#may his soul rest easy... he was so young :((((((((((

[ilhoonftw]

wait, there was an openai whistleblower that was found dead recently ???

[scliffe]

This is quite a subjective opinion; but I am endlessly fascinated by how the romanticization (or sentimentalization) of Sebastian and Ciel’s relationship is such a big, important part of Kuroshitsuji—partly due to Sebastian’s own nature as a demon, but also due to Ciel’s character himself.

Sebastian is evil, and he is meant to lure people into damnation. He is the embodiment of a poisonous yet appealing temptation. He speaks sweet, gentle words. He is undeniably physically attractive, and generally, people find him charming. I can go on forever, but you get the gist; all of him is designed to slowly attract and lull people into complacency with him—into not seeing the predatory nature that lurks beneath that gorgeous skin.

This powerful creature, who can kill people with his bare hands, prefers to use sweet promises over threats—finding physical torture less effective than honey; so confident in his ability to understand human desires and tempt any person into the route he designs for them. He presents people with two choices; one of which seems infinitely more attractive than the other—but would certainly lead them to damnation. And it delights him very much when they inevitably chooses the sweeter option. It seems to be essential to the demonic contract that the contractor gets to choose (even if the choice was most likely—almost always—highly uninformed).

Now; if the contractor was an unassuming human who was tempted or fooled by the demon, or if the contractor was someone who’d kill and sacrifice another person on purpose, maybe we would say, “Well, he did that to himself.” Or even, “He deserved that.” But not only did Ciel manage to summon Sebastian by happenstance; he—arguably—did not have much choices other than to agree to the contract; it was either the contract or death at the hands of the cultists.

His consent was highly dubious (not that Sebastian ever cares); he was in a state of emotional distress—unfit to be making choices that would define the rest of his life—not to mention his youth, his vulnerability, and the glaring power imbalance with the predatory adults and demon surrounding him. From that moment on, his soul is forfeit; no matter how many times Ciel states that he is firm on his revenge and that he is doing this for himself—you can always argue that he is only saying this because the choice is either this or death.

Still, instead of highlighting the dubious nature of this agreement, the author shows that despite his young age, he is perceptive enough to read through Sebastian’s lies and see Sebastian’s true nature for what it is, and still “chooses” to have the contract. The author repeatedly, over and over, shows Ciel “choosing” this road for himself, Ciel saying that he has no need for the past and will not look back—and the whole time that Ciel charges unwaveringly into the darkness, Sebastian looks at him and smiles meaningfully.

Since we have no idea what “souls” present in Kuroshitsuji; the concept of what Ciel is actually paying with in order to get his revenge is exceedingly vague—it’s difficult to feel loss over something with an unknown value. This is exacerbated by Ciel’s easy acceptance of his own fate, and the practical logic on how it’s simply fair to pay a servant for his services.

Sebastian, for his part; always revels and delights in how Ciel chooses him. He basks in it, and gloats about it; the dubious nature of Ciel’s agreement forgotten, or frankly does not even seem to compute in Sebastian’s mind. What’s important is that Ciel made a choice; and that choice was Sebastian. We know that Sebastian will eventually kill Ciel, but we may contend that Sebastian is good for him. Sebastian saved Ciel and Ciel consented to having Sebastian. Sebastian gave Ciel the autonomy and independence and protection he desperately needed. And this does not come out of nowhere; as the author too, seems to deliberately romanticize/sentimentalize their relationship—the readers are simply picking up on the context cues.

They are certainly predator and prey; but people may love their appeal as a pair of lovers, like Bonnie and Clyde; or as found family along with the rest of the servants; they are partners-in-crime; soulmates; always understanding each other with just a glance, simply meant to be together, there is no Ciel without Sebastian and vice versa, etc.; it’s all a terribly romantic and sentimental view of their relationship.

The portrayal of Sebastian as a loyal and caring protector (although he is always hiding his hunger and fangs) and Ciel as a brave and pitiable victim resolutely seeking justice (although he arguably never had much choices) are done on purpose to allow their relationship to be romanticized/sentimentalized by the readers who want to root for them. If Sebastian was not portrayed attractively enough; if he wasn’t a handsome, gentle caretaker, who is devotedly loyal to Ciel and protects him from kidnappers and assassins and whatnots (see how he treats Ciel so much better compared to Ciel’s fellow humans?), this romanticization of him will not be possible. Likewise, if Ciel was portrayed as an innocent run-off-the-mill ten year old—instead of a smart one, a perceptive one, one who is “mature for his age”; if Ciel was a regular noble instead of the Queen’s watchdog; one who is meant to be the Earl of Phantomhive despite being born as an underdog (which makes the readers want to root for him and believe him to be capable of besting a demon on the negotiation table)—we will not be reading the contract scene and thinking, “Can he outsmart the demon?” Or even, “Well, certainly this ten year old understands what he is doing.” We would have instead understood the contract to be an exploitation of the child’s vulnerability and circumstances. Instead, Ciel is portrayed as wanting the contract; willing to sacrifice his soul to get his revenge; a fully-consenting party in a mutually beneficial agreement. When Sebastian offers his hand, Ciel consensually places his own hand in Sebastian’s.

What is truly “good” for Ciel becomes a moral dilemma that the readers cannot solve, and Sebastian’s true “feelings” (or whether he has any at all) is never explained. The readers are left to guess and come up with our own theories that will remain unanswered—we insist that Ciel needs and wants Sebastian, that Sebastian cares for Ciel beyond seeing him as food; and the whole thing is so morally dubious, but we are given a lot of incentives to see them in a positive, sentimental light. Every once in a while something may happen that seems to reinforce our beliefs in their relationship, but never fully confirm how they feel towards each other. The occasional “warning bells” reminding us of Sebastian’s nature as a demon are—more often than not—ignored, as the future when the contract ends still seems so far away, and regardless; Ciel is far too dependent on Sebastian to even think of living without him.

[hawkinsbnbg]

Silver fox Steve meets fox hunter Eddie.

When Steve accepted the teaching position at IU, he didn't expect to stumble upon Eddie Munson–an enigma—who loved metal, who wore leathers with chains and rings, who always stood out with that wild mane, those attractive tattoos and devil-may-care attitude, and who had been trying to get into his pants for months now.

“Is this still a violation to the college’s policies, Professor?” Hot lips planted by his ears, strong hands held him down, stopped him from getting away.

“N– No,” Steve gasped and rolled his eyes back as Eddie hit that spot again. They had been at it for over an hour now, and Steve only had himself to blame for being weak-willed.

He had half a mind to worry about what his colleagues might say tomorrow about having seen him slink away with one of the graduates. But his head was rendered blank when those long calloused fingers wrapped around his neglected cock and started jerking it.

“Am I still too young for you, Professor?”

“Ye– Oh, god–” Steve writhed and slobbered as his sweet spots were battered again.

“Just Eddie is fine,” the younger man nipped the tip of his ear teasingly before setting up a brutal pace.

Steve couldn't even talk, he just fisted the sheet beneath him, overwhelmed and overstimulated. He was kind of appalled and thrilled by it all. Because sex had never felt so good to him before.

“Am I good enough for you, Professor?” Eddie asked, voice husky and gravelly with lust.

Steve dropped his mouth open to maybe form a proper word or breathe, he didn't know. His brain was too fucked out to remember why he had kept turning Eddie away in the first place.

The guy clearly knew how to plow. Fucking Christ.

He nodded blindly, moaning and losing his mind as Eddie hammered into his prostate as if wanting to knock his soul away.

He came with Eddie’s name on his tongue, twitching and clenching around the thick cock that pulsed inside him. He milked it for what it was worth, and lamented inwardly Eddie had filled the condom and not him.

Once the post-coital high finally passed, the clarity of the situation dawned on him. Steve didn't regret it, but he was mildly disappointed this was just a one-time thing.

Because of all people, he knew Eddie’s kind the best. Always curious, always eager to take on challenges. And who else was better to conquer than Professor Harrington who was known for being a rule stickler?

Except, tonight was the first time he let himself be swayed by those charming smiles and big impish eyes. Maybe it was old ages having mellowed him, or maybe it was loneliness wearing his guard down.

Either way, someone brilliant like Eddie would never stick around for a boring old man like Steve. Which was completely understandable. But it didn't hurt less to think he was just another pitstop in Eddie’s life. Easy to forget, easy to leave behind.

“Hope you haven’t gotten tired of me yet, Mr. Harrington,” Eddie returned from the bathroom with a washcloth in hands, looking far too chirpy in only a pair of black boxers and not at all as drained as Steve felt.

God, what a time to be reminded that he was too old for this.

Sitting against the headboard, Steve said nothing and just watched Eddie climb on the bed and kneel over to him. When he intended to take the washcloth, Eddie just grabbed his hand to kiss the back of it instead.

“Allow me to take care of my date,” the younger man said cheekily before proceeding to wipe him down with practiced ease.

“Your date, huh?” Steve snorted, laughing at himself for being so pathetic to perk up at that.

“Yeah, my date,” Eddie smiled softly, tone still light-hearted but eyes intense when they met his own. “We’re kinda doing it backward here but I can fix that.”

Jesus. Steve didn't think he knew what he was getting himself into. And still, he couldn't help but listen to his stupid heart, the one that was telling him to give Eddie a chance.

“How?”

“I know this place has really good tacos,” Eddie rested a hand on his bare thigh and stroked it slowly. “They also serve quite decent drinks and mean buffalo wings.”

“What if I say no?” Steve raised his eyebrow.

“Well, in that case,” Eddie deflated, looking like a kicked puppy as he braved on. “I’ll respect your decision and get out of your hair soon.”

Steve sighed, wishing pretty boys with big eyes weren't his weakness.

“Listen carefully,” he leveled Eddie with a serious look. “If you’re just looking for someone to fool around with, then I’m not the right person for you. But if you want to try for a real relationship, then we can do it together. And I’ll expect you to be fully committed. No polygamy or anything alike.”

Eddie grinned at him, dimpled and bright, before cupping his cheek and kissing the side of his mouth.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been committed to you since the first time we met. Been yours even before you noticed me.”

The fact that Steve could tell it was true made his heart flutter in his chest.

“Well then, Mr. Munson, I have no problem with you fixing our date tonight,” he turned his head slightly to press a chaste kiss on Eddie’s lips.

“So polite,” Eddie chuckled and kissed him again, but it was deeper and more tender this time.

Although Steve still couldn't quite believe Eddie would stick around, he decided to take the leap of faith anyway.

And many years later, when he glanced up from his newspaper to see Eddie showing him another new sweater for their dog, he knew he had made the right choice that night.

[thebadboyfanclub]

Together As One (Daemon x Reader)

So this is more a twisted love type of hype, I hope you guys like the way I portrayed this request cause I wanted to give it more of a dark edge since Daemon is definitely a gray character. Hope you enjoy!

Mothers love their children, everyone could agree upon the unconditional love mothers held for their kind with no doubt in their hearts, songs, poems, plays, and any type of art one can think of have attempted to portray such devotion. None, however, could predict that some mothers have a certain type of fear for their child, like some whisper in the back of their heads warning them about the little glimpse in their eyes that was not like the stars but more of a scorching fire threading to burn everything.

That was the exact feeling Rhaenys had for her beloved daughter, the twin sister of Laenor, it would often baffle her how her husband could not see what was clearly there, (y/n) was always in competition with everyone about everything, the finest clothes belonged to her, she had to ride a dragon first, learn Valyrian faster.

Whilst Rhaenys prayed for her daughter's thirst to settle, the others praised her for her bravery, her determination, and her intellect, something that made (y/n) yearn for more.

“I would like to raise a toast to my dear brother, a married man to our future queen, may your wedlock be blessed with numerous children and a road paved with nothing but joy and success, Prince Daemon, hopefully you are next”

(Y/n) stood with a smile of triumph dancing on her lips before she raised her cup to gently take a sip, as she sat down Daemon's eyes followed her, he was well aware of her game, though he seemed unfazed and almost amused by her comment the truth laid somewhere deeper than the surface, not a single soul in this room would have been able to guess that the delighted twin of now future king consort was playing a game of cat and mouse with none other than prince daemon behind closed doors.

(Y/n) had been relentless in her ways to seduce Daemon, sneaking out at all hours of the night, sending people after him so she could know his whereabouts just so she could magically appear, the combination of sweet wine and her alluring voice was enough for Daemon to stumble and fall right on top of her, taking her for a ride to the addictive roads of lust.

She was stunning, flawless, a true Targaryen that screamed opulence and elegance with a face sculpted by the gods, the common folk would gush over the “oceans Angel” a nickname given by the realm for her angelic features, how would they know how dark her mind could get in order to make everyone yield before her?

-

“Mother”

“Dearest, how are you on this fine morrow?”

“I am well, the little one finally decided to let me get some rest”

“When I was pregnant with you I remember thinking you would kick your way out of my belly, the Apple does not fall far from the tree”

(Y/n)s daughter, Leora, leaned as much as she could to kiss her mother's cheek before she sat down next to her to break her fast, queen Alicent had already taken her seat along with her daughter Heleana and (y/n)s other son Elion, Alicent and (y/n) enjoyed each others presence, a mutual bond based on respect had been build over the years that was sealed by marrying Leora with Aegon and Elion with Heleana.

“The maester said you should drink more orange juice, it will help with the fatigue”

“As well as eat more meat, pregnancy is no easy task, you must be as strong as ever”

Alicent chimed, the birth of her second grandchild was one of the most important events, Alicent adored her first grandchild, beautiful Hael, a strong boy who was just now starting to learn how to walk, still, he had everyone wrapped around his finger.

“I appreciate your concerns but I am fine, healthy as a horse”

“It wouldn’t hurt, let us not risk it dearest”

“I thought once I get older I wouldn’t have to listen to my mother”

“Well I am sorry but that will never happen, drink”

(Y/n) had stepped up and appeared as the perfect mother, loving, kind, and caring, she did love her children, however, what she loved most was the things they could do for her, her firstborn daughter was now the wife of the king first born son, and her son was a strong, skill full knight that served the realm and came back in triumph, how could she not adore her perfect creations?

“How is the king?”

“I am afraid his health is decreasing, the maesters advise him to remain abed for the day”

“Rhaenyra will be questioned, he won’t sit this one out I am afraid”

“Ugh the precious Rhaenyra, I wish I could stay in my chambers until those god-forsaken days pass”

(Y/n)s smile was wiped from her face and in an instant it was replaced with an angry scowl, in a split second her hand had grasped her daughter, Leoras' eyes went wide with fear when they met the angry hues of her mothers.

“You mustn’t speak in such a way, I’ve taught you better”

Leora only nodded frantically, (y/n) had her own opinions over Rhaenyra, she however, knew better than to voice them, not even in such a secluded area of the palace, (y/n)s hold turned from forceful to a caress before she directed her eyes back to her friend and queen Alicent.

“Besides, the king will do as he wishes and if the gods bless him with the strength to stand he should be there, isn’t it right Alicent?”

“I couldn’t have phrased it better, my dear”

-

(Y/n) and Alicent were each other's shadows, one compelled the other and in the end one way or the other the result was one of their favor, (y/n) was disciplined and had mastered the act of a gracious and lovely princess, Alicent was strict and slipped under everyone’s nose as she cloaked herself with the act of a pious queen, the two of them had years up on the horse of being able to maneuver their way around the kingdom so the men would not suspect a damn thing.

Viserys had seemed to get worst which made him unable to attend even when Daemon and (y/n) went to his room to assist him, the king could not even sit up let alone walk, Daemon was disheartened, thankfully for him his dutiful and beautiful wife let him rest on her shoulder and like a soothing salve her encouraging words went over his wound of his beloved older brother nearing his end.

“My Love”

“(Y/n)? What- what has happened?”

“I apologize for waking you up my dear, it is your brother”

“Viserys? What about- no”

“My dear husband, you must be strong, I am so sorry”

(Y/n) grasped Daemon's hands tightly before she brought them up to her lips to kiss his knuckles, of course, she was one of the first to know, Alicent had rushed to her chamber and delivered the news herself, she had waited patiently as the king took his last breath, Alicent told no one, not even the maester, (y/n) had to know before anyone.

“Viserys”

Daemon had been taken over by his thoughts, they’ve always had their differences but at the end of the day, they shared the same mother and father, a bond that could never be broken, no matter how many times Daemon has run off he always ended up by Viserys side.

“My love, I understand that this is too much for you, however, we must prepare our daughter”

“What does Elora have to do with this?”

“She is to be queen, she needs her father”

“Queen? Have you gone mad?”

(Y/n) bit her bottom lip in combination with her head tilting to the side, as if nothing but a mere candle lit her face Daemon could still identify the features that he so adored but now he could not wrap his head around what was his wife suggesting.

“My lord husband, King Viserys has left us, it is only natural for his son to succeed him”

“It is expected for his firstborn, Rhaenyra, to do so, not Aegon”

“Where is the princess? But in a place where she could have visited if she wished, when has she even attempted to come and visit her beloved father who was in agony all these years? She only came when her privilege was at risk and then blamed Alicent who has served by the king's side for his illness”

“This is not a matter to discuss”

“But it is, the gods know I loved Viserys and he had been good to me, but let us not forget he killed his first wife in his desperate attempt for a male heir, he remarried and Alicent gave him an heir and a spare and still it was not good enough, he passed by you and his sons to bury his guilt by calling Rhaenyra the heir, it wasn’t because he trusted her or because he saw something in her, he passed the title on to her because he did not trust you and then because he wanted to wash the blood of queen Aemmas from his hands”

Silence fell upon them, (y/n) pulled away from her husband and headed towards the door, as his hand rested upon the handle she turned her head back to lord husband who was visibly shaken, (y/n) might appear disheartened but she could detect that her monologue had started to creep on to Daemons heart.

“I love you with all my heart, that is why I shall leave you to grieve, if you wish to run to her I will…. Understand, it is not like I ever doubted the unconditional love you have for the realm delight, now might be your chance to pursue it”

Her tone was drowning in sorrow leaving Daemon with an unwavering sense of guilt in a dark room as his wife had disappeared to place her hand over a war of fire and blood, (y/n) was correct, Daemon did love Rhaenyra, still, he did not place his flame for her over what he had built with his wife over the years.

(Y/n) walked away with a smile of triumph, she had done her part flawlessly and now she was certain that Daemon would be by her side before the crown was placed on Aegons head, however, she did not have time to waste, Alicent and (y/n) were the ones to wake the new king and queen, preparing them for what they had destined to be.

“You may enter”

“Prince Daemon is asking to see his daughter and wife, alone”

(Y/n) stopped brushing her daughter's head, carefully placing the golden brush down before she looked down at her daughter who nodded in approval.

“Let him in, do not allow anyone to disturb us”

“Right away”

The girl curtsied as quickly as possible before she disappeared only to be replaced by none other than Daemon. (Y/n) took a sharp inhale through her nose once he entered the room, preparing herself for a mental battle, surprisingly when her eyes scanned for his she was met with a certain lightness, an ease to him that caught her by a pleasant surprise.

Instinctively a small smile played on her lips, her Daemon was dressed in his black attire, leather suited him, and his hair was pulled away from his face the way she always told him to do it.

(Y/n) was not made of stone, she might play like she is though her heart skipped a beat every time she was near her lord husband, Daemon was one of the very few people that (y/n) would throw herself in the fire, even though their love felt like the flames licked her back, that sweet pain of admiration and devotion that the poets would sing and the common folk would go mad.

“My dearest loves”

Daemon declared, that their daughter rose from her chair and ran to her father, she was always the one known to succumb to emotions and this time (y/n) could not scold her over it, Leora was her father's daughter, (y/n) might not have spoken over the matter only to allow the young girl the solidarity of her feelings, inside Leora was always waiting for her father to walk through this door.

“You look beautiful, a perfect gown for the queen”

“Father I-“

“Before I handed you over to Aegon I made you a promise, do you remember it?”

“I will do anything to see you happy”

“I will put myself through war if you tell me that this is what you want, all you have to do is say it”

Daemon was no fool, he was certain that the second that crown graced his daughter's head a war would nip their heels, Rhaenyra would not go down without a fight and that meant that Daemon would have to face her in battle, a battle he was willing to put for his lovely Leora.

“I want to be queen, I want Aegon to be our king”

“Very well, I wish you a fruitful reign, may the Gods smile down upon you”

‘May the Gods have mercy on us’ he thought, with a smile he brushed away those dark thoughts only to place a kiss on his daughter's forehead, a small part of him screamed that this was the right thing, his brother never thought he was good enough, now his brother was on the ground and his daughter was crowned queen and would carry on the legacy of the Targaryen name.

“Go on now, I want to have a word with your mother”

“I will be waiting for you”

Leora informed them before she gave them the privacy Daemon desired. (Y/n) stood as still as a statue, her heart pounding on her chest as her throat grew dry and scratchy, she was the master of composure up until now, faced with the only person who could make her waver.

“My beautiful, sweet lady wife, you spoke harshly last night”

“I spoke nothing but the truth”

She threw back in a cold tone. Daemon only smirked as he started to approach her, she did not dare to move, (y/n) was comforted by his light-hearted manner though there was an underlying mischief, Daemon was playing something, and (y/n) was left trying to catch up before it is too late.

Daemon stood before her, his arm finding her forearms and giving them a gentle squeeze, his eyes gazing back at hers with a glimmer that (y/n) had grown to yearn for, she despised the fact that she had to manipulate him like this, she was left with no other choice but to do this, a side of hers cursed the day Rhaenyras and Daemons fates met, this would have been so much easier had (y/n) been the only women Daemon loved.

“You are so bright, I am almost disappointed that you didn’t foresee this”

“The war?”

“No, me, you think I have not caught wind of all the scheming against Rhaenyra? The upbringing of my daughter to become the wife of my brother's firstborn son, putting our son on the sea the minute he was born to have better knowledge of anything driftmark related to gain the favor of your father, every step you so amazingly calculated with Alicent so you can get our family here”

“You have gone mad”

“I saw behind the facade and that makes you nervous, I was there with you every step of the way you mustn’t be frightened, I let you do all this for only one reason”

“Alright, let us entertain this absurd claim of yours, what is the reason?”

“Because I love you”

(Y/n) mouth slightly parted in shock, Daemon had professed his love for her on multiple occasions but the weight on this one was different, he had pulled what she thought was the perfect cover, leaving her bare in front of him, uncovering her thirst that she had kept away from everyone.

“I love you so much that I will let my daughter become the target on Rhaenyras mind, I will go against the woman that you think threatens your position in my heart, I will put myself in the sword before I let her even get one strand of your hair because you and our daughter want this”

“And you don’t? You always held a grudge over the fact that Viserys never declared you as his heir”

“My brother is dead now and because of you our child wishes to be a queen, I picked you as my second wife because I saw your strength, your determination, you need to come on top, that is the Targaryen fire through and through”

“You truly mean all this?”

“You are my lady wife, you gave me a home, now it is time to show the realm that we are the rightful heirs of the throne, together as one”

(Y/n) reached daemons lips for a passionate kiss, his hands slid down to her waist and pulled her as close as humanly possible, sharing this moment meant everything to (y/n), she had him devotedly by her side, he saw her true nature and walked straight into her fire, surrendering in her and even shielding her and her family.

“Let us find out daughter, I want us to be the ones to place the crown on her head”

“I wouldn’t dare let anyone else have that honor”

Requests are open!

[devixncy]

hii!! could you please do a gi-hun fluff? maybe the reader is stressed and gi hun comforts them? honestly, i don't mind the details as long as it's sweet! thank you!! 🫶

yess!! gi-hun deserves sm love

✧ pairing: seong gi-hun x reader

✧ summary: the games are getting to you more than you thought. gi-hun tries to help you through it.

✧ warnings: mention of anxiety

✧ word count: 1.1k

To say you were terrified was an understatement. The fear of death lingered in the back of your mind at all times, taking over your thoughts at every opportunity. You didn’t want to die-not here, not like this. When you made the decision to join the games, you thought it would be easy money. Playing some games similar to ddakji that you played with the man from the subway couldn’t be that bad, right? Oh, how wrong you were. 

Although you had successfully made it through the first two games, thanks to Gi-hun and the rest of your group that had formed, you couldn’t help but have a constant, overwhelming sense of dread. As pessimistic as you were, you didn’t want to drag anyone else down with you. That’s why you were currently sitting alone on the cold, metal stairs, head in your hands. The red patch on your chest, showing that you voted to leave, didn’t make things any better. The fact that you were stuck here because more players wanted to stay than leave loomed over you as well. It stuck out, almost painting you as a target to anyone that had voted O. As much as you wanted–needed–the money that the games promised, your life just didn’t seem worth the risk. There were other ways to get money that didn’t involve a brutal death. 

It felt like you were drowning. The screams, the gunshots, all of it replayed in your mind and you couldn’t turn it off. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, ears starting to ring. You couldn’t shake off the anxiety, it threatened to swallow you whole. Nothing was even going on at that moment, all of the players just milling around until lights out, which made you feel incredibly weak. Pathetic even. A lump formed in the back of your throat, and it felt harder to breathe. The anxiety attack that was coming was inevitable at that point, and you tried to make yourself look as small as possible, alone in your corner. Clutching at your chest with one hand, you tried to control your breathing before it got out of control.  

While you were deep in your own head, out of the corner of your eye, you could see that someone had sat down next to you. Turning your head slightly, you saw that it was Gi-hun. Once he realized that you had noticed him, he gave you a smile that made your heart flutter. Yes, you thought he was attractive and you could tell he had an incredibly kind soul. While he may have come off cold at first (and he had his reasons), he quickly warmed up to your group, especially you. His goofy personality began to shine through around you, drawing you in. But what was the point in trying to get close to someone when they or yourself could be dead at any time?

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” He asked sincerely, clearly noticing your distress. Giving him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, you shook your head and exhaled slowly. 

“Nothing, just…thinking.” You answered quietly, not wanting to appear weak in front of him. Even though he more than likely knew exactly how you felt, having been in the games before. However, you knew he could see right through you.

Your leg shaking up and down and the subtle tremble of your hands didn’t go unnoticed by him. To your surprise, Gi-hun slowly knelt down in front of you, gently grabbing your hand that wasn’t locked onto the fabric of your shirt and grasping it in his. He placed his other hand on your knee, ever so softly running his thumb over the fabric of your pants in a soothing motion. 

“I promise you, (y/n), that I will do everything in my power to get you out of here. To get all of us out of here,” he nodded his head towards Jung-bae, Dae-hoe, Young-il, and Jun-hee, who were all deep in conversation in the distance. “I swear to you, we will leave here unharmed. I vowed to stop these games once and for all and I don’t plan on failing.”

Shaking your head, you closed your eyes, tears building behind them. “Please don’t make a promise like that. That you know you might not be able to keep.” You so badly wanted all of you to get out together. Especially your little group, they had become like family in such a short time, everyone looking out for each other. However, you knew it wasn’t a possibility that you all make it out alive. It was a devastating thought, one that threatened to pull you right back under.

Hands cupped either side of your face, wiping away tears that you weren’t aware were falling. Opening your eyes, Gi-hun was looking at you, smiling once he noticed you were looking at him. He had a determination and sincerity in his eyes that didn’t go unnoticed by you, and you knew he was hell bent on keeping that promise. He pulled you into his arms gently, and you quickly reciprocated, circling your arms around him and burying your head into his chest. Slowly, one of his hands rubbed up and down your back, making you melt into his arms. You hadn’t realized how badly you just needed some sort of comfort, anything to take away your fear even if just for a moment. Listening to Gi-hun’s heartbeat, yours slowly fell into rhythm with his, your tremors subsiding. You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that, but eventually, he pulled back slightly. His hands grabbed onto your shoulders, looking into your eyes.

“I will stay awake all night tonight if it means keeping you safe,” he said sincerely. Oh, right. You had forgotten what he had said, about what happened last time he played. Players coming after one another, picking off the weaker ones after lights out. A surge of panic went through you, and he noticed, rubbing your shoulders. “I mean it. No one will touch you.” 

Standing up slowly, he grabbed both of your hands, pulling you up with him. He slung his arm around your shoulders, giving you a light squeeze. “Now come on, we’ve gotta go build up some kind of defense so that I can better protect you, right?” 

That got a smile out of you and Gi-hun grinned, leading you down the stairs and over towards your group. 

Once your barrier had eventually been assembled and everyone else was calling it a night, yourself and Gi-hun decided to take the first watch. You sat side by side, your leg pressed against his, the simplicity of the touch keeping you grounded. Your eyes wandered around the room, thankfully not seeing much of anything going on. Subconsciously, you leaned into Gi-hun, resting your head on his shoulder. He looked down, smiling and wrapping his arm around you. Your body completely relaxed and for the first time since you woke up here, you felt safe. 

You knew he would keep his promise, and now you were just as determined as he was to make it out alive.

[obsidianscythe]

[thalassaschel] Roundtable Hold was not a place she had expected to return to. Not since the burning of the Erdtree. Not since the death of... Radagon... Marika... The slaying of the Elden Beast within the Erdtree. And the Lunar Princess' departure to the stars.

For better or for worse, Schel had remained... The Lands Between were in for a long winter, and she had decided to stay behind. To help the people of the Lands Between as best as she could, as well as offer long-needed aid to the Omen, the Misbegotten, and the Albinaurics.

She had ingrained Miquella's vision of a gentler world upon her heart. Or... So she had thought... It wasn't until she had met Lady Leda and Sir Ansbach that she had begun to second guess what exactly Miquella had envisioned. And then there was everything that happened afterward. Trina. Radahn. Mohg...

The blue-clad warrior looked down from the balcony. Even now, Ansbach remained at his lord's side.

'I'd do anything to make amends, in whatever meager way I can.'

Old man really did go above and beyond for his lord...

With a sigh, she gripped the wood railings, and flung herself off from the balcony, landing with light feet on the level below. And she approached Ansbach.

For a moment she could not help but look upon the Lord of Blood. He was yet unmoving, clad in the battered armor of gold worn by the consort of Miquella... And the mane of red that flowed from the back of a horn-bedecked head.

That certainly wasn't there when she had first met the Lord of Blood, brooding over his withered cocoon...

"... How is he?" She asked at last. From what she could tell, there had been no movement from the large omen since his soul returned.

He did not expect to survive the battle, even less so to win. But ultimately, the have defeated Miquella and his consort. And somehow... his lord's soul returned into the now-abandoned vessel.

Ansbach had been by his side ever since. He may have inhabited his body once more, and it had more or less reverted to his true appearance, but the injuries he sustained in the battle were severe. The old knight was very worried...

The Roundtable, at least, was a safe place. The blacksmith didn't mind their presence, and the young spirit tuner was friendly.

Ansbach tried, carefully, to remove the armour. The helmet was broken and easy to remove, but the rest proved difficult, with his lord unconscious. He managed to take off the chains, at least.

"He's alive... I hope he can recover."

Yet, who could tell how his lord would feel, after being so cruelly betrayed by the one he loved? Miquella, for all his supposed compassion, had no qualms about deceiving him and using him...

He sighed, and tried to make his lord as comfortable as he could.

[vagabond-umlaut]

it's easy to ferry souls, not carry them

deep down in the realm of the netherworlds, there exists a rower who transports deceased souls from the land of living to the land of dead-

and occasionally lends an ear and a hand, in the event of yet another collision between their weary queen and her just as cheery suitor...

[uraume deserves a raise.]

▸gojo satoru x fem!reader; the tale of kore!gojo & hades!reader w a guest appearance by charon!uraume; uraume is a very nice parental figure to you [ooc!uraume but ehh]; the reader is honestly so sweet and hot-tempered...; the cutest doggy cerberus too is there!!!!; gojo satoru must be his own warning...; uraume does not like gojo [no parent [blood-related or not] actually wld]; fire hazards; 2k wc

▸ i've nvr read percy jackson and wtv i wrote here is based on my shaky knowledge of greek myths and stuff 😁😁 anyways, this header's from pinterest, these dividers are by @benkeibear and the characters used ain't mine. pls do not plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

▸ belongs to series 'wreaths of asphodel' – same universe as the work 'hey, where is the pomegranate tree?' — but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

"why is kore so set on marrying me, uraume?"

it isn't the ask itself which causes the rower to nearly lose grip of their oar– but the way it is spoken: soft, solemn and faintly tense. they look away from the endless expanse of the styx before, to find you staring at your reflection in the inky waters, features unnaturally crumpled.

uraume holds back a frown. "has her majesty considered asking the god the same?"

"i have asked him," you mumble, "but i did not receive any conclusive answer in return. the imp was being too vague– must be a trait learnt from those shifty nymphs always sticking to his side."

if your faithful follower detects anything except dislike in your words, they make no mention of it. merely humming as they continue to row the boat, "and may this servant know the question her majesty asked the god?"

"two," you mumble even more clumsily now; they take a beat to grasp it, too concerned by the way you drape yourself over the edge, nearly falling into the water as you say, "i asked him two questions— one, if he loves me; two, if he wants to have children should we get married."

shock must not be uraume's first reaction to these queries, yet it is— and for a moment, it isn't you sitting there anymore.

instead, it is a little girl, no older than seven or eight years, cherubic face fixed in a look of deep concentration and fascination while the rower narrates to her stories from times millennia ago–

only for the child to morph into a young lady– no, goddess– the very next beat... slouched under a regal cloak too heavy for her shoulders, under a royal crown too large for her head... that sweet innocence of childhood nothing but traces now, having been withered by the foul, dirty politics of those damned deities high up on that mountain—

"what answers did the olympian offer her majesty?"

"he said he would love me and sire my children if that is what i want— i asked if he wished anything out of our union— he said all he wanted is to be my husband–"

something between a frustrated sigh and an exhausted scoff erupts from you, becoming an opaque fog the moment it hits the frigid air of the underworld. uraume plucks the oar out the water to come sit next to you, letting the boat be driven by magic.

"you're worried," they state, forgoing all formalities in favour of giving you some much-needed comfort. you never much cared for stations anyways, quite unlike your elder brother, the former king.

"an unfamiliar friend poses more risk than a familiar enemy, uraume," you mutter, resting your head on their shoulder, "why do you think kore wishes to marry me so much, if not out of love or the prospect of the powerful offsprings we might beget?"

"marriage is not solely for love or for procreation," the rower starts to explain, mildly amused before it grows into sympathy at your baffled expression.

ah, they muse fondly, not unlike a parent watching their child witness the world seemingly the first time ever since they learnt to walk, you who presides over something as profound as death yet knows not of the trivialities of life...

"it can also be for many other reasons like–"

the remainder of the words skitter away from uraume— cerberus is playing with gojo.

the fierce guard of the netherworlds, the three-headed hound, loyal and dutiful to a fault: hades' dearest canine companion is frolicking with the god of life in a green meadow, that most certainly was not there so close to the stygian marsh, when they last—

"gojo is laughing," your remark draws them away from their musings, only to find a changed shadow over your countenance— pensive yet not thinking at all; almost as if you too are floating in the stale air of your kingdom akin the soft flower petals...

another ring of raucous laughter pierces the silence, mingled with a delighted series of barks— cerberus is busy licking gojo's face now, the olympian reduced to a puddle of giggles as he scratches behind the dog's ears.

his happiness so clear in the stretch of his grin and the crinkle of his eyes, very much the jarring contrast to the last time—

oh. oh, oh, oh–

"escape," the word leaves uraume in a sudden moment of realisation, as quiet as a breath but loud enough for you to whip your head back to face them, confusion engraved into your scowl. "escape?? what is that supposed to mean, eh?"

the rower feels their lips lift into an infrequent smile. "the god of life wishes to marry you to escape— from his mother, or from his many suitors, or perhaps from mount olympus itself."

"wha– how– hah," you breathe out a disbelieving little huff, "that is simply ridiculous. have you even heard yourself? that is ridiculous."

used to such resistance from yourself, even more from your brother, they move to state their points, only to beaten by you as you persist to speak.

"no one in their right mind will decide to come live in the underworld, no matter how overbearing their mother or insistent their suitors are. have you seen this place? it's too, too unlike the lushness of the earth or the grandeur of the heavens he has experienced. and–" you add, a harsh laugh accompanying it. "gojo satoru is a god. a fish might leave the water— but a god never steps a voluntary foot down that horrible mountain. never."

"but the olympian never truly lived on mount olympus," uraume says once they're sure you've completed your tirade, "and you are a goddess as well. why do you speak so ill of the heavens then?"

"why?" you echo the word. they nod, hoping you take the bait they've intended for you. you do.

"why, because that place is nothing but a shining apple with a rotten core!! everything is polished marble and glittering gold there. people constantly wave at each other, lavishing smiles and praises like there is no tomorrow. everything is so warm and bright— what a bunch of lies and liars!"

familiar fire burns in your aura, the immense heat making the waters erupt into boiling— uraume uses their powers to cool the river down, lest anything disturbs you.

you're too far gone in your rage to be shaken, however, continuing:

"but it never can hide the grime and dirt accrued beneath such shine and sheen. nor the vicious minds and crooked hearts of those deities up above– what lame excuses of gods and goddesses, hah. and you might think me to prefer the light and warmth up there— you will be sorely wrong, my dear uraume!! i much prefer the genuine darkness and frigidity of my beloved kingdom to the faux comfort of the awful mount olympus—"

"is there no possibility the god of life too despises mount olympus for these same reasons, milady?"

you open your mouth and close it, then open it again to let out a very aggrieved whine– momentarily transporting uraume to your younger days. the rower merely chuckles when you punch their arm lightly.

"you're the worst, uraume," you cry, getting up and moving to sit on the other end of the boat. the rower too rises but only to resume rowing the boat by the oar.

"you never spoke this way when sukuna was the ruler— only because his baby sister is the ruler now, and you think she is very stupid—"

"as much as i respect and revere lord sukuna, he wasn't one to listen to anyone else," uraume interrupts gently, "you do, though– which is why i spent so much time telling you this. i hope you did not mind."

"hey, no," you immediately wave away their concern with a wide grin, eliciting a smaller one from the latter, "i could never..."

another peal of laughter and barks rings through the otherwise-quiet. you abruptly trail off, the same conflicting expression from before on your face yet again. though not without a spark in your eyes, uraume notes, almost as if you're slowly learning how to solve the puzzle who is repeatedly offering himself to you.

uraume keeps the silence you initiate, choosing to row the boat while you keep staring at the assortment of hues near the stygian marsh...

until you call their name and declare, an odd firmness in your smile, "well then, it is decided. i shall allow gojo to stay here for as long as the god so wishes to, escaping whatever or whoever he is escaping. and i shall protect him from the latter, should it ever come for him."

a beat. your smile falls into something graver. "would it be better if i swore by the dread water of styx, uraume?"

"uh, um," the rower finds themselves at a loss of words, the first time in seemingly forever, and they have been around since titanomachy– but before they can recover themselves enough to formulate a proper reply, a giggly voice joins in—

"well, if my rose does that, i would consider myself the most blessed amongst all mortals and immortals!"

— and the waters surrounding the boat shoot upwards in a scathing geyser-like jet and steam— the ferocious queen of the netherworlds visibly torn between remorse and terror, as they offer uraume a stiff nod and gojo a horrified look, before vanishing in a wisp of fog.

the boiling waters of the river styx calm down only after a twenty-minute-long struggle by uraume, joined at the very end by gojo.

the latter looks positively delighted, when the former collapses to the bottom of the boat, exhausted beyond belief. "hey, charon. was that a result of your queen getting flustered by me, huh?"

yes, it was. it very much was, the sentences nearly slip past the tired rower's crumbling defences... until it hits them– who they serve, and who they don't.

uraume decides to throw back a glare and a lie. "her majesty was not flustered, lord kore. she was enraged at how you invaded the privacy of her weekly boat ride, intended to make her relax."

"oh, puh-lease," the god makes a face. the rower is certain he would have been punished in the pits of tartarus for all eternity, then some more were he to pursue you this way during your brother's reign, let alone disrespect you thus.

ignorant and insolent, he continues, "in few days time, i'll be allowed into the privacy of her living quarters; what is the privacy of her boat th—"

"you're lucky you did not make such outrageous remarks in front of the queen," uraume cuts him off, none too kindly nor gently, "if you did, her majesty would have certainly burnt you along with the boat to a crisp–"

"i know," comes the defeated reply within the instant. and while gojo is still not in uraume's good graces, the latter decides to notch him a level higher, considering the god of life accepts their queen's powers.

not many do.

he strikes a pathetically pitiful figure, uraume reckons, seeing him sit then slouch on the bench. "was she serious when she said she would protect me?"

your loyal subject nods, certain and solemn. "yes, she was. the queen is never careless when it comes to making promises."

"oh, that's reassuring," gojo says quietly— only to recline even further in the very next beat– an anguished, grating wail tearing from him to the stifling silence looming near the stygian marsh. uraume wonders if it is worth it to steer the boat towards acheron... then push him into its waters of woe...

they decide against it on catching the desperation worn by the god.

for all it is, it might nothing more than a ploy. yet something tugs at their mind to pause and listen when gojo howls, "why does my rose always scurry away after tilting my world on its axis? why does your queen always torment me like this, charon?"

uraume stares pensively at their face in the sacred waters of styx for a while. then heaves a mighty sigh.

certain, this exchange between the goddess of the dead and the god of life will impact not only your and gojo's respective worlds— but the general world and everyone else in it, as well.

did you know, in the actual greek myths, persephone was never called so before her marriage to hades? she got it only after, w the name meaning "bringer of death". her initial name was kore, referring to her being a maiden & the spring goddess.

the river styx was called the "dread river of oath" by homer– in both the iliad and the odyssey [greek epic poems], swearing by its waters is the "greatest and most dread oath for the blessed gods" -> this shows how serious the reader is towards ensuring gojo's safety and freedom, and how deeply this affects gojo as well [source: wiki 😇]

also: the reader is totally ready to jump into the water to swim away when she realises gojo was listening in on her conversations- but then she remembers she can js vanish away and so she does js tht— the queen of the underworld, and of escaping, hehe

also also: the reader is slightly jealous when she is talking of the shifty nymphs always sticking to gojo's side. [uraume identifies it; you think it is js your usual dislike to such frivolous things and ppl as flowers and nymphs etc.] [hades is emo imho 😊]

▸ masterlist

[bug-heartz]

Rest Easy, River Boy.

A small memorial piece I had illustrated recently as a stress reliever, and means of coping of sorts. This is dedicated to Narayana Johnson, also known as River Boy on social media — the main audio director and composer for the Cult of the Lamb OST — who has recently passed away. This came as quite the shock to me, personally, and I’m still struggling to truly come to terms with the reality of it all.

He left behind an inspiring legacy, his music and work inspired and influenced so many people — including myself. The work he produced held such an incredibly creative flare — so clearly woven with love and authentic soul. He made each musical composition unique in their own right; having the ability to immerse you into the game just by a simple soundtrack, bringing each seemingly minuscule detail to life.

Despite me never having personally met him, I heard Narayana was a compassionate, bubbly, and so deeply artistically passionate person. Whoever knew him personally, was so incredibly blessed to do so. He was a person who poured his damn soul into the music he crafted, interlacing his every being with his compositions — being a reflection of himself. Without his work, Cult of the Lamb wouldn’t be nearly as much of an artistic masterpiece in of itself.

My deepest condolences to the developer team, his family, friends, and others whom Narayana Johnson had influenced and impacted with his presence and creativity. To Narayana, I know you’ll never see this — but I hope you’re at peace, and know you and your work were loved so much more than you could ever comprehend. I would’ve done anything to make you understand how much it meant to me as a young aspiring artist, along with the millions of others who you’ve influenced.

Rest in Peace, Narayana Johnson. Your soul lives on through every musical compostion part of Cult Of The Lamb, and I am so incredibly grateful to have been inflicted by it personally.

Forever Praise The Lamb, may they guide your spirit to rest.

[sirbonesly]

Medieval/Fantasy CoD!AU

Jonathan Harris Price was under now illusions of his purpose in life. As the youngest of two brothers, John knew from a young age that he would not be King. He may have been taught to rule, but Alexander would always be the first born. Though, there were certain freedoms that John was allowed, ones that only came to second born sons.

After his morning classes with the tutors, John would run down to the training fields were the knights spent their time. For two hours, every day, John would join the knights in their training, working his body to the bone just in time to eat lunch. The knights didn’t mind him, not when he showed his innate skill with a sword, and they joked that he was a knight in a different life.

John had made a friendship with the stable boy, Nikolai. A refugee from distant lands whose parents had found refuge in the Kingdom, Nikolai had a thick accent and a decent grasp on the language. But John had been determined to make a friend his own age, and had taken to teaching Nikolai whatever he had learnt in class that morning.

In the summer season, just a few months shy of John’s 18th birthday, tragedy strikes. Nikolai falls ill, and John begs his father to let the royal healers tend to his friend. It’s no use though, and within a few days, John has lost his only true friend. He’s never been one to pray, hadn’t had the urge to do so since his mother passed when John was but a child. However, sitting in his room the night after Nikolai’s passing, John sinks to his knees and prays. He begs the gods to give his friend an easy travel into the paradise, to let him guide John through a life without him.

~~

“Hmm, an easy travel? It would be quite the shame if the young soul never made it to his paradise, wouldn’t it my love?”

“I seem to remember some friends of ours joining us for that same reason you are thinking. I suppose a new face wouldn’t hurt, but the others will take some time to warm.” “Of course, mi quierdo.”

~~

John’s sword pierces through the foul King’s chest, blood soaking into the fabric and dripping onto the expensive rug. He pulls the sword out as the light leaves Roba’s eyes, using the dead body to wipe the blood from his blade, and he doesn’t sheathe his weapon.

The death of his older brother, and subsequent suicide of his father, have left 21 year-old Jonathon as the King. He had never wanted to be King, was content to live his life as a prince and knight. But it seems that fate had other plans for the young man, and now John finds himself descending into the dungeons to see what kind of people Roba has imprisoned.

By the light of his lantern, alone as his army secure the rest of the castle, John passes by empty cell after empty cell. He had heard of Roba’s merciless punishments, had hoped the executions over petty crimes had been rumors, but life is not that kind. The cells are empty, all except one.

The young man is scantily dressed, a simple piece of cloth tied around his waist that does little to preserve his decency. John has seen concubines with more clothing. Pale skin is pulled taut over broad shoulders and a narrow waist, pink scar tissue scattered across his body, and the King has a horrible idea of what this young man has seen.

“Young man, what are your crimes?”

Honeyed eyes look up, large body curled around itself, and John is struck by the softness of his face. He had expected such a body, all sharp angles and planes, to have a similar face, but that’s not true. The young man’s face is soft, baby fat still clinging to his red cheeks, eyes shaped like a doe’s. His top lip is split by a scar, the slice running from left cheek to chin, the dull colour of teeth barely visible in the torch light.

“Refusal to follow orders, my lord. I swore an oath to protect the lives of the Kingdom, not slay them over petty crimes.”

John doesn’t miss the way the man has a quick mind, has connected the presence of a new person as Roba’s consequences catching up to him. The prisoner’s voice is deep and rough, as if he’s spent days screaming to gods that have not answered, and John wishes to help soothe the probable ache in the man’s throat.

“Do you have a name, soldier?”

John does not call the man a prisoner, does not disgrace a soldier for following his oath. The young man exhales sharply, what could almost be a laugh if not for the way it devolves into a cough suddenly. The King waits patiently, does not have water to offer the man, but wishes he did.

“My name has long since been lost, even to myself, my lord.”

The way he says the words, the resignation and defeat, makes John’s heart ache. The King takes a step back, swings his sword in a wide arch and watches as the metal sparks off of the lock, and hears it clatter to the ground. John enters the cell, doesn’t miss the way the soldier flinches back slowly, and sheathes his weapon.

John wordlessly offers his hand to the soldier, the offer clear. A request for the nameless man to join him, to be his soldier and be free of this horrible place. The young man takes his hand, fingers long and thin, and pulls himself up. John wraps an arm under his shoulders when the man nearly collapses, and grimaces as he feels the ribs protruding.

The King looks at the soldier, at the blonde hair so light it looks white, ghostly pale skin that stretches over bone like a drum-head. John can’t help but imagine his brother, even Nikolai, during their deaths. Something snaps into place, and John knows that he’s already gotten already gotten attached.

“I won’t do you the disservice of naming you when you are still but a stranger, so I shall have to settle for a nickname. Do you wish to join my guard, Ghost?”

Ghost, named for his corpse-like appearance, limps along next to his King. The young man is silent, contemplating his options. John doesn’t rush him, just leads him towards the dungeon entrance, but Ghost eventually speaks. “It would be my honor to serve you, my King.”

~~~~

@anonomousegosqueak @writer-fennec

The first part of my AU. Writing this without using Ghost's name until the end was so hard T.T

[siopaofrog]

When There Was You (pt. 1) || Astarion x Fem!Tav

Those were the days, my friend We thought they'd never end We'd sing and dance forever and a day We'd live the life we choose We'd fight and never lose For we were young and sure to have our way… – Those Were the Days, Mary Hopkin

A gravestone is a curious thing.

You could engrave a name, a number — pinch an entire person, a lifetime — into a single slab of stone.

You could carve into it with a dagger, rewrite history, alter its meaning — just as Astarion Ancunín had done many, many moons ago.

You could, he thought. But none of it could spin a tale he told himself into truth. None of it could change fate, or death, or whatever the gods had planned for you.

None of it could bring you back.

The pale elf knew this, even as he knelt by this curious headstone, this thing that was supposed to be you. He knew this, and he hated it.

“Hello again, darling,” he whispered, and placed a single flower on the grass, just as you had done all those moons ago.

It was a glorious time, it was. Adventure. Antics. Heartache and admission. Lust and love. Real love. And warmth. Warmth, too.

He found himself smiling softly.

But more than anything — there was you.

Astarion had finally conquered his master, Cazador. He had finally, truly, found freedom — the freedom to do whatever he wanted, and to love whomever he wanted.

He had sliced his dagger into the crazed vampire lord, a dozen thrusts that ended with a final, soul-searing scream that sent you to his side at once. There you cradled him, he a blood soaked mess, spitting, sobbing into your neck. You held him like that for a long, long while. Hushing him gently, kissing his forehead, caressing his silver curls.

That night in Baldur’s Gate, he knew a display of his gravestone and the dark story that came with it would be morbid or trite to someone else — but you understood. Astarion finally allowed himself to want you, to love you, and you accepted him wholly for it. In fact, to his delight, you wanted him, too.

Five decades later, and here you were. Sitting in your own grave. But you did not crawl out, emerging from death caked in dirt and grime, as he once did.

It was cruel, he thought. Cruel that he was dead and yet not — undead, immortal, of a heart that did not beat. Yet yours did not beat either. Yet, you were the one buried beneath a mound of dirt.

“Your heart quickened just now,” you had whispered one night, as you rested your head upon his bare chest.

“Did it?” he mumbled, half asleep.

You hummed with your eyes closed. Your hand sweeping across his skin, up his collar. You felt the two little scars on his neck, brushing a thumb over them thoughtfully.

“You have a wild heart. Emotional, easy to read,” you said. “It is almost in tune with my own.”

He chuckled lowly, softly. “My darling, did Halsin set you up to this? This sounds like something he would…” Then, upon feeling your hand on his neck, your body atop his, and the seriousness of your words, he swallowed. “Tav.”

You pulled your hand away and perched yourself up, forearms resting on top of him. “Yes, love.”

His dark eyes watched yours for a time. “My body is cold and dead. I pretend to breathe so I may pass as an elf. I wear perfume to smell alive. Gods.”

“And what of it?” you said, unfazed. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t living.”

You sat up in the grass and took his hand, placing it on your chest. You placed your own on his.

“You don’t feel that? Those vibrations in your chest, our chests, in unison,” you said. “Soft… throbbing. Pulsing. A wave of it just rippled under your skin.”

“That might not be my chest, darling,” he said, and you hit him lightly for the jest.

“I just want you to know you aren’t simply undead, Astarion. You are very much living, thriving. You are not… a monster.”

The vampire spawn blinked at you then. Enamored. Bewitched, really. Even as his lust for blood (yours, particularly) swelled in recent times, he might agree for a moment that he was in fact not a monster. He didn’t want to believe it, anyway. Not anymore.

It’s cruel, he now spat in his head, staring down at your tombstone with a bitterness that clung to his clenched hands and gritted teeth.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” a high, pinched voice echoed behind him.

“My gods,” said Astarion, glancing over his shoulder, “you are an old man and you still sound as smarmy as ever.”

“You wound me, old friend.” Gale ambled towards the pale elf, a good-natured smile on his lips. “I’ve never been smarmy to you. Not ever.”

The elf stood up and the two hugged, a lifetime of battles and camaraderie etched in their brows as they parted and looked at one another. The wizard now had silver hair neatly slicked back, a long wiry beard, and a staff he used more like a cane.

“My, you did get old,” Astarion said with a smirk.

“Ha! And you haven’t changed a bit.”

The elf placed a hand on his chin, nodding. “I see you finally decided to try silver on your head. Rather dashing, dare I say.”

Gale laughed, but he was staring at your grave now, the sparkle in his eyes suddenly subsiding. He was old, to be sure, but he was still sharp and clear-minded. He saw the loss in the elf’s eyes. He has known his own loss, too. You were not his lover, but his adoration and admiration for you knew no bounds.

“Ah… What a warrior she was.”

“Yes. And so much more.”

“You’ll never get over her, will you?” Gale asked, and he meant it in kindness.

“Well. Evidently not,” Astarion said lightheartedly.

Many of their companions had either fled to make a new living, or died in battle, or were simply never to be seen again. For all of their jests, all the boring wizardry and debates and banter — Astarion appreciated Gale. He would never tell the man that, of course, but he was sure Gale could see it nonetheless.

The elf was teary-eyed, for gods sake.

“I never did ask… How did you and Tav meet?”

Astarion grinned. “Once upon a time, in a little tavern, of all places. She tried to kill me upon our meeting, actually.”

“Fascinating. I didn’t take you for a vampire pining for the one in a drunken haze.”

“I didn’t. We were sober. Too sober for that crowd, I might add. And she was…” He didn’t realize it. He had far too many things to say about you, far too many compliments, fondness and feelings straight from romantic literature.

“Unlike anything you’ve seen before.”

“Yes,” the elf said, settling for that. He pressed his lips together, licked his teeth in thought. He felt the wizard’s eye on him.

“Well now I must know, Astarion.” Gale knelt by the grave, placed a hand on it. Ran his fingers across the cool stone.

The elf raised a brow.

“How would you like to see her again?”

[numenoria]

⚔The River Warrior⚔

Ratings: None

Word Count: 930~ (Just a brief drabble/ficlet)

Warnings: Mentions of death and grief, brief mentions of the supernatural, non-rom intimacy, brief mentions of war.

Genre: AU, OC POV, Grief/Mourning

Summary: Myain (Pronounced My-ain (like ai in aim)) is an intuitive and spiritually gifted member of a small river tribe. They catch sight of Boromir’s boat along its journey to Gondor.

A/N: Myain is genderless, but you can imagine them as any gender you would like. Oc reference here. 🏵️

While out foraging with three of my young kin, we caught sight of a beautiful ivory boat floating in the river. It wasn’t unusual for lost and damaged boats to float this way, but this one was different. It had the make of a boat unfamiliar to me. “Stay here”, I instructed my younger cousins. I left my basket of herbs and berries with them, and ventured from the fertile greenery and carved my own path towards the bank. Among the tall reeds, I could see the boat had no captain, at least one not visible. I stood on my toes in the damp soil, but I could not see over the edges of the boat. “I’m going further, keep watch!” I said to my kin as I looked back and gave them a confident smile. As I wade into the water, I felt excitement in my heart. “What would I find among this boat? Is there food? Maybe treasures?” I thought to myself. Although I was a skilled swimmer and found it easy to stay afloat, I sensed a slight unease as my anticipation grew. As I waded closer, the unique craftsmanship became more apparent. "This vessel was not made by human hands," I thought to myself. I continued wading until it became necessary to swim.

The closer I swam, the heavier my heart felt. I sat still in the water a few moments about 10 feet from the boat. I noticed the boat radiated a soft airy glow, almost aura-like. The weight in my heart transitioned into a sense of foreboding. I was gifted with this special sight, and I knew this was a sign. I swam closer until I could reach for the side of the boat. On the floor of the vessel was a man. I could tell he was not just any man, but a warrior. “Oh no, I was right!” I gasped to myself, he was dead. Three arrows pierced his broad torso. Arrows I recognized all too well, the same arrows that took my parents years past. I pulled myself onto the boat gently so as to not disturb the departed. It was evident that he had been placed there with great love and respect.

I reached over slowly and traced my hand along his rugged but noble face. “Whoever you were, you fought valiantly, my friend.” My gaze fell upon the sword resting in his hands, a grand sword it was. Observing his shield, I thought, “You must be a protector by nature”. I looked towards his horn, broken in two. “Ah, and a rallying figure as well. You’ve had your share of war and adventure. Rest now.” As I continued to study the warrior, I caught sight of the symbols on his clothing, “A man of Gondor? I haven’t seen your kind in ages.” I whispered as if he could hear me. Questions began to race through my mind: Did he have a lover who prayed for his victory and a passionate reunion? Did he have parents longing for his safe return? Did he leave behind hopeful children or siblings who thought the world of him?

As the boat flowed slowly I heard the voice of my cousins calling out to me “Hurry up it’s almost night Myain”. “I’ll be just a moment” I called back. I couldn’t leave just yet not without doing this one thing. It was customary in our culture to wish the departed well along their journey into the afterlife. I didn’t know this man but I felt compelled to express my sorrow. I brushed my hand across his sandy colored hair and placed a light kiss upon his cheek. “May the forces of nature be gentle to your vessel and may this journey lay your soul at peace.” I exhaled and looked towards the lavender shaded sky. A slight breeze picked up and I felt the brush of it on my left side mostly towards my face. Perhaps that was his way of saying thank you. I turned my head from his body and climbed from the boat. I swam without turning back.

When I reached the bank my cousins surrounded me. “What did you see Myian?”, the youngest one asked. They started to swarm me with questions until I stopped them “Sshhh, there is nothing in the boat for us. Only a man whose family will miss him dearly. Stay quiet for a moment until his boat leaves our sight.” They did as I instructed and whispered words of well wishes to his spirit and vessel. They understood, as I did, the grief his family would endure. As we took a moment of reflection, I could feel warm tears gently streaming down my cheeks. I allowed them to flow freely, much like the river that carried this brave warrior back home. Although the sight of this man left me in sorrow, I also felt hope. These times have grown dark, but if there are more as brave as this warrior, may they guide us towards brighter days again. We must continue to take up arms, push forward, and extend our compassion to one another. I felt a bittersweet optimism as I glanced up at the twilight sky one final time.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs are greatly appreciated. You can view more of my writing here ✨

I hope your day is lovely. Whatever is bringing you hardship will soon pass. 🩷 🫶🏾

-Davi ☽︎♡︎☾︎

•Credit(s) : Dividers via @edensrose 🥀

•Tagging 🥰

@iwanderbecauseimlost @medievaltemptress @celeregion @daughterofthesunlands @rainyobservationblizzard @onebillionblorbos @emmaandorlando @cathymee @elowyn-took

If you'd like to be tagged for future works please lmk! 💚🌹

[lassieposting]

So on the back of my headcanon about the Prototype more or less raising CatNap, I've been watching someone play Project Playtime for the first time, and I'm fucking yelling

If you play as the monster, the Prototype literally teaches you (as Huggy Wuggy) how to hunt. He's the one giving the tutorial instructions.

And honestly? The vibe I got from that "interaction" is that Prototype likes children. More than that: Prototype is good with children.

Project Playtime takes place in the intervening decade between the Hour of Joy massacre and the start of the main game. Based on the fact that Huggy needs the Prototype's guidance, it's probably fairly early in that period - he's not used to hunting for himself yet. So Huggy here is a monster with limited intelligence - he's the most 'animal' experiment we've seen, though he is still able to write - and the soul of a child.

And the Prototype tailors his lessons appropriately. Like, I trained to work with kids, and he uses essentially the same approach I would to teach a young or special needs child a new skill.

Simple Instructions: what Prototype is teaching Huggy here is, at its core, strategy and tactical thinking, and that's a subject he seems to understand well and know a lot about. A more intelligent experiment - like, say, young CatNap - might ask a lot of questions, and Prototype could probably give them long, in-depth explanations of why doing X thing prompts Y response or why Z tactic is useful. But Huggy isn't on that level, so Prototype keeps his instructions and explanations short, concise and easy to understand.

No Guesswork: Huggy, described as having only "sufficient" intelligence post-transformation, likely has limited capacity for complex thought. Where CatNap might be encouraged to think ahead for himself and suggest problems that could arise, Huggy would struggle. So Prototype gives him all the information he needs: here are the ways the humans will try to avoid or harm or mislead you, and here are the ways you can fight back. He even points out little tips that might seem obvious, like listening for the breathing of a hiding worker, because he knows that might not occur independently to Huggy.

Positive Reinforcement: When Huggy successfully incapacitates a human player, Prototype laughs and praises him, treating a potentially upsetting conflict like a fun game. Once Huggy has gotten rid of all the human players and won the match, Prototype tells him he did a good job and that he can rest now.

The Bad News Sandwich: One technique I was taught for dealing with young children is that when you have to give them upsetting or disappointing news, sandwiching it between two good things limits the distress it will cause. And Prototype does this twice with Huggy:

[Praises Huggy for catching a player and putting him in the food chute] [warns Huggy that the other players could try to rescue their friend] [offers a way to stop them doing that]

[Praises Huggy for clearing out the factory] [tells Huggy that more humans will return] [reassures Huggy that for now, he can rest and relax]

Anyway. Prototype taught at least one child-aged experiment to fend for itself and defend the factory: confirmed. And so, scenarios I'm now picturing with Prototype and little CatNap: this

I'm also 👀👀👀 at the fact that like. While it's directly stated that while his main motive for having the experiments attack the Project Playtime workers is to stop them making more creatures, he's got a secondary motive in that he's using the Bigger Bodies mascots *to gather food for the smaller toys*. The larger toys may have become hostile towards the smaller, weaker, "prey" toys, but the Prototype seems to be at least trying to provide for them, albeit in the only fucked-up way available to him.

Anyway I just think that's really interesting considering he's been implied to be the game's ultimate Big Bad. I think there's more to him than we've been told

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

IT'S 11:30 PM BUT I AM HAVING THOUGHTS

THOUGHTS ABOUT APOLLO AND ORESTES

I HAVE NOT READ THE ORESTIEA BUT DW I HAVE IT AND I'M GONNA READ IT AFTER THE ILIAD

I MAY HAVE MORE THOUGHTS AFTER THAT WE SHALL SEE

I made my Apollo & Cassandra post a while back so now it's time for Orestes :)

just. ahhhh. how do i begin.

at the beginning i guess.

Orestes is a young child when he's smuggled out of Argos. By his sister to keep him safe when their father is murdered by their mother. He's a young boy exiled from his home because of the actions of a vengeful queen.

Years later, he receives a mission from Apollo - kill his mother to avenge his father. And he does just that.

Apollo was a young god, not even born yet, when he was exiled from the very earth by a vengeful queen. His mother fought and ran to find a place to deliver him and his own sister to safety. In his mother's honor, he goes out of his way to kill those who dare to harm her - Python and Tityus, to name a few.

The parallels get me okay? Even if it's not a deadringer, they are sill there.

Apollo defends his mother while Orestes kills his.

Orestes was ordered to kill his mother while Apollo murdered others for Leto on his own accord.

And what REALLY gets me is their different motivations in this situation - Orestes believes he's avenging his father, the man he never quite knew. Apollo meanwhile wouldn't loose sleep over Agamemnon's death.

Apollo wasn't aiming to avenge Agamemnon. He was avenging Cassandra.

But he couldn't tell Orestes that, now could he? After all, what was a mere slave girl from Troy to Orestes? Especially since he didn't know her at all.

Avenging Cassandra wouldn't be enough to convince Orestes to commit matricide. So Apollo uses Agamemnon's death as incentive for Orestes.

And it works. Apollo's goals are met - Clytemnestra and Aegisthus are killed, and Cassandra's soul can rest easy now in Elysium.

He could cut his losses and leave Orestes to the Furies. He no longer has anything to do with this.

But Apollo stays with Orestes. He helps him rest in Delphi before getting him a headstart to Athens. He defends him in court from the Furies, in front of the jury of Athenians and Athena herself. He puts himself firmly on Orestes's side and uses whatever means necessary to get him off the hook.

And if that means manipulating the city of Athens via their sexist ideologies? It's free real estate. When you're in court, you use whatever you can to help your client.

And Apollo wins. Orestes is free to go, and the curse of the House of Atreus is gone for good.

just. vibrating from this. the similarities between Apollo & Orestes in their youth that diverges in stark ways. How Apollo could have dropped Orestes the moment his own goal was finished, but chose not too - he chose to take it a step farther and get rid of that curse for good. So Orestes and his family could live in peace.

When I first heard about the Oresteia, and what Apollo says to free Orestes, I had a hard time reconciling it. Apollo just didn't give off those sexist vibes to me (as a matter of facts, very few gods do - after all, they appear how they want when they want. gender is meaningless to gods.).

But I did some digging. Some thinking. And really, Apollo is quite in-character during the trial - he's in Lawyer Mode. He manipulates the system to his advantage as well as the Athenian citizens with their misogynistic beliefs.

Because think about it. Apollo uses the argument, in brief terms, that a mother has no claim on the child because they are only for making babies. This gets half of the Athenian jury to immediately side with Orestes.

Is this a bullshit argument? Absolutely. But sometimes a bullshit argument gets your client out of trouble and that's the job of a lawyer - to help their client.

For a closing statement, I also want to say that I don't think Apollo himself believes that sexist opinion. After all, Leto was the one running around the world to find a safe place to deliver him and Artemis - Zeus did very little to help.

It was his mom who did all the work, and Apollo is very clearly a mama's boy.

Plus, 99.9% of the people Apollo hangs out with are women. Leto, Artemis, the Muses, Athena, Hecate, Aphrodite, ect ect

There's no way he actually buys that argument. He just used it to gaslight the very-sexist Athenians into voting in Orestes's favor because godsdammit that curse needs to go!

thank you for coming to my TEDTalk. I have feelings. goodnight now. happy new year. i shall post a snippet of a storyboard idea for my mythology series tomorrow that features apollo & orestes because I HAVE FEELINGS.

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

oh, hi! look here again-

So I've had this question in my head for days and decided to ask

because my brain couldn't take it anymore

so your modern teachers au was the first fanfic and because of it I met you and this chase young and first ninja ship

so I would like to ask

Do you intend to bring more fanfics in this universe? and maybe if you could you could give some curiosities about the au

of the other characters who were? wuya, daishi

jack spicer (this one in particular since I love jackie boy), nomi

(from the pragagonistas if you want too.)

and a question that I really have - Hannibal Roy Bean

and the wizard and the sorceress exist in this au? If so, what are they?

I have to admit that I may have once imagined Hannibal as a crime figure but I realized that it didn't make much sense.....

well that's it! I hope you are having a pleasant day when you see this

If not- get better!

XOXOXO! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Oh, but it makes me blush, that your first introduction to My Immortal Soul was Mentors AU! This AU is kinda of my selfish indulgence AU (like most AUs are lol), but it makes me happy you liked it enough to check out the rest of my stuff! Thank you. 🤗❤️

There are actually a few fics that I sorta planned out for this AU. 😌😌 There are around 2-3 stand alone one-shot ideas in the same universe, loosely following Chase and Norisugi's relationship. One of them is about some students following them on their 'date' outing! 😁 Basically a fun 'Randy and Xiaolin Monks + some others spying on their teachers' idea, haha. ;) The other ideas are addressing both of their pasts and how it affects their current relationship with each other.

No idea when I'll write those out, tho! I'm in a bit of writing block right now sadly. 😴 😭 But I will gladly share some headcanons/backstories for some characters, since you asked so nicely! ❤️

Wuya & Dashi - they are both Professors in the same University, with Wuya teaching Business Analytics and Dashi being a Workshop Instructor (specifically Restoration and Preservation of Artifacts Workshop which would explain his connection with Chase, since they are both in Archeology/History business of sort) and as I hinted in the fic: they have a past relationship with each other! Their current relationship status is complicated, but they have separated and gotten back together on multiple occasions. They often behave like mortal enemies on campus (mostly from Wuya who behaves like she despises Dashi at times), so a lot of students are often confused if they are fighting or flirting, considering Dashi's non-confrontational and cheery/flirty personality. Amongst their mutual friends (like Chase), they just behave like an old gossipy married couple, haha.

Jack Spicer - Jack is a student at the Uni, an undergraduate in Business department and a Teaching Assistant to Prof. Wuya, but its actually not by his own choice! Since Jack is a genius in many aspects, Uni is pretty easy for him and originally he planned to fast track through fields that are of interest to him, like engineering and connected fields, but his parents interfered. His father said that the only way Jack can pursue his own interest in engineering is to also get a degree in business first (for the sake of family business), and since he had connection in Uni and with Wuya, he ensured that Jack did not slack off and that Wuya kept an eye on him. Ironically enough, through Wuya, Jack met Dashi and through his workshop he burnt a lot of his engineering/creative energy, which made him interested in artifact restoration and archaeology and all the tech that is involved in it. In a way, Dashi became his mentor, along with Wuya. (Yes, sue me but i like my little pseudo family. ;) ) Also! With his new interest in Archaeology, he discovered Chase Young and became a fan of him, because he is like a real life Indiana Jones but cooler and more handsome, lol. Because of that he really wants to become Chase's TA, but because of his father's and Wuya's agreement, it won't happen. Aside from that, Chase also never wanted any assistants.

NinjaNomicon - Nomi became an orphan around their late teens, but through sheer determination and will, they reached great heights in their academic pursuits. So much so, that they managed to send themselves overseas from Japan to study in a good University. However after arriving, they felt a bit overwhelmed, which caused some discontent in their life, as they tried to find some direction. After first year of Uni, they realized that they had trouble feeling passionate about subjects and choosing their majors and classes. One of the Professors, Norisugi, noticed their struggle and suggested a Mentor/Mentee programme, and his own help. Their shared land of origin and Norisugi's understanding of Nomi's struggles really helped Nomi find their course and balance and allowed the two of them to become very close, to the point that after finishing Undergraduate courses, Nomi asked if they could become Norisugi's TA, while they finished their Master's degree.

Hannibal Roy Bean - one of the fic ideas i had was actually related to Chase's past and how Roy was involved with it. So, since I don't want to spoil the (very) possible future fic, I will just say that Hannibal Roy Bean? Definitely not a good person in this universe. But he held a position of authority/mentorship in Chase's past, and they had a relationship that soured, thanks to the fact that Roy is an evil bastard, lol.

Sorcerer & Sorceress - like with Roy, both of them were part of Norisugi's past, though it is much less fleshed out in what capacity. But I can say for certain that whatever their relationship with Norisugi was, and their actions, caused him to leave his family back in Japan and move all alone to America, to where his best friend Plop Plop was. So it's safe to say, that they were not great people either. ;) (Why, yes, I have a little bit of angsty ideas for my boys' pasts lol).

And that's about it.

[snoocupz]

okay I'm a sucker for a rare pair and even more for a rare pair ot3...pls propagandize me im very curious :0

Hi! Oh my god, that makes me SO happy! I never expect my little shipart to get this much attention - let alone have people like the ship and wanting me to talk about it!

I wasn't sure whether I want to share my whole headcanons about them getting together yet or not, and decided to instead collect some headcanons about these 3 that I love! So here;

My little collection on Klapolloquill headcanons! 🩷

- Simon and Klavier have briefly been friends before Simon went to jail. Klavier, as a new and young prosecutor, desperately seeked contact in the office and loved Simons style from the start. Dark clothes, an interest for music and an ex bass player - all while still being somewhat of a nerd abour psychology & birds. He had tried to build up an active friendship to him - unfortunately it was cut short due to Simon admitting to murderer and going to jail. (Klavier should feel this pain again in the following years as not only his best friend Daryan, but also brother go to jail).

- Once finally free past Dual Destinies Apollo and Simon build up some sort of friendship thanks to Athena. Quickly they realise they were mistaken about each others characters and after a whole they start to bond on a deeper level due to the trauma they had experienced... mostly because of Apollo losing Clay, and Simon losing Bobby. (Bonus angst points if Claypollo and Blackbright were secretly canon and they bond over the loss of their ex lovers).

- Klapollo starts dating first. Klavier had feelings for Apollo early on after meeting him, but it took a lot of time and change for them to finally get together.

- Klavier, however, is also the one who is self aware about being Polyam. He previously had crushes on more than one person at the same time and once time passes and he builds up the friendship to Simon he wanted to have he eventually starts crushing on him. Hard.

- He confesses his crush to Apollo, fearing the worst. It is a huge insecurity of his and he doesn't get it across without tears and apologies, clarifying how much he loves Apollo as well, just to be... very perplexed about how calmly Apollo takes it. In fact, Apollo starts gently teasing Klavier about his obvious crush. He finds him adorable, blushing when looking at Simon like this. Apollo is ultimately the one who convinces Klavier to ask Simon out.

- Unknowingly Simon has a little crush on Apollo anyways. This young defense attorney shines brighter than any sun, he is smart, pretty, such a gentle and stronger soul than he believes of himself. Simon enjoys himself around the both of them, so endlessly much, and with passing time Simon feels lovable again, after prison and losing Bobby (the only person that made him feel lovable before).

- Eventually all 3 shyly allow themselves to get closer. Especially Klavier with his gigantic crush on Simon can hardly believe it everytime he gets to sit between both of them on the couch. Just having his knee slightly touch Simons makes his head spin and they keep smiling at each other more when passing each other on the prosecutor halls.

- And hey! Who would have thought! They fall in love! Each of them, with one another. And in fact, their ideas of love fit together perfectly. All 3 of them long for nothing more but a calm, domestic lifestyle.

- What that looks like...? Easy. A cozy apartment, many plants, falling asleep cuddling, with one cat and one dog at the side. Breakfast on the balcony as Klavier slurps his vanilla latte, Simon makes them eggs, and Apollo tries to stop Taka from stealing bacon straight from his bagel.

- Mikeko (Apollos cat) adores Simon. No day passes where this cat doesn't chose to sit on his legs or lap. Whenever the cat chooses him, Simon is careful to not move a single inch. May she rest as long as she wants to!

- Taka (Simons hawk) adores Apollo. After being afraid of her for months (sorry, Taka has always been female in my brain LMAO) Apollo realises that she is not only well behaved but also seeks active contact to him. Simon falls even more in love with him when seeing Apollo feed the bird on the balcony and daring to pat her feathery head.

- Vongole (first Kristophs, then Klaviers dog) is the most sweetest girl of girls. Greeting all of them with enthusiasm and DEMANDING to sleep in the bed at all times, she won each of their hearts and can be considered the true Queen of the house!

- However, it can be complicated to cuddle, ESPECIALLY if you are Simon Blackquill, and a living cuddle sized heater. He must always sleep in the middle automatically as Apollo loves to rest his head on his chest while Klavier has the most freeziest hands in the history of forever. And yes, he will randomly warm his hands under Simons shirt at every possible moment.

- Funnily enough, their household works very smoothly together. Apollo cooks at most, but his desk easily looks like it explodes after one use. He keeps leaving things around and forgetting about them. Simon cleans, and he has no issue cleaning after Apollo at times. Klavier is the one to take the dog and plan their dates, and no date has ever been dissapointing, he's fantatsic at planning them!

So at most! This ship is really fluffy and comforting in my eyes, so here are some random thoughts on them! Thanks for listening to me rambling! <3

[kylobith]

LotR Week - Day 4 (19th Sep)

Gifts, burdens and choices — @lotrweek

The Elves have long stopped their lament, yet a cacophony lingers within Boromir’s mind. The others have gone to sleep, and even Frodo finally seems to dream again. Their snores fill their shared nook. He envies them, he does. Ever since his unsettling meeting with the Lady Galadriel, there has been nothing but turmoil in his soul. Will it ever end, the spiralling?

Exhaustion is there, though, he can feel it deep in his bones. Everything hurts, every muscle in his body. He, who has always been one for exercise and fighting, is not immune to the toll that the past days have taken on the fellowship, on both body and heart. He is no longer as young and fierce as he once was.

But that deeply rooted anguish within him… Ageing has nothing to do with it all. It would have been easy to dismiss it as a symptom of passing time, but that would have meant lying to himself and everyone who shared the weight of the task at hand. There have been too many lies as of late. He may not desire to instantly trust the first person he encounters, but he certainly refuses to continue this vicious circle of deception. What purpose would that serve? The world is a harsh enough place as it is, and the whole plan is to make it a better place.

Just a ring. Nothing but a silly, little ring. The very fate of Middle-earth rests in Frodo’s hands. Embodied by that tiny golden circle. He might not be as well-taught as Aragorn or Faramir are, but even he knows how disastrous the consequences would be should the quest fail. And it is nothing but a stupid ring.

How absurd life has become since his first puzzling dreams that his brother shared with him. Nothing is going according to plan either. It was all simple, though. Go to Rivendell, seek an audience with Elrond, find out the cause of these dreams and their meaning, educate himself on the broken sword, then return to Minas Tirith to inform Denethor on his findings and prepare against any approaching threat. Easy. But not so easy. Now, he is far from home, shivering in the night surrounded by his travel companions, burdened with a quest much greater than what he knows he can handle, and Gandalf is dead. Dead.

He can still remember the wizard’s occasional visits to Minas Tirith back when he was nothing but a boy. While he did spend more time with Faramir than with him — much to Denethor’s relief, after all, why should his precious firstborn’s time be wasted by the fanciful stories of an old man? — he did enjoy his presence, just like any other child did. When the fellowship was formed, he found solace in the knowledge that Gandalf would accompany them. That was at least one familiar element amid the blur.

But now the wizard is gone, and his companions seem to distrust every word he speaks. The Elves who welcomed them were not any warmer to him. He is an outcast where he has always fit in. Acting in teams, coming up with strategies, fighting, camping… None of it is strange to him. If anything, that is what his life has always been. So why, oh why does he feel so inadequate and insecure? Why do the others regard him with such disdain whenever he opens his mouth?

Merry and Pippin do not. Thankfully. Before tragedy struck, he quite enjoyed their company and teaching them new tricks with the sword. The carefree laughs, the games, the jokes… It all reminded him of the time when Faramir was a child and wanted his brother to teach him things, not just a regular teacher. For a moment in the middle of fear and uncertainty, he could slip back to simpler times and relive these memories from so long ago. But now that they have escaped Moria, nothing feels right anymore. The two hobbits hardly ever smile anymore. The innocent glimmers in their eyes have dimmed. Just like the wonder in Faramir’s eyes was snuffed by years of their father’s spite.

They are grown, now.

And all he can do is clutch his chest and muffle his crying. They all need proper rest, and Boromir will not be a bother to them.

Not this time.