#shire screams SO much
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Donner means thunder and blitzen means lightning
some things ain't sexy but instead it seems, frightening
#head in my hands#shire screams#reindeer days#EVERYONE I TESTED IT ON KEPT GETTING IT WRONG TOO#the sexiness is so ingrained in pop culture#yall forget what animals are#but then again im much more of animal nerd than the general population#this is fun tho!!!!#behind the scenes
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🦋
#so i do this thing where i. dont process emotions. correctly. lmao. which im sure is not extremely obvious. lmao.#when i was a kid i spent a lot of time in school counselor offices. lmao. &my high school counselor referred to this issue as being#an 'emotional cripple'. lmaoooo. she referred to the total fucking meltdowns that these times would culminate in as#'a dam bursting'.mao. which i guess was correct i spent a lot of time on conduct probation bc of those little... episodes. lmao.#... (&like all 4yrs on academic probation bc of the much longer stints of mental instability that makes effort of any sort impossible LMAO)#so anyway i started using media to force emotional response to speedrun the trial of processing my emotions#bc once you start crying or screaming or whatever it doesnt really matter what started it; work yourself up enough#&youll end up at the place where it all ends. &begins. &needs to be unraveled or chopped in half. lmao.#&i never stopped using this tactic bc if it aint broke dont fix it LMAO.#so after kicking the process off w millers books ive listened to warsan shires bandcamp almost nonstop#&just finished rewatching the hxh chimera ant arc lmaoooo.#ALMOST. IM ALMOST THERE. I KNOW IT. just a little more force&ill be balanced again i know it.#summer is here i dont have time for this anymore lmao.
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Me watching lotr alone: crying so much I give myself a headache
Me watching lotr with friends: did you know that hobbits love mushrooms?
#ok no but literally#like we had fun and laughed a lot and made jokes#so I was chill#but usually every time I watch boromir's death#and sam and frodo leaving together#I'm straight up sobbing#and don't get me started on return of the king#like the ending of lotr makes me cry soooo much every time#honestly even just seeing the shire in the beginning of fellowship always makes me cry#I just love middle earth man#if my friend talks during my favorite scene of all time#aka pippin singing in minas tirith#I'm going to scream lol
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as you’ve grown older, you’ve discovered that coming home to an empty apartment in the middle of the day is the adult equivalent of waking up on christmas morning. it’s an especially rare occurrence, especially for a saturday, but you’d just dropped megumi at the library, tsumiki at a friends, and gojo was still bothering principal yaga at the school.
sighing, you can’t help the grin that breaks out on your face as you set your bag down. you have the apartment to yourself. it’s clean and quiet and you have almost two whole hours to do whatever you want.
the first thing you do is make yourself a cup of tea, humming to yourself as you carry the steaming mug into the living room. then you curl up into the corner of the sectional, enjoying the cool breeze of the open window and the warm summer sun.
then, after glancing around and ensuring that you’re truly alone, you reach under the couch and pull out your novel.
shoko had loaned it to you months ago, claiming that it would help ‘grease the wheels’ during satoru’s frequent absences.
you hadn’t really understood what she meant until you’d gotten to the sixth chapter– a chapter so steamy you’d felt yourself get a little hot under the collar while reading it.
which is why you keep it hidden and only bring it out when you’re alone.
it’s been weeks since you’d last picked it up, opening the novel up to the bookmarked page with excitement buzzing in your veins at the prospect of finally finishing it. you only had one chapter left!
‘the warm buzz of desire in her limbs intensifies as he kisses every exposed inch of her throat. she pulls him closer, feeling his hands searching for the seam of her dress for a zipper, a button, anything to undo so he can feel her skin on his. his lips find the spot behind her ear that makes her shudder, sucking lightly and eliciting a soft moan from her lips–’
“what are you reading?”
you flinch, snapping the book shut as satoru leans over your shoulder. you hadn’t even noticed he’d come home, a mixture of fear and embarrassment swimming in your gut as he plucks the book from your grasp.
he peers at the cover, obviously amused when he says,
“were you…romanceturbating?”
“i was not,” you argue, but your entire face is hot and your heart is beating so fast that you fear it may bust through your ribcage.
“you totally were!” he laughs, holding it above his head so you can’t grab it. “does it take place in a shire?”
“no–”
“is there a lot of sexy bodice ripping and armour shucking?”
you cross your arms over your chest with a huff. “do all of your fantasies take place in medieval england?”
“we’re not talking about me,” he waves off. “we’re talking about you, and what you’re doing reading this trash when you have the real deal right in front of you. i can be a much better sexy–” he points at the cover, “–uh, construction worker?”
“he’s a handyman, and i doubt that,” you scoff, snatching your book back.
so much for your quiet afternoon.
_____
that weekend, you awaken to very loud, very annoying banging coming from the kitchen. satoru’s no longer in bed, so you assume that he’s attempting to make breakfast and head out before he can burn the entire apartment complex down.
“you’re lucky the kids are at sleepovers right now,” you say loudly as you step out of the bedroom and head towards the kitchen. “or you’d be getting screamed at–”
your breath catches when your boyfriend sits up, using the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow and allowing you a peek at his toned abdomen.
“morning, baby.”
“morning,” you reply, clearing your throat as you step over his legs to grab some tea. suddenly, you can’t recall what you’d intended to reprimand him for.
“actually, can you hold this up for me?” he asks suddenly, catching your wrist and pressing a flashlight into your palm. “i need a little light.”
you take it obediently, kneeling down to shine the light into the space under the sink. you try your hardest to keep your gaze focused on the pipes, and not the way his biceps flex with every movement. or the way the thin sheen of sweat makes his skin shine.
“i didn’t even know you owned tools,” you mutter.
“i borrowed them from nanami,” he tells you.
“oh.”
you have no idea what the hell he’s doing - you didn’t even know the sink was broken - but you can’t really find it in yourself to care at the moment. not with the way your squeeze your legs together with his every grunt of effort.
“that should do it,” he hums, sitting up so he’s now face to face with you, playful blue eyes meeting yours as he smiles. “thanks for–”
he doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, not when you grab the collar of his stupid tank top, pulling him in to press your lips over his.
not when he wraps an arm around your waist, flipping you both over so your back is on the floor, his body caged over yours as he deepens the kiss.
this is much better than shoko’s stupid novel.
“i think–” he pants between kisses, letting you work his shirt off.
“shut up,” you mumble, feeling him toy with the hem of your shorts.
“but we need to call a plumber,” he says, lips brushing that spot behind your ear. “because i definitely broke the sink…”
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I am absolutely wild and feral over HDM (legit like, daemons fit SO well. I'm watching dunmeshi wondering where Laios' dog went) and super curious if you do plan a sequel or other fics following this AU??
(In reference to the His Dark Materials / Dungeon Meshi fusion fic)
thank you so much for this question I love this question god!!!! Thank you thank you thank you
God sorry about HDM being delayed, I’m going through hell over it at the moment. It’s meant to end a little after the dragon, then a timeskip epilogue, with special coding so that you can read it two different ways, depending on whether you want spoilers for the manga/season 2. (My idea is that you’ll click a button to reveal/hide it, and the spoiler-free epilogue will be like found poetry.)
Firstly, if you or anyone else would like to take the concepts/characters in His Delicious Materials forward for themselves, you must do this. You don’t need my permission (but I’d love a link! so I can read, scream, reblog, comment, link to it, etc. there is also the “inspired by” setting on ao3 so we can link works directly to HDM, forming a collection for anyone who reads one and wants more.) I don’t own any of it! We are all just having fun! YOU can be the sequel you want to see in the world! If your heart feels a way forward, then follow your heart!! A daemon AU is really about revealing character and I find them really inspiring, like adding a whole engine to a story idea.
If I were to write something to follow up, I do know what the sequel WOULD be! It would be a sort of Discworld novel about the slow social revolution occurring in the half-foots as a chain reaction to Bee settling as a weasel, all occurring behind Chilchuck’s oblivious and unhelpful back. Pushed into a sort of bottleneck of sparrow- and mouse-souls, and marginalised to the very edges of society, half-foots are precarious and endangered. Chilchuck is mostly eating a ham sandwich unhelpfully in the foreground, and at the end of the story looks back and sees to his bewilderment that his people have found a way forward (they don’t have a Shire or a Chosen One, but they do have a goddamn functional worker’s union and their own collective dignity.) kind of Discworld-commentary-comedy, kind of a loving argument with Tolkien, kind of Sharpe hostile-and-awkward-protagonist-POV-doesn’t-know-and-wouldn’t-believe-that-his-men-genuinely-love-him, kind of about the experience of parenting, and kind of gently warmly political BUT FUNNY so it would be ok. but feel it would be too much of a stretch of people’s patience and the original materials’s intentions to call it fanfic. Too many OCs needed to carry the weight, too little reference to the other Dungeon Meshi characters, almost too little “payoff” for what would be a full 70k word work. So maybe to let the story breathe, it would be better worked up as original fiction?
(Plus, that is actually an actual novel: if people write their own novels and manga about orc coffeeshops and dnd parties, I could just write my own too: wait but how do you know if you should?)
Anyway, that is an entirely separate kettle of weasels and my own cross to bear! If your heart cries out for a sequel the best way to manifest it in the world is to write it!
If you feel that A Weasel Heart In Defiance feels like it would scratch that itch, here is a bit that is mildly relevant to Dungeon Meshi, which is Chilchuck and Bee starting to work away from home while the girls were still small. You’ll probably see what I mean from it.
About seven of the village children, including his own three, had a snake in a wooden bucket. They didn't look up.
The reappearance of a random guy who functioned mostly as a postal service and occasionally shouted at them about bedtime - in a way that could be easily blanked out if something more interesting was happening - simply could not be expected to compete for attention with a snake in a bucket.
Chilchuck could recognise this on some level, but as his own children ignored him, he felt very hot and angry, in a way that he had never wanted to feel about children, especially his.
Bee, also rigidly pissed off, growled, "Easy, boss."
This was where Chilchuck did the only thing so far that he was proud of, in this day. He did not start shouting, even though his temper was going something like What the fuck, kids, but worse. He stopped, took a minute, and remembered he'd had this whole thing where he'd wanted his kids to love him. He rubbed his nose, said, "Remind me," and his daemon reminded him: "What do we want them to actually do?"
And he said, "The bare minimum fucking acknowledgement would be nice."
And Bee said, "Have we explained that to them? Do they know?"
So Chilchuck and Bee, hot and tired and cross and still on the job apparently, sat down on the ground with the kids and looked in the bucket. The snake, poor bastard, looked very limp and tired. Chilchuck could relate.
After a while, Chilchuck said, "Girls?"
Or more accurately, something like, "Girls! Girls. Meifleurpatti-I mean Puck-PUCK. Listen up. Mei! Fleur, I'm talking - thanks Fleur - Puck. (Ryeland, stop the baby.) PUCK. Mei, Fleur, Puck - PUCK, eyes on me - thanks, Ryeland - PUCK. EYES," which condensed in parent-speak to a single roar of "Girls!"
When he had them more or less listening, he remembered to set his voice to the more singsong cadence one used for children, instead off the deeper version of his natural voice that he used for shouting at the top of his abilities at tall people; making the choice to be patient and gentle, or at least pretend to be someone who was; and in this manner he said reasonably, "Now, your dad's been away for a very long time and missed you all very much. What do you say? What do you say when your dad comes home?"
Six children stared at him blankly, and the baby toppled gently into the bucket. He fished it out, stuck it sideways under his arm, allowed the snake to escape in the confusion, acknowledged someone's grievously injured finger, stopped Fleur from pinching, took out his pocket handkerchief and wiped Puck's nose in essentially one continuous motion.
To be completely fair, now that he'd let go of the initial anger, he could see that the kids had absolutely no idea what he'd wanted of them. Kids had practically no social instincts at the best of times. Chilchuck coming home was remarkable, sure, but beyond their influence; how were they supposed to react? What do you say to a comet? What do you say to a hailstorm? What do you say when daddy comes home?
He repeated the question, as the children had universally drawn blanks and devolved into staring vacantly.
"Good morning, Daddy!" A child chirped helpfully, setting off the rest in an automatic drone of "good morning, Daddy," in the strangely universal dreary tone of all children saying that.
"So close, Fernwise! Is it morning? What else do we think?"
Bee, fighting for order among the kit-daemons, was simultaneously washing Fleurtom's daemon, Pantoufle's, face; receiving a long rambling report of a grievance from three incoherent witnesses; and minding the baby's chick-daemon; up to her ears in parenting. She said, around a mouthful of Pan, "Speed it up, boss, you're losing them."
"Where are your spots, Daddy?" Pan asked him. He was in the form of a young ferret and scrabbled against his mother's grip on his scruff.
"My what?"
"Your freckles," Bee said grimly, and seeing he'd been temporarily disarmed - and being a valiant beast in her way - charged in to her human's defense, "Is that nice, Pan? We don't want to make people feel bad about their looks, do we?"
"Yes we do," said Fleur.
"Fleur! We've just - we haven't seen much of the sun, that's all," said Bee, taking charge, the best and most loyal soul a man could have. "They'll come back, and they're not spots."
"Mei has spots."
"Freckles."
"Grimbob has spots."
"Yes, and you shouldn't notice," Bee said. "Think of Grimbob's feelings."
"I do, I think he feels spotty."
"I'm thirsty," Puck said flatly.
"Stick to the point, kids," Chilchuck said, recovering from the fact that his usual face was apparently indistinguishable to children from Grimbob's, who had been taking puberty hard. This was surprisingly difficult to do.
Ryeland, a mildly bright spark who was older than the Chils girls, connected two dots and suddenly roared "WELCOME HOME DADDY," so six children all repeated that automatically, and Fleur added sunnily, "I missed you Daddy!"
And just as a very small piece of Chilchuck's heart was finally allowed to melt, she added, equally sunnily, "Mei didn't."
"I did a little," Meijack said vaguely.
"That's great kids, well done, we got there in the end," Chilchuck said. "Remember it for next time, okay? It makes Daddy feel better about his stupid life. Now, next time, let's remember that it's traditional to do a hug."
He realised his mistake instantly, as six children and their daemons all bore him - and the baby he'd forgotten he was holding - to the ground.
___________
#a weasel heart raised in defiance#his delicious materials#daemon AUs#like you see it right that’s not dungeon meshi but it IS definitely a thing that happens raising kids
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Kidnapped Kid-Kili, Fili, and Ori story idea
So we start with Bilbo on his return trip home from a walking journey. He hears shouting off the road but it doesn't sound like hobbits and he decides to investigate in case it's bandits or something that needs to be reported to the Rangers/Bounders.
As he gets closer he can make out what is being said and catches "Well I didn't know that the whole settlement was broke did I! At least we got paid some to take the kids but I say we cut our losses and just kill them and move on!" He hears a few choked sobs at that and spots three dwarf children then and a bit away two adult dwarves who are the ones shouting.
"Shut up! It's no good to scare them more like that! I think we can sell them, maybe at a mannish market." The two adult dwarves continue their argument and Bilbo creeps up to the kids.
"Come along now children lets get you out of here." He whispers as he helps them up and leads them away. He pulls out three extra travel cloaks, he packed heavy due to autumn chill and surprise rainstorms, and has them put the cloaks on. "Now if I tell you to curl up under your cloak on the ground okay?"
The three nod up at him. He leads them to the other side of the road and then past where they were camped. A good half an hour later of walking and he hears a cart approaching and has the kids hunker down while he backtracks some and starts rewalking on the road. The cart comes around the corner Bilbo almost cries in relief. "Hamfast!" he calls as the cart comes to a stop.
"Good to see you Mr. Bilbo, on yer way home?"
"Come on out kids it's just Hamfast, he's safe!" Bilbo calls and turns to Hamfast, "I don't suppose you would be willing to turn around and give us a ride back to Bag End? We really need to get somewhere safe."
Hamfast is of course confused by these dwarf children but agrees and they put them in the back of the cart and hand them a bag full of apples to snack on. As they travel Bilbo fills Hamfast in on what happened. Of course he is horrified, people stealing and then threatening to kill children is just barbaric, why he couldn't imagine how it would feel if that happened to him.
So Bilbo and the children are dropped off and Hamfast agrees to alert the Rangers and Bounders and tell all the hobbits he knows so nobody goes blabbing to strangers about Bilbo having dwarf children. The kids are just happy to be warm and provided with food. Ori tugs on Fili and whispers to him about writing letters home so someone can come get them. Fili asks Bilbo and Bilbo thinks it's a good plan.
The only dwarf who Ori knows the mailing place of is Balin, so they write their letters to their family but send them to Balin. A month or so later Bilbo, who now knows all about the boys in his care, was happily walking them home from the market when he spots a lot of dwarves on ponies and pulls the kids to a stop. He quickly gets in front of the kids and tells them to run and hide. About then the dwarves jump off the ponies and start racing towards Bilbo and the boys start screaming AMAD! DORI! UNCLE! and running towards the group.
Basically the whole company plus Dis have all come to find the kids. Bilbo is so relieved and the dwarves are very thankful and indeed shocked by his braveness and willingness to protect the boys. Thorin tries to figure out a way to pay him back but Bilbo declines, says all he wants is for the boys to be safe and maybe write him every once in a while and invites them all to stay at Bag End for the night. Bilbo, Fili, Kili, and Ori tell them all about what they heard and saw from and of the kidnappers.
They get a good bit of snow that night and the dwarves realize that if there is snow out in the Shire that their way home would probably be impassable already. Cue dwarves in the Shire. Fixing things, having a mild winter, eating enough, oh and of course Dis being the first to see how much Thorin and Bilbo like each other and doing her best to get them together.
Also Ori is part of the kidnap because he is Fili and Kili's best friend and Balin teaches them lessons and they were all together and the kidnappers didn't know how many kids they were supposed to take. No real idea of who ordered the kidnapping but just feels extra angsty for it to be paid for and not just idiots kidnapping the Heirs to the Throne and thinking they will get away alive.
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“My Heart Will Go On” has been played and replayed so often that it’s commonly considered cliche at this point to associate it with anything outside of Titanic, to apply the beautiful message within its stunning lyrics and Celine’s angelic voice to another story or specifically another couple.
But I must admit how the song screams Tolkien to me.
The ages of the world go by, and even as things change and disappear, spirits endure. Elves fade from our world, but endure in the West. Dwarves and hobbits disappear from history, but continue on in the shadows where we can never see them. Men rise and prosper. All their hearts do go on.
And more specifically, look at all the Elves - Círdan, Elrond, and Galadriel especially - who persevere and continue to be strong after enormous personal losses and struggles and destructions. Look at how the Númenorean survivors move forward after the loss of their homelands and build new homes. Look at how the Dwarves never truly lose hope of regaining Erebor and Moria, and eventually do both successfully. Look at how the hobbits evolve after the Scouring, replanting the Shire to make it more beautiful than ever before, accepting a working class gardener as their Mayor and crafting new libraries and records. Look at how Tom Bombadil and Goldberry spend all the ages of the world living happily together in their little forest, regardless of what occurs outside their home. All their hearts go on.
Look at how Bilbo and Sam each lose the respective loves of their lives (Thorin and Frodo) but each move forward, opening up to new loves in their families - Bilbo finds joy again with Frodo, Sam finds joy again with Rosie and their children - passing on their stories to the next generation, and going off to find peace in the Blessed Realm. Their hearts go on.
Look at how Frodo loses so much of himself because of the Ring, but rather than lie down and die, accepts Arwen’s gift and sails West to seek the self-care and healing that he needs. His heart goes on.
Look at how Éowyn loses every parental figure she’s ever had, survives years of sexual harassment and oppression, goes through a depression, experiences the horrors and NDEs of war … and emerges stronger and wiser than ever into a new life of love, bliss, growth, and healing. Her heart goes on.
Look at how Faramir endures years of mistreatment by his own dad and the absence of his mom, loses the only family member who ever truly valued him, is touched by the Black Breath … and survives to flourish in a new position, rebuild a broken realm, and find true love. His heart goes on.
Look at how Legolas watches almost all of his mortal friends die, but chooses to move on to the place where he can endure and not fade, carrying all his cherished memories with him. His heart goes on.
It’s actually a beautiful thing to think about.
#lotr#jrr tolkien#lotr books#lord of the rings#the hobbit#the silmarillion#elrond#cirdan#galadriel#frodo baggins#samwise gamgee#rosie cotton#bilbo baggins#thorin oakenshield#samfro#bagginshield#tolkien elves#tolkien dwarves#numenoreans#eowyn#faramir#farawyn#tom bombadil#goldberry#legolas#tolkien legendarium#valinor#second age#third age#fourth age
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Summer Knight Part 1
When Crown Prince Morpheus is summoned to his father's court for the summer, he expects it to be just as tedious and aggravating as any other season spent in the Dreaming's capitol. What he doesn't expect is an attempted kidnapping, a successful kidnapping, uncovering designs on the Dreaming's throne, and a handsome esquire he really isn't supposed to fall in love with. How can he not, when Hob Gadling sees him for who he is, and not just his station? How can he not, when Hob is willing to burn down the world for him? Or: Prince!Morpheus/Commoner!Hob Gadling medieval/fantasy AU
~~Masterlist~~
After three months (probably more tbh) here it is! My contribution to the Centennial Husbands Big Bang.
This would not have been possible without the support of the entire Sadman server, for which I am endlessly (haha) thankful. @delta-pavonis and @signiorbenedickofpadua, I wouldn’t have been able to finish this without your eyes and encouragement. Thank you for letting me scream about these boys at/with you, for ideas when I got stuck, for helping me tease out the snags. Y’all are fantastic. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE
This beautiful incredible art by @wolf-and-raven-dreaming / @ambarden I’m just blown away. Thank you so much for bringing such a beautiful moment to life, especially one that I didn’t get to give as much detail in this fic. I’m obsessed with it, prob gonna make it my phone background 💖
If this story inspires you to create something of your own, please share with me so I can keysmash and gush over what you make!
Divider by @cafekitsune
Prologue
Once, in a time out of thought and memory, there was a realm called the Dreaming- so named because a place so magical and splendid could only possibly exist in one’s most vivid imaginings. The weather was always as it should or needed to be, the land lush and bountiful, even in the harshest climates. The people of the land were, on the whole, prosperous and contented. The Dreaming was not without its troubles and hardships and tragedies- no land is, no matter how prosperous- and for some, life was rather hard, but never unbearable.
Like any kingdom in a faerie story, the Dreaming was ruled by a king, a queen, and their children. This story, however, only concerns one, the third son, Prince Morpheus Aeterna. Morpheus and his six siblings each ruled a shire within the Dreaming, with the capital city of Istoria on the eastern coast, the lands of the Dreaming appearing to fan out from the city like rays of the rising sun.
Morpheus was lord of one of the Dreaming’s most important and vital border shires- after all, that’s what you did with a third child, a second son, with a great aptitude for ruling. One who also happened to be heir to the throne, the next in line to be called Dream King. His shire was called Fiddler’s Green- the land was varied, a little corner of everything: snow capped mountains, lush fields of vibrant grass and wildflowers, bountiful forests, a beach of black sand bordering a navy inland sea.
Morpheus’ kingdom shared a border with the realm of Fawney Rigg, a land of dense thickets and haunting mists and old, angry trees. It was ruled by King Roderick Burgess, a ruthless and bitter old man who should have had many happy years yet before him. But, his greed and jealousy were near endless; he had already conquered several other realms by war, subterfuge, or a combination of both. In the twilight of his life, he set his sights on the Dreaming, and it is here our story begins.
“My lord?”
Morpheus was jolted from his wandering thoughts by Lucienne, his most trusted advisor.
“My lord, a message has arrived from your father the king.”
A frown etched itself onto the Prince’s face as he pushed his breakfast to the side- what an aggravating way to start his morning. He took the tightly rolled scroll of thick, handmade paper and unrolled it with long, bony fingers. His frown grew more pronounced the further he read.
“My lord?” Lucienne was almost hesitant, her fingers tight around the ledger she carried. “What news from his majesty?” Morpheus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture he had picked up from his father despite his best intentions.
“It is a summons,” he ground out. “He wishes me to attend him at court for the summer.”
Lucienne frowned with a pang of sympathy. To say that Morpheus and his father King Chronos Aeterna did not get along was well beyond an understatement. Morpheus was the opposite of everything his father had wanted him to be, showing more interest and aptitude in creative and scholarly pursuits than learning the craft of war, as was expected of a crown prince responsible for strategically valuable border territories.
Spending any amount of time at his father’s court was tedious at best. An entire season was sure to be nigh unbearable.
He gave a resigned sigh. “Begin making travel arrangements. I will draft a response to my father.” He gave the order with all the flat dread of someone about to face the noose. It was going to be a long summer.
And so it came to pass that Morpheus began the four day journey, following the border of his land and Fawney Rigg until they reached the Gates of Horn and Ivory, massive gates and walls carved of white stone that spanned the entire border of Istoria. If one walked along the wall from end to end, they would see the entire history of the Dreaming laid out before them, carved into the stone. Morpheus could feel his hackles rise as the gates creaked and groaned open, allowing him and his party into the bustling city. He thought he could feel the mythical creatures carved into the gates frowning at him. Folks going about their business immediately stepped out of the road and bowed, looking up through their lashes, hoping to catch sight of the Prince and not just a flutter of emerald livery in the wind.
The procession slowly made its way to the palace, where the King, Queen, and their retainers were waiting at the top of the great stone stairs. Marble walls and gates that were miniature recreations of those guarding the city, depicting the history of the Aeterna line, were flung wide open, knights standing at attention. Banners bearing the golden Aeterna crest on deep blue fabric flapped in the breeze.
Morpheus’ first thought was that his mother seemed pale. Queen Nocturna had always been fair- Morpheus owed his complexion to her, along with his bright blue eyes- but under the light of the late afternoon sun she looked frail and sickly in her midnight gown, as if the slightest breeze would scatter her into dust. Her hair had long since faded from inky black to the shining silver of the moon, but it lacked the luster Morpheus remembered. Had it really been that long since he had seen his parents? Had something happened?
Beside her, King Chronos stood as regal and stony as ever. There were a few new lines on his face, and a few more gray hairs in his dark beard, but the frown he had reserved for his third child since Morpheus reached his majority was dour and disapproving as ever.
The Prince was announced as he dismounted and approached the foot of the staircase, a herald bellowing his numerous titles for the assembled. When that list was exhausted, he ascended the stairs until he was two steps below where the King and Queen stood, leaving him shorter than his parents– normally he was of a height with his father, and half a head taller than his mother.
Chronos shook his son’s hand with a stiffness only Morpheus could see. “Be welcome, my son.” The King ground his teeth. “It is good to see you.”
Morpheus quickly bowed his head with a curt, “Father.”
Once Chronos released his hand, the Queen enfolded Morpheus in her willowy arms. She could feel some of the tension leave his body in the relative safety of her embrace. Her smile was beaming when she pulled away to look at him.
“You look well, Morpheus. I’ve missed you, my dear.”
Morpheus kissed her cheek in greeting with a tenderly murmured, “Mother.” The Queen had always been a refuge for her son when his father insisted on Morpheus being someone he was not- she encouraged him to pursue his passions, constantly reminding him that there was more than one way to be a strong King. Always out of earshot of Chronos- even to his wife and son, he was their King first, a father and husband second, and his word was law.
“Come,” Chronos said to Morpheus, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “You must be weary from your journey. Be welcome and make yourselves comfortable.” He clapped Morpheus on the back and guided him into the palace, followed by his retinue. Once the royals were out of sight, the crowd dispersed, the spectacle now ended. Only one man lingered near the bottom corner of the ancient palace stairs, leaning on a stout quarterstaff.
It is here necessary to briefly introduce Robert Gadling. Orphaned at seven, he was one of a good number of parentless children, now adults, who did odd jobs for the businesses of the city, as well as the government- everything from construction to loading and unloading ships’ cargo, from running messages to protection from overzealous loan collectors if need be. On occasion, a few would be hired by the day to work in the palace, mostly on structural repairs and maintenance.
Robert, or Hob as the townsfolk called him, was a natural born protector. He had never been one to back down from a fight, and, as he planned to live through all his fights, he dedicated much of his time to developing his skills. He would often be seen near the docks or the entrance to the market, talking with foreign merchants and their guards, asking them to teach him what they knew of combat in exchange for a day’s labor. His friends constantly warned him that knowledge wouldn’t buy him food or lodging, but he would just laugh.
It was in this fashion he honed his skills over the years and taught them to his fellows. He could disarm anyone in a matter of seconds and have a man twice his size on his back in under a minute (so the children said). He had even studied the blade, something his fellow brawlers stayed away from- too much like the royals and knights, they argued, and rolled their eyes when Hob insisted on learning anyway. No one would think it to look at him, that an average sized and modestly handsome day laborer would have such a knack for survival and zest for life.
Hob’s best friend noted the glazed, entranced look on his face and gave him a teasing shove. “Come on, Hob,” he goaded, “Leave the royals to their tea and cakes, we’ve got work to do.”
“Piss off, Adrian,” Hob replied as he returned the shove with a brief smile. “Not every day you get to see one roll into town. Besides, I’ve never seen Prince Morpheus before. Heard the rumors, but I had no idea he was so- so…” That glazed look returned as he searched for the right word.
“Arrogant?” Adrian supplied. “Sour? Pompous?”
“Beautiful.” Hob’s response was barely a whisper, as if the sentiment was something he wanted to keep secret but couldn't stop it from slipping out.
Adrian rolled his bottle green eyes. This was not the first time Hob had been besotted with someone after a glance, nor was it likely to be the last. The man had so much love in his heart to give, he just also happened to have a bad habit of choosing the worst possible people to bestow that love upon. Adrian could only hope this would be one of his shorter and less depressing devotions. Gods knew Hob had less than a figment of a chance with the Prince.
“Come on, lover boy, Waldren’s waiting for us.”
Adrian wrapped an arm around Hob’s shoulders and turned him away from the palace. Hob went willingly, but not without one last misty-eyed glance over his shoulder, wondering idly what the Prince was doing behind those marble walls.
Chapter 1
According to Morpheus, attending his father’s court and sitting in on council meetings fit the definition of ‘cruel and unusual punishment’. He rarely had anything to contribute to the other nobles’ gossip- not that he wanted to get involved in the first place- and the council advisors just loved passing off his suggestions as their own. His presence amounted to little more than an interesting trinket brought out at opportune moments to curry favor- or, in some cases, to parade in front of potential spouses. It seemed that this summer would see at least a dozen suitors visiting the palace over the course of the five and a half months Morpheus would be at court.
Finally, one sweltering and humid summer day, the Prince reached his tipping point. He was hot and sticky, aggravated and on edge. This breaking point came around mid morning, when he had had enough of listening to the pompous treasurer drone on and on. Without preamble, he rose from his seat and stomped out of the council hall, ignoring the calls of his father and the advisors. Everyone he passed in the halls jumped out of his way, able to feel the ire rolling off him like the heat rising from the cobblestones.
He needed to get out, away from the palace, and burn off some of this aggravation before he did or said something rash.
His first stop was his chambers, where he changed from the fancier attire expected at court to a loose-fitting gray shirt and black cotton breeches tucked into tall riding boots. Already feeling a little better, he made a beeline for the stables. His piebald mare Jessamy was munching happily in her stall, but perked up when she heard Morpheus’ footsteps. The Prince waved off the anxious stable boy who stumbled over the words, “Should I saddle her sir?” in favor of slipping on the bridle himself and swinging up onto her bare back.
With a few clicks of his tongue and a gentle nudge with his heels, Jessamy gamely trotted out of her stall, past the stable boy, and all the way into the courtyard before tossing her head and cantering out the palace’s southern gate, away from the city.
The paths through the forest were wide and well kept. Morpheus followed the main road for about a mile before turning onto a trail that was barely visible, unless one knew where to look. He slowed Jessamy to a walk to better navigate the tall grass and rushes that threatened to overtake the narrow trail. This far into the woods, all the Prince could hear was the birds, the wind, and the puffs of his and Jessamy’s breaths. A relieved sigh rattled out of his lungs and he slumped slightly on her back.
The trail ended at a small lake surrounded by willow trees. The air was cooler here, almost like stepping into another world. Baby shoots of grass were starting to poke through the previous year’s fallen leaves, and twittering birds fluttered between branches. The lake was surrounded by intermittently placed boulders of various sizes, giving it the appearance of a faerie ring, or a window to another world. Some of these boulders were light and bare, others dark with patches of lichen and moss. They all made for excellent perches to sit on and dip one’s feet in the water.
Tiny fish swam about in their schools, the concaves of their nests visible on the lakebed through the crystal clear water. A frog croaked from somewhere within the leafy plants growing stubbornly between the rocks and into the lake.
Morpheus dismounted with another sigh and loosely tied Jessamy’s reins to a branch. The mare shook her head again and began to delicately nibble on the new spring grass. While she enjoyed her snack, Morpheus sat on one of the flatter boulders at the edge of the lake and tugged his boots off, followed by his socks, then his shirt.
The moan he let out when his feet slipped into the cold water was almost indecent. He let his eyes flutter shut and his head tilt back as he dug his toes into the soft silt. After a few quiet minutes, he rolled his breeches up to his knees and waded further into the lake, his arms held out slightly for balance as the sand shifted beneath his feet. He waded deeper and deeper, all the way to mid-thigh, not caring in the least that he would be riding back with soaked trousers. Adding one more item to the list of things his father berated him for wouldn’t make a difference.
Morpheus already felt much better than when he left the palace, but he could still feel his hackles bristling, could still sense the undercurrent of tension and resentment running through his shoulders. The cold water was, apparently, not to be enough to cool him off.
With an almost aggravated sigh (how could it have come to this?), Morpheus loosened the ties at his waist and reached past his undergarments into his breeches. A rumbling groan slipped past his self control as his fingers wrapped around his cock. His other hand shifted the waistband of his breeches so his cock could spring free, a shiver running down his spine at the contact with the humid air. His toes curled into the lakebed as he moved his hand faster, occasionally running his thumb over the slit.
He had worked himself to full hardness and was eagerly chasing his high when a branch snapped in the trees behind him. He jumped, startled, and his head swiveled, looking for the source of the sound. The Prince held still, so still that no new ripples formed in the water around his ankles.
After moments that seemed like years, Morpheus relaxed ever so slightly. It was probably just a deer stepping on a dry twig. His cock throbbed insistently, as if urging him to get back to the task at hand. Morpheus shook his head and turned his focus back to between his legs.
Another rustle in the bushes, this one closer. Morpheus frowned; he had now been twice interrupted, and the agitation was creeping back into his bones. “Who’s there?” he called, hoping he sounded more angry than anxious. He tucked himself back into his trousers and sloshed out of the lake, muscles coiled in anticipation.
Out of the trees stepped a man. Clearly a commoner, if his worn shirt and breeches were anything to go by. Dark hair was pulled into a respectably long tail at the nape of his neck, and a neatly trimmed beard of the same dark hair covered the lower half of his face. Morpheus could see a small patch of yet more dark hair peeking out from the low V of the man’s shirt. Earthy eyes sparkled in the patches of sunlight that made their way through the trees, and they were hazily focused on the bulge in the Prince’s trousers. He had clearly been lost in his own thoughts, an apple raised to his lips as if he were about to take a bite.
Morpheus was still frozen, but for an entirely different reason. For a commoner, this man was exceedingly handsome- had he been born to the nobility, he would have lords and ladies alike falling over themselves to win his favor.
Hob jumped when his mind registered he was standing before the Prince. For one, he thought that he and some of his friends were the only ones who knew about this little lake in the forest, and, two, holy shit that was Prince Morpheus standing in front of him, barefoot and bare chested, a semi creating a small bulge in the front of his breeches.
“Oh fuck!” The apple flew out of his hand- he fumbled to catch it, just barely holding on to the fruit as he sank into a low bow, one leg in front of the other, back leg bent, eyes firmly fixed on the ground, arms out to the sides as he had seen the other nobles do.
Morpheus held up a placating palm as he awkwardly said, “Please rise, there is no need to stand on ceremony,” even though the other couldn’t see the gesture.
Hob rose out of his bow and placed his hands behind his back so Morpheus wouldn’t see his nervous fidgeting. How was it possible this man was a prince, was incredibly gorgeous, AND had a voice that could lure any sailor to their watery grave? “A-apologies, sir, Highness, I- I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place-” He swallowed hard, trying in vain to control his nervous babble. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I can just-”
“It’s quite alright.” Morpheus chuckled in spite of himself- it sounded a little strained to his own ears, but maybe that was because the erection that had fled in his momentary fear was starting to make a comeback at the sight of the beautiful man before him. “I wasn’t aware others knew of this spot either.”
Hob laughed as well, tense and awkward, scratching the back of his head. But oh gods, his smile could light up the darkest of dungeons. Morpheus could feel his heart clench in his chest, already wanting to see that smile again. The Prince asked, “What is your name?”
“Robert,” Hob answered quickly with another little bow. “Robert Gadling. But my friends call me Hob.” He let out a bashfully choked laugh. “I already know who you are, Prince Morpheus. I mean, just about the whole realm knows who you are. Your Highness.”
Morpheus had taken a breath to respond when there was more rustling in the trees behind Hob, much more than what could be created by a single man or animal. The Prince froze again, lowered into a slight crouch. Hob immediately whirled around and positioned himself protectively between Morpheus and the tree line. His apple lay forgotten on the forest floor as he settled into a ready stance, his hands curled into loose fists, ready to strike or protect his torso.
Morpheus had always been independent to the point of being described as a loner, therefore the swirling feeling in his gut at the sight of Hob ready to defend him was completely foreign. It curled in his stomach and slithered between his legs, bringing back that inner heat the cold lake water had once absorbed. And if Hob didn’t see him glancing at the curve of his ass every few seconds… Well, that was between Morpheus and the trees.
The trees and grasses rustled again to reveal two men in dark gray rags, the lower halves of their faces covered with another piece of fabric. Dirt smudged the visible skin around their eyes. They were each carrying a wicked looking dagger, the blades sharp even if the handles were dotted with rust.
Hob immediately knew these were bandits- highwaymen that lurked in the trees and waited for the opportune moment to pounce. And they had just found quite the prize.
Jessamy snorted and stomped her feet, sensing the imminent danger. The bandits inched closer, step by step, knives held threateningly aloft. Hob glared at them, refusing to back down, hoping they would develop some sense and realize that whatever they had planned was not a good idea. One of them chuckled in eager anticipation.
“Turn around,” Hob ground out softly, eyes darting between the two, “and I won’t have to bash your heads in.” The bandits exchanged a momentary glance, as if debating the merit of Hob’s words. Apparently, they reached the decision that they had none, because they continued to advance, knives gleaming and ready to cut into flesh.
Morpheus crept back towards the lake, inching toward Jessamy, heart pounding in his throat. He had never encountered bandits before; the closest he had ever come to someone who had broken the law was on formal inspections of rehabilitation facilities where the offenders had been cleaned up and supervised by wardens. Now, he didn’t have wardens or his retinue or even his hunting knife- his only protection from these two bandits was another commoner who could just as easily decide Morpheus was worth the trouble of kidnapping, or killing, or both.
“Last warning,” Hob growled, the bandits now within striking distance.
The one on the right turned to his companion: “Get him.”
Hob swore then yelled to Morpheus, “Go! Leave!” as the first bandit came at him with the knife aloft, intending to bring it down into Hob’s shoulder, or wherever he could reach. He sidestepped the blow and redirected the bandit’s momentum so that he went stumbling towards the water.
The second bandit charged forward, knife point aimed at Hob’s chest. He grabbed the bandit’s wrist with enough force to make him drop the knife and drove his knee into the bandit’s side. The attacker grunted and doubled over, using the forward momentum to drive his shoulder into Hob’s stomach.
It was a lucky shot that knocked the wind out of him. Hob shoved the bandit away from him, hoping to buy a moment to catch his breath.
The first bandit had recovered his footing and rushed in from behind Hob, wrapping wiry arms around a golden throat. Hob’s eyes went wide as his breath was cut off, the bandit only squeezing harder as he struggled. The two assailants coordinated their next move with eye contact alone, one holding Hob by the throat while the other stepped into striking distance and threw a sloppy but strong punch at Hob’s face.
The bandit’s knuckles hit him square on the cheekbone. Hob cried out as his head snapped to the side. The man’s other fist came up and landed a punch across his mouth, hard enough to make his nose bleed and teeth rattle and split his bottom lip open.
“Fuck-” The swear was strained and came out with blood and spit. His vision starting to blacken around the edges, Hob reared his arm up and drove his elbow into the soft midsection at his back. Instantly, his windpipe was free as arms released him and the bandit doubled over in pain. Hob took several gasping breaths as he turned to the bandit who had been choking him and drove his fist into his temple, all the force and energy going down, hard enough to knock him out.
Hob turned his attention to the remaining bandit. The scrawny man was in a ready stance, hands curled into loose fists held up by his face, but clearly hesitant after watching his partner literally get beaten into the ground. Hob grinned, feral and almost cocky as he mimicked the man’s stance- on a closer look, he was barely a man, just an older boy with his first whiskers. Hob didn’t want to hurt the kid, but he may not have a choice.
With unexpected ferocity, the boy lunged closer, fist ready to fly. Hob dodged one punch, then another, the third glancing off his shoulder- poor lad was already panting for breath, sparking just a hint of pity.
“Come on, lad,” he tried reasoning, “just walk away.”
The young man’s only response was a desperate yell as he charged Hob, going for a grapple. Hob easily deflected him with a step and a twist, sending the bandit falling hard on his back. Hob settled into his stance, and with a well-aimed kick to his temple, he too was dealt with.
Silence suddenly rang in the clearing, broken only by Hob’s slightly panting breaths. His hands were still clenched into ready fists at his sides.
Morpheus had sprinted a quarter of the way around the lake to where he had tethered Jessamy. He had been ready to bolt at Hob’s word, now he soothed the mare with soft words and gentle caresses. It was like he was watching the whole thing through hazy glass, observing and present but removed, just left of in tune with the world. His chest felt tight, his hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to process all that had happened in a few short moments.
Hob moved out of his combative stance to crouch beside one of their would-be assailants. Morpheus quickly retied Jessamy to the branch and walked over to Hob, feeling extremely awkward and somewhat out of his depth. What did one say to the handsome stranger who had undoubtedly saved him from being abducted, if not worse? ‘Thank you’ did not seem to be anywhere near enough, far less than what Hob was owed for his deed. And yet, the words ‘thank you’ seemed to stick in his throat, refusing to come out.
He stood uncomfortably over Hob, who was pawing through the bandits’ clothes, hoping to find some clue as to their motives, and whether they went beyond simple highway robbery. The Prince had taken a fortifying breath to thank his protector when Hob ground out a curse in another language he had learned from a merchant. In his hand was a worn letter, folded and held together with a black seal. A sigil of stars and other symbols of magick was pressed into the wax.
It was, without a doubt, the seal of Roderick Burgess, King of Fawney Rigg.
“You might want to see this, Highness.” Hob rose to his feet and handed Morpheus the letter. His free hand swiped at his split lip and bloody nose- at least it wasn’t broken, again. He could feel the flesh around his cheekbone swelling painfully. Hob caught the Prince’s sympathetic flinch, small as it was, as he took the paper. Icy eyes quickly scanned its contents, dark brows furrowing closer together the more he read.
“I must return to the palace.” The words tumbled out of him as he refolded the letter and stuffed it in the waistband of his breeches. Moving quickly, Morpheus tugged his shirt back over his head and boots onto his feet as he continued, “My father needs to be made aware of what happened. Burgess sending armed men across our border with orders to watch and intercept me is no idle threat.”
He unhitched Jessamy and used a fallen log as a mounting block, swinging a lithe leg over her back and expertly gathering the reins. He looked down at Hob as he wheeled her around, holding himself with the distant majesty of a monarch despite his disheveled state. Hob could only stare up in awe, a worshiper at the foot of his god. Dappled beams of sunlight illuminated the Prince like a halo, and Hob was sure in that moment the Prince was indeed fae touched as the rumors went, if not outright divine in his own right.
“I think it is no exaggeration to say you saved my life,” Morpheus proclaimed, even if the forest and the man before him were the only ones to hear the royal edict. “I am in your debt, Robert Gadling. And I will settle that debt once this threat to the Dreaming is resolved.”
Hob bowed at his words, low and slow and reverent. A few globs of blood dribbled out of his nose and onto the grass. As he rose, he said, “Then at least let me escort you out of the forest and to the main road. I doubt there are any more of these men lurking around, Highness, but I would feel better seeing you to safety.” The last part was true, but Hob figured he probably shouldn’t mention the other reason for his offer: Prince Morpheus had utterly enchanted him, and this was likely to be the last time he’d see the man up close, let alone speak to him one to one, and he wasn’t ready for it to be over.
Pale, elegant fingers twitched briefly around the reins as Morpheus considered his words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for the right response. Finally, he settled on, “I would be glad of your company. Let us go.”
He clicked his tongue to get Jessamy moving at a walk, Hob keeping pace beside her. They were silent as they picked their way back to the main forest road, but Hob was on high alert. His eyes darted back and forth, fists clenching and releasing in time with his steps. It was relatively easy to ignore the stickiness of drying blood around his mouth and chin when he was so focused on looking for signs of danger. Thankfully, the trip passed without incident. Morpheus pulled Jessamy to a halt once they were inside the city gates.
“My thanks again, Robert Gadling.” Jessamy pawed at the ground as Morpheus spoke, eager to be back in the safety of her stall. “I do not like leaving my debts unpaid.” The unspoken request for Hob to name his price hung in the air like a phantom. Hob merely gave the Prince a gentle smile and bowed again, still formal but relaxed and easy.
“This time spent with you is payment enough, Highness.” He paused and bit his lip, plucking up his courage with a slight wince of pain. “May I… Could I call on you? If my day’s work brings me to the palace.”
Morpheus turned the request over in his mind long enough for Jessamy to grow impatient. He soothed her with a few gentle pats on her neck. “You may,” he finally replied. “As long as my duties permit, I will be glad to receive you.” Morpheus had already turned his horse and urged her into a trot before Hob could say a proper farewell. The gentle goodbye hung unspoken on his lips. Finally, he sighed and kicked a stray pebble as he made his way to the boarding house he called home for a bath and some rest.
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Just gonna harp on vampire!angleface real quick
During the whole demo bat music distraction it's not just eddie, but you tag-team with him. Instead of him going down, you take the fall to the bats. Cut to devastated fruity four, honestly everyone, they just lost a friend, and the four just lost their love.
Days pass and they can't except your gone, it hurts too much, grief and regret of ever letting you get involved. Eddie feeling so completely like he let you down, he couldn't save you.
Then one night, everyone's sleep is disrupted by noises downstairs, Eddie and Steve heading down to investigate. Robin and Nancy following down when the guys seem to be down there to long, and finding them smothering hugging their angel, though you are clearly more toothy than before. But they don't care! They have their darling back so nothing else in the world matters, at least for the moment.
ohohoho....love me some feral angelface >:).....also dear god steve's fuckin badonkadonk in this gif-
(cws: vampire!f!angelface, fruity four, post-s4, character death, canon divergence, violence, blood + hefty gore imagery, grief/mourning elements, references to s2, some LOTR references, the kids make an appearance, el uses her powers, action sequences to broaden my portfolio heyoo!)
All Eddie remembers is blood. Blood and screaming, wailing, inhuman gurgling and the sounds of flesh tearing away from bone--that's the last image he has of you, your limbs bent at odd angles and your body soaked and slick with blood and viscera, your beautiful face drenched in your own blood and your eyes glossy as you whimpered his name, over, and over, and over, his hands shaking as he held you....and then your last breath left your lungs, and you were gone.
To be completely honest, he would've rather died that night. He's wished for the weeks since your death that he would've taken your place, or if he can be completely selfish, if he had just died along with you if that was to be your fate. The feeling of your hands on his back, shoving him out of the way of that first demobat that spelled out your demise, will haunt him for every miserable day he lives without you.
If nothing else, then at least misery loves company. Because the looks on the other's faces, the kids, when they discovered your fate were....they were just awful. Even worse were his partners. Steve, Robin, and Nancy....though the world was numb to him at that point, their voices muffled as if they were speaking to him through glass, he could hear their anguish. Felt Robin's tears on his cheek as she clung to him and sobbed, listened distantly to Nancy's screams of uncontained rage and grief, breaking anything and everything she could find outside. And Steve just stood there as numb as himself, no doubt running through every single choice he made that had led to your death, as he would for the rest of his life.
Losing you, it's like....like Frodo dying on the crack of Mount Doom. The nightmare was almost over, the enduring march nearly to a close, the burden almost broken. Even if you'd been hurt, you would still return home to the Shire. He would've carried you all the way back, eagles or no eagles, and he would've at least taken your body back through the gate if Dustin hadn't dragged him away. "Can't lose you too!" What fucking bullshit. He would have rather died next to you, if it meant he'd at least be wherever you were. He can't bring himself to blame the poor kid, though, because he's been just as gutted at the loss of you, as have all the other kids when they heard the news. A member of the party gone, never coming home.
There's reminders of you everywhere, both intentional and not. Your room hasn't been touched aside from each of them drifting in every so often, settling into your bed or touching the things that still smell of you. Except for Steve--he can't bring himself to step over the threshold of your bedroom, and usually averts his eyes as he passes by it if the door is left open, if he doesn't close it altogether. The clothes you'd left in the dirty hamper never end up getting washed, and yet the food that's always kept in the kitchen that you loved is constantly restocked, whether they end up having to trash it or not. Your spot on the couch is never sat on, but the mug Eddie bought you for your birthday, your favourite of any you've ever owned, is always full and set at your place at the table for every supper. It's painfully monotonous, the same grief being replayed day after day after day, but the rest of the world spins along like Hawkins hasn't lost the best thing it ever fucking had.
But you're dead. The Shire may as well burn without you--burn it all to the ground, because there's no reason to save it if he won't get to share it with you. It doesn't feel at all worth it to wake up every day after that, knowing there's an empty space in the house you all used to share. The hours drag on every day, and it's a lot of monotony, really. The other three try to busy themselves, but the only one who really understands his inertia is Robin--sometimes she just crawls into bed with him when he can't get up, and lets him hold her until she's called away by one of the others. He loves them, loves them just as he loved you, but things can't be the same now that you're gone no matter what they do or how hard they try.
But then comes the day that Dustin's voice crackles through the walkie. Eddie was actually feeling a little better that morning, had a dip in the afternoon but managed to eat dinner with the rest of them. The seat at the end is still sitting empty, the scarf Robin had clumsily knitted you for the cold season draped over the top. Eddie had swallowed down almost the entire bowl of soup when the static had started up, the radio with ever-changing batteries coming to life where it always sits on the kitchen counter.
"Code Red! Code Red! Come in, Riders of Rohan! Steve, fucking pick up the--zzt--goddamn walkie!"
The man in question had rushed out of his seat to squabble back at Dustin through the receiver, annoyed but clearly concerned as he demanded to know the problem--what warranted using the emergency channel when they haven't heard news of any "aftershocks" so to speak, for a while.
"Something's going on--shit, bring your guns, and the bat, too! Meet up at the cellar behind my house--zzt!"
The end of the transmission trails off, and like a group of professional first responders, the four of them forget any further questioning when Steve's frantic palm hitting the side of the radio, and his shout of Dustin's name offers no results. They jump right into action, knocking over their chairs as they scramble through the house to gather their tools--even Eddie, who hurries straight for the broom closet where he's kept his spear and shield from that night. When he throws open the door and reaches for where he knows they're propped up, he hesitates. A flash of a memory zips through his mind.
They didn't save her, so what use are they?
But he ignores that thought. For now, at least, and he grabs both of them to haul them towards the front door. Nancy flips up the window seat in the living room to take out her hidden guns, the shotgun gripped tight in her hand while she tosses the pistol at Robin, and the revolver's handed to Steve for him to stick into the back of his belt--he prefers the bat, though. More control. More familiar.
All suited up, they tear out of the driveway of Steve's otherwise empty house, his BMW kicking up a spray of gravel as he skids on to the road and speeds like a demon towards the Henderson house. They pull up on to the property in record time, barely waiting for Steve to roll to a stop before the three of them are hitting the ground and running around the side of the building--and just about pull their guns on Mike and Will when they come round out of the darkness with a flashlight to meet them, the poor kids almost pissing themselves with respective shrieks as Nancy jerks the muzzle and aims it right at her brother's forehead. With a "Christ, Mike!" and a gasp of relief, she lowers it immediately and follows them as they run down the hill towards those infamous cellar doors, where Dustin, Max, Lucas, and El are all waiting. Steve's the one that runs right to his little protégé, a hand outstretched to grab his baseball cap-clad head as he demands to know the status of everyone.
Eddie himself lingers behind them, garnering a few piteous stares from the other kids. They must know his state of being from what the others have told them, and how they haven't seen much of him since the incident--but they probably didn't know he'd be so quiet, his eyes heavy with bags that his night terrors have kept around, and his stature more hunched and thin and gaunt than before. El seems especially sensitive to his presence, despite knowing little of him personally, and she touches his arm when he gets close with a look of sympathy written clear on her features. It's....surprisingly comforting. Even moreso from a little superhero like her.
And before Dustin can say more than just confirm that everyone present is fine, the heavy metal doors in the ground start to rattle. Not just once, and not gently--they shake violently, a menagerie of sounds emanating from within that resemble that of a monster. The worst of which is the guttural, animalistic growling, that renders everyone silent and sobered as they stare down at the locked cellar.
"Dustin, what the hell is down there?" The curly-haired kid shrugs his shoulders, looking back at Steve with wide eyes that say "How the fuck should I know?" before their attention is drawn back by another rattle and an unsettingly familiar screech.
"Whatever it is, it needs to die." Nancy mutters with finality, cocking her shotgun to ready it and simultaneously humbling everyone present in the same moment. She's more than proven her worth with a firearm at this point. Another rattle, and she doesn't flinch, just stares down the invisible enemy behind the barrier.
These particular doors have been chained shut with a padlock for some time, which is the only reason the shaking doors don't buckle as whatever is inside fights to get out. When a rougher one kicks up, Steve motions for the kids to stand back and keep their flashlights off, asking that cryptic question to his best friend of whether the hole is still there.
"Duh! How would I explain that to my mother? I already had to figure out the whole cat situation."
"Well, I think we know how whatever it is got in there, then, dingus." Steve replies, and Dustin pales as another thud makes them all jump. The older boy waves them back further, and only then does El let go of Eddie's sleeve, moving to stand between Will and Mike as they get back by the trees that border Dustin's backyard.
The four of them then approach the cellar from all sides out front, facing off with that slanted door and readying each of their weapons. Safeties off, bat readied over the shoulder, shield up and spear poised. As ready as they should have been when you needed them. That's what drills through Eddie's head as his heart thuds wildly in his ears.
"Eddie-" Steve turns to say something more, eyes filled with conflict at watching one of the people he loves face death again. Something about all this feels too familiar, but Eddie can't get his mind off the fury that's bubbling in his chest as the doors start thudding even louder and a howling rises out from behind them.
"Let's rip this fucking thing to pieces."
He growls, and turns his head over his shoulder to match the gaze of the brown-haired girl watching his every move--and when he nods, she returns it back to him with just as much determination, and raises her hand with a tremble to her fingers. With a moment to focus, she stares down the chains that circle round the handles, and flexes her pointer finger with the slightest pull for the padlock to shatter open and the chains to fall and slide down to the ground underneath.
Almost immediately, the doors fly open at once and the democreature explodes into view, but it somehow isn't at all what any of them expected to see. The mass of flesh and wrinkled, gray skin speckled with dirt and dried blood is familiar, but it is clearly entangled in a struggle with another of the same kind as they burst out the cellar doors and skid across the grass, right between Steve and Eddie's legs and into the clearing just in front of the kids. And a sequence of events spring into action almost immediately following that, the encounter like a flash of action that Eddie would much rather experience in D&D than real life again.
Steve turns on his heel to shout "Out of the way!" as the kids scream in horror and the democreatures break apart--but when he does, another bat flies out of the dark, open cellar and crashes into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground face-first with a cry, his grip still tight on the handle of his bat. Behind him, Nancy's turning to aim her weapon at the same bats he'd had his eye on, while Robin rushes forward to rear up a kick on the one clinging to the back of Steve's neck. And when two more come flying out, flapping their wings and screeching, a curse rips out of Eddie's throat as his vision goes red and he stabs at the nearest one with a violent battle cry, spearing it almost perfectly through the stomach and slinging the spear in an arc to fling the twitching, lifeless body off and send it rolling across the lawn. Blood splatters over the grass and the next one is about to get the same treatment, just as Robin's knocked Steve's attacker off and shot at it frantically, leaving three or four gaping holes in its body and the ground, but Eddie's next swing misses and so does Nancy's carefully aimed shot at one of the two facing off with each other. The two of them still don't stop thrashing, teeth tearing brutally into each other like they've got some kind of personal vendetta between predator and predator, even as they narrowly miss a killshot with a roll of entwined bodies across the dirt.
But just as she's cocking her gun again, and the kids are hurriedly backing away with their hands on each other to brace themselves, Eddie's heart sinks, and then stops. The bat he had missed flies overhead, circling with more screeches as it must realize it's outnumbered--but it's also bleeding, even though none of them have grazed it. And all four of them watch in shock as one of the ones on the ground lets out its own screech, distinct in how loud and gurgly it sounds, as if it has blood welling up in a non-existent throat. It flaps up and slides back in the direction of the kids, but it doesn't face them. It spreads its wings and bares its fangs at the other bat it's been tangled with, as if it's somehow not only brimming with vengeance, but also trying to protect the party members watching on in empty-handed horror.
"Nancy, don't-!" With only a second to react, Eddie's focus zeroes in on the sound of Nancy raising her gun, head turning and fingers roughly grabbing the barrel to shove it away--and when she misfires at the ground nearby, startled at his intervention, the wounded bat and the one flying overhead both startle at the sound and lunge. One goes for the bigger, oddly-behaving one, but the one above them dives down at a concentrated target--him.
And it hits, collides with him square in the chest just as he's shoving Nancy away, and his world tips as the shield and spear fall from his hands and he shrieks and stumbles back--but the sensation of falling dizzies him as it lasts too long, and pain cracks through his skull at the same time he gasps out for oxygen, the air knocked straight out of his lungs as he hits the concrete stairs and slides all the way down to the bottom. The world there is dark, and cold, and hazy, his vision blurred with black as the screams of his most beloved loves of his life ring in his ears, and his body jerks in pain as the demobat sinks its teeth into his supple chest to devour him. And the only clarity he has is in his thoughts. I'm getting my just desserts. This is what I deserve.
What he doesn't know, what he can't see from where he lies or register in his concussed head, is that the end is far from near. He's not alone, and though it feels as miserable as that place as the monster tears into his flesh, he's not in the Upside Down anymore. Hope soon arrives in the form of that larger, oddly-behaving bat as it soars down the arc over the steps with its attacker still hanging by its heavy wing, and Eddie chokes and gasps for air again when his savior swings its dogged-down limb and knocks his attacker off with its own. The two offending creatures fly with a pathetic shrieking noise before hitting the concrete wall of the cellar, shelves rattling beside it as the two bodies leave cracks behind before they collapse to the ground. Dizzied, they wobble back up to full height with the help of their injured wings, hissing back at him and the heroic bat that's now perched itself on top of his bleeding chest. The howling, gurgly cry that it bellows at the two of them as they start approaching doesn't help his pounding head, but the intimidation keeps them at bay long enough for Steve and Robin to come running down the stairs with their hands free. The kids and Nancy aren't far behind as they wait at the top and shout their names in a panic to hurry them along, the bat on his chest not breaking the outnumbered staredown and threatening hisses even as it eases itself off of him, not even glancing at his heroes as his two partners rush to grab each arm of his and pull him up to half-carry, half-drag him back up the stairs and out of immediate danger.
Steve's hand instantly comes up to cradle his lolling head when the cool air fills his lungs, terror flaring up on his face as he finds his boyfriend's hair slick with blood from a gash against his skull. He pulls him back out of the way for Nancy to assume her position at the top of the stairs, and aim her sights down to shoot anything that dares to come back up. Eddie's trying to get those words out, warn her dazedly not to hurt the big one, don't touch it, please--but it doesn't matter, in the end.
Because in the next minute or two, all they hear is violent screeching, thrashes, clattering and the heavy thuds of things falling off shelves, and the pained cries of animals tearing each other apart. With only the light of the moon overhead and the small beams of light that the kids' flickering flashlights illuminate against the darkness, they see very little save for a few glimpses of wings and splatters of blood--but when it all grows quiet, each one of them waits in fearful anxiety, until the soft gurgles and sound of nails clacking against concrete fill the tense silence.
Something shifts, and a groan rises up out of the dark, strange enough that Nancy readjusts her hold on the gun, and takes several steps back and to the side to get a better shot if need be. In a moment their flashlights all go out completely, and the sounds of Lucas, Mike, and Will nervously smacking their tools with the palms of their hands soon get shushed by Robin, her hand outstretched to give them pause while her other one protectively grips Eddie's arm. A soft, sudden thud echoes off the walls down the steps, and all heads turn to the source with a held breath as the first is followed by several more. Closer, and closer, and closer, like footsteps--until the moonlight meets skin, scarred and glossy with all manner of blood, and eyes that glimmer and reflect back their shocked stares as they watch the figure emerge. Eddie truly can't believe what he's seeing, thinking completely that he's trapped in a concussion-induced hallucination.
Because there's no way you're standing at the top of the steps. Your clothes tattered and gashed in the places he watched you get bitten to shreds, your skin lifeless and cold, yet your mouth dripping with blackened ooze--and when you open it, it's to spit out a chunk of bloodied gray flesh that shlups against the dirt, clearly torn straight from your enemy with the aid of those fangs that gleam with blood.
You're dead. But you're standing right there, the sight of you gives him the strength to straighten up in Steve's embrace, and when he meets your eyes they pierce right through his soul. For that moment, he naively wonders with guilt hanging down his shoulders whether....whether you're gonna hurt them, too. Whether you're a monster disguised as the girl he's loved more than his own life, risen up from the Upside Down to torture them all into the same death you suffered.
But while he's doubting himself, doubting you, there's one person there that doesn't waste a second. El comes sprinting up to you with a shocked grin like what just happened never did, and steps over the mouthful of bat-flesh you spat out to throw her arms around you in a tight hug. And before you've even managed to get your own arms back around her, Dustin's rushing by next, his hat flying off and tumbling to the ground as he hugs your side, nuzzled up underneath your elbow. You squeeze them both so tight, your features relaxing from that intense focus to pure relief, and by the time they're pulling away to give you room Eddie's found himself shambling towards you. He uses Steve and Robin's hands for balance at first, still shaky from getting his brain knocked around his skull--but when he reaches out for you, you meet him with a single step, and catch him against your chest as he collapses into it. Tears already pouring out of him with choked-up sobs to match, he trembles like a leaf when you send a gurgly whisper into his ear.
"I missed you, Eddie."
He could just drop to his knees at that moment, but your voice renews his strength, and he clings to you even tighter as warmer bodies cluster around him and you. Robin hugs your side and Nancy drops her gun to huddle up to the opposite one, with Steve circling his big arms around nearly all three of you to hug you so tight it hurts. But through tears Steve's laughing for the first time in months, and so is Robin, while Nancy's buried her face in your neck and Eddie has a kiss already pressed to your bloody cheek. They'll only get a little longer to bask in the glory of having you return from the dead, because soon enough the tension has totally lifted and the other kids are burrowing past the adults to get in their own hugs. Especially Max and Will, who can't help but start laughing along with the older ones as they push past "you big gross lovebirds" to get to the friend they thought they'd lost forever. It's a moment Eddie's craved so deeply but could never believe he'd have, not even in his deepest fantasies, because to even imagine how things could be different is too painful when reality has been beating him down all this time.
The moment isn't destined to last, either. Because in as sobering a way as possible to remind you all of your current situation, a terrifying howl echoes from the depths of the cellar and you all break apart to turn towards it. It's deep enough that whatever it is isn't upon you yet, but Eddie watches as he gets another taste of your newfound instincts--you throw your arms out in front of everyone standing close to the doors, and face down the pitch darkness with a fury etched into your face that he can truly empathize with. With one word growled out in that guttural yet incredibly sexy voice, "Back", all of them shuffle back a generous distance from the danger zone, save for your partners. Including himself, despite just now finding enough steadiness to stand on his own as he bends down to grab his abandoned weapons, still sitting where he'd dropped them upon being attacked. You look amongst them with worry tracing your expression, so familiar it's like he's seeing the girl he knew before all of this, before she became something else. But the others pick up their weapons, and stand unflinching as a much greater screech rattles the window panels on the Henderson house just over the hill.
"You're not gonna face them alone this time, sweetheart." Eddie feels his own voice rumble in his throat, and finds the smile he thought he'd never show again as you look back at him with that darling sweetness in your own.
"Never. We're with you." Steve joins in, shaking his head as he pulls the revolver out from his belt, and swings the bat around in tight circles with his other clenched fist. Nancy's concentration grows hard again as she glares down at whatever's preparing to come out, her trigger finger steady as ever, while Robin checks her pistol's magazine and clicks it back in before aiming it with a confidence he's rarely seen.
And you get a wild look in your eyes, the smell of hotly pumping blood exciting your senses as you stretch out your fingers--and in a transformation so fast it would be missed within a blink, Eddie watches in awe as your body contorts in a sudden jerk before exploding into a mass of dark, taut flesh running rife with veins and pulsing muscles. Your wings outstretch in place of arms, and you somehow look even larger up close, easily dwarfing any inferior creature with size and with vicious fervor--and when you release a warning screech into the night, the rumbling of whatever is fast approaching grows louder, and all five of you ready yourselves one last time for a fight. But this time, together.
#fruity four#fruity four x reader#eddie's angelface#vampire!angelface#eddie munson#steve harrington#nancy wheeler#robin buckley#the party#eddie munson x reader#steve harrington x reader#nancy wheeler x reader#robin buckley x reader#st 4#stranger things#ellie writes#cutelittlenightmarethings#anons
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Trick or treat!
Pippin had a Plan.
It was a Very Good Plan. It was a Cunning Plan.
It was the sort of plan that would make Gandalf turn that particularly exquisite shade of red.
(Despite what Merry might say, Pippin almost always intended to make Gandalf turn that colour. It was hardly ever accidental.)
He enlisted the help of Bilbo with his plan, for Bilbo was the sort of hobbit that appreciated hijinks and tomfoolery.
Bilbo had two of the most important parts in the plan, and that was equipping Pippin with a costume and casually bringing up the hobbit traditions for the end of harvest to their elvish host during dinner where all visitors could hear it.
He had managed to convince Frodo to join in, with liberal application of his puppy eyes and whingy voice, so that it was not just him wandering around the Last Homely House.
(Frodo joining in also meant that Merry felt left out, which meant he too joined in. Really Pippin amazed himself sometimes with how clever he was.)
(Sam had refused to. He told them that he would much rather enjoy his comfortable bed than participate in a tradition for Tweens and Faunts.)
Pippin thought he himself looked the most dashing in his outfit, for Bilbo had leant him a tunic he had bought from Erebor. Frodo wore a piece of armour that shone and sparkled in the light, while Merry was stuck in muddy clothes and borrowing a pair of Sam’s sheers.
(Why Sam had brought gardening tools into the wilderness was a question that even Sam could not answer.)
They chose an easy first target, Strider spent enough time with Bilbo to likely be aware of the Plan or at least spent enough time around the Shire to know of the tradition.
Merry was the one to knock on his door, and when Strider opened it with a grin was the one to call out the ancient refrain:
“Trick or Treat!”
Strider grinned back and, once again, threw apples at them. This time Pippin was rather proud of himself for catching them.
“Have a bountiful harvest, master hobbits!” He called out, before swiftly shutting his door again.
Likely he knew that Pippin knew he had better sweets in his room than apples and did not want to share them.
No matter, apples were not a bad start to the Plan.
The next door they tried was the Lady Arwen’s, for she had been close to Bilbo at dinner and seemed the sort to be well prepared.
“Trick or Treat!” Frodo called when the Lady opened her door.
Lady Arwen smiled, “What excellent timing! I had hoped for someone to share this marzipan with!”
And so it went on, each of their targets carefully chosen, and each of their treats gladly acquired.
Until one door remained.
Pippin would have rubbed his hands together in glee if he was not holding a bag of precious treats. The final door, the one he had been looking forward to.
He did not let either of the others knock, for this was his target and his Plan.
The door creaked open, only to show a dark and empty room.
The words stuck on his tongue - where was Gandalf?
“TRICK OR TREAT!”
The words boomed from behind them, and Pippin was not ashamed to say he let out the tiniest little scream as he jumped and turned around. Nor again when they were plunged into darkness until only Gandalf’s craggy face was lit up in red.
“I think I choose trick, my dear hobbits,” The wizard said with glee, “And so I do believe I have tricked you!”
Pippin narrowed his eyes and huffed as Gandalf laughed to himself.
Using wizard powers was blatantly cheating!
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Y’all know what fucking time it is… in other news, I updated my e-reader this week and it deleted all the pages I had bookmarked/stuff I had highlighted 🥲 the horrors persist but so do I
KAYA’S STEDDIE-FIC WEEK PART 2 🕺🏻💃🏻
1. Lovesick in Loch Nora by @red-0ak-tree
THIS is literally the scriptures, THIS is the ancient texts of Steddie, I’m not even kidding… if I’m trying to get someone into Steddie & reading fics, this is what I’m showing them… the Steddie dynamic is so beautiful and so palpable, and I don’t think I’ve every seen the characters sound SOOO much like themselves (ngl I have a theory this was written by one of the ST writers who wanted to make Steddie happen but the producers wouldn’t let them because COWARDS)… I finished this and immediately went to read it again, purely for the experience of it… most definitely in the top 3 fics I’ve ever read
2. the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you by @greatunironic
let me just start out by saying how OBSESSED I am with the title, and then continue by telling y’all how much this fic DESTROYED me and put me back together at the same time?!?! there’s so much beauty and so much pain in this fic, it’s so emotional, vulnerable and authentic… I’d almost forgotten that feeling of when you hang onto an author’s EVERY WORD, but this fic reminded me of that feeling in every single way
3. stereoscope by @seraphhy
this fic is so beautiful in the most painful ways possible (don’t recommend reading while on period, speaking from personal experience 🥲)… if you’re looking for fluff, this is NOT the fic for you, but if you’re an emotional masochist like me, you literally HAVE TO read it, I don’t make the rules… god, there’s just something about Steve being broken and Eddie putting him back together over and over and over again, isn’t there? and don’t even get me started on the turn of phrase in this one… just magnificent
4. The Shire is NOT on Fire by kissesforcas (not sure if this author is on Tumblr)
this fic is like a warm hug, but if the warm hug had really good smut lmao… the premise of this is that Eddie & the kids drag Steve to a renaissance festival/LARP convention, and ofc stuff happens because Steve in fantasy costumes (I’ve never related to Eddie more phaha)… them flirting in this one had me giggling and kicking my feet like a schoolgirl, occasionally even in public but I really couldn’t help myself
to sum up, this might be my favourite week of Steddie fics ever ever ever, they’re all such classics and I’m so beyond grateful I got to read and experience them… I laughed, I screamed, I cried, I mourned, and I would do it all over again in a heartbeat ♥️
#steddie#fanfic#fanfiction#stranger things#ao3#eddiemunson#steveharrington#ao3 writer#writing#steddie fic#steddie fanfiction#steddie fic rec#weekly fic recs#fic roundup#fic rec#fic recommendation#y’all i’m not okay
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Bucky have you seen the BS on Twitter?
People really out there saying Elrond and Gil-galad are Galadriel's enemies T-T
When you think it cannot go lower-... you discover a new basement of stupidity!!!
Oh, believe me, I saw the nonsense circulating on Twitter, and honestly? Not even surprised anymore—just endlessly disappointed.
Some people really watched The Rings of Power and came away thinking Elrond and Gil-galad, two of Galadriel’s most consistent allies and supporters, are somehow her “enemies”? That’s some world-class selective interpretation. It’s clear they missed every ounce of depth, loyalty, and respect that runs through those relationships, all in some ridiculous attempt to rewrite Elrond as a hindrance rather than the grounding force he is. Watching the show must be optional for these folks, because only a blatant misreading could lead someone to conclude that Elrond, who has done nothing but support and look out for her, is some sort of threat.
And the low blows at Rob's physique?
That’s a level of immaturity that would have Sauron himself shaking his head. When people have to stoop so low as to insult an actor’s physique, it’s clear their argument is so flimsy it couldn’t withstand a breeze in the Shire, much less the harsh winds of Caradhras. Rob has brought a depth and authenticity to Elrond that Tolkien would be proud of, filling the role with warmth, intelligence, and the steady loyalty that defines Elrond’s character. So, to see so-called “fans” lashing out at him just because he doesn’t fit their narrow view? It’s beyond petty—it’s just plain pathetic.
Let’s call it what it is: this is nothing but sour grapes from people who can’t handle a version of Elrond that doesn’t line up with their fantasy projections. Instead of addressing anything remotely relevant, they take to Twitter with their weak, childish jabs as though reducing a deeply nuanced portrayal to nothing but a physique critique will somehow validate their point. This is the digital equivalent of trolls hiding under a bridge, popping out only to scream about things they don’t understand. It takes a special kind of cowardice to insult someone’s looks from behind a screen and call it an “opinion.”
If these people spent half as much time engaging with the actual content as they do criticizing a man’s jawline, they might realize that Rob’s Elrond is exactly what the show needed.
But no—clearly, that would require the kind of discernment and attention to detail that, at this rate, they’d probably have to borrow from a hobbit. Until these so-called “fans” learn to actually engage with what’s on the screen, they’ll continue spinning in their echo chamber, loudly proclaiming their “takes” like Gollum clutching his precious biases, completely blind to the richness and authenticity they’re missing.
The reality is, they can’t stand seeing a layered, genuinely supportive bond between Galadriel and Elrond, one that defies the typical romantic tropes and centers on mutual respect, trust, and loyalty. So, instead, they twist it beyond recognition.
Let’s be honest: until these people learn to actually pay attention to what’s on their screen, they’re simply not worth engaging with.
They’re more interested in tearing down than appreciating what’s there, and that says far more about them than it does about the show or the characters.
Imagine calling this man all kinds of names.
These people better be counting their blessings that I’m neck-deep in more important things (exams lmao) and not prowling around Twitter, because, if I had the time, they’d be sent packing and weeping back to their mothers faster than you can say ‘Hobbiton.’
[For legal reasons, this is a joke lmao.]
#elrondriel#galadriel#elrond x galadriel#galadriel x elrond#the rings of power#elrond peredhel#robert aramayo#trop season 2#gil galad#rop#benjamin walker#lotr#the rings of power spoilers
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The hobbit x reader
Bilbo x child reader
Bilbo bagging was known as a play boy in the shire, not just to hobbit lads and lasses.
So when it comes to the dwarfs and Gandalf arrive to Rivendell, they are surprised by Elrond knowing his name, but only meeting him for the fist time in person?
Imagine even more to there suppries to a Gorgon (snake hair) child running to Bilbo yelling father!
Bilbos daughter has been studying with lord Elrond for a year.
Bonus if you put (y/n) asks if Thorin is your new mommy, que the dwarfs laughing.
Thorin x Bilbo
father!Bilbo x child!reader
You didn't precise the gender of the child so I used They \ them. (gn! reader).
waning: My bad writing, this is my first request so I hope you like it.
In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort. The name of the Hobbit was Bilbo Baggins.
Bilbo Baggins was a very known hobbit beyond the Shine. He used to be a "playboy" in his "youth", as he liked to call it, but now he had stopped after that God offered him one of the most magnificent gifts in all his life.
Now he was offered a second gift, but this time he was relucted in taking it, but he eventually come around as he saw a small possibility of seeing his baby, his child.
As you may have guessed, Bilbo's first gift was for a child. A child not like the others. They were everything to him, the only person who brought out the best of him.
He could remember every detail about them, every first thing, their first step, their first word, he was there to see it. Unfortunately, he may not watch them grow, as The ugly orc hunted them down, and even with the brown wizard driving them away, they still got caught, forcing them to fight.
"Where are you leading us?" Thorin asked his eyes burning with anger, yet the grey wizard didn't respond, he just turned to him with a scowl planted on his face before he continue moving, and as much as Thorin wanted to argue with the Gandalf, he knew they didn't have time, either they follow him or they die.
They fought their way or rather the Drwaf did, to a cave where they followed a mysterious path, Leading them to a beautiful place, full of immense buildings connected to each other, and everything about it screamed majestically. It was nothing compared to what Bilbo had seen in his life.
"Valley of Imladris, in the common time, it's known but another name" Gandalf exclaimed his face full of joy at the familiar place.
"Rivendell" Bilbo continued for the grey wizard. He felt a sense of relief and happiness for different reasons from Gandalf. He couldn't believe he was standing a few feet away from the place, where…
"Here lies the last and only house of east of the sea" Gandalf interrupted Bilbo's thoughts, explaining to everyone (Biblo) the brief history of the place.
"This was your plan all along, to seek refuge with our enemy" thorin spitted, his face showing every little bit of hate he had towards the Elvens.
"You have no enemies here Thorin Ocanshild" Gandalf's face turned to a scroll again at Thron, who he felt disappointed for letting his hate cloud his mind.
"the only ill will to fear in this valley is what you bring yourself" Gandalf continued eying the young prince in front of him. While Bilbo stood there, on Gandalf's side, his hand moving in the air. He couldn't help the smile that grow on his face, and he shyly tilted his head in an attempt to hide it until it disappear, yet it never did, not when they walked to the entrance, not even when the Lord addressed him, with knowing eyes.
"Mrs Baggins" Loard unacknowledged the Hobbit's presence, who just nodded his head. Which resulted in suspicious looks sent his way, especially from the grey wizard, who was more than sure that the two never meet.
"I didn't know you were an acquaintance of mister Baggins, Lord Elrond" Gandalf questioned, raising an eyebrow, giving Baggins a quick glance over his shoulder. The Lord only smiled in response.
They all enter and Bilbo didn't even notice, his eyes were busy searching for something or someone. He was absent-minded, that he didn't even notice the grumpy Drawf, passing the map to Lord Elrond, who gave it one look before ordering his man to bring his apprentice, and before Thorin could protest, Gandalf shut him out with a stern look.
"Papa!" Their head snapped toward the voice, to see a child, not like the other. A few feet away was a child running toward them, before throwing themselves on the hobbit who catch them quickly like a reflection.
"(Y/N)" He lifted you up, smiling with watery eyes at your happy expression that he longed for.
Oh, how much did he miss you.
"Who is that?" One of the dwarfs asked, cutting the small father-child reunion.
"This is my child, (Y/N)" Bilbo pointed at the child beside him, who smiled at the company before saluting them in the Eleven way.
"Greetings to Thorin II "Oakenshield son of Thráin II, king under the mountain and his company. I'm (Y/N) daughter of Bilbo Baggins, apprentice of Lord Elnord " You stood high earning a proud look out from Lord Elrond.
"Wait you have a child!!!" the dwarves' jaws dropped, except Thorin whose brain was connecting the dots. He understood now, why Bilbo Baggins' eyes lit up, why he was so eager to enter the palace, and why the Elef seem to know he was.
Biblo turns away hiding from the company glares. How dare he not tell us, that's what they all were thinking about, while you just stood there smiling so brightly like the sun, they had to close their eyes.
"But you look so much different than each other?" Kili voiced thorin question, which earned him a deep blush of embarrassment from Bilbo not like they could see it.
You look at your father, noticing the red on the tip of his ears making you giggle. You knew your father so you decided to explain.
"My father used to be..what was the name.." Your eyes turn to the right side "Ah…a playboy…My father used to be a playboy, he was known as beyond the shire, in all the lads and lasses." The dwarfs again turn to the shy Hobbit as he hides his face this time with his hands, as he remembers something.
"I'm Gorgon(child with snake hair) just like a mother" You elucidated when you notice the looks of disbelief in their eyes.
"That explains a lot" They nodded to each other, before turning back to Bilbo.
The hurt on Thorin was evident, and you notice it, as he glared at your father. Like he was ready to kill him. At first, it scared you until you notice the jealousy, and that is when it hit you. Thorin was in love with your father, and think that he's married. but does your father reciprocate this feeling?
Yes, he does! He was giving an apologetic smile to Thorin, who scoffed, and you saw an opportunity so you took it.
You tugged your father's sleeve before asking "Is he, my new mama?" You turn to Thorin when your father just kept looking at you with wide eyes "Are you my new mama?" Thorin'eyes almost popped out of his skull. He starts stuttering before he turned to the laughing dwarf with a glare that could shut up anyone, but they couldn't stop.
It was too hilarious, seeing flustered Thorin. Rare sight!
"(Y/N)!" Bilbo run to your side, "What?" you blinked innocently, "You luve him, he luves you and you are my pap so he is my new mama" You explained in a matter-of-fact tone, just causing the dwarves to laugh more and more, some were even on the floor, crying!
Even Lord Elnord and Gandalf were laughing, their heart out at the two flustered males.
#thorin x bilbo#father bilbo x child reader#xreader#xchild reader#The hobbit x reader#company x reader#request#first request#Dwarf#x child female reader#x child male reader
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Flutter By
A fluffy-ish fic inspired by a butterfly....
@saurongorthaur9
It's a little longer than I thought it was....
If there was one thing Ceredic Stumbletoe hadn’t been prepared for while travelling, it was coming across the Lord of Middle-earth sitting forlorn on a rock by the side of the road.
Whickering, and whinnying nervously the pony pulling the wagon, snorted and stamped refusing to go nearer the dark towering figure, perched on his dun grey rock.
“It’s okay Turpin,” he whispered, giving the nervous animal a loving pat, before hoping from the wagon. Common sense was screaming at him that he should make a horse and bolt, but something else, more subtle and silent demanded he approach the Dark Lord, because whatever else he might have been, he was in that moment alone, lost, and brooding on a rock.
Approaching slowly, as one might when nearing a wild animal, Ceredic made sure to keep his movements slow, and obvious -nothing too hasty- lest he give the wrong impression. And for good measure he cleared his throat, well in advance, before stopping at a distance that didn’t seem so far removed to be rude, while still being conductive to good conversation.
He thought about bowing, but for some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling acknowledging the Dark Lord’s identity might be a bad thing. So, he folded his hands together in front of himself, and took a second to nervously wriggle his toes.
There was nothing like good earth under one’s feet to keep them grounded.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you. It seems like a lovely view you got there.” And as far as random rocks by roadsides went, it may well have been the best seat the Dark Lord could have found, overlooking hills, and orchards. “But I wanted to make sure you’re alright. I got some medicine in the wagon.”
Gleaming eyes regarded him, and he felt a pressure on his mind and shoulders. Whatever it was it made him squirm, and it felt suspicious. It also felt tired, and angry. But behind that anger and the gaze of an eye peering into him, there was something else vast, deep, and bleak.
The pressure lifted, and the hooded head of Middle-earth’s lord turned away.
“I am, as you thought, admiring the view.”
The voice that spoke was deep, devoid of anything overtly evil, but dark, broody, and tired much like the rest of him.
“Well, if you wish to be alone, I won’t bother you any further. But if you’re open to the idea of some company, I have some food and drink, and it’s very nearly teatime.”
The hooded head shifted, tilting to regard him a bemused birdlike fashion.
“I don’t claim to be the greatest cook, by no means, but I can cook some crispy bacon!” The hobbit’s eyes widened. “And I got some bread and cheese! Might even still have an egg or two, and an onion. We could have a veritable feast!”
“On the side of the road?” The Dark Lord sounded amused.
“Why not? Good food, a pleasant enough view, some buzzing insect and birdsong, and the comfiest rocks to rocks to sit on, as far as roadsides go we got the best one for miles around.”
A scoff of amusement or derision met his ears, and he sensed the Dark Lord’s mirth.
“Do you not, know who I am?”
The hobbit shrugged. “All I know is that I’m a travelling stranger who’s met the acquaintance of yet another stranger. We could be anybody. Or nobody.”
For a moment the Lord of Middle-earth stared at him. “And what does the traveling stranger call himself?”
Smiling Ceredic bowed. “Ceredic Stumbletoe, at your service, if it pleases.” He held out a hand.
“Stumbletoe?”
“Oh, yes!” Ceredic grinned. “The family’s originally from Bree, but there are a fair number of us living in the Shire these days. About nine generations ago, a lovely hobbit name Belladonna Brownlock married a Mister Aldibrand Took, and they had five strapping young boys, and three delightful young lasses, and one of those daughters, Merianna Took, being of the adventurous sort travelled around a little bit, before journeying to Bree, where she met a rather prominent bachelor named Bero Stumbletoe. And the Stumbletoes were always something of an adventurous sort themselves, with the joke being that we have propensity for ‘stumbling into it,’ as one might say.” Ceredic laughed.
“And do they?”
The hobbit’s laughter died, as he glanced at the brooding hulking figure staring down at him.
“Do they what?” He decided to flip the bacon to avoid a staring contest with those fiery eyes glowering down at him.
“Have a propensity for ‘stumbling into it?’”
The hobbit hummed. “Maybe, maybe. I’m sitting here talking to you, am I not? Though whether or not we do, it’s certainly the sort of name that garners attention.”
“It certainly does,” the Dark Lord agreed.
“Oh! Ceredic whirled about, bowing to the ominous lofty figure he’d invited to tea. “I’ve been very rude! Been prattling on about my name, I forgot to ask you yours!” The hobbit looked genuinely affronted at his own lack of manners, but the Dark Lord wasn’t as put out as he might have otherwise been. Something about the name Stumbletoe was inherently disarming, as if it had been created in mockery of hobbit names. He couldn’t imagine any self-respecting person, hobbit or otherwise, referring to themselves as ‘Stumbletoe.’
“Lord Mairon.” Ceredic bowed again giving the typical ‘honoured’ response, before turning back to his cooking. The Dark Lord hadn’t offered his hand to be shaken, and the hobbit hadn’t seemed to mind, and Lord Mairon had taken it upon himself to observe the hobbit as he cooked their teatime feast.
Ceredic had even gone through the trouble of pulling out a kettle and scrounging some tea from the cart, much to the Dark Lord’s quiet delight.
Bread was sliced. Cheese was cut. And the Lord of Middle-earth found himself holding a plate of sizzling hot crispy bacon, and one egg sprinkled with pepper and salt. He stared down at the food. It was simpler fare than what he was used to back in his tower, but every morsal looked mouth-wateringly appetizing. And yet sour loathing filled him. Something repugnant squirmed in his chest, turning his stomach sour. His fingers tightened on the rim of his plate reflexively.
He’d abandoned his tower, for reasons he couldn’t fully understand. He had everything he’d fought long wars to obtain, and yet, over the course of the Fourth Age he’d been succumbing more and more to prolonged bouts of ennui.
It sapped him of will, of strength, and every year, every century the, worse they seemed to get. He didn’t understand. He knew only that he was tired, as he had never been before. Lost in a way he’d never felt before, and for some reason the sight of the egg steaming on his plate, surrounded by bacon, and yellow cheese, and dark rye bread was stirring those feelings back up, more acutely than they’d previously been.
He wanted so badly to eat. He just couldn’t. Instead, he was struck by the urge to get up and walk away-to keep walking, until he couldn’t walk anymore.
“Are you okay?” Ceredic’s voice was laced with genuine concern, and the Dark Lord loathed it, hated the care he was receiving from a random stranger on some accursed road.
The Ring sat heavily, hidden on his finger, but he found his gaze drawn to it, cozening up to the faint voice that spoke sweetly of the delight in casting the food aside, and basking in the fearful praise of the cowering hobbit-how good it would feel. How the slowly opening chasm in his mind would be satiated. He had but to reach out.
Worryingly silent, the Dark Lord rose, bowed over the plate of eggs and bacon, with his gloved hands trembling, and tightening around the ceramic threatening to break it.
“Mairon? Lord Mairon?”
Admirable One. Precious.
The Ring was precious, pure gold, perfectly circular, sitting warmly on his finger. Wearing it made him feel vicariously precious, by virtue of the fact that it was his, but without it he wasn’t. He only knew how to admire, rather than be admired. If he ever had been admired, it was long ago, and he had no idea what that must have felt like, for there was only one thing in all the world worthy of admiration, worthy of adoration, and it was sitting beautiful, warm, and perfect on his hand.
How could he be empty, when he still had so much to give to the precious golden band on his finger? How could he be tired when there was still so much work to do? How could he walk away when the world still had need of order? How could he deny something so perfect anything less than perfection?
But he was tired, and the journey back would be every bit as arduous as it had been to get to this rock by the roadside.
He could only see the ring in his mind: all-consuming, sacrosanct, worshipful, dreadful, and ghastly. He was nothing without it. Would be rendered nothing without it, and yet more and more he proved himself unworthy of its weight.
Golden honeyed words, it whispered sweet in his ears. “Worthy? No. But take heart, for you not unique in that regard. But where others failed to become so you will succeed.” It smiled in his mind, hiding its cruelties behind gossamer lies. None could ever hope to succeed. No one would ever be truly worthy. But there was no hand better to remain safe on, as no power had ever come along to challenge that, but even the Ring wearied sometimes of the game.
In pride, its slave sought to be the most perfect of servants. Great use there was in such willing servility, but the Ring was sure that it could have done better, and might have done better provided the opportunity, for it would have turned on its make as surely as had turned on all other previous masters.
“Oh Sauron.” The Dark Lord shuddered to hear that name, spoken by the voice so fair. It was all the more gutting and horrid for it, but the Ring offered nothing but cold understanding. “You yearn so badly to embody the perfection you seek, and you shall. Rest you need, and rest you shall have. I’ll show you.”
Before the Dark Lord’s eyes appeared the image of himself walking under a brilliant morning sun, with the air around him smelling sweetly of summer rain. Green hills rolling before him, in the pastoral perfection of a rival-Valinor, and all was fair and good in his Middle-earth, as it should have been, as he had so long desired.
Wandering down a slope he came to a little tree by a lazy little brook, its roots entwined and buried under a dense moss, and there at last, with the smell of rain in his nose, the sound of slow untroubled water like music in his ears, and the warmth of the sun on his skin, he laid for some well-earned rest.
The vision faded as quickly as it appeared, the phantasmal caress of summer sun on his skin, and the sweet smell of rain still thick in his lungs, the Dark Lord knew what he had to do.
“If you’re tired, I have some blankets, I could fetch some so you can sleep. I’ll stay to make sure no one disturbs you.”
Ceredic’s voice was harsh and jarring after the Ring’s sweet susurrations. Detestable and unwelcome as it scraped the Dark Lord’s ears, but more enraging was the misplaced compassion and pity. He didn’t want it! Eyes glittering with the portent of doom, he turned to glare down at the hobbit, so lowly and pathetic a creature to feed a Dark Lord, and offer him handouts as if he were no more than a stray animal.
The plate and all its untouched food fell with a clatter.
Puissance crackled at the Dark Lord’s fingertips, but as he took his first step forward, the last few tendrils of the Ring-vision snapped, and the strength they’d granted suddenly deserted him, and he stumbled unsteady, as the world and all its weight settled upon him, and the ring once again became burden on his mind. The hollowness returned to swallow him, and he sagged, reaching out to brace himself on a nearby rock.
His eyes stung, his throat burned, as he tried and failed to understand what was happening to him. The Ring’s voice returned with gentle assurances that it would seek to unencumber him of all his burdens. Quietly, he thanked it, as he gingerly sat down, on the ground, feeling miserably defeated.
“I think I’m dying.”
Ceredic pursed his lips, doubting the unlikelihood of the Dark Lord actually dying, but looking at the menacing hooded figure miserably tucked against a rock, he also knew something was wrong.
Lips pressed into a contemplative frown the hobbit set his food aside, and decided to fetch the blankets he’d already offered up
They were laughably small for someone so large, but folded up they might make for a decent enough pillow, and Ceredic presented them to the Dark Lord for him to use as he saw fit.
Meanwhile, he poured two cups of tea. A blend of Lavender, Chamomile, and Athelas he added to two cups, unwilling to risk and unstable Dark Lord’s suspicions, about poisons. One he offered himself, the other he passed to the Dark Lord.
The Lord of Middle-earth sat staring down into the cup’s contents, before eyeing the hobbit as he happily drank his, pausing to eat more cheese and bread. Even on the road, it seemed that hobbits had little care for the risk of indulgence in the face of unpredictable events.
Audibly exhaling, and deciding the tea was safe to drink, he stared across the road at the hills, spotty and browning due to a lack of rainfall. A few butterflies fluttered about a clump of wildflowers next to a broken fence post on the other side, and he scowled at their hap hazardous and clumsy attempts at flight, disapproving of their profitless existence. Pretty but purposeless, and utterly unnecessary, they were nothing but fodder for the birds, and he wondered if they should have a place in his Middle-earth.
“Of what profit are butterflies?” He asked, taking a tentative sip of his tea. A gasp, escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes, feeling the raw edges of the hollowness plaguing him recede just a bit, and in its place settled calmness.
Unable to remember the last time, he drunken a tea that tasted so good, he downed the mug requesting more water, basking in the soothing sensation of innocent herbs on his mind. His muscles relaxed, and he found himself settling more placidly where he sat while the hobbit fulfilled his request and mulled over his question.
“They feed the birds,” Ceredic said pausing a moment. “He’d never given thought to the profit of butterflies. They were beautiful and a world without them would have been poorer and uglier for it, but he didn’t think that answer would suffice for the Dark Lord, who was pushing his mug toward him for the second time.
“They pollinate the flowers. Without them crops wouldn’t grow. There’s a butterfly called the Red Admiral, but a long time ago it was called the Red Admirable, and it’s a beautiful butterfly –tenacious and intrepid too- that dares to eat that which other animals cannot bear to touch. It’ll devour entire swaths of stinging nettle rendering our fields and farm lands safer for its troubles.”
The Dark Lord rested his head against the rock feeling lighter and more at ease than he had in a long time. His mind felt more refined, less flighty than it had, and his eyes were growing heavy, as he mulled over the profit of a butterfly with so lofty a name.
“I wish to see this butterfly,” he heard himself saying as restfulness stole over him. He shifted, warm enough in his thick all-encompassing robes to fold the blankets into a neat little pillow for himself.
“If I see one I’ll point it out for you.”
“Good. Now don’t let anyone bother me.”
True to his word, the Ceredic stayed, enjoying the rest of the boiled water for his tea while letting his mind wander to the hills of the Shire. They were a hardy people: Hobbits, but as the wider world tightened its noose around the fair lands of the western most end of Middle-earth, he couldn’t help but wonder why of all things the Dark Lord had asked about butterflies.
Vanessa atalanta, the red admiral or, previously, the red admirable
Vanessa atalanta - Wikipedia
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I wanna see what you have to say about horses :3
the little horse girl in my heart just screamed something between a "YIPPPIEEEE" and a "LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOO"
okayokaoykaoyayao i dont even know where to start uhh huh dhfisgdf
It's actually been a few years since I've interacted with a horse! I used to majorly be into them as a kid, hell probably before I got into anything else i was The Horse girl in my school/grade (and got picked on for it but who gives a FUCK those people SUCKED anyway) and i just. never shut up about them
I had a shit ton of books about horses and various breeds, my entire room looked like a horse shrine, the whole nine yards was just. Honse. and looking back im glad I had that growing up, that my mom indulged me on my first major interest and had tried to get me into horse riding lessons a few times! but alas, the 2008 recession hit my mom hard and i had no idea at the time.
Its funny actually because a lot of people around me growing up forgot I was a super big horse nerd because I got all quiet and into other things and such that I stopped talking about them as much, but again, that little horse girl in my heart is ready to pretty much at any time just give me the sleeper agent activation code word and I'm gone brother
I think my favorite example of people not knowing I was a horse kid was back in high school when I picked up a friend of mine, who was also a major horse girlie, (her mom would let her walk in negative degree weather and i wasnt letting that happen) she had been watching a video on her phone and it reflected in the window. and without any hesitation i went "tinker horse?" and she whipped her head around and looked at me in shock like "how did you know??"
the answer of how I knew is because thats one of my favorite horse breeds out there. because im a dork and i never forgot its name (technically i knew it by its old name with the slur in it, look it up if you need to) but regardless: i knew this mf from a mile away
These are tinker horses btw!! Big draft breeds with feathery legs / feet, long manes, and a big impressive build. Honestly as I've gotten older I think my preference in horse breeds has shifted to the draft kind, which is funny because as a kid I would tell you something like a quarter horse was my favorite. (though all horse breeds are good, its kinda like dog breeds in terms of discussion tho just. which ones you like to look at or like interacting with)
as for other favorites, i also really enjoy shires, Friesian, Andalusians, Tennessee walkers, american paints, and a whole lot more!
thats mostly all about like, nostalgic memories and some breed talk though, i dont actually keep up with current horse media or any sort of discussion, so I don't have any comments on lifestyles, conditions, how they're handled, etc. again, i'm really out of the horsesphere as of now and I doubt I'll get much back into it in life, seeing as its such an expensive thing to be into.
but generally: i like horses, i think they're fun creatures and i like to think of them as bigger (and potentially more dangerous) dogs. if i get a chance to interact with one in a good setting i tend to take it, and i usually walk away happy on the basis of "i got to pet a horse thats gonna make my WHOLE week", because honestly I'm not big on riding them anymore, i just like being around them.
but yea thats. some thoughts. oh my god i typed way too much
#.txt#horse girl unleashed#can you see why i connect with twilight so well now#you could literally make an edit with a speech bubble and put all of this in it#and youd be canonically correct both in LU and LOZ#that last tag is /lh and /j but do you SEE THE VISION
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More Random HC’s cause I’m waiting to go into work :)
Nat:
- Unironically LOVES shirts that are/have the same energy as “women love me, fish fear me”/“Big dick is back in town” etc. she wears them more often than you’d like
- She lives off of Mountain Dew, Red Bull and hot Cheetos, that’s all she packs for lunch everyday and you have to drop off water and a snack for her at practice so she doesn’t pass out since she barely takes care of herself
Misty:
- was one of those girls that had a thing for the Onceler from the Lorax
- She was def apart of the 2012 tumblr culture, (superwholock or whatever it was) one of those girls that would get a tattoo off of one of the YA books they read, hunger games, Harry Potter, stuff like that
Jackie:
- Either really knows how to play American football and is super invested in the NFL, or does not know anything at all “What is a down?”
- Is SO CLINGY (Derogatory) sure you thought it was cute at first until she gets up at 5 am for her morning practice and wakes you up too so you can “brush your teeth together”. It gets even worse when she’s sick, shes the hugest baby when she’s sick and you know if she gets sick you’re bound to get sick a week later because she’s plastered to your side
Van:
- Legit loves anything you get her, even if it’s kind of a joke. Stupid $2 tourist T shirt? You got it for her so she loves it, childish Spider-Man socks, thinks they’re cool as fuck. Just overall very appreciative and excited to recieve anything from you
Lottie:
- I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; She’s absolutely good at all the fine arts; she can draw well, she definitely can play the piano and violin, bc her rich parents paid for her to have lessons, etc
- She definitely also did some nerdy shit like take taekwondo until she was 14. Idk why I can just imagine this girl in like that white martial arts gi, doing like punching exercises.
Shauna:
- I don’t know if this makes sense but the kind of gf that when you guys go out to eat, you’ll both be quiet/not talk so you can eavesdrop onto people’s conversations and talk about it in the car on the way home
ugh no nat is such a loser she so would. she shows up at your house wearing this
asking her when the last time she drank water was and she's really got to think about it. she gets so shy if you like cook her something though omg
Misty would have crushes on the weirdest fucking cartoon characters and shit I swear. she pulls you a picture of megamind and you're like "... okay"
superwholockian misty i know that's right. misty has like collectors editions of the Sherlock books. she has like an original printing displayed in her living room fr
Misty def had one of those shirts like "heading off to the shire to become a jedi because my hogwarts letter never came."
i take that and I raise you Jackie being super super invested in the NFL but still does not know how football works. she's into the vibes she's just competitive as fuck. you look over and she's googling what a halfback does.
also Jackie totally follows a soccer team obsessively. she has like 5 jerseys and so so much merch. she even buys you some so she can make you wear it. she's so excited whenever there's a game on. she's def screaming at the ref for making a bad call
jackie's dramatic ass makes you sit in the bathroom with her as she showers. your just sitting on the sink with your head against the mirror barely able to keep your eyes open and she's excitedly rambling on like she's on fucking crack.
also i feel like jackie is such a morning person. you're half an energy drink in and barely awake and she's bouncing off the walls at 6 AM
she definitely gets you sick whenever she gets sick for sure. she's expecting princess treatment squared when she's sick. omg you thought she was needy normally?? your ass is not ready.
Van is so fucking sentimental bro she has a whole box dedicated to little things you gave her, even if it was just something you randomly handed to her lmao
artist lottie has such a hold on me tbh I love it.
martial arts lottie def got a participation trophy and a pat on the back i can not see her being good at it lmao
oh no fr shauna is such a hater she loves doing hater activities with you. jackie's talking about jeff or something and yall are like 😒🙄. she always looks straight for you when stupid shit happens.
#soffsh#shauna thoughts 💙#jackie thoughts 🩷#misty thoughts 💛#nat thoughts 🖤#lottie thoughts 💜#van thoughts 🧡
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