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failing-to-write-again · 5 months

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What would it be like waking up with Shu, Reiji, or Ruki?

So sorry I didn't see this Tumblr did not send me a notification!

But thank you for the ask and I will answer all three!!!

Under the cut because my writing is long and I might be mildly suggestive but nothing explicit!

Shu

I imagine waking with Shu would feel like a Saturday morning in Winter, where the heating is on and your bed is so warm and outside it's a cool snowy light.

Rolling over and feeling the slight chill of the vampire, his chest cool but the arm you slept on warmed by your body heat.

I think Shu, as a more subtle romantic, would enjoy like sleeping naked or at least shirtless with you. While throwing perverted comments around to deflect from showing his true sappy side, yet never actually going further then running his fingers along your spine as he holds you against himself slowly heating up.

Hearing him deeply inhale and stir as he feels your movement, eyes opening slightly and smiling before nuzzling between the pillows and your hair. A grumble of protest at having been disturbed.

If it is a weekend or holiday you give in easily resettling into the peaceful feeling of simple having skin contact with someone so intimately. Shu lifting the covers to cover you more as goosebumps cover your body slightly due to his lower body temperature.

A personal head cannon is that after you began to have an actual close relationship he would have servants bring hot water bottles to your room close to bed so you didn't have to be as effected by his chill. However by morning the once warm devices are now useless, yet he's less cold after a night of having you next to him.

Eventually you may try coax him awake. As he hides himself against your neck, feeling him voice complaints in a gravelly morning voice against your skin.

"My princess is so pushy, just rest order the servants to do the stupid errands. They're yours now."

Reiji

Reiji could go one of two ways depending on the day. A busy day or a holiday. Either way I think his room would feel fresh but still warm to wake in.

On the average day Reiji wakes you either accidentally as he gets dressed and ready for the day, or with a drink and some breakfast delivered personally to your room. He claims it's to prevent your morning mood effecting the household but it is actually to just keep you to himself a moment longer even if it's while you're both busy preparing for a long day ahead.

He runs his fingers through your hair to wake you, slowly massaging your scalp. You'd be surprised that it doesn't put you deeper asleep.

On the rare days he doesn't feel the need to wake as early he's sensual and soft. Rare for someone as prim and proper as him.

It's canon from the sleeping with a vampire audios that Reiji wears silk pajamas and bed sheets with high quality mattresses. I see him ordering you matching pajamas and night dresses in similar designs to his and he secretly waits until you get yours on before changing. He refused to admit when he's sweet. He melts when you sleep in his shirt after nightly romps in the sheets.

Ever the leading partner, you wake up being spooned by him either facing him or with you back against his chest and his face buried in your hair. You used to worry about it irritating him at first until one night you felt him nuzzle against it intentionally as he smelt the shampoo you had recently used.

Like Shu I feel he would do things to motivate the temperature difference. However maybe an electric blanket or a potion that will last the entire night.

Deepest as morning voice, grainy too completely unlike his firm even tone when awake. It's a personal side only you see. And forget Shu being the lazy one when Reiji has the time to sleep in with you. The man is begging for 5 more minutes.

"My love, stay...hm? Need a drink? I left one on the nightstand. ... You can't reach it?... Cruel woman treating your lover like this."

Ruki

Ruki's room must smell like candles and new books. A nice toasty feeling to wake to.

Clingy is the best way to describe how I feel he sleeps. So scared you may slip through his fingers or leave like others before, Ruki holds you close as you sleep.

I imagine he sleeps on his stomach due to having to sleep like that for so long after he initially got the scars on his back. His arm around your waist and head turned to rest abobe your shoulder.

The exception being when he reads a book to help you sleep. You lay, head against his chest or in his lap as he sits against a pile of pillows. You wake to his head against yours and the book left open on his lap as his arms encircle you.

Ever the slight sadist, on days you need to be up faster he might lightly pinch your sides to wake you. Chuckling as you squirm and complain at the rude awakening. Kissing you forehead in apology.

During nights where he has particularly bad nightmares you may have to wake him. Holding him against your chest and brushing through his hair as you comfort him best you can. You don't know when you both nod back off but you wake the next day to him still there resting more peaceful than ever. That being said night terrors have decreased drastically since you began to share a bed.

After you both wake up properly he holds you in his lap as you discuss your plans for the day. He takes his time laying kisses along your shoulders and down your sternum, a personal good luck ritual that makes the day a little easier to begin.

"Hm... where do you think your going? I assume like me you don't want to leave my side yet. Especially with those fingers tracing along my body. How shameless."

#diabolik lovers #reiji sakamaki #reiji sakamaki x reader #shu sakamaki x reader #shu sakamaki #ruki mukami #ruki mukami x reader #diabolik lovers imagine #diabolik lovers headcanon #may have to edit later it's 1am rn

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allthecanadianpolitics · 2 months

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If you're still sharing your Disney+ login with your family and friends in Canada, you might not be able to do so later this year.

In September 2023, Disney+ said changes could be coming to Canadian subscribers. By early November, Canadian subscribers were emailed about changes to their agreement, telling them they "may not share [their] subscription outside of [their] household."

The service considers a "household" to mean the "collection of devices associated with your primary personal residence that are used by the individuals who reside therein."

The move came after Netflix officially shut down password sharing in February 2023.

Following this, many Canadians have still been able to share their Disney+ login with others, but that might change after this summer. [...]

Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

#cdnpoli #Disney #streaming #capitalism #entertainment

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mirkwoodmunson · 10 months

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insomnia

eddie munson/f!reader

sfw

If it weren’t for Eddie sleeping peacefully by your side, you’d be crying in frustration right about now. The aching pull of sleep behind your eyes was a constant reminder that if you could just relax, you’d be out cold. But whether it be your heart or your mind, your body betrays you; so, despite your exhaustion, you lie awake in Eddie’s bed at four o’ clock in the morning.

Your legs are tingling with restlessness and it starts to reach your arms, you dare yourself to stay still, wallowing in discomfort to save Eddie the ordeal of waking up just to help you fall sleep. As many times as he’d tried humming to you, rubbing your back, tried talking you to sleep, the stress of wanting to give him that satisfaction of lulling you into slumber kept you awake despite his best efforts. More-so on your part you’d decided it best not to indulge in that frustration just to have him awake with you. He needed rest, too, and you’d either fall asleep, or you wouldn’t. Mornings when he could tell you hadn’t rested were a blessing within your curse, anyway — he’d coo and sweet-talk you, rub your back apologetically and bring you a cup of coffee in bed, tending to your enervation.

When the dark night begins to give way to the earliest of the sun’s light, it’s a bit too much to bear, and you rub your eyes with a soft sigh of irritation before carefully climbing out of his bed. You grab one of his discarded sweatshirts off the floor and pull it over your head, arms wrapped tight around yourself as you leave his bedroom, gently closing the door behind you.

Wayne is still working the night shift, leaving the rest of the empty trailer to your devices. For a little while you watch some TV, curled up on the couch with your arms around your knees — early morning reruns of Batman, infomercials pleading you to buy K-Tel albums and Ginsu Knives.

You could pass for a zombie right now.

TV does nothing but worsen the ache in your eyes, still restless, so you switch it off in favor of staring out the window. You might as well be the last person alive on planet Earth. The trailer park is silent, still, hardly even a breeze shuffling the flora. You brush away an intrusive thought that encourages you to go outside and scream as loud as you can. Satisfying as it might be, it likely won’t help you sleep. You’re not even sure sleep is what you’re after anymore, what good would it do you now? Either way at this point, you’d still be exhausted in the morning.

Hell, it practically is morning.

You take to pacing to wear out your restlessness, down the hall to Eddie’s closed door and back to the living room - repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat. You close your eyes on the sixth rotation, you’re a ghost haunting the Munson household at this point, you know every angle of this trailer like the back of your hand.

What you don’t expect is to collide with something, someone — which you do, walking straight into a pillar of warmth and soft chuckles. The run-in elicits from your lungs a shriek, silenced midway by Eddie clamping a hand over your mouth, your eyes snapping open to find him grinning down at you as he laughs softly.

“Christ, you scream like a banshee.”

You smack his hand away half-heartedly and heave a sigh, “you scared me!”

“I’m not the one practicing my zombie shamble in the dark — I nearly grabbed the bat! Have you been bitten?”

He playfully tugs at your arms, pulling up the sleeves of his sweatshirt you wear, swiping calloused fingers against you, checking over your skin in a mock assessment. Everywhere he checks, he plants a warm little kiss, making you blush and squirm away from him.

A nightlight plugged into an outlet in the kitchen casts him in a warm glow, and you can see how sleepy he is, likely waking up for a quick piss only to find you meandering the short and narrow hallway like you were sleepwalking. His hair hangs in a tangled ruffle, wearing a ratty and bleach-stained band tee where only a few letters of the name are visible — if not worn — the rest faded away from years of washing and wearing and washing again; sleeves ripped off to promote his shoulders and biceps. The shorn hem ends just at his navel, showing off a bit of his soft belly and the trail of hair leading down into boxers that hang low on his hips.

After all this time he still makes you soft, and you for him.

In the silence of your admiration he ceases his playful ministrations to look at you, brown eyes cast to black in the near-dark — you could fall into them forever for all you cared. But he rests a curled finger against the underside of your chin to capture your full attention, or at least as much of it as he can have in your sorry and depleted state.

“Can’t sleep, huh?”

“No, actually, I just really like pacing back and forth at five a.m.”

He snorts and lightly shoves your shoulder, before pulling you back and into his arms, his splayed hand rubbing your back as he rests his face in the crook of your neck and breathes you in.

“M’sorry.”

“Not your fault,” you mumble, giving in to his comfort with a soft sigh as your eyes fall closed, winding your arms around his middle and tucking yourself against him.

“Can I do anything?”

“No, baby, it’s okay. I don’t wanna keep you up — I think sleep is a lost cause for me at this point.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, lifting it from your neck to pout at you. “Lemme help. Let me try, even just an hour or two would do you good. Just let me try. Please? I really don’t mind.”

How can you refuse this giant puppy? You groan softly in resignation and firmly plant your face square in his chest, rubbing into his shirt as he laughs softly and continues to stroke your back.

“Fine,” your voice comes muffled. “Misery loves company.”

Eddie laughs again and kisses into your hair before ruffling it, “misery is fucking cute when she’s tired. Go on, go lie down, I’ll be right there — I gotta take a piss.”

“Eeewwww,” you bemoan teasingly.

Eddie snorts and retorts with a lighthearted swat to your ass to which you squeak, sending you on your way.

As he heads into the bathroom, you trudge back into his bedroom, collapsing into the bed with a weary groan, burying yourself in the messed sheets, waiting for his return. He joins you again a few minutes later, sliding into the bed beside you and greedily pulling you into his arms, squeezing you in a warm hug before you relax together in your entanglement.

Eddie pulls all the moves he can think of as he lies on his back with you pulled up against him, your head resting on his chest so you can feel the steady rise-and-fall movement of his breathing, the thud of his heart just below your ear. The fingers of one hand comb into your hair, gently grazing the nape of your scalp in a tender massage, while his other hand once again lies flat on your back, rubbing wide and slow circles into you.

You don’t know why you initially deny his comfort when you’re struggling to relax, as when you receive it, you feel muscles ease up that you didn’t even realize were tense in the first place. You let go of a deep sigh, melting into him as you close your eyes, and this time it’s not a struggle to keep them shut. Maybe you’ve finally worn yourself out.

“Relaxed?” Eddie murmurs.

“Mhm…”

“Comfy?”

“…mhm…”

“Love me?”

You giggle softly and nuzzle yourself into him as you nod, “love you.”

Eddie nestles his face into your hair, hiding his smile there, shifting you into him further as he exhales a slow and soft breath. You’re cocooned in his warmth, his comfort, arms pulled up between you as you clutch yourself to him with loose fists twisted into his shirt, anchoring yourself to his refuge. Eddie is your safe place, his arms a home, eager to welcome you into the sanctuary of his grasp.

#was i gonna make this longer? ya #do i have the mental capacity to make this longer? na #n e way <3 #*slithers back into oblivion*#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson one shot #mine

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strawbabysimp · 6 months

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Killua, Gon & Leorio as Yanderes HCs

Request: Can you do a yandere hc Gon, killua,kurapika and leorio please

A/N: I already have Kurapika as a yandere headcanons(and him with a yandere s/o) in my masterlist but I did the other three characters :)

Killua

Killua was raised with murder as a tool to protect not only his family but his own wants. Selfishness was a prime virtue in his household. Even if loyalty was preached, it was all a falsehood Killua saw through; true greediness being the root of his parents' actions. He did realize the validity of using violence though.

You had run into Killua due to your own lack of family. You had assumed he was an orphan, sharing your grief, giving just enough information to seem vulnerable while still keeping the juiciest details to himself. The details that would reveal his own power in the situation.

Killua had been exploring the world as he saw fit when you stumbled into his eyeline. He was immediately transfixed and while it started with him simply approaching you it divulged into much more.

He gave you gifts he had no business giving you with his background seemingly what it was but you didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. You smiled and accepted both his presents and love.

Killua did much more than you knew. Ridding you of those who stood in your way, threatened you, hurt you in the past. Those you never heard about again or hadn't heard from far before the Zoldyck ever walked into your life were rid of by his pale hands.

He was always there with you, not even needing to be asked to come along. He offered his presence to you on a silver platter, giving his affection so freely to such a love-starved individual. Perhaps that's what had led him to you in the first place - a kindred spirit.

Gon

Gon came into your life smiling and never left - greeting you with a wave and a compliment, easing his way into your life. You hung out immediately, being drawn to the man before you and vice versa. You walked side-by-side through shops, window-shopping with pleasure. At the end of the (seemingly)surprise meeting, he left you only to return a few moments later with one of the cheaper items you had expressed interest in. You were shocked at his kindness but gratefully accepted.

You exchanged information at the end of the conversation and conversed over the next couple of days over the phone. You found yourself excited at the possibility of him messaging you, looking forward to your phone's notification

Gon had stopped messaging you for days; three to be exact before you stopped messaging. After a week passed your phone chimed and the thought that it could be him passed through your head but you ignored it and lazily grabbed for the device. You were surprised to see it was him with an apologetic message - it explained that a family emergency had come up, one that he felt might overwhelm you if he were to share so early on in talking with you. He was sorry for having left you with no information on his whereabouts but he hoped you would forgive him.

You did just as he requested(read: planned).

And soon you did just as he said, for fear of consequence. For you spent more time with him, and grew closer, his kindness pouring so freely you were helpless to drink it. It was only for you though, Gon's kindness not expanding out towards anyone else. You became his all and his strength only grew with his feelings - in ways you couldn't fully understand. All you knew was that you were powerless. What had you allowed to happen?

No matter what he did he always smiled. That bright smile that highlighted his soft cheeks and bright composure, but it couldn't drown out the carnage before you and you found yourself shrinking into the recesses of your mind more and more in his presence.

Leorio

He came off as the perfect gentleman - or at least his attempt at one. You were none the wiser to his true intentions. The man was quick to give you your favorite flowers, complimenting you, showing you off at nice places. His wallet had its limits but your needs and wants fell well within their bounds.

He reminded you of this later. Listing all the things he had done for you as a way of making you stay by his side. It didn't matter how you responded though, he was the provider, he took care of you and you should be grateful. Leorio would make you grateful.

The day after a blow up your partner would act as if nothing happened, having seemingly moved on from the incident. He treated you with his usual kindness and would often return home with a single flower for simply 'existence.'

He went past the usual bounds of an abusive relationship and proved his own devotion time and time again. With any person who disrespected you, he made sure to kill them. Sometimes you packed up and moved to another location without explanation and the look in his eyes told you not to ask why.

You began to enjoy this lifestyle though. The constant movement, high risk, devotion, tenderness. It all inexplicably drew you.

He's perverted. He can't help it. He loves everything about you. The littlest things fascinate him. He stares at you for hours, especially when you're sleeping. At first, it bothered you, kept you up at night even with your eyes closed. Now though, you don't mind it. It's just Leorio. You even find yourself smiling to sleep as he pets your side comfortingly.

#Headcanons #Killua #Gon #Leorio #Killua Headcanons #Gon Headcanons #Leorio Headcanons #Killua x Reader #Gon x Reader #Hunter x Hunter #HxH #Anime #Killua Zoldyck #Gon Freecss #Leorio Paradinight

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theweeklydiscourse · 10 months

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The dynamic and initial characterization of the Archeron family in ACOTAR is…frustrating.

Trying to make sense of the Archeron sister’s backstory in conjunction with their future character development is enough to drive a person to the brink of madness. It’s a straining experience to try to accept the story on Maas’s terms due to how jumbled the continuity becomes as the series progresses. Specifically, the dynamic of the Archeron sisters feels artificial and contrived. It’s a dynamic meant to evoke as much pity as possible from the reader and in doing so, it creates a clash between Maas’s first draft of these characters and their future developments. I find that it makes it difficult for one to immerse themselves in ACOTAR’s world building and characterization because it lacks harmony with the rest of the series. Furthermore, Maas writes a kind of suffering that is indulgent and gratuitous, not seeming to care about how doing so might create problems in her story later on. It makes analyzing the later developments in the story akin to fist fighting the narrative in a Walmart parking lot at 3am.

Example #1 : The Dissonance of Nesta and Elain

The initial characterizations of Nesta and Elain is shallow and although they develop farther along in the series, they can never quite escape the impression of their introductions. In the early chapters, Nesta is a haughty ingrate who staunchly refuses to help Feyre with running the household while Elain is clueless and unhelpful. They behave terribly towards Feyre, but in a manner that feels like something out of a stand-alone story for young children and not the first book of a trilogy.

“Nesta picked at her long, neat nails. “I hate chopping wood. I always get splinters.” She glanced up from beneath her dark lashes. (…) “Besides, Feyre,” she said with a pout, “you’re so much better at it! It takes you half the time it takes me. Your hands are suited for it—they’re already so rough.””

“Her brown eyes--my father's eyes remained pinned on the doe. "Will it take you long to clean it?" Me. Not her, not the others. I'd never once seen their hands sticky with blood and fur.”

They are the embodiments of the “evil stepsister” archetype but are written with no nuance or thought for how their future development might look. They are tools that exist solely to make Feyre’s life as hellish as possible and this is especially apparent with Nesta. Nesta’s initial one-note meanness confounds me, especially when her character is expanded upon later in the trilogy. But here, she acts cartoonishly cruel and spoiled like the sisters in Cinderella and her initial moments do not do enough to suggest her complexity that is eventually used in ACOSF. This dissonance in Nesta reflects the flaws of Maas’s characterization and follow-through. The story indulges in Feyre’s suffering and asks the reader to feel terrible for the plight of this poor and unfortunate soul… but it all feels so gratuitous.

I was never fully convinced by The Archeron family dynamic, how could I be when the characters are not characters but instead are torture devices for the main character? They are elements that converge to make Feyre’s life as miserable and pitiful as humanly possible, but does so in a way that feels utterly shallow and cliche. I can’t become invested in the way Feyre is mistreated because it reads as pain for the sake of pain, it’s shallow and uncompelling.

Example #2 : Feyre’s Non-Existent Relationship to her Unnamed Mother

“My mother. Imperious and cold with her children, joyous and dazzling among the peerage who frequented our former estate, doting on my father the one person whom she truly loved and respected.”

Another example of this relates to Feyre’s relationship to her deceased mother. Feyre is intent on honouring her vow to her mother and yet, it seems like she harbours no positive emotions towards her. Descriptions of her relationship with her Mother are scant and reveal very little about any potential closeness between them. From this passage, a read could surmise that Feyre’s Mother cared more for wealth and status than her children and had little affection for them as a result. It wasn’t as if Feyre and her mother were uniquely close or had a strong bond or something that might justify honouring that promise (especially when she comments on the unfairness of placing that burden on a child very early on in ACOTAR).

“There were times when I hated her for asking that vow of me. Perhaps, delirious with fever, she hadn't even known what she was demanding.”

So what is the narrative purpose of Feyre’s loyalty to a parent she was never that close with and breaking her back to fulfill a promise made in delirium? Her mother is a complete afterthought and yet Feyre for some reason puts herself through the wringer so that she honours that promise? Why? It isn’t compelling for the heroine to sacrifice that much of herself for a family that has no real emotional stakes in the relationship dynamic. THIS does not make a good story, it is so fixated on creating a tragic background for its heroine that it strips the supporting characters of all intrigue and ironically makes the mistreatment Feyre faces feel flimsy and almost comically exaggerated. HER MOTHER AND FATHER DONT EVEN HAVE NAMES!

Example #3 : Feyre’s Father

Feyre says that their family had been impoverished for 8 years, but I fail to grasp how a family of four could subsist on the income from an amateur huntress and her sales of animal pelts. Am I to believe that all of them spent those past 8 years twiddling their thumbs while Feyre did everything on her own? While I’m aware that this is a fantasy series, it seems unrealistic that Nesta nor Elain ever gave Feyre any substantial assistance when it came to running a household. The idea that their prissiness and spoiled attitude prevented them from lifting a finger makes no sense because a mindset like that would never allow them to survive in such an environment. None of them have jobs or bring in any income to support the family and somehow I’m meant to believe that Feyre’s earnings were enough to support all of them. Meanwhile, her father is too ashamed to even attempt to aid his daughters.

Feyre’s father is presented as feckless and an object of resentment for Feyre and Nesta. Although he is given slightly more depth than Nesta and Elain initially, he is never truly expanded upon as a character and is confined to a pathetic characterization.

“What I really wanted to say was: You don't even bother to attempt to leave the house most days.Were it not for me, we would starve. Were it not for me, we'd be dead.”

Oh look! Her father is useless too! Her only living parent who “hadn’t argued when I announced that I was going hunting.”. Although papa Archeron is kind to Feyre, this doesn’t culminate in a meaningful character arc later in the book and his inaction as a father is left to fester. Feyre’s relationship with him is similarly shallow with her relationship to her mother and does not offer the reader anything to latch onto when Feyre leave her family towards the end of the book. I just feel that the story would become so much more emotionally compelling if there were any reasons for Feyre to truly have a connection with her family and if it were not a barrage of misery.

So basically…

I just can’t become invested in Feyre’s plight when it is so indulgent in her suffering (at the expense of some potentially compelling characters). It feels manufactured, it doesn’t feel real (in the sense that it is extremely contrived) and I hate how Maas makes the family dynamic more emotionally nuanced later on in the series, but is constantly at odds with the initial impressions of these characters. The potential is there, but Maas seemed to care more about making the backstory as sad and tragic as possible rather than considering any potentially complex emotional realities the characters would have to grapple with later on.

#sjm critical #feyre archeron #elain archeron #nesta archeron #acotar #ACOMAF #anti sjm #feyre acotar #ACOTAR meta #fandom meta

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gghalcyon · 7 months

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Call of Duty Headcanon : Felix "König" Oravec

Disclaimer: This is my personal head cannon for König, who I named Felix Oravec. Most are different from standard head cannon, including how he looks.

Call Sign: König

Name : Felix Oravec

Alias(es) : König, Felix

Gender : Male

Birthday : August 15

Nationality : Austrian

Place of Birth : Vienna, Austria

Spoken Language(s): Austrian, German, English

Sexuality: Heterosexual

APPEARANCE

6'6" with an athletic and muscular build

Has short brown hair and blue eyes.

Blue-gray eyes and tanned complexion, with multiple scars from his missions all over his body

Visible facial scar under his left eye, reddish scar.

Typically wears tactical gear and a menacing sniper mask that covers his face.

BACKGROUND

Childhood

König was born to a middle-class family in Austria and raised in a household dominated by his mother, a tough-minded and driven woman who worked hard to provide for them ever since the sudden death of his father in a freak car accident. She had worked hard to make ends meet, often leaving König to his own devices as she worked late nights to provide for their small family.

König's father was originally from Slovakia, and upon marriage, his mother decided to take on his last name which was "Ovarek."

König had grown up feeling like an outsider, always on the fringes of the activities that seemed to fill the days of the other children. Growing up, he was an anxious child who was bullied both at home and in school. He was often the target of ridicule and mockery, and he never felt like he belonged anywhere.

For years, König kept this sense of isolation buried deep within him, only occasionally manifesting in moments of intense fear or sadness. But when he became a teenager, his feelings of abandonment and displacement began to take on a more aggressive form. He lashed out at his teachers and classmates, retreating further into himself in the process.

König's mother, sensing the growing darkness in her son, urged him to take up a hobby to help him channel his emotions. He chose rugby, a sport that he found to be both physically and mentally demanding. He trained diligently, pushing himself to be the best he could be. Eventually, his dedication paid off, and he rose to become one of the top rugby players in the region.

The sport gave König a sense of purpose, but it also led him to contemplate his place in the world. He finally comprehended what it meant to stand out from the crowd, and wanted to make use of this new insight to shape the world around him.

Early Military

At age seventeen, König made up his mind to join the military in an effort to start anew. König's journey in the military was a transformational one. Although physical training and discipline were of utmost importance, it was the mental journey that truly shaped him as an individual. He found himself becoming increasingly aware of his environment and the people around him, honing his ability to see things from different perspectives. At last, he felt like he belonged somewhere.

He was driven by a new sense of purpose, determined to use his newfound understanding of the world to make a difference in it. He quickly rose through the ranks, becoming known for his bravery on the battlefield and his commitment to protecting the lives of those around him.

However, König soon realized that the battlefield could not be won with only physical strength—it took intelligence and persuasion as well. As he progressed further up through the ranks, König began to incorporate strategies such as diplomacy and negotiation into his combat strategies, allowing him to accomplish objectives without resorting to violence when possible.

His leadership style had earned him a great deal of respect from both superiors and comrades alike, and he was recommended to join the Austrian Jagdkommando.

Austrian Jagdkommando to KorTac

After 5 years as a soldier, he took his commanders recommendation and made the decision to join the Austrian Jagdkommando. The Austrian Jagdkommando - "JaKdo" for short - drew him in because of their motto "Never Retreat" and notorious vigor.

He was one of the youngest individuals to pass the Physical Fitness Test of the Austrian Jagdkommando after completing The Pre-Selection process called AU Testung. He was one of 15% of the candidates to make it through the selection and training phase.

He served with the Jagdkommando for several years until he was honorably discharged after a pivotal mission, the same mission where he received his call name “König.”

REPUTATION AND SPECIALTIES

Reputation: Known for his fearlessness. Willing to charge into any situation, guns blazing. Earned the nickname "The Battering Ram" for busting down doors and being great as an insertion and breaching operative.

Specialties: CQB breaching, close quarters combat, weapons proficiency. CQB combat, breaching doors, insertion tactics, close-quarters weapons like shotguns and SMGs. Surprisingly agile for his size.

Weapon of Choice: Jagdkommando knife, SCAR assault rifle kitted for aggressive pushing. Also carries a sidearm. Armsel Striker semi-auto 12-gauge shotgun loaded with breaching rounds. Also carries a .45 ACP SMG.

Callsign Backstory: König earned his call sign “König” meaning “King” during his time in the Austrian military. During one pivotal mission, König's unit was tasked with raiding a human trafficking ring operating out of an old warehouse.

The traffickers were heavily armed and used civilians as human shields. König's commanding officer ordered the unit to stand down, fearing civilian casualties, and requesting additional backup.

But König disobeyed orders, charging into the warehouse alone. He moved with ruthless efficiency, gunning down 12 enemy combatants in close quarters without harming any hostages. When the dust settled, the hostages surrounded König, calling him their savior. One little girl looked up at the imposing soldier in his black mask and said "You're like a king, sent to rescue us."

From that day on, König was bestowed the call sign König - the German word for "King." It signifies his bravery in combat and willingness to put his life on the line to protect the innocent. The call sign stuck with him into his mercenary days, a reminder of how one man's valor can make a difference.

While he went against orders, the fact he saved so many civilians and also protected his commanding officer during battle earned him an honorable discharge.

PERSONALITY

Looks intimidating but has a big heart. He wants to use his skills to save lives and fight evil.

Wears his signature black mask during missions to keep anonymity. Contrary to rumors, he does remove his black mask when outside of missions, and when out and about with teammates and when in civilian settings.

Prefers to let his actions speak for themselves. However, can also clearly articulate himself when necessary in a direct way.

Though he's normally reserved, he opens up over drinks with his teammates, or in 1:1 chats, revealing more of his dark humor.

He is not a big fan of drinking, and often limits himself to one beer and/or a shot during the rare occasions he is hanging out with others. He prefers to remain sober as much as he could, not wanting to ever be like his mother who had been an abusive alcoholic. In addition, his training in Jagdkommando has taught him the importance of having his wits about him as much as possible just in case.

RELATIONSHIPS / LOVE LIFE

He is not close to his mother whom he hasn’t spoken to since he left the home at 17 years old. His mother assumes he is dead, something he wants to keep that way, as they’ve been estranged and she had been an abusive and alcoholic to him growing up.

Though he has had romantic trysts in the past, he tends to avoid them or any serious relationships that may compromise him. His first loyalty is to his mission and team. Deep down though–although he tries to deny it–he does have a wish to one day meet someone who’d accept him wholeheartedly and who he can open up to.

Love is not something that comes easily to König. His traumatic upbringing and focus on his duties have made it difficult for him to open up emotionally. He has had a few fleeting romantic encounters over the years, but nothing meaningful.

König had a brief romance with someone during his early military service in Austria. They parted ways when König decided to join Jagdkommando, but he still fondly remembers their time together as one of the few times he was able to be vulnerable with someone.

Now in his early 30s, König leads an isolated life, pouring all his energy into the mission at hand. While some may desire a family or relationship, he does not feel he could balance the life of a soldier with deeper personal connections.

Though seen as cold and intimidating by many, there are rare glimpses of warmth and humanity in König when he bonds with his fellow operatives. He remains fiercely devoted to his makeshift family within KorTac, willing to lay down his life for them if needed.

For now, the team and pursuit of the greater good is König's reason for being. He finds satisfaction in serving a purpose higher than himself. Any thoughts of romance will have to wait until he fulfills his personal unfinished mission. Underneath the mask lies a heart that, while wary, still hopes to find connection one day.

INTEREST AND HOBBIES

König spends time at the shooting range honing his marksmanship and speed drills to stay sharp with firearms and tactical weapons. He also has an impressive collection of guns stashed in his apartment.

König is particularly keen on hand-to-hand combat training, such as Krav Maga, Jiu Jitsu, and Muay Thai, and spends a large portion of his days practicing these martial arts at an MMA gym to strengthen his agility.

When he's not on a mission, König likes to go backpacking with full gear and trek into the wilderness for days; this helps him hone his survival skills and provides peace from busy city life. Being close to nature also allows him to indulge in his childhood passion: drawing and sketching landscapes and people in his pocket sketchbook.

König prefers listening to all varieties of rock music and enjoys watching live bands perform. He favors watching bands at smaller, more intimate gigs over larger festivals or arena shows. When not working out or on a mission, he generally listens to calmer sounds instead of aggressive music.

#gghalcyon #gghalcyon's König headcannon #könig headcanons #awesome könig fanart #könig fanfiction #König profile #call of duty #Modern Warfare 3

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gawrkin · 8 days

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Why did gawain not become king of orkney after Lot died?

That's a simple question with a very complicated answer.

To be really, really, really short and concise**, it boils down to two things:

One: Lot originally didn't die fighting Arthur.

In the earlies stories of Arthuriana, like Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniae, Lot never warred with Arthur. The Sword in the Stone and the Mayday Massacre never happened in these older stories, so Lot has no reason to fight Arthur.

In fact, King Lot lives all the way to the end of Arthur's reign. Here's one example:

Didot Percival

So really, Gawain doesn't succeed Lot because originally, Lot was alive the whole time and Gawain dies at Mordred's rebellion before he can succeed Lot, who dies shortly after.

Lot's early death is actually a relatively recent Plot Point that was introduced in Vulgate/Post-Vulgate.

Its a retcon that only exists as a plot device to give Gawain a motive to be evil for revenge against Pellinore and his family.

There's also a bit Stations of the Canon at play here - Traditionally, Gawain is supposed to be one of Arthur's Greatest Warriors, so inevitably, he must join the Round Table... even when later stories change things so it doesn't make sense anymore.

By Post-Vulgate, Arthur is not only responsible for the death of his father but also seemingly the death of his newborn baby brother, Mordred. Gawain, logically, has no reason to like Arthur, much less join him.

So basically, its later retcons that don't jive with Gawain's positioning as member of Arthur's household. With Lot's early death, Gawain shouldn't be running around adventuring and questing when his homeland needs him to run things.

The medieval writers took for granted that Gawain is able to be present in Arthur's court for particular reasons.

Which leads us to the second reason

Two: Because then Gawain would be unable to adventure anymore

Basically, Gawain is a traditional hero of Arthuriana, and him not being in Camelot anymore would drastically change the cast dynamics and the story. It's like if Superman and Batman retired from the Justice League and didn't show up anymore.

Gawain can't meet Lancelot and join the Grail Quest if he's stuck up in the North, doing boring Kingly duties.

Ultimately, the Medieval writers just simply didn't care about Gawain's realistic feudal duties and obligations. To them, Gawain and the other knights are adventurer-protagonists: they're heroes first, feudal lords second.

That's why you don't see Lancelot managing Joyous Gard - that's boring real life crap the Medieval audiences wouldn't be interested in seeing. So, Lancelot goes around joining tournaments and beating up knights in random directions instead.

Arthurian Literature is essentially Chivalric escapist fantasy. It's about quests and fights, action and excitement.

And YES, it doesn't make any sense that Gawain isn't called "King Gawain"

**(I wrote an entire essay as an answer, only to stop I when realized its too long and overly wordy LOL)

#yay #my first ask #ask #oc #arthuriana #sir gawain #king lot #i sincerely hope this was a good answer #if not please continue to ask #i'll try to simplify it #gawain not being a king is a complex problem #with no simple answer

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northwindow · 2 years

Text

where the heart is

a domestic syllabus [x]

"lecture on the history of the house" by claire schwartz

poem by american poet claire schwartz, published in poetry magazine and her 2022 collection civil service.

"the house. from cellar to garret. the significance of the hut" by gaston bachelard

the opening chapter to bachelard's seminal work the poetics of space. bachelard theorizes that the house's role as a site of reverie lends it a profound influence on the psyche. coining his own term, topoanalysis, to explore this influence; he surveys different poetic images of houses as representations of mind and soul.

the bedroom: an intimate history by michelle perrot, trans. by lauren elkin

french historian michelle perrot's history of the western bedroom as the site of birth, sex, illness, and death; from the ancient greek kamára to the postmodern bedrooms of today. perrot traces developments in the bedrooms of royalty, families, laborers, women, children, recluses, monks, and travelers. see also "black in bed" by art historian ella ray on the legacy of black bed art and "the bedroom of things" by caitlin blanchfield and farzin lotfi-jam for a discussion of private space through digital images.

rooms by rohan mcdonald

animated short film by illustrator rohan mcdonald featuring interviews with participants about their rooms and homes.

never home alone: from microbes to millipedes, camel crickets, and honeybees, the natural history of where we live by rob dunn

book by biologist rob dunn about the nearly 200,000 other species that live in our homes, from welcome pets to reviled pests. dunn's work researching the ecosystems of houses has illuminated the sheer scope of creatures that thrive there, often unbeknownst to both inhabitants and scientists, as well as the benefits of a biodiverse household.

"human stains" by heather havrilesky

author and "ask polly" columnist heather havrilesky on the endlessness of housework and "the strange gift that laundry brings to our lives."

the midcentury kitchen: america's favorite room from workspace to dreamscape, 1940s-1970s by sarah archer

a visual history of american kitchens, using examples of advertising and deisgn photography to show the evolution of their aesthetics, technology, and cultural ideals. see also sarah archer's episode of you're wrong about on martha stewart.

"full spectrum" and "if these walls could talk, listen, and record" by emily anthes

excerpts from the great indoors by science journalist emily anthes, which investigates the intersections of health and design in indoor spaces. "full spectrum" (republished by next city as "everyone has a basic right to good design") follows an apartment complex designed for autistic adults. "if these walls could talk, listen, and record" (republished by slate as "senior care homes are becoming high-tech medical devices") reports on the promise and limitations of smart home technology for the elderly.

"inside out, or interior space" by rebecca solnit

essay from rebecca solnit's collection of work on place, the encyclopedia of trouble and spaciousness. solnit discusses the pursuit of the "dream home" through decoration and renovation, examining our desire to craft the perfect nest.

windowswap by sonali ranjit and vaishnav balasubramaniam

a collaborative online database of user-submitted videos shot from windows around the world. conceived as a way to "travel" during early phases of the covid-19 pandemic, visitors can shuffle through videos to experience the views from homes in a plethora of different environments.

#syllabi #this is another one that could have gone on and on!#cover image is unmade bed by eugene delacroix

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delopsia · 1 year

Text

Thinking about Rhett encountering your Roomba...

Growing up on that ancient ranch, where the only thing that changes are the faces that inhabit it, it comes as no surprise that he doesn't understand a damn thing about it. A man that can ride a bull and make it look easy but can't send figure out Instagram to save his life.

Rhett's a quick learner, the kind who only needs to be shown once or twice, and then he's got the hang of it. He's still figuring out the acronyms, he's made social media accounts just to make an effort to be a part of your online presence. Never the kind to leave a comment, but always makes sure to press that little heart button beneath your posts.

So when you decide to bring home a Roomba, Rhett's inevitable reaction to it isn't even a thought in your head.

Until the little guy is running around, mapping out the layout of your home, and Rhett comes home from work.

"You're home early," you chirp from where you've settled yourself on the far end of the couch, nose deep in your phone. No amount of effort can conceal those heavy footsteps across your hardwood floor; Lord knows Rhett can't sneak up on anyone.

Silence.

No words are offered, not even a kiss on the forehead as he passes by. The only indication you have that he's there is the shadow he's casting over you.

"Rhett?"

He's just...standing there. Looking down at his feet, deep blue eyes carefully tracking the movements of something passing by. "The hell's this?"

Your first thought is that you've dropped something. A handout from the mail or one of those flyers the local Boy Scouts keep tacking onto your door handle, but the last thing you expect to turn and see is the new household appliance. "The Roomba?"

"A room-huh?" He can't seem to take his eyes off of it, tracking it even as it turns and slowly meanders back under the couch. "What is it doin'?"

In the end, you have to hand him the manual in order for him to understand what it's doing. Once he wraps his head around it, you figure that's going to be the end of it.

That Saturday, you walk into the kitchen to find Rhett with the Roomba and a cup of rice because he refuses to believe that it actually works.

"So what are you going to do to the poor thing now?" Yawning as you get your favorite mug down from the cabinet. The little vacuum has indeed picked up his strategically placed rice, and now they're just sitting together on the floor.

"Name it."

"You're naming the vacuum?"

"Yes."

And that's how the Roomba gets its name. Dave.

It's such a brief interaction that it slips your mind mere minutes after the conversation. The Roomba is just a Roomba with no names involved. Until a few days later, and Rhett comes home right as the vacuum is running its routine of sweeping up your kitchen.

"Hello, beautiful," he muses in between welcome-home kisses, his smile growing a little bigger with each one. Four, five, six, kisses, and he's going in to steal a seventh when little vacuum scoot past his feet. You think his eyes sparkle at the sight of the device as he quietly chirps, "hello to you too, Dave."

You don't know if Rhett's actively seeking Dave out or if it's a true coincidence, but they wind up encountering each other every time he comes home. One minute Rhett's just come in the door, all of his attention on you, and the next, he's looking at the damn vacuum like it's his firstborn.

And maybe that's why he's so heartbroken when he walks by the couch right as Dave emerges from beneath. One big cowboy boot is all it takes for Rhett to accidentally crushes the poor thing. Dave manages to drag himself six inches away from the crime scene, emits a few distressed beeps as if to say his final words, and dies.

"Rhett, it's fine!" Your protests only fall upon deaf ears as you trail him to the garage, "it's still under warranty; I can get it replaced."

"I've killed Dave." Even though he's having a hard time trying to stay serious, Rhett's already committed to the bit. He's killed Dave, and he's two seconds from turning himself in for murder.

The warranty is on standby while your technologically inept cowboy attempts to bring Dave back from the dead. One of your friends comes over to visit, and when you inevitably explain that Rhett's busy attempting to fix Dave after crushing him the other day, she's only got more questions.

"Who's Dave?"

And it's at this point that you realize you've been referring to the vacuum by name. "The Roomba we got on clearance."

A few days later, you're just about to contact the manufacturer about a replacement. Rhett's been tinkering and tinkering, and aside from a brief instance when Dave turned on for less than a few seconds, he's had no luck. You've had to go back to the old-fashioned way of vacuuming, and if you have to lug that big piece of junk out of the closet one more time, you're going to fight Rhett for custody of Dave.

You've just opened the manufacturer's website when the door busts open. And, in Rhett's hands, a cracked Roomba contentedly beeps with life. He's a little dented, and there's a crack running along the top, but that's nothing a cheekily placed bandaid can't fix.

So Dave lives to see another day.

Although, sometimes, you wish you'd never brought Dave home in the first place. He hijacks your lanyard and carries it halfway across the house. Sometimes he deliberately comes over and tries to vacuum your feet. And, somehow, he manages to barge into the bedroom right when you and Rhett are getting a little too wrapped up in each other.

Albeit reluctantly, Rhett draws away from your lips, looking off toward the now-open door. Shakes his head, turns back to close the gap between you once more, then cracks. "Hold on."

You think he's going to say he's forgotten to put the condoms in the bedside table again, or he hears something outside. But, much to your surprise, he picks Dave up off the floor like a cat, places him in the hall, and shuts the door.

Dave proceeds to hang around by the door. The. Entire. Time.

For the most part, Dave's alright, though. He does his job, and he'd might as well just be another pet at this point. He's got an array of cute covers to hide his battle scars from the Great Crushing Incident of 2023, and everyone knows him by name at this point.

Then one day, you're washing dishes in the sink, and something catches your eye. Something big and brown crawls past your peripheral vision. You're expecting to turn and see that the neighbor's cat has broken in through the window again, but...that's not what you see at all.

Rhett's cowboy hat is strolling past you.

And from the couch, Rhett's just grinning like a damn fool, "Dave's a real cowboy now."

You wonder how he's going to react when he comes home tomorrow and sees that the robot mop has arrived in the mail.

This entire warmup was inspired by a TikTok.

#rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbott outer range #outer range fic #outer range #outer range amazon #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x you #reader self insert #self insert #x reader #reader insert #delgato's warmups #delgato's thinking

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b4tasquad · 1 year

Note

can you write a pov with Aj forgetting your birthday and then making up for it?

BIRTHDAY: AJ SHABEEL

Authors note: finally something for my boy Aj.. I can’t believe I haven’t written something properly for him…. So disgusting of me honestly😒😒 but here it is. Also it’s more of a sad one because I feel like I only write happy things🤷‍♀️

Warnings: mention of shitty parenting, reader being emotional, Aj shabeel being overly sweet

…

A feeling of deep hurt had permanently taken refuge in the pit of your stomach. Your mind was working on memory, as you went about your day, as if it was just like any other. Every few seconds, a notification sound would pop up on your phone, causing you to snap your head in the device’s direction, hoping with everything in you that it was him.

But no. Every single time, the same sound of sheer sorrow left your lips as you tried shaking away the disappointment of being forgotten. It wasn’t unusual really. All your life you had become accustomed to being insignificant, in your household, during your years at school, and even amongst some of your friends. Your restricted personality alongside anxious habits you’d caught, making it easy for people to just disregard you.

Aj had never made you feel like a background character, someone who simply existed to feed into someone else’s needs. He always made you feel like the brightest star, and the sole attention in any room you stepped in. Through Aj Shabeel, you had learned to not settle for only being in the corners, but daring to step into the center at times too.

It was funny how the person that had made you feel the most special was also the reason you carried yourself with such indifference on your birthday. For the 2 birthdays of yours the two of you had been friends, he had been the first to congratulate and treat you, but the year you’re finally his? He completely ignores you as if he couldn’t care less about this unimportant day.

You felt stupid for how you had spent your early hours of the morning, expecting something, anything, to come from him. During your breakfast, you made sure to check, double-check, and even triple-check for a new message, but there was nothing. Radio silence. As you moved from the morning into work, there was no time for you to even be on your phone. You could vividly remember feeling awful as you did your work on the computer, hand itching to reply to a call or even a message you knew would be there.

When lunch had finally approached, you had turned down a lunch offer from your friends as they were in a rush, and you were sure you’d have to call Aj to thank him. How stupid you felt, checking every app for anything. In a last attempt, you had even opened Instagram, an app you never even communicated on, only to come to the same two conclusions.

He had either not woken up or forgotten. How you hoped it was the former.

But doubt turned into confirmation once you saw him post on Instagram hours later. He had even texted you after your shift, simply informing you he’d come over to yours after he was done with work. But there was no mention of your birthday, and now you were completely sure your boyfriend had missed it.

Even in your angry state, you could never have it in your heart to believe he just didn’t care enough to mention it. That wasn’t like him.

Usually, you would be ecstatic to know your boyfriend was coming over straight after work, that meant him telling you about everything he did which was something that fascinated your mind. His lifestyle and work were something that you’d always loved, Aj creativity and passion for it fuelling your interest. But now, you walked home with such dread, shoulders slumped in defeat.

You knew you should’ve made the best out of your day even without Aj, but it was just so hard to look past the fact that the most important person in your life had just neglected you like that and continue with your day. Your closest friends had gratulated you and you answered with the same faux tone of happiness. Even Aj’s family members, those you had met because of him, sent you countless nice messages.

Currently, you were just moping around, watching a rerun of a romantic movie that played on your tv every night. A bowl of popcorn was laid in your lap and you occasionally threw one in your mouth. It didn’t matter how many times you watched this movie, every time you were left flabbergasted at the plot twist. It was just that dramatic.

A notification sound on your phone interrupted your little movie night, and you hated yourself for how quickly you grabbed it, thinking it was Aj.

Anna:

What you doing tonight?

You knew where this was going, and a part of you wanted to lie your way out of the obvious plans about to be made. Another part of you felt bad though, here your best friend was, trying to show you how loved you were on your birthday and you were just gonna lie your way out.

You:

Nothing much, why?

It doesn’t take more than 20 seconds from when your message is sent for your best friend to reply.

Anna:

I’ll be at yours in 30, get ready!

And there wasn’t much you could do after that. In just an hour you found yourself seated at a fancy restaurant, Anna sat across from you. You had came with a slightly dampened mood, ready to not enjoy the evening and go home still feeling down. But that was not the case. There was just something so beautiful about Anna that made everyone around her smile. From the way she laughed to the way she talked, Anna had everything it took to get a laugh out of you.

There was the occasional glance at the phone, but other than that you spent 2 nice hours chatting away with Anna as you ate the luxurious food. You were extremely thankful for her and made sure to thank her extra on the ride home.

“I’m your best friend. Now stop thanking me!”

Opening the door to your flat, you had been ready to take off your makeup and outfit and just spend a lazy night in bed. It was 10 pm on a Friday, and as a woman in her early twenties, this should not have been what you were doing. The door closes with a thud behind you as you’re too eager to throw off your heels, but a set of other shoes alongside yours catches your attention.

“Why are you dressed up?” Aj asks from the doorway, his voice simply curious. You don’t even spare him a glance as you finally get rid of your shoes and shrug the jacket off. At the rejection, Aj looks at you weirdly, noticing how off you seemed. As you try to walk past him, he stops you by stepping in front of you.”

“Babe, what’s wrong?” A part of you breaks at the fact that he genuinely didn’t even know. Your boyfriend is confused, eyebrows furrowed until you look at him with disappointment and suddenly it’s everything he can think about. By his eyes widening, you can tell he finally remembers.

Scoffing, you just step away from both him and the conversation, feeling as if you might’ve cried if you stood in front of him any longer. As a child, your parents had made it a regular thing to forget about your birthdays. Claiming they didn’t forget, but simply planned something good. Being the gullible kid you were, you always believed them, waiting for that big surprise. It was finally after your 10th birthday you realized it was their fucked up way of trying to make their nagging child shut up. There was no such thing as a ‘big surprise’.

Fair to say you never asked, but just took the love you got on rare occasions.

As Aj walked behind you to the bedroom, muttering apologies and excuses, you felt like a child again, hearing the same words from your parents. Seeing how you were making your way to the connected bathroom, Aj took hold of you, afraid you’d lock yourself in there and refuse to talk to him. You’d never do that, but he was stressing and thinking of every possible outcome.

You don’t pull away from his hold on you as he sits you down on your bed. He’s stood over you, hands on his hips as he tries to think of a way to make it sound less… wrong?

“Y/n, I genuinely don’t even know how it managed to slip my mind. I just woke up late and was rushing to get to the studio to film, and it ran later than I thought. It’s no excuse because I’m your boyfriend, and I shouldn’t prioritize work over something so important like your birthday- oh my fucking God, I can’t believe I forgot your birthday.” Rambling was one thing Aj did once nervous. He had done it when the two of you knew each other as friends and continued to do so far into your romantic relationship. Usually, you found it cute, but right now you didn’t have words to describe it.

His genuineness softened the pain and by the way his eyes lightened up, you could tell he saw the change in your behavior. Even with the slight empathy for his situation, there was still a feeling of neglect that you couldn’t shake off. You don’t know when, but somewhere during the speech, tears you’d kept in all day, quietly started to slip down your cheeks.

When your boyfriend notices, his voice wavers, truly seeing how much he had messed with your whole mood. Aj was the petty type, one to stay mad and drag things out for far too long. You were a clear contrast from him with your forgiving tendencies, and not being able to hold a grudge.

The fact that you were sitting on the edge of your bed, crying your eyes out on your birthday said something about how much you had been hurt. “Baby, no please don’t cry.” Aj pleads with you, but you’re far too gone to stop crying. When your sniffling gets louder, he crouches in between your legs, pulling your hands away from your face.

You don’t fight his grip but simply gaze at him. Aj kisses the palm of your hand in his hold, holding it against his cheek in a way of showing affection. “I’m so sorry, please don’t cry.” He wipes at your eyes. “ I love you so much, I’m sorry for being such a shit boyfriend. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, genuinely, I don’t know what I would do without you. Please just don’t cry.”

Too deep in your feeling, you don’t think twice about wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s shoulder, needing comfort even if he was the one to hurt you, to begin with. Being an over-sensitive person, you weren’t always too in touch with your emotions. They sometimes got too much to bear on your own, and therefore you found it easier to process them with the help of Aj.

With just a comforting touch or a few reassuring words from him, you always managed to feel better. And right now, as funny as it sounded, Aj was the only one you wanted to comfort you.

“I felt so alone.”

Your words are like daggers being thrown into his heart, twisting and digging an even bigger wound in his already vulnerable state. He knew he had no right to feel gutted like he was feeling now, but hearing your broken whispers and knowing he was the cause of your defeated words was a hard pill to swallow.

“You’re not alone.” Aj takes a seat beside you on the edge of the bed his hold on your hands never faltering. In a futile attempt to show you the reality of his words, he opens his arms. You fall into his hold holding him as close to you as you possibly can.

The warmth he supplies you is a unique thing you’ve only felt in the arms of your boyfriend and you can’t help but snuggle closer to get more of it.

Aj wipes your tears, holding your cheek to make you look at him. A faint smile appears on your lips as you hold eye contact. The faint feeling of hurt is still present, and there’s no way you’re just letting it go. But all you want to spend the last moments of your birthday doing is be in his hold. In his protection. With a soft peck to your slightly tear-coated lips, Aj speaks. “Happy birthday, beautiful.”

#Aj shabeel #Aj shabeel x reader #Aj shabeel x you #beta squad #beta squad imagines #Aj beta squad #✭b4tasquad speaks #youtube #fiction

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ettelenethelien · 1 month

Text

I literally just can't about the Father-to-son lineages in the house of, what-do-you-call-it -- the Lords of Andunie as they become Kings-in-exile.

There's Amandil, my most dearly beloved, tragic, unjustly sidelined, Amandil... and then Amandil said farewell to all his household, as one that is about to die and [Elendil] journeyed in secret to the western shores and gazed out over the sea, for sorrow and yearning were upon him, and he greatly loved his father :((((

But it is most like that you shall fly from the Land of the Star with no star to guide you for that land is defiled...

And Elendil with Isildur... there is very little you actually get about them in the Silm and LotR, but Isildur seeing his father killed in front of him... and then there's that snippet about Númenor, with a very weird framing device, but you can clearly see that Tolkien is really thinking about his relationship with his sons when he writes about them and I am so not normal about it!

That exchange we have between Isildur and his eldest in The Unfinished Tales...

"My King," said Elendur, "...Your last counsellor must advise, nay command you... Go! Take your burden, and at all costs bring it to the Keepers: even at the cost of abandoning your men and me!"

"King's son," said Isildur, "I knew that I must do so; but I feared the pain. Nor could I go without your leave. Forgive me, and my pride that has brought you to this doom." Elendur kissed him. "Go! Go now!" he said.

🥺🥺🥺.

And then Valandil, who hardly knew his father, and was raised in Rivendell (!) Did he regret never having known Númenor? Was his mother glad he never knew the horror of it? And Valandil being an earlier name for Amandil which ties it all back to the beginning (and to Valandil, the first lord of Andunie, and those early generations after Elros, near kin to Elrond) It seems strange that anyone could be named "devoted to the Valar" in late Númenór, but I like to think that it was some secret name that in some way belonged to Amandil, that Isildur named his youngest son after his grandfather, and thus the tale is brought full circle.

#my post #númenor #amandil #elendil #valandil #elendur #Tolkien #lotr #Silmarillion #silm

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80s4life · 11 months

Text

Pawns”

Word Count: 4,522

Status: Requested!

Ask: Pleeeeeaase write more of Cal from titanic. Literally any prompt I’m so hungry😭

Ask #2: Pleasee could we have more cal hockley content, specifically more chapters for "the things I've never done" and even more short stories if you have the time, I love your work 💕 [THANK YOU SM! I WAS STARTING TO GET SELF CONSCIOUS OF MY WORK AGAIN]

Ask #3 will have an attachment to a separate Cal fic as well, so no request will be shown here until that one.

@: Three cutie pie nonnies!

Relationship: Caledon “Cal” Hockley x Female!Reader

Fandom: Titanic 1997

Summary: Thrusted into the roaring 20′s, all you wanted to be was free and outgoing as all the booming women in city. However, your father’s deal with the devil seals your fate in the hands of your advisor and boss, Caledon Hockley; a man who is haunted by memories, stubborn in his ways, and opposed to the newfound strength in the young women of America. You’re a slave at his will in his eyes, yet you’re just as free as the new reformed women in your own. You’re stuck at a standstill in this endless game of chess, but who’s the pawn?

Warnings: forbidden, early 1900′s morals and customs, Reader is a maid, Cal is the head of the house, Post-Titanic sinking, mature language, kinda spicy, PTSD, domestic violence (included in a PTSD episode ONLY), Kind of a Beauty and The Beast AU for inspiration

{gif is not mine, credit goes to @locke-writes}

It was all an act of practicality from the start: your father owed his father money and he had a set of nimble hands to rid himself of.

Nathan Hockley was a millionaire who dealt in the steel tycoon business in Pittsburgh. Your father had a habit of gambling with the wrong people, which had allegedly caused your father to have an uncomfortable run-in with the powerful man. Unable and too stubborn to do so, your father handed you off as a way of reparation for the damage the bastard had caused.

Nathan’s son, Caledon Hockley, was the exact replica of his father. He was cunning, stubborn, powerful and wealthy; a disrupting mixture of facets that could either lift or crush you with a simple snap of a finger. He was dangerous, among many of his other qualities, which made your business in the Hockley’s presence just that much harder.

With the pandemonium that followed the sinking of the Titanic in 1914, the physical and mental effects had taken ahold of Nathan’s deeply treasured and only son, practically keeping him on house arrest until he was “better”. However, to both Nathan and Caledon’s dismay, 6 years had done nothing for his declining health, the reasoning behind why Nathan had administered you into Caledon’s household in the first place.

All of these events have led you up to this point, your suitcase rolling behind you as one of the many maids in the manor lead you up to your room to unpack. You haven’t seen this young and precarious man yet, but something is telling you that you most likely don’t want to. You are soon to be given your list of instructions to follow immediately and precisely; left to your own devices to either stay afloat or drown in the fury of the Hockley men.

Maria, a young maid in her 20′s, around your age, approaches you with a pure and youthful grin, a light blush to her cheeks. Her hair is cut into a cropped bob of black hair with short but soft curls, her lean frame with modest green eyes making her endearing - intoxicating. “You must be Miss Y/L/N?” her cutesy, high pitched voice only adding to her allure and picturesque innocence.

“Yes, that’s me,” you mutter, displaying your hands as if to show yourself off in sarcasm.

“No need to be so glum!” she giggles, bowing her head to catch your eyes and raise your line of sight. “I’m Maria Espinosa, but I’d assume the least you’d want right now is formalities.”

You snort, but let her continue nonetheless.

“I’ve your instructions - written myself, of course!” she smiles brightly; any harder and she might break her face. “As you know, with your appointment into this manor, the rest of the faculty will be let off, per Nathan Hockley’s request. But, don’t fret, the list is simple, short and can last all day without having to pay too much mind. Every Tuesday and Thursday, there will be a grocer that will restock the cabinets, refrigerator, etc. and help you with the cleaning. You are not to touch the east wing and only reside within the west - this will help eliminate the messes to clean and prevent extra exertion-”

“Sorry, if I may be crude, why are we not to go in the east wing?” you ask, curiosity getting the best of you.

“It was...” Maria drifts off, choosing her words lightly, “After the accident in 1914, the east was torn by his own hands. It was once used for balls and such, but after the Titanic,” she whispers the name as if someone might hear her, “Caledon was bedridden and sick, upset, angry, any emotion in the book. He used that wing as a way to let those emotions out.”

You stay silent as you stare at her with morbid curiosity and fear, nodding once before returning your attention to the list. The rest seems easy, not like the job was ever hard to begin with, just an annoyance for better words.

Maria clears her throat, “Anyway, you must make at least two meals a day, mainly breakfast and dinner, both at 8 am and 8 pm. Caledon might decide not to have lunch some days, but if he does, make sure it is brought to him by 12 pm. He doesn’t like tardiness, so as long as you follow the rules as tightly as you can, you won’t be a target. Any questions?”

“No, no. I’d presume you’d want to be heading out?” you smirk at her mischievously and instantly watch as her taut muscles relax.

“Very much so, yes! It’s been forever since I’ve had a moment of freedom.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you shoo her off playfully. This is your family’s mess to clean, the least you can do is let her be free of the shackles that are now passed down and chained to your ankles.

Maria is halfway through the door when she turns to you from the foyer, “I’ll do a monthly checkup to make sure everything is in line, and for a little company in your lonesome, okay?”

You smile gratefully, hands coming up to play with your nails, “Thank you, you’re very kind. Though, I don’t want to be a burden.”

“A burden? You just gave me my freedom!” she exclaims, laughing as she waves a hand. “I’ll be back by the end of the month! Settle in and enjoy the quiet!”

The moment the door slams shut, your shoulders droop heavily. Your eyes scan the spacious mansion with frightening curiosity. You’ve never even remotely been near land such as this, and now that you’re inside, it feels almost too much. You let your hands glide the carved wooden banister as you walk up the huge steps to the second floor, taking a left down a hall.

Your legs carry you down the long corridor, and, as you place your key into the fob, your eyes lay onto the door across from yours: ‘Lord Hockley’ carved neatly on the door. There’s a rustling behind it and footsteps that approach the other side of the door, eliciting you to push the key one click further and dive through the door as quickly and quietly as possible.

You flop onto the bed with a huff, trying to calm the beating of your heart just enough to allow you to unpack and prepare dinner within the course of 3 hours. When your room is finished, you nod in satisfaction, taking a bath in the connected bathroom and changing into a thin, sheer dress before exiting your room and back down the steps to the kitchen.

Finally do you take the time to read the list on your own. It includes very detailed and descriptive instructions, easy nonetheless, of medication usages and what to do with each, meal plans, recipes, a map of which rooms to clean and how to clean each one, and Caledon’s nightly and morning rituals to follow precisely.

Shrugging your shoulders, you roll your neck to release the tension before opening the cookbook up to the recipe designed for today’s date. “Pork roast,” you state alloud, cringing at the echo of your voice being followed by more movement in Hockely’s room.

Your mind roams as your eyes get lost at the sight of the luscious woods out the window, hands deftly whisking away at the pork roast’s grease with the intent of making a nice gravy to coat the dry, but tender pork roast. Shaking your head, you peer down and try to busy yourself with the already settling boredom you’re consumed by.

You can hear the halls creak, the water drip from the faucet, birds chirping outside, the soft sway of the wind, random clicks, ticks, and other noises. You’re destined to go insane.

You jump unexpectedly with the sound of a crash from upstairs. The noise comes from the general direction of Caledon’s room and you all but groan at what the sound indicates - what your being here demands.

Putting the roast of low, you close the lid with a soft click before ascending up the stairs to Caledon’s room. You stand outside the door, hand on your heart, as you try to calm your rapid heartbeat and breathing. This was to come about sooner rather than later, so you should be glad it’s happening now. However, the banging continues within the room and you know that even if you had met him in a few months, the hell that follows him would never be escaped for as long as your father’s debt remains.

Knocking on the hard wooden door, you speak softly, “Lord Hockley? Is everything alright?”

You’re not given an answer, only the sound of something heavy being thrown and falling to the floor.

“Lord Hockey?” you call out again, louder this time. Unsurprised, you are followed by no answer once more. Annoyance creeps into your words a third and final time, “Lord Hockley, I will come in there myself if you do not open this door. Now,” you demand.

Shrugging when no voice calls to you form the other side of the door, your hand twists the doorknob and pushes the door open. You legs carry you only so far before they stutter to a stop just past the door frame.

Just before you, there is a disheveled, sweaty Caledon Hockley, fit from youth and some maturity in his thirties, shirtless. His eyes look crazed, like a madman, as his hands grip a chair at his desk with white knuckles. Around the room, there’s shelves torn down, broken, books in a disarray on the floor. His bedsheets are thrown about with the other chair from his desk propped against the wall in his fury.

You stare wide-eyed, but somehow, not alarmed in the slightest. You were accustomed to this sort of outburst, especially within the hard working men. You saw it in your father - even in your younger brother. “Lord Hockley,” your voice is softer again, all annoyance and anger lost at the door.

His eyes snap up to you, as if he had just noticed your arrival or presence. “What are you doing in here? You are not to barge in a man’s room, that is uncouth for a woman of your age and status. What is wrong with you?”

“Lord Hockley-” you try to start your confession.

“A woman is not to speak up to a man; are you ferel? Are you-?”

You don’t allow him to finish his slandering, “-I am mentally efficient, Lord Hockley, and very aware of my positioning here. However, I did knock, three times to be exact, with no answer. There had been a ruckus in here for about-” you peer up at the clock above his desk, “-an hour and a half now. I came to be of assistance, but if my help is unwanted, I’d happily leave you to your self-pity on your own?”

He has no other emotion present except bewilderment plastered to his face; eyes wide, mouth agape, and at a struggle for words. His fists clench and unclench as his eyes pan down to stare at the floor, appearing deep in thought.

“Lord Hockley, if I may be so bold?” you ask, scanning his body language and searching to find the meaning of this man’s crazed outburst.

“Go ahead,” he mutters, a hand going up to rub some hair from his eyes, still staring at the floor.

“You may confide in me if that means helping your mental health?” you offer. You know this could go one of two ways: either one, he’ll turn you away, suffer alone, and claim that men have no such weaknesses, or two, he’ll let his guard drop and release him from these dark episodes he’s no stranger to. The latter seems rather unlikely.

“I am not mental.”

“I did not say that. I was simply insisting that everyone has a dark place their mind goes to, which is a detriment to a person’s mental health. Let alone someone who is expected to heal quickly and pick up the family business, am I correct?”

Just as you thought you were getting somewhere, Cal’s eyes snap back up to yours with anger, the malicious anger tearing at his body again, “You know nothing of my family’s business and nothing of me. You have no audacity as to even assume or place yourself in my shoes. I should have you thrown out or hanged for your mouth alone. Get out!”

“Just trying to be of service, sir, since I’m at your will!” you smile sickeningly, bowing to him and sliding through the door just as a book is picked up and thrown.

You let out a deep breath of air on the other side of his door, now in the safety of the hallway. Your throat tightens with a soft sob, tears welling in your eyes. You truly feel as a prisoner on death row, hands and ankles encased in heavy metal cuffs; struggling to walk under the watchful gazes and heavy chains slowing you down, keeping you locked in this manor.

You weren’t the perpetrator, you know this, but you were framed to support the guilty with your own naivety and love.

You drag yourself back down to the kitchen to finish the man’s meal with dejection, but still devoted for the greater future - when you no longer have to be a maid in this manor and be free, lost in the world again.

“Lord Hockley?” you call once more at his door, only this time, you’re holding his tray of dinner. “I have your meal, are you decent?”

You hear a muffled ‘Yes’ and proceed through the door cautiously.

It seems he’s settled now, sitting at his desk with notes and papers scattering the floor and desk. He hadn’t cleaned the room, which you suspected you’d have to clean in the near future. However, you notice the bed is drenched in liquid, and when you look back at him, you notice sweat beading at his forehead, a thin sheen of sweat glistening against his skin.

“Lord Hockley?” you call again, stepping closer towards him. He chooses not t answer you, so you press further. “You’re sweating.”

“I’m very well aware of what my body is doing.”

“Are you feeling ill? I can help you if-” you are cut off by his fist meeting the solid oak of the desk.

“I do not need any assistance from the likes of you, nor do I want it,” his voice is stern, scary.

You try not to lose your temper so easily this time, so you give him a kind, tight-lipped smile. “Of course, my lord, you are a man after all. A man is able to take care of himself just fine, though he installs many maids within his manor. Maids like me,” you giggle dryly, “What shall I do instead, since you are able to clean, cook, and much more without the help of the ‘likes of me’?”

Caledon only groans, “Just leave the food here, you are dismissed. I’ll leave my tray for you to clean in the morning.”

“Oh, how kind,” you roll your eyes, scurrying to the door.

“Oh, and Miss, maybe you could find a better countenance and leave your convictions in your pillow when you arise. Wouldn’t want to explain to my father - and yours - as to why you were no longer needed and let go.”

You can hear the sinister smirk in his voice, but you choose to ignore it - for now - and head to bed briskly.

The next two weeks follow you in a similar form. You do as your told, albeit begrudgingly, and get into many of your childish arguments. Your interactions with the man are nasty and violent at times, always finding yourself dodging an object, taking threats, and coming in the next morning asking for more.

More, more, more; you ask for more because there is nothing else to be given. You have to take everything as a grain of salt. You have to because this means your father’s life and yours. If you manage to screw up, and you will, they will not only have your father’s head, but yours for Caledon’s punctured ego.

Though, somewhere within those weeks, you started to care less and less.

“Lord Hockley?” you knock at his door, tray of food in hand. He once more gives you no answer, so you push in.

Greeted by no light in the room, you walk around in the darkness, knowing this room like the back of your palm now. Placing the tray of food on the oak countertop and go to strike a match, lighting the candle on the desk. Going around the room, you light each and every one of them until the room is dimly lit enough to see.

On the bed, you find Caledon, sweat having gotten worse as you’ve noticed he never leaves his room. When you step closer, he is shivering, teeth chattering. Worried, you go to place the back of your hand to his forehead, but quickly draw your hand back when he jerks upright.

“Lord Hockley!” you jump, the ghost of his skin still lingering on the pads of your fingers. “You’re burning up, I need to help assist you now. You’re very ill and the sickness has gone on long enough-”

“No!” his voice rips through you quiet pleas, rattling off the walls.

“But, Lord Hockley-”

“I said ‘No’! I do not want assistance, I am a grown man!”

“’You can take care of yourself’, yeah, yeah, bullshit!” you scream, the frustration, fear, and hurt finally meeting your words as you are blinded by your emotions.

“What did you say?” Caledon looks at you in disbelief.

You cringe as you can guess what is about to take place in mere minutes, but you don’t hold back anymore. “Is your bigotry deafening your hearing or did you hear me call bullshit?”

Shakily, Caledon gets off his bed, his frame towering yours as he glares down at you with pale skin and dark, chocolate brown eyes.

“Your father wouldn’t want you to be sick, knowing that you would have to run his business soon.”

“My father-” Caledon cuts himself off, a hand going to wipe his face. “This has nothing to do with the business.”

“No? Well then, why else would I have to pamper you like a king? Is it because you’re defective?”

Caledon’s pacing now, trying to calm his increasing ragged breathing.

“Or is it because your useless to him? Mentally unstable?” you continue, trying to get a rise out of him.

“You know nothing of his business nor my personal life!” Caledon snaps back to you, anger finally bursting.

As his anger ensues, he takes steps close to you each time, piercing his thick index finger into you chest for emphasis. “You are nothing, you are worthless. I am a wealthy businessman. I am a strong, independent man with power. People would miss me if I were gone!”

“If you’re such a big man, you wouldn’t lock yourself away in your room like a toddler.”

That’s what finally did him in. You pressed a personal button when your short quips finally hit a nerve, testing his masculinity. Before you have time to react, a glass vase is hurled at you. It was a short throw, and was nowhere near your face, however it caught you by surprise and smashed against your hip.

You ignore the pain, though all you wanted to do was bury yourself in a hole. You came here to help him, but all you are returning is anger and hurt that is most definitely placed at you.

“You’re sick and it is my job to take care of you, so your father won’t have my ass because his baby boy isn’t okay. It’s my job to make sure you are very well satisfied. It is my job that you get your linens washed, food prepared, room cleaned, and make it my duty that your estate is fully functioning all on my own!” you jab a finger in his direction, placing more distance between your bodies until your back hits his door, his body on the other side of the room behind his desk.

He goes to say more, but you cut him off with more furious blows.

“Though, what isn’t my job is to allow you to threaten me. It isn’t my job to be belittled and yelled at by you. It isn’t my job to allow you to throw objects and whatever anger you have and hurl them at me! That is not my job, nor what I will allow any longer!”

“I never asked you to be here. I didn’t want you here. You forced yourself into my estate to protect your father. You knew what you were getting into just by the public papers alone. You knew what was to be expected and yet you came here anyway. You made a prisoner and a victim of yourself.” Caledon’s gaze does not falter and neither does yours.

“You’re correct, Lord Hockley, I may have known what I was getting myself into. What I didn’t know nor expect was the childish frustration and blatant disregard for human decency. I’ve tried over and over again to be kind, but against your better judgement, you couldn’t allow me to be the person to hold such compassion.”

Your eyes are welling up with tears now as you feel a warm liquid flow down your palm and to the tips of your fingers.

“You do not understand what is bothering me and you never will,” Caledon finally starts to calm himself, the self-pity returning as he recounts lost memories you cannot decipher.

“No, but I have made it abundantly clear that I was here to help assist you. However, you saw it as being weak, so it wasn’t in your cards to even allow me the common courtesy of being a human being. You felt as if I was lying to you.”

“God, you are so annoying,” Caledon groans.

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“You know, when you’re silent, I almost like you - wait, are you injured?”

“No!” you yell almost instantaneously.

“Did I do that? Its dripping on the floor, what happened?”

“The glass,” you almost stutter, the atmosphere changing quickly. “The glass shatter and cut some of my hand, I’m fine.”

“You’re hurt.”

“And, you’re ill.”

Caledon sighs, his shoulders slumping. Motioning for you to exit the room, Caledon says nothing as you make a silent pact to clean up.

You are suffering whiplash from the sudden change of emotion and it leaves you on edge, but with the cooling of his mood, it allows the adrenaline and some stiffness to leave you. Confusion overtakes your mind.

Guided into the kitchen, you start to take out numerous medications, searching for something to accommodate his symptoms. Caledon walks up to you quietly, almost afraid to get too close.

You do not say or look at each other, finally finding the right medicine and sliding it to him on the counter before sitting down on one of the bar stools. He sits beside you carefully, taking the medicine.

Taking some gauze and wiping away the cuts with an alcohol wipe, you struggle to wrap your hand. That is, until a warmer, larger one goes to encompass it gently, waiting for an action of opposition to its intentions.

Caledon gaze burns the side of your head before you finally acknowledge him with fear. Softly, he starts, “…Just allow me to help?”

You nod softly as the tears form in your eyes again. Some time passes before you finally work up the nerve to ask, “Why do you do this?”

Caledon looks up from you hand with confusion, which urges you on to elaborate, “Why does your mood change so swiftly, so suddenly?”

Sighing, Caledon gives you a firm look, as if he’s deciding whether to trust you or not - to tell you. “The Titanic,” he starts, “When I survived, I lost almost all of who I was. When I returned home to my father, I was constantly burdened with memories. They would consume me, control me, until I felt like a madman. The only solution was anger. When the anger takes control, there is no longer that burning sadness, guilt, and regret; no hoping I’d done something differently. I couldn’t allow myself to do that because I was no longer that man anymore.”

“It’s scary,” you croak, peering into his eyes.

“It is, but what’s worse is the life I’ve lived after the episodes. My father found me defective, worthless. I will never be able to fully recover, which is bad for business. He locked me away in this estate to stay hidden from prying eyes, bedridden to remain unseen even in this secluded property. I insist on doing the simplest actions myself because it makes me feel as if I’m showing my father I am still capable, just changed.”

You nod slowly as you take in this new information, grateful. The man has finally opened up to you, he’s no longer a stranger in his own home as it seems.

Calmly, Caledon pats your hand, signalling that the wrapping is done. A hand reaches up to tuck a strand of hair from your face, resting it on your cheek just afterwards. “I know I’ve hurt you, but please, try to understand me, I’m not asking for your forgiveness... I just wanted you to understand-”

“You don’t need to ask that, I already forgave you a long time ago,” you smile softly, placing one of your hands on his opposing cheek. “We will learn to adapt, just as you have many times before. We are no longer strangers, yeah?”

“Yes,” Caledon smiles with glossy eyes.

“We will work on this together. You are not alone anymore.”

Caledon looks at you with uncertainty.

“I am here, always. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Kissing his forehead softly, you other hand goes to be placed on his shoulder, “Repeat it.”

“I am not alone,” a tear slides down his cheek.

“Not as long as I’m alive,” you smirk, placing a kiss to each of his eyelids.

“Never again,” the both of you say together, lips finally meeting as if to seal the promise the both of you now shared deep in your hearts.

“Never alone.”

#caledon hockley #caledon hockley x reader #caledon hockley imagine #billy zane #billy zane x reader #billy zane imagine #titanic 1997 #titanic x reader #titanic imagine #titanic #cal hockley #cal hockley x reader #cal hockley imagine #1997 #rose dewitt bukater #xreader #female reader

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