#and he gave his tools to Gem

[shadeswift99]

"Redemption arcs are an overdone and badly executed trope" factoid is actually just statistical error. Redemption Arcs Mythicalsausage, who spent episodes after his Xornoth possession systematically apologizing to the people he hurt and working to regain their trust while also giving them ample space to forgive him or not forgive him in their own time, as well as setting up an accountability network to keep himself from falling into evil again, is an outlier adn SHOULD be counted because oh my god it is so refreshing to see someone actually make their redemption a real arc instead of just a tacked-on excuse and a guilt trip -

[ravenwitch45]

omg hey i actually loved your crimson x reader stuff so much and your such a talented writer, could you do some of crimson cheering up a sad reader please?

Crimson cheering up a sad reader

This Bitch has no fucking idea what he's doing.

Flirting? Yeah. Seduction? Well his late wife was a gem so he certainly did something to get her into him that wasn't kindness. Consoling? He is fucking clueless.

He wanted to surprise you by stopping by your apartment, but before he even get the key you gave him in the lock, he hears crying and panics, kicking the door open and see you sobbing on the couch, though the surprise of him breaking in making you stop momentarilly.

He rushes up to you, looking you over for any wounds, finding none, he asks what happens but you stammer through your tears, and he repeats the question way harsher then he means and you just cry more at the yelling making him back off.

He apoligizes awkwardly but you remain silent, just nodding in acceptance, and he sighs covering his mouth in thought. He has no idea how to fix a problem he can't shoot or bribe away so it takes a little for him to think up what to do.

He thinks back to his last relationship, before he got rid of her, he used to cook up a meal himself as an apology to his late wife if she was upset about something or other, and it worked, at least for a little.

He tells you to stay right there but to yell if you need him. Getting a nod in response before he leaves for the kitchen. He checks the fridge and pantry and resists letting his anger boil over. He has the tools to make something he knows but barely any of the ingredients and he's way too snobby to know how to work a microwave.

He pulls out his phone with a sigh and texts Chaz to get the stuff he needs, giving the address and ordering him not to ask questions, not wanting to hear about this at work.

In the mean time he comes back and asks to hold you if you'd like that, and you somberly scoot over to him and hugs you on the couch, softly grazing his fingers over your upper body, you melting into the embrace.

He almost falls asleep with you there, before a whistle stirs him looking up to the still open door where a very smug Chaz stands holding several grocery bags.

Teasing a little at the very cute position he just found his 'tough as nails boss' Crimson giving a look saying "Not a word" before he wakes you up so he can start cooking.

He let's Chaz stay to keep you company while he works, taking the bags and deciding on something that won't take hours to make. Settling on Cheese Raviloli with Alfredo, it's not much by his standards but the further he's back here the more he thinks leaving you with Chaz was a bad idea.

When it's done he comes back to see the both of you watching stuff on Chaz's phone, which makes him howl in laughter, and you chuckle much more modestly, spotting the smile he's glad to see again at the very least.

When he presents the meal he's made, quick to deny that he didn't have to do this, saying he's happy to do this for you, since you clearly needed it, earning a warm smile from your face, mirroring it back to you.

Chaz departs to give you two some privacy with some of the meal as thanks, as you two sit down to eat together. the warm sauce warming your somewhat sore throat quickly and Crimson holds back a snort at the muffled moan you give at the pleasant sensation.

You thoroughly enjoy the meal, thanking him profusely for the gesture, and apologizing to him for letting him see you like that, explaining it was just a lot of stuff that built up and exploded emotionally.

He waves it off and says you shouldn't be sorry, even if he sucks at emotions these days, that's from training himself to do it from a lifetime of mob work, he at least get's that you don't have that training and it's understandable, making sure to note either way he's gonna be here for you. You unable to not smile at that.

After cleaning up dinner, you two retire to bed together, Crimson notes the smile on your face as sleep claims you, maybe he knows what he's doing after all. A little bit.

Whew! Sorry for that long one but I just had an idea and let it flow out, hope you enjoyed it either way! I think I have a pretty concrete way I like to write this guy by now XP

[dmwrites]

Pearl was a sight to behold. No, not because the empires people thought of her as some kind of god, while the hermits knew her as the cleaning lady. No, it was her outfit and tools that were the beholden sight.

To start with, the dress. An elegant pale green thing of floaty fabric and delicate stitching. She fit in well with the other empires, at least, but it was far from her usual fashion choices of hoodies and overalls. Needless to say, it was smattered in mud and pollen, as she’d taken to heading the automatic carrot and potato farms, as well as romping in the mud when she could. She was just silly like that.

The dress was the baseline for the clash of items she wore and used every day- it was like she’d gone into each of the empire’s bases and stolen something. Honestly, she probably had, for the most part.

She wore a colorful, patchwork fedora from Scott.

From Sausage she had wings, a shield, and an axe, whose green and blues went moderately well with her outfit.

She had yellow rain boots from Shelby, which were as caked with mud and dirt as the hem of her dress.

From False, or at least whoever ran that steampunk place, she’d taken a pair of aviator goggles.

Joel gave her a toy sheriff, which she considered funny enough to not take anything else from him, although Joel had seen her eyeing the stratosphere a few times.

She had a mask of Lizzie’s face. It freaked everyone out, but no one dared to tell Lizzie about it, since she was so cagey about her appearance in the first place.

From Katherine she had the monster-slaying axe, although she wasn’t supposed to talk about it.

She had Fwip’s bonk stick occasionally, when he wasn't looking, but also had some golden hoops.

She had a deputy badge pinned to her dress. Not a single person knew where she could have possibly gotten it from, as none were missing. Jimmy was furious.

From Joey she had a skull-and-crossbones flag, which she kept around her shoulders like a cape.

Gem weaved more flowers into Pearl’s hair every few days. She was kinda big-brained for it.

She had copper bracelets from Pix.

And from Oli, she’d taken one of his lutes, which she did not know how to play, but loved to strum it to annoy people.

“She looks like the physical manifestation of the entire empires server.” Pix said.

“It’s like so chaotic of a fit that it passes ugly and loops back around to camp, tbh. It’s a serve.” Scott remarked.

“Stealing Is Against The Law.” Jimmy blustered on and on about, although no one paid him any mind.

The question all of the empires members wondered was if they should stop her. They then realized that they probably couldn’t even if they wanted to, so that was that, really.

[dotthings]

This is rolling more and more towards The Bad Batch joining the early seeds of the rebellion. They need to steal Dooku’s war plunder treasure so they can have a future and be free. But Echo knows what’s happening, what the Empire is doing. He's thinking about the people they could help.

There’s something very heart-wrenching about Omega being so baffled by the kaleidoscope. She thinks it contains gems. Romar has to explain “No, it’s only reflected glass” and also how it’s not only reflected glass. It’s a toy, and something that exists as art, for enjoyment. Omega’s not a war orphan, but she’s like a war orphan—one who never knew anything else except being raised to have a specific purpose, to be a tool of the forces who created her. She’s a child, and she has a sense of play, and of fun and mischief, and her brain isn’t fully mature. But she also doesn’t have memories of a before, where she was able to be just a child, where she had toys, where art can exist for art's sake. Yet Wrecker, who is also a clone, has a plushie -- and he gave Lula to Omega.

“Culture. Art. Music. Memories.”

“A separatist archive. Fascinating.”

“Not separatist, Serennian. We did exist before the war, you know.”

Tech automatically classifies Romar’s culture by the political definitions of the war he was created to fight. Romar gives them an identity that has nothing to do with war, they existed before war, and outside of war, not just in war.

And Tech’s mind is blown, just as much as Omega’s is by the existence of a kaleidoscope.

All the clones were created created for war, and yet they are capable of self-expression (thinking back to the way they decorated their helmets on TCW, or had different hair styles), they create art, express individuality, have free will (when they aren’t being controlled by their chips), compassion, love. They’re people.

Wrecker has a plushie, and he gave his plushie to Omega.

Like the Serennians, the clones are more than what others see them as.

Romar’s joy when Tech fixes the Serennian archive unit — Tech rescued their history, the record of a culture, art, music, memories.

And Tech still seems baffled. “You did it!” “Yes, of course I did.” He doesn’t get why Romar is so emotional about it. Tech did what he was designed to be good at, he fixed the tech. The implications of what his work can do for people hasn’t hit him yet.

Omega wanting to risk herself to save the jewels from Dooku’s war plunder, so she can give her dads their freedom, because of her guilt overhearing what Echo said about them being hunted because of her. Echo telling Omega “you have to let it go” because it’s not worth her life. She is precious for herself, not for being a tool, not for whatever treasure she can retrieve. And Echo is the one who argued for using the plundered treasure to help those who need help, who are being crushed under the Empire. And Hunter wants the treasure to gain their freedom, so Omega doesn’t have to live hand-to-mouth and on the run. Both of their motives are for the good of others, although Echo is seeing a greater good, Hunter is more focused as a father to Omega. But Echo too cares about Omega, and what he said turned out not to mean what Omega thought it did.

I like how Romar keeps calling Tech “Ace,” and after Tech was all “I’ll manage ‘tis merely a scratch” over his badly busted up leg, Romar follows him and helps him up, gives him someone to lean on when he needs it. There’s something paternal about Romar’s fondness for Tech — and Tech’s never had a father figure in his life.

The concluding scene of episode 2 with Echo and Omega. Omega’s regrets about losing the treasure, because she still doesn’t quite get it yet — “I wanted to make things better for us.” Which is a noble goal, she gets that people matter, she is caring, she wanted to save the treasure for her dads. To help them.

But Echo gets it on both levels. Seeing a greater good and caring about the people he cares about. Echo talks Omega down from risking herself to save the treasure, even though it could buy her dads freedom, or it could be used to help stop the empire. Echo then explains to her what he meant about how they’re there because of her. That if not for Omega, they would have wound up tools of the Empire. “We made the right choice. I’d do it all again.”

People matter. Protecting your family matters. Free will matters. Helping others matters. Caring matters. Saving entire cultures matters. Hunter’s leading with his heart and still very focused on the urgency of saving his family, the people closeset to him, but Echo can see how the immensity of the monster bearing down on them, that could devour them all, their family, everyone, and knows if they don’t do something to stop it, his family won’t be okay, and many many families in the galaxy won’t be okay.

Echo’s lighting the right course for them already, they just have to notice, and turn the ship.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Rain or Snow, Sleet or Shine

Rollo time? 😇 Rollo time. Now featuring 100% more Gargoyle-kun (I think he, Rollo, and the NBC mob students should all be one big happy found family to mirror Diasomnia 😌). I took a lot of writing inspiration from this collection of illustrations; please check out the artist!

IT MAKES ME MAD SAD THAT WE DON'T GET TO SEE ROLLO GROW LONG TERM LIKE THE OB BOYS DO BECAUSE HE'S JUST AN EVENT CHARACTER 🤡 SO LET ME HAVE THIS, LET MY FIRST PROPER FIC OF 2023 BE THIS.......... . . ....... .. ..... . .... . . . . .. . ....

“No matter what the weather, Flamme-kun has always diligently ascended the tower to polish the Bell of Salvation to a fine shine.”

***This fic contains massive Glorious Masquerade spoilers!!***

Imagine this…

Twelve o’clock on the dot.

Like clockwork, the familiar footsteps sounded--a soft, concise pitter-patter upon a rickety stairwell. A hatch somewhere creaked open, and a human cloaked in fluttering fabric appeared at the top of the bell tower. His fingers were carefully folded together, a diamond-cut crimson gem crowning his left middle finger.

A passing breeze raked its fingers along the strip of red that trailed out from his voluminous hat as he made his way toward a great brass bell--the crowning jewel of his school and the city. He came to a halt a foot before it and, with a respectful incline of his head, he let his words resound off of the magical tool.

“Good afternoon. Do pardon the intrusion. I have come to tend to you once again.”

“... Right on time, Flamme-kun.”

The deep, gravelly voice came from one of the many stone statues flanking the perimeter of the bell. It boasted the broad, muscular torso of a human, yet the horns, wide nose, and wings of something decidedly animalistic. Eyes the color of concrete twinkled with life.

Rollo smiled dryly at the gargoyle. “You are up early today, sir.”

“Ah, the others like to sleep late in their old age.” The gargoyle waved a hand. “Me though, I’m fit as a fiddle!”

There was a pause as the gargoyle picked out a few strands of residual bird’s nest from between his teeth. “Shouldn’t have slept with my mouth open,” he grumbled. “Those darn things set up shop wherever they please. No respect for their elders!”

“Yes.” Rollo gave a brisk nod to pair with his polite affirmation. “Then, if you will excuse me…”

He turned away, presenting his back to the gargoyle. Producing a small container of paste and a cloth, he went about his work.

Rollo had gotten the routine down by now; slathering a mixture of equal parts vinegar, salt, and flour over brass and letting it sit would eat away at the accumulated grime. He'd rinse the bell clean with soapy water and dry it with a cloth. All of this, he did by hand, using only a stepping stool to reach the crevices and the highest points.

With the bell refreshed for the day, its afternoon toll would reverberate ever clearer throughout the city. The air swelling with magic, the people roused from their rituals.

He would do the very same tomorrow, and the day after that, and the following day, and for every day until the end of time. Through rain and sleet, sleet or shine.

And then...

His hand stilled as the truth of monotony finally set in.

Then what?

Rollo’s fingers curled, sinking into the fabric of his dishcloth. His expression was a cold, slight grimace reflected back to him in the brass. Half of his face was sharp and clear, the other half clouded by his cleaning paste.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Memories tinted in crimson flared up in his head. Petals ablaze, like live embers, dancing against a midnight sky. Flowers scorched to an untimely, ashen end.

Light suddenly snuffed out.

A dream dying before his very eyes, punctuated by the solemn toll of a bell. His most heartfelt wish burning to a crisp in a dark fire. The crushing devastation and despair that followed.

Him, crumpling to his knees. A desperate cry ringing out, falling upon deaf ears and the ignorant masses.

In seeking that salvation, I failed.

Flames lit beneath Rollo’s skin. Blood became molten fire in his veins. A great storm of emotions, both highwater and hellfire, raged inside of him, fighting for dominance.

His frown deepened into a scowl, his reflection in the bell mimicking the look.

“... Flamme-kun.”

A figure emerged beside him.

“We’ve been blessed with such beautiful weather today,” the gargoyle chirped, resting a clawed hand on Rollo’s back. He indicated the sky--cerulean, lightly peppered with puffy white clouds. “Don’t you think?”

Rollo eyed the gargoyle suspiciously, not deigning to turn to properly face him. He met the images cast in the Bell of Salvation. “... What are you doing?”

“What? Can’t an old man keep you company for a while?” the gargoyle joked, digging an elbow into Rollo’s side. He didn't earn a grin.

"I can assure you that I am need of no such company. I am perfectly capable of fulfilling this task without a self-appointed assistant."

"Just as you always have. I believe you. You're a very diligent and thoughtful young man."

Eyes carved out of rock bore into Rollo. They were sturdy, resolute--and where there should have been no heart instead bled into a pool of sadness.

Rollo stiffened, as though his own flesh was turning into stone, and his veins like the ones that threaded marble. A flash fire tore through the cracks, letting hated memories slip.

A horned man with a noble visage rose from clouds of swirling, dark smoke. Everything about him was lethal, piercing. Like a demon come to claim lost souls.

The demon's lip curled, suddenly both man and monster. Emerald flames coiled at his teeth.

Rollo's stomach dropped.

"Lie, if you must. It will make it easy for you to deceive others, perhaps even deceive yourself."

Stop.

"However, you cannot fool the Bell of Salvation. You cannot run, nor hide, from the eyes which see the entire city."

Don't look at me.

"It has always been watching over you, judging your every action."

Not with those damnable eyes...!!

Rollo brought his cloth across the gargoyle's reflection, smearing him beyond recognition. Out of his sight, but not out of his mind.

“If you truly believed that, you wouldn’t shower me with such pity.” Rollo’s tone was a harsh, glacial whisper, his stare burning as cold as ice.

“Pity? No, it’s not anything like that.”

He scoffed bitterly. "As though stone could possibly understand sentiment."

"This 'stone' understands much more than you give it credit for," the gargoyle tutted. "I may not know the entire story of what happened the night fire swallowed the city--"

Rollo didn't look at him. Couldn't.

He wrested his gaze away, focusing on his view of the City of Flowers.

It was busy at this time of day, bustling with townspeople and their indistinctive chatter, which rose high above the rooftops and flying buttresses. The pointed arches, spires, and angular stained glass windows of Noble Bell appeared distinctly harsh next to the soft, welcoming homes and shops laid beside it, lined in the silver of sunlight catching in the rivers.

Delicious smells of lunchtime--baking bread, rich butter, cheeses and fruits and nuts--tempted adults and children alike to part with their coin for a morsel. The streets were vivid with flowers in full bloom, all colors and shapes, as though they, too, were delicacies to be brought to waiting lips. Tantalizing and intoxicating.

A blue sky blanketed the picturesque afternoon, the few clouds within it now stretched thin, like pieces of sugar melting upon the tongue.

Rollo cursed them. How dare they plague him.

My conscience is clear, he insisted. I've committed no sin.

"--but surely it could be sorted out? I'm happy to lend an ear, or a horn." The gargoyle tapped at his noggin. "Whatever you need."

Rollo's face hardened. "The world is cruel and wicked, full of fools that are easily tempted, gorging themselves on vice. That I was not able to correct it... Tsk. Truly, reprehensible. Yet you would have me confess to no real fault?"

He clasped himself, bracing against the wind. This high up, it reached only him, chilling him down to the bone.

He had witnessed it firsthand; how magic enticed others with its warmth, its brilliance--before spiraling, consuming everything in its path. A heavenly light turned into hellfire, a blessing revealed to be a curse.

That was the truth... Wasn't it?

“... You always do these things by your lonesome," the gargoyle said at last. "I wish you would rely on us a little more--that you would let us save you."

"Hmph. You said the very same thing that night."

"Oh?" The gargoyle perked up at that. "You remembered."

"Not fondly, mind you. Just the nonsense words of a stone statue."

"You're surprisingly blunt," the gargoyle remarked, his kindly, wizened smile still firmly in place. "But... I know you're a good boy deep down. You wouldn't dedicate yourself to looking after the Bell if you weren't. No matter what the weather, you never missed a single day.”

He raised his head, looking up at the magical artifact looming over them. The curve to its body, its dullened shine.

The sheer magnitude of it.

A twinge--fear? Guilt?--struck Rollo's soul. He hurried to brush it off.

"It is my sincerest hope that, someday, whatever is ailing you lifts away, just like the clouds parting after a storm. You'll be able to face the sun, and life will be fairer then."

Fairer...

And yet it hadn't been quite so far for him. It would never be.

He was no longer here.

“To this day, many pray and offer their desires up to the Bell of Salvation—but never did I think that I would hear a wish from a gargoyle. Your only purpose is to ward off rainwater."

"Even gargoyles can dream in the night and soak up sun in the daytime. You're capable of it too."

“The coming days will be dark and bitter. Storms are an inevitable part of life," Rollo countered icily.

"Ah, but there are more sunny days than there are stormy ones. We weather those storms to see the sun again. The Bell of Salvation shall see us through it all.”

In spite of himself, Rollo grimaced. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief. Its pattern of moons and stars quieted him, brought him temporary peace.

“The Bell…”

It sees all.

Rollo startled at the thought, like a chill had dragged itself across the coals in his heart. He hastily tucked his handkerchief away and shook his head.

I'm losing myself.

Such was the danger of being bewitched.

Magic worked like that. It had a way of promising youths their hopes and dreams, wishes and potential. Then its iron jaws would clamp shut, snagging an arm, a leg, a heart. Fresh fuel for the entangling flames.

The child caged within, calling out for help as the fire constricted, consuming him. A curtain of smoke, the smell of burning flesh.

Standing there, powerless, as the child became cinders.

It would be late to turn back time.

Visceral fear churned his stomach. Wave after wave, aligned with each haunting toll of the bells.

“Enough of this drivel," Rollo snapped. "I have a schedule to keep. I shouldn’t be wasting my lunch hour making conversation.”

"You're right," the gargoyle laughed. Perhaps a little too easily for Rollo's liking. How can he afford to be so lackadaisical? "Here I am, talking your ear off when you're hard at work. You should finish up your chores and have a hearty meal with your friends. Your vice president and aide, was it?"

His friends?

He had never thought of them in that way. Colleagues, at best.

And yet when he closed his eyes, he could so clearly picture their faces. The vice president with his wavy, tawny tresses. The aide with long, deep green locks that tumbled down his back.

Their eyes rapt and adoring as they regarded him.

"You sensed the danger and came running up the bell tower too?!"

"That's our President...! You worked with the NRC boys saved the whole city!"

"You're so amazing, sir! You always know the right thing to do. It's like you're our very own Just Judge from the legends."

"I'm so honored that you're at the helm at Noble Bell College, President Rollo--and that we have the opportunity to work with someone of your caliber!"

"We're all so proud of you."

Rollo said nothing, forcefully shunting them out of his mind.

He silently wiped at the Bell of Salvation, restoring its beautiful shine one stroke at a time. Before long, it was glistening in the midday sun, as bright as any star.

In the beginning, his muscles had ached by the time the task was complete. But the burn in his blood came no longer.

Now there was only emptiness, and the doubt that rang within it.

Rollo expelled a sigh, his hand reaching for the nearby Sally--the rope which sounded the bells. One tug with considerable strength, and familiar tolls would resound in the town.

Big bells as loud as thunder. Small bells as soft as a psalm. But the sound of the Bell of Salvation...

Cleansing.

His fingers closed around the rope.

"Say, Rollo."

He froze at his name.

The gargoyle beamed at him, clear as day, in the brass of the bell. "We can always talk some other time, whenever you're ready to. That offer's always on the table."

"... If you'll excuse me."

He tugged.

And a myriad of colors and moods, magic and sound, flooded the city. It was as though the sky had been split open, raining music upon the world, washing everything away and birthing new miracle in its place.

There was laughter from below, the atmosphere lifting with levity. Townspeople and students swelling with joy. A warm tingle of some enchantment filled their lungs took to their breath.

Look at them, Rollo sneered, his expression twisting in disgust. Practically drunk on magic, ignorant to the perils posed by their overindulgence.

His brows creased.

So many eyes that fixated on the bell that overlooked their city, entrusting it, and its magic, to pave the way forward. From up on high, they appeared like ants, they eyes mere dots. But up close, he’d seen that they were wide and sparkling, brimming with hope.

If such eyes were directed at him…

The hero and savior from the night of the crimson flowers. The man as virtuous and fair as the Just Judge.

All the things they said he was.

Am I truly deserving of that praise?

Rollo harshly clasped his hands together, his forehead creasing further. To his dismay, the swirling storm clouds of uncertainty stayed.

The tolls called out to him in their wordless song, reverberating off the rooftops. Their echoes, almost taunts.

“This is the punishment that is best suited for you, Flamme. To tell your truth, or to continue to live a lie… The decision is yours. You will suffer regardless.”

“You… You’re skilled in tormenting others, are you? I should have expected nothing less of you villains, wicked to the very core."

"Perhaps, if you were to properly glimpse into a mirror, you would come to see the wickedness within yourself, rather than that of the world."

He set his jaw firmly. His blood, boiling. His hands curled into clenched fists.

Curse him. Curse that Malleus Draconia. Curse them all, every last one of the charlatans of Night Raven College…!

Thunder rumbled, a sharp crack against the dull bells. Dampness—the aroma of ozone—hit his nose.

A plip of rain coloring the ground at his feet with a spot of darkness.

This is...

Rollo stared into the sky.

It had noticeably darkened, and the clouds had come back with reinforcements, looming menacingly in the distance. A chill picked up, and the sun wavered.

What…? It was so clear not a moment ago. He shivered, wrapping himself up in the excessive cloth of his uniform. Such a sudden storm. I’d best get back inside before I’m caught in it.

Rollo hurried to the stairwell, casting a glance at the gargoyles as he passed. The one that had spoken to him had wedged himself back among the others, safe and comfortable among friends. He snagged in Rollo's sight and waved.

“Until tomorrow.”

"... Until then.”

The door closed, obscuring Rollo behind it.

The cold and the wind and the dreary light were shut out. The wooden floorboards groaned in protest as he slipped inside. Away from the elements, and, more importantly, away from prying eyes.

Yet he felt the heat of them upon his back and crawling across his skin. Someone, something watching him in that dimly lit room.

From beyond the windows? Or…

From within?

He jerked away from the sunlight trickling in. Gaze averted, he focused his eyes on the creaking, worn stairs as he descended.

The walls were suffocating, squeezing him tight. The air, too thin.

There, in that rickety and narrow little space, he was trapped between heaven above and the waiting hell below.

Denied his sun and salvation, unable to escape from the tempest raging within himself.

[abbatoirablaze]

His Sunshine, Chapter 11

Word Count:  1.2k

Warnings:  mentions of torture, gun violence, mentions of blood, smut, unprotected sex, death.

“Just tell us what we want to know…that’s all.  One quick little answer, and you’re free to go,” Lloyd smirked as he looked at the man who was tied to the chair.  The man glared up at him, and he turned to me, “princess, would you mind getting me my pliers?”

“Of course, Lloyd.”

“Soulmates are such an amazing thing, aren’t they?” Lloyd asked joyously as I’d turned towards his tray of tools and retrieved his pliers for him.  He gave me an adoring smile as I handed them off, and I could practically feel his heartbeat racing as he leaned forward and gently kissed me, “I love you, Sunshine.”

My heart fluttered in my chest, “I love you too, Lloyd.”

But the man spat between us, narrowly missing mine and Lloyd’s shoes.  He said something in a language I wasn’t trained in, and Lloyd put the pliers down, only long enough to whip around and backhand the man.

I watched Lloyd curiously as some of his hair fell out of his slicked back do and into his face.  The air around him felt tense and heavy.  He gave a gruff growl at the man before slicking his hair back and pointing at him, “don’t talk about her that way.  You wouldn’t and couldn’t begin to understand what our love is like, Sergei.  I’m trying to be nice because you’re a colleague, but you talk about my sunshine like that again, and I’ll rip all your fucking teeth out you slimy little worm.”

The man sneered at me, and Lloyd backhanded him again, this time with the pliers.  Sergei gave a pained groan and spat beside himself, a mixture of saliva, blood, and a tooth that had been knocked loose from the impact.  Lloyd was nearly straddling him as he grabbed his jaw, “you fucking apologize to my sunshine, and you do it now, Sergei.”

He grimaced, but looked towards me, Lloyd still holding his jaw, “Sorry for insult.”

“Do you accept it, buttercup?”

While I knew Lloyd could go overboard, and most women would be turned off by the brutal tactics he used, I felt myself wanting to lean into him and kiss him for defending my honor in such a way.  While I didn’t know what the man had said about me, Lloyd didn’t even hesitate to call him out on his bullshit. 

I couldn’t help but to melt, looking at the man that I loved.  He was so full of rage for the rest of the world, but none of it seemed to matter when we were together. 

“I-I do…”

He smiled, and my heart fluttered again at the way he looked at me.  His attention briefly turned to Sergei once more, “she’s a god damned gem is what she is, Sergei.  That’s my soulmate right there.  She’s fucking perfect for me.  And if you ever say another word about her, I don’t care how close of colleagues we are, you’re done.”

“Perfect psychos!”

That I understood. 

And while I knew that Sergei was a lead, and not really a friend to anyone, it did pinch my heart a little bit to hear those words. 

But Lloyd was on top of it, already feeling my sadness through our soulmate’s bond. 

“You made my girl upset,” he growled, glaring at Sergei.  He went over to the counter, his jaw ticking as he picked up his gun, “you really upset my perfect little ray of sunshine.”

“Lloyd, I-“

“Shut the hell up, Sergei,” he hissed, pulling the trigger four times.  I turned away from the scene, tears pricking at my eyes as I thought about the man’s words.  I didn’t know why they were affecting me so much, but they were, and I couldn’t help but replay them in my head.  It wasn’t until I heard Lloyd’s soft voice in my ear as he wrapped his arms around me, “he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, pumpkin…he was a prick.”

“Lloyd…”

“Let me take you out tonight,” he asked softly, his hands brushing over my stomach before settling on stroking my thighs.  I sighed, feeling the stress and tension fade away as his lips worked on my neck, his mustache tickling me ever so slightly, “let us relax and forget the rest of the world…indulge in our desires, hmmm?  We are in Paris…and I did promise that I would make love to you in a Parisian flat.  Let’s go out to dinner.  I’ll have my men set up the place with sweets and wine…and oils for a nice hot bath when you get back…and I’ll work all those pesky little knots out of you…”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I teased.  He smirked as one of his hands gently cupped my mound. 

“Oh, I’m paying my favorite girl all the attention she needs tonight,” he grinned, “by the morning hours you’ll be drooling from both ends…my perfect little soulmate fucked silly in our bed.”

“Good morning, Mr. Hansen,” I smiled softly, my fingers lightly drawing patterns against his chest which was dusted with hair.  I sighed contentedly as his hand grabbed mine, our fingers lacing together.  He raised my arm up until my mark was in front of him and he pressed a firm kiss to it.  A warmth grew in my belly as I felt the bond between us, “Lloyd.”

“Yes, my sweet sunshine?”

My heart warmed, hearing my name crossing his lips.  I gasped as he continued to kiss down my mark, before finally stopping at my wrist.  A shiver ran down my spine as he cradled me even closer against his chest.  His bare one met with my own naked body; our warmth combining. 

“One day…” he whispered gently, holding onto me, “one day we’ll be home and we won’t have to worry about this.  You won’t have to be worried about this.”

“I’m not worried about anything, Lloyd,” I admitted, my hand reaching up to stroke his jaw, “not when I have you.  I have everything that I need.”

“Well, we need some breakfast,” he replied softly.  He pressed a loving kiss to my lips, and I felt myself melting into his touch, “I can make us some amazing French toast.”

I couldn’t help but giggle, “ironic for you to say you’re going to make French toast in France, isn’t it?”

“Not when my wife loves it,” he smiled, holding something up in front of my face before I could contest him calling me his wife, “what do you say, buttercup?  Want to be Mrs. Hansen?”

I gasped, my hands drawing up to my mouth.  I hadn’t noticed Lloyd stretching back to reach the box on the night table, but now my full attention was on it and its contents. 

A beautiful princess cut diamond stared back at me from a silver band, with smaller pink and black gems surrounding the large clear diamond in the center. 

“Lloyd…”

“So, what do you say, Sunshine?” he asked sweetly, holding the ring between us as he pulled it out of the box, “will you do me the honor of not only being my soulmate, but my wife?”

“Oh my god…Lloyd…yes!” I squealed, pressing my lips to his, “YES!  YES!” 

He chuckled against my lips, his hands slipping the band onto my finger, “I love you Sunshine, soon to be Hansen.”

“I love you too, Lloyd.”

Chapter 12

Tag list:  @lohnes16, @buckysteveloki-me, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @valhalla-kristin, @danielle143, @noseyrosey1597, @marve2014, @littlemoistcarrot, @minaxcarter, @ohtobehappy, @ebonynextdoor, @dforever15, @bambamwolf87, @bigcreatorwombatdreamer, @multifandom-world8, @gh0stgirl33, @mrspaigeomega, @grimistangel, @mlekozpudrem

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can I just say that I am in love with your UCN AU (I know it's probably been awhile since you did anything for it but still). That being said, I've recently watched j-gems' "Ventilation Altercation" animation and I was wondering if you could write a little scenario where Ennard and Molten end up getting stuck in the same vent shaft while trying to jumpscare the reader and, as a result, get up tangled up in each other and need to go to the reader for assistance in getting un-tangled.

Aw thanks! I haven’t revisited this AU in ages! I love that video too haha.

.........

"Molten, move over!! Your wires are getting tangled with ours!!"

"It's not m-m-my fault! There's barely any room in here!!"

"That’s okay. Take your time. I got all night.”

As they struggled to stick their heads out of the front vent shaft, Molten Freddy and Ennard saw you sitting there with your hand on the monitor, a smirk on your face as you watched them fight each other. 

Ennard was only able to bring out one of Ballora's eyes. Given the glare she was sending you, she wasn’t pleased to be the one taunted. It should be the other way around, but you’re used to the animatronics’ antics so it doesn’t faze you anymore.

“Don’t get mad at me. That’s your own fault. I could be worse-”

“How can this possibly get any worse?” Ballora, via Ennard, questioned.

“You could have Chica, Mangle, or Springtrap stuck with you.”

“NO!! I would hate that! Especially..him-m-m.” Molten grumbled as he managed to stick both of his paws out, letting them hang out of the vent. “I hate that stupid old man for what he did to us.”

“Well at least we agree on something..now MOVE.” Ennard’s patience was running thin and they tried forcing themselves free.

Which ended with the two amalgamations tumbling to the floor in a heap of wires and robot eyes, still stuck together. They continued to struggle and fuss like two children before they saw you slam the monitor down, finally fed up with their behavior.

“Oh no...now you’ve done it!! [Y/n] is ma-a-a-ad!!” Molten groaned.

“Yes, mad at you. Who gave you control over us anyway?! Circus Baby wouldn’t agree to this!”

“Well it’s too bad we kicked her out for being so bossy!”

“You WHAT-?!”

“Shut up. Both of you.”

Your stone-cold tone made the pair cease their arguing once more, as they looked towards you. Seeing that they’re finally listening, you sighed before venturing to the desk for some tools. Something that could help you free them from their entanglement.

Molten’s eyes widened upon seeing you take out a large pair of--

“WIRE CUTTERS?!!”

“Molten, relax. They won’t hurt you.” You took the cutters and approached the two, wondering where you were gonna start. But it was hard to figure that out when the rusted bear was panicking and flailing his limbs. “Hold still please-”

“NO!! NO!! IT’S GONNA HURT-T-T-T!!”

“You guys can’t feel pain here. Plus you got burnt and you’re perfectly fine..sorta.”

“Oh...that’s right. I forgot!” He cackled, before quieting down with a small “sorry”.

Ennard rolled their many eyes, but stayed quiet as they wanted to be freed as soon as possible. With much effort, you managed to get them all untangled so they could separate. They immediately scurried to opposite sides of the room and stared at each other, before looking back at you.

Now what do they do? They both entered the office at the same exact time.

Though you were saved by the bell chiming 6AM, so they didn’t have the chance to scare you as they intended to.

But before they could leave, you told them to work out some compromise: to take turns trying to reach you through the vent and not get so impatient. With so many animatronics melded into them, they were bound to get antsy.

Hopefully they learned their lesson.

Especially now that Molten is deathly afraid of wire cutters.

[kitcam-the-great]

A Humbling Origin Story

(Fantastic cover art by @WillowzzA on Twitter! Please go check out her art as it is fantastic!!)

⬇️Ao3 Link ⬇️

Author’s Note: I wanted to cause The Sheriff (aka Jimmy) some pain, so therefore decided to add meaningless significance to his encounter with the Warden.

Now anyone would be afraid of the creature. One sound and you’re done for, but what makes Jimmy’s encounter so special. Why is he, the law, so afraid of this blind creature?

What if I told you that his encounter with Gem wasn’t his first?

•-•{🌟}•-•

Tumble Town.

A bustling little community smack down in the center of the desolate mesa. And though it serves as the hotspot for gunpowder farming and trading, it is home to one of the lands largest, and deepest, coal and gold mines.

Jimmy, the honorable Sheriff of the busy little town, remembers the day they opened up the mines. He remembers all the adults placing bets on how much they’d be able to bring back, the ridiculous fortunes they’d make. He remembers kids, just a little older than he was, telling stories about all the monsters one would find in those caves. How easily they could take any of them down if they had the right tools. Hell, they didn’t need tools. They were brave and big and strong. Something that poor little Jimmy was not.

You see Jimmy throughout his childhood was always used as a scapegoat, a test dummy. Constantly picked on for his size and easily tricked into getting into trouble with the locals. He felt worse than little. He felt small.

When stories of the deep dark made its way round the town, the older kids all turned to that pathetic little kid they loved to beat up, and Jimmy was having none of it.

“Get a load of this guy! Y’all really think he’s gonna come out of those caves alive?”

“Yeah right! Lil’ twerp wouldn’t last a day in there?”

Three boys began to circle Jimmy like vultures, eager to grab him and toss him around.

“Leave me alone!”

Was all he could muster up in that time.

“Y’know I’m willing to bet he wouldn’t even last a whole dang minute in that there mine!”

Jimmy spoke up again

“I so could!!”

Two boys then began pushing him back and forth toward each other, with each tug rougher than the last. They laughed at the way he began to tear up.

“Lookie here, brother! He thinks he can take on all them monsters, but here he is cryin’ his lil’ eyes out!”

“Aww what’s the matter lil’ baby? Can’t handle a lil’ tustle? Go on! Cry some more pipsqueak!”

“Maybe the monsters will feel bad and leave ya alone!”

They gave him one final shove into the ground, practically howling at how hard he hit his head in the rough terracotta.

Jimmy just cried. He knew he wasn’t as strong as they were, nor as cruel. What made him so sure he could say he would last at all in the mines? God why was he so stupid? So so stupid.

“Alrighty fellas, simmer down a bit. Cause I got an idea.”

Out of the blue, the older of the lot spoke up.

“Now lil’ bitty Jim here thinks he can waltz on into those mines no problemo! I say we give him a shot.”

The other two boys’ faces began to contort in confusion.

Jimmy’s eyes grew wide with fear.

“Yeah. Y’all know what? How ‘bout tonight we all head up to the mines, go down the deepest cave and give the lil’ fella a good ol’ fashioned send off?”

Now the boys’ confused expressions slowly turned into crooked smiles.

“B-But I can’t- I’m not g-gonna-“

Jimmy stammered out, but he was interrupted by the older boy sloppily hoisting him off the ground.

“Oh sure ya can pal! You been out here sayin’ you’d be able to last in there! Now’s your time to shine! Innit boys?”

Despite the contrasting emotions, through sheer reading of each other's expressions, the four boys could all come together on one thing: this would be one hell of a night.

•-•-•-•-•

Midnight was a risky time to be out in the lonely lands of the mesa. Plenty of space for mobs to crawl out of the depths of the dark and roam the flat and dusty surface.

Regardless, the path to the mines, and down it for that matter, were relatively well lit. It helped even more that the oldest brought a bright burning torch of his own with him. It was just them and the sounds of the depths below.

For the record, none of these boys had ever set foot in the mines. Jimmy hadn’t ever gotten a chance to even see the entrance of it first hand. So for this to be his first adventure was certainly a step up somewhere..

Despite it all the first few moments of the expedition were rather peaceful, apart from the occasional jump scare from one of the older kids. The cave was nice and cool and was brilliantly lit up with torches and the occasional glowberry vines.

The sounds of rushing water eased his fears, especially after seeing two playful axolotls splashing about their little pools. If it weren’t for the circumstances earlier, this would be exciting, relaxing even.

The best part of it all, there were no encounters with mobs. Granted the occasional growl of a zombie or the hiss of a creeper were heard, but only at a great distance. The travel party hadn’t had a face to face encounter.

Now to Jimmy this was fantastic, but the other boys were getting bored. They wanted to scare the kid, not take him on a joy ride. That’s the whole reason they made up those stories. About the darkness and the ancient cities. It’s what those archeologists were talking about when the mines opened up.

Then they hit a snag. The light of the torches dwindled down to almost nothing.

The stone they walked on faded into deep slate then into something they hadn’t seen before. It was soft, like grass, but it was deep blue in color with little flickers of white and cyan.

The walls around them soon enough we’re coated with the stuff. There were pretty soon no more torches. Only blue lanterns.

The only familiar light they had was that of their one torch.

“The hell are we..?”

“Beats me..”

They continued to walk around aimlessly, oddly careful not to make too much noise. Not like anything was watching, or listening..

All the boys jumped at the sound of a bat squealing and flapping its wings, flying overhead and landing on a different part of the cave roof. And then they heard something else.

A deep, gurgling sound..

Taking their eyes away from the bat and lowering them down to a strange looking warped plant. It matches whatever they were walking on, though seemingly lighter in color, and had wavy stems.

The boys inched closer, quietly.

“What is that..?”

“Heck if I know. Some kinda weird plant thing-“

Their whispers were interrupted by the bat again, who decided it was bored of its new spot and looked for its old one. The squealing and flapping caught the attention of this fauna, and lit it up instantly. It made that same grumbling noise.

All of a sudden the fear of the two brothers in the group turned into curiosity.

“Aw cool! It senses sound. Wonder if it’ll pick up Jimmy screaming later!”

The two of them snickered.

Jimmy was unamused, and seemingly the oldest was as well. He kept looking around up, torch high up in the air.

“You think it’ll hear this?”

One of them said, jumping as high as they could and landing with a loud thud. And sure enough the sensor did. Lighting up instantly upon contact with the vibrations.

“Oh oh! What about this!”

The other one also jumped, this time repeatedly. The sensor lit up again, grumbling in sync with each thud.

The boys were having fun, and Jimmy was apprehensive. He slowly creeped towards them.

“Hey you guys, knock it off! Something could hear us!”

And now their fun was spoiled.

“Like what? A zombie?”

One said in a mocking tone.

“What about a skeleton?”

“You think a creeper could light up this thing?”

“I mean- if a bat could..”

They were so distracted by their curiosity that they didn’t notice the sensor lighting up with their voices. Now Jimmy was beginning to panic, and spoke up again, careful about not being too loud.

“Come on you guys, stop it! It can hear you!”

“Woah! Just by us talking? Neat!”

“What about IF I YELLED!!”

The sensor grumbled long and deep. Keeping it’s light up for the longest it’s been. And the brothers looked at each other, and cackled. Back and forth they started to let out the biggest yells and hollers they could. Followed by the sensor’s gurgling sounds after.

Jimmy backed away, covering his ears and shutting his eyes tight. He began to tear up, afraid of what was going to happen next. The oldest boy spoke up soon enough. Curiously also looking frightened.

“Y’all stop that! We ain’t alone here!”

All the brothers did was laugh at the stupid sounds the sensor made after them. They kept screaming.

“Y’all I’m not kiddin’ around anymore! Cut it out!”

But they didn’t. They continued to scream and shout. The sensor gurgled long and hard and soon after came another scream.

But it wasn’t their own.

“Shit..”

The group turned, with the light of the torch, eying what it was that shrieked. Another plant looking thing, only a lot less plant, and a lot more structured. There were pillars at each corner, and dead center where swirling lights, with faces..

Then, everything went dark. The light of the torch completely burnt out. What followed was the rumbling sounds of the depths below. The ground began to shake. The rumbles became louder, the walls started to shake. Rocks and lanterns fell from the cave walls and ceiling. Then the most horrifying sound they’d heard all night.

The ground was broken, and from it emerged the most horrific thing they boys could hardly see.

“Is that..?”

“Oh hell!”

“RUN FOR IT!”

The three bullies booked it to the opening they came from, their screams of terror only attracting the beast towards them. Jimmy tried to run for it too, but with just his luck he dropped over a fallen rock. The thud of the ground altered the sensor which then alerted yes the shrieker, which finally alerted.. that..

That thing..

Jimmy looked up ever so slightly. He just wanted to really see what he was dealing with.

This beast was massive. Tall and wide, it’s head with nothing but a gaping void in the middle. It looked like it had horns or antlers, decorated in whatever the stuff they were walking on was.

The body was the word part. Its arms were long, thick, like tree stumps with sharp claws, same with its legs. Its ribs were exposed, another endless void with swirling lights with faces inside, similar to the ones of the shrieker.

Perhaps they weren’t lights at all..

It marched closer towards where Jimmy was lying. Stalking its arms across the floor, sniffing the air.

Jimmy didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare speak, hell he didn’t dare breathe. He shut his eyes tight as the creature finally stopped, inches away from him..

It lowered its head towards the small quivering boy, and sniffed. He could feel its breath on him. He couldn’t stop shaking. He was scared. He wanted to go home, he wanted to scream and cry and run far far away. But he couldn’t.

If he made one sound, he was sure to be condemned to die.

Once the creature had finished, it seemingly decided there was nothing there. It groaned in frustration, as if its prey had run away from it. Then it let out a loud and long gut wrenching roar into the cave.

Jimmy quickly curled up and covered his ears. Opening his eyes slightly he noticed it wasn’t hovering over him anymore, so he decided to make a break for the exit.

He didn’t care to notice the sensor or the shrieker. He didn’t care to notice that whatever that thing was was chasing him from behind. He wanted to get the hell out of there.

With every ounce of whatever strength he had left, Jimmy climbed up the mushy surface and eventually reached the cobbled deep slate. The beast was clawing at the walls right underneath him.

He was just catching his breath, thinking he’d made it out scott free, but then a low groan was heard from it. Jimmy backed away slightly. The creature roared in anger, building up all the force it had.

Whatever was inside its ribs lit up. Whatever, it was just angry, Jimmy thought of it in hurry. He began to run when he was suddenly hit by a booming force. It knocked him into the cave wall, which was just beginning to be filled with torches again.

Jimmy yelped in pain, ears ringing. He struggled to his feet, arm against the wall. His whole body ached, his legs were shaky, hands were covered in blisters and cuts. He tried to make his way again, when again, another forceful shockwave hit. It was far too much pain to bear.

The last thing Jimmy heard before knocking out cold, was the roar of the warden. This time, sounding like one of victory.

-•-•-•-•-

The following morning was a trying one for Tumble Town. The boys went home crying to their families about what they’d done and what they saw. Locals were speechless and upon hearing that four went in and only three made it out drew the concern of many.

Miners and a few archeologists were sent in to investigate. One excavator was venturing past the lush cave into the deep slate, when he heard a coughing noise. He looked around, lantern in hand then noticed a small, curled up Jimmy. Battered and bruised head to toe.

He quickly called for assistance, and soon enough Jimmy was pulled out of the caves and out of the mines.

He returned to Tumble Town, the kid who was said to be killed by the beast of the deep dark. He was bombarded with questions from several other kids, bullies included.

“How’d you make it outta there?”

“Were you scared?”

“Did ya fight 'em off?”

“Dang you gotta have some serious balls to take on that thing!”

And one right after the other the comments and questions wouldn’t stop. The boy who survived the warden. The bravest of the bunch. Who would’ve thought it to be lil Jimmy Solidarity.

He, however, tuned it all out. He was still far too stunned. Jimmy simply limped back to his small hut by the ranch.

His parents would be proud, he heard some folks say. He was a real trooper, he heard from others. He didn’t care to hear it at the time. He weakly waddled into his crooked bed, wrapped himself in his old yet soft blankets and started sobbing.

The next few days were normal, well as normal as they could be. Jimmy was not treated like some sort of prodigy rather than that scrawny kid people loved to pick on.

Amongst it all he began to realize something. People were treating him differently. Better than before, because of the horrifying thing he faced. They practically called him a hero.

If he could grow up to be that someone that everyone respected, that everyone feared, then he’d be on top of the world.

So thanks to that humbling experience, Jimmy, now being raised by the local saloon keepers, learned two valuable things.

One. No one was ever going see that they got to him anymore. All they’re going to see is just how badly they’d messed up.

Two. Never underestimate the importance of carrying a revolver with you.

•-•-•-•-•

Tumble Town continues to thrive, and as it stands is an incredibly charming and welcoming little city. There would always be a reason for the locals to be celebrating and playing loud music late into the warm evenings.

The saloon keepers, a sweet couple they are, continue to feed and look after everyone they could. Including Jimmy. They were never able to have any children of their own, so after seeing Jimmy in absolute tatters after his adventure they couldn’t risk him being out there alone again.

And boy howdy were they ever so grateful. And so goddang proud of just how strong and brave he’s become.

Guess all The Sheriff needed was a sonic boom in the right direction.

[ok-ish-hermitcraft-headcanons]

worst to best handwriting on the server, but from a person who has no idea how to analyse handwriting at all bdubs: literally illegible. he fights so many illiteracy accusations on the daily because of how bad it is (and it isnt even related to the writing tool, it just sucks) iskall: they look like she's writing in swedish. he is not. jevin: suprisingly legible for a dude made of slime, but it is basically unreadable doc: it dries its darndest and that's all that matters. mumbo: he writes so fast and only he can read his handwriting. probably. bless him stress: you can't get much from fingerpainted writing, her words are always written really big and difficult to read because ae always smudges them hypno: they're pretty blind tbh. he tries and usually gets another hermits help on writing, but they don't write often tfc: he has not written since college but if they did pick up a pen or something rn it'd be half-decent tango: he writes so fast it's a miracle anything comes out legible, fei even manages to have a font?? in his writing?? what the hell grian: better at writing japanese than english because of highschool, his handwriting is painfully "JUST below average" false: she always writes the letters tilted, and they're always connected like it's cursive but it's really not. not dyslexic friendly /lh ren: claws can only go so far. he tears the paper less than doc and their words are usually more legible joe: painfully average handwriting. you can read it but you can't scar: only good at cursive but it's like. Really good cursive xisuma: learned how to write in season 1 but is surprisingly good at it now cleo: writes like an elementary school teacher. you know the way. no one knows how bc..bone pencil, but whatever zedaph: better handwriting than you'd think. it's the comically large princess pen it has magic wels: THEY CAN READ AND WRITE PLEASE the hermits have all started thinking they can't but they can they promise they're so good at it they have such nice handwriting pearl: only writes in galactic. it's really good tho she could write books like that etho: etho's handwriting is like. annoyingly good, you can look at etho's notebooks and be like "what. why can I understand the words" cub: science man gets good handwriting beef: he's just got a good handwriting vibe I think gem: undisputed she does the hearts to dot xyr i's and it's all bubbly and nice to read. it's all glitter pen keralis: just as nice as her voice xb: he did a lot of writing in their old worlds, where he travelled through apocalypse after apocalypse and documented their findings and experiences. gave him time to practice impulse: amazing handwriting. mwah. top tier

:0

Nice!!

[goblinboykoko]

Gentle Angel — Metagala Oneshot

The air was cool and breezy, typical of winter in southwestern Dreamland. A large group of people were gathered around a giant Christmas tree, right in the center of the Cappy Village plaza. There were Waddle Dees, Cappies, and friends from many different planets, ranging from Earthfall to Halcandra — his royal majesty King Dedede was there as well, along with his subordinates.

Hundreds of gifts were stacked up around the tree’s base, lit up with shimmering glittery ornaments and bright Christmas lights and other such decorations. The atmosphere was full of joy, happiness, and Christmas cheer.

Before they knew it, it was time to open all the gifts. Everyone got what was gifted to them; toys, tools, clothes, snacks, among many other things. Kirby could barely hold himself together. He loved getting gifts from his friends and family, especially from Meta Knight and Galacta Knight, and this year, they got a bunch for him!

As the others had finished opening their presents, the only ones left were for those living at Castle Dedede. Fumu and Bun went to grab theirs, Kirby got his, Meta and Galacta gave their gifts to each other, and Dedede decided he would open his last. For the moment, he sat back and simply watched the villagers enjoy their Christmas afternoon. Bandana Dee stood by his side, and conversed with him casually.

Fumu got art supplies for the most part, as well as a calligraphy set, and various other things. But got an electric guitar, an amplifier, a skateboard, and many other little trinkets. They loved their gifts from the bottom of their hearts. They thanked the givers, and continued on doing their own things, conversing with friends, and using their new items.

Kirby opened his gifts quickly. One of his favourite things about Christmas was ripping off the wrapping paper and unboxing his presents. He absolutely adored surprises. The first two gifts was from Fumu — she got them a large tin of butter cookies, and a hand-sewn sweater. They put it on immediately, thanking her profusely. The next two were from Bun — he got them a ton of candy from the local sweets shop, and a duo set of action figures so they could play together. They thanked him, hugging him, and even gave some of his snacks to him!

From Dedede, he got food and toys. From Bandana Dee, he got food, toys, and a spear. From Hano, he got food, toys, art supplies, and a full set of armour! From Meta Knight, he got food, toys, custom hand-made clothes, and a pastel-pink-and-gold sword! From Galacta Knight, he got food, an old white-and-gold Dimensional Cape (that Galacta apparently used to own himself), and an alarming amount of weapons, ranging from simple hammers to actual firearms. Meta Knight was… very concerned, to say the least.

Now it was time for Meta and Galacta to open their gifts to each other. It took a bit of convincing, but Meta eventually decided to open his first. “Go on, open ‘em up, Candy!” Galacta said, seeming impatient. Meta chuckled at his behaviour, and opened the first gift. It was a golden chain necklace with multicoloured gems, jewels, and crystals attached to it. “Wow. This is… gorgeous. Where did you get this?” he asked, holding the jewelry in his clawed hands. “Used to be mine,” Galacta responded with a bright smile. “It doesn’t really fit my style anymore, and I figured you’d like it, so I gave it to you. Same for this one.” He handed Meta another present. It was smaller in size. He opened it carefully, making sure not to tear the black-and-gold wrapping paper. It was a bracelet of similar composition.

“They used to go together,” Galacta said, gently taking hold of Meta’s hand. “Put them on. They’d look good on ya.” His expression was soft and full of love. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he was this happy; it must’ve been eons ago.

Meta did as his lover requested, and put on the golden jewelry. He was very correct, it seems — he looked absolutely stunning. Galacta’s smile only grew wider. “I was right,” he said. “Fits you better than they did me.” Meta shook his head. “They’d look just as wonderful on you, Angel,” he said before picking up the last gift Galacta got him. It was a great bit larger than the others. “Goodness, that is quite a size difference.”

“That’s what—“

“Hush.”

Meta crouched down and laid the gift horizontally on the ground, gently peeling off the tape that held the paper together. After removing the wrapping paper, he opened the box in which he presumed the gift was contained. He used his claw to slice through the tape, and unfolded the cardboard flaps, pulling out the present.

It was a guitar case.

“Woah.”

Galacta smiled wider.

“You— no way. You got me— you— Angel, you got me a new guitar?” Meta said, genuinely surprised. Galacta nodded. “Yep,” he said. “Had enough extra cash to buy it for ya. I also made you a custom pick, I put it in one of the pockets.” Meta stood up and pulled Galacta into a hug. “Thank you so much Angel! God, I’ve been wanting one of these, but I don’t get paid enough to fund both my caffeine addiction and a guitar… thank you so much, again!” Galacta hugged him back. “No problem, Candy.”

Meta pulled away. “Now it’s time for you to open your presents, doll.” Galacta turned his head, flustered by the nickname. “‘Doll’?” he echoed. Had he not had any fur, his blush would’ve been very visible. “What, do you not like it?” Meta asked. “I won’t call you that if it makes you uncomfortable—“

Galacta interrupted him before he could finish his nervous rambles. “No, it’s fine. I just didn’t expect that. You can keep calling me ‘doll’. It’s sweet,” he said, grinning happily. “Anyway, the gifts. Which one first?”

“I don’t mind,” Meta responded, pulling his coat up on his face a bit higher in order to warm up. “Any one you want.” Galacta shrugged and turned to the three gift boxes. He decided to open the largest one first.

He pulled the box out from underneath the other two. It was rectangular in shape, wrapped in red wrapping paper highlighted with gold and silver. A multicoloured gold-and-black bow was stuck on the top left corner. Galacta pulled it off, looking at it for a few moments before sticking it on Meta’s exposed forehead. “Oh my god, best gift ever! A hot boyfriend!” he joked, and Meta laughed in response. “You’re such a dork,” he said through chuckles. “No you,” Galacta responded with a smile before turning back to the present.

He kneeled down, and adjusted the gift’s position so that it was upright. He haphazardly pulled the tape off, accidentally ripping the paper in the process, but he didn’t necessarily care. He continued opening the gift until the box was revealed. It was platinum white, with a few hand-painted designs of the front, seeming to resemble snowflakes and stars. There was some text too, and to his surprise, Galacta could actually read it. It was written in the standard Galactic alphabet.

“Merry Christmas, my Angel. I love you,” it read, in shockingly neat handwriting.

“Candy, did you write that?” he asked. Meta nodded. “Yep. My Mama taught me how to write in standard Galactic.” Galacta looked back and forth between Meta and the gift box with a huge, dopey smile on his face. “Oh my lord, I love you so much.”

After a moment, he cut through the tape with his claw and opened the box, revealing… fabric?

It seemed to be some sort of clothing, mostly black with silver and golden stitching. He lifted the cloth and unfolded it, revealing it to be a jacket. It was lined with silky gold on the edges, with embroidered stars falling from the shoulder seam in shades of gold and silver. The buttons mimicked each phase of the moon. “Oh, this is so cool,” Galacta said, admiring the work. “I made it myself,” Meta spoke up. “All hand-sewn. I also made the buttons.” Galacta looked at him, eyes shimmering. “You made all of this by yourself? Candy. Oh my lord, you are the best.”

Meta smiled. “There’s more, Angel,” he said, gesturing to the now opened box which still had items inside. Galacta looked back at it, folding the jacket and setting it onto the box Meta’s guitar came in. He took the next item, letting it fall unfolded.

It was a long lace-sleeved turtleneck shirt, completely black aside from embroidered silver-and-gold stars and roses, as well as a bleach-painted drawing of a full moon on the front, and a new moon painted on the back. Galacta was awestruck, and his jaw dropped in amazement. He whispered something in a different language, presumably Galactic, before speaking directly to Meta. “Candy, this is incredible. Did you make this too?” he asked, still admiring the artistry. “Mhmm. All of these gifts are hand-made by me. It’s Draconic tradition — giving loved ones presents made by hand. I’m sure you’re aware.”

Galacta chuckled, completely at a loss for words. Meta knew full well that he loved it — he didn’t even need to say anything much. His expressions told him everything.

He set down the shirt on top of his jacket and pulled out the last thing from the box. It was a pair of pants, composed similarly to the jacket. The cuffs and waistline had silky gold lining, and stars and roses were embroidered, falling from the waistline and growing from the cuffs. The midnight black fabric was soft and warm, perfect for the winters of Dreamland. “Awesome,” he said, standing up and twisting the pants around in his grasp, studying the back, which perfectly mirrored the front, save for two roses embroidered in gold on the back pockets.

He folded the item back up and set it down with the rest of the outfit, then hugging Meta. “Thank you, Candy. This means a lot.” He hugged him back, kissing his cheek before responding. “You’re welcome, Angel. Remember, though, you still have two more gifts.” Galacta suddenly pulled away. “Oh, right!” he exclaimed, walking back to the two remaining boxes. He went straight for the second largest, moving the small box off of its top. He sliced through the top of the wrapping paper with his claw, no longer caring if he ripped it or not. It didn’t really matter, anyway.

He opened the box containing the gift, and found various different accessories. 10 bracelets, 10 necklaces, 4 belts, 10 sets of earrings, 15 keychains… multiple little additions to his outfits. “Oh. My. Lord. Candy, you have outdone yourself completely,” he said, lifting a couple bracelets out of the box and putting them on. “You made all of these completely by yourself? You’re crazy, babe.” “No, not completely on my own,” Meta said, folding his arms inside his coat. “Mama helped me out. She is the blacksmith, after all.” Galacta hummed and nodded. “Ah, alright. Now it’s time for the last one… this tiny li’l’ thing.” He picked up the final, smaller box. It fit perfectly in his hand. He turned it around slightly, looking at the bottom so he could pull the tape away, revealing the present.

It was a black velvet box, with a golden rose on the lid. “Oh.” Galacta moved to hold it in both hands. “That’s a bit… underwhelming. It’s pretty, though.” Meta shook his head. “No, no, look inside,” he spoke with a light chuckle. The warrior looked back at the small box, contemplating for a second, and attempted to open it.

…

It didn’t budge.

“Uh.” He tried again. Still, it didn’t open. “Candy, it’s not opening.”

Meta sighed quietly, ending it in a soft giggle. “Hold on, give it to me,” he said, walking up to him and reaching out to take the box. Galacta reluctantly handed it over, and Meta positioned his hands so that his right was holding the bottom of the box, and his left was pinching the lid between his index and thumb. “You have to squeeze the sides, like this,” he explained kindly, doing as he instructed.

He opened the box slowly, and seemingly out of nowhere, he crouched down.

“Huh?”

The small box opened to reveal a velvety red inside, with something small and shiny placed carefully in the center.

It was a ring.

The body of it was silver and braided, with small diamonds adorning it. On the very top was a small, purple-black stone of obsidian.

Galacta was speechless.

All surrounding citizens went silent

“Galacta Knight,” Meta began.

“You have been here on Popstar for over a year. For eight months, we have been together, as romantic partners. It hasn’t been exactly long, but still — every time I see you, I fall more in love with you. You, my gentle angel, mean the world to me — no, the entire galaxy. I love you more than the night sky, a blue moon, the dawn sunrise. I love you more than anything. Therefore, I ask you…

Will you be mine, by my side, for the rest of eternity in marriage?”

Galacta didn’t say anything for a while. He was surprised. He did not expect this in the slightest. A proposal? This was the last thing he expected from today. In fact, he never thought he’d ever marry again! He figured that, even after the crystallization wore off, he would never even find someone to love him.

And yet, here he was, standing in front of a beautifully decorated Christmas tree, with his lover of eight months crouched down in front of him, ring box in his hand.

In truth, it took him a bit to properly register what was happening. But even when he finally did, he could only say one word.

“Yes.”

Applause and cheers erupted from the crowd, and Meta stood, letting Galacta fall into his embrace. He couldn’t remember the last time he was happy; it was likely before his crystallization. He didn’t want to let go, but he did, so his love could put the ring on his finger.

It was a perfect fit, and it looked absolutely wonderful with the rest of his outfit.

The two went right back into each other’s arms, and the surrounding citizens clapped and shouted, congratulating the soon-to-be married couple.

Kirby, Fumu, Bun, Memu, Parm, Bandana Dee, all of the Halberd crew, and even King Dedede himself were clapping up a storm. Everyone was cheering for the couple as the sun slowly began to set, making a truly beautiful scene.

This was truly the best Christmas of all.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone! Especially my fellow metagala enthusiasts :}

I hope you have a good day today. See ya next time I decide to binge reblog!! :} :D :} :D

[tev-the-random]

Emptober Day 1 - Trinket

Fwhip had his flaws, that was undeniable. But he was also, under the doubt of no one, the kind of person who saw some sort of value in everything. Where there were possibilities, there was opportunity, and where there was trash, there was treasure.

It had started with toys.

The young heir of Grimlands was known by the staff of the mansion to be a horribly careless child. Anything he touched, he broke. However, it was never a matter of clumsiness, as most thought, but rather, curiosity: if he had a toy train, he would take it apart to see what made it move; if someone gave the twins a doll, he would dismember it to see how the joints were connected; if his sister was gifted a plushie, he would find a way to pull it apart at the seams to see what was inside. Nothing was safe within his reach.

When eventually Fwhip learned to be more considerate of his sister’s possessions, Gem had already moved on to entertaining herself with books. Her brother’s reputation as a trouble child was established, and he would only grow to earn it as the years went by. Though sometimes Gem hoped he would get in trouble, deep down she was fascinated whenever he came back to her with his discoveries.

-

It was around the time Fwhip had discovered redstone that Gem discovered magic.

At first, their learning experience was ridden with issues: while Gemini would find her powers going out of control and set fire to her curtains at least once a week, Fwhip would more often than not create giant messes of red dust that didn’t actually do anything. But while she was a sponge of knowledge, he was a tinkerer at heart, and slowly but surely, they balanced each other out. He helped her make tools that would stabilize her spells or, at the very least, do damage control, which he was no stranger to. She helped him keep track of his work and find new obscure sources and tips on the matter of redstone.

Fwhip’s toys no longer interested him as a whole. Their parts, however, were always useful. Soon he would find himself getting his hands on old clocks, broken pistons, jammed dispensers and silent jukeboxes for their functioning pieces, and an ever-growing collection started to be hoarded. Everything could be taken apart and put together as something else, something new.

As the twins became masters of their craft, the Grimlands became their canvas. The two of them tried to solve every single problem in the most extravagant ways, and all it took for them to get banned from the forge entirely was just a little bit of creativity and constant bickering about the right way to do things. Whatever trouble they could get into, whatever responsibilities they could avoid, they did, and they covered for each other just as much as they laughed at their own mistakes. Or at least, Fwhip did.

When gunpowder was introduced to his arsenal of materials, Fwhip quickly became used to experiments exploding in his face. If anything, he liked setting things on fire and relished in his errors. Gem, on the other hand, took her role as the responsible sibling seriously. More and more often she would lecture her brother on the dangers of his recklessness, and the time she spent in her room or in the library would only increase. The truth was, magic was a volatile and dangerous thing. Though her own dignity kept her from saying it out loud, Gem greatly feared endangering others if her technique was anything less than perfect, if she was anything other than wise.

Fwhip thought she worried too much. Once again, they balanced each other out, for he was the calm and the chaos to her anxiety and her focus, respectively. Much like two cogs in a big machine, they naturally moved one another.

But as the end of their teenage years steadily approached, those gears found themselves trying to spin in contrasting directions.

Fwhip had plans for their empire. Though he never thought of himself as much of a ruler, he had the rising ambition to make the Grimlands the most advanced nation in the continent. His once childish dreams had flourished into the knowledge that his home had just as much potential as he did. The possibilities were endless, and so were his ideas.

Gem, on the other hand, knew her destiny was elsewhere. Her homeland had its own magic, to be sure, but it definitely wasn’t known for it; there had been no native wizards for generations. She had the growing feeling of being stuck in a cage, kept away from so many wonders. The source of all the crystals they imported, the magical creatures that couldn’t withstand the bustling society of the Grimlands, her own space to let her magic lose, all of that could be just over the mountains. Gem had a talent, and she knew that if she were to pursue it, to become a proper wizard, she would have to leave her life, her family and her future throne behind.

It didn’t take long for Fwhip to notice his sister’s pensiveness, and no longer for him to figure out the reason. He didn’t blame her. But maybe there was something he could do.

-

‘Hey, Gem? Can you help me with something real quick?’

She considered responding with “no, I’m busy” and closing the door on his face. But there was something about his eagerness that made her sigh and agree to follow him instead.

Unlike Fwhip, she hadn’t intruded her sibling’s personal space in years, and she was glad she didn’t; his bedroom was an absolute nightmare. All sorts of schematics and blueprints filled the walls and littered the floor. Bits and pieces of machinery were scattered all around the spacious room, as well as dead potted flowers, copper cables, broken arrows and one too many sticks of TNT. A light coat of redstone dust seemed to cover everything.

‘How do you live like this?’

‘It’s called organised chaos, Gem.’ And indeed, like someone who knew exactly how to manoeuvre around the mess, Fwhip entered the room with ease.

‘You should really get yourself a workshop to put all of this stuff.’ Gem followed, walking on the tip of her toes to avoid stepping on anything important. ‘You shouldn’t sleep on top of all of this junk.’

‘Hey, it’s not junk! These are my things, thank you very much’ Fwhip said in the most dignified manner. He started going through his drawers as he continued. ‘Anyway, you said you might be studying abroad next year, right? You were trying to convince dad or something.’

‘Yeah... I could really use some field experience, and there are some great wizards in Rivendell. Dad says it might be good for our external relations, so there is a possibility.’

‘Ugh, it’s always business with you two.’ Finally, the tinkerer pulled a small bag from the dark void that were his possessions. It chimed quietly when he shook it.

‘Look, if you don’t actually need me for anything, I’ll go back to-’

‘No no no, come here!’

As Gem approached, Fwhip pushed all the materials that were on top of his desk onto the floor, gaining some space to empty the bag. Its contents sparkled under the beam of sunlight that was coming through the window, though it didn’t shine as much as the young wizard’s eyes.

‘Wha- how did you get these?’ Her voice was a mix of reprimand, curiosity and sheer delight. She carefully picked up one of the polished pieces of amethyst and rolled it around in her hands, feeling the smallest tingle of magic within it.

Fwhip gave her a cocky smile. ‘I have my ways.’ Mimicking his sister, he inspected one of the stones, his brain already drawing all sorts of schemes. ‘You know, I just thought that maybe you could get used to staring at shiny rocks all day, if you’re gonna be a wizard. Besides, we’re neighbours with the Crystal Cliffs, it’d be a waste if all this amethyst got turned into some boring jewellery when we can make something much cooler out of it.’

‘What did you have in mind?’

-

The twins hadn’t spent so much time together in months. Fwhip made the compromise to put some of his things away so they would have space to work. The sun had reached its peak by the time they actually started, and by the time they finished, the moon had already taken its place high in the sky.

While Gem carved sigils, Fwhip broke up pieces of redstone and lapis lazuli. While he tightened screws, she elaborated a concoction in the single-bottle brewing stand he had left on his bedside table. And while she charged and assembled her new shards of amethyst, he wired the system.

If you asked them what they were trying to do, they would only say it was meant to be something beautiful. Something chemical, electrical, magical, something only the two of them would ever think of doing. But of course, their scientific piece of art would never see the light of day: it blew up as soon as they pressed a button.

They screamed.

The tinkerer was glad he had opened his window; whatever it was that Gem had used to fuel their device made it hard to breathe. His sister, on the other hand, was more preoccupied with putting out her hair — after that, she made the mental note to always tie it back when she was working.

‘Oh, that was a disaster,’ Fwhip cried once the smoke started to dissipate. ‘You ok? Gem?’

The wizard didn’t speak for a moment. The tips of her hair were scorched, her face and clothes covered in soot and redstone; she had slightly less eyebrows now than she did when they started, which Fwhip was sure was his case as well. He waited for her to yell at him.

She laughed.

‘Ok, maybe next time we should try something a little less extreme. Oh my goodness...’ She brushed the dust off her blouse, coughing as she laughed at their ridicule. It was easier to do so when there was no one else around to see it. ‘Are you ok?’

‘Yeah, I’m... I’m pretty used to it,’ Fwhip chuckled back at her. ‘First time I’ve seen the fire go purple, though.’

Both of them stared at the now cracked shards of amethyst, which were engulfed in magical lilac flames. As the fire quickly died, Gem reached for one of them; they were freezing cold to the touch, which only increased her interest. This was her first proper, independent magic experiment outside of basic enchanting table stuff.

‘What a shame. I almost thought it would work.’ The young lord picked up a shard of glass from the now destroyed contraption. ‘I see this as a valuable experience, though. If we find out what went wrong, we can try again. I don’t really know much about magic properties, maybe we just overpowered it-’

‘I think I’m good for tonight. Thanks anyway, Fwhip.’ Gem smiled softly. ‘For the amethyst, that it. It was a nice way to spend the day.’

‘You’re saying you like to spend time with me?’ Her brother said in a mocking hopeful tone. She rolled her eyes.

‘Sure. Just don’t get used to it.’

-

‘Hey, Sausage. Can you pass me a wrench, please? There should be one in one of my pockets over there.’

The current count of Grimlands was a very busy man. Whenever he wasn’t upstairs implementing all sorts of improvements to his kingdom, making sure his citizens had everything they needed, or playing much needed pranks on his fellow rulers, he was down here, tinkering away in his workshop.

Though he usually did so alone, today King Sausage had decided to drop by for no reason other than to pester him — affectionately. Well, if he’s going to stick around, he might as well help.

‘Uhhh, what’s this?’

The king of Mythland rummaged trough the pockets of Fwhip’s coat, looking for that wrench when he came by quite the peculiar object. A bent, thin copper wire stringed together a broken amethyst shard and small piece of lapis. It was stained with very old spots of redstone dust. He knew his ally to be quite the hoarder, but this seemed like an odd thing to keep in your pocket.

Fwhip looked away from the salmon tank he was currently screwing to his newest machine and squinted at Sausage, trying to identify what he was holding.

‘Oh, it’s just an old trinket.’ he said.

‘Ah, ok then. Do you want me to throw it away?’

‘Nope. Just put it back where you found it.’

Sausage abided. ‘Is it a lucky charm?’ His voice betrayed his curiosity. He found the tool he was looking for and handed it over.

‘Well, I wouldn’t say it’s lucky,’ Fwhip chortled. ‘It’s a reminder of that time Gem messed up a spell in my room and blew things up. Good times.’

‘You mean we messed up a spell in your room,’ was what announced Gem’s arrival at the secret door to the workshop. ‘The fuel leaking was your fault.’

‘Eh, same difference.’

She rolled her eyes. Sausage barely got a wave or a greeting before the Great Wizard started to go on a rant about Fwhip planting TNT in Jimmy’s base again. Not that he paid attention to it — surprisingly not because he thought Jimmy deserved it, which he did, but because something else caught his eye.

Huh. He never noticed how the tiny amethyst that made Gem’s earring was cracked, nor the awkward way it was stringed to a little piece of lapis, despite how often she wore it.

And here he thought she wasn’t one to collect trinkets.

[huffle-pissed]

I'm back. 🥰

Could I also request Ezra with the fluff prompt "Are you still awake?" Something like a sweet declaration that maybe he thinks reader doesn't hear? 😍

Okay thank you I love you. 🥰💖

Welcome back, and I love you more 💕 

OF COURSE I’LL WRITE EZRA FLUFF FOR YOU

Don't yell at me its a cliffhanger

The day had been long and hard. The aurelac pit you and Ezra had found was large, but dangerous. You had both worked on it for over a week now, but today had been the worst by far. 

You had sliced just wrong, and one of the gems had exploded on you. 

You had been fine, merely stunned, but Ezra was thrown into worry mode almost immediately; dragging you out of the pit before you could even blink, rambling on and on as he checked your suit and vital signs. As soon as you had responded, he sighed in relief and helped you stand, immediately leading you back to camp, saying you were both done for the day, maybe more. 

Once back in the tent, his worry hadn't faded any less. The man, such a sweetheart he was, helped take off most of your suit, took care of food for the night, and then handled everything else you both normally did together (cleaning the tools, cleaning the suits, ect.). Whenever you tried to even stand, he practically pushed you back down, muttering how “a near-death experience such as that gives you and excuse to rest, dear gem.”

Eventually, Ezra had launched into a story as he cleaned your suit, taking twice if not more care than he did with his own. You were curled up on your bunk, feeling sleep grow closer and closer as he spoke. Slowly but surely, your eyes fluttered closed, listening as he continued on. 

“It was then that he realized I was…” He stopped, and you wondered what had happened. “My gem? Are you still awake? You heard rustling and kept your breathing even as his rough yet gentle fingers brush away hair that had fallen over your face. “Or has the land of dreams called to you?”

You decided to stay this way, keep up the pretense that you were asleep. You were curious if he would say anything about today. 

“You gave me a fright today,” he muttered. “I thought I had lost you…and I know that if I lose you, I will be only a shell of the man I am with you.”

He sighed softly. “You hold more of me than you know, dear Y/N. Most importantly, I should think…is my entire heart.”

My 1k drabbles are still open!! Send in requests!

[sturkillerbase]

It's All Coming Back to Me in Waves

PART V

Summary: Din is touch starved, and there's nothing in the galaxy he wants more than to feel your skin on his. The same applies to you, although none of you could bring yourselves to admit it. And, like you, he'd also like for you to see him. He finds a solution; not entirely what you want, but enough to calm your troubled minds. Or perhaps... it only stirred things more...

Genre: fluff, slow burn - "SO incredibly fluffy you might implode", in the words of the lovely @misspearlssideblog

Song rec: 252, by Gem Club

Warnings: none

Words: 2.5k

A/N: Had to look at a bunch of young Pedro pictures for this one. Absolutely not a complaint.

Intro; Part IV; Part VI

I wish you could see me/I can see you

Present time

Din and Grogu had been with you for a couple weeks now, and every single day you could swear you hadn’t ever been so happy in your life than you were now. Grogu was absolutely adorable, and way smarter than he seemed. “Don’t let his cute face fool you.” Din had warned, and he was right. Every now and then the baby would do something that would have you speechless. But what you couldn’t figure out was how the fruits on your counter kept disappearing. Din told you Grogu had a tendency to steal food when no one was looking, but it still wasn’t clear to you how he could get on top of the counter since he was way too little for that. When Din told you the truth about Grogu, you widened your eyes at him and immediately exclaimed:

“What, like a jedi?? Like Luke Skywalker?!?”

“You know Luke Skywalker?” Din was genuinely surprised.

“Din, everyone’s heard of Luke Skywalker. He literally saved the galaxy, to make it short. He was still around when you and I were flying together back then. I don’t know where he is now though.”

“Oh…” was his only answer.

“You didn’t know him?!”

“No. But… I kind of met him.”

“You met the jedi Luke Skywalker?!?” You nearly yelled, almost not believing in what Din was saying. Perhaps if it had been someone else, you wouldn’t have believed. You grabbed his wrist and pulled him to sit down with you and tell you the whole part of the crazy story that he had so casually not deemed too important to share.

After you learned everything about Grogu, you swore to give your life to protect him from whatever dangers came his way. You were no warrior, nor did you know how to fight properly. But you had heavy tools all over your house and your work shed, and you were absolutely not afraid to use them.

Right now, though, you were helping Din fold his (previously very dirty) laundry. He didn’t have much; most of it had been blown up with the Crest, but you had finally convinced him to buy new clothes for him and Grogu, and now you were taking care of his old ones.

Din could fold them nicely, but he couldn’t use an iron to save his life, so you offered to do that before he’d somehow burn another shirt. And also the fingers he hadn’t burned yet.

As he folded his jumpsuit, a small giggle from you made him look up, at first thinking he was doing something wrong again. But you were actually looking at his cape that you had just finished ironing.

“It’s in a miserable state. I know.” He admitted.

“No, it’s not that. I mean, yes, it is in a miserable state. But I was thinking about the fact that you still have it.” You told him, turning off the iron now that you were done with it. “When you first arrived a few days ago, I noticed that it was the same one that I gave you. But part of me wasn’t so sure, especially because it’s been so long. Now that I’m seeing it up close, I can tell it really is the same cape.” You grinned.

Din blushed a little under the helmet. The cape was in such a poor state he didn’t think you would notice it was still the one you’d given to him; the ends were jagged, the deep color had faded, some bits were torn and others were stretched. Not to mention a patch that had burned off from one of the times he’d used his back jet.

“I couldn’t bring myself to part with it.” He admitted in a low voice, not looking at you, finishing to fold his jumpsuit.

You smiled either way; you knew exactly what he meant. You also still had something he’d given to you a long time ago.

“I have something, too” you said as you rushed up the stairs.

After grabbing it from your nightstand’s drawer, you head back downstairs and walk up to him, holding what seems to be a simple piece of cloth.

“Couldn’t bring myself to part with it either” you confess, holding the little cloth up in your hands for him.

“No way!” He said in contained surprise, picking the piece up from your hands.

It was a sleep mask he had given you around a year after you’d given him his cape. It used to be black, but it was a grey-ish shade now. The hem around the eye area was worn out and had a small tear in it; the band had come undone and was stitched back in place on one side; and the elastic band had a knot on the back, having lost its elasticity a long time ago. He giggled at the state of the mask; it was a perfect match for his destroyed cape.

He hadn’t bought the mask for you so you could sleep better in a darker ambient – that would be a plus. In fact, he had quite the opposite use for it: he wanted you to be able to see him. His Mandalorian vows kept him from showing his face to you or anyone else, but nothing had ever been said about touching his face. And, Maker, was he touch starved.

That was then. Now, he had ten years of starvation built up in him, and the feeling was becoming almost unbearable. Every time your hands brushed; every warmth coming from you when you’d stand too close; every night when he laid on your bed, resting his head on your pillows and covering himself with your sheets; every time he watched you fix whatever it was in your workshop, skin glistening with sweat, the muscles of your arms flexing as you skillfully fixed something back in place; whenever Grogu made you laugh; all the times you’d smile up at him. He felt like taking off his helmet and showering your face and neck with kisses, only to then kiss your lips that seemed to be the only thing capable of putting down his fire.

But he couldn’t.

Or rather,

He was unsure.

After pondering for a while as he watched the sleep mask on his hands, he takes an encouraging breath and carefully slides the mask through your head and over your eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11 years ago

You had just arrived home from an afternoon of grocery shopping. Din had his full armor on, as he always did whenever he left your house to somewhere else. Whenever he was around and it was time for shopping, he’d obviously come along, helping to carry the bags on the way back, especially the heavier ones. It was a simple thing, an everyday life task. But it was cute to you, like everything else he did. Well, except fighting and killing. That was… hot. But apart from cute, it was also quite funny: it looked like you had your own madly skilled body guard to watch over you as you bought rice.

Right now, you were in the kitchen, taking the groceries off the bags so you could store them away.

“I, um, bought you something.” He said.

“Oh?” You turned to him.

You did notice when he had suddenly vanished from your side at the market street, only to just as suddenly show back up, making you jump a little when he spoke to you from behind as you picked the best plums. He was incredibly silent for someone his size wearing literal metal clothes.

“Here.” He handed you a folded black piece of fabric. “They didn’t have gift wraps, so, um… yeah.”

“Don’t bother with that.” You reassured him and proceeded to unfold the rather thick fabric; it was a sleep mask. “Oh, this is nice” you ran your fingers through it, feeling how soft it was. “Thank you, Din!” you smiled up at him.

“I- I was thinking, um—” he cleared his throat. “I had this idea—” he was suddenly nervous, and you couldn’t tell why. “Can I?” he pointed at the sleep mask on your hands.

“Uh- yeah. Sure.” You handed it to him, a little confused. He picked it up.

“Here. Excuse me…” he said as he slided the mask over your head, fixing it in place while being careful with your eyes and hair. “There we go.”

“Ooh, pitch black.” You said and waited to see what his next move would be.

You heard something being placed on the countertop followed by a very soft shuffling. Unexpectedly, you felt his bare hands on your wrists, lifting your hands up to around your chest level, softly, and stopping there.

“We’ve—we’ve known each other for about a year and a half now. And I know you very well. The way you look, that is.” You could hear the nervousness in his voice, and you were starting to get anxious too, uncertain of what was going on exactly. But you let him keep talking. “You… Don’t know me. Only bits of me: my hands, my arms. And my ribs, too, from patching them way too many times.” You two shared a soft laugh at that. “What I thought of when I saw that mask, um. Well, you can’t see me. With your eyes. But perhaps you could know me… through your touch. If—if you’d like to, of course…” His voice got lower and lower as he spoke, ending with an unsure, but hopeful whisper.

Nothing had ever been said in his creed about this. The rule was that a Mandalorian could never show his face to a living being, therefore proving their devotion. But touching, feeling… It wasn’t the same as showing, was it? He was unsure, but found logic in his thoughts.

You were surprised, heart rate going faster. Did he really mean what you thought he meant? Yes. Yes, he did. Oh, boy! What now? You wanted it. If that’s what you could have from him, then yes, you wanted all of it. But the same thoughts that occupied Din’s mind filled yours: could you really do it? Was this right? You weren’t seeing his face, but would he end up being kicked out of his creed if anyone ever found out about this? As much as you craved for it, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, hands frozen in place as he held then. You couldn’t form a word either, so you just nodded leisurely.

That was enough for him. You heard a faint relieved sigh, and, slowly, he lifted your hands towards his face. When your fingertips touched his cheeks, he let go of your wrists, so you could feel his face at your own pace and will.

You touched him lightly at first, like he could brake and fall away from your touch if you weren’t careful enough.

You touched his cheekbones first, tracing them, and he watched in silence as you focused your whole attention to the skin of your hands. You noticed how sharp his cheekbones were, and as you lowered your hands to his jawline, you let your fingers finally press properly into his skin, without hurting or being too rough.

You ran your fingers along his jaw, making your way to his chin, building the image of a strong, square shaped face in your mind, his beard barely there, probably shaved this morning. With your thumbs, you traced the curves of his lips, not too thin and not too full, a curved, deep lip bow. You raised your hands to his forehead, and he closed his eyes to focus on your touch, holding his hands firmly on his sides as to not give in and pull you closer. You could feel very fine, barely there lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows; he probably did furrow his brows a lot, as you had imagined. Your fingers traced his thick eyebrows, and, with care, you lowered them to his eyes, feeling just slightly as to not end up hurting him. His eyes were deep set, and his lashes not too long. At last, you traced your index finger down the bridge of his nose. It was tall and curved, a contrast to the sharper features of his face, but just as strong. Finally, you ran your fingers through his hair. It was thin, a bit wavy, not too long, and incredibly soft. So, so soft. You could run your hands through the strands and curl each lock around your fingers for hours.

It all fit him. He was strong, gentle, firm when he needed to be, and soft as he opened up to you. And so were his physical features. Everything matched.

“What’s your hair color?” you whispered, not knowing if you were allowed to ask that or not. You already knew his skin color, and you loved every time you got to see it. And now that you had the chance to build a better image of him in your brain, you couldn’t just let it pass.

“Black.” he whispered back, finally opening his eyes to look at you again, enjoying the feeling of your hands cradling his face.

“And what’s your eye color?”

“Deep brown.” He answered, wishing that he could look at your shiny eyes without the helmet on.

“Any beauty marks?” you wondered.

“Just a small one” he said, taking your right hand and lowering it to the left side on his neck “around here.” You felt the small vibrations on his neck as he spoke.

“You’re beautiful” you finally said, in awe and still whispering. But your compliment was met with a small scoff.

“You can’t really see me to know.” He spoke.

“I don’t need to. Never did.” It was true. He was beautiful to you, no matter what he looked like. But now that you got the chance to see him through your touch, you were more sure than ever.

You spent a few more seconds like that; him watching you, taking in your real colors and every little detail, nothing the visor of his helmet could ever reproduce, big hands over yours. And you, with your hands still on him, the left one ever so slightly caressing the back of his neck, feeling his hot skin against yours, and replaying the memory of your touch on him, picturing him.

At last, he lowered your hands from him, cradled your face, and placed a warm, lasting kiss to your forehead, catching you by surprise.

He smiles at your little reaction to him, but you don’t see it.

You hear metal brush against the surface of the counter, and soon after he reaches for the sleep mask on you, taking it off. You blink a few times, adjusting to the light, and look up at him, helmet back on.

He hands you back the mask, and when he takes his hands away from it, he lifts one of them to your chin, pressing it slightly to close your agape mouth. You hadn’t realized your lips were parted until he did so.

He lets out a small snort and turns around, going back to taking the groceries off the bags.

You turn too, tucking the sleep mask on your pocket and gathering a few items to put away, trying to get yourself back together.

The room is silent, but whatever is swirling all over in your bodies and minds is turbulent and deafening.

If you got this far into my fanfic, please let me know! ☺😊

Taglist:

@scorpio-marionette

@supernaturalgirl20

@misspearlssideblog

@becksxoxo

@eylaudie

@janebby

[lesbianhaleth]

in which celebrimbor’s mother follows the same bloody path as her husband. or, tyelpe takes a break from daddy issues to look at his mummy issues instead.

Narvi found his friend staring morosely into the flames of the forge, in that strange unseeing way of Elves. 

“What ails you, my friend?” he asked, breaking the silence. 

Celebrimbor started. “Forgive me, Master Narvi, I heard not your entrance. As for what ails me, it is only that it is my late mother’s begetting day tomorrow, and I confess she has been on my mind accordingly, along of course with my father.”

Narvi paused to consider this. He was in somewhat dangerous territory here, as Celebrimbor rarely mentioned his family. He knew the topic made his companion unhappy. Still, Narvi did not think that Celebrimbor would have raised it, if he had no wish to discuss his parents. He decided, then, to follow the thread. 

“You have not spoken often of your mother.”

Celebrimbor gave a harsh laugh. “And many would rather I never did! Such a lineage is not one that most would take pride in. Ah, but my friend, I know you have not come to judge me. So I shall speak to you of her, and in doing so perhaps relieve myself a little of her shade for tonight. 

“I cannot discuss my mother without my father, and likewise for him. When I think of them together, they remind me of nothing so much as a medical phenomenon among Men, whereby twins are born fused physically connected. Where my father went, she went by his side, and she followed him unto her own ruin, and he her!”

Celebrimbor paused. His eyes were a little wild. Narvi took the moment to bank the forge and begin to tidy away the tools.

“I am sorry. I do not wish to upset you- we can table this discussion, if you wish.”

“No, do not apologise. I am the one who bought it up, after all. My mother- I did not- I could not- understand her, for a very long time.  At times I find her more confusing than my father. No Oath drove her- unless you count the one she swore when she married him.”

“He forced her to follow him?”

Celebrimbor smiled without humour. “Many believe that! But in truth, it was not so. Curufin could no sooner have forced my mother to do anything she did not want to do, than he could have called down lightning from the heavens. Mighty Woman he named her, Meletyë in our tongue of old, and he loved her for it. Theirs was no soulless political match- nothing like what would have occurred between my kinsman and Luthien.

“My belief is that they needed each other. For all my mother’s pride, she was oft given to sorrow, and she would stay in her rooms for days, and he was the only one who could rouse her. I would be given to a nurse or my uncle. And yet he often said that he would not have survived those early days in Beleriand without her, and I believe him.  His younger brother dead, his oldest as good as, to say nothing of the loss of his father whom he worshipped! They tended each other’s wounds, and they loved each other, and to me that is the real tragedy of it- that such a true love between two kindred spirits could wreak such a path of disaster and ruin.”

Narvi felt his eyebrows rise. “When did you come into the picture? Surely they did not bring you into exile as a babe in arms?”

“They did not! They did not, for I was born into the relative safety of Himlad, and dwelt there with my parents until its untimely fall.” Celebrimbor sighed then, and was silent for a long moment. 

“I confess I still remember those days with fondness, though it was a time of strife in many ways, and despite what my parents did to get to Beleriand and afterwards. 

“They were the people who taught me the forge, as you know. My mother was a great jewelsmith, and rarely was she seen not covered in jewellery. As a boy I remember sitting at her knee while she got ready, and I was fascinated by her gems! I would try to “help” her to choose which jewels to wear- and she would end up looking like the bright lights of Cuiviénen. But she never contradicted me- she said her son was a stylistic genius! That is why my parents named me Silver-fist, for I was always clasping her jewels in my chubby little hands to shower her with.

“I always knew that she loved me. She loved me as much as my father, only in a different way. Theirs was the all-consuming madness shared by two, that doomed them as much as it healed them, whereas she loved me without judgement or condition, like the Mother in nature loves her young. In the end, in Nargothrond, I could not make her choose between me and my father. She would not condemn him, so I made the decision for her.”

“By all accounts the right decision, but I am sorry that you had to make it. To turn away from one’s parents when one realises they are wrong - surely that is the most painful end to one’s youth.”

“Thank you, my dear friend. And it was difficult indeed to do! Often, I look back and I wonder. Should I have stayed? Could I have saved them from their bitter and pointless end in Menegroth, if I had? But I think it is not so. I think the tiles had already been set up to fall where they would long ago. 

“I was so furious, when I heard how they had died. Would that they were never born, would that I was never born! Would that they had never existed to mete out such suffering! But in truth I cannot feel that way today- especially today. For all the wrong they did, I love them still, for better or worse. I suppose all I can do is try to leave a better legacy than they did- to leave Middle Earth a kinder place than they made it.”

Celebrimbor gazed back into the banked forge, apparently exhausted by the topic. Narvi could not blame him, feeling somewhat wrung out himself. Yet he found himself impressed by his conflicted and compassionate friend. 

“You are wise indeed, son of Curufin and Meletyë. But I think we should leave this topic for now, for it is getting late indeed! I propose we find ourselves some decent ale and something to eat, and perhaps we can raise a toast to your folks on the eve of your mother’s begetting.”

Celebrimbor gave a proper laugh for the first time that evening. “You call me wise, yet that is the most intelligent thing I have heard today! Let us go hence, Master Narvi.”

And so they did. 

[symphonyofeternity]

Hii, Xerophi here, and I sculpt things for fun. I don’t post much in general, but I’m flattered some of you want to follow me and I’m super blown away that people thought it looked official?! I’m into clay these days, so if you don’t mind seeing some clay art floating around every now and then, welcome aboard! 

This is a making-of post, and I’m mostly putting this out there to encourage people to try their own hand at making figurines! It’s also not really a tutorial, though if anyone’s curious I gratuitously watched some Youtube videos that cover most of the way a figurine gets sculpted and put together.

Tl;dr!

Materials:

Super Sculpey Firm (Gray) (about 95% of the project) + Premier Air Dry Clay for patch jobs (when I deemed the polymer would suffer brittleness from further baking)

Tamiya Polyester Putty for patching over cracks, imperfections on the surface

Armature wire- Gotta have a skeleton!

Various Tamiya Acrylic paints

A block of wood to mount figurine to (lol)

Tools:

Pretty typical clay sculpting tools 

Airbrush

Paintbrush

Sandpaper

Long post ahead!

To be honest I’ve always been really interested in how anime figurine garage kits (unofficial, unassembled, unpainted figurines) are produced, but unfortunately, most of the details are in Japanese, so I settled for following a bunch of makers on Twitter and did my best to piece together steps from their postings. Unfortunately I’m not skilled enough yet to go the full way of making molds and resin casts for a piece like this but I think I can say I’ve finally leveled up with sculpting figurines in general with this project! I learned a lot along the way. 

I started with his face. And it was not good. The hat too. Proportions were a bit difficult to maintain when I approached it from such a piece-wise method, so I tossed them both and just... completely redid them the next day using the body as reference.

I pondered a lot about what expression I wanted him to have. Since Legends Arceus gave us the brilliant gem of seeing him smile after battle, I thought it was a largely bittersweet thing to be able to witness. I wanted to preserve the intensity of his expression, but also allow the joy of battle to shine through. So... at certain angles, he does appear to have a bit of a smile! 

A rough addition of muscles to the armature. Clay works remarkably like skin and muscle too, stretching and flexing as I pose him. This let me envision the way his tunic would flow over the torso. Made it look a biiiit tight on him…;) Once the tunic was done, used some 91% alcohol to smooth surface imperfections over the clay, then I tossed it sans arms into the oven. Wasn’t sure how I wanted the arms yet. Legs were easier, Ingo’s pants are a little looser at the bottom now than they were in BW.

Grew a brain and remembered I had perfectly good reference material to size and proportion against and wouldn’t it be cool if my figurine matched the same scale as the Best Wishes Partners series?

Dunno what BW Ingo thinks of his raggedy counterpart though. Prolly nothing good?!?!

Got some sculpting mesh wire and cut and formed it in approximation of how I wanted the coat to be shaped, temporarily stuck it to the body, and then carved the rips and tears in before baking. Removed the mesh after its job was done, you can see the diamond grid pattern it left at the bottom of the coat. No worries, there’s magic for that later.

Top of the coat is sculpted directly over the tunic, and the collar is done in a similar fashion to the coat, clay over mesh wire, mesh removed, then the piece is glued on.

He gained a small metal peg at the back to help temporarily hold up the bottom half of the coat along with some helper tape.

The coat was the main reason why I decided I wasn’t experienced enough yet to attempt making a mold and resin cast. I have no idea how I’d even cast such a thin piece to begin with.

Hands! I took a small piece of clay, flattened it into a square for a palm, and sculpted the fingers individually with a piece of metal in each to stick to the palm with. Damn the Best Wishes figurines for the gloves- meanwhile I’m here trying to get knuckles, bones, and nails to show up because they went hard on his hands in his design so I decide to as well. I also finally settled on paying homage to his iconic over the shoulder pose, finally baking the arms into place. 

The first iteration of the Sneaseler warden bracelet got added. It turned out far too thick to fit in his sleeve with the hand attached, so I wound up having to make a second one (pictured) to replace it. The base of a Hisuian Pokeball got added and later touched up to stupid levels of detail. (You can’t even see most of the damn bracelet in his sleeve >:( why did I work so hard)

I struggled with getting the coat to meet smoothly across the seam, but turned out I didn’t need to. Tamiya putty turned out to be an insanely good filler and masker, I could have done fine after gluing the pieces together but I only realized this at the end. Of course if I were making a proper garage kit, it’d be bad form for me to send people something they’d have to work so hard to attach properly.

At this point I didn’t want to bake the polymer any more, too much baking and it gets brittle, and I was already working at a tiny scale and with really thin pieces, so I brought in air dry clay (Premier brand), which is reasonably capable of sticking to polymer with a little water, and sands very smoothly later, to help fill in too large gaps. 

Lowest point of the project visually- I’ve never used Tamiya putty (the yellow stuff) to this extent, but I’ve seen some Japanese artists literally slather their whole project in it before seemingly sanding or carving it back down to detail. I have no idea how they manage that except what must be a shit ton of patience, but I tentatively went with the leap of faith, using it wherever I felt imperfections. The underside of the coat, marred by the mesh, got filled in at this point. 

Tamiya polyester putty is a two part putty that cures in roughly an hour and is sandable to nearly a polish. It cures to a hard surface that is easy to carve and incredibly easy to sand, hence why it gets used to fill in imperfections and cracks. It works its way into these places very nicely too, as it basically starts in a cream form.

I sanded everything until it got smooth and flat again, then airbrush sprayed over it with Mr. Finishing Surfacer 1500 gray. This primer has the nice additional feature of settling into small areas of imperfections and smoothing them over as it dries. Places where imperfections show up were continuously patched with the Tamiya putty, sanded, and primed over until I was satisfied.

Still wasn’t happy with the length of the legs or the tilt of the head since I messed up the neck by making the wire connection too tiny to rely on, so his head kept wobbling or turning (or fALlING-). Fortunately nothing’s glued, not even the legs, so I can adjust his height and add/subtract clay to my liking until the pose is good.

Drew in guidelines to the pattern on his coat. Added the buttons, realized he had too much of his coat still to warrant subtracting the lost button, so I shrugged my shoulders and rolled with it. 

Using painter’s tape, I masked anywhere I didn’t want to spray, then airbrushed in the black, then brown. The primer turns out to be the perfect shade of gray for his palette, so I just masked over it to keep it in the places I want. Skin got a bit of realism added to it by shading it in lightly with dust ground from a pastel, then sprayed over with finisher to seal it in.

Printed out the Pearl Clan symbol, cut it out with an xacto knife, and glued it on. My printer sucks, so I darkened it with some paint. It helps at this point the paper juts up just a bit so I could carefully paint over it without touching the tunic below. Added some finisher spray over it to make sure it sticks. 

Nuked the left leg last second, and replaced it with a longer version, because I was unable to stand (haha) the poor positioning of the original. 

Aaaand he’s done! 

One of the most important lessons I learned during this was not to over do it. If I started struggling, started making more mistakes than usual, I just straight up stopped then and there. I wanted to make a piece I could be proud of and forcing myself when I was clearly done mentally wouldn’t be good for me or the end result.

I’m happy to answer any questions or talk about figurines and sculpting! I’m entirely a hobbyist but I felt like it was difficult finding good information on how to sculpt anime figurines in general so if anyone’s curious about this stuff, I’d love to bounce some thoughts on the topic.

Iiiin the meanwhile I want to work on a Sygna Suit idea for Ingo and Chandelure next! Maybe finally give Emmet some love too after xD, Now that we have the butler bros I feel like we’re not gonna see anything else for them for a while longer =A=

[grrlofswirls]

Mithril & Secrets (Bagginshield Thoughts)

So, I’ve been thinking about the mithril coat and Bagginshield again, because of a quote I recently came across while doing some research.

“‘Also there is this!’ said Bilbo, bringing out a parcel which seemed to be rather heavy for its size.  He unwound several folds of old cloth, and held up a small shirt of mail.  It was close-woven of many rings, as supple almost as linen, cold as ice, and harder than steel.  It shone like moonlit silver, and was studded with white gems.  With it was a belt of pearl and crystal.

‘It’s a pretty things, isn’t it?’ said Bilbo, moving it in the light. ‘And useful.  It is my dwarf-mail that Thorin gave me.  I got it back from Michel Delving before I started, and packed it with my luggage: I brought all the mementoes of my Journey away with me, except the Ring.  But I did not expect to use this, and I don’t need it now, except to look at sometimes.  You hardly feel any weight when you put it on.’

‘I should look - well, I don’t think I should look right in it,’ said Frodo.

‘Just what I said myself,’ said Bilbo.  ‘But never mind about looks.  You can wear it under your outer clothes.  Come on!  You must share this secret with me.  Don’t tell anybody else!  But I should feel happier if I knew you were wearing it.  I have a fancy it would turn even the knives of the Black Riders,’ he ended in a low voice.” (The Fellowship of the Ring, page 364, emphasis added in bold)

I find it very interesting that Bilbo asked Frodo to keep the mithril coat a secret, which hints that Bilbo indeed knew it’s true value, and that it is something that must be kept safe.  But, more importantly, there is also something so soft and intimate about how he talks about and holds the coat, which, to me, suggests there is a greater sentimental value to the object for Bilbo.  It isn’t a mere tool to protect his nephew, but rather a precious memory from a time long ago.

I also suspect Bilbo may have figured out what Thorin may have been trying to say to Bilbo by giving him the mithril coat: that it was meant as a betrothal gift.  Perhaps he’s kept it a secret, because he knows most people would not believe a simple hobbit is worthy of such “a kingly gift”.  Gimli’s response to the coat certainly speaks volumes too:

“‘And all the arrows of all the hunters in the world would be in vain,’ said Gimli, gazing at the mail in wonder.  ‘It is a mithril-coat.  Mithril!  I have never seen or heard tell of one so fair.  Is this the coat Gandalf spoke of?  Then he undervalued it.  But it was well given!’” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Page 440, emphasis added in bold)

With all this, I’m once again tempted to write a fanfic about Bilbo’s mithril coat, Thorin gifting it to him, and how others view both the item and their relationship.