#what tragedy has befallen me

[skooteg]

My male sims vs my female sims… YIKES

[iracundiias]

the one time i leave the house in ages, i end up getting food poisoning. i hate it here

[artekai]

Fross walking through Thebes and experiencing self-recognition through the other (derogatory)

[mide404]

Greetings,

I write this appeal with a heavy heart, burdened by the weight of the tragedy that has befallen my family in the war-torn land of Gaza. I am Mahmoud Jihad Saleh, a captive soul in the cruel clutches of despair. Holding on to a glimmer of hope.

Today, I implore you to bear witness to the shattered remains of my once-happy family. My father, a beacon of strength, was cruelly snuffed out, and the innocent lives of my niece and nephew were taken by the merciless grip of conflict.

In the desperate shadows of despair, I beg for your compassion to save my family from the misery sweeping Gaza. They are stranded in Gaza, deprived of the most basic necessities, and enduring the cynicism of life

It is with a heavy heart that I implore you to be the lifeline my family so desperately needs

I am on my knees, not as a supplicant, but as a broken soul longing to avoid further loss. Save my family from the clutches of despair, so they can rebuild their shattered lives. The specter of losing them, as I lost my parents and relatives, haunts me every waking moment. I implore you, kind souls, to heed this cry for help and save my family from the abyss of suffering.

Please donate if you can and share our story widely as you're able to🙏.

[shantechni]

I think an awful lot about Splinter believing in the start of the series that he'd lost his humanity.

For the sake of someone named Pete, I will go through the events in chronological order for once-

In Lone Rat and Cubs, Splinter tells the turtles about their time spent running from the Kraang before they found their forever home, and we learn that Splinter didn't easily slip into his new role. Sure, he cared for the turtles, kept them fed and sheltered them from the elements, but he still called them "creatures" and "turtles" before naming them. He didn't see this as an opportunistic situation where he miraculously became a father to a second batch of kids, but rather that he'd fallen into a pool of misfortune and would need to live with this new form while protecting himself and the turtles.

"What terrible deed did I do in a past life that such a curse has befallen me?"

As he considers the turtles' growth and the possibility of a future with them, he then begins to view himself as a potential father. He explains that he wondered if he had the discipline to be a proper father, especially after the loss of his first family, and he realizes it was something he wanted to be regardless of discipline or odd circumstances.

And so, he claims the turtles as his own, and accepts his role as their father.

Though he'd grown accustomed to being a mutant rat over the years, he still draws a line between "Hamato Yoshi" and "Splinter" without knowing it, albeit a blurry and ephemeral one drawn in ever changing sand.

We hear Splinter in the second episode of the series talking about the loss of his family, his home, and his own name. He more or less tells Leo that being mutated erased whatever connection he formally had to the name "Hamato," and the idea is further supported by a similar and more somber scene in I, Monster. Splinter fights off the Rat King's control as he again laments that his entire clan and family, even his humanity, is gone, and he has nothing but the turtles left for him in this new life. Fortunately, he retains his sense of self post mutation, and he's presented from the beginning of the series as one who's in control of himself, both to his sons and friends of theirs, as well as any enemy that comes their way.

However, that presentation of control gives us a bit of a look into his psyche and allows us to consider the idea of him still struggling to come to terms with not being human anymore.

With the introduction of the Rat King, he's taunted by a potential loss of that control for the first time and it shakes him to his core. It makes sense for him to be shaken up since all that'd be left without him is a mindless, humanoid rat who'd lost touch with the human it used to be. Which is why it's so compelling that his sons, particularly Leo, are so adamant about reinforcing the fact that his mutation doesn't erase who he is. It's incredibly noteworthy what Leo says to him when trying to break the Rat King's control over him, "Remember who you are!"

Not who he once was, or the human he used to be, but who he is.

They never viewed Splinter as a separate being from Hamato Yoshi.

The boys aren't strangers to Splinter's old life before them, and they're very much aware of everything he'd lost; the guy talks about certain things frequently enough for them to know his tragedies and recite them without skipping a letter. It's his recollections of the tribulations he suffered through that helped them understand that his life with them is undeniably disconnected from his life with Tang Shen, but not unrelated.

He's still Hamato Yoshi, and his place will always be with his family.

Having been defeated by Splinter, the Rat King runs to find another way of tormenting him, and his perfect target is fear.

Though we got a brief look into this during their first encounter with Falco's twisted appearance, it's not until Of Rats and Men that we get further insight into another layer of Splinter's concern with his rat half: the repercussions that could result from the loss of control.

Throughout all of his years of raising his sons, not once did he ever treat them with the intention to frighten them and make them wary of his every move. The Rat King can easily use that fear to his advantage and weaken Splinter's mental stability enough to figure out how to make mutants similar to him. And he truly makes use of that fear by turning Splinter into his personal puppet.

There's still a considerable amount of concern on the turtles' end that pierces through that fear though. After Splinter teleports across the room to distance himself, Leo looked ready to leap to his side, and the others, despite being threatened literal seconds earlier, remain where they are and are equally concerned.

Eventually, the Rat King strikes again and everyone begins to piece together what's going on when Splinter loses it. Mikey is absolutely terrified and staggered by what happened, and Raph and Donnie tread with caution while Leo and April are the first ones to approach Splinter.

The TV gives them extra confirmation that Falco is back, and to everyone's surprise, Splinter refuses to help them fight Falco, even when Casey is dragged down a manhole by one of the mutated rats in their first attempt to clear the streets. It's not an easy choice for Splinter to make because we see how guilty he feels for his refusal, but the gang doesn't fault him for refusing either. No matter how much they want for Splinter to join them, he's right to worry about what the Rat King, now stronger than before, could force him to do.

April speaks for everyone though when she tells him they all believe in him. They make it known that they aren't afraid of what may happen, and they especially aren't afraid of him.

Unsurprisingly, Splinter changes his mind at the last minute, and, with the help of a recently mutated cat, he chases Falco down to deal with him once and for all. Protecting his family takes priority over his doubts, and by the end of the episode, he overcomes his fear of the Rat King controlling him.

He has his humanity, and that's what makes him different from the rat Falco constantly made him out to be.

And for the first time in the series, in The Lonely Mutation of Baxter Stockman, he says out loud that he has his humanity and is thankful he's fortunate enough to still have it when others lose it post mutation.

I previously went a bit more in depth about it in this post but the boys have witnessed Splinter grappling with being a rat, particularly with the Rat King's meddling, and Donnie sincerely believed giving him retromutagen would be something he'd want. This was clearly an idea that's been weighing on Donnie's mind for a while considering that he seemingly kept quiet about his plan until he completed the retromutagen, and he's the most upset when he has to use the remaining dosage for Kirby.

But Splinter tells him and the other turtles he's content as he is and wouldn't do anything to change himself this far in. And the boys all seem content with his answer.

With the invasion of the Kraang and his defeat at the hands of the Shredder, Splinter again comes face to face with his mutated genes, and there's no Rat King stringing him along this time. He'd been swallowed by delirium with the lack of familial support to pull him out of it, and he became spiritually disconnected from his body as a result. The gang is initially caught off guard by Splinter's state, but they quickly get over it and work to subdue him.

While the boys are pulled away into battle, April uses her powers to sift through Splinter's memories and, after showing him the time he asked her to train with him, we see a memory with the turtles, Karai, and his only family portrait from before his mutation:

Seeing his family is what manages to bring him back to his senses.

We the audience, as well as Splinter, figured that was the end of his troubles with being a mutant rat, but Shredder decided to bathe in some super juice and sent Splinter careening a thousand feet into a dark cavern, the same one Splinter sent Falco down two seasons ago. Being thrown into near total darkness with a fairly debilitating injury and fever was the perfect recipe for him to begin hallucinating, and he believes the Rat King is attacking him when he's most vulnerable. But just when he feels himself slipping further away, his mind goes straight to the day his sons celebrated their 15th mutation day, and just beyond them is Tang Shen.

He regains his clarity, grasps that Falco's been dead the whole time, and is immensely relieved to see Donnie and Mikey after what he'd been through.

"Perhaps a teacher, but never my master."

Falco inadvertently taught Splinter that he's always had his humanity, and his family serves as a reminder of that fact by remaining a constant and significant pillar for him.

His family is his humanity.

[chongoblog]

Me to the other sages: “Oh my god! What a tragedy that has befallen you all! I’ll help do the best I can!”

Me to Yunobo:

[cherry-jamm]

𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰

・❥・ You had no clue he was alive, but he didn’t know that

・❥・word count: 2k

・❥・warnings: mentions of death, mentions of past sexual abuse, ANGST, LOOSELY based off one scene from tsitp, my own hc of pre-vamp Astarion

・❥・ Has anyone else seen that one tsitp edit to Sign of the Times? No? Also it occurred to me that now 2/3 fics I’ve posted on this platform are about vampires, lord I fear I have a type, also also, let’s just pretend Astarion can remember his life pre-vamp, just pretend for me thank yewwwww

You adored your best friend more than words could describe. Anyone could tell how you admired him, just from how you looked at him. Astarion had always been very handsome, you struggled to look away from his gorgeously tanned skin, and his platinum curls. Your eyes caught on the strong curve of his nose and the way the sun highlighted his brown eyes. But he was more than just his appearance. He was clever and too charming for his own good.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Astarion would ask, his voice tinged with a teasing playfulness.

“Like what?”

“Like that.” ‘Like you’re in love with me’ is what he failed to say, but the message rang clear. The air thickened. You shrugged, eyes never breaking from his. He smiled and shook his head, the slightest bit of pink forming on his cheeks and the tips of his ears. For all that you adored him, Astarion would worship you.

Then one day, you stopped seeing Astarion. He didn’t show up to the cafe you two had planned on meeting at, perhaps he had fallen ill. He stopped showing up to work, a spontaneous vacation he had forgotten to tell you of in advance, possibly. He wasn’t home, everything had been just as it was left no longer than a week ago. A thin layer of dust covered the house, completely undisturbed. Another week had passed before you got closure.

“This is (y/n) (l/n)?” A large man asked. He had knocked at your door late at night, a heavy hood over his eyes. You hesitantly nodded in confirmation. “You were close with Astarion Ancunin correct?” He asked.

“Correct.” You replied slowly, your curiosity peaked, along with your worry, anything could have happened to your best friend, he could be anywhere.

“I’m here on behalf of Cazador Szarr, to inform you of Astarion’s passing.” He nodded coolly as if he hadn’t just delivered the worst news one could deliver.

“How?” Your voice was quieter than you wished it to be.

“He was murdered on Cazador’s estate. We’ve been unable to determine who killed him, but we are working diligently to bring him to justice.” The hooded man assured. Tears welled in your eyes, your throat closed in on itself. You nodded quickly and closed the door once the man had left.

You never saw Astarion’s body. It was a morbid thought, sure. To wish to see the mutilated corpse of your best friend was a sentiment not shared by many. You assumed his body had already been handed off, most likely to his parents. Oh Gods, you wonder if his mother has seen the cold mangled body of her young son. You’d have to check on her eventually. You wonder if he was handled with care. Did the hooded man carry Astarion in his arms to pass him onto his father? Or was he perhaps shipped in a cramped box, tossed on their doorstep with no regard to the remains of the young boy, who had so much life ahead of him?

You lost track of how long you mourned. You would never see him again. You’d never hear his voice, look into his beautiful brown eyes. You missed him so bad it would keep you up at night, your head hurt from staying awake so long, yet your chest hurt from the idea of falling asleep and having a singular moment of not thinking of him.

After a while, you finally started to allow yourself to rest. After that, you began letting yourself enjoy things. You started getting invited to large parties hosted by Cazador, as some effort to apologize for the tragedy that had befallen your closest friend on his property. A cold case as it had been declared after almost a month. You attended a few, you couldn’t help but be made uncomfortable by the atmosphere, the guests seemed off, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were being watched every time you set foot near Cazador’s palace, for no particular reason. Perhaps it was Astarion’s ghost keeping watch over you.

It had been your first time leaving Baldur’s Gate in years. Except for a short trip to your and Astarion’s parents you had taken a few weeks after his death, you hadn’t left in the many years since his untimely demise. You still remember that trip vividly, the smell of the countryside, and how everyone seemed to walk on eggshells to avoid speaking of the no-longer-present boy.

You weren’t doing anything particularly important on this trip, simply looking around at whatever there was to find. You had found your way to a busy market, scents of fresh bread and lavender and bright silky fabrics overwhelmed your senses when one thing caught your attention. A head of platinum curls. The head turned towards you and you swear you felt your heart drop into your stomach.

It was him, Astarion, undoubtedly. He’s changed, barely recognizable if you hadn’t known him like the back of your hand. You felt like you would be sick, seeing the dead boy clearly not dead. His once sun-kissed skin was now a ghastly shade of white. Cinnamon brown eyes now ran a shade of red, dark as blood. It was jarring, seeing the boy you once loved so suddenly in such a vastly different state. Yet, his nose remained the same, as did his high cheekbones, his hair hadn’t changed one bit, except perhaps it was a bit messier now.

“Astarion!” You yelled before you could stop yourself. Your feet carried you to him as if it was second nature to be as close to him as possible. “Astarion!” His head turned towards you, his ruby red eyes giving you a once over before widening in surprise. You saw him take a step back, like a scared dog. You stopped running, only a few steps away from him. “How? How are you here right now?”

“I’m sorry who are you?” He asks. His eyes tell exactly what his mouth won’t, the same way they always have. He knows exactly who you are.

“Don’t play dumb.” You start, he flinches away. “You know who I am.” A few people look over at him, friends you presume. You inspect each of them, what a team he’s gathered. One of the few, a rather tall tiefling walks up to you with her fists clenched. As she approached it was like heat radiated off of her. She was about to open her mouth when a man who seemed rather keen on minding his own business stopped her. She continued glaring. “We need to talk.” You hissed to the man in front of you.

“Whatever it is that you want, I can’t provide.” His voice shook ever so slightly. Anger rose in you, he had left for 200 years and been presumed dead only to reappear and act as if he was scared of you.

“Astarion.” You said, warning in your tone. Silence hangs in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time. “We need to talk.” You repeated. “Alone.” You could only imagine how you looked to his friends at the moment, a strange person running towards Astarion and insisting on privacy for a conversation. You hardly cared at the moment, too lost in inspecting every curve and line of your best friend’s face. After a second he looked towards the group and nodded them away wordlessly, he held the gaze of the tiefling a second longer.

“Well, guide the way.” He said in a faux confident manner. You huffed and turned on your heel. You lead him away from the bustle of the market, somewhere you two were ensured privacy. You found yourself near a murky pond, shaded by trees, and inhabited by large bullfrogs. Just as it became most important for you to speak, you felt your throat close up. Your mouth ran dry as you looked at him.

“I thought you were dead.” Your voice held a mixture of anger and hurt. You felt tears sting your eyes and you tried to blink them away.

“You’ve done quite enough, you don’t need to lie to me now.” He said. His eyes were wider now, his lips were pressed in a thin line. In stark contrast to the confident way he had held himself around his companions.

“I- what?” You asked breathlessly.

“I said you shouldn’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

“You have some nerve.” Astarion started. He pointed an accusatory finger at you, his face now flushed red. “Coming after me after Gods know how long, only to pretend you didn’t see me at my worst? When I was nothing more than Cazador’s spawn. You disregarded me then, why do you think you have the right to crawl back to me now.”

You felt hot tears dare to fall out of your eyes at his seemingly unwarranted anger. He looked at you like you were nothing but a monster. “Cazador’s spawn?” You repeated quietly. “You mean you- you’re-” You sputtered. You felt like the air had been punched from your chest.

“A vampire?” He scoffed. “You really should stop acting clueless, it’s hard to watch.”

“I am clueless.” You shot back immediately. “I had no idea, I-I thought you were dead. I heard the news that you had been murdered.” Tears fell down your cheeks and dripped down your chin before you could stop them. You sucked in a harsh breath. “If I had known you were alive I would’ve fought for you.” Your hands reached out to his chest, you didn’t know if you were trying to push him away or bring him closer.

“What?”

“Fought for you! I would’ve fought for you, through everything. I would’ve been there for you!” You sobbed.

“I thought you knew!” His hands found yours on his chest. His skin was ice cold and you almost hissed from the temperature change. “Cazador had told me you knew."

"You think I would've just abandoned you?" You cried, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt.

"You were at the parties!"

"And I had no idea you were there!" You insisted. Your salty tears clung to your lashes, and your throat hurt from yelling. "You should've told me!"

"How? How would I have told you?" His crimson eyes bore into yours.

"I don't know! I just wish I could've been there for you! I would've helped you, no matter what." Your voice broke off as you cried. Astarion didn't cry, he barely made an expression as he looked at you. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, your voice quivering. “I’m so sorry.” He still didn’t make much of an expression.

“You should go.” He said after a beat of silence.

“W-what?”

“I said you should go, anywhere but here.”

“I’m not leaving you again, Astarion.”

“Well I don’t want you here.” He insisted.

“Why not?” Your voice raised.

“Because if you stay any longer I think I’ll fall back in love with you.” His voice was quiet and collected. Your voice died in your throat.

“Fall back in love?” You murmured, as if speaking it too loudly would make it untrue. “You were in love with me?”

He ran his hand through his hair and looked away from you. He took a step back. “Yes.” He hesitated. “I was. Which made it all the more heartbreaking when Cazador,” he spit the name with enough venom to burn right through you. “told me that he had told you about my… transformation, offered me to you as a warm, or cold, body, and you declined. He said you simply didn’t wish to see me anymore, that you were glad to never speak to me again.” He inhaled a shaky breath. “Which is a?”

“Lie.” You finished for him. “I was told that you had died. Cazador had one of his men tell me you had been murdered. I was too lost in grief to question any further. Clearly I should have.” You laughed humorlessly. “I mourned you. Everyday. For years.”

“You did?”

“I did.” You sighed. “And I did it because I loved you. With everything I had.” Awkward stillness came once again. “Can I kiss you-” You were cut off by feeling Astarion’s cold hands grab your cheeks softly and pull you into a short, tender kiss.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. He laughed airily.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“For not being there.” He took a deep breath.

“Well… you’re here now.”

“And I don’t plan on leaving.” You finished

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

lilia and madame red

OKAY, BUT LIKE.

Does anyone else get vague Madame Red backstory vibes from Lilia in book 7??? 😭 PLEASE SAY IT ISN’T JUST ME, I SWEAR THERE’S PARALLELS HERE

Madame Red (real name: Angelina, which is what I’ll call her going forward in this post) was best friends with her sister, Rachel. Angelina considered Rachel the “sister [she] loved she most”.

Let’s think of this friendship like Lilia and Mallenoa, his princess and Malleus’s mother. He would complain about her callousness and her selfishness, but it’s clear from the way he jokes about her personality that he knows her well and considers her a good friend in spite of the trouble she causes him.

Later on, Angelina and Rachel meet Earl Vincent Phantomhive, and they both fall in love with him. Ultimately though, Rachel is the one that marries him. Angelina was heartbroken and conflicted about the matter, describing it as “the sister I loved the most was going the marry the man I loved the most”. They even have a child together. She was happy for their happiness, but was also always longing for something she could never have.

Now, while we don’t know for sure what the timeline is between Lilia meeting Mallenoa and Lilia meeting Levan/Revan (Raverne), it’s clear that they all knew one another at some point. Lilia at least knew them both since childhood (which must be hundreds of years). Then his two best friends marry and produce an egg. The conflicted feelings that Angelina experienced only really have a direct parallel if you headcanon that Lilia was in love with either Mallenoa or Revan, but we don’t necessarily need romantic feelings here for the parallel to work. It could be that Lilia feels a little lonely because his friends have less time for him since they have each other and important duties to tend to (plus, let’s remember they also dump some of their tasks onto Lilia). However, I will concede that this point in the timeline is the least mirrored with the story of Angelina; we don’t actually know a lot about Lilia’s feelings concerning his friends’ romance and how that impacted their relationship with Lilia.

Then (I’m skipping over a lot of things that happened in Madame Red’s backstory to get to the relevant parts) her beloved sister and brother-in-law perish in a fiery blaze, and she’s powerless to stop it. All that’s salvaged from the burning building is “the child of the sister she loved most and the man she loved most”.

A similar tragedy could have befallen Lilia and Malleus’s parents, given the current direction of book 7. Levan/Revan (Raverne) goes missing, and Mallenoa is all but guaranteed dead at the hands of the invading human forces led by the Dawn Knight. Where does that leave Lilia once his two best friends are gone? He’s been left behind and forced to pick up the pieces of what little remains of a country ravaged for its resources, burdened with an unborn child to look after in their stead.

I would say the main difference between Angelina and Lilia is how they coped with the aftermath of the horrific events in their life. Angelina becomes angry at the world and envious of those that take what she cannot have for herself for granted. Those feelings manifest in violent murders. Meanwhile, Lilia, the man who has been fighting and killing all this time, becomes wise and accepting of humans, wishing for a time and place where all races can join hands and the children of tomorrow can live in harmony 😭

“It’s the world Mallenoa and Raverne would have wanted for their son. The world I would want for my own son. A world of peace, not war.”

[am-i-interrupting]

I'm curious what Vox's first impressions were of the Alastor's daughter, like as a kid, I mean he briefly mentions it but I kinda wanna read his reaction about learning the radio host he grew up listening to has a daughter (and if he learned before the serial killer thing was announced, did imagine scenarios of meeting the radio man and his daughter like little kids do with their imagination or teens with their daydreams).

Another inquiry is what his impressions were when he read the reader's book (obviously he read it) and if he could sense there was more to it than the words written down

OATSH Master List

To answer your second question succinctly, yes. Not to the extent that he would suspect them of anything but he would have definitely picked up on some very subtle hints of defensiveness when it came to Alastor’s killings. I think he’d probably read it as them feeling like they need justification for still caring about him despite what he did but in reality, it’s less about their own justification and more so like a “he’s not a monster. He was helping people, why can you see that?” you know?

To answer your first question, thank you for giving me a reason to write this:

A Voice on the Radio | Vox x Alastor’s Child Reader

It was a surprise when the radio switched from producing the sound of blues to voices. For the past week, nothing but blues music came from the station. A very stark change from the upbeat jazz that normally played. There had also been no speaking. Not a single soul had spoken for the last nine days.

A throat cleared. “Is this on?”

“The light,” another, much younger sounding voice said.

The fifteen year old paused eating breakfast and looked at his mother who was staring at the radio with furrowed brows. Neither voice was familiar.

“Ah, yes, right,” the first voice said with a laugh. “Good morning all, we would like to apologize for the radio silence on our part this past week. Some unexpected tragedies came our way and with them uncovered some gruesome truths.

“The dearly beloved host, Alastor, has passed. He was killed by a misfire of a hunter. A truly tragic event but with it came to light the horrific acts of the late Alastor. As you likely know if you’re a long time listener, for the past decade or so, there have been many murders that have befallen this otherwise serene part of Louisiana and it’s been confirmed to be the acts of our previous show host.

“Today, I have here with me the one person who knew him better than anyone else and can hopefully shine some light upon the situation and perhaps give some peace to the families of the victims. Alastor’s daughter—“

He looked towards the radio now. His breakfast was forgotten now. His fork barely dangled in his hand.

Not only was his mother’s (and by extension his own) favorite radio show host dead but also a murderer and he had a daughter? So much information in less than three minutes. His brain was struggling to keep up.

Even his father set down his paper to listen in.

“Why don’t you say hello to the people?”

“I’m not dignifying you with a proper greeting until you dignify me with a proper introduction. You’re doing a terrible job, Gregory,” the younger voice said.

He smiled curiously at the radio.

“I— um, I’m sorry?” the man, Gregory, said. There was only silence in reply. An awkward chuckle, “Well, my apologies then. Let me introduce the daughter of our show host—“ Gregory said your name and silently he tested it on his tongue— “Do you have anything to say to the people before we begin?”

“Yes, I would like to sincerely apologize for Gregory’s lack of bravado and charisma. I did do my best to convince them that Raymond would be better but alas,” you said.

That’s when he got it. You did sound like a younger, more feminine version of your father. Down to the tilts of the accent.

There was a longer pause and then, barely picked up and barely able to decipher, “You have your father’s creepy smile.” Louder, intended to be heard, “Why don’t we get into the questions then?”

“Yes, let’s. The less time spent listening to you, the better for everyone, hm?”

“You little— So—“ the sounds of hands clapping together— “the reports I have here suggest that you knew about the murders. Was there a reason you didn’t say anything?”

“I’ve been raised by a serial killer, Gregory. Please, take a guess,” you replied.

He couldn’t help but snort as reached for his glass. His mother shot him a look. He bowed his head down as he took a sip.

“Right, well,” Gregory cleared his throat, “did you happen to know his motivations?”

“He’s a very righteous man,” you said. “You’ve seen him when people are being disrespectful. He’s not just some ravaging animal. He’s very selective.”

“Was,” Gregory corrected. “He was very selective, you mean.”

“Was,” you repeated and he could hear you seething even through the crackle of the radio.

“Oh, heavens! Get your stuff or we’re going to be late,” his mother said.

He didn’t want to go though. He wanted to stay and listen to you on the radio. He was having fun listening to your snark.

It truly surprised him, impressed him how you were able to have such moxie so soon after tragedy. He couldn’t imagine being so quick witted so quickly.

His mother called his name and he snapped back to reality. As he headed out the door, he heard you snap back at Gregory one more time, “And would you call yourself a saint? Don’t think no one’s noticed the looks you’ve shared with Ms. Brown, as a married man, no less!”

He compressed a laugh to his chest as he followed his mother.

The next day he saw a paper with a headline related to a serial killer in Louisiana. He paid for the paper and read another interview with you.

He couldn’t help but wonder what you looked like. What would such a snarky, confident girl look like? He wanted to know. He wanted to meet you. Even in tragedy, you seemed like good company to have.

[mentallyinvernation]

Boy's Too Young To Be Singing The Blues for the ask game!

Oh man, this one is so so bittersweet. I get emotional about this wip.

CW: implied child death

Basically! Robyn is the Vortex, and Dream struggles to come to terms with what that means - because that's Hob's child, and Dream's going to have to be the one that takes him away.

Despite the angsty premise, it's actually quite fluffy and domestic for like the first half! Dream procrastinates dealing with the whole vortex problem until it's literally ripping apart the Dreaming, and even then he's like 'I pretend I do not see'. Mainly because, before that happens, Robyn keeps popping up around the Dreaming in places he shouldn't (like the throne room), and Dream sort of ends up co-parenting with Eleanor and Hob without either of them realising lmao.

Mervyn: Don't name the vortex, you'll get attached!

Dream: Not only did I name the vortex and get attached, but I also adopted him.

A snippy snip for your time (it's kinda rough tho because I'm nowhere near this point lol):

“The fate of every being in the universe –“ “Aren't worth him!” Hob screams, chest heaving, something wild, illogical, and frantic scrabbling in his eyes. “Not to me.” "I know," Dream replies hoarsely, heart aching in his throat, and he does know. This tragedy has befallen him once before.

IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING THEY'LL BE FINE I PROMISE.

Chapter 1 is up if ya wanna check it out!

[eydi-andrius]

What He Wants (Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader)

WARNINGS: creepy behavior, cussing summary: The castle of Harrenhal has been your safe space after the tragedy that befallen you while traveling the foreign land. You survived being an almost bride of a dothraki warrior but not the gossip that you lost your honor during that unfortunate day. However, after the death of your father and older brother, you were tasked to continue serving the crown. And it seems like only the unfortunate keep following you around as you caught the eye of the Prince Aemond who was known to be cold and ambitious who traded his eye to tame his now dragon, Vhagar.

a/n: I originally uploaded this on my ao3. i decided to upload it here as compensation because im not feeling well lately and i am behind with my other story "don't get sad, get even". i hope you enjoy it.

not beta-read.

and i am busy with fixing my masterlist so i am really behind everything. yikes.

divider by @firefly-graphics

“Are you really sure you wanted to do this?” Larys squeezed your hand and asked you for the tenth time if you’re going to show your face now after years of being hidden and protected by your house.

A lady has no place for the council but your ability and prowess to economy and trade had been the foundation of Harrenhal. You have spent your years studying trade and made Harrenhal the center of trade with the foreign land on your own while most of your family members had gotten themselves in high positions within the court of the king. You always told yourself that it was your way of repaying your family for still giving you their name and trusting your words when you told them that your honor wasn’t soiled but you indeed killed men who tried to take it with brute force from you.

“I will be fine, brother. It’s been years and with the issues at court, I bet they won’t even remember me. It will be fine.” You squeezed his hand back as you smiled. Larys had been nothing but kind to you after what happened to your family. You two didn't talk much before because Larys was known to be very quiet and observant. But you guessed the accident strengthened your bond.

Larys signaled to the knight stationed by the door to introduce the two of you before entering. You flinched a little when the knight mentioned your title as the slayer bride of the dothraki. It’s been a while since you’ve heard that. No one in Harrenhal ever used that. Your father made sure not to remind you of the event that changed your life greatly and the reason why at your age you are still unwed.

With a shaky breath, you held your head high and walked proudly as you entered the great hall. Larys and you were invited to a party hosted by King Viserys. He claimed that this event is a celebration with his family while he is still well. The king has been suffering from a disease unknown even to the citadel. And maybe he wanted to have a one last feast with his family without hostility.

The place echoed with murmur and voices as you walked down the aisle. You swallowed the nervousness building at the pit of your stomach and continued walking with ease. You stopped in front of the king and bowed with practiced grace as you greeted him.

“Is it really you? You have grown such a fine lady. You were rather small the last time I saw you. Time sure flies fast when you’re getting old.” The King laughed with a bit of a cough. You gave him a small smile. He looks different than what you remembered. The rumors sure downplayed the disease the king was suffering from. As you greeted him this close, you can see that what he had is not some simple unknown disease. His skin looks decomposing as if something is slowly eating his flesh. Due to the years you haven’t seen him, you can’t even remember quite well what he originally looks like.

“You are far too kind, my king. The House Strong wishes you well and we’re grateful for extending your invitation to feast to our family.”

“Oh child! And still far too polite. Come on now! Sit down and let’s start the feast!”

You bowed one last time to King Viserys when you felt a shiver run down your spine. When you turned your head, you saw him. A man with long silver locks is staring straight right at you. He is wearing an eyepatch on his left eye. His one orb shares nothing of his intention nor interests. Despite the danger he was emitting, you can’t help but stare back at him.

“Sister.” You felt a tug on your arm and saw Larys on your side. You withdrew your eyes to the mysterious man as your brother led you both to your respective seats. But as he helped you with your chair, your eyes widened by what he whispered in your ear.

“Be warned, sister. The man you’re staring at is Prince Aemond. He doesn’t like people staring at him. He is known to be cold and quiet but rather ambitious. I advise you to stay out of his sight for your safety.” He squeezed your shoulders before sitting on his seat. You gave him a quick nod as you pretended to not notice the lilac gaze that is still pointed at your direction.

You’ve known Prince Aemond. Not much but enough that it reaches the dreadful walls of the castle. He was known to be the prince who exchanges his eye for the largest dragon, Vhagar.

The days were colder than usual so you understood when Larys decided to leave the feast to rest his legs. His legs tend to hurt much worse as the cold seeps through his bones. You wanted to retire to your room as well but you know that it is a common courtesy to stay, at least until the feast ends. 

As you were drinking your wine and listening to the chatter of the drunk guests, you were surprised when the Ladies Baela and Rhaena stood beside your seat and called your attention. “We’re glad to finally meet you Lady Strong.” Baela said after she introduced herself. She seems excited to see you which comes off as a bit of a surprise. You’ve known your reputation and their reactions were something you don’t expect to see from them. “The same with me, my ladies.”

There was a pregnant pause when the siblings just stared at each other as if communicating within their heads. Until, Baela decided to speak and you were a bit taken aback by her question. “Is it true though? That you were a captive as a dothraki bride but were able to save yourself by killing warriors? -” “Pardon?” “Ah! We don’t mean to offend you, my lady. But we wanted to hear the story from you. Your brave story-” “My brave story?” “Was well-known throughout the kingdom with bards singing prai-” A bit overwhelmed was an understatement as Lady Baela threw questions at you. You look to Rhaena for help but the twinkling in her eyes tells you that she’s also excited for you to answer. This type of attention is something you were not used to. Throughout the years of being alone and purposely isolated by peers your age has created these huge gaps with socialization. Your ability in the art of trade might be extraordinary but unfortunately, you were not gifted with normal interactions. This was the reason why whenever you do your trade your father or Larys stands with you. “I don’t think it is rather nice to overwhelm a lady who hasn't gotten out for years with questions she mostly wants to avoid, dear cousins.” A smooth baritone voice spoke behind you. You looked up and saw that he was standing right behind your chair with hands on his back staring at you and then back to his cousins. You inhaled sharply with the way he stares. Somehow, on a closer look, it seems much more intense. You saw a frown quickly plastered on the ladies' foreheads when Prince Aemond scolded them. Even without knowing much about the stories outside the walls of Harrenhal, you knew that if you don’t step forward to dissipate the three, a fight will break out. “It is alright, my lord. I am just a bit tired due to the alcohol on my system and journey on my way here. I’d love to tell you my story. Maybe on the morrow? This feast will last for a week and we’ll have all the time to talk and share our stories.” The frown left their faces almost immediately when the two looked back at you.

“Really, my lady!? Then, we’ll see you on the morrow then.” Baela smiled widely as if you had given her an answer she was waiting for her whole life. But the frown came back to their faces when they heard the Prince's voice again. “Well, you heard the Lady Strong. Now go. Stop pestering the lady. My father and your parents were all waiting for you in a private dining chamber.” He said as he motioned to the direction of the door. The two ladies just stared at him angrily but quickly gave you a smile and a happy “goodbye” and “see you tomorrow then” before they disappeared on the nearby door.

"I do believe that you owe me a dance after I saved you from being pestered by my cousins. Hmm." He said it like it was a statement not a request or a command. You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes and just stood elegantly from your chair.

"I don't think it was a situation worth saving me for, my lord." You replied as you stood your ground not wanting to accept the hand he put out in front of you.

It started out as a slow murmur until it became a chatter. That's when you become hyper aware of where you were. You completely forgot about the people because everyone seems to be focused on the royal family. But since they moved to another chamber for privacy, all the focus was on you again especially since a prince seems to be asking you for a dance. 

With eyes wide, you looked around and confirmed your situation. Everyone is indeed staring at you and the prince. Your breath comes in short gasps as you look around and count all the eyes focused on you. 

You heard his voice before you felt him. He's calling your name to focus on him. Both his hands are grasping your cheeks when he moved your face closer to him and called your name much firmly this time. “Breathe, my lady. Follow me.” You followed his command and breathed in and out the same way he does. Following him had calmed your nerves and even your breathing. Eyes closed you continue breathing to fully take control of yourself. You completely forgot where you were but quickly realized what was happening when one lady gasped in shock. The moment you opened your eyes, you saw how close he was. His forehead is almost brushing yours. Hands immediately grabbing his, you yanked them away from your face. 

"I don't think that was appropriate, my lord. You shouldn't have grabbed the face of an unwed lady especially when you’re unwed as well!" You reprimanded him in a hush tone to not let the outsiders hear what you were saying. He just replied with a soft hmmm and a tilt of his head.

Again, Prince Aemond presented his hand while keeping the other to his back.

"I do think this time you owe me a dance." Without much choice, you accepted his hand and danced with him. This seems to stop the staring as the music starts to play and more wine was poured to the cups of the guests.

But your concern now is not the people, it is the lilac eye staring right in front of you. Somehow it looks darker. There is something swirling behind which you can't pinpoint. It stirs something within you which is akin to worry. You’d lie if you claim it wasn’t fear. 

During the dance, all he did was stare. The whole time it was uncomfortable and it made you regret why you didn’t just excuse yourself with Larys earlier. You could have avoided this and enjoyed the soft bed which you missed a lot while traveling on a carriage. You were removed from your reverie when you heard his voice asking you a question. “Would you let this one-eyed prince know the truth about your story? Is it true or was it just an exaggeration?” “I cannot completely tell what you meant my lord when I personally don’t know what songs bards had sung on my name and what stories you’ve heard from your nurses.” You’ve heard him say hmmm again before continuing. “They said you cut off their cocks and presented them to their Khal as proof that you were not some lady to whom they can kidnap for their wife's hunt that easy.” “Heavens! That was the story you’ve heard? If I may recall, it was six years ago. How come a young prince was let to hear such grotesque stories from wandering bards?” Annoyingly, you asked the prince for confirmation. The King and Queen will not let that happen, right? You frowned when you saw that his mouth curved up with obvious amusement. “Let's just say that this prince did go out at night to check on the kingdom on his own when he was young.” You can’t help but sigh at his straightforward answer. Of course, no matter what status they have, men will be men. The musicians plucked the last string of the song and you promptly removed your hand from his hold but instead of letting go, the prince grabbed your hand, rather too tight, and forced you to move forward and get closer to him again. He looked down and made sure your faces were almost inches away from each other. You released a quiet whimper and felt your whole body shivered from fear. 

"They weren't lying when they claimed that the only reason why the court ladies had been bad mouthing your name was because your beauty outstands them all. I’ve never seen a golden skin as dewy as yours. How your wild curly black hair matches your bright brown eyes. Outside these walls, your name was well-known differently from what I’ve heard. And it always fascinates me. How come a lady like yours was hidden. It’s obviously not the question of your honor. If that was the case, the best for your family was to sell you to an old lord who wanted another cunt to fuck. But no, they kept you and treated you rather fairly. Protected and well-taught on top of that. Tell me, my lady. What is your family hiding from the walls outside the dreadful Harrenhal?” He spoke with pronounced curiosity and interest. 

You swallowed and tried to fight him to retrieve your hand. But he is much too strong for you. There is no excuse for what you did but your head is telling you to free yourself rather than care that a prince is holding you.So what you did is balled your hands and made sure your fingernails punctured his skin. His eyes wandered to the trickle of blood that came off from his wounds made by your fingernails. You used that moment to free yourself from his grip almost tumbling backwards in the process. From his wounds, he stared right up at you. 

“Be careful, my lady. As I am known as the prince who claims those he wasn't supposed to have.”

He used his thumb to gather the blood which came out of his skin and slowly wiped it on your face. As if nothing happened, he bid you farewell and excuse himself for another dinner he must be having.

You stilled and never in your life had fear gripped you this bad. When you killed the dothrakis, you were fueled with anger and hatred as you stabbed them to earn your freedom back. Maybe hiding inside the Harrenhal made you much more vulnerable than safe. He was just a young prince with no experience with real war but you knew it better than anyone. A man changes when they finally set their eyes to the ones they wanted to conquer the most. And for the one-eyed Prince Aemond, it is you. It is a wonder how come he wants you. But you know you put yourself in danger tonight.

You should have listened to your brother's warning. But no one will entirely blame it on you when all you did was be polite and entertain him for a bit. Who would have thought that by doing so, you were already signing up your fate to him. If your brother asked you again if you were really sure, you would probably say no and agree right away to go back to Harrenhal. You can’t help but foresee the disaster coming your way after years of trying to avoid one. What exactly have you done?

[skooteg]

Forgetting to eat until suddenly it’s 2pm and you can’t get up to eat because your stomach hurts

[nrilliree]

"No matter what else Aegon does, he will always be a r*pist. That means no matter what, he could NEVER be a good king." - This!!!! Like no offence Tom, but shut up. It's over, the decision is decided before the "war' his family started ever began. It would make him look so much less crappy if he acknowledged how much of a pos Aegon truly is.

And it's not just what he did to that poor girl. He's always been like that. At Laena's funeral, he harassed that poor servant girl. The negative way he spoke about his sister. Planning the pig thing against his brother. Abusing Helena when he's drunk. The comments that he made to his cousin at the feast. Aegon is a sexual predator, and abuser. He is what he is. And his behavior progressed to r*pe. He will not change. You are giving him more power, and rewarding that behavior. So it will only make him worse. Just like Joffrey.

I wonder how long Tom is going to defend Aegon. At what point does he simply admit what he has always been ??

Exactly. The fact that Aegon wants revenge doesn't change anything about his character. This is not an expression of someone maturing. It is rather a demonstration of what the saying "Kali's morality" means in my country. Henryk Sienkiewicz wrote in: "If someone takes away Kali's cows, it is a bad deed. It is a good deed, like taking Kali's cows away." Kali's morality means a belief based on double standards and hypocrisy, characterized by viewing transgressions as negative only if other people commit them and not ourselves. So Aegon was simply furious that a tragedy had befallen him that he had ridiculed when it had befallen someone else. Aemond killed Rhaenyra's son? It's no problem for him. But that his son died in the name of revenge? So Aegon wants even more revenge.

And to the anonymous people who send me messages in which they defend Aegon in another anonymous's post - I really won't publish posts in which an anonymous person directs a question to another anonymous person, and another anonymous person directs it to another anonymous person… Do you want to discuss among yourselves, then reblog it or write it in a comment.

[mide404]

Greetings,

I write this plea with a heavy heart, burdened by the tragedy that has befallen my family in the war-torn land of Gaza. I am Mahmoud Saleh, a soul ensnared in the cruel grip of despair, clinging to a glimmer of hope.

Today, I implore you to witness the shattered remnants of my once-happy family. My father, a beacon of strength, has been cruelly extinguished, and the innocent lives of my niece and nephew have been seized by the relentless grip of conflict. Now, my family, torn and disfigured, has sought refuge in the desolate south.

In the bleak shadows of despair, I beg for your compassion to save my family from the misery engulfing Gaza. Stranded in Gaza, deprived of the most basic necessities, they endure the harsh mockery of life without water or sustenance.

I appeal to you, with a heart heavy with sorrow, to be the lifeline my family so desperately needs.

I kneel before you, not as a supplicant, but as a broken soul yearning to avert further loss. Save my family from the clutches of despair so they can rebuild their shattered lives. The specter of losing them, as I lost my father and relatives, haunts me in every waking moment. I beseech you, kind souls, to respond to this cry for help and rescue my family from the abyss of suffering.

Please donate if you can and share our story widely as you're able to🙏🙏

[ragingbookdragon]

A Broken Heart Must Be Healed On Its Own

Haldir of Lórien x Reader

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: But the pairing of Galadriel's daughter and Haldir is just *mwah* perfection! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It was, the first week of winter by the time she made it home from Erebor. The air had chilled considerably, and most mornings were covered in a fine layer of frost before the winter sun warmed the land. Lothlórien was never known to have true snowfall like other places, as Lady Galadriel’s magic, and the forest itself was an eternal spring and autumn, but sometimes, she would awaken in the mornings, when the moon was still in the sky, and tiny snowflakes would decorate the kingdom outside.

Oddly enough, it seemed winter had blessed Lothlorien with a bit of snowfall as she quietly crossed back into the realm and under the veil of her mother’s protection. Her heart still ached, as it would no doubt for centuries after, but even elves like she knew that sometimes, time healed even the deepest of wounds.

She arrived, greeting the elves who bowed for her and ascended the stairs to her mother and father’s chambers. As if her mother knew she was coming, and she did—always did, the eyes of Lady Galadriel met hers, and she all at once was overcome with a great grief, crystal tears filling her eyes as she dropped her bag and fell into her mother’s arms.

Lady Galadriel said nothing, save quiet hums as she caressed her daughter’s head, already knowing the tragedy that had befallen the land east of Mirkwood—word had always travelled fast, as did magic. The adventure was one her daughter had to go on, to find something of worth for herself, not in material items, but within her heart and soul, and she knew that her daughter had found it, even at the expense of such deep emotion.

It was quite a long while before the tears finally dried and she lay against her mother’s shoulder, no longer sniffling, but staring blankly at the land outside the arches. “I am deeply grieved, mother,” she whispered. “For my own loss, but the pain of my friends, grieves me too.”

“Yes,” Galadriel murmured.

“I wish I could take their pain from them. It hurts me that I cannot heal their hearts.” She shifted as much she could, trying to get closer to her mother. “What good is my ability to heal if I cannot heal the broken hearts of the ones I love?”

Her mother’s hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing delicately over her skin. “Some pain we are meant to feel, hína nîn. It reminds us that we are alive.” Galadriel’s voice was soft but ever wise. “Your ability is to heal physical wounds, not the wounds of the heart. That is something someone must heal on their own.”

Pulling away, she looked at her mother, searching for something in her gaze and opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“I am proud of you though, hína nîn,” Galadriel said. “For you have done what was right. Stood up against evil in many forms to do justice. You have made us all here so honored.”

“I have only tried to live up to your own standard, mother,” she smiled halfheartedly, and Galadriel merely offered a smile of her own.

“You love has waited quite a long time for you to return home. Perhaps you should go and see him.” her mother gave her a knowing look. “It is, after all, the first time you have ever left with anger in your heart.”

She nodded, letting out a sigh. “I shall, but I would like to see father first. I wish for his comfort as well.”

Galadriel nodded, helping her daughter to her feet before taking her arm in hers, leading her to her father.

***

It was nightfall by the time she returned to the quarters she and her love shared. There was still an ache in her heart, but it had slowly begun to heal, as if the love from her mother and father was magic in and of itself. She pushed open the door, greeted by the sight of her husband bent over a desk, papers surrounding him as he rubbed at his temples and pinched the bridge of his nose. It reminded her of their last talk before she left.

“I simply mean I do not think this is a wise decision.”

“And I recognize this. Do not think that the mere danger of this quest is somehow beyond me, Haldir, or do you forget that I was once face to face with a terrible evil once?”

“That is not what I mean to say, and you know that.”

“I know what you mean. You do not want me going.”

“Of course I do not! You could die! Do you any how grieved all of Lórien would be if you did?”

“Life is not lived without its risks. This is something I must do.”

“Please, my love, do not go. I do not wish for you to put yourself into harm’s way as such where I cannot protect you.”

“I unfortunately cannot acquiesce to your desire, Haldir. I am leaving with Mithrandir at dawn.”

“I do not think you understand! You need—”

“Let go of my arm lest you lose it, Haldir.”

“…You have forgotten that you are no longer just your mother’s daughter. You are my wife. I am your husband. Your life is mine and mine yours. You are taking a risk without assessing my concerns and it is wrong. This is wrong. You, are wrong.”

“Then I will be wrong. But this is something I must do, and you will not stand in my way, husband or no.”

“Fine. Go then. If something befalls you so horrible that you do not come home to me, then you will know I was right.”

She huffed quietly and leaned against one of the pillars in their common room. “To think, my great, Marchwarden husband has met his final downfall, and it is not an enemy blade, but reports.”

Haldir jumped at her voice, startled eyes meeting hers as he rose from the desk, fingers touching the papers, but he didn’t move from behind it. “You—” he fell silent, gathering himself as his eyes became hidden. “I had heard you made it back to Lórien.”

“Yes,” she said, walking over to where a glass pitcher was; she poured two glasses of crimson wine and held it out for him. “Forgive the delay, I had to see Mithrandir and Bilbo back to the Shire.”

He came around the desk and took the glass but didn’t drink from it even as he watched her do so. “I heard of what happened…the battle…the dwarves. To think that you were in the middle of such a battle, I—I cannot even begin to fathom such a fearsome sight.”

She blinked slowly, gazing out towards the night. “Yes…a great sadness it was. My heart weeps for my loss and for my friend’s losses too.”

“Meleth nîn,” he begged. “For what purpose did you go on this adventure? Was such grief and sadness worth it?”

Looking at him, she smiled with great sorrow. “You still have yet to understand.” She turned, sitting on the bench, and gestured for him to do so; when he did, she rested her head on his shoulder. “Losing someone I love, is something I know well.”

“Your sister…”

“Mhm. But the loss of my sister is different from the loss of Thorin, Fili, and Kili. That was a loss I was not familiar with. That of losing a friend. Someone who I shared values, hopes, and great friendships with.”

Haldir was confused. “You went on this journey…so you would know what it was like to lose a friend?”

“You have lost friends before, Haldir. You know what it is like to grieve a fallen brother or sister in arms.”

“Well, yes, but—"

“You have no doubt heard of my mother and brother-in-law’s battle in Dol Guldur. Sauron has returned. Perhaps not in full form just yet like he was ages earlier, but he will come back to great power soon. Loss of many things and people we hold dear is coming, my life. I wished to be prepared for that loss before it happened.” She sighed heavily, feeling the dull ache in her chest again. “But my poor heart was not as prepared as I thought for the losses of my much-loved dwarves. There is a deep pit within my heart, not only for my own loss, but for the feeling of grief that my other friends felt.”

He took her hand in his and thumbed the back of it. “I am sorry for your loss, my love. I wish it is a pain I could carry for you.”

She hummed low in her throat and turned her head up, looking at him. “Haldir, my husband, I ask your forgiveness. In the end, you were right. I am my mother’s daughter, but I am also your wife. And I should have heeded your concerns more cautiously. I am sorry I did not, and that I hurt you. Of all my grief, hurting you is what has caused me the most pain. I never meant to, and I am so sorry.”

Haldir tipped his head to the side, a sad but fond look on his face as he smiled and replied, “Then I must ask your forgiveness as well. I should not have taken my anger out and spoken ill of your journey. To be so jaded to you…it was unworthy of someone who is to love you wholeheartedly.”

Lady Galadriel was the only one on Middle Earth to have seen the trees, but Haldir swore sometimes he could see them in her daughter’s eyes, like now as she smiled at him and leaned forward, nuzzling her nose to his.

“Melin gin, Haldir,” she whispered, and he closed his eyes, reaching up to cup her cheek, once more so glad to hold his wife in his arms.

“And I you, meleth nîn, from this age, to the next, and until the end of all time.” He gently tipped her head up and pressed his lips to hers. “I prayed for your safety every day,” he murmured as he pulled back, resting his forehead to hers. “I watched as you left the forest and all I thought was that I said such horrid things and I had no way of knowing if your journey would be your last.”

She hummed and he opened his eyes, gazing into hers as she professed, “Not even all the hellish forces of Utumno could keep me from coming back to you, Haldir.” Pulling away, she rose from the bench, stood before him, and held out her hands, waiting for him to place his in hers. As he did, she squeezed them tight. “I swear to you, here and now, under the light of my mother’s forest, I will never again stray so far that you do not know where I will go. And should I go, then we shall go together.”

Haldir stood to his feet, a burning passion in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. “And I to you, that I will never again let you go alone. Wherever we go, we go together.” He smiled so widely at her, taking her face in his hands. “I have missed you so greatly, meleth nîn.”

“And I you, my life.” She pulled them towards the bed. “Rest with me and in the morning, I shall tell you all about my adventure.”

“I do not wish to cause grief, my love.”

“You will not,” she promised. “Besides, there and back? It is a tale worth telling for many ages to come.” Her eyes twinkled. “I fought against many things. Orcs, spiders, dragons. So many.”

“Did you win?”

“Of course!”

They fell into bed and Haldir held her as she snuggled into his chest; kissing her head, he said softly, “Rest, meleth nîn. I will watch for you.”

[chavisory]

It is 8:45 AM, I am preparing to leave for rehearsal, I get a text from our production manager that says "I need to prepare you for what you are walking into today."

And I am terrified that there's been some kind of behind-the-scenes interpersonal drama or that some kind of tragedy or budgetary nightmare has befallen. So I'm about to text back "Do you want me to call you?" when she sends me a picture of the rehearsal room.

And it's just.

Chairs.

There are just so many chairs.