#i wish i could sort by oldest but alas

[i-see-7-cats]

truly the most terrible thing about catching up with a show is that you can't browse the tags in the meantime

[bosbas]

Chapter 8: no one wanted to play with me as a little kid

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love (sort of. it's like pre idiots in love. on the cusp of idiots in love), fluff (so much fluff)

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: you know what. let's pretend all of the ages/years make sense. kisses to all of you!

December 4, 1809 - Dearest, loveliest, most wonderful Y/I (your initial),

I am so sorry I have not written in almost two weeks, though I did enjoy the very strongly worded letter you sent me reminding me of this fact and demanding a response. I wish I had a better excuse, but truthfully, this term has just been hectic. But to answer the question you so politely asked: yes, I will be home in time for Christmas, and I will be staying for New Year's and your birthday (your birthday is not even two weeks after Christmas, darling, give me some credit!). Though I rather think you owe me a present instead of the other way around after calling me an oblivious toad.

As an apology for my silence, I've attached my reading list for the courses I am taking at Oxford this term so you can also read them. I am sure you will be able to find them in your library but do let my mother know if you cannot find them. We should also have copies in our library. I will be heading back to Aubrey Hall in ten days to see the lot of you, and I will eagerly be awaiting all of your thoughts on this term's reading.

Yours, B

You couldn't help the excited gasp that left your lips as soon as you were finished reading Benedict's letter. You hadn't even managed to leave your entryway before you hastily opened the envelope addressed to you, blurting out a thank you to your slightly startled butler, who had been taken aback by your eager rifling of the mail. 

Now that Benedict was at Oxford, you barely got to see him at all, so you were more than a little excited when you read that you would only have to wait ten more days to see him. The three weeks he was home for the winter holiday were the bulk of your in-person interactions with him for the year, as had been the norm for the past three years he had been at university. 

It wasn't all bad, though. Proof of that lay in a box in your bedroom filled with every single letter or note you had received from Benedict while he was away at Oxford. Even the short ones, when he was studying for an exam and barely had time to write a coherent response, had found a place inside your box. You supposed the box contained most of your friendship with Ben over the past three years, neatly organized by date from oldest to newest and separated by term. 

Sometimes, you found yourself missing Benedict more than usual, and you would read through your favorite of his letters. Often, it ended up being the shortest notes that were the sweetest and ones you would read over and over. Even years after he had sent the letters, you found comfort in his messy scrawl after an afternoon playing Pall Mall without Benedict and his typical banter. But once you saw him at Aubrey Hall every December, it would be like no time had passed at all. You kept him up to date on everything happening at home with your family and his, and he told you wild stories from his time at Oxford. 

And although you enjoyed hearing about his life, it was also bittersweet. You were so jealous of him, wishing more than anything that you could go to university, too. But alas, the pesky issue of your gender prevented you from furthering your education. You got as close as you could, though. Benedict would send you all of his readings every term, and you enjoyed discussing the books you read at length when he returned for the holiday season. 

This is not to say that your conversations about literature and art were limited to your in-person time. In fact, most of your correspondence was about the books you were reading or the galleries you had gone to. Ben could spend pages and pages talking about a particular part of a painting, the way the artist had captured the way light filtered through the trees. And you loved every bit of it, engaging in your usual discussions. In a way, if you ignored how much you missed him, it was lovely to have a physical representation of your friendship. 

However, you would soon stop being constrained to receiving correspondence from Ben every few days, and you could simply knock on his door if you were particularly interested in talking about an aspect of your book. Your time at Aubrey Hall had become your favorite time of year, three weeks of daily interactions with your best friend being the absolute best birthday present you could've ever asked for. 

But this year was different. This was the last time you would have to say goodbye at the end of the holidays, seeing as Benedict was graduating in the spring and returning from Oxford permanently. To say you were over the moon was an understatement. You could barely wait to spend hours in his studio watching him paint again or reading aloud to him under the shade of the tree in your backyard on particularly warm days. 

---

August 12, 1799 - Y/I, I thought you would like this one. Yours, B

Bypassing Alex and Anthony having a heated debate about who was better at billiards, Benedict headed straight in your direction across the garden, ignoring Daphne, Colin, Theo, and Bastian, who had been playing some team game that devolved into an argument. Benedict patted your head as he came by to sit beside you on the grass, momentarily drawing your attention away from the massive book on your lap.

Grabbing the book from your lap and transferring it to his own, he asked, "So, what do you think?"

You let out an excited squeal, shaking Benedict's nearest arm with both hands. "It's amazing, Ben! An entire book about flowers, who knew? I've spent hours looking at it already, and I'm not even halfway through! It's got so much information I could die. It's incredible. Thank you so much." Though it was left unsaid, Ben knew these were hours you would have otherwise spent alone. The twins were especially adamant about not having you play with them, and Alex and Anthony were too caught up in their never-ending competitions to pay any attention to you. With your mother and his being occupied with the toddlers, Francesca, Cass, and Eloise, who had only just begun to walk and talk, you and Ben were truly the only odd ones out. But it was no bother to him. He loved when you read aloud to him, and you would happily listen to him talk about his sketches for hours on end, something he could not say about any other member of the Bridgerton-Beaumont cohort. 

Ben could only laugh fondly at your excitement, internally very proud that he had found a book you really enjoyed. "It's called an encyclopedia. There are loads of them about just about anything and everything in the world," he told you, leafing through the book himself. Gently pushing the book back in your direction, he prodded, "Well, go on then. Show me your favorite flowers so far." 

Grabbing the book, you hastily turned the pages until you reached the flowers, starting with the letter 'd.' Standing up, you rushed to the nearest corner of the garden and dug around for a few seconds, coming back with a bunch of small white flowers clutched in your small hands. 

Ben let out a short laugh, but you quickly shushed him, whining, "Stop it! It'll make sense in a second, I promise."

"I didn't say anything!" responded Ben defensively, putting his hands up in the air but unable to conceal the smile you had elicited from him. 

"Okay. Look at the page. The daisies. They're also called Bellis perennis, but that's in Latin. We have them here in the garden! Isn't that lovely?" you said excitedly, placing the flowers beside Ben.

"Oh, that is quite nice, Y/N," he responded, picking one of the daisies up and placing it behind your ear, eliciting a bright smile from you. "Did you know that a Violet is a type of flower? And so is a Primrose."

"You mean both our mums have flower names? That's so fun. I wish everyone could have a flower name," you responded, excited to have learned new information. 

"You could always give your daughters flower names," Ben suggested, enjoying the pure joy you were getting out of this.

"Well, before I have daughters, I would have to get married. And I don't want to do that! I just want to keep reading books. I want to read every single encyclopedia in the world!" you exclaimed, reaching your arms as high as they could go. 

Ben laughed, highly amused by your antics. "Just like me, then. Except instead of reading it's painting," he responded as he laid down fully on the grass, looking up at the sky and feeling particularly thankful that someone understood how he felt. On the other hand, you took the opportunity to dump all of the flowers you had picked onto his torso, arranging and rearranging them into different designs. He could only laugh, not at all bothered that his shirt would surely be dirty now, just happy to watch you enjoy yourself. 

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you spoke up as you tried unsuccessfully to stack the flowers on top of each other. "That's perfect, then. We can get married, I can read, and you can paint, and we can have a daughter and give her a flower name."

"That sounds wonderful! I'm glad that's sorted," he laughed, lifting his head to find you flashing a toothy grin. "D'you like the name Daisy for our daughter, then?"

"That's lovely! And you can paint her a painting of a daisy for her room!" you responded eagerly. Benedict hummed in assent, busy imagining the dynamics of a blissful imaginary marriage. 

---

January 3, 1810 - Y/I, Happiest of birthdays, darling. Come downstairs, where I have a proper gift and card waiting for you. Yours, B

As you came downstairs, you already feared the fate that awaited you. Every year, your birthday would begin with a very extreme and frankly excessive snowball fight involving all the Bridgerton-Beaumont children. You could trust no one. Alliances would easily crumble under pressure, and people were just as likely to betray their siblings as they would someone from the other family. You and Benedict, ordinarily inseparable, could become sworn enemies in the span of two snowballs. You couldn't even trust sweet Hyacinth, only seven years old, to be loyal to any team, seeing as she was an outstanding double agent, a lesson you had all learned the hard way. It was absolute chaos, and you loved every second of it. It didn't matter how old you were; this was always the best part of your birthday.

As soon as you stepped outside, a snowball the size of your fist hit your right shoulder. Slowly turning toward the perpetrator, you narrowed your eyes once you saw it was Gregory, who had helped you defeat Bastian and Francesca in one fell swoop last year. Clearly, that alliance was gone, and you would have to find someone else to rely on this year. 

Since it was your birthday, the fight officially started when you threw the first snowball, and this year, you chose to throw it at Cassandra, your own sister, who had annoyed you at dinner yesterday by incessantly flinging peas at you. Once the tightly packed ball left your hand, all hell broke loose. You were hit in the stomach and leg simultaneously as you fired snowballs in every direction you could, laughing as you did. 

You briefly ducked behind a tree trunk, needing a moment to breathe. You took advantage of the fact that you weren't a target to form a massive snowball. You carefully stepped away from behind the trunk, checking that the coast was clear. Without a second thought, you flung the snowball as hard as you could in the direction of the person closest to you. 

Unfortunately, it hit Benedict straight in the face, blinding him for a few moments. Your mouth hung open, trying not to laugh because you knew you had packed quite a bit of force into your throw. You ran to Ben's side, apologizing as much as possible without bursting into laughter. He cleared the snow from his eyes and turned to you slowly, an evil grin forming on his face. 

"I believe you have just declared war, Miss Beaumont," he said finally. 

You screamed and ran in the opposite direction, knowing he would be absolutely merciless. You couldn't even look back, not wanting to slow down. After a few seconds of frantic sprinting, you felt Ben tackling you onto a massive pile of snow. Both of you were laughing hysterically while trying to catch your breath. He turned you over so you were lying down side by side, both of you panting heavily, looking up at the winter sky. 

"I miss you," you said finally, turning your head toward him, only to find that he was already looking at you. He pulled you closer, wrapping both arms around you tightly before he helped you up and brushed the snow off of your coat. 

"I know. I miss you, too. But it'll only be like this for a short while longer, and then you can come round every day and read to me while I paint, yeah?" he said, lifting your chin to look at him. 

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt your heartbeat quicken, his brown eyes not letting yours go. Your eyes flickered to his mouth briefly, your lips parting slightly. Looking back at his eyes, you saw something flash in them that you couldn't quite parse, an expression you hadn't seen before. Finally, you nodded, letting him pull you into him and kiss your forehead, enjoying the warmth and comfort you felt as you were wrapped tightly in his arms.

---

September 17, 1805 - Y/I, I can't believe you had a book about the exact artist I was talking about! I'll pop by yours later to say a proper thank you. Yours, B

Benedict walked into your sitting room, sprawling on the couch before you with his arm behind his head, silently waiting for you to look up from your book. But you had just gotten to an exciting part, and your eyes remained glued to the page, ignoring your best friend's attempt to get your attention. 

You heard him huff and muttered a soft "Just a second, Ben" as your eyes raced across the page, eager to know what happened next. In response, he slid further down the couch and crossed his arms, eliciting a laugh from you and finally drawing you away from your book. 

"You were barely waiting ten seconds, Benedict!" you exclaimed, secretly pleased he was so eager to see you. He was leaving for Oxford in a few weeks, and although you were trying not to think about the reality of him going, you were acutely aware that you would soon be unable to see him every day.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly, responding with a teasing, "It felt like ten years!" 

In recent months, the two of you had become inseparable. Your days were spent reading next to him as he painted, listening to him talk about his most recent artworks, or going for nature walks if you found yourself in Aubrey Hall. Anything to keep him close by before he left for Oxford, you reasoned. Though you couldn't help the growing affection, you were feeling, finding it impossible to look away when he tousled his hair just so and being a bit too pleased every time he complimented you. Every handsome smile or cheeky wink he sent your way lit you up inside, melting your heart just a little bit.

The problem was, and of course, there was a problem, that Benedict was always like this. Nothing about his demeanor had changed; your friendship was still the same as it had always been. Except now you found yourself spending a little too much time in the mornings making sure your hair looked good in case he popped by unannounced. Regardless, you knew Ben did not reciprocate your affections, so you tried to ignore these feelings as best as you could, folding them up very small and tucking them neatly in the corner of your heart for later examination.

Now, you found yourself on a couch against a wall of Benedict's studio, reading Romeo and Juliet as he was quietly sketching. This was quite possibly your favorite thing to do. Spend quiet afternoons together, reading and painting, enjoying each other's company. You took a moment to look at him as he scrunched his nose, unhappy with a certain aspect of the sketch. 

He sighed and looked up at you, nodding toward your book. "What has Shakespeare got to say today?"

"That marriage is a death sentence," you replied, voice deadpan. 

Ben burst into laughter. "Oh, come off it. It can't be that bad in real life. That's only a play! Besides, you've still got a while before you have to think about that," he tried to reason with you.

"Well, maybe. But it just sounds so unappealing. I want to do this. What we're doing now. I want to keep doing it. I don't want to be a wife! I just want to read and study," you argued. 

Benedict stood up, coming to sit beside you and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I know, darling. I'm sorry," but he knew you had more to say.

You groaned, pushing your forehead into his shoulder. "I just don't think I'll ever be happy if I'm forced to marry. And I most likely will be, knowing my mother. She'd rather die than have one of her daughters turn into a spinster," you huffed, missing the sympathetic look you got from Ben. "And who will my husband be? A clueless man with no interest in me beyond my ability to be a good wife? I cannot imagine a worse fate."

---

May 8, 1810 - Y/I, I'll keep this one short, seeing how I'll be properly back in a few days! I've been quite busy with graduation, but I'm excited to come home. Yours, B

You smiled as you placed the last letter you had received from Benedict back in your box. The collection was complete. Three years of correspondence between the two of you finally come to an end. You carefully closed the box and returned downstairs, where a big family gathering was occurring in the garden. 

As soon as you stepped outside, Ben was at your side, chatting your ear off about one thing or another. He had barely left you alone since he had been back, granting you only a few minutes to yourself, but you couldn't complain. You wrapped an arm around his torso as you walked back to the garden table. 

"Oh, you look so darling!" cried Violet, cooing at the two of you. 

"You're proper adults now! Both of you! How the time has passed," your mother added, reaching out to hold Violet's hand. 

Benedict could only smile, too happy to be back at your side to focus on anything else. He had missed you loads while he was at Oxford, but having your arm around him now, he realized just how much he needed you. Ben placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, unable to help himself as you sat down at the table. He sat right next to you, taking one of your hands into his own so he could play with your fingers as you chatted with Primrose and Violet. 

Oxford had been a riot, to be sure, but he was so glad to come home to you.

—

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Tag List (lmk if you want to be added!): @bellahadidnt16 @like-gabriel-and-castiel @riverraingrayworld @5sos-calm @elissanatok @titanicnerd-blog @noonenuts @moonwayne @lilasblogg @mmontgomeryb @fulltacoparadise @joyfullymulti

[norel-ravenclaw]

Into My Web

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Featured characters: Zestial x gn reader, Alastor

Rating: sfw

Word count: 1300

Description: A soul out of time, you arrive in Hell and make friends with Alastor, who introduces you to the oldest Overlord in the Pride ring - Zestial.

WARNINGS: | gender neutral reader | mentions of murder and brief gore | the plague! no?! yes!! | am I delighted to use my old English knowledge from years of bible study to write for a deeply impure hell show? fuck yes I am -> will used instead of wilt throughout, iykyk |

A walk through the sketchiest part of town means little with the Radio Demon on your arm. Or so you thought, until even he suddenly becomes tense.

A stranger steps into your path, denizens and low ranking overlords fleeing in terror from the glimpse of virulent green flashing beneath his cloak. Tall and slender, a mysterious aura of a sort of passive menace emanating from him.

When he speaks, his low voice and old English pique your curiosity. “Good morrow, Alastor.”

“Ah! Zestial, what a pleasure to see you again.”

The demons incline their heads in a gesture of elegant politeness lost to older eras, stark contrast to the chaos their combined presence is creating on the street.

“Likewise.” Six fathomless eyes emitting a faint neon glow fix on you in a distinctly predatory appraisement. “And who might this creature be who hast gained thine attention?”

Alastor’s smile takes on even more of a strained tint. “Of course.” He introduces you politely, then adding, “And this is Zestial Morde, the most ancient overlord in the Pride ring.”

Having somewhat of an old fashioned personality is what made Alastor choose your company over the other residents of the hotel in the first place, so it’s no difficulty leaning into that here. You dip your head and half bow while still holding Alasor’s arm. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Zestial hums low in his throat. “What year didst thou die, sinner?”

“This year, sir.”

Alastor gestures animatedly with his cane. “Why only just recently! They arrived in quite the state, which I was most pleased to have the privilege of witnessing~”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, biting your cheek at the memory.

Zestial’s eyes narrow in interest. “I am most intrigued. Thou must relay to me the story.”

Alastor glances further up the road. “Alas, I have a meeting in a few minutes on behalf of the princess, but I’m certain my friend would love to entertain you.”

“Excellent.” Moving with quick grace, Zestial moves to your side and captures your arm. “Do convey my well wishes to Carmilla.”

“But of course.” Alastor bows to the both of you with a flourish before leaving you alone with… a demon even he seems wary of.

His presence at your side dwarfs you, hiding you from the meagre light of the hellish sky in his shadow. “Come, I will make thee a drink.”

“If you like.”

You pointedly ignore the scattering demons as he leads you to a warehouse-like building, bowing gallantly for you to enter the elevator first. Once inside, the scenery changes as dramatically as you could imagine.

Heavy stone and sconces mimicking torches line the walls of the opulent space. Dark green velvet curtains, ancient looking Persian rugs, and moth eaten tapestries transform a simple office into a medieval palace.

One of the tapestries catches your eye, your feet stopping as the faded scene captures your attention.

A dark haired man in a green cape holds a long sword in one hand, and a scale overflowing with gold coins in the other. At his feet is a slain dragon in a pool of toxic green blood. The heroic scene is overlaid a classic four square shield-shaped crest, its faint contrast symbols nearly lost to time beneath a layer of deeply ingrained soot, the bottom corner burned away completely as though it was barely rescued from a fire.

Zestial stops with you, making a small sound of surprise. “Ah, my hearaldric portrait… Mm, not even Carmilla has ever asked about these.”

“It sounds as though you are friends with her?”

“Just so. She died in the Spanish old west, a powerful figure already. One of the few to arrive in hell with child.” He trails off in front of another tapestry, this one in an even worse state than the first.

A simple artist’s rendition of a noble family stares somberly from the ancient weave. A young looking woman holds a baby with a tall man behind her. To each side are knights in different regalia.

“…There is something in thy nature that nearly reminds me of her. Though in truth I hardly knew her before the plague arrived.” His monstrous eyes consider you with a melancholic look before he ushers you down the hall. “Forgive mine ramblings, how uncouth,” he half mutters.

“Not at all. If anything, I’d love to hear your stories.” You chuckle wryly. “There’s sure to be more interesting than mine.”

He flicks on the light in the parlour, allowing you a brief glimpse of the smile on his lips. “Well, perhaps I shall accept thine offer. But first, coffee or tea?”

“Tea is fine, thank you.”

He sets to work at the bar while you settle in a well-worn armchair. This room is decorated with weapons and skulls, clearly where he usually entertains, (see: intimidate).

You watch as he uses his power to heat the teapot, then brings the cups over.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Of course. Now, pray tell me the tale of thy arrival.” He smirks knowingly.

You laugh and rub the back of your neck. “Ah, well… When I first, er, manifested here, two cannibals immediately attacked me. I still hardly know how I managed to fight them, much less win. I stole their clothes and… took one of their arms as a makeshift weapon. Alastor found me trying to catch my breath after running all the way from there to the hotel.”

Zestial laughs heartily. “Ah, I see why the fiend wast amused. I am impressed by thy strength and reason in the midst of unfathomable new circumstances.”

You blink in surprise at his easy praise, saluting you with a raised teacup. You smile bashfully and return the gesture. “…Thank you.”

“Tell me, dost thou posses Sinner Powers, by chance?”

The blood drains from your face. Shit… Of all your talents, lying is not one of them.

The air suddenly grows cold as the demon sets down his teacup. You hardly manage to do the same before he is leaning over you threateningly.

You sink back into the chair, not wanting to meet his eye. “…It’s hardly anything that could be exploited.”

A long clawed finger comes to your chin, deceptively gentle as he lifts your face to look at him. “Thou will show me.”

In the quiet room, your panicked heartbeat is the only thing that can be heard. His many green eyes pin you to the spot, his dark face the only place of reprieve in your line of sight as his outstretched arms reveal the full neon display of his inner cloak.

He stares you down patiently, his power and threat made even more intimidating with his silence. The absoluteness of his authority and inevitably of your compliance a certainty in both your minds.

Unable to look away, you raise a hand and show him a small ball of power coalescing on your trembling palm.

He removes his hand from your chin to tease at it with his claws. “Good. Mm, it seems thy power is not strong. But that can be changed. Thou will return here every week to train. In return for my assistance, you will-”

A visceral emotion rips through you, and you push a hand against his chest. “I’m not going to become a soldier for you! I didn’t survive all this just to fight someone else’s battles!”

He reflexively traps your hand against his chest, his narrowed eyes searching you as he keeps you pinned. “Mm, such fire~”

Your heart clenches painfully as he leans closer, terrified of what he will do. Practically holding your breath as his own caresses your neck… soon followed by his claws.

“Thou will choose to stand by me, in the end. Mark mine words. Thy fire shall be in my hands.” You gasp as his hand trails down your collarbone over your chest. “And so shall thy heart.”

His low voice in your ear makes you shiver, and he chuckles. “Already thou hast willingly walked into mine web, my dear~ Do not look at me with such fear. Mine is precisely the poison you crave, is it not?”

Thank you for reading! I am motivated by interaction, so if you want more content from me, please let me know! I’ll probably post the Angel Dust fic tomorrow. Stay tuned in a few minutes for a poll!

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

i normally don't really ask things on here (though i'm a longtime fan!) but something is puzzling me. the wiki lists daena's marriage to baelor as 160 AC, and Daeron's death as 161 AC. i know daeron returned to Dorne in 160AC, but what is the logic of marrying daena to baelor? surely as the oldest sister she was expected to marry daeron first and foremost? do you think daeron himself arranged this, or viserys for some reason in particular? or is this GRRM messing up his own worldbuilding so he can justify their annulment later on?

Alas, you're not the only one puzzled, this is something we don't know. Pre-TWOIAF, GRRM stated that Daeron was married,* but he dropped that plot point when finalizing the Targaryen family tree for that book. (Which is where those dates of 160 and 161 come from for the wiki.) It may be he still thinks Daeron was betrothed* but not yet married (refusing until he'd finished conquering Dorne), or maybe some other thing was happening there. But I doubt it's a worldbuilding issue, there's for sure a reason that fits into the politics of the time, we just don't know what it is yet. It'll be in Fire & Blood volume 2 (or Blood & Fire, whatever it ends up being called), one day.

*Married or betrothed to whom? Well, since it wasn't a relative, I'd suspect a foreign alliance (cf. Daeron's own wish to betroth one of his sisters to the Sealord of Braavos), perhaps arranged when Daeron was young. Something done by Alyn Oakenfist and Hand of the King Viserys, most likely, since Aegon III was so removed from that sort of thing. Maybe Daeron's mother Daenaera was involved! (she said hopefully, and likely fruitlessly.) Could've been to a Lyseni Valyrian family, in an attempt to repair the Rogare problems. (Larra had left Viserys and returned to Lys in 139, but she died in 145, two years after Daeron was born.) Could have been to a Volantis Valyrian family, again related to one of Alyn's voyages. Or maybe someone from even further east! (Yi Ti? she again said hopefully and probably fruitlessly.)

Or maybe it was someone local. We still have no idea how Unwin Peake's villainy was ever resolved, if it was. Also Aegon III apparently made an enemy of Torrhen Manderly by canceling his coming-of-age progress, so maybe someone northern? (Some resolution with Cregan Stark to the Pact of Ice and Fire, one of his daughters with Aly?) Or who knows, maybe there was some attempt at a Dornish alliance during Aegon III's reign (since Alyn was so, um, friendly with Aliandra Martell), and its failure is one of the reasons Daeron was so determined to "complete the Conquest". But any further speculation would be fanfic I don't really care to write, so again, we'll just have to leave the details for the F&B continuation.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Doctor Who, but Chronologically: 46

Well. Tonal whiplash.

We advance three years, to 1986, and therefore we go from an almost aggressively mid Gatiss story on a Russian submarine to World Enough and Time, the Capaldi season finale that opens with the Doctor stepping out of the TARDIS mid-regeneration (which we've seen! It was a WW1 story with Mark Gatiss as an actor! He's a much better actor than writer), then cuts back in time to show us lovely companion Bill being horrifically cyber-converted on a Mondasian colony ship. I wish we were still on that submarine.

LOADS of plot though WOW. We get so many answers! Can't wait to update the list. The story proper starts with Bill, the ever-confusing Nardole ("I should go back to being blue" he muses at one point, because what the fuck is he), and of all people, Missy. They step out onto a 400 mile long colony ship stuck by a black hole which therefore has fun timey-wimey stuff going on whereby the top of the ship is moving much more slowly in time than the bottom. This is, to be clear, an absolutely fantastic concept to base a sci-fi horror story around, but only if you have a writer capable of spotting plot holes big enough to drive a bus through, which alas we do not have, so the whole thing is permeated with a constant urge to scream "JUST GET BACK IN THE ELEVATOR YOU FUCKING IDIOTS" at the screen.

So. They arrive, and Missy is pretending to be the Doctor while he listens in from the TARDIS. She describes Bill and Nardole as "Exposition and Comic Relief."

"Those aren't our names," Bill says.

"They aren't names, they're genders," Missy replies.

We are then treated to a flashback in which the Doctor says Time Lords don't care about genders and their associated stereotypes. This juxtaposition seems to be entirely unintentional.

BUT! So many answers. The Doctor explains that Missy is his oldest friend and a fellow Time Lord (our first Other Time Lord! Interesting, since we've been told repeatedly that the Doctor is the only one left.) They were friends together in the Academy, they've both changed gender since, and she's very like him so he wants her to be good.

"She's a murderer" says Bill, and the Doctor straight up compares sapient people to animals in an analogy I suspect Moffat thought was Really Clever, but I suppose it's a very Colin Baker response. In any case, this is presumably why Missy was living in a vault in the TARDIS, and could fly a TARDIS, and it confirms now that she is not, in fact, another regeneration of River. Origins for both! Huzzah. Let's see what's happening back on the ship.

A blue man immediately shoots Bill for being human.

Ah.

He does this because as soon as they arrive, the lifts start moving and rising to their current floor, and whatever is inside is specifically attracted to humans. The Doctor could in fact have prevented him shooting, but rather than actually stressing to the blue man that he will just put Bill back in the TARDIS to hide her, he instead chooses to go on an extensive self-aggrandising monologue about how great he is and is still mid-sentence when the lifts arrive so blue guy just fucking blasts a dinner plate sized hole right through her chest. Some patients in bandages step out, and take Bill's cooling corpse for 'repair'. They go down in the lift.

So at this point two things happen, to whit:

Bill wakes up in a hospital with a sort of coffee maker strapped to her chest, and spends the episode variously befriending a weird fake Russian (why so many fake Russians atm?) with a nakedly rubber face. His name is Mr Razor, and he does provide excellent comic relief. It turns out that the bottom of the ship has been here for generations and so is decaying - the air is engine fumes, the walls are rust, so some medical personnel are trying to upgrade everyone so they can move up in the lift and escape to a higher floor.

The Doctor realises the time difference as the lift with Bill is still going down. Rather than immediately following, he spends ten minutes explaining how black holes warp time to the blue guy who is not even going to be coming with him, and whom they ultimately abandon. This means Bill is down there for years.

Still, good to know the limitations of the TARDIS, eh? I mean, everything would have been solved if they'd simply been able to, I don't know, materialise outside the ship at a safe distance and then tow it away from the black hole. Clearly black holes must defeat the TARDIS. Got it. I shall remember this for future stories.

Anyway, here are several issues:

Of the 50 odd staff who were running this empty colony ship, many went down to the bottom floor when they first got stuck by the black hole. At this point, they did not bother going back up in the lift. Instead, for reasons that are entirely unexplained, they decided to stay down there and form a society, so the ship is now filled with their descendants. We literally know the lifts work; the people came for Bill immediately. There is no reason for the original staff to have done this.

The only difference it should make is that the blue guy would appear to the crew to have not moved in the ten minutes they were down there. They absolutely could still get back, though.

Like I have had days when I have felt 1000% done with my job but I have never decided to just build a house where I'm standing and start a colony so I don't have to go back to the office.

Perhaps, Tumblrs, you are wondering, like me, why the people on the bottom floor now can't just. You know. Get in the lift. Once again, in order to get Bill, several patients immediately got in the lift and came up for her, and then returned with her. So they do literally know it's possible. Bill asks this of Mr Razor. "We sent up an expedition to the higher floors once," he says. "But we never heard back from them."

Yes, that is blatantly the time difference, isn't it.

If there are still humans on those middle floors, why haven't they been retrieved by the patients? They came immediately for Bill, and she was on the top floor.

...and on, and on...

ANYWAY then Mr Razor BETRAYS Bill and has her cyber-converted. There is, fair play, an excellent reveal that these are Mondasian cybermen, which admittedly I did guess but still, credit where it's due. The conversion is shown to be more horrific than you can imagine, too. Semi-converted patients at one point are on a ward, repeatedly pressing speech buttons that say "Pain" and "Kill me", and the nurse who comes in just turns off the volume so they can't be heard. It is, imho, way too fucking dark for this show, actually, but that largely sums up Capaldi's era.

And that's the cliffhanger! The Doctor and Nardole staring in horror at crying Cyber-Bill (apparently she's still flesh inside the suit, though, that sure does imply it's reversible). BUT!

Also Mr Razor finds Missy and he peels off his rubber face.

"I had to wear this mask because I used to be Prime Minister on a different planet," he declares, which is baffling to us as we have not seen this, and also that doesn't make sense. "I'm a past incarnation of you and also the Master."

SO THAT'S THE MASTER! A character we have only heard named in passing. SO MANY answers in this episode.

I also still don't understand Nardole.

“She” (an unknown person) is returning (NEW INFO: perhaps River returned as Missy. River and Missy are separate! Could be either of them I suppose. Maybe Me? Maybe Clara???!)

There is something on Donna’s back

An entire planet, Pyrovilia, just… disappeared, somehow. (Maybe because the TARDIS is exploding??? Saturnine was also lost, and that WAS because of the TARDIS exploding. The lion man’s planet was also lost but he was a bit of a knob about it if I’m honest. The Thijarian planet was destroyed by some sort of impact). Is this the Flux?

Amy is maybe dead (she’s not)

The Doctor has been cubed (he’s out, but how?)

River is possibly blown up  (NEW INFO: unless she’s Missy. She's not Missy. Nope: she is definitely not blown up)

The TARDIS has blown up  (It’s fine now. Except it’s sort of melting now because it’s corrupted, but it’s fine again. NOPE, back to not working.)

The universe appears to have ended  (the universe is back again)

The Doctor has employed(?) Nardole

(And Nardole was “reassembled???” Nardole had glass nipples and invisible hair?? NEW INFO: he used to be blue, and could apparently go back to it??? WHAT THE FUCK IS HE)

NEW INFO: There’s a vault in the TARDIS and it contains Missy but we don’t know why (sometimes she knocks for the bants) She's a murderer and a fellow Time Lord and he's trying to rehabilitate her.

There’s an immortal Viking girl now. Her name is Me and she’s now looking after the people the Doctor abandons

Why was Rory entirely unconcerned by the entire world suddenly going silent when that is Not Normal and should have been, at the very least, extremely disconcerting?

What did the Doctor do to Queen Lizzie One?

Why is Amy seeing a one-eyed woman in a vanishing window? (She’s with the Silents, but we don’t know why Amy saw her)

Why is Amy’s pregnancy inconclusive? (Maybe because the baby had Time Lord DNA?) She’s deffo pregnant and the baby becomes River, but why inconclusive?

Who is Sarah-Jane Smith?

How is the Doctor Bill’s teacher and why/where does he have an office?

What is going on with the Cyber War and the Cyberium???

What happened with the Other Cyber War?

What happened with the Third War that deleted the void?

Why does Rose seem particularly important?

What order do these Doctors go in? (Eccleston, Tennant, uncertain, Smith, Capaldi, Whittaker)

Which companion just… forgot the Doctor, and how?

Yaz and Vinder are about to die as Mori/Mwri/Muuri (Not anymore, somehow)

There is a Lupari shield around Earth.

What’s a Time War?

What’s the Rift?

What’s Bad Wolf?

In which war did the Doctor become a war criminal, and how?

Who is the Master? NEW INFO: This is now resolved! The Doctor's oldest friend, a fellow Time Lord, but also a murderer.

Why has Amy forgotten Rory? How did she forget a Dalek invasion?

Is Rory plastic or not? Yeah, must be, he couldn’t possibly remember being plastic otherwise

Why is the Doctor sulking on a cloud?

How exactly does the Doctor have a cloud?

What exactly happened with Strax to, uh, tame him?

Which friend killed Strax?

Which friend brought Strax back?

Where did this lesbian lizard and human couple come from?

What happened with Clara as Souffle Girl and the Daleks?

How does Clara actually join?

Why so many Claras? A psychic midwife says she’s just normal human

Why is Missy apparently in robo-heaven?

Why is probably!Missy pushing Clara and the Doctor together?

What is Trensilor and what happened there?

Who is Handles?

The Doctor is about to be dissolved by a beautiful geode man

The universe is being crushed by the Flux

Will the Doctor open the fobwatch?

Sontarans are invading Earth again

Who is Kate?

Who is Osgood? Another name of Clara’s again?

The fuck is the deal with the Grand Serpent

Does Martha get to go to an ice cream planet with 12-fingered massage aliens?

How did the Doctor forget Clara?

Who is Bill’s puddle girlfriend Heather?

How did Nardole die?

When does Bill get Cyberman-ed and die? NEW INFO: Resolved! On a colony ship stuck by a black hole

When does the Doctor shrink and enter a Dalek called Rusty?

Whittaker is falling to her death rn

Was that ring relevant?

Does anyone know the Doctor’s name?

When did Yaz talk to Dan about fancying the Doctor?

When did Dan talk to the Doctor about fancying Yaz?

What’s happening with the bees?

What happened with Donna’s ex and a giant spider?

What war wiped out the Daleks, and is it one of the ones already mentioned?

What did the Doctor mean when he said “The (Daleks) always live, while I lose everything?”

If Dalek Caan is the last Dalek left why are there more now?

How did the rest of the Time Lords die?

How and why did Amy melt?

What’s the question that will make silence fall?

Why do the Silents… want silence to fall?

How and why are Silents at war with the Doctor when he… hasn’t even heard of them?

How does Hitler get out of the cupboard?

What’s the significance of fish fingers and custard?

Why does the Doctor feel guilt about Rose, Martha and Donna?

What happened with the space whale?

When does Rory defend Amy for 2000 years? Since Roman times, it seems

How does the Doctor survive River? He doesn’t, apparently

How does he erase himself from history

Did Captain Jack lose his memories to the same people as the Doctor? What did he lose?

When did the Doctor send the Daleks into a void to save the universe?

What’s with the weird crack in the wall and is it affecting memories?

Why do Amy and Rory think the Doctor is dead? Is it because of River as an astronaut?

Is Matt Smith’s Doctor a tree racist?

Why is the beautiful geode woman stealing people into a Passenger form?

River says she’ll die one day when the Doctor doesn’t remember her, let’s hope she doesn’t mean it

Why doesn’t the TARDIS like Clara?

When was the Master Prime Minister?

[fatale-distraction]

How about #4 "How can you not understand how much I love you?"

More Barcus because he’s my little king. I also went into the character creator and made Lithe! Wish there were more long braid options, but alas I am on PS5, not PC, so no mods.

Also sorry the line is a little different from the prompt. I wrote this from memory during a slow point at work today, so I didn’t remember it exactly right. 🤣

"How could you ever doubt that I love you?" Lithe demanded.

Barcus gave a wry snort. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"Do I look like I'm fucking laughing?" She crossed her arms over her chest and fixed the gnome with a look that had frequently sent even Astarion looking for somewhere else to cause trouble. Barcus however, held his ground admirably.

"Well, let's just see, shall we?" he tilted his chin up in defiance. "You're a beautiful elven woman who murders evil-doers for fun, and I'm, what? A useless little gnome who can't take two steps without being kidnapped and isn't even worth enough to his own oldest friend to keep around."

"Wulbren. Is. A. Cunt." Lithe punctuated each word by tapping the knife-edge of one hand into the palm of the other. "Elistraee's divine merciful tits, you're so caught up with him you can't even see your own worth!"

"Maybe he's right!" Barcus cried, throwing his hands up.

"Maybe doves will fly out of my ass," came the sarcastic retort, at which Barcus scoffed. "I mean it, you're wonderful! You're clever and funny and brave--"

"Ha!" the smaller man puffed himself up. "Brave! You're the one chasing down mad cultists and stabbing at giant monsters, or whatever it is you do. I just..." he gestured helplessly toward the little workbench he’d set up on the corner of the inn. "Sit here and…tinker."

Lithe sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She could argue with him until the sun went down and came back up again, but he was as stubborn as she was. The elf took a deep breath and slung her bow off her shoulder, knocking an arrow in almost the same motion. The gnome's eyes widened a bit and he took a step back.

"See that spider on the wall over there?" she pointed.

Barcus squinted. There was a tiny dark blob on a plank across the room, just above Rolan’s head. "Sort of."

Without taking her eyes off of him, Lithe pulled and shot her arrow. Barcus followed the arrow's flight and watched it sink deep into the wall with a dull thunk. The dark blob was now a little blobbier. Several people screamed, including Rolan, between whose horns the arrow had arced perfectly. Jaheira rose from where she’d hit the deck and shouted “Stop shooting arrows in my inn!”

Lithe ignored her. “Dead center. You can check if you’d like.”

"I wouldn't like," the gnome shook his head and began to wonder if picking a fight with such a terrifying woman had been such a clever idea.

"Barcus," she said evenly as she holstered her bow again, the inn’s occupants glaring at her and muttering. "I was born and raised to fight the worst this world has to offer and then some. I've trained for this kind of thing for a hundred years. Literally one hundred. Going after monsters is what I DO. That's not bravery, that's a Wednesday."

"I don't think you're making the point you think you're making."

Lithe held deceptively small hands out imploringly. "You're an artificer. Your area of expertise is libraries and workshops, not beasties and wilderness. But you took off into the unknown anyway, for the sake of your friend. You survived goblins and ghouls and slave labor at the hands of duergar and drow and crossed through the Shadowlands, all because you love someone so much you can't bear the thought of them facing such dangers alone. Barcus, that is so very brave I can't even stand it. Very brave, and very stupid, but it's an admirable kind of stupid."

Barcus crossed his arms over his chest and leveled an exasperated look at her. "Have you often been told you're terrible at declarations of love?"

"Quite often."

He sighed. He rubbed a hand down his face and sighed again. Lithe waited patiently.

“I absolutely hate it when you do this, but..." With world-weary reluctance, he lifted his arms. Lithe squealed and snatched him up into a bone-breaking hug, snuggling into the crook of his neck. Barcus tried not to squirm too much and let himself enjoy the way her breasts smushed against his torso. "You're a good girl," he muttered fondly, stroking her soft, herbal-scented hair. He very much enjoyed the little laugh and slight shiver that coursed through her, and tucked that interesting bit of information away for later.

"I'm not a girl, I'm a lady," she insisted playfully as she set him back down.

"A woman maybe, but certainly not a lady," Barcus grumbled, making a great show of straightening his clothes out. She may have been a proper adult at 110, but he was a good thirty years her senior. Not an unreasonable difference when one lived to be four hundred or more, but at least enough to tease someone about.

"I can punt you just as easily as I did Wulbren," she reminded him with a sweet smile as she turned to wander back out into the common area of the inn. Several nosy heads disappeared from around the corners and one person had the audacity to actually whistle innocently. Apparently her show with the arrow had drawn the patrons’ attention to their little drama. Barcus shook his head.

"Lithe, wait..." he called before he could think better of it. She paused and turned with a mild look of surprise and curiousity. "I...I care about you, too. Really, I do,” he promised earnestly. “I just need a little time, I think."

Lithe smiled sadly at him and continued on her way. Too late Barcus realized time was one thing she definitely didn’t have.

[snowflake-of-destruction]

"My dear, if you'll pardon the condescension," Alastor drawled, halting for a moment for the illusion of hesitance over his words more so than for any real concern for hurt feelings. He was routinely condescending. It was his right as the clearly superior being.  Recognizing this and having a robust enough ego not to be unduly put off by being looked down on (either that or possessing a combination of enough moxie and power to make him reconsider his opinion) was a vital aspect to remaining within the radio demon's circle of people he tolerated if you found yourself lucky enough to gain access to it in the first place.  "You do know the nature of a radio performance means I will not be seen, yes?" 

He was as fond of a well-made suit as the next demon (more fond, even, since so many had lost appreciation for fine tailoring and dressing for occasion in the past decades), but he hardly thought interrupting Vox's evening broadcast with one of his own warranted a new outfit. "If our flat-headed friend has put cameras in my recording booth again, I'll see them fry more quickly than..." That time he did truly flounder for a moment, trying to recall the name of that desperate little would-be-overload that kept attacking their tower. Alas no name came to him. Alastor could only vaguely recall hissing and a rather ugly top hat. "...One of that unfortunate snake's henchmen on a sidewalk." 

"Offense taken. Fuck you, you desiccated old fossil," Velvette snapped back cheerfully, herding Alastor toward the raised platform surrounded by mirrors she usually posed her models on. There was a bounce in her step at the prospect of getting to play with and pose her most prickly colleague. She hovered a breath away from grabbing his arm and manhandling him into place. "May I?"

"Do what you need to in order to adjust the fit, yes. Anything else...you know the answer hasn't changed." Alastor did so love to...what was the phrase he'd heard from the fashionista herself? Clapback? No, that didn't seem like the right context. He liked being the one to present the punchline and the final word. 

"Don't flatter yourself." Velvette snorted." I'm not nearly as desperate as Vox...or Val for that matter."

If he was inclined to be a bit more fair, or, conversely, terribly unfair to his oldest partner, Alastor could have pointed out that, succubus inspired feral states notwithstanding, Vox mostly sought other types of intimacy from him, vulnerabilities he was almost as unequipped to give wholeheartedly, chasing the insular closeness of their early years and some of the words Alastor used to say and try very hard to mean in the way Vox had wished him to before he'd decided to embrace that he was as broken in death as he had been in life (He had been convinced not to call himself broken out loud, as it was apparently upsetting for people who cared about him,  though he didn't care nearly as much himself. What did the term matter as long as he was at peace with himself?) and Valentino had come along to alleviate some of the pressure. 

Valentino was a different story. 

"Speaking of Val.Did you get the flowers?" Velvette asked. Measuring tape snapped. She had taken Alastor's measurements in the past and her magic had a pretty solid lock on his frame, but she knew Alastor appreciated proper procedure. It was why she showed him swatches and let him have a say in picking out his own fabrics before calling clothes into being.

"Lovely as usual, and absolutely dripping with his pheromones," Alastor resigned himself to give her the gossip she was seeking. 

"As usual," Velvette scoffed again, and retreated for a moment to quickly sketch a drawing to show Alastor so there were no surprises.

"A strange sort of apology, considering what it was for. Ruined the natural scent. Waste of whatever favor he called in to get roses fresh from the living world."

"So, what did you do? Shred them, shred him, then stuff the petals in the wounds?" Velvette's eyes were trained on her notebook, but she never let it be said that she couldn't multi-task. 

"Darling, do you think I want to be predictable? That's what I did last time. I cleaned them--carefully--and divided them between my girls." Alastor's smile turned a bit soft around the edges, affectionate, as he recalled Mimzy's pantomimed swooning fit and Rosie's particular amusement at the tired pun of 'roses for a Rose' that she hadn't had an occasion to hear in decades. Both had called him things like charmer and heartbreaker, only meaning the latter as much as would make his grin easy to maintain. Nifty had squealed and asked how he’d known that her next roach production was King Lear and she’d need rose petals for crafting properly regal costuming.

  A feral edge slid back into his grin as he turned the topic back to the moth overlord.  "I'll thank 'Tino later, when he least expects it."

"Am I not one of your girls?" Velvette was just on the wrong side of coy in the tone of her curiosity to spark any true worry for hurt feelings.

"The girl who matters most," Alastor appealed to ego smoothly enough that the claim settled in like a lie, bare and obvious, platitude nearing the territory of blatant mockery.  All the better to obscure whether it came closer to truth than Alastor felt comfortable making known. It was easier to make grand statements about Mimzy and Rosie, those who he saw more infrequently and weren't often directly involved in his battles or business or settled in his territory, who were clearly delineated as asking for favors and accruing debt  when he helped them (whether he ever intended to collect or not). 

"Save the hot air for when Vox gets pissy you're cutting into his air time, Al." Velvette clearly understood and radiated smug happiness, but neither of them would call attention to it. "Why did you pick tonight anyway? Programming's already catered to you. Black and white night. We're showing that remake of Casablanca Val shot with Angie and Husk. His one legit film. You know, until the end scene where they bang on the hood of the plane after throwing the husband into the propeller, but that was on Angel Dust for forgetting the script. Nobody knows how that movie goes except for ‘play it again’ and ‘here’s looking at you, kid,’ anyway.”

Least of all Alastor. He refrained from pointing out yet again that he'd died long before Casablanca had come to the movie houses. Velvette had mocked him terribly when he'd admitted he liked some earthly modern music created long after his death and then made her listen to The Andrews Sisters' "I Didn't Know the Gun was Loaded." It had been no worse than her usual jibes, objectively, but there was a sting involved in being reminded that he was indeed older than she could even comprehend. 

"It feels like a night for it." He couldn't explain his moods. 

Velvette appeared to accept that answer, not pressing further, but showing him her sketches. A suit, first with jacket on and closed, and then shown without the jacket, highlighting a vest with notched lapels and front cut low enough to show off the tie well. The tailoring was tight across his chest and around his waist, but the pants had wider legs. The pinstripes were a touch too wide for his taste, more stripe than pin, but Alastor could hold off arguing the point until he saw it in reality and assessed whether they were truly as tacky as they looked on paper.

"You aren't going to take the opportunity to try and goad me into something more daring?" Alastor asked as a way of expressing his approval. It hadn't been so long that either of them had forgotten the skinny jeans incident. 

"A classic suit never goes out of style, and I already had my win when I convinced you to get rid of that fuckass bob of yours for good. A public service is what that was. Besides, I let Vox keep his fugly, Leave it to Beaver dad sweater vests when he wants to wear them, so you aren't the most embarrassing oldster ruining our image." 

"Our image, is it?" Alastor questioned. He pitied them all, having to account for one another, but he didn't disagree.

"You've been skipping too many of Vox's morning meetings. We are members of the AV Club first and individual overlords outside of the alliance second. We are all faces of Voxtech, even the ones who don't show up on video."

"My public service. This face would bring down our reputation in one shot." Alastor inclined his head and pressed a hand to his chest.

"Stop fishing for compliments. I already have to set an alarm in my phone to remind Val he's pretty every day or risk a meltdown. Don't make me do it for you too." Velvette held up a scarlet and a maroon swatch, and waved them in front of Alastor's face . She knew he didn't have much range. 

He indicated the scarlet. "It's not false modesty. I know we can't all be as adorable as you."

"That's true." Velvette did not even try to suppress a glowing look, preening under the praise. She snapped three times in quick succession until she was happy with her creation. A fourth snap had a heart shaped tie pin affixing itself to the black tie that had wound itself around Alastor's neck and tucked itself into the conjured vest.  

The pin was hardly something Alastor would pick for himself, but the little red heart was also what kept him from commenting on the stripes Velvette had insisted on recreating from her drawing--tacky, yes, but tacky in the same way Velvette's favorite shirt and the adorned fluff that lined the top of Valentino's wings were. 

"Another revelatory new piece from Velvette," Alastor declared, regarding the mirror and watching the steady image blink back at him.

"Hold still. You're not done yet. I'm going to get rid of that monocle for you, and you aren't going to summon it back or buy a new one in a day or two this time around. That thing was grandpa shit when you were still breathing."

"Is that so?" Alastor challenged. "Are you quite sure?"

As sure as she was about Casablanca being one of his favorite movies, surely.

"Collier declared in 1933 that a monocle in one eye was strictly the old ackamarackuss. Don't test me on popular style, Bambi Boo."

"Ackamarackuss?" Alastor questioned, voice reverberating and distorting in surprise as if he were the one that should be unfamiliar with the word.

"Bitch, please. Count on me to always know the best slang," Her chin lifted, expression smug once more.

"It's worse than when Valentino was convinced that if he renamed one of his clubs to The Juke, I would feel more comfortable," Alastor bid her not to try so hard. 

"Oh, come on, how else can I pay you back for the absolute euphoria I felt when you walked  up to that wrinkly old ballet slipper, Camila, at the last overlord meeting and told her," Velvette slipped into an imitation of Alastor's carefully crafted transatlantic accent, "My dear, don't hate us because you ain't us?" She lapsed back into her normal cadence. "That was top tier shit, right there. I'll never forget her face."

[collymore]

More juvenile Daily Mail compare and divide!

By Stanley Collymore

Why can't you morons sounding off most idiotically and noisily in your simply quite purpose built Daily Mail echo chamber regularly saying the same, literally stupid things and even also employing the identical illiterate, at best, words crucially from your multiple accounts, as evidenced in the usage of, essentially, the same MO. Really just let William, if you can manage that, be just simply, William; instead of you literally vaingloriously but self-evidently, clearly falaciously claiming you crucially care so much about him; instead, as actually from my logical perspective, distinctively discernibly, signifantly undoubtedly making everything decidedly about his younger brother, Harry; actually even when obviously, what literally passes for a Daily Mail story really is not even remotely, about Harry?

Or is the truth really, all about your own, the Daily Mail's and, as well, clearly significantly, the Windsor famiy's burgeoning insecurity? Otherwise what other purpose could there possibly realistically or even remotely be for this constant and most unwarrantedly also obsessively, and persistent invocation unquestionably of Meghan and Harry, minus all sensible input to what they are fundamentally effectively doing?

(C) Stanley V. Collymore 22 June 2024.

Author's Remarks: Amongst the several brilliant teachers I've had at school and most particularly so at the grammar school I attended in Barbados, crucially the Alleyne School, the third oldest such institution within the Caribbean and very obviously also the so-called New World, which rather effectively though quite so to the white Caucasian interlopers that came across what they subsequently and arrogantly renamed the Americas was only really new to their sort - the evidently oldest ones, first Combermere and Harrison College, I warmly suggest you research their origins, history and significantly when they were established, and are still all going academically strong, are equally in Barbados where education is and has always been paramount even during British slavery!  

I've mentioned this as an introit quite simply because there's a distinctively Barbadian saying and I quote verbatim that "Self-praise is no praise!" And that any praise you truly wish to be actually ensconced in should naturally and also spontaneously come from others who have honestly and objectively actually observed you in the context of which they're evidently praising you.

Something that the lowlifes who rather clearly and obviously infest the British tabloids and so called MSM would very well do to ponder over, but won't those that probably may be able to do so but not, alas, the overwhelming majority of them who clearly make hard cement in marked contrast to their rank stupidity, intellectual paucity, an unquestionably ostentatious need for relevance within their barren and unproductive lives, in tandem with their fecklessness, basically evidently attendant with an insatiable idiocy to believe everything they told, quite obviously makes the discernibly aforementioned hardened cement, in contrast to these useless and distinctly sycophantic pillocks, look pliable!

Britain's monarchical family are really in no way removed from this. Clearly, their sense of self- entitlement, totality and birthright which frankly and also honestly meant and still largely does, incestuously shagging their close blood relatives and breeding them, curtailed somewhat in the 1950s because of the killer disease haemophilia became very rampant and thus rather forcibly made the Saxe-Coburg-Gotha family look for new blood, albeit minimally so, not to spoil the sense of superiority on their part but likewise ensuring their rather significant desire for survival which is essentially still ongoing.1 Even so they are still unquestionably one of the most dysfunctional families existing.

So attacking Harry and Meghan and as well employing the characteristic racist dog whistle, encouraged by the tabloid rags they pay to similarly do so and too the plethora of delusional racist clearly moronic assholes infesting Britain is in a way a last ditch effort for survival; a state of affairs kept alive by the servile pensioners, evidently hardened, racist Karens, Gammons and likewise inured social climbers like Kate Middleton.

The Windsors aren't going to disappear overnight but they know that the very previously vibrant gravy train is really running out of steam. And to ensure it doesn't come to an abrupt halt on the tracks Harry and his Nigger wife must be the butt of attack even when these pathetic stories have absolutely at all nothing to do with them!

[deviatory]

What Is Your True Role In The Story?

daring hero or wily foe? when all is done for, what's your role?

Malachi :

the fallen prodigy

hello old friend, it's been a while hasn't it? I remember when you were just a child, gape-smiled and beaming like the sun. where have you laid your youth to rest my love? is it buried beside your heart perhaps? I know how deeply life has wounded you, it took away everything, didn't it? oh poor soul, you held onto happiness with bloody, shaking hands but still fate ripped even that away from you. your past lovers are dead or did some betray you? turning away in fear of what they once admired. your comrades have been slain, or their priorities shifted.

I've heard you too have changed your way of thought. the people fear you know, do they normally cower at the sound of your name? ah don't fret, that makes two of us. the masses tend to despise the things they do not have the will to comprehend.

the villian finds sympathy for you don't they, well I could have seen that from a mile away. you two are the oldest friends, you made a deal with them correct? to save your late love, they tried to hold their end of the bargain, really, but I fear you are cursed to forever be despondent. oh what a sad and miserable life without love. is that why you chase loneliness? for is it truly a life of sorrow if you yourself has chosen it? but don't become bitter from the pain. trust when I say I have seen wounds unfold a man, turning the gentlest spirits into seething beasts. please, keep seeking love, even if it seems you are forbidden from it. you are the master of your own fate, I see how tired you are. the scars never healed, they twist and wrap around your entire person. your eyes are dark and lifeless, rest. but keep fighting, not with the sword you have forsaken so long ago, but with your heart. I'll be rooting for you my friend.

Vincent:

the antihero

ah yes, hello edge lord. it is lovely to see you again. you my dear, are the incarnation of duality, and you might think of claws and venom mixed with grace but alas, nothing near as poetic. you my friend, are mixture of what is seen as right, and what is questioned. you follow the path of your own two feet, you know the twists and turns of life's forests quite well if I do say so myself. and you can meander along them wonderfully. you strive to stay true to a certain sense of principles you might call your code, but whereas in reality, those would be your morals. people tend to see you as strange. sharp edged and glinting you hide behind a cloak of chain mail but really you just prefer to show off your imperfections first. unlike many who scramble to make it as if their flaws never existed, you proudly raise yours up. saying, "this is me, this is the worst of me, now you know what to expect." and might I say, it is quite an intriguing mindset, for truth be told, the ones that love your spikes and craters are the ones who appreciate your softness the most. you wish not to be loved as something lovable, but as a monster. for aren't we all just beasts in human skin?

you are brave, but you are lonely. you know quite well how to scare off most, making even the heroes with the boldest bravado creep away with their tails between their legs. you are not a villian, sometimes you play the part a bit too well. but nevertheless you are no hero either. you put yourself first, but if one wins your trust then may the gods have mercy on those who might wrong them. you long to be a poetic mess of sorts, and well, if the ink sets in long enough you might just become that sooner or later. but for one who is so dead set on truth you sure do hide a lot don't you?

please, step out of the shadows, there is a difference to not making your flaws visible and to simply acting as if you're the most despicable person in all the realms. it's because you're afraid of attachment is it not? well let me tell you a little secret, everyone is. you say you wish to be left alone for eternity but than why are you craving connection. you wish to be known and understood truly, but you snarl and push the ones that might be trying away. please little wolf, accept you are lovable. you are not some ravenous beast that terrifies the multitudes, sure, you are not for the faint of heart but that does not make you an inkling less perfect as you are. young antihero, step into the sun. you would do better actually reaching for the things you want rather than pining for them in the darkness.

tagged by : stole it from @zealctry tagging : blep, you, maybe idk

[atopvisenyashill]

first of all SORRY it took me like a month to give you a reply at all, i was trying to read some jaime chapters before i replied but alas i am doomed to get through these books at a turtle pace only.

second of all, WHY ARE YOU ME re: jojenpaste, i GET that is a horror scenario and Bran’s in a horror fantasy rn and sometimes George likes to do really heavy handed stuff like that but it doesn’t fit thematically dammit theres no reason to believe the blood magic needs a literal blood sacrifice to work when it clearly gets that from the people buried beneath the tree it is EATING BRAN not JOJEN can we FOCUS.

AND TO THE ACTUAL KING BRAN/JAIME ENDGAME STUFF - idk if you’re familiar with this theory here that basically uses fire & blood as a way of predicting the ending of the series. notably, a lot of it happens in the endgame of the show just in a more mangled, stupid way than predicted lmao.

one thing it predicts that i'm not super convinced of yet is that tyrion will be the "hooded hand" from house lannister as a parallel to tyland lannister. but i think there's just as many similarities between tyland and tyrion as there with tyland and jaime. both brothers are disfigured due to the ongoing war, both brothers are disliked by their enemies and allies alike, and while tyrion and tyland are both the younger brothers (with jaime and jason being the older), tyrion is technically lord of casterly rock because jaime can't inherit and isn't likely to give up his vows just to be lord of casterly rock as his father wished. also notable is that jaime isn't the oldest lannister, cersei is, but unlike jason, she can't inherit over the second born son because she's a woman, which is, imo, a fun way of paralleling the dance lannisters by having the "jason" be a woman who isn't allowed to inherit and the "tyland" be a son who is second born and doesn't want to inherit. and I'll dig in more as I reread but there is some "hooded cloak" imagery surrounding jaime, although that could be solely valonqar stuff tbf. this one came to mind immediately:

Under the Great Sept's lofty dome of glass and gold and crystal, Lord Tywin Lannister's body rested upon a stepped marble bier. At its head Jaime stood at vigil, his one good hand curled about the hilt of a tall golden greatsword whose point rested on the floor. The hooded cloak he wore was as white as freshly fallen snow, and the scales of his long hauberk were mother-of-pearl chased with gold. Lord Tywin would have wanted him in Lannister gold and crimson, she thought. It always angered him to see Jaime all in white. Her brother was growing his beard again as well. The stubble covered his jaw and cheeks, and gave his face a rough, uncouth look. He might at least have waited till Father's bones were interred beneath the Rock.

i also think that jaime being "punished" to be hand fits much more than for tyrion; tyrion will see that as a reward for his "mercy" and his suffering. being given the power he has so long desired is just never going to be a "bittersweet" ending for tyrion even if he does wind up losing his family and being further maimed and disfigured in the process. but as you said, jaime would look at the great council filled with teenage heirs, disabled teenage heirs, female teenage heirs whose seats are being challenged by male relatives, and go "these motherfuckers are going to need me to be adult supervision aren't they" and would very much rise to that challenge while also seeing it as a punishment. he killed one king, he cuckolded a second, he spent all of affc reckoning with the legacy of violence in the riverlands pushed by criston cole 150 years before and then continued on by his own house, and what his role is, can be, and should be when you're a man with all the structural power being asked to sort the spoils of a war you deeply regret helping to kick off, like, i simply do not think he is going to be offed by lsh OR commit suicide/get jointly valonqared by a falling brick with cersei when so much of his story centers around the responsibilities of knights an the legacies inherited by oldest sons.

if he dies, i've always believed it would be in the riverlands still attempting to atone alongside brienne (or perhaps under her command) but I think the idea that he is heavily disfigured (by lsh possibly, but there's a lot of weirdos running around as well as not one but two Targaryen claimants with armies of their own) and forced to be hand/regent for Bran until Bran comes of age would certainly be interesting and "bittersweet" for Jaime (and then he goes to Wall for retirement/atonement. if it exists still). Also, aegon iii has a council of regents and i think it would make sense if one of the regents was his lord commander and someone who fought on the opposite side of the war from bran, given that tyland is an excellent hand who attempts to heal poor little aegon despite them being on opposite sides. i can very much see jaime wanting to do the same for bran.

okay that's it. sorry i took forever to reply!!!!

JAIME LANNISTER ENDGAME SPECULATION: #2, "Jaime Goldenhand"

~ DEFINITELY spoilers, both book & That Dragon Show, and some diving into other theories in the ASOIAF theory iceberg ~

2. Jaime "Golden Hand"

- for Jaime's sins, he is "rewarded" with what he has always dreaded but has already demonstrated relative competence at: responsibility.

- We Don't Talk About The Dragon Show but its ending for Tyrion actually steals much from what has been foreshadowed for Jaime: Jaime, who has never wanted nor sought out any power save his sword arm, WOULD feel punished by a sentence of lifelong service to The Realm. His most heroic act made him reviled: his kingslaying was the beginnings of his blatantly undermining the stability of Westeros by cuckolding its king, causing a lasting succession crisis, and unwittingly stirring the winds of war in his recklessness & ignorance.

- furthermore, Jaime serving as BRAN STARK'S Hand? tbh, "King Bran" punishing Jaime by installing him as his Hand not only fits all the foreshadowing in their respective character arcs, it ALSO follows logically from their POV of their interactions' ripple effects unto Westeros. Jaime as Hand to King Bran is the ONLY setup of "Bran becomes king" that makes sense to me outside of "Dystopian Weirwood-Police State" Horror Endings or Jojen's filling the role (i don't subscribe to "Jojen Paste": its memetic status baffles me and, like, the 3EC is LITERALLY BECOMING A TREE? and House Blackwood canonically buries its dead beneath its dead weirwood tree, and WEIRWOODS ARE ALREADY PEOPLE: JOJEN'S ABSENCES ARE ALWAYS MEERA'S ABSENCES ANYWAY- *several more allcaps paragraphs*).

[ren-c-leyn]

Who's your top 5-10 writeblrs that you would recommend following/reading their content? - @dusk-written

*inhales deeply to prepare for intense fangirling*

@hyba is one of my oldest mutuals whose still active. If you like - middle-eastern inspired fantasy, suspense, horror, or worlds and characters who feel like they're going to jump off the page, she's you're gal. Highly, highly detailed worlds that feel like you can step right into them, amazing tension, incredibly detailed and complex characters, and these very well thought out chains of cause and effect. I can scream about her writing forever and still not tell you everything I love about it. The Pirates of Sissa world is my favorite, and has been since she first told me about it, but she has so many in dozens of genres and they are all incredible. There isn't a single one that isn't fascinating.

@writingonesdreams is a talented fantasy writer who has very interesting and complex characters who feel very real, some really cool settings, and has recently been sharing some of her project's AUs. They are all amazing, I am always blown away by her creativity and how fluid and airy her style feels. Always an exceptional read that leaves you wanting more and more.

@writeblrfantasy does incredible queer fantasy romances, but fluffy and dark. She will play your emotions like a violin, making you smile and then heartbroken all in the same scene without breaking the flow at all. I have fallen in love with like 80% of her projects, and I have binge read all of her snippets repeatedly and never regret a moment of it. Lovely writing style, creative worlds, unforgettable characters.

@sleepyowlwrites does beautiful poetry, sometimes accidentally, and has some incredible characters. I freaken ADORE Dirt in the Doing and love her poems so much I feel like I'd explode before I even got half-way through explaining why.

@bloodlessheirbyjacques I haven't gotten a chance to sort through all of her amazing snippets that she's tagged me in (I promise I haven't forgotten about them!) but the ones I have read have left me absolutely gobsmacked. An amazing eye for detail, complex and fascinating characters, and I freaken adore her monsters and magic system for Bloodless Heir! A very cool world, a very cool writer.

@hannahactuallywrites has some very creative ideas, I'm particularly fond of The Fantastical World of Dreams and that entire world, but she does everything from fantasy, to horror, to sci-fi, to musicals, and more. She's always shuffling projects, though, so you never quite know what's going to pop up on your dash next. A very fun, very easy to digest writing style, lots of enthusiasm, and varied characters who all feel unique and leave impressions.

@vermontwrites If you want to talk about an eye for the details, go binge read everything they've ever shared. No, seriously, do it. The most incredible way of describing things I have seen on tumblr, a criminally underrated writeblr. I still randomly think about this short piece they wrote for me about a cursed librarian and their amazing dream-like library all the time. I still think about the way they described a city in one of their short pieces, like fingers reaching into a sky. I just freaken love, love, love the way they handle descriptions. Then, there's the characters. All amazing and different and memorable. Plus, they do amazing art so you can see what these characters look like ^^

I'm sure there's more peoples I could scream about, and I wish there were some who were still active here on tumblr so I could scream about them, but alas these are the lovely people who first came to mind that I know are still here. Seriously, if you get the time, check them out. Check them all out. They are incredible writers who inspire me to keep improving my own style and whose works have inspired me to go completely wild with my self-indulgent worlds.

[funtimebunnyblog]

I'M BACK!!! 🥰😍❤ Did you all miss me? I'm happy to say that I've finally gotten some WiFi where I'm currently living and updates are gonna try to be more steady here in the future but I can't make any promises because I get very busy with my work 😅😇 Please continue to bear with me!

In other words, a while back I wrote the OG version of this little short fic on A03 but I realized that I had never posted it here! 😱 Nevertheless, I decided to write the Part 2 to this and then decided to remaster that first part before posting it here! 🙂🙂🙂 I'm thinking about turning this into a little mini series 🤔🥰

Anyways, I'll stop rambling! Please enjoy! 😚

Pillarroomates (Chapter 1: Roommate wanted)

(This is dedicated to Dagdoth and Sureynot; 2 of the best bad influences I could ever ask for 🥰😍❤)

The steady click-clacking of keys filled the pleasant silence of the little kitchen, Kars typing away on the laptop before him at the table.

It was just a little after noon, a time where he usually put down his work for a brief session to sit back in silence and enjoy a cup of coffee, or maybe a mug of tea depending on his mood, with whatever baked-good had been whipped up recently. Today however, he chose to cut his little break out of schedule completely to get a jump on the deadline of the month that he was currently picking away at.

Hunched over, eyes glued to the screen, one could've swore he was a living statue perched like that so quietly if it weren't for his typing fingers.

The sweet smell hanging in the air came much closer as Wamuu strode over to the table, a soft smile was painted across the mans lips as he placed an oven fresh cookie on a plate down next to the mug of black tea his Master was letting steep at his side.

"Thank you, Wamuu." Kars said quietly, watching the blonde depart in his peripheral vision for only a beat before regaining his sharp focus on the sea of numbers staring back at him.

Kars had his own room with a desk to work in of course but he always found himself enjoying doing work down here this time of day. The heavenly smell of the kitchen when something was being baked and the pleasant background noise of the radio chiming softly, sometimes accompanied by Wamuu humming along, was something sort of relaxing to Kars.

Relaxing around here tended to be something rare too, as there never seemed to be a dull moment in the lives of the Pillarmen these days.

Not in this neighbourhood, no.

The younger man hummed in response, heading back to the stove to finish scraping fresh cookies off the pan to place on a rack to cool. He was sure Santana would make an appearance soon to try one, with the lovely smell filling the air and all.

Santana could never stay asleep (as heavy of a sleeper as he had the tendency to be) holed up in his room when there was something yummy being cooked.

The times where he appeared the quickest was when Kars flicked on the coffee machine first thing in the morning, the red-head manifesting at his side at the very first spew of hot caffeine never failed to nearly give him a heartattack; especially when it was 5 in the morning in a dark kitchen.

Kars' head lifted, cocking an eyebrow as there suddenly came a knock at the front door; three evenly spaced thumps on the wood. The thought of another complaining neighbour was the first thing to cross his mind, making him sigh as he moved to get up from his chair.

"PIZZA'S HERE!!!"

The sounds of heavy footfalls coming at a rapid speed from down the hallway accompanying the cry stopped him in his tracks.

The plum-haired man grimaced, Wamuu glancing over his shoulder with a frown, as none-other-than Esidisi sped by; the one hand clutching the towel around his waist was the only thing keeping it from blowing away completely.

Despite only catching a glimpse of his speedy companion, Kars didn't miss the fact that the other was sopping wet and trailing water.

Esidisi had simply lept out of the shower the second he heard the knock at the door, leaving with only a towel (just barely even) and the foamy suds that were still clinging to his hair and his body.

No doubt about it, he was dripping all over the place.

And all over his clean floor too.

Kars clicked his tongue, more than tempted to sigh again.

"Really, Esidisi?" He called out to the other.

It was hard to tell whether he was more displeased with his state of soapy undress or the fact that the oldest Pillarmen had gone and ordered yet ANOTHER pizza this week with only God-knows-what on it.

Sure, he the others found themselves actually partaking in "Human food" casually these days. Wamuu even went so far as to teach himself how to cook as a hobby to fill time around the house when he wasn't going to the Gym or to work, but Esidisi had become something of a strange enthusiast on the matter.

Some people in this world got a little riled up over something as simple as Pinapple being added as a topping on a pizza but Kars had a feeling those people would have an absolute fit listening to Esidisi's phone order of a multi-fruit pizza (consisting of: oranges, apples, watermelon and strawberries) with cheese, olives and pepperoni.

He was starting to wonder if his longtime companion was simply doing it just to see how far he could push a Pizza place with his barrage of odd orders until they yelled at him or worse, barred him completely from the place.

His question was only met with laughter. "I decided to ask for Mac and Cheese and Jalapeños on it this time!" Esidisi called back, voice echoing off the walls, as he finally reached the front door.

Wamuu's nose crinkled at the very sound of that, choosing wisely to direct his attention to his cookies once more.

Kars decided to follow suit and do the same with his own work.

He supposed it wasn't really his problem, therefore; he shouldn't say anything.

☆☆☆

The advertisment had been a strange one for sure, but really, you had no choice but to at least look into it. It never hurt to try and you were already desperate enough as it was.

Apartments and open housing in the area was becoming a rarity at best these days, this busy time of year didn't help things either, and you had been scouring the internet for every opportunity or opening there was to move in with someone in this portion of the city.

Sadly, you had turned up empty handed quite a few times.

The last one you had looked into had been great; a nice building, nice seeming people, decent budget; but alas, the people who put out the advert took it down just a day later.

They had decided to give the opening to a close friend of theirs who wanted to come across the country and live with them instead.

You had been starting to consider checking the complete other side of the city and trying to squeeze yourself in somewhere there or maybe even just going with the option of moving cities completely! The hassle of finding a place was just becoming too much until... this one happened to pop up.

☆ Roomate requSWIGGITY SWOOMATE, WE NEED A ROOMATE!!11!!!1!

We are Four Men seeking out a Human roomate to live with us in our rented house.

4 bedroom, 1 bath, 1 kitchen; upstairs, downstairs and basement.

Location: Western side of the city, 929 Bizzare av.

Rent and chores are divided equally among us.

Requirements as followed:

• Must be a CLEAN Human.

• Human must not bear the surname of "Joestar" under ANY means necessary.

•Must be actively working and have claims to have the ability to hold their job.

• Must be willing to contribute to the household via chores and yard work when necessary.

• must be CUTE!!!

• Mus

•

• Must like llf6io78fjjl0

•

• Jo9sjw6jnsjej27ebeolu

• Jsjsij wkk d18kkjs lkdjsjsns52jsjjsnend2njsmdv 6272jsndbdhs2672 jd Djjsija bsij eeskdnne9s782728 jd bjejrn rnusjjsj

• the human must not be loud

• It would be most appreciated if the Human was a mannered person, who holds appreciation for similar hobbies we do. -W

•

Ask within to apply! ☆

You couldn't help but wonder if whoever had written this advert had been drunk at the time by looking at the grabbed mess that took up half the page.

Better yet, you could only hope this was a real advertisement and not some sort of stupid prank.

Either way, you were determined to find out today and claim this oppertunity before anyone else got the chance.

Glancing down at the print out you had made of the ad at the Library, you sighed as you kept going down the street. You had been walking all morning and were beginning to wish you had the foresight to pack a snack or a drink for your seemingly endless sojourn for this supposed place.

There was no picture put onto the advertisement, even a proper description of the place would've been nice, and finding a direct address wasn't exactly a piece of cake to you.

Nonetheless, you kept going. Stopping at every house you passed in hopes to spot a matching address; finding nothing but different numbers and barking dogs tethered in yards.

With every different number meeting your eyes, the possibility of this just being a fake ad just kept growing and growing in your mind.

You were even starting to consider just giving up entirely when, at last, there it was. "292" the numbers were bolted to the front porch, the 9 starting to tilt to one side.

It seemed nice enough. The lawn was well kept, the walkway however looked as if it needed to be redone. The building was a sunbleached blue, probably a nice clean periwinkle once upon a time, but now leaning a tad white and staring to flake. The place was definitely in need of a touch up.

This was the place, now if someone was Home to even just talk to you about this ad that would be great.

You gathered up the courage to leave the sidewalk and start up the overgrown walkway, the wood of the porch whined under your feet as you stepped onto it. A couple of chairs, a book carelessly left behind in one, a little cage sat all by its lonesome in the far corner, and a big unmissable stain (probably coffee) caught your eye on the wood.

The word "Pillarmen" was scrawled on the name card over the mail slot of the front door.

A strange surname, you had never heard of it before, but it must've been safe to assume that it belonged to someone here. Presumably one of the men who had made this advertisement in the first place.

With only a moments hesitation, clutching the print-out in hand, you reached out and rapped on the door hard with your knuckles, then stood back and waited.

Silence... You took the opportunity to fix your appearance slightly, suddenly becoming a little self-conscious, smoothing out your shirt before clasping your hands behind your back neatly and putting on your best smile.

First impressions were important, most especially a first impression made at the door after all.

There came the sounds of voices, too muffled for you to hear through the walls, followed closely by the unmistakable thundering of footsteps coming closer and closer from within.

Finally, the door flung open.

You felt your eyes go a little wide, the smile drained from your face as you craned your neck back slightly to meet the gaze of the very tall and very muscular dark-skinned man that now stood before you.

Belatedly, as your eyes followed the droplets of water that were dripping off him, trickling down every inch of his muscular body and pooling at his feet, you realized he was practically naked; clutching only a fluffy white towel around his waist.

The towel didn't look nearly as fluffy and white as his hair, however.

"Uh--" Your tongue swole in your mouth as you both found yourselves staring at one another, seemingly sharing a similar dumbfounded moment.

He blinked owlishly.

"You're not the Pizza delivery." He said matter-of-factly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between the two of you.

Your head shook violently, broke from your sudden stupor, pulling out the slightly crumpled piece of paper out for him to see.

"Uh-- I--... N-No! I'm not-- I'm uh.... here ab-about the-- the roomate ad...?" You sputtered, the words felt as garbled as alphabet soup falling off your tongue, you felt a nervous sweat beading on your skin under your clothes as it hit you for a second time that wasn't wearing any. "Oh! If uh-- this is a bad time I-- I can come back later!"

His face lit up suddenly, eyes shimmering like sapphires. "Oh!" He cried. "I forgot about that!"

The massive man turned, calling back over his shoulder deeper into the apartment.

"Kars! There's a Human here, they saw our advert!"

You happened to be so gobsmacked, still reeling from the slight shock of the very first of your encounter, you hadn't even noticed he distinctly used the word "Human" there.

"What?!"

You couldn't see past the mans hulking figure but you could very well hear the scraping of a chair in the distance, followed by more thundering footsteps heading towards the door.

You blinked as yet another larger-than-life sized man made his appearance, pushing past the first with a frown. The both of them looked almost comically squashed where they stood taking up the whole doorway.

This man was just as tall and as muscular as the first. His skin was like ivory, framed by dark cloth wrapped from his neck to the top of his head with only a tuft of deep purple hair dangling precariously out over his pointed nose.

More importantly, very much unlike the first, this one was fully clothed.

Clad in a dress shirt that matched his hair, slightly unbuttoned to just give you a peak of the buldging muscles he had underneath and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, neatly pressed black dress pants and house shoes.

Kars blinked in surprise as he caught sight of you at last, eyes scanning over you. He honestly hadn't expected someone to come to their door about the advertisement they had put out so quickly, they had only put it out less than a day ago.

If anything, by the way it had turned out, he was surprised someone responded to it at all.

"Please, come in." Kars told you, making his best attempt to save this lousy first impression.

His surprised look was short-lived, turning sharp as he directed it onto Esidisi. The other man smiled sheepishly, turning and retreat back to the bathroom to finish his shower without the pizza he had left it for...

☆☆☆

☆Previously...☆

Kars hummed, reading over the advert for a 4th time with pursed lips.

He had listed all the necessary information about them and the living situation and even put down a few requirements to set the bar for any Human who would happen to want to apply.

However, even with the ground rules set, it still just seemed a little too bare to him.

"Hmm," Kars peered over his shoulder towards the living room doorway; he swore he could hear more of the crunching of the flaming hot cheetos Esidisi was enjoying rather than the actual program he was watching. "Is there anything specific you would like to add to this before I post it?"

"Shay they mush be cute!" came the reply though a mouthful of spicy junkfood. Kars could only hope he wasn't getting crumbs all over the couch again, not to mention getting too handsy with the T.V remote eating those things...

"That isn't what qualifies as a 'requirement', Esidisi..." he sighed.

The other swallowed, now blessed with the ability to speak much clearer; the crinkling of the cheeto bag hit Kars' ears next.

"Well excuse me for having standards." He heard his oldest companion grumble, drowned out by the crunch of more food.

Wamuu's head peered out of the kitchen, the pie he was just about to place in the oven cradled in oven-mit hands. He had decided to try his hand at fudge pie this time, having mastered apple so quickly.

"It would be nice if the Human were a Warrior as well," he said, disappearing from Kars' sight again as he went back into the kitchen, carrying the pie to the awaiting oven. "Or perhaps if they were interested in going to the Gym or baking as I do..."

Kars sighed, "Wamuu, I understand you would like someone to train with but this--"

"The Human must not be loud."

The Pillarman practically jumped out of his chair, the tiniest yelp escaping his lips as he swiveled his head to find none other than Santana looming over him. The sheet lines imprinted in the others face indicated he had just arisen from a deep sleep; most likely venturing out of his cave and into the kitchen to see what Wamuu was up to.

Even after thousands of years, he still couldn't get used to the youngest Pillarman sneaking up on him.

It probably didn't even count as "sneaking" anyways as Santana was just so naturally quiet he just happened to go unnoticed until he spoke up.

Kars opened his mouth to make an attempt to speak again, only to be cut off one more time as Esidisi finally made his own appearance; leaning over the purple-haired man to see the advert in the works.

"See, this is all wrong." Esidisi told him, frowning at the screen. "This is too formal! If we're going to get someone at all, we need to grab their attention somehow. Here, I'll fix it!"

The other practically clamored over him, cheeto bag tucked under arm as he reached over to type on the computer, deleting the majority of the title Kars had written out and already replacing it with one of his own creation.

Kars belatedly realized the others' hands were still coated in hot cheeto crumbs, smudging the keys of his pristine computer with imprints of red and orange as he typed away.

"Esidisi, stop this at once!" He commanded, trying to push him at arms length, only to be met with a hand pushing back and smooshing against his face. The smell of spicy cheese flavoring hit his nostrils, only fueling his fire. "This is my work computer! I'm the one writing this advertisement!"

Santana merely stood back, watching the two elder Pillarmen fight over the computer in silence. Esidisi was pushed by Kars into the keyboard a handful of times before their focus was solely on one another and no longer the ad.

"Get your grubby hands off me!" Kars growled as the other straddled him in the chair, his face now smudged like his keyboard. They kept pushing on one another, a clumsy slap war already underway, obscenities and curses getting mangled as they argued back and forth.

"You never let me--"

"I told you that--"

"I wanna do it! Just let me--"

Santana peered down at the computer curiously, uninterested in watching the display before him any longer.

The red-head typed out his own request before picking up the device and carrying it to the kitchen for Wamuu to see and whatever he wished; Santana ignored the sound of two bodies toppeling out of the chair and hitting the floor as he left.

Kars didn't even get to see the ad (or rather; the remainder of what qualified as an advert) before it was posted online by Santana.

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

The Softest Shout (Fili x Reader)

Requested by: @guardianofrivendell

Saw that your requests were open 👀 I absolutely LOVE your Legolas fics! But can you maybe write a Fíli oneshot 👉👈? Can be angst with fluff ending, or just fluff. I am WEAK for enemies to lovers or angrily confessing your love without thinking: "But why?" "Because I love you!" I'm happy with whatever really :)

A/N: here you are! My first Fili fic! Was gonna save it for Fili Friday, but couldn’t wait! Poor majestic lion deserves more love! Enjoy! ☀️

How dare he! The audacity! The nerve! What right did Fili have, as to boss those beneath him around?

Y/n grinded her teeth, as she sat on the stone steps of one of Erebor’s many halls. A battle loomed in the distance – one between her kind, and the Elves. It regarded mostly stolen jewellery, and the stubborn streak of Thorin, which she saw all too much in his oldest nephew.

Y/n was just as adept in battle as her male counterparts were. However, Fili apparently thought not.

He had always treated her unfairly, Y/n mused. He was always mean – pulling on her pigtails, making snide remarks and all-around teasing. Oh, how it made her blood boil.

However, this was the final straw for the woman. She was a grown adult, and yet, here she was – sidelined, and forced to sit out the approaching war.

It had startled her, to say the least, when Fili snapped earlier. She was arranging plans for the fight ahead, regarding her armour. However, Fili quickly stormed into the room, and took the chainmail right from her hands.

He then proceeded to seethe and scold her, claiming that she had ‘no place on the battlefield’. She too had said some choice words, which in hindsight, may have been a little brash. Though, she did not regret them at all, for they were birthed from nothing but truth.

So, now here Y/n sat – furious on the stone steps.

Dwalin soon walked past. He stopped, confused, for a moment. Why was she sat down? By Durin! There was a war to prepare for!

“Lass,” he began scolding, “I know for a fact you are not sitting down right now – not when you could be readying yourself to fight against those pansy peacocks!”

“I’ve got nothing to prepare for,” Y/n glumly said. She held her chin in her hand, and glared up at Dwalin.

“Whatever do you mean?” Dwalin asked, creasing his features.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Y/n started, with a roll of her eyes. “Our brave and true heir to the throne apparently has a superiority complex. He has removed me from the ranks. I am not allowed to fight.”

If Dwalin was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead, puzzling Y/n, he merely only clicked his tongue, and muttered under his breath. It sounded like something along the lines of ‘that darned boy is utterly hopeless at these sorts of things’.

Y/n tilted her head, and parted her lips. What things? What was Fili hopeless at? He was sure a lousy comrade, that much was for certain. She herself would never have chosen to spend more than five minutes with him, but alas, the journey to Erebor deemed she would do so.

Finally, recalling the woman sat beneath him, Dwalin returned his attention to her.

“I know it isn’t my place to question our leaders’ authority,” he began, sighing, at the thought of Thorin, “but, I think you’ll find better luck in speaking to him again.”

“Shouting, you mean,” Y/n knowingly corrected.

“Aye, that’ll work too,” he mulled.

Smiling through a quick huff, Y/n dropped her eyes to the ground. She definitely had a lot of pent-up anger, so even if she couldn’t take it out onto the battlefield, she knew Fili would do just fine. After all, he was the reason she was so furious in the first place.

“You’re right,” she sighed, standing to her feet. “I’m going to go give him a piece of my mind!”

As she sauntered past, with squared shoulders, a set jaw and burning eyes, Dwalin chuckled, and responded aloud.

“Good luck...”

~ Fili was located in the armoury, and fiddled with the drawstring of his armour. Without so much as announcing herself, Y/n filed into the room.

“I have a bone to pick with you!” she seethed, marching on over to him. “How dare you take me out of this fight! I am warrior, just as much as the rest of you! You may be the future king, but you aren’t one yet! I demand a reconsideration!”

He was startled, but only for a minute. By the time she stood before him, he had regained his ever-cool composure.

Pretending to think, Fili hummed. He then smiled back down at her, but in a very smug way.

“Okay, I’ve reconsidered,” he said, earning a slight glimmer of hope from the woman, “and the answer is still no.”

Growling, she pushed his chest backwards. She spoke with much fury, which did nothing to unnerve the Dwarf.

“How dare you!” she shouted again, with anger written all over her face. “Why? WHY? Why must you always be like this? You treat me the way the men from certain human dwellings treat their spouses – like nothing more than little housewives!”

Fili blushed at this. Did she not hear her own words? Oh, if only she knew how close her accusations were. Of course, he didn’t do this for any narcissism. No, Fili did this for reasons he thought Y/n surely must have already known.

Kili told him how to acquire a woman’s heart – ‘they like it when you’re mean to them, sends their hormones haywire’, Kili had said one day.

Perhaps his little brother was wrong, though? Y/n certainly didn’t hold love in her eyes. Instead, she revered him in disdain. That was not what he wanted.

“You do not know of what you speak of,” Fili warned, raising his brows in gesture.

“Oh? Then perhaps you’d like to clarify for me? Because I’m lost,” Y/n seethed again. She folded her arms over her chest, and quirked a brow.

Fili was at a loss himself. He stammered over his words, before he realized none could form, and sighed.

Dissatisfied with his lack of response, Y/n flared her nostrils. She bared her teeth, and began shouting again. If he would not answer, then she would fill the silence.

“Why do you say nothing?” she began, revving up in her tone, which only hastened Fili’s heart, with every passing second. “Why? Why do you treat me so poorly? Why am I to be sidelined, when all my friends must fight?”

“It simply has to be this way,” Fili said at last, shaking his head at the ground.

“Why, though?” she tried again.

“Because, I said so,” Fili once more said, feeling his own anger boil.

“Yes, but why?”

“Because, I said so,” he growled again.

“But WHY?”

“Oh, for the love of Durin, because I LOVE YOU!”

“Yes, but why-“ Y/n had gone to say.

However, the moment his words met her mind, she halted. What had he just said? Surely her ears deceived her?

“What?” she next quietly whispered.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, and studied her nervously. Well, there was no turning back now.

“The reason I do not wish for you to be on the battlefield,” he slowly began explaining, “is because I care, very deeply, for you, Y/n. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

A pregnant pause ensued.

Oh.

Oh dear.

Pursing her parted lips, it was now Y/n’s turn to stutter and stammer. However, when no words of her own would form, she closed her mouth.

She stared at the ground for a moment in thought. Fili picked at his drawstring faster, for he figured she would now reject him.

Dammit, Kili, he thought. He knew he should not have taken his little brother’s relationship advice. That darned brunette couldn’t even grow a beard!

Lost in his seething thoughts regarding Kili, Fili was startled, as Y/n spoke again.

“Well…that certainly places things in a different perspective,” she said at last.

“A good perspective? Or a bad one?” Fili bemusedly pressed.

“That depends,” Y/n shrugged, “I wouldn’t wish to court someone who taunts and belittles my skills as a warrior.”

“I never meant to do such a thing,” Fili apologised, shaking his head. “I merely only want you safe, and as for the taunting, well…let’s just say Kili gives terrible advice.”

Unsatisfied with his lack of accountability, Y/n quirked a brow. Noticing this, Fili sighed again. He slumped his shoulders, and pressed on.

“And…let’s also just say, for argument’s sake, that I’m quite stupid?” he tried.

This gently extracted a bright grin from Y/n.

“Aye, that works better,” she warmly remarked.

Both then laughed, and reduced the bubbling tension in the room, to nothing but mist. Catching the other’s eye, both slowly died down. Y/n saw Fili in a new light – someone worthy of her consideration. Of course, Fili would still have to work for her approval, nonetheless.

“I’ll tell you what,” she began, “I’ll consider removing the layers in my heart, as to search for what I really feel towards you, if you allow me in this fight. I’ll have no such partner denying me the thrill of a battle.”

“Aye, you certainly love fighting…” Fili sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Indeed, and I’d urge you to make haste and find an answer, before you earn yourself another one,” she sassed.

Unable to fight the grin over her attitude, one he knew certainly couldn’t be missed in their ranks on the battlefield, Fili responded.

“Very well,” he said at last, “I will…step aside, although, let it be known that it deeply irks me!”

Rising up on her tiptoes, Y/n planted a swift kiss to his cheek. Fili then turned five shades deeper, and felt his mind burn into nothing but revving sparks.

“Good choice,” she commended. She then made a move to string up his armour, and spoke again. “Now, how would you like to assist me with putting my own armour on?”

[count-v-dracula]

† 𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎𝖘 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕿𝖗𝖚𝖊 𝕽𝖔𝖑𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞?

the antihero (prince Vlad)

ah yes, hello edge lord. it is lovely to see you again. you my dear, are the incarnation of duality, and you might think of claws and venom mixed with grace but alas, nothing near as poetic. you my friend, are mixture of what is seen as right, and what is questioned. you follow the path of your own two feet, you know the twists and turns of life’s forests quite well if I do say so myself. and you can meander along them wonderfully. you strive to stay true to a certain sense of principles you might call your code, but whereas in reality, those would be your morals. people tend to see you as strange, sharp edged and glinting you hide behind a cloak of chain mail but really you just prefer to show off you imperfections first. unlike many who scramble to make it as if their flaws never existed, you proudly raise your up, saying, “this is me, this it he worst of me, now you know what to expect.” and might I say, it is quite an intriguing mindset, for the truth be told, the ones that love your spikes and craters are the ones who appreciate your softness the most. you wish not to be loved as something loveable, but as a monster. for aren’t we all just beasts in human skin? you are brave, but you are lonely. you know quite well how to scare off most, making even the heroes with the boldest bravado creep away with their tails between their legs. you are not a villain, sometimes you play the part a bit too well. but nevertheless you are no hero either. you put yourself first, but if one wins your trust then may the gods have mercy on those who might wrong them. you long to be a poetic mess of sorts, and well, if the ink sets in long enough you might just become that sooner or later. but for one who is so dead set on a truth you sure do hide a lot don’t you? please, step out of the shadows, there is a difference to not making your flaws visible and to simply acting as if you’re the most despicable person in all the realms. it’s because you’re afraid of attachment is it not? well let me tell you a little secret, everyone is. you say you wish to be left alone for eternity but than why are you craving connection. you wish to be known and understood truly, but you snarl and push the ones that might be trying away. please little wolf, accept you are loveable. you are not some ravenous beast that terrifies the multitudes, sure you are not for the faint of heart but that does not make you an inkling less perfect as you are. young antihero, step into the sun. you would do better actually reaching for the things you want rather than pining for them in the darkness.

the fallen prodigy (the Count)

hello old friend, it's been a while hasn't it? I remember when you were just a child, gape-smiled and beaming like the sun. where have you laid your youth to rest my love? is it buried beside your heart perhaps? I know how deeply life has wounded you, it took away everything, didn't it? oh poor soul, you held onto happiness with bloody, shaking hands but still fate ripped even that away from you. your past lovers are dead or did some betray you? turning away in fear of what they once admired. your comrades have been slain, or their priorities shifted. I've heard you too have changed your way of thought. the people fear you know, do they normally cower at the sound of your name? ah don't fret, that makes two of us. the masses tend to despise the things they do not have the will to comprehend. the villain finds sympathy for you don't they, well I could have seen that from a mile away. you two are the oldest friends, you made a deal with them correct? to save your late love, they tried to hold their end of the bargain, really, but I fear you are cursed to forever be despondent. oh what a sad and miserable life without love. is that why you chase loneliness? for is it truly a life of sorrow if you yourself has chosen it? but don't become bitter from the pain. trust when I say I have seen wounds unfold a man, turning the gentlest spirits into seething beasts. please, keep seeking love, even if it seems you are forbidden from it. you are the master of your own fate, I see how tired you are. the scars never healed, they twist and wrap around your entire person. your eyes are dark and lifeless, rest. but keep fighting, not with the sword you have forsaken so long ago, but with your heart. I'll be rooting for you my friend.

tagged by: @phoenixduelist (thanks love) tagging: @ashortdropandasuddenstop @thxwxlf @fanatiquee @qceensofkings @wingsandcoffins @childofmanynames

[multiverse-of-souls]

what is your true role in the story?

the fallen prodigy

hello old friend, it's been a while hasn't it? I remember when you were just a child, gape-smiled and beaming like the sun. where have you laid your youth to rest my love? is it buried beside your heart perhaps? I know how deeply life has wounded you, it took away everything, didn't it? oh poor soul, you held onto happiness with bloody, shaking hands but still fate ripped even that away from you. your past lovers are dead or did some betray you? turning away in fear of what they once admired. your comrades have been slain, or their priorities shifted. I've heard you too have changed your way of thought. the people fear you know, do they normally cower at the sound of your name? ah don't fret, that makes two of us. the masses tend to despise the things they do not have the will to comprehend. the villain finds sympathy for you don't they, well I could have seen that from a mile away. you two are the oldest friends, you made a deal with them correct? to save your late love, they tried to hold their end of the bargain, really, but I fear you are cursed to forever be despondent. oh what a sad and miserable life without love. is that why you chase loneliness? for is it truly a life of sorrow if you yourself has chosen it? but don't become bitter from the pain. trust when I say I have seen wounds unfold a man, turning the gentlest spirits into seething beasts. please, keep seeking love, even if it seems you are forbidden from it. you are the master of your own fate, I see how tired you are. the scars never healed, they twist and wrap around your entire person. your eyes are dark and lifeless, rest. but keep fighting, not with the sword you have forsaken so long ago, but with your heart. I'll be rooting for you my friend.

--

the antihero

ah yes, hello edge lord. it is lovely to see you again. you my dear, are the incarnation of duality, and you might think of claws and venom mixed with grace but alas, nothing near as poetic. you my friend, are mixture of what is seen as right, and what is questioned. you follow the path of your own two feet, you know the twists and turns of life's forests quite well if I do say so myself. and you can meander along them wonderfully. you strive to stay true to a certain sense of principles you might call your code, but whereas in reality, those would be your morals. people tend to see you as strange. sharp edged and glinting you hide behind a cloak of chain mail but really you just prefer to show off your imperfections first. unlike many who scramble to make it as if their flaws never existed, you proudly raise yours up. saying, "this is me, this is the worst of me, now you know what to expect." and might I say, it is quite an intriguing mindset, for truth be told, the ones that love your spikes and craters are the ones who appreciate your softness the most. you wish not to be loved as something lovable, but as a monster. for aren't we all just beasts in human skin? you are brave, but you are lonely. you know quite well how to scare off most, making even the heroes with the boldest bravado creep away with their tails between their legs. you are not a villain, sometimes you play the part a bit too well. but nevertheless you are no hero either. you put yourself first, but if one wins your trust then may the gods have mercy on those who might wrong them. you long to be a poetic mess of sorts, and well, if the ink sets in long enough you might just become that sooner or later. but for one who is so dead set on truth you sure do hide a lot don't you? please, step out of the shadows, there is a difference to not making your flaws visible and to simply acting as if you're the most despicable person in all the realms. it's because you're afraid of attachment is it not? well let me tell you a little secret, everyone is. you say you wish to be left alone for eternity but than why are you craving connection. you wish to be known and understood truly, but you snarl and push the ones that might be trying away. please little wolf, accept you are lovable. you are not some ravenous beast that terrifies the multitudes, sure, you are not for the faint of heart but that does not make you an inkling less perfect as you are. young antihero, step into the sun. you would do better actually reaching for the things you want rather than pining for them in the darkness.

[flowerwept]

what is your true role in the story?

HERMES.

the antihero.    ah yes, hello edge lord. it is lovely to see you again. you my dear, are the incarnation of duality, and you might think of claws and venom mixed with grace but alas, nothing near as poetic. you my friend, are mixture of what is seen as right, and what is questioned. you follow the path of your own two feet, you know the twists and turns of life's forests quite well if I do say so myself. and you can meander along them wonderfully. you strive to stay true to a certain sense of principles you might call your code, but whereas in reality, those would be your morals. people tend to see you as strange. sharp edged and glinting you hide behind a cloak of chain mail but really you just prefer to show off your imperfections first. unlike many who scramble to make it as if their flaws never existed, you proudly raise yours up. saying, "this is me, this is the worst of me, now you know what to expect." and might I say, it is quite an intriguing mindset, for truth be told, the ones that love your spikes and craters are the ones who appreciate your softness the most. you wish not to be loved as something lovable, but as a monster. for aren't we all just beasts in human skin? you are brave, but you are lonely. you know quite well how to scare off most, making even the heroes with the boldest bravado creep away with their tails between their legs. you are not a villian, sometimes you play the part a bit too well. but nevertheless you are no hero either. you put yourself first, but if one wins your trust then may the gods have mercy on those who might wrong them. you long to be a poetic mess of sorts, and well, if the ink sets in long enough you might just become that sooner or later. but for one who is so dead set on truth you sure do hide a lot don't you? please, step out of the shadows, there is a difference to not making your flaws visible and to simply acting as if you're the most despicable person in all the realms. it's because you're afraid of attachment is it not? well let me tell you a little secret, everyone is. you say you wish to be left alone for eternity but than why are you craving connection. you wish to be known and understood truly, but you snarl and push the ones that might be trying away. please little wolf, accept you are lovable. you are not some ravenous beast that terrifies the multitudes, sure, you are not for the faint of heart but that does not make you an inkling less perfect as you are. young antihero, step into the sun. you would do better actually reaching for the things you want rather than pining for them in the darkness.

FANDANIEL.

the fallen prodigy.    hello old friend, it's been a while hasn't it? I remember when you were just a child, gape-smiled and beaming like the sun. where have you laid your youth to rest my love? is it buried beside your heart perhaps? I know how deeply life has wounded you, it took away everything, didn't it? oh poor soul, you held onto happiness with bloody, shaking hands but still fate ripped even that away from you. your past lovers are dead or did some betray you? turning away in fear of what they once admired. your comrades have been slain, or their priorities shifted. I've heard you too have changed your way of thought. the people fear you know, do they normally cower at the sound of your name? ah don't fret, that makes two of us. the masses tend to despise the things they do not have the will to comprehend. the villian finds sympathy for you don't they, well I could have seen that from a mile away. you two are the oldest friends, you made a deal with them correct? to save your late love, they tried to hold their end of the bargain, really, but I fear you are cursed to forever be despondent. oh what a sad and miserable life without love. is that why you chase loneliness? for is it truly a life of sorrow if you yourself has chosen it? but don't become bitter from the pain. trust when I say I have seen wounds unfold a man, turning the gentlest spirits into seething beasts. please, keep seeking love, even if it seems you are forbidden from it. you are the master of your own fate, I see how tired you are. the scars never healed, they twist and wrap around your entire person. your eyes are dark and lifeless, rest. but keep fighting, not with the sword you have forsaken so long ago, but with your heart. I'll be rooting for you my friend.

tagged by: @unblot thanks dove <3 tagging: you!!!!!!! srry im bad at figuring out who has or hasnt done these sorta things