#leaving Gil to just kind of...be there

[softquietsteadylove]

Some awkward moments in 10 things au💕

"What is the delinquent doing here?"

"Isn't he Thena's situationship?"

"He's kinda cute, though."

Thena did her best to ignore her teammates. None of what they said was true. Well, it wasn't, but she looked over and Gilgamesh was indeed seating himself on the bleachers overlooking the soccer field. She blinked.

He waved.

Thena gripped her water bottle even tighter. What was he doing here?

"You should go talk to him."

Her teammates were far more social, all of them with multiple friend groups, different niches they could jump into and out of per the situation.

"No, you!"

"Ask him if he's going to the party tonight!"

Thena had no clue how there were so many parties in one school year. They were all in the same position: on the cusp of graduating, preparing to move on in life. Did they not have any schoolwork to do?

"He drives, right? Ask him for a ride!"

Thena dropped her water bottle into her bag on her way past the bench.

"Thena?"

"Hey Princess," he greeted her as if he had laid a trap simply by sitting there. He leaned back in his posture, resting his palm on the bench, "how's practice?"

"What are you doing here?" she stared down at him from the back of the seats in front of him. Most would be frozen solid from that look.

"Just thought I'd walk around a bit after school, y'know," he shrugged, seeming so casual about it.

"I thought we said we wouldn't do this," she growled at him, her ponytail swaying from the upward tilt of her head.

"Uh," Gilgamesh looked down at his hoodie, toying with the string of it, "you said."

"What?"

"Maybe you said we wouldn't do this kinda thing," he muttered through somewhat pursed lips, pouting and sulking in broad daylight.

Thena sighed, relaxing her - possibly overly - confrontational stance. She looked down at the cleats on her feet. "Are you really here just to watch?"

"Well," he shrugged, "uh, what are you doing after practice?"

"I see," she scoffed, but the look on Gil's face made her want to snatch the words back as soon as she said them. She looked away, guilt washing over her, maybe even shame. Gil wasn't like that, and she damn well he wasn't. "I...I didn't have anything planned."

"Oh," he looked up at her again. "Well, I heard there was this-"

"Party," she cut him off, and then felt unnerved by it, looking away again. "I heard."

"Well?"

Thena shifted on her feet.

"Look," Gil began, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I know you don't wanna do the whole 'couple' thing."

And he did. He did, and he told her, and let it show in his actions. He did that at every opportunity, and she was the one constantly dodging and deflecting his desire to be more romantic.

"But we can, like, hangout," he finished rather lamely, "right?"

He was right. She was the one being childish, and for what? To avoid looking for too long at the man whose lips had been on hers? Whose tongue had been in her mouth...and other places.

She blushed.

Gil sighed, moving his feet to stand. "Okay, this was a mistake-"

Thena put her hand on his shoulder, preventing him from standing fully. She pushed with her fingertips to lower him back to the bench. "No."

"No?" he looked up at her, still poised to get up and leave but not pushing against her. "No, it's not a mistake? Or no, you're not going?"

Thena just barely glanced back at the team. They weren't even trying to seem like they weren't watching them with intrigue. She sighed, trying to ignore it. "It wasn't a mistake."

Gil relaxed his shoulder against her touch. He really was ridiculously well built for someone their age. She was well aware of what it felt like to dig her nails into those shoulders.

"I'll go," she murmured, feeling the warmth in her cheeks worsen, "if you do."

Now she really was being childish.

But Gilgamesh smiled up at her eagerly, "yeah, I was planning on going. Do you want a ride?"

She longed for her water bottle, just for something to occupy her idle hands. Her fingers flexed on her hips. "I'll probably drive Sersi, so... "

"Right," he nodded.

"I'll meet you there," she added, then seeing there was no need. She toyed with some hair that had slipped from her ponytail, "out front?"

"Okay sweetheart," he grinned, back to being his usual cocky self. He did stand now, leaning closer to her, "you got yourself a deal."

She pursed her lips, "it wasn't a business proposal."

He just chuckled, slipping his hands into the pockets of his hoodie again, "you leave the proposing to me, your ladyship."

She rolled her eyes.

"I'll wait for you, Thena," he promised, and it came out so heartfelt she really felt it. He leaned even closer, "for as long as it takes."

Thena leaned just her head back faintly. He wasn't going to kiss her, right?--here and now?!

"Just say the word," he chuckled, leaning even closer.

She didn't lean back. And then he leaned in and kissed her! The bastard really kissed her, in front of the whole team! And he was still a good kisser (fuck). And she kissed him back (just a little).

"Relax, they can't see from this angle, it just looks like I'm being a jerk," he leaned back to laugh more loudly.

Thena kept quiet, mostly unable to come up with a reply to that amidst her fluster.

"See you tonight, Princess," he gave her one last little wave before stepping back more visibly. He waved to the team, "keep it up, ladies!"

Thena huffed, trying to collect some breath before going back to the team. She watched Gilgamesh strolling slowly to the stairs, like he was god's gift to women. Specifically, her.

"All right girls, get back out there."

Thena jogged past the bench and back onto the field, falling back into the fold of her teammates.

"Ooh, Thena talked to her boyfriend!"

"He's not my boyfriend!" she snarled.

"Oh, so I can ask him out?"

Thena deliberately changed course, bumping shoulders on the way to her position front and center, "I didn't say that, either."

#Thenamesh 10 Things AU #Thena is in d e n i a l #she said just because this boy and I are in love #he thinks he can come around and ask to be my boyfriend? #just because I dream of him every night get over yourself #Gil is so sweet #he kind of lingers around #Sersi is like uh what's up? #Gil: well...where's your sister? #Sersi is like ohhhhhhh my god you're so transparent #she's at the field #Gil goes and just kind of hopes he'll get to talk to her #in the end he leaves and he's like yessss!!! #'cause he got to kiss his girl #meanwhile Thena's team teases her relentlessly #but every single one of them gets a ball in the thigh for it #coach benches her but fine #later Gil gets wind of how the whole girl's senior soccer team is scared to talk to him #he assumes it's the delinquent thing but it's Thena being jealous

[echo-bleu]

Noldor Hair Headcanons (3/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3

Some lighter Kidnap Fam content, after the downhill freefall that was the last chapter. With a dash of Finrod in Valinor.

Elrond and Elros have never had their hair braided when they end up with Maedhros and Maglor.

They don’t realize what they’re asking when Elros grabs a hairbrush and puts it in Maglor’s hand.

Maglor understands that, but decides that the twins need parental care, even though he has no right. He brushes their hair and leaves it loose at first.

But the twins have watched Maglor braid Maedhros’s hair and they soon start asking for more interesting hairstyles.

Eventually Maglor explains to them that it can only be done by family.

The twins have a whole silent conversation.

“What does it take to be family?” Elros asks eventually.

Well, braiding an unrelated child’s hair is pretty close to informal adoption.

Elros forces the brush into Maglor’s hand again.

Maglor stares.

Elrond shakes his head and runs out.

Of course, Elrond must hate them. He has every right. Sure, Elros has started to warm up to them, but that’s just because he’s affection-starved, probably. They’re still kidnappers.

Maglor is about to put down the brush and try to refuse when Elrond comes back.

He’s holding a second hairbrush.

He hands it to Maedhros expectantly.

Maedhros cries.

Maglor cries.

The twins’ hair really doesn’t hold braids very well, and they’re still kids who run around and play, but damn them if Maglor and Maedhros aren’t going to do their best.

Now all of their people can see that the twins are well-loved.

Maedhros and Maglor also proudly sport a few clumsy, wonky braids each.

They’re less wonky with time, and eventually the twins are doing their fathers’ (kidnappers’) hair as often as not.

Finrod is reembodied shortly before Eärendil and Elwing gets to Valinor. It’s too early and he’s Not Doing Well. While in Middle Earth, he was the one who let basically every one of his friends braid his hair, now he can’t stand the thought of someone touching him that way.

But Beleriandic battle braids feel wrong in Tirion. And he’s desperately trying to reckon with his trauma, with Sauron defeating him by singing about the kinslaying, so he can’t leave his hair loose like the Teleri.

And he can’t quite get the sight of Edrahil’s bloody braids spat out by a werewolf out of his head.

He wears nothing but the very strange-looking (to Amanyar) Mourning Braids he designed after Dagor Bragollach for a couple of years.

Then after an episode of really bad depression and nearly fading, he cuts his hair short.

No-braiding-possible kind of short.

While not unheard of in Beleriand (sometimes former thralls keep their hair very short, like Rog), it’s unthinkable in Valinor, especially for the Crown Prince of the Noldor.

He is stared at a lot, his reputation goes down the drain, but to Finrod it’s liberating.

He does let his hair grow out again eventually, but only when other Exiles start coming back and choose to keep the Beleriandic braid styles, and it becomes a fashion statement rather than a mark of shame.

Finarfin is Very Shocked arriving in Beleriand when he finds his (single remaining) child with her hair loose and everyone else with weird self-braided battle hairstyles.

After a battle or three where he ends up with his hair matted with blood and mud, he caves and gets Galadriel to give him battle braids.

By the end of the war he’s even learned to do them himself! Let it not be said that King Arafinwë Ñoldóran didn’t rise to his calling.

The night before sending the Elrond and Elros to Gil-galad, Maedhros and Maglor undo all of their braids. Everyone cries.

Maedhros and Maglor meant this to minimize the ‘taint’ their names would put on the twins, by making it look like they were still hostages to the end, but the twins stop on the way to do each other’s hair because one does not meet a king with their hair loose, they have manners (which the Fëanorians taught them, so they’re Very Specific Manners), so the effect is lost. Gil-galad has Questions. The twins refuse to lie.

Then, before going to steal the Silmarils, Maedhros and Maglor do each other’s hair, in a style of their father’s that they haven’t worn since the Oath.

Maglor braids a single golden ribbon into Maedhros’s hair.

They have very few pieces of hair jewellery left of their brothers’, but they use all of them.

They both know it’s the last time.

To be continued

I did some sketches for visual reference of a few of the hairstyles mentioned here, if you want to see what I'm imagining!

#noldor hair headcanons #if i am to braid my mystic crown #noldor #maedhros #maglor #elrond #elros #finrod #kidnap fam #silmarillion #silm fic #tolkien #tolkien fanfiction #echo's fanfiction

[kitcat22]

Love the idea of Elrond as the most politically powerful, influential person in Lindon.

Like this man is the son of the guy who saved the world, the grandson of Idril and Tuor famed heroes, great grandson of Turgon who built a safe haven in an apocalypse and great great grandson of Fingolfin who lead the Noldor across the grinding ice. He has the gondolindrim eating out of his hand. He is their shining symbol of hope just like his father was. A bright star born in a time of darkness and terror.

He’s also the adoptive son of Maglor and Maglor. While i dont believe he’d consider himself a diehard feanorian due to all that happened, the Feanorians surrounded him during the formative years of his life and that leaves an effect on both parties. They watch him grow up and when Maedhros and Maglor die and disappear respectively, it is Elrond who is given charge of them. Elrond, who looks at them and says you have done terrible things and there is no changing that but there is a chance for you to do good now, if you will follow me then i will lead you. To them he is Maitimo before Angband and Thangorodrim. He is their kind and beautiful prince who convinced them that though their sworn leader is dead the enemy is not and there is work to be done.

Then there’s the Sindar. Elrond is just as much a symbol to them as he was to the Gondolindrim. He’s the image of Luthien come again, the scion of Thingol and Melian. He also becomes a symbol of hatred of what the Noldor took from them. A mighty empire and monarchy lost twice over. Children slain mercilessly once again. After he is returned to him is when he begins to become a much more positive figure. Their little lost prince returned to life. A symbol of unity and peace. He understands they have been wronged he too was victim to those wrongs, but it is him who convinces them that the elves cannot fight amongst themselves any longer, that they have a chance for a better world, but they must inhabit that world together.

Thats three factions of elves who adore him, not to mention his Numenorian connections. Elrond would likely never go against Gil Galad on any sort of political matter, the two of them agree on most things afterall, but if he did, i think Gil Galad would have a hard to time arguing with or refusing him, knowing just how much power Elrond has over his subjects.

#elrond peredhel #elrond #silmarillion #the silm #silm #silmarillion writing #sindar #noldor #lindon

[gunwoos]

woo-jin x reader x gun-woo poly headcanons

sorry this is kinda short! also i've never written anything poly before so it might not be the best. i procrastinated finishing this all week cause my brain ran out of ideas but anyways enjoy 🫶

ok hear me out

u either meet them and they're already in an established relationship OR u guys r all best friends and they both realize how much they like u and how much they like each other and eventually u guys all start dating

ur guys relationship is such a fun dynamic. like ur dating both of ur best friends it really can't get better than that

u have a spot permanently reserved in between the two of them

whether ur walking down the street, taking the bus, ur in the middle of them

they lowkey fight over u (playfully) (woojin starts it 100% of the time)

like woojin asks u to come watch him at practice but u and gunwoo have plans to go somewhere and woojin is just like ??? "ur hogging her!!!"

he then proceeds to go on this long rant abt how sad and lonely he's gonna be at practice all by himself while u two have fun without him (jokingly)

all jokes aside tho u guys have a really secure relationship and are able to do things in pairs rather than all 3 of u being together 24/7

like u and woojin, u and gunwoo, and gunwoo and woojin all have ur own things u like to do in pairs and it's nice for whoever doesn't go to have some alone time

they (try to) teach u how to box if ur interested

or if ur a boxer urself even better! all 3 of u can practice and compete in tournaments together (ur gonna be rich from all the prize money u guys win together)

practices with all 3 of u usually ends up with u guys just messing around but it's fun while it lasts

trying to go to sleep with these two is chaotic to say the least. u guys all eventually end up moving in together and apartments r expensive so u guys thought it would be a good idea to just have one bedroom with a singular king sized bed in it

news flash it's not big enough for u and ur two tall ass boyfriends

like u guys try cute cuddling positions to start off but it just ends with u guys laying on top of each other and it's a mess but u guys r comfy so

woojin likes to fall asleep with his head on your chest and geonwoo likes to have your head on his chest

u usually end up with your head on geonwoo's chest, cuddled into his side with woojin behind / kind of laying on top of u or hugging the both of u. whatever position u guys fall asleep in doesnt last tho and by the time u guys wake up it's just a tangle of limbs

HOLDING HANDS. whenever u guys go out together , and especially if wherever u are is crowded, all 3 of u are linking hands

they're both protective of u. they're overprotective when it comes to danger and stuff like that considering what they went through with kim myeon-gil , but they're not super overprotective if ur talking to other guys or smth

they also don't get jealous easily. there's so much trust in ur relationship and u guys communicate really well , so they really won't get jealous unless they actually have good reason to be

if someone is like over the top flirting with u and getting touchy tho, they're both by u in an instant scaring whoever's bothering u away

they know u can handle urself but will step in if they need to

like just imagine ur at a bar or smth, u leave the table to go get the three of u more drinks and some guy starts getting flirty with u while ur waiting. ur ignoring him but the guy wont take a hint, the next thing u know both of your boyfriends are on either side of u, one has an arm over ur shoulders and the other wraps one around ur waist

the guy looks terrified and is out of there in seconds

playfighting. it's mostly just u and woojin unless gunwoo is in playful mood

like u guys start bickering about something unserious and next thing u know u guys r on the floor wrestling (he barely uses any strength obviously) and gunwoos just rolling his eyes and watching

u guys honestly have such a great relationship. u got so lucky to have not one but two amazing boyfriends who love u more than anything

nsfw under ⬇️

again, they're both tall and strong as hell so expect to get manhandled a little bit (gently tho)

like holding down ur hips while going down on u, moving ur body into different positions

the sex is GOOD. like hands down it's amazing

another thing, even tho they're both boxers, you're much smaller than they are and they're so SO gentle with u

i honestly don't think either of them would like it rough they're just so sweet and don't wanna hurt u in any way

i also don't think they'd wanna like.. be in u at the same time unless ur into that, like if u suggest it and confirm that ur 100% ok with it they'll be hesitant at first but they're just like "ok! ^-^"

like i said in the sfw hcs, u have a spot permanently reserved in between the two of them and yes that includes in the bedroom

this can go so many ways too

gunwoo behind u, leaving kisses along ur jawline and neck as u lean back onto him while woojin goes down on u

eiffel tower. (i'll write a fic abt this i promise)

with the 3 of u, the possibilities are endless

they're both so giving and like pleasuring u better than receiving (not that they don't love when u pleasure them too)

they're both obsessed with eating u out

they're both athletes, they're competitive and wanna learn and become the best they possibly can at whatever they're doing , including pleasing u.

the first few times u guys do it they'll pay attention to every detail, what u like and don't like, what u really like, what things turn u on the most, etc

by the time u guys are a few months into the relationship they know just how to please u

like the sex was already good but it's just so much better once u guys learn more about each other in a sexual sense

it also doesn't have to be all 3 of u every single time, if one of u is tired or isn't in the mood but 2 of u are, u guys can go off and do ur own thing without the other feeling left out or jealous

u guys have such a trusting relationship including in the bedroom which makes the sex even better

like i said in their separate headcanons, woojin is prob a little bit freakier than gunwoo

like i know this man at least has a pair of handcuffs and i swear by this

woojin probably brings out a more adventurous side to gunwoo (and u if ur not usually adventurous) in the bedroom and it's so interesting to see

#bloodhounds #bloodhounds x reader #bloodhounds fanfic #bloodhounds kdrama #kim gunwoo #kim gunwoo x reader #kim gun woo x reader #kim gun woo #hong woojin #hong woo jin #hong woojin x reader #hong woo jin x reader #headcanons #gunwoo x reader x woojin

[thesummerestsolstice]

Headcanon Crafts for Everyone I Missed Last Time:

Idril: a sculptor. She worked with every kind of stone imaginable, and often went looking for new material in Gondolin’s mines with Maeglin. (Look my Maeglin head canons are complicated but they should get to be friends the narrative has hurt them too much already) She actually preferred not to make elvish figures, instead focusing on strangely beautiful stone landscapes and various animal-like figures. She was actually responsible for Middle-Earth’s version of the gargoyle, having carved several to stand guard over Gondolin. Several elves swore that the statues moved, but she never addressed those rumors. She also liked to paint her work with bright colors, which would’ve been seen as odd back in Valinor, but fit right in in First Age Middle-Earth.

Maeglin: a smith, but his craft was more in-line with Avarin practice than Noldor practice; with much less focus on the idea of making gems and heavier focus on understanding natural geology and the properties of various gems and metals. He knew the mines of Gondolin better than anyone, and wrote plenty about the the earth under the earth. His work also had fairly significant Dwarfish influences. He liked to make mechanically complex pieces, with moving parts or even some internal gear work.

Finduilas: a hunter. Her and her father were both nature people, just in very different ways. She was silent, with all the grace of a dancer, and quick enough to outrun most of what she hunted. She preferred to go after more aggressive animals– wild boar, wolves, bears, even wargs– and leave the deer and rabbits be. She was born in Beleriand, and had never met the Valar, but sometimes, privately, offered up prayers to Orome. She liked to imagine she could’ve been in his hunt, if things had turned out a bit differently.

Celebrimbor: a smith, in the very traditional Noldor sense. Gemworker, specialized in jewelry, made various famously beautiful pieces, etc. Was never quite happy sticking to hairpins and necklaces. Longed to try his hand at imbuing his work with real power, but always talked himself out of it. A whole binder of concepts for works of power sat locked away in a chest in his workshop for centuries. He never talked to anyone about it. He was as ashamed of his feelings for his craft as he was of his feelings for his family. By the end of his life, he’d made peace with only one of those things.

Earendil: a mariner? Alright, he was definitely a mariner, and he loved the ship life– he even built a few boats of his own, in a similar fantastic style to Turgon’s architecture– but he also had a longstanding fascination with the natural world, and filled volumes and volumes of journals with information on various plants, animals, and minerals. But natural lore isn’t a recognized Noldor craft, since it involves learning but doesn’t really produce tangible results. Still, it was a passion he got from afternoons spent learning about geology with “Uncle Mole,” and one he shared with Elrond. Researching the beauty and wonder of nature gave Earendil something to do with his immortal life, and was a big part of the reason Elrond chose to be immortal at all.

Gil-Galad: a king. No, really, he’d been the high-king of the Noldor since he was a child, and hadn’t really had time for trivialities like “finding a life purpose” or “having fun.” He was too busy learning how to stay alive in late stage Beleriand (read: hell) and learning to rule the least cooperative group of elves imaginable. He wanted to be a painter, and while he found enough practice time to get good at his chosen craft; because of how long detailed paintings can take, he almost never had time to actually make anything. He tried not to let it bother him too much. He didn’t always succeed at that.

Elrond: in a bit of a weird spot. Elrond is most associated with lore and healing; but, as discussed, “lore” isn’t considered a craft. And, well. Healing had to be Elrond’s craft, right? He’d been doing it since he was seven, and just about the only person in Amon Ereb who could still use healing powers. And it was good work, and it was rewarding, even if it often left him feeling so burned out and worried that he forgot to eat or sleep. It took him a long time to admit to himself that healing for him was what fighting was to many other elves: a necessity. Truth be told, he’d rather be gardener, working with the earth to create a place of peace and beauty. Also, Elrond is basically a nature spirit. So. It was something he began to explore in the peace of the early Second Age. He found that his Ainuric powers had all sorts of interesting effects on plant life. He also learned how to breed new varieties of fruits, vegetables, and flowers. Still, he never really considered that it could be a proper craft for him. At least, not until he first saw the valley that would one day become Rivendell.

Headcanon Crafts for Finwe and his Children, the House of Feanor, the House of Fingolfin, and the House of Finarfin.

#silmarillion #silm headcanons #house of finwe #noldor #noldor crafts #idril #maeglin #finduilas #celebrimbor #earendil #gil galad #elrond #elrond peredhel #eldritch peredhel #I have feelings about elrond and gil galad #they had to grow up so fast #they deserve peace

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Looming vs. Natural Reproduction - what on Gallifrey's going on here?

As the first of the trending topics, GIL's noticed some confusion about the concept of looming vs. natural reproduction in Gallifreyans. Have no fear; GIL's here to help.

🧬 What is looming?

It's a bit like 3D printing, but for people. These Rassilon-created Genetic Loom Breeding-Engines weave new Gallifreyans from a mix of matter and biodata. Looms produce Gallifreyans of all genders, (though females are loomed slightly less frequently). Each House has its unique Loom, which embeds familial traits into its creations.

❓ Why is looming a thing?

The invention of Looms was Rassilon’s grand solution to a serious problem. Following the catastrophic Curse of Pythia, Gallifrey faced extinction. The Looms became lifelines, ensuring the continuity of Gallifreyan civilisation.

🔮 What is the Curse of Pythia?

The Pythias were a kind of magical matriarchal monarchy, with rulers known as Pythias ruling over ancient Gallifrey in succession. Pythia number 309 (out of 309) was elbowed out by Rassilon. She was, understandably, really hacked off. She condemned Gallifrey to wither and then threw herself into the Crevasse of Memories That Will Be, never to be seen again. This 'withering' is known as the 'Curse of Pythia'. It resulted in mass sterility of Gallifreyans - supposedly instantly killing babies in their mother's wombs, and preventing any Gallifreyan from reproducing naturally from that point forward.

🍷 So Gallifreyans used to reproduce naturally?

Yes. Before the sterility curse, Gallifreyans reproduced just like humans, with a little wine, a candlelit dinner and maybe an album by Barry White.

✨ So does this 'Curse' still exist?

No. The apparent lifting of Pythia's curse was marked by Leela's pregnancy (yes, THAT Leela), which hailed a return to natural reproduction among Gallifreyans. Others besides Leela have also been able to reproduce naturally.

🔄 So what method do they use?

This blend of technological and biological means of reproduction leaves Gallifreyans in a unique position. They could use both methods depending on social, political, or personal factors.

🧐It can't all be that simple, GIL ...

Wow, you've been here before, haven't you?

There are accounts that the supposed 'Curse of Pythia' didn't actually come from Pythia.

Self-inflicted: Some say it was a side-effect of a massive time tech experiment that went awry.

It never existed: Others suggest there never was a curse. Rassilon, seeking absolute control, concocted a narrative to enforce a sterile, controllable society, eradicating the unpredictability of natural birth and driving forward eugenics in his perfect society.

🏫 So ...

Thus, the plot thickens. Were Gallifreyans always capable of natural reproduction but held back by societal constructs and fear? Did Leela's pregnancy unveil a truth long buried or simply reawaken a dormant biological ability? That's up to you.

But of course, GIL denies this version of events, cos how else would we get the funding for all the biscuits in the canteen from the High Council? Praise Rassilon!

-------------------------------------------------------

》📫Got a question / submission? 》🔥 Trending |🫀Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts | 😆Jokes 》📚Complete list of Q+A 》📜Masterpost If you like what GIL does, please consider buying a coffee or tipping below to help make future projects, including complete biology and language guides.

#doctor who #dr who #gallifrey #GIL #gallifrey institute for learning #whoniverse #dw eu #gallifreyans #GIL trending #gallifreyan biology #Time Lord biology #gallifreyan culture

[runawaymun]

I'm sure you'll get/have gotten other asks about this same thing, but I would love, love, love to know more about your ideas for a messy kidnap fam fic. :)

(also, accidently unfollowed when trying to hit the ask button. it's finally happened)

Ask me about my not-yet-written-fics from this list

The Messy Kidnap Fam Longfic

Under a cut for length

It all starts with Mae and Mags finding Elrond and Elros in Elwing's wardrobe post-oath-induced-rage fugue.

Elros and Elrond put up a hell of a fight to Not Get Taken and are absolutely convinced that a) Elwing has been murdered and b) they're also about to get murdered.

Maedhros gets bitten by Elros >:3

Mae and Mags have a debate about What To Do With them. I feel like maybe Mae initially is like "Put Those Back Where They Came From or So Help Me" at Mags, but the only idea they come up with is maybe leaving the twins at the edge of what's left of Sirion in the hopes that they'll be found (because if they tried to drop off the twins in person they'd get attacked on sight by Gil Galad and Cirdan). But Mae can't stop worrying that they'll die of exposure that way (he still feels awful about what happened to Elured and Elurin at Doriath).

They both realize at the exact same time that Elwing and Earendil Might Want Their Kids Back and Might Be Willing to Do A Lot to get them back, and so Elrond and Elros would be excellent hostages who could potentially be ransomed for a Silmaril.

So Elrond and Elros are very much hostages at this point. Mae and Mags do not really interact with them at all (save for Mags poking around in their minds to try and get some information out of them. Which Mae disapproves of but doesn't care enough about to stop him. He's in a bad way rn. Like his last other baby brother save Mags just died and he himself just participated in a massacre and he doesn't feel particularly good about it. They didn't even get a Silmaril and their own forces are fragmented post Sirion. My boy is barely keeping things together. They're together with duct tape and string at this point).

The twins are carted along the road back to Amon Ereb but kept under too heavy guard for them to be able to escape.

Also absolutely nobody in camp understands how to look after Peredhil. The twins do not get enough food to start with and they probably get sick from the elements, and this does go unnoticed for a WHILE.

They get back to Amon Ereb and are promptly put in a horrible little white room with a lock on the door. Again, Mae and Mags are not much interested with interacting with them at this point. Mags is a bit more interested but that's mostly because the twins remind him of Ambarussa and he's also emotionally unstable.

Mae sends ransom demands to Elwing, Earendil, and Gil-Galad, and they wait.

The twins are still hungry and sick, and convinced that they're gonna die. Also Mags keeps interacting with them and it's scary.

(They do get a window because keeping elves or elf adjacent beings away from view of the stars is unthinkably cruel, even for Mae and Mags. But they also still continue to be pretty neglected, and there is really nothing to do in that room. Elrond goes pretty catatonic at this point and Elros starts trying to tear holes through the drywall).

At some point it occurs to Mags and Mae that the twins are in poor condition and that's not really good when it comes to trying to ransom them.

They don't really know what to do though and so they consult some humans in their service, who are understandably like "uhhhhhhhhh they need more food and some medicine probably boss. Also it's kind of cold for them actually like sure it's fine for an elf but these are actual half-human babies).

Cue the twins finally getting some basic help. I have a vague idea that they bond with a human nurse that's sent in to look after them because Mae and Mags just cannot be bothered to Think About It.

Mae especially is pointedly staying away because it's too painful to be around the twins because a) they remind him of his brothers and b) they remind him of everything awful he's ever done and he can't handle that guilt.

Things continue to be Bad For A While.

Also I forgot to mention that Elrond and Elros have a poor grasp of Quenya at best, and so they really don't understand anything being said around them. They're picking it up fast though. Especially Elrond.

Finally a rejection of the ransom demands comes back.

What the fuck.

Mae absolutely goes into a rage over this because he literally does not know what else he can do. Because apparently Earendil and Elwing are on a boat somewhere with his father's Silmaril.

"What are we doing with the twins?"

Elrond and Elros are more convinced than ever that they're gonna get killed.

It's agreed that the twins should be dropped off somewhere to be found by Gil-Galad, and that trip begins. They likely send a letter to Gil-Galad announcing that they're returning the twins.

Gil-Galad has absolutely no reason to believe that the twins are alive and smells a trap. He does not come to pick up the twins.

Mae and Mags do watch (or have someone else watch) from a distance to make sure the twins are collected. The twins are not collected. The day wanes on into night. It gets really cold. The twins start bawling because they really think they're going to die now.

Mae really can't bear that and also at this point he's mad at everyone and everything.

They recollect the twins and decide that they're just going to have to look after them now until they're old enough to go back to Gil on their own.

Cue a very long tiptoe process of Mags getting attached to the twins and Mae refusing to (he's actually a big softie though so eventually he does).

I have way more ideas about later stages but this is already getting ridiculously long, sorry.

TLDR: (but I can elaborate more if people want me to): Mae and Mags finally start to get a grasp on Peredhil needs but wow is the damage done.

Elrond and Elros are veeeery slow to trust.

Super codependant relationship forms, with Elrond especially terrified of being left again because Mae and Mags are the only people who seem to want them now. Elrond starts emotionally regulating Mae and Mags just as much (if not more) than he used to for Elwing.

Mae and Mags get very attached to the twins and use them to cling to the last remnants of their personhood. This is not a good thing.

There's obviously more here I've thought this out very thoroughly.

Love grew between them but it was fucked from the start, essentially.

Also um something something the twins losing their Sindarin and not being raised in their Sindarin culture and essentially getting unintentionally completely colonized by Mae and Mags :/ icky and unavoidable.

#elrond #elros #maedhros #maglor #kidnap fam #do I think they loved each other? yeah #do I think they had a healthy relationship between the four of them? absolutely not #do I think that it permanently messed up Elrond and Elros? Yeah. #they carry that trauma the rest of their lives in subtle and not so subtle ways #Elrond does not fully regain fluent Sindarin until the second age #and his accent is permanently altered

[ataraxiaspainting]

Hier Encore IV.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore III.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), unhealthy relationships, manipulation o’clock, body transformation (not on the reader), references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 5.9k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez 

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

iv. “I must be cruel, only to be kind.”

“Greetings.”

One emotion comes after another on Sebastian's face: confusion, fear, distrust, and many more.

“Hello.” His voice is tight. “Do you need something?” He asks, putting his hands on the doorframe as a precaution.

“I have just come to ask you a few questions.” Chrollo answers, his voice as calm and collected as always. He isn’t even looking at Sebaste, his focus is placed on the inside of the cottage. He knows that you are here.

“Like what?” Sebaste asks, his body tensing up.

“My dear, come out.” He calls out to you, his voice as soft as it usually is.

“I’m sorry?” Sebaste questions, his shoulders strained upwards. “I’m right here.”

Chrollo pays him no mind, instead still looking over Sebastian's shoulder. He hums, looking at one object in the living room at a time. The black sofa by the television was old with the bottom left corner of it torn, white stuffing no longer being covered there in that spot. The carpet below Sebastian’s feet, the colors fading because of age. The creaky poplar floorboards. The pots of plants where the kitchen’s checkered tiles and the living room’s wooden planks meet, where you are hiding. Your eyes meet and his eyes are as empty as ever, perhaps even emptier, like black holes in the ground that aim to swallow you whole.

“Come out, my love.” He repeats himself, his tone sickeningly sweet to the point of mockery.

“Excuse me?” Sebaste asks, his voice slightly cracking.

“Dearest.” His gaze is still on you. It is intense and you feel a pressure on your neck like you are being strangled by him. You can’t breathe.

“I’m here.” Sebaste moves his hands downwards on the doorframe. “I’m right here.” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m right here. Don’t ignore me.” He’s upset.

“Hmm.” He leans in slightly. “She hasn’t told you anything, has she?”

You can see Sebastian's feet through the leaves of the tall plants take a step or two back at Chrollo’s question. “What?”

He still is not making eye contact with Sebaste. “Honestly, I expected that you would have left her by now, or at the very least be on your knees begging for mercy from me. Little liar.” Once more, a gentle hum escapes his lips as he leans in, drawing himself nearer. “But that is alright.”

Sebastian's feet move backward yet again. “What?” He knows. “Hello? What are you talking about?”

Remaining composed, Chrollo gradually advances towards Sebaste. “My dear, aren’t you going to greet me? I missed you.”

As an innate response to his words, your muscles contract, causing your entire body to become rigid.

“Come on out,” Chrollo continues, his smile getting wider. “We haven’t seen each other for more than a year. It feels like a millennia since I saw you last. My heart still beats for you, though, and always will.”

“Leave,” You finally say, your voice almost as shaky as you are. “Go away.”

Sebaste and Chrollo are now both looking at you, but their gazes are different. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a slain doe or rabbit they are about to eat, while Sebaste looks at you with confusion and fear, for he knows what you are; a liar. “Come closer. Let me see you.”

You shake your head from side to side until your neck cramps and you feel slightly dizzy. “Leave, go away.” You repeat, your voice still shuddering. 

“I would take you more seriously if your voice was not quivering, beloved.”  You can perceive the mocking tone in his voice. “I want to see your beautiful face not covered by the foliage of a dying plant.” His smile is getting bigger and bigger by the second, you swear to yourself. “Come on now.”

Once more, you vigorously shake your head, refusing to comply. “Leave.”

Sebaste continues to call out, desperately trying to catch his attention, but he remains unfazed, humming to himself. Fear is evident in his expression and the urgency of his voice. Concern grips you, for both Sebaste and yourself.

“Come closer, please. Come greet me.”

You squirm behind the tall plant. “No, go away, leave.”

“I won’t.” His smile fades as he looks down at Sebastian's arms still holding onto the doorframe like it was their lifeline. It is actually, you realize.

Sebastian's face contorts into a frown, while he straightens his posture even further, assuming a defensive stance. “If all you are going to do is bother my girlfriend and not talk to me, you have to leave.”

“No.” Sebaste is finally acknowledged by him, but this time his voice lacks warmth, sounding firm and icy. “Step aside.”

The urge to run engulfs you. You want to run into the forest. You want to run until your feet bleed and your ankles are twisted and bruised.

“Why would I do that?” Sebaste hisses angrily. “Leave. All you are doing is being a creep to my girlfriend. Leave or I’ll call the police. Now.”

Chrollo simply leans in closer to Sebastian's ear. “Step aside. Please.”

Sebaste scowls. “Leave. Now.”

Run, run, run. Despite your determination to hold your ground, you start to relent under Chrollo's unrelenting gaze, eventually taking a step forward as instructed. “Ah, that’s better. Good.” As Chrollo's stare intensifies, you find yourself averting your gaze towards the ground, towards your bare feet. “Look at you, my poor thing. You have nothing more to say, don’t you?” He coos like a parent watching their baby take their first steps.

“I’m calling the police.”

Sebaste delves into the depths of his hoodie pocket, where his phone resides, leaving a portion of the doorway unguarded by his arm. The urge to plead with Sebaste, to convey the futility of it all, arises within you. However, you find yourself incapable of doing so. 

In one swift motion, Chrollo grabs the cell phone away from Sebastian’s hand and throws it on the ground, a loud smashing sound reaching your ears. It’s only more pronounced by a boot stomping and crushing it like it was some sort of bug.

“Come closer, dearest.” He says, and your feet move, your mind compliant. You move closer and closer, until you are a few feet behind Sebaste, who looks both fearful and confused.

“Call the police,” Sebaste tells you, the stress in his voice is more than obvious.

You just stare, emptily. There is no point in running over to the kitchen to grab your phone, because Chrollo is quick and thus would run quicker, quicker than you ever could. You, poor you, would fall in vain in the Spider’s hunt for the fly that made it out of the web alive.

“Call the police. [First], call the police.” You would love to appear as a saint, but bright crimson stains your hands and eats at your very being. The floorboards creak and crack beneath you as you walk closer and you hope that the planks will simply break and let you fall into an infinite void where you will never be sentenced for your crimes. 

“My lady of sorrows, as beautiful as ever.”

You should have hidden your tracks better.

“Call the police, [First].” You should have watched out for any targets on your back.

You should have watched out more for the eyes looking at you in the night because you only caught one pair. “Your love is like a warm summer’s day, and it will always be mine, all mine.”

You wanted a normal human life. You wanted a normal human death.

But you are caught in the Spider’s web and encased in silk yet again, so you can’t have either of those things. Now, all that you can have that you want is to cry.

“Call the police.” Sebastian's trembling voice echoes once more, filled with fear. Desperate to find solace, he reaches out for your hand, only to be met with the unexpected rejection of a slap. 

You’re so stupid. So, so stupid. Your brain feels numb like it is rotting away inside of you, slowly but surely.

“Call the police. [First]. Go get your phone and call the police.”

“All I want is to hold you in my arms and know that you are mine.” You hold everything Chrollo has ever said to you inside of you where your heart used to be. It weighs you down more than a broken heart ever would.

“[First]. Call the police. What’s wrong?”

The world is now monochrome once more. You feel the place where warmth used to be within you. But now all there is is ashes. There is nothing but ashes. Your lungs hurt from all the filth.

“Stop it.” Disgusting, you are disgusting, Chrollo is disgusting.

You wanted to see the whole world. But you are now back to being trapped in the spider’s web and you cannot do any of those things now. A butterfly with a hole in its wing caught in its web. 

“What’s wrong? Call the police. Go. Now.” Disgusting. “[First]?” Disgusting. “[First], why aren’t you doing anything?”

“Stop it.” Your voice cracks like how you wanted the floorboards to. “Just stop it.”

“Go get your phone.” Sebaste continues, deaf to what you are trying to tell him. “Go. Now. Go.”

Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. You want your pajamas on. You want to sleep. You wish you never ran away because now hell will be unleashed on Sebaste and you as punishment. You wish you would have just made a pit stop in this town and continued being on the move. You wish you were more tactical. You wish you had never been born at all. Disgusting. You’re so disgusting and stupid and tired.

You find yourself uttering every part of it, stammering through the words, pausing to catch your breath, pleading for Sebastian's survival, hoping to just return to whatever luxurious penthouse or hotel room Chrollo is currently staying at, imploring to have a private conversation with Chrollo about this matter in his car, away from Sebaste.

As soon as you finish begging for Sebastian's life and open your eyes, you see the book in Chrollo’s hand. With the realization of what is about to happen, tears finally fall from your eyes onto your bare feet. 

The cry that escapes your lips is a unique one, unlike any other. It is choked, desperate, animalistic, raw, and undeniably genuine.

“Don’t! Please! Wait! Chrollo!”

Chrollo looks at you and you immediately shut up.

“What are you doing?” Sebaste asks, stepping away, his entire body shaking. “Answer me. What are you doing?”

Chrollo's gaze turns towards him, bearing a facial expression that ranks among the most dreadful you've ever witnessed.

He doesn’t respond with anything more than a hum and a quick turn of the pages.

You’re too afraid to speak.

You look at the floor and close your eyes again as you continue to cry.

You hate the book. He has never used it on you, but you know what it can do. Perhaps if Chrollo is in a good mood at the moment, Sebaste will merely have a curse placed upon him and he will go out the door with poor, wailing you, his grip on your wrist strong enough to almost break it. 

A foolish thought, you remind yourself.

Chrollo wasn’t known for his mercy, after all.

Sebaste is as good as dead.

Perhaps he is even worse than dead.

He could be tortured. Starved, eaten alive, poisoned, or has all of his bones broken bit by bit.

You are scared to open your eyes. But you are also scared to have them remain closed.

As you look at what is in front of you and ignore the noises around you, you deprive yourself of any mercy.

It is what you deserve.

“[First]?”

“Don’t.”

“[First], what is happening?” Sebaste points to Chrollo with a look of pure fear, his eyes looking like they are about to burst from their sockets. “What is he talking about?”

“I said don’t. Just stop.”

Sebaste stops in his place, his body shaking so much it looks like he is about to fall. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” It is a genuine apology. “But speaking will only make the pain worse for both of us.”

Chrollo hums again and nods at you, still flipping through the pages. Engaging in acts of rebellion will only exacerbate the situation.

The book stops turning and Chrollo points to a page. “I found it.”

His words are barely audible, drowned out by the piercing cries of anguish. Flashing lights; magenta, red, teal, and black.

Sable scales are sprouting from Sebastian's alabaster skin, each one covered in blood and pierced flesh.

His scleras are a shade of light coral. His eyelids are getting smaller and smaller by the second.

His irises get darker, almost to the hue of ink, matching the scales that are all over his body covered in little bits of torn skin. His knees collapse on themselves as you stand still, looking with both disgust and fear. His elbows fold as his arms lessen in length, his hands bonding with his clavicles. 

He is still screaming.

You want to tell him to stop, that there was no point. It’s already too late for either of you.

But you can’t.

You refuse to look at Chrollo, who is no doubt smiling at the horrifying tragedy unfolding in front of you two.

You just look at Sebaste with pitying, guilty eyes.

He does not look at you.

You deserve it, and he deserves to at least have that choice in the matter.

Whatever Chrollo is doing to him, there is no doubt in your mind that you deserve at least twice as bad of a fate.

But you don’t fear death. Not anymore. You know Chrollo does not plan to kill you, that death is not in the cards he is holding. He would never let go of his favorite toy. So, you fear the unknown. You fear whatever harrowing methods Chrollo is going to use on you. There is no doubt that they will be far more psychological than physical.

You sit and stay, like a good dog does, even though every fiber of your being is telling you to run out the back door and into the forest. So, you wait. You wait until he is done. You won’t speak or move unless you are told to. You give up all control and pretend to want to be dragged by a leash instead. You hide your true feelings behind a mask and not overplay your hand. That is how you become a dog.

Good girl.

Chrollo takes out a few Polaroid photographs from his suit pocket and lays them out on the table. One of them is the gore-stained walls of James’ apartment, his lower half the only part that is still whole. The second is Victor’s collapsed, untouched body on the wooden floorboards. The third is of your stalker’s rotting corpse in your abandoned shed, his head lowered and his partially gouged eyes swinging in the cool breeze. You can’t pretend to be better anymore. You can’t hide what you have done anymore. He knows.

You reach for the photos, grabbing them off the table then crumble them into balls, tearing them apart into shreds and watching them fall onto the ground.

Chrollo doesn’t stop you. He simply stares at the torn pieces that lay at your bare feet. He hums. It’s the most horrific sound you have ever heard. It is a mix of hilarity and hunger. When he smiles, his teeth look like a shark's. They are razorlike and look sharp enough to cut flesh, though they appear the same as yours. Although his appearance may deceive others into perceiving him as angelic, you are aware that he is anything but, just like yourself.

He knows. He knows.

Chrollo takes a step forward toward you but stops abruptly. He hums again. He looks upward towards your face and you make eye contact. Your brain starts screaming signals to run.

He knows of the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face. He knows of your sticky, sticky red hands, stained with crimson sin. He knows of the devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart. He knows that no exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. He knows that it will stay inside you until your last breath. He knows of the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

He knows everything. He knows what you have done.

The stars twinkle no more. The moon has lost its luster. The night sky has broken apart. You cannot hide your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun. Your skin burns. Everything hurts.

He knows.

He looks down at you like he is a king. Arrogant. Tenacious. He is not even a star to you. He is less than the small pieces of meteorites floating in the vast Milky Way, fading away more and more by the second. This life was too good to be true. You have failed and as a result, you have lost everything. 

You cover your head with your arms and run, tackling Chrollo to the ground. He falls onto the kitchen floor with a hard thump. You punch him, but your knuckle hurts as you do so, Chrollo’s face like an iron wall. You yelp in pain and withdraw your fist, using your other hand to pull out the knife from your sweatpants. You haven’t even made a dent into him, did he even feel anything?

Chrollo's laughter resonates as if he finds your actions incredibly amusing. He proceeds to articulate the harsh reality, a truth that is both unpleasant and acrid. “So, you were the one that committed those murders. As expected.”

No. No. No. No.

As you falter, Chrollo’s hands firmly grab the upper parts of your arms and push you off, the amount of power used being nearly enough to throw you against the glass cupboards of dishware and decorations. Instead, the back of your head collides with the wall next to the wooden back door, the paring knife flying out of your hand and landing a few inches away. A pained cry escapes your lips as your vision blurs for a second. He’s on top of you in an instant, his eyes dark and predatory, and your positions suddenly reversed. 

The blade, you have to get it back.

As you try to reach out for it, Chrollo grabs your wrist with an abnormal amount of strength. “I wouldn’t pick that up if I were you. It would only prove a point for me.”

Run. Run. Run. You have to run, like a small child running up the stairs when the lights are off, fearing what could be lurking in the dark. 

Life. Death. Free. Cage. Run. 

No, this can’t be happening, this is just a bad dream.

“Struggle all you like, we both know how this will end.”

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere–”

“You are. You will stay wherever I place you because I am not falling for your tricks a second time, my little witch.”

No. This is just a bad dream. You close your eyes and try to wake up, shaking your head and begging for Chrollo to be just a figment of your imagination. You try and try, but you can still feel the crushing feeling of Chrollo’s grip on your bruised wrist and the weight of his body on top of yours. This is real, and this is happening.

Your mind goes blank as you open your eyes, your body being directed by raw, pure fear. Your forehead crashes into Chrollo’s, making him back up a few centimeters and let go of your wrist. Your torso crawls toward the blade like an animal whose legs are caught under a boulder or a bear trap. Your elbows bend and you try to move forward. You are just about to grab the knife when there is a yanking of your hair backward. You holler out as your spine is twisted peculiarly, your upper body facing downwards towards the knife while your lower body is facing upwards towards Chrollo. 

“Let go!”

“You certainly are stubborn.”

Your fist smacks him square in the jaw and he lets go. Your hand grips the knife, and you start swinging it around, blinded by emotion. You manage to cut into his right cheek as he spits out some blood from your punch. You try to gouge out one of his eyes, but his dexterity causes his head to duck just in time. Your body shakes with a mix of alarm and hate. You try to aim for the space between his eyes, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and your tricep with the other and starts twisting them in two different directions, making you wail. There is a sudden snap that is louder than your cries. You scream as you drop the knife and caress your broken arm. Chrollo grabs the blade and throws it far across the room. 

Chrollo’s body seems to relax a little, so you kick him in the face and try to clamber away from him. His nose bleeds, but it does not look broken. You are as desperate as a doe trying to escape the bullets of a hunter’s shotgun. 

Run. Run. Run. 

“You’re not being good. You’re not being good at all.”

Run. Run.

With the last bits of strength you have, you withstand the agonizing pain in your arm and kick Chrollo in the stomach with both of your legs, so hard that even you wince. He backs up as he chokes on his saliva. Some of the blood from his nose jumps onto your face and you can taste the flavor of metal. He falls backward and hugs his abdomen. He is off of you at long last. For the quick moment he is in pain, you stand up quickly, clutching your unusable limb. You run as fast as you can towards the paring knife. You bend down and grab it in a rush of panic. 

Run, rabbit. Run.

Chrollo pushes you down onto your stomach, your back facing him. He grabs your broken arm and pulls it, his foot on your spine to keep you there. It bends like rubber or bubblegum. You start to flail around like a fish out of water. You gasp for air as you cry out in pain. His other hand grabs the back of your head, raising it slightly before pushing it down hard onto the wooden planks. The life you have built for yourself, everything you have worked towards, the colorful, sweet world you have made, all shatters into splinters before your very eyes.

Picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods, cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan, learning to love someone for the first time.

It was all for nothing. It was all for nothing because Chrollo found you. Chrollo found you and enacted his revenge. You wail a strangled, desperate breath. A raw and real breath. 

You stop struggling at long last, like a toy that has run out of power from its battery. All that fighting and you have hardly made him use his true strength.

You are weak. You cannot go anywhere. You are a rabbit with nowhere to run. Murder. Death. Theft. Crime. Manipulation. Love. Chrollo’s blood is still in your mouth and it’s bitter and dry, like you had just eaten sand in a desert or oceanless beach. It chokes you, both physically and mentally.

No.

The fish that used to be Sebaste looks up at the ceiling, lying on its side. An unblinking, wide eye. Dull. Cloudy. Empty. Unforgiving. Confused. Weak. Its corpse lays before you two and starts to stink like the back of a butcher’s shop. 

I hate you.

That is what its eye tells you.

Traitor. Fool. Devil. Maneater. Tainted. Killer. Freak.

This is all your fault. Why did I have to die? Why are you still alive? You lied to me. You said you loved me. Liar. 

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Pathetic.

Your feet are still cold.

If only you could have died too. If only you could have died beside him. You don’t want to die in whatever hotel room or penthouse Chrollo will shove you in, within four suffocating walls and soft sheets that cost more than your monthly rent. You don’t want to die there, you want to die anywhere else. You are not ready to die. Tunnel vision overtakes you, with only one objective in mind.

Just stay alive.

Just stay alive.

That is your one wish to the stars above.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

You are being burned alive by your desire to both live and die.

...

You don’t think before you do it.

You don’t try to stop yourself before, without any hesitation, your legs propel you forward, forcefully thrusting the backdoor open with your functioning arm. Anguish, fury, remorse, and sorrow engage in a fierce battle for dominance over your every move. As you dart deeper into the dark and densely packed forest behind your cottage, the only sounds you could hear are your own ragged breaths and pounding heart. It was as if the forest was trying to swallow you up, closing in with every passing step. No moonlight or stars pierced the thick layers of leaves and branches overhead.

The darkness is like a thick fog, blurring your sight and limiting your visibility. You could not see Chrollo behind you, but your instincts told you that he was. There was no hint of a breeze to take some of the edge off, with even the birds and chipmunks being completely silent.

The pain was excruciating. With every jostling step, your broken arm jolted around like a wooden toy, threatening to send you down to the ground any second as it kept getting caught in vines and hitting tree trunks. You could not afford to stop running.

You don’t see anyone following you.

Your feet are starting to bleed and leave a few red drops of blood with every rushed step you take. You don’t care about it because instinct has taken over your mind.

You trip over a large root on the ground and fall sideways right on your broken arm, making you scream from the intense pain shooting up. As you try to get up and caress your broken arm, you stumble downhill into a pile of dead leaves. 

Your mouth is full of them, making you hardly able to breathe as you spit them out. 

If it were any other time, you would have considered it funny.

But not now.

As you rise from the ground, your hand instinctively shields your mouth, preventing any inadvertent sound that may invite unwanted attention. The pursuit of Chrollo, if not already initiated, has undoubtedly commenced.

He’s after you. You know this. He came back into your newly rebuilt life and destroyed it right in front of your very eyes. 

You know he can hear you, but you cannot hear him. You never know of his presence until he is too close, that is how it always has been. That is how it is now. Chrollo has forever possessed superior speed, strength, intelligence, attractiveness, and wealth, making it impossible for anyone to ever match his prowess, even if they desired to do so.

You hate him.

You hate him, and he’s here for you again.

No.

How did he even find you?

Hisoka promised.

He promised you that your location would be undiscovered.

He lied to you, didn’t he?

Maybe lying isn’t the exact word.

Maybe he technically did keep his promise, because the Troupe didn’t show up in a matter of a few hours.

Chrollo showed up in a matter of nearly twenty four.

Your gasps for air and silenced cries are paired with a call of your name.

“Oh, you poor thing. Scared half to death.”

His words are as soft as they are cruel.

“Mater Dolorosa.”

You force yourself onto your feet again to run, sensing the voice behind you up the hill getting louder and louder. But when you move to run, you wince in pain and look down at your swollen red ankle.

It is so dark that you can’t see anything aside from yourself, the world around you being painted monochrome by the black night sky’s palette. 

There is nowhere to run, is there?

You have used up all of your luck getting this far, and have to pay the price.

You are out of time. You cannot dream of sweet escape anymore.

“Do you remember my touch? I touched you so sweetly. My darling girl.”

You would turn if you could, but the pain shooting out from your ankle prevents you doing so and almost makes you fall into the leaves again instead. “You took me away.” 

Moving in a circular motion, Chrollo gradually positions himself in your line of sight, his imposing figure standing tall before you. “It is a thief’s nature. I could not resist the temptation to steal you.”

Chrollo is a prime illustration of the extreme measures some individuals are willing to take in order to have you in their embrace. 

Your beauty has captivated every person you have encountered, evoking reverence from all. It is both a blessing and a curse, a double edged sword, both the thing that worships you and tortures you. 

Your sweatpants are covered in dirt stains and pieces of dried grass and leaves, your hoodie in a similarly horrible condition. Your hair had come undone, cascading in delicate wisps that obscured your vision, reminiscent of a spider's delicate web. There is nowhere to hide.

“Oh, how I love you.” Chrollo smiles and the way it reaches his eyes makes you squirm more. “Shall I enumerate the reasons why?”

…

The car ride was silent for a while. You would have preferred it if it stayed that way. But Chrollo could never stay quiet for long, even if you asked nicely, so he turned the dial of the radio and began humming along. In all the months you were with him, the only constant presence in your otherwise bleak, depressing life. 

The song he chose felt like yet another kick to the stomach. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me. Of course he would play that.

As much as you hate doing so, you focus on the way your heart beats with each turn and bump along the road. He was calm, still so calm, even after this two year long escape. You are certain that this is the calm before the storm, and it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down on you. More than what already had fallen. 

To claim that you were on edge would be an understatement. 

“Do you know what will happen now?”

With your heart pounding and mind consumed, you can't help but startle at his words, despite your readiness.

“...No.”

He lets out a small laugh, reducing the music's volume to a slightly muffled level.

It only makes you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest.

“You do, don’t you? You have always been a smart one.”

Your broken arm aches under the slight pressure of the seatbelt pressing against it, your ankle being only slightly cushioned by the insulated carpet beneath.

Chrollo has never hurt you before, aside from restraining you in the early days of your capture. Though, you know if you had blamed your ankle on him and told him, he would tell you it was your fault for running barefoot in the dark.

He hopefully will give you a brace or pillow for it when you both arrive back to wherever your temporary location is.

“My freedoms will be taken away.”

As he nods, a smile plays at the corners of his mouth, revealing a slightly sinister undertone that would easily deceive any unfamiliar observer.

“That is a start. But,” Pausing momentarily, he directs his gaze towards you, only to swiftly return his attention to the path that lies ahead. “What particularly? Give me an example, please.”

He is definitely planning something. Maybe you'll inquire about the source of his inquiry, or perhaps you'll force a trembling grin and pretend his question is nonsensical, aware that he's already aware of the freedoms you've gained during your time in confinement. Yet, he would persist then, and repeat his query. You could respond by acknowledging his authority to strip away any privilege he deems appropriate, a fact that both of you know to be true, but deep down, you understand that he desires a real, logical answer.

Whether this is a genuine question or something that will be used to mock you in a moment or two, you have no idea.

“A freedom like…” Your answer will probably be spawned into existence, making you wary of how to respond to his question, but you know you have to because you have no choice in this hell. “Like being able to move freely around.”

He only taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a melody unlike the one playing from the car’s speakers. “How so?” Welcome once again to the realm of eternal damnation.

You contemplate turning away from him and looking out the window instead. But that would cause you more physical pain from your arm moving against the car seat and more mental pain from you knowing you will not be able to go outside again for at least a while. That is, if you are ever allowed to go outside again. If you can ever escape again. He wants another answer. He is not satisfied. But, then again, when is he ever?

You don’t dare look away from him as he stares at you, not at the road, at you. You practically feel like your stomach is dropping out of your body and onto the insulated carpet, staining parts of it crimson red from the blood and a discolored version of its once licorice color from the stomach acid. 

“Go on,” You could imagine the feeling of his fingers and yours intertwining and starting to squeeze your throat. 

Thum, thum, thum. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun.

“...Restraints.” You wish you could just dissolve like seafoam in the sea. “I’m not sure which ones you want to use. The metal ones or silk ones most likely.” The sensation of suffocation creeps in, as if the air itself has turned putrid and malevolent, weighing heavily on your chest. Your vocal cords are raspy, resembling the aftermath of regurgitating and subjecting them to the corrosive effects of gastric acid. “Maybe gag me or tie my legs together too. Or both, it depends on if you are in a good mood right now or not, right?”

He nods slowly, never taking his eyes off of you. His gaze feels unsettling, for there is no trace of anger in his eyes, yet you can sense his fury.

“That is one, yes. What else do you think will happen when we get back, my dear?”

The road is empty. There are no deer or geese or ducks crossing, only you and Chrollo. Animals have always had better judgment of human character, after all.

You hope that the place you are going to at least has a nice view.

“Tell me.”

#it's finally done #wild ride tbh #time to go back to touching grass for a bit <3 #yippie #yandere hxh #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #hxh chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #chrollo hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #yandere hunter x hunter #hxh #yandere hxh x reader #author aya #hier encore. #ultraviolet.

[myrsinemezzo]

Breaking my tumblr fast to drop in with a gentle reminder that readers don’t actually owe you anything. For me, when fic is done right, you’re writing for YOU and not for kudos and hit counts and bookmarks and comments and any of the other ways we all manage to track engagement. Is it nice when someone leaves a glowing comment and in an ideal world you have the time and mental space to write back? Sure! But I don’t like the sense that ao3 needs to be some kind of barter economy or something.

I’m not writing to see a rise in numbers. Although, to be fair I’m not writing much of anything at all right now 😅 But that’s not on my readers. I don’t need them to get me off my ass. I’ll write when I feel like writing. End of story. And I’ll write what I enjoy writing. Is it a fun bonus to have interaction? Of course! But at the end of the day it’s a good way to burn out if you expect engagement or require it somehow.

I don’t want this to turn into vague posting, but I see a lot of “your favorites will leave if you don’t comment” vibes around here lately, and I just don’t think that’s a healthy mindset for fic. So yeah. I wish there was a handy gif, but Gil-galad telling Elrond “you are owed nothing” is pretty much where I’m at.

#ao3 #fanfiction

[valkyriepirate]

Elrond x Reader- Always Been Yours

Summary: You and Elrond have been close for many years because of your positions on the council. When an army of orcs unexpectedly attacks Lindon while Elrond is away in the dwarven kingdom, you become near-fatally wounded in battle. Elrond rushes home to find you barely alive, calling the name of your lover in your sleep. Little does he know you are dreaming of him. 

Word count: 4.9k words

Warnings: Battle violence, fluff <3

#1- Always Been Yours

Spring had finally arrived in Lindon, and the air was thrumming with the promise of life. A fresh, warm breeze gently swayed the trees of the forest like a rebellious eddy on the open sea, lifting your long sleeves and carrying your voice to the sky. It wasn’t often that you sang on the palace grounds; while you had a beautiful voice, you never prided yourself in it, but the day was far too beautiful not to let it fill your heart with joy through song. You could almost sense the flowers readying to break the surface of the soil and taste the dew that would settle on their leaves.  

You knelt next to a tree by the river, caressing the dirt with your fingers. Your mother had always said that the forest should be greeted as your dearest friend, for it was your greatest protector. As you ran your hand through the crystalline water, you could imagine her voice intertwining with yours, just like how you two would sing together all those years ago. Being here amongst the trees and the earth made you feel closer to her, as if her spirit lived on in the forest.  

“I didn’t know you sang,” a familiar voice from behind lurched you from your thoughts. You turned around, already feeling the tips of your ears heat in embarrassment, to face your longtime friend.  

“Anyone with a voice to speak can just as well sing, can they not?” You brushed loose dirt from your dress as you stood up.  

Elrond smiled, glancing politely toward the ground. “Many can speak, but not many can sing like you. Please- don't stop on my account.”

“I’m afraid that is a song for the wind and water, not for the ears of well-meaning friends,” you teased.  

“Then it would be best I said nothing at all,” said Elrond.  

“And leave me to go on with silent listeners nearby? I think not.”

You stepped out onto the main path, Elrond falling in step beside you. Even though you were reluctant to let him hear your voice, you felt comfortable in every other way around him. You couldn’t help the little spark of gladness that flickered in your chest whenever he was near.  

“What are you doing out here in the forest?” you asked, glancing sidelong at him. The sun was casting amber hues through his hair, making him look like a crowned prince.  

“Looking for you,” he folded his hands behind him. “The High King Gil-galad is sending me to Forodwaith to establish terms of trade with Durin and the dwarves of Khazad-Dum. He expects me to leave in the morning.”

“So soon? It feels as if you just returned from your last journey,” you said, trying and failing to keep the disappointment out of your voice. Seeming to hear it, he nodded regretfully.  

“Apparently I was specifically requested by Durin. The High King fears he won’t negotiate terms with any elf other than I.”

“Ah, I see. The dwarf wants another excuse to see you.”  

Elrond laughed good-naturedly. “I doubt that. I think I’m simply the one he wants to hit with his hammer the least.”

“You give yourself too little credit, Elrond. You have a spirit more kind and gentle than anyone I know. Even a dwarf can see that.”  

He pinked in the cheeks. “And I think you give me too much credit, (Y/N). Besides, the kindest heart in Eriador certainly doesn’t belong to me. I’m afraid that title is taken by a particular elf-maiden with a lovely voice.”  

A fluttering sensation enveloped your stomach, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling. “When do you think you’ll return?” you asked evenly.  

“In a fortnight, perhaps. Though these trips always seem to take longer than initially planned. You know Disa’s hospitality.”

That you did. You considered the female dwarrow a dear friend. Your position as the general of the Sindarin army sometimes took you to distant lands across Middle-earth, and you had become acquainted with Disa in your travels long ago, before she had married Durin. Though you suspected you were in for a thorough scolding the next time you saw her, if Elrond’s account of Durin’s anger amounted to anything. Your kind were wont to lose track of the days, unlike the mortal races. It made you wonder how long it really had been since you’d seen Disa last.  

“Give her the warmest tidings from me,” you said sincerely. “I miss her dearly. How I wish I could accompany you.”

“I wish much the same,” said Elrond bashfully, not meeting your eyes. “The road travel can be quite lonely and tedious at times.”

“Here.” You bent and plucked a white-plumed daylily from a bush that was rooted in the stream, handing it to him. “Keep it with you. When you feel alone, you can pull it out and think of me.”

He handled the flower reverently, as if you had bestowed upon him a precious jewel. He looked up at you, the sweetest, humblest smile gracing his features. “I most certainly shall.”

The two of you talked far into midday, wandering the forest and ignoring the existence of your duties. Your heart began to ache the more time you spent with him, however, knowing that he was bound to disappear once more, and all too soon you bid him goodbye. There were several things concerning the Sindarin warriors to discuss with the king, and Gil-galad was not one to be kept waiting.  

You slept fitfully that night, Elrond’s face flashing in your mind every time you closed your eyes. You rose before the sun the next morning and raced as elegantly as possible to the road past the waterfall where Elrond was set to depart. Only the guards were awake, nodding respectfully to you as you passed. All of Lindon dutifully recognized your position as a war general even when you weren’t in your armor.  

As periwinkle streaks of dawn bled across the sky, you nearly began to worry that you had missed him, but your worries ameliorated when you caught sight of his robes by the front gates. Elrond was loading his supplies onto his horse, his face turned away from you. Silently, you approached him from behind, hoping you didn’t appear as if you’d rushed out to meet him in a frenzy.  

“Attempting to leave without saying goodbye, are we?” you said into the still morning air. Elrond looked up, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.  

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he tied one last knot around his knapsack. “I only wished for you to have as much rest as possible. It is early to be awake even for I.”  

“So you may say.” One side of your mouth quirked up. “Is everything prepared?”

“Yes. All I need is to collect my will to mount this horse and leave Lindon behind.” His voice caught as he said Lindon, as if he were about to say you.  

Your heart was buzzing inside your chest as if you were a restless bumblebee being separated from your flower. “Do not forget,” you reminded him softly, spotting the daylily tucked into his robe. You reached over and tenderly pressed the petals against his chest. “This flower means I am with you. You will be in my thoughts, Elrond.”

He held your gaze, his eyes filled with some deep emotion you couldn’t express. Gently, he grasped your hand and grazed your fingers with the barest of kisses. Physical affection was rare among your kind, particularly in public, though you sensed the only bystanders observing your interaction were the dandelions beneath your feet and the forest critters slipping between the trees.  

“And you will be in my heart, (Y/N),” promised Elrond. He was the embodiment of a dulcet predawn dream, the kind you wanted to get lost in forever, to never wake up from. Yet you knew both his duties and yours were to the kingdom before they answered your own desires.  

You gave his fingers a slight squeeze. “You will give Durin and Disa my best, will you not?”

He smiled. “I shall.”

“Do be safe. You have duties and friends to come back to, you know.”

“I will do my best,” he bowed. “I am sure my heart will ache with every step I take away from you.”

You parted, feeling as if you were forcing yourself awake from a pleasant dream, and watched as he mounted his horse and trotted away from the front gates. At the end of the path, he halted and turned to face you one last time.  

“Goodbye, (Y/N),” he called.  

“Goodbye, Elrond,” you returned, and didn’t allow yourself to blink until he had passed over the hill into the far reaches of the forest, where the trees seemed to lean down and caress him with their branches as if he were not simply an elf, but a king venturing into a distant land, riding away with your stolen heart.  

*****

A harsh, screeching noise tore you from your sleep. With a jolt of panic, you bolted upright in bed, trying to collect your bearings. Liquid moonlight spilled through your leaf-paned window and leaked over the floor. You judged that it was a little over two hours past midnight. The horrible, dissonant noise seemed to come from all around you. You picked out the sound of Lindon’s warning bell from among the chaos, coupled with pained screams and the sound of something shattering.  

In a heartbeat, you leaped out of bed and grabbed your silver-plated longsword by the door. You burst out of your room and flew down the stairs towards the commotion. The clanging noises intensified as you ran to the royal courtyard. You deduced the source before you saw them- orcs.  

Dozens of the grisly fiends were pouring over the gates, brandishing crude, makeshift weapons and baring their black teeth. Several other elves had already arrived on the scene, defending against the attackers with deadly grace. Swords flashed and arrows flew under the silvery light of the moon, and blood the color of the night sky painted the ground before your eyes.  

You seamlessly entered the battle, lopping the heads off one orc after the other, not stopping to ponder how or why the orcs were leading this raid. Your senses clicked into the mode of war, as familiar to you as breathing. Within seconds, you had effortlessly picked out the opening points of the battleground that were most concentrated by the enemy, and called out regiment orders as more of your brethren rushed into the courtyard. The few elves donning soldier’s gear hastened to obey your command.  

You drove your sword into the gut of a nearby orc and sliced another in half at the waist. The rest of your thoughts fell away with every kill as you allowed your sword to become a part of you, as dexterous and fluid as an extension of your arm. Any sleepiness you might have felt was replaced by an acute focus of your surroundings.  

You worked your way towards the gates to quell the flush of orcs streaming into your territory. With a spin, you dropped three of the beasts at once, moving with all the poise and accuracy of an elven warrior. As you did, you spotted Galadriel at the far side of the courtyard.

You had to step over the bodies of your victims to make berth towards her in the rushing sea, as if you were caught in a dangerous dance between life and death. “Galadriel!” you yelled. “How did this happen?”

“Someone has left the anterior parapets unfortified,” she called back, ducking to avoid a swinging club. “These gates were open when I arrived!”

“How can that be? There are guards stationed here day and night!”

“I do not know. The Dark Lord must have found out about our affairs in Númenor. We are at half our strength. He senses weakness.”

“He won’t find any,” you gritted your teeth. You stabbed a nearby orc in the neck and spun to avoid the spray of black blood. If the Dark Lord thought catching you off your guard would give him the advantage, you were prepared to prove him wrong.

“There is something adrift about this attack. Something...foul. Within the kingdom.”

You raised an eyebrow, though it was doubtful Galadriel could see it in the dark. “You think there is a traitor?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Or an intruder yet to be detected.”

This troubled you. You were the head of the Sindarin army. It was your job to keep the kingdom safe. If there was a spy under your nose, you would be the first to know about it. Yet with half the army stationed in the Southlands aiding the Númenorians, an attack could come from any side.  

Irrationally, you found yourself becoming steeped in worry for Elrond. It had been days since his departure, and if this orc army had advanced in from the south, it was likely Elrond may have crossed paths with them. While he was more than a capable warrior, standing alone against an entire army wouldn’t be easy even for you. You hoped he had already made it to Khazad-Dum...

Suddenly you cried out in alarm. While you were worrying about Elrond, an orc had approached on your left flank and slashed you across the shoulder.  

Focus, you reprimanded yourself. Do not forget the battle in front of you.  

You dispatched the orc quickly and kicked the dismembered helmet away. Then Galadriel screamed. You whirled around to come face-to-face with the largest orc you had ever seen.  

It was almost twice your size, and armed with a cruel-looking blade. Its armor was detached in places, as if it had outgrown its battle garments too fast for them to be replaced. Galadriel had taken a swipe at the exposed part of its hide, but her sword had lodged in its armor on an angle. In a blink, the orc slammed both its fists into her arm, emitting a sickening crack.  

Her sword dropped to the dirt. You rushed to her side, ferociously stabbing your sword through its calf. The orc roared in pain and slashed at you with its blade. You deflected and thrust upward at its chest, but its height momentarily gave it leverage. It swung again and you narrowly dodged what could have been a fatal slice to the throat.

“Archers, to me!” you yelled over the din of battle. Two elves equipped with bows and arrows raced toward you, taking aim. “On my count!”

You pressed forward, trying to prompt the orc to step into the open. Galadriel took position on your right, one of her arms hanging limply at her side. Together you attacked as fiercely as you could. You needed to wound it somehow and step out of range for your archers to have a clear shot. Any head shots would be futile against its obsidian helmet.  

You moved to the left, trying to keep it distracted, but the orc was swiping at you with its sword in one hand and swatting at Galadriel with the other. You ordered the archers to fire, but most of the arrows struck harmlessly over the thick armor. The ones that buried in its skin didn’t seem to slow it down at all.  

With a growl, the orc hobbled forward and shoved Galadriel to the ground. She cried out as she landed on her broken arm. Without hesitation, you lunged to put yourself between her and your attacker. It raised its blade above its head.

“Fire!” you screamed at the archers, but it was too late. Time seemed to slow down. Arrows flew. Your sword glinted in the light of the moon, sending the world up in a flash of white, and you swung.  

There was a thump and you looked to see the orc’s meaty arm lying in the grass, separated from its body. Its crooked fingers were no longer clasped around its blade. You blinked and gasped, suddenly hit with a wave of pain, and looked down to see that the blade was buried in your stomach.  

One of the archer’s arrows struck clean through the orc’s bare neck, and it was dead before it hit the ground. The sound of it rattled your brain. You felt blood gushing from your torso and trickling down the front of your white nightgown. Your hands grasped the hilt of the orcish blade, but you didn’t have the strength to dislodge it. Your knees gave out and you crumpled.  

Galadriel was frantically calling out your name, but her voice soon melded into the sounds of swords clashing and orcs roaring in the battlefield around you. Your vision went blurry, your lungs desperately searching for air; you were drowning, and all you could see was red before the night itself bled over the trees, overtaking your body completely.  

*****

Elrond rode on a steed of wind and rain. The sky over the next range of hills was darkening so quickly it was as if clouds of ink had been spilled from the heavens, leaking down to the earth in the form of icy droplets that stung his eyes and soaked through his cloak. His heart was pounding in tune with the beat of his horse’s hooves on the soil. Desperately, he pressed one hand against his heart, where (Y/N) had tucked the daylily. He had taken it out each morning of his journey and run his fingers over its soft petals, knowing that with every step he was farther away from her, but feeling her presence in his mind at the very thought of her face.  

He pictured her now and fervently prayed that she was unharmed. Elrond had only been in the dwarven kingdom two days when Durin informed him of the attack on Lindon. The report hadn’t come with many details, only word of casualties among the elves. Elrond was trying to ignore the fact that (Y/N) would have been on the front lines, leading the defense.  

He urged his horse faster. Lindon’s sunset-orange elm trees came into view. He sped into the kingdom, past the gates, and into the royal courtyard. The midnight battle occurred over a day ago, but Elrond could still see the bloodstains painting the ground, a canvas saturated with too much color. He averted his eyes as he dismounted his horse and rushed into the palace.  

Lindon’s exquisite halls, which usually shimmered with magic and light, were opaque and desolate, echoing the sound of thunder and rain pattering against marble. No one was about roaming the palace grounds. It almost seemed that the kingdom was deserted.  

He spotted Gil-galad as he turned the corner, standing in the hall outside the infirmary. The High King, usually so serious and serene, was gazing in concern at the inside of the room.  

“My King,” Elrond said as he approached. “I came as soon as I heard of the attack.”

Gil-galad nodded solemnly. “The Dark Lord sees too much. I’m afraid if he were to advance again, with double the forces, we may not be able to hold our position for long.”

“Our army. Is it...?”

“Intact? Yes. Yet not entirely stable. All we can do is wait and recover.”

“And the wounded?”

The King looked at Elrond and in his eyes was utter sorrow. “Perhaps you should go in.”

Elrond bowed, feeling as though his thoughts were laid bare. With his heart in his throat, he steeled his emotions and stepped into the infirmary.  

It was a wide, circular room, the far side bordered by an arched veranda that opened out onto a terrace with a view of the waterfalls. Curtains of leaves were draped over the arches to keep out the rain, cloaking the room in dim light. Cots layered with forest-green silk were placed evenly about the space. Nearly every one was occupied by a wounded elf. A handful of healers moved about the room, pressing cold cloths to foreheads and spoon-feeding herbal concoctions. A scatter of lit candles cast the place in a sleepy red hue like blood washing away in a river.  

Elrond walked among the wounded. Most of them were familiar faces. Some had sheets pulled over their heads. Others were so scarred and bloodied or covered in salve that he couldn’t recognize them. But there was one elf he was searching for in particular.  

He found her on a cot by the far wall. Her face was so gray that she looked on the verge of melting into a puddle of raindrops. Heavy gauze was wrapped around her navel up to her sternum. Her hands rested peacefully at her sides.  

Elrond’s heart broke at the very sight of her. (Y/N) looked so drained, so lifeless- the stark opposite of the lively elf maiden he knew.  

He lowered into the chair at her side and took her hand in his. Her fingers were like ice. Fighting the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, he whispered, “I’m here, hiril vuin. It’s me.”

She didn’t stir. Elrond could almost imagine that she was a statue made of marble, carved by a delicate hand, framed in stormy light. Her breathing was so shallow it was hard to believe she was alive at all.  

Elrond didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at her unmoving form. He murmured sweet nothings under his breath as he stroked her palm, as if his whispers would coax her from her sleep.  

A healer came by at some point to check up on (Y/N), but there wasn’t much to do besides dab her forehead with a cloth and make her as comfortable as possible. The healer hummed an old elven healing song over her before moving on.  

“Come back to me,” Elrond whispered as soon as the healer was out of earshot. “You are the light in my life, (Y/N). I cannot walk the darkness alone.”

He reached into his cloak and brought out the daylily. The tips of its petals were wilting, as if responding to the condition of its giver. He leaned over and tucked the flower into (Y/N)’s hair. “There was never a moment you escaped my thoughts,” he said. “You, nin lilui, my daylily, are my dearest friend. Yet you are also so much more.” A tear traced its way down his cheek and dripped onto her fingers. Elrond caressed her cheek, his voice breaking. “You are so much more to me.”

He stayed by her side as the night passed. Soon enough rogue streaks of dawn shone through the curtains. Weariness and heartache weighed him down, but he couldn’t sleep while she was like this. Her eyes moved rapidly beneath her eyelids like she was trapped in a dream and couldn’t find the way out.  

Elrond pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Dawn is here, nin lilui. Do not let the darkness claim you.”

(Y/N) made a sound in the back of her throat. Her brow furrowed in pain. “Nin onlui mel...”

Elrond sat up straight. He searched her face for signs of life. “(Y/N)?”

She mumbled unintelligibly in Elvish. Elrond’s heart raced. “It’s me,” he said. “It’s Elrond. I’m here.”

“Nin onlui mel,” she muttered. “Mi van me, nin mel...”

Where are you, my love?

Emotions clouded Elrond’s mind in a swift blur. She was on the verge of consciousness. She was going to be okay. His daylily hadn’t left him. And yet a bitter taste filled his mouth.  

She was calling out for her true love. And it wasn’t him.  

*****

You ran through an endless forest. Black trees like twisting claws kept bursting from the dirt, redirecting your path. The hungry screams of your enemies echoed from all sides, and you spun in confusion and fear, unsure where to run. You had no weapon. Your nightgown was drenched in blood. Your heart beat frantically in your chest like you were a wild, hunted animal.  

You followed the line of trees, but shadows formed illusions in the darkness. The trees seemed to grasp at you, pulling your hair, tearing your clothes. Everything looked the same. There was no way out.  

The screams sounded closer now. You turned and ran, but the ground was wet and you slipped. When you got to your knees, you realized you had fallen in a pool of your own blood.  

Your vision was hazy, but you could see vicious shapes snarling and snapping out of the corner of your eye. You felt so weak, so tired. Looking up at the gray sky, you were ready to give up hope.

“Elrond,” you sobbed. You yearned for him with an aching you couldn’t express. The thought of him was like sunlight in this dark place. Your Elrond- kind as summer, gentle as a breeze. “Where are you?”

Your enemies howled, and the world was then no more.  

*****

You didn’t remember opening your eyes.  

At first, you weren’t sure what was a dream and what was reality. The shadows seemed to linger around your body, their wispy hands trailing against your skin. Your head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. The gray sky had disappeared, and the light of day was pouring into the room from somewhere.  

You blinked, feeling like your eyelids were made of iron. Your entire body ached. An incisive pain ripped through your stomach as you woke, bringing your surroundings into focus. You laid on a cot in the infirmary. Sitting to your left was an elf with tousled brown hair.  

“Elrond?” you groaned. It was as if your throat had been charred with firewood.

"(Y/N),” he sat forward, holding your hand. In his eyes were a million emotions.  “It’s okay. I’m here.”

The sight of him was going to make you cry. “Oh, Elrond.”

He quickly poured you a glass of water and held it to your lips. “Drink this.”

You obliged, though just the movement of your neck set your torso on fire. You had been wounded in battle countless times, though never as bad as this.  

“You came back for me,” you said. Your voice sounded scratchy to your own ears.  

Elrond looked on the verge of tears. He smiled at you, and despite your pain, giddiness fizzed in your veins. “No sooner had I been in Khazad-Dum two days when Durin gave me word of the attack. I set off again that same hour. I came as fast as I could.” He looked down. “(Y/N), I am so sorry.”

“Elrond,” you reached out and cupped his face. “I am a soldier. Battles happen. Warriors fall. Nothing is your fault.”

He closed his fingers around yours. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were drawn and his hair was a tangled mess. You had the urge to run your fingers through it.  

“(Y/N),” he said carefully, “What were you dreaming of?”

You closed your eyes again, remembering the figures in the darkness, the gnarled trees moving you about the forest like a ghost, the way you were drenched in blood.  

“I thought I was dead,” you responded weakly. “There was darkness, and I was lost- there was so much blood...”

“You were calling out for someone in your sleep,” he said softly.

“I was? W-who?”

You saw the answer in his eyes before he spoke. “’Nin onlui mel.’”

Silence like an ocean stretched between you two. You turned to face the terrace, where the curtains had been pulled back to provide you with a view of the waterfall. “My true love,” you translated, unable to look at him.

He let go of your hand, placing it at your side. He didn’t speak for a long time. The silence was devastating.

Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore. “Elrond-”

“(Y/N)-”

You turned to face him again. He didn’t meet your eyes.  

“It would be a lie to say some part of my heart does not ache,” he said. “Yet the desire of my heart is for you to be happy. I will not get in the way of your devotion to another.”

You tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea forced you back down. “Elrond, I don’t understand.”

“I am sorry if I have been a bother. It was foolish of me to think...to think with such selfishness.”  

“What are you saying?”

He glanced at you. “Whoever he is, as much as I wish not to be, I am, shamefully, envious. I only hope that you can forgive me.”

“No.” You shook your head. “No, Elrond, you don’t understand. There isn’t someone else.” You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Nin onlui mel. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

His expression matched himself on the day you’d given him the daylily- as if your small kindness was as valuable to him as sparkling treasure. “Me?”

You nodded. “I cannot help it. You are the water to my soil; you have made spring bloom once more in my heart where I thought it not possible. You give me hope. My soul longs for you, nin mel. I love you as I love life.”

Tears fell from his eyes. He was beautiful. He brushed a stray curl from your face and murmured, “And to truly live is to love. Will you allow me to love you with all of myself?”

“My love,” you whispered, “I cannot live any other way.”

His lips were soft as he kissed your temple. He leaned his forehead against yours, and in that moment, you had the world.

Masterlist

#elrond x reader #rings of power x reader #lotr x reader #trop elrond x reader #lotr #the hobbit #elrond fanfiction #elrond imagine

[celiciaa]

GILBERT VON OBSIDIAN EVENT STORY....

EPILOGUE.

Together with the prince.

translations are not 100% accurate. expect mistakes.

trigger warning: slightly suggestive.

MINORS DNI.

I feel like I've had a long dream for the first time in a while.

???: ——…..Gil, please wake up.

(…Hn?)

Gilbert: Huh….

When I opened my eyes, I saw the sight of the laboratory littered with papers.

It seems that I was sleeping face down on the table, and maybe because of this strange position, every joint of my body hurt.

Emma: Good morning, Gil.

When I sit up, Emma is right beside me.

Those innocent eyes become mature and intelligent, and her plump cheeks become slim and beautiful,

Emma looked at me with a worried look on her face, and she was without a doubt an adult woman.

Gilbert: …The little rabbit is an adult.

Emma: What?

Gilbert: Hehe, nothing.

(It was just a dream.)

Emma: You look a little bit…groggy. Should I bring you some water?

Gilbert: No, it's okay.

When Emma was about to leave, I grabbed her hand and forced her onto my lap.

Unlike her child self, Emma's eyes became more focused and somewhat more emotional.

(…As time passes, I'm sure I'll forget my dreams.)

(I still vividly remember the little rabbit as a child, but it will come——)

Gilbert: Hey Emma, I have a question.

Emma: Yes, what is it?

Gilbert: Tell me about your first love?

Emma: My first love….

Gilbert: Yes, your first love.

Gilbert: There’s one, isn’t it? What happened to your first love or two?

Emma looks clearly upset.

(I think I have an idea.)

━━FLASHBACK━━

Emma: I want my big brother to love me!

━━FLASHBACK ENDS━━

(I thought a dream was just a dream but…)

Gilbert: Somehow I wanted to know.

Gilbert: I've already told you about my first love, haven’t I?

Emma: …Promise you won't kill anyone?

Gilbert: ….

Emma: Then I won’t tell you.

Gilbert: Ahaha, I'm just joking. I promise…okay?

When I looked into her face, Emma was hesitating as she lowered her eyes.

Emma: To be honest…I think it's different from first love.

Emma: I wasn't in love.

Emma: …There is a boy that the owner used to talk to me about a lot.

Emma: I've never seen his face, and I don't know what he looks like, but I've heard what he's like.

Emma: The story of a boy, who was older than me, was always filled with kindness.

Emma: I admire the fact that there are such kind and cool children in this world who can make so many people smile….

(…..)

Emma: ….I've always wanted to meet him.

Saying that I'm the one that Emma is reflecting in her clear eyes.

I was convinced by the atmosphere of probing and our conversation.

Gilbert: Disappointed?

When I gave her the "answer", Emma breathed a sigh of relief.

Emma: Not at all. You were different from what I expected….

Emma: You’re a good-looking person with your roots unchanged.

Gilbert: …Did I look the same to you?

Emma: Yes. Because the answer lies on Obsidian. **

Gilbert: ….

Emma: Many people are smiling. The town is full of life.

Emma: Of course, that doesn't mean there's no darkness at all… // Of course, it's not entirely free of darkness.

Emma: The person I admire, both present and in the past, is a cool person who can make a lot of people smile.

Gilbert: …I see.

━━FLASHBACK━━

Gilbert: You said that the roots remain the same, but that's not true.

Gilbert: The roots of flowers rot if they're in the wrong environment.

━━FLASHBACK ENDS━━

(That’s what I at least thought.)

I buried my face in Emma's chest and she patted me on the head.

I feel a tinge of happiness that this is too luxurious for an evil person like me.

As Emma said, it's proof that my roots haven't completely rotted away.

Emma: Or rather, that was Gil after all.

Gilbert: Perhaps. Just as Akatsuki was telling me about you, the reverse is certainly possible.

Gilbert: But the little rabbit is a worrier.

Gilbert: You told me not to kill anyone when you know it could be me.

Emma: Because if by any chance it's different, it'll be a big problem.

Gilbert: Ahaha. You think I might track him down and kill him?

Emma: …Even if you won’t kill him, I feel you can’t leave him unharmed….

Gilbert: Yes, that's correct.

Emma: But since it was you, there was no need to worry about that.

Gilbert: Eh, how can you be so sure?

Emma: What…?

Gilbert: After all, the person that the little rabbit admired isn't me now, is it?

Gilbert: I'm so jealous of my old self.

(I mean this.)

(Also, I found out that the old me is really inside the little rabbit.)

(To this day, she still holds onto the "old me" with her….)

(And she probably has no intention of letting it go in the future.)

The more I thought about it, the darker it swirled in my chest, and I found myself biting her skin through her blouse.

Emma: Gil!?

Gilbert: I may have been the person you admired in the past.

Gilbert: But I want you to see the current me now. The man who is a big villain and plans to conquer the world.

(We're not children anymore, so it's okay to do this?)

I slid off her corset and continued biting her nipples so that the shadow of the gentle boy's face disappeared.

Eventually, her blouse became transparent, and I bit into it, which was clearly visible through the fabric,

Emma raised her eyebrows in distress, a look she never showed when she was a child.

Gilbert: Please fall in love with me right now, little rabbit.

Gilbert: …You'll give me the role of saving the princess for the rest of my life, right?

Emma: Aahh…nnn, what are you talking about?

Gilbert: Hehe; I made a promise with the little baby rabbit.

While caressing the tips of her swollen breasts with my fingertips and kissing Emma, ​​who was still in a daze.

(It was a dream, but——)

━━FLASHBACK━━

Emma: Gil, help! I got captured!

Walter: You’ve finally come, hero.

Roderich: ….Doctor, you’re taking this seriously.

Walter: Shut up! Why did I, the doctor get to play as the big bad demon king——

Emma: Big brother Walter…you don’t like it?

Walter: Oh no! It's not that I don't like it. So don't cry, I'm begging you.

Walter: R-Roderich...you're my subordinate. Go get rid of the hero quickly.

Roderich: Understood.

Gilbert: Ahaha, both of you are looking good.

Gilbert: But unfortunately, the battle is over before it even begins. After all, I am a hero and an ever-victory marshal, right?

Gilbert: Look, little rabbit.

Emma: Ah, my tiger!

Walter: Why do you have the stuffed tiger? I thought I gave it to the young lady…

Gilbert: Walter, if you don't release the princess(Emma), I'll destroy this tiger, okay?

Walter: Wha?

Gilbert: What do you think would happen then? This tiger is a friend of the little rabbit, so she'll probably cry.

Gilbert: You know what will happen if the little rabbit cries…don’t you?

Walter: We lost! We’ll get going, come on.

Roderich: Too soon!?

Emma: Gil!

Gilbert: See, I'm here to pick you up. Let’s go, my princess.

Emma: Hehe, Gil is amazing. The big bad demon king lost to you immediately.

Roderich: ….Is that okay, young lady?

Gilbert: Isn't it amazing? I can do anything for you.

Gilbert: So from now on, will you give me the role of saving the princess?

Gilbert: ——Because I don't want you to pass it to anyone else.

Emma: Yes!

━━FLASHBACK ENDS━━

Gilbert: I can't help it, I love you so much.

When I parted my lips and whispered, Emma nodded with a bright red face.

Emma: I already know?

Gilbert: Right.

Emma: Me too…

Emma: …I admire you as much as I did and still do.

Gilbert: Eh…

Emma: I made a mistake. I am in love only with Gil who is in front of me now!

Gilbert: Hehe, you’ve passed.

Emma: ….And you’re still troublesome.

Gilbert: Ahaha, I’m sorry?

(The person you admired in the past and the person I am today are completely different people….)

(At the very least, I hope I can continue to be the kind of man you fall in love with.)

 ▸       [  previous ]

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince spoilers #ikepri jp #ikepri translations #ikemen series #cybird #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert

[softquietsteadylove]

LEzz do zum angst, I am missing the bodyguard au I think we all are. So what if Thena have a concert but when she is about to do her intro the staffs behind started panicking and that is because Gil had some incident. The producer didn't want Thena to know just for the show to go on but Thena had already noticed, she wanted to ask Gil what's wrong but he wasn't there and it's very unusual. She started worrying so she asked some staff what is going on at first the staff denies everything but Thena managed to let the her talk. And when she knew, no more concerts where tf is my husband. But the producer keeps on denying too and won't tell her know where he is which made her more angry and you decide what'll happen next.

THANK YOU!

"Gil?"

Thena went from person to person, asking each and every one of them where Gil was. It was so strange for her to not be able to find him. She wasn't sure when exactly he had disappeared from her side. But she could recall asking him if he could simply find her a little snack before the show, and then...

"Have you seen Gil?" she asked another stage hand, now that all of her own core team was devoted to setting up the equipment on stage. They looked at her. "Gilgamesh--my body guard? I asked him to find something for me to eat and I haven't seen him since."

"Uh," the two stage hands working on the curtains looked at each other, "I'm sure he's around, Athena. I wouldn't worry about it."

She nodded at them, although her lips had a certain purse to them. What was that look about?

She moved on to the stage managers next. Usually she wouldn't bother the people hard at work to make her show happen, but finding Gil was far more important to her. "Excuse me?"

One of the assistant stage managers held her finger up to her as she barked instructions into the head piece she was wearing. Thena looked down at her feet until she finally covered her mic and looked at her.

"I'm sorry," Thena sighed, "I'm just looking for my security."

The young woman pointed to the many yellow shirts mulling around the back stage.

Thena sighed again, this time a little more petulantly. "No, I mean Gil, my personal security guard?"

She nodded, looking around her a little before muttering something into her mic again behind her hand. "I'll have someone look for him. Won't be long."

Thena nodded, although the assistant stage manager immediately trotted away from her. But Thena moved even further backstage. She wasn't receiving the answers she needed, let alone the help. Where was he?

"Athena, you shouldn't be up and around," one of the event managers nearly ran up to her as soon as she reached the depths of the lower backstage.

She frowned, "I can't find Gil."

"Who?"

Her anger increased (doubled, maybe). "Gilgamesh, my personal security. I quite literally don't go anywhere without him, so I don't know how you could be unfamiliar with him."

"Oh, yes!" He snapped his fingers now that he could picture, if nothing else, the vague memory of a person attached to Thena upon her arrival. "Yes, yes--he, uh, he was around not long ago."

"Yes, that's why I'm looking for him, " she insisted, and he started to display the same nervous energy everyone else she had asked thus far possessed. She stepped closer, "it's very important I find him."

"I'm sure he's just distracted, Athena." First mistake: Gil would never be distracted while he was on the job. While she needed him! "I'll find out where he is and tell you personally."

Second mistake: she hated talking to people.

"It's almost time to start, though," he looked down at his watch and reached out with the intention of turning her around and marching her back to the stage. "You go take your place, I'm sure he'll be there."

"But-"

"The event security will be there, anyway."

"Excuse me-" Thena flinched away every time he tried to touch her.

"You won't even notice he's gone!"

"Enough!" Thena clenched her fists, determined not to let them visibly shake as she put her foot down. She glared at the pushy manager, "where is he?"

"Athena-"

"If not Gil, then Kingo," she snapped. "Find me someone who will give me some answers!"

He looked at her with exasperation.

She crossed her arms right back at him, "or no show."

He looked like he had expected her response, to a degree. He fidgeted and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at her before pulling his phone out and sending off either a few texts, or one very long one.

She eyed him, "I'll take that as a yes."

He cleared his throat, standing aside for her to continue backstage.

She gave him a look - unhelpful ass - before continuing on, even trotting despite already being in her show heels. "Gil?"

"Thena," Kingo emerged from the greenroom, still holding onto the doorknob to it. He put his other hand on his hip, "the show is starting in ten minutes."

"Kingo," she held her dear friend's gaze, her jaw set, "let me see him."

"T, you have to relax," Kingo attempted to soothe her. "A lot has gone into this show."

"Which I am prepared to throw away," she stated outright, much to Kingo's frustration and the horror of everyone else present. "If you do not let me see Gil, right now."

He sighed; he definitely expected this reaction from her. "T, you have to promise me you'll stay calm, okay?"

Thena huffed and grabbed Kingo's dress shirt, just so she could toss him away from the door. "Gil!"

He was lying on the couch in there, a paramedic kneeling next to him and packing up. He looked up just in time to keep her from running over, "please, don't jostle him."

"What happened?!"

"From what I understand," the paramedic began as they zipped up their bag. "A piece of equipment was swung around and hit him in the head. He lost consciousness briefly, which requires a medic be called by default."

"Is he okay?" she asked quietly, her lip wobbling as she looked down at Gil lying there with a cold compress on his forehead.

"He doesn't seem to have any lasting neurological symptoms, although as soon as he's able to walk we have to recommend he goes to a hospital just to be sure. He has a small lesion on the back of his head, so we advise some mild antiseptic for that twice a day."

Thena nodded, hoping she seemed in control instead of a wobbly little fawn. "Thank you for your help. I'll stay with him."

The paramedic nodded to her now that their job was done. Kingo came back in, lingering by the door. "T-"

"You weren't going to tell me?" she glared at him as she perched herself on the end of the couch by his knees. She leaned over to touch his cheek as lightly as humanly possible.

"Thena, the show must go on."

She shook her head. She knew she was being difficult; she knew she was getting a reputation for being needy and a diva to work with. But she didn't much care. Her hand drifted to Gil's temple, watching him carefully for any reaction to her touch.

"Thena, you have to go out there," Kingo approached, his hands on his hips again. "This show has a lot invested in it."

"Kingo," she pleaded, her hand pressing on Gil's chest.

"I know you're worried about him, but you can't stay here," Kingo continued, sounding like a chastising father rather than her manager. "What are you gonna do?--just sit here and hold him?"

She pouted at him, "I could just to spite you."

Kingo sighed, "T, please."

"Kingo, nothing matters more to me than Gil," she reasserted, ignoring how weighty a statement that was (and the look on Kingo's face). "I'll pay each of the investors what they're owed personally. Bankrupt me if need be. But how can I go out there if Gil is-"

"Fine," he rumbled, needing to clear his throat as he awakened with a groan, "I'm just fine."

"Gil, don't move," she whispered, holding his cheeks as he tried to move his head. His face contorted until she ran her thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Uh," he blinked up at the ceiling as Thena turned his compress over, helping to soothe his swelling. He sighed, "I was looking for a vending machine."

"Oh Gil," she sniffled, "I'm so sorry."

"Hey," he whispered, his hand laying over hers on his jaw, "that's not your fault. The venue idiots were the ones swinging around light stands."

Thena ran her finger down the edge of his jaw, "they'll never work again after I'm done here."

"Thena," Kingo leaned down to look up at her from Gil's vantage. "I'll sit with Gil. I swear, I won't let him out of my sight. But-"

She frowned, "Kingo."

"Hey," Gil whispered to her again, and she looked at him again in an instant. He turned his head just enough to kiss the hand of hers closest to his lips. "You go--get out there and knock 'em dead. I'm just going to be lying around down here."

"Gil," she practically whined at him. But he looked at her in a very practised and familiar way; she sighed. "I'll be worried about you the whole time."

"You're allowed to worry," he chuckled, and the cold in her chest alleviated at the sound of it. "But you're not allowed to cancel a show when it's already started."

"Thena, please," Kingo attempted one more time.

She gave him somewhat of an annoyed glare before leaning forward to kiss Gil's forehead. "You are the worst."

"You don't mean that," he grinned as she stood and forced herself to stand away from him.

"No, but still," she huffed at them both as she headed for the door. She looked at Kingo, "I mean it, if he so much as flinches-"

"Thena, I promise, we'll be fine," Kingo patted Gil's shoulder. "Now, go!"

She looked at Gil, who nodded. She gave him one last look with those wide green eyes before finally taking her leave. She would do the show, like he told her. But she wasn't going to be happy about it!

#Thenamesh Bodyguard AU #I love the phrasing in the prompt #where is my husband #where is my husband?!!?! #she's going to go out there but she is not happy with it #and every single person who deliberately withheld Gil's condition from her? #oh man #she doesn't care what they think of her #but no one keeps her husband's well being from her! #the show goes well #everyone says that she was really intense with lots of voice growls and almost a rock kind of vibe #little did they know she's just pissed #maybe they get word that Athena's security was seen being loaded into an ambulance after the show #or he was seen leaving the hospital afterwards #and they're like ohhhhhhhhhhhh that adds up #because everyone knows that her security guard is a real life slow burn

[echo-bleu]

Noldor Hair Headcanons (4/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3

There isn’t anyone left who knows how to do Maglor’s Mourning Braids, but they are described in a lament for Fingon that’s still doing the rounds, so Elrond and Elros make their best try. That style is henceforth known as Elrond’s Mourning Braids (because Elros gets forgotten by the elves a lot after he dies, let’s not lie to ourselves).

A decade of nothing but Mourning Braids really hammers in that Elrond and Elros weren’t just hostages.

It doesn’t do a lot for their reputation, but they don’t particularly care.

Bit by bit, Elros adopts mannish customs after making his Choice, and even goes so far as to cut his hair above the shoulder. Elrond is pre-grieving his brother too much to be properly shocked about this.

(It’s still long enough to braid. It’s fine. It’s not like his brother is leaving him on purpose. Or rejecting him. Elrond knows that.)

Everyone thinks Elrond should wear his hair in the Sindarin custom but he refuses to give up his Noldor braids. Elros braids his brother’s hair until he leaves for Númenor.

Elrond and Gil-galad do each other’s hair through the Second Age. Because they’re the last of their family and the only ones to keep to the old traditions. Not at all because they’re close. Of course not. Wouldn’t be proper. (They spend two hours at it every morning alone in Gil-galad’s chambers.)

Elrond revives his Mourning Braids on his 500th birthday.

Celebrimbor learns about dwarven hair culture. It’s Very Different but kind of similar, in that fancy hairstyles are a status thing. (Or really, long hair/beard is a status thing and then you have to do something with it because otherwise it catches everywhere.)

Narvi isn’t in fact the first dwarf to touch elven hair, but that’s only because Finrod had a very extended concept of family.

Annatar magically braids his own hair, when he even bothers (his hair doesn’t even singe in the forge if it falls into the fire). This hurts Celebrimbor’s sensitivities, but he adapts to Annatar’s ways, and adapts again, and adapts, until he really can’t.

Sauron cuts off Celebrimbor’s beautiful dark braids full of dwarven beads and ties them to the spears of his personal guard. Elrond never quite manages to get that image out of his head.

At war again, Gil-Galad invents locs. Well, re-invents them really, because Silvan elves have worn them forever, but he’s the first Noldor to do it. (He has Fingon’s hair texture. Does that mean he’s Fingon’s son? Who knows. He’s not telling.)

It’s only after Gil-galad’s death that Elrond teaches himself how to braid his own hair.

He hates it.

But he won’t wear his hair loose.

(The first style he masters is Maglor’s Mourning Braids.) (It really shouldn’t be because it’s Intricate but Elrond is nothing if not stubborn.)

Imladris has a full salon, like the Noldor palaces of old.

It doesn’t get that much use, to be honest.

Erestor learns to braid really tiny braids into Glorfindel’s hair, so that he never wears his hair fully loose but it still looks like it’s loose. Everyone else thinks it’s ridiculous. Glorfindel thinks it’s the best thing. Elrond watches them with a knowing smile.

Celebrían wears her hair half-loose in the Sindar style until she marries Elrond. It takes him several years to find the strength to ask her to do his hair, but she lets him do hers and he sneaks in more and more braids until they settle on a mixed-style. When he finally allows her to do his hair, Celebrían makes her mother grumpily teach her proper Noldor braids.

Elladan and Elrohir only wear practical Sindarin braids for the day to day, but they delight in doing each other’s hair in complicated styles for feasts and ceremonies. Elrond cries the first time they accidentally replicate Maglor’s favourite hairstyle.

Arwen is a little gremlin who squirms out of her parents’ lap when they try to braid her hair. She’s also inherited even more of Melian’s hair than Elrond, so even when they manage to do a braid, it’s gone in a few hours.

It takes years after Celebrían sails, because they’re all grieving, but eventually Elrohir offers to do his father’s hair, and Elrond lets him. They don’t do it every day, but it’s a large step in their recovery process.

By the way, Thranduil’s thing for flower/leaf crowns isn’t a Sindar or Silvan practice, it’s just that he wanted to be Fancy but Not In a Noldor Way, thank you very much. He’s also very vain. His servants do his hair.

Little Estel is very cute, has very silky hair for a man, even of his line, and makes a great doll for the twins to play with. He likes his hair touched A Lot.

Arwen learns about that early on. She’s a very good silver smith. Aragorn now owns a lot of hair jewellery. He can’t make a braid to save his life, but that’s fine, because Arwen can’t wear them anyway.

In the North, he wears his hair like Elros, cut above his shoulders. Once he becomes King, he lets it grow to his waist. He’s the first Man since Tuor to casually wear his hair in elaborate Noldor braids. He accidentally sets a fashion.

Arwen also does Éowyn’s and Faramir’s hair regularly. The first time is for their wedding. Éowyn isn’t a fan of the unpractical Fëanorian styles, but the Nolofinwëan battle braids look incredibly good on her.

Wandering on the coast for two ages, Maglor no longer does anything with his hair. It doesn’t enjoy the salt at all.

When Elrond finally finds him, he almost has to cut it all off. Instead, he spends weeks carefully untangling and moisturising Maglor’s hair until he can finally braid it in the old style for him. Maglor cries.

Elrond cries too. He cries even more when Maglor sits them down on the floor and braids his hair like he used to.

They sail together with the other Ring bearers, and there’s a lot more crying when they find Celebrían, Gil-galad and Maedhros waiting for them together.

Celebrían is wearing her hair in one of the Fëanorian styles that can be done one-handed.

Galadriel isn’t entirely happy about that, but she sees Finrod and forgets about it.

There’s some more crying.

Fingon is also there (the amount of gold in his hair is a bit blinding, not that Elrond will ever tell him) and also wearing a one-handed braided style.

There are some fights over who gets to do Elrond’s hair in the next few weeks.

Celebrían wins most of them, because she’s inherited Galadriel’s viciousness, but she lets everyone have a turn.

Elrond would like to know why he doesn’t have a say in it.

(He does. They would never touch him if he didn’t want to. They’re just very happy to see him.)

He does go to visit Elwing and Eärendil in their tower, and he goes with his hair down, because he’s a peace-maker at heart.

But in Tirion, he always sports the most complex hairstyles, just barely coming short of overshadowing the High King’s (mostly because his hair is still too silky for it to hold well), because his family all want to outdo each other.

He earns the reputation of being the most beloved of all the Noldor.

It’s not wrong.

Some visuals & more in my art tag

#noldor hair headcanons #if i am to braid my mystic crown #echo's fanfiction #silmarillion #tolkien #silm fic #tolkien fanfiction #elrond #gil-galad #lotr #the lord of the rings #aragorn #arwen #celebrimbor #maglor

[insomniacirl]

No but okay- I know we're kind of approaching a big bad atm in JRWI Riptide, but imagine they leave the black sea and eventually run back into Amanda Rinn again and for whatever reason they end up talking to them.

But to avoid feeling so awkward that he just accepts being in a relationship with her again- Chip puts on the ring he still carries around with him and convinces Gillion to do the same with his.

AND THIS MAN IS JUST REAAAAAAAALLLLLLY FLAUNTING THIS RING WHILE HE'S TALKING TO HER.

She's like, "So... that ring is that like, a fashion accessory? I like it- reminds me of our-"

And this bastard is like "OF OUR WEDDING RINGS? YEAH IT'S BECAUSE IT IS ONE! HAHA. HAHA I'M MARRIED NOW. HAHA, SO- WOOPSIE, GUESS WE CAN'T BE TOGETHER- SORRY!"

But the thing is I feel like she'd be SO fucking mad/upset abt this- she would definitely be like "I'LL FIGHT THEM FOR YOU. WHO IS IT?"

And Chip points over to Gil and Gillion is just smiling and waving really awkwardly from over in the corner, flashing the ring 😭

#JRWI #JRWI Fish And Chips #JRWI Chip #JRWI Gillion #Amanda Rinn #JRWI Amanda Rinn #Fish n chips #JRWI Riptide #JRWI Jay #JRWI Jay Ferin #JRWI FNC #FNC week 2023 #Jay Ferin #Chip Bastard #Gillion Tidestrider

[headcanons-n-shit]

how they move in with you (ff14 bois)

Thancred

What starts as “it’s too late to send you to an inn, stay here for the night” leads to “yeah i grabbed an extra toothbrush for you its on the bathroom counter” which turns into “this is your half of the closet :)”, and the next thing you know you’re waking up to the sound of him puttering around in the kitchen in the morning like he usually does. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

Urianger

You catch him sleeping in his workspace. There’s a padded bench and a warm-looking quilt, but it’s. Sad. It’s really sad, and you’re not going to stand for it. You bully him into your apartment and onto your couch/into the spare bedroom, and he just kind of. Forgets to leave. And you forget to kick him out. And the next thing you know his research is spread out on the kitchen counter and his favorite biscuits are in the cupboard and youre drinking the weird fermented tea he likes and handing him a mug when he wanders into the kitchen in his sleep clothes, all bleary eyes and rats-nest hair and.

Well. Youre certainly not going to kick him out now.

G’raha

Like a true cat: you bring him in from the cold ONE night, feed him ONCE, and the next thing you know there are piles of pillows in the sunniest spots in your house, scratches on the doorframes where he likes to swing around in his speed, and books. Everywhere.

Estinien

You dont so much invite him to live with you as you just. Dont object. You wake up in the morning and hes crashed on your couch, as unobtrusively as he can, his lance resting against the back and his armor in a little pile next to him. When you turn around hes gone, but theres his clothes in your laundry pile and his part of the grocery gil in the dish and his cheap romance novels on the coffee table. At some point he stops crawling onto the couch in the middle of the night and starts crawling into your bed instead, starts washing the laundry on weekends and watering your plants when youre out, and you couldnt rightly say when it started, but youre not about to stop it now.

Aymeric

You dont even realize whats happening until its already done. What starts with him not wanting you to stay in a place as dangerous as the forgotten knight (especially when you seem to make a sport of pissing off temple knights) turns into you asking to crash in his mansion whenever you get back from a clan hunt, which becomes you crashing at his place whenever youre in town, which becomes you making your travel plans with his house in mind, and then the next thing you know his majordomo is greeting you with "welcome home" and.

Yeah. His mansion is home for you now, isnt it.

Haurchefant

He is absolutely in love with your home. No, really. Hes lived in a lot of different places in his life, but your home is just so. You. And maybe he has to suddenly budget astheryte travel into the camp dragonhead budget, but. Its worth it for the opportunity to call your home his. To wake up to you every morning, to bump hips with you in the bathroom, to kiss you goodbye before you both leave for work.

Sidurgu

You got the house from Edmont after the Dragonsong war, and honestly you’ve only ever stayed in it once. You couldn’t bear to, not after. Haurchefant. Estinien. Nidhogg. Everything. But a fire tears through the Brume, and whether be it a candle left unattended or an intentional spark Sidurgu and Rielle find themselves with nowhere else to go. 

You really don’t mind though. A house should be lived in, and though you know they wouldn’t have accepted it under any other situation, you watching them settle in you cant help but feel like this place is a little more like home.

#ff14 #ff14 headcanons #thancred waters #graha tia #urianger augurelt #aymeric de borel #estinien wyrmblood #estinien varlineau #haurchefant greystone #sidurgu orl #wolcred #wolianger #wolmeric #wolstinien #haurchewol #sidwol

[lendmyboyfriendahand]

Even more in the older kidnap fam fic

At Amon Ereb, accommodations for the twins do get marginally more comfortable.

It is, after all, a proper fortress complete with prison cells. All the Feanorian fortresses have them; for criminals, or captured orcs they want to interrogate, or for the rare occasions the sons of Feanor were aware they needed to be stopped.

The cells have solid stone walls and floor, with metal gratings for doors, so the prisoners can't escape by setting a fire or digging.

Some of the cells are missing doors, where the metal bars were taken down and reforged into armor or weapons, but there are still several in good shape.

And the Feanorians are putting both princes in one cell, anyway. It will be easier to guard one place than two.

Elrond and Elros are very agreeable to sharing a cell, rather than being put at opposite ends of the dungeon, with who knows how many days or weeks before they see each other again. And it's not like they'd have actual privacy with their own cells, there's going to be a guard outside constantly.

They are marched down by a half dozen guards, with their arms tied. Once Elros is untied, he has to stand his facing the wall opposite the door before the guards will bring Elrond forward and untie him.

Elros kind of wants to laugh at how intimidating he and his twin apparently are, to warrant this hassle, but it's not funny with swords inches from his brother.

Still, eventually all the guards leave, except for one who locks the door and stands across the hallway.

The cell has a bed, a chamber pot, a bucket of fresh water, and a bed roll designed for camping. There's room for one person to pace, if the other sits on the bed.

Elrond and Elros can talk to each other. Not unobserved, but without a sharp deadline. Better than since they left Sirion.

After reassuring each other that they have no serious injuries, they compare their experiences of the battle, particularly the end.

Elrond and Elros conclude that Elwing is dead, but the Valar sent an eagle (or perhaps another bird, Elrond is unsure of the species he saw) to retrieve the Silmaril.

The Valar have sent eagles to help the house of Fingolfin twice before, and retrieving Fingolfin's body was a lesser favor than saving Maedhros's life (as evil as he is). It's reasonable that the third aid from eagles would be even smaller, not saving the queen's body but saving only her jewel from her enemies.

Elros and Elrond are still confident that it's better than the Feanorians having the Silmaril, though. Who knows what evil they would be able to accomplish with its light?

They are very sad though that their mother is dead. And it's been over a year since Earendil left on his latest voyage, so he's probably dead too, though Elwing hadn't admitted it where they could hear.

That makes Elros king of Sirion, heir to Gondolin and Doriath. Elrond kisses his brother's hand and pledges his fealty.

In practical terms though, Elros and Elrond aren't sure this changes the situation at all. Sure, Elros is king - of a people he can't reach.

They're still prisoners, and there is no Silmaril to trade them for - though of course they are brave warriors who would rather die than give such a holy object over to the evil Feanorians.

They seem to be just here as hostages, so Gil-Galad doesn't sack Amon Ereb, and because the Feanorians still have enough pretense at honor not to kill enemies who surrendered.

The first of those conditions has no end date, and the second only does if they're unlucky. Elros and Elrond will be prisoners until they learn if peredhel can die of old age.

Meanwhile: Maedhros has commanded the guards to keep a watch on the cell, feed the prisoners from the same food as the soldiers, and stop them from escaping. Preferably non-lethally, but if the prisoners reach the courtyard go ahead and shoot them.

He's taken a report from the seneschal, confirming nothing has changed at the castle in his absence.

Maedhros has made his own report of names of the dead, so their work can be redistributed among the living. He's passed on news of Elwing's escape with the jewel, and the signs of orcs they saw on their way. No one pursued the army from Sirion though, which is good.

Maedhros does all the tasks that need to be done to settle his army back in the castle, or at least all that can't wait a day.

He then locks himself in his room to cry over his dead little brother.

Pretty soon it turns to screaming. Wordless cries of pain, insults to the Valar and Eru, curses to the idiocy of child queens.

It's audible outside his room, but he doesn't care. Let them think him mad, being sane has never won him a battle. (Nirnaeth Doriath Sirion, never achieving his goals, and always those he loves dying for him.)

The soldiers are uneasy, but tell each other loudly that it's just his nightmares. Lord Maedhros is sane while awake, and none of them will judge for troubled sleep. Definitely that.

From the prison cell, all that can be heard is the occasional scream. Elrond and Elros thought they were the only captives, but is someone being tortured?

Maglor sleeps for a day straight on arriving at Amon Ereb. He's the best rider left, and switched between advance scouting and Singing their trail cold as needed for the whole journey. It's not literally true that he hasn't slept since Sirion, but he hasn't been fully rested since they marched out from Amon Ereb.

He's still the first one to approach the twins for conversation though, late the next evening.

He's done diplomacy with Fingolfin after leaving him to die, how much worse can it be?

(Okay, he didn't actually get any concessions out of Fingolfin. And he gave up his entire city. But no one died! And people unassociated with the royal family were exchanging small items and food with each other! He's sure it would have taken less than a century to create an actual formal relationship.)

@tar-thelien asked to be tagged for updates!

#silmarillion #my fic #older kidnap fam #my writing #kidnap dads #silm #older kidnap fam fic #<- sorry that's the tag with the rest of it