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

[ilhoonftw]

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

[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

[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?”

[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.

[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.

[godhandler]

Tokyo Day 

| s. geto x reader, mentions of n. zenin x reader, infidelity, angst, fluff ending, geto is an unstable maniac in love as he was created to be, porn with serious plot, 1k words, part 2 |

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I’m exhausted, you admit to yourself as the car picks up the incline of the hill on which Jujutsu High is perched. I should be excited to see my old friends after 8 years. But all I want is just for this day to be over, to go to bed and sleep. 

The car crunches to a halt, parking in front of the school gates. The stairs that lead up from it have to be climbed on foot. You gather your invitation cards in the arms of a hand-maid, slam the car door closed, step onto the first stair up to Jujutsu High. 

Next to your Jun Ashida kitten heel is a heavy soled geta. Right foot to your left foot.

Suguru stands against the sun, halo shadowing his face dark. All you can see is that his long hair flows free over his shoulders. 

First day of sorcery school, fresh off the Shinkansen with your mom’s hand cooked lunch in your school bag and the smell of farmlands still on your tie-dye shirt. So young back then. Plump rosy cheeks, bright eyes, unmelted puppy fat. You were 15 and you could jump off the Tokyo Tower and land on your tippy-toes. 

You remember stepping onto the first stair up to Jujutsu High. 

Next to the canvas shoe you borrowed from your mom was a jika-tabi. Right foot to your left foot. 

He stood just like this, face in the shadow, only with shorter hair that just grazed his shoulders. “I’m Geto Suguru,” he had stuck a hand out to you. 

“Good to see you.” You had said. 

Even at that moment you knew you would love him. It wasn’t a conscious choice, it felt more like a natural instinct, like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle that fit perfectly into its vacant space. And you did love him. You loved him so much. 

He was your first boyfriend, yes, but more that he was your first (and only) best friend. Years spent running around Tokyo, killing curses, rescuing people, playing heroes. You remember throwing paper balls on Satoru when he didn’t expect it. Suguru would clip your nails for you. Shoko taught the both of you to smoke, promising to heal your lungs if anything happened. You’d walk around fancy neighbourhoods with Suguru, window-shopping for apartments you’d get together after graduation. Nanami and Haibara, dueting at the karaoke, the rest of you dissolving into stomach-aching laughter. Freaking out after a missed period, Suguru promising to be there for you no matter what, and then texting him ‘false alarm’ the next day. You would pick the wasabi out of his plate. Oiling each other’s hair, running your fingers through his scalp, massaging the one part he relaxed at. At night he’d cuddle you to sleep on his arm, breaking school dorm curfew but who cares? Who cares when you’re just 15, 16, 17, and in love?

(Haibara, may God rest his soul.)

He’s Geto Suguru, in the flesh. After 10 years, whole 10 adult years later, he’s Geto Suguru. 

His face is against the sun. In the shadow. Unseen. 

“Dismissed, Manami. Deliver the canvas to the kids.” You seem to startle awake at his words, and following his cue, dismiss your own servants, who clearly know better than to run their mouths about the fact that Geto Suguru, Special Grade Curse User under Death Penalty, is here. 

Alone, finally. A recreation of the first time you saw him under very different circumstances. So different that you wonder if you can even call yourself the same person as you were then. Are you even you anymore? Is he even Suguru? 

He calls your name, a whisper so gentle. So formal. A man addressing a high-ranking married lady. So no then, your shoulders drop, we’re not us. 

“Were you just going in, Madam?” He nods up to the school gate. “I couldn’t accompany you up, pardon me.” 

“I was, and I don’t mind, Geto-san. Please don’t address me so formally, just my name would be fine.” It’s an easy performance, even though there is no audience. You two could go playing your roles till you die. No awkwardness of human intimacy, no unprofessional behaviours. You met him a proper Zenin housewife and you would leave him as such. 

You’ve been inside me, you wanted to say. Cut this crap. You see the ring on my finger, doesn’t it bother you one bit? You gave me a ring too back then, didn’t you? 

“My apologies, I simply did not mean to insult a lady. A bride, too, I assume. Are those your wedding invitations?”

Like warm sunshine in winter, relief thaws your every vein calm. He’s seething, you can now read his death-mask smile to be but a lid over a boiling pot of his rage and pain. Anyone else would overlook it. But you see that he still rubs his forehead just the same when he’s barely restraining himself. He’s hurt. Thank God. 

“Are you often in Tokyo, Suguru?” He seems slightly surprised by how immediately you dropped the formalities. How obviously you read through him. 

“Now and then, for business.”

“By business you mean…”

“Yes.” He nods, “I stand by my choices.”

“I see.” It feels wrong, chatting with a genocidal mass-murderer right in front of Jujutsu High. Hell, this conversation could probably get you jailed for being an accomplice to Suguru.

It all feels so wrong. How could Suguru, your Suguru, be a wanted criminal? You had a decade to bring those two in consonance and yet you couldn’t. It just didn’t make any sense. 

But then again, how could you, talented jujutsu sorceress with such a bright future, end up just a powerless tradwife raising a misogynistic son, under the thumb of a husband sunk in foreign pussies?

That’s just life, unfortunately. That’s what happens. 

So when the wanted criminal asks you to speak to him over a late lunch, you simply walk alongside him. You slipped the offending ring out and into your pocket, which brightened Suguru’s mood considerably. 

Manami is gone, but your staff still remains in the car, out of ear-shot but not of the eyes. Suguru walks over to them, the driver going pale as he gestures for him to roll down his window. “Not a word of this goes back to the Zenins, I trust? Say you had a flat tire and that took up the whole day.” Suguru’s blank smile is plastered back on. It sends chills down your servants’ spines as they watch a gigantic leech-like curse wrap around the car, keeping an eye on them. “Or I might have to visit you all at home, hm? Oh, don’t worry. Your mistress is quite safe with me.”

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[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

[black-dhalias]

To the Horizon

Haldir X F!Reader — Lord of the Rings

There is a moment when the sun is not visible, where light brushes the heavens horizon and mountains crest dark shadows over mist. A moment easily unseen, and rarely enjoyed. In that hour, a daughter is born. Conceived in the Lonely Mountain— carried across Middle Earth, born in the Woodland Palace to Elondiel. Wife of Thorin Oakensheild, daughter of Lord Thranduil, and mother to last heir of Erebor. Lady Y/N, of wood and stone.

Elondiel loved only one, waiting for Y/N to come of age so that she may finally sail to the undying lands. Thranduil had long sailed, Y/N the heir to two realms—carrying the fate of many as they awaited. That day came and went, and Y/N began to follow in their uncle’s footsteps—crossing lands and meeting strangers. They wanted to understand all of Middle Earth, but time was not on their side, and soon the throne of elves and dwarves called for their rightful Queen. A call Y/N answered swiftly.

Legolas returned with you, if only for a few years, to ease the transition and advise his niece. He felt responsible, had he wanted the throne—then you never would have to rule over both realms. But he didn’t. So heavy is the crown atop your head.

Soon it was only you, a quiet and hefty silence as you sat within the woodland realm. No one to listen. A lonely soul, plagued with only stories of your families lineage and triumphs—and no one to share the burden.

“I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!” Echoes of shouts vibrate the walls of Rivendell, your cloak resting easy on your shoulders as you and your party make their way to the council. Legolas had written to say he would attend on behalf of elves, but you worried— you needed to see the ring for yourself. To know exactly what kind of world you inherited. “NEVER TRUST AN ELF!” How original? You think quietly to yourself as the shouts grow closer, echoing less, but instead becoming much louder.

But chaos dies as another pipes up, one smaller and unfamiliar— young, that would be the word you would use. You walk in silently, not needing grandeur, but watching as all eyes turned to the small hobbit. As your uncle joins the party, he spots you amongst soldiers. Curious, and curiouser.

You smile at the hobbit— “Master Frodo Baggins. I don’t believe we’ve met.” Elrond raises his brow, leaning into his podium at the head of the council. “I’m Y/N, my parents and your uncle lead a great quest together. It would be an honor to uphold that alliance, and join your company.” There’s a whisper amongst the guards that harsh with a glance, you had decided long before arrival.

It is time to live up to your bloodline.

“Y/N, you can’t just join a quest.” You ignore Aragorn as the rest of the fellowship rest together.

“And yet, I did.” You deadpan, sorting your arrows into your quiver—preparing new feathers to go at the end of the shafts.

“Because who’s going to tell the Queen of Erebor AND the woodland.. NO!” His voice raises at the end as you rest the quiver on your thigh and look up at him with a bitter edge.

“Obviously the should be King of Gondor is trying!” You spot Legolas rolling his eyes, he’d already had this same argument and lost just Aragorn is going to lose now.

“That’s low.” You glare at Gimili who chooses now to speak up, as he gives a throaty chuckle. But he silenced himself, knowing full well you still had not forgiven him for his earlier comment about elves. You were half elf yourself, and were a testament of love between elves and dwarves.

“Shut it, Gimili.” You look back at Aragorn, “If I am to have a realm to look after, then I must help. At least for the better half of the journey.” You pause, “do something other than wait in those halls of stone.” So many hid away from Sauron, but your world needs some willing to stand and you are one of those. Have been for a long time.

The world has grown much harsher than the stories your mother told you, and much darker than she probably could have imagined. “Believe me Aragorn. If they were going to budge, I’d have convinced them myself.” Legolas smirks from his small perch, “But remember who their parents and grandparents are, probably the most stubborn people to ever walk middle earth.” To which you roll your eyes.

“Says the ellon who is related to two of those stubborn people.” His cheeks rise as you sling your quiver over your back, having finished another small batch of arrows.

He tsks, “Aaaa but see that’s only half, of what makes up a whole you.” Legolas does, however, finally look at Aragorn with a shrug. “Might as well keep moving, not like they’re turning back now.” Aragorn sighs with defeat, it makes sense that you and Legolas are cut from the same cloth— stubborn is apart of their threading. In their DNA.

.

.

.

The image of Gandalf falling to his death burns into your memory, you hoped for a moment that the Wizard would live. But you did not see him rise from the shadow. That is when the fear set in, when you could not look away from Uncle without worrying he would be gone the second you did so. Worried that the last of your family would die before the end of this journey, but for now, as Lothlorien grows closer. You ache for sweet peace, to sleep without that fear. Maybe this was a mistake, but you must continue onward because the fellowship will continue.

“Haldir…” You whisper, watching as he corners the poor dwarf and hobbit—you met him twice before, once in Lothlorien with Legolas and once when he escorted Celebron to your coronation.

“Y/N.” You silence his taunts to Gimili, because with you in his sight he could not think of anything witty. You make it impossible to think at all if he were completely honest with himself. There is something that is both enchanting and discouraging about your aura, it is one that is both gentle and regal. You carry a name that weighs heavily on his mind when the tightness in his chest arises. He may be the Marchwarden, but he is not anything close to exemplary—nothing special that deserves such kindness from the likes of you.

For you, Haldir represents something very different than how he perceives himself. While he bowed his head in respect, unlike most ellons who ran out of fear. He seemed to draw closer the more he knew about you.

“Tonight is quite special, as we welcome my niece to the throne.” You smile up at your uncle as you stand to the side, eyes shift to you, but you ignore them. “She rises as a new dawn for elves and dwarves alike, a united rule—a great queen.” Words, that’s all they are, but they are kind at least. Unlike the words some spit in your direction, but the weight of the woodland crown reminds you of the truth— that you are above such words. You must be.

But the truth is, rumors slipped away the closer the throne got because you were meant to be above it all. You told yourself their lies did not matter until that was exactly what happened, their lies began to mean nothing. Legolas raises his glass, "To our queen, may the company you keep be sweet, but the wine sweeter." This was the uncle many did not see, the one who lifted his glass high and downed the wine quickly. No longer burdened with the future on his shoulders, you hear he seems lighter than he was before.

You bring the wine to your lips, but never let them part—before setting the glass on the table, still filled, but your lips tinted red.

"Malady Y/N..." Haldir leans in to kiss the top of your knuckles, his warm palm still wrapped around your fingertips as he smiles at you. "Congratulations."

"Haldir, no need for formalities. We are friends." As you speak though, he adjusts your hand to rest it on his arm. Pulling you close as he guides you through the party.

"The greatest of friends, but tonight, you are Queen alone." His eyes dance, glittering in the starlight—The Woodland Realm never seemed so bright. To him, or to you. "Although despite the never ending wine, your glass never empties?" It's not so much a question, because you know he noticed your like of appetite.

"I haven't eaten all day." Your breath falters, "A sip would probably send me to the floor." An exaggeration, but not by much— you really aren't sure why your stomach seemed to be in knots. You've wanted this your whole life, you loved adventure, but you loved this world too.

"A sip?" He grabs a tray of pastries, fluffy breads with soft jams and cheeses— arms still intertwined, you leave the main room quickly. Laughing as he speaks, "Well can't have that." Only you. He was the collected and cold marchwarden, but you made him giddy. You caused butterflies in his chest and hope to take root in his thoughts, for once he is able to imagine a future beyond Lothlorien. While he made you calm, he took every anxiety and turned it to mush before your eyes. He fixed problems that you didn't know there was an answer to. He made life simple.

You bite down on a raspberry tart, enjoying the sour and sweet bursts. The crust flaky and melting on your tongue—and Haldir simply smiles. "Why are you so kind to me?"

"Because you were kind first." Even before he was marchwarden, you treated him as an equal—someone with value. Not every royal saw them as the same, but you did. You did not care about the color of his cloak or the tone of his hair, his rank or his wealth. You didn't care about status at all. That was what made you so good, and so intriguing. His smile almost falters, but instead it just softens: "You were kind when I was nothing."

You lift his chin, keeping his icy orbs on you—trying to imagine a deeper shade to fall into, but you can't. You'd drown in those eyes if that was possible. "You were never nothing."

You stay to the back of the party, waiting until everyone has passed to smile at Haldir. Happy to see someone you are so familiar with. If you're honest, it's been a long journey. "Dearest Y/N." He whispers, embraces you close to his body, chin resting on top of your head. You shut your eyes, pushing the air out of your lungs, but intake sharply as your hand grabs at your wound harder. You weren't expecting it to hurt so bad.

His brow creases as he scans over your form, trying to find the source of your pain and even when he does. His expression remains even, and controlled. It's like every amount of history melted away and left the marchwarden in front of you. Your eyes grow heavy, but you force yourself to stay upright—just trying to get a read on him, but it's pointless because he's already tucking his arm under your armpits. Taking on most of your weight as you breathe deeply, he moves without words—this is the coldest he's ever been with you.

But he's not wrong to rush you to the medical wing, because by the time you're there—you're struggling to see the world clear. Everything blurring together as you lean into him, his words getting lost in the haze. It's like a slow fade that speeds up, colors blend until only the blue of his eyes are clear. How are they so clear?

You hear bits though, shards of conversation. "High priority..." "slash..." "Lost a lot of blood..." But it all goes dark eventually, and you let your body slip into the mattress. The thing is, it's a cold table you lay on—you were never on a mattress. There was never anything soft beneath you besides the palms of Haldir's hand when he lifted you onto the wood.

You had half expected for the darkness to pass quickly, and it did, but you did not wake. Instead, you remain still on the table with only memories to keep you company.

Legolas glances down at you as the Realm of Light comes into view, the way your eyes light up as the adventure draws to a close. You hadn't been this far from the Woodland realm before, the furthest you've ever been being the Lonely Mountain. Your mother had just set sail, her heart too broken to remain in MiddleEarth so it was just you and your uncle Legolas. With them gone, he had taken it upon himself to prepare you for your future, the next thousand years you would spend ruling the elves and dwarves. Before that, he wanted you to see the beauty of the world that is kissed by sunrises and sunsets.

Then it begins to shift, not just watching, but it feels as though you are reliving the past. Is it the past? Maybe you had been dreaming up until now, maybe none of it happened yet? Maybe you imagined the future? You glance down at your hands, wiggling your fingers to see them move as you command. You feel your heart pound in your chest— the overlay of purple flowers in full bloom, spread across the bottom branches of the trees. You don't remember ever leaving the Fellowship, but you also clearly remember living this memory before. But it washes over you, embracing every limb and facet of your being as you smile.

At first, Legolas is the one leading you into the hall of light, guards surrounding on both sides. Upon reaching the hall, all of them part off to leave you at the forefront—you are the one that matters right now. Lady Galadriel smiles, you've seen many portraits of her, but none of them could ever compare to her beauty. You bow your head: "Milady."

In return, as you life your head, she bows to you, as does Lord Celeborn. "Lady Y/N of the Greenwood and The Lonely Mountain." Your title has changed, but you shake off the pinch and continue to live out the past. No the present.... This, you just want to feel like you used to feel. How you felt when you first met him. 

Lady Galadriel tilts her head, watching you curiously—but words never leave her lips. Instead, she gestures to the ellon to her right with a smile. "I'm sure you are tired from you journey." You nod, but never dare look away from him—it's a wonder to re-live falling in love. To feel as you felt then. "Haldir will show you the way, he will also be your guard for your time here." Hmmmm, but you do not fight—too curious and too, well you don't know the word. Just that you want to know more.

Oddly enough, he doesn't say a word as he walks in front of you--hands tucked behind his back and posture much stiffer than you would like. You had spent far too long wondering if people would treat you differently, and the truth is, they do. You will always be treated differently, and you'll just have to come to terms with that. The silence drags almost as long as the halls, your throat goes dry until the words just spill off of your tongue. 

"You could say something... Anything... Honestly, I'm neither mute or too tired, and a little conversation would be nice." He doesn't say anything, but you see his fingers flex into his palm and you sigh loudly. It's the same story, even here—and your uncle Legolas hadn't even had time to say a word. People just naturally care too much about the title and think it means more than it does, that it changes a person, but it's all very isolating. 

You remember then very clearly, the way he seemed to hide the smile with a cough. But his eyes find yours, and your return the smile.

When you awoke, your body could not move—stuck, but you could feel the soft grasp of a hand wrapped around your own. The sensation was innocent, and you drifted off under the protection of Haldir because it couldn’t have been anyone else.

.

.

.

No one said a word as darkness descended upon Helm's Deep, in that silence, you feel Haldir's fingers wrap around your own. You had not counted on him arriving, thought that he would be safe in the Realm of Light, but you were thankful for the comfort.

The Marchwarden of Lothlorien had gained many things in the last few years, your comforting touch was by far the most valuable. You made every day worth existing, and every moment more enticing. You were as steady as the woodland realm and as mighty as the lonely mountain—you were neither entirely dwarf nor elf, but you were perfect.

“If tonight is my last, I am grateful to have spent it with you.”

“If tonight’s my last, then—” You pull him into you, he’s much taller but it doesn’t take much to bring him close. “Then I want you to know I choose you. Under every moon and star, no one in middle earth compares Haldir.”

Something in the way his eyes shift, you note the shimmer of light as the stars burn above. All of the fear, the desperation and love—above all else, you love Haldir.

Your other hand finds itself embracing his cheek as you bring him to your lips, letting all of the love pour through you. Desperate to keep him there—knowing you love him so. He speaks through the kiss, foreheads together as he pulls you close.

“If tonight is my last, know a day with you is more than a hundred centuries without. Your name on my last breath.”

“If tonight is my last, know it’s always been you.”

I’ll let you decide what happens next, if they live or die—this is where this ends.

•Much love, Ellie•

[pilferingapples]

OK my random question for you to think over is— If you could schedule some bonding time between Jean Valjean and any one of Les Amis, which Ami would you choose? Who would he click with/who would help him out the most/who would be the best most helpful Buddy for him to have ??? Or would you need to pick multiple Amis?

(This may or may not be related to a future fic idea I have planned. I have asked myself this question but currently do not know the answer, so I am curious about your thoughts! You always have great Les Amis takes)

OK before I get into this, I want to be clear that I think Cosette does an AMAZING job with Valjean's emotional Everything, but (a) she's a kid (b) she's HIS kid (c) no one person, no matter how close or important, can ever supply all of another person's emotional needs, even if they're a lot less traumatized than Valjean to start (d) a major problem with Valjean is Social Isolation, which only people Besides Cosette can alleviate (e) that is just the start of the issues that Cosette can't and should never have to handle alone! So no consideration of adding Other Friends to Valjean's life should be taken as an insult from me to Cosette (and I know you wouldn't , but people get weird). Cosette is a star.

Also: I am in all of this assuming a setting/ series of events leading to Acquaintance that does right by both parties ; importantly, that means Valjean is sure, somehow, that none of these men are romantically interested in or romantically interesting to Cosette. Maybe it's post- marriage, maybe it's an AU, maybe Whatever. Valjean's not doing his Lion With a Dog routine about it.

OK THAT SAID, let's Consider:

Enjolras: if they met outside a barricade, I can see them getting along very well! Unfortunately, that's because without pressing political action or conversation be thrown at them, I can imagine them both just sitting quietly and reading or being lost in their thoughts for as long as they're hanging out. Even GIVEN a political topic, like..Valjean is not gonna argue with anything Enjolras says and Enjolras is already gonna say it and they are just...gonna continue to Agree and then go back to Quiet Reading Time. Parallel Play For The Cats. Valjean will think Enjolras is a pleasant young man, Enjolras will think Valjean is a restful older gentleman, they will go to the library at the same time every Wednesday and nod hello and read in chairs near each other and never talk. Probably exactly the kind of interaction Valjean wants, and not at all what he needs to get out of his routine.

Combeferre: a very strong option!! assuming they've gotten talking about Nearly Anything, Combeferre can find the Fun Conversational Trivia in any subject. I bet Valjean would LOVE to hear about how steam engines work and the latest discoveries about bees or rubber or tinctures of opium. Valjean might be willing to tell him Cool Gardening and Metallurgy Knowledge and Combeferre would LISTEN. Combeferre is sharp and cutting about Interests and Ideas, but shows no signs of being someone who wants to get more emotional or personal with people than they're already setting up. This could be a great Hobby Buddy friendship and that's something Valjean really needs! Potential Issues: if they DO run into the sort of conversation where they're debating ideas, Combeferre does not seem to have an Easy Mode. IDK how much Valjean would be willing to enter Debate Thunderdome about politics or social issues; I worry greatly that he would shut down in Automatic Defense System Mode. But if they can work around that, Combeferre could be so good for getting him interested in the outside world!

Prouvaire: Much as above for Combeferre, except Prouvaire is already something of a gardener, DOES have a Gentle mode for debates, AND is goth, which would surely speak to Valjean's " some alive people like to be in coffins too" soul. Also lbr we know Prouvaire is on the 420 Crew in any era and it might do Valjean some real good to get baked once in a while. Strong potential here.

Feuilly: HE'S LIKE THE SON VALJEAN MIGHT HAVE KNOWN, or the grandson really-- as I recall, we've done the math and figured out that Feuilly really might be in the right age range to be one of Valjean's nibling's kids. I don't know how much Valjean has ever considered international politics but I bet he would deeply resonate with the plight of refugees and the displaced, which after all is a lot of the real issue. And maybe from there they can even get into how this is all systemic and Valjean might start to understand how he's not Uniquely Horrible if these injustices happen to so many people!!! A Little !!! Possibly!! Either way,they can get earnest and emotional over just wanting everyone else to have a better deal than they got. Go Team Lower Class Orphans Too Good For This World !

Courfeyrac: listen Courfeyrac's a delight and all but..he's just very bourgeois student. He is. Even assuming we're in the best situation where he and Valjean are talking politics and social issues enough for Valjean to NOT just mentally write him off as Standard Student Guy, I suspect Courfeyrac's many charms are just the wrong ones here. I'm not saying they can't get along, I think Courfeyrac can probably get alone with nearly anyone,but this is gonna be one of the harder options for any real connection.

Bahorel: you know I was all ready to go on a big ramble about how this could go multiple ways until I remembered the ONE THING, THE ONLY THING that gets Valjean to really open up and talk about his past is watching a younger man make horrible life choices that could get him arrested, never mind about trying to get Valjean to open up, Valjean is gonna trauma-dump on Bahorel so hard in the first fifteen minutes of them actually hanging out. And unlike Montparnasse, Bahorel pays attention and gives a damn about other people, and he is SO ready to get into how the legal system is pure evil and screws everyone over. Hating the legal system is a major component of his personality! I had honestly not really realized it until making this post but wow this will, eventually, be So Good for Valjean's mental health. (I am perhaps being a little silly here but I do think, on consideration, that Bahorel's over the top Everything would be on balance kinda reassuring for Valjean; plus there IS the goth factor XD Bonus points if it's a Better Post-Barricades setting where Bahorel's taken in Gavroche and they can bond over Unexpected Child Acquisition)

Legle: For Legle, see Courfeyrac, I'm afraid. You KNOW I love Bossuet so very much but he speaks 90 percent in too-smart-by-half puns and references and his entire social presentation depends on knowing how to parlay a bourgeois social skillset into Endless Crash Space. He's super weird and an incredibly good guy For Real but I don't know if Valjean would put enough effort in to realize that! Like with Courfeyrac, I feel like this would just be a Polite Acquaintaceship. Open to being convinced otherwise though!

Joly: ..ok I know Joly is also Student Guy as heck, but he's also direct and enthusiastic and overtly sweet in a way that Courfeyrac and Legle aren't. I can see Valjean enjoying his company somewhat the way he enjoys Cosette's actually-- here's someone who will be cheerful and chattery about things that he, Valjean, does not really know or care about. I still don't know if they'd connect on any deeper level but I could buy Valjean actively noticing and enjoying Joly's company.

Grantaire: HAAAAAHahahahhahaAAAAAHHHAHAHAHAHAH *runs out of breath* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAAAAAA hahahaha nooooo. No. Nooooooooo. Grantaire talking to Valjean would go about like Grantaire talking to Javert in the I Mis Miniseries. Grantaire will talk! You cannot stop him unless you are named Enjolras! Valjean will nooooot care.

...Writing this up has made me reflect on what I think Valjean really needs out of a potential friend and it's - someone to do the talking - shared interests, or new interests they can be enthusiastic about while he nods ahead - a willingness/ ability to get HIM to talk at least sometimes ?? maybe?? - shared goth vibes or at least the ability to understand that sometimes u__u you just gotta be in a coffin now u__u - ABSOLUTELY MANDATORY overt disdain for The Rules this is why Fauchelevent was SO good for him but I think he also needs someone who is not in life debt to him! he needs to know he can socialize with Kind New People and Not Explode!!

....and this is a long post so I'm gonna save more Valjean rant :D I am pretty sure you and I will discuss later anyway!! Thank you for the random question!

[graciegoeskrazy]

Matty Healy Daughter Headcannons

Pairings: Matty Healy x Daughter!reader

Warnings: Absent mother, mentions of drug use, mention of unplanned pregnancy, mention of bullying

A/N: I’m so glad I’m not the only person who was craving some Matty x daughter fics. Send in some ideas!

It was no secret you were a surprise to your parents

Your mom and dad dated very briefly in 2009 and broke up before your mother found out she was pregnant with you

Your father wasn't too happy about the pregnancy at first but he knew he had to do what was right and agreed to support his ex no matter what the decision was

Your mother decided to keep you and raise you as best she could.

Although everyone around Matty was in complete shock and ultimately had some concerns when they found out about the news, there was a big parade of people lined up to meet you when you arrived

The moment you arrived and Matty laid his eyes on you his entire outlook on life changed

He made a solom vow to give you the best life he could and love you forever

He was determined to become a great father

Your mother on the other hand wasn't too happy and chickened out as soon as you arrived

Matty could sense the concern and agreed to talk to her once things settled down a couple of hours later so it was just her, Matty, and you.

But she up and left before that chance came

A couple of months later there was an envelope that arrived at Matty's doorstep

He opened it

It said that once you arrived she realized she couldn't do it

She claimed she loved you too much to give you the life she was gonna give

Matty was furious

How in the world could someone leave such a beautiful, precious, and defenseless little thing?

He knew he could do this without her though

He had his family and his bandmates who became your honorary family (except George who became your actual family when Matty deemed him godfather)

Life went on and you started to grow up

You were surrounded by music constantly while growing up (obvi)

Singing anything from Disney hits to Taylor Swift to classic rock

You heard it all

You never got in trouble when you were little

Which was a pleasant surprise to those around you

Everyone thought that a Matty reincarnate wouldn't be easy to raise

But you were the sweetest goofiest little girl with such a kind soul

You had his sass and humor

And your smile was practically identical

Even as a teenager you never knew much about your mother

Your skin tone was different than Matty's so you assumed you inherited that from your mom

As you grew up you obviously had questions

“Why do some of my friends have a mom?”

“Why do some of my friends have 2 moms or 2 dads?

“Do I have a mom?”

“Where is she?”

Eventually when you wouldn't shut up about it during a recording sesh your dad and Ross sat you down and gave you a condensed version

Saying your mom had to leave because she didn't want to be a mom

But it didn't matter because “our little family is perfect the way it is.”

You just said “Ok” and continued your homework

As you got older you just realized that you would be perfectly fine without her

The more you grew up the more details your dad gave you

You just said she is missing out

Your dad was proud of you for being so resilient towards it

When you were about to turn 8 things changed

You may have been young but you certainly weren't dumb

You knew about your dad and his addiction

Youre dad was in the deepest part of his addiction and his mates finally decided to bring him to rehab

At the request of your dad, you stayed with George while he was away

He was in there for over a month but before you could even see him again he relapsed

You didn't know your heart could break as much as it did

You stayed with George for about 3 months

It took a lot of convincing on Matty’s part for you to come back home

You were scared of what he might do again

You telling him that you were ‘scared’ of him is a memory that will haunt Matty for the rest of his existence

But it was the final wake-up call that he needed

With the help of George, you finally gave in and decided to move back in with your dad

Time went on and you grew up some more

Much to your father's dismay

You and your dad became even more inseparable

Even though he was your father you told him everything

From periods to boys to drama all of it

Getting your period was something Maty dreaded since the moment he found out you had a vagina

But he handled it like a pro

You were never afraid to tell him anything and therefore you both trusted each other immensely

During middle school, you encountered some bullies

At first, it was just the usual taunting

But eventually, it got more physical

They would talk about anything to get you down

Your dad and his work, your clothes, hair, anything

As much as you told the school and as much as your dad threatened to punch the kid nothing worked

Matty pulled you out of the school and enrolled you in online school just for the time being

It was the middle of the school year so finding another school super fast was gonna be a problem

But the more you continued with online school the more you liked it

Matty had his concerns about friendships and stuff with the online transition

But you were able to maintain friendships and make new ones through your other outlooks

It ended up being the right move and Matty let you continue with it

Cut to today

The band is on another leg of their tour

And with your online schooling youre able to go with them

Months before the tour dates were even scheduled your dad sat you down and had a conversation with you making sure you were okay with him going on tour and okay with you tagging along with him

Matty made it very clear that if you didn't even want him to tour he wouldn't do that

You weren't sure how serious he was with that thought but still appreciated it

You were hesitant about how this was gonna go at first but were excited to travel with your dad and family

One time Polly had to call out of the show for like a week for a family emergency

And all eyes turned to you

You knew the basic chords to all the songs and (being a huge fan) knew all the words too

It was like a moment 15 years in the making

You had the time of your lifeeeeee

And Polly was so thankful you stepped in

Matty was so proud of you for stepping in

And proud of the young women you were becoming

It was just another reassuring moment knowing that he made the right decision in life

[rosielefay]

Hetalia Snippet ʚɞ

USUK cardverse/asoiaf/hotd au

“You cannot marry another. You chose me. You love me, you said so yourself,” Arthur was indignant.

“And you denied me. You may have sold your heart to the throne but mine is still free to bestow,” Alfred replied, his tone flat, dull.

It was a lie. His heart was Arthur’s. He had given in to him 3 months ago alongside the wreath of crimson roses, declaring him that tournaments Queen of Love and Beauty. Then again, maybe it was before that, Alfred may have snuck it to him when they were children: playing under the table during one of his Father’s many banquets, climbing on the chipped tiles on the roof of the red keep, in bed whilst they joked about dragons and futures and marriage. It didn’t matter when, Alfred knew he didn’t have it anymore. No, it rested in the dainty, gloved hands of Arthur, cradled to his chest like a precious thing, an object to parade around as a sign of his own worth and loveliness.

“Why would you confess to me just to throw yourself into the arms of another. We’ve always been together Alfred, ever since we were children. It’s how it’s always been and how it always will be. It’s not within our control, a greater power than thou have decided it. Just because I cannot have you in one way, your way, doesn’t mean I can’t have you there at all,” Arthur was frantic now. His words seemed to spill out of him, hurried and choking, thick with a fear of something intangible to young Alfred.

“You are a cruel, selfish thing Arthur. Do not do this to me. Set me free. Give it back and be done with this. You have every jewel, every silver, every silk found under the sun of the world – just let me have this.” It was murmured. It wasn’t shame or humiliation which cast his eyes to the floor, no, his love was pure, and he was proud to have felt it, nurtured it. Instead, it was the pain, the ache of his heart which felt like a vacuum in his ribcage. It swallowed the air inside of him, left his bones shrivelled and his blood sharp in his veins. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. Is that what they meant by sickness. He always thought it meant love lost, dulled by years of torment or repetition. Yet Alfred had never had that love in the first place, he was loving backwards – dying from the terrible void in his chest, the emptiness of unrequited affections.

The problem was Arthur was spoilt, and hadn’t been denied a thing in his life. Always surrounded by wealth, attendants, admirers; they were easy in their flattery but lacking in sincerity, and Alfred knew the warmth of his pining heart would not be lost from Arthur’s grip so easily. But his hands were cold beneath his velvet gloves, his fingers bony and his nails sharp, and Alfred was hurting. His great feats of combat, his enormous strength, they could do nothing to defend him from the other boy. His physicality was a useless weapon in the ways of the soul; his sword arm lay dormant by his side, rather, it was his heart which reached and grappled aimlessly at the terrible distance between them.