#sickle...mamas boy with no mama :(

[empyreansentinel]

BLOODSHOT OCS! kids first so i dont have to deal with their parents armor lmao

[sassenach77yle]

What are ye laughing at, a nighean?” Her father loomed out of the night, smelling of horses. “Everything,” she said, scooching over to make room for him to sit beside her. It was true. Everything seemed suddenly bright, the candlelight from the windows of the Big House, the fireflies in the grass, the glow of Roger’s face when he told her his desire. She could still feel the touch of his mouth on hers; it fizzed in her blood.

Jamie reached up and fielded a passing firefly, holding it for a moment cupped in the dark hollow of his hand, where it flashed on and off, the cool light seeping through his fingers. Far off, she heard a brief snatch of her mother’s voice, coming through an open window;

Claire was singing “Clementine.” Now the boys—and Roger—were howling at the moon, though it was no more than a pale sickle on the horizon. She felt her father’s body shake with silent laughter, too.

“It reminds me of Disneyland,” she said on impulse.

“Oh, aye? Where’s that?” “It’s an amusement park—for children,” she added, knowing that while there were such things as amusement parks in places like London and Paris, these were purely adult places. No one ever thought of entertaining children now, beyond their own games and the occasional toy. “Daddy and Mama took me there every summer,” she said, slipping back without effort to the hot, bright days and warm California nights.

“The trees all had little sparkling lights in them—the fireflies reminded me.” Jamie spread his palm; the firefly, suddenly free, pulsed to itself once or twice, then spread its wings with a tiny whir and lifted into the air, floating up and away.

“Dwelt a miner, forty-niner, and his daugh-ter, Clementine . . .”

“What was it like, then?” he asked curiously. “Oh . . . it was wonderful.” She smiled to herself, seeing the brilliant lights of Main Street, the music and mirrors and beautiful, beribboned horses of King Arthur’s Carrousel. “There were . . . rides, we called them. A boat, where you could float through the jungle on a river, and see crocodiles and hippopotamuses and headhunters . . .” “Headhunters?” he said, intrigued. “Not real ones,” she assured him. “It’s all make-believe—but it’s . . . well, it’s a world to itself. When you’re there, the real world sort of disappears; nothing bad can happen there.

They call it ‘The Happiest Place on Earth’—and for a little while, it really seems that way.”

“Light she was, and like a fairy, and her shoes were number nine, Herring boxes without topses, sandals were for Clementine.”“And you’d hear music everywhere, all the time,” she said, smiling. “Bands—groups of musicians playing instruments, horns and drums and things—would march up and down the streets, and play in pavilions. . . .” “Aye, that happens in amusement parks. Or it did, the once I was in one.” She could hear a smile in his voice, as well. “Mm-hm. And there are cartoon characters—I told you about cartoons—walking around. You can go up and shake hands with Mickey Mouse, or—” “With what?” “Mickey Mouse.” She laughed. “A big mouse, life-size—human-size, I mean. He wears gloves.” “A giant rat?” he said, sounding slightly stunned. “And they take the weans to play with it?” “Not a rat, a mouse,” she corrected him. “And it’s really a person dressed up like a mouse.” “Oh, aye?” he said, not sounding terribly reassured. “Yes. And an enormous carrousel with painted horses, and a railroad train that goes through the Rainbow Caverns, where there are big jewels sticking out of the walls, and colored streams with red and blue water . . . and orange-juice bars. Oh, orange-juice bars!” She moaned softly in ecstatic remembrance of the cold, tart, overwhelming sweetness. “It was nice, then?” he said softly.

“Thou art lost and gone forever, Dreadful sor-ry . . . Clementine.”

“Yes,” she said, sighed, and was silent for a moment. Then she leaned her head against his shoulder, and wrapped her hand around his arm, big and solid. “You know what?” she said, and he made a small interrogatory noise in reply.

It was nice—it was great—but what I really, really loved about it was that when we were there, it was just the three of us, and everything was perfect. Mama wasn’t worrying about her patients, Daddy wasn’t working on a paper—they weren’t ever silent or angry with each other. Both of them laughed—we all laughed, all the time . . . while we were there.” He made no reply, but tilted his head so it rested against hers. She sighed again, deeply.

“Jemmy won’t get to go to Disneyland—but he’ll have that. A family that laughs—and millions of little lights in the trees.”

A breath of snow and ashes

Season 7 episode 2 “The Happiest Place on Earth”

[lordsukunas]

songs made by black artists that i think would suit jjk characters. oh my god this took forever to format n link songs. anyway, happy black history month yall!!!! i hope yall like this bc im sick of seeing taylor swift pop up in the list of artists gojo would listen to <33

gojo – starboy the weeknd, daft punk + ghost town kanye west, partynextdoor

for starboy it just gave im that nigga vibes, and for ghost town it's just the entire ‘i alone am the honored one’ scene. but mayb it could also be applicable to current gojo? idk.

geto – like a tattoo sade

fun fact: this is actually the inspo for my user!! the whole ‘broken by the burden of his youth’ and ‘hungry for life, thirsty for the distant river’ reminds me of his whole reason for defecting. he's hungry for life (wanting sorcerers to not have to risk their life to protect non-sorcerers & actually live a long, fulfilling life) and thirsty for the distant river (remember when they kept with the race/hallway analogy? yeah, and geto's goal was always going to be unattainable for him simply bc he didn't have the strength)

yuuji – adorn miguel + crooked smile j. cole, tlc

UGGHHH he's just so lovely. the most supportive boy ever i love my son sm, and that is my only justification for my song choices.

megumi – alone willow + nineteen pinkpanthress + answer tyler, the creator

tbh… idk bros been goin thru it this entire series, but esp recently. for answer, i rlly liked the first couple of verses (idk what to actually call it, but it's before the first chorus) bc it aligns well w papaguro n megumi. ig the stepdad could be gojo…?

nobara – no scrubs tlc + conceited flo milli + apeshit the carters + on my mama victoria monét

she takes nobody's bs n i love that for her!!! i feel like she'd absolutely love flo milli + megan thee stallion.

nanami – lotus flower bomb wale, miguel + i love you more than you know black party, childish gambino

sorry i rlly like him y'all... there's no angsty reason for these songs! n for i luv u more than yk, it's just nanami if/when he goes to malaysia :3

choso – do you like me? daniel caesar

i actually dk for this one... i just thought it suited him! yk since he wants to live as a human n when he loves he loves hard (shown by how determined he is to be the best older brother to his lil siblings)

toji – she will lil wayne, drake + foe tha love of $ bone thugs-n-harmony, eazy-e + crack rock frank ocean

i am a firm believer toji would like 90s + early 2000s rap. it just makes sense idk, also i once saw a post that said he died just a bit b4 no hands by waka flocka came out and... hey! for crack rock, it's just post-mamaguro him n instead of crack, it's his gambling addiction

sukuna – hater's anthem infinity song + hit ‘em up 2pac, outlawz + king’s dead jay rock, kendrick lamar, future, james blake + unbothered ski mask the slump god

he's a hater just for my son. bum ass nigga... and for hit em up: ‘don't one of u niggas got sickle cell or sumn? u fuck around n have a seizure or a heart attack’

maki & toji – worst behavior drake

self explanatory! them n their rebellion against the zenin clan <3

gojo & geto – oui jeremih

cause if weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! sorry but this is fueled by geto saying ‘we are the strongest’... thats it :p

[astralbulldragon13]

Where Were You She Needed You

A scream rung through the air, along with the shriek or a horse. Farmer Woodrow Bailer ran from the corn field to see a chestnut stallion bucking wildly in wheat field. He knew that damned horse, it belonged to the next farm over. The damned thing had been breaking into their property. His thoughts about having words with his neighbor where, however, interrupted when he saw a small, crumpled figure on the ground while some of the hands were running around, trying to rope the wild horse and get him away from…

“Amber!” Woodrow dropped his sickle and ran to his daughter. The stud was bucking and kicking, too close to his child. He ran and scooped up his daughter into his arms and got out of the way of the horse.

“Amber, Amber?” His dirty, gloved hand cupped her cheek, and tilted her face to him, to see her face bleeding. “Divines above…”

"Pa...Papa?"

The voice, that whimper, Bailer's heart clenched as he held her close. “It’s alright, Amber-Lily. It’s going to be alright.”

He charged to the house, practically breaking down the door. “Heidi!”

The housekeeper, a neighbor’s sixteen year old daughter, veered around the corner, her eyes widening in shock! “Amber! Mr. Woodrow, what happened?!”

“Neighbor’s horse kicked her in the head,” he growled. “Go to the barn, saddle up Arrow and get the healer from town.”

Heidi ran out the door, leaving Woodrow alone as he pressed clean clothes against his daughter’s face as some of the farm hands came in to help him take care of her, cleaning the wound and bandaging it. Some started making some food, others tried to make Amber feel better, so she wouldn’t focus on the pain.

He felt… less frightened as he made sure the horse was tied to a post in the barn. Woodrow swore to himself, that he would beat this neighbor to a pulp for letting his stud get loose. And another thought crossed his mind… where was his wife? Amber had asked for her Mama as she fought back tears, and it felt like someone clenched a fist around his heart to hear his little girl ask for a woman who was never home.

It took an hour for Heidi to return with the healer, and thankfully Amber didn’t have to lose her eye. However, she would be partially blind in that eye, and he had to stitch the cuts on her face to heal. Heidi wept as she cradled Amber in her arms, stroking her tangled black hair, hair like his own.

“Amber, what were you doing by that stud?” Bertie, one of the hands asked. “You’re usually in the woods this time of day, why were you in the field?”

The ten-year-old sniffled as she played with her hands. “I… I saw him in the field when I was gonna go out looking for mushrooms.”

“Why didn’t you get one of us?” Arch, a seasonal work questioned softly as he sliced a loaf of bread to pair with the stew they made

Amber looked at her knees. “I… I wanted to get it myself. I’d caught Arrow before by myself, so I thought… I thought I could take him back to the neighbor’s house. I… I wanted to prove I could help.”

Woodrow felt a burn in the back of his throat. As he placed a hand on top of her head, gently rubbing her hair. “Amber, you don’t have to prove you can help us, you already do. If something like this happens again, come get us. Please?”

He made sure Amber was fed, and Heidi made sure she was bathed, and dressed in a comfortable night shirt. They brought her sleeping pallet out to the living room, making a little nest for her so she was comfortable. Later in the afternoon, while the healer prepared medicine, he and the hands took the horse back to the neighbor, blood in their eyes as they told him what happened to Little Amber, a girl all the boys were fond of, and that there would be more words in the morning.

The sun was nearly set, when Collie returned to the house. Heidi was asleep on the daybed instead of returning home to her family, a quarter mile down the road, and the hands returned to the bunkhouse. Woodrow was sitting on a chair, watching his daughter breathe, his fingers twitching as he whittled a piece of wood. He didn’t even lift his head as his wife entered the house.

“Amber got hurt,” he stated simply, his deep voice booming through the room, but not waking the sleeping girls.

“And you’re surprised by that?” Collie scoffed. “The wild little beast comes home with scrapes and scratches all the time, how is this any different?”

Woodrow’s fingers tightened around the handle of the blade, and he looked up at her, his hazel eyes blazing in the light of the fire. “It wasn’t just a scratch, or scrape this time, Collie. The neighbor’s stud got in the wheat field, and our daughter wanted to try and catch him herself so she could be helpful, and the damned thing kicked her in the face.”

Collie had the decency to look frightened at this news, glancing at the sleeping bundle in her nest by the fireplace.

“The healer said she was lucky, cracked some of the bones in her face, and she’s partially blinded in her left eye. And as Heidi was getting help, and the boys and I were trying to stop the bleeding, what was she doing? Asking for her Ma. She wanted her Mama, wanted her Mama to hold her and keep her safe. So, this will be the last time I will ever ask you this question in our life, Collie. Where were you when she needed you?”

[ivyprism]

Masterlist 22

Suggestive? Kind of? *

Character and AU Information:

Skelesona Updated Description (Outfits)

Final Boss: Gaster (Info Dump)

Final Boss: the Royal Family (Info Dump)

Final Boss: Undyne and Alphys (Info Dump)

Final Boss: Mettaton and Napstablook (Info Dump)

Final Boss: Grillby, Muffet, and Monster Kid (Info Dump)

The Final Boss: H (Info Dump)

Skelesona Backstory Summary (Hehehoo)

H Backstory Summary (Hehehoo)

OG! Gasters (Info Dump: Revamp)

Skeleton Boy Jobs: Revamp and New Part 1

Skeleton Boy Jobs: Revamp and New Part 2

Otter Selkiesona (Info Dump)

Skeleton Boy Jobs: Revamp and New Part 3

Skeleton Boy Jobs: Revamp and New Part 4

The Sea Serpents (Info Dump: Revamp)

Sona Jobs: Revamp and New Part 1

Sona Jobs: Revamp and New Part 2

Skelesona Jobs: Revamp and New Part 1

Skelesona Jobs: Revamp and New Part 2

The God of Light Spirits and the God of Dark Spirits (Info Dump)

Siren!sona (Info Dump)

H makes her Sonas more Sona

Dicentra: Tiefling!sona (Info Dump)

Angels Fall AU: Horror AU Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

Horror: Angels Fall Skelesona (Info Dump)

Dating Sim LI OCs (Fun Facts)

Mafiadance Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

Mafiadance Sonas (Info Dump)

Figure Skating Skeleton Boys and Sonas (Info Dump)

Deap Sea Gods and Sky Gods: Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

The Galaxy Goddesses (Info Dump)

The Mermaid Mercenaries Facts (Info)

Fun fact: Sona Theme

Fun fact: Sans and Papyrus Themes

Fun fact: Voicecanons for Sonas

Fun Fact: Tongue Piercing (Undertale, Underswap, Underfell, Swapfell Amethyst, and Fellswap Carnelian Boys)

Fun Fact: Romance Novels (Underfell Papyrus)

Other Dragons: Horrortale, Fellswap Carnelian, and Swapfell Amethyst Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

Other Dragons: Horrortale, Fellswap, and Swapfell Skelesonas (Info Dump)

The Roles of the Story (Info)

Dreamswap AU: Skeleton Boys and Sona (Info Dump)

Trainersona (Info Dump)

Fell! Black Crow Pirates: Skeleton Boys and Sona (Info Dump)

The Story Pieces: Sonas (Info Dump)

My Outcode Skeleton Boys (Info Dump: Revamp)

Fun Fact (Horrorswapfell Glaucous Papyrus)

The Cursed: Sona (Info Dump)

The Deity of Envy (Info Dump)

The Skeleton Sisters' Diner AU: OC Rewrite (Info Dump)

The Galaxy Sisters: Outcode Skeleton Sisters' Diner Rewrite (Info Dump)

The Other Outcode Skeleton Sisters Diner: Rewrite (Info Dump)

Angels Fall AU: Revamp (Info Dump)

Angels Fall Girls: Rewritten (Info Dump)

The Mafia Skeleton Sisters' Diner AU: Rewritten (Info Dump)

Farmtale Tieflingsona: Harmony (Info Dump)

The Skeleton Sisters' Diner AU: Children OCs Rewritten (Info Dump)

The Horror Skeleton Sisters' Diner AU: Children OCs Rewritten (Info Dump)

The Mafia Skeleton Sisters' Diner AU: Children OCs Rewritten (Info Dump)

The Outcode Skeleton Sisters' Diner AU: Children OCs Rewritten (Info Dump)

Cursed Skeleton Boys (Info Dump)

Ghostsona/Robotsona: Rewritten (Info Dump)

Hydrangea's Twin Sister: Helena Rewrite (Info Dump)

Stories Written:

Merry Late Gyftmas (Ranch edition!)

Merry Late Gyftmas (Kioko edition)

Merry Late Gyftmas (Astro Edition)

Merry Late Gyftmas (Neilles Edition)

Merry Late Gyftmas (Crys Edition)

Merry Late Gyftmas (Fruit Edition)

Merry Late Gyftmas (Kuvvy Edition)

Merry Late Gyftmas (Kay Edition)

Merry Late Gyftmas (Lydia Edition)

Merry Late Gyftmas (Borf Edition)

Merry Late Gyftmas (Didderd Edition)

Merry Late Gyftmas (Rayne Edition)

Merry Late Gyftmas (Rain Edition)

Ruthlessness (Garlan Edition!)

Weapon Match Up (Astro Edition)

Weapon Match Up (Echo Edition)

Choice (Lyric Thing)

Ready as I'll Ever Be (Lyric Thing)

Let's Dance (Prim x DJ)

Holly's Sacrifice (The Adventurers of Millenis Backstory)

Don't Imagine (Sickle)

Don't Imagine (Breaker)

Don't Imagine (Sickle)

Don't Imagine (Parchment)

At All Costs (Lyric Thing: Eclipse x Heliconia)

Can't Catch Me Now (The Betrayed's Lament: Lyric Thing)

The Cursed (Sona Backstory)

Be Strong, Don't Give Up (Dawn x Reader)

Divine Intervention: God Games (Lyric Thing)

Despite Everything... (Nightmare Sans x Cursed Ivy)

Asks:

Kittens, Mama Cat, and a Puppy (Mafiafell Papyrus)

Date (Nightmare Sans)

Romance Soft (Pirate Killer Sans)

Dip (Pirate Killer Sans)

Hug (Pirate Killer Sans)

Charming Him (Nightmare Sans)

Did Verbena know about the Deity of Life? (Cursed H)

[jinglebellpeppre]

I got my laptop to work hoorayyy

noways, here's all twelve of my hunger games oc's character sheets, I was experimenting with highlights (close ups, typed out details, and some details I forgot to add below the cut in case my handwriting rlly is horrendous)

Birdie Sole-73rd Hunger Games

-D12 boy

-12 y/o

-4ft 10

-no weapon experience

-sunny personality

-nearly joined the careers (by invitation) but chose to stay with his district partner

-mamas boy

-betrayed by district partner

-favorite color: yellow

-favorite food: smoked meat (any kind)

-pansexual

Parsley Silver-73rd Hunger Games

-my only victor :3

-D11 girl

-15 y/o

-5ft 6

-weapon: sickles

-sleep deprivation induced psychosis <3

-middle child

-5 kills

-killed her lover to go home

-favorite color: red

-favorite food: Shepards pie

-bisexual

Crow Agramunt-73rd Hunger Games

-D10 boy

-13 y/o

-5ft 3

-weapon: knife

-got to final 5

-feral

-yapper

-parsleys ally

-favorite color: green

-favorite food: honey

-questioning

Viyella Devan-25th Hunger Games

-D1 girl

-16 y/o

-5ft 5

-weapon: axe

-voting was rigged to send her and her twin brother in because they were illegally performing for money

-scars and green hair from dye spill in a factory <3

-1 kill

-from the more wealthy side of the district

-got abandoned by her brother in the games

-died by suicide

-favorite color: pink

-favorite food: pancakes

-bisexual

Keel Halloran-25th Hunger Games

-D4 boy

-18 y/o

-6ft 1

-weapon: trident

-1 kill

-voted in because he's low-key a delinquent

-sole caretaker of his little sister, Cordelia

-died by magma

-good with kids

-undiagnosed autism

-favorite color: blue

-favorite food: salmon

-gay

-asexual

Canary Elowa-25th Hunger Games

-D12 girl

-13 y/o

-5ft 0

-no weapon experience

-voted win because, as an orphan, and such a sick one at that, no family would miss her <3

-a tad bit feral

-severely asthmatic

-died in sandstorm

-was very close with the other 11 kids at her orphanage

-favorite color: yellow

-favorite food: pound cake

-pansexual

-aroace flux

Alameda Carrasco-68th Hunger Games

-D7 girl

-15 y/o

-5ft 7

-weapon: axe

-4 kills

-got her arm chopped off in the games <3

-only child

-scars from wolf attack that killed her mom

-undiagnosed NPD

-nicknamed 'Al' by her ally, Twig

-favorite color: purple

-favorite food: strawberries

-aroace

Calico Fairburn-68th Hunger Games

-D8 girl

-16 y/o

-5ft 5

-no weapon experience

-big family

-scars from factory accident

-died by suffocation in some weird cave thing

-cheerful

-favorite color: orange

-favorite food: peach

-pansexual

Eerie Herschel-68th Hunger Games

-D5 boy

-13 y/o

-5ft 2

-no weapon experience

-1 kill (self defense)

-major nerd

-killed by Alameda

-smart

-super dry sense of humor

-favorite color: brown

-favorite food: applesauce

-gender queer

-aroace flux

Oriole Palermo-12th Hunger Games

-D10 girl

-13 y/o

-5ft 4

-weapon: long knife

-feral

-hates being 'babied' (protected) by her district partner

-got crushed by rubble and put out of her misery by aforementioned district partner <3

-favorite color: red

-favorite food: fruit salad

-bisexual

Dylan Murray-12th Hunger Games

-D4 boy

-15 y/o

-5ft 7

-weapon: spear/trident

-corals little brother (hence the jacket) <3

-death by rat mutts

-favorite color: blue

-favorite food: tomato soup

-gay

Julian/Jillian Murphy-12th Hunger Games

-D6 boy

-18 y/o

-5ft 10

-no weapon experience

-silly

-likes reading

-a little morphling addicted <3

-favorite color: purple

-favorite food: chilli

-closeted genderfluid

-pansexual

[legendariium]

Names: Maeglin, Lómion, Îon

D.O.B: First Age 320

Death: First Age 510

Height: 5'10"

Hair: Black

Eyes: Grey

Location(s): Gondolin, Nan Elmoth

Race: Half Noldo/Half Teleri

Occupation: Smith, Metallurgist, Lord of the House of the Mole

Temperament: Quiet, heavily introverted, brooding, wary, judgmental, suspicious, intelligent, grim, awkward, shy

Although he was tall, Maeglin grew up malnourished and without sunlight. It left him with a pale, almost sickly complexion and a very thin, gangly frame. He eats little and can be picky with his food. Maeglin spends most of the time in the forge, which is his happy and safe place. He’s a huge smithing nerd. It’s really the only positive association he has with his father. It’s the one thing that will get Maeglin to open up and make long conversation.

Maeglin had a rough childhood, despite all Aredhel did to protect him. But Maeglin loved his mother all the more for it, and he was a 100% certified mama’s boy. Eöl also made a big impact on his son’s life, of course. For the worst! Maeglin was physically, verbally, and mentally abused by him from early childhood. When Eöl threatened to put Maeglin in bonds during his teens, it was an act he’d already done before. Eöl’s curse upon Maeglin before his death also held power, even if its power was to turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy; as we know, curses and oaths have power in Ea. Eöl’s curse is no exception.

Maeglin’s childhood affects him every day in Gondolin — as well as the trauma upon arriving in the city. He constantly looks over his shoulder, half expecting to see his father there. He covets strength & influence so he never feels powerless again. He wakes early and retires late, making a point to avoid as many people as he can. Maeglin suffers from severe depression and anxiety, but he hides it well. He feels like people are always watching him, judging him, whispering about him when his back is turned. He blames himself for his mother and father’s deaths, and often wishes he was never born. Maeglin doesn’t believe that there’s people around him who genuinely love him. The weight of his father’s last words weigh heavily on the young elf’s mind, and he does all he can to avoid it.

So like, Maeglin has a lot going on. To me, the mun, he is not a villain or evil-hearted. He was barely an adult with a really messed up childhood and trauma history, one that most elves never understood or were equipped to handle back then. He was actually the worst Gondolindrim next to Salgant that could have been taken prisoner to Angband. Maeglin didn’t break under Melkor’s verbal threats, but it didn’t take that long for him to break once the physical torment began. It’s really unfortunate he didn’t listen to Uncle Turgon about not going too far when mining. Alas, Maeglin craved that mineral...

Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, the sister of King Turgon, had left the gated and hidden city of Gondolin to seek freedom and find distant family and friends. Her travels led through Beleriand, and to the dark woods of Nan Elmoth, where she met Eöl, who noticed her beauty from afar. He then set enchantments with his Elven magic about her so that she could not escape the forest and found her way only to his halls. While Eöl forbade her to seek her Noldor kin and commanded that she shunned sunlight, "they wandered far together under the stars or by the light of the sickle moon", and he allowed her to even wander alone within the forest. After marrying him, she stayed with him many years and bore him a son, whom in her heart she named Lómion in the forbidden tongue of the Noldor. Twelve years later, Eöl gave to his son the name of Maeglin, perceiving that his son's eyes were more piercing than his own.

As Maeglin grew to full stature he resembled in face and form rather his kindred of the Noldor, but in mood and mind he was the son of his father. His words were few save in matters that touched him near, and then his voice had a power to move those that heard him and to overthrow those that withstood him. He was tall and black-haired; his eyes were dark, yet bright and keen as the eyes of the Noldor, and his skin was white.

Often he went with Eol to the cities of the Dwarves in the east of Ered Lindon, and there he learned eagerly what they would teach, and above all the craft of finding the ores of metals in the mountains. However it seems that Maeglin preferred the company of his mother to that of his dark, stern father, and every time Eöl left them, they would seek the eaves of the forest to see the sunlight, which he had ordered them to shun. When Maeglin told Eöl that he desired to see his mother's kin with his own eyes and speak to the sons of Fëanor, Eöl forbade his request and became wrathful at the mere mention of the kinslayers, drilling into Maeglin that he was of the "house of Eöl" and threatening to set him in bonds should he disobey him. Eöl had a great hatred for the Ñoldor and therefore refused Aredhel and Maeglin permission to seek out their kin. Though Maeglin obeyed the commands, the damage to their relationship was done, for now Eöl mistrusted him enough so much so that he no longer took Maeglin outside of Nan Elmoth.

It came to pass that at the midsummer the Dwarves, as was their custom, bade Eol to a feast in Nogrod; and he rode away. Now Maeglin and his mother were free for a while to go where they wished. Desire grew hot in Maeglin’s heart to leave Nan Elmoth for ever. Therefore he said to Aredhel: "Mother, let us depart while there is time! What hope is there in this wood for you or for me? Here we are held in bondage, and no profit shall I find here; for I have learned all that my father has to teach, or that the Naugrim will reveal to me. Shall we not seek for Gondolin? You shall be my guide, and I will be your guard!" But Eol followed them in secret to Gondolin, for he suspected the treachery of his wife and son.

Now Aredhel and Maeglin came to the Outer Gate of Gondolin and the Dark Guard under the mountains; and there she was received with joy, and passing through the Seven Gates she came with Maeglin to Turgon upon Amon Gwareth. Then the King listened with wonder to all that Aredhel had to tell; and he looked with liking upon Maeglin his sister-son, seeing in him one worthy to be accounted among the princes of the Noldor. ‘I rejoice indeed that Ar-Feiniel has returned to Gondolin,’ he said, ‘and now more fair again shall my city seem than in the days when I deemed her lost. And Maeglin shall have the highest honour in my realm.’ Then Maeglin bowed low and took Turgon for lord and king, to do all his will; but thereafter he stood silent and watchful, for the bliss and splendour of Gondolin surpassed all that he had imagined from the tales of his mother, and he was amazed by the strength of the city and the hosts of its people, and the many things strange and beautiful that he beheld. Yet to none were his eyes more often drawn than to Idril the King’s daughter, who sat beside him; for she was golden as the Vanyar, her mother’s kindred, and she seemed to him as the sun from which all the King’s hall drew its light.

But Eol followed soon after. At Aredhel's request, Turgon at first welcomed Eöl as a kinsman, but under the King's law, one who had found the way to the Hidden City was not permitted to leave. But Eol withdrew his hand. ‘I acknowledge not your law,’ he said. ‘No right have you or any of your kin in this land to seize realms or to set bounds, either here or there. This is the land of the Teleri, to which you bring war and all unquiet, dealing ever proudly and unjustly. I care nothing for your secrets and I came not to spy upon you, but to claim my own: my wife and my son. Yet if in Aredhel your sister you have some claim, then let her remain; let the bird go back to the cage, where soon she will sicken again, as she sickened before. But not so Maeglin. My son you shall not withhold from me. Come, Maeglin son of Eol! Your father commands you. Leave the house of his enemies and the slayers of his kin, or be accursed!’ But Maeglin answered nothing. Turgon gave both father and son the choice to live in Gondolin, or die in Gondolin.

Enraged at the humiliation and the loss of his freedom, Eöl chose death, for himself and for his son, and after staring down Turgon, he cast a javelin, which he had hidden beneath his cloak, at Maeglin. Aredhel got in the way and it instead hit her. Unknown to all it was poisoned, and she died in the night. Therefore when Eol was brought before Turgon he found no mercy; and they led him forth to the Caragdur, a precipice of black rock upon the north side of the hill of Gondolin, there to cast him down from the sheer walls of the city. And Maeglin stood by and said nothing; but at the last Eol cried out: ‘So you forsake your father and his kin, ill-gotten son! Here shall you fail of all your hopes, and here may you yet die the same death as I.’

Then they cast Eol over the Caragdur, and so he ended, and to all in Gondolin it seemed just; but Idril was troubled, and from that day she mistrusted her kinsman. But Maeglin prospered and grew great among the Gondolindrim, praised by all, and high in the favour of Turgon; for if he would learn eagerly and swiftly all that he might, he had much also to teach. And he gathered about him all such as had the most bent to smithcraft and mining; and he sought in the Echoriath (which are the Encircling Mountains), and found rich lodes of ore of divers metals. Most he prized the hard iron of the mine of Anghabar in the north of the Echoriath, and thence he got a wealth of forged metal and of steel, so that the arms of the Gondolindrim were made ever stronger and more keen; and that stood them in good stead in the days to come. Wise in counsel was Maeglin and wary, and yet hardy and valiant at need. And that was seen in after days: for when in the dread year of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad Turgon opened his leaguer and marched forth to the help of Fingon in the north, Maeglin would not remain in Gondolin as regent of the King, but went to the war and fought beside Turgon, and proved fell and fearless in battle.

Thus all seemed well with the fortunes of Maeglin, who had risen to be mighty among the princes of the Noldor, and greatest save one in the most renowned of their realms. Yet he did not reveal his heart; and though not all things went as he would he endured it in silence, hiding his mind so that few could read it, unless it were Idril Celebrindal. For from his first days in Gondolin he had borne a grief, ever worsening, that robbed him of all joy: he loved the beauty of Idril and desired her, without hope. The Eldar wedded not with kin so near, nor ever before had any desired to do so. And however that might be, Idril loved Maeglin not at all; and knowing his thought of her she loved him the less. For it seemed to her a thing strange and crooked in him, as indeed the Eldar ever since have deemed it: an evil fruit of the Kinslaying, whereby the shadow of the curse of Mandos fell upon the last hope of the Noldor. But as the years passed still Maeglin watched Idril, and waited, and his love turned to darkness in his heart. And he sought the more to have his will in other matters, shirking no toil or burden, if he might thereby have power. Thus it was in Gondolin; and amid all the bliss of that realm, while its glory lasted, a dark seed of evil was sown.

When Tuor came, carrying Ulmo's warning of the danger to Gondolin, Maeglin sat on the right hand of Turgon and argued against Tuor. The arguments made by Maeglin were instrumental in convincing Turgon not to leave Gondolin despite Ulmo's warnings, which ultimately resulted in the near-complete slaughter of the city's people. Seven years later, Tuor and Idril were wed and Idril bore a son, Eärendil, further increasing Maeglin's hate. Some time later, Maeglin was captured by Orcs while seeking for metals outside of the Encircling Mountains. He was brought to Angband and taken before Morgoth himself, who knew that Maeglin dwelt in Gondolin and was eager to learn its location. Maeglin was then faced with unimaginable torment; though he was not a craven, Maeglin was young and vulnerable, and he eventually betrayed the weaknesses of Gondolin. Morgoth was overjoyed to obtain this information, and to further encourage Maeglin and ensure both his silence and his further aid, Morgoth promised him both rule of the city and the hand of Idril once Turgon was overthrown. Maeglin assented to this bargain. Afterwards, Morgoth released him and he returned to Gondolin without suspicion. When the hosts of Morgoth attacked and overran the city, Maeglin sought to capture Idril and fought with Tuor on the walls, simultaneously threatening young Eärendil. But Tuor prevailed, and threw Maeglin from the wall to his death.

[silver-tooth-the-panther]

Hear me out..

Demon Slayer X Puss in Boots: The Last Wish AU

Don’t worry this isn’t overtaking my Half Demon! Tanjiro AU. I just thought this was neat!

Roles:

Akaza - Puss (Akaza would have an arrogant personality and he definitely would love to be known as a legend. I can also see him saying many of the things Puss says)

Kokushibo - Kitty (Koku is very serious like Kitty and he would definitely have a grudge if Akaza abandoned him. It’s also an excuse for me to ship them lol)

Tanjiro - Perrito (What can I say? They both have a pure heart and they love to help anyone around them)

Rui - Goldie (This is obvious. They both want a family and they’re very bossy.)

Sekido - Papa Bear (both are very aggressive and tough)

Aizetsu - Mama Bear (This boy definitely would act like a mother to Rui fr fr)

Urogi and Karaku - Baby Bear (the more argumentative moments are Urogi while the funny ones are definitely Karaku’s)

Douma - Jack Horner (Both are soulless monsters)

Zenitsu - Jiminy Cricket (I can just see Zenitsu in those moments the cricket has with Jack)

Gyutaro - Death (The sickles are perfect. His build is perfect. His personality is perfect. Just about everything is perfect! And Gyutaro with red eyes is just badass!)

Just some food for thought. This is definitely a fun idea though!

[stankycowboy]

By her wistful reaction to his recollection of the past, Severen realizes he may not have properly emphasized both the rarity of these “treats”, but the simplicity with which they were made. He forgets sometimes that others grew up with a jar of sugar at hand, more than one shirt, and not having more to do in a day than leisurely finish a newly printed book. If it had not been so long ago he may have felt some derision at the vast difference in the way their youths had been spent, but there would be little point now. Both their histories had been wiped clean, his more so considering his parents were long rotted away in the unmarked earth. “Nice of you to say so about my mama, but she had more use of a hammer than a skillet”. Thinking of Mrs. Van Sickle as a humble housewife was laughable to her son. Her corded arms and callused hands a far cry from the ladies in town who powdered their noses and coiffed their hair. “Never was too keen on tea, strong coffee in the mornin’ what got us workin’ all day”. He snickers, twirling the the toothpick between thumb and forefinger. “Mama had tea some toward the end”, he stares at the table top as if it were displaying the memory to him, “Natives gave her some kinda brew, helped take the edge off the pain”. The toothpick snaps and he tosses both pieces beside the other dead soldiers. “Dunno if it helped any, she was always a hard one to figure”.

Peaceful was not the word the man of America's western frontier would have used to describe his life. Sure there were moments where his ma or pa would sit him down to study what books they had so he could know his letters. ‘No point in having a fool to run the ranch’ his daddy would chide, but when there wasn’t school there were chores, and without many hands on the ranch it could mean shoveling stalls or wrangling wild horses; and more besides as he grew. It had its moments, out on the open plain, only the sound of sleeping herd animals and the predators seeking them out to break the vast stillness. Certainly it had been a more picturesque time. Humanity had not quite left its stain over as much of the world, there was a wild quality to it still. Yet, with all he could reflect upon about the beauty he had known as a child, Severen felt he might prefer the modern age. It provided him with far more opportunities now then as it had been in his earlier years. Nowadays, he would just as likely trip over his next meal, in the past he had known starvation, as both human and beast.

“You miss that then? Bein’ a proper English lady?”

He couldn’t stop the grin on his face. It is not quite mocking, not toward her directly, but the boy who grew up in the dirt cannot hide the edge of scorn for the upper crust elite that creeps in; regardless how far their circumstances have now changed.

Her question prompts an unusual response from her usually destructive friend. There is a softness in his expression, something distant and far away from the room they’re seated in. Mary watches the way he’s drawn back into a time long before even she graced this earth. Simpler times, she imagines, but she can barely conceptualize growing up in the country or living off of the bare minimum. The Reids were well off and highly esteemed among their friends. Money kept them comfortable and a naive, young Mary once thought because of that she’d never have to worry about her future. 

“That sounds peaceful,” she tells him honestly. “I bet your mother was a fine cook.” 

A sharpened nail draws lazy lines in the wooden table, unintentionally scraping against the varnish, as she considers his question. 

“Hm. I’ll admit I miss a fair bit - fresh pears, almonds coated in chocolate, scones filled with lemon zest… But what I miss most of all is tea.” She grins at him. “Like a proper British lady. But truly I do miss it. I would’ve drunk a pot a day if Avery hadn’t stopped me.” 

A sigh. 

“Nothing compared to a cup of tea early in the afternoon - a slight breeze in my hair, clouds gathering on the horizon as I was seated on my balcony, overlooking the bustling street below.”  

[olenoname]

Adopting Gyutaro & Daki: Good Ending

wholesome, angst, bullying, animal abuse, blood, threats of violence, attempted murder, arson

Gyutaro/Daki x adoptive mother reader

Part 1

Sora had gone missing. You let him run around in the forest all the time and he always comes back, but it's been hours now, where could he have gone? Gyutaro and Ume had been calling him with no response, you assure them that he will come back, like he always does. But underneath, you were worried sick about him, you started to assume the worst. You start to pray that he returns home, and just your luck he does that evening, but not the way you expected.

He came back with cuts all over him, what a horrid sight. "Sora!" they both shouted in unison and ran towards him sobbing. "Who did this to you?! I'll kill them!" You knew this was a threat to your family from the townspeople, they finally got fed up with your existence and fighting back was no longer an option.

"Kids, pack up your things, we'll leave in the morning", you instructed them "but why Mama", cried Ume. "Ume just please do what I say" you begin to walk back towards the house "but Ma, we have to fight back, like we always do" he argued. You snap back around "no, Gyutaro, if we stay here or fight back, WE. WILL. DIE! So pack your things. NOW!"

They've never seen you so serious about anything, and you never wanted to snap at them, but your motherly instincts told you that it was time to leave. You had them pack up whatever clothes, money, and food to last you while you patched up Sora with herbal wraps.

You tried to sleep that night, only to be interrupted by Sora's whimpering. You've never heard him sound like this "what's wrong boy?" you croaked tiredly only to look out the front window only to see red flickers in the distance and they were moving closer. The villagers were on their way towards your house with torches.

"Kids, get up, we’re leaving now!" Gyutaro shot up immediately while Ume was all groggy, unaware of the situation. You gathered everything up and the four of you escaped through a back window before they reached the house and had to carry Sora in a wheelbarrow because of his wounds.

After you reached a far enough distance, you were able the witness a bright amber light emerging from your house. If you had waited till morning and ignored Sora, you'd all would've been dead. Ume began to cry a little and you grabbed both of them in a group hug "we're all we've got..." was all you said before a moment of silence and continued your journey.

That night, the four of you camped out a few miles later and got dinner started when Sora started acting up. He was growling and looking in one direction through the trees, you thought it was an animal or something until he started running around several directions, even in his condition.

A gust of wind blew out your fire and you saw a shadowy figure in the distance. Gyutaro got his sickle and you grabbed a butcher's knife while Sora got in front of the now frightened Ume. Your heart was racing as the figure got closer, you can kind of make out a man with red eyes and pale skin in the moonlight.

He flashed a toothy grin at you before he charged after you. Every fiber of you being was scared shitless, but you had to protect them. As the man got close enough to you, Gyutaro got in front of you and cut off the man's extended hand. Sora was now barking as the demon ran up in a tree to recover.

You couldn't see where he was, the trees were too bushy. You heard Ume whimpering right behind you, you looked at her for a split second before the beast jumped down from the trees and gashed your upper arm. As you laid there and wailed in pain, Gyutaro and the demon were having a standoff.

He noticed that the beast took a glimpse at Ume before running towards her. Ume screamed and covered her face behind her knees as he reached out to grab Sora out of the way. But before he could, Sora stopped barking, Ume looked up and the demon was frozen in his place with his head cut off.

Gyutaro didn't even see what happened until he noticed another man with a black ponytail kneeling with his sword extended. A samurai? No, he isn't dressed like one, what was he? The man rushed towards you to take a look at your wound before turning back to your family. "Are the rest of you alright?" Gyutaro nodded, stuck in a daze, processing everything that happened. The mysterious man explained that his name was Koichi and that he was a demon slayer.

A demon slayer? Was he for real? Forget that, after what had just happened, you'd believe anything. He called in the clean up crew to come patch you up and you explain to him that your family has nowhere to go and was taken back the Butterfly Mansion so you could properly heal.

While you laid in your hospital bed, you heard two familiar voices from outside your window. "Please, train us?!" They both begged, bowing their heads "Why?" Koichi asked with his arms crossed "because I couldn't even protect my Ma or sister from that monster, what good am I if I can't protect the people I care about?!" He pleaded "and didn't do anything back there, I always had someone protecting me, but what am I to do when someone else needs protecting?" Ume questioned.

They both continued their rambling before Koichi grabbed both of their shoulders "alright, alright, we'll find trainers for you." There was a long pause before you heard hollers of excitement from them. They grow up so fast ���. You were worried for them though, you saw that Gyutaro had potential the way he cut that demon's hand off, but Ume. Could she become a demon slayer? She sounded determined out there, you know she can.

After the arrangements were made, they were both assigned to their respective masters and were to start their journey by morning. When that time came, you cried and hugged them both and prayed that they would have a safe journey. "Promise me you'll both come back to me", you wept "we promise Mama/Ma" they vowed.

They were both escorted off the premises and you waved until they were out of your sight, leaving Sora with you at the Butterfly Mansion. Two years had gone by.

It was a normal day in your new home when you notice Sora sit up from resting place, frantically wagging his tail and barking excitedly, as if he was trying to speak. He ran out the front gate and you chased along with him only to see two figures in demon slayer uniforms. They've come home, your children are back home!

Gyutaro looked a little buff, he let his hair grow, and wielded two modified sickles. Ume looked as beautiful as ever, she wore makeup and wielded a unique weapon of her own. You ran up to them both in tears, feeling like the proudest parent in the world.

You and Koichi invited them over for dinner and you listened to all their amazing adventures, from their intense training to the amount of demons they've slain. You and Koichi waited for the right moment to announce that you are engaged. Surprise!

For once, everything was alright. Your family wasn't surrounded by people who rebuked you, your children never looked so happy, and you found a man who loves you.

Everything is going to be okay from here on out.

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed this.

Bad ending

[hattiewritesalot]

Thorns And Roses (1/?)

Thorin Oakenshield x fem!reader

(Hades and Persephone AU)

Summary: Thorin and (Y/N) (or 'Kore' as she seems to be called so often) are completely different. Different people, different families, different lives. But how 'different' are they really?

Warnings: mentions of war, death etc

A/N: AY YO PART 1 OF MY NEW SERIES!

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"Kore!" She heard her mother's shrill voice call out for her from across the field, "Kore come here darling!"

Standing up and brushing her skirt off with a sigh, (Y/N) began to run in the direction of her mother's call. She knew (Y/N) hated that stupid name, yet she still insisted on calling her said nickname. 'It suits you so well, little one!' She was twenty-two, almost twenty-three. Not a child, not a doll, a fully-grown, fully-capable woman who just couldn't seem to escape her own mother's grasp.

Demeter, they called her, tended to the crops of the world. They all proclaimed her to be some sort of glorious, radiant creature, but if only they knew the frequent shrieking and temper tantrums (Y/N) had to face nearly every day. 'No don't touch those rhododendrons! They've not finished growing!' and 'Apollo don't you dare let that blasted sun out of the sky or I will rip your hair out of your skull!'. Rather frightening for a so-called-feeble earth goddess.

The moment (Y/N) appeared in her mother's line of sight, the older woman rushed to her, picking miscellaneous flowers and leaves out of her daughter's hair, despite her obvious protests. Yet, instead of fighting, the young goddess plastered a fake smile onto her cheeks and spoke in a calm tone.

"Is there anything you need, mother?"

"Oh nothing dearest, just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Wow.

"Anyway, I am off to Olympus for a meeting, with-"

"-the nymphs I should stay and never stray. Yes mother, I know."

Demeter frowned, stroking the girl's hair.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?"

"It's just-"

No, no, no! One word about her unhappiness and she wouldn't hear the end of it from her mother for weeks, months even.

"I just couldn't find any roses. That's all."

Demeter's face lit up, her grin brighter than the sharp sunlight.

"Well, my darling, you could've just asked!" And with one gentle swish of her hand, the ground was covered in roses, each one ruby-red with delicate petals.

"Stay safe, Kore, I'll see you soon!"

"Yes mama…" "I love you!" "I love you-" But (Y/N)'s answer was cut off with her mother turning and rushing away, her farming sickle swinging against her hip.

With another small sigh, she fell backwards into the roses, plucking one from the grass and smelling its glorious fragrance. But it wasn't glorious. Far from it. (Y/N) felt alone. She felt lost. She felt trapped.

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Thorin sat on his throne, his extravagant crown in his hands, his ears aching from the souls' desperate whining and pleas to be set free. The world around him was dark and depressing, seemingly matching his equally-as-sombre mood.

He closed his eyes, wishing the world around him would just disappear, and he could reunite with his sister and live in a place of peace and comfort. But when he opened his eyes and the Underworld's surroundings were still dark and depressing, he simply sighed and placed the crown on his head.

He was a king. He had to stay strong.

Thorin's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by none other than Prince Fili, or as they called him, Hermes, rushing into the room, carrying a stack of papers. He stopped in front of the Underworld ruler and took a creamy-coloured envelope from the top of the pile and handed it to him.

Before the king could even respond, the messenger god scooped up the letters and sped out of the room once more. Some claimed the boy couldn't hold a conversation for longer than a minute, and Thorin was starting to understand what they meant.

He removed the envelope's golden wax seal and gingerly took the letter out, his eyes scanning over the elegant writing.

Dear Hades,

I formally invite you to a social gathering here on Olympus, on behalf of me and my wife.

It is my daughter Kore's twenty-third birthday, and it occurred to me that you spend so much time being miserable in the Underworld that you haven't met her yet. Pity.

More information below, do try and make it, at least for Hestia. I'm sure your dear sister would be rather upset if you didn't arrive.

Yours Sincerely, Zeus.

Thorin's diamond eyes scanned the information at the bottom of the letter, before he groaned and tossed the paper into the fire of the pillar near his throne.

What Thranduil, or Zeus as he was better known, really meant was that Thorin had no choice. He either went to the party or never saw the light of day again.

"I suppose I could go." He mumbled to himself, sitting upright in his chair. "Not for this stupid Kore girl they won't stop talking about." Alas, while he had never met the goddess, he had heard much talk about her, how she was the most radiant being on all of Olympus, her beauty rivalling even Athena's.

But deep down Thorin knew Zeus was right. It was more often than not that he felt… dim. He felt alone. He felt lost. He felt trapped.

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TAG LIST:

@lathalea @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to

[cosmic-has-moved]

Alcina: Wearing sunglasses “Son?”

Little Hayden: “Yes, Mama?”

Alcina: “How old are you, boy?”

Little Hayden: “I am three, Mama.”

Alcina: Gives him a sickle “Take this knife and go hunt bear.”

Little Hayden: Holding the weapon “Just one?”

Alcina: Smirking “Ohohoho”

[notbecauseofvictories]

It's confirmed in the official comics that Kylo wasn't the one who'd killed the students, it was Snoke who did it through Force lightning and he was horrified to see it happen (he might even have been turned on by his peers since they thought he'd killed Luke, but don't take my word on that one)

Mmm, no, that doesn’t seem right? I’m pretty sure that Ben Organa drags himself from the rubble of the hut with his hands bleeding, the inside of his mouth coated with something tacky and bitter to the taste. When he spits onto the dirt, it’s coppery-red.

He stares at it, the little spot of blood. It’s such a small thing, wet and pitiful. Ben wants to howl at it, wants to put his head down in the dust and scream until his throat tears itself open and his skin sloughs away and he’s gone, he’s anywhere but here; just a howl hanging in space. His hand is shaking when he lifts it to wipe his mouth.

He forgets about the blood at his knuckles until he feels the warmth of it smeared across his jaw.

It takes him a moment to realize how cool and still it is in his head. It’s never been so quiet, not since he was sent to Luke; Luke sings through the Force like a forest fire, all of Endor burning up. Ben could never leave the Light without leaving Luke, it consumed the world.

“Uncle Luke?” he chokes out, reaching as far as he can with the Force, but there’s nothing. It’s dark and cold in every direction but for the flickering candle-flames of the other acolytes, asleep in the temple. “Lu—” he starts, but his throat locks, and the only noise is the harsh rattle of his breathing.

He’s shaking. Ben shuts his eyes, but the sight of Luke standing over him, harshly lit by the beam of the lightsaber, is there in the dark. He has to open them again, and he stares down at the dirt beneath him, that little spot of blood.

He’s still shaking as he pushes himself up onto his knees. It’s a warm night—barely any wind, the stars bright over the temple. The moon is a silver sickle in the sky. There’s a kind of cruelty to it, Ben thinks, a laugh or a sob caught in his throat. Luke Skywalker is dead, Ben killed him, and it’s still somehow a beautiful night. Ben would have expected storms, cataclysms; all the the galaxy to cry out in unison as the last of the Jedi dies.

Even the windows of the temple are dark, the acolytes still asleep. Luke Skywalker is dead and not even his students know to mourn him.

Ben goes cold when he realizes that he’s going to have to—

They won’t believe you.

Ben does sob, the relief is so immense. “Master Snoke,” he says, letting himself bend forward until his forehead is almost touching the ground. He breathes out raggedly, curling his hands into fists. “Please. Help me.”

You have freed them from Luke Skywalker’s thrall, but they will not be grateful. You know this.

“I know. I know. But—”

You are thinking of your mother.

Ben wasn’t, but he sucks in a sharp breath thinking of her now. “No,” he whispers. He’s sick, trying to picture her face if he told her— “He was her brother.”

Your father.

Ben shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

No, Snoke says, and his voice is so gentle. No, you are alone—well. Not quite alone.

“I have you,” Ben says, and he can feel Snoke’s pleasure at how promptly this answer is given, at how quickly Ben reaches for him. (Ben feels a sick flush of pride at having guessed the correct answer, and it’s so good, to feel something other than the panic and guilt of this.)

My apprentice, Snoke says like a benediction, heavy as a hand on the crown of Ben’s head. You have been so faithful, so patient in waiting for this appointed day. You have borne the fear and misunderstanding, and turned it into strength. Now it is time I reward your faithfulness.

Ben can feel an alien pressure building behind his eyes. Apprentice, Snoke says, and the pressure builds to a sharp point like something trying to screw through his skull. Ben twitches, trying to dislodge it. Come now. You have such greatness locked away inside you, Snoke croons. Let me in. Let me help you.

“With what?” Ben asks, though he knows this is the wrong question. He can feel Snoke’s irritation, and then suddenly he’s swallowed by images—memories, some his, some not. He sees Luke over him, lit by blue fire and the other acolytes, whispering, laughing, giving Ben wide berth in the halls—sentients he doesn’t know but wear the robes of Jedi, sitting stone-faced in judgment of a crying padawan—the little human girl Ben hurt by lashing out with powers he didn’t understand yet, Han and Leia screaming at one another as Ben tried to block his ears—a warfront, men wearing the same face dying even as the Jedi step over them with lightsabers bright—violence. So much violence, in the light.

He comes-to with his hands braced in the dirt, to keep him from falling over. He’s breathing hard, as hard as though he’d been running for miles.

You know it must die, Snoke murmurs, and Ben deliriously thinks he feels a hand card through his hair, like Snoke is there with him, comforting him. No one’s touched his hair since he was sent away; Mama had fussed over it for hours, even though it was just Uncle Luke coming. Ben remembered that, her white hands—

The pressure in his skull sharpens to an edge, and Ben gasps. Apprentice. Beloved boy, Snoke says, and Ben nods, weakly. May this be the end of antiquated things. The Jedi, the Rebellion, the boy you think of yourself as…Burn it all down, and let a new warrior be born from the ashes.

Ben looks up, and the moon is a silver sickle in the sky over the dark temple. He wants to—he doesn’t know what. He wants to see it all red, and aching. He wants them to know what it is he’s suffered. Luke Skywalker is dead, it should be burning.

“Okay,” he says. “Yes.”

The absence of Luke’s light rushes up, swallows him whole and clings to every crevice of his mind.

The shaking stops.

So does everything else.

Ben blinks down at his bloody hands, and does not think about the blood, or how he reached for the stone and the stone answered. There is no anger here, or fear; thinking of Luke is like thinking of a rock, or an apple. Ben has never been sure before, but this is what it must feel like; everything connected in straight lines, clean hierarchies of decisions that must be made. (His mother took him to a planet once with three moons and huge seas of waving grass. By the moonslight every blade of grass had looked like a knife and faces were paper masks—this is the same horrible, dreamlike clarity.)

See how I reward you? Snoke exults, and Ben feels nothing. This is the gift of Darth Vader, a true warrior for the Dark—freedom from limitations, to not be distracted by empathy, or sentiment. True freedom.

Summon your lightsaber, Snoke says, and Ben reaches out. One side of his lightsaber has crumpled in under the force of the hut collapsing; when Ben ignites it, the blade is ragged, jumping. He watches dispassionately, even as the edges of the arc curl in on themselves, looking the same color of wet blood that he spat out of his mouth.

I have sent my guard to retrieve you, apprentice, Snoke says. Until their coming---let us burn the galaxy before us.

When Ben steps forward, he grinds the spot of his blood beneath his heel.

(Afterwards, shut up in that lightless ship with Snoke’s Red Guard and the remaining six of Luke’s padawans---some of them sobbing, others preternaturally still with shock, all of them trying not to stare at Ben and mostly failing---the certainty and stillness will fade. In the sudden warmth of his humanity, Ben will look down at his hands and think: oh.

There is no voice in his head but his when Ben Organa thinks: good.)

[royal-insane]

5\22 Sickle Moon Tarot challenge: 11 The Justice. Check #royalinsaneart for more.

I do like how this one turned out. A lot.

Also, I remembered where I could scan my pics today, so yay, I’ll be able to give them a proper look! 

I am starting a new thing at Thursday, so I’m hoping I can finish half of the Major Arcana by then (got 8 of the cards so far), and then we’ll see. I hope I’ll still draw them but maybe with different pacing. The current one is pretty crazy anyway - I got 1 picture per 1-1,5 day and that just might kill my hand lol.

Anyway, below are details and character description as always.

So this guy is called Captain Francis Wolfmother (the name might be tweaked later to fit fantasy linguistics I got going on, but the dude is named after Saint Francis, fyi). He is mostly known by his mother’s family name - Kittypaw, since his father didn’t stick to raise him. That, and the fact that his mother is true matriarch of her sugar empire and one of the richest people in the country, so it is kinda hard to top that. 

(Aww! Kittypaw sugar, yes).

Unlike previous characters, this one comes from the South. Mama’s boy, captain here lived to please and as a teenager pledged himself to the medicine and the church (those are more or less are the same institution in my thing, think Vatican but everybody is a doctor) as his mother wanted him to. It didn’t work out so well, and eventually, after a chain of unfortunate events, he had to quit the Brotherhood. His only instinct was to follow the orders, and seeking structure, Kittypaw jumped from one institution to another, and joined the Army. Living in permanent existential crisis had him addicted to thrill and alcohol, so he went straight to the service in the Border Force, his rich upbringing giving him all the needed skills. Being so very clever and political, he raised in the ranks quickly. 

We meet him as the newly appointed Captain of the Northern Border Force who is growing weary of his military duties that turned out to be way less noble than what he imagined them to be. He is still that good adventurous boy at his heart, who wishes to bring positive change into the world, and he will find a way. 

[chiseler]

Angels Afflicted with the American Dream

Somewhere in the middle of David Lynch's Twin Peaks: The Return there is a moment that, on its incandescent surface, could have been lifted from the great post-war dream of materialist deliverance: The top on the convertible is down, the radio on; The Paris Sisters are singing I Love How You Love Me as a reincarnated Laura Palmer lifts her face to a cloudless sky. Within the tapestry of this early Phil Spector production — his trademark reverb associated eternally with Romance and Death (two conditions that Spector knows all too well) — the voice of Priscilla Paris is a voice from the American Beyond. We could be hearing a dream goddess lullaby from the whispering gallery, or sweet nothings from the crypt. We don't know. We'll never know. Just as Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood keeps us guessing with the elusive murmur that “Sharon Tate will never die,” which grants her a gaudy, if still wondrous L.A. to cavort in— 1969 forever — Tarantino’s version of paradise (complete with occasional flame throwers to the face). In this oneiric echo chamber, momentarily shared by Lynch and Tarantino, Surrealism smiles down upon a vision of American blondness; muscle cars soaked in sunlight; the terrible ecstasy of unending motion; a confection of both eye and ear candy.

To this day, David Lynch’s favorite film remains Otto e Mezzo, directed by Western Europe's sorcerer of confectionary delights, Federico Fellini; the man who put the “dolce” in La Dolce Vita. And here, we get a fleeting taste of ideologies swirled together and spun like ribbon candy — four-wheeled luxury from the New World in a blur, zooming past regional splendor into that fraternity of man: the socio-economic nirvana imagined by Karl Marx. Careening from one via to another at harrowing, white-knuckle speeds, Fellini lamented: “Some of the neo-realists seem to think that they cannot make a film unless they have a man in old clothes in front of the camera.” George Bluestone, recording these words in 1957 for the pages of Film Culture, sat in the literal passenger seat of the ideal metaphor; a vision of post-war ebullience in action: that famous Black Chevy skirting the Italian Scylla (the Vatican) and its equally dogmatic Charybdis (the Party); expert, 20th century precision guiding them through Roman streets with graffiti-scrawled churches proudly bearing the hammer and sickle. At those velocities, anything could make sense. “What for you is the greatest human quality?” Fellini responds, “Love of one’s fellows,” a period-appropriate oath that rings true to his brand of ecumenical solidarity.

“The greatest fault?”

“Egoism.”

Try to imagine our locally sourced egoists nodding along with Fellini in soulful agreement. No. David Lynch and Quentin Tarantino both spawn from a mutual compatriot, Edgar Allan Poe, or rather his abiding pronunciamento that: “The death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetic topic in the world.” Twin Peaks: The Return modifies Poe's axiomatic truth with some help from Amanda Seyfried and a pair of visionary eyes melting Phil Spector's sugar edifice AKA "wall of sound" in deathless close-up — iridescent search lights, ever more urgently scanning the sky above for a sun to swallow Seyfried’s “Becky” whole. We internalize this shimmering ingenue trading places with Old Sol, as if the drugs she's gobbling enter our system, not hers.

Once Upon a Time's Margot Robbie is Sharon Tate when she watches herself on the movie screen, enjoying the thrill so guilelessly that a narcissism charge shrinks to nullity before it can escape our collective throat. And, reflexive handwringing from the progressive peanut gallery notwithstanding, Mr. Tarantino has achieved something (oh, yes) transcendental. Even his grotesqueries — scraggly, slack-jawed, gap-toothed Manson Family members conflated with contemporary Social Justice Warriors fighting “Lookism” — are mythic.

Filmmakers like Fellini, Lynch and to some extent Jodorowsky have a way of celebrating bodily extremes that should be beyond the pale but somehow winds up being quasi-acceptable. There's an innocent glee or wonderment in the wide variety of shapes the human body can take — and this innocence also seemingly cancels out any awareness about how representation in the age of political correctness is supposed to function. Thus Lynch can show the disabled as childlike, mysterious or magical beings, without worrying about giving them agency (the elephant man is a passive whipping boy for the whole of Victorian London) or adult sophistication (the latest Twin Peaks includes a pint-sized hitman who whines like a puppy when his icepick is broken). Fellini's dwarfs and grotesques emerge from the mind of a cartoonist, embodiments of an image formed in his head.

Fellini's big women, of course, are fetish figures — he seems to have formed his idea of a sexual ideal in infancy, and that ideal was a big Italian mama, seen from below. As Fellini turned into a large adult, his ideal needed to be scaled up accordingly, so his films abound with gargantuan beauties. Anita Ekberg is an icy mountain.

In David Lynch’s hands, American television has become a brightly lit seance for Poe’s ethereal dead. Immortal creatures afflicted with the dream of physical existence. While Quentin  Tarantino presents Margo Robbie: a visage both generically perfect and possessed by angels, every one of them a blond California resident, sincere and unknowable as desert light.

by The Lumière Sisters

[leviosarpg]

Congratulations, BEE! You have been accepted for the role of APOLLO GRIFFIN! Bee, this application was incredible. It was joyous and heartbreaking and beautiful and it’s clear your talent knows no bounds. You para sample was so touching, but it was your second headcanon that blew me away. “It’s never much, just little trinkets, but it means the world to you to be able to do something.” I am enamored with the idea of Apollo writing to Dumbledore in order to ask for a reference and his desire to want to be able to give back to his friends in whatever small way he can. You illustrated Apollo in such a stunningly, poignant way and captured the all wonder and whimsy of his character so perfectly. Your third headcannon about him learning to fly with a broom had me grinning ear-to-ear! Bee, I am so beyond thrilled to hand him over to you and I know he’s going to be a total pleasure to have on the dash!

Don’t forget to send in your account to the main and complete the items listed on the CHECKLIST!

THE PLAYER

name/age/pronouns/timezone: bee ; 21 ; she/her ; est

THE CHARACTER

desired role: apollo griffin

gender/pronouns: cis man ; he/him/his

extracurriculars: i’d love to have him in history of magic club, dueling club, and the charms club

para sample:

somehow, the summer is worse than he remembers.

apollo walks into his family’s home to no greeting from his parents, to no greeting from anyone actually. that’s no surprise and, in fact, he can’t help but think it’s a reprieve. his head is already pounding from stress, the idea of being gone from the wizarding world all summer leaving him aching, and he is already thinking of all the things his parents will have to say to him.

last year, they had left pamphlets of finding god and escaping heathenism on his bed for when he arrived home, only deigning to speak to him to ask if he’d read them and returning to ignore him when he said he hadn’t.

he could have lied, he did think about it, but the idea left his mouth tasting bitter. what good would it serve him ? he is no liar, and he knows for certain who he is. to try to earn their love by falsities would make him no better than them.

he shifts the bag he carries on his shoulder with a grunt, pulling his trunk behind him. it bangs on the doorframe and he pauses to adjust it. apollo hears the floorboards creak above his head.

“ papa, is that you ? ”

the voice is young, childish. he thinks it’s daphne, but it could be hermes ( his youngest brother is still a child, voice not yet broken, and he’s not around too much to be able to quickly tell the difference between them ).

apollo says nothing.

“ hello ? who’s there ? ”

he sighs, clearing his throat, before calling out, “ it’s me. apollo. ”

the floor creaks again but he doesn’t get a response.

he tugs his things up the staircase, the trunk thudding loudly on each step behind him, and he stops on the landing at the top to rub at his shoulders. from the room to the right of the stairs, a pair of doleful brown eyes stares out at him.

“ hi, hermes. ”

the younger boy shies away, hiding behind the doorframe, only edged far enough out to keep a careful glance on him.

“ i hope you had a good year ? ”

apollo doesn’t know why he’s trying to start a conversation. the last time he talked to any of his siblings, the last time he had a real conversation, must have been years ago. his heart aches when he realizes he can’t quite pin the moment or what it was about. he’s starting to walk away, his back turned, when he hears the voice again.

“ mama says you’re going to hell. ”

apollo freezes before turning around. “ what do you think ? ”

“ only bad people go to hell. like murderers. ”

“ i’m no murderer, hermes. ”

“ mama says you dance with the devil and that you spit in the face of god. ”

this takes him aback. hermes is nine ( ten, maybe ? he thinks he might have missed his last birthday ) and yet he’s sounding like their parents ( but his voice doesn’t hold the same malice ). apollo reaches a hand up, covering his mouth and nose because he wants to scream, but then he drops it, just nodding his head.

“ yeah, hermes, if that’s the case, i’m going to hell. ”

it hurts to say it, but what good would it do to confuse the poor child and deny it ? to cause him doubt in their parents ? for as much as apollo thinks they’re wrong and cruel ( he has long since begun to think that they are the real monsters, not him ), he can’t let hermes lose them or their love. that seems almost as wrong to him, to turn a child against his parents when there’s nowhere to run from them. maybe one day when he’s older, the veil will be lifted from his eyes, he’ll see that their form of religion is twisted and not based in love.

until then, apollo will walk away, silent and resigned.

the door slams behind him.

—

the clock ticks endlessly on the wall above apollo’s head and, from underneath him, he can hear the voices of his family drifting through the floor. they’re talking about the war. they tend to talk about little else. he supposed if he was surrounded by it all the time and not buffered by the wizarding world, he’d only talk about it too. it’s exhausting, though, to hear only about the grief and pain it’s caused. he wonders if the wizarding world will ever descend to that.

he shakes the thought from his head.

apollo glances at his bedroom door ( it’s shut, it always is, but it’s a habit formed from just after his first year. he had come home with gobstones and he was playing by himself. one of his siblings had wanted to play — this was before they pretended not to even see him — and he had tried to teach her. his mother had walked by a few minutes in and she begun shrieking. heresy. blasphemy. profane. after that, his door remained shut, and everyone else remained out ) before reaching towards the pocket of his bag. from it, he pulls a little gold snitch.

it was a hogwarts snitch. it had been with the school balls and brooms for nearly three months before apollo nicked it. its wing was bent and it was slow and flew in circles. ivon hated when it was pulled out for practice. one day, while cleaning up, apollo just took it. he left a few sickles in its place ( nowhere near its worth but he thought he had to leave something for it ) and slipped it in his pocket.

he had been filled with regret after taking it, but now ? he’s thankful to have it.

he opens his palm and the little gold ball stretches its wings slowly. as if it’s hesitant, it takes a few flaps before rising in the air and circling above his head. now apollo is no seeker, but he grabs it from the air with ease before letting it slip through his fingers and rise once more.

he smiles at the little ball.

he keeps at it. fly. catch. release. fly. catch. release. it’s a never-ending cycle but he isn’t bored, he could never be. for one of the few times this summer, his heart feels light. he is too caught up in his little game to hear the voices in the house anymore, and all he’s thinking about is how much he loves magic.

people keep asking him what he wants to do after hogwarts and right now he thinks maybe he wants to be a snitch maker. he loves quidditch, but he’s nowhere near good enough to play professionally. he also loves transfiguration and charms. this would keep him involved in the game and use other skills of his. he doesn’t know much about what it would entail but it couldn’t be too hard to find out and he could ask professor dumbledore or professor bones because surely they would know and there would always be a need for more snitches because quidditch was quidditch and  —

there’s a knock on his door and apollo scrambles to catch the snitch as he stands up and rushes over. he’s shoving it in his pocket as he opens it. branwen stands in front of him.

“ dinner. ” that’s all she says. she sounds annoyed.

he follows her downstairs wordlessly, taking his seat at the dinner table. his family blesses the meal. they eat in relative silence.

the snitch hums and shakes in his pocket throughout the meal. he smiles down at his plate despite himself.

—

the daily prophet arrives at his window in the talons of a grizzled brown owl at 6:53 in the morning like it did every day. it learned to come to his window and not any other window years ago ; he supposed it didn’t like being yelled at and having a tea cup thrown at it.

apollo puts a knut in its pouch and takes the newspaper in silence. he strokes the owl’s feathers before it goes on its way. reading the headline kestrals win home game, he smiles. the kestrals are one of his favorite team. he feels buoyant. he walks over to his desk and sits down. on a piece of parchment, he scribbles ‘ told you, blaine. that’s three sickles you owe me. -a.c.g. ’. on another piece, he writes ‘ olive, that’s the third bet ivon’s lost against me. do you think he’ll ever learn ? -a.c.g. ‘

they’re just a few of many notes he’s scrawled out this summer. really, he’d lose his wits if he didn’t have olive and ivon to write to and get responses back from. in a box below the desk, he keeps all the notes he’s gotten, all his letters. the ones at the top are new, the ones towards the bottom are old. the very last thing in the box, all the way at the bottom is his hogwarts letter. he takes it out sometimes, feeling the seal beneath his fingers, the old and aged emerald ink still glinting under the light.

despite the owl delivering the prophet to him, apollo does have an owl of his own. it’s a white pygmy owl named selene. she’s noisy and slow but she gets letters to where they need to be and that’s all he could have ever asked for. he walks over to her cage and nudges her with two fingers. she chirps and opens her eyes, blinking at him slowly.

“ could you take these to ivon and olive for me, pretty girl ? ”

she blinks again before extending her leg to him. he ties the letters to her before saying, “ meet me at school, okay ? ”

the owl blinks for a third time before taking flight, flying through his room and then out his still-opened window.

he takes his seat at his desk again. this time, he focuses on the date on the paper. september 1st. the best day of the year in his mind.

he thinks maybe he shouldn’t have sent the letters out — he’d see them soon enough, but he shakes the thought. they’ll understand that he just couldn’t wait.

—

he walks onto the platform alone, like always, and instantly, instinctively, a smile is on his face.

he’s home. he’s relaxed, all tenseness from his posture leaving him, and his eyes travel around without pause. he looks at the frog floating above the heads of three children about eight, all of them leaping up to reach for it. a witch has her wand sticking into a bag, and he can hear things knocking about in it.

being here, it just feels right to apollo.

he walks further onto the platform and towards the back of the express. he usually meets ivon and olive there, a routine well-established by now. he stops rolling his trunk and sits on it as he waits ( he’s taking up room, yes, but he’s early and to his own benefit the platform is still mostly-empty ). he pulls the prophet out of his bag, beginning to reread it.

“ apollo ! ”

the sound of his name gets his attention. he looks up and into the crowd, eyes searching for the familiar and then —

“ olive, ” he calls, his voice equally excited as a grin breaks across his face. he stands up, rushing over to wrap his arms around his friend in a tight hug. “ merlin alive, we’ve got loads to talk about — of course, we’ll wait for ivon, but in the meantime, there’s still plenty to catch up on, i think. ”

somehow, the summer has passed quicker than he remembers.

he’s thankful for that.

OTHERS & EXTRA (OPTIONAL)

Pinterest Board: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/saintedthief/char-apollo-griffin/

Headcanons

it almost seems sacrilegious that all of the griffin children bear names of gods from other religions, but it is the one frivolity that wilhelm and thea allowed themselves to have in their otherwise pious life. freyja and jupiter and apollo and branwen. those are the oldest four. iseult and daphne and hermes are the younger. they are all spurs of their parents, in look and in personality. they are sharp features and bright smiles. they are passion incarnate. they know what they believe, they throw themselves in wholeheartedly.

you write to dumbledore the summer after your fourth year. you don’t know who else to write to, and your head of house seems like a good choice. you need a reference for a job, someone to say you’re a hard worker and someone who is reliable and trustworthy, and there’s no one else to do it, not your parents, not your eldest siblings. you ask him to not mention magic, and you tell him the name of the school your parents say you go to, and you scribble please at least a dozen times in your letter. it takes a few days but he writes you back, saying he’ll do it. you’re relieved and excited and thrilled. you get a job at a cobbler’s shop. you do little things. you sweep the floor, you act as cashier. you smile and chat easily to customers. it isn’t much, but it gives you change in your pocket. you wanted the job because you never really got any spending money from your parents, not beyond a few pennies or a maybe even a nickel here or there. your money to buy supplies from hogwarts didn’t come from them either ; instead, you were awarded a stipend each year, enough to buy books and robes, little else ( from the very beginning, your parents said they would do nothing to help you. if you were forsaking religion — if you were forsaking them — they would do nothing to aid you in that ). you always bought yourself the worst things — books with pages falling from the spine, some with missing pages that you’d go to olive or ivon to get the missing worn robes that you’d mend yourself. you use the leftover money you have to buy extra quills and ink and parchment, and then whatever else was left, you scrounge together to buy olive and ivon presents for their birthdays and christmas and sometimes just for whenever. it’s never much, just little trinkets, but it means the world to you to be able to do something. after all, without them, you don’t think you’d quite be who you are today.

the first time you pick up a broom, you are terrified. it is strange and foreign, and you can feel sweat beading up on your forehead. you have never let your feet leave the ground before and to suddenly be so free with the ground so far beneath you ? terrifying. of course, after the first lesson, where you can’t so much as get the broom off the ground, you watch others fly. they have so much glee, so much lightness to them. you wonder if flying will take some of the heaviness off your heart. you talk to the flying instructor to get a little extra help and he agrees. he lets you take a broom out before your tuesday potions lesson and you start small. one foot then three then five. you start in small circles and then loops and suddenly you wonder why you were scared to begin with. it’s fun and exciting and — it’s magic. it’s magic, and merlin above, it’s what you’re here for. you love it. you love that it’s something new. you’ve got a wand, now you want a broom, and you just want everything in your life to be magical. you want your shoes to fly and your jacket to zipper itself and — it’s a little much, your fanciful dreams, but it would be nice, you think.