#I wear most of the rings on a regular basis

[pantheonfixations]

Everyone in awhile I’ll be tidying my bathroom and my altar and realize that I have made myself more jewelry than I ever wear and maybe I need to finally stop 😅

Will I? Absolutely not, but I do acknowledge that I’ve gotten maybe a little out of hand.

#panns gift of gab #handmade #pagan witch #jewelry #it’s honestly the necklaces #I wear most of the rings on a regular basis #but I only wear one of my necklaces everyday #I have SO MANY pendants #and chockers #and no self control to stop

[eldritch-spouse]

Livius slipping into the body of an actress with a catty attitude at a red carpet/awards ceremony, fully intending to cause a scene. He gets obsessed not with the actress but with her stressed out assistant.

She is fretting, readjusting the actress's dress and putting on some last minute adjustments to her look before she's on the carpet, and begging her not to stir any shit up at the event.

I know you and an the other two nominees for best actress don't get along but please be civil ma'am.

TW: Gore; Non-consensual demonic possession.

His plan was simple.

Cause a scandal.

Sometimes he does this kind of thing for fun, other times, he has the pleasure of doing it as a service from a formal agreement. You'd be surprised how many celebrities fish contacts to reach his Ring, to reach Lavineum the Envious. Really, him and Rinx have crossed paths on the surface more than once. Sometimes even Cero is looming by.

People just can't resist a bit of a hellish push to success, can they?

Every week, there's a new pretty face around the corner, some halfwit thinking they're going to make it big, a loser, a pawn, a dolly- People who let it all get to their heads and then, suddenly, one day, making a deal with an unfathomable force seems acceptable.

It just so happened that Livius' current patron is one rival of the gorgeous 32 year old whose body he's currently snug inside, wearing Ms Isabella like a glove. She wasn't particularly hard to get a hold of, most of these movie stars are pretty air-headed. He had her silent and dormant in less than a full minute.

He looks at himself in the mirror, combing over her extravagant dress that's honestly bright enough to kind of bother his sight. The woman's raven locks flow from her shoulders, and he twirls a lock the exact same way she does when in deep though. A practiced smile falls on that screen-friendly face as he switches through a few of her usual expressions.

Piece of cake. She's not very nuanced to Livius, as insulting as it may sound.

When the click of someone entering the room is heard, Livius straightens, then adopts Isabella's usual impatient stance, arm on her left hip, an intense gaze cast to you, the woman assisting this actress. Honestly, he doesn't know how well you get paid, but it can't be enough to justify dealing with Miss "I'm fluent in three languages and so much better than you-" on a regular basis.

" ... Ma'am? " You squint.

" Yes, what is it? " He snaps back the same tone you're probably used to hearing by now. The woman's slight Italian accent flows easily on the tongue.

" I asked you to sit down please, we still need some last minute adjustments. "

Livius glances at you once more before doing as told.

You're very pretty. It's almost odd that he's possessing the celebrity here, yet you have such a sweet little smile and eyes so full of hope that you could easily make it out there in the same areas as the woman you're working under. Maybe that's why she's so rude to you at times. Livius sits in the lush little chair in front of several mirrors and forgets that perhaps he's been staring at you for a little too long, because you shiver eventually.

He needs to be cautious, his gaze isn't like the vacuous glare this woman spares most people, it's something a lot more invasive and whole. When Livius stares, he sees.

Before you can ask if everything is alright, he diverts. " Go on, we don't have all day. "

And the way you jump has him muffling a smile. " Y- Yes, of course! "

As you get closer, the demonlord gets to sense your smell, your perfume rather, but there's a hint beneath that can only be yours alone. He'd be able to gouge it better if not for his host's own disgustingly overpowering, acidic crime of a perfume. Nevertheless, he's much too still while you work, observing every little thing you do. How your fingers twitch, where you lean to, which way your head tends to tilt, the expression you make when you're concentrated.

In fact, he likes that frowning puckered lip look so much that he subconsciously puts it on himself. And you notice, of course.

" Hahah... " You pause, heat rising on your cheeks. " I know, it's silly. You got me. "

Livius is very glad you took it as a joke rather than the amateur slip up it actually was.

When you continue, he schools himself a bit better, forcing himself to relax a little so he's not hyper-focused on studying you. He ponders on the steps he'll take to complete his deal, the most amount of damage he can make to this woman involves flickering through some of her insecurities, her lowest moments and most repugnant thoughts. The core of what makes her human, her disgusting sinuous vein.

Unfortunately, it's more than a little difficult to remain focused with you so close to him. As you shift the woman's luxurious necklace, he feels your small fingers brush against the expanse of her neck, a pleasant tingle up her scalp, the scent of you largely demanding of his attention. You're the type of person he could hold onto forever. It's a shame he's in the middle of a task, because Livius would much rather dwell inside of you at this moment.

This increasingly loud hum begins rocking his chest as the demonlord sways, enjoying the care and sighing while digits adjust earrings. And everything is right in the world, no thought spared to what time and day it is. Until...

The touch vanishes, the extra warmth recedes, Livius is bereft and irritated.

" E- Excuse me, ma'am? "

His eyes snap open.

Livius had been rumbling for a while. Oopsie.

He gets to see your eyes flicker from him, so full of confusion and doubt, to the wide mirror directly behind Isabella. And what you see there makes the color drain from your whole body. Your fear is palpable and thick, like the lump in your throat as you struggle to get in enough air to scream.

Scream like a wild animal, at the top of those itty bitty lungs.

What a wonderful melody. There are other ways he'd like to make you scream, now that he thinks about it. You're just a lot of fun, for some reason.

" Is something wrong? " He mirrors some of your own terror.

All you do is point at the mirror, taking a step back and trying -Failing- To steady your breathing.

He doesn't need to look back to know what's happened. You're seeing him. The actual him.

Instead, said mirror just bursts into a million shards, the force with which it's broken sends pieces flying through the room, your pitiful self cowering and shielding your face as you gasp and sob in shock.

" Oh my... " He starts, knowing damn well that more than a few of those shards have embedded themselves in Isabella's back. She must look like a porcupine, hah.

Livius turns around and pretends to care about the situation, thumbing over the mess he made, watching her bleed just a bit more from the brand new razor-thin blades that cut their way into her digits.

He hears you gasp tremulously somewhere behind him.

Livius allows her visage to distort, senses his sharp grin crawl up cheeks that straighten and elongate to accommodate it, his eyes force her skin to stretch with unpleasant zips of flesh as her eyelids fail to transform in time. He's getting a touch too excited.

" I don't think they'll mind too much, right? " He mocks, Isabella's attractive accent melting into his standard ragged demonic tenor.

The first thing that spins back is her neck, then her body, Livius stretching within the human's physical limits. When her arms and legs elongate, her form expanding into something strained and twisted, Livius sighs in momentary relief.

" Oh God... " You sniffle, legs unsteady, held up only by the opposite wall's support.

" Oh God... " Livius mimics fondly, loving the sound of it.

A click echoes, the room is now locked firmly. You seem to be silently making peace with certain death.

" You know- " The demonlord begins, swatting locks of bothersome curly hair away as he leisurely walks towards you. " In all these years you've worked for me, I realize I haven't gotten to know you all that well. "

You only shake and brokenly gasp when Isabella's bloated, clawed fingers make contact with your shoulder.

" Isn't that a shame? "

Livius chuckles at the small whimper you let out when he pulls your figure closer to his, swaying both of your forms calmly.

" But we still have a bit of time, I reckon. So why not tell me a bit about yourself, hm? "

It's not as if you're leaving the room until you humor him anyway.

#Livius oc

[teabutmakeitazure]

Power Versus Fate

>Yan! Pantalone x Fem! Reader

Word count: 0.8k words

༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶ * ༶

“Do you have any idea of how much power I’m offering you?”

You sigh for the umpteenth time, dusting off any flour or icing sugar from your apron. “My answer in Inazuma is the same as it was in Snezhnaya.”

“I take it that you do not have an idea?”

“You should take it that I am not interested.”

He clicks his tongue, giving you a disapproving look. This is the fourth time this week that Pantalone has come to your new workplace to ‘persuade’ you. All his presence does is annoy you and bring about a feeling of hopelessness. After all, he is the reason why you fled Snezhnaya in the first place.

The lights in the bakery backroom give his face an eerie glow as he stares at you. His eyes, dark and gloomy, harbour an unidentifiable emotion swirling around like a storm. One minute passes, then two, and his lips part to speak.

“How about I remove your dear fiance from the picture?”

You perk up, eyes widening in horror when you realise the meaning behind his words. “You wouldn’t… no, please not him! He’s innocent.”

Despite him being seated and you standing, it still feels like Pantalone is pushing you to the ground with the pressure.

“My dear, you worked for me due to a contract that spared your little town. Though your homeland Natlan was not kind to you, it does not want you back. Do you perhaps assume that marrying an Inazuman man would allow you to settle here? Or have you forgotten what mercy Snezhnaya had shown you?”

“Sir Regrator, I assure you that I am very well aware of my position as well as of the fact that I am no longer allowed in Natlan. What I do not understand is why you have followed me all the way to Inazuma, even going as far as to harass me while I work just to offer me a higher position after my contract is done and dusted.”

Pantalone slightly tilts his head, mentally commending your audacity. However, he’s quick to stand and trap you between his body and the nearby wall as he watches that spark of malice he so loved shine in your eyes.

One gloved hand grabs your wrist and lifts it up to view the pathetic excuse of a ring on your finger. Before you know it, he’s slid it off and thrown it somewhere across the room to lay forgotten somewhere under the sacks of flour. He now eyes the ringless hand, already figuring out which gemstone would suit it better.

“I will clarify one thing for you, [Name].”

His voice, smooth and deep, echoes in your mind as you glare at him.

“I was never offering anything,” he states. “Although I used that word, I have no intention of following it. Your return to Snezhnaya is final. In case you are thinking of running away, I hope you remember what happened when you refused to go with me the first time I met you.”

The memory of getting handcuffed and pushed inside his office on the boat resurfaces. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“I will have the details of our departure sent to you.” He continues, “Ah, and leave the details about your lovely betrothed to me. You needn’t see him or this humble bakery again.”

Shaking his grip off your hand, you push him away with the most malevolent face you could make. “You may dream as much as you wish. I am staying in Inazuma.”

“Are you sure about that? What power do you have to be able to declare such a thing?”

You remain quiet. You’re well aware there’s nothing at your disposal that could help you in this situation. Not even the authorities have any power to help you.

“Cat got your tongue, dear?”

Helpless, your back slides on the wall behind you as you fall to the ground. It feels so unbearably humiliating and unfair to receive this kind of treatment from him again. Before your contract of two years ended, you had worked as his personal secretary. Receiving all those borderline scandalous and filthy gifts from him on a regular basis and then having to deal with his questions about when you’re going to wear ‘that one piece’, you were fully prepared to leave Snezhnaya and never come back.

But fate has its own way of mocking you doesn’t it?

You’re sure the heavens are laughing when he steps closer to you on your knees. The action doesn’t elicit a response from you, not even when he chuckles in that infuriatingly beautiful voice of his.

“Good. You’ll have to get on your knees for me again some other time. Understood?”

#genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #yandere genshin x reader #yandere pantalone #pantalone x reader #yandere pantalone x reader #yandere fatui #yandere regrator #yandere regrator x reader #regrator x reader

[kararisa]

marigold promises

— 30. ice cream for three [☕︎ = 0.7k words]

notes: i'm back~ this also takes place a month after the start of second sem

Your concentration is broken by a sharp ring, and you glance up to see Albedo reaching for his phone.

"Sorry," he mouths, before answering the call. "Mom? Let me guess, you need me to pick her up?"

You watch as a small smile spreads across Albedo's face, and you realize this must be something he does for his Auntie Rhine on a regular basis; you’ve gathered that much from the handful of times he didn’t attend class to assist her with something, not to mention the one time he missed out a couple hours of training to help her out. But you never expected that he would have to pick up his sister. How often does he do this, you wonder.

“Alright, I’ll see you,” he hangs up and starts packing his things. "Sorry to cut this short, Cupcake."

You seize the opportunity before you. This could finally be your chance to get answers. “It’s cool. Say... is it alright if I join you?”

He raises an eyebrow at your request, “I’m sure you have better things to do than accompany me in picking up my sister from school.”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Well, let’s just say I’m curious. I’d like to meet her if it’s alright with you.”

After a moment's hesitation, Albedo nods. “Alright. Hurry up and pack your things, I don’t want us to miss the next bus.”

Being a bus stop away from campus, Windrise Park quickly became a hotspot for any college students looking for a change of scenery while skipping class or anyone looking to relax.

The breeze picks up and rustles the nearby trees and flora, filling the air with a sweet, earthy scent. Further into the park lies a playground where you spot some children running as their laughter fills the air, most of them wearing the uniform of the nearby Favonius Academy. You see a child run up to her father on some nearby benches. He ruffles the child’s hair as a bright smile appears on her face.

Your chest tightens with longing as you watch the children be showered with a father's love, a mother's pride. You yearn for the warmth of a parent's love, but know that it will forever elude you.

Albedo walks beside you at a comfortable pace, his gait easygoing while he adjusts the strap of his bag. What is he like as a brother, you wonder. Does he tease her relentlessly? Does he laugh with her, does he comfort her when she cries? Has he shared in her joy, has he shared pride in her achievements?

The dodoco keychain on his belt loop answers your questions.

You and Albedo finally make it to the gates of the Favonius Academy when a young girl with pale blonde hair runs up and hugs Albedo.

“There you are.” Albedo’s eyes soften, his hand moving to ruffle his sister’s hair. She pushes his hand away, laughing as she does so. The girl’s light red eyes look into yours, and you immediately feel as if you are intruding on a private moment. She pulls on Albedo's sleeve while tilting her head at you.

“Klee, this is [name],” You respond to Albedo's gesture with a brief wave. “[name], this is my sister Klee.”

Klee's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, so they're the one you keep talking about!" she beamed. "It's nice to meet you."

Albedo's composure slipped for a moment as he struggled to find the right words. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "She can be quite... enthusiastic."

You laugh at the absurdity; it’s hard not to be endeared by Klee’s contagious enthusiasm. In some ways, she reminds you of your younger cousins – the ones you only get to see during the holidays.

The mere thought of spending the holidays with your immediate and extended family sends a shiver down your spine. This year, as well as the last, you had chosen to stay with Ganyu and Yanfei, but you can't help but worry about your cousins' well-being. You love your family, sure, but the prospect of facing the same old arguments, criticisms, and uncomfortable conversations makes you want to run for the hills.

You elbow Albedo gently and nod toward a nearby ice cream shop. If Klee is anything like Albedo, you know that treating her to a sweet treat will be a surefire way to win her over.

“Are you actually trying to buy her off with sweets?” he sees right through your attempt at bribery.

“Why? Is it gonna work?”

Albedo groans, “Unfortunately.”

— previous || masterlist || next

summary: you and albedo have finally reached a mutual understanding as your first year of college comes to a close. with a new school year comes a new beginning, and you start off strong with albedo asking you the oddest of arrangements: "would you like to be lab partners?"

author's notes:

klee my favorite menace 🫶

sorry for being gone for so long. life has been getting pretty busy, but it's gonna take a lot more than that to keep me from writing 💪

oh and just to clarify, windrise park is across the street from the mondmart

featured song: Bambi by Clairo

taglist (i):

@fvkkyu @mintreen @edreee @khyllynnn @xxmirrorballxx @aiikalvr @yaefics @unsterblich-prinz @aequha @alch3myy @lovely-althxa @nei-rinn @cridtiins @zestrya @skylions-den @moriiartt @theother-victoria @sunsethw4 @dazaisfavgf @serossidechick @koiir @lazy-sanns @sweetbunnybunbun @dee-zbignuts @redactedhimbo @yurstepm0m @fanfictwarrior @fuyaa @saoiirsee @ireallylikehamsters @kissingkzuha @whosxangel @kitsuvil @orionicchaos @blurr3db3rry @semi-orangeapple @kunikuzushiit @atlatcaheart @wrrapedroundmyfingerlikearing @scarafrisbee @lost-wicked-artist @kairxse @elysiasbae @eurekatanya @empathum @tatiratty @zannivrs @mikismusings @sunoo-bby @astolary

— the taglist is currently CLOSED! shoot me an ask or a reply if you've changed your url or you'd like to be removed.

#genshin smau #genshin impact smau #albedo x reader #albedo x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #albedo fluff #genshin imagines #genshin modern au #genshin college au #albedo smau #marigold promises smau

[ass-deep-in-demons]

Fandom : Lord of the Rings

Starring: Boromir + friends & family

Tropes: character study, prequel, love letter to the canon

Rating: G

Chapter Length: 10k

Author's Note: This is... a pilot? a prologue? to my AU Of Wandering Birds, but generally it functions as a standalone short series. I wrote this because I love Boromir and I want him to have a life. Also, I love Minas Tirith and I will be moving there next summer.

✦ Chapter 1 ✦

...in which we meet Boromir, High Warden of the White Tower and Captain-General of Gondor. We get to learn a little about his daily life in Minas Tirith, as he tries to make sense of Recent Events: the mundane, the unusual, and the ominous.

[AO3] [masterpost]

Middle Earth, 1st of Nárië 3016 TE

The training grounds adjacent to the Garrison on the Third Level of Minas Tirith often attracted warriors of different provenances. Originally, the compound had been meant to merely house the troops of men-at-arms in the Steward’s employ. However, because the Training Grounds were the only swath of dirt where soldiers could freely run and spar inside the Walls, the Citadel Guards and Crown Knights would exercise there too on the regular. Boromir would come to the Garrison every morning to begin his day with a run, and there he would meet and greet many of his peers and fellow soldiers. This day was no exception. 

As he jogged, answering an occasional salute, he thought about the things he needed to accomplish later that day. A pending muster of the new recruits in the Garrison, equipment inspection at the Citadel, a report from the Masons’ Guild on the state of Pelennor fortifications… just to name a few of his ordinary duties as Captain and High Warden of the White Tower. However, one particular instalment in today’s agenda weighed especially heavily on Boromir. Earlier in the morning, just as he had exited his quarters in the Citadel, the Steward’s page had handed him a note. A summons. (...) today, at your convenience, the note read. It meant his father would be waiting for him in his office in the Tower of Ecthelion; waiting to talk about… Boromir knew not what, and therein lay the problem. Yesterday, when he had seen his father during the Midsummer festivities in the Citadel, the Steward had made no indication of wanting to speak in private…

Oh, Boromir would meet with the Steward on a regular basis, naturally. Every Valarday, Lord Denethor would host a private dinner for his sons and most trusted friends. There were the scheduled reports on the Citadel Guard, which Boromir dutifully submitted in person each week; then the military strategy meetings, which he considered his primary concern; the Council sessions which usually made him bored, or furious, or both; and of course the ever hated Court audiences, which required formal wear and a great deal of posturing. Alas, as both the sons of the Ruling Steward knew well, the most tricky of all were the dreaded individual summons. 

It’s not that Boromir did not love his father. He loved him dearly and revered him, as was due to his sire and his liege lord. But individual summons were serious, and a harrowing experience more often than not. Such a private audience was never without a cause, and rarely would that cause be pleasant. 

“Boromir!” He heard someone call his name from the entrance to the training grounds. Only a handful of persons in the whole of Minas Tirith had the standing to address him with such informality, so it wasn’t difficult to guess who was seeking his attention. He halted and turned around to greet the newcomer. The man cut a tall figure and stood out, with his hair red like most of his Blackroot Vale kinsmen, clad in the green vestments of his house. Boromir jogged towards his friend and clasped his arm.

“Derufin! Must that my eyes deceive me! Or is this you sleepwalking?” he asked, with mocked astonishment.

“Why, aren’t your wits sharp as ever on this grey morning, my Lord,” parried Derufin tersely. “Not all of us are like to run ten leagues in full plate ere breakfast, you know?” he grumbled. Boromir would often prod him for his dislike of early rising.

“Well?” asked Boromir, “what is so important that’s got you up, then?" It was quite unusual, Boromir had to admit. Derufin was the Captain in charge of the Steward’s bowmen. Archery training would start shortly before noon on the regular, when target visibility was best. His friend hesitated to answer, too, and his expression turned even more solemn, which gave Boromir a pause. Had something happened?

“Lady Morwen is leaving,” said Derufin finally, as if he was announcing a death sentence.

"Leaving? Have done jesting, Derufin," Boromir shook his head. "I saw her just yesterday in the Citadel, in passing. She was in high spirits, enjoying the festivities."

"Aye," claimed Derufin, "and after the feast she said her goodbyes. Hallas told me she'd bid him farewell for good and that she'd already packed for her journey to Arnach."

“Bugger!” Boromir said, for all his (reportedly) sharp wits not able to come up with anything more eloquent at the moment.

“Bugger indeed,” Derufin agreed and deflated. 

For a while the two of them stood there, dumb and brooding. To someone unacquainted with the lives of Gondorian peerage, Lady Morwen’s leaving might appear a trifling matter, no more than food for gossip, or a personal hardship at worst. But Boromir knew well what it signified, and he did not like it one bit.

Lady Morwen of Lossarnach, daughter of Forlong the Fat, had for some years been the favourite of the Minas Tirith’s youth, an avid attendee of gatherings, and a devoted patroness of shops and fashionable hostelries. Her love for the White City could rival Boromir’s own, albeit for vastly different reasons. It followed that if even the Lady Morwen herself was leaving the City for Lossarnach, other noble Ladies and Gentle Folk were bound to desert as well, and soon.

Boromir could plainly see the reasons for which Gondor’s nobility was abandoning the Capital and taking refuge in the western fiefdoms. The situation in Minas Tirith was gaining urgency with every passing moon. Had been for some time. As the skirmishes with orcs and Southrons grew in frequency and magnitude, more and more civilians, common and noble alike, chose evacuation. In their place, men-at-arms, masons, smiths and fletchers were flocking to the City in great numbers to seek employment in the army. The Steward encouraged and supervised these changes, and Boromir was tasked with organising the draft and the drilling of the newcomers.

“What am I to do?” Derufin finally broke the silence. “Should I go and see her…? No, that… But, what if…” His desperation was quite evident and Boromir pitied his friend. Out of all of the Lady Morwen’s astonishingly numerous admirers, Derufin was perhaps the most devoted, if also, regrettably, the least skilled in the art of romance. “Say, Boromir, will you go with me? Just to see her off?” his friend demanded, and Boromir rolled his eyes. It was entirely too early to be social. “You must! She’ll only talk to me if you’re there,” Derufin pleaded.

“You’re a major dolt, you know?” Boromir informed his friend. “She’d see you even without me, and it would serve you better. But very well,” he relented, “let’s go, lest she ride out ere you gather your wits. But I am not changing. We go as we are, and then we break fast at the Mûmakil,” he asserted, as he waved over his squire and began unbuckling his armour. 

“Just hurry,” Derufin said, anxious. “We should still be able to catch her Uptown. If not, we’ll have to race her convoy to the Great Gate! It would be just like in the songs…” the redhead mused, and Boromir was, once again, privately astonished by the sentimental spirit of his airhead friend. A horse race down the Main Street, at this time of the day, would be harrowing at best, not to mention a hazard, and a public spectacle.

Boromir left his equipment with his squire, the young Huor, and the two men began their brisk climb to the Sixth Level in companionable silence. The main paved road of the White City meandered from the northern to the southern half of it and back, crossing each of the seven walls at a different point. The Main Street was buzzing with activity. Withering Midsummer decorations could be seen here and there after yesterday's Parade, which had been, on all accounts, underwhelming compared to the celebrations that Boromir remembered from his childhood. Still, on both sides of the Street the commerce was yet alive - the merchants and craftsmen were opening their shops and the air was permeated by the smell of fresh bread from the numerous bakeries of the Third and Fourth Level. To walk along the tract, up to the Sixth Level, would take the entire morning, but Boromir, a true son of the old Minas Anor, knew every narrow passage, every unofficial crossing point, and the location of a conveniently placed hidden ladder, that allowed them to scale the Fifth Wall momentarily. This way, their trek to the Uptown was over in less time than Derufin had needed to come up with what to say to the Lady.

“Better you greet her, and I follow along,” Derufin told his friend.

“She will not bite, you know,” Boromir replied quietly, as they approached the Lord of Lossarnach’s city estate. Sure enough, a carriage waited out-front, laden with numerous chests and packs. Even more baggage was being lugged from the townhouse by a flock of servants. Several horses waited nearby at the ready.

“I think I wouldn’t mind if she truly bit me…,” pondered Derufin. “Depending on the location of the biting, certainly!”. Boromir snorted and opened his mouth to retort, but then the Lady herself emerged from the door.

“Lord High Warden, Captain Derufin! I regretted not seeing more of you yesterday at the Feast,” she said by way of greeting and flashed her white teeth. "Do you already miss my dancing? Are you here to beg me to stay?" She levelled them both with her gaze playfully, but lingered on Boromir, no doubt noticing his decidedly not fresh training attire. He did not look the part of the High Warden, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Lady Morwen. Certainly the seamstresses of the Fourth Level will be grieving your departure come tomorrow,” he countered her easily. “With you goes their livelihood. We are come on their behalf to bid you a safe journey.”

Lady Morwen laughed. She was tan and plump, had a wide smile, wide hips, luscious dark bouncy curls and bouncy… other parts, and Boromir liked all of that. She was also quick witted and he liked that even more. But Boromir would never think to court her. She would likely neither understand nor agree with his warrior’s lifestyle, and, more importantly, under no circumstance would he do anything to undermine Derufin’s chance at happiness. They remained acquaintances and Boromir enjoyed their friendly banter and an occasional dance. The same could not be said of Derufin, who would become severely tongue-tied and prone to stumbling in her presence.

“Well then, you may inform the mourning seamstresses that I shall be thinking of them very fondly in Arnach, and I shall return one day for new gowns, so they better be ready for me,” she said cheerfully, but then her smile faded. “I truly am loath to depart, but I dare not  ignore my Lord Father’s summons any longer.”

They fell silent at that, for there was nothing left to say. To his surprise, Boromir felt a pang of genuine sadness. He was no courtier, nor did he attend much of the noble gatherings, but even he could recognize that the White City would be diminished greatly by the exodus of its gentry. With their departure the music would die down, the parties would cease and the fine arts would be abandoned. But such were the dictates of war.

“Well then,” said Lady Morwen, ending the silence. “Unless one of you, Lords, has something to say to me, that could induce me to stay a while longer…” With these words she looked long and hard at dumbfounded Derufin. ”... I must be off.”

She then briskly entered her carriage, and once seated, looked at them one last time.

“I will be thinking of you and praying for your safety,” she said. “You are our champions and heroes, and the hearts of the people are with you. Do not forget that on the field of battle, my Lords.” Her solemnity and pathos surprised Boromir, but he detected no sign of mockery nor artifice.

“We thank you, Lady. Please, do convey our respects to your esteemed Lord in the Vale of Flowers,” he replied officially and bowed.

“I fervently hope to see you again, my Lady,” said Derufin.

“As do I, Derufin,” she said, then she tapped the roof to signal the coachman. The carriage started moving and just like that, Lady Morwen was off to Lossarnach. Both men looked after her convoy advancing on the Main Street to disappear in the Sixth Gate. Derufin uttered a heart-rending sigh.

“You truly are a dolt,” said Boromir. 

“Aye, that I am,” Derufin agreed weakly, and Boromir had no heart to tease him any further.

“Come, let us go to the Mûmak and cheer ourselves up with a hearty breakfast,” Boromir ordered. “I’ve received summons from the Steward and I cannot face him on an empty stomach,” he said and grimaced. Immediately, he regretted these words, honest as they were. He should not be mentioning his liege lord in such an irreverent manner. A sign, perhaps, that his patience was wearing thin these last weeks. 

But Derufin seemed to take it in stride, sympathetic to his fellow noble son’s predicament.

“It wouldn’t do, no,” he said. “I do not envy you and Your Lord, with what has been going on.”

To that, Boromir could only nod, and sigh, and then the both men were off to Midtown. Derufin was the closest friend Boromir had in the world, save of course for Faramir and perhaps for Theodred of Rohan. Derufin and his older brother Duilin, sons of the Lord Duinhir of Morthond, had come to Minas Tirith some twenty years prior, at the cusp of their adulthood, to receive military training. They had quickly formed an alliance with the Steward’s Heir, them being alike to Boromir in age and station. After two summers of training Duilin, as his father’s heir, had been summoned back to Blackroot Vale, Derufin however had received leave to remain as one of the Knights in the service of the Steward. And so he and Boromir had spent most of their youth together, sparring, chasing skirts and frequenting taverns. 

The Fat Mûmakil on the Fourth Level was one such tavern, their favourite establishment, as it happened. The upper-class Sixth Level had several elegant inns with gourmet cuisine, as well as a scattering of small shops with artisanal pastries and refreshing spicy beverages from Rhûn and Harad. The Fifth Level boasted many ever-crowded dining establishments with regional dishes, which offered overpriced deals mostly aimed at tourists and travelling merchants. The Fat Mûmakil on the Fourth Level was less formal and less crowded, but still respectable. Mainly Citadel Guards and local men of trade could be met there, and that suited Boromir just fine. He even had his own favourite table, which the owner, Otto, would oft reserve for him, as Boromir was certainly his most prominent patron.

On this day the Mûmakil's main chamber was more crowded than usual, and Boromir could see many of yesterday's revellers trying to drown their hangovers in ale. No sooner were Boromir and Derufin seated at their table, as the serving girl, Gurdun, greeted them with her usual enthusiasm.

“What will it be, my Lords?” she asked. “Late breakfast or an early lunch? We have excellent fresh mutton today!”

Indeed, it was almost noon already, Boromir noted, only then realising how hungry he felt. Derufin’s failed romantic endeavours had cost them the entire morning. The Archer would be late for target practice, but that couldn’t be helped now. Not when a whiff of roasted meat, mixed with tones of sage and rosemary, had his stomach gurgling in pleasant anticipation. After a short deliberation, they decided to fogo breakfast and order the mutton, but just as they were about to place their order, they heard Otto call out from behind the bar.

“Oi! Lass! Haven’t I told you to come and fetch me if Lord High Warden showed up?” the innkeeper chastised poor Gudrun and hurried to their table. “Begging pardon, Lords!” he addressed them politely.

“What is the hurry, Master Barkeeper?” Boromir asked. This behaviour was somewhat irregular for Otto, a man of few words, who often preferred to leave his patrons in peace.

“With your permission, Lord High Warden. I am to relay to you a missive, entrusted to me by one Captain Faramir of the Rangers,” Otto declared, his tone and the expression on his pudgy face indicating utmost reverence.

“Hold on!” Boromir exclaimed and shook his head. Surely the barkeep was mistaken. “Captain Faramir is stationed in Ithilien, and will stay there for some weeks. I would know it if mine own brother was come back home.”

“That is the very thing, Lord Warden,” Otto said, exasperated. “The Lord Faramir was here this morning looking for your Lordship. He’s left this note with me.” With these words, the innkeeper produced a squarely folded letter and handed it to Boromir. “I beg your pardon, Lord! I would have passed it right away, but for this forgetful goose that calls herself a waitress.”

“Come now, surely no harm is done,” Boromir waved off the barkeep’s concerns and winked at the lass, which made her face turn even redder, if such a thing were even possible. Sure enough, the letter bore Faramir’s seal and Boromir hastily broke it to unfold the parchment.

To the most worthy Lord Boromir, Captain of the White Tower, High Warden of the Citadel, and Captain-General of Gondor, from his loving brother Captain Faramir: warmest greetings!

It has ever been my sincerest wish to see you in good health and high spirits, and for myself, to be by your side always, or at least as oft as Fate would allow. Now I rejoice, for the time of our reunion is near.

I am come back to the City this morning post haste, spurred by a most peculiar Dream. I have looked for you in the Garrison, but found you absent, and your Squire informed me you had left with Lord Derufin of Blackroot Vale. I thought you had gone to the Fat Mûmakil for breakfast; it seems I was mistaken. No matter, you are like to turn up here sooner or later. I am most impatient to reunite with you, yet there is someone I need to see first about the Dream.

I pray dearest brother, meet me in the Citadel this afternoon after the third bell. 

May the Valar bestow upon you all their blessings, so wishes Yours forever loving brother,

Faramir

Boromir couldn’t help but smile, as he read the letter. So like his Faramir, to have even the most mundane of notes be a cause for shame for the professional scribes. Boromir hated correspondence and would always make it as short as possible, yet Faramir could produce artful speeches off the top of his head, even scrawling over his knee in the corner of a tavern. He would not forgo any part required for the sake of formality, which Boromir was wont to do.

Yet, formally complete as it was, Faramir’s letter posed more questions than it answered. That his brother on occasion was plagued by weird dreams, and that he ascribed to them prophetic meanings - Boromir knew, and sometimes he even dared believe it. But why was this dream so urgent to warrant abandoning his post in East Ithilien? Did his brother have some news relating to the Enemy? And who was this person Faramir was going to meet? The logical guess would be the Lord Denethor, whose insightful predictions often bordered on prophetic as well. But then why hadn’t Faramir simply written that he was off to meet their Lord Father? Surely, as Captain of the Rangers he had to report to the Steward first thing?

“And? What writes Faramir?” asked Derufin, snapping Boromir out of his musings. Both his friend and the innkeeper had apparently been waiting for his reaction, and in the latter case - for a dismissal.

“You spoke true, Otto, my brother is in the City and bids me to meet him,” Boromir said and nodded to the barkeep. “As always, I thank you for your hospitality, and for delivering this message,” he said. Otto bowed and then, seemingly relieved, retreated behind the bar.

"Friend, I've need of you," said Boromir to Derufin.

"Of course," his answer came. “Say aught and it will be done.”

"I find I cannot wait, so here is where we part. I am going to the Citadel to seek out my brother," Boromir declared, all thoughts of a meal forgotten. "When You reach the Garrison, tell Sergeant Hirgon that the muster is postponed till tomorrow. And send my Squire Huor Uptown."

Derufin raised his eyebrows.

"As you wish, Boromir. But I expect to later hear from you about all this that you are about now. Whatever the matter, it has your knickers in a twist."

"I know not the matter myself yet. Only that certain things do not add up, and I must investigate," pondered Boromir. He stood and tossed coins to the table. "Now I am off! Treat yourself to the mutton on my account. Be hale, Friend!"

"And you!" came Derufin's answer, but Boromir was already halfway to the tavern's door.

Time was of essence, so he used the hidden ladder on the Fifth Wall, which was just a short walk behind the Mûmakil. Once he reached Fifth Level, it was only a matter of following the Main Street for some two hundred yards, and he found himself crossing the Sixth Gate. He gave the obligatory password to the men at the post; it was, of course, entirely unnecessary in his case, as one would be hard pressed to find a guardsman not able to recognize the High Warden on sight. However, Boromir would personally reprimand any guard who forwent this duty, and well they knew it.

The Sixth Level did not cover a large area, and it mainly comprised the estates of the most prominent Lords and Barons. It had a couple notable points, though. On the left, Boromir passed the grand complex of the Healing Houses with adjacent Gardens. Continuing along the Main Street he reached the seventh and final of the City Gates, which was in truth more of a tunnel than a gate, hewn under the spur of rock that stemmed from the Hill of Guard. The tunnel went three-ways: it connected northern and southern parts of the Sixth Level with the Courtyard of the Citadel. Boromir could walk the path to the top with his eyes closed, without even thinking about it, this time however, something perverted his course.

Just as he was about to turn left to enter the staircase leading to the Courtyard, he felt a strange, distinct tug in his stomach. As if he was supposed to go somewhere else. A calling, of sorts. Instead of turning, he continued straight through the tunnel and emerged on the northern side of the Spur. 

This part of the Sixth Level would become shadowed by the Mountain later during the day, but for now the white walls of opulent townhouses shone still in the early afternoon sun. Compared to them, the building of the Royal Archives looked nondescript, but it was the one that Boromir turned his steps towards. He could not say what sort of intuition guided him; he only had an inkling as to who might be waiting for him at his destination.

Despite the outward building of the Archives being average in size, on the inside its chambers were numerous and vast, for they continued deep into the Mountain, and the farthest, oldest halls were situated under the Citadel. There was even a secret passage between the Archives and the Tower of Ecthelion, although that was one of the better guarded secrets of Gondor, and Boromir was one of the only few, besides his father, Faramir, Warden of the Keys and the Head Archivist, who knew about it.

But right then, after entering the Archives, Boromir went not to the deep halls and the passage, but towards the airy and well lit Public Hall.

The Archives were unpopulated most of the time. The Public Hall was furnished with numerous tall rows of bookshelves, which formed a veritable labyrinth, with a few small and sparsely lit desks and workstations. As he wandered between the shelves, Boromir heard two voices speaking, of which both sounded familiar: one belonged to his brother Faramir -  there could be no mistake. The other voice he could not quite place, although he was certain he's heard it before.

"... And think you truly, that this has aught to do with our Kingdom?" Faramir's muffled voice became clearer as Boromir approached a large stained-glass window. His brother and the mysterious guest were occupying an alcove in the library, fashioned in a wide, sunny embrasure. Boromir knew the spot; it had long been Faramir’s favourite hideout. 

"Who can tell what fate has in store for any of us, my young friend?" answered the second voice and although Boromir recognized it then, he could scarce believe his own ears. What finally convinced him of the mystery person's identity was a generous billow of pipeweed smoke that wafted from the embrasure. Boromir halted. He was not sure of his readiness to face the guest, and he didn't want to interrupt what he knew was a long-awaited opportunity for Faramir.

"I should tell Boromir about this, later," Faramir said, "Though, he is like to make light of such matters. Yet I find I want to share with him all the news of import anyways." Hearing this, Boromir felt his heart swell with a rush of tenderness for his younger brother. He should pay more attention to the stories and dreams Faramir would recount to him, even if he did not always understand them.

"You need not wait, my young friend. You can tell him right now," the voice answered. Of course, thought Boromir, I cannot hide from a Wizard.

“Now? How…” Faramir began, but Boromir decided to wait no longer.

As his presence had been discovered, he had little choice but to step out from behind the bookcase and face both Mithrandir and Faramir; the latter quite literally, for Faramir was immediately upon him, clasping his shoulders and arms in greeting.

“Brother!” he exclaimed, his entire face alight with joy. Boromir immediately felt a tight knot in his chest unravel. He did not know how much he had been worrying for his brother until the worries dissipated at the welcome sight and new vigour surged through his veins.

“‘Tis I! And ‘tis you, and you are whole,” Boromir said and embraced his brother, overcome with emotion. “A happy day. I’ve got your note.”

“Aye! But how did you know I’d be here? The note said the Citadel, and after the third bell!” Faramir asked, furrowing his brow in that characteristic manner of his, which always amused Boromir.

“How did I know you’d be in the library? Where the books are?” Boromir laughed. “A wonder, truly. Must that you’re not the only one with prophetic abilities, little brother.” He did not want to elaborate and explain the mysterious premonition that guided him here, so he disguised it as a jest.

“Evidently not,” said Mithrandir, reminding the brothers of his presence. 

On the best of days, Boromir was not too fond of Wizards. They came and went as they pleased, and seemed to know entirely too much, but they never shared their insights, unless it suited their agenda. They kept their own counsel, the Order of the Istari they called it, or what had you, and because of this Boromir was always a little suspicious about their true allegiance. Greater good they always preached, but too often they were the ones who dictated where that greater good might lay. The lore of Western Domains brimmed with tales of unfortunate mortals, who were spurred by this Wizard or the other to do something unpardonably stupid.

Or maybe he just did not like to be on the receiving end of that drilling, speculative gaze, like the one Mithrandir was currently regarding him with. It made Boromir’s teeth itch.

"Welcome to Minas Tirith, Grey Wanderer," Boromir said nevertheless and bowed politely. It was always wise to be polite to the Istari, lest they turn me into a frog, or whatever it is they do to mortals they no longer have use of, he reasoned.

"Well met, Son of Denethor," said Mithrandir. "You are much changed, since last I've seen you."

Typical wizard behaviour, Boromir thought sourly. Always implying something, but never saying it clearly. What was even more annoying, he could not say the same to the Wizard - The Grey Wanderer had not aged a day during the entirety of Boromir’s life, and also the life of his father Denethor, and his grandfather Ecthelion, if they were to be believed. He chose to ignore the Wizard’s remark.

"Long has it been since we last spoke, Lord Istar," he answered levelly. Thirteen years, to be exact, his memory supplied. Members of the Istari order would visit Minas Tirith from time to time: sometimes they were gone for a year, sometimes for five years, sometimes twenty, and sometimes two hundred years or even more. Five of the Istari were known to the people of Gondor, their deeds recorded in legends, and if there were more, they had never revealed themselves. As far as the memory of the Ruling Stewards reached, only two Wizards: Mithrandir and Curunir, had ever regaled Gondor’s rulers with their company and their advice. Of the two, Mithrandir’s name had often been associated with ill news and ill adventures, and the inhabitants of Minas Tirith generally feared and avoided him. They called him Stormcrow, the portend of doom. Fitting, that he’d turn up now of all times, Boromir thought.

"Has it?" the Wizard furrowed his comically bushy brows. "Seems to me like yesterday. I must be getting old."

You think? Boromir snarked in the privacy of his thoughts, but said nothing out loud. He did not have time for Mithrandir's antics. He came here to meet with his brother, whose absence of several months was felt by him more keenly than Mithrandir's over a decade of silence.

“Don’t let me keep you, Sons of Denethor,” said Gandalf, not for the first time making Boromir wonder if perhaps the Wizard could read minds.

“But what will you be doing now, Gandalf?” Faramir asked, seeming loath to part with the Wizard, whom, as Boromir knew, he greatly admired. In his youth, Faramir had spent many evenings in the Grey Wanderer's company in these very Archives, or in the Sixth Level’s Gardens, to the amazement of the archivists and healers, and to the Lord Steward’s eternal annoyance. Mithrandir would smoke pipeweed then, recount his many fantastical tales, and tutor Faramir in the art of interpreting dreams. Boromir knew this only because Faramir had told him, for he himself had never been present during these meetings. Faramir often spoke about Gandalf and reminisced on everything the Wizard had told him, even many years after the Grey Wanderer’s last visit to Minas Tirith. 

To Boromir’s astonishment, the Wizard gave a plain answer.

“I will be searching for a certain piece of history deep in the bowels of these Archives, my young friend,” he said, with uncharacteristic sobriety. “Pray that I find it, for it will be no easy task, and much depends upon it.”

“Then I will help you!” said Faramir immediately. “This is why I am come! To be of service to you, dearest Gandalf!” Boromir could see his brother’s excitement, but privately he worried. He would hate for Faramir to get involved in one of the Wizard’s suspect schemes.

“You already serve Gondor and your Lord well, Captain Faramir, and let us leave it at that,” said Gandalf kindly. “Your present tasks are vital and appreciated. This quest must be mine alone.” In his words rang such finality, that no one in their right mind would dare contest them.

“We wish you a brief and fruitful labour, then,” Faramir acquiesced. “May you find what you came for.”

“Farewell, Faramir and Boromir. Until we meet again.” With this, Gandalf wandered off into the labyrinth of bookcases and disappeared in a billow of pipeweed smoke.

Now left alone with his brother, Boromir afforded himself the luxury of a shared quiet moment with the person he loved most. He took in the sight of Faramir, whose skin was tan and whose hair gained paler reflexes from being out in the sun, but who was safe and sound, and generally no worse for the wear, despite having faced the danger of the Enemy every day for the past near to four moons. Faramir observed him in turn. When they were both content that no harm had come to the other, Boromir spoke, almost hesitant to interrupt the silence.

“Have you seen our Lord the Steward yet?” he asked, knowing that Faramir wouldn't be too eager to fulfil this particular duty, and wanting to assist him. Or maybe it is me who doesn’t want to face the Steward alone, Boromir thought sourly. He still hadn’t answered his father’s summons.

“I have, as happens,” Faramir said, to Boromir’s surprise. “I went to him first thing, ever his faithful servant. He is up to date with the Rangers’ manoeuvres, as I’ve been sending him frequent and extensive reports. He did not want much from me, save for the recount of recent days and of my journey here. And, of course, the cause for my abandoning of my post. He did not take kindly to that, even if he could see my reasons.” Faramir’s tone was bland and formal, as it was usually when he was speaking of Denethor.

“What were your reasons for coming here?” Boromir asked.

“I’ll tell you everything, but not here. There are still respects left to pay on the occasion of my return,” said Faramir, and his eyes softened. “Will you go with me?” he asked.

“I will,” Boromir agreed, not even needing to ask where they were going.

Together, they exited the Archives into the lazy afternoon bustle of Uptown. They directed their steps to the left, where the uppermost traverse of the Main Street girded the Citadel and led straight to Fen Hollen. As the name implied, the massive gate would remain ever closed to the public, with the exception of a select few. The sons of the Steward counted among the approved visitors, of course.

“Lord High Warden, Captain Faramir!” the Portier saluted as he held the door ajar, only wide enough to let them pass.

Only once the iron gate closed behind them, could Boromir relax. He was finally alone with Faramir, in this hallowed space designated for eternal rest. Slowly, they strolled along Rath Dínen, admiring the view of the slopes of Mindolluin bathed in the afternoon sun that the path afforded. Boromir was anxious to hear his brother’s tale, yet he knew better than to press him. Sure enough, Faramir soon spoke unprompted.

“Chiefly, I came back to meet with Gandalf, although of course I did not tell that to Father,” Faramir began.

“No,” Boromir agreed. Denethor hardly needed any more reasons to be angry with Faramir, as was. “But how did you know he’d be here? There has been no news of him for over a decade.”

“I think he summoned me,” Faramir said, frowning. “Although he would not admit it. I sensed his coming, and hastened back to the City. Anyways, it was vital that I spoke both to father and to Gandalf because of a dream I had last night. I knew not what to make of the vision and seeked to consult them.”

Not with the visions again , thought Boromir. The theme of revelations and premonitions had always been pervasive in their family. After three decades of his service to the Steward, Boromir became convinced that his father had some means of clairvoyance that surpassed ordinary mortal senses. It was impossible to hide anything from Lord Denethor, and his intuition was legendary among the people of Gondor. How would his father obtain clandestine knowledge of various topics and occurrences, Boromir knew not, for the Steward confided in no one.

Boromir was, on the other hand, privy to the intimate details of Faramir’s life. Ever since childhood, his brother had suffered from mysterious dreams and spells of delirium, which even the Warden of the Healing Houses could not explain. During those states, Faramir would experience visions, often filled with symbolic topics and legendary themes. The visions were what fueled his love for history and lore. Some unsympathetic courtiers would circulate rumours that the younger son of the Steward was unsound of mind, none however would dare to repeat such slander in Boromir’s range of hearing. Mithrandir considered the visions a gift, and declared them prophetic. It was for this reason that the Wizard decided to tutor Faramir, and he visited the city regularly for a period of time during their youth. Anyone who knew Faramir could not doubt the strength of his on all accounts brilliant mind, and neither Boromir nor Lord Denethor had ever given any serious consideration to the notion that Faramir might be going insane. However, Boromir was to this day reluctant to buy into the supernatural diagnosis as given by Mithrandir.

In truth, Faramir’s condition often worried him. The visions concerned grave topics and were connected to the history and fate of their Kingdom and the world of Men. They often taxed Faramir, who was ever for his part a sensitive, introspective lad, and the dreams became the cause for his brother’s further isolation. To remedy this, Boromir would always listen to Faramir’s recount of the visions and try to lessen his burden by offering consolation, even if he himself was not entirely convinced of the origin or veracity of his brother’s clairvoyance. This time was no different.

“Will you tell me?” he asked. Faramir needed no further encouragement.

“I dreamt, and in that dream I saw a vast swathe of forest,” his brother began. “A realm older and darker than the woods of Ithilien and Anorien, if you can believe it. The sky above it was clouded and dreary, and for a long time there was silence and little else. Then suddenly the sky was rent, and a flash of blinding light appeared to permeate the entire forest. A strange and wonderful chanting filled the air, in a language unknown to me, and I was overcome by awe. Soon, as rapidly as it started, the song died down, and a great many birds took flight at once and soared to the West. The dream was not yet over then, but I missed it’s last part, because that’s when Mablung woke me, damn him. He said I was trashing in my sleep, which I probably was. But something important might have escaped me because of him. I hope I’ll dream of it again.”

Boromir hoped for the exact opposite, because Faramir’s tale filled him with a sense of supernatural foreboding, which did not sit well with him.

“What did our father make of it?” Boromir asked.

“He’s listened to my recounting of the dream, but offered no insight nor any commentary,” Faramir sighed. “You know how he is.”

“Aye,” Boromir confirmed. Denethor took interest in Faramir’s visions, true, but often offered no sympathy nor counsel for his younger son. It always angered Boromir, because, of all the people, Lord Denethor, who probably shared some of his son’s gifts, would be best equipped to relieve Faramir’s anxieties. But he never did. “And what explanation did Mithrandir give you?” Boromir asked instead of dwelling on the family conflict. 

“Gandalf said that something has happened in one of the Elven realms of the North. A source of primaeval power, rarely seen in Our Age, has briefly awakened, and disturbed the peace of an Elven Queen. He himself has felt the surge of magic, and later received news of what’s happened from a friend. He also said…” here Faramir briefly hesitated, before continuing, “... that because I have dreamt of it, the event might somehow connect to the fate of Gondor. Though I do not see how, nor does he.”

As always, Boromir was in awe of how much occult knowledge the Wizard was willing to share with Faramir. Boromir himself could not get a straight answer from Mithrandir even if he asked to be shown the way to a privy. Wander and ye shall find what ye seek the old man would say, or other such nonsense, and then he’d gladly watch Boromir piss himself. 

However, he had to abandon both his humorous musings of wizards, as well as the daunting mystery of Faramir’s dreams, for the brothers had at last reached the end of Rath Dínen, and entered the Houses of the Dead.

The greatest mausoleum was of course dedicated to Gondor’s Kings of yore, and its portal had been sealed ever since the funeral of King Eärnur, nearly a millennium ago. As they passed its opulent carved fronton, Boromir and Faramir’s feet took them along the familiar path to the Mausoleum of the Stewards, where, amongst the innumerable epitaphs of their kin, their mother had been laid to rest. Lord Denethor had her marble likeness placed upon her monument, and both of her sons now contemplated its cool beauty in silence. Boromir regretted not having brought any token of remembrance - a bundle of fragrant herbs, or a candle to place upon her grave. He would usually forget things like that when visiting here. There were always fresh flowers adorning the tombstone, their father saw to that personally, but it would have been nice to leave something of his own.

"Do you ever think about what she'd make of us?" asked Faramir suddenly, to Boromir's surprise. His brother rarely spoke of their mother and Boromir wasn't sure how well Faramir remembered her, given that his brother had only been in his fifth winter when she had passed away.

"She would be proud of you, I know it," he said. And she would not let the Steward estrange you thus , he added in his thoughts. She would not suffer you being sent to the forefront of a brewing war for months on end. She'd want you here, in the Capital, where your brilliance could truly shine.  

If anyone ever had any influence over Lord Denethor, it had been the Lady Finduilas. Since her passing the Steward would shoulder his burdens alone. In his youth, Boromir often dreamed of finding love like the one he saw between his parents. He firmly pushed those thoughts aside. It was no time to be getting sentimental.

"She was like you, in many ways," Boromir said to his brother instead. "Having you makes me miss her less."

"Yes," Faramir agreed. "The same goes for you. Let us leave her in peace and be off."

They turned back and again strolled along Rath Dinen, this time towards the City. The sun was already leaning towards the West, bound to disappear behind Mount Mindolluin sooner than later.

Now that the heavy, intimate topics were out of the way, Boromir's thoughts drifted towards his everyday worries again. He was sorely tempted to shower Faramir with questions about the orcish warbands that the Ithilien Rangers were battling, about their numbers, their equipment, camp placements and preferred strategies, but he held back for Faramir's sake. After the first euphoria of seeing his brother in one piece had passed, Boromir saw the silent traces of bone-deep weariness in his brother. Faramir looked thinner, his eyes were shadowed and lacked spark. Boromir wondered if he in turn appeared tired to Faramir, given all the pressure he himself had been under these past months. Anyhow, he was unlikely to get out of Faramir any more than he had already learned from his brother's detailed field reports.

Instead, it was Faramir who introduced lighter topics.

"Aunt Irviniel wrote to me that cousin Elphir is to take a wife," he informed conversationally. "She sends you her best regards and regrets we cannot be present for the wedding."

Boromir snorted.

"Oh, I do doubt that!" he countered. "She may miss you, to be sure, but me and father I'd wager she could do without." There was no love lost between Boromir and his aunt Irviniel.

"Do not be like that!" Faramir chided. "I shall write to her that you send your regards as well," he added generously.

Together they returned to the Citadel, mostly trading news about their friends and extended family. When they entered the Courtyard of the Fountain, they halted to consider their next course. 

“When are you heading back to Ithilien?” Boromir asked his brother, reluctant to part ways with him, but knowing he would have to.

“Father wants me back on my post as soon as possible, so I’ll be leaving on the morrow at first light,” Faramir replied.

“I will be there to see you off, then,” Boromir said, as he clasped his brother’s shoulder. “Rest now and treat yourself to a large dinner. You’re waning.”

“Do not mother hen me!” Faramir bristled. “You yourself look worn out like a bed in a brothel! You send me to dine and rest, and where will you go? Off to do more work, I’d wager.”

“Such crass words from my gentle little brother!” exclaimed Boromir, affecting shock, and then laughed. "I see the company of soldiers has been rubbing off on you! But your wits avail you, alas, I am guilty as charged," he added. He was still yet to break the night’s fast, still had High Warden duties to attend to and he still hadn’t answered his father’s call. 

Having traded goodnights with his brother, Boromir went straight to his office in the Guard House. At its door he met his Squire Huor, and he immediately felt guilty for forgetting about the boy for the better part of the day.

“Huor!” he called, “had you aught in your belly since morning?” The boy shook his head. “Ha! And neither had I. Hurry off to the kitchens and bid them send us some provisions. Then fetch the ledgers and be ready to assist me.”

As Huor scurried off in his quest for sustenance, Boromir reluctantly looked at the dispatches and reports piling on his desk. There will be time to read them tomorrow , after the muster, he reassured himself. Among the papers, he found the one he’d been after: the report from the Mason’s Guild on the state of Rammas Echor. Father will be asking about this, he thought, as he unfolded the parchment to briefly familiarise himself with its contents.

After wolfing in the bread and cold cuts that the cook had sent their way, together with Huor Boromir moved to the Armory. There, they were greeted by Warden Ornendil, Boromir’s lieutenant in charge of the Second Company of Tower Guard. The man had been cataloguing the stockpiled weapons and armour pieces since morning, with the help of a small flock of scribes.

“At ease, Warden!” Boromir greeted his saluting lieutenant. “I see you have almost finished the stocktaking without us.”

“With your permission, Lord High Warden,” Ornendil replied, “we are indeed almost done with the listing.”

And so Boromir began the tedious task of examining the quality of the stockpiled weapons, and then checking his ledgers with the lists made by Ornendil’s scribes. The work took the rest of the already fleeting afternoon. In fact, when finally Boromir pressed his seal in the ledger and ordered the stockpiles of weapons moved to the storehouses in the City, it was already dark out. He’d missed dinner.

“Off with you, Huor,” Boromir dismissed the lad with a tired sigh. “Go say goodnight to your grandfather and be ready for muster at the Garrison at first bell.”

“Aye, Sir!” Huor saluted and hastened away. Huor’s grandfather was Hurin, Warden of the Keys, and Boromir only accepted the lad as his Squire out of respect for the prominent court official. He had thought tutoring Huor would be a chore, however, the boy turned out to be an adequate assistant and pulled his own weight more often than not.

Huor went off to his Lord and it is time I went to mine, Boromir thought tiredly, as he crossed the lantern-lit Courtyard and entered the Tower of Ecthelion. He passed through the magnificent Tower Hall, sparing a glance towards the dais with two thrones: one for the absent King and one for his Lord the Steward. The very top of the Tower served as his father’s private study, and everyone in the Citadel knew that the Steward ought not to be disturbed after having retreated there. Boromir knew, however, that his father would be waiting for him in his day office, situated on one of the lower condignations, likely still at work. He wasn’t wrong.

“You took your time.” Denethor’s chilled voice reached him when he ascended the stairs and halted in the office door.

“Apologies, Sire!” Boromir said and bowed deeply. “I’ve been otherwise detained, but now here I am at your service.”

“Detained by gallivanting with the Wizard and sentimental trips with your brother, I am told,” Denethor noted, his tone seemingly nonchalant, but Boromir knew better than to believe in his father's disinterest.

"They brought curious tidings," he answered carefully.

"That may be," His father said. "I suspect Faramir has shared his dream with you. Only, it was no mere dream. What he saw happened in reality. I have been  informed about a magical event of some sort that occurred in the woodlands west of Dale."

Boromir was acutely aware of his father's searching gaze. He was surprised. How could the Steward be able to confirm this news with such certainty and so soon? To Boromir’s best knowledge, Gondor had not kept close diplomatic ties with Dale, and the news travelled slowly, through irregular missives sent with merchant caravans. This was one of those instances that over the years had led Boromir to surmise that his father possessed some means of divination.

“And I wonder… What did the Wizard make of it?” Denethor asked pointedly. Denethor had always been mistrustful of Mithrandir and rarely invited him to the court. However, privately, he strived to watch the Grey Pilgrim’s movements closely each time the wizard visited Minas Tirith.

Boromir could not prevent a sigh from escaping him.

“He said a… magical stirring had disturbed the peace of the woodland Elves,” he reported dutifully, albeit inwardly he winced. He was aware that Lord Steward was using him, and Faramir too, indirectly, to gain access to the Wizard’s thoughts and insights, and it sat ill with him. It felt dishonest. Alas, it could not be helped; Denethor was his liege lord and his sire, and honour demanded that Boromir withheld nothing from him. So he would not. “Mithrandir thinks some ancient source of power caused this. It could be connected to Gondor, though I know not how.”

“Interesting,” Denethor mused. “I will investigate this further, and perhaps consult Curunir…”

Boromir winced again. He could, with some reluctance, tolerate Mithrandir, because, for all of his faults, the Grey Wizard had always been kind to Faramir, and that, to Boromir, counted for a lot. He had, on the other hand, no such warm sentiments towards the haughty and cunning Saruman. Unfortunately, for as long as Boromir could remember the Lord Steward had courted Curunir’s friendship and heeded the White Wizard’s advice. I have had enough wizard-talk to last me three full moons, Boromir thought bitterly.

“Do not make such faces, Boromir,” his father admonished. “We need to be on the lookout for anything that might help us defeat the Enemy, and Curunir has been helpful with his counsel thus far. But, we mustn't forsake the mundane preparations on account of the fantastical. Tell me, what is the state of Rammas Echor?”

Boromir was prepared for this question. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the report from the Masons’ Guild, that he had commissioned a fortnight prior.

“Most of the stonework done by our Lord Ecthelion has either crumbled or been dismantled to expand the farming grounds. A palisade has been erected in its place, which is now serving as a rudimentary barrier, but it is susceptible to fire. The only stone sections that held are the ones adjacent to Causeway Forts, and a line of fortifications near Harlond, but they, too, require repairs,” Boromir reported. He laid out the parchment on the desk before the Steward. “This is the estimated cost of completing the stonework.”

His Father regarded the parchment, but initially said nothing. Boromir felt his anxiety surge. He knew he did not, and would not have enough men to defend a wooden stake wall. He needed a sound, stone defence line, so he could man it sparsely and still be able to hold the Enemy at a distance from Minas Tirith. He also hoped that completing the Rammas Echor would keep at least some of the many farmhouses scattered across Pelennor Fields from harm’s way. However…

“I worry the council will not approve of this expense,” Boromir confessed.

“‘Tis true the State can hardly afford it. But even less can we afford losing the adjacent farmlands and having the enemy cut off our supply lines. You leave the council to me, Boromir,” Denethor reassured him. “They will grumble, but they will yield. I gave you a City to defend, my son, and I would give you the means to defend it with.”

Boromir was overwhelmed with relief. He should not have doubted the Steward. He should not have worried needlessly. His Father was wise, he could see what was necessary. The councillors will bow to his will.

“Thank you, Sire,” he said, trying to convey the depth of his gratitude with his tone rather than opulent words.

“Do not thank me yet,” Denethor sobered him. “The construction, as detailed in this report, will take nigh to two years. I will evacuate the populace, and gather supplies so that the City might stand a chance. But it will take time. You must buy us that time, Boromir. ”

“Surely the situation is not so dire, Lord! According to Faramir, the Enemy’s movements have been concentrated in the North of Ithilien, near Morannon. But we have been provisioning and strengthening Cair Andros for a long time now. The island fort will hold,” Boromir said, assured of his merit. As Gondor’s Captain-General, he had been religiously studying the recent movements of the troops, both friend and foe alike, based on field reports. The situation was serious, but stable, and the constant watches, patrols and well-coordinated sorties from Cair Andros prevented the Enemy’s crossing of Anduin.

“This is precisely why I summoned you, Captain-General,” said Denethor. “It is not Cair Andros that should have you worried. The reports from our soldiers, and your brother’s among them, have been an admirable effort at intelligence, but they are incomplete.” This was news to Boromir. He raised his eyebrows. “Look here,” the Steward said, as he spread a big scroll across his desk.

Before Boromir lay a map of Ithilien, with recent troop movements marked on it meticulously. Boromir recognized his father’s precise cartography and neat handwriting. 

“Observe the placement of orcish warbands, and the Haradrim camps.” The Steward pointed to the irregular blotches of red ink that dotted the forests and grassy plains between Anduin and Ephel Dúath. “Now compare this map with the one from last month,” the Steward said, as he unrolled another, similar map. “Trace the patterns of their movements, and tell me what do you mark from it.”

Boromir bent down over the maps and studied them for a while. The data presented by his father differed from the intelligence from field reports. That, or they hadn’t been reading the same reports. Why wasn’t I informed of this earlier? Boromir wondered bitterly. But his outrage soon gave way to alarm at another revelation.

“They’re encircling Osgiliath!” he exclaimed, looking at his father, flabbergasted.

“They might seem uncoordinated bands of brigands, to an untrained eye,” the Steward commented. “But when one considers all that is given, ‘tis apparent, is it not? They mean to take the Bridge, and enter Anórien right under our noses.”

“My Lord!” Boromir bit back a curse. “How came you by this knowledge? There have been no reports of these Haradrim camps!”

“Compose yourself, Boromir!” the Steward thundered. “That is not the point! What matters is that we are not yet ready to face them on the Western Bank. If they pass, the people will be slaughtered, the crops burned, and they will come knocking at our gates with battering rams ere a siege can be prepared with even a slight chance of success!” Denethor paused his angry tirade and looked out the window, from which a view of the entire Minas Tirith and Pelennor could be admired. The City’s sombre nighttime silence seemed to echo the Steward’s grave sentiments. “They cannot pass. Your men must be ready,” the Steward said with finality.

The news had somewhat shaken Boromir, but not enough to make him doubt his warriors.

“We are at your command, Sire. My men are working their very hardest. And I am, too.”

Denethor was silent for a longer while. Boromir started to think there wouldn't be any answer, and that he should prepare for a harsh dismissal. But when the Steward finally spoke, it was with an uncharacteristically thin, quiet voice.

“So you do, my son,” he said. “I know you do. A better son I could not wish for. And Gondor, for a better General.”

Boromir felt his throat constrict painfully. It were words like these from his father, few and far between as they came, that later would warm him for many a cold night spent in war encampments. And yet Boromir would much prefer to hear words of scolding, than of caress and praise. For Denethor to go soft like that, things had to be dire indeed, more precarious even than the Steward was letting on. He knew he must do everything in his power to support his father and prevent his stumbling. 

Boromir kneeled before his liege and touched his right hand to his heart.

“I will not fail you, Lord,” he promised. “Mordor will not take the Bridge, this I swear to you. Do you hear? I swear it.”

“Raise, Boromir, son of mine,” answered the Steward. “Your oath does you credit, if you can but uphold it.”

Boromir stood up.

“I will do my very best. I shall dedicate everything towards this goal.”

“Again, I know you shall. And so shall I.” Denethor turned his face away from Boromir and his voice grew even quieter. “But I fear, for the first time, that our best may not be enough. It may not be enough.”

Silence struck Boromir. Never in Boromir’s near forty years of life had the Steward wavered in conviction. Never had his father’s heart given way to worry nor despair. This one sentence of doubt uttered just now by Lord Denethor marked the coming of a new, dark age for Gondor and Boromir suddenly could feel it in his bones. He said nothing, because he did not know what possible consolation he could offer to the very one that so many looked up to.

Denethor regarded his son and must have seen the concern in Boromir’s eyes, because he collected himself hastily.

“Bah! Do not look so dejected!” the Steward waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I am yet to give up. I am merely trying to face our chances squarely, meagre as they are.”

“Aye, Lord,” said Boromir, relieved that his father was able to compose himself.

“Your uncle the Prince writes that your cousin Elphir is to be wed,” his father turned the conversation to lighter topics, a little too eagerly to fool Boromir, who welcomed the change of mood nevertheless. “With the orc attacks we cannot attend to him in Dol Amroth, of course, but we will send gifts and best wishes. You should write to your cousin.”

“Aye, Lord,” Boromir replied, already wondering when would he find the time to compose the letter.

“To think Elphir is nigh ten years your junior…” the Steward began, but very pointedly did not finish the sentence.

With that, Boromir knew the time for sentiments was over and his father was back to his usual acerbic self. He took it as his cue to retreat, lest he suffer another earful about not having produced an heir to the Stewardship.

“I hear Forlong’s daughter has left for Arnach,” the Steward made another remark, seemingly unconnected, but Boromir could almost physically feel a noose tightening around his neck. “I trust you conveyed our best regards to her and to the Lord her father?”

“Aye, Lord,” Boromir confirmed, holding back a cringe.

The Steward did not relent.

“It's been nine years, Boromir…” Another unfinished remark that needed no ending to convey a clear message.

Boromir sighed. He was getting entirely too old for this.

“Might I be excused, Sire? The muster starts early on the morrow.”

✦

That night, Boromir slept and dreamt of vast woodlands, rent skies and flocks of birds.

[next chapter]

Header image gifted by @quillofspirit. Thank you! <3

#lotr #lotr fanfiction #boromir #lord of the rings #faramir #denethor #derufin #[arda] #[wandering birds] #ass deep in demons

[galvore]

１ｍｐ０ｒｔ　ｆ１ｌ３ — ( GENTLE GOTH GIANT. ) ;

II goth!choso kamo x reader ► 1.3k ↺ college!AU; mostly sfw, some size kink and dumbification, goth!choso has a dick piercing.

⇄ your honour I adore him. this was also way longer than I originally planned, I love this inhuman too much.

Goth!Choso who dresses all in dark clothes, loose fitting black pants draping in messy layers onto his studded Venus boots and oversized black graphic tees, usually with another shirt underneath, generally of a light neutral colour and long sleeved, always big enough to graze the chunky silver rings he likes to wear on his nail polish adorned fingers, matching the countless necklaces and earrings he accessorizes with on a regular basis. He already stands at nearly 6 feet tall, the illusion of surpassing said height given by his peculiar spiky bun hairstyle, but with the bulk of layered clothes he chooses to wear he manages to look even more broad and intimidating, even though he tries not to come off as too brash, always making sure to be soft spoken and kind with strangers, his vocabulary characterized by the soft yet deadpan tone he has come to prefer, punctuated by small kind smiles whenever he needs to ease the tension a bit. He was quite the walking contradiction, to be honest, standing tall with broad shouldered and a death like stare accentuated by a never lessening pair of dark circles he was able to make himself as small and as unnoticed as a chameleon, perfectly blending in with his surroundings no matter where he goes. 

Goth!Choso who you share a couple of common college classes with, even though you’re in different majors, and you get stuck together with for a group project by pure chance because of the professor trying to mix up the different majors as much as possible. You were terrified the first time you met him, having him loom over your desk asking if your name was the one he was assigned with and sitting down with a silent nod to follow along with the project’s brief together. Your first impression of him left you a bit uneasy as you exchanged phone numbers, but you were quick to backtrack once he showed up at the library with the cutest most childish Sanrio lunchboxes he had made for both of you, justifying it by saying he would have felt bad if you were stuck working the whole day without something decent to eat.  He was so considerate and nice you slowly managed to warm up to him, finally cracking his seemingly tough exterior to get acquainted with the caring older brother he was in his heart, you couldn’t help but develop a sort of admiration crush on him, with how much he cared for both his academic performance and his family, or at least that’s what you told yourself. 

Goth!Choso who shily asks if you could meet again, even after the finalising of the assignment, maybe in a different setting than working on a project. The soft blush on his ears and awkward tone betraying his intentions and making you melt on the spot at his cuteness and eagerly accept his proposal to possibly be something more than simple friends. He slowly manages to slither his way into your daily life, making sure to always have at least a moment to walk to class together if your college duties are taking up too much of your respective schedules and fully committing to the caring and attentive boyfriend persona, most of your friends unsettled at first at this behemoth of a man following you around like a silent shadow but quickly resorting to shutting their mouths about any possible ill comment when they witness the love and care that shine in his eyes whenever he sees you, always making sure to kiss your forehead as a greeting anytime you meet. You couldn’t ask for a better partner if you had to be honest, and all his attention did nothing but nurture your superficial crush blossoming into a beautiful love, craving for you to be needed by him as much as you needed all his attention, reaching the point where you proposed to give him a hand with his babysitting duties of his youngest brothers, helping him out with his daily hair routine and even having little at home spa weekends where the two of you would try and one up each other into spoiling the other as much as you could.

Goth!Choso who is insecure about his physical appearance underneath all the heavy layers he uses to feel comfortable in his own skin that he’s shy about letting you see him even bare chested for the first time. He is so worried with thoughts of making you uncomfortable or disappointing you that he loses himself in the pit of overthinking and remains baffled to this day about your reactions. Absolutely not expecting that the first time you saw him half naked in all his glory, you couldn’t help but gasp in awe at the sight of such an attractive man, amazed by his broad shoulders and strong arms you didn’t anticipate for him to be hiding away from your eyes. You couldn’t help yourself after gaining such information, barely restraining yourself from jumping your poor boyfriend’s bones and wanting to thoroughly ruin him, taking any chance you’d get to be glued to him and bluntly praising how hot you thought he was while cuddling with him. He would blush like a ripe tomato, from his nose to his chest and try and hide away from your prying eyes, suddenly self-conscious and confused at why exactly you thought he was so great, and in retaliation to his self deprecation, you would softly flick his pierced nipple to try and get him to stop rambling about why he was not attractive.

Goth!Choso who, not only has various ear piercings and one of his nipples done but in addition has a frenum shining right underneath the tip of his cock, purely for aesthetics rather than pleasure, that he is afraid will be more of a turn off than anything for you. He gets a pleasant surprise though the first time you two mess around because as soon as you get a glimpse of silver you can’t help yourself but want to put your mouth to good use, having him lay on his back so you can properly worship his thick beautiful cock as he deserves. He looks so cute trying to restrain himself from bucking his hips too harshly, afraid of choking you or making you gag too hard, in contrast with how shameless he was being with his moans, unabashedly tossing his head back into the pillow and letting out, in between soft praises and words of adoration for how good you were being to him, any noise that would crawl up from the back of his throat. He makes sure to repay you at least in double after he manages to cum himself stupid, eagerly inviting you to sit on his pretty face and smear the black line of eyeliner he draws on his nose every day by overworking you until you will finally squirt and drench him in your essence.

Goth!Choso who slowly grows more and more secure in his sexual desires, both because of your requests of trying out new things and the confidence you manage to instil in him, to the point he doesn’t blush and stutters like a virgin whenever you ask for him to be a bit rougher with you, instead he finds himself craving to manhandle you on the bed and wrestle you down, taking advantage of the height difference, all on his own.  Suddenly aware of how much pleasure he gains from not only spoiling you by eating you out at any hour of the day to the point you can’t feel your bones and melt in his arms, but also of how much he adores breaking you apart underneath him and craves for you to cry because of him, to reduce to a blabbering moaning mess with all of himself, may it be his mouth, his hands or his cock, only to cease his relentless assault to your spent form to carry you to the nearest bathroom and pulling you back together with small and careful touches while he cleans you up, whispering sweet nothings you are always too fucked out to register into your hair. Because he just simply adores you.

#ᜊ.jjk #ᜊ.choso kamo #choso smut #choso x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #tw.dumbification #cw.dick piercing

[le-trash-prince]

adding another ask into our rotating collection sorry.

so I had a dream last night where [a person I love] was tenderly doing my nails and it got me thinking, because everything I think of these days is pit babe and because Kim (well Benz but you understand) has SUCH nice nails: one of his boys doing his nails. filing, shaping, smoothing, painting. maybe a little hand massage.

the act of service makes me think Kenta (he'd be so gentle and careful about it) but also Dean wears rings in a way that makes me think he understands the importance of nice hands. plus the opportunity for praise: doing a neat and tidy job, when he picks a nice colour. maybe he learns how to do cool designs?

(the only part of the process winner is interested in is the scratches that can be left with said nails)

idk it's just Very Important to me that Kim is well-cared for 🥺

🥺🥺🥺 Please don’t apologize for blessing me with this ask. This got me choked up because YES, Kim deserves to have his boys taking care of his hands??? Taking care of him???? And good god yeah his nails are so pretty wtf

I can see the little crease between Kenta’s eyebrows from concentrating so hard on doing a good job ��� But oh yes, Dean strikes me as someone who could really get into doing nails! He’d do it with a smile on his face because it’s something he finds fun (and yes praise kink), and he’d think about Kim when he’s out at the store and sees a color that matches Kim’s jacket. And nail art yes! Little black and white checkered racing nails 🏁🥺

Honestly I can see him and Kim doing each other’s nails on a regular basis, but if I think too much about how competent Kim would be at doing someone else’s nails and him touching Dean’s hands I might swoon AGDHFJJF (Inserting this clip of Benz here for the domestic visuals BECAUSE JUST LOOK)

which of the four do you think has the most sensitive hands asking for reasons

(can you blame Winner honestly. Im thinking about how he probably loves being marked up and im yelling)

Yeah Kim deserves to be pampered like royalty! 🥺 Why else would they always be kneeling at his feet. What a lovely dream and a lovely thought!!

I know exactly what you mean about associating everything to Pit Babe 😩 I was at the store earlier and I saw a dartboard and IMMEDIATELY envisioned Winner and Kenta smoking and playing darts at the bar!! Kim and Dean join in sometimes (and those are the loudest and most entertaining games), but it’s usually just the two of them and it becomes a little bonding ritual of theirs.

Winner doesn’t really stand a chance against Kenta’s precision, but he enjoys trying anyways. One game, he starts catching up, and he’s all ready to start trash talking until he notices that Kenta’s aim has been drifting—and when he looks over, he sees the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of Kenta’s mouth, which has Winner swearing at him (he’s still smiling though) coz he knows Kenta did it just to get on his nerves, because Kenta can go easy on him and still win. (And if Kenta shakes in silent laughter, will Winner’s poor heart even survive)

Anyways it just makes Winner decide to show Kenta how he really likes to win—sabotage (feeling Kenta up while he tries to stay focused).

#asks #pit babe #pit babe the series #pit babe polycule #pit babe polyshipping #polycule thread 4 #i have gone back and numbered these for organizational purposes SHFKFK #pit babe HCs

[wrathfulmercy]

Plotted starter for @hcneygaze

A quiet place. A casual one. None with noisy looks and loud noises that was what this meeting needed. Where else would Rick feel comfortable in his undercover role as a business man when he talked to the most influential people in the city? Right, nowhere. The library always gave him a kind of peace his personal quarters wouldn’t provide. At his mansion he always had to make sure that the girls he protected and gave shelter to wouldn’t be seen or intervene. When he was out as his formal persona it was alright to be seen in public spaces to not raise suspicion and in here no one of his usual enemies would suspect him.

It should have been as usual. Just talking about donations, some money floating from one place to another while they shared a little coffee and wouldn’t be bothered by the normal folk. It all worked out pretty well until two of his business partners left for the bathroom and Rick could finally let his eyes wander around the place. He was thinking about how he could enlarge his own little book collection as something else suddenly caught his attention and seemed like an even more exquisite piece he just had to own. One that could probably not be bought by money regarding the ring she was wearing on her hand with that damn beautiful smile and a warmth that suddenly filled the full room as soon as he looked at her.

The two men came back and Rick didn’t even notice that they had already continued talking, his eyes too focused on following every move that woman behind the counter did, every last chuckle that left her stunning lips and how she brought a smile to customers faces whenever they got their receipt. Damn, he would spend a lot of time here regularly from now on. “I think that’s it for today, gentlemen. We will see each other tomorrow at the event.” With those words Rick got up, nodding to them but not shaking hands since he always avoided physical contact with anyone unless it was someone he cared about. Whenever he was out in his real position, he would wear leather gloves that became his signature accessory as the mob boss he often had to represent at night, but in here as Rick grimes he wouldn’t wear them and therefore avoided to touch anything else than the books he now striped his fingertips along when he walked through the shelves.

In fact his eyes always wandered back to the counter, an unconscious smile always on his lips the closer he got to her. “Excuse me, but I assume all the books I get here will need to be brought back, ain’t I right?” he said with a confident voice and shoved a novel of Graham Greene over the counter. “Usually I would say that’s a pity, but considering the person I have to come back to for this makes it probably worth it.” A playful grin spread on his face while he placed his arms on the counter to lean in closer, watching that stunning woman use her fingers with the books she sorted back in again. “I think I’ll need a library card. I have the feeling I’m coming back more often now, Miss… what is your name?” His should be known as it was all around the city, so why not ask for hers in return right? “Miss Gray.” he added after spotting her little name tag on her shirt. “Are you working here on a regular basis, Miss Gray? Cause I think I might like to return to this counter if it is your face waiting for me here.”

#v: Mafia #Rick x Eleonora #there you go darling

[mask131]

The evolution of Grandma Addams: Part 4

The Addams Family movies simplified greatly the “Grandma” character by reuniting her as one character... But in the process this actually complicated the whole Grandma situation, retroactively making continuity problems that fans and other adaptations play with even to this day... Well, you’ll see for yourself.

In the first “Addams Family” movie, Grandmama (played by Judith Malina) is depicted with an appearance similar to the one of Chas Addams drawing, while having a personality mixing the sitcom and the original cartoons. She is a short and stout lady in black dresses wrapped in black or faded-red shawls, with big frizzy untamed grey hair (the movie notably adds a lot of necklaces and rings, as well as mittens, giving her a sort of “creepy elderly bohemian” vibe). She is still a cook for the family - in fact we see most of the dishes she actually makes and... they range from the disgust to the purely grotesque (some of her dishes even still move in the plate). When the Addams family gets kicked out of their home, she also takes the charge of “bringing dinner” by hunting cats and dogs around town ; and from the various cookbooks she owns (some of which are actually anatomy manuals for doctors or books ABOUT BABIES), it seems she isn’t above a bit of cannibalism. The vast basement kitchen of the house becomes her domain (where she is helped by Lurch).

The movie also plays a lot her emotional, funny side from the sitcom by having her be actually quite mischievious. We see her in some scenes “playing” with the children (one deleted scene notably had her try to use the kid’s dart-blower at the charity auction), and she is shown to love jokes (she notably pulls one on Margaret during the séance using Thing to make Margaret believes she ripped off her hand). She is a happy, joyful, a bit childish old lady (if you can pass beyond her ragged appearance, dark clothes and habit of cooking babies)

However the movie introduces one BIG change. In the movie duology, instead of being Gomez’s mother like in previous incarnations, she becomes Morticia’s mother and Gomez’s mother-in-law. Gomez own mother (as well as Fester’s), “Mother Addams” is actually dead before the events of the movie (and before the birth of the children), killed by an angry mob. The change to Morticia’s mother notably brings me to something that the sitcom had already gotten rid off: Grandma’s dark complexion. She was more brown-skinned in the original cartoons, and while she was played by a white woman in the sitcom, here she becomes a very pale hag - which does make sense if she is the mother of the corpse-pale Morticia. 

Another thing I did not mention but that was started by the sitcom: Grandma’s slowly moving in the family. In Chas Addams cartoons she is an occasional visitor: she comes from time to time, she joins the family during big parties, but she clearly does not live with them (in fact one of her early drawings show her arriving with Fester at the house, another outsider). In the sitcom she becomes a regular of the family, with her own room in the house and who appears in most of the episodes, implying she lives there on a regular basis - but she still isn’t in all episodes, and is sometimes said to be out for various trips and holidays (other times she just isn’t there with no real explanation). In the movies, Grandmama becomes an integral and permanent part of the household, never seen leaving their side.

One last small fact: If you look closely at her neck, you can see she wears a brooch or a sort of cameo jewel, like old ladies used to - but hers is shaped like a spider.

For the sequel, “The Addams Family Values”, Grandmama is played by another actress, Carol Kane, and she looks even worse than before. She is skinnier and smaller, with a more frail voice - on top of her unearthly paleness she now also sports deep dark circles around her sunken eyes, and she doesn’t have many teeth left... This Grandmama looks much more worn-out and much sicker than the previous, playful, bombastic Grandmama. But this can be explained by the fact that Carol Kane was actually MUCH younger than Judith Malina: she was in her early forties! A lot of makeup and prosthetics had to be used to make her look older - which also made her more decrepit. 

As you can see on the picture above, another fashion detail the movie duology added to Grandmama: hats. This version of Grandmama often wears hats for going out (either for the charity auction, or for visiting Debbie). She is also seen wearing ribbons in her hair in the first movie during the séance (not that they make her hair less chaotic). In the second movie she does wear two big braids for some scenes - but her hair is still a mess and the braids do little to help.

An aspect of Grandmama that is much more highlighted in the movies (especially in the sequel) is her “witchy” nature. In the first movie she is the one leading the séance to contact Fester, making her the “medium” of the family, and in the sequel she acts the family’s “doctor”, trying to cure Pubert from his “disease” with a bizarre exorcism-like ritual, and finding his unusual disease in her old medical grimoires. She is also seen putting a curse on Debbie using a skull - a curse that actually does work, given Debbie’s “burst and burn” end. 

As one would say, this version of Grandmama does look like she is up to the name “Frump”, but due to the success and popularity of the Addams movie creating an alternate “canon”, they actually started the whole “Is Grandmama Gomez or Morticia’s mother?” debate among the Addams audience and fandom. To the point some people claim Grandmama was originally intended by Chas Addams to be Morticia’s mother and the movie went back to the “original”, while the sitcom diverged by making her Gomez’s mother. This is false: Charles Addams always intended Grandma Frump/Grandmama to be the mother of Gomez - it is the duology that diverged from the established canon by making her Morticia’s mother, something that had never been done before. 

#the addams family #addams family #grandmama #grandma addams #grandma frump #movies #1991 #1993 #carol kane #judith malina #charles addams

[glamphantasm]

OC Asks: Character Design

This is what I did instead of working tonight. Because I am an adult, and a responsible one at that!

oc asks: character design edition

glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC's appearance? What's their distinguishing feature? His size. Kai looks as though he would fall to a good gust of wind. The epitome of “damn, go eat something” His eyes are large, and he sports impressive dark circles for someone in their mid-twenties.

face: Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them? Oh, his face is incredibly sad whenever he thinks nobody is looking. His eyes are (in world) an unnaturally bright gold, complete with occasional shimmer. His smile, when genuine is beautiful. It is most often a mask, though he tries to keep his expression perfectly neutral when at rest, or when not interacting with others directly. Prominent cheekbones, and long, tapered ears. He’s adopted a semi-elven appearance now that he knows he can use magic.

stature: What's your OC's body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try to mask it? 5Ft9. He is utterly… small. Gaunt, gangly. He tries to make himself semi-invisible on a day to day basis. He dresses like someone who is used to keeping everything they own close to him.

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy? No one would call Kai graceful on any sort of regular basis. He’s able to move well if he’s putting thought into it, but in terms of just getting from A to B, he is utterly average, to occasionally clumsy. He’ll drag his feet a bit too much at time, as though picking them up for a proper step is simply too much effort.

stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest? He often twists the ring he wears on his right hand, touching the engraving, tracing the lines with the edge of a fingernail. If anyone takes notice of it, or asks questions, he will close his hand, and adopt a slightly defensive edge to his posture. In classes he is fidgety, constantly glancing around, eyes flicking from place to place, leg(s) bouncing. He slouches too much, keeping his shoulders up around his neck. When inebriated (which is sadly, often), he is languid, and overly relaxed. All the care and caution he normally holds himself with will vanish. His gestures are fluid, careless.

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all? Both ears are heavily pierced, with the charms dangling from the holes a mismatch of symbols, delicate chains, and jewel chips. Some items appear to be incredibly cheap costume jewelry, while others are obviously valuable. The gemstones are genuine, and in a rainbow of colors. Some holes have 2 or 3 earrings poked through, stretching the piercings slightly.

Scars. So many. The largest of course is from top surgery, the incisions were obviously well taken care of, and healed cleanly. They are still the angry pink of new tissue, but sealed well. His inner arms from the elbow up are racks upon racks of thin scars, mostly healed over and old, silvery white. Sometimes, a few new ones appear. His upper chest also has multiple scars, including circular, mostly faded burns. His upper thighs mirror the appearance of his arms – old scars beyond counting. Self harm was not a short phase, and may be something he still struggles with regularly. Tattoos – many trashy old stick & poke style tattoos, most are too blurred and faded to be much beyond shaded blobs. One on his hip left has been refreshed professionally, a hand with folded bills, with the text “Good Boy” beneath. When dressed, the hand appears to be tucking the money into his waistband, the words hidden. He has seven ornate stars on his inner forearm (right), all in various configurations, black with highlights in the same colors as on his ears. These almost appear to be inlaid somehow – they don’t have the same feel as a tattoo.

The strangest, and least hidden mark on him is a bruise encircling the base his throat. It is in full lividity, deep blues and purples through the center, the edges feathering red to yellow. It never fades, and when asked about it, Kai simply replies, “It’s a reminder.”, and seems reluctant to elaborate, although a few are aware of some of it’s history.

The self harm scars are mostly hidden by what he wears on a daily basis. If some happen to show, well. Whoever sees them, sees them. They’re only actively hidden when there are fresher marks.

night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type? Sleeping where he feels safe, he is a naked sort. If he’s around people he isn’t familiar with or doesn’t trust, he’ll wear sleep pants and a long-sleeved tee. These are thin from wear, the shirts easily seen through when it is held up to the light.

day: What does your OC wear on a normal day? Why do they default to those clothes? Do they wear similar things, or do they change it up? (uniform – how does he make it his? What colors are added? tbc)

formal: What's your OC's formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have different looks for different occasions? Formal occasions are… weird. Unused to them, he usually allows whoever he is accompanying to choose his outfits for him. His only caveat is nothing overtly feminine, gowns/skirts/etc. Blurring the lines is fine though. If he is going somewhere formal with someone, it is most likely they know him, and he has some level of trust in their decisions.

informal: What's your OC's lazy-day look? How do they like to dress when they're winding down? Kai has three or four pairs of nearly identical cargo-type pants – they may have come from a surplus at one point in time. They are torn/stitched/patched/sanded/painted/frayed, and extremely soft from wear. Tee shirts are commonplace, some in better condition than others, some long sleeved, some short. Most have been modified to a wide neck/to fall off the shoulder. Oversized sweaters with the knit nearly falling apart are also common when he is cold (often). Thumb-holes have been added to everything.

outerwear: What's your OC's outerwear situation? Jacket, sweater, cloak? What sort of weather do they deal with most and how do they protect themselves? The Devildom (HC) is Cold. Extremely cold. He came initially without too much of his own things, and shivered a lot in a hoodie, and ended up with frostbite twice. Now that there are people to look out for him, his favorite jacket is a thin pale grey puffer, with a large hood (that he’s added an inner pocket to to keep a flask close at all times). It hits to mid-thigh. The neckline/hood are lined/trimmed in fur, white with silver and black spots. He’s been assured the animal is not in any danger, and is used for food as well as clothing. That puts it in the same category as leather and cows so far as he’s concerned. He will layer gloves, a full set, with fingerless over the top. He hates things on his head, so he’ll usually not wear hats. If those closest notice, he’ll put one on when they grump at him.

footwear: What does your OC wear on their feet? Socks. So many socks. Different colors, patterns, stripes, gradients, florals, you name it. Socks. He’ll wear house-slippers sometimes when he is extremely cold. Outdoors, it is boots, again most likely from a surplus store, standard black combat. They are old and broken in, and in the past have been taped and (badly) stitched together. They were stolen and taken to a cobbler very early in his stay. A few new pair of shoes have shown up in his closet, but he doesn’t pay them too much mind.

road: What does your OC wear while traveling? Do they have high-quality equipment, or are they making do? What does their gear look like? Traveling? In this economy? He doesn’t have a separate travel wardrobe. It’s all the same things.

armor: What kind of armor does your OC wear? Is it well kept? Bonus: where does it come from? Is there a story behind it? Armor? No. He laughs at the idea. He understands for some people it is important, but he will never see himself as one of them.

arms: Does your OC have any weapons? What weapons do they carry, and how do they wear them when they're not fighting? Kai carries 2 knives at all time. One a standard deniable folding pocket knife with a smallish blade. The second is a larger fixed blade knife, which is tucked into the inner ankle of his boot, hooked over the top, hidden by his pant leg.

roots: Is your OC's look inspired by any specific style of clothing or fashion trend? What are the roots and/or inspiration for their look? In the past, it was whatever he could get his hands on. Now that he has begun to feel like he’s okay with those around him for the most part, he will accept their gifts. He never asks for anything, but is exceptionally grateful if he’s given gifts of clothing. He tends to hover towards alternative styles, vaguely punk, layers upon layers, some things whole, some things barely more than holes.

texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can't wear or don't like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer? Soft, soft, soft is preferred. Itchy things and things with tighter collars are a problem for him (more restrictive than boat-neck or loose tee shirts). Heavy clothing (large wool coats, etc.) is cumbersome and makes him uncomfortable. Things that restrict movement make him nervous.

wardrobe: How big is your character's wardrobe? Do they wear things threadbare, or can they afford new clothes often? Are they any good at mending and repairing their own clothing? Threadbare is the only look most of the time. He’s excellent at small repairs on clothing, and has figured out some decent visual mending type patterns for sweaters. It drives some people insane, because he could buy new things – but never does. Even if someone else is footing the bill, his first suggestion is thrifting

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning? About 25 or 30 small earrings. A few have meaning, most of them are just pretty. The Ring of Light. Yeah. That has never come off from the day it was given to him (sometimes he wishes he had plunged that knife into his chest). Glasses – gold frames, browline. They were selected for him, they were far, far too much for him to have ever considered on his own.

hair: How does your OC wear their hair? Does it have some kind of meaning? Messy. Half up. A decade of self-haircuts/color/bleach hasn’t lent itself much to meaning. He just likes it. Pale/washed out peachy pink-orange vibe, in something that could almost be a mullet. He doesn’t care.

makeup: Does your OC wear makeup? How often? What kind? Why do they wear makeup, and do they like it? Eyeliner smudged on daily. A bit of concealer when the dark circles are Simply Too Much and he doesn’t want to hear about it. If he’s going out and more is required, he can add more – he’s more apt to let someone else paint him up if they want him looking a certain way. He’s not disappointing anyone then.

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe? As above – the ring of light never leaves his hand. It is incredibly meaningful to him, both for it’s purpose and the price that was paid to get it to him. He will never forget that, and will never stop feeling guilty, even if the price was not something he knew until it was too late.

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change? … HA! Does gender count? Everything? The glamours he wears daily and the shapeshifting he took painstaking efforts to learn to bend his body to where it should be? Yeah. He has.

alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? Tiefling most likely. He’d be a Divine Soul Sorcerer. I’d have to take some time to flesh this out more. Cyberpunk, he'd lean netrunner. He's tired of being fully out In The Thick of it. Again, more time needed to think on it all.

#obey me #obey me oc #tw self harm #kai is a broken problematic little wretch. #he's sorry #he really is.

[marsrize]

Tim’s cat [Part 2]

Ao3: Here. | Part 1: Here. Summary : Adrien is reincarnated as a cat.  Adrien was a superhero nicknamed Cat Noir. Chosen when he was just 13 years old, he inherited his power from a ring that he always had on his finger. This ring contained a spirit called Kwami. This Kwami had the shape of a black cat with green eyes. It was an immortal creature that granted the right to the one who wore his ring, the power of destruction. To activate it, the wearer had to pronounce the words "cataclysm".

He was 16 years old when he died at the hands of his own father. Gabriel Agreste had chosen to sacrifice his son to bring back his wife Emilie. The adults in his life had not been the best.

Yet he opened his eyes again.

Everything was different.

To his surprise, Adrien was born again... as a CAT.

Strange as it may seem, Adrien was very happy with his new life as a feline. He was completely free, didn't need to go to school or middle school. He woke up at the time he wanted, went wherever he wanted... Really, he was happy.

He had learned to hunt small animals to survive. The hardest thing was not to find food, the city in which he lived and especially the neighborhood where he had established his territory was not very rich, obviously abandoned. There were rats and mice everywhere, he was not starving. The problem was rather the water. It was the hardest thing to find in the city. However, there was one spot that every stray cat knew about. Called the "white zone" by the cats, it was considered sacred. Sharing was a law.

In this place, there was a woman in a funny tight black suit who gave them food. And above all, she left several bowls of water. A normal cat did not know the language of humans. They could associate words with actions most of the time, but they didn't speak "human". This was not the case with Adrien. He understood the language of humans perfectly. He was even able to distinguish the different languages.

This woman was called "Catwoman" (a funny name). He knew she was a thief. The neighborhood cats called her " Servant ". Cats were deeply arrogant, pretentious and foul-mouthed.

Heavens... If this poor woman could hear what was being said about her...

" Damn it, these humans are incompetent, she's 15 minutes late!!! 15 MINUTES!"

"These humans... Unable to do a single job and then its asking for a reward!"

"I'M HUNGRY!"

"EAT! EAT! EAT!"

"Nope, I refuse to be touched by a human, I have my pride"

"Why do humans wear these funny things?"

"EAT!"

"Faster human!"

"MY MILK! I WANT MY MILK!"

"Guys, there's fish today!"

Adrien had a certain reputation in the neighborhood. He was not very tall, but well muscled. He still had a few scars on his body, a testament to the battles he had won.

He was the king in the neighborhood. Because of this, many cats called him "Boss".

Probably because of his former life as a superhero, Adrien did not like to see people in danger. So, he had helped many cats in the area who were in trouble. He had become a mentor to several kittens that had been abandoned... Had saved cats that were about to be caught by the pound.

But cats weren't the only ones on his list of lives to protect. Humans were also on it. The neighborhood he lived in was poor. Heavens, there were a lot of kids roaming the streets. Adrien used to steal food on a regular basis and give it to the local children. He also stole clothes to help them in the winter. He had a nice coat to protect him, but these children did not.

"Hey, look, it's the cat again!"

The children were still waiting for him.

"Thank you mister cat."

Adrien also attacked all the criminals who preyed on women in the street. It was horrible how many times he had to save young women or even young children from being assaulted in the street. What is the world coming to?

"HELP!"

"Shut up bitch-.... What the hell?! AAAAAAAH!"

Adrien was still aiming for the eyes. ALWAYS. That was the weak point of humans. They couldn't reach him if they couldn't see him. His second attack was the calves and wrists. This was the best way to make a criminal drop his weapon. The sneak attack wasn't bad. He would bite at the back of the neck and claw with all his might at his opponent's back.

They had no chance against him.

He also prevented robberies when he could. Especially against old people. It was cowardly to attack someone who couldn't defend themselves!

Since he started these attacks, he had a certain reputation among the "humans" too. Many people fed him. Others tried to catch him by luring him into their homes. Finally, there were those who wanted to kill him (mostly thugs). He had already been shot several times, no one had ever managed to hit him because Adrien was fast... But these were scary experiences.

Adrien's life changed completely the day there was a big storm.

It was a cold and wet evening. It was raining.

Adrien hated the rain; it reminded him of the day he died as a human. It was also a stormy day.

He was particularly terrified of the sound of thunder. That evening, he ran away terrified by the noise. When he realized what he was doing, it was already too late.

He was in a neighborhood he didn't know at all, soaked and hungry.

He had to find a safe place and fast!

At first, he hides under a car and ends up falling asleep. The problem is that the next morning, the owner of the car chases him away. As he leaves, Adrien realizes that it is a luxury car. As he walks around the neighborhood, he realizes that he is in a residential area. He had never been to this place.

The problem is that there were a lot of families with dogs in this area and he kept getting chased all day. He was exhausted. He had climbed a tree to take refuge. It was the only house that seemed to be abandoned. The garden was in a bad state and all the doors were closed.

As evening fell, Adrien was hungry but didn't know what to do to get something to eat. At least where he lived before, there were rats, mice and birds. But in this neighborhood? Nothing at all. The birds were probably scared of the kids.

Adrien was feeling desperate and alone. He didn't know anyone in the neighborhood, and he didn't have any food or water. He tried to think of a way to find some food but he didn't know where to start. As he sat in the tree, he started to feel more and more hopeless.

Suddenly, he heard a noise coming from the abandoned house. He looked down and saw a man (at least it looked like a man) enter through the back door.

The man left the window door open. Curious, Adrien decided to take a look at what the man was doing. Maybe he was a thief. When he came down from his perch to get closer to the window, he noticed that the man was dressed in strange clothes.

The more he observed, the more he realized that this outfit reminded him a lot of that heroine in his previous life, named Sparrow.

Was this human one of those Gotham vigilantes?

How likely was it for him to run into a superhero?

Maybe it was fate?

Adrien entered the house discreetly. He waited for the man to leave the room to examine the interior.

This man was rich.

The house may have been abandoned on the outside, but the inside was beautiful, even if a bit minimalist for his taste.

And above all.... There was food!

 Two weeks later.

Adrien had been living in the house for a while in hiding. He soon realized that it was not a man who lived in this house but a kid. He was certainly not of age.

The life of this boy was chaotic. He did not take care of himself. Hell, he hadn't even noticed that food was missing!

Adrien thought that it was definitely fate that had sent him to this neighborhood. This kid needed someone to watch over him.

“Well, I decided. From now on, this is my house!”

#maribat adrien agreste #maribat tim drake #adribat #miraculous x dc #dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #maribat fic

[delphi-dreamin]

Calls From Home

A series of phone calls from her favorite demons while Delphi is home in the human world.

Chapter 1 of ??

Word count: 1,061

Warnings: None

Characters: Lucifer, Asmodeus, Delphi

Relationship: LuciferxDelphi

A/N: Finally got some inspiration! I know I've said I was working on my angsty fic, but this just hit me in the face and I had to run with it. Hope you enjoy!

This won't be updated on any regular basis. Just as I get ideas for more calls.

1

“Hello?”

“Delphi? It's Lucifer. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Delphi chuckles, “You never disturb me, Lucifer. Gimme just a minute, let me get out of this bar so I can hear you.”

“You're at a bar?”

“It's a work function,” Delphi explains quickly. She waves to her colleague, pointing at her D.D.D. as an explanation, then makes her way through the crowd of people to the door.

“All right, sorry about that,” she sighs, stepping out into the hot, sticky evening air. “Ugh, it's disgusting out.”

“Disgusting? I thought it was milder in the human world than in the Devildom?”

“That may be true in London,” Delphi laughs, “but here in Georgia it’s hotter than…Well, I’d normally Satan’s ass crack, but I guess I’m retiring that phrase.”

Lucifer laughs into her ear, and she wishes she could feel his breath with it.

“Anyway, it’s about a hundred degrees with a hundred percent humidity,” she continues. “I feel like I need gills when I walk outside.”

“You could always come back to the Devildom,” Lucifer suggests. She can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Don’t tease me like that,” Delphi sighs, leaning against the exterior brick wall. “You know I’d come back in a heartbeat if I could. I got so used to Devildom food that everything here tastes like dirt, it’s so bright that I have to wear sunglasses until the sun is down completely, the humidity is so bad I feel like I’m suffocating when I try to breathe, I got used to the pollen down there so my allergies are going insane, and…I miss you.”

Lucifer tries to hide the sharp inhale he takes, but Delphi still hears it. She smiles as he clears his throat and replies, “I miss you too.”

“So, I need to get back inside. At least to get my stuff and tell everyone I’m leaving. Can I call you when I get home?”

“We aren’t supposed to take up too much of your time.”

Delphi tuts, “That isn’t what I asked.”

Lucifer chuckles, “Yes, call me when you get home.”

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Talk soon.”

---

The phone rings for exactly half a second before Lucifer answers, “Delphi?”

She giggles, “Who else would it be?”

“You never know. It could have been Barbatos.”

“Do you often have late-night phone calls with Barbatos? Should I be concerned?”

“No, I don’t. And no, you shouldn’t be concerned. I’d only want to have late-night phone calls with you.”

Heart fluttering, Delphi replies, “Me too.”

There’s a long pause, filled only by the sound of Lucifer’s soft breathing on the line. If you’d told her a year ago that she’d be talking on the phone to one of the three most powerful demons alive, Delphi would have laughed. Instead, she's curled up in her chair, listening to him breathe. She smiles softly.

“Y’know,” she starts tentatively, “we haven’t talked about what happened before I left.”

“Do we need to talk about it?”

“Well…”

“We had a lovely night together before you had to leave. It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

Heart now pounding against her ribs, Delphi asks barely above a whisper, “What if I want it to?”

Lucifer chuckles, “What a cruel human you are. You capture my heart, then leave.”

“You make it sound like I wanted to leave,” she mumbles. “I would have much rather stayed in the Devildom. With you.”

“Delphi…”

“It’s okay! We don’t have to decide anything now. But I think…” She takes a shaky breath. “I think I’d like to try a relationship? If you want to.”

The line is silent for far longer than is comfortable. The tingling in her pact mark is the only thing that keeps her from spiraling into a panic attack.

Finally, Lucifer replies, “I would love nothing more.”

---

2

“Hello?”

“Hi, hon!” Asmo's voice exclaims through her D.D.D.

“Hey, boo! How are you?” Delphi giggles, pushing her laptop away. She grabs her coffee mug off the kitchen counter and makes her way into her living room.

“I just heard a salacious little rumor,” Asmo gushes.

“Uh-oh,” Delphi replies, grinning. “What did you hear?”

“I heard that you and Lucifer have been on the phone almost every night this week. There's even talk that you're dating?”

Fuck.

“I should have known it would get around,” Delphi sighs. “How did you find out?”

“You just told me, darling!”

Double fuck.

“Asmo, you can’t tell anyone. Your brothers, your hook-ups, Solomon, no one.”

She can hear him pouting as he replies, “Delphi! You don’t trust me?”

“Asmo, you’re the king of gossip. And I know that you and Solomon talk about everything.”

“All right,” he sighs. There’s a bit of a pause before he adds, “I promise I won’t say anything.”

“Thank you, boo.” Delphi lets out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “It’s honestly such a relief that you know. I’ve been dying to talk to you about it.”

“Aww, sweetheart! Tell me!”

Delphi explains how everything started, from the bar where she took his initial call to their call last night. Asmo, to his credit, doesn’t interrupt once.

“So, wait,” Asmo says as she finishes. “You mean you haven’t been having phone sex this entire time?”

“Asmo! No!”

“I’m sorry, hon, but I’ve felt your desire every night! How do you expect me to interpret that?”

“Not like that!” Delphi screeches.

“All right, all right! So you haven’t been getting freaky over the phone. What is going on then?”

“We’ve just been talking,” she sighs. “He asks about my day, I ask about you guys, and we just…chat. It’s nice, getting to know the real Lucifer.”

“Ugh! Gross!” Asmo groans. But Delphi can tell he says it with a teasing smile. “But, I’m happy for you, hon. I know how much you’ve been wanting this. I just wish it had happened for you before you left.”

“You and me both,” Delphi says, taking a long drink of her coffee. “But how are you? Have you been up to anything new?”

“Oh! I was asked to design a line of accessories for Majolish!”

As Asmo gushes about his newest design job, Delphi smiles and curls deeper into her chair. Peace settles over her like a warm blanket. She doesn’t feel quite as alone anymore.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #mc!delphi #this is honestly just some fluff #may not stay that way #but we'll see

[scoundrels-in-love]

Marigold, aster, & tigerlily for the flower asks 💙

Hi love, thank you so much for asking!

marigold— do you wear any kind of jewelry on a regular basis? if so, what kind?

I have 3 piercings in my right ear (regular earring and then two higher up on lobe) and 2 in my left (regular and one higher on lobe), so I am always wearing earrings in those. I used to have very special precious earrings in 2 of them for a long time, until I lost them at shitty work on accident and it still hurts me.

Other than that, I wear my semicolon ring (heavy themes TW on link) on my right thumb every day I go anywhere and often wear a black leather band on my middle right finger as ace ring, but during work it ends up chafing often so I've not worn it in a bit. I used to have another ring I used to wear a lot on my left hand that was celtic knot silver ring my mom found thrifting, but I've currently lost it in my mess.

tigerlily— do you have any favorite quotes from any movies, tv shows, books, or poetry? (or from people in real life)

I have a horrible, horrible memory for things like these - most of the time, lyrics are what are likely to stick in my mind the most and even then only while I am actually hearing the song, I will know them.

But there is a quote that has stuck to me and every time I come across it somewhere, it basically reduces me to tears.

aster— do you have any 'fictional crushes' on any movie, tv show, or book characters? who and why?

From one side, I want to say I don't get crushes, fictional or otherwise.

From other side, Ashton Greymoore. <3

I imprinted on the literal jaded punk rock with a heart of gold that leaks through their literal cracks so hard and they're the one character to get LOML tag on my blog consistently. Anything they do I just get <3_<3 about to ridiculous degree.

They're such a complex character with infinite self loathing, but they care so, so, SO much about others and it shows so clearly and vividly from the start. They have this goodness, this curiosity and care and ability to lead in them that they've buried so deep because they've been so hurt and so betrayed, but they're just SO MUCH HEART and clarity all in once. And the chronic pain (and lack of gender commitment) representation. <33

And I want to know EVERYTHING about them and the story is always getting focused away on everyone else and augh augh augh augh. Need more now.

... So yeah. Ashton Greymoore of Critical Role campaign 3, played by Taliesin Jaffe.

Send me a flower ask?<3

#lovely people #sent on a cloud #ask games answered #aluvian

[eternal-laito]

headcanon + fashion ? :)

send  me  ‘ headcanon ‘  +  a  word  and  i  will  give  you  a  headcanon  around  it.

Admin: Yes yes yes yes. I love the idea of Laito’s fashion because I think it would be very androgynous. In canon he doesn’t mind wearing a dress and actually picked it out for himself (and ones Kanato and Ayato!). I’m pretty plain with fashion.. so apologies in advance (,:

༻✦༺

All photos from the shopping website RealTakai

( the white shirt and black pants are my favorite— I think he’d look so good with that on. )

❖ His clothing would be loose, but will still retain that ‘flat’ look. He wouldn’t wear anything that hides his body shape too much. He likes being alluring with his presentation.

❖ Laito is rather reserved with the amount of skin he shows with his clothing on a regular basis. He loves pants which reveal his ankles and shirts that can be rolled up his wrists.

❖ He’ll often later his clothing quite a bit! He likes wearing button ups and sweaters, and scarfs on cold days.

❖ He’ll often dress in usually mismatch colors, and somehow pulls it all together really well.

❖ Laito’s skin tone has cooler undertones and often he matches that with blues or greens— As seen in ep 8 when he’s wearing that really nice long coat.

❖ He’s usually lacking in accessories like rings and necklaces, but on special circumstances he’ll put some on. He likes loose bracelets that float on his arm a bit. He’ll fix his bracelets by putting his hand up toward his face to get them to fall back down. It adds to his posing.

❖ He often struggles finding pants that fit him well because of his slender waist and larger hips. He’ll wear a belt to keep his pants on where he wants them most of the time.

༻✦༺

Few more fits:

#diabolik lovers #laito sakamaki #.headcanons #diabolik lovers headcanons

[tsuki-chibi]

MayBee Queen 2022 Day 2: Bee

Read on AO3 instead 

---

“What are you doing?”

Chloé opened an eye at the slightly incredulous question, squinting up at the person who dared to interrupt her quiet, peaceful rest. But she couldn’t look for look. The sun was extremely bright today, and Nino was perfectly framed in the bright golden glow. She ended up closing her eye again and sighing.

“I’m resting,” she said.

“In the sun? Aren’t you worried about getting a sunburn?”

“I’m wearing sunscreen,” Chloé muttered, because the question was unfortunately a fair one. She sunburned almost as easily as Adrien did.

“Oh. Well, that’s good.” Nino evidently took that as permission to join her, because he sat down and then stretched out beside her with his hands behind his bed. Chloé briefly contemplated protesting his presence before giving up. Nino was too stubborn to care whether she wanted him here or not. Besides, at least Nino knew how to be quiet.

Most of the time, anyway.

Nino’s alarmed yelp alerted Chloé to a potential problem long before she heard the buzzing. She opened her eyes and sat up, irritated, only to realize that Nino was trying to swat away a bee. Chloé sighed again and reached out a hand. The bee swerved away from Nino’s outstretched hands and landed lightly on her finger.

“Don’t hurt it,” Chloé scolded him, shielding the bee with her opposite hand. “It’s not going to hurt you. You’re just laying beside a patch of particularly delicious marigolds.”

Nino blinked at her, and then looked down at the patch of yellow flowers that was right beside him.

“Move away,” Chloé ordered, glad when he obeyed. He scrambled around to her other side. Chloé extended her hand towards the flowers and watched as the bee flew from her finger to the flowers.

“Huh,” Nino said after a moment.

“What?”

“I just never thought that you could be gentle with anything,” Nino said.

Chloé glared at him over her shoulder.

He just grinned back at her, completely unrepentant.

“I like bees,” Chloé said, deciding to ignore the comment. “And I guess they like me now too. I blame Pollen.”

“Yeah, Adrien keeps telling me that half the cats in Paris like to follow him around. I’m kind of glad I don’t meet up with turtles on a regular basis.” Nino reached around her and grabbed his backpack, dragging it over to him. Chloé watched, bemused, as he pulled a bottle of bubble solution and a wand.

“Do you just carry that around with you all the time?” she asked after he’d blown a few bubbles.

Nino nodded. “Yup. It’s my way of getting rid of frustrations. Crappy mark on a test?” He blew a bubble. “Gone. Argument with my parents?” He blew another. “Gone. My brother getting on my nerves?” And another. “Gone. It’s much more cathartic than stewing over whatever’s bothering me.”

Chloé considered that for a moment, pulling her knees up against her chest. She had to admit that the more bubbles that Nino blew, the more relaxed that he looked.

“Can I try?” she asked finally, bracing herself for Nino to say no. They weren’t really friends, after all. Teammates, sure, given that they both had a miraculous and worked on the same team. But friends was a stretch.

However, Nino looked over at her with a smile and nodded. “Sure! Have you ever done it before? Adrien hadn’t.”

“… No,” Chloé admitted reluctantly.

“Okay. Just blow gently. Not too hard.” He dipped the wand into the bubble solution and then extended it out towards her. Chloé formed a ring with her lips and then blew gently. The bubble formed slowly before popping free and rising above them. She watched it, delighted, until the bubble floated too close to a flower and popped.

“Thanks,” Chloé said, realizing that she did feel a little better, and Nino grinned at her.

“Anytime.”

#miraculous ladybug #chloe bourgeois #nino lahiffe #maybeequeen2022 #i like writing nino and chloe bonding #they're an unlikely pair of friends

[silks-up-my-sleeve]

azalea, cosmos, and marigold for the flower asks pls <3

azalea— what is the most recent song you listened to? how do you feel about it?

It's one of my favorite songs, and I'm so disappointed it never made its way onto the Dirty Dancing soundtrack! But never fear, I have a playlist of every single song that appears in the movie in order of its appearance

cosmos— what's the best compliment you've ever received? who was it from?

I honestly can't think of a compliment that is truly the best, but recently I've received one on here that gave me major gender euphoria and I still think about it!

marigold— do you wear any kind of jewelry on a regular basis? if so, what kind?

I just finished updating all of my daily wear jewelry!! So you're in for a ride lol I'm also a silver girly (gn).

The mini Joan of Arc pendant from Awe Inspired, as she was cheaper than a class ring and she's my university's patroness. Right wrist: A silver Alex and Ani bracelet with no charms, a white sailor's knot bracelet. Left wrist: Samsung galaxy watch that I hate lol.

Left hand: the custom 'toi et moi' sea glass ring and the Light my Love band from greenfinchdesign both on my middle finger

Right hand: Tibetan turquoise ring (farmer's market jewler) and Flower Power band (also from greenfinchdesign) on my ring finger. Fordite ring from the farmer's market jeweler on my pointer finger

Flower themed asks

#jas answers asks <3 #ask games :) #mal <3