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wordbunch · 2 years

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Winter Forest (Legolas x f!reader) > part 1

PART 2 HERE!!!

PART 3 HERE

a/n: here it is!! I’m really happy there are still people who’d want to read this, because I do want to write it, it’s been on my mind for a while. I hope you will enjoy it, and do let me know about it 😊 please try to be kind either way, this is just something from my imagination that I wanted to share with you! 😁🌿

warnings: none, it’s mostly just wholesome stuff!

SUMMARY: [Y/N], Lord Elrond’s daughter, and sort of a wild-card, and prince Legolas form a close friendship from their earliest childhoods. This story follows significant moments between them and how their relationship progresses over time. This part happens pre-Fellowship. Slow-ish burn, friends-to-lovers, mutual pining.

O N E

(a/n: let’s say their ages are somewhere between 5 and 9, in human years)

When Lord Elrond had meetings and duties to attend to, which was quite often, [Y/N] knew better than to disturb her father, or any of his esteemed guests. However, that meant hours upon hours of alone time, which could be quite monotonous for an elven child who was just bursting with energy.

Her sister Arwen was a much more peaceful girl, while [Y/N] was always looking for an adventure to engage in. Of course she did enjoy spending time with her sister as well, but she craved someone with more of a wild streak to keep up with her. Thankfully, a very tall elf with very long blond hair, who often had meetings with her Ada, had a son around her age, so she did not have to die of boredom. Or almost die from some unsupervised activity she recklessly chose for the day.

“Your Ada allows you to have a bow?” she gasped as Legolas, the son of the very tall intimidating guest of her father’s revealed his secret weapon. “I am still not allowed into our armory… because of a little accident,” her voice dropped conspiratorially, immediately catching all of Legolas’ attention. She was extremely interesting to him, albeit just a little odd. Legolas liked odd.

“I may own one, but it is a very small bow. The arrows are not even, sharp, look” Legolas proclaimed as he pulled out an arrow to show to [Y/N]. Her mouth was agape in wonder as she carefully touched the tip with her small finger. “What was your armory accident about?�� now Legolas was the one whispering, as if afraid of their little secrets being discovered.

“I really like it,” the elven girl admitted, “I wish I had one. Now, why should I share my secret with you?” she teased, sticking her tongue out.

“I don’t know, maybe I know someone who could provide you with a bow, just like this, for you,” Legolas smirked, feeling all high and mighty. [Y/N] all but gasped in surprise and unexpected joy. Her expressiveness and energy drew Legolas to want to be around her all the time. The ideas she had were always fun, and time passed by much faster when they spent it together while their fathers had their boring meetings. Her hair was never tame like his, and she talked loudly sometimes, but she was just… warm.

“I’m afraid my Ada would find that bow really quickly, sadly,” she sighed, her small shoulders slumping in newly felt defeat. “He always finds out everything,” she muttered. Legolas nodded in understanding. “However… I was wondering,” she continued hesitantly, weighing her words for a moment, “if you could show me how to use your bow?”

[Y/N] was swinging her legs over the edge of a little wooden bridge they were sitting on, to calm her nerves, but she gathered the courage to look up into Legolas’ eyes.

She smells pretty, he thought. Like a forest in winter.

“If you’d like, I can show you my collection of really pretty rocks,” she offered in return, attempting her best charming smile, “you can even pick one as a gift. I think they are all very unique.”

“Really?” Legolas grinned, not even needing a moment to consider the counter-offer. As a little elven-prince, he greatly enjoyed pretty things from nature. Especially tokens from girls who smell pretty and have enchanting laughter.

“Of course,” she nodded excitedly, a lock of hair falling over her eyes. She giggled, got up as quickly as possible, eager to start her very first archery lesson with a rather charming and interesting elvish prince. She outstretched her hand towards the blond elf to get him up too – she was in a bit of a hurry, after all.

At that moment, Legolas decided he trusted her.

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T W O

(a/n: here they’re a bit older children, but still children. would be around 10-13 years in human years)

“Have you ever kissed anybody?” [Y/N] inquired with ever-present curiosity in her eyes. Legolas almost stopped dead in his tracks. The two were wandering around the gardens of Thranduil’s palace, looking for the tallest tree to climb. As time passed, they grew practically inseparable - it was difficult to tell which one of them lived in Rivendell and which in Mirkwood; both of them spent a lot of time in both places.

“Uh- I- where did you get that?” Legolas stuttered, slightly afraid of meeting her eyes. “And no, I have not.”

“Me neither, [Y/N] exhaled seemingly in relief. “And to answer your question, I have been reading about it in a novel I borrowed from Arwen.”

“Borrowed, or stole?” Legolas chuckled, having grown accustomed to [Y/N]’s ways and occasionally impulsive decisions. Many times she did not seem to be very alike to anyone in her family.

“Borrowed” [Y/N] gasped in mock hurt. “I much prefer stories of great adventures and majestic kingdoms, than of damsels that wait around for a prince to save them. If I had to wait around for someone, I would simply wither away over time.”

“Maybe sometimes it can be the prince who is saved at the end,” Legolas suggested, “or they both go on adventures together and end up saving each other. And the kingdom.”

“That would be grand, would it not?” [Y/N] allowed a soft smile to grace her features and her eyes met Legolas’ for just a moment. “An adventure, turned into a love story that defeats all the odds, and is a sign of hope in turbulent times.”

Sometimes, though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, Legolas thought about exploring Middle-earth with [Y/N], discovering all the beauties as well as dangers. Having each other’s back through it all. Hopefully, he thought, soon they would both be grown enough and skilled enough to go off on their own. Maybe a small part of him wanted her just for himself someday. Without their fathers, tutors, and any other elf getting in the way.

“So, what do you think?” [Y/N]’s voice brought him back to reality.

“I was... I apologize, my mind was elsewhere. You asked me something?” the blond elf confessed, simultaneously hoping that [Y/N] could and could not read his mind.

“Do you think this tree is good enough? Shall we go and climb and see the view?”

“As you wish,” Legolas concluded and then inhaled sharply in a moment of unbelievable courage. “Do you want me to kiss you?” As soon as he blurted it out, he couldn’t believe his own ears.

Now it was [Y/N]’s turn to be taken aback, but within a heartbeat the soft smile on her face only widened.

“I suppose we could see what it is like.”

Legolas fidgeted with his hands, completely unsure where to go with them as [Y/N] began to lean closer into his face, her comforting scent enveloping him completely. He was just about to fully close his eyes when the girl gently bit the tip of his nose and burst into fits of laughter before taking off running towards the enormous tree that she had spotted earlier. Legolas felt his cheeks burning as he touched his nose with his fingertips, but a smile curved on his lips nevertheless. He ran off after [Y/N] in order to try and catch up with her, and somehow pay her back for her little trick. Her joyful laughter still rang in his ears – he enjoyed all sorts of elvish music, yet he found himself preferring that happy sound over anything in Middle-earth.

And not only that; he couldn’t stop thinking of how she had basically clouded his senses just by being in such a close proximity. She is really something else, Legolas thought to himself. A grand adventure.

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T H R E E

(a/n: late teenage years, perhaps? completely up to your own interpretation!)

[Y/N] winced as she fell to the ground with a thud, her right ankle twisting in an uncomfortable way. The horse she had been riding was running away swiftly, from dangers unknown to her. She heard no alarming noises, nor did she see anything threatening nearby, so she started slowly dusting herself off, still sitting on the ground, a bit scared to get up since a sharp pain started developing in her ankle. An attempt to get up was followed by another wince of pain, but she managed to get back on her feet, leaning all her weight on the healthy leg. Just as she was about to try and put some weight on the injured leg, the silence was cut through by an all too familiar voice.

“[Y/N]?! what happened?” Legolas approached her from behind, his steps hurried, but quiet. He swiftly offered her his shoulder as support, and the girl gratefully leaned against him.

“I took Eretor for a little ride,” she explained with seemingly no concern. Feigning nonchalance was probably the best way to go and not concern Legolas too much; she was well-aware of his protectiveness over her.

“The wildest, possibly most dangerous horse in the realm?” Legolas continued inquiring, blue eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and worry.

“He was just...calling out to me,” the girl muttered.

“Well, that is so surprising,” Legolas chuckled, trying to conceal his concern over [Y/N]’s obvious injury. “I wonder if anything normal is ever going to call out to you, not just things that are deadly.”

[Y/N] wanted to glare at him, but she was interrupted by searing pain that sliced through her ankle, causing the blond elf to immediately stop pretending he wasn’t also putting on a careless façade.

“Are you alright? Can you walk?” he asked, looking her up and down. Before she managed to answer, she was easily picked up into his embrace, her arm still slung across his shoulders. When it came to this particular girl, he was overprotective to the bone, while, for [Y/N], breathing in the familiar scent seemed to soothe some of the pain right away as she allowed herself to relax a little bit.

“Lucky me, being carried all the way back by the prince,” [Y/N] joked, drawing out a smile from Legolas’ soft lips. “Any elven lady would kill to be in my position right now.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, “Yet you seem to be the only one always getting my warmest affections.” It was completely true. Wherever [Y/N] went, Legolas followed, and the other way round, and they had been looking out for each other ever since they were barely able to walk and hold a simple conversation.

“Your horse adventure could have ended in a much worse manner, you are aware of that?” Legolas asked, his demeanor becoming slightly more serious once again.

“But it did not, I am alright,” she looked down at her already swollen ankle, but squeezed Legolas’ shoulder to reassure him. “It is nothing but a minor injury. It will heal practically overnight, and you appeared just at the perfect time.”

“If you say so,” Legolas exhaled. His mind couldn’t stop replaying all the possible bad scenarios, but on the other hand he found it enjoyable to carry [Y/N] and have her pressed flush against his body.

It made him feel like her protector, and he realized that her safety was one of his priorities. Of course, he was more than aware she could look after herself, but it made him feel better if he could contribute to it in any capacity. Silence fell on the two elves, as Legolas inhaled [Y/N]’s comforting scent - like a forest in winter, he always described it to himself. It made him crack a small smile when he looked down at the girl curled up against him and surprisingly peaceful, for a change. Maybe, just maybe, the comfort he found in her, she also found in him. He allowed himself to think so, as he tried to memorize the feeling of warmth and the shape of [Y/N]’s frame against him. It was so real.

“Next time,” Legolas began, after some moments of silence, “please choose another horse. Or at least a decent horse-riding partner.”

“Perhaps you?” [Y/N] quipped, looking up at him with a little smirk on her playful face. She swore she could see a light blush creep up on his usually pale cheeks. “I know that is what you meant.”

“Well,” he feigned perfect composure as his mind swarmed with possibilities, “that would not be the first time we did something questionable together. One of these days, Lord Elrond will make me pay for all the times I could have looked out for you more carefully.”

“He would not! I am nobody’s responsibility but my own… and sometimes, perhaps, I am my father’s problem,” she tried making a mock-upset grimace, but it ended up in a smile.

“One might say that you have become my problem as well, over time,” Legolas raised his eyebrows teasingly at the girl in his arms. She could never be anything even slightly inconvenient to him.

“And you, mine,,” she poked fun at him in return, “yet I wouldn’t have it any other way.“

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F O U R

(a/n: young adults just before the fellowship)

[Y/N] was strolling through Mirkwood halls in order to return some things to the library, when Legolas practically stormed by her and disappeared in his chambers. She could sense the attitude even from behind closed doors, and she had a couple guesses what might have upset the elvish prince. Deciding to venture to the library later, she softly knocked on his door.

“Mellon-nin, it is I. May I come in?” she inquired carefully. Before she even had time to continue persuading Legolas to open the door, he already did it; a frown twisted on his face and his hair slightly disheveled, probably after he’d run his hands through it in frustration multiple times. So, [Y/N] found herself in Legolas’ personal quarters.

“What seems to be the matter?” she asked in a soft voice. Despite Legolas’ occasional stubbornness, she always knew how to get his guard down. Most often she was the only person able to do it at all.

“I have had a… rather unpleasant conversation with my father,” he huffed, plopping down on the huge bed. [Y/N] followed to sit beside him. “I would actually rather call it a lecture, than a conversation.”

“Continue, I am listening,” she urged him, but in a comforting voice, and proceeded to move a strand of perfectly blond hair out of his face and behind his ear.

“I am aware that I have royal duties and matters to attend to, but he just does not seem to grasp – we are not the same! I have this need to go out into nature, to venture onto unknown paths, find myself in unpredictable and exciting situations. That is who I am, not whom he wants me to be” he rambled on as [Y/N] listened and watched attentively. Wasn’t the first time she heard such complaints from the young and energetic elf.

“It would be vastly better if he’d just,” he sighed “just let me follow my own path, and then I would be more agreeable if I had not been feeling confined here, in this life, sometimes.”

“You know I understand you perfectly,” [Y/N] reassured him, “and I share many of those desires myself, but I also do have an understanding of your father’s ways. He just wants to look out for you as much as he can.”

“Whose side are you on?” Legolas quipped, feeling the tiniest sting of betrayal.

“Yours, my friend,” [Y/N] placed a hand on his shoulder, and the tension almost magically left his body. “your side is the only side I have ever been on, it seems to me,” she chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. Her effort wasn’t in vain – Legolas smiled warmly at her in return.

“Of course, forgive me,” he removed her hand from his shoulder and squeezed it in his for a moment. “I do not think there is need for me to explain the affinity I have for you as well.”

“Sit down on the floor in front of me,” [Y/N] nudged him, suddenly getting an idea. Without much questioning, Legolas obliged, and he was settled with his back leaning against [Y/N]’s legs. Wasting no time, she began brushing through his, still a bit tousled, hair, and Legolas’ breathing almost immediately grew calmer and deeper. There was no way he’d allow anybody else to do that – especially with him sitting on the ground – but [Y/N] always had and was always going to have special privileges. She felt like home and like comfort, but simultaneously an adventure. Like a winter forest – usually a familiar setting, but during the colder season slightly more unpredictable and challenging. But so wonderfully magical. Legolas got completely wrapped up in her presence and in his thoughts, as she quietly hummed an elvish tune from their earliest childhoods.

It seemed like it was just yesterday – the two of them chasing each other through forests and gardens of either Rivendell or Mirkwood, collecting stones, practicing any skill – from archery, to tracking, climbing trees… climbing together, falling together. There was no telling apart anymore where one of them ended and the other began – they seemed to forever be a package deal. Time flew by – responsibilities seemed to sneak up on them so suddenly, but both [Y/N] and Legolas were still rather young and restless (to dismay of both of their fathers), and neither of them was willing to give up spontaneous adventurous undertaking, still hoping for a great, unforgettable quest they would undertake together at some point.

[Y/N]’s gentle fingers were now busy weaving intricate braids in Legolas’ hair, and he allowed himself to close his eyes. His guard was down and he just wanted to enjoy this moment with [Y/N]; only that he feared if he spoke out about it, or gave a name to what he was feeling, the magic would dissipate.

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“My life is nothing but room for you,” I said. “It could never be filled by anyone but you.” (Kurt Vonnegut, “Mother Night”)

“You are sunlight through a window, which I stand in, warmed.” (Jessie Burton)

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#lotr #legolas #legolas x reader #lotr imagine #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings #the hobbit #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit fanfiction #lotr x reader #legolas imagine #rings of power #arwen #elrond #Thranduil #winterforest #from my pocketses

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theplottdump · 1 month

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Any tips for making a legacy, for lack of a better term, weirder? I've worked pretty much every occult possible into the family tree but I feel like I get too focused on just maintaining needs and normal daily family life for them, especially since I prefer to keep everyone more or less happy (i.e. no tragic early deaths). The most exciting things I've really done are turn one sim into a Global Superstar and marry off another one to the Grim Reaper, and sometimes I pause aging for a bit to spend more time on certain plots. Your legacy is obviously pretty wild so I wondered how you go about coming up with ideas like Michael Bublé Christmas Getaways and Charlie's Angels Spy Squads haha

This is a great question!! Let me see if I can dig up a good enough answer for it 😂

And I'll include pictures to break up the massive wall of text.

The reason Gens 1-3 are barely mentioned on here is because in reality there wasn't really anything interesting that happened in them. I wanted to hide away from the stress of a worldwide pandemic and watch my sims garden for a while. No real rules, just something to relax.

Gen 4 was a slight departure since I was getting a little tired of my sims doing the same thing over and over, and I decided to do the opposite and move them to a penthouse in the city as a refreshing change.

And as I started playing with more gameplay mods that added extra moodlets- the chance of hysterical death rose exponentially. My Gen 4 heir died when my Gen 5 heir, Hinoki was just a kid. So I decided to keep him around as a ghost while my Gen 3 heir worked on grinding out the ingredients for Ambrosia and Reed (Gen 4) continued to follow his political aspirations to become the first Ghost President of Simerica.

And this is where we find the nexus point of weird. And here's the biggest (not so secret) secret to it. The beginning of Gen 5 is when I started actually sharing my gameplay.

Not publicly, but with a small group of friends and simmers on a discord, like I've mentioned before here. Suddenly I wasn't just playing for myself, I was very slowly starting to play to make my friends laugh- to see how they reacted whenever I would leave little updates. And I found I really enjoyed that!

I started contriving little scenarios- what if Hinoki slept with her husband's band mate and had a secret child. And then someone would pop in and say she might have to run away for a while to Tartosa to have a baby. This independent toddler trait gives baby Val such a stink face- oh you should put him in a tiny leopard print robe to match. And it became this back and forth of - you know what would be funny?

I was started going off the rule from my friend @anotherplumbob that my first born would be the heir, so i had the fun task of figuring out how to get from point A to point B with Valerian, and what the hell point B even looked like.

We knew he was evil- he killed his dad as a toddler, and was just a full creep through his entire childhood- and so I started asking, what story do I want to tell my friends? I love romcoms, I love spy movies- what would be fun for me?

We're all influenced by our environments, the art, media, and music we consume, and that's all directly reflected into what we decide to put back out into the world.

And through exploring those characters, through playing the game, through my friends throwing the weirdest suggestions at me - what if he made a robot copy of his childhood Nanny? Okay, what mods can I use to reflect that in my gameplay? - What if he 3D printed a baby? - What if the Volcano gave them another baby? (this one is never happening shooby) - The whole thing spiraled out of control 😂

SO TDLR- How can you make your legacy weirder?

Find a community or even a couple trusted friends to bounce ideas off of. The amount of time I've spent conniving and scheming with @doctorsimcraft should honestly be studied. Write for yourself and like the 4 people you care most about. Enthusiasm is infectious. Find some good gameplay mods to add color to your gameplay- More Personality Please is an absolute game changer. Wicked Whims and Lumpinou's RPO are also fantastic additions if that's your style. Hopefully the game throws you some fun curveballs. Adversity and conflict breed interesting story - or something like that. Think about the types of stories that you would be excited to tell- really lean into your favorite tropes and themes. It's not a checklist, it's just like - I really love campy spies, I really love enemies to lovers - what do I do in game to make this happen. Find your story and let drive your gameplay- not the other way around. Or find a good balance and see what happens.

And to be honest I've very much lost that balance and fallen into a total rut of letting the story overtake the gameplay. So whenever I get too overwhelmed by my stupid large ambitions I just sit down and play and see where the game takes me.

I hope I can get back to not posing every single scene out for Gen 7 but I also love making poses, and breaking my game in every way to be able to tell the stories I want to!

It's why I'm so comically slow now. But I guess that just means we get to spend more time getting to know our characters, which I do genuinely enjoy.

I don't know if that was helpful or incredibly unhelpful- but it's what I got. Good luck! And above all have fun- in whatever shape that may take. (Hopefully it's a weird one)

xo, Anne

#mailbox #Anonymous

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stwaidwen · 8 months

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HIIII im new to this sideblog so i actually dont know ANY of ur ocs yet!!!! do u have a crash course for them pretty please

I should REALLY have an OC page oh my god. Absolutely tho! Putting it under a read more bc it's so hefty.

BG3

Serendipity, or Sera for short, is a tiefling druid about to turn 30 during the events of the game. In my setting, there's a hidden city in the desert outside of Faerûn called "Gate" which functions as the 0th circle of hell. Tieflings in this city are subjugated and oppressed by higher and more powerful devils. Sera's parents conspired for almost a decade to orchestrate their family's escape, and when she and her twin brother (Ty, short for Unity) were 15, Sera's family finally managed it. They have been functionally on the run through Faerûn ever since, alternating between living in the wilderness and stopping in large cities, where her father taught her the basics of druidic magic, being a druid himself. Sera and her brother are best friends, and for a significant part of their lives, were incredibly co-dependent. They would go everywhere together, and Ty went through a period when they were still living in Gate where he couldn't sleep unless they were sharing a bed. When they hit about 22, Ty had reached a point where his mother had imparted all her skills as a rogue, and as Ty's affinity lay more with ranger-focused abilities, he decided to leave home, and join the Harpers. Sera initially took the decision very badly, but came round to the idea, and she gave him one hell of a send-off. The space enabled both of them to grow and develop, and to discover who they were without the other. They remained incredibly close, writing to each other regularly and aiming to meet up once every couple of months. Sera's parents eventually moved to Waterdeep, because the large city held great opportunities for them, both as a diplomat and assassin respectively. Sera decided to stay in Baldur's Gate, in a small house-share in Rivington. She enjoyed her life there immensely, but the wilds continued to call to her, and when she got picked up by the Nautiloid, she was on her way to the Emerald Grove, eager to continue her druid training. Sera is autistic, wears her heart on her sleeve and has a very strong sense of self. She is confident, passionate, and makes a great effort to choose kindness wherever possible. She can also sometimes be very immature, after essentially having her childhood stolen from her. She relishes in causing mischief, has very little regard for authority and has absolutely no qualms about speaking her mind, even - or especially - when it is likely to cause trouble. Whilst on the run, her family evaded capture because they relied on the goodwill of strangers to not give them up, and as such, she values allies more than anything in the world, and considers turning on your allies to be the ultimate betrayal. After a somewhat rocky start, Astarion grows to love her deeply, even if her penchant for altruism gets on his nerves. She teaches him that world is not inherently cruel, and he teaches her that being selfish sometimes is okay. She eventually proposes to him and they are married under the full moon. Her main party is Gale, Shadowheart and Astarion.

(Dark Urge spoilers ahead)

Aviv is my Dark Urge Paladin. When she wakes up on the nautiloid with no memories, covered in scars she doesn't have any context for, Aviv is absolutely terrified. She focuses on getting off the ship, and greatly appreciates Lae'zel taking the lead. When she wakes up on the beach, still with nothing, she frantically searches her pack for something; anything. This is when she finds the written oath she swore as a Paladin. She recites it over and over, until she feels a little less alone. This becomes something she does regularly over the course of their adventures. It becomes something to cling to. A fraction of a life lost. When she does finally remember who she was, it went a little like this: Aviv was the head of the cult of Bhaal in Baldur's Gate. She was revered and worshipped, trusted with only the most secret of missions and marks. She also despised most of the ritual and ceremony, because she believed it childish, tacky and unnecessary to venerate her father, but Bhaal's followers needed performance. However, she was not a wholly willing participant. Bhaal's hold over her was incredibly strong, but wavered, and during these periods of clarity, Aviv would attempt escape. It was during one of these spells that she found her way to an order of Paladins and swore an oath of vengeance, so that she could at least attempt, on some level, to combat some of the evil she was putting into the world. She was also, during this time, tasked with infiltrating the high society of Baldur's Gate and spreading terror amongst its members with some very strategic murders. This is where she met Enver Gortash. Their attraction to each other was instant, though Aviv made him work hard to woo her. He came to accept that she would often disappear for a month or so, and then return. He did not ask for an explanation, and she did not offer one. He was furious after Orin attacked her and left her for dead, and elated when he discovered she still lived. When Aviv finally battles Orin in the temple of Bhaal, she rejects him, willingly accepting her death. But Jergal has other plans, and she rises anew, free of her father's chains. Aviv is mostly very gentle and soft spoken, and people often underestimate her, or outright dismiss her as an opponent because of her quiet demeanor. She uses this to her advantage, particularly in high society politics - Enver always affectionately referred to her as a viper - but this is largely a performance, and on the battlefield, she transforms into an unstoppable, unforgiving force. During Act I and Act II, her friendship with Gale develops into a romance and by the time the party reaches Moonrise Towers, they are hopelessly in love. Act III however, complicates things. Gale's desire to pursue godhood, and Aviv's past catching up to her at the speed of a freight train both put extraordinary tension on their blossoming relationship, and I still haven't decided if they will stay together or not. Her main party is Gale, Lae'zel and Karlach.

Pillars of Eternity

Shachar is an 70-year-old (about 35 in human years) elf rogue from Old Vailia, who sought to rebel against a tyrannical ruler that held her state under martial law. The rebellion was crushed and she barely escaped with her life, fleeing through Aedyr to the Dyrwood for safety. Initially she thinks becoming a Watcher is awful, and she spends half the first game desperate to cure herself and return to her old life, but by the end, she's much more at peace with herself. In the intervening five years between 1 and Deadfire, she's very happy at Caed Nua, and thrives as leader of the new settlement. She's sarcastic, happy-go-lucky, and does not suffer fools. She doesn't enjoy violence but will not hesitate to take life ruthlessly to ensure her and her friends' survival. Very early on, she develops a deep, romantic attraction towards Edér, but does not act on it, and does not tell anyone about it. Her best friend is Hiravias, as both of them have a very similar sense of humour and outlook. During Deadfire, she's even quicker to temper, furious with every God, and absolutely HATES boats. She very quickly makes an enemy of the Royal Deadfire Company, and Maia is only on her ship for a month or two before Shachar demands that she leave. She and Tekēhu form an intense bond, and in the moment they meet, are absolutely perfect for each other. They share a bed, and their burdens, and believe the other to be a soulmate, but are very content to go their separate ways at the end of the game, their time together and needing each other now at an end. It is only by watching her and Tekēhu together that Edér realises he's in love with Shachar, and upon hearing they have split up, makes his move on the way back to the Dyrwood. Her main party in game 1 is Aloth, Edér, Pallegina, Hiravias and Sagani, and game 2 is Aloth, Edér, Tekēhu and Xoti.

Ziva is a human priest of Eothas, who was a slave in the Deadfire Archipelago as a child and freed by the Children of the Dawnstar. She is VERY young, barely pushing 20 at the start of the first game, and really struggles with the expectation and pressure put upon her by becoming a Watcher. Edér steps into the role of big brother, which helps him heal from his conflict with his own older brother. Aloth as well, and Iselmyr especially, also step into a role as her protector, and by the end of the first game she has really grown into a confident young woman. She is deeply religious, and still takes time to pray to Eothas every day at dawn, even though it could get her killed. The second game is very complicated for her, and a lot of the confidence she found in the first game is stripped away, as she is essentially forced to go back to the place where she was enslaved. She finds a very close friend in Serafen, however, and he always finds ways to make her laugh. She is very quiet and soft spoken, is very squeamish and has a strong affinity for dogs. Her main party in game 1 is Aloth, Edér, Grieving Mother, Kana Rua and Sagani, and game 2 is Aloth, Edér, Serafen and Tekēhu.

D&D

(art by my fabulous bestie @glamfellens)

Nina Riordan is my current main character. She is a human artificer, homebrewed subclass, in her early 30s. In our setting, all magic use has to be registered and practiced with the permission of The Dimensional Eye (or just The Eye), including healing, which means many common folk could not afford those services. In the small town where Nina and her husband lived, she defied the eye by recreating magical healing with both science and herbal medicine, and this pissed a lot of people off. One day when she was collecting herbs in the woods, the Eye killed her husband and burned down her cottage and she's been on the run ever since. She made her way to a city called Fortune's Cove, where she ended up apprenticing under a famed artificer, Slim Chance the tiefling. After about two years, they had a very amicable parting (and keep in regular contact) whilst Nina moved on. She made her way to Okovo Bay, the biggest city in the region, and set up a small, free underground medical clinic in the poorest district of town, living off of donations and bartering for favours. We've just finished up the first arc of our campaign, and her clinic has grown into a small community centre and soup kitchen as well as a medical clinic, but Nina has drawn too much attention and now has to make the decision between taking a stand and systematically dismantling the Eye, or leaving the party and going on the run again. She's fiery, blunt, pragmatic, scarily intelligent and often very vindictive. At the moment she's at the start of a long, bloody path of vengeance that she has the arrogance to believe is not going to corrupt her, and will also not fix the aching void of grief inside her, no matter how much she hopes it will. Her greatest fear is that her husband is still alive, that the body she saw was not actually his, and that they will reunite but he will reject her. She would rather be dead than alive in a world where he is also alive but not with her.

Fallout New Vegas

Ari Schultz is a Jewish woman who is trying desperately to reconcile her faith in the face of being born into the post apocalypse. She believes firmly in the power of community and will not hesitate to remove anyone who threatens that, be it raiders, Legion slavers or Mr House himself. She helps as many people as she can in the wasteland, in return for a little food, a good story, and if possible, a place to sleep. She gets on really well with Veronica and Raul in particular, and her and Boone eventually start a romantic relationship, as Ari's explicitly Jewish outlook helps him overcome a lot of his guilt for Bitter Springs and forge a path forward, but this relationship is very slow burn, and takes about 3/4 of the game to come to fruition. Her chosen weapon is a baseball bat, and she takes great pleasure in bladdering people with it, and spends a lot of time maintenancing it. She's a fantastic cook, especially around a desert campfire, but doesn't really trust or use technology. She spares Benny, saves him from the Legion, and invites him to come and help her run the Strip post-game because she has no idea how to run a business, and they eventually become very close friends. She chooses the independent route and invites the Followers of the Apocalypse to set up inside the Strip in the old NCR base. She and Boone move into the Lucky 38, and she sets up a Synagogue in Freeside. Alas, I don't have any screenshots of her.

#my ocs #wow this was a lot of typing THANK U

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aesrot · 1 year

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🧸🪀🔔 for any character you fucking want. go wild my dearest <3

sorry for taking so long, tumblr deleted everything i wrote and i had to write it again :') also since you gave me the liberty to choose, i made two of these about riptide and one about bitb! heads up for spoilers, specially in the last one.

🧸hurt/comfort headcanon

since jay and gillion are so emotionally fucked up and traumatised, they have a reeeeally hard time figuring out their feelings and talking about them. talk through it is not something they understand. they are used to action and violence, not emotional support.

chip, on the other hand, had a better childhood (at least for as long as it lasted w the black rose pirates), he had people to talk to him when he was upset and who were there for him when he needed support. obviously he's still pretty fucked up bc of his own traumas, but i believe he's the one who's most likely to actually process his own feelings in a healthier way than the other two.

so, its slow and it doesnt always end well, but he tries his best to be patient and to show the others that they can be vulnerable around him. that he will listen to them, that they dont have to suppress it all, that they dont have to suck it up and deal with everything by themselves anymore. its not easy, but they're slowly opening up and healing.

🪀silly headcanon

not sure if silly or angsty, and i said this b4 i think, but i believe timothy rand knows how to bake. his only reason for learning that is because he wants to make edibles (or thats what he tells himself). so he'd often hang out in the kitchen with his mom to watch or maybe even help her cook when his dad wasnt around. but deep down thats a way for him to bond with his mom, because he doesnt know how else to approach her.

so, the silly part is that although rolan is the canon malewife and does all the cooking, he lets rand help him sometimes. rand, ofc, tries to sprinkle some weed in their food when rolan isnt looking, and even tries to create his own recipes with kians help (well, help is a strong word), which may or not go terribly wrong and end up w rolan scolding them and making them clean the entire kitchen.

🔔unpopular opinion

idk about unpopular, but i believe there's a chance niklaus isnt a villain. i know i was brainstorming with bee earlier (which btw she has some pretty fucking cool ideas, everyone should check it out), but hear me out.

ik niklaus has everything to be the bad guy: he knows everything, he's too powerful, keeps making shady deals, and his name is followed by dread. hell, he fits perfectly in the stereotype of 'villain wants powerful thing that he cant get it by himself, so he manipulates everyone to get it for him'.

BUT we know too little. theres some information there that we dont know yet, that we're missing. he could very much make a deal with the other bad and powerful guys (aka the navy or the elders or god knows who else is out there) but he's sticking to the people who are against those guys. idk, something about the deals he makes sound kinda desperate for me. obvsly he's too composed to show that when he talks, but i sense there's something that makes him worried, anxious, so he's always ready to intervene if the situation goes out of hand. and the whole thing with arlin? sus af imo.

maybe he is the bad guy. or maybe he has the knowledge of some greater thing thats still beyond our (and the crew) comprehension. so he can sense what things are leading up to and is pulling some strings to shift their destiny to do or avoid something specific. but we'll have to wait and see

#lua answers #aurora my beloved

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justkeepwalkingnothinghere · 1 year

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The Story of Castor Windchime!

I know no one is going to care about this, but I finally got Castor’s backstory done! From his childhood at Hexside, to the morning of A Lying Witch and a Warden! I’m gonna start outlining a full longfic after I get done with chapter 3 of my Raeda fic (which I should also outline, now that I think about it). The fic itself will carry off from this which I’m thinking of turning into a prologue chapter. Then maybe I’ll make a prologue spin off, who knows?

Have fun!

Paragraphs: 15 and a half.

Word count: 2619.

Our story begins at Hexside, many years ago…

Meet Castor Windchime! A student in the Illusions track, he is best friends with Eda, Lilith, and later, Raine. Castor always had a love and knack for storytelling since he was little, retelling to his parents the little adventures he would make up in his head. But to him, just telling a story wasn’t enough, which is why he found an interest in illusions and a curiosity for bard magic, both types of magic giving him the ability to get people immersed in his tales. Now Castor wouldn’t really call his life all too interesting, having a pretty standard life. Studying at home, getting good grades, even going to a couple after school writing clubs. But that doesn’t mean everything was good, Castor didn’t have much of a social life, only really having a few acquaintances in class and a burning hatred for Odalia, not unlike most students. Most days, he and a bunch of other people in the Illusions track were all looked down and picked on for their choice of magic. If anything, the distaste of illusion magic was worse in these days compared to Gus’s time. Most of the time though, Castor was alone. That is, until he met the Clawthornes.

Castor and Eda met one day when he was randomly picked to be her assistant in a prank. Much like everyone else in school, Castor commonly experienced and witnessed the pranks and schemes of this troublemaker who had made one hell of a name for herself. There were a lot of times he would see ginger hair and a yellow school uniform pass by somewhere in a blur. Eda’s latest idea required some illusions in order to work and judging by his light blue uniform, Eda felt Castor would be perfect for the job. He accepted, albeit reluctantly, not entirely sure if this was a good idea or if it would be worth it. Long story short, he had some of the most fun he ever had in his life while also getting along really well with Eda. The wild witch called him to action again a week later, introduced him to Lilith, and soon set the standard for how things would be for these three from here on out. Fast forward a month and suddenly they were all sitting at the same table during lunch, hanging out after school, and being study buddies in some cases. Castor finally had great people he could call friends. He could get used to this.

A few years later, around 7 months before the curse, the trio had been best friends for a long while, Castor and Eda having teamed up for over 300 pranks by now, oftentimes info dumping on each other about thing likes Grudgby or wild magic. Castor and Lilith were also really close, being a pair of history nerds who would commonly study together, with Castor always cheering on the sisters during Grudgby games. This is what normally happened each day, a fun time for all, until after Eda almost got expelled. Castor was the first to hear of Eda’s day at HECK and thus the first person to hear about her new friend, Raine Whispers. With a want to learn bard magic, Castor was ecstatic when he was told of Raine’s bard status, hoping to get some tips on the magic he’d been practicing and was really excited to meet them sometime. But what neither of them expected was for Raine to appear at their lunch table the very next day.

It wasn’t long before Castor and Lilith began to notice some sparks flying between the bard and wild witch. Lilith didn’t think much of it at first, but after a bit of convincing from Castor, she had to admit, they were quite cute together. Castor thought it was adorable, wanting nothing but happiness for the two if they did one day get together, but it did hurt quite a bit, too. You see, Castor had been holding onto some feelings of his own for the last couple of years. He started crushing on Eda only a few months into their relationship, but never let anyone else know that out of fear of making it weird, if he got rejected that is. From his point of view, that was more than likely. He wasn’t jealous per se of her and Raine being close, but rather kind of mad at himself for not telling her sooner. Nonetheless, he and Lilith would sometimes talk about Raeda’s pining (ship name coined by Lilith herself), with Darius often joining in. Eda and Raine’s crush on each other wasn’t lost on anyone but them, which led to Darius commonly getting annoyed by their pining.

In terms of their friendship, Castor and Raine were like two peas in a pod, not unlike him, Eda, and Lilith. The two had a lot of experience working together during Eda’s pranks when they got a bit more complex than before, and Castor’s skills in bard magic were getting better with Raine's teaching and guidance. Overall, Castor thought they were a sweet, cool kid. He could relate to them as well, what with both of them getting looked down upon for their choice of magic. He loved hanging out with them and Eda, he was as happy as can be. He thought nothing could mess this up. But then he started getting an all too familiar feeling. He was…crushing on someone else? To his surprise, he was. And it wasn’t just anyone, it was Raine. Yet, he was still crushing on Eda. Crap, he had a crush on both of them. This was not good. He found that his heart would flutter when around either of them. No no no, he couldn’t be crushing on two of his best friends!

Castor panicked for weeks over this, even ranting to Lilith in their hideout about not wanting to ruin the friendship. He felt that if he got rejected by either of them, especially now that Raeda was finally together (much to his joy), then hanging out with them would feel too weird for comfort, which is exactly what he wanted to avoid. When he eventually came to terms with it, the situation sounded much worse out loud. Unfortunately, he would forget one day that he would be taking a couple more lessons with Raine who would be bringing Eda along with, which led to all of his feelings being overheard by the two as Castor vented to Lilith again. As much as he didn’t want to do it, it was too late, and he awkwardly confessed to them right then and there. Just as he feared, things got a bit weird between the trio for a couple weeks afterward, but he didn’t outright get rejected, thankfully, they all just needed some time to figure out their feelings for each other.

Then one day, they all met up at the hideout, ready to talk. Eda went first, revealing that she too had a crush on Castor, said crush only coming back after his confession. Raine went next, their feelings for him having begun only weeks after meeting him, a full 2 months before Castor said a word. The illusionist himself went last, revealing the details of his feelings, before getting out a much better confession, silently praying to the Titan he wouldn’t get rejected, at least not badly. He awaited an answer, getting caught completely by surprise when the two witches standing before him grabbed both of his hands and gave him a warm, but awkward smile, a silent declaration that yes, they accept and are all willing to give the relationship a shot. Admittedly, Castor really couldn’t stop the dorky smile that appeared on his face at that moment.

Fast forward 2 and a half to three months later, things couldn’t be better. Castraeda (also coined by Lilith) are hopelessly in love with each other (already past the wonderful first kiss!), Faust had retired and made Bump the principal, Raine was top student in their bard classes, and tryouts for the Emperor’s Coven were just a week away. Oh right…Coven Tryouts. Eda’s curse was really taking a toll on her since that day. The day everything went wrong. Everyone was there for her. Her parents, Raine and Castor, even Darius and Bump. Raine and Castor were there at tryouts when it first happened, Castor having to hold Raine back from rushing in to save Eda before they got hurt by everything being thrown by the audience. Everyone did their part in helping Eda through it the first couple of months before she dropped out.

When she did, the whole school heard about it in no time, mostly due to the lack of pranks, traps, and her usual chaos. Some were thrilled, others missed her, others thought they’d be happy about it only for school to feel too quiet or calm without the air being accompanied by her chaotic laughing. Darius missed her, but would never actually admit it. Her lovers, on the other hand, were heartbroken. Sure, they’d see her after school and hang out, provided the curse wasn’t acting up, but school days just didn’t feel the same. They tried to come up with their own chaos, but it proved difficult without Eda, who was always the mastermind behind their plans. Both Clawthorne sisters were gone, with Lilith going through rigorous training and was probably a scout by now, and that left only Spellcastor and his darling Songbird. Even his palisman Munchkin, an orange mouse that he carved with Eda and Del a couple years before, was missing their talks with Owlbert.

Because of it all, Castraeda made the best of the following summer, having a blast to make up for some lost time. It even led to the discovery of their hill when Eda saw it in the distance once. They kept going back up there, marking it as the trio’s signature spot for dates and days on the town. Even years later, the three could remember the beauty of that hilltop almost exactly. The field of snapdragon flowers, the calm, crisp breeze, the wonderful view of town, the music they made echoing through the air and being carried by the wind. Sometimes, Castor swears he could hear the music, when there was nothing there. They even spent Eda’s birthday up there, giving her the mandolin that she would play for years to come, Raine already giving her lessons. Multiple escapes to the human realm took place, too, after Eda told them both about the portal.

Castor, Raine, Darius, and their acquaintances spent a few more years at Hexside before graduating, in which a few split up to pursue their dreams. Darius went into the Abomination Coven, Perry went on to become the BI’s top reporter, and Alador and Odalia formed Blight Industries. The polycule on the other hand didn’t really have any plans to jump into their futures just yet, instead opting to take things slow. Eda eventually began to restore her father’s old tower and move into the Owl House, Raine started picking up a few gigs around the isles and making a name for themself, and Castor took up making a few short stories that became fairly popular, but nothing too big to make him a household name. He stopped after a few years. They set off to do what they wanted to do, but weren’t in the market to do anything major for the time being.

Some years passed, about 11 or 12 years after they started dating, and Eda was beginning to act a bit strange. Castraeda’s love for one another kept growing by the day, but now Eda was growing distant. Skipping over some of the more painful bits (you know exactly what’s coming), things got rocky and Raine knew they had to end it with Eda. Castor on the other hand, was not willing to go through with it, loving them and Eda way too much to do it. Castor stayed behind at his home, not ready for it to end, as their favorite spot became plagued by the memory of the day Raine broke it off with Eda and joined the Bard Coven. Castor and Raine tried to make it work together, but with Raine joining the Coven, it was difficult to do so. Sadly, they both knew it was inevitable and split, leaving only Castor and Eda.

After Raine and Castor bid their adieu’s, Castor rushed over to the Owl House to comfort Eda, even staying there for over a week to keep her company and help around the house. It reminded them both of the many times the trio would help take care of each other when one of them was sick. You should know how this ends. As much as neither of them wanted to do it, with their futures in being wild witches entirely uncertain, it was time they separated as well, especially with both of them needing time and space to themselves to recover from losing Raine. Their goodbyes were long and hard, but they did make one promise to each other: That they were going to stay friends and keep in contact, making sure to call or say hi whenever either of them needed. Castor was determined to keep this promise, but a small part of him knew it wasn’t going to last long, as the trio officially went their separate ways.

10 years went by. And in that time, everyone’s lives changed. Raine was climbing up the ranks of the Bard Coven, Eda became the famous Owl Lady and public enemy number 1, and Castor became a well known supplier of potions and ingredients, delivering them all around the isles with the help of Munchkin. As you can imagine though, things weren’t all fine and dandy. The Emperor’s Coven was onto him, slowly figuring out his wild ways. Before long, his home was attacked and raided while he was out making deliveries. He made quick work of salvaging what he could, packing whatever he had left, and booked it for the Owl House, the one place he knew he could hide, at least for a while. That night was…weird, to say the least. Hooty was happy to see him again, Eda was overjoyed, but what really caught Castor’s attention was whatever the heck was napping on Eda’s couch.

Eda told him the whole story, apparently she adopted this King of Demons when she found him abandoned on an island a few years ago, and called him her roommate. King was weird around him at first, but gradually got used to his presence as Castor tried to work out what to do. It was actually Eda who suggested he move in, finding it pointless that he had already spent two weeks there and was still attempting to find a place to stay. He had all he needed right there at the Owl House. Plus, she could use some extra hands with King. Within a couple days, Castor set up his own space in the one extra room and was declared as Eda’s second roommate. Were things going to get weird with their romantic past? Absolutely. Were they ever going to address it? Nope. They were gonna stay strictly friends until they felt the time was right.

5 years passed, things were largely the same. King had gotten bigger, Lilith kept pestering Eda about joining the EC, Eda and Castor worked the human collectibles stand, and things were well. That is, until…

“And this…this’ll make good kindling.” “Excuse me, sorry, that’s mine, thank you!” Was that…a human?

(End ridiculously long backstory)

#toh #the owl house #toh oc #toh self insert #toh oc x canon #oc x canon #toh selfship #self ship #oc background #oc backstory #castor windchime #edalyn clawthorne #raine whispers #castraeda

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absolutepokemontrash · 3 years

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Hi! So, I absolutely love your series where the MC is the kid of Lucifer, and I was wondering if I could request that with Diavolo and Barbatos? •v•

:0 you definitely can! Right now I’m just doing Diavolo, but Barb’s will be up sometime soon!

MC is Half Demon and Oh Shit They’re Diavolo’s Kid-

Diavolo wasn’t exactly what one would expect of the prince of Hell, I mean, he was suppressing the urge to bounce in his seat from pure excitement. I mean, his exchange program was starting! Humans, demons, and angels, all together, his dream was coming true.

All that was left was for the student to arrive, the portal opened, and the human fell flat on their back. Oof, maybe Diavolo should have set up some kind of landing zone filled with pillows. No matter! The human was-

…

What peculiar eyes this human had…

Oh… oh dear…

Dad-volo

The MC was his child, no question about it. This was… very unexpected. Well, the entire assembly hall was completely quiet, and the kid looked like they were getting impatient.

“HEY! Mind telling me what the hell is going on?!”

After that, Diavolo launches into his explanation, also the explanation that he’s definitely this kid’s dad. Kid was not impressed, they tried to square up with Diavolo and Lucifer had never been more confused as to what to do.

Well, the moment MC sprouted wings and launched themselves at Diavolo, Dia caught them with one hand and continued speaking like nothing happened.

MC, please calm down… Diavolo didn’t know they existed, let him make it up to them! They’re going to stay at the Demon Lord’s Castle! Dia’s going to be a good dad!

“This feels like the plot to the world’s most messed up fairytale.” MC jammed their hands into their pockets and grumbled. “I get sucked into hell and find out I’m royalty there. Great.”

Diavolo managed to smile and awkwardly reach out to give them a pat on the head, then retracted his hand after the kid shot him a glare. “Well, it’s not a very traditional fairytale, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy your time here.”

“Mm, sure.” MC mumbled.

Okay, so his child wasn’t that enthusiastic about the exchange program, but Diavolo was sure they’d come around.

Dia tried everything he could possibly think of to get his kid to both like him and enjoy their time as an exchange student. A lot of things had… mixed results.

Also, legally recognizing MC as his child and legitimizing them caused a big stink amongst the nobles who were opposed to the exchange program to begin with. So MC then had to deal with a few assassins. Wonderful. Fantastic. Show stopping. Dia, be a good dad and comfort your angsty murder target- I MEAN preteen.

They do manage to build a good relationship fairly quickly despite their less than stellar first impressions, and Diavolo made them a promise that he knew he wouldn’t ever break: he would let them live as normal a childhood as possible.

This means that MC gets to do all the normal kid stuff that Diavolo wasn’t allowed to do. It honestly works out great for everyone. MC gets to live their life, Diavolo gets the satisfaction of knowing that his kid’s having fun, and Barbatos doesn’t need to worry about MC causing chaos in the castle.

Man… does this kid’s magic potential scare the shit out of everyone though…

Tired Uncle Lucifer

No. This has to be a violation of his worker rights. It cannot be legal for him to be this stressed.

He knew this exchange program was a bad idea. LUCIFER FUCKING KNEW IT. This kid was judging him. Why did he suddenly feel self conscious about every single one of his features? This child was picking him apart and they hadn’t even said anything!

He confiscated Asmo’s phone immediately, this was a matter of national security! Satan’s too! Beel as- oh shit Lucifer may have to give Beel the heimlich maneuver, then take his phone.

When all the brothers eventually got back to the HOL, they were greeted with Mammon getting shaken down by Levi.

“Lucifer! Ya won’t believe this! Levi- what’s wrong with you?” “The exchange student is Diavolo’s child.” “What..?” “*pops the cork off a bottle of Demonus* the exchange student’s Diavolo’s child.”

The worst part about this kid was that they took to the privileges of being royalty like a fish to water. MC went out and did whatever the fuck they wanted, and Lucifer needed to make sure a state of national emergency wasn’t called just because MC picked a fight at RAD.

It didn’t help that MC was just so unimpressed with Lucifer. Anytime Lucifer would tell them not to do something they would just raise their eyebrows and challenge his authority without saying a word.

What the fuck.jpg

The things he does for his prince boyfriend…

Cool Uncle Mammon

Huh, so this little pipsqueak is Lord Diavolo‘s kid? Hm, do ya think they’d let him into the royal treasury? No? Okay… lame.

Mammon then decides this kid would be just perfect for scamming people! Who is going to say no to the Crown Prince’s kid? A suicidal person, that’s who!

And the kid is… up for it? Wow, Mammon didn’t even have to grovel! Awesome!

It’s such a shame that Lucifer came in and promptly removed MC from Mammon’s presence. Tsk, killjoy…

Mammon and MC do get along swimmingly after MC stops angsting. Whenever they hang out it’s pure chaos.

And they would have gotten away with it too- wait, they do get away with it. Because who’s going to question the Crown Prince’s kid? >:)

Reclusive Uncle Leviathan

Levi was in the middle of throttling Mammon for his money back when Lucifer burst through the door looking like he had spent over 1000 Grimm on a gacha game only to not get the card he wanted.

And where was that human he said would be staying with them? Huh? The human’s HUH????!!!!

… wack. Maybe he shouldn’t have skipped out on that Student Council Meeting…

Either way, ew, new person he needed to talk to. NO THANKS. Well, no thanks until MC started to visit the HOL to hang out with Mammon. Of course those two normies decided to bug him. OF COURSE.

Levi finally snapped when MC loudly proclaimed that they could totally beat Levi in Mario Kart. Haha, NO. Levi challenged the little runt to a 1 v 1 race on Rainbow Road.

Kid lost. Obviously. Rainbow Road is rigged.

Honestly, kid’s alright. Still a total normie, but not completely terrible.

Cat Uncle Satan

Huh, a half human child of the soon to be demon king, how very interesting.

Oh, and just look at Lucifer’s face. :D priceless. Satan wished he was fast enough to get his DDD out to snap a picture, but he wasn’t able to…

But back to MC, oh how very intriguing. How much power do they have in comparison to Diavolo? Will using that power rip their fragile little body apart? Would they learn to control it? Satan was just dying to find out.

His feelings on the child themselves were mixed at best. They were clearly unhappy with the situation and Satan could sympathize, being thrust into a completely new world and then being told you can’t leave and are also royalty? That has to be hard. But this kid was still being an unreasonable little shit.

Satan continued to try and study MC from afar until the kid themselves walked right up to him and half demanded half pleaded for his help in studying for a test.

Not being one to avoid an opportunity to flex how smart he is, Satan agreed to help out. (Nerrrrd)

And honestly, it went well. When the kid wasn’t being a little shit, they were actually quite pleasant to be around.

Overly Affectionate Uncle Asmo

…wut

Listen, when Asmo asked Lucifer to pick a cute human, he didn’t mean cute as in CHILD.

This kid was DIAVOLO’S?! What lucky human had gotten to have the experience of [Jesus Fucking Christ, Asmo I’m not writing what he said for the sake of the nation]

Anyhoo~ little MC just made his heart go “SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE SO CUTE!” They were so cute Asmo could just eat them up!

But they were so mean! That scowl they always had on was going to give them wrinkles and ruin their perfectly cute face!

Sigh, oh well. He can’t manually rearrange people’s expressions. What he can do is take this child shopping. Poor Diavolo was constantly in his RAD uniform, this poor innocent baby shouldn’t have to suffer the same fate.

The kid continued to scowl at everything, but at the same time, their little quips were very entertaining. This little kid spitting verbal venom at anyone who displeased them reminded Asmo of someone… he just couldn’t place who, but they definitely had amazing hair and a cute face :3

Hungry Uncle Beel

Where’s the takeout- I mean human? What’s happening? …are all humans this small? Dang, that’s barely enough for a snack.

So the human’s not going to live with us because they’re not fully human and Diavolo’s kid? Huh. Wild. Anyway, what’s for dinner?

Beel’s not too invested in this drama, he misses Belphie too much to be that interested…

The kid’s weirdly interested in how cool and strong Beel is though. MC tails him to the gym pretty often.

Diavolo and Beel already being gym buddies send tweet-

Since this benevolent little shit likes Beel so much, they decided to take it upon themselves to help with the family drama.

Beel finds that very sweet 🥺

Murder sleepy Uncle Belphie

Oh man… if you thought Belphie was being unfair to L!MC due to their parentage… hoo boy…

When this kid waltzed up the attic steps like they ran the place, Belphie needed to hold himself back from trying to break down the door and throttle this kid.

Pff, of course Diavolo would have a half human kid. Of course.

…kid beat the shit out of him when he tried to kill them. We stan this MC.

After all is said and done, Belphie still isn’t overly fond of MC. They’re brash and rude and only funny 40% of the time. They don’t even like napping 😒

But Beel likes the little runt, so Belphie and MC put up with each other.

Bonus! Your Angelic Uncle Simeon’s Chihuahua

:0 friend!

MC: *speaks*

>:0 not friend! Begone! *throws crucifix*

#obey me #obey me!#obey me! shall we date?#obey me shall we date #obey me mc #Obey me Headcanons #obey me! headcanons #obey me Diavolo #Obey me Lucifer #Obey me Mammon #Obey me Leviathan #Obey me Satan #Obey me Asmodeus #Obey me Beelzebub #Obey me Belphegor

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your-daily-biaswrecking · 3 years

Note

I dunno if it's too late to make requests (and u can ignore this message if it is) but I have this idea that I'm completely incapable of writing, I was hoping for maybe..some kind of fantasy scenario where human reader meets fae or siren Taehyung once while they were both children and, maybe they kinda pinky promise to marry one another, only for her to have forgotten about the whole ordeal with time, maybe assuming it was all just her imagination, and years later into her adulthood he comes back, having never forgotten the reader? You can change this however you see fit in order to make it more your style, and smut isnt necessary of you don't want to add it in..😅 💕

You had heard about the stories. Heard about him. Perhaps that’s why you walked into the woods so late at night, with a full moon lighting your way. To see if they were true, or because you already believed them and wanted to see him. The woods, however, were empty and what an unsuspecting fellow would call normal. Undismayed, you sat by the big Oak tree until you felt your eyelids be weighed down from the weariness. For you were only eight and the night was growing older than you. From that point on, you were not sure if you dreamt of the boy or if he shook you awake, but you remembered the interaction like it was yesterday.

“You’re waiting for me.” Not a question but you still took it as one.

“No, I’m waiting for the fairy.”

The boy chuckled. He laid down next to you, eyes sparkling in the dark as if they were luminescent. “I like you. You’re pretty. It’s only why I appeared.”

You thought about all your classmates and your cousin’s friends. None looked like that boy. “I don’t know you.”

“Oh.” He shuffled closer until he could reach to extend a hand to you. “You can call me Taehyung.” You took his hand, introducing yourself as well. “I’m new here. Did I by any chance bother you or your folks? I apologize.”

You shrugged, looking away, still trying to catch a glimpse of the alleged creature that playfully appeared here and there to tease the townspeople. “You’re not bothering me. I don’t know about anyone else, though…”

“Haha.” The boy laughed in a forced way yet it felt genuine. Like he had indeed enjoyed your remark but laughter wasn’t a sound he could make by his nature. “I really like you. You’re very pretty,” he repeated. “Do you want to stay here with me forever?”

You eyed him from your peripheral vision. “You mean like… marry you?”

He frowned for a beat, analyzing your words. And then his face lit up— quite literally. “Yeah!” he chirped. “Yeah, something like that.”

You had never been proposed to before. Sure, you knew about all the boys that had a crush on you at school, and you knew about how cute you were because your parents and their friends always told you so. But Taehyung was better than all of them combined. “Okay,” you replied easily.

The young boy seemed so happy, reached out to grab a piece of your hair. And after a couple of sparks appeared, the strand had been cut off and was trapped between his fingers.

“Hey! What—”

Taehyung brought the strand to the side of his neck, pressing it against his skull, and with a couple more sparks, it was connected with his own hair. Standing out from his locks yet looking like he had grown it himself. “Now we’re married,” he said, speaking the word as if it was foreign to him.

“No,” you immediately interjected. “That’s not how people get married.”

“It’s not?”

You shook your head. “We need to walk down the aisle and have the pastor say I pronounce you husband and wife and kiss.”

“Kiss…” Taehyung gave it some thought. And then he snapped his fingers. “That’s right. We need to kiss.”

“And we can’t get married yet because we’re just children,” you continued to speak your wisdom to the confused boy.

“So when can we?”

“Hm…” You rubbed your chin because you had seen people do it on TV when they tried to think hard. “When we’re old. Like, old like my aunt! She is getting married next month.”

And the boy nodded obediently. “I can wait that long.” For your weird kind of ceremony. For his, you needn’t wait at all. All he needed was… a kiss. He leaned in, lips pursed and going straight for yours. And you gasped, getting up and running away, out of the woods, far from the boy you had just promised to marry.

You never saw him again. Which is why you were inclined to believe it was all just your childhood imagination going wild. Sometimes you got a very sudden urge to think about him, like he was mentally intruding on your life. But the older you got, the less you believed in fairies. And you got old… old like your aunt. And it was your turn to get married now.

Waiting in the dressing room alone to stare at your reflection in that mirror and take a few last, deep breaths before walking out for the nuptial rite, you didn’t expect to be disturbed by a strange and deep voice.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Upon turning around, you saw a man. A novel man. Handsome and somewhat scary as he glared at you and charged towards your spot. “What?” you choked out before clearing your throat. “I- I don’t think you’re supposed to be back here.”

“You’re about to walk down that aisle and have the pastor say I pronounce you husband and wife and kiss that man?” he spoke in a breath, pointing to the door.

You were frozen, looking into his shiny eyes as if you were entranced. Not sure how to react in this odd situation, yet something about the man intriguing you. “Um… yeah?”

“You can’t!” he gasped. Eyes so wide and pleading you silently. “We were supposed to do that.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“I’m your husband.” It wasn’t what you were expecting him to say, not in the slightest, but he seemed so confident of it he almost convinced you. “You’re mine, you can’t marry another man,” he insisted.

And right when you were about to open your mouth to tell him he was being insane, tell him you had no idea who he was and that he needed to get out, he called your name. Called your name in a way that was so fitting for it, like he was the only one who ever should be saying it. You paused, and you frowned. And you looked at him better. The man reached behind his neck and brought forward a strand of hair that didn’t match his own. Didn’t match because that was your hair. That dream… that dream hadn’t been a dream at all.

“I waited for you,” the boy-turned-man whispered, voice sounding as sad as his eyes looked. “I waited for as long as you needed. How can you do this to me?”

Your face was numb. And you shivered, shaking harder the more you let the realization sink in. “Tae- Taehyung?” you gulped. “You’re real?”

The man rushed to you, grabbed your face with both hands gently, fingers stroking your cheeks as if he knew tears were about to fall. “Of course. Who ever told you otherwise?”

You were lost for words, just staring into his eyes that were communicating more than you ever could. The boy from the woods had returned for you, just as promised. And now that he had you, he felt ready to finish what you two had started. This time, when he leaned in with his eyes closed and his lips on a straight line towards yours, you didn’t flinch, you didn’t pull or run away. Maybe it was the shock. Maybe it was just what was meant to happen. He kissed you and everything instantly changed. The bond completed. A bond unlike the mortal rituals you try to parody— that was a bond connecting your souls instead of a verbal agreement that could easily be broken by the human instability. And when he pulled away, you knew it, you felt it; you were indeed his and he was yours. Forever.

“Oh my God,” you mouthed. The feeling crushing you and making your mind race faster and faster. “Oh my— Fuck!” You were his and he was yours now. Forever. What would you do now? There was another man still waiting outside to marry you. “Fuck, fuck!”

“It’s alright,” Taehyung whispered, holding you tighter. Like he knew exactly what you were thinking about or could feel exactly what you felt. Perhaps he could. “Don’t worry. None of that will matter in a bit.”

He scooped your legs, lifting you up with ease you were certain no human being could possess. And he jumped out of the window and landed perfectly, even though that window was so high up. And you were in the woods within a blink of an eye, even though those woods were miles away. By that big, old Oak tree, where it all started. He was right, your meaningless mortal problems already appeared like so; you were with Taehyung now and it all seemed to make more sense than anything ever did in your life.

“You look so pretty,” the man spoke, drawing you back from your thoughts. “Like a fairy.” He chuckled, this time his laughter sounding better than the last. And then he kissed your cheek, and your neck, and it felt like each peck was gifting you whole years of life. “I’ve missed you. You never came to visit.”

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, flustered.

“It’s okay.” He was calm, looking at your eyes that you didn’t even know yet that they shined like his. “We have eternity ahead of us to be together.”

“Eternity?”

He chuckled again, music to your ears. And he leaned in to bite your bottom lip playfully. “Don’t you know, honey? Time flows strangely when you’re married to a fae.”

Masterlist

#bts #bangtan #kim taehyung #request #taehyung #v #drabble #fluff #fantasy #taehyung drabble #taehyung fluff #bts drabble #bts fluff #fae taehyung

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cazimagines · 3 years

Note

Just wanted to say that I really appreciate everything you write, and maybe could you write a NSFW alphabet for Laszlo? Hope you're having a good day!!

FOR MATURE AUDIENCES

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is just the sweetest! He will be checking to make sure you are okay, that you feel satisfied, and then he would be so loving. Whispering words of kindness to you about how amazing you were. He would try his best to help clear you up as well and then hold you in his arm as you fall asleep.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Boobs. He loves your chest and he loves to rest his head on them during the day and then during sex smother his head in them, kiss them etc. He just can't get enough of them. He finds everything about your body beautiful but those he just adores.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

As contraceptives were very rare for that time if you didn't want to get pregnant he would have to pull out (please guys don't think that pulling out is a good way to prevent pregnancy it isn't) he enjoys seeing his cun fall on your body, dripping down you. It does however excite him to no end when you do let him cum inside you and then he sees it dripping out of you, showing how you were his.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He has masturbated to you. He's ashamed of it because it isn't gentleman like. Gentlemen should be able to resist their urges, wait until marriage but he just can't help it. You are so beautiful and because of his arm, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to be with you so he resorts to that instead.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He is not experienced at all. You would be his first time. He knows what he is doing though... roughly. He's read many books about it, he knows the inner workings of a man and a woman, he knows where all the best spots are for you, he knows exactly what to do to bring you the most pleasure but he doesn't have the practical experience and reading from a book is quite different than to put it in practice and therefore he would feel quite awkward at first.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Having you on top, riding him. Any position where you are on top he loves. He feels a bit guilty as he doesn't want you doing all the work but he loves being able to look up at you, see your boobs bounce, and in this position, he can make his deformed arm at least hold onto your leg whereas other positions his arm is basically useless.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's very serious, he's a romantic at heart and therefore it would be a romantic experience for both of you so there isn't much space for humour. If something accidentally goes wrong such as clothes getting stuck on you or something he wouldn't laugh it off but start panicking.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He takes pride in his appearance, his bread is always well-groomed and he tries to keep down below well groomed as well but it's harder for him with really only one hand of use. As for overall body hair, he has some on his chest, arms and legs but it isn't a lot.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He tries to make the moment so romantic because he wants to show just how much he loves and adores you. He'll be whispering lots of compliments to you, stroking and touching you all over. He might even try to make the scene romantic by bringing some wine to the bedroom.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

As mentioned before in D he does masturbate but he feels guilty about it afterwards, but he can't stop when he sees you about and he thinks he can't have you. After you two start courting though he doesn't as why masturbate when he can have you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Something we have discussed on my blog before in headcanons and what I will eventually make into a one-shot is that Laszlo has a mummy kink. The books already confirmed for us that he has mummy issues so it isn't a far stretch. He loves being praised and being called a good boy. He wants to do anything to please you and make you feel good so that you might reward him. He loves your breasts and he loves to suck on them, it brings him a sense of comfort as he does so. And of course, he loves to refer to you as mummy.

He also loves being told what to do. He gets so anxious and worried, doubting himself and that can affect him in the bedroom so when you take over and start telling him what to do, what you like he will instantly do just that and love surrending his power over to you for you to order him to do whatever you want him to

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Bedroom. He's a traditional guy, times like that are saved for the bedroom. It is after all the most comfortable place for both of you. However... if the urge comes over you two at the institute, and it's a big need, he doesn't mind pushing you onto his desk in his office, having you sit on it so that you two are facing each other as you go at it

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Honestly, he loves you so much and has been deprived of touch for such a long time that you could the simplest of things and he would instantly be turned on. But somethings that really get him going is if you win in a debate about something, like for example the correct quote from one of Shakespeare's plays, your intelligence really turns him on especially when you use it against him or prove it to him that you know something better than him. Referring to him as stuff as well like 'good boy' while making him become really flustered makes him so turned on.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Degradation, he loves you so much he couldn't cope with being rude or insulting you, even if that's what you wanted, he would feel so bad about it. He also doesn't like slapping or spanking you, not only does it trigger memories of his childhood he doesn't want to hurt you like that, even if it was for your pleasure.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves giving oral, he has studied female autonomy so he knows exactly what goes on down there and where everything is, he knows how best to stimulate you and get you quivering to his tongue and his fingers. He loves to please you and he finds it easier than traditional sex because of his arm. He does enjoy receiving oral as well but he would never ask you for it. Only if you bring it up would it ever happen. He likes running his fingers through your hair though as you go down on him, as even with his deformed arm he can gently put his fingers in your hair and move your head gently.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

For the most part, they are slow and sensual, he wants to treasure the moment and savour it so he likes to take his time to feel all of you, experience all of you, but when he gets in one of his moods sometimes he really needs a fast and rough moment with you to get all of the stress and build up tension in him out, but those happen rarely as he is worried about accidentally hurting you while doing it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are also very rare, like said above he wants to take his time with you, while quickies can be fun he doesn't experience as much joy as he might when he takes things slowly. However, when you two go at it in his office they are usually quickies as you are both at risk of having someone walk into the office at any moment.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Only if you discuss what you want to do beforehand, and when I say discuss I mean have hour-long conversations about it. He needs time to prepare himself if you would like to experiment with something. And even then he might not agree with it, he doesn't practically like taking risks especially if something negative could come of it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Around twice, he has moderate stamina but it can be affected by what position he is in and what he is doing, if he is on top he might not last that long because of his arm, he finds it hard holding all his weight on just one arm when he is on top of you. But in other positions such as when you are on top, his stamina can much longer.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't own any toys but if you had any he wouldn't be opposed to using them, depending on what toys they were. Because of the time, it was harder to access such things and they were a lot less developed so he would prefer just more traditional sex without them but if you wanted to try them he would be willing.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn't like to tease you much, he might say something suggestive to you hinting at what he would like to happen tonight but that is as far as it goes for him, however, he loves it when you tease him, it makes him super flustered and stuttering on his words as his mind can only think of you and what you have said but he loves it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He actually moans and groans quite loudly, he loses himself in the feeling of being inside you that he forgets really that he is making noises, he just wants to express how you are making him feel and that comes out in the way he grunts and groans into your neck or breasts as he feels himself getting closer to his climax.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He usually likes to have sex before bed, enjoying the passion in the night, letting go of the stress gathered from the day and just relax being with you pleasuring you and himself but he also likes starting off the morning with it as well. You might wake up to find his lips already on your neck, sucking a hickey onto your neck, his fingers already tracing down your legs and edging towards your core.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's a little on the larger size dick, but he would blush at the thought of ever bragging about it. It would certainly be enough to fill you whole and make you feel the most amount of pleasure.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Higher than he would like to admit. After spending such a long time alone thinking he would never be a woman he craves you touch almost every moment, he needs to be in you, you feel you around him, but he also doesn't want to wear you out so he tries to restrict himself but it still ends up being at least five times a week.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He tries to stay up and let you fall asleep first, truly he does, he wants to watch you sleep and just admire how perfect you are but having sex can tire him out quite a bit till he accidentally falls asleep first, and you find it adorable watching him.

TAGS: @shrekboobies @arianalilyblack @lieutenantn @neoarchipelago @cable-kenobi @edencherries @faustlyaccused @julyvegan @prestigious-tea @hannahbal-the-fannibal @xxlumos @cathana2264

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#laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler imagine #dr laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler hcs #the alienist #daniel brühl

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percabethfeelsfandom · 3 years

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Writing Prompt AU: Childhood Best friends to Lovers

PART 1: Age 6

Percy doesn’t realise he’s in trouble until the girl he’s sitting by has gotten up to her feet, her face as red as the curls on her head.

“You’re too close to me!” She cries at him.

Percy frowns at the space between them, which in his opinion is quite enough but he mutters a sorry and backs away a bit more, bringing the tools he’s playing with closer to him. Sand flies towards him as the girl throws a fistful in his direction.

He sputters and scratches at his eyes trying to stop the stinging, but all it does is irritate it more.

“Hey that was mean,” he says, careful not to raise his voice too much. His Mom always taught him that raising your voice is only meant for emergencies and final warnings.

She keeps glaring in his direction until the force of it is so strong that Percy is compelled to get up and leave the sandpit, even though he’s been working on his sandcastle since the beginning of the break.

He mutters another sorry and goes to the monkey bars, where his friend Grover has been hanging by his legs.

Percy is trying not to cry as Grover prods him in the shoulder asking him if he’s okay.

“The girl in the sandpit was a bit mean,” he finally answers and shrugs his shoulders as if it’s not a big deal. But it feels like one.

“You should tell on her,” Grover says with a frown. Instantly Percy shakes his head.

“No way. I’m not a snitch. You know what happens to people who snitch.”

Grover sighs and drops from the monkey bars, watching as Percy climbs precariously over the tops of the metal rods. But Percy isn’t worried, he’s a pro at the monkey bars.

“Mean people should get in trouble,” Grover points out, but Percy shrugs again.

“Maybe she’s having a bad day, my step-dad Gabe has bad days and sometimes he’s a bit mean, but it’s not all the time. She’s might not be mean all the time.”

Percy’s words come back to bite him in the ass later in the year because it seems as though Nancy Bobofit is always having a bad day when it comes to Percy because she’s always in the corner of his eye glaring at him.

Sticking her leg out when he goes past her to get to the coloured pencils, causing him to trip, and pointing and laughing at him with her friends while he tries to stand up. Grover is by his side, pulling him up and urging him to tell on her but Percy shoots him down each time with a firm shake of his head.

It’s when Percy is reading something out loud in class that he finally reaches his limit.

“An o-owl is a brid...bird,” he feels his face heat up as he hears hushed giggles from the back of the class. He refuses to look up but he knows that it’s Nancy’s group. He straightens and focuses on the words on the page, even as they swim and squiggle.

He continues through the passage, gripping the paper tightly. He hates reading in front of the class more than anything. More than anything in the world and he wants this to end now.

“They sleep at night, make-making them,” he squints at the sheet, and his hands shake as he struggles to read the word.

“Take your time Percy it’s okay,” his teacher said from the front of the room, a smile on her face.

He looked up at her and nodded before looking back at the page, but tears had started pooling in his eyes, making it even harder to read.

“Noc..Nocter..Noc…” He sighed deeply and scrunched the paper in his hands a bit.

“Oh my god, he’s so dumb. He can’t even read.”

The voice was perfectly clear in the silent room and Percy finally dropped the paper and sat down, crossing his arms and putting his face in his hands. He heard Grover whisper his name softly but he shook his head, still not lifting his face.

Percy could hear his teacher speaking from the other side of the room, “Nancy that wasn’t very nice, please apologise to Percy.”

There was a scoff and then the sound of a chair scraping against the ground.

“Percy, Nancy has something she’d like to say to you.”

Percy lifted his head but didn’t raise his eyes to Nancy keeping them trained on his scuffed shoes and the bright colours on hers.

“I’m so so sorry I hurt your little itty bitty feelings, Percy. I hope you learn how to read soon.”

Percy clenched his fists and pushed his head back in his hands. He kept his mouth clamped for the rest of the day, and refused to even talk to Grover when he called out to Percy.

He just wanted today to end, but Nancy had other plans.

He was leaving the school building when she popped out from the side, a wide grin on her face. Another girl and boy flanked her sides as she stared him down. Percy felt a pit in his stomach and tried to back away.

They continued walking towards him, like a predator approaching their prey. Every instinct in Percy’s body was screaming at him to run, but he felt frozen on the spot.

“Look it’s Percy ‘I can’t read’ Jackson. He’s so dumb.”

Nancy’s words were poison in Percy’s ears, and he felt his face burn in shame. Percy hung his head, avoiding Nancy’s eyes as she and her friends made a circle around him. He knew he wasn’t dumb, he knew that, but hearing her say it, and remembering that moment in class. It was hard not to believe it.

They didn’t step any closer but Percy still felt like he was being suffocated.

Nancy pressed closer and got in his face until he backed into one of her friends. He tripped over his feet and fell to the ground. He tried to stand but the boy pushed him by the shoulders, forcing him back down.

Percy tried to push them off but the girls grabbed him by the arms and held him in place. Tears pricked his eyes as he struggled, but three against one wasn’t a fair fight and he was shaking with fear. Too many hands were grabbing at his clothes, tugging on his backpack, and jeering in his ear. He stopped trying to get away and instead tried to cover his ears and face as their voices grew louder.

“I think he’s going to cry. What a baby.” One of the girls drawled as she laughed in his ear. He turned his face away from her so that she couldn’t see the tears that started to fall. He wanted to leave. He wanted to leave NOW.

“I’ll give him something to cry about,” Nancy said, and Percy looked at her in fear. Her lips were curled in a cruel smile as she pulled out a can of coke and started shaking it.

“Please just leave me alone,” Percy whispered. Nancy paused as if to think about it then shook her head firmly.

“I don’t think so.”

She aimed the can towards him and began opening it.

An arm shot out from behind her, grabbing her by the shoulder and shoving her to the ground. In doing so she also aimed the can away from Percy’s face. Instinctively he pulled free from the people holding him and ran for the gap in the circle he was trapped in.

He didn’t turn back until he was safely out and watched as a girl, around his age with wild curly hair ripped the can from Nancy’s hands and pulled the tab aiming at her face, letting the drink explode in Nancy’s face.

Nancy screamed as she tried to get away from the explosion, but the girl stood out of reach and emptied the can over her head. When Nancy tried to stand up, the girl stepped closer and pushed her back, forcing Nancy to fall onto her butt. Percy’s eyes widened in awe, but he slapped a hand over his mouth to stop from making a sound in case the girl turned on him. She aimed part of the drink towards Nancy’s friends as well so that they got caught in it, but Nancy got the brunt of it, leaving her red hair soaked through and her face sticky with brown liquid. The can rolled to the side as the girl dropped it and she stared at Nancy’s friends as if daring them to come forward.

When they didn’t make a move to oppose her she smirked.

“If I see you messing with him again I’ll find you,” she said and promptly turned on her heel leaving Nancy and her friends staring at her in fear.

Percy closed his mouth, realising that he was watching her and started to follow her even though she made no move to check on him. He scrambled to his feet and fell into step with her.

“Thank you,” he breathed. She shrugged and blew a curl from her face. Her cheeks were pink as Percy kept pace with her. He had a bus to catch and he was going in the opposite way that he needed to, but he needed to know who this girl was.

“Whatever.”

“I’m Percy,” he said, holding out a hand. She stared at it for a moment, before pausing her quick pace and shook it firmly. Her hands were a bit sticky with the coke, but she was very strong.

“I know, we’re in the same class.”

“Who are you?”

“Annabeth. I can be your new best friend.”

This made Percy frown. He already had a best friend, and Grover was awesome. When he told Annabeth this her cheeks darkened but she didn’t back down.

“A person can have more than one best friend. I have Thalia already, but I can be your friend too.”

“Why?”

“Because it looks like you need it. Any more stupid questions?” This time it was Percy who felt his face warm-up, he wasn’t allowed to use bad words, Annabeth was already infinitely cooler than him for doing so.

“That’s a bad word,” he pointed out, but he didn’t really care.

“Do you want to be my friend or not?” Annabeth repeated. Her grey eyes were like a storm and Percy found himself nodding without even thinking about it clearly.

“Yeah. Okay, I’ll be your friend.” Percy decided and nodded again to reaffirm it. Annabeth was a little scary but she had helped him when no one else had.

“Good.” Then she smiled, and Percy felt his steps falter a bit. She was kind of pretty when she smiled.

#percy jackson #alternate universe #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #rick riordan #writing #percabeth #childhood best friends to lovers #writing prompt #percabath fanfic #one shot #fanfiction #annabeth chase #nancy bobofit #grover underwood #thalia grace #mortal au

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hehebread · 3 years

Text

[BKDK] Izuku keeps mentioning a Kacchan to reporters and they think that's his gf

this was a request on twt that i had way too much fun writing. warning for suggestive language!

“And is there…. a special person….or a group of people you would like to thank on air today? Anyone who inspired you? Anyone you would attribute your success to? An image of victory per say?”

Izuku’s eyes glimmer as the bright lights of the studio reflect on his irises. “Oh!” He jumps in his seat, his perfectly- coiffed curls bouncing as he nods frantically to the show’s host. “Yes! Yes!” Leaning forward with his hands on his leg, the camera zooms in on his face where the blush is painting his cheeks. “I wouldn’t be the hero I am today if it wasn’t for Kacchan!”

And it’s as if an earthquake alert dropped on the talk show. The host grows this devious grin on his face as he turns to the camera team and says, “Well, well, well, behind every great man is a woman after all.”

Izuku isn’t quite sure why the host is bringing his mother into this since the interview is reaching its end and he has already discussed her influence in detail very early on, but he doesn’t get a chance to ponder.

The host, Yamaguchi-san, leans into Izuku’s space with renowned interest and an interesting glint in his eyes. Izuku feels himself sweating in his oversized maroon-striped suit.

“So, Midoriya-san, Hero Deku, Rising Symbol of Equity and Hope, can you tell us more about … Kacchan?” His voice goes higher at the last syllable, almost sing songs, and Izuku is not sure if he should be worried or not, but he won’t pass an opportunity to gush about Kacchan!

“Ah, Kacchan is very … confident, hardworking, strong, and smart. Kacchan is a hero who knows how to lead a team and perform under pressure, an inspiration to both myself and our entire graduating class, and a”—Izuku can feel the heat rise in his face as he tries to hide in his colour— “a shining star who was closer to me than All Might!”

The host makes a loud ‘AWWW’ noise at the same time as the small audience in the studio. “My, my! Sounds like Kacchan is very important to Hero Deku! Don’t be shy! Tell us more! Is there a physical description to go with your precious person?”

“Ahm!” Izuku fiddles with his fingers as he avoids the gazes on him. There a long beat of silence before he manages to say, “Muscles….Blonde…..Sharp eyes….” With a vague gesture to his middle section, he mumbles, barely audible, “Big, ugh…..” Heart.

“OOOOOOOOOH!” The host goes wild and so does the audience. “So are we talking Hiromi Oshima type big or maybe Rio Natsume, or aaaah Aki Hoshino even ….?”

Izuku feels his ears ring in humiliation as he tries to process what they’re talking about. Something Kacchan has in common with all these beautiful women is his big successful career so Izuku nods. “Yes!” Then, a thought occurs and he rises in his chair. “Even bigger!”

After all, Kacchan’s net worth is higher than these ladies.

“BIGGER?”

“The biggest!”

“Oh my god!” The host is losing his mind now! “And is it … natural? Or did Kacchan get a little help from professionals?”

“No, no, no! Kacchan was a natural ever since we were in school together!” Izuku’s eyes shine with a fire to defend his childhood best friend, no longer trying to hide in his big suit. “No one helped Kacchan get this big!”

“That’s … amazing!” The host shakes his head in both awe and disbelief. “Now we want to see Kacchan in action! When the hero works around the city, defeating villains, does the size get in the way?”

Does Kacchan’s fame get in the way of his work? “Sometimes,” Izuku muses, “But Kacchan never lets the restless and perky nuisances stop him, y’know. With a little shake from his hands, and a few colourful words of wisdoms, nothing gets in the way!” Izuku laughs as he remembers Kacchan’s way of dismissing fans and reporters alike.

“Wow!”

“Of course, there are times where Kacchan’s big firm moulds become springy and hard to control, but I have yet to see an instance where that has been a major issue. ”

Kacchan is still having some adjustment problems with his new hero costume, particularly his grenade mould, but that’s as far as distractions go.

“Does Kacchan not use support?”

“Uhm, only when it’s a dire situation! Sometimes I’m even allowed to provide assistance!”

“You must be very lucky…”

“I am! It feels … exciting and … very special! Kacchan doesn’t trust just anyone, y’know! I can never quite get used to the trust we built together. We are one unit working together.”

“Do you use your hands…. Or something else?”

“Oh, hands! Yes! But anything works really! Whatever Kacchan is comfortable with and needs at the time. Black Whip, combo moves, an iron grip...”

The host furrow his brows and seems to be considering Izuku’s answer before he opens his mouth again. “Uhm, never mind.” He then turns to the camera, smile back on. “Our time is almost running out! Thank you, hero Deku for your time! We look forward to seeing you again in the big screen!”

The next day, Izuku wakes up to the headline: Hero Deku And His Mysterious Busty New Girlfriend: The Beautiful and Spunky Kacchan!

He’s doomed

He sees Kacchan early the next day.

Having spent the morning talking to tabloids and the host show agents about the misunderstanding and whether or not it was possible to take down the episode at least, Izuku slumps his head on his desk in defeat.

Oh, this is very bad.

He starts thumping his forehead on the wood in sync with the bleeps noises in the phone, already planning his funeral in his head.

Okay, so it seems the suspense around this girlfriend is raking up his popularity, but god, at what cost.

“Nerd, we need to talk.”

Izuku’s soul near flies to the roof at the sound of the door to his office slamming close. Fuckfuckfuck.

Kacchan stands before him with his hand on his hip, teeth snarled and looking ready to tear his flesh open. Oh, this is going to be fun!

After flashing a haughty glare at the glass door to scare away the nosy friends hanging about, Kacchan continues, “About the interview.”

Of course! Yes! His final hour is approaching. “Haahahaha, what about it?” Izuku feels his undershirt cling to his torso, sweat collecting on his face. He directs a shaky hand to a nearby chair. “Feel free to take a seat, Kacchan! You want me to get you anything? Water, tissues, uhm, a knife, a body sized bag, or uhhh, a shovel? I think I have some spare sheets of paper if you’d like to give me a chance to—“

“So…” Kacchan starts.

“PLEASE TELL MY MUM I LOVE HER!”

“…this Kacchan, huh?” Having completely ignored every single word Izuku just said, Kacchan crosses his arms and scowls. “Is she strong? How come I never heard about her before? Since when did you start dating this gravure idol and pro hero, huh?”

“Wha—?”

“So, you just go around giving everyone pretty nicknames now?” Kacchan snorts and his expression darkens before he slams his hands on Izuku’s desk. He looks at Izuku from under his chin, and Izuku swear he can see flames behind his eyes. He growls, “What’s her actual name?”

An alarm bell rings in Izuku’s ears and he stutters, “Ka— Ka— Kat— Katsuko! Bakugan Katsuko…….”

Kacchan’s expression doesn’t change and Izuku feels his heart leap to his throat. God, Kacchan is gonna call his bluff at any minute now. He’s going to reject him then he’s going to break his heart and his bones.

“What’s she like?”

Kacchan shifts forward slightly and Izuku is just know noticing the ample cleavage in clear view. Right there. In front of Izuku’s face. “Uhm. Ah, she’s very, ugh, im- pec— impeccable!! And strong! Muscl— mature!! Breasty too – I mean, pretty! PRETTY!” Izuku bites his tongue then swallows thickly. “Beautiful, actually!” Lifting his gaze to meet Kacchan, he whispers, “Gorgeous. Just the most amazing person in my life.”

Kacchan is staring intently with his sharp red eyes, and Izuku feels his chest swell with confidence he never had before. “Kacchan is my inspiration, and I just … love … Kacchan so much. I wish I had the courage to tell him— um, her that.”

“Are you two serious?” Kacchan asks, impassive but there is silent rage hiding behind his words.

Something flashes quickly through Kacchan’s eyes before he narrows them. It takes Izuku a second to recognise that it’s /hurt/ and then he realise what he has just done.

“No, no, no!” Izuku backtracks immediately. “I don’t even know her that well! In fact, she kinda smells and definitely has sweating problem.” Izuku needs to do damage control and come clean NOW. “You know what? I will call her and break up with her right now. Ha ha ha.”

What the hell is he saying? Who is he going to call?

Kacchan stands up while Izuku fumbles with his phone. “Don’t be a dick,” he says, before he heads to the door.

Izuku jumps from his chair and is ready to chase after him when Kacchan stops him. “How big?”

“Huh?”

“You said Bakugan was big.”

Ah, yes, he did. Tragically.

“Um, y’know just…” Izuku motions with his hands like he’s moulding two doughballs, palms up and fingers wiggling because he’s lost control of his life once he accepted his funeral date, but that’s not even happening anymore so what is he doing really.

He then makes am hourglass shape in the air and belatedly realises that he’s just outlining Kacchan’s shape in front of him. Izuku retreats his hands and puts them behind his back in shame.

Kacchan is looking at him funny. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Does she shoot aerial bomb or something? Is that a combat-style quirk?”

Izuku blinks.

Kacchan just sneers and turns around.

“Whatever. I’m doing a photoshoot this afternoon. The Sekushī clothing line is dropping a new summer set and they asked me to model.”

“Se- Sekushi?? You mean, like—” Izuku feels his face go impossibly red. “You’re saying that, you’re going to wear, like…..” his voice goes down to a whisper when he says “…..a b-b-b-b-b-bikini?”

“Swimwear,” Kacchan turns to say over his shoulder, “Among other things.”

The sexy smirk he sends Izuku’s way is doing very, very weird things to Izuku’s body and imagination, things too inappropriate to describe in a work setting.

Kacchan leaves but not without offering the most dangerous challenge to Izuku’s mental wellbeing. “Feel free to drop in.”

Oh, he absolutely will.

“Bring Bakugon.”

Oh, he absolutely will not.

Actually….

Maybe, he will.

Kacchan is going to ruin Izuku

#dekubaku #dkbk #bakudeku #bkdk #bnha #mha #boku no hero fic #boku no hero academia #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #prompt fill #icewrites

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emotions-ew · 3 years

Text

A Collection of Queer Country Artists and Songs for anyone who doesn’t feel like there’s country music they can relate to...

There is this idea that country music is like just Republican men singing about beer, and trucks and also Jesus, and that is kind of fair because loads of it is but there are some cool as hell queer/lgbtq+ country artists. Finding those and finding that representation in a genre of music I was literally raised on kind of changed my life in a tiny way and I wanted to share that.

(This is by no means a comprehensive list and also I’m basing the “Country” part of this sometimes on my subjective opinion/limited music knowledge so yuh please don’t hate me if I get some wrong)

Also link below for a Spotify playlist of my favourite gay/gayish country music, some mentioned in this post some not, (with a title that isn’t obviously gay for anyone who can’t openly listen to gay stuff on their public accounts for whatever reason) so feel free to skip the massive essay and just jump straight to that. And pretty please repost if I missed anyone/ any songs you love.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7KB6PmUxnpkU7lih8Bysvw

Artists To Follow:

Chely Wright

- Right off the bat, Chely Wright is a legend and I’m in love with her. So, in the 90′s Chely Wright was kind of a huge deal. She started her career as a singer/songwriter and released her first album in ‘94, which was critically acclaimed although never reached the commercial success of her later works. By ‘97 she was really hitting her stride, dropping her breakout hit “Shut up and Drive” (a personal favourite of mine) followed two years later by the biggest hit of her career “Single White Female”. Throughout all that Chely Wright was, to the world, a good old fashioned, heterosexual southern gal. Privately it was a bit of a different story. She had public relationships with male country artists, all while pursuing a secret decade long relationship with a woman.

I hadn’t ever really heard a Chely Wright song until a few years ago so I never knew about her music or career pre-coming out but I do know that even though by the time she came out in 2010 she was by no means at the height of her fame Chely Wright is kind of one of the biggest names in country music to be out and proud (in my opinion) and I love her like an insane amount. I literally play her music in my car when I have passengers just so I can be like “fun fact this singer is actually gay-” and then subject them to a lengthy explanation of her entire career. She came out with an album and a memoir and the album is my favourite of her work because it’s so fucking raw and because I relate to most of it immensely. Anyways Chely Wright went fucking through it in her journey to being her authentic self and now she’s out and proud and married to a woman and they have a family together and I’m a fucking sucker for a happy ending and y’all should add her to every playlist you have. And on top of that her music is genuinely good. Coming out undoubtedly damaged her career but I think that

Brandi Carlile

- As far as I can tell Brandi Carlile has been out her whole career. I feel like this list is just going to be me saying “I’m in love with her” about a bunch of women old enough to be my mother but in my defence, I am honestly in love with her. She’s been making music since she was like, seventeen, and has had a bunch of massive hits, as a singer, songwriter, and producer. If you want to cry kind of happy tears listen to her performance of “Bring my Flowers Now” with Tanya Tucker. She’s won Grammy’s and CMT awards and she’s done it all as an out Queer woman. She’s also a founding member of The Highwomen, an all-female country music group who released their first album in 2019, comprised of Carlile, Marren Morris, Natalie Hemby and Amanda Shires. I really love this band because they’re four artists who are immensely successfully in their own right collabing, much like the Highwaymen, and their music is phenomenal while also being a fuck you to mainstream country music and their inability to properly represent women in country music spaces.

She’s been married to a woman (smoking hot and also brilliant) since 2012 and they have two kids together and if you want to cry (again) then you have to listen to her song “Mother” about her eldest daughter. A queer country artist absolutely worth adding to all your playlists.

Brooke Eden

- As I understand it Eden came out publicly in January of this year. She’s engaged to Hilary Hoover, who she’s been dating since 2015 apparently. I can’t even imagine the pressure that must be on a person and how stressful it would be to keep a relationship secret from the whole world for years and personally I think they’re a cute as hell couple and I wish them literally all the happiness in the world.

Brooke Eden has a few older songs that I think are really good, my favourite being “Act Like You Don’t”, and while her new stuff isn’t my usual country vibe I am a sucker for literally anything gay and it is legally my gay duty to stream any song that she releases to support my fellow queer. It’s quite different to anything Wright or Carlile sing but I actually kind of love that because it shows that country music of all different shapes and sizes and styles can be sung by queer artists.

Amythyst Kiah

- Okay so I am a very new listener to Amythyst Kiah, but her music is literally so beautiful it would be a straight up sin to not include her on this list. Her music is country-blues-roots esq (more roots than country, I think?) and her voice is so unique. She grew up in Chattanooga and has been playing music since childhood. She recently made her Opry debut which is fucking awesome. She also belongs to a band called Our Native Daughters, described as “A supergroup of Black women in traditional music”. Their debut album “Songs of Our Native Daughters” did numbers and I haven’t listened to the whole thing but my favourite so far are “Black Myself” and “I Knew I Could Fly” so y’all add that to your playlists along with “Wild Turkey” by Amythyst Kiah because holy hell her voice on that will blow your mind.

Steve Grand

- The first man to make this list, he should frankly be honoured. Grand has been an out and proud gay man making country music since like 2013, and I have so much respect for an artist who chose to simply never be in, choosing instead to simply write gay ass songs about being in love with men and letting the chips fall where they man. His music is always going to have a special place in my heart and, he’s cute so if you’re into men and music by men give him a google. add him to your playlists, his All-American Boy album is literally just a dozen songs that are perfect to yell-sing along to.

Katie Pruitt

- Not hugely knowledgeable on Katie Pruitt but her music makes me feel crazy intense emotions and is absolutely gay

Honorable Mention Artists I haven’t Really Listened to But Who I Know to be gay thanks to google and might be your thing so totally check them out:

Brandy Clark

Ty Herndon

Shelly Fairchild

Lavendar Country

Trixie Mattel

Cameron Hawthorn

Drop any other names of artists or songs you know of

Specific Songs That Make Me Fucking Cry or (in good and bad ways (but always in a gay way)) or basically are just gay as hell:

If She Ever Leaves Me; The Highwomen

- So, this album came out about a week before my first (and only) girlfriend broke up with me. The general gist of the song is a woman singing about how her loved isn’t ever going to leave her but if she does it sure as hell won’t be for a creepy man in a bar. A little ironic that I felt I related to it so intensely, considering she did in fact leave me. There’s this one lyric that goes “I’ve loved her in secret/I’ve lover here out loud/the sky hasn’t always been blue” and my girlfriend and I were crazy deep in the closet so I drew her a cute little picture of a grey cloud and on the back I wrote that lyric and I gave it to her and to me it was kind of a promise that one day I’d get a chance to love her out loud and even though I never actually did this song is forever going to make me cry because of the little bit of hope that lyric gave me and the way it’s inclusion on this overwhelmingly mainstream country album made me feel like acceptance was just that little bit closer.

All American Boy; Steve Grand

- Definitely one of the first gay country songs I ever heard, and Steve Grand didn’t once sacrifice a scrap of country for the gay. It’s beautiful, it’s a little sad, it’s hopeful. It’s forever going to hold a special place in my heart and the music videos is kind of one of my favourites ever. I found this song before I found myself and the way it made my heart warm should have been a stronger sign than I took it to be.

Like Me; Chely Wright

- When you love someone you kind of make it your mission to know them in a way that no one else can. This song by Chely Wright is sort of an ode to that, and how even once you lost someone, you’re still going to know every little thing about them. On top of that it sort of speaks to the idea that all these things Wright learned about this woman, she learned in secret and she knew her and loved her in secret and now that they’re gone from each other she’s left with all of this knowledge and all of these questions and no one to answer them. I love the way it’s so slow and the melody and her voice, the way it’s low and a little raspy, make this one of my favourite Chely Wright songs.

The Mother; Brandi Carlile

- Sorry but a song about being a mother by a queer woman is going to make me cry every time and actually I’m not that sorry. It’s quite a simple song, if any song written by Brandi Carlile can ever be described as ‘simple’, it’s an ode to her daughter. My favourite line is “you are not an accident/where no one thought it through” because it speaks to the fact that in order for queer women to have a kid together they have to want it so damn bad and also I just like the way her voice sounds on that line. This song is also the perfect thing to listen to if you ever for a second feel like being gay/queer is going to stand in the way of you having a family because it absolutely doesn’t have to and if that’s something you want, you can have it. Don’t let people try and convince you otherwise.

Loving Her; Katie Pruitt

- Unapologetic gay love. Opening a song with “If loving hers a sin, I don’t wanna go to heaven” is a fucking baller move and she went there. The lyrics are beautiful, and her voice is phenomenal. It could be a sad song, about confronting religious repression and grappling with what that means for your love, but instead its triumphant. Katie Pruitt doesn’t give a fuck if you have a problem because she’s going to write songs for her lover.

Jesus From Texas; Semler

- Not actually totally sure this is a country song, but it has the words ‘Jesus’ and ‘Texas’ in the title so I feel safe including it in this list. Honestly, I don��t really know why I relate so hard to this song. Like, I wasn’t really raised with religion, so I don’t know what it is about this funky little tune that makes me want to sob but there’s something about this tune that makes me want to do whatever the opposite of get up and dance is, but like, in a good way.

Lovin’ Again; Steve Grand

- Breakup song that ends kind of positively? So good to sing along to at high, high volumes. The idea that losing someone doesn’t have to mean losing yourself and just because you can’t love them doesn’t mean you’re not ever going to love again. But also kind of about how it’s hard to get over someone, I don’t know it’s just good.

Cryin’ These Cocksucking Tears; Lavender Country

- Jesus christ if this isn’t the coolest shit I’ve ever heard in my life. Sorry but a gay country group formed in 1972 who dropped possibly the first gay themed country album, and this was the title of one of the songs. God I am in love.

Songs that (to me) are a little fruity or that I just relate to in a gay way:

Picket Fences; Chely Wright

- Chely Wright is gay but this song came out long before she did and when she wrote it, it wasn’t supposed to be gay which is why it’s in this section and not the previous. The reason it’s included at all is because frankly ma’am, Mrs Wright, it’s a little fruity. And I feel a little bad for joking because honestly to me, the way I hear this song and knowing the context (that Wright was deeply closeted at the time she wrote and released it), it’s kind of just sad. The general gist of the song is Wright asking what’s so great about a traditional lifestyle anyways. It could be read as a woman genuinely questioning why we push that expectation that she’ll have two kids and a husband and a picket fence lifestyle, or even could be read as a woman who’s trying to deflect how much she does in fact want that, you have to listen and form your own opinion. But to me, it feels like a woman who’s desperately trying to justify why she doesn’t want that life not because she can’t have it, but she knows it will never be right for her. I don’t know it’s hard to explain I just feel like this song is a little bit gay even though I’m sure she didn’t intend that.

Sinning with You; Sam Hunt

- Sorry but this song is gay. Sorry but you can’t write the lines “I never felt like I was sinning with you/Always felt like I could talk to God in the morning” and “if it’s so wrong why did it feel so right” and “But I never felt shame, never felt sorry/Never felt guilty touching your body” and not to mention the opening line of “raised in the first pew/praises for yeshua/case of a small town repression”, and expect to not sit in my car sobbing as I realised that while I never felt like what we did was a sin she absolutely did, and wishing I could have told her that I was sorry for making her carry the weight of both our souls but also that it wasn’t a sin and nothing in the world could feel that good and be that bad and it isn’t right that she had to be so ashamed of something that was just so good. Sam Hunt actually said after he wrote the song that while it was reflection on his own relationship with faith he genuinely hopes that people in the lgbtq community can like find comfort or whatever in his words and like go off king, we stan an ally.

How do I Get There; Deana Carter

- This ones easy, it’s about falling in love with your best friend and suddenly realising you want more than just friendship with them. Sorry Deana, that’s gay. In my Deana Carter of like Year 10 I played this song on repeat and screamed along to the lyrics as though singing it hard enough would make her like me back.

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brundleflyforawhiteguy · 3 years

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What makes Puppet Master so great?

I can't quite tell if this is a "wow, how is it this rad?" or "why do you never shut up about this?" or the middle-of-the-road "I don't see the appeal" type of question so I'll kind of answer each.

The reason I'm not shutting up about it, right now especially, is that I've been writing a book on the entire franchise for three years without much to show for it, a lot of starts and stops and hard work and wondering if it would ever even get finished. Now Puppet Master Complete: A Franchise History is actually coming out and there's pre-orders at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc. so I'm both starting to actively promote it and just overwhelmed with relief that it's finally happening. Almost as much as that, though, is the fact that NECA has released new Puppet Master toys that are stunning and are in stores like Target, something I never thought possible, which has tapped into the childhood fan in me, for whom these puppets, movies, and the original toys were my number one childhood obsession.

But to get into the deeper question, I'll tell you right now, that's a big one. It's a lot to unpack. the first three words of the introduction to the book are "Why Puppet Master?" And I think there are a lot of reasons. For me, it was love at first sight literally the first time I saw the designs of the puppets. Both the way the characters look and the stop-motion and puppetry effects by David Allen Productions are probably the biggest reason we're still talking about these little guys so many years later. But there's a lot I think that makes the franchise, and those early films, special. There aren't many, if any other, horror franchises where your iconic characters can be the heroes or villains from movie-to-movie. And as a kid, and even now, I loved that they weren't inherently bad. They were the first "monsters" I ever saw that let the protagonists go at the end of the movie and killed the larger villain. Then a few movies later, they're the full-blown heroes and they've pretty much been that ever since. The early movies are all wildly different from one another in a way they don't get enough credit for. Sometimes even different genres outright. The first is a deeply Italian influenced, almost giallo-esque movie, the second is a dyed-in-the-wool gothic Universal throwback, the third is a war movie, the fourth and fifth are fantasy/sci-fi.

Looking at a larger scale though, it is amazing that this series exists in 2021. Like, holy shit. It is the most resilient horror franchise in the world. It was designed, specifically, to cater to video stores. That was the function of the first movie, both as a film in general and as the first film from Full Moon. This franchise was specifically designed to cater to a booming video store market and it outlived video stores. In 1997, it received its own action figure series which was even wild at the time, because it was a straight-to-video horror movie series that had been around less than a decade. Getting these characters in comic shops, Suncoast, was wild enough, but then they eventually reached Spencer's and KB. And now, two decades later, there are figures again! And they're in Target! They're everywhere! That feels impossible, that should not exist. A few years ago, it got a comic series. A straight-to-video series got a comic that lasted for almost 30 issues! This is unreal stuff. And it’s a great comic, too.

Puppet Master is also, essentially, the only horror franchise that is inherently Jewish. Christian themes and iconography play into horror a lot and are still incredibly popular. And there are plenty of great horror movies that deal with Jewish themes and symbols, but I think Puppet Master is the only film series defined by those themes. Admittedly, they’re set up most prominently in the third entry with the reveal that the puppets are inhabited by the souls of Jewish victims of the Nazis, taking revenge on their oppressors. There is a deeply ingrained notion of post-war survivor’s guilt, perfectly embodied by this image of an old man who literally carries his dead friends with him wherever he goes. Even the original movie sets it up right in the opening scene, with the puppet master Toulon shooting himself and hiding his puppets away before the Nazis can get their hands on them.

And yet at the same time, it’s still just a fun and quirky B-Movie series, wildly ambitious for straight-to-video, and it’s never really lost that creative spirit even as the budgets have drastically shrank over the years. It’s been through a lot of ups and downs, and the budgetary lows are smaller than most other franchises. But there’s still so much that resonates, from the themes, to the concept and without a doubt most importantly, the puppets themselves. There is no other franchise like it. It’s been through at least three or four things that would have killed any other franchise and even though the movies are now made for pennies and shot in four days, it’s alive and (somehow) thriving, in some ways it’s stronger than it’s ever been. I really couldn’t articulate why I loved it when I started writing that book, but now it’s something I think about a lot. I am grateful it’s still here, grateful for getting to grow up with it, and so excited for all the new fans who are going to see those toys on Target shelves and fall head over heels, just like I did.

#HUGE post #long post #brundle writes #puppet master

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arrivisting · 3 years

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I’d love author commentary on basically the whole scene at Ekkaia in all my war is done (or any individual part of that scene, if your prefer). Taken together, it’s one of the most beautiful and emotionally complex and heartrending things you’ve written, from the description of the sea itself, to the difficulties of Fingon and Alqualondë, to Gil and the ocean and his ‘mother’, to Fingon and Gil beginning to tackle the thorny subect of Maedhros.

I should admit something about all my war is done: it's the most fugue-like my writing has ever been. I jotted down a few notes on my commute into work - I was deeply underwater with my PhD at the time, three months away from submitting - and then the idea of writing a sequel to scion seized me so profoundly that I sat down in the Starbucks where my bus stops, took out my laptop, and wrote instead of just collecting my coffee and walking down to my office. I wrote 15k. In one day. In about five or six hours. I've never achieved anything like that before or since - I do have good days where I can knock 2-4k out easily, but not 15k. (You might note that the posted part of all my war is done is only 12k, but I wrote all the way up into the next bit with Fingon in Tirion that you've read, up until Turgon at the dinner table). I didn't sit down or plan events; I didn't actually know much about what would happen: but I knew they were going to Ekkaia and they'd have some kind of resolution there. These are my phone-notes, from that morning:

You can see, I think, something of the way an idea hits me. I note down a few snatches of plot, not necessarily in any order, some lines I think people should say at some point, although I might not use them, sketch out some things (Formenos's ruins were going to feature more heavily, but they're waiting for a later story).

(It makes me laugh, the words my phone doesn't accept - Gil-galad, for one - and the ones it automatically capitalises from where I've yelled enthusiastically about elf things at people. I never stop long enough to correct spelling etc when I'm trying to get something down).

I clearly knew from inception that I wanted Fingon's place to be called the hill of waiting, and had tried out the name in Sindarin; because my verbs are not good, I came up with Amon Dartha. It was when I was redrafting that I realised Amon Darthir had existed actually in Dor-lomin(!!!) and the name was even more perfect symbolically than I'd meant it to be! Did I know that, unconsciously? I don't know.

You can see, too, that the Sea of Ekkaia was almost the very first point to hit me, and that I knew it and the scene there would be important, and that I knew that the story was about Fingon finding a way to tell Gil-galad that he had been loved, and wanted, and that meant talking about Maedhros; and that at the end I wanted Gil-galad to be gently, impersonally, firmly clear that he would not, could not, be staying to wait with Fingon.

Okay, DVD commentary proper - I'm sorry, I remember awfully little about writing this, given the fugue state and my thesis and everything, so I'm not sure how useful this will be!

“Oh,” said Gil-galad when they broke out of the woods and began to ride down over the dune-lands to the rocky shore. “Oh!”

The Sea of Ekkaia was beautiful, in its own way, but that way that was like no other place in Arda, in either Aman or Middle Earth.

It was a dark-blue that was almost black, even in the late afternoon, and the shore was less sand than gravel, a strange inconsistent rubble of rock and broken sea-shells that had been dashed to pieces by the constant fury of the waves. Staring out to sea, one did not see the far-away horizon the way one did on the gentler coast of Belegaer: there was no gentle faraway blue haze through which one might, perhaps, on a clear day, imagine that Middle Earth could be glimpsed, or at least the Straight Path.

No: instead along the horizon there was a seam of silver light, and then a great blackness, where the Sea of Ekkaia met the Uttermost West that was not quite the Doors of Night, but was certainly the end of Aman itself. If you stood on the shore watching, the seam would ripple with a pulse of light, sometimes green and sometimes white.

It was so far from anywhere the Eldar of Valinor lived. While they clustered around the Belegaer like moths to flame, this shore seemed instead to repel them. Was it the sight of the world’s end itself? It might be; yet Fingon thought there was more to why this wilderness was so little visited, this howling black sea lashing itself against a grey shore. It was beautiful, but not in the way Elves liked things to be beautiful: it was too raw, too unfinished, too savage.

It was too close to where Mandos kept his Halls, which were not only a thing of spirit but also matter, at least in the way that things in Aman were both. Too close to where Nienna’s tower looked out into the Void and where she wept, and wept, and wept. It was too close to death and to rebirth, to judgment and to pity.

There's a little Dawn Treader, I think, in this idea of the uttermost West. I don't know why I thought the seam of the world should pulse with strange light, but it's an uncanny kind of geography, so near Mandos and Nienna, and I like the sense that this is the end of the world, but not the end of the universe.

A lot of this came together serendipitously. I knew some kind of memorialisation of the river that bore Gil-galad needed to be part of his story; that meant going to the sea; and it's clear from the notes that I had already decided that couldn't mean Alqualonde because of kinslaying reasons and memories. (And that that too would need to be confronted). Therefore: roadtrip to Ekkaia. Therefore, the question: what would Ekkaia be like? We don't really know anything about it - only the good qualities of Belegaer. This was really written by a process of inversion, a way of pulling what we know about Belegaer inside-out, and imagining a place at the world's edge, a place that was empty, a place that was uncannily close to difficult things, to Mandos and Nienna; a place that seemed to repel the Eldar as surely as Belegaer drew them like iron filings.

I was thinking visually about New Zealand, too. I spent my childhood summers on the beaches up north, mostly around Tūtūkākā, which are bright and lovely, with golden or white or tawny sand, with gnarled pohutukawa and blue-green water. Like this:

That's what beach and sea meant to me, and it was a shock the first time I went to one of the black sand beaches where the wind howled and the colours weren't blue, green, gold, but iron, grey, navy, black. I loved it, but it felt so other, so passionate, so strange. That shock and that wild beauty and desolation were things I wanted to get at, though Ekkaia would be far more wild and desolate still.

They left the horses in the thin sea-grass, and their shoes, too, and walked down to the water. “I missed it,” Gil-galad said, and closed his eyes, breathing in the brine. “I missed it badly, all the long years besieging Mordor before I died.”

I think Gil-galad would be very marked by his upbringing first in the Falas and then on Balar; you don't lose that, if you grew up by the sea.

The wind took up his long dark hair and made a banner of it as they walked along the rough crescent of rocky ground where the waves met the shore, and around their bare ankles small stones tumbled back and forth in the lace-edge of the water.

When I was young I used to stand in the water and let the waves bury me up to my ankles, watching the water move in, out, spreading skirts of lace overlapping as new waves came in. I could do it for hours. There's something very liminal about the water's edge, between the solid land and the sea, which is why I put this conversation in it, I think. They're in a liminal space and at a liminal moment. It's the scene the whole story has been inexorably building toward, the point where all Fingon's painful scraping-away of his barriers finally reaches his skin.

“Sometimes in Middle Earth it became very difficult to believe in the Valar,” Gil-galad said, his eyes still closed, “in the blood, and the mud, and the filth. There were so many great and small unfairnesses, day upon day, year upon year.” He opened his eyes and looked towards the Uttermost West where the world ended. “And here it is impossible not to. Look at it!"

This is a little more hopeful than the original version, which I don't have anymore, but went pretty much:

"Sometimes in Middle Earth it was very difficult to believe in the Valar,” Gil-galad said. "In the blood, and the mud, and the filth. There were so many great and small unfairnesses, day upon day, year upon year.”

It was a comment more about Gil-galad's rueful scepticism than wonder - because he fought the Dagorlad before he died, because he spent the last ten years of his life in mud and blood and filth and horror. I work on the First World War - its literary legacy and traces in the decades after, more than its immediate experience or actuality, because there was a ten-year period after 1918 where it was more latent than overt, a traumatic lacuna of silence, a Nachträglichkeit- and I thought in the blood, and the mud, and the filth was a little too on the nose.

I kept it, though, because Tolkien was drawing on his own memories of the trenches with the Dagorlad and the Dead Marshes, with those blurred lines of solid land and mud/bog, the living mixed up with the remains of with the dead, all the themes you see again and again in the war poetry and the officer war-books. (Santanu Das is very good on this, as is Eric Leed). Paul Fussell is a bit old-hat now, but his argument that WWI altered the sensibility of its survivors because of their close, consanguinous co-existence with the dead is something I still find valuable. I think there's a lot of WWI survivor in the way I think of Gil-galad, actually, I'm just realising - not that he survived the Last Alliance. He's detached in a different way from Fingon. Fingon's built himself a thick layer of repression/denial, a kind of callous to protect himself from confronting or thinking about what Maedhros did, and what that means for him and to him; Gil-galad is entirely present, but somewhat detached in some ways, the way people who came back from war could be. Not that Fingon and Finrod aren't also separated from the Amanyar by their time in Beleriand and experience of war and death, but Gil-galad lived there for millennia, and he fought a longer, harder, more total kind of war than they did.

But he's at the Sea of Ekkaia, as west as you can get. So much of Tolkien is about that endless longing glance west, that movement: why is this very westernmost edge so under-explored?

I wanted Gil-galad to be softened by this encounter with the sea, so I went back and let his wonder be as much at the spectacle itself as the sea, like the greater hand at work he had sometimes doubted being visible was something wonderful rather than something to be bitter about. I wanted to position him to be potentially open to, perhaps, the Valar; perhaps, to Fingon. I hope he doesn't come off as closed-minded: I think of him as having a fair mind, and good judgment, but - despite placing him here between the sea and the shore - very clear personal lines between what he thinks is just, and what is not. Certainly, it helps a lot, never having known the Feanorians when they had not fallen.

The seam of the universe pulsed with light, and beyond it was – what?

Unutterable nothingness, something worse than death.

Perhaps Maedhros.

This is an important line for Fingon. He hasn't though the name of his own accord for much of the story, flinching away from it; it's only come in when Finrod and then Gil-galad speak the name. This is the first time he's thought it clearly of his own free will, and this is I think the first signal that he's brought Gil-galad here to be as honest and earnest with him as he can be, however much it hurts, or however much it might drive him away. Because if he isn't, and doesn't, Gil-galad will be driven away anyway, and Fingon wants to be connected with him, the first time he's wanted that kind of bond with anyone since he returned.

(I think of Finrod as someone who just kept turning up, regularly, and forcing Fingon to associate with him; and then bringing Amarie; and then his children; and not taking no for an answer. It bothers Turgon rather terribly that they seem to be friends now, when they were never that close Before: that Fingon pushes him away, but allows Finrod to keep pushing; that Finrod does push. He doesn't know about Gil-galad, of course).

He's brought Gil-galad here to show him if possible that he was wanted, to conjure up lost Ringwil where she might be felt if not found; and to do the same for Maedhros. This is a signal that this journey to the sea is as much about Gil-galad's missing father as his missing mother.

The almost-forgotten tang of salt in the air always mingled with the smell of blood in Fingon’s worst memories, and he was not the only one who remembered. The waves were gentle around Gil-galad’s feet, but they boiled furiously around Fingon’s, delivering small spiteful slaps at his calves.

Spiteful was probably the wrong word here. I don't necessarily mean a dramatic boiling or bubbling; but the water is harsh where it touches him, the kind of slapping roughness you get when the tide is coming in rough.

It took Gil-galad longer to mark the difference, engrossed in the joy of the sea and spectacle as he was, and when he did, his face changed. There was something terribly sad in his eyes when he lifted them from the water to look at Fingon.

It wasn’t why he had brought Gil-galad here; but Fingon didn’t want to imagine the look he would receive if he brushed aside the silent question. “No,” he said. “I am not forgiven.”

“So I see.”

They could probably leave it there.

But Fingon won't, because he's trying. He's really trying to connect after all the time flinching away from it, and he's remembering what Gil-galad said about talking, and what Finrod said about mistakes and silences in their first life.

He said, “You said you loathed the thought of being the son of – a murderer. But my own hands have not been clean since Alqualondë, and death didn’t unstain them. All the time you thought I might be your father, you must have known I was a Kinslayer, too.”

I tried to signal this in their earlier tower conversation with Finrod, and Gil-galad's changing of the topic, but I feel like it's a little abrupt here.

“Yes,” Gil-galad said, and his expression didn’t change. “And when the knights that had served you came to me, they told me that you killed that day in ignorance, that you came upon a battle already being fought; that you took up your sword to save those you loved and didn’t question whether it was just. I heard that from others, too, those who had less reason to bend facts to a flattering pattern; survivors of Gondolin and of Nargothrond. I did ask."

“Ignorance wasn’t an excuse. I died ashamed of it, and I live again with the shame.”

"Good!” said Gil-galad, and there was no forgiveness in his voice, even when Fingon jerked his head up in shock. Instead there was the stern ring of a king used to weighing the ideals of justice against the world as it was, the king who had walked arm in arm with Eonwë the Maia, led his people through many full-fledged wars, and held court and meted justice to them for an Age. “That gives me a far better opinion of you than any of the stories did! I’m glad.”

I remember talking to you about this in the comments, about what it meant that Gil-galad wasn't forgiving him. I think I really meant condone, but I also don't think it's Gil-galad's place to absolve Fingon - he wasn't the one wronged! - and that it's important to me that, because Fingon does truly regret it, he doesn't wish to be absolved, to slide away from it. I don't mean he ought to wallow in it or flog himself with it daily, but I think it would be important to him to shoulder and own that guilt rather than ever allowing himself to put it behind him or have someone else tell him it’s quite all right.

I think this is a moment where I show that they're quite similar, too, because even if Fingon wasn't aware that a bracing, clear assessment was just what he wanted, it was what he needed, rather than people being kind (which he's had a lot of, since he returned; and which hasn't touched that central guilt he's hidden from them, that he loved Maedhros, who had done such terrible things. It's prevented him from accepting kindness made him block people reaching out to him. Gil-galad is not being kind, but just, and still reaching out).

It felt like Fingon had been struggling to take a full lungful of air for a long time, and now something constricting in his chest had loosened, as it hadn’t even after the Valar themselves had judged him. It was only now that he realised that he hadn’t wanted Gil-galad to forgive or absolve him. He had wanted – needed – Gil-galad to be better than him, to withhold forgiveness when it was unmerited; and Gil-galad had. He had become the shining legacy they had all hoped he would be, the thing they had all somehow done right.

The water slapped at his ankles again, in impatient reminder.

This is too brief a transition. I should have fleshed the join out more.

“I think Ulmo would come to you here, if you called. You were a king by the sea in Middle Earth, and you may not remember it, but it was a river who gave you life.”

Gil-galad looked at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “What?”

“I brought you here for a reason,” Fingon said. “Where did they go, the drowned and poisoned rivers of Beleriand? I don’t know; but Ulmo might.”

I've really personified the rivers, but I think it's a clear and easy extrapolation from the Withywindle and the River-daughter in The Fellowship of the Ring that I don't need to justify in order to argue that every river might have had its own attendant Maia-spirit. It does make what happened to the Rivers of Beleriand much worse, though, and I wanted to look at the way a character that was a throwaway mechanism in scion ended up being sickened and dying as horribly as Beleriand did; this story was really about following all those lighter bits in scion home, to the end of the line, and looking at the long-term impacts of something that began more lightly. In this verse, Ringwil was a river, but also a person; and I think of her and Finrod as sharing a strange human-river friendship and overlapping enthusiasms.

He clapped Gil-galad on the shoulder, hoping it said all the things he meant it to say. Affection had been so easy for him once, in the life that had been taken from him by the fiery flails of the Balrogs, but now it came hard, and the sea-smell was in his nose, the terrible memories too close to the surface.

He had surely outstayed Ulmo’s tolerance by now. Fingon left Gil-galad there in the water, and didn’t dare glance back until there was thin sandy soil under his feet again.

Only then did he look once more towards the sea.

Gil-galad was standing in the shallows. His broad shoulders were bunched tight, as if he was readying himself for something very difficult, a confrontation with one of the Valar he had long doubted.

Then he spread his arms out, empty-handed, and tipped his head back, and the light on the horizon grew unbearably bright, whiter than white, more silver than silver; and a face began to move upon the water.

I really like this, honestly. Which I can't/don't say often! The temptation to overwrite this was strong, to show this encounter, to describe the Vala: but I think it's often stronger not to show something numinous, to pull away, to let the mind fill it in.

Again, this is Gil-galad as I imagine him: still somewhat distanced from the Valar by the Dagorlad and the things that happened there (and I think perhaps doubly unhappy in that he lived through the end of an Age once before, and that time, at least, the Valar came: they did not come in the Second, nor send so much as a messenger, and such obscenities as the fall of Ost-in-Edhil and the drowning of Numenor had been allowed to happen, and Men and Elves were left alone to come together and break Sauron's grip). Doubting, but not angry; doubting, but still curious. Open to listening.

a face began to move upon the water is of course a deliberate sideways reference to

And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

It took a very long time. Fingon could not watch; his eyes dazzled.

Can you tell I was teaching The Duchess of Malfi at this time? Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle; she died young. That sense of a light too bright and white to look upon; that sense of guilt; that faint reference to life lost untimely. This wasn't meant to be a direct intertextual reference, but that net of meaning was there, lightly. Again, I wanted to under-write rather than over-write. I know I have a tendency to over-write.

And of course - there's a sense here that Fingon is refusing the kind of close enoucnter with Ulmo he could/might have. There's water in his eyes. From the wind?

“Thank you,” Gil-galad said when he rejoined him at last. His eyes were glowing, and he whistled Ceredir to him from where he was tearing ropey roots of sea-grass from the dunes with great relish. “Thank you for bringing me here;” and he didn’t say it the way he’d thanked Fingon for the horse, or the armour, or the sword, or even the lance.

Because this is a real gift, something that means something to both of them, something more honest/painful. Fingon's been trying to connect through gifts but not serious conversation or sharing, like some estranged parents do, throwing money at the problem rather than giving of their time or their selves, and however well-meant, it hasn't worked.

“I didn’t truly do anything."

“You brought me to the Sea. I know – I could see – how difficult it was for you."

"Well,” Fingon said lamely. He cleared his throat. “What did Lord Ulmo say about – oh, I can’t call her your dam! – the Maia who bore you? Did she – was she there?”

The dam pun is Finrod's. Don't blame me.

A little of the light dimmed, but it didn’t quite fade away. “No, she’s gone. Back to the Timeless Halls, he says; but one with him again, Ulmo, at the same time.” Gil-galad made a noise. “I don’t pretend to understand any of it, all the metaphysical nonsense of the Ainur! But he was kind to me, and he told me something of her – that she delighted in the making of me.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “I left the flowers we gathered earlier in the waves for her and the sea didn’t dash them back onto the shore. I’m sure Ulmo broke a few laws of Arda there.”

I like this image of the flowers suspended in the water. I had it clearly in mind from before I began to write.

"You were wanted.”

“I’m beginning to believe it,” Gil-galad said.

“You should,” Fingon said. He took a breath. Talking is how you sort things out; and a long time ago, Fingon had been known for his valour. Gil-galad deserved to know how much he had been wanted, who had called himself a political compromise given birth. The truth of that had stung.

And it was less than the truth. Fingon could still remember the first time he had opened his mind to Maedhros over the leagues between them and let him see Gil’s small face through his own eyes, holding nothing back. He had shown Maedhros the dark long lashes and the squashed baby nose, the milk-blister on the bow of Gil’s upper lip, the way his whole head turned an alarming red when he wailed; shared with Maedhros Gil’s fondness for being tossed in the air, his splashing joy in his bath.

This is is me trying to describe a baby without being too sentimental about it, because Fingon wasn't all, oh look at the toesie-woesies, or my son, my son: his eye was more detached, and you see him in scion thinking of Gil-galad as it.

I've been thinking about why Fingon in no way allowed himself to consciously dote on the baby, why that streak of denial that's so strong in his second life was there in his first light, and really: it would have been dangerous to let himself love him, to see Gil as his son and Maedhros's. He was born at a time of terrible loss, after the Flame, when they all expected they could die themselves. He was moved around Beleriand like a game-piece. Fingon was always going to lose him: he wasn't going to get to raise him, after all, until and unless Morgoth was defeated. Maedhros wasn't going to meet him, until and unless &c. It was easier not to let oneself get attached than it was to confront those hard facts and let oneself be hurt by them. Easier to think of him as a baby Finwean prince, and that only: a political pawn, not a son.

Conversely, Maedhros maintains a physical distance, but not an emotional one. Here's a bit from Maedhros's perspective:

Finrod had told him that. They had written, back and forth, in the long months as Ringwil’s belly swelled, as the child formed, as it began to move and stretch and turn frog-like inside her. They had corresponded constantly during the first months of the child’s life in Nargothrond, and during the first months of his life, Finrod had sent long scrolls detailing every change in Artanaro’s weight, his length, his hair colour, his eye colour, how much milk he’d consumed each day: screeds winging forth to Himring until the child was old enough to survive the secret trip north.

Fingon’s letters had been infuriatingly spare of useful information while the child was fostered at Barad Eithel. Beloved, ineloquent Fingon: Fingon, who had nevertheless shown him the child as no reams of paper could.

Fingon had given him forever the rounded bloom of his full cheeks, and the pursed mouth, sullen in sleep: the feathery, rather cross-looking eyebrows, and the small hands with their deep dimples and smaller fingernails, curled into the edge of Fingon’s furred mantle.

Maedhros had felt the way Fingon hovered between wonder and confusion at what they’d wrought: the way he couldn’t quite manage to think of the child as his own, this thing spun out of air and calculation and freshwater into heavy, solid life. He could have loved him so desperately, Maedhros knew that. He was halfway there, hovering in terror on the edge, afraid of falling. If the baby had stayed in Barad Eithel longer; if Fingon had watched him begin to creep around on fat little knees, to pull himself up on the furniture and to take his first steps – to hear the baby babble turn into words and speech – his heart would have opened to him like a flower, and the child would have become the centre of his universe, the sun in his sky.

Fingon had never known what to do with Idril as an infant, either, but he’d easily become an adored uncle as she grew up. If they’d had more time – if the child had been permitted to stay with Fingon even a month longer before being sent for safety to Cirdan –

Well, they’d never had enough time.

There had been few walls between them then, so he had felt Maedhros’s bright joy, the painful love, in its moment of birth: swelling and swelling like a cloud with rain, as though his heart was growing and his blood was leaking out of him at the same time, transmuting into pure tenderness and iron purpose.

I like this because I think of the Ekkaia scene as a cloudburst, full of emotion that has been swelling and swelling and now released. This is one bit of the breaking-through.

He had never needed to ask whether Maedhros considered Gil-galad a son.

“I don’t want to talk about – him,” Fingon said with difficulty, and the salt breeze stung his face, his eyes. “I know you loathe him, and rightly; and I do, too. I do hate him; or I hate what he did. I do! But you should know – you deserve to – that he wanted you, badly, although he never met you; he never wanted the shadow on him to touch you or to taint you.

And this. You can see here where I spun off into cliffs of fall, which isn't a scion story, but sprung out of this speech. It was already there in those sketchy notes, too, a lot of what Fingon's saying here: this important line about hating Maedhros, or what he did (that movement from clear certainty to trying to separate the deeds from the loved one; to urgent reptition - I do! I mean it, I really do! - which means he doesn't, can't: this is the heart of Fingon's guilt, because he wants to hate Maedhros utterly, but he can't, and he is profoundly in denial about that).

“He always wanted children; I took that from him even before the Oath did, but I gave it back to him with you. I loved you first of all for that, but he loved you for yourself. Because you existed, against all hope and possibility and fate and chance; and because you were ours.”

Gil-galad said nothing. There was still a wildflower tucked behind his ear, but the brilliance had quite left his eyes.

“Well,” Fingon said at last. “I needed to tell you that. You should know that you were never – not only – you were wanted very much."

Beloved ineloquent Fingon, &c.

They were some miles from the beach when Gil-galad said, “‘Ours’?”

“Yes."

I was trying to let the gaps and breaks talk for me in the text. Under-writing.

The beginning was full of these little breaks, too, because they didn't yet know how to talk to each other; now at the end, that connection, and their conversations, are breaking down again. It's echoing that ride together at the beginning very strongly, but now it's not Gil-galad trying to become acquainted and Fingon giving light, unsatisfying answers. These are the real questions/answers at last, and the whole story has really been about getting to the point of Fingon and Gil-galad in Aman where they actually could have the kind of conversation Gil-galad was trying to have at the start.

Some miles further, Fingon said, “Did you ever meet him in Beleriand? After I died. I always wondered.”

“No,” Gil-galad said.

It didn’t seem like he was going to speak again, and Fingon had begun to assimilate that knowledge, that pain – that Maedhros had never seen him, had only ever known him through Fingon’s own eyes – when he added,

“But I saw what he did. Have you ever seen a whole city ruined, and known the ruiners to be Elves? It wasn’t even a city, poor Sirion! It was a refuge, a place for the desperate, as far to the West as they could get, as close to the safety of the Sea. They had so very little. No great stone palaces, no towers, no spires. Little enough fresh food. They were able to grow so little, and they lived on fish, and sea-weed, and what brave hunting parties would bring back; and hope. They lived on hope, and they thought Elwing wore it around her throat, but the Valar didn’t come for them: Maedhros Fëanorion and his brothers did instead, and they burned and killed and ravaged. I’d say they salted the earth, but it was salt already. To fall on any innocent Elven city would be a horror: on poor Sirion it was the greatest cruelty I ever saw, and entirely pointless."

They said nothing more.

I like this, too, actually. You see a little here of why Gil-galad might be healthily sceptical of the Valar - they didn't come for them: Maedhros Feanorion and his brothers did instead - and that very post-war experience of seeing a descrated, destroyed town. Worse when you had seen it when it was whole, when you knew the dead and fled.

Sirion is, I think, the worst thing the Feanorions did. I find it worse than even Doriath or Alqualonde (though they're all awful!). These were desperate survivors, huddled together at the edge of the sea for protection. So many of their leaders had been killed or lost. Idril and Tuor had disappeared; Earendil was away; Maedhros and the others struck while only Elwing was there, and she was so young, and so alone, and so damaged already by what they'd done in Doriath. And now they’d come again. There's something about the revictimisation that gets me. It's awful.

I wanted it to be weight and counter-weight - that soft, painful, remembered moment of Maedhros seeing baby Gil-galad through Fingon's eyes, something Fingon has clearly not deliberately thought about since he was reborn, but dredges up now for Gil-galad, because he should know: and which is echoed in the beginning by Fingon's question to Finrod. But Maedhros is still the person who did the things he did, and I wanted to set that soft moment of truth against his deeds at Sirion, another truth, to point out clearly why Gil-galad would recoil so hard from this offering, this honesty Fingon wants to be able to give him. This is the dichotomy at the heart of the story: reconciling Maedhros and how one felt for him with what he did, and how one feels about that. It is irresolvable, at least for Fingon, at least at the moment I've ended it at for now.

I don't know if this is quite what you wanted, @warrioreowynofrohan, especially because like I said, I wrote this story in a frantic fog, but I hope this in some way suffices!

#not!fic

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angst-fairygodmother · 3 years

Note

Oh! I saw your requests were open! Yay! Could you give me maybe 40 or 74 from the prompts to crush your soul, with Luther? and a reader from the 60s?

A/N: You asked for the soul-crushing prompts, so I went Full Angst on this one. In like a yearning way. I think I might cry, never mind y’all. Word Count: 1586 Rating: G - Angst, spoilers for TUA season 2 but nothing too intense I think

Dear Luther,

Confused? I slipped this in your pocket while you weren’t looking obviously. Couldn’t let you leave without a souvenir of Dallas. I wasn’t sure when you’d be going, so this seemed like the best way to do it.

“Luther, sugar? What’s the matter?” you asked, immediately spotting your boyfriend’s distress when he walked in. It was obvious in the flatness of his face and the slump of his broad shoulders.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said and even his voice lacked any real tone.

You set aside the pants you’d been pulling a ruined seam out of and crossed the room to wrap your arms around him (as best you could). Immediately, he hugged back, pressing you close. Your ear to his chest, you could feel how ragged his breathing was, as if he was scared or in some sort of distress.

“My brother showed up at the club yesterday,” he said softly.

“Oh! That’s fantastic. Why do you sound like it’s a death sentence?” you frowned in confusion, leaning back in his arms to look up at him.

“Because, knowing him, it is one.”

I didn’t understand it, why your brother popping in was such a bad thing. I thought, you know, maybe they didn’t get along, you told me about how your childhood was rough and all. Family ain’t easy, but I figured he was still family and it would all work out. And I’d be by your side to support you til it did. Guess I was wrong huh?

“Why don’t we go upstairs?” you suggested, stepping past him to flip your door sign to closed, despite it being several hours early for that.

“Y/N...I…” he sounded exhausted as he sighed the words out.

“I just mean to talk, don’t worry. It might be more comfortable.”

He nodded after a moment, eyes following you as you locked the door and till, then body following as you ducked into the back room and up the narrow staircase to your apartment on the next floor. He ducked awkwardly through the doorway, as he always did, and you led the way to the couch. Once he had settled himself, you turned to face him, knees bumping together.

“Alright, tell me,” you said seriously.

He sighed heavily, deflating, before he started to speak. He had told you before some about his childhood, how he wasn’t from Dallas and it was a very different place than the one he’d grown up in, and how he and his six siblings were all adopted by a very rich man who saw them as pawns in some grand plan. Now, as he filled in the details of time travel and supernatural powers and other mad things, he seemed to be staring past you, and you couldn’t blame him. You were sure that your face was probably going through quite the journey of confusion, shock, and maybe even skepticism before you cycled through again. And knowing him, he was feeling guilty, like by not sharing all of this right away, he had lied to you somehow.

“So you’re saying your brother showing up is a bad thing, because he’s going to want to find everyone else and go back to...fifty years in the future?” you asked when he had finally finished his wild tale.

“Yes,” he sighed. “And he thinks if we don’t then it’s going to be the end of the world ten days from now.”

“You know, Luther, there are easier ways to break up with a girl.”

I thought this was all some big practical joke. It just doesn’t seem like it could ever be real. But you believed it, and I believe you. So after you fell asleep, I wrote this silly letter, slipped into your coat pocket so that you’d find it later. That way if you really did have to disappear without warning, I’d still have gotten to say goodbye, sorta, and speak my piece.

“I’m not trying to break up with you, Y/N, I promise. I love you.”

“Aw, Luther, I love you too,” you smiled at him, leaning in to give him a quick kiss, confusing him with your shift of mood. “I know you’re not trying to break up with me, but you gotta admit, your story’s a little nuts.”

You fixed him with a critical stare and he chuckled ruefully.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you about it before,” he said sheepishly. “And I was...ashamed of who I used to be. I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Think less of you? Why would I think less of you?” you shook your head disbelievingly. “Because you made mistakes?”

“I caused the end of the world.”

“Not yet,” you laughed.

He sighed, giving you an exasperated look.

“I know, I’m making fun, but I’m serious too.”

You reached over, laying a hand on his cheek, drawing his gaze to you.

“Everyone in the world, through all of time, has regretted something they’ve done. You know you’ve done it, and you’re trying to make it better. That’s what matters.”

I thought writing a letter would be easy, because I don’t have to look at your face. But I keep seeing it in my head anyway. And I don’t know how to find the words I want to say to you.

I love you. That’s the most important one. And I should have opened the letter with that, but there’s no space to go back.

I’m going to miss you. I already miss you, and you’re asleep in the bed not six feet from me. I guess there are worse things though, than having someone that means so much. I’d rather have to miss you than to have never met you.

“I want to,” he said hesitantly. “But what if fixing things means...leaving?”

“Why would leaving be so bad?”

“You’re joking right?” he scoffed. “I’d be leaving you behind. And that’s not fair!”

“Oh, sugar, it’s never fair,” you tilted your head sadly, voice kept at a whisper as you tried to keep back tears. “ It’s okay if you have to go.”

“No it’s not. I like it here, and who I am. And...I love you. I don’t want to give that up.”

“We had a year. A really good year. And that’s more than some people can say.”

“But we deserve more.” His voice was rising as he got more upset, and he was shifting agitatedly.

“Do we? Says who?”

“Says me!” he shouted, standing up and starting to pace. You reached out for him, catching him by the hand and trying to guide him back to the couch, but he shook you off. “Everything I’ve done has been for my dad, because he said it was what we were supposed to do. We were supposed to save the world. And instead, we ended it. And then we came back here and got a second chance at having a life. I like who I am, I like what I have. I love you. Why should I have to give it up?”

“Luther, baby. Sugar. Nothing’s set in stone. Maybe you and your family will find another way, if any of them have half the motivation you do. And maybe you won’t. If leaving is what it takes, it’s okay if you have to go.”

He stopped, turning to look at you, finally. There were tears in his eyes and you stood to meet him, standing on your tip-toes to press a tender kiss to his mouth.

“But if you might, and you don’t know when, maybe we shouldn’t waste what could be all the time we got left?”

Can I ask you for something? Is that fair to do in a letter? I hope it is, because I gotta say it.

Please don’t forget me. I’m just a nobody tailor from Dallas, and you’re literally saving the world, but I think we had something special, and I know you do too. I don’t want to disappear just because we’re not together anymore, okay? You don’t have to seek me out or nothing. I won’t still be pretty in fifty years, and I don’t want you to see me like that. Just, remember sometimes. Think of the good times and smile.

But don’t pine after me forever, though. Maybe for a few months or something is fine. It’s okay to move on eventually though. You should. You’re so wonderful, you deserve to be happy. Even if it can’t be with me.

I love you, Luther Hargreeves.

With all my heart,

Y/N

There were tears in his eyes as Luther smiled down at the page in his hand. Somehow, he had been lucky enough to find the most perfect person in the world, and then lose them. He couldn’t believe you even thought they had to ask though, for him to remember them. Of course he would. Every day. Especially with this letter, scented just slightly like the laundry soap that was such a part of them, to help with. He wanted to read it over and over until he went blind from squinting at the tight scripted letters.

Carefully, he folded it and tucked it back into the envelope it came from, the one with just the word “Goodbye” written on it, and tucked it back into the inner pocket of his coat, where it could sit close to his heart. Even if he did feel like he’d left the organ back in 1963.

#not thrilled with the formatting but it'll do?#I fell asleep for like 2 hours and then woke up with a desperate drive to finish this #so it's finally done #Luther Hargreeves x reader #The Umbrella Academy fic #angst #if the formatting or whatever is unclear please give me a gentle poke and I'll rework it?

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veryreallyfuckinbad · 3 years

Text

FIRE AND MOSS // Daryl Dixon X Reader// CHAPTER 5

TW: Strong language, implied abusive relationships.

Days passed quickly at the farm. Your schedule was filled with hunting, scavenging, killing any walkers that wandered too close, taking watch. You fell into a pleasant routine- one that was rare in a world full of nothing but surprises. You were busy every day, but once the sky darkened and cheerful conversations faded into faint whispers around a crackling campfire, you felt the same freedom that accompanied you when you were on your own. You loved every single member of your new family- maybe besides Shane, who was an asshole to everyone who didn’t agree with him. You became close with Maggie, she was like an older sister that you’ve never had. Daryl was still very much an enigma, but you felt most comfortable in his company. He began cracking small, dry jokes from time to time and never complained when you ran your mouth or tried to lift the mood with a stupid joke. Once his patience ran out, he would eventually kick you out and send you back to your tent, but you didn’t mind. You knew the man by now and were grateful for the smallest of talks with him. Despite enjoying the “mundane” life on the farm, you were like a wild animal- you couldn’t stay in for too long, eventually beginning to pace around your cage in a haze. The cage opened once the sun set. You enjoyed running around the dark, empty fields and rolling in the grass with Jake and telling him every Greek myth you could remember his namesake telling you. You knew he couldn’t understand you, but somehow hoped he could. The grass under your body felt cold and cooled you down, the blades ticking your legs and hands. Tonight was one of those nights.

Your hands traced circles in the grass that you and Jake were laying on. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you took a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Jake was lying beside you, you haven’t seen him this relaxed since you were alone in the forest with him. The stars were shining bright above you, moonlight giving everything a dreamy glow. You closed your eyes and took in the moment, basking in the cold light of the moon. The grass smelled fresh, and made you feel more awake- more alive. Your eyes shot open when you heard the familiar crackling of a campfire. Once you sat up, your eyes were met with a familiar orange glow. Daryl was sitting by the campfire, his face illuminated by flames. You stood up and carefully made your way over to him, making sure to stay out of sight and not make any noise. Once you got closer, you could see the man clearly.

His face was partially covered with loose strands of hair, but his eyes were filled with disappointment, anger and sadness. He was exhausted- a single look at him proved it. Dark circles outlined his cold eyes and he looked paler than usual.

“Daryl?” your voice was nothing more than a whisper, but he still jolted up, startled. He eyed you and sighed, dipping his head.

“What the hell, woman?” He spoke roughly but quietly, no louder than you. “Ya watchin’ me?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, taking a step out of the shadows with Jake carefully following you. Daryl was selfless, brave and tough but awful at speaking to people. Bad with people, in general.

“Funny coming from you, Dixon” you heard him scoff as you motioned for him to scoot over so you could take a seat next to him. He complied with a slight grunt and made space for you.

Daryl was tense, more so than usual. You wondered whether he was hurting- physically or emotionally. Whatever it was, something wasn’t right and instead of prying, you decided to do everything you could to cheer him up.

“Wanna talk about it?” you looked at him and for a brief moment, your eyes met. He was surprised- you caught him off guard.

“What d’ya mean?” he asked, turning his head to look at you properly.

“I’ll take that as a no, then” you shot him a tiny smile and turned your gaze to Jake, who sat by your legs. You looked down at him and as your eyes met with his, you decided to stand up and take a seat on the cold, wet grass and rested your back on the log you previously sat on with a sigh. You closed your eyes and began running your fingers along the fox’s fur, whose eyes also shut.

Daryl watched you in pure disbelief. He had so many questions that he didn’t know which one he should ask first. He’s seen you rip walkers apart with your bare hands, throw knives, hunt, yell at the undead to come out already so she can kill them and sleep (which, that one time it was Daryl, not a walker). She was dangerous, but not because she would hurt him. She was dangerous because (Y/N) occupied his thoughts more often than she should, he spent a lot of time thinking about how brutal, violent and fearless she could be, just to come back to camp and ask him how his day was or tell him about things he didn’t care about, like the TV shows she liked back when television was a thing. She could be violent, covered in blood, but she always turned into a gentle, caring and understanding person during every conversation she had with him. Moments like these made him reflect on himself and his friendship with her. Her previously blood-stained hands were now ever so gently running along her fox’s fur. He would never admit it, but he admired how she didn’t treat him like a pet, like so many people would. Both her and her fox were nothing but wild, with two sides to them.

“What d’ya like to draw?” the question left his mouth without him even realizing it, he was so lost in thought that the words slipped out on their own.

“People, animals, sometimes places I like” you answered truthfully, with a smile, enjoying knowing he was curious. He might’ve asked it for the sake of being polite, but you knew that wasn’t something Daryl Dixon would do. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you stood up and looked him in the eyes. “Hold on” you jogged to your tent and after shuffling around for a couple minutes, you came back and trotted to the spot where you were previously sat. You handed him something you’d never willingly show someone else- your sketchbook.

He examined it and opened it gently, as if afraid of tearing your most prized possession apart. He flipped through the pages and stopped to look at a sketch of Jake, then at a halfway-finished picture of Rick, Carl and Lori, sketches of Glenn and Maggie. He flipped over to the last filled page- the very campfire you were sitting by. He looked at that particular sketch longer than at the others. Daryl examined the picture and with every glance, he found new details he hasn’t noticed before. The fire was in the center, the logs you sat around it, some out of view. He noticed your tents in the background and smiled when he saw his crossbow laying in the grass. His fingers brushed against the paper with a tenderness you’ve not yet seen in him.

“It’s not the best, I know, but I-“ You began, but before you could say anything else, Daryl’s voice sounded over yours.

“Nah, I love it” he sounded genuine, a spark appearing in his eyes for a brief moment. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head.

“It’s yours!” you offered him a big grin and affectionately patted his knee. He didn’t flinch away like he usually would, simply looking at you and back at the drawing. You nodded and took the sketchbook from his hands, your hand brushing against his. You carefully tugged on the paper and ripped the page out, about to hand it to him before your eyes widened and you retracted your arm. Daryl didn’t say anything and watched in silence as you grabbed a stray piece of charcoal from your campfire and used it to write something on the back of the page. Finally, you handed it to him and once again leaned against the log.

“That’s the first gift I e’er got.” He almost whispered as you felt your stomach turn. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You looked him deep in the eyes and shot him a confused look, hoping he would elaborate. To your surprise, he did.

“Shit childhood. No Christmas, no nothin’.” He looked away, his cold gaze turning to Jake. You had to physically hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around him. Daryl tensed, frustrated with himself for opening up to you for no reason. He didn’t know you cared or that you appreciated him sharing at least a tidbit about his past. His eyes were still fixed on your fox companion, you weren’t completely sure of his intentions but you knew that he wouldn’t hurt him, so you relaxed slightly. Daryl began chewing on his thumb, something you noticed he did as a nervous tic. You knew he hated pity but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Daryl, I’m so sorry” despite being at a loss for words, you went on, “You didn’t deserve that.”.

As soon as the words left your mouth, he turned his head to look in your eyes, but it felt like he was staring right into your soul, your heart. Nobody has ever told him that. Still, despite being grateful, he refused to believe you said it just to be polite, or because you didn’t know what else to say. There was still a part of him that believed you meant it and it made him more confused than ever.

“I didn’t have the best life, either” you began without even thinking about your words, all you wanted was talking to him, “You know, even before shit hit the fan. My love life was about as pretty as one of them undead assholes” you joked in order to lighten the mood, trying to make light of your very unpleasant, even horrifying relationships- the kind that left bruises on your body and moss on your heart. Daryl didn’t even flinch. Not even a scoff of disapproval, so you continued, “Then, after it all began, I met a group- no, my family. They saved my life and taught me everything I know.” Daryl was convinced you were finished sharing and opened his mouth to speak, but you went on, not caring whether he would see you as weak if you cried when recalling your previous group. “The man that kept me alive, he was like a second father to me, his name was Jake.” Your eyes welled up with tears as you pressed the fox sitting beside you close to your chest. He climbed onto your lap and snuggled into your touch, comforting you the best he could. “He gave me my knife, he gave me a second chance, he gave me all the skills I have, but when our camp was attacked I just-“ your whimpers, which turned to full sobs by the middle of your confession, were interrupted with Daryl’s voice, sounding more tender than usual.

“That’s enough.” He sounded concerned, but comforting. “What matters is yer okay now. Yer here an’ yer alive.” By now, tears were streaming down your face and dripping off your lips and nose. “Besides” he began again, not sure if he should say what he wanted to say, but one hopeful, curious glance of your glossy eyes pushed him to speak. “Ya still have Jake”

You couldn’t help it, you stood up and stared at him, whimpering from time to time. You opened your arms slightly and looked him deep in the eyes. “Can I?” You desperately needed his comfort, no human has comforted you in your moments of weakness since the days of your old group. Daryl simply nodded in response and grunted as you inched forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, sobbing into the crook of his neck. He didn’t hug you back, but you didn’t mind. The man avoided physical contact with everybody in his group, so you were grateful he even let you get so close to him. “Thank you”

Jake’s whimpering caused you to pull away and look at him with confusion, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

Daryl chuckled and smirked lightly, shaking his head at the fox.

“Didn’t take him for the jealous type” he motioned towards Jake with his head and smiled. “I like him” he said, causing you to giggle. You felt much better, all thanks to him. The whole night, you caught him staring at your companion, he was clearly intrigued. You decided to take your shot.

You placed your hand on Jake’s fur and stroked it gently with your palm. Once you felt him relax, you reached your free hand out to Daryl, who was watching you with curiosity in his pale blue eyes. “Give me your hand” you instructed and hoped he wouldn’t ask any questions. Thankfully, he obliged but flinched slightly when your hand touched his. You guided his hand to Jake’s snout as gently as you possibly could, not wanting to scare either of your rather wild friends. You brought his rough, ragged hand to the fox’s nose. Jake looked up at you. You were never very religious, but in that very moment praying seemed like a great idea. You were all but horrified that he would take a bite of Daryl’s fingers, ruining the chance for mutual trust between him and the animal.

You sighed with relief and released a breath you didn’t know you were holding as Jake sniffed Daryl’s hand and didn’t move, simply licking his snout afterwards. The archer’s hand felt less tense now, as if he wasn’t bracing himself for the animal’s teeth in his hand at any second. You took his hand once more and you could swear you could hear a breath hitch in his throat, but he didn’t flinch or pull away. You placed your own hand on the soft fur of Jake’s scruff and grabbed his, pulling it closer carefully, until it was laying on top of yours. His hand was much bigger than yours, covering it whole. Your hand began sliding from beneath his, and soon, his hand was laid on top of Jake’s soft fur. You looked at Daryl and gave him a big grin. Happiness completely overtook you, allowing you to completely forget about the tears you shed just moments ago. Daryl gave you a huge smile, bigger than you’ve ever gotten from him. It was genuine, you could see the pure joy in his eyes- almost like a child petting a stray dog for the first time. His hand travelled through the flame-colored fur, making sure to be as gentle as possible.

“Holy shit” he breathed out and looked at you with the same smile he gave you earlier, his eyes lit up. He looked at Jake with emotions you weren’t sure he could feel until then- joy, awe, love. Daryl was completely invested with brushing the animal’s soft pelt and hardly noticed you chuckle.

“I never realized you were such a softie” you jabbed playfully, somehow knowing he wouldn’t take it personally.

“Shut up”

Once you convinced the hunter to try and get some shut eye, you kept watch with Jake and scratched him behind his ears. Pride filled you, as if you managed to tame two wild beasts at once. The quiet crackling of the flames caused you to get lost in thought, almost putting you in a trance. Daryl’s words echoed through your head, like a lost voice bouncing against walls in your brain. He was so gentle with both you and Jake, allowing you to open up and finally feel completely comfortable around him. You chuckled to yourself when the image of Daryl’s hands shaking slightly when touching the fox ever so gently, as if he was afraid that he could break him into pieces with one wrong move. A strange feeling fluttered in your heart- and stomach. One that you haven’t felt this strongly yet, you were unsure what it meant, but you didn’t want to dwell on it and hoped the answer would just present itself someday.

You’ve already guessed that Daryl’s childhood wasn’t stellar but you never expected it to be quite that horrible. He was sweet, in his own Daryl-Dixon-tough-asshole way. In your eyes, he deserved nothing but gratitude and-

And idea popped into your mind. You remembered the way his eyes lit up and how you felt the walls he built around himself crumble a bit when you gave him your drawing. You smiled and gave Jake a pat on the head while reaching over to retrieve your sketchbook and grabbing a piece of charcoal from the sizzling fire. You got to sketching, beginning with a two circles and some simple shapes, and before long, the shapes turned into two beautifully rendered figures- Daryl and Jake sitting next to each other by a fading out campfire. Daryl was smiling softly while Jake was leaning into his hand, which was placed upon the fox’s head, between his ears. The picture was incredibly tranquil, you could almost hear the hushed chirping of crickets in the grass behind them. Content with your work, you stood up and tiptoed to Daryl’s tent, careful not to wake him up and slipped the drawing in the opening of the tent. It was halfway inside, halfway outside of the tent, like a letter delivered by a lazy postman. You shot his tent a smile and decided to get some sleep yourself.

Daryl turned over and sat up as soon as he heard you zip your tent up. Once he was sure you were inside, he grabbed the piece of paper you slipped through the crack of his tent opening and examined it. A smile appeared on his face as soon as he realized he was in the center, petting (Y/N)’s beloved companion. He felt grateful and incredibly happy, but he also felt something else- a foreign feeling which made him wonder. That woman really was dangerous, she could occupy his thoughts for hours without him even realizing it. Despite his confusion about the new, strange emotion, his smile never wavered. He crouched and dug inside the bag that laid right next to where he slept and finally, pulled out a handful of colorful drawing pins. With a quiet grunt, he pinned the drawing to the wall of his tent in a spot where he could easily look at it while laying down. Staring at the gift, he remembered the other picture you gave him, and the note on the back that he didn’t read yet. He retrieved the now bent in half piece of paper and turned it over. He choked on his own breath when he read the message written on the back.

“I guess it took the apocalypse for you to get a gift, but you better get used to it now. You deserve it, Dixon.

-(Y/N)”

_______

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