#the og roommates

[leverage-ot3]

leverage tv/cinematic universe where there are different shows following the different leverage international teams when

[moeblob]

I have had really low energy and haven't been playing much of anything but I did start a file on Switch for 1.6! Her name is Eve and she just showed up one day in winter and stays there with some chickens. Once she's able to buy seeds without raising suspicion though? She discovers farming is really fun.

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

I just randomly thought about modern au where the Sully family moves into a new house and Spider is a ghost there. Tuk sees him first and everyone thinks he is her imaginary friend and then the other kids see him too. :(

Okay but I fucking lOVE friendly haunting shit. It's literally my favorite thing. The Sully's move into a new house and all of a sudden, the dishes are put away during the night. Someone is putting Jake's slippers on the vent to warm them up for him in the morning. Neytiri's favorite mug for tea is always waiting for her, and Kiri's plants never need to be watered. Jake and the boys are fREAKED THE FUCK OUT, and Tuk is determined to figure out what's going on, but Kiri is entirely unbothered and Neytiri is very religious and believes in spirits and an afterlife. She just says a little spirit was forgotten here and needs a little TLC. Tuk isn't sure what TLC means exactly for a ghost, so she starts leaving out cookies and glasses of water like the ghost is a skittish animal. The ghost responds with flowers from the garden, and little pennies from deep in the couch cushions. They don't fully get into things until Tuk brings home the whiteboard she swiped from school they did math equations on. Then they start having full conversations, introducing themselves and playing tik tac toe. By the end of the day Jake and the other kids come back from school to find Neytiri and Tuk and a disembodied paint brush painting one wall in each room with chalk board paint so they can "talk to Spider even if the power goes out and he can't type on someone's phone." Jake takes a full hour before he's convinced that the typed messages being read aloud by Neytiri's phone weren't planted there by Lo'ak and Kiri as an elaborate prank.

[dakethumoses]

sorry for enjoying dios apate so bad. i do well and truly believe that the three of them had been having weird romantic / sexual / etc tension for at least a decade before john blew everything up, the specific kind of tension where no one was actually sure what they wanted, much less whether what they wanted was like, practical or something that would work, and also it didn’t matter THAT much anyway because none of them knew how to communicate so they wouldn’t have been able to convey what they wanted even if they did know. it was all very weird and cassiopeia would avoid eating lunches in the building when they first brought her on as oversight because it did feel like she was third wheeling a bunch of weirdos and also mercy and augustine kept getting into fights that were like, paper thin pretexts for other fights, and cassie did not want to be there. which is fine and did lead to her meeting nigella, which is probably a net win if you ignore all the tragedy. 

[lovely-v]

Artist rendition of me realizing I forgot my roommate’s birthday (bc we are in two different countries rn) and calling her literally sobbing at one am before realizing I am taking this way harder than she is

[magic-ace]

Knock Out Transformers 🤝 Paintbrush Inanimate Insanity

Targeted by mischaracterization from their respective fandoms in order to make their behavior more "palatable" and "cute" (while, additionally, buying into queerphobic stereotypes)

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Chapter 2: Nerdanel x Anairë

Let's get to my favourite ladies! The plot thickens...

Pairing: Eönwë x Gothmog, Nerdanel x Anairë

Prompt: And they were roommates

Words: 2745

Warnings: Suspicion, grief, uncertainty.

Gothmog had spent the rest of the day in Mairon’s office, going over the new developments and trying hard to believe his old friend when he’d solemnly asseverated that he and his lover had had nothing to do with Fëanor’s tragic but far from regrettable demise.

The next day, the trusty henchman was exceedingly surprised to catch himself pacing around in front of Thuri’s run-down establishment impatiently—he had never been the kind to appear early at appointments and meetings, no matter how important, and he wondered what was happening to him.

As soon as he saw Eönwë appear, on foot, at the corner of the street, his heart gave a silly, little leap which shook him to his very core with paralysing foreboding of an impending disaster.

Eager to dispel that sudden soupçon of debilitating weakness, Gothmog practically launched himself at the handsome detective and started babbling before Eönwë could even greet him.

“Hi, oh…” Eönwë expostulated as he was whirled around where he stood and resolutely pulled back in the direction from which he had just come. “What’s up?”

“He was really assaulted thrice over?” Gothmog asked as they walked down the street in search of the other’s car as Eönwë adamantly insisted on taking turns driving so nobody had to front all the gas money.

Nodding, Eönwë fumbled in his pocket for his key fob—he felt terribly out of his depth, but he was too proud and stubborn to admit defeat. Not yet.

“Melkor didn’t do it,” his companion suddenly exclaimed with uncharacteristic vehemence. “I won’t deny that he loathed the man, but he would never have had the rigour or the dedication to mount such a ludicrous production. If it had been us, you would have found Fëanor torn to bits, probably with a calling card stuck between his splintered ribs.”

“If it had been Melkor,” Eönwë replied darkly. “We would never have found Fëanor at all.”

“True…”

“My boss is convinced that—”

“Fraternal jealousy,” Gothmog cackled. When the discreet, rhythmic crunching sound of Eönwë’s sturdy work boots abruptly stopped, he looked over his shoulder in surprise.

“You didn’t know?” he asked, astonished. “Manwë and Melkor grew up in the same house—I am not sure myself whether it was a foster situation or…Anyway, they didn’t get along too well.”

“That changes things,” Eönwë whispered, his head spinning and his stomach churning with something dangerously close to disgust. He had been used—he’d always trusted and believed his superior blindly, and now it looked as if Manwë had taken advantage of his obedience and diligence to carry out a reprehensively personal vendetta.

“Forget your boss…and mine, okay?” Walking around the car and prying the key from Eönwë’s stiff fingers, Gothmog made sure to block out everything besides his own face by shielding the shivering detective with his own bulky body. “You and I, we’ll get to the bottom of this, as we’ve agreed. Forget about them—they’re in their offices, plotting their dreadful intrigues, and we’re on our own. Let’s go see the ex-wife, shall we? We will, in time, find someone who hated that bastard enough to Rasputin him.”

Nodding dazedly, Eönwë let himself be pushed into the passenger seat of his own vehicle where he sat in miserable, speechless silence while Gothmog weaved through the slow-moving traffic with worrisome skill and blatant disrespect for the rules and laws of traffic.

By the time Gothmog peeled himself out from behind the steering wheel of Eönwë’s rickety sportscar again, the silence between them had shifted from tense and suspicious to almost comfortable.

“You let me do the talking this time,” Eönwë warned tersely.

To his surprise, Gothmog nodded placidly. “Sure will,” he laughed. “You have an air about you that gets people to open up and reveal more than they originally were ready to disclose. So yes, you butter them up with your adorable little face, and I’ll keep my eyes peeled for any treacherous twitches.”

“Adorable, huh?” Eönwë squeaked breathlessly and rubbed his hand across his cheek instinctively. He was unsure whether he wanted to be perceived as “cute” by so impressive and potentially dangerous a creature as Gothmog, but he couldn’t help being flattered by the earnest note of admiration in that deep, grumbling voice.

As he turned resolutely to the quaint bungalow, sitting smack dab in the middle of a sprawling garden, his heart sank as he realised that Gothmog probably thought that he was consciously playing a part to lull his suspects into a false sense of security.

How disappointed the streetwise, sharp-eyed ruffian would be when he found out that Eönwë had never had any choice in the matter.

It vexed and saddened him, but he had to admit that his semi-successful investigation would have already been doomed if it hadn’t been for his risky, shockingly selfish decision to let a complete stranger assist him.

“Knock, boss,” Gothmog chirped as he leaned against the artfully carved pillar holding up a beautiful awning and buried his nose in the fragrant herbs within a heavy pot, painted clumsily and messily by an unknown child, that was swinging gently in the breeze.

His improbable helper was, Eönwë realised, someone who was profoundly in love with life, despite his initially hostile and frightening appearance.

“Are you fond of basil?” he asked Gothmog as they waited for the door to open.

“Is that what it is? I don’t know…it just smells really nice,” Gothmog replied with an embarrassed chuckle.

“It’s delicious on fresh pasta—if you want, I can make some for you, once we’ve cleared up this…” Before he could qualify the gruesome crime with a few undoubtedly callous and disrespectful words, though, the old, lacquered door creaked loudly.

The woman standing on the threshold, however, was not the tall, broad-shouldered sculptress they had expected and sought out. Eönwë cleared his throat nervously.

Long-legged and slim, this lady seemed to be carved from the finest, polished ebony money could buy, and her flashing eyes drilled into them mercilessly.

“I suppose this is about Fëanor,” she declared more than asked in a voice so low and sultry that Eönwë instinctively tumbled back a step, colliding with Gothmog’s broad chest.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Is…”

“Nerdanel? She’s inside—we were waiting for you,” the woman said and turned around calmly, confident that they’d follow her like ducklings if they wanted to get answers to their questions.

“Who are you?” Eönwë asked quickly, remembering who and what he was and why he had driven all the way out of the crowded city to talk to the reclusive artist they’d not yet met. “And what are you doing here?

“Oh, how rude of me,” the woman chuckled melodiously. “I am Anairë, Nerdanel’s good friend. I believe you’ve had the honour of meeting my ex-husband?”

“Spicy,” Gothmog commented under his breath and promptly earned another withering stare from Eönwë.

Behind Anairë’s slender, straight back, Gothmog drew quotation marks into the air while mouthing the word “friend” dramatically and rolling his eyes.

“You and I are friends…of sorts…are we not?” Eönwë hissed back, evidently thinking that he was making a very good point.

“Oh, I wish we were that kind of friends, my dove,” Gothmog guffawed loudly.

In spite of his joking mood, he dutifully observed their silent guide and didn’t miss the way she drew up her shoulders defensively at his crude jest. Bull’s-eye!

“Nerdë? The police—and some strange ne’er-do-well—is here to ask you about…”

As they entered a spacious living room that seemed to house enough potted plants to rival a botanical garden, Eönwë and Gothmog finally got to see the woman who had loved and left Fëanor, the Great and Powerful.

At the time of their engagement and subsequent nuptials, the tabloids had not tired of pointing out how unimpressive Nerdanel’s looks were after all the models and actresses her future husband had been seen courting before her.

Seeing the woman in the flesh now, the two intrepid investigators had to disagree with such callous defamations. Nerdanel was positively queenly in her quiet, composed grief, as she sat—straight as an arrow—on her sofa as on a throne.

“I have not seen or spoken to ‘Náro in over two weeks,” she declared before Eönwë could express his condolences or ask his first question.  “He has been much the same as ever, I am afraid to admit. Driven, paranoid, and rude.”

She gave a little wry chuckle. “He was not the kind of man to make friends easily, nor was he able to avoid making enemies.”

Eönwë frowned. “His brother said the exact opposite.”

“Which one?” Anairë cut in. “My ex-husband? He’s a fool, kind-hearted and optimistic, but a fool, nevertheless. He’s always loved his half-brother desperately, not to say obsessively, and he could never imagine that anyone would feel any differently about his shining childhood hero.”

“There is another brother,” Gothmog murmured discreetly. “One nobody wants to talk about.”

Frowning at that disruptive aside, Eönwë shook his head infinitesimally. “He’s of no consequence—he’s…not like them.”

Gothmog shrugged in a way that clearly expressed that he disagreed. “You never know about all the things those who are called inconsequential once too often are capable.”

“I am surprised to find you here,” Eönwë then addressed Anairë as courteously as possible, given the circumstances. He was growing increasingly irritated with this investigation—for some unfathomable reason, nobody was where he expected them to be, and all their statements directly, blatantly contradicted what he had foreseen to be their stance.

“After our divorces,” Anairë explained smoothly without missing a beat, “we’ve decided to room together to escape the loneliness of being middle-aged women whose children have flown the coop and whose husbands have grown into unrecognisable strangers over the years.”

“Too quick to be the truth,” Gothmog warned Eönwë. “She’s practised this speech—I suspect she’s had to deliver it many times.”

“How do you know?” Eönwë asked, suspicious.

“Thuri is a good friend of mine,” Gothmog answered candidly. “She has a well-rehearsed declaration like that one ready as well. I’ve helped her prepare it…Do not believe everything people tell you! They might have been entertaining a more than strictly amicable relationship since before their marriages went belly-up.”

“So, you had no problems with your ex-husband? He’s quite a wealthy man…he was, I mean…” Eönwë turned his attention back to Nerdanel who cocked her head pensively.

“I have never needed nor even wanted Fëanor’s money,” she spat passionately. “I do very well on my own, thank you very much. If it’s the estate and the accounts you’re interested in, I’d refer you to my son. Moryo—Caranthir for you—might be able to tell you more about those.”

Instinctively, Eönwë turned to Gothmog. He was convinced that such a massive, frightening mountain of muscle had collected, extorted, or stolen large sums before, and thus he trusted that his unofficial partner in this case would know when someone was not being truthful when it came to their financial situation.

“She is very famous,” Gothmog declared cheerily. “I believe her—she seems to be the artsy type who lives on fresh air, wet clay, and bright colours. Moreover, if it’s her kid who holds the purse strings, I am sure that he wouldn’t let his mother live in squalor and misery, don’t you agree?”

“Where are your sons?” Eönwë asked and promptly blushed as he remembered that he’d already found one of them. He was not sure whether he wanted to tell the bereaved woman that he’d found Maglor in his uncle’s house under very questionable circumstances, though, so he bit his tongue.

At once, both women’s faces froze into painfully polite masks.

“They are away,” Nerdanel informed them coolly. “As I said, you can ask Caranthir about my ex-husband's finances, and I will let you know as soon as the others are back.”

“Are all of them out of town?” Like a bird of prey sensing a mouse’s rapid heartbeat in the opaque midnight darkness, Gothmog plunged onto that tiny slip-up.

“Not Caranthir,” Anairë replied, self-possessed and unmistakably unwelcoming. “Maglor should be around, and my own son Turgon doesn’t leave outside of the school holidays because of his daughter. I expect you’ve already spoken to Curufin?”

Humbled by her forbidding tone and merciless gaze, Eönwë deflated. “My boss…He must have done that."

With a trembling sigh, he looked around the room in search of any other clues.

“Looking for something specific?” Anairë asked mockingly, shifting on her endless legs to stand between Nerdanel—still seated motionlessly—and the unwelcome intruders.

“I am merely doing my job,” Eönwë said softly. “I am sorry to disturb you at such a time, but—if you had no reason to want him dead—I am sure you’d want to be helpful in finding out who murdered the father of your children.”

“Let him be, ‘Nairë,” Nerdanel said in a deep, hollow voice. “He’s just a kid—and he’s not wrong.”

Looking upon Eönwë’s miserable face, Anairë’s stern mien finally mellowed a little; she was a mother herself, and she sensed that the young detective was merely trying to do his best.

“I have no reason to desire Fëanor’s death,” she answered the implied but unspoken question. “I have his wife, I don’t need his money, and thus, there is nought his death would give me that I could not have conquered on my own while he was alive.”

“Ha!” Gothmog cheered under his breath, making her roll her eyes in amusement.

“If I may be so bold,” she purred. “You two seem a curious pair as well. If I were in your shoes, I’d think twice before judging another person for bending the rules of what society deems appropriate ever so slightly. Wouldn’t you agree?”

At once, both the unlikely partners started to protest, which made Nerdanel smile earnestly for the first time since they had set foot in her little realm.

“I wish you the best of luck,” the sculptress said in her low, trembling voice that was thick and heavy with tears she was too proud to shed. “Fëanor was an abysmal husband at times, but I truly did not wish for this to happen. Any way I—or my sons—can be useful to your inquiries…”

Bowing in instinctive reverence, Eönwë gave her his sweetest smile as he took his leave.

“Good luck to you too,” Gothmog grinned. “I doubt that you’d really enjoy it if we were to unravel the tight ball of lies and deceptions you’ve spun, but I can appreciate your impeccable manners.”

As Nerdanel looked up at him pensively, a shrewd light came into her eyes.

“You of all people should know to what lengths people are willing to go to defend and protect those they love,” she whispered, pointedly keeping her calm, piercing gaze on his flabbergasted face.

“Even if they’re guilty?” he asked, recognising how superb these two women were under the thin veneer of good breeding and comfortable middle-age.

They exchanged a knowing look.

“Especially then,” Anairë replied in her lover’s—for there was no doubt about that in Gothmog’s mind—stead.

In a subconscious imitation of Eönwë’s honestly deferent gesture, Gothmog bowed as well.

“Well played,” he praised with a wry chuckle. “The game is far from over, though.”

“We’ll see,” Nerdanel smiled.

“You know where to find us,” Anairë added. She was the very picture of sedate, sophisticated grace now as she stood behind the proud redhead and rested a long-fingered, possessive hand on that broad, muscular shoulder. “If you ever needed more insights.”

“Wicked women,” Gothmog laughed as he stepped outside to join an impatiently pacing Eönwë. “I am well afraid we’ve found our match in them.”

Sniggering nervously, Eönwë agreed. “I’d hoped you might have better chances at getting something important out of them…”

“Women are not my area of expertise,” Gothmog admitted unashamedly. “Also, if Fëanor and his silly half-brother couldn’t break them, I doubt that we’d manage to unearth anything they aren’t willing to feed us on a silver platter. Beware, all their gifts are poisoned, and we’d do well in remembering that.”

Tapping his fist lightly against the roof of Eönwë’s battered car, he grinned. “I would very much like a lift if you don’t mind. I have some work to do still…” “Do you want to come tomorrow to interview the banker?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

So, @tolkienpinupcalendar here's another pairing!

Lots of love from me!

-> Masterlist

[bellamontwasright]

Fuck or die but your grandma and your fiance and your fiance's boyfriend and your boss and your doctor are there. I think if I was in Spock's position I'd just kill myself. So considering that I think his actions are above criticism

[eatyoursparkout]

my toxic trait is that if you hang out in my vicinity for too long i WILL eventually make you play ace attorney w/ me

[earthmoonz]

recent townie makeovers: karaoke legends household + zoe patel (for the millionth time)

[sailorbananabee14]

Did I just make a big splurge just to experience Silent hill 2 in the way it should? No…… YES ACTUALLY

[blackbackedjackal]

Every once in a while I get back on the tangent of the first year or two I was involved in the taxidermy community I had a stalker who left a cursed piece of taxidermy at my apartment for months as a means to forcibly stay in contact with me and when I finally got rid of it she cyberstalked me throughout her entire pregnancy.

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

no bigger panic than when there’s a wasp Inside The House ™

[cadybear420]

Fun facts that would probably shock the Choices fandom right out of their skins:

Teens and young adults that "look older" than they actually are exist.

Full-grown adults that "look younger" than they actually are exist.

People in their thirties and above that do an undergrad education at college exist.

[lovely-v]

My roommate literally would love me if I was a worm and I know she isn’t lying bc I’ve seen her do this with every single worm she’s encountered

[glitteratti]

work is so sloooowwwww i want to go HOME!!!!