#ty for letting me write it!

[stellari-s]

HEY SO SAW THE POST ABT THE ITHAQUA HCS. kinda tame (not sure if this is a popular one tho) but i feel like ithaqua has some. troubles with looking at reflective surfaces without his mask since all it does is remind him of his twin brother and what happened to his mom

🪞

request; yes, and they're still open. anon here is referring to this post! i decided to just make it a permanent thing in the end. i wanna hear y'all's takes.

wc; 692.

tags; angst, maybe a bit of comfort, some flashbacks, some fantasy too, bai ze! qi shiyi is a secondary character. (what is her emoji? does anyone know??)

summary; ithaqua has lost his mask thanks to some "pests", and while looking for it, he comes across a calm lake that shows a perfect reflection...

i think it’s here somewhere.

ithaqua bites his lip, hard enough to turn it white but not enough to draw blood. he managed to get rid of those who got in his way, but somehow they managed to knock off his mask, and it was like it went poof from existence.

he looks around the area. nothing.

a flame of irritation threatening to spread from within, he clicks his tongue. things will become troublesome without it - he needs this mask, or otherwise he is not “ithaqua”. he will just be a normal boy: a child who cannot protect those close to him and so can only do nothing but watch them being taken from him.

he doesn’t want that, and so he needs his mask.

the fog is starting to gather around too, thickening into a white smoke-like blanket. ithaqua decides to continue walking along the path, noticing the fog clear up gradually as he ventures deeper into the heart of the forest.

in said heart is a clear lake where no impurity can reach, said to be almost like a paradise of some sort.

when ithaqua finds himself along the edge of the lake, he can’t help but look down: the water is so calm and clear that it almost makes him uncomfortable.

down below, a perfect reflection stared back at him.

it seems to mock him, imitating his every expression with alarming precision. when ithaqua widens his eyes, his reflection does as well. when his eyes narrow in disgust, so does his reflection.

no, it could hardly be considered a reflection.

it was a person whose face was his own - the very same person who made his mother suffer, and ithaqua as well. his breathing becomes more ragged by the moment and the sound of chains, screams, and wicked voices fill his ears like buzzing as he looks into those dull cerulean blue eyes, that pale skin, the silver hair...

suddenly, a ripple distorts the figure in the lake. even the slightest ripple spreads to make that detested face unrecognizable.

“you appear quite troubled.” when ithaqua looks up, the voices in his mind becoming more and more muted, he sees a boat - when did it get here? - with a girl standing atop holding a long bamboo; she must have used it to disturb the calm waters. she is clad in a white shirt with jade-colored accents and black skirt. parts of her long, flowing onyx hair, adorned with jade and gold, is braided. while her expression remains stoic and posture coldly elegant, her voice is gentle. “reflections speak to the soul to take it away. it would do you good to be more cautious.”

ithaqua chooses not to say anything, partly because he isn’t sure what to say, but also because he can’t bring himself to fully trust her even though she had helped him. he watches as the girl rows toward him before wordlessly, she holds out a familiar mask.

it’s the mask he had been looking for.

ithaqua breathes out in relief, feeling like letting out a breath he had been holding, as he snatches the mask from her hands and quickly puts it on. the anxiety slowly building up in his chest and threatening to burst breaks down, replaced with a feeling of security and peace.

where did she find it though? the question nags his mind, but he can’t bring himself to ask.

instead, she continues speaking. “mirrors know your true self, including your deepest fears, and they will try to chain you to your past,” she says, “but in the end, it is but a mirror.”

“...what are you trying to say?” ithaqua asks, enunciating each word carefully.

for the first time, he sees a small, wry smile play on the girl’s lips. “that what a shame it would be if you were taken over by someone who is no longer roaming this world.”

her smile is fleeting, as her expression returns to a stoic one.

“always remember who you are, ithaqua. if you do, then maybe looking in your reflection will become more bearable, even if only a little bit.”

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[choccy-milky]

sometimes you gotta lure your overly-studious ravenclaw gf into spending time with you 🥰 📚 ( from 'Every Teardrop is a Waterfall' by Kat_12739 on ao3, GO READ IT!!! the first story is about seb falling sick and still pushing himself/not admitting he's sick until he ends up in the hospital, the second story is about the birth of seb and clora's daughter and seb's reaction to clora almost dying in childbirth, and the third is about dealing with a fussy newborn lewis😭🥹THEY'RE SO GOOD AND SWEET AND SOMEWHAT SAD (not to mention beautifully written) so go check it out!!💖💖 )

[deoidesign]

Thinking about vampires, death, life, and the space they occupy in between

[isoobie]

BAMBI ─── highschool bf heeseung

🍵 wc 911 kissing, fmr 𝅘𝅥𝅮 listen! for @okwonyo’s event

“hey! lee heeseung, come here!” a loud voice calls heeseung’s name from across the room in amidst of the calm atmosphere.

“i won’t and what will you do about it!” heeseung responds back and sticks his tongue out before running out of the classroom. however, before he can make it out of the second floor a hand grabs his shirt by the collar to stop him.

“and where do you think you’re going, we aren’t done yet.” its the same voice that screamed his name a couple seconds ago and now he’s looking directly into the owner’s face.

its yn, park yn, class president and heeseung’s best friend who doesn’t know that he has been crushing on her for more than three years.

yn and heeseung are head to head, practically shooting fire through their eyes at each other. if someone from a distance saw them, they would have thought they were sworn enemies but in reality they were having nothing more than fun.

a couple minutes ago, heeseung decided that it was a good (according to him) idea to play a prank on yn and take her favourite lip balm and hide it from her.

he loved teasing her, it was his love language but yn had enough, she wasn’t going to let this slide, it was her last straw.

before heeseung had run out of the classroom yn had looked everywhere for him, the field, toilets, the gym, canteen, even the janitors room but realising he was nowhere, she was mad mad.

but eventually when she found him in her homeroom peacefully resting, she didn’t let this once in a life opportunity go.

eye to eye, neither of them say a word, the silence could speak for itself. yn’s irritation and heeseung’s pleasure was so evident in the air that none of them dared to speak, until.

“so park yn, you gonna’ fight me or what?” his voice was laced with so much sarcasm yn’s bones were crippling with anger.

“give me my lip balm. right. now.” her response was so demanding it shook heeseung more than it should have, he had never heard her speak in such tone before.

“and what if i said no ... ” at this point heeseung just wanted an excuse to stay with her for longer, just to hear her voice for even just a second more.

heeseung couldn’t remember the moment exactly when he fell in love with his best friend but he knew for sure that he loved no one else but her.

all the times they hung out, all the times they video called, all the times she cried about her exes to him, made him fall deeper and harder than ever.

playing pranks and bothering her was the only way he could express his undying affection for her without him accidentally slipping up.

no other words could describe it when he was with her, it felt like the whole world revolved around her and him, and he selfishly wanted to live in that world.

heeseung thinks of yn as a dream, one he never wanted to wake up from. every moment with her was priceless, timeless and worth an infinity. god, he yearned to drown her compliments and make her feel like the most precious person on earth.

“hello? earth to heeseung?” yn’s sharp voice cuts through his thoughts and bring him back to reality. “these games aren’t funny anymore i just want my balm back, please.” he could hear the pleading in her voice, lord, he was so weak for it— for her.

“but yn guess what?” he’s doing it, and he’s only decided it in the last three seconds, he’s going to tell her.

heeseung inches forward like its normal, until he can hear the little ‘thump’ of her back on the brick wall behind them.

“hee—”

he keeps a finger to her lips and doesn’t let her say another word.

“just listen, please” it’s his nth time trying to confess, he can’t let this chance go to waste, he knows it’ll be perfect, “this may seem rushed or out of the blue but funny enough, i like you, park yn.”

yn is shocked, flabbergasted and surprisingly happy, she doesn’t know how all these emotions are tied together but it just happens. heeseung’s bambi eyes stare at her, waiting patiently for a reaction, and only when she smiles a slight smile at him he continues.

“it’s probably been three years, or more who cares, since i have liked you, god that’s long,” he makes sure to whisper the last bit, “i sometimes wonder if you know how i feel, if you reciprocate my feelings back or if you think about me like i think about you. i can’t express in words how i truly feel about you but all i want is you and me, us, please?”

how could yn say no? how could anyone say no? his hands are nervously behind her back while his mouth is slightly open ans his hair messily parted, he was so handsome.

“funny enough heeseung, my answer is ye—”

before they both knew it, heeseung’s lips were already on yn’s while the hand that once was nervous was now on her hips, secured.

“you like your new lip balm, girlfriend?” heeseung’s once soft voice was now back to it’s teasing tone and all of a sudden her anger was all gone.

“oh yes i do bambi, it’s my new favourite”

isoobie 2024

[aseuki]

Comes in here with a longass post hello! Been meaning to get around to illustrating some Species Headcanons @humming-fly @alagaesia-overlord and I have been cooking up! Major props to them for helping me write the script hahaha it wouldn't have been possible without them!

This is a little segment I have been wanting to try for a bit, just a nice moment to dispense lore in a fun way! I can't promise that more will be out in a necessarily timely manner, but I can promise that more will be on its way. Someday!

Until then, I hope you all enjoy these fun lil thoughts! 🤗

[wikitpowers]

actually i think it would be adorable if bc of the isolation johnny put him in, kit didn’t know how to swim, bc then we could get a scene of ty trying to teach him one day and it would genuinely be the cutest thing ever <3

[rebouks]

She knew-.. Robin was sure of it.

Despite her warmth, he’d always been slightly unnerved by aunt Alma’s presence; there was something odd about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Some people were harder to read than others, like Alex, but it was still possible.

Alma’s mind was like an impenetrable vault in comparison. Any attempts to feel or hear anything she did were met with a metaphorical brick wall, leaving him reeling as though he’d collided with it head first-.. but not tonight. Tonight, Alma was like an open book, and Robin was convinced she was doing it on purpose.

She’d told him all about her struggles as a child; how she didn’t fit in, how people teased her for being too sensitive, how hard it was to figure out who she was amongst the clamour of everyone else’s inner most image of themselves-.. all the while allowing him unlimited access to those very memories, like a handpicked blooper reel, just for him. Of course, that wasn’t the case though.. was it?

Alma had stopped talking now, but Robin still wasn’t sure how to react. He sat in silence instead, staring at nothing in particular for far longer than what could be considered normal.

“Can you hear me?” he thought, deciding to try a little experiment.

Nothing. Okay, so she couldn’t read his mind-.. then what the heck was she getting at? How had she so succinctly summed up his entire existence in less than fifteen minutes?

“I would’ve liked somewhere as quiet as this when I was young, it’s a shame we didn’t have an attic…” Alma offered, clearly trying to relate to Robin’s situation in any way she could. He still wasn’t entirely sure why, but she clearly wanted to help, and Robin didn’t know anyone else who understood him as well as she did, so perhaps he ought to let her try. He finally abandoned his switch and cautiously joined her atop his favourite, motheaten couch.

“What’re you getting at?” he said bluntly, curiosity getting the better of his manners. Alma chuckled softly, “You’re just like your father.” “It’s genetics, apparently…” Robin let loose a brief grin, glad to be compared to Oscar.

“I don’t know how exactly, but you’re different, Robin-.. and I thought it high time you knew you weren’t alone, and that we can’t let these things get the best of us.” Alma smiled softly as she spoke, but Robin was still too wary to be completely transparent. “We?” he asked, dubiously. “We’re few and far between, but you’re certainly not the only one who’s a little.. special, shall we say? That’s better than different, maybe?” Alma suggested.

Robin hummed thoughtfully, shaking his head, “Special is just another word for different, or weird.” Alma scoffed playfully, “And what’s wrong with being weird? I’m weird-.. we’re all a bit weird!”

“How’re you weird?” Robin asked, squinting at Alma accusingly. “Well, I can sense things I certainly shouldn’t be able to.” Alma started, excited to be getting somewhere. “Emotions radiate from people like a space heater-.. they’re not always pleasant, of course, but I can soak them up if I want to.”

Robin blinked, “Only if you want to..?” “Uh-huh.” Alma nodded. “You can block it out?!” Robin spluttered, suddenly and completely forgetting to maintain his ignorance before swiftly correcting himself. “I mean-.. it sounds like you can pick and choose, right?”

Alma nodded once more, “It wasn’t easy, but I spent a lot of years practicing.” “Years?” Robin sounded crestfallen. “I didn’t have a mentor…” Alma winked.

Robin allowed himself to smirk, figuring he might as well drop at least part of the act at this point. He was still a little nervous about being approached about such things so brazenly, but at least he knew why Alma perturbed him so much now, she was blocking him out on purpose-.. and she couldn’t read his mind either, which was always a plus.

The last thing he wanted was for anyone to know that he possessed that particular ability. Who’d want to hang out with someone who could access their inner most thoughts, the one’s they’d never dream of saying out loud? He shuddered involuntarily, hoping he’d never meet anyone that could read his.

Clementine finally nudged Robin, dragging him back to the present with her ghostly touch. “She looked right at me just then-.. she smiled! Did you see?” Robin spun around, realising that Alma had almost begun her descent. He must’ve missed her goodbye. “Wait!”

Alma paused expectantly, causing Robin to second guess himself and retreat into silence. “I won’t be far, sweetheart-.. whenever you’re ready.” Robin shivered as Clementine poked him again, “She can definitely see me…” “Can you, uh-…”

“See the ghost poking you?” Alma giggled, sounding far younger than she was. The vault doors had snapped shut again by now, but Robin got the impression that aunt Alma was just as excited as he was to find someone else who was weird. “Can you hear her?”

“Maybe-.. though I’m quite sure she hasn’t said anything yet.” Alma peered at Clementine expectantly. “Hey!” Clementine exclaimed as Robin tried to shove her into action, his hand ending up halfway through her waist instead.

“What? It’s not like you can feel it.” Robin snorted. Alma laughed heartily, thoroughly amused. “Well, I heard that-.. you two are good friends, huh?”

Robin nodded slightly, releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. “I thought I was the only one who could see her-.. that maybe I was going insane…” “Far from it, honey! You hit me up whenever you feel like it, okay?”

Previous // Next

[uwuyangeppie]

gepard: i love you :)

you: i’m sorry. i don’t feel the same way.

gepard: please don’t lie to me! :( so as i was saying, i love you <3

you: thank you

gepard:

gepard: darling,

[viperwhispered]

I just wanna take a moment to say thank you for always being around to chat since I don't have many to talk to about TWST. I also suck at characterization so I don't write many fics. But I was very happy when you used one of our discussions for Revel in You. I don't mind if you use our convos to write, just be sure to credit the source.

On that note: saw your smut posts. Here's an idea: Jamil celebrating his promotion to being a Housewarden.

It's Friday, there's an enormous party going on to celebrate Jamil and Kalim's new roles and the successes of the first month with this new dynamic. While Jamil is more accustomed to the spotlight, he still gets "tired out" and leaves it to Kalim to keep the party going and organize the clean up crew. After all, he's due for a more private celebration of his own.

Fun fact: for a good chunk of snake species, the male will bite the females neck to hold them down while mating.

Imagine Jamil relentlessly taking his beloved from behind, deciding they're wriggling a bit too much. Delighting in the sounds they make as he pulls them towards him by the hair, he just bites the back of their neck as his body pins them to the bed. They'll probably be annoyed by morning, but Jamil's already got some concealers beforehand.

Did I forget to mention it's a Friday, Jamil no longer has roomates, and pretty much the entire dorm is still partying to loud music several hallways away?

Also worth mentioning that, as a healthy mature couple, all of Jamil's jealousy and possessiveness is addressed in a healthy manner so the relationship never turns toxic. This statement does not apply to the bedroom.

Aww thank you, always happy to talk with you too 😊 Plus like, if you’d rather talk over messages sometime in addition to the asks, feel free. (And this applies to anyone else reading this post too.)

Yeah iirc I was thinking a bit if I should ask you about using that ask as a jumping off point for To Revel in You, but I figured I was using it more as inspiration rather than rewriting anything you wrote or anything like that. And that since you sent that ask in the first place, I did kinda assume it would be okay to build off it. But good to hear I wasn’t wrong in thinking so, and glad you liked it.

As for characterization & writing: it really is a matter of practice, I’d say. Plus, like, everyone is bound to interpret the characters in a different way, or focus on different aspects of them. Which can be freeing, in a way, knowing that you can bring to the table something that no one else can, certainly not in the same exact way you would.

Also I was actually thinking of asking for some writing prompts since the current wip seems to need a bit more time to marinate, and here you are with perfect timing.

So let’s see what I can do with this concept.

If it wasn’t obvious: smut ahead. Written with fem / afab reader in mind but I think this could be read gender neutral as well since the only specific body detail mentioned is that reader has hair long enough for Jamil to grab.

The day - and the week, and the month - had been such a whirlwind that even Jamil had had trouble keeping up with it all.

Tonight, Jamil had basked in the praises from his dormmates, their congratulations and glowing words - and noted the cautious looks of those who still had not forgotten the events of his overblot.

He had enjoyed food that was not made by him, watched others fuss over the preparations and the serving - well, as much as he had been able to keep himself from giving direction. Still, even he had not been able to oversee every single detail, as much as he wanted to.

After all, both you and Kalim had been quite insistent, in your own ways, that this celebration should be for him, not by him.

So Jamil had danced, eaten, drank, listened, talked, so much so that now when the night was beginning to turn towards morning, he had more than had his fill.

Besides, tired as he may be of the crowd, there was still something on his agenda that he was more than happy to indulge in.

You had been teasing him with promises of a more private celebration - starting from when the party was decided on all the way to when you had been dancing together earlier - and Jamil intended to finally collect his reward.

You were outside for a moment of fresh air and quiet when Jamil found you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and nipping your ear.

“I remember someone promising to be mine tonight,” he murmured, voice low and husky.

You shivered, feeling Jamil’s lips on your neck. You’d half expected him to be too tired to turn your teasing into action. Yet, you certainly welcomed this turn of events, your own tiredness washed away by Jamil’s eager touch and his tempting whispers.

“You know me. Always love - ahhh - spoiling you,” you said - your words turning into a gasp when Jamil licked the side of your neck.

In no time at all you found yourself in Jamil’s room - as easy as it was to be distracted by each other, you both still preferred the privacy over lingering in the common areas of the dorm.

Jamil’s mouth was hungry on yours, his hands working quickly to rid you of your clothes.

Sometimes you wondered just how much Jamil was holding back in the presence of others, for him to get so ravenous as soon as you two were alone.

Not that you were any different, pulling away that long belt from Jamil’s hips so that you could slip your hands under his shirt, your lips covering every available bit of his skin with kisses.

It was always delicious, your naked bodies tangled together. That heady feeling of each other, both of you grasping and kissing wherever you could, like you could never quite feel enough of the other.

“So what would mister housewarden ask of me tonight?” you asked with a playful grin, nuzzling your nose against Jamil’s.

There was undeniable hunger in the way Jamil looked at you, yet also the warmth and softness of your lover that always filled your heart to the brim.

“Just all of you, albi,” Jamil murmured, pushing you down onto the mattress.

You’d entertained ideas of a celebratory blowjob, of taking care of Jamil tonight. But if he’d rather help himself to you, you were certainly not going to say no.

A few orgasms later and Jamil was pounding into you, firmly holding onto your hips while your face was pressed onto the sheets. His cock was invading your insides so hard, so deep, leaving you nearly senseless. You jolted helplessly every time Jamil slammed his way all the way in, the pleasure bordering on pain as it shot through your nerves.

“Ahhh, Jamil…” you whimpered, barely aware of the spot of drool you’d left on the bed.

“Too much?” Jamil muttered, one of his hands leaving your side to instead trail a soothing path along your spine.

“...No.”

It was a lot, your senses nearly overtaken by the intensity of it all - yet you didn’t want anything less.

Still, you couldn’t help squirming, your body twitching with every thrust, yelps and moans pushed from your throat no matter how much you tried to hold them in.

“Hold still,” Jamil grunted. 

He gathered your hair in his hand, making you gasp when he tugged. You could feel the pull on your scalp, almost like Jamil wanted to rein you in - or pull your face away from the sheets so that he could hear your cries more clearly.

“You’re all mine tonight, aren’t you? Mine to have, mine to enjoy,” Jamil breathed to your ear.

“Yes, yes, yes…” you whined, aroused beyond belief.

Always his, just as he is yours - but you had no time to vocalize that thought before Jamil’s weight pushed you prone on the bed.

Your gasp was cut short, turned into a sharp cry when you felt moist pressure at the back of your neck - a bite, you realized, some instinct telling you to keep still.

Not that you had much of a choice in the matter. Jamil’s hand, still gripping your hair. His mouth, latched onto your skin. His body, holding you down.

The weight of him against your back was almost suffocating, yet in a delicious way. Like you could be closer to him like this, more connected than just skin to skin contact - or penetration - could provide.

You could feel the rolling of Jamil’s hips against your backside, the way his cock was dragging along your insides. Not as harshly as before, yet intense enough to keep you trembling and whining with the little breath you could take.

And Jamil’s mouth, his teeth, never letting go. His muffled groans such a delicious sound, making you clench around him.

Such sweet torture, and you never wanted it to end.

Taglist since this turned into fic: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @perilous-pasta @twstgo @cannedpickledpeaches

[firstkanaphans]

Hi! #14 for tinngun perhaps? We don't get enough tinngun content in general, I miss them, I feel like they deserve to be a lil horny

{grinding} down against their lap

It was Tinn’s twentieth birthday and he was very, very drunk. He deserved the break. He had been working hard all week, so Gun had planned a surprise party for him to relax. It seemed to be working. He was currently dancing wildly in the middle of all of their friends with an oversized party hat sitting lopsided on his head.

Gun, who had spent most of the night making sure their apartment wasn’t being completely demolished by drunken college students, collapsed down onto the living room sofa and just watched him. He couldn’t help but smile. It was rare to see Tinn so happy and carefree. These days, he was stressed more often than not but tonight, he seemed like himself again.

Suddenly, Tinn paused his dancing and began to look around the room like a puppy who had misplaced his owner. As soon as he caught sight of Gun, his eyes lit up and he jogged over to him. Gun expected him to either join him on the couch or ask Gun to join him on the dance floor, but he did neither. Instead, he climbed onto Gun’s lap until he was straddling him and his efforts to do so were so uncoordinated that he nearly fell backwards onto the floor.

“Whao, there.” Gun laughed, wrapping an arm around Tinn’s waist to hold him still. His party hat had fallen almost completely off his head, so Gun reached up to straighten it and Tinn grinned at him widely.

“We should go to bed,” Tinn whispered conspiratorially—except his whisper wasn’t much of a whisper at all. He was practically yelling to be heard over the music.

“We can’t go to bed,” Gun reminded him. “We have a house full of people here to celebrate with you. Plus, you’re having fun, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Tinn agreed, but then he leaned in and spoke the next words into Gun’s ear like a secret. “But I’d be having more fun if we were in bed.”

Oh. He was horny. As if to accentuate his point, Tinn rolled his hips, grinding down onto Gun’s lap, and Gun could feel that he was hard. Gun, however, was not drunk enough to be able to ignore the room full of people surrounding them.

“Later,” he promised with a quick peck to Tinn’s lips. When he broke away, Tinn was pouting.

“Now,” he whined, looking seconds away from climbing off Gun’s lap and throwing a temper tantrum on the floor. “Pleeeease? It’s my birthday.”

“Yes, it is, and we haven’t even cut your cake yet,” Gun agreed. Tinn’s pout faded slightly at the mention of dessert. “Later.”

Finally, Tinn seemed appeased but he still didn’t move. He just sat there, his arms wrapped around Gun’s neck as he stared at him sadly. “I’ve been a bad boyfriend,” he said.

“What? No, you haven’t. You’re a great boyfriend!”

“But you’re always taking care of me and I’m always studying.”

“And one day it’ll be your turn to take care of me,” Gun said, taking Tinn’s face between his hands to make sure he was listening. “Med school is hard. I get it. I don’t mind. I like taking care of you. Understand?”

Tinn looked up at him sheepishly. “You promise?”

“I promise.” Gun laughed and then squeezed Tinn’s ass playfully before setting his feet on the floor so that they could both stand. “Now go dance with our friends while I go get the cake.”

“And then we can have sex?” Tinn wheedled.

“Yes, baby. Then we can have sex.”

Tinn smiled and pulled Gun in for a wet, sloppy kiss that made him laugh. Gun patted his head like he would a pet dog. “Happy birthday, baby,” he said.

Tinn preened and, despite the promise of cake, pulled Gun out onto the dance floor. Later couldn’t come soon enough.

[eyeheartboobiez]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬: 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

giving affection: gift giving

• bruce is hella rich. that’s just common knowledge

• so i feel like it’s kinda obvious that he loves to spend money on you

• want to get your hair done? he’s already booked the appointment

• want an expensive necklace to wear at a gala? it’ll be sitting on your dresser by tomorrow

• he missed a date? expect a luxury spa reservation the next day

• this man would literally buy you every star in the sky just to see them twinkle in your eyes (because let’s be honest we all know he has the money to do sumn like that)

• but while bruce absolutely loves to buy you really expensive gifts, he finds himself going towards more sentimental items instead

• one of the most unforgettable gifts he gave you was when he built a public library in your name

• you always had a passion for literature (something you shared with jason) so bruce though it would be the the perfect idea to give you a library for your birthday

• and not just a random one in the manor

• but in the old neighborhood you grew up in

• even though it was still an expensive gift (he didn’t think it cost that much but anyways), the idea of having something you could share with the people you grew up with made your heart swell

• you and bruce love going there together every once and a while to participate in story time (the kids love it)

receiving affection: physical touch

• now we all know that bruce is a whore (where do you think dick gets it from?)

• allowing himself to be vulnerable enough to be intimate with someone is a big deal for him

• even beyond the bedroom, more often then not bruce finds himself enjoying simple touches

• whether it’s the warm embrace of a hug or the reassuring squeeze of your hand

• he just finds comfort in knowing that you’re there

• wherever both of you are making a public appearance, the billionaire is always seen touching you no matter what

• and because he’s a slut for attention; he loves pda

• it’s become a running joke between the two of you to act extra lovey-dovey in front of the kids just to embarrass them

• queue damian asking alfred to show up for his school’s open house rather than you two

• whenever he comes back to the manor at the end of the day, you always make sure to greet him with hugs and kisses and that’s all he could ever ask for

[spoiledmilks]

I would love to see you elaborate a little more on your idea of William and Mrs afton :) I too have brainworms about them

SO

**clears throat and pulls out a whiteboard from my pocket**

First of all william is like the most annoyed grumpy person unless he’s with mrs afton (who im gonna call clara cuz i do like that time)

William the toughest guy around would melt when being with her and i think thats adorable

Clara on the other hand is a cheerful person and i like to imagine she’s actually the one who would fall in love first

Second of all DANCE!

clara is an amazing dancer and actually taught william how to dance and they’d dancee together a lot

Hence why william built ballora (not sure if she’s actually possesed by clara or nah. I switch between the ideas of her being ballora and ballora just being inspired by her a lot)

Also clara is pretty strong and would help william with some animatronic buildimg stuff

She doesnt know much about it so she would follow william’s instructions and do her best to help, she just wants to spend time with him ^-^

Lastly i think they were great parents, sure william was tougher and a bit meaner but i imagine he would build toys for his kids and stuff. Clara would be the more forgiving and kinder parent but they would still be great parents together

Things went to shit after evan’s death where william would slowly go insane and blahblah you know the story

Anyway those are my lil ideas about them thank you for reading

**puts the whiteboard back into my pocket and leaves**

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

heyyyyyyy so in the malnourished fwhip explanation post you said you'd get back to the thing about gem and fwhip not liking that they got first pick during the famine and i fully agree with you. if it also you said you'd get back to it and you didn't and you're good at articulating things so I would like to hear you elaborate if you are willing

OH yeah. i had planned to get into that in the section where i talked about fwhip continuing to use the corrupted fertilizer because it works so well that it means his people are fed, but i didn’t elaborate much further than that. so i shall now!

(context for this can be found here, in case you missed that post!)

so as i said previously, when famine strikes the grimlands and the royal family have their food needs prioritized, this is something that fwhip and gem, despite both being very young, find awful. i think both of these kids have very strong senses of justice (cough because they’re both autistic cough), gem especially, since she’s the one being trained to be the next countess, so she’s a lot more worldly than fwhip at that point. fwhip is approaching this from a basic fairness standpoint- everyone needs to eat, it’s not fair that he and his family get priority. gem is approaching this based on her experience in other empires and her conversations with other to be emperors- this is not how a good ruler treats their people, a good ruler tries to put their people first always.

i think this manifests in a variety of different ways when they get older. for fwhip, this manifests in putting his people’s food needs above his own when it comes to the corrupted fertilizer. if the fertilizer was giving everybody else nightmares, he would’ve heard about it by now, so clearly it’s just him. that means the fertilizer is a net good, so it stays. i think fwhip is a weird and very distant ruler, one who thinks of himself as a little too equal with his people, and that can be good and bad. something like this, where he puts the people’s need for food above his own wants is (for everyone else) good, but it also means he doesn’t really register how much more important his actions are than anyone else’s. for someone else in the grimlands (or even for fwhip just a few years ago, when he was still the kid brother to the rising countess), blowing up your friend’s house might get you in trouble, but it’s not a big deal. for modern day fwhip, it’s literally an act of war. “peace is boring” is a very frightening attitude for a ruler to hold, and he holds it because he wasn’t properly trained to be count, he’s still very young, and he views himself and his people as pretty much the same when, unfortunately, they just aren’t.

for gem, i think what this does for her behavior doesn’t manifest for her a while. she ran away from the grimlands because she wanted to be a wizard, she wanted to be anything but countess, and i think she did fundamentally believe fwhip would do better than she could. so she becomes a wizard in a very insulated community, and then her instructor disappears and leaves the entire place in her care, and that freaks her out. yes, she was trained to have far greater responsibilities than this, there aren’t even any students for her to train yet, but being in charge scares her still. she so desperately wants to be a good ruler, a better one than anyone in her family line has been for a while, because she’s been up close and personal with bad ones. and i think for gem specifically that manifests in her wanting to be a just ruler. very few people are ever fully beyond redemption for gem. her pillager students just need to put their weapons down, and then they’re ready to learn! see, they weren’t really evil, just angry and armed. sausage has good left in him, even at his worst, she knows it. she just needs to draw it out of him, at any cost. scott didn’t mean to hurt her, he was just scared and she pushed him too far, that’s on her. i think the only person she sees as truly, 100% beyond redemption, who she never really changes her tune on, is xornoth. even the other emperors she isn’t a fan of i don’t think she thinks are irredeemably evil, they’re just assholes and she’s gonna be an asshole back (or she’s gonna let the other WRA members do it). (the only outlier to that is maybe joey. at some point after he gets the crown from xornoth, somebody says he’s most likely beyond saving, and that somebody might be gem but i can’t remember. if it is, i think she had simply run out of energy for second chances for him, and he’s not her responsibility anyways, so she feels less bad about doing it to him than say, a student of hers. if she isn’t the one who says that, disregard.) she is trying to extend justice, to extend second tries to everyone. arguably she even tries this with xornoth, when she tries to learn more about him when he first shows up, but he also made it very clear he had no intentions of improving, so.

TLDR: i think both roseblings are affronted at the fact that because they are nobility, they are inherently better treated in times of crisis. for fwhip, this is because he thinks it’s unfair, that he’s not inherently better than the people of the grimlands, so it’s unfair for him to be treated as such. for gem, she thinks it’s unjust. a good ruler, a just one, would put their people first. so when they get older, this manifests in a variety of ways. for fwhip, he views himself less as a count and more as just another citizen of the grimlands, a tinkerer with a penchant for explosions and not much more. this means in times of crisis he puts the needs of the many over the needs of the few, but it also means he doesn’t think about how much more weight his actions carry with the other empires than the actions of a regular person. for gem, this manifests as trying to extend justice, a helping hand, a second chance, to everyone she can. even at her detriment, there are very few people she believes are totally beyond saving, and she tries as best she can to save them.

[rohirric-hunter]

future & ghost for hathellang?👀

@isi7140 All these Hathellang questions kind of string together so I'm gonna answer them together. From this ask game. Also spoilers for all of The Song of Waves and Wind that's currently out. And also this got kinda long. And certain parts aren't set in stone yet, like how Léonys and Hathellang meet up again in Umbar. I'm still contemplating Umbar stuff and figuring out how I want to make my characters' story go.

Also I feel like I should say that Hathellang is not a reliable narrator, any more than Léonys is. Even less so, in some parts of this.

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

Imagine you're Hathellang. You grew up alone. When people ask about your parents, you shrug, and don't say anything, and let them think that you don't remember them. The truth is, you do -- your mother, at least. You were just old enough to understand what was happening the day she took you on a trip to Bree-town, to go shopping, she said, and sat you down on the edge of the Boar Fountain, and told you to wait for her there. You waited there for five days, swiping food from a nearby vendor when the hunger became too much to take, though thinking back you believe he must have seen you, and let you take it out of pity. On the fifth day, you were caught by a guard, but let off with a warning, and when he let you go you had run off, leaving the plaza where your mother left you for the first time and hiding in the stables of the Prancing Pony. Bob had found you there sooner, rather than later, and asked you what you were doing and where your parents were, and for the first time, you had shrugged, too busy trying to hold the tears in for words. "I see," he'd said, and he'd gone off, and come back some time later with half a plate of stew and a cup of water and told you not to be spooking the horses and ponies.

You cried, once he left you alone, and then you never cried about it again. Crying is a lot of energy, energy that you needed to beg and steal and keep yourself on your feet. Locks are hard to pick with shaking hands. You're called far worse things than orphan; street-rat, gutter scum, thief. You can't afford to dwell on it, so you don't think about it, and by the time you're in a place where you can think about it, it's buried so deep that you think it's easier to let it lie.

fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

People like Bob would give you clothes, or food, or little toys, but the clothes would wear out, and the food would only last so long, and the toys didn't teach you any useful skill you could trade for clothes and food, and none of them seemed to know or care that you spent cold winter nights in narrow alleys with only one blanket, or sometimes none at all, and some nights you went to sleep with no real idea if you would wake up in the morning. The moments of pity they have for you only go so far, and they're never as many as the moments of anger, when they catch you stealing and never wonder why, and the more it happens the more bitter and angry about it you become.

Then there's a guard who doesn't want to do paperwork, and Léonys, and she's angry just like everyone else, and she yells at you and tells you off for stealing, until eventually she doesn't. You think it's more boredom than actual acceptance, though. Everywhere in the Hackberry House you can only see bare tolerance -- the other children, who would never dream of stealing, tolerate you because Lady Hackberry took you in, and Lady Hackberry tolerates you because taking in children with nowhere else to go is what she does. You simply cannot bring yourself to believe that they actually want you, and to be tolerated but not wanted is more than you can bear, so you leave, slipping out of the House without saying goodbye one morning and running back to Bree, where you are disliked enough, but at least people are honest about it.

Léonys finds you on the hill behind the Training Hall in the late afternoon, where you have sat most of the day under an overgrown bush that no one has bothered to trim because they cannot see it, hugging your knees to your chest, and contemplating crying about it, though you hadn't really got 'round to it. "Are you coming home for dinner?" she asks shortly, pulling her cloak tight about her against the late October chill.

"What?" you ask, surprised to see her and not quite comprehending her words.

"Dinner," she says. "It'll be ready in a couple of hours. Are you coming? Gareth is making stuffed cabbages."

You think, as you follow her back up the road to the Hackberry House, that you might love her.

There's no call to be so angry, once you realize your new place, and in response the rest of the world seems to become less angry, and though you do not stop stealing, for now you have more mouths than just your own to feed, you can afford to pick and choose your contracts. Mostly you do work for the wealthy elite of Bree who have petty beef with each other that they refuse to resolve in a courtroom like respectable folk, instead choosing to hire people of your talents to prove esoteric points to one another. When such work is not available, and the only burglary jobs are ones you would prefer not to do -- taking food from those who have little enough already, or weapons from the guards who defend the town -- you are, for the first time, in a position to turn them down, for in Lady Hackberry's house you had learned the art of tailoring, and while there is not so much money in that as there is in burglary, it's honest work, and it's safe.

That safety slowly begins to have value to you, as you slowly learn to accept that there's a future for you, in a land that you love despite how difficult it can be to live in, with Lady Hackberry, who took you in, with the children, who you swear will never know hardship like you did, and with Léonys, who comes to love you as fiercely as you love her.

And then the Plot comes for you.

Léonys runs headfirst into danger, and you follow her, because of course you do, as if you could do anything else. The danger worries you, far more than it would have a decade before, but you worry more for her than for yourself. She has no idea of when it's wise to say no, and she feels so strongly for anyone in any sort of trouble. It's one of the things you love about her, but you know it will land both of you in more trouble than you can handle, eventually.

There is trouble, and plenty of it, but it all turns out to be worth it, and you find that the two of you are able to manage it, unbelievable as it seems. When it is all over, you promise each other, you will go home, and everything will go back to normal. But when it is all over you find that it is not all over after all. You find yourself accompanying a party of Elves south, to cover the trail of a company that had departed from Rivendell in some secrecy, and then you find yourself drawn into the deep dark of the Mines of Moria, and one thing leads to another and then you're storming Dol Guldur, and then following Nona to Rohan on a dream, and standing against invading armies and a wizard. When you see Léonys again at Helm's Deep, something is wrong, but there is no time to pursue it, and then you are off again, following Aragorn and the Grey Company to Gondor, and it is not until after the battle before Minas Tirith that you have a chance to ask.

You do not ask, though, because you can feel a shadow that hangs over Léonys, and you wonder why she has not told you herself. You find the truth out months later in Naerband, and it is a long time before you can bring yourself to leave her side again. You fear your worry might be overbearing; there are few things in the world more dangerous than Saruman, and she has already weathered that. But a tiny part of your mind has entertained the idea that something might happen, some swift and terrible evil that you will be powerless to prevent, and the thought will not leave you. If something were to happen to her -- to the woman who saw something worthwhile in you when it seemed no one else did, who tracked you down and brought you home when you didn’t even know that you wanted to be brought home -- it doesn't really bear thinking about. So you don't.

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

Léonys and you have both agreed that it is time to turn your road homeward, but first you agree to one last favor for Elessar; he wishes for you and Candaith to briefly represent him in the lands of Gondor to the West, and Queen Arwen wishes for you to assess threats to her husband’s safety, when he travels there himself. You ask if two strangers are best suited for this task.

"Two strangers who have already aided them much," Elessar says. "And the gossip might flow more freely among strangers than it would before those with more permanent positions at court."

Perhaps he is right, you think later, as you look a woman in the eye and tell her that where you come from, marriages between different peoples are not allowed. "Especially Elves," you say, marveling that she appears to be falling for this patently ridiculous lie that you've concocted, "for they tell strange tales about the gods, and if we are too welcoming then we might lose the truth of it ourselves."

"That is what we fear as well," she says. "Losing who we are to outsiders."

You think about that, as a man of Gondor stands before you and swears he would cut down an unsuspecting emissary again, given the chance. Tumúldo's wife looks you in the eye and asks if you stand beside the Heirs of Castamir, and you do not hesitate. The small blade you keep hidden in your sleeve finds its mark in Trastadir's shoulder, and as Nakási stands you draw your sword and stand beside her.

Some members of the Heirs of Castamir beg for mercy. They should have expected this, you think, when they chose to support pillaging corsairs from Umbar over their own people. They should have expected it when they invited a close friend of the King into their ranks. They should have expected it when one of their own took a blade to Tumúldo's back in front of his wife. It was no small labor that dug the shallow grave they lie in, when you and Nakási leave the house, bearing Tumúldo's body between you, and all of it done themselves.

"Gondor will pay for the death of Tumúldo," Nakási says to you. "A thousand times over it will pay."

"The Heirs of Castamir are no Men of Gondor," you say. "They are traitors."

"Are they?" Nakási asks. "Do all the other Men of Gondor condemn them, then? Are all the other people united in their support for Elessar? No other Men of Gondor would stoop to such levels?"

You think on how easy it was to find members of the Heirs in broad daylight. You think of the rumors of a traitor in Elessar's court. You think of Parthadan, and of Mauthoi. You say nothing.

"Will the death of my husband go unavenged?" Nakási demands.

You say nothing.

The tone of Nakási's voice fills you with fear, but when you meet with Elessar in Imloth Melui he does not seem to understand the danger from your account, though he takes your warning with the gravity it deserves. And days pass, and your fear slowly wanes as you travel Gondor at Elessar's side.

Then Léonys is gone -- taken by Nakási, and your fear stirs to new and further wakefulness, for Nakási has taken a child as well. Not a warrior or a traitor, but a boy of less than twelve summers who poses no threat to her or her Kindred of the Coins or to Umbar, and the action speaks worlds of her and the danger that she and hers pose to you and yours. You hope that Léonys has the good sense to not let Nakási know of her connection with Elessar, or with you. You know she does not.

Bruidis will not be parted from Rossaran, and comes with him to the Wave-hunter, and the spike of jealousy, that she has that choice, is new and ugly. Carandolion presses a favor into Nauriel's hands, and you turn away and hurry to the ship.

Candaith waits for you there, asks after you with concern in his eyes, and you force a smile and tell him you are fine, that this is no different than the months you had spent parted from Léonys when you had been caught up with the Iron Garrison, and she had traveled south. Candaith is not fooled, but he does not ask again.

You do not expect to find Horn of Rohan in the Shield Isles, deep enough in his cups that he does not recognize you until you speak. You ask him where Nona is, knowing full well he does not know, and do not even try to hide your scorn when he tells you to call him Driftwood. "Why are you running from her?" you ask him. "Don't you want to be with her?"

"Want?" Horn asks, wavering. "It's not about what I want."

"It most certainly is," you say. He scowls, and does not answer.

Sirgon's tale of Belondor, the once-warden of Umbar, is of little interest to you. You are disappointed, but not surprised, by the rashness and anger of the former Steward of Gondor, but you have more important worries to occupy you -- that is until you find yourself staring down the cold steel of a blade held to your throat at his wife's command. Mêshka watches Sirgon stonily as he speaks, and you watch her, and then she gestures for her men to stand down. That is strange, you think, for in her place you would have done no such thing. Sirgon is a friend, but looking at him through Mêshka's eyes, you see no friend at all, but Saruman, and Thraknûl, and a name rises to mind like some gross flotsam bobbing at the surface of a tidepool, fouling clear waters; a name that Léonys thinks you do not know, but she has spoken it through tears in her sleep often enough that you do, though you have no face to match it with: Morflak.

Sirgon walks away from his encounter alive, and you consider, quietly, that if you had been in Mêshka's place he would not have. Indeed, had Mêshka resolved to slay him where he stood, you do not know that you would have drawn your blade in your companion’s defence. You aren't sure if this realization bothers you or not. (It would bother Léonys.)

When you see Léonys again, meeting eyes with her across the fountain in the Citadel, it is all you can do not to throw caution to the wind and run to her. But then Azagath is there, and you cannot help but notice the way she shrinks away as he approaches, though his eyes are not on her. When he does at last look at her, after Jajax enters and reveals you to your foes, and Léonys in turn reveals herself, recognition sparks in his eyes, and Léonys' voice trembles when she speaks, though she holds her head high and does not let him see the fear that is so obvious to you. It is not until you and she and Jajax and Thorongil and Nimrodel flee the Citadel, and they have all followed your lead as you duck into a quiet alley in the Fleet-fast where you will have a moment of privacy, that she throws herself towards you, arms tight around your neck, and you can feel the damp of tears on your shirt as you return the embrace.

"Azagath," you whisper, and she flinches at the name, "what did he do to you?"

"Nothing," she says, too quickly, you think. She hesitates. "Nothing directly."

Nauriel swears that she will see Azagath and Nakási dead, and privately you think she is going to have to get to them first, but neither of you get to them during the fraught pursuit through the depths beneath the Mâkhda Khorbo. Perhaps, you think later, this is for the best. When you all stumble out of the cave hours later, exhausted and drained and with nothing useful to show for your efforts, you find your head has cleared somewhat. You are still angry, very angry, but you see with a clearer eye that your mission has been a success. All the hostages are free. That part, at least, can be considered a success. It ought to satisfy you more than it does.

You don't have very much sympathy for Belondor as he struggles to come to terms with Azagath's betrayal. Nauriel wanted to kill him, seeing nothing but the coin he wears on his breast. She would have, if you hadn't grabbed her by the shoulder and hissed that he was the only reason her son still lived, that there was nothing you or Léonys or Jajax or anyone else would have been able to do in time to save the boy. You don't regret stopping her, but you wish he wouldn't act so surprised by the whole thing. Azagath was hardly subtle with his villainy -- you had been a little shocked yourself, at how willing the water-bearers were to not ask questions about your business in the Citadel, and then to eagerly point you in the Sea-shadow's direction once he fled, but it makes rather more sense as you consider what they had said about their companions vanishing when they saw or heard something they shouldn't have. And perhaps you are giving Belondor too much credit. After all, he had not noticed your presence or Léonys' among the water-bearers any more than the others had. Servants and slaves and ordinary people are just as beneath his notice as they are Azagath's, or Mordirith's, or the lieutenants of Sauron's that squabble still over the remains of his holdings.

It is Léonys who comes to Belondor's defense, as you start to voice this thought aloud. "He didn't know," she says, looking at you sharply. "None of them did. They thought he was a friend."

"Maybe they should have known," Candaith says, quietly. He knows something that you do not, that Léonys has not told you, for when you had returned from the destroyed temple and found him with Léonys and Thorongil in the room your group had rented in one of the city's many inns there had been a new tension in his shoulders, and a new darkness to his eyes, and his mouth had been a tight line. Nevertheless, his words are probably too quietly for Belondor to hear, which is more thought than you care to spare for his feelings. Léonys hears, though, from where she is sitting close by, and frowns.

Tatháta heals the same way as Belharen, and maybe a month ago you would have been a little bit ill to imagine it, you think, as you inspect Cruel Dancer's wounds and come to the same conclusion as Corudan, that she has mere hours to live. Now you think that Tatháta has good reason to want to know more about you and your crew, and by any means necessary. You wonder what tale the bounty hunter told, and if it is accurate. Léonys quietly excuses herself and hurries a little distance away, where she kneels on the ground and retches. You should go to her, a little voice in the back of your mind whispers. You wonder why the voice telling you to follow Léonys and stay by her side is so little.

Sigileth calls Cruel Dancer by the name she had whispered to you in her final moments -- Galatâni. She says she sees something of herself in the Umbari woman. And you slowly realize that you do as well -- and yet you do not. If Léonys were taken from you, gone without any hope of rescue, you know, with startling clarity, what you would do. There would be revenge, of course. Her killer would face justice. But then... you would return home, you suppose. Lady Hackberry and the children would still be waiting. There would still be Bree, and your friends there, and bright sunrises over the Bree-hill and spiced turtle soup. You would still be Hathellang.

That is not the danger, for you. For you, it is when there is still hope that you find yourself standing at the edge, and staring off it into the darkness. When you do not know.

How can you know, that little voice in your mind asks, when you aren't looking?

You slowly turn away from Galatâni, and you look at Léonys, who has straightened up and is wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. You would tear the world apart to keep her safe. You would tear yourself apart. You haven't considered, before now, just how awful that is. She had agreed, after some hesitation, to return with Candaith and Thorongil to the inn rather than pursue Azagath with the rest of you. But if she had not? The words had been in your throat already, not a plea, but a demand for her to remain far away from him. You don't know what he did to her, but it left something heavy and terrifying on her shoulders, and he will die for it, of that you are certain -- but you finally admit to yourself that you would destroy yourself over it. You would destroy her. You don't even know what it is.

You force one foot forward, and then the other, and you cross the little distance between you and wrap your arms around her, clinging tight. For a moment she stands surprised, and then she returns the embrace, wrapping her arms around you and resting her head against your shoulder. Behind you, the sun begins to rise, and you feel its warmth against your back, soft and comforting before the sands of Aradâr become hot and unbearable.

"Let's find some water," you say.

~*~*~*~

Okay so the last one is a little vague. Unfortunately when you write from a character's point of view and have them realize things about themself, you're still limited by what they actually know about themself. But trust me this is all important context to understand the actual answer, which is that, if pushed far enough, in the interest of keeping Léonys safe, Hathellang would absolutely betray anyone and everyone, including her. Not really at any given point, but in situations like the one I've gone and written him into with the Umbar stuff, he's dangerously close to this thing where his abandonment issues combined with all the insecurity he experienced as a child combined with the fact that he kind of does put Léonys on a pedestal as the first person who ever came back for him (again and again and again) launches him into a really weird fucked up sort of dragon sickness. He would eventually (not for a long time and not without more stressors at play) start disregarding her own wishes in the interest of "keeping her safe" and ultimately become himself the biggest danger to her.

Of course he doesn't know all that. He knows that after seeing her hurt in ways that he just can't fix during their adventure he wants desperately to keep her safe, and he's also starting to realize that he's been compromising his own morals to do that since Gundabad. And also that he's been doing that in a way that's going to hurt her sooner rather than later. This is what I mean when I say that while it's mostly a Beren thing, sometimes it is a Maedhros thing too.

As a foil to Nakási, he's kind of in the same boat as her (pun not intended but wholeheartedly embraced) in terms of, "will commit war crimes for the sake of hurt/killed lover." He'll probably have the whole, "looking at her and seeing himself," moment at some point. Later. When they meet again.

If he's lucky the lesson will stick before something really bad happens. But that kind of depends on how all this meshes with whatever comes next on this questline.

[haliaiii]

Val’s Hover bike! (oc)