#stellar city earth

[cupophrogs]

@8um8le when a bestie needs a hand, by god is D4 gonna be there/j

[aeb-art]

is this out of character? yeah a little, but i'm laughing so

finally got to draw @8um8le's mall toons again 🥺💕 i missed them so much

[itsgerges]

[bearitt-creations]

Cuties!

Chibi toons <333

[jayrockin]

Avian Homeplanet

Star: F-class (yellow white) Vegetation: blue and black Axial tilt: 11 degrees Gravity: 1.12 g Position from star: fourth

Over 90% ocean and blasted by the light of an intense star, the avian homeplanet is prone to hot, humid weather and enormous monsoon storms. In spite of this, the planet’s very slight axial tilt gives its poles a coating of year-round sea ice, whose sifting, dune-like surface plays host to a strange variety of slow growing plants and hardy animals. On solid land, the dominant photosynthetic life is a clade of “plants” ranging from dark blue to cerulean, and a clade of sessile tube-dwelling “landworms” with black flesh and frond-like appendages. Their dark colors selectively absorb and reflect the harsh, high-UV light of the sun.

The crust of the planet also has an usually large amount of the element cobalt. It compromises over 5% of the planet’s crust, comparable to iron on Earth. Cobalt compounds generally have a much higher solubility in water than iron compounds, though, and the avian oceans are stained a purplish red from huge amounts of dissolved cobalt nitrate, cobalt chloride, and cobalt carbonate. Mineral veins of cobalt compounds can be found commonly in the planet’s rocks, forming streaks of red, blue, black, green, and sometimes yellow depending on composition. Sand and soil are sometimes stained purple and blue by cobalt salts, as well.

The clade of avians has a difficult evolutionary history to track, given the limited amount of dry land and intense development over the past thousand years. The current theory is that a flying sophont ancestor originated on the planet’s largest landmass, an Australia-sized continent, and radiated outwards to evolve into the 5 extant species of avians.

In modern history, avians have often run into space issues developing their societies, and metal as a resource has been at the center of some particularly bitter wars. Most land on the homeplanet is currently colonized by the Dominion of Tiiliit, and now in the space age, imported metal and helium is being used to add new land in the form of artificial islands and floating cities.

Avians tend to use simple, writable icons to represent their nations. Though traditionally, the Hotsuuv nations use local cultivated varieties of seal fruit as icons, and the mineral rich south pole uses dots of pigment.

Map art rendered in Photopea by the stellar @cmaidaartworkblog! Edited in CSP by me.

PATREON | Runaway to the Stars

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 10

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Dreamcasting: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (contains smut)

A/N: Hello lovely readers! Thank you all once again for all of your support for my story - I truly appreciate all of the likes, comments, and reblogs SO MUCH! A quick note - as I've mentioned before, this is an incredibly busy stretch for me at work, and the next chapter is also quite long, so it will likely be next week before I update again. But it will be THE WEDDING so I hope it's worth the wait :) -WTT

Part 10

Fire rages. He can feel the heat of it on his skin, heat even beyond the ability of the Eldar to endure.

A flock of brown sheep that he stands in the middle of. A light snow begins to fall, and the sheep look at him with calm, limpid eyes. 

A frost creeps over his bracers, cooling him. He holds an icicle in his hands. The ring of a smith's hammer fills his ears.

An armored helm rising up in front of him…

“Meleth nín.”

Linnea's soft voice, pulling him from the vision. And a moment later, her arm, slipping around him from behind.

Gil-galad leaned back against her, sighing. The room was still dim, the sun not yet risen, and he had still been abed when Vilya had whispered to him. But he must have made some sound, to have woken Linnea.

“I can feel the tumult of your thoughts,” she murmured. “What troubles you?”

He smiled. He could feel her gentle warmth against his back, a marked contrast to both the scorching heat and the soothing cold from his vision. Her hand rested on his bare chest, and he caressed it, her scent of roses and lavender wafting around him.

His bed smelled of flowers now.

She came to him at night; she had come to him ever since that first night they had spent together, that night of pure wonder and love. And each of those nights had been filled with exploring one another, loving preludes for their wedding - and afterwards, she slept in his arms. And she rose to greet the dawn with him, standing and watching the sunrise. 

He truly did not know which gift to treasure most. The joy he found in her embrace, in the pleasure she both accepted and gave so willingly? Companionship, her presence that had banished his eternal feeling of being alone, even when he had been in the midst of a crowd? That she was good, and kind, and strong; that she would be a great queen such as Middle Earth had never seen? 

“Nothing,” he murmured. And there was a soft snort of disbelief behind him; he did not blame her, for he knew better than to think he could fool her. The osanwë grew stronger every day. 

“You are not being truthful, aran vuin,” she said softly. “You have carried a share of my burdens. Allow me to do the same for yours.”

He turned, rolling over in the bed to face her. In the faint light of pre-dawn, her curls were still rumpled from sleep and her soft lips begged for a kiss. And he gladly did so, once again savoring her against his body, drawing her tightly into his arms beneath the blankets.

She smiled at him when the kiss ended, raising a brow. “Do you think to distract me?”

“If I did, I would not have stopped,” he murmured. “I had no intent but to enjoy the love of my queen.”

She didn't reply, just looked at him, and he sighed - but he smiled as he did it.

“The ring has been quiet since Eregion,” he finally murmured. “Until this moment.”

She understood him; both brows rose now, her eyes widening. “You saw something? Another glimpse of the future?”

He shook his head. “I know not. The vision after the siege was clear. This was a return to how it had been before - brief flashes alone.”

He paused, trying to sort through what he had seen and felt. Linnea remained in his embrace, simply being there with him, although she slid back a few inches to be able to look fully into his face. 

“Fire,” he said quietly. “At first I could feel the heat of it scorching my very skin. And then it changed. I was standing in a field, amidst a herd of sheep. It began to snow. And it was cold; I could see the frost on the armor I wore. I held an icicle in my hands. And then…”

He paused. 

“The helm,” he murmured. “The armor. Sauron. He was there, I recognized him from visions past. It was he that burned so fiercely. The heat of him, I could feel it even through my armor.”

Linnea’s brow furrowed. “You said snow began to fall. Perhaps it is a warning that he comes in the winter?”

Gil-galad considered it. Somehow it didn’t feel right - but then, who was he to say? If someone had told him that his previous visions were a warning of what lay in store at Eregion, would he have recognized it as the truth?

“Perhaps,” he said, but even he could hear the doubt in his voice. “But then what of the sheep? They were brown, I cannot recall ever seeing such…”

Linnea started, her eyes widening again. “Brown sheep? Brown coats, brown wool?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Melethel, what is it? What calls to you?”

She considered, thinking, and then offered him a small, shy smile. “I know not if it signifies. But I have a gift for you, meleth nín. To give to you at our wedding, in place of the jewel that is traditional. And the brown sheep minded me of it.”

His mind came alight, wondering what it was. Something of fabric, he was almost certain, both with the words she had spoken and simply knowing her. But what could it be? Was she weaving something new for him? 

He would have to see to something for her. He had assumed they would simply ignore that part of the ceremony, since neither of their parents were living. But if she had planned something, there was no question but that he would have a gift. It was fortunate that this vision had come now; he thanked the Valar for it, that it had prompted her to tell him. He would have struggled to forgive himself, had he had nothing to give in return for whatever she had made.

There was a thought that had occurred to him, back when they had visited the Havens. When Círdan had named her, Linnea Calagûr. Was there time enough for it? He would need to send for a smith at once, that day - and the stones were uncommon, there was no guarantee there were any to be had. But one thing at a time.

He smiled at his beautiful queen, his cherished lady, his wedded wife in only a few more days. 

“Thank you, rîn vuin,” he whispered. “I will receive it gladly, whatever it may be. For it comes from your hands.”

Linnea smiled back at him. She scooted back close to him, the length of her body coming flush with his. “I had hoped to surprise you,” she murmured. “But with what you saw, I thought it best to tell you. Even the smallest thing may be important in the fight against our enemy.”

He nodded soberly, tightening his arm around her. “The truth will reveal itself in time,” he said quietly. “And when it does, we shall be here to face it, you and I.”

And he felt that truth deep within him, as Linnea leaned against him, resting her head on his chest.

The glade was far from the palace, but Linnea hadn't minded the walk. The veiled maiden that led her did not speak, and neither did Landir or Hellathas as they walked behind her; the only sounds were the birds, and the wind rustling through the trees.

The very air felt holy, sacred. Which was appropriate, given where they were going.

She had protested at first when the Yavannildi had come to her. She was not queen yet, this could easily have waited until after the wedding. She had no desire to appear greedy and grasping, clutching at power that was not hers to take. But they had insisted.

The time is now, Your Grace, the leader of them had said. The Lady Galadriel wishes it, for you to take charge of the lembas. 

And so she had agreed, and the day had been appointed.

The maiden in front of them stopped and turned, and she bowed her head.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” she murmured. “Your guards must remain here.”

Landir frowned, shaking his head. “We are charged with Her Grace’s safety.”

“The queen will be safe. This place is under the eye of Yavanna herself. Can you not sense it?”

It was true. The peace that had settled over them as they had walked had grown stronger and stronger. This close to their destination, it was almost tangible; even an army of uruk could not maintain their bloodlust here. The gaze of Yavanna, the Valar charged with all things that grew, was indeed close. 

Landir was still frowning, but Linnea looked at him and nodded. “Do as she says, Landir. I will call if there is need.”

He still looked unhappy about it. But Hellathas nodded, and she swung around to stand next to the path, her position allowing her to see in both directions. After a moment, Landir did the same, standing opposite her on the other side.

The maiden bowed to Linnea, and then continued walking.

It was not much further. The path ended, but the maiden continued leading them without hesitation, winding their way through the forest in seemingly a random pattern. The sound of water grew stronger. And then, slipping between two great trees, they were there.

The clearing was of a good size, hidden deep within the forest. A small creek ran across it, and at the far end, there was a modest stone hut. The trees were packed thick around them, but there was an opening in the canopy here, and the sunlight reached all the way to the grassy floor. And in the center, gleaming like stalks of emerald set with topaz, was the corn.

It did not look real, so pure was its perfection. The brilliant gold of the ears peeked out from the husks, ripe and ready for the harvest. Baskets woven of pure white straw sat next to the field of corn, empty now, but soon to be filled.

And, also next to the field, the Yavannildi waited.

There were a full dozen of them, as was meet for such a great realm. The maidens of Yavanna, the only ones permitted to handle the corn from ear to bread, as it had been gifted to the Eldar by Oromë through Yavanna’s graces. They wore veils; many of them were also members of the order of Estë, and Linnea saw Pendes standing among them. 

All wore veils, save one.

Their paths had not crossed often. Commander Galadriel had been in Imladris for most of the time that Linnea had been at court - but of course, she had come back for the wedding. She and Elrond had arrived together several days ago. And she was standing at the head of the Yavannildi, for it was she who had been the highest-ranked lady of Lindon and so the lembas had been her charge. Until now.

Galadriel was wearing a gold dress, whose every inch seemed to sparkle with beading, and a pale blue velvet surcoat. Linnea herself had chosen a rich green gown that day; it was a color that she hadn't seen much of in Lindon, but it reminded her of Eregion.

It had begun to be easier, just a little, to think of it as Eregion. Not home.

The Yavannildi stood behind Galadriel, waiting on her cue. And she gave it, stepping forward and bowing her head to Linnea.

“Ing tarí,” she murmured. “Elye cáva lissenen.”

High Queen. We receive you with grace.

It was the first time anyone had addressed her so. Gil-galad had oft referred to her as my queen or the queen, and the rest of the court had followed his lead, even though she was not crowned yet. But the formal title of High Queen had never been spoken.

She returned Galadriel’s bow with a deep nod. Not only was Galadriel the commander of the northern armies, but she had been born in the Blessed Lands. She had seen the light of the Trees, and even now, that light was still on her face. She was owed all the respect that Linnea could give.

“Massánië,” she murmured. “Lissenen ni cavina.”

Linnea had followed Galadriel's lead in using the Quenya. Eregion had its own complement of the Yavannildi, but their leader had preferred the Sindarin besain for the bread-giver, the lady whose charge was the making and keeping of the lembas.

Galadriel gave a small smile. “That title I pass to you today, ing’tarí,” she murmured. “Come. The Yavannildi will show you the work. And then I shall give to you the secrets of the making.”

The recipe. Closely guarded, known only to a few. And now she would know.

The Yavannildi moved gracefully, and Linnea watched closely as they did so. One of them remained where she stood and began a song, a soft melody of the harvest that added a slow rhythm to the work. There were no tools; the women carefully removed the ripe ears of corn from the stalks with their bare hands, placing them in the baskets that were at the ready. It was simple work, but each motion was carried out with reverence. Once a stalk was stripped clean, one of the women would uproot it from the ground equally as carefully as it had been harvested, and carry it to the side of the hut to stack it for drying.

“Go,” she heard, and Linnea started. Galadriel had come up beside her, and as she turned, the other Elf was smiling. “This is yours now,” she said again. 

Galadriel might say it a hundred times, and Linnea would still struggle to believe. But she set herself and walked forward, stepping up close to the nearest of the Yavannildi. And after watching once more, she swallowed her nervousness, and reached out, and grasped one of the golden ears. 

It was barely any work at all. The corn seemed to detach itself from the stalk and the husk, practically sliding into her hands. She placed the ear in the basket the Yavannilda next to her held, and then reached for another ear, and then another. It was swiftly done, now that she had gained confidence; more, it was easier to watch and then follow the next step, the uprooting of the stalk to dry it for later.

The song ended just as they finished clearing the field. Each basket was heaped with golden corn; the pile of green stalks, that would dry to the pure white of the baskets, stood tall. 

Galadriel had not joined in the work, but had stood observing them - but there was a faint smile on her face as they finished, and she came to Linnea's side.

“My hands were ever more suited to the sword,” she said quietly. “Even when I was here, which was seldom enough. Yours match this task well, ing’tarí.”

It was a compliment, and Linnea bowed her head in gratitude. 

“I am honored to receive this charge,” she replied. “And honored that you would give it into my keeping.”

Galadriel raised a brow at her, a hint of curiosity in her glance. “It is your right as queen to hold it.”

It was, that was true. And the Noldor - like all Elves - respected formality and tradition. But Linnea was young, so much younger than Galadriel; she felt half a child when standing next to her. Had anyone told her even a year ago that she would take this duty from one such, she would not have known whether to laugh at the idea or to stare in horror at the one who spoke so.

Perhaps that was why Galadriel had insisted on it being today. Passing the charge now, instead of after the coronation, emphasized that it was a willing transfer of power. It was a fit for the kind of queen Linnea wanted to be. 

She nodded in acknowledgment, keeping her voice soft. “Having the right to it does not change the fact that it is an honor,” she said. “And so you have my gratitude.”

Galadriel looked at her for a moment, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts. Linnea wondered if she had said something wrong, it went on for so long, but at last, Galadriel nodded, as if she had both asked a question and answered it.

“The High King is fortunate that you survived Eregion,” she finally said. “As are all the Noldor.”       

It was another honor, and one that Linnea had had no thought to expect. Enough of one where she had to suddenly blink tears from her eyes at the openness of the welcome.    

“Thank you, Commander,” she murmured. “But I feel that I am the more fortunate by far.”

“That…remains to be seen.” 

There was something in her voice that made Linnea look more closely - not just at Galadriel’s face, but her eyes flicked down to the ring on her hand. Vilya’s companion, one of the three Elven rings: Nenya, white and silver, cold and sparkling like fresh snow.

Snow. The vision Gil-galad had had that morning as they lay abed. Did that echo in her voice have the same origin? A hint of the future? 

It made her smile for a fraction of an instant as she thought of it, remembering how he shared it. How they had lain in bed together, arms around each other, him speaking and her listening. Yet another honor, taking a share of his burdens, just as she'd said at the time.

But Galadriel’s eyes were closed. Whatever she had seen, she would not be sharing it.

“Come with me,” Galadriel said softly, and she turned to take a step towards the stone hut. “We will show you how the grain is dried and milled. And then I shall pass to you the way of the making, as it was given to me.”

The feet of the Elves left no trace upon the ground. Their steps were light, carrying them swiftly over sand or snow or solid rock. 

Yet on this journey, Elrond Peredhel’s feet dragged. 

He would not defy his king’s command. Yet had Gil-galad not ordered it, Elrond had no sense of how long it might have been before his eyes beheld the entrance of Khazad-dûm again. Another twenty years? It seemed a paltry span to soothe the ache in his heart, the bruise that had blossomed as his eyes had searched the hill crest to the north of Eregion.

Searching for aid that had been promised. And had not come, until the last possible moment.

Our dead might have been fewer in number, had Durin held to his word.

And now here he was. With a wedding invitation.

He could not fault Gil-galad's reasoning. They would indeed need every ally in the fight; Gil-galad had extended more hands than just this. The relationship between Lindon and the Greenwood had been civil enough in the matter of shared defense, but now he was opening discussion with Oropher for a stronger alliance. 

And Oropher, too, would be at the wedding.

A small voice in the back of Elrond's head reminded him that Durin had forgiven him for those twenty years. With grumbling, true - and it had been legitimate grumbling - but he had forgiven. 

Elrond owed it to him to try and do the same.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and picked up his pace.

The door of Khazad-dûm opened for him immediately; he was admitted with no issue. The guards’ demeanor was respectful as they escorted him inside, as they led him to the great lifts. They had sent word to Durin, and the reply had arrived almost at once.

Bring him in. Bring him to my hall.

Khazad-dûm sprawled around him, below him, above him as they made their way into the heart of the mountain. The sun shafts had been fully restored, and all around them was illuminated by the great mirrors that reflected the light from above. Crops grew green and plentiful in the terrace fields, and the bustle of marketplaces humming with commerce reached his ears. There was no evidence of political turmoil, and yet, Elrond could feel it rumbling beneath the surface.

The guards spoke no word as they escorted him, arriving at the doors he remembered so well. There were more soldiers outside it than the last time he had been here, a sign of both the unrest and also the potential of Durin's ascension to the throne. 

The soldiers struck their axes on the floor, and then pushed the great doors open. 

Elrond stepped in. Behind him, the doors swung shut, but he barely registered it.

Durin stood in the middle of the hall.

To his right, Disa sat at the table, her expression somber. The stone table that Durin had swindled from Gil-galad - and even now, Elrond was unsure of whether the High King had known all along. And further on to his right, the sun poured in, illuminating the young tree that grew there. 

The echoes of the door closing faded. 

For a long moment, no one spoke. But Durin's face had never been a secret to Elrond; the prince’s eyes were sad as they looked at one another, the guilt he felt over what had happened at Eregion filling them. 

It was up to him to break the ice, and finally, Elrond inclined his head. “Prince Durin. Thank you for revoking the order to banish me.”

He couldn't entirely keep the chill from his tone, and Durin heard it. The prince breathed in, hooking his thumbs on his belt; he was trying to appear at ease, but tension hummed throughout the room, taut and shimmering.

“Seemed sensible,” he said. “Since it was m’father’s order. And I was curious as to what brought ye here.”

“I come on the High King's personal order, bearing an invitation.”

Durin winced, and Elrond had no doubt he was remembering the last time the Elves had sent an invitation. Gil-galad’s reminder rang in his head; the Dwarven rings cost them dearly. 

Disa rose from the table, setting her hands upon the surface. “What kind of an invitation?”

In answer, Elrond uncapped the message tube, slid the scroll out into his hands, and passed it to Durin. The prince unrolled it, his eyes flicking over the parchment as Disa began moving toward him, and she had barely taken three steps before Durin looked back up at Elrond in shock.

“A wedding?”

Disa stopped momentarily, her face lighting up with a brilliant smile. “A wedding! Whose is it, then?” She turned the smile on Elrond, along with a coy glance. “Yours?”

Durin was back to staring at the scroll. “Gil-galad’s wedding. The High King of the Elves has supposedly invited us to his wedding.” He thrust the scroll into Disa’s hands and took a step towards Elrond. “Is this a joke? Are ye here to mock me, is that why you've come?”

Anger, and more guilt, rolling off him like waves. Elrond actually had to set his feet at the force of it, but he stood steadfast, and he kept his tone even.

“It is no mockery. The wedding is in five days’ time. If you choose to accept, you may return with me to Lindon. With your wife, of course.”

Disa was busy reading the parchment, nodding slowly. “Five days,” she murmured. “Ye haven't given us much time to prepare a gift, now have ye?”

“Gift?” Durin looked at her, stunned. “Ye can't think we're going to accept?”

“And why not?” she countered. “It's as plain as daybreak that it's an honor. Support for your claim to the throne. We can't say no.”

“We can, and we will,” he sputtered. “We're not going.”

“We are going.” Disa briskly began rolling up the scroll. “I'll ask my sister to watch the wee’uns, that’ll do for a few days.” She paused, thinking, and turned towards Elrond. “Or will the wedding last longer?”

“We're not going.”

Despite himself, Elrond felt a laugh bubbling up in his chest, watching their easy familiarity. He smiled at Disa, shaking his head. 

“The wedding ceremony is brief,” he assured her. “It is celebrated at a feast, and the High King has kept the guest list small. Khazad-dûm will hardly notice your absence.”

“Easy for you to say,” Durin muttered. “A few days may not be much to an Elf, but my brother's been consolidating his support.” He glared at Elrond. “I could come back to find his scraggly arse on the throne and nothing to be done but kiss his ring.”

Disa winced at the word ring, and Durin saw it. His expression instantly grew contrite. “I'm sorry, Disa. But I canna leave now, you know it.”

She looked at him, not speaking. 

Elrond sensed the moment, that it hung on the edge of a knife. He could nudge it one way or another, and part of him wanted to derail this whole endeavor. He could return to Lindon and report to the High King that the invitation had been declined. He had told himself to forgive Durin, but it was hard.

But, he reminded himself again, Durin had forgiven.   

“Perhaps Princess Disa could attend in your stead?” he suggested. “She will be an honored guest. You need not fear for her safety, or her comfort. I will ensure it myself.”

Durin didn't appear to be fond of that idea either. He glowered, his eyes moving from Disa to Elrond - just as Elrond had expected. Durin loved his wife; he would not trust her to any hands but his own.

And then the prince heaved a sigh.

“The shaft's treacherous ahead no matter what,” he muttered. “We're in the mud if we do and the water if we don't. Might as well go and have a good meal out of it.”

Disa beamed, crossing her arms over her chest in satisfaction. “We'll leave first thing in the morning,” she pronounced. “And Elrond, in the meantime, I want to hear everything about this princess your King is marrying.” She winked at her husband. 

Elrond shook his head. “No princess, my lady. A weaver who survived the siege at Eregion. The High King found her in the ruins and was…”

He, Elrond, had been there. He had been witness as Linnea had opened her eyes, as Gil-galad had seen her that first time. He had watched the High King fall in love in that one instant; he had never seen anything like it in all his years. Two souls meeting and finding each other, recognizing yes, it is you, in one single glance.  

“... enraptured,” he finished quietly. 

“Hm.” Disa slid her eyes sideways to Durin. “That’s a sight worth a trip to Lindon, isn’t it?” 

“Seeing Gil-galad acting like a lovesick fool?” Durin raised a brow at Elrond. “Didn’t think you Elves were so romantic.”

“On the contrary,” Elrond said. “Our people love once, for all our lives. Once we wed, we are wed forevermore. Until Arda itself is remade. I can think of nothing more romantic.”

He couldn’t quite keep the wistful note from his voice. Although he had seen many friends find their own joy, it had never happened for him. Gil-galad himself was proof that it was perhaps not too late, that it could come even after so long - but so many of their people chose each other in childhood. Was there still someone out there for him, as Linnea had been for Gil-galad?

Thoughts for another time. Instead, he looked back at Durin.

“I missed your wedding, old friend,” he said softly. “To my everlasting regret. Do not repeat my mistakes. Come. Celebrate our King’s wedding, and share in our joy as our new Queen is crowned.”

Durin let out another of those heavy sighs, and turned his face up to the ceiling. “Aulë’s beard,” he muttered. “I said we’ll go. Don’t make me repeat m’self, it’s already turning my stomach. Narvi won’t sleep a wink till we’re back.”

Disa clapped her hands, letting out a soft squeal of delight. “I’ll go to the treasure rooms now and hunt down a wedding gift,” she announced. “There’s not time to make something new, it’ll have to be already forged. Is there anything traditional, Elrond? Perhaps a set of bracelets for the queen, or…likely no’ a crown, we might have a pair of torcs…oh, and there’s those jeweled platters…”

She trailed off as she walked away, still muttering to herself, and that laugh bubbled up in Elrond again at the pained expression on Durin’s face.

It was going to be all right. 

“I am sure whatever you choose will be most appropriate,” Elrond said, calling after her. But he couldn't keep himself from glancing at Durin, and raising an eyebrow with a small smile.

“Although…I do believe the High King may be in need of a new dining table.”

Continue to Part 11 (warning, contains light smut)

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

*skitters up your walls* hey listen- stop screaming, listen. Foul Legacy meeting a witch.

you live a life of seclusion, deep in the woods of Fontaine and away from the city and the people. it's necessary, of course- magic is dangerous, even with a Vision, and despite how whimsical it seems it requires a great amount of discipline and work. besides, a quiet life suits you, obviously. all witches live alone to practice their craft, you're completely fine. this is how it was meant to be, you think, surrounded by bottles and delicate, stellar instruments made of crystal and elegant swirls of metal. you're fine on your own. you don't need anything but your books and herbs. you're not lonely.

...

...okay maybe you're a little lonely. there's not much you can do, though. you refuse to endanger other mortals with your work just because you want some company.

you're out gathering more plants one day when you happen across a crack in the earth, oozing dark, glittering goop from the Abyss. most people would scream and run, but as a witch you can't help but investigate every source of curious magic you come across, your boots dirtied with primordial gunk and cold starlight. a choked, pained whine catches your attention, and your head snaps up just in time to see something claw its way out into the sunlight, dripping with ooze and something that smells suspiciously like blood.

your first instinct is to back away, immediately, and take out your weapon. but the monster merely whimpers, hacking up more blood and violently shaking as it curls in on itself, and slowly you find your guard going down, taking a few slow steps closer. it lets out a strangled hiss until you put up your hands with nothing in them, beginning to gingerly clean and scour away the blood and goop clinging to its mask-like face with your magic. the creature's breathing gradually becomes easier, your efforts revealing red twin horns and a glimmering crystalline eye, armor dark as twilight, before it rises to its full height and you step away. it flutters its wings once, experimentally, grumbling in satisfaction, then kneels down to your height once more without breaking your gaze. with a gentle, grateful trill, the beast carefully nuzzles against your hands and looks at you expectantly. it follows you when you turn to walk away, movements clumsy but determined as it shakes off the last remnants of blood and sap.

without even thinking, you smile, and the monster gives you a lopsided, fanged smile in return.

[romerona]

Stellar Veil

In which a star falls in Westeros.

Cregan Stark x reader????

Words 1.7k

The night draped Westeros in its customary shroud, stars flickering like cold diamonds against the dark tapestry of the sky. And yet, amidst this celestial dance, a singular brilliance unfolded—a comet, resplendent in its fiery tail, streaked boldly across the heavens.

In King's Landing, where ambition and conspiracy brewed as thick as the city's smog, the Red Keep stood sentinel against the cosmic display. Nobles and commoners alike were drawn to its battlements and gardens, their faces upturned in wonder and trepidation. The comet's golden glow suffused the city, casting shadows that danced across cobblestones and whispered secrets into the night.

Far to the west, where the Iron Islands gripped the tempestuous seas, sailors paused in their dance with the waves. From the deck of every longship, weathered faces turned skyward, witnessing the comet's passage mirrored in the restless waters below. Above them, the ancient castle of Pyke seemed to hold its breath, its jagged silhouette outlined against the blaze.

Across the tumultuous waters of the Narrow Sea, the comet's brilliance reflected off the prow of Braavosi merchant ships and the galleys of the Free Cities. Sailors, traders and slaves hardened by salt and sea, paused in their endless voyages to witness this divine occurrence.

In the Reach, where the verdant fields of Highgarden stretched beneath a canopy of stars, peasants and nobles alike paused. They gazed heavenward, their hearts filled with awe and mistrust, as tales danced upon their lips.

And in the North, where the night was as black as obsidian and the stars burned with an icy intensity, the comet blazed its final path. Its light pierced the veil of mist hanging over the haunted forest and the desolate lands beyond. There, amidst the sentinel trees and the solemn silence of the far North, the comet's radiance flared brightly before vanishing beyond the horizon.

South of the Wall, in the desolate expanse known as the Gift, the comet's descent shattered the silence of the frozen wilderness with fierce force. A blinding flash of light, brighter than the pale moon above, rent the night asunder. The ground trembled violently beneath the celestial impact, sending shockwaves rippling through the thick crust of snow that covered the ancient land.

As the earth ceased its violent tremors, silence descended upon the northern wilderness like a heavy cloak. The Night's Watch, vigilant guardians of the Wall and the realms of men, stood amidst the aftermath of the comet's impact, their faces etched with awe and apprehension.

Commander Ulric Rivers, a grizzled veteran of many winters, surveyed the scene with a mixture of curiosity and concern. His voice cut through the lingering echoes of the crash, commanding attention from the assembled rangers.

"Brothers," he intoned, his words carrying the weight of authority earned through years of service beyond the Wall. "Gather your gear. We must survey the impact site."

The rangers, seasoned men clad in black with weapons and fur-trimmed cloaks, exchanged glances of determination. Among them, Harald Snow, a knight of the Watch known for his keen eye and steady hand, stepped forward.

"Commander," Ser Harald spoke, his voice steady despite the tension that hung in the air, "We will go. We'll bring back word of what we find, true as steel."

Commander Ulric nodded in approval, his expression grim but resolute. "Go swiftly, and return with all haste. The hour is late."

With that, the rangers set forth, the horses steps crunch on the icy ground as they ventured towards the crater that marked the comet's violent descent. Behind them, the rest of the Night's Watch remained vigilant, their eyes trained upon the northern horizon where the comet's trail still lingered faintly in the night sky.

The rangers approached the crater cautiously, their breath visible in the frigid air as they navigated the transformed landscape. The snow around the impact site had melted into a steaming morass, revealing scorched earth and jagged fragments of rock still glowing faintly with residual heat. The air hummed with a strange, palpable energy, casting an otherworldly glow over the scene.

Ser Jaremy Woodbear, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, led the way with Harald Snow close behind. Their sharp eyes scanned their surroundings, taking in every detail with the precision of a seasoned watchman. Beside them, Alexio Stone, a stoic figure with weathered features and a keen intellect, knelt to examine a particularly large fragment of rock that jutted from the ground like a blackened tooth.

"Careful now," Harald Snow cautioned, his voice a low murmur that carried on the wind. "We don't know what this rock may hold. Keep your wits about you."

Ser Jaremy Woodbear, ever vigilant, was the first to notice the form inside the crater—a woman.

"Ser Harald, come, there's a woman..." Jaremy called out quietly, his voice carrying a note of awe and uncertainty.

Harald Snow hurried to his side, his eyes narrowing as he beheld the scene before him. Nestled amidst the charred remnants of the comet's impact lay a figure unlike any he had seen in his years ranging away from the Wall. A woman, an ethereal woman. Her skin seemed to shimmer with a faint glow, casting gentle reflections upon the jagged rocks that surrounded her.

"Gods be good," Harald muttered under his breath, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. "What in the name of the Seven Kingdoms...?"

Alexio Stone slowly made his way down and knelt beside the woman, his weathered hands hovering uncertainly above her prone form. "She... she's glowing,"

The woman lay still, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that seemed out of place amidst the chaos of the impact site. Her hair, a cascade that shimmered like moonlight, framed a face that could have graced the halls of the most illustrious castles in Westeros. Despite the harshness of her surroundings, an air of tranquility radiated from her presence, as if she were untouched by the violence that had torn through the night.

"She does not seem a threat. We'll take her back to Castle Black,” Harald decided finally, his gaze lingering upon the woman's enigmatic form. "Ser Jaremy, help me carry her."

With careful hands, the ranger lifted the unconscious woman from the heart of the crater, cradling her as gently as if she were made of glass. Her ethereal glow seemed to pulse faintly in response to the touch, but as they traveled, the ethereal glow that had surrounded her began to dim, fading like the dying embers of a once brilliant fire. Her radiant presence dwindled until she appeared as any ordinary woman, though her beauty still held a haunting quality that spoke of otherworldly origins.

Harald Snow glanced at her intermittently, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "Keep an eye on her," he instructed the rangers quietly, his voice carrying a rare note of uncertainty. "We know not what we carry."

The journey back to Castle Black was fraught with quiet tension, each step echoing with the weight of their extraordinary discovery. The woman remained unconscious, her features peaceful yet arcane as if she carried secrets woven into the very fabric of her being.

As the gates of Castle Black creaked open to admit the weary party, all eyes turned towards the mysterious woman cradled in the arms of Ser Jaremy Woodbear and his fellow rangers. The men of the Night's Watch gathered in hushed clusters, their faces etched with curiosity and apprehension as they beheld the ethereal beauty now brought within their walls. Commander Ulric Rivers stepped forward to greet them, his brow furrowed in stern inquiry. His gaze locked onto the woman.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ulric Rivers demanded, his voice cutting through the murmurs that had begun to ripple through the assembled ranks. His eyes narrowed with suspicion, though beneath the stern exterior, there flickered a hint of curiosity and perhaps even concern.

Harald Snow, unwavering in the face of his superior's scrutiny, stepped forward with measured resolve. "We found her at the site of the comet's impact," he explained evenly, his tone betraying none of the awe he felt at the mysterious woman's presence thought he hesitated to continue. "She… appeared to be glowing.”

The courtyard fell silent as the gravity of their discovery settled over the assembled brothers. Whispers filled the air, mingling with the chill wind that swept down from the Wall, most not believing, saying it was a wildling woman, others whispering about sorcery.

Ulric Rivers approached the woman with cautious steps, his gaze assessing her with a mixture of scepticism and a begrudging acknowledgement of the inexplicable. Her ethereal beauty was undeniable—a stark contrast to the rugged surroundings of the ancient stronghold. Her hair, a shade that shimmered iridescently in the torchlight, cascaded around her like a flowing waterfall of sapphire strands. It was a hue unlike any he had seen before.

Her attire was equally unusual—a gown of fine fabric that seemed to shift and shimmer with every movement, as if woven from threads spun by the stars themselves. Its design was intricate, with patterns that hinted at craftsmanship far beyond the skills known to the realms of Westeros.

Ulric Rivers frowned, his thoughts racing with speculation. "This is no wildling," he muttered under his breath, his voice a gruff murmur that carried a note of wonder. "Nor any woman of our lands."

Beside Ulric, Harald Snow exchanged a meaningful glance with Ser Jaremy Woodbear and Alexio Stone. They had seen many things in their years on the Wall, but none quite like this.

"Should we remove her gown?" Harald asked quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. That statement earn a hum of agreement from the men around them.

However, Ulric shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the woman. "No, leave her be for now, we'll keep her under watch until we have answers. Lord Stark will need to hear of this. Prepare quarters for her," he instructed, his tone firm despite the uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of his command. "And summon the Maester. We'll need his counsel."

With practiced efficiency, ser Jaremy Woodbear carried the woman to a chamber within Castle Black, where torchlight flickered against the ancient stone walls and cast long shadows across the floor. And above them, the stars continued their eternal dance, oblivious to the upheaval their celestial sibling had wrought upon the realm of men.

Part 2?????

A/N: The story is inspired by Stardust by Neil Gaiman.

I’m still unsure who is the main LI will be but Cregan is top 3.

And while it's an Xreader I will be describing the hair colour and eyes. But just that.

[seat-safety-switch]

No matter where you go on this earth, Iowa floats above you. Its extremely unusual orbit means that the many small towns that dot the solar face of what was retroactively renamed Square Colony encounter, at most, seven-hour-long days. You have to hand it to NASA; they really made a purse out of a sow's ear on the whole anti-gravity-pod accident. Which is, coincidentally, something you can also do this year at the Iowa state fair.

When it first happened, the journalists swarmed my city. They wanted to hear from a "man on the street" (I did not flee to the anti-skyfall bunkers) about what I thought about the whole thing. I was too busy changing out a set of plugs and wires on my decrepit Town Car at the time, so it didn't make good television. The most famous grease-stained back in YouTube history, everyone else at the bar tells me.

If you asked me now, now that everyone got bored of hiding in the bunkers and emerged, ready to be obliterated by any stray potato or skyscraper that falls to Earth from the stranded near-orbital colony, I'd tell you it was all worth it. Having humanity split apart spurred innovation that had never before been seen, a real arms race of transportation technology. We developed a whole lot of medium- and heavy-load reusable spacecraft just so that people from Ames could make the commute to our local Wal-Mart® and get the good ice cream.

I am gonna be honest with you, though. The best thing is that the total lack of atmosphere up there means that the cars don't rust nearly as bad anymore. Stellar Craigslist has been absolutely buzzing with high-mileage Cadillacs that are about to become a whole lot higher mileage. If you're quick, you can ramp those things right off the edge and throw out a parachute on the way down for free shipping, as well.

[serious-tabaxi]

magic Species Part 4?

We finally have our 2 themes: Relic and Bio-mutagen.

@cow-stealin-gal @sorcererest-sorcerer @bloodkrieg21 @chaos-creature-on-the-roof

@softandwigglybones @pythonofficial @wasteland-squog-baby @voltt-shockwing

@squeeble-deeble-academy @pyre-the-thing @russettrush @7tonsofsalt

@mr--zer0 @ignisuada

Now we need to derive a general species descriptor from these themes.

I'm personally favorable to the idea of Sentient Parasitic Magic Items that primary live when attached to a host, change the host they are attached to, and can possibly even control the host.

BUT! if you have other species descriptors that fit "Relic" and "Bio-mutagen" please share them and we can vote between them!\

Bloodkrieg's Idea:

tl;dr: ancient fleshshifter alien species

Fuzzy-ooozes' idea:

Revenants: humanoid skeletal insects who reproduce like parastoid wasps and where so old as a species that most of their cities were underground, not being they're cave-dwellers or anything, the earth just moved up around them.

(presumably they inhabit the bones of dead humanoids or something...)

Bloodkrieg's Second idea(same vein as oooze's idea): a species that fills armor, and uses armor as an exoskeleton.

My Second Idea: the preists of the Living World/the Living World as a whole: the living world is a moon-sized organism with its own atmosphere that travels through the stellar system. it's probably sentient, but its so large and dangerous that its primary inhabitants don't know where or what that sentience is. speaking of. the Priests are a series of warring groups all wrought from the same strange flesh that makes up the world. they all want, ultimately, control over the Living World, but none of them have devised spells or rituals strong enough to give them absolute control. it is theorized that the whole population of priests would have to collaborate to successfully control the World, but seeing as the factions are locked in endless battle that may never happen.

[1-49]

TOURIST GUIDE: The top 7 things you don’t want to be doing when in Paris.

Imagine,

the brightest, most perfect winter’s day imaginable. Crisp, chilly, and beautiful. Warm cafés, busy streets, and gentle breezes ──── stellar architecture, metros, and museums. If anything, Paris is the most magical place on earth, but having Sungchan there makes it even more so.

That being said,

here is a list of the Top 8 things and situations to look out for, & don’t indulge in when you are in Paris if you don’t want to fall in love. A doomed guide for both tourists and locals, eh.

tags: fluff, love, sure it carries its angst though ⁝ fun concept to approach given i wasn’t going to write a fic nor it fits exactly into headcanon, so yeah. he has made me dizzy with his paris photos im sooo sorry. wc. 3k

Fan fact: The French term ‘Coup de foudre’ describes when someone feels completely blown away by someone they have recently met. In literal terms, it means lightning strike. If you have been ‘struck by lightning’ in this way, a common feeling is that you can tell the person everything bc they just get you

Good luck!

THE CRASH

A stunning stranger seated a short distance away from you in a small cafe is always a threat—but this is not just any stunning stranger. As you converse with your friend, he’s also conversing with his group of friends. Passing phones and a camera make their giggles sound like a good time. 

Every chance you get, you glance at him while speaking with your friend because it’s so tempting to do so. Little sparks shoot out the moment the stare is returned; when your gazes meet halfway; when he’s caught, too, for naively trying to get your attention.

When your friend catches on to the fact that you’re looking at what is behind her rather than her.

When she turns around to reinvestigate the situation and notices that he’s staring in your direction, she instantly understands.

When she gives him a smile and turns back to face you, who moved too slowly to stop her.

The stranger which then believes that you both had a conversation about him.

The friend who first exposed you is also the one who is now pushing you to use the restroom; for if he meets you halfway again, chances are good he’s into you too.

Her point is validated when you find yourself in a small hallway, pretending to scroll through your phone, as he moves toward you.

Scents of rich vanilla, chocolate, coffee, and wine fill the dimly lit secluded part of the café, which has burgundy walls. His physique is too large to fit in the narrow hallway. His eyes and smile translate love. His confession is full of tenderness, affection, & promising good times.

THE ‘NO’ PLAN

It’s already outside of your plan to plan the remainder of your day. Order breaks out. Chaos ensues. What was already set in motion was interrupted by him, a tourist named Sungchan. But a Paris show-off won’t be a show-off without a museum, so there goes that theory. 

In any case, a museum or art gallery is a must, so thirty minutes later, you are showing him around one of the many museums. The grand rooms echo with silence as you hope that the angels are praying for you to make it to the end of the tour. It’s simply so overwhelming to be next to such beauty. You can’t stop thinking how much he fits the scene. 

The line of his nose; his lips; the shadows of his collarbones; the wrinkles of his smile; the flow of your hair; the trickle of his laugh—for all of these, he is worthy of a museum.

So when you finally get your hands on the previously ‘passed-around’ camera, an exhibit of blue curiosities rests on his shoulders. Quickly, you take some pictures of him with the Rothko piece. It’s impossible to determine which is more beautiful—him or the artwork. 

There are repercussions for that, as he leads you to allow him to take a picture of you—his ulterior motive, though, to have a picture of you forever. You’ll be with him no matter what, even after he leaves this city and you behind.

JUST TOURISTY THINGS

Time will separate the two of you, just as a river divides Paris, but as you continue to stroll beside the Seine, where musicians sing of hopeless love and painters craft their works in the open, the issue of time is not a priority. If anything, all the time in the world at this moment is yours.

He grabs your hands and spins the two of you around, his hair brushed with sun-kissed shades of cinnamon brown. Claiming he isn’t immune to music, so you can’t be critical and should just follow his example.

But when the spinning becomes too intense and he feels lightheaded, he tries to steady himself by staring into your eyes for longer than he should. Your proximity scares you, but you’re concerned and ask if he’s okay. 

A smile appears on his face as a result of your concern for him, while a heavenly presence is tipping from his eyes as he’s making a promise that he’s good, if not better than ever.

A smile that inspires hope & makes you believe. A smile that undoubtedly had great power to bring you both to this point. He’s beautiful in every sense. Mentality, personalty, appearance.

He’s even surpassing the Eiffel Tower in terms of beauty with ease!

Your captured images, with him as the subject, create the most ideal postcards, and as you’re showing them to him, it’s when a feeling of sad nostalgia envelops you prior to even parting ways with him. You come to the realization that you desire to spend more time with him, not just one day.

But all you get is one day... 

A magic day... that is gradually starting to turn into a night—and as the two of you walk on the fresh-washed gravel paths through the Luxembourg Gardens, the wind becomes clearer and sharper.

Even the bare trees, which you’re used to seeing against the sky, seem to be feeling the warmth of his touch as he insists on pushing and spreading his fingers inside your palm. His vibrance makes even the leafless trees feel less lonely. He takes your hand in such a way that you aren’t even allowed to give him a warning look. Hand in hand, you have no choice but to chase after him.

NO DESTINATION BACK UP

Does it even matter that he doesn’t know the city? 

The ecstasy you are running on is surley telling you that it’s all about getting lost and  discovering yourself in unfamiliar places—and that’s all because of him.

The startled look in this stranger’s eyes as you two nearly cross a street at a red light due to his rushing… 

As he begins to apologize while biting his lower lip, claiming he didn’t mean to. 

His deer-eyes in the headlights are all that you can focus on really. It’s tempting to say, ‘It’s okay,’ but there is something about his apologetic expression that makes you feel as though he’s completely enclosing you in his gaze. 

His eyes are hugging you while he apologizes. It has been a long time since you felt something like that—felt completely safe. Sincerely, and risk-free. He’s a walking green light. So then, it’s a bit sadistic of you to wish for his apology to last longer. 

But how can you not?

When his hand squeezes yours even harder, and he turns all starry eyes while biting his lip in fear?

Someone you would definitely want to try and fit into your pocket, regardless of his height or width.

CRAMPED SPACES

When the cruelness of the night finally reaches your bones, chasing a tiny, romantic restaurant is the only way to soothe the cold.

The warmth of the atmosphere meshes with his gray cardigan, and you find yourself moving more and more into his comfort zone due to the crowded space, where many are seeking refuge for the same reason as you two. 

His rich scent fills the air around you and his knees keep touching yours due to the close proximity. The wine glass dangles in his hand and his lips become more and more affected, picking up a cherry hue.

His collarbones exhibit every movement of his body, and for whatever reason, you feel an insatiable urge to reach for the soft, grey wool and uncover more.

You’re so invested in this delicate area it’s making you feel absolutely irrational. The constant spreading of his hand through his lush hair and pushing it behind is only adding to your obsession. Regardless of how often he does this, the silky hair flies back into his eyes every time.

He has this habit of dipping his small fork into your chocolate mousse, taking a bite, then flirting while he listens to you talk and plays with the fork, letting the sharp tips sink into his soft lips.

The gesture merely begs for your attention, so in order to stay true to yourself, you greet him by clinking glasses with him. But as soon as his glass touches yours, you have to look him in the eyes again and be so sincere... You lose either way.

This gorgeous person’s natural flirtatious charm can’t be escaped. His focus shifting between your lips and eyes as he attentively listens to you is quite possibly the hottest thing about him. 

And although he insists on practising some French words, he continually mispronounces ‘croissants’ and ‘creme brulee’. He got ‘Bonjour’, ‘Bonsoir’, and ‘baguette’ right, which is worthy of notice; and the greatest reward would be a peck on the cheek, which he hasn’t yet received...

The fork remains sunk in his lips. If there’s one dessert that can be described as the ‘most scrumptious’, it’s him.

UNDERGROUND MISHAPS

Running with him in hand is a somewhat exciting experience. You aren’t sure where he got his stamina, but you’re sprinting down the stairs and will have some downtime when you two board the next metro.

When you reach underground platform though, a sea of tourists waits impatiently to go home or explore the outside world.

His hand carefully slides around your waist as you wait, standing side by side, your chests exploding from all the running. Whether it’s to protect you or keep you to himself, the intent is unclear.

And just as you’re about to look up to give him another warning glance, you realize that you’ve already forgotten how many there were. His adorable facial expressions are the reason you never succeed.

Obviously, the wine has increased his energy—his feelings are in his eyes. 

His features quickly and suddenly take on an emotive tone. A line appears between his brows and a hint of melancholy on his face as recognition dawns. Maybe the effects of the end of the day are finally starting to catch up with him.

You realize that he’s a lot of fun—the type of person who always sees the glass half full but who is also, presumably, grounded enough to realize that something is in the way and the glass isn’t quite enough full. Though he’ll eventually have to face it... saying goodbye to you is probably the biggest treat.

His hand is trembling inside yours...

... whether from anger, sadness, or excitement, it can be all of them or then

“Sungchan,”

You barely have time to finish what you started before he pulls you in and gives you a hug. Metros, come and go. People are walking past you, but he freezes this moment.

His coat’s lapels seem kind enough to part away, giving you more personal space and allowing your ear to fall directly on his heart.

His hand falls effortlessly over your head, as soft as a snowflake as he says, “It’d ruin everything if we said anything. Let’s not.” He carasses your hair and then plants a kiss.

A hug so strong that it keeps you safe from the passing of time. 

However, even this beam of sunshine has a heart, and it rains. Not even he has the complete ability to stop time from passing. The earth orbits, and the leaves dissipate.

Though what he can do is, 

he can certainly seize some of the light in the circumstance as he pulls on your hand once more, making the promise of, “Trust me.”

FALLING IN LOVE

There is definitely a sense of a ‘Trust me’ irony in the situation however, about how you won’t fall in love with him.

He seems to be pointing you in the direction of the photo booth at the end of the platform, which he noticed while your bodies were merging together. 

You’re fairly certain that those will be your favourite, worst-ever photos of the two of you, but the only memory you can physically hug, so you decide not to argue.

Naturally, the cubicle is small, but what do you expect from a metro photo booth?

The sweet giant battles his height and shoulders to enter, and when he does, he just hovers above you, looking down. His palms pressed against two different walls, and his neck bent at an awkward angle because you have taken all the ‘what can hardly be called a’ seat. 

Like it is your fault, right?

With a tongue poke to his cheek and raised brows, he’s subtly advising you to do ‘this one thing.’

Like hell, “I’m not sitting in your lap,” you bat your eyelashes at him. 

“It’s too late to back out. Plus, I don’t think there’s any other way to make this work.”

The goofy grin morphs his whole face into what it would be to stand under the sun; his cheeks rise higher the more he shows teeth. He’s so cute. It melts your heart.

Your mouth stays open in shock as you say, “But it is you who wanted this,” before you endearingly defend yourself. “This was your idea.” How very ‘trust me’ of him. In the end, you accept. “Okay, fine,” you sulk while pouting.

Satisfied, he clicks his tongue. You both knew that you would accept; you just wanted to have some fun, didn’t you?

You eventually create room for him to sit, but when it comes time for you to sit, you hesitate. But then you feel his hands dragging your waist down, and the next thing you know, you’re in his lap. He has lost all patience.

You sigh with annoyance, but even you know it is all a front. 

Now hesitant to move, your back remains pressed against his chest, and you’re even halfway there trying to maintain your balance on your feet instead of lounging comfortably in his lap. However, his back hug is particularly effective because it feels like his palm is pressing deeper into your tummy, encouraging you to relax even more into him.

His thighs radiate unnecessary heat, and his warm breath tickles the side of your neck as his chin rests on your shoulder. He teases you, whispering, “You can face me you know, I don’t bite.”

There is an absolute anarchy, there beneath his palm, in your belly. Not the whispering tone!! 

You tilt your head back (ironically, letting it rest where his shoulder and neck meet), gazing at the near ceiling and mentally calculating the number of seconds until you lose your mind.

He rests with you, for a minute, or two… his heart densely kicking in your back, but you swear it’s a peaceful moment. He’s able to magically stop the flow of time, no matter what!

Perhaps outside of the small world that you two inhabit, the metro passes by for the fifth time, and perhaps the waiting area is swept by cleaners once more while your shoes peek out from under the curtain, threatening to blow your cover.

However, time never really stops—especially in this place, the City of Light, Paris, a city that never sleeps.

“Let—um” His voice cracks for the first time before he finally says, “Uh—Let us take those pictures.”

You shut your eyes, allowing the angst of the situation to have its way with you before turning to face him.

His brows appear flat, and the crack between them is even deeper than it used to be. Even his lips are fuller than they used to be. Or could it simply be the face-to-face intimacy that is causing them to appear in such a way?

All this time, you thought it was just a playful lust, an undeniable attraction, when, in fact, what you’re finding is love—love looking straight into your eyes.

You no longer need to hold it within you. You just admit it, completely aware that nothing will change but that it will undoubtedly have some significance because it’s better to let things out than to hold them inside.

“Sungchan,” you pause for a moment, “I don’t want you to leave.”

Like you haven’t already felt them, he takes your hand and puts it over his heart, allowing you to feel the butterflies surging through his chest. Your lips to your eyes is the route he prefers to travel most. “I don’t want to leave either,” he admits voice light and airy.

As you look at him, every time the photo booth camera flashes a bright light, the butterflies burst rhythmically—because of that, and as much at the magic, and at the calculated touch of a girl who, in the past, had learned to trust no one. Yet, here you are, choosing to trust someone you have just met & won’t see again.

Your hands tremble against his cheeks as you gently cup his face and begin your slow, careful inspection. His tense muscles slowly relax under your touch as you run a finger across the peak of his eyebrow.

You feel an influx of emotions as you begin to understand that this person is an angel. You’re tracing every inch of him into your brain—soaking up every star in his eyes and every mole on his face—because an angel like this can never be met twice...

His greatest quality, you think, even in this kind of ‘damned’ situation, is that he can’t stay serious; a smile lights up his face. The only word that adequately expresses how you feel is wanting to ‘devour’ the damned smile that lingers close to your lips. He’s irresistible.

Cute or sexy are terms that are so confusing with him. You aren’t sure to which he’s supposed to be leaning towards. It’s driving you crazy. He simply can not be defined.

And the more he holds you, the more confident he gets. He started off politely, treating you like a paper bird, and then he abruptly stops apologizing. His lashes start to make out slowly with the narrow look he gives you. His thumb glides over your bottom lip. There is only one meaning to it.

Conversely, the photos taken are sitting in the photo outlet. You whisper, “Sungchan,” gesturing to the pictures and apparently indicating that ‘your work here is done.’ 

His firm grip on your jaw, however, fiercely brings your face into his. His winey breath is coating your lips.

“But,” you knit your brows, “our series of pho—”

His index finger stops your lips from moving mid-sentence. “Let’s make another one.”

“You—you’re getting too comfortable in this,” You stagger over what you are saying as his nose brushes against yours, “for-for well, for something that will never happen again.” 

“That’s exactly why I need those photos,” he says, chewing the inside of his cheeks in response to your somewhat insensitive comment.

“And we—And we,” you keep breaking, “We’ve been her—

“Can I kiss you?” He brutally cuts you off.

His sugary lower lip is already pressed against yours. It no longer interests him what you’re saying. It’s a quiet question, but there is some dangerously real intent behind it.

Yes, but can he beg for a kiss?

Sure,

as if he’s breathing in the air that he knows he’ll be missing out on, his lips remain waiting for a sign before they get messy.

His thumb ignites ‘instant fire’ in every pore on your cheek with each precise circle. It’s more like he is consuming you in advance. 

Your thoughts are numb, and your heart is stuck in your throat. You don’t want to forget any part of it all, and you’re bound to in the high you’re experiencing right now... He was right when he advised it to be documented.

The gaping mouths. The tender lip-stroking. The deep, slow breathing. The hot air exchange.

His teeth clenched in pain. The energy he surrounds you with is so intense.

Your “Fuck!”

& Sungchan’s “Please,”

occur simultaneously.

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[aeb-art]

i legit couldn't get comfy in bed bc i was thinking about fem geo 😭 had to get it out

anyway once again, geo belongs to @8um8le

[itsgerges]

[magnetic-regent-magneto]

Magneto and Science ↪      Part 1

the subtle hum of iron in blood, steel bending at his fingertips, the pull of Earth's core beneath his feet, wires and circuits speak, magnetic flux arcing between his hands, reading Einstein's equations, the muted thrum of power grids in distant cities, the metallic taste in the air before a storm, the distant buzz of high-voltage lines, the scent of ozone, strewn blueprint, the infinite spiral of energy, late night lights, monogrammed notes, wrapped books, late night discussions

↪     𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

Magneto has many unfinished manuscripts and half-completed papers

⠀ ⠀𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘: Electro and other types of magnetism, geophysics, interaction of magnetic frequencies with forces (plasma), theories on atoms / quantums / magnetism, mutant powers, ferromagnetism, fluid magnetism, metamagnetism, renewable energies, mechanics and engineering, Quantum-mechanical origin of magnetism, material science, space-centered development, the solarsystem, magnetars, earth's core and nature's magnetism, spacecraft propulsion based on manipulating planetary magnetic forces, Superconductivity Mechanisms, magnetic fibers (his suits)

⠀ ⠀𝗤𝘂𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘂𝗺 𝗠𝗮𝗴𝗻𝗲𝘁𝗼𝗵𝘆𝗱𝗿𝗼𝗱𝘆𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗰𝘀: Ambitious, albeit speculative, the interaction between quantum states and large-scale magnetic fields in plasmas. These theories suggest controlling the behavior of stars and cosmic bodies with magnetism—a kind of stellar engineering. Though untested, some astrophysicists have unknowingly referenced his work under pseudonyms in papers on solar magnetic field anomalies.

The science of Magneto and Gambit interacting creating a Magnetar or Black Hole -- not even Sinister mixes that.

His published works carry pseudonyms.

⠀ ⠀After his time on Asteroid M, various blueprints surfaced on inventions. Various particle colliders and electron molecule systems have been adjusted to the newly recognised modells.

⠀ ⠀His works push the boundaries of conventional scientific thought. Also quoting 'my powers' is ... debatable. (searching for proof of magnetic monopoles. reconcile the monopole with standard model inconsistencies, leaving behind cryptic hints for any physicist lucky (or unlucky) enough to find them.)

⠀ ⠀𝐓𝐇𝐄 "𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓": Electromagnetic Biophysics. A term coined to describe the phenomenon of magnetic fields influencing biological systems. It is oftentimes also used otherwise in sociopolitic studies.

He has funded numerous scientific research projects, often under pseudonyms. He is but a benevolent supporter ... (He gets along with Doc Ock and Bruce Banner occasionally)

⠀ ⠀Genosha utilised a large portion of his blueprints on renewable energies. The entire city layout was revolutionised for the purpose and therefore an almost "Solarpunk" city.

In later years, scientists call upon him for cross-referencing work and data in molecular and frequency studies. Also, sometimes he is also good for checking if a supercollider has a hole...

⠀ ⠀He does not like nanotech as it is more difficult to grasp.

⠀ ⠀Imagine some human scientist not realising they are basing all their work off of Magneto, the scary mutant terrorist. You try to avoid his study but you keep finding the name.

Scientific Magazines with his name and interviews

Young Mutants in school writing papers on him, or reports and they write him letters and he replies to their questions.

⠀ ⠀"We need to call him" - "We are NOT calling Magneto"

Some geophysicists unknowingly reference his work, citing unexplained phenomena in magnetic field fluctuations that were actually on him.

⠀ ⠀Sometimes you have to part the person (a mutant terrorist and villain) from its work -- or something.

[8um8le]

In stellar city what were Sun and Moon originally made for?

Like we know 8ot was a mannequin/virus before

We’re they built for like a job or is there a more like they’re just born explanation in the world (if that makes sense lol)

They were built as mascot animatronics for a (in-universe) popular cartoon called “Space Friends”, the show was first created to promote the city way back, and grew from there, from PSAs to ads, they became well loved in the city by both kids and adults.

The animatronics were scrapped simply due to the fact that the manufacturer came up with a better layout for the build, so they wanted to re-start. The 4 failed subjects were thrown out at the same time but were scattered along different areas of the junkyard. The junkyard is pretty dangerous for bots to be lying around in, since there are often scavengers or peeps just trying to take out their anger by destroying the trash even more or some stupid shit. Sun and Moon somewhat survived long enough to reunite and actually escaped the scrapyard jungle.

And if u guys reallyyy like Earth and Comet, I’d say they got out in one piece, maybe even doodle them in a current vessel who know hahah

[devilart2199-aibi]

IDW collection reading update! :^) 📖

Just finished Phase 2 volume 3! This volume included: The MTMTE 2012 Annual + issues 9-13, The RID 2012 Annual + issues 10-11, Signal to Noise and Spotlights: Thundercracker, Bumblebee and Megatron!

My thoughts will be below! ⤵️

MTMTE 2012 Annual:

Started off super wacky with Magnus 😂 Then got really interesting with Crystal City disappearing, The Metrotitan being underneath and the Galactic Council making their appearance! I liked how they tried to recruit Magnus and he said nah and smiled :)

RID 2012 Annual:

Absolutely LOVED the vintage/retro comic pages they did for the story/flashbacks of Nova's group!! Why so evil, but so cool looking?? I'm curious to see what all that with the Metrotitan and Starscream meant! 🤔

MTMTE 9-11:

Absolute banger. Probably one of my favorite stories so far!! I'm sorry but a murder mystery?? on Cybertron? in the past?? with stellar art!?! Sign me up any day.

Also it was great to finally learn more about Senator Shockwave and the rest of the Characters! Like Drift, Chromedome and Whirly! The back and forth with all the banter and the layers of fronts and corruption ahhh *chefs kisses*

Also I thought this ⬆️ was so cute bc it's a fact right out of Prowls characters bio/info sheet/page.

MTMTE 12:

This is the Surprise! Give you a mini heart attack issue lol Bc of my own silliness I was stressed the whole time reading it 😂 but it was really good!! We got to learn a bunch about Rewind. And that him and Chromedome are Conjunx' !! 🥺💞

MTMTE 13:

This was a super fun issue! I'm absolutely loving all this Magnus character time!!

The Holomatter Avatars were pretty funny 😂 Whirl was too adorable and I thought it was really sweet that Magnus chose to look like Verity 🥺 Uncle Magnus misses his kid.

I felt bad for Swerve ;_; also I'm excited to see more from Cyclonus and Tailgate!! This ship is full of liars lol 😂

RID 10-11:

10 was an issue where Orion (previously Optimus) is currently hunting down Jihaxus to get answers for stuff and things. There is quite a bit of time jumping back and forth which always gets me confused 😂 it was interesting tho!

Issues 11 Starscream takes action against his Deceptibros (Just Shockwave, Soundwave and their posse really) and I really look forward to his team up with Prowl, if it goes anywhere from here! Also Arcee killing more people rip Ravage, Frenzy and those other guys 🫡 and a wild Megatron makes a reappearance?!?!

Signal to Noise:

It was a little Lost Light interlude! It was from Rung's perspective. I feel like I haven't seen much from him specifically so it was pretty cool and interesting :> Like everything, I'm curious to see where it goes!

Spotlights:

Thundercrackers was enjoyable! It just reinforced that he was good leaning, or at least not one for senseless violence. I really like him and hope he makes a reappearance! I'm curious what he's up to on earth

Bumblebee's was fine. Him struggling to be the leader and feeling like he has to prove himself, but getting the job done!

Megatron's was a banger. I absolutely love his monologs. What he thinks of his Decepticons and the 'Pep talk' he gave Starscream to get him back to his usual self.

----

Final random thoughts:

Of all the storylines, MTMTE is still my favorite to read rn. I must admit, Rodimus tho is stressing me out as the leader 😂 I was gonna say my fav characters rn but, there are just too many haha

I've already hopped into volume 4 so I'll be seeing you soon with more ramblings! 👋