#elf-shot

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 268

Fright Knight sighs, running a clawed hand through his hair in an attempt to stop the flames from flickering into being. It had been far too long since he had taken a human-ish form. His human-ish form. Ugh. He didn’t exactly care for his human form after so long as a ghost, but needs must he supposed. 

Especially with the whole, we’re going to punch a backdoor into the literal daycare part of the Infinite Realms and be surprised when literal toddlers go exploring. 

Well, at least it got him off of guard duty for a bit, which was relieving. Not that he didn’t love the darkness, but it got boring in the shadow of his sword for literal centuries with nothing else happening. He was a warrior for Realm’s sake! Borderline an Ancient in both power and age! He wasn’t meant to stay so still for so long. 

So while ghostling wrangling wasn’t exactly in his area of expertise, he could definitely gather them back up to the Realms. And deal with the curs who had decided to attack literal babies. 

The Daycare area was already understaffed due to just how large it was, and the one in charge of this section had practically sobbed to the Council (In another world they would have been put on hold for a century in line for their concerns, and then more once a Sarcophagus was opened, but they had told the other ghosts in distress, causing others to let them go up in said line) how they were almost certain they had felt at least one core form Outside the realms thanks to the breach. 

Which had understandably put everyone at an uproar. 

So here he was slipping between shadows to do reconnaissance and take stock of if any Ghostlings had left the city. And gently scruffing those he comes across in exasperation because what are you doing, ghostling? Look at the mess, what would your caretaker say? 

[storiesforallfandoms]

santa's sister in law ~ bernard the elf;the santa clause

word count: 4292

request?: no

description: in which he is adamantly against the in laws coming to the north pole, until he meets santa's sister in law

pairing: bernard the elf x female!human!reader

warnings: christmas fluff, sylvia sucking a little bit but that's just canon

masterlist (one, two, three)

Merry Christmas everyone! 🎄

a special christmas gift for @omeletdreamer 😌

Bernard was firmly against Carol's family coming to the North Pole. He liked Carol, don't get him wrong. She was a fantastic Mrs. Claus, and he loved her idea to start an elf school at the Pole. He understood that it was hard to adjust to life at the Pole, especially while she was pregnant. But bringing outsiders there was a big no-no. They were already pushing things by letting Laura, Neil, and Lucy in on the secret of Santa.

But all of his protests fell on deaf ears. Santa wanted Carol to have her family while he was going to be busy, and the other elves just wanted Carol to be happy. It was a thousand against one. So, Santa got into his sleigh and flew to get Carol's parents while the elves fixed up the Pole to look like Canada.

"This is never going to work," Bernard said to Curtis. "There's no way they're going to think this is Canada. Even if they believe these ridiculous store signs, they'll never believe Canada is inhabited by a bunch of children."

"Can you not be so negative for once?" Curtis asked. "It'll be fine."

"We are seriously pushing it with how many people know about the Pole and Santa. You can't blame me for being stressed out over it."

"Everything will be fine, Bernard. We have a plan. We got this."

Bernard huffed a sigh and walked away. He was tired of being brushed off like this. He didn't become head elf for nothing. He knew what he was doing. If only someone would just listen to him.

As he was walking away, he heard something in the distance. He looked up to see Santa's sleigh breaching through the entrance to the Pole. He couldn't see them yet, but he imagined Carol's parents in there, asleep from Sandman's magic, expecting to wake up in "Canada". He cringed to himself. There's really no going back now.

"I need a hot cocoa," he muttered to himself.

The kitchen elves were busy baking away when Bernard walked in. Carol had told them her mom's favorite cookies so they were hard at work making a batch to welcome Mrs. Newman. They were wearing comically large chef's hats pulled down to cover their pointy ears, which made Bernard glad his hair was long enough to do that naturally.

"Hi Bernard," Abby said, giving him a bright smile upon noticing him. "Want a hot cocoa?"

"I'd love one, Abby," he responded, sitting down at one of the tables.

She rushed off to make it for him. He picked up a cookie from a plate in the middle of the table to eat while waiting. Abby returned with his hot cocoa. He blew on it, disturbing the steady steam coming from the drink. He hoped that escaping to the kitchen would give him some time to prepare for Carol's parents.

He was taking his first sip of his hot cocoa when the kitchen doors opened again and in walked Santa, Mrs. Claus and her family in tow. Bernard nearly choked on his drink.

"And here's our kitchen," Santa was saying. "Oh, and Bernard's here too! Bernard is my, uh, he's my...assistant."

Bernard tried not to roll his eyes at the title.

He reluctantly stood and plastered a smile on his face. "Hi, nice to meet you...eh."

Carol's dad shook his hand while her mom pulled him in for an embrace. Bernard wasn't prepared for a third person to approach; a young woman with a smile so beautiful it left him speechless.

"This is my sister," Carol said. "We didn't know she was coming too."

"I'm (Y/N)," the woman said. "Mom and dad mentioned they were coming for a visit, so I asked Scott if it was alright for me to tag along."

"Of course it would be alright!" Sylvia cut in. "Scott's already had Carol from us for so long, he'd never say no to bringing Carol's loving sister with us to finally see her again."

Sylvia had a smile on her face but there was venom in her words. (Y/N) cringed and tried to ignore her mother's comment. "It's really lovely here so far. I'm glad I could come."

Bernard was still tongue tied. He kept opening and closing his mouth like an idiot trying to figure out something to say. (Y/N) was watching him, waiting, while Scott and Carol shared an amused look.

"Let's show you the rest of the place," Carol said, putting an arm around her sister. "We'll meet up with Bernard again later."

(Y/N) smiled and waved goodbye as the group left the kitchen. Once they were gone, Bernard felt like he was freed from a spell. He let out a long breath and slumped back down to the table. His hot cocoa had cooled down enough that he finished the rst of it in two gulps.

~~~~~~

Bernard was up late that night doing his rounds of the workshop. All the other elves had left for the night, but Bernard was often the last one up making sure everything was shut down and nothing was left out of place. With the in laws visiting, he was also making sure the workshop was locked up so no one would accidentally wander in and discover everything.

He was preparing to leave when he noticed the door to the kitchen was slightly ajar. He was sure all the baker elves had left for the night, but maybe someone had stayed behind. He poked his head into the room and almost gasped aloud when he saw it was (Y/N) who was leaning against the counter, a mug of hot cocoa in her hands. She was in her pajamas, clearly preparing for bed. Bernard was about to back away and leave her be, until she looked up form her mug and caught him. She smiled and waved to him.

"Good evening, Bernard," she said.

There was no escaping now. He stepped into the kitchen and cleared his throat, trying not to seem as weird as he had earlier. He discretely made sure his ears were tucked away under his hair.

"Hi," he said. Simple, easy. You can't mess up a "hi".

"What are you doing up so late?" she asked.

"I could ask you the same thing."

She giggled. "Touché. I was having trouble sleeping so I decided to come out for a hot cocoa. That nice baker, Abby I think? She offered to make me one before she left. I was told she makes the best hot cocoa in all of the town."

"Oh, she does. She's the one you go to when you want a good hot drink made."

"She works magic, I'm sure."

Bernard tried not to let his smile falter. "You have no idea."

A silence fell over them. (Y/N) softy blew on her hot cocoa before taking a sip from it. A small trail of foam stuck to her upper lip as she pulled her mug away. Bernard couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

"What?" she asked.

"You just...you have something..." He gestured to his top lip.

She ran a thumb along her top lip, only smearing the foam more.

"Here, let me." Bernard reached up and wiped the foam off with his own thumb. He was suddenly very aware of their closeness when he looked into her eyes. Any words he could ever say were stuck in his throat yet again and he could only imagine how insane he looked, staring at her with wide eyes.

"Thank you," she said. "And thank you for having us here, too. I know it's a busy time of year for you guys. We don't mean to impose."

It took Bernard a moment to remember the story they had been telling Carol's parents: that Scott was a toy maker in Canada and that's why he would be so busy this time of year and needed someone to be there with Carol while she was pregnant.

"It's not imposition," Bernard assured her. "If anything, I think it's going to make Sa - Scott feel better to have you guys here for Carol while he's working."

(Y/N) nodded. "It's very nice of him to have us here considering how my parents tend to treat him."

Bernard thought back to the comment Sylvia had made earlier. The strained relationship between Scott and his in-laws wasn't anything new to him. Scott had mentioned it a few times before, most recently when he was voicing his concerns about bringing Bud and Sylvia to the Pole with Bernard in private. It was evident that both Newman sisters also noticed how their parents treated Scott, and it seemed neither of them were too happy with it.

"I understand why mom and dad get upset," (Y/N) continued. "One minute Carol was a proud principal at the local middle school, and then the next thing we know she's writing us to tell us she got married to a guy we've never even heard of and moved off to Canada to be with him. I mean, even I was skeptical then. But when she'd write to me about Scott and about being here, it was clear that she was so happy and she found the man of her dreams. Who are we to judge the quickness that they got married? As long as she's safe and happy, which she clearly is. But mom and dad don't see it that way. Dad is still convinced that Scott is a cult leader who stole Carol away or something."

(Y/N) paused and looked at Bernard. He had been listening as she spoke, just nodding along and not saying a word. She chuckled a little and shook her head. "Sorry, I'm rambling on about my family drama."

"No! It's-it's fine. Trust me, I've heard similar stuff from Sa - Scott."

She gave him a look. "You keep stuttering on Scott's name."

"Yeah."

He couldn't think of a better explanation besides that. He felt an unfamiliar burning sensation in his cheeks. He wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or just from being so close to her that made him feel that way. She giggled, though; a sound more beautiful than any of the twinkling bells that were often heard around the Pole.

"I'm just glad to be here," she said. "And I'm glad mom and dad can be here for when the baby is born. Maybe that will help them be a little less harsh on Scott."

She finished what was left in her mug and looked around the oversized kitchen. When Bernard realized she was probably trying to figure out where to put the dirty mug, he said, "Oh, I can take care of that for you."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. You're our guest, and I can handle this."

She smiled and passed him the mug. "Well, thanks for talking to me, Bernard. I guess I should try to sleep again."

"Goodnight, (Y/N)."

"Goodnight, Bernard." She started towards the door, but then paused to turn back to him. "I hope you're not too busy tomorrow. I'd like to spend more time with you."

His face was on fire as she left.

~~~~~~

For the first time in his thousands of years as the head elf, Bernard wasn't concerned with his head elf duties. Of course he was still there if Santa needed him, but he decided not to spend the entire day in the factory and to seek out (Y/N) to spend time with her. She was delighted to see him and was more than happy to accept his offer to show her around "Canada" for the day.

This became a regular occurrence for a few days. Bernard would make sure to check in often to see if he was needed, but if he wasn't he was with (Y/N). He would feel bad about taking her away from her time with her family, but it seemed her parents were more concerned with fussing over Carol than they were about all four of them spending time together. And (Y/N) also assured Bernard that she was making time for Carol and her family as well as spending time with him.

Bernard was more than well aware he was falling in love with (Y/N), and he was also more than well aware of how bad that was. Elves falling in love was nothing new; he had officiated quite a few elf weddings in his time. But falling in love with a human was out of the question. Elves were immortal, humans were not. Scott and Carol were different - upon becoming Santa and Mrs. Claus, their aging processes had slowed down considerably. They weren't completely immortal, but they weren't aging as fast as normal humans did. But that wasn't possible for a human that an elf fell in love with. Even if (Y/N) felt the same way towards Bernard, she would still continue to age while he would stay the same for the rest of time.

But he couldn't stop himself. He was falling fast and hard. Carol's due date was creeping closer, and once it came it would only be a matter of time before the Newman family would have to go back home, meaning that (Y/N) would leave and likely would not come back. That thought hurt Bernard.

Bernard was approaching where (Y/N) was staying one day when she slipped out of the house instead. He was surprised; she had never left before he had gotten there before.

As he got closer he realized that her face was tearstained.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

(Y/N) jumped and turned to look at him. "Oh, Bernard. Sorry, I didn't see you coming. Nothing's wrong."

He was about to point out that she was very obviously upset over something when the door opened again and Sylvia slipped out. She looked like she was about to say something, but she noticed Bernard and gave him a tight smile, one that he had come to learn was very much her fake smile.

"Hello, Bernard," she said. "I was just having a conversation with my daughter. We were talking about spending the day with Carol. We haven't had an all girls day since we arrived. So, unfortunately, I don't think she'll be able to spend time with you today."

"No mom," (Y/N) said. "I said I would join you later for girls time. Besides, you know Carol has an appointment with the doctor. She won't be ready till later."

Her mother was smiling but her eyes were glaring daggers into the younger Newman girl. (Y/N) held the glare before turning to Bernard and taking hold of his arm. She didn't say anything as she dragged him away. He followed anyways, wanting to get as far away from Sylvia as he could.

"God, I don't understand what is wrong with her," (Y/N) said, letting go of Bernard long enough to wipe the tears from her eyes. "I swear she just doesn't want Carol and I to be happy."

"What was she saying?" Bernard asked.

"Oh, she was going off about the fact that I spend so much time with you. Had her usual rant about Scott taking her precious daughter away from her and dad, and then said she'll be damned if she lets it happen with me too. Basically tried to guilt me into not spending time with you today by saying that Carol was upset that she didn't get to see me much, which I know isn't true because just the other day Carol was saying how happy she was that you and I were getting along."

She shook her head. "I'm so sick of it. It's like she can't wrap her head around the fact that maybe, just maybe, life is so busy here that Carol doesn't always have time to visit. It has nothing to do with Scott being manipulative or a cult leader or whatever conspiracy her and dad have cooked up on a certain day."

Bernard listened in silence. He felt bad that (Y/N) had to have these issues with her mother. Carol was hearing it all now, but he was sure (Y/N) heard much more of it when she was back home with her parents.

None of the Newmans could ever understand the way things were with Carol and Scott. They could never know why things were like this, but they likely wouldn't understand even if they knew.

Unless...

It was an idea that shocked even Bernard that he had it. Head elf of the North Pole, Santa's righthand man himself, considering such a thing? After being so against Carol's family coming to the Pole? It was preposterous. But his brain was so clouded by love for (Y/N) that he wasn't thinking proper.

"Come with me," he said. He didn't wait for an answer, just took hold of her hand and pulled her towards the workshop.

His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in hips pointed ears. He had to remind himself there was no going back. This was going to be huge, and it could likely get him into a world of trouble.

He opened the doors to the workshop and (Y/N) stepped in. She looked around in awe at the working elves, most of which were not hiding their ears as the workshop was supposed to be off limits to the Newmans. None of them seemed to notice the two of them enter, and if they did, nothing was said.

Bernard watched (Y/N), nervously waiting for her reaction.

"Is this...what I think it is?" she asked him. "No, it can't be. I must be dreaming. I fell and hit my head and now I'm in a coma having a very vivid dream that all of these small people who are supposed to be Canadians have pointed ears like they're elves."

When she looked over at him, Bernard had taken off his hat and allowed his ears to peak out from under his hair.

"I've lost it," she decided.

"You haven't," he assured her. "All of this is real. It's why Carol hasn't been able to visit as much, or why you couldn't visit until now. Look, there's so much to know about all of this. So much that I want to tell you but technically I can't because there are strict rules about humans knowing about the North Pole."

(Y/N) had another quick moment of shock that she was able to very quickly recover from. "Rules that you're currently breaking by showing me...Santa's workshop. By admitting that you're an elf, these are all elves...oh my God, my sister is Mrs. Claus."

"It is all very complicated," he said. "But you deserve to know that Carol is truly happy here. She's not being held against her will, Santa isn't manipulative or holding her captive. He loves her so much that he risked you and your parents finding out about him - about us - so that all of you could be here for her while she's pregnant."

(Y/N) still seemed to be stunned. She looked around the bustling factory again, her eyes wide with wonder.

"Wait," she said. "But...if you all went through so much to make us think this was Canada, to keep who Scott is a secret...then why are you telling me now?"

Because I love you. Because I want you to stay. Because I want to be with you more than anything, even though I know that will never happen.

"Because I want you to know the truth," he replied. "About all of this. About...about me."

She was looking at him. He didn't know what else to say, so he just looked back. He waited for an answer. He willed her to say something, anything.

She didn't say anything, though. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed Bernard. It was quick, almost hesitant, and when she pulled away she looked embarrassed.

"Sorry," she said. "I...should I have done that? I should've asked first. Was it okay that I did that?"

He smiled. "It was more than okay."

"Okay. I'm...I'm going to do it again, if that's still okay."

Bernard chuckled and moved in to kiss (Y/N) first. He had only ever kissed one person before - when he was young one of the other elves had gave him a quick peck on the lips and ran away afterwards. Not exactly something glamorous or anything like that. So he was a little worried about whether or not he was a good kisser. Although, something felt so natural about kissing (Y/N), like he could never do it wrong even if he tried.

He paused when he realized a slight hush had fallen over the workshop. He and (Y/N) pulled away to see that all the working elves had stopped what they were doing to look at the two of them.

"Back to work!" Bernard commanded. They all quickly fell back into what they had been doing before. "Bunch of gossips, all of them. Everyone in town will know about this by nightfall."

"I don't blame them. I'd assume it's not every day that they see an elf kissing a human."

He chuckled. "No, I guess not."

They decided to step out of the workshop to talk more in private. (Y/N) looped her arm through Bernard's as they walked, a gesture that suddenly felt much more intimate than it had before.

"I guess it goes without saying that I can't tell anyone about this," she said. "Not even my parents."

"No. Which I know is a big ask, but we can't have the secret of Santa going around," Bernard explained.

"Not like anyone would believe me. They'd think I was crazy if I went home talking about how my brother in law is Santa and how I started crushing on one of his elves. They'd sent me to an institute for sure."

Bernard smiled at her word choice. So she had liked him this whole time, too. Had it been obvious? Or had she been trying to contain it just as much as he did?

"How...would things work...for us then?" she asked.

It was the question he was dreading. The one he continued to ask himself despite knowing the answer to: it wouldn't. He couldn't let (Y/N) hold on to him when she left the Pole. She'd likely never see him again, which was for the best.

Seeing the look on his face, (Y/N) stopped. "No, do not tell me it's not going to work."

"It can't work, (Y/N). There's too much complications between a human and an elf being romantically linked. It's never happened before, and for good reason."

"There's a first for everything."

He shook his head. "No, there can't be a first for this. I can't let you throw away any other romantic opportunities you have for me. We may never see each other after this visit."

"My sister is married to Santa. There's no way I'm not coming back after this. And besides, long distance relationships are a thing."

"This one would be...very long distance."

She slid her arm from his and took his hand in hers. "I'm willing to try. I like you too much to give up without a fight."

Every rational part of his brain was screaming for him to stop. He could not let things go further. It was better for her if they ended everything after that first kiss and went hteir separate ways.

But the less rational part of his brain was louder than the rest, telling him not to give up this chance at happiness outside of work. He deserved to love and to be loved, just like anyone else in the world. If it worked for Scott, it had to work for him too, right?

He sighed and squeezed her hands. "It won't be easy."

"I don't expect it to be."

"You won't be able to be here a lot unless you're willing to give up everything the way Carol did."

"That's fine, we can make that work."

"And if you do end up coming here permanently, you can't tell anyone who I really am, or who Scott and Carol really are. You'll have to lie to everyone in your life. Is that something you can be okay with?"

(Y/N) stepped closer to him so that their noses were nearly touching. "I'm already lying about Scott and Carol. What's one more lie about the man I love?"

Love.

It was enough for him to abandon all hope at resisting her. He closed the space between them, kissing her again so passionately that it made her head spin. She wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself, while he wrapped his arms around her waist.

He could've kissed her forever. He could've stood there, wrapped around her and her wrapped around him, the cold nipping at them but barely bothering them, forever. He wanted to take this moment and freeze it, to never have to go back to his busy life as Santa's right hand elf ever again.

But she pulled away first, resting her forehead against his.

"I did promise my mom a girl's day," she said with a sigh. "And I think if I blow her off for this, she'll probably actually kill me."

"I guess I'll have to let you go then."

But he didn't, and she didn't let go of him. They laughed and kissed again.

It would be another several minutes before he would finally (and reluctantly) let her go.

[shirefantasies]

Hello, may I please request fem reader x Elrond? With reader that is quite avoidant when it comes to touch, but accepts hugs and kisses from Elrond? I hope it is okay 👉👈 thank you so much in advance, have a wonderful day 💕💕💕💕

Yes, sorry this took so long but here we are! Hope you enjoy how this came to me, a one-shot featuring a third party POV as well as ‘yours’ 😊

The Steel Lady of Imladris- Elrond x F!Elf!Reader

It was known to the surrounding lands that in the Last Homely House one might be surprised by whom they meet; the lord of the land, after all, had a lady by his side, one whose presence was said to carry the chill of a harsh wind with her presence. Resolute as her home's walls, she cut quite the contrast to the hearths always said to be awaiting visitors of the fair valley. Perhaps she was even a witch like the one dwelling in the woods of Lórien.

Such were the rumors swirling in the mind of Rivendell's dwarven visitor, called there as he was to offer his people's wise council. Ha! What was it that had those pointy-ears finally asking for their help Gimli did not know, but happy was he to attend with his father at his side.

Riding in with his kin, he took in sailing white arches and a very well-constructed bridge, hearing his father mutter all the while about how nothing had changed. He had stopped there once before some sixty years ago, after all, during the dragon incident.

A whole gaggle of elves awaited there, some armored but most just decked out in their pretty finery, one clad in white emerging from the center with a deep blue-clad figure upon his arm. Long, elaborately twisted strands of dark hair hung onto his raiment and a circlet of silver crossed his forehead. Likewise, the woman at his side had what hair she could done with equal finesse, a matching headpiece, and a dress more closely tailored than the lord's robes. Elrond and his consort, the so-called Steel Lady of Imladris.

Sure enough, fair as you were your face was resolute as you stepped forward, practical even as you curtsied, surrendering the smallest of smiles. Ready for a fight as he was, Gimli wasn’t sure he’d want to take you on. At least, not without the proper head start and all.

You flinched as Gloin clapped a hand to your back, stepping forward in utter avoidance of his touch. Disrespectful though it may have seemed, you equally avoided one of your elven fellows’ advances. Gimli shook his head. Cold as they came.

~

Alright, fine, maybe this wing of the place was a little confusing. He still could figure it out for himself. One more corridor and it would be golden-

“Trouble yourself not, My Lady.”

Tilting his head, Gimli took a few steps forward, was availed the sight of Lord Elrond…holding you at the elbows, pulling you closer? The sound of… you giggling?

He’d turned away, but that sound along had Gimli swiveling around the corner again. Your head tilted and leaned onto the dark-haired elf’s shoulder. A smile cut further across your face as his lips fell to the crown of your head.

“You needn’t spend any more time in the crowds than you must. It was simply right to have you at my side for greetings.”

“I like being at your side, though,” you whispered, peeling your head from Elrond’s chest to kiss him once, twice, and far more lingering.

All right, that was enough. Off to bed. Gimli turned, trying the other fork in the hall with a faint smile playing upon his lips. Steel Lady indeed.

~

“Greetings, Madam.”

Frowning slightly, you turned to see if your eyes had deceived you; they had not- one of the visiting dwarves removed his helmet in your presence, giving you a jolly little bow.

Generally you were…unsuccessful, shall you say… with guests. Aversion to touch had bloomed from the harsh experiences of your past life, making trust a challenge. No bearing upon their race or character, but outsiders posed a threat. Disrupting routines, bringing louder, brasher customs. Viewing you as either held in thrall to their impositions or else some myth beyond their metaphorical touch.

Elrond was the anchor in your vast sea of anxiety, the only one who saw through story, perceived emotion seemingly unexpressed. Displayed hope and kindness abundant as the cleanest of springs.

But now stood a dwarf of all people fixing you with earnest hazel eyes. Understanding. What should you do?

A smile shook its way to your lips. “Good morning,” you chose a customary greeting. Standard, safe.

“Aye,” the dwarf nodded, “it is, isn’t it? Well, I know you elves like to keep time, so I'll be off to breakfast before there is none. Tell me your favorite and I will save you some if I can."

Stranger or not, you were sure anyone could have read the shock upon your face. Shaking it quickly aside, you kept your face neutral as you named it and gave a thanks. As the dwarf went on his way, he bid you his final farewell by your title, yes, but also your name. They didn't usually use your name.

Light footsteps rang out behind you, barely perceptible even by your sensitive ears. "And what was that about, hm?" Elrond.

Tension melted from your shoulders as the curious little quirk of your lips burst into a wide smile. Turning on your heels, you slid your arms about your husband's waist, relaxing when his hand caressed the top of your head.

"The dwarf," you answered, "he was so kind. Not in that rough way so often seen, but...genuine. Caring. Like he wanted to see me smile. Could someone have challenged him?"

You feel your husband's head shake. "How many times must I remind you," he teased, "of the light that lies in your eyes? That which reaches deepest into the heart. Surely he felt no challenge than that. Indeed, I would say he simply sees you as I do."

Heart thumping, you loosened your grip on Elrond to meet his lips in a loving kiss, safe in the warmth of his words and his hold upon you. Bit by bit he encouraged you to be brave, never leaving you adrift for long, you reflected as he took your hand, bidding you lead the way to the greater halls at your ready.

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @mossthebogwitch @ibabblealot @kilibaggins @joonies-word @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia | Reply/Ask/Message to join 🥰

[elfy-elf-imagines]

— In the Fields of Poppy | Thranduil *✧･ﾟ

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff and Angst (mentions of death and the aftermath of war)

▹ Words: ~2k

▹ Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies, you have a chance encounter with the King.

▹ Notes: This is unedited because we die as men! Also because I'm sleep deprived rn. Let me know what you thought!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The carnage had been terrible; the aftermath of the battle more brutal than any recount would ever fully capture. 

Broken stained glass mosaics formed with blood from all sides of the battle glistened in the sun. There was a heavy fog that clung to the ground, the wails of survivors finding the corpses of their loved ones. You couldn’t focus on it, blocking out as much of the noise as possible. Later you would feel the weight of the lives lost, you were certain, but for now, there was work to be done. 

You kneeled before the squirming body of a dwarven soldier, too delirious off his own pain to scorn the healing of an elvish maid. There was a cut on his leg that was bleeding profusely, his skin showing the beginning signs of infection from the poison the orcs used. He was muttering in Khuzdul, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. His eyes were locked on the sun, and if there weren’t other grievous injuries taking priority, you would’ve reminded him to not stare at the sun. But who cares for blindness if you’re already dead?

With ghost-like touches and careful concentration, you placed the healing salve on his leg, cleaning the wound as best you could beforehand. He hissed in pain from the contact, his eyes no longer looking at the sun but at you. He continued to speak in Khuzdul, this time at you, with spite and pain written on his face. You weren’t concerned, continuing to work as you numbed yourself to your surroundings. 

A group of elven soldiers marched past you, carrying the body of their fallen comrade, faces stricken with grief. Your eyes darted away from the sight and returned your attention to carefully wrapping your patient’s leg with bandages. 

“I don’t have anything for the pain, I’m afraid,” you said to him, briefly meeting his eyes that went back to looking at the sun. He muttered incoherently, and while he spoke Common this time, his words were lost on you. 

Tying the final bandage, you then began the same work on the rest of his wounds. More wails and more dead bodies carried from the battlefield, but you blocked it all out. There was no time to be swallowed in the suffering. Once all his wounds had been tended to and your dress was drenched in the blood of another patient, you stood from the ground. A dwarven soldier rushed forward to bring his comrade to the tents where the injured were resting. Words of thanks fell from his mouth, but you had already turned away, moving towards the next person. 

This time it was an elf, so young he couldn’t be more than a century old. Old enough to serve in the guard but too young to die; it made you sick to your stomach. There was a gash near his neck, the veins around it turning black. The poison had already gotten into his system; it was only a matter of time before it took him. Yet you kneeled beside him and gently placed his head in your lap as you began cleaning the wound. 

Unlike the dwarf from before, his eyes met yours, a grin on his lips. It looked out of place on his face, contorted into pain. He spoke softly in elvish, reciting an old song that mothers usually sang to their children when putting them to bed. As the cold salve touched his neck, he froze up, twitching slightly at the sensation.

Silence enveloped the two of you, he no longer sang, yet his eyes stayed on you. A stray piece of hair had fallen from your messy braid, the elf reaching up and grabbing it. He held it between his fingers, mouth parted and eyes a thousand miles away. 

“Naneth--” he trailed off, muttering more incoherent words. You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to continue working as a spark of pain reactivated your cold heart. He called you mother; the poison must’ve already reached his head, making him see things that weren’t there. 

Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as you looked away to reach into your healer’s kit. He must’ve been so terrified as death came closer, seeking comfort in a mother that wasn’t even here. You didn’t have the heart to correct him. Let the boy have a small bit of comfort. 

With a strip of bandage in your hand, when your eyes went back to his body, his eyes were shut, and his breathing ceased. Dead. 

Your hand fell limp at your side, eyes unmoving from his face. He looked at peace, expression no longer twisted in pain. A shuttered breath escaped your mouth, the chill in the air allowing you to see it blow away. You stood with shaky legs and trembling hands, two soldiers approaching to take his body away.

You’d been a healer for as long as you could remember, training for this since you were a little elfling running wild. Time allowed you to become numb to tragedy, keeping a clear head to do what needed to be done. But the elven boy’s death managed to stab a needle right through your heart. He was so young and vibrant, his potential severed by senseless war. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, like the ashes of the bodies the humans were burning. 

The mud squashed beneath your feet, eyes unseeing. You were a ghost on the battlefield, blood-stained dress blowing in the wind. How did the other healers seem so emotionless? Was the bite of death something that lessened the more you were near it? In a few years, would you have a disposition that was nearly mechanical? A part of you hoped for that release, while the other part of you was terrified by it. 

You turned, eyes meeting the misty blues ones of King Thranduil. He stood a few feet away from you, a vision amongst the dead. Tall and noble, he looked every bit the king he was. Golden like the dawn, his hair was loose and messy, and his previously pristine armor was dirty with mud and blood, cuts and minor wounds marring his body. Yet he looked eerily perfect. 

His stare was heavy, yet you refused to be the one to look away. A hint of a smirk appeared on the edges of his lips as his head tilted to the side. Long and sure strides brought him closer to you while you stayed locked in place. The king stood before you, towering over your smaller form. You may have been on the taller side; he made you feel as though you were a hobbit.

“What is your name?” 

You lowered your head in a half-bow, a pathetic attempt to show respect, not entirely accustomed to the presence of royalty. 

“Y/N, my king.”  

He nodded, mouthing your name as if to commit it to memory.

“Do you live in Eryn Galen? I have never seen you.”

“I grew up in Lothlorien, where I spent most of my life before training to be a healer in Imladris. I have only recently moved to Eryn Galen.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows and clasped his hands behind his back. 

“How lucky we are to have a student of Lord Elrond among us.” You could discern if his words were patronizing or genuine, his tone not betraying his intentions. 

“I did not train under Lord Elrond personally.” You felt the need to correct him, not wanting him to think you of a higher station than you were.

“But your teachers were overseen by him, were they not?”

You nodded.

“Then you were trained by Lord Elrond, even if he himself didn’t oversee your education.” 

A small smile appeared on your lips, and you nodded. “I have no choice but to agree; who would I be to disagree with a king.”

A coy smile pulled on the edges of his lips as his eyes shone. 

“A foolish woman is who you would be. Walk with me?” It was phrased as a question, but he didn’t wait for your answer. His long strides carried him towards camp, and you had no choice but to follow.   

“Tell me, do you plan on staying in Eryn Galen long?” His voice was crisp but quiet enough that only you could hear them.

“I do. I have grown fond of the people and its forest.” You spoke genuinely and truthfully. The wood elves were reclusive and suspicious, but once you broke through those barriers, they were full of merriment and loyalty. You cherished the relationships you had already formed and were eager for more. 

“Even in its sickly state,” his tone was sardonic but not enough to hide the pain in his voice. How terrible it must’ve been to see his home twisted into something so evil while powerless to stop it. 

“I believe there is still hope for it to be returned to health.”

Thranduil stopped in his tracks, eyes meeting yours. You stopped as well, patiently waiting for what he may say next. His expression was unreadable, eyes searching yours for the answers to questions you didn’t know. 

Wherever he was searching for, it sent shivers down your spine and made goosebumps form on your arms. The moonlight was kind to him, bathing him in a silvery light that made him look like the elves of Lothlorien who always seemed to shine. You felt your heart stutter as butterflies formed in your stomach. 

It could’ve been a trick of the light, but you could’ve sworn there was a hint of affection in his bright eyes. After the death of his wife, rumors spread of his cold demeanor and harshen disposition. But now, before you, none of those adjectives seemed suited for him. As soft as the stars and as beautiful as the moon, how could he be anything but good and kind?

“I hope that you are right.” He finally broke the silence, eyes raising to the sky before he continued walking, and just as before, you matched his strides. Neither of you spoke, relishing in the silence after a terrible day full of death and terror. 

Finally, the both of you stopped in front of the tent that was yours.

“It was good to meet you today, Y/N. I hope to see you again; I find your company pleasant and your conversation enjoyable.”

A red flush made your face warm, and a child-like grin appeared on your lips. As light as a feather, you would’ve floated away had the king not grabbed your hand, delicately placing a kiss on your knuckles. 

When he released your hand, you lowered into a half curtsey, the movement not as fluid due to your dress that was stiff from the dried blood covering it. 

“It was an honor to speak with you, my king. I wish you a good rest tonight.” 

He smirked in a way that made your flush deepen.

“And if I find it difficult to find rest, will you brew me a tea to lull me to sleep.” 

“Herbology happens to be my specialty.” 

Thranduil gave a single, firm nod, yet his eyes never moved from yours. The affection you’d seen before was brighter, easier seen in the dim lighting. And you were certain your eyes portrayed the same attraction. Could this be the beginning of something wonderful?

“Then I shall know who to call upon in my hour of need.” He lowered into a full bow, his cloak billowing around him. You took a step back, a bout of giggle escaping your mouth. Who would’ve thought the stern king had a sense of humor?

“Farewell, my lady.” 

He then swept off further into the camp, and you stayed in your spot, watching his form disappear, only moving once you could no longer see him. You turned and entered your tent, hand placed upon your flushed cheek. As you readied yourself for bed, the encounter with Thranduil replayed in your mind. And suddenly, you found yourself dancing alone, unable to push back your excitement. 

And as you lay in bed and shut your eyes, you desperately hoped this would only be the beginning and not where the story would end. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Tags: @jmablurry | @lunatichaotiche | @aearonnin | @emiliessketches | @vibratingbones | @moony-artnstuff | @ranhanabi777 | @kenobiguacamole | @ceinelee | @thranduil | @samnblack | @abbiesthings | @Strangebananabatranch | @bitter--fruit | @keijibum | @lifestylesleep | @themerriweathermage | @im-a-muggleborn | @sweetheart-syndrome | @boyruins | @AwkwardBecomesYou | @delyeceamaitare |

[deadshadowcreature]

I think Otta would be very likely to hit on Packpatty instead of Mayjack

[theviridianbunny]

Painted Leather Battle Jacket by @preemshots and beaniebby - coming soon ~

[felrend]

She can glare all she wants, I know she loves me

[gloomyearthling]

Scars - A BG3 One-Shot

WARNING: story implies/ references SA, discussions of emotional and physical trauma, descriptions of scars and self-harm-related themes, mild references to violence, and mild sexual themes.

WC: 2765

PAIRING: Astarion & my OC Alluna Duskfire

RATING: Mature -- meaning people 18 and up can only read this.

SUMMARY: In a quiet moment under the stars, Alluna Duskfire and Astarion find themselves confronting the emotional and physical scars left by their pasts. What begins as a meaningless encounter turns into a vulnerable exchange of pain and understanding, as both realize they share more than just battle wounds. Together, they discover that healing doesn’t always come from solitude, but from finding someone who understands your brokenness.

Astarion was supposed to be just another one-night stand, another meaningless encounter with someone who wanted to use her for something. The spawn pretended to genuinely care for her, but Alluna knew better. It was a game she had played since the… incident. So, when he approached her with his signature smirk, his voice low and husky as he described the wonderful night they were going to have, how he was going to make her feel, Alluna accepted. She knew damn well it was all a façade. He didn’t want her—he wanted her protection, her loyalty. And she? She just wanted a night to blow off steam, to feel something that wasn’t the empty hollowness that had taken root inside her.

Someone, a long time ago, had taken her happiness, her self-respect, her will to live. These days, she was careless, impulsive, with little regard for her own life. Her companions often chastised her, accusing her of endangering not only herself but the mission as a whole. But Alluna didn’t care. It was all a means to an end.

Thankfully, the pale elf didn’t judge her. If anything, he revelled in her self-destructive tendencies. Whether because he saw himself in her or because he enjoyed watching her unravel, she neither knew nor cared.

He didn’t try to save her like Wyll and Halsin, didn’t scold her like Shadowheart or Lae’zel, didn’t offer comfort like Karlach or logic like Gale. He simply let her be, sometimes even partaking in her reckless escapades. His ambitions were separate from hers, but they both shared that approach-life-with-careless-abandon attitude, and that was all she needed. In fact, she found herself enjoying things more when he was around. He was a breath of fresh air compared to the other killjoys in the party.

But Alluna knew their blossoming friendship wasn’t real. They were both using each other—he needed protection against his former master, and she needed a companion to be reckless with.

As evening approached, she mentally prepared herself. This is just a means to an end. It’s transactional. That’s all. Yet despite the pep talk, her nerves tingled. She felt... nervous.

Alluna chalked it up to the long, trying day and settled into her bedroll. She noticed Astarion grinning at her, his eyes raking up and down her body. Tonight’s the night. She matched his seductive gaze, even biting her lip for added effect. Everyone else she had been with reacted in kind—desire, lust, hunger swirling in their eyes. Some would blow her kisses, others winked, but they always reacted.

Astarion was different. Even though he smiled, there was something behind his eyes. It wasn’t lust. It was something else. Something Alluna was familiar with but had long since buried.

I’m imagining it. You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger. She shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside as she lay on her back, staring up at the stars. They were breath-taking, but she felt nothing. She rolled to her side, her mind drifting back to when she used to stargaze with him. It had been their favourite pastime. They’d lie beneath the stars and talk about the future they’d build together. He had wanted to marry her, to have children with her.

No. Don’t give him the time of day. She clenched her jaw, forcing the memory away. He’s far away now. Forget him.

She focused on the fire instead, watching the flames dance, casting a warm glow over her companions’ sleeping forms. The sound of gentle and loud snores soon filled the camp. Everyone was asleep. Astarion seemed to notice too, because he stood and slowly made his way over to where Alluna lay.

Showtime.

He knelt beside her, gently shaking her shoulder. She peered up, grinning at him.

“We’ve waited long enough, darling…” he purred, his voice like velvet.

Alluna sat up, her smile growing. “I agree. But where should we go?”

“Oh, I know a place…” He stood and slowly made his way toward the forest, pausing momentarily to glance coyly over his shoulder. “Follow me, lover.”

She rose to her feet, careful not to wake her slumbering companions, and quickly but silently chased after him. He led her through the woods until they reached a clearing. Along the way, he whispered sweet nothings, his words soft and seductive, carefully crafted to draw her in. Alluna knew exactly what he was doing, sweetening her up so she’d follow a literal vampire into the dark woods under the pretense of pleasure. And she went willingly, knowing he wouldn’t harm her. Strangely enough, she trusted him.

“Stay here,” he whispered in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m going to get myself ready.”

He pulled away, his smirk never faltering as he backed into the shadows. Yet, beneath that grin, there was something else. A flicker of effort, as though he were hiding something. A mask carefully curated for this moment, but underneath... something stirred. Something that tugged at a familiar place deep inside Alluna.

She forced herself to stay in the present, tuning out the sensation. As he disappeared behind a tree, she began undressing, assuming he was doing the same. Once she was down to her undergarments, she adjusted her top to cover her chest just as Astarion reappeared, stepping out from behind the tree in nothing but his pants. Alluna’s eyes wandered, taking him in. She had to admit, he was beautiful—the way his hair curled around his ears, the lines that formed in the rare moments when he laughed. It always made her heart flutter.

“I see you’ve partially undressed yourself for me. Do you need help with the rest?” His voice broke her trance.

Alluna glanced up at him, forcing a smile. “No, I like to keep my bra on. Just a preference.”

It was the same thing she told all her past lovers when they asked. The bra covered her chest, concealing her scars, which some found infuriating. But not Astarion. In fact, if anything, he looked... relieved. No, that can’t be right. You’re just misreading him.

He stepped closer, stopping just inches from her. They stood like that for a moment, taking in each other’s presence before Alluna reached out and gently ran her hand down his chest. The anxiety she’d felt earlier returned, bubbling up, refusing to fade despite her best efforts to push it away. She actually felt nervous about what was about to happen with Astarion, though she couldn’t understand why.

“So, are you ready for the best night of your life, darling?” he whispered, his fingers tracing lightly down her arm, sending a shiver through her.

She nodded, tilting her head up to meet his kiss. The moment their lips touched, her heart fluttered in a way it hadn’t in years—not since him. Alluna pushed the thought away, burying it beneath the desire she felt for the vampire. She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him to deepen the kiss. They broke apart only briefly to shed the rest of their clothes—aside from her bra—before their lips met again. Astarion lifted her effortlessly, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he pressed her back against a tree.

The bark dug into her skin, but she didn’t care. She pushed against the tree, making Astarion stumble backward and fall to the ground. Grinning, she straddled him, leaning down to tenderly kiss him. He responded in kind, rolling them over so she was beneath him. She chuckled, wrapping her arms around him—and froze when her hands brushed over his scars.

Her brows furrowed as she traced the rough, angry marks on his back. Astarion tensed beneath her touch. She explored the scars further, her fingertips lingering on the damaged skin. Alluna’s heart skipped a beat as she pulled away, looking into his eyes.

For a fleeting moment, something unreadable flashed across his face before his mask slid back into place. “What’s the matter, darling? I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

Alluna hesitated, torn between ignoring the scars and asking him about them. But the ache from her own long-healed wounds throbbed, reminding her of that horrible night.

He must have noticed her expression because he pulled back, his grin faltering into a frown—not one of anger or disappointment, but of fear, like a child awaiting punishment for a crime they hadn’t meant to commit.

“Astarion, what happened?” Alluna’s voice was soft, cautious.

He crossed his arms over his chest, as if physically closing himself off from her. His eyes flicked away, avoiding hers as he shrugged. “Something Cazador gave me,” he muttered, his voice small but tinged with anger—though it wasn’t directed at her.

She hesitated, sensing his unease, his weariness. Alluna had spent so long in her own trance, feeling hollow, numb. That emptiness had driven her to act rashly, to seek brushes with death just to feel something. She had built a wall around her emotions after what he had done to her—an impenetrable barrier that kept everything locked inside.

“Why did he do that to you?” she asked, though it wasn’t the question she truly wanted to ask. She didn’t feel like it was her place to ask to see his scars.

Astarion scoffed, sitting back on his heels. “I don’t know. He said it was a poem.” A haunting look crossed his face. “He made... a lot of revisions that night.”

A cold chill ran down her spine, bringing with it the phantom ache of her own scars, as though they were freshly carved into her skin. An unwanted memory surged to the surface, threatening to pull her under, no matter how hard she fought against it.

The night she got the scars. The night he took everything from her.

Her breath hitched as the weight of the memory pressed down on her chest, suffocating her. She could almost hear his voice—the same voice that once promised her everything, only to destroy her completely. She remembered the emptiness, how the world had closed in on her, how the walls of her reality had collapsed, shattering her sense of safety and self like fragile glass.

She had never felt so small, so helpless, so... lost.

And then, as the night had dragged into morning, she remembered lying there, motionless. He hadn’t been finished with her yet. He had wanted to leave a parting gift. A memento for her to remember him by—scars carved into her chest. A reminder, he had said, of the night she wished she could forget.

Even now, the ghost of that night haunted her, lingering in every reckless decision, every impulsive act, every time she shoved the pain down, refusing to let it rise to the surface.

Hot tears streaked her cheeks, pulling her back to the present. Astarion was watching her. She hastily wiped the tears away, but the confusion in his eyes was clear as they sat there, illuminated by the pale moonlight, surrounded by the quiet forest. Her hand, which had instinctively rested over the scars on her chest, finally fell to her lap as her bottom lip quivered.

The silence between them felt heavy, suffocating. Neither of them dared to speak, as if the words were too fragile for the moment. But Alluna knew that this silence wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, they would have to face it. They couldn’t stay in this moment, frozen by fear and uncertainty, forever.

An idea popped into Alluna’s head—one that felt absurd, but in a way, made sense. “Y-You’re not the only one with scars, Astarion…” she whispered.

His brows furrowed. “What?” It was all he could manage, and she didn’t blame him. The night had been confusing for both of them.

Reluctantly, and with trembling hands, she began undoing her brassiere. Her nerves screamed at her to stop, but her body refused to comply, as though acting on instinct. Deep down, beneath the anxiety, the pain, the uncertainty, she trusted him. Somehow, she knew he would understand her plight—her pain, her fear. As his gaze softened, she saw the same emotions reflected in his eyes. It was as if he felt exactly what she did.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked, his voice tentative.

“I don’t know,” Alluna murmured, shaking her head. “I just… feel like this is something I need to do.”

With that, she removed her shield—her protection.

Her body tensed, and her arms instinctively rose to cover herself. She fought against it, forcing herself to let him see her wounds, her shame. His features softened as he looked from the scars on her chest to her eyes. Part of her had expected to see pity or disgust, but instead, there was only understanding. He knew her pain. He felt it himself—just as she had known he would.

“What did that to you?” he asked softly, though Alluna hesitated. She didn’t want to answer. But a part of her felt compelled to.

“His name is Romaran,” she whispered, his name tasting like poison on her tongue. “We were… engaged to be married. He promised me the world.” Her voice caught in her throat as she stifled a sob. “The bastard promised me everything. He said we’d have a beautiful future together, with a big house and children.” She let out a bitter laugh, and Astarion listened patiently, giving her the space to continue at her own pace—something she was grateful for.

“One night, he… I don’t know, he just snapped. He…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. “He had his way with me. Then, he carved these into my chest. ‘A reminder of the beautiful night we spent together,’ he said.”

Alluna’s fingers grazed the mangled flesh. While she carried the physical and emotional scars of that night, Romaran was living comfortably in Baldur’s Gate. He had the house. He had the wife and children. What did she have? A worm in her skull and a mountain of baggage shoved into a box deep inside her mind.

Astarion's voice broke the silence. “Cazador forced me to lure pretty things back to him with my body. I had no say in the matter. I had to obey him or face his wrath…” His face twisted with rage as he looked down at his hands. “I must’ve sent hundreds to their deaths.”

He paused, his voice quieter now, almost trembling. “I hated every moment of it. But I had no choice. I was just a tool to him, nothing more. I was... disposable.” His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms. “Every smile, every word I whispered—it wasn’t me. It was him. And I’d watch as their trust in me became their doom.”

He looked away, shame etched into every line of his face. “I didn’t even get to decide when I fed. That was his choice, too. I was nothing but a puppet, a body for him to use, again and again.”

Alluna chuckled bitterly, though there was no humour in it. “Looks like we’re both damaged goods.” She wanted to cry, but there were no tears. Only emptiness.

Astarion nodded solemnly. “It would seem so.”

Alluna glanced over at him and exhaled shakily. “Not how I imagined this night going.”

He laughed softly, a genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“D-Do you think it would be okay if… if we just lay here for a while?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “We don’t have to touch or anything, I just… I don’t think I can go back to camp feeling like this.”

Astarion nodded, looking like he was on the verge of breaking himself. She gave him a shaky smile as he moved closer. They lay down side by side, their shoulders barely touching as they stared up at the stars. As the night stretched on, they gradually gravitated toward one another until Alluna was wrapped in his arms.

For the first time in a long while, both of them felt a small measure of safety. Of peace. Tonight, they weren’t fighters, or lovers, or survivors. They were just two broken pieces of a puzzle that somehow fit together—not perfectly, but enough to pass as whole.

They stayed that way until the sun peeked through the trees, bringing the forest to life. Birds chirped, squirrels chittered, and unseen creatures scurried about their morning. Eventually, they pulled apart, slipping back into their clothes. They smiled at each other—not the false, guarded smiles they had perfected, but genuine ones.

Whatever this was between them was uncharted territory—scary and uncertain. But it was also exciting, filled with the promise of hope.

A/N: Man, I'm so nervous about posting this. But this has been an idea I've had for a few days now. Also, this is my first one-shot I've ever written. So, lemme know what you thought! But, be gentle, I did my absolute best to be careful with how I describe things. I wanted to go more into the emotional aspect of this story rather than the trauma. Anyway, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed reading it.

[skunkes]

hidden blessing that ive not been able to or wanted to cosplay until neow bc Dressing Up As Boy Character and being recognized as such has ramped up the desire for HRT exponentially .

[dark-elf-writes]

Au where the remnants are actually children and Cloud takes them in because like hell is he going to let three Sephiroth kind of clones be raised in the same conditions that made Sephiroth this goes well until Sephiroth comes back to destroy the planet again and sees Cloud with three kids that look just like him and is doing math in his head like

[rennybu]

WIP from our last session!! when u roll a 6 strength to get the mask off <3 thank you for the horrors @jawsandbones

[furute]

if you were to tell me a week ago that i would be making trolls fanart in the near future i would not believe you

i drew these all in pencil then colored with the magical ibis paint x app because i was not about to use markers

e boy

[yourlocaltoad]

Artwork of the cards from Skylanders: Battlecast (Skylanders: Battlecast, 2016) (pt6)battlecast cards

[breadedsinner]

Ok love and light but why do you want that? In a series about playing how you like, why does being the default give you satisfaction?

[savaralyn2]

[floodkiss]

my circle of stars druid, YOLAN, and my college of glamour bard, MIFFY ⋆⭒˚｡⋆