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starstruckkittensweets · 7 months

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"Promise Me" | Gojo x Reader

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Reader Words: 2.3k

A/N: no one talk to me, this is my way of coping with the latest chapter. This week is not a fun one for us Gojo lovers. Also this scenario has probably been written a thousand times at this point (thanks a lot Gege) but here's my two cents on the matter (go figure, my first official Gojo post and he's fuckin dead)

Warnings: JJK 236 SPOILERS, mentions of fem!reader, nightmares, brief mentions of violence/gore, pet names (baby, sweets, pretty girl), very self-indulgent and I apologize for that

Nightmares are a common occurrence in your line of work; you knew that even before you agreed to take the job. Usually you can stand them when they hit. Staring into the shadows of your bedroom, wide eyes raking over every little thing inside, too scared to even move a muscle. Knowing that, once you do, the illusion will vanish. The fear will go away, bit by bit, until you feel comfortable enough to fall back asleep.

Till the next morning, when you can’t even remember what you were so afraid of.

But this time is different. Your body isn’t frozen at all; you don’t snuggle deeper into the blankets, praying that they’ll be enough to protect you from whatever creatures lurk in the night. In fact they’re suffocating—but even when you throw them off you’re still heaving like a madman. Cold sweat clamming up your skin. Hands trembling at your sides. Eyes nearly bursting from your skull when you realize the other side of the bed is empty.

Empty, empty—where is he? Where did he go?

Was your dream not actually a dream after all?

You’re shaking so hard when you force your way out of bed. Nearly toppling over your own two feet as you stumble out of the bedroom. The door’s cracked open, but there aren’t any lights on, where is he, where the fuck is he?!

Another step, round the corner, and suddenly you smack face first into something hard. A soft oof reaches your ears, and through the darkness and the veil of your tears, you can barely make out the two blue lights glowing at you from above.

“Whoa, careful! Sorry about that, almost didn’t see you there. What’re you doing up so late, baby?”

Your eyes are still blurry, no matter how many times you blink. But you can still see him, his hair messy from sleep, wearing nothing but a pair of old sweatpants. He offers a lazy smile, but it drops almost instantly when he sees the tears spilling down your burning cheeks.

“…Hey, what’s wrong?”

Maybe it’s the tender tone of his voice, the soft way he speaks those three simple words. Or maybe it’s the fact you can see his eyes dim ever so slightly, signaling he’s turned off his technique for the moment. Or maybe it’s just knowing that he’s here, still alive and breathing and in one fucking piece, that makes you lose control. (Not that you had very much to begin with, but still.)

He visibly jolts at the shrill wail that rips from your throat, his whole body rigid as you throw yourself against his chest. Tiny arms wrapped around his waist, nails digging into his muscular back. Almost as though you’re scared he’ll disappear, anchoring him to you with every bit of strength you have.

What does he do? You’re obviously in distress, but why? He’d just left to get a glass of water, he’d been gone for less than five minutes! And now you’re blubbering like a child into his bare chest, sobbing so loudly he’s surprised none of your neighbors have come banging on your door.

“Baby, come on,” he tries, but the pet name only seems to make you cry harder. He winces before taking hold of both your shoulders. He doesn’t bother trying to pry you away; no need to make you even more upset. “You gotta tell me what’s wrong. I can’t help you if I don’t know.”

Damn it, everything he’s saying is just making it worse. He hates seeing you cry like this. So tiny and frail, curling into his chest, incoherent words and noises spilling from your lips. You won’t answer him or let go of his body, no matter how many times he tries to convince you.

Does he just ride it out and let you finish? What if you pass out? Will you still remember any of this by the time you wake up tomorrow? Was it something he said earlier that made you this upset? He wracks his brain, trying to see if any of his earlier teasing struck a nerve within you. He doesn’t recall saying anything that could prompt this kind of reaction out of you…

Then again, what could? You’re his girl, his other half (as he’s quick to remind you and everyone else within earshot). Strong but soft, a capable sorcerer climbing the ranks with ease. You have an unshakeable character, sticking true to your values and morals no matter what. It’s one of the reasons why he fell in love with you in the first place. Not just anything could resort you to a crying, trembling mess in his arms.

He sucks in a deep breath and tries again. “Come on, tell me what’s wrong. I promise I’ll make it all better, I swear!”

And he’s just about to bribe you with some of the sweets he’s stashed away in the kitchen when you lift your head from his chest. Cheeks hot and tearstained, and yet you’re still so beautiful.

“S-sorry,” you barely manage to choke out. Your throat’s practically on fire, and you can already feel a monster of a headache coming on. “I…I had…”

He doesn’t say anything. He simply wipes your tears away with his thumb, waiting patiently for you to finish.

“…I had a bad dream…”

It sounds so fucking childish when you say it out loud. Should’ve just kept your mouth shut, gone back to bed once you saw he was okay. What do you expect he’ll do about it, huh? Not like he can erase your bad memories, no matter how strong he might be.

But that hole in your chest is still there, even after all that crying—

And you can’t help it anymore. You press your palms to your face, desperately trying to rid your fact of all those tears. Wanting to save at least some of your dignity before the night’s over.

A pair of warm hands close over your wrists, his touch surprisingly gentle as he pulls your hands away. Exposing your teary, blubbering face to those beautiful blue eyes. The mere thought makes you want to cry all over again.

“C’mon now, you’re too pretty to cry like that.” The corner of his mouth is quirked up in a smile, his messy hair hanging over his eyes as he tilts his head to meet your gaze. He catches another tear on his thumb, making sure to wipe it away before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I don’t like seeing you all upset like that.”

“B-but”—oh fuck, here you go again—“you were…you were dead!”

You can still remember everything so clearly. The blood trickling from his mouth. The glazed look in those dull eyes. How fucking fast it all seemed to happen. One moment he was fine, breathing and smiling as usual, and the next he was staring up at the sky. You didn’t even hear his body drop to the ground.

So much blood, it’s not supposed to be out of your body like that, why couldn’t I save you, why couldn’t—

“I’m sorry!” you blurt out, even as he takes you in his arms and pulls you against his chest. “I wasn’t enough to save you! You were dead and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it!”

You don’t even know what you’re saying at this point, but for whatever reason, talking about this seems to help. Your chest feels a bit lighter than it did before, even if your heart’s as heavy as a stone.

“You’re not supposed to die! And I know that’s stupid of me to say, everyone dies at some point, but you always say you’re the strongest! No one can hurt you, even if they tried! So why—”

Your voice catches in your throat, tears still streaming down your face. He still holds you close, one arm around your waist, his other hand resting on the back of your head.

“…Why did you leave me? You said you’d never leave me, no matter what! But you did—and I let it happen—I’m so fucking sorry, Satoru, I just—”

You’re running out of steam, you can feel it in your bones. Too exhausted to cry anymore, probably too burnt out to even walk back to your room. But before you can even try he’s lifting your face in his hands, tracing your swollen lips with his thumb.

Smirking down at you like there’s nothing wrong in the world.

“Why are you sorry, sweets? If anything, I should be the one saying sorry. Sorry that dream version of me was such a cheap imitation.” He rolls his eyes with a scoff. “Like I’d let myself get killed like that.”

“S-Satoru, I’m serious!”

“And so am I.” And you can see it in his face—the way his eyes practically burn into yours, his mouth set in a tight line, his jaw clenched even when he forces out the words. “I said I’d never leave you, right?”

You sniffle out, “Y-yeah…”

“And I meant it. So no matter how many bad dreams you might have of me,” he curls his hands around your thighs and lifts you up effortlessly, securing your body against his chest, “just know that they’re dreams. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Slowly, he begins to carry you back to your room. Your arms find their way around his neck, fingers burying their way into his soft white hair. You’ll never get over how strong he is, how amazing he is—and how of all the people in the world, he chose to share the rest of his life with you.

Not strong enough to save himself from dying.

Your throat fills with bile at the thought, even as he settles you back down against the mattress. Back in the place where your nightmare occurred, where you saw his body and all that blood—

“Don’t leave me!”

“Baby, I wasn’t even planning on it.” Damn, this nightmare really messed with your head, huh? “I’m staying right here with you, alright?”

You won’t disappear on me again? You won’t leave me alone like you did in that dream, right?

He seems to see right through you, given the soft expressing in those dazzling blue eyes. “I promise, I won’t leave your side. Not tonight, not ever.”

It takes a few moments for the two of you to get situated in bed; Satoru ends up having to do most of the work, since your arms and legs are still trembling uncontrollably. But the second the blankets are back around you, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest. Long legs tangling with yours, his breath warm against the crown of your head.

Lips soft as they press a thousand kisses to your forehead.

“I don’t know what kind of curse you dreamt of, but if I ever came across something like it one of these days…” He leans down, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “…I’d win, hands down.”

“You’d better.” Your head’s pounding something fierce, every bone in your body screaming for some proper rest. And it starts to feel normal, being wrapped up in Satoru’s arms. “…Otherwise, I’d have to kick your ass.”

He lets out a laugh before nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. His long eyelashes tickle your skin, his lips sweet and warm when they finally find your own.

“I’m sure you would. Although, I’d never let that happen; I’ll make sure to win every single fight, I swear! Don’t wanna make my pretty girl worry about me.”

But you’re always going to worry about him. It’s in your blood, comes with the territory of keeping this relationship alive. And maybe it’s stupid, maybe he is strong enough to never have to worry about himself in a fight. But there’s always going to be that part of you that wonders if he’s going to make it home tonight.

You tilt your head, eager to taste his lips again. Like your life depends on it, and the thought makes him smirk.

“Aww, can’t get enough of me, sweets?”

“…Shut up.”

But he knows he’s right. And you know he’s right. Doesn’t mean you have to say it out loud, though.

“You know I meant it, right?” Suddenly he’s holding your face again, brushing his nose against your own. His voice strangely soft as he leans in close, warm breath ghosting over your face. “’M not leaving you. Never, ever, ever!”

That gets a smile out of you. Weak and pitiful, but a smile nonetheless. At least he’s earnest. At the end of the day, he means well when it comes to you.

“I know you won’t. …So thank you.” You return his hug, sneaking your hand between your bodies and pressing it against his chest. Your throat growing tight when you feel the familiar b-bmp of his heart against your trembling palm. “Thank you for staying with me.”

There’s that tiny voice in the back of your head, urging you not to listen to such pointless promises. Knowing that deep down, neither of you can stop death when it comes knocking at your door. No matter how much power he possesses, even Satoru Gojo can’t resist death’s clutches when they finally sink their claws into him.

But there’s time for you to deal with all of that in the future. Right here, right now, he’s safe and sound in your arms. Messy white hair tickling your neck as he nibbles on the skin of your earlobe. Making you giggle as he brushes the rest of your tears away.

And thanking whatever deity may be listening above that you get to spend just one more night with him, wrapped up in his arms with his lips against your own.

#not even a manga reader i just check the leaks #and when i saw them my heart literally dropped in my chest #so i offer this ficlet as a way of coping #and praying that somehow he'll come back like he always does #started as a drabble and whoops 2k words later #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #jjk 236 #jjk 236 spoilers #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk fics

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squiffed-then-sozzled · 2 months

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I need someone to stage and intervention I can't stop making these

(Part 4)

#rvb #red vs blue #rvb simmons #rvb grif #rvb sarge #rvb donut #honestly forgot about Lopez he'll come later

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schmweed · 3 months

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#David Tennant #Alec Hardy #Ellie Miller #Broadchurch #my gifs #Aww! Look at her TINY but FOND baby smile at his sass #He's growing on her #I love how she just... ACCEPTS him. Yeah she'll express disbelief at his weirdness #but it's always only the first time she comes across it #then she accepts it fully and simply works not just to ignore it #but ACTIVELY completes him. Remember the scene with Finley's last day?#He forgets Finley's name AGAIN in the same conversation? She nearly rolls her eyes but quietly reminds him of the name with no judgment #All he manages for a colleague leaving is well-done or good job #She makes sure to give him sass and go 'He'll be overjoyed' but she doesn't rail or mock him.#In S3 she simply tells him she thinks he should apologize to Brian #but that's it. She doesn't berate him or go on about it later #She tells him to make a cup of tea and holds his gaze and he goes and makes it and that's it.#Even when she goes 'Every time' later she still drops it at once as soon as he has sth else to talk to her about.#How much do you want to bet that she is one of the first ppl Alec Hardy has met who just... ACCEPT him?#Fully and without reservation? Just as he is? Aww those two. <3

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malk1ns · 3 months

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1st sentence ask - "It's gameday so you better not knot me"

Zhenya blushes when he says it, but with the way Sid's been following him around all morning, from the weights room to video review and even into the trainer's despite Zhenya's protests, he thinks it needs to be said.

The team is already on tenterhooks, watching them like hawks—with Zhenya's heat approaching like a freight train and the way Sid's been haunting his footsteps, they're ready to pull the plug on the whole experiment if it looks like it's going to negatively impact the on-ice product, and Zhenya thinks both of them missing a game because Sid pinned him down and tied them together would definitely qualify.

"Hmm," Sid says, crowding into Zhenya's space; he's shorter, but the width of his body makes Zhenya feel small, even younger than he is, like he wants to curl up in the protective crush of Sid's arms and let Sid do whatever he wants.

Omega instincts are a real bitch, but Zhenya's made it to the NHL on nothing more than will and grit, and he's determined that he won't be.

Sid's voice is hypnotic when he puts his lips to Zhenya's year and murmurs, "I think you don't mean a word of that," and Zhenya shivers, because it's true.

first line ask game!

#sidgeno #hockey rpf #my writing #a/b/o #god damn it i wanted to keep going with this one #in this world sid is older and zhenya's in his first year in the league #and introducing an unbonded omega had started fights in the locker room #so sid offered to spend time with zhenya and see if they were bond-compatible #and BOY ARE THEY; the team is worried they're going to become a distraction to themselves #and zhenya's still young and worried he'll be shipped back to russia if he somehow interferes with pittsburgh's golden boy's game #but sid is very very persuasive when it comes to getting what he wants #anyway he coaxes zhenya into trying just the tip later #except it's not #and they miss the game #luckily mario has fond indulgent memories of his own sweet little european omega and puts a stop to any serious consequences #but they basically have to get married to make what's obviously happening less scandalous #and there's friction because zhenya doesn't KNOW sid and sid can be overbearing and is used to getting his way #but that just makes the sex even better #and secretly zhenya likes how possessive sid is even though he shouldn't #anyway. when i have time.

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hoofpeet · 1 year

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(X) Spice sees his buddy again and Ingo has the most confusing moment of his life

#hoof draws #replacement ingo au . old spice edition #<-Spice connects the dots and realizes that ingo never remembered where he came from b/c he was from the future #+ and that the fact he disappeared later must mean he'll be home again someday #and spice (who's waited a century for him to come home) just has to wait a little more #& in the meantime he'll be doing his best to take care of young ingo in very cryptic ways

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thelordofgifs · 11 months

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the fairest stars: post iv

Beren and Lúthien steal two Silmarils, more sons of Fëanor than anyone ever needed or wanted get involved, things go extremely sideways: you know the drill. You can find the first 18 parts of this bullet point fic on AO3 here, and parts 16-20 on tumblr here.

We're starting out part 21 with a timeskip!

One year after the fall of Himring, north Beleriand remains bitterly contested.

The East is overrun. In Barad Eithel's great war-room the map of Estolad is covered in black arrows stretching from Lothlann down to the Andram Wall.

Caranthir and Amras maintain a last stronghold on Amon Ereb, with the people of Himring who fled there after its fall; but Ossiriand, they fear, will only remain undefiled so long as Morgoth's attention does not turn towards it.

Their Eastern allies, too, are unimpressed. Bór and his young sons were all slain not long after Himring burned; the few of their people who escaped the orc-raids have joined themselves to Ulfang in Thargelion, but they are none too friendly to the Fëanorians these days.

"And Nelyo says I'm bad at making allies," Caranthir remarks.

[yeah he's in this now. damn it why will they not stay in their place.]

"I wouldn't say this is Nelyo's fault," Amras says quietly.

It is a debate held, in one form or the other, in every free kingdom in Beleriand.

But anyway, the East does not seem to be Morgoth's main concern for now.

It is Hithlum, Fingon is sure, where the next assault will come.

Hithlum, the realm of the High King of the Noldor; Hithlum, where he reigns who once humilated Morgoth so thoroughly; Hithlum, where Maedhros holds a Silmaril yet.

If the last true stronghold of the Noldor falls—

And he is facing plenty of internal pressure, too.

His lords – many of them survivors of the Grinding Ice, and arch-loyal followers of the House of Fingolfin – are less than impressed by the rumours that have reached them of the fall of Himring, and Maedhros' actions there.

Fingon has tried to quell the whispers as best as he can. But it is impossible to deny the fact that the attack took Himring by surprise because its patrols were cancelled on Maedhros' orders, or that Maedhros left the field as their position worsened.

The healers who treated Maglor's stab wound have not been quiet, either, about the fact that it was an elvish blade that caused the injury.

And some of those who were at Himring have heard that Maglor was found in a pool of his own blood with Maedhros, subdued too late, unconscious beside him—

If only they knew, Fingon thinks furiously, they would not cast sly aspersions on his judgement and his taste in friends. They would not stop talking of anything consequential when Maedhros drew near, as if he is not to be trusted with the secrets of the war.

Of course when he dares to suggest to Maedhros that this might bother him, Maedhros laughs and says, "Finno, do you think this the worst humiliation I have ever endured?"

So. There's not much Fingon can say to that.

His father was a diplomat, a politician, a builder of alliances. Fingon is not doing a very good job of living up to that legacy.

Thingol returned no response to the letter Fingon sent him, informing him of Curufin's disappearance.

In fact, Thingol is kind of just Done.

So the Noldor turned out to be faithless. What else is new?

Also he didn't really want Curufin's head anyway. Where would he even put it?

Fingon cannot give him what he truly wishes for: his daughter.

In Lúthien's absence old age has fallen upon him, who has lived unwithered for long Ages of the Stars since his birth at distant Cuiviénen.

Melian sings no longer. The people of Doriath, who have known little but peace and splendour since the Girdle was first raised, begin to wonder if their blessings have been withdrawn.

So it is a Menegroth much changed into which Beren and Lúthien walk, hand in hand, one afternoon.

Their return is met with both joy and some consternation. Youth comes back to Thingol at the touch of his daughter's hand; but Melian knows that she will never smile again.

Lúthien bears it all, the feasts of celebration at which none can look her in the eye, her father's overwhelming gladness and her mother's sorrow, the halls that ring yet with the memory of her grief, for exactly two weeks; then she announces that she and Beren are leaving.

"Daughter," Thingol protests, "you have only just returned to us – and soon—"

(Thingol does not know how he will ever handle the parting that is to come.)

"Will you not stay?" he asks. "This is your home."

Lúthien is not sure she knows what home means any more.

"I am sorry," she says, regretful but firm.

The next day finds her and Beren walking through Brethil, debating their next course of action – just as they did not so very long ago, when Celegorm and Curufin attacked them in the woods.

It is of that little skirmish that Beren is thinking now.

"They say Curufin is still out there somewhere," he argues. "It mightn't be safe—"

"I sang Morgoth himself to sleep," Lúthien cries, "and you think I can't take Curufin Fëanorion?"

"Tinúviel," Beren says, with a laugh, "I do not think there is anyone you can't take."

Lúthien allows herself to be placated.

"I am not suggesting we dwell alone in the wilderness," she says; "you made your earlier thoughts on that very clear. But I – I cannot go back to being Doriath's Princess, Beren, as if every part of me is not changed irretrievably since first you called my name, as if – as if you didn't die there, and—"

"Sweetheart," says Beren, kissing her forehead. "It wasn't permanent." And when she chokes out a little laugh through her tears, he goes on, "I know you do not wish to stay in Doriath. But we must choose somewhere – and somewhere safe. It seems as though the Enemy's reach has lengthened in the time we were, um, gone."

"I thought to go to Ossiriand," Lúthien says. "My kin the Green-elves still guard those lands."

"But only those lands," says Beren. "Estolad and Thargelion are overrun. The sons of Fëanor keep no watch upon the Eastmarch. If Morgoth were to learn that you dwelled there—"

"I'm not afraid," Lúthien says. "And even if I were – am I never to venture beyond the Girdle again, for fear of him? Is all my father's kingdom to be naught to me but a prison, as Hírilorn was? I cannot stand it – I will not."

Beren takes both her hands in his one and looks at her. "Tinúviel," he says, very seriously, "I will never cage you."

Oh, he knows her. What a wondrous, terrifying thing, to be understood so completely.

Perhaps Lúthien is still a little delirious with the rush of living once more, for she dips her head to capture Beren's mouth in a delighted kiss, and for a time they both forget all other matters.

Plucking strands of grass from her hair some time later, Beren says, "I have another idea."

"What! I thought I argued my case quite passionately," Lúthien teases.

"You said you thought of dwelling among your kin," says Beren. "What of going to mine, instead?" And, when Lúthien shoots him a puzzled look, "The House of Bëor is mostly ruined, but there are still remnants of my people who escaped Dorthonion ere its fall. Some of them dwell nearby, with the Haladin. And others went north to Dor-lómin – my little cousin Morwen is the lady of that land now."

"I do not wish to stay in Brethil," says Lúthien; "it is rather too close to Menegroth for my tastes. But the Land of Echoes, on the other hand..."

Her eyes are alight with that same fanciful gleam they used to get when Beren told her stories of the world outside the Girdle, of holy Tarn Aeluin and the dread Ered Gorgoroth alike.

You would think, Beren muses, that she would have had enough of adventure by now.

"I have," says Lúthien, catching his thought. "We are to live a very peaceful and retiring life. I insist on it! That is what I told Mandos we deserved. None shall dare assail us, in Dor-lómin." She rolls the name on her tongue as if trying to taste it.

"They call it so because of the terrible cry of Morgoth when Ungoliant assailed him," Beren tells her, "not for any sweeter music."

Lúthien laughs and flings her arms around him. Oh, his living body warm and solid against hers! It is a gift she does not intend to waste.

"Luckily," she says, "I am good at changing the melody."

Another conversation between lovers:

"Do you think it could be done?"

“I have already told you what I think.”

"But you haven't explained," Fingon persists, "you have only looked at me dolefully and proclaimed that it is not possible."

"Well, it is not," says Maedhros. He is lying curled in Fingon's arms, their ankles hooked together, and he is loath to disturb their contentment with arguing. Keeping his voice measured, he says, "If our strength were doubled I do not think it would be enough, Finno."

"The attack will come either way," Fingon says, also without much vigour. They have had this debate so many times now that it is become well-worn. "Why not meet it head on?"

"Because you have a defensible position here," Maedhros says patiently, "and a greater chance of holding than you do of storming the gates of Angband."

"My father did it," Fingon mutters.

"Your father died," Maedhros says, voice suddenly sharp.

Fingon looks at him. "Don't look so worried, beloved! I am quite turned off the idea of wasteful heroics these days."

"Then look to strengthening your defences," Maedhros says, "and drop this fool notion."

"But if we did try," says Fingon, "if we united all the Free Peoples under one banner, and marched on Angband together – think what we could achieve!"

His eyes are bright with hope. Maedhros hates to crush it, but crush it he must.

"Finno," he says, "the East is lost. My brothers do not have so strong a position in Amon Ereb that they can afford to march north to join in a war that could prove ruinous. Bór and his people are dead almost to a man. Belegost will no doubt have heard the rumours—"

Fingon glances at him sharply, but he speaks without bitterness. Which is concerning in itself, but Fingon decides to let it slide for now.

"—and there is little help to be expected from other corners," Maedhros continues. "Doriath has strength to spare, but Thingol hates you."

Fingon shifts uncomfortably. He never actually told Maedhros why Thingol hates him now.

"Nargothrond," he says, to change the subject. "Orodreth will answer to his High King."

"Orodreth!" says Maedhros, dismissively. “A king too ruled by the whims of his people. If he had any spine he would have turned my brothers out of Nargothrond immediately, and Finrod might have lived.”

If Fingon were crueller he might say, You didn't manage to control your brothers that well yourself. Instead he says, "But the people of Nargothrond are many and valiant. We should not discount them."

"If Nargothrond wishes to stay out of the wars of the north," says Maedhros, "I think it would be prudent to allow them to do so." There is a thoughtful, uneasy look in his grey eyes.

Fingon gauges it correctly and says, "Are you worried for your nephew?"

Maedhros looks at him unhappily. "Everyone in Beleriand knows what a mess – Curvo – made of – everything," he says.

(A year might have passed, but Maedhros still does not much like to speak of Curufin.)

"Tyelpë is safe in Nargothrond, where his father's deeds cannot taint him," Maedhros says. "I would keep him so." Then he shrugs. "But my opinion carries no weight now, beloved. Do as you will, and I will support you, for all that is worth."

"It carries weight with me," Fingon says fiercely. "And I am not ashamed to say so. But you have not yet heard the key element in my plan."

Maedhros smiles despite himself, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can keep his eyes focused on Fingon's face. The mass of his silken hair is pooled on Fingon's bare chest. "Go on, then," he says, indulgent.

"Gondolin," Fingon says triumphantly. "My brother took a third of our host with him when he disappeared, and yet more of the Sindar went with him. They have lived in peace for more than three hundred years; their numbers must be great."

Maedhros does not seem as delighted with this idea as Fingon is. "Finno, you don't know where Gondolin is."

"The Eagles bring them tidings, clearly," Fingon points out; "else they would have opened the leaguer and come to our aid when they saw the fires of the Dagor Bragollach on the horizon."

Maedhros frowns, attempting to parse this extremely backwards logic. Eventually, he says, "If Hithlum falls, Gondolin will be the last stronghold of the Noldor in the north. I do not know if its position should be risked."

"All war is risk, beloved," says Fingon, "and if I were to call upon my brother, Hithlum will not fall."

Maedhros says, as if he has been saving this blow for last, "Finno, if you call upon Turgon, will he even answer?"

It has been more than three hundred years, since Fingon last saw his brother.

“Do you think he won’t?” he asks, more sharply than he means to.

(Turgon didn’t tell him he was going. He didn’t tell anyone. He just – vanished.)

Sometimes Maedhros thinks things were easier during Maglor’s long convalescence, when his only concern was his brother, when every sleepless night was because Maglor needed someone to sit up with him and every meal was whatever invalid's food Maglor could be persuaded to choke down – when Fingon was his strength and steadiness, and Maedhros could yet wrap his blue cloak around him like armour.

Selfish – selfish. Maglor is better now, and Maedhros is so, so glad; and Fingon cannot always be his strength. Sometimes Maedhros must be his.

"I am sure he will," he says, contrite. He presses a kiss to Fingon's tense jawline. "I just don't think it wise to ask him."

Fingon sighs and puts his arms around Maedhros. "Fine," he concedes. "Perhaps you are right."

But later, when they have extricated themselves from their warm tangle of limbs and risen for the day, he sits down to write a letter.

A few days later the High King's messenger, having ridden swiftly along the Ered Wethrin and into Dor-lómin, nearly collides with a small child playing near the road.

"Be careful!" cries Lúthien, dropping Beren's hand and rushing forward to snatch the child up.

The messenger gapes at her, for it seems to him as though she has materialised out of the shadows themselves. Then, when he gets better look at her beauty, he gapes even more.

Lúthien is not paying attention. All her focus is on the little golden-haired creature in her arms. "That was nearly very dangerous for you, wasn't it, sweetheart?" she coos. "But you don't seem frightened at all. What's your name, dear one?"

The little girl giggles and hides her face in Lúthien's sleeve without answering.

Beren feels a little dizzy, looking at the picture that they make, and at the bright tender look on his wife's face. Someday, he tells himself, someday.

He looks around. The messenger has dismounted; it seems the great house up ahead is his destination. A house of lords, clearly, surrounded by gardens as lovely as any in the chilly northlands, and with a bubbling stream running just past its walls.

Well, here they are.

He is pondering what the etiquette is here – should they knock? wait here until someone spots them? – when he catches sight of a second child, a little older, dark-haired, watching them intently from around a tree-trunk.

"Good day, lad," Beren says gravely. "Might I ask your name, and those of your parents?"

The boy regards him with suspicion for a while, before he finally says, "I am Túrin son of Húrin, and that is my sister Lalaith."

(One little-appreciated consequence of the fall of Himring: for the last year, Morgoth's attention has been on the final desecration of the March of Maedhros. He did not have time to send the Evil Breath to Dor-lómin.)

"Lalaith!" Lúthien says, delighted. "What a fitting name."

"Then, son of Húrin," says Beren, "we have reached our destination indeed. Might you do me the honour of introducing us to your parents?"

Túrin looks unimpressed. "Who are you?" he asks.

"My name is Beren son of Barahir," says Beren, "and we are kinsmen, son of Morwen."

Túrin frowns even more. "How do you know my mother's name?" he demands. "And Beren is dead."

Kind of hard to argue with that.

Before Beren can come up with a suitable response there is a small noise from the direction of the house: the children's mother has come out to call them in for the evening meal. She stands so still she might be made of stone, were it not for the wind whipping up her dark hair behind her.

Beren finds his own mouth is very dry.

He buried Baragund his cousin, and avenged him; and he has not thought of his slaughtered companions for a long time.

(There's only so much survivor's guilt one person can have, and it is usually the screams of Finrod and his Ten that haunt Beren's nightmares.)

Morwen is not now the thirteen-year-old he remembers, her face sterner and more sorrowful, but somehow she is the image of her dead father.

"Hello, little cousin," he croaks out.

Morwen stares at him.

Lúthien comes to the rescue. "You must be the lady Morwen," she says warmly, setting Lalaith down so that she can drop into a graceful curtsey. Her Taliska is hesitant, but beautiful. (Everything about Lúthien is beautiful.) "Beren has told me so much of you. And your children are charming."

"Beren's dead," Morwen says at last, shakily. "And – you—"

"I was dead," says Beren, "but now I'm not. I don't know how to explain it, cousin, but—" He holds his hand out to her, letting the Ring of Barahir gleam green upon his finger in the setting sun. "It really is me."

Morwen makes another small sound, swaying where she stands. Her hand rests on her son's dark head as though he is the only thing keeping her upright.

"Mother?" Túrin says nervously.

Before things can get any more awkward the lord of the house comes out to seek his family, perhaps wondering what is taking them so long. "Morwen," he says quietly, seeing her stiff posture.

But Morwen takes a breath. "We have guests, Húrin," she says, composed again. "This is my kinsman Beren Erchamion, and his – and his wife, the Princess of Doriath."

Lúthien turns her dazzling smile on Húrin. "A pleasure to meet you," she says gaily. "But call me rather the Lady of Dorthonion."

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #the fairest stars #beren #luthien #fingon #maedhros #russingon #here we gooo!!#very excited for where we're going with this arc #this thing definitely needs more editing but I lost patience so have it now #say hi to a bunch of new characters (more are coming later too)#and a new set of political problems #also guess who DOESN'T appear here for the first time in 21 parts I'm as shocked as you are #(he'll be back next time dw)#also nobody died or got stabbed or had a breakdown or got nearly executed or like. even stubbed their toe here so BE GRATEFUL

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teatitty · 18 days

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Lambert, casually: We should fuck

Aiden: WE SHOULD (❤️ ω ❤️)

Lambert: Nevermind you're way too excited

#the witcher books #lambden #cue aiden seething in his mirror later going all #'you IDIOT you had it laid out for you RIGHT THERE how could you FUCK IT UP LIKE THAT'#look lambert just got spooked by the enthusiasm a bit but he'll come around again

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terrovaniadorm · 6 months

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I'm finally finishing my Fableheart ocs!! Enjoy one of two RSA merfolk :)

Name: Maristela Undine

Nicknames: Mari, Stellie (Nabi), Fishcakes (Agapi, @/windbornearchon), Fish girl (Odette), Miss Maristela (Reina, @/starry-night-rose)

Age: 16

Birthday: April 7

Height: 154cm

Species: Betta Mermaid

Family: Parents

Homeland: Coral Sea

Twisted from: Meeshell Mermaid

Class: 1-A

Dorm: Fableheart (@windbornearchon)

Occupation: Student

Club: Music club

Best Subject: Music

Dominant hand: Right

Favorite Food: Seaweed and Salad

Likes: Singing, swimming, watching the sunset, helping people, making jewelry

Dislikes: Human legs, storms, fires

Talents: Singing

Hobby: Collecting seashells

Personality: Maristela is a kind and gentle soul, she never thinks badly of anyone. An hopeless romantic with a big heart she struggles talking with people, too shy to approach people unless she's approached first. She can be kind of a doormat, especially because she's not very well versed with land people. A little unsure when it comes to humans.

Unique Magic: Aquartifact miracles

Maristela can manipulate water, specifically temporarily solidify it to make objects. It can't be bigger than she is.

Trivia

- Maristela's father is a human but he accepted to live with his wife down the sea, their love broke her mothers curse but it has been passed down to her.

- Her biggest dream is to become an idol, singing is her biggest hobby yet she's still a little shy when it comes to it

- Usually in RSA's pools and ponds as a mermaid, doesn't leave unless completely necessary (like class)

- Doesn't want to admit but has a mini crush on Nabi, her dorm leader

- Loves making jewelry from shells and coral, tries gifting them to people as a sign of friendship

📘 - What is Maristela's curse?

📖 - Maristela has to marry a human boy before the next eclipse, if she doesn't she's cursed to turn into air bubbles and be lost forever.

#I have another merfolk oc from RSA #Iykyk #But he'll come later! Now enjoy Maristela in her full glory #I'm slowly trying to adjust and upload some ocs i didn't before so except some posts lol #Twisted wonderland #Twisted wonderland oc #Twst oc #Twst #Maristela Undine #Fableheart #My art #Oc bios

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vampire-lord-garfield · 8 months

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I KNOW YA'LL DON'T SHIP SEBARD BUT PLS JUST HEAR ME OUT! Imagine servants greeting Ciel and Seb post Compania ark. And Seb is just covered in human bites (weird dolls) and has a massive fuck0you wound in the middle of his torso. Like even in canon he was pretty fucked up by that scythe and i headcanon that his body can't do it's usual demon healing magic on that wound. All energy goes in keeping him alive, so his injuries heal at human speed. So when they finally arrive at the manor who else then a army veteran wound treat his wounds. (You can't tell me Seb would allow human doctor look at his weird otherworldly anatomy, especially when you can see his freaking insides...). Imagine how triggering that would be to Bard. His mind would probably be on autopilot until he was finished. And then flashbacks to both war and his family dying. And like he thought of Sebastian as a "superhuman", a constant. Seeing him injured and in need of HIS help is verging on uncanny valley... (Also he saw this dude literally eat bullets. It would be kinda scary to think what was at sea that would fuck up Seb so badly... With human teeth no less.). --- Seb probably hasn't been so close to his own mortality in a long time so the whole experience doesn't sit right with him either... But even more weird is SOMEONE ELSE worrying ABOUT HIM. I like to think that he would be absolutely shit at comforting someone distressed about his wellbeing. Like his whole experience with that is comforting a bratty 12 years old and dealing with Ciel's nightmares. And here is a grown ass man with PTSD. He is so uniquely unprepared to deal with it. He tries his best, which is absolute worst, until Bard just asks him to shut up. And like he is probably not in a right mind either. He failed, he lost the fight, he got injured and then they basically run. And the whole "possibility of dying thing" is not a concept an immortals creature really thought about. He asks Bard to sleep at his room. Totally for Bard's sake. Not because of the latest events or because most demons don't like sleeping alone. Cause in hell that would just make you an easy target to others.

#im so normal about them #pls discuss this stuff with me #i know ya'll have better ships then #sebard #but like #idk i just really want to share my brain moss with you all #if you actually read the whole thing - thank you very much #i know that my english is shit but im trying #also if you come after me about bard's body on the pic. i legit think that after he gets acess to high quality food #+ add that he is regularly running around defending the manor - he'll sooner or later acquires a dad bod #injury #kuroshitsuji #black butler #sebastian michaelis #bard #baldroy #kuroshitsuji bard #black butler bard #angst #hurt/comfort #whump #can you tell im a sucker for angst?#and whump?#but only if there is comfort #i don't need the “no escape” stuff #i have real life for that #smoking #compania ark #kuroshitsuji book of atlantic #garf posts

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pocketramblr · 5 months

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5 headcanons for an AU where All might deflates in front of the crowd after defeating the sludge villain?

OOOOOOH now that's fun

1- it's quiet, for a moment, as everyone stares and tries to process what they just saw. Izuku, who saw the truth already, still is stunned for a second. And then he realizes everyone else sees too, and his feet move before he can think more about it.

2- Izuku needs everyone to stop looking at All Might as the crowd begins to murmur, shaking itself. Izuku knows that Kacchan is very good at being loud and the center of attention. So, 2+2=4, he gives Bakugou a little push into a hero and a civilian and let's that work out.

3- As the explosion begins, Izuku grabs All Might's hand and runs, down between two buildings that still smell like smoke and sewage. Mt Lady grows for crowd control, and sees where they go- but the look in their eyes makes her turn back to the crowd and block a few civilians from following. She pretends everything is normal, and she's an actress. If that really was All Might- and it had to be, she felt that power- he'll be grateful when she contacts his agency later to demand what happened. If it isn't, then she can point out that letting non-heroes follow a villainous impersonator of that power level would have been disastrous.

4- they go a few buildings further when All Might's feet drag and Izuku's burst of motion slows. He pants, and stops at the street. "Go one way, All Might, sir, I'll tell them you went the other way." He can still hear Kacchan shouting above the other voices, and Mt Lady arguing back, but they don't have a lot of time. "Yeah, no." Toshinori says, and drags Izuku instead into a store, heading for the clearance section and hats.

5- the good news is, most people had put their phones down at this point and weren't filming. The TV cameras had turned away to show the people cheering and the blond victim fine. The bad news is that some people still were filming, and the TV crew went back, catching sight of All Might's skinny back fleeing the scene as the crowd erupted. As Toshinori pays for a change of clothes for both him and Izuku, his phone starts to ring. He mutes it as they change and put on the hats. Izuku asks where they are running too, but Toshinori just goes two buildings down to a ramen shop and sits at a table. He points out that no is going to look for All Might at a restaurant a block from the crime scene, much less expect him to be casually eating there in an Endeavor hoodie and a ball cap. He thinks the bright orange FG jacket izuku is now wearing to hide his school uniform clashes horribly with the lilac beanie, but it works to make the few curls escaping to look less green. As they eat, Toshinori tells Izuku about OfA, and makes his offer. Izuku bursts into tears because he just ruined All Might's secret, revealed it to everyone, he doesn't deserve his quirk, and now that it's in the open All Might can pick someone else, the best choice. Toshinori disagrees, because all Izuku did was inspire him to save that other boy, which was more important. Izuku agrees to be his successor, numbers are exchanged, and after eating Toshinori walks him home just in case- but it seems Izuku wasn't identified, probably because Bakugou could only scream "Deku" when shoved, so Izuku gets a quiet night of pure stress to himself while Toshinori heads to ask Tsukauchi for a ride to Might Tower for a very loud and very long night of pure stress and demanding answers.

#that said. bakugou IS going to be Right Outside when Izuku leaves the next morning to demand answers.#and Izuku will apologize and say he just panicked because All Might needed help and then left when there wasn't a crowd to mob him #but like. bakugou knows Izuku isn't telling the truth. and Izuku knows he can't say ANYTHING or he'll end up saying EVERYTHING and all #anyone can talk about as school is All Might (at least they don't remember Bakugou dying in slime ten seconds prior ig)#and Bakugou can't corner Izuku for answers in school in public and suspects he can't force them out with explosions but maybe threats will #work. so izuku skips at the very end of the day so he can't be cornered twenty minutes later and so he can get a head start running to meet #Toshinori who. you know. has maybe slept two hours at the most since they last met #well. good luck to everyone there!#pocket talks to people #anon #ask game #great ask keep them coming

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