wolffe elbows his way through their batch to plant himself in front of him, shoulders squared and shaking with repressed rage. “If you try that again, dickhead”, he begins, in a low growl that quite frankly sounds more cringe that intimidating, “I’m going to resurrect you and then kill you again.”

“Ah, Wolffe”, Plo Koon says, in his deep, shivery timbre, “Remember our conversations about effective conflict resolution and communication of needs?”

Wolffe’s eyes narrow at Fox, because all non-Guard are sweet summer children who walk around buckets off on 000 like absolute lunatics. Fox prays they never have to find out why that’s a bad idea. “I feel”, his ori’vod presses out between clenched teeth, “that if you make me watch you throw yourself out of another window, I’m going to jump after you and strangle you on the way down, you little bitch.”

“That’s fair”, says Fox, and watches High General Kenobi bury his face in his hands. Wolffe twitches in place and makes an aborted groaning noise, the hypocrite.

“Excuse me, High Marshall Commander Fox, but I fail to see what’s so dire about this situation that the Jedi High Council and your brothers cannot help you solve”, says Windu, the only sane one left on this Force-forsaken bloated corpse of a planet. Behind the gaggle of Jedi and ori’vode already gathered in front of Fox, the rest of them come veering around the corner in a commotion that’s quite frankly embarrassing. High General Yoda is mounted on Skywalker’s back like he’s a race-Eopie, which is Fox’ only consolation.

He got up this morning at 0300, bleary-eyed and with a pounding headache as always, and all was right in the world. And then Fox got called into the Jedi High Council’s chambers and was ceremoniously informed that in the wake of Chancellor Palpatine’s unfortunate demise (hah), and through the emergency state of the Senate, as well as several invented promotions foisted on Fox to make the delegation of any and all paperwork less shady, he was now next in the chain of command and-

Well, Fox is the acting Chancellor, in short.

Haha, he had said, and been meet with several seconds of silence, until it got both awkward and exceedingly painful. Wait, he’d said. You’re kriffing serious.

Kriffing serious, we are, had said High General Yoda, and thus Fox launched himself out the first best window with a maniacal cackle of, you’ll have to catch me first!

And catch him, High General Windu sure did.

“The will of the Force this is”, Yoda interrupts Fox’ train of thought. He scans him thoughtfully from beneath his wizened brow, and hems to himself. “Shake things up, this will. Determine the fate of the Galaxy, this shall. A feeling, I have, that a good Chancellor you will make. A better one, hmmm.”

“That’d be high praise, if not for the fact that a dead lemming would make for a better Chancellor than the last one”, says Fox, drawing and indignant gasp from Skywalker. He doesn’t bother with either that or the green goblin’s cackle, lost in the deep sense of resignation that settles over his shoulders like a suffocating blanket.

“Alright, then, get me Thorn on the comm. As my first act in office, I’m firing all the Jedi. No offense, but you’re kind of a disaster. Then, someone get me to the Chancellor’s office, I’m calling Dooku to let him know the war’s off. And please get me Judicial, they’ll be up all night working on my datafolders - I’m having the Senate arrested.”

“Who - is - arresting - “, Bly pants, hands on his knees from where he’s just come sprinting around the corner with his Jedi.

Underneath his bucket, Fox smiles a smile that’s all teeth. “The Senate”, he says, sweetly, wondering if he’s just imagined the shiver that’s gone through the room. “I’m suing the Senate, and taking them all into temporary custody for abuse of sentient rights.”

[itsybitsybatsyspider]

Have some more Dragon Prince Au, feat. Jack trying to learn Sky magic and his sister, Emily.

[caycanteven]

also...

take this big ol' softy that I can't help but literally melt for.

It's @didderd boi uwu. I love him and will always have coffee breaks with him.

[alicewonderao3]

Tell me he doesn’t look so good here.

good god almighty.. look at my man

(@hqtchner’s gifs)

[toapoet]

i know geralt is like token grumpy guy but what if he was also like…the “free dad hugs” guy at pride. ??

[imagobin]

The Spot Sketcharoos

He is peak design- Also while sketching him I noticed he's got like- hip dips? Love handles? However you wanna call them- that's cute, that's absolutely adorable and I'm here for it

[moe-broey]

Forever thinking about this panel

He will NOT be accepting hugs for any mundane reason and if you try he will react like he's being hunted for sport

But I am ALSO thinking about

He will give a little sympathetic pat on the back........ if you're feeling down ......

Alfonse physical affection seems to vary and is situational 👍

[lordgrimwing]

Glorfindel the Child Lord

[for Glorfindel Week, hosted by @glorfindelweek, Day 2, a companion piece to Glorfindel the Child Balrog Slayer]

“My King?” Glorfindel said. “You sent a message?”

Turgon’s office was small and intimate. The council room and other official and ceremonial rooms in the spiraling tower were large and opulent as only the Noldor could be, but he liked his private room small and tastefully decorated with a handful of meaningful items. There was something about conversing in these rooms as opposed to anywhere else that made Glorfindel feel completely seen and understood, even if he was not always called here for the most pleasant of discussions. 

Turgon looked up from his armchair by the window. He held a book in one hand and an elegant glass of some russet drink in the other. The gold woven into his hair flashed in the setting sun as he raised his head. “I see the message found you. I wondered how long it would take.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed, conscious of the flecks of dirt on his clothes that threatened to fall onto the pristine rug. Maybe he should have taken the time to change first. “The courier should be commended: she let no great feat daunt her.”

Turgon smiled and gestured at the seat across from him as he set the leather-bound book on a side table. “Nor mountain cliffs, I suspect. Calatail more than earns her name. Please, sit.”

“I dare not, for my tunic is soiled. I am quite happy to speak on my feet.” He pointed at one of the various muddy marks to illustrate the risk he posed to furniture. He really should have changed, and maybe washed his hair, too. He doubted Turgon had expected him, the lord of one of his houses, to arrive several hours late and covered in dirt and detritus. He wasn’t doing a very good job at this lord business, was he?

“Laurefindelë, a little dirt will not harm the upholstery. Sit.” Turgon said it with a serious but teasing tone, mixing Sindarin with Quenya. 

Glorfindel did so, settling himself on the edge of the seat and touching as little of the cushion as possible. Turgon definitely noticed but refrained from commenting further, which was a relief. He did not want to disobey his king, but also, he really should have made himself presentable. He wasn’t a child anymore.

“Now, Glorfindel,” Turgon said, relaxing back into his seat and into casual Quenya, using the Sindarin version of his guest’s name, which he knew the young lord preferred. “From all appearances, I will assume Calatail had to retrieve you from your House’s fields in the northern glen-”

Glorfindel kept his mouth shut. That was not true at all and he was fairly certain Turgon knew he hadn’t been anywhere near where he should have been. It wasn’t that he was trying to shirk his new duties, and he understood the weight of responsibility the title of Lord gave him—he grew up watching his parents bear that responsibility. Sometimes he just wanted to run off and leave it all behind. He couldn’t though, so he’d compromise by climbing as high up the precipice surrounding the secret city as he could. He knew he shouldn’t do it but he did.

“-and that our meeting slipped your mind while you were thus occupied.” Turgon’s voice was calm, his face untroubled, but he was without doubt giving gentle chastisement. 

It would have been better, Glorfindel thought, if the king had reprimanded him with sharp words, or demanded an explanation for the tardiness. He would have if any of the other lords kept him waiting for so long. He had much to do and little time to wait for dawdlers. 

Glorfindel cast his eyes down and clasped his dirty hands in his lap, attempting to look duly chastened, even if he didn't feel it. He knew he should do better, could treat his title with all the gravity it deserved (he'd seen his parents bear it with all the honor they could, even during the hardest parts of the March) but he knew he’d do this again, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry about it. He would try to not miss another meeting, at least.   

“We’ll put that behind us,” Turgon said kindly. “I wanted to discuss your House’s contribution to the Festival of Trees.”

Glorfindel straightened in his seat. This was about his House; he needed to represent his people well. This was one thing he couldn’t fall short of. “Preparations are well underway. We have dual responsibilities with guarding the fourth gate, so I’ve broached the possibility of collaboration with the House of the Fountain for the tournaments.”

“Very good,” Turgon said with a nod. “As usual, Idril is organizing special events for the children.”

This was clearly the reason he wanted to meet with Glorfindel.

“In years passed, you’ve assisted her with that.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed. Idril recruited him to shepherd the younger children—mostly products of the Long Peace before the construction of Gondolin—from activity to activity. He liked it. The formal festivities were nice, especially once he was old enough to appreciate the more solemn bits, but he always looked forward to gathering up the children to meet Idril.

Turgon smiled again but his lips were thin, like he was about to say something and did not fully like the taste of the words. “I’ve asked that she find someone else to help her this year and going forward. With your new responsibilities, I thought it best to relieve you of that burden so that you can focus on your House.”

Glofindel did not slump in the seat. He did not let his shoulders drop with disappointment because he was not disappointed. He really wasn’t. He knew this would come eventually; he wasn’t a child anymore, and he could name at least three elflings who’d happily take up the honor of working with Idril. Still, a pang of loss shot through his chest at the finality heralded by the king’s words.

He’d given up his childhood when Turgon placed the lordship on his shoulders.

(his memories of the ceremony tasted like smoke from the Nirnaeth Arnoediad and salt from the tears on his face, his parents’ absence a bleeding wound inside his chest)

“My deepest thanks,” he said past the lump in his throat. “I might have forgotten about the conflict until the celebration was upon us. I will write a letter for Idril to thank her for allowing me to work with her for so long, and suggesting new candidates to fill the role.”

“I’m sure she’ll track you down herself in the coming months.” Turgon’s expression was once again relaxed, the challenging part of the conversation over. 

She would, wouldn’t she? He wondered how long he could avoid it without being rude. Idril was nothing if not determined (that was one of the things he admired about her when he was young).

There was another pause, but this time Glorfindel had nothing to contribute to the silence other than his own. 

Turgon’s tone changed again when he opened his mouth, going from the king he had become in Beleriand to the family friend Glorfindel vaguely recalled from Valinor. “Lordship is a great weight I have asked you to shoulder. How are you doing, Laurë?”

“I am learning a great many things.” Glorfindel didn’t know how much more he could bring himself to say. “And as you’ve seen, schedule management is still a trial. My King,” he stood, “if our business is finished, might I beg leave to depart? I’ve just remembered I have a House meeting to preside over that starts in half an hour. I promised my steward I wouldn’t be late this time.”

Turgon looked taken aback at the sudden change in the conversation. He looked up at the young lord from his seat. “That was everything pressing. Please, go if you need.”

Relief filled the parts of Glorfindel’s body not already flooded with painful memories. He spun on his heel, no longer caring if his clothes shed debris on the rugs, and hurried from the office. He barely caught the king’s promise that they’d talk again soon. 

He left the palace tower as quickly as he could, nearly tripping on the stairs in his haste to be out and away so he could find a quiet spot to recompose himself. The House meeting wasn’t as imminent as he’d said, but he didn’t have enough time to hide the evidence of tears from his steward if he started crying now. 

(she’d been his parents' steward since Valinor, and she’d watched him grow up)

(he feared he was disappointing her with his struggles to fill his father’s shadow as Lord of the House of the Golden Flower)

He tucked himself away in the unused space behind a bakery. Sitting very still, he focused on the tantalizing smells coming from the open windows rather than the memories of the day the battered, fractured army came back from the Nirn.

[that-angry-noldo]

Beren never heals.

He never admits it to anyone. (He hardly admits it to himself, really.) He finds a place and builds a house, a respectable, cozy house for him and Luthien to live in. He grows strawberries. He has a few horses he tends to. He's in the middle of nowhere. He's safe.

... he doesn't feel like he is.

It's the smallest things. It's the way he would stand at the door, hand on the handle of the sword, body tense and eyes prying the road to their house with anxiety. It's the way he's hyperaware of his surroundings. It's the way he knows all the escape routes by the palm of his hand. It's the way he has a bag fully packed yet never touched, sitting in the corner of the closet in the hallway.

But, well, Beren isn't dumb. He knows words "trauma" and "coping". So he doesn't dwell on it.

He tends to his strawberries. He's pretty sure he grows the best strawberries in Doriath. He also cooks, because Luthien loves his food, and he loves making Luthien happy.

Sometimes, they have guests, either from the forest or from Menegroth itself. Beren always packs them a basket of strawberries and a bag of fresh cow cheese.

(He may grow the best berries, but he's anxious about the cheese. It's too sour, sometimes.)

Sometimes those guests are his in-laws. They are... fine. Thingol is fine. He geniunly feels bad, and Beren... Beren feels bad, too. Kind of. So he invites Thingol in and makes pancakes. With strawberries. And cheese. And sour cream. It's awkward.

Sometimes, Melian shows up. Beren feels the hair on his spine rising, looking at those unhuman, unearthly eyes. She watches him tend to the animals, and Beren thinks it'll be rude, not to invite her.

Thankfully, Luthien is there. She grabs her mother and says something about tea. Beren watches them disappear.

(He remembers the look of rage and disgust on Thingol's face. He remembers the way Melian's gaze would feel as a trap, scanning every thought and every memory. He remembers wandering alone, remembers that eery feeling of being watched. Remembers the dark of Angband, remembers the halls of Mandos.

Luthien covers him with her wing. Beren feels the panic stopping.)

Beren misses his mother, and his father, and his every companion. Beren misses Finrod, and Hilie, and Nyardo with his weird stories.

He carves every face he can remember in the wood. Luthien helps him polish the figurines.

(Sometimes, Beren feels he's doing too little - when he looks at Luthien and sees her hair, her wings, her hands. She's done so much for him, how can he ever repay her? How can he ever look her in the eyes?

Those nights, Luthien holds him closer and hugs him tightly. It makes him feel better. A bit.)

He still lies awake at night, and he flinches every time a wolf howls far away. He turns his head to Luthien and hears her steady breath. It calms him down a bit.

He still can't fall asleep.

He closes his eyes and tries again.

[medicbrainrot]

i pray with the devil you rest in peace (divinity, part 2)

As a result of the success of the mission, everyone had been given a few days leave to rest and recuperate. Simon and Artemis had decided to spend their leave together, using the quiet days to spend some time together, in a calm, relaxed environment. 

After a chill night watching movies and playing video games, Simon and Artemis had fallen asleep cuddling on his bed, enjoying a restful evening together. 

Simon was fast asleep on the bed, a soft smile on his face as his chest rose and fell with his breathing. Both of them were dressed for comfort, Simon in a black t-shirt and sweatpants, Artemis in pajama pants and one of Simon’s hoodies. 

Simon rolled over in his sleep, pulling Artemis closer to him. His arm was draped around her back, tucking his face into her neck. He sighs, nuzzling into her.

Artemis was having a dream…no, a nightmare. She feels like she can’t breathe. The memory of the enemy soldier’s knife pressed against her throat causes her to whimper in her sleep.

Her whimpering rouses Simon from the confines of sleep, and he pulls back slightly to look at her. He starts gently running his fingers through her hair, leaning up to kiss her forehead, trying to provide any semblance of comfort during the nightmare she’s experiencing.

“Shh…everything’s okay now… I promise you’re safe, I’ll always protect you. Just like I did then.” He whispers softly.

“No…please…let me go…” She mumbles quietly, a frown marring her features.

“Hey, hey, It’s okay.” He gently pulled her closer to him, putting a hand on her shoulder and leaning her against him. His voice was warm and soft, soft and comforting. 

“You’re safe. You’re safe, okay? He’s gone. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.” Simon tried to keep his voice steady as he comforted Artemis, trying to keep any notes of panic out. He kept his arms tightly around her, trying to help her. “You’re okay, I’m right here.”

Her hand reached up to scratch at the wound across her throat. “Simon… Simon… please… help.” She whimpers, scratching at her neck.

He grabbed her hand with one one of his one, pulling it away, placing it against his chest. “Don’t touch it, sweetheart. You’ll undo the bandages, Temi.”

His voice remained gentle, but he was starting to worry. “Artemis, you’re going to be alright. I’m here. You’re okay.”

She starts hyperventilating, the nightmare getting worse. “Please… help me… please.” She whimpers, tears beginning to escape from her closed eyes.

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” Simon soothed her, trying to quell his own panic. “I’m here, I’m here, it’s okay.” He held her tightly as he tried to soothe her back to a steady breathing rate. “You’re going to be okay, I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

Simon continues to try to comfort her as she cries, when a thought hits him like a bolt of lightning. 

He took a deep breath before speaking. “Artemis, sweetheart, wake up.” He shook her shoulder gently. “Come on, it’s okay, wake up, love.”

Between Simon calling her name and the gentle rocking of her body, Artemis woke up in a gasp, her eyes filling with tears. 

“Hey… it’s okay. You’re okay.” He soothed as he looked at her, eyes wide and tearful, his own eyes filled with worry. “I’m here, Temi, I’m here. You’re safe.” He pulled her close, resting her head on his chest. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

She buries her head in Simon’s chest as she lets out a few quiet sobs. “He had me… he was gonna…”

“I know.” Simon whispers, holding onto her tightly, wanting nothing more than to comfort her. “But you’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you. He can’t hurt you again.”

He repeated softly, holding her tight as she cried. “It’s okay, you’re safe, I’m here.”

“You’re here.” She repeated in a whisper. “You’re here.”

“I’m here.” He repeated back to her, his voice gentle. He didn’t ever want to see her get hurt again, and all he wanted right now was to give her all the comfort in the world.

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise. He won’t hurt you ever again, Artemis. Never again…”

As her sobs started to subside, the tension in her body started to release. 

Simon let out a soft sigh as he felt her body start to relax. She was safe, and she was out of that terrifying nightmare. He kept his arms securely around her, and leaned his head up to press a kiss into her hair. “Do you know what I'm most worried about?” He asks softly, pressing another gentle kiss to her head.

“What?” She whispers. 

“You.” He replies quietly. Simon stroked a gentle hand down her back, trying to let her know that he was there, that she was safe, and that he would keep her safe. She couldn’t see it, but his expression was filled with worry and concern for her. Simon just wants to keep his Artemis safe.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He whispers.

“I’m okay.” She whispers back. “It was just a nightmare.”

“I know.” He brushes his hand up and down her back again before pressing another kiss to her hair. “You’re safe now. You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m safe.” She repeats. “I’m okay.”

Simon pulled away from the hug for a moment to look into her eyes, trying to get a gauge on how she was feeling. He smiled gently, squeezing her in reassurance. “You’re okay.” He whispered, pressing her body into his again, softly stroking her hair and her back.

He never wanted something like that to happen to her again. He silently vowed to always be a safe place for her, to always protect her. “You’re okay, you’re safe, I’m here.” 

“I’m okay, I’m safe, you’re here.” She mumbled sleepily.

Simon sighed in relief when he heard Artemis repeat her answer again, happy to hear that she had calmed down again. “I’m here Artemis, I’ll always be here.”

He held her close, running his hand up and down her back, over and over. He softly kissed the top of her head again, before whispering, “I love you.”

“...love you…” She mumbled back, already half asleep.

Simon smiled gently, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Artemis.”

He was content to fall asleep again with her wrapped in his arms, wanting nothing more than for that moment to last forever. All he wanted was an eternal moment of peace with the two of them together, after everything they’ve been through. 

A/N: Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated!

Masterlist

[hazmatazz]

realizing how much physical affection means to me literally. like i always get that as my #1 love language for every fun test i do but oh my god they're right. i don't get enough physical affection or i don't get people saying they're giving me physical affection when they can't and suddenly i'm staying up that everyone hates me

[nostraightgloops]

i thoroughly enjoy the idea that neon j sort of like...how to word. his exterior is wholly robotic and Hard. So when he has the opportunity to hug or hold someone (presumably Not Robotic and Hard, rather Squishy and Malleable) by god he takes it