#my beloved ugly son. beautiful in my eyes

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Jealousy

Fill for #7 on this list featuring poor Rolan watching his fiancée get hit on at a ball. He decides to do something about it. NSFW.

“Rolan, at least try to smile, sweetie.” His fiancée’s mother lightly chided the Master of Ramazith’s Tower. He, Amelie, and her mother were attending yet another boring ball hosted by idiots. He was already in a sour mood when they arrived. There’s been a setback in repairing the glass observation dome at the tower. There was a parade of rude customers in the shop today. These new dress boots are hurting my damn feet. The wine here is piss.

But then he saw something that made him seethe.

His beautiful, perfect fiancée was speaking to a human noble who was standing too close.

Too, too close.

Amelie very clearly knew the gentleman, chuckling softly at something he said.

He had not felt it in the months, not since their engagement was announced and her companions went their separate ways.

A dark, ugly feeling in the pit of his stomach.

She is mine. MINE.

“Rolan, there’s…oh dear. Off he goes.” The countess laughed, shaking her head, watching her future son-in-law stride with purpose across the ballroom.

Heart pounding in his chest, Rolan downed the rest of his wine and placed the chalice on a tray before resuming his mission.

Yes, mission.

To save my beloved from…someone she knows and is happily speaking to.

Turning her head, the half-elf caught his glance and grinned. “Oh Stannik, this is my fiancé Rolan—”

He as discreetly as possible wrapped an arm around her ample waist, his hand resting on a hip. “I don’t mean to interrupt,” he began as politely as possible. “But may I borrow you, my dear?”

Borrow.

As if I should have to borrow my future wife from an ingrate like this “Stannik.”

As if I should have to be gracious when he was CLEARLY flirting with her.

As if I should have to be a gentleman at all times…

Unaware of her fiancée’s inner turmoil, Amelie smiled at him. “Of course, love.” She looked at the human and nodded. “Please excuse me.”

Pleasantries out of the way FINALLY, Rolan guided her out of the ballroom.

“Rolan, is something wrong?”

There must be a private room somewhere…

“Are you alright, love?”

I am FINE AND DANDY, sweetling.

There!

He hastily unlocked the door, which turned out to be a washroom. Both now inside, he locked the door.

For privacy, of course.

Amelie barely opened her mouth before his lips crashed into hers.

Mine.

Mine.

My Amelie.

She is mine.

All mine.

Forever mine.

My intellect, my talent, my heart, my soul, my body…all belong to her.

She is mine as I am hers.

Breaking the kiss and completely breathless, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “Rolan, what has gotten into you?”

He truly wished to say, “You.”

Instead, he huffed, “He was flirting with you, Mia! And I was standing across the room! Watching him! Flirt with you!” His hands stayed firmly on her hips, which he noticed were fuller than they were previously. She told me yesterday that she’s the happiest she’s ever been. Happy and content with our life together.

She blinked. “Was he?”

Rolan groaned. “Darling, really!”

“How was I supposed to know? He’s always been nice to talk to at these things, but I never thought he would flirt with me.” She frowned. “I’m sorry?”

FUCK.

You idiot.

You fool.

You utter swine!

“No, no, no darling. That’s not what I meant. I’m not blaming you in the slightest. I simply—”

A manicured nail touched his lips, silencing him. Any trace of sadness and confusion in her golden eyes was gone and replaced with amusement. And lust. Gods. “You simply wished to remind Stannik that I’m your fiancée and not his? That I’m going to marry you and not him?” She closed the admittedly small gap between them, her body flushed against his. Hands once again on his shoulders, her lips curled into a smile. More like a smirk, you saucy little— “That I’ve given you my all and not him?”

He nodded. “Y-yes.”

“Did you want to take me in the middle of the ballroom, my love?” she whispered against his lips. “Scream that I’m your Mistress of Ramazith’s Tower?” Amelie captured him in a quick kiss before she let out a squeak as he gripped her hips and forced her backwards against the sink.

Chuckling heartily, Rolan pawed at the hem of her gown. A light and airy rose pink gown with various embroidered summer flowers. Another piece from Astarion. “No, but I do want to take you here, sweetheart.” He began to pull at her smalls, getting off and placing them on the counter. He then grunted as he undid his trousers. “Going to show you…how much I…” How much I love you. How much I desire you. How much I need you.

Bringing his face to hers, she kissed him slowly as he lined himself to her entrance, gasping at how bloody wet she is. Zurgan, she’s going to be the death of me. Moans escaped their lips as his ridged member slid inside her. “Rolan…take me, love…”

As you wish.

He was going much faster than he would have been if they were at home and not in a washroom at a ball, much to his dismay. Still though, I’ll make her feel wonderful. How could I not? With a few deep thrusts, he came just as she did. His hold on her remained firm as she was more than a little unsteady. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you, sweetling. I’ve got you.”

Long, soft arms around his neck, his fiancée nodded wordlessly, still catching her breath.

I will always have you, dearest. Always.

“I do believe this is the longest time we’ve gone with you cleaning us after lovemaking, my handsome wizard.” Amelie teased.

Gods, I love seeing her like this---happy, carefree, full of joy.

He grimaced and then muttered the spell. “I barely call whatever that was lovemaking, sweetheart. It was barely a fuck.”

A wave of giggles erupted from her as she kissed all over his cheeks and mouth.

Perfectly content being in a washroom with her future husband.

Certainly better than going back to that bloody ball.

[del-thetiredwriter]

Do you love me

Afterwards:say you love me , part 3 or something like that ?

Warning: Disturbing themes,Depression, miscarriage, character death,bad writing…

English is my second language

GIF NOT MINE. If it's yours, please come claim credit or let me know if you want me to remove it

Notes: Just me enjoying Aegons suffer. Really I like tragedy.

The only daughter of her mother Rhaenyra, the apple of the eye of the house Velaryon , the realms beauty , the pure , perfect , loved by all and more these were the adjectives that defines y/n Velaryon.

For Aegon, she was his sun. With Her warm smile and her gentle behavior that warms his heart, his hope light.

He shouldn't have loved someone as ugly as himself and a pure beauty like you, but his greed was getting in the way. He liked the way you warn them when he and your brothers when bully Aemond because that was the only way he could talk to you. He was jealous of the attention you gave your siblings,Aemond and Helaena. He just wanted you to look at him, talk to him, dedicate yourself to him.

Then something happened that he couldn't believe. The gods he doesn't believe in must have taken pity on him because his father, Visersy, proposed a marriage proposal between you and him to prevent tensions between blacks and greens. Aegon agreed without hesitation, and you accepted for your family. He confessed to you on your wedding night.

-

“I love you”

He looked at you to see your reaction. He saw your gentle smile warm eyes. Then you spoke

“Me too. I love you “

-

Your marriage wasn't so bad after all. Although you didn't see your family very often, you were not alone and your beloved husband, Aegon, would not have left you alone for a moment. Although Aegon was the happiest in marriage, Alicent was as happy with it as her son. You took such good care of her son. Her son had changed his drinking habits a little bit, he wasn't drinking as much as he used to, he was cleaner thanks to your efforts. He hasn't been interested in prostitutes at all since you got married.

Aegon was happy. Everything was going perfectly. He loved you, you loved him, and you were pregnant. Sometimes Aegon thought he was dreaming of a perfect life that couldn't be real...

-

Then you got the news that ended your perfect life.

“Lucersy Velaryon is dead. At Storm's End-"

When you heard the news, your head started to spin. ‘Is my brother Lucersy dead? No it can't be' then your eyes went black and you passed out.

-

Nothing has been the same since that damn night. You were unhappy. You didn't want to do your daily activities such as eating or walking. The only thing keeping you alive was the child in your womb. This did not go unnoticed by Aegon.

-

You were getting ready for bed. You were combing your hair in front of the mirror. Then you saw a familiar silhouette behind you and your husband hugged you from behind.

"What's the problem?" ' Aegon asked, his voice a little twisted.

"What are you trying to say" you didn't look at him.

“Then why are you in this situation!”

Aegon turned your face to him. He saw your eyes, those eyes that were once filled with happiness were now filled with sorrow.

“I love you, you know that… do you love me?” ' asked Aegon.

“I love you, but my love for you is not strong enough to cover my brother's death, this war, this grief.”

Aegon hugged you. This is how the night ended.

-

Aegon thought it couldn't get any worse, but after the miscarriage, you seemed completely dead. Just thinking about that moment was enough to have a nightmare. You screamed desperately in tears on the bloody sheets on the bed… Aegon felt awful. His sun, his only lover, was fading . Your eyes had lost the light of life, you weren’t eating or drinking. And he couldn't do anything as your husband.

One night Aegon did something he shouldn't have done, drank more than usual and said things he shouldn't have said while drunk.

-

“I'm sick of this mourning! You are my wife! Take care of your husband! After all that hard work for you, this is the reward! I wish you were dead so you wouldn't bother me so much"

“…”

When Aegon looked at you, he instantly regretted his words.

"I am sorry. My tongue slipped. I love you I'm just a little tired so-"

He desperately hugged and kissed you.

"You love me don't you?"

“…”

This time you didn't answer, only your silence spoke. The night passed as quiet as the pre-death silence, save for Aegon's sobs and tears.

In the morning the whole court was awakened by Aegon's screams . When Queen Alicent entered the room, she found her son hugging tightly his wife with bloody hands. Aegon's only wife had committed suicide.

-

“Please open your eyes Y/n! I didn't mean it like that. I was drunk. Please do not leave me!"

Alicent was heartbroken at the sight of her son's desperate begs over his wife's body.

“Aegon she is dead” Alicent held out her hand to his son but Aegon slapped it harshly.

"No!" He said, hugging his dead wife's body tighter.

“Get out! Get out, I don't want anyone! Get out!”

-

No funeral was held Aegon was adamant not to give his lover's body. For the first two days, Aegon did not leave his chamber and did not let anyone into . On the third day, he was allowed to enter the chamber and was smiling. Alicent was horrified to see her son in this state.

“Aegon you-this-” she pointed to the dead woman.

“Oh mom it's okay my wife is just a little tired. She needs a rest.”

“Rest?! Aegon, this girl is dead!”

Aegon's smile dropped. He approached his mother.

“I think you misunderstood . She just needs a rest. Do you understand mom. Now cancel the funeral preparations, they are really getting on my nerves"

[targayrenss]

Green Skin (III) -Daemon Targaryen

pairing:Daemon Targaryen × Targaryen Oc

Content:Incest, Age-Gap,Angst

•••

Alicent Hightower was furious.

How dare this man steal his sweet daughter?

She had asked her husband to send men to look for her daughter, Daemon had to be punished for stealing her daughter.

her son lost an eye and her daughter was stolen that same night.

—It's a letter from princess alysanne—Alicent snatched the paper from her father.

Beloved mother She was sorry to worry you like that, but if she didn't that night, I know she would be forever sorry. Daemon and I are married, we had a Valyrian ceremony that was beautiful, my cuts are already healing, Daemon says that in a few days they will only be barely visible scars. I know you must be upset, he was sorry that he put you through all this, he hoped that one day you would forgive me if you are angry.

Tears stained the parchment, her poor daughter suffered the same as her.

•••

Rhaenyra had it all planned, she would take her uncle and her daughters to Dragonstone, she would make him her second husband and secure her throne.

but now she was here, in Dragonstone married to her lover, Harwin Strong, her half-sister had run off with her uncle.

Once again, the Hightowers have taken something from her.

She had to be happy, she is married to the father of her children, the man she supposedly loved, but she felt that she was missing something, someone.

•••

Alysanne is sitting on her husband's lap as she braids her hair.

"You know you can use other colors here, right?"

—I know, but I like green, it's the color of plants, and sometimes the water is green—he heard him laugh behind her.

"I guess I'll have to buy you a bunch of green dresses, I like how it looks with your hair."

“Aegon says it's ugly, that I'm not a true Targaryen like him or my other brothers.

"What a fucking idiot, how could I tell that something about you is ugly?" Daemon started spreading kisses all over his neck.

Alysanne turned so red that she almost matched the color of her hair.

She felt how she began to untie her dress, it had only been three days since they had become husband and wife and they had not yet consummated their marriage.

"Don't be nervous, sweet wife, I promise I'll be careful."

Alysanne had her head on the demon's chest, the man caressed her waist delicately.

"This isn't bad, is it? I mean, we don't have to feel guilty, right?"

I have killed thousands of men in battle, marrying the woman I love will not make me feel guilty for the first time in my life.

Daemon loved her?

Her heart racing, Alys nodded, then tried to get her to sleep.

[inchidentally]

Crown Prince Lando AU idea based entirely on his appearance today in Italy for his trophy and Lawrence writing about how every team is courting Lando

okay so I wrote this rly fast on the work laptop and you have to just ignore the weird interpretations of how royalty and inheritance etc works. and completely fucking with how things went down in F1 history. it's an absolute mess and possibly unreadable but I literally couldn't stop myself.

if you're a fic author then pleaaaaase have a look and see if you can take this and actually make anything out of it even if it needs a lot of changes.

Crown Prince Lando has been fought over by nations since he was seventeen years old. His parents had retired from royal duties to live quietly in the countryside but a series of deaths and lack of heirs resulted in Lando living most of his life being prepared for ascension to the throne. His parents did as good a job as they could to keep Lando humble and "normal" while having to live a kind of sequestered monastic existence.

As he grew so did his future subjects' love and adoration of him. They loved his humor and his cheeky treatment of the solemn institution surrounding him. As he grew into being a beauty the country took endless pride in him and watched his exploits as a touring royal closely.

Fernando Alonso was the first to pledge his troth to Prince Lando because he could see the promise in Lando of one day becoming a truly beloved ruler - a quality he himself had found wanting in his own slow gathering of power. However he was persuaded early on by his advisers and Lando's parents to withdraw due to his 'already advanced age'. Lando's debut at court was postponed by his parents to prevent any other establishment attempting to lay their claim before Lando felt comfortable and ready.

The powerful Sainz Vázquez de Castro family swooped in next and arranged a series of public meetings between Prince Lando and their wicked (meaning "experienced") and devastatingly handsome son Carlos Jr. His charisma and dark eyes charmed Prince Lando immediately and a wedding date was set for the following year. Lando's debut at court was hastily arranged to happen mere days prior. Probably should insert something here about Lando being made to live this period of life in a guarded tower and attendants being present whenever he was with Carlos because chastity being required for marriage. And the only way to keep Carlos' dick out of Lando was the threat of a priest's guard cutting it off. But lbr they manage to sneak around well enough to do everything else.

Unfortunately the royal courts of Europe were shaken by a quick series of upsets: Sovereign Prince Lorenzo of Monaco abdicated the throne in search of a quieter life - his heart had never been in it since his father, the former sovereign, had become ill and abdicated. This left Lorenzo's unwed brother Charles to be hastily crowned Prince Regent at the tender age of 22 (and unable to become sovereign himself due to being a second son, again my weird rules). As a result Charles suffered the loss of his long-time suitor, nobleman Sebastian Vettel, who couldn't bear the thought of being sovereign let alone of a land that wasn't even his own.

Enter the Sainz Vázquez de Castro elders siezing the opportunity and negotiating a deal with Monaco in private conclave with the Papal State (??) to wed their son Carlos to the Prince Regent. Carlos is ashamed at giving in to the temptation… to not just be King Consort but to be Sovereign Prince, to rule over the vast wealth of Monaco and by extension the Holy See, to have the coveted beauty Charles in his bed. So he agrees to be spirited away to Monaco and the ugly business of dissolving his betrothal to Lando is left to members of church and state.

But Carlos experiences a complete conversion when Charles is on his knees in the cathedral - looking up at him with docile green eyes as Carlos' fingertips touch the warm red roses of Charles' lips as he holds the chalice of holy wine for Charles to drink. Carlos was almost hard beneath the ermine and velvet robes in a house of God when the crown was on his head and Charles next to him - and slightly below - smiling up at him with filaments of gold hanging from pendants on his chaplet, framing his achingly beautiful face. If Carlos feels his immense happiness and prosperity darken whenever he sees Lando's picture or encounters him at one of the courts then no one need know.

Prince Lando is of course too heartbroken to consider other suitors and his court is demoralized by their own failure to seal his future. Only brash American tycoon Zak Brown keeps the faith that Lando's appeal as he grows will land him a better match than any Euro old money looking to aggrandize themselves and take advantage of Lando's youth to displace his rightful future as King.

A stroke of genius is the arrival of commoner Daniel Ricciardo whose rise up the ranks of society has hit more than a few speedbumps over the years. He's in the perfect position to act as placeholder and a sort of 'playmate' for the young Prince Regent. Daniel does the job of squiring Lando around and cheering him up beautifully. So beautifully that Daniel begins to see in his charge's wide eyes a future that he had only ever let himself dream of before. He begins to publicly push the boundaries of propriety with Lando like holding hands, embracing him from behind, dancing scandalously close together. The dam begins to break when Daniel opens a public social media account and begins posting adoring and fairly intimate videos of Lando that prove to be a massive hit with the public… and that fan rumours of the Crown Prince breaking with tradition and marrying a commoner.

Exeunt Daniel Ricciardo.

(Yes I know this isn't remotely his role but go with it) Newly appointed Lord Chancellor Andrea Stella proposes that only a candidate the same age as Lando - or ideally younger - should be considered to ensure that his claim to the throne be safeguarded. Because Lando hasn't spent the intervening years doing nothing but swooning over a succession of suitors, he's perfected his role and learned his court and won over the hearts of his people. He's effected harmonious relations with rival kingdoms seemingly effortlessly. The royal coffers have never been so full and trade is booming. Lando and his court all know that Lando could easily rule alone. But the fire that the now King of Monaco had lit inside him refused to go out. It begged to be fueled and to burn brighter.

Then one day Andrea hears a murmur of controversy happening in the middling levels of the aristocracy. The scoundrel Alonso had construed a match between one Oscar Piastri and Frenchman Esteban Ocon as a means of effecting his (Alonso's) escape and aggrandizing the Alpine dynasty. There were further details about a drama between Ocon and countryman Pierre Gasley but all that interested Andrea was that young Piastri had ordered a direct pronouncement be made against the match and any further association with Alpine. He had already rejected the opportunity of being presented at court and clearly had plans for his own future that would not depend on the protection or condescension of any other power but his own.

Imagine Andrea's surprise when Zak Brown announces at the next privy council meeting that preliminary arrangements had been made with young Piastri to be the Crown Prince's companion for the following season. A pretense at Piastri having an interest in royal politics was to be given to everyone, including Piastri himself. But Andrea and Zak shared a knowing look across the mote-stained light straining through the high windows of the old chamber. The Crown Prince barely even hears the details as he wearily signs off on the public notice along with the other endless papers at his elbow. He doesn't even dream that a wildcard is being played for his future happiness.

The eldest son of the prominent and noble Piastri family from Tuscany is suitably beautiful with the characteristic straight brow, fine pale features and soulful deep amber eyes of his people. He is tall and still growing with an effortless regal bearing despite his youth. The first few meetings between him and the Crown Prince are cordial and with a promising warmth. Andrea is encouraged by the pink that rises high on Piastri's pale cheeks whenever he shares smiles with Lando but he's even more encouraged by the steady intensity of his gaze when Lando isn't looking.

For the first few months, Piastri remains a faithful but distant part of Lando's royal retinue. They interact often enough and clearly like each other. But it also comes at a time of unrest in Lando's kingdom as a result of the ascension of an ambitious and possibly ruthless young King in the Netherlands. Lando proposes a visit to Castle Toro Rosso and asks Piastri to accompany them due to the Italian affiliation with the Dutch royal house. Something about Piastri's calm and quiet confidence helps stabilize Lando and he needs all the support he can get.

The visit is strained and the Dutch court is intimidating - and rather grating - in it's brash opulence and show of dominance. The young King is more of a mystery, seeming cold and aloof but flashing a wry smile at Lando's well-known charm and humor. The tide turns entirely in Lando's favor at the tourney. Lando has been barred from jousting following his formal presentation as crown prince due to some finicky archaic British law and it eats away at it him to have to sit and watch while the Dutch King was allowed to ride for himself. More than once Lando moodily pushes at the circlet that keeps slipping over his curls and can feel himself being increasingly bratty and short with his attendants.

Piastri was already reknowned for his prowess in jousting and was automatically given the seat to represent the Crown Prince. When he appeared mounted on a blood bay charger that gleamed almost golden and black in the hot sun (MCL colors kinda??) Lando has A Moment when Piastri tips his visor open and addresses him formally and those intense brown eyes behind the cold armor make him look so much older. Lando causes a stir when he descends from his seat and gives Piastri his favor in the form of a ribbon from one of his full sleeves. They have one of Those Looks between each other before Piastri turns to take his place. He bests every one of his opponents and isn't unseated once.

Then the Dutch King Max Emilian appears and strangely shuns any pageantry associated with a knight's entry, let alone a king's. His Lady sits in his place flanked by both her own and the King's powerful families and court. Lando finds himself suddenly flooded with fear because what would happen if Oscar lost? What would happen if Oscar won? When had he become 'Oscah' and not just Piastri?

The collision unseats both King Max Emilian and Oscar and they draw swords. The fight is precise and clinical and breathtaking. Perhaps it was because of having more to lose or perhaps it was the press of the Crown Prince's lips against the silk ribbon he gave as tribute but Oscar suddenly anticipates a step too far ahead for the young King and a unified gasp is heard when Max Emilian's body hits the dirt. It's instinct that has Oscar's sword held at the King's throat. But when Max Emilian throws his visor back his bloodied mouth is stretched in a wide toothy grin. He barks out a series of high cackles and ceremonially begs mercy. Oscar breathes out in a rush and claps his armored hand around the King's and helps him to his feet. Max Emilian flicks Oscar's visor open for him and lifts his hand declaring Oscar's well-earned victory. Lando forgets himself and leaps up yelling and cheering as his court smiles ruefully over at the stiff, formal "celebrations" coming from the stands opposite.

Holy god I've written way more than I meant to but let's have it finish off with Lando whispering to gain access to the tent where Oscar is undressing and cleaning his wounds. Perhaps his armor has been removed down to the hips the way driver's drop their race suits down after a race. Oscar startles when he sees Lando alone with him and rushes to kneel to him. Maybe Lando puts his hand under Oscar's chin and tells him to rise up and oh maybe seeing Oscar sweaty and dirtied with a cut to one cheek and a few bruises on his body makes him forget himself. Maybe he surges up and kisses Oscar and maybe Oscar is shocked but also feels exactly the same way and kisses him right back. Then probably Oscar decides to make his boldest move yet and says that if Lando doesn't want him then he'll quietly go away - but if Lando does want him then Oscar would welcome the title King Consort, would be proud of it in fact to be in service a king like Lando one day.

Then Lando either passes out because he's been in blue ball hell since Carlos and years worth of arousal hit him all at once or maybe he just whimpers a little and starts wondering how fast a royal wedding can get planned so he can Get That Dick ASAP.

Fin.

[rriavian]

Seven Sentence(ish) Sunday - Lyta Hall finds an Endless in her kitchen, WIP snippet:

The King of Dreams is standing in Lyta's kitchen.

He looks just as he did before. The same black coat, the same slim form beneath, the same pale blue eyes. A colour so curiously normal, as human looking as the rest of him, but Lyta doesn’t think that's because her species has a monopoly on the form. The more she looks the more she sees. Lyta shivers at the hints of what lurks beneath skin so pale. It's like the light of stars, the hue of what glows in the darkness of a night sky. A turned down version of a sun, what is nonetheless still burning, far away perhaps, in front of her but muted so her eyes don’t pop in her skull.

It’s a consideration she doesn’t understand.

“Lyta Hall.” He says; soft, melodic, rhythmic like a poems purposeful verse. Calibrated deliberation but warm, free, like the lullaby her mother had sung to her, like the ones she sings to Daniel. The beloved baby this being has promised to take. Would he sing to him? Would this being sing lullabies to Lyta’s son when he took him from her arms? “I believe we should talk.”

“Get out.” Lyta manages. “I don’t—get out of my house.”

The creature tilts his head.

It’s perfect. It freezes the blood in her veins. The motion smooth, the neck an elegant thing; he’s beautiful in a way she can’t deny, morality not so easy to see, goodness and ugliness not so easy to define as separate.

“I am not here to take your son.”

“But you still plan to.”

“Plan?” A curious undercurrent that Lyta can’t decipher. “I suppose it would seem as such.”

“It is what you said.”

The lips quirk upwards; amusement now in the tilt, lurking within starlight, those blue eyes now seem to glow to reveal it beckoning in the glimmer. A slim hand rests on the back of a chair, drawing it away from the table without a sound.

Dream of the Endless sits down and says—

“Is it?”

[witchywomanrunningupthathill]

Presume Not That I Am What I Once Was - The King (2019)

Pairing: Prince Hal/Henry V x female!reader

Description: You and Hal fall for each other as both of your realities come crashing down, all at once.

Word count: 801

Warnings: mentions of sex, female anatomy and allusion to pregnancy, supporting character death (?)

A/N: Hiii! Long author’s note warning. It’s been so long since I’ve posted on here. Of course the first fic I write on return is about the love of my life, Prince Hal. Now, for the record, I will always, ALWAYS see Tom Hiddleston as Hal. Full stop. #HollowCrownSuperiority. But yesterday, I was looking at scenes from The King (with which I take great issue, but we aren’t ready for that conversation) and the visuals (read: Timmy’s face) were giving way too much for me not to be inspired to write about such a complex, clever, and conflicted character. Soooooo here’s 800-ish words about our beloved prodigal son/wayward prince turned King of England. Oh, also, right below here is *probably* my favorite Shakespeare monologue. Very revealing (and confounding) of Hal, and what made me fall in love with this character. <3

Henry IV Act I, Scene ii

PRINCE

I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyoked humor of your idleness. Yet herein will I imitate the sun, Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world, That, when he please again to be himself, Being wanted, he may be more wondered at By breaking through the foul and ugly mists Of vapors that did seem to strangle him. If all the year were playing holidays, To sport would be as tedious as to work, But when they seldom come, they wished-for come, And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. So when this loose behavior I throw off And pay the debt I never promisèd, By how much better than my word I am, By so much shall I falsify men’s hopes; And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glitt’ring o’er my fault, Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes Than that which hath no foil to set it off.

You didn’t know it would be the last time. The last time you would hear the voice he never used around anyone else but you, tender, caring, adoring. The last time you would see him grin like he did when he was too far gone from drink, euphorically gleeful. The last time you would ever be able to touch him. Here, he wasn’t the Prince of Wales; he was Hal.

You weren’t expecting to feel the way you did about him. The way your heart beat faster each time he swaggered into the Boar’s Head Inn. The knot in the pit of your stomach when you’d come downstairs to find Sibyl perched on the prince’s lap with his hand ‘round her waist. You kept your eye trained on him every night, gambling and singing and fucking the night away.

At first, it was just like any other lay with the drunken, unkempt men that passed their time here. Just bodies moving together. Over time he visited Sibyl less and less, and wasted no time pulling you upstairs. He would stay the whole night and hold onto you in his sleep.

He wasn’t expecting to traipse around Eastcheap only for his mind to wander back to you. Back to the conversations you two shared in that Spartan single-room apartment after it was all over, the both of you laying entangled atop sweat-soaked sheets. He loved watching you gaze at him in the candlelight as he murmured tales of his antics with Falstaff and Poins, almost always punctuated with the faint grunts, cries, and rhythmic banging and rocking from all around, a prelude to another round of lovemaking.

It was the night after his father, Henry IV, had succumbed to the pox. Hal wasn’t gentle this time. He fucked hard, the rocking making you nauseous at one point, not that he would have noticed because he had kept his eyes closed the whole time. You wondered what was going on in his head. You wondered when you would summon the strength to tell him. Hal thrusted and thrusted, but it was all for naught. His moans turned to whimpers. He collapsed beside you; head buried in the crook of your neck as he broke into a sob. 

“Hey, hey,” you said, turning to him and pulling him into you, your hand cradling the back of his head. His breath came out in warm huffs and tears seeped onto your breast.

“My father...” Hal mumbled. You pulled his face up to yours, thumbs wiping the tears from his bloodshot eyes. He looked tragically beautiful. While you cursed yourself for what was to come, Hal replayed his words to his father’s councilors. Know now that you will be watched over by an altogether different king. Hal assumed – no, he knew – his father saw him as nothing but a royal pain. His thoughts were interrupted by your quiet groan. You winced and looked down, hand to your lower stomach. Hal’s eyes followed. You hadn’t meant to let out a sound, jerking your hand back down to the bed. In fact, you had been good at hiding it. Or so you thought. Your eyes traveled slowly back up and you met your lover’s gaze. You’d never seen so many thoughts go on behind someone’s eyes, grief, trepidation, yearning, remorse… You held each other as hard as you had the very first time, a goodbye of sorts. But that was the thing about goodbyes, endings – no one ever shared them for the same reason. 

Snow fell the day Hal became King Henry V of England. The Abbey bells rang out around London. Your hand slid to your belly instinctively and gazed at the city from your window, just barely making out the palace in the distance.

[angeltreasure]

I need to tell a story, maybe it'll help people to understand how powerful the Hail Mary is: I had a few months ago a dream. Mary appeared in my room. She looked beautiful. But something felt off. Instead of peace I felt a dreading and scary presence. Something urged me to recite the Hail Mary. So I started and I kid you not, the "Mary" turned into an ugly demon. It tried to strangle me but I kept praying and then it couldn't touch me anymore and it started screaming and whining. It looked like it was trying to not hear what i say and like someone stomps on it. I woke up, but I strangly felt at peace. It was around that time, that I couldn't quite get how God uses Mary and that showed me. It didn't scare me. Please pray the Hail Mary, for everyone that is doubting. I'm urging. Thank you.

As I lay awake in the dark hours of the night after a Rosary, I am ready to tell you my thoughts on your dream. My favorite book of my favorite Saint, Padre Pio, reveals a cautionary tale of the spiritual battle….

-

“In the lives of the Saints we find similar occurrences to those experienced by Padre Pio, noticeably so in the life of Magdalen of the Cross, so let us take a few examples. She wrote, “My Archangel warned me to be on my guard whenever an Archangel appeared to me. I should observe closely whether there was a cross on his stole and if not, I must command him in the name of Jesus to say who he is. I shall remember this.”

Having received this advice, she certainly took it into account and later wrote: “I was bothered today quite a bit by a beautiful Angel who did not have a cross on his stole. He repeatedly told me that, since I was destined to be damned anyway, I should make my life as comfortable as possible and that he would help me. If I had no particular desire for earthly happiness, I should simply end my life because it was wholly worthless. This second temptation was so violent that I called my Archangel to help me and the fallen angel disappeared.”

The devil appeared to Padre Pio on many forms including that of his Guardian Angel but he always discovered the deception by pronouncing the words: “Long live Jesus!” and with that, the evil spirit disappeared.

At this point, I must mention a personal experience mine concerning Padre Pio and the evil interference. Although it does not directly concern Guardian Angels, I think it is very worthwhile relating as it shows just how much he was persecuted by the devil:

One night, during the time I was looking after him, I washed his face, combed his hair, undressed him and helped him get to bed. Having done this, and seeing that he was in need of nothing, I slipped away to my room. I had only reached it, when the bell, with which he used to summon me, rang. I rushed back to his cell, and when I approached him, he didn’t say a word; he simply smiled at me. Now, I’m always happy to receive a smile from our beloved Padre, but on this occasion I was feeling more tired than usual so, I’m ashamed to say, I was a little put out.

I went back to my room and the bell rang again. Once more, I went to see what was wrong, but he said nothing and just bestowed upon me another radiant smile. This happened at least ten times until eventually, I said: “Father, you call me here, but when I arrive, instead of telling me what you want, you just smile at me. If you don’t let me sleep, it will be you who will have to assist me tomorrow, and not me you!” I will never forget the manner in which he looked at me on that occasion. His eyes were filled with profound suffering as he said to me: “Please, my son, will you sleep on the chair here beside me, because the devils won’t leave me for one minute tonight.”

I understood immediately what he meant, so I settled myself on the arm-chair in his room and there I dozed. Now and then, I would look to see how he was, and I could distinctively hear him whispering the Hail Mary. He seemed no longer afraid, as perhaps my presence there prevented the devil from beating him and throwing him out of bed…”

- Send Me Your Guardian Angel by Fr. Alessio Parente O.F.M. CAP., pages 40-43

“From his youth, Padre Pio enjoyed heavenly visions, but also suffered from the attacks of the devil. Father Amorth said: “The devil appeared to him under many different forms: as a big black cat, wild and threatening, or as a repulsive animal, in the clear intention to frighten him; under the appearance of naked and provocative young girls who danced obscene dances, obviously to test the chastity of the young priest. However, the worst was when the Devil took on the appearance of his spiritual director, or posed as Jesus, the Virgin Mary or St. Francis.””

…..

So yes, asking the intercession of our Mother Mary is powerful. She really intercedes for us even though most people can’t see her outside of dreams. Thinking about that dream (as well as other experiences people have had like this either awake or sleep, we must remember that Satan was formally God’s most powerful and beautiful angel. He has the ability to shape shift and take on appearances of other angels, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and anyone else around. When we are in a state of mortal sin, Satan can certainly influence our nightmares. I would recommend going to confession if you haven’t been for a while, pray the Rosary, and keep a blessed Rosary under your pillow at night. Another powerful tip is to have your house blessed at least once a year and keep a bottle of holy water nearby your bedside. If that were really Mary in your dream, you would not feel that sense or dread.

The spiritual battle is real!

Hail Mary

Hail Mary,

Full of Grace,

The Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou among women,

and blessed is the fruit

of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary,

Mother of God,

pray for us sinners now,

and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

John the Apostle | Muse | Romantic

Dialogue prompt: "Your hair is so messy." - "Oh, please. It's because you can't stop touching it."

Requested: Yes

In order for you to be able to draw John properly, his hair just has to be perfect.

The charcoal slides against the parchment smoothly, carefully pressured by your precise hand to leave behind fine lines without the charred wood snapping underneath it. You trace your tongue over your bottom lip as you apply the final details, your gaze flicking up and down every few moments to see if you’re still on the right track, but your state of concentration is soon broken by a sudden voice behind you.

“Are you done yet?”

For the third time in ten minutes, Nathanael questions how far along you are, and does so in the most Nathanael-fashion possible. In spite of it being not the first time, it startles you nevertheless, and you close your eyes in annoyance as a small stripe of charcoal now sits obnoxiously inside the eye, where you had been working on the pupil. 

“Thank you for that, Nath.” you sigh exasperatedly, voice laced with sarcasm, knowing that thumbing away the mistake will lead to nothing but an awful smudge, and you momentarily stare at the portrait you had been sketching. You had managed to capture the warm features of Jesus’ face, had given His beard just the right amount of volume and you were more than happy with the shape of His nose, but now, the kindness of His eyes falls flat because of an ugly thick stripe of charcoal. 

“Sorry about that.” Nathanael quips, “Anyways, do you think you can draw me one of those as well?”

If glares could kill, Nathanael would have met his demise the moment you set eyes on him. He takes your narrowed eyes for his sign to leave, showing his palms in defence. “You don’t have to do it right now, no worries at all.” He backs off before you’re even able to voice the thought that the former architect wouldn’t be able to sit still for that long anyways.

Inhaling sharply, you turn your gaze up to Jesus, Who gives you a small smile.

“I’m sorry, Master,” you sigh, “It was going so well, I was so proud of how it was turning out. I will of course make You a new portrait, and I will try my very best to capture the same details as I did in this previous–”

Jesus holds out His hand. “Nonsense, (Y/n), I am sure it is beautiful. Let Me take a look.” You reluctantly hand Him the piece of parchment and He inspects it, drinking in every little bit of the drawing. 

“I-I know it is likely not what I could have–”

“It is beautiful, (Y/n). Thank you very much, I love it!”

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

Jesus nods, then lets his gaze go to someone who is coming up behind you. “Really. See, there are more people who would like to have their portraits drawn.”

Your smile falls. “I thought I was pretty clear, Nathanael, that I am not in the mood to–”

Upon pivoting and being about to give Nathanael a piece of your mind, you come face to face with nobody less than John.

The very man you’ve been sketching in secret in your notebook for the past weeks.

The former fisherman who has started to become a muse of sorts ever since you had a romantic dream about him two months ago.

The younger son of Zebedee whom you’ve been sweet on for a while now. 

The one who sends butterflies through your entire system. 

“John, hi!” you somehow manage to greet him, “Uh, shalom, how are you?”

John the Beloved smiles sweetly. “I am doing well, (Y/n), thank you. How about you?”

You nod and gulp in an attempt to get rid of the dryness of your throat, but to no avail. “I’m good!” you squeal, a bit too high-pitched for your liking, “I just made a sketch of Jesus.”

With his eyebrows raised in curiosity, John looks at the piece of parchment in Jesus’ hands. The Messiah hands it to him so that he can inspect it closer, and your face flushes whilst he scrutinises it. 

“This is so good, (Y/n), you are very talented!”

Flustered, you lower your gaze. “Thanks, I’m trying my very best to get better at it.”

John hums and hands back the parchment to Jesus, Who stands and gives you another word of thanks before walking off, heading for his tent where He finds His leather backpack to safely tuck away the drawing. 

“Would you…” John rubs his neck, “Would you be open to drawing me as well? I would like to give my eema some sort of gift to remember me by.”

The thoughtful comment warms your heart. 

“Sure,” you breathe, “Right now?”

His hair bounces as he nods, and you look at it. Chewing your lip, you can already see a few loose strands that need to be tucked into place. 

“Would you like me to sit anywhere in particular?”

You gesture towards a fallen log on the edge of camp. “How about there?” you propose, and John hums in agreement.

“Sounds like a great plan. I’ll bring you a chair, hold on.”

The fisherman carries a small stool over to the log, so that both of you can get comfortable. With the change in light, you recognise that you take another angle than the one you had drawn Jesus in, and you shift a little closer to the younger son of Zebedee. 

“Want me to sit here?” 

You hum. “Please.” He puts the stool down for you to position properly. You drag it over to the right position and reach for your bag.

John takes a seat on the log so that you aren’t looking right into the sun and pulls a rather prideful face, puffing out his chest, straightening his back. “How about this pose?” he suggests, causing you to snort a laugh. 

“You aren’t going to keep that up for long, trust me.”

“Why not?” John asks whilst you take an unwritten sheet of parchment from your bag and you rummage through your tools to find a proper bit of charcoal to begin with. 

You nod towards Nathanael, who is busy chatting with Thaddeus a little away. “I had him as my model not too long ago, and he could only sit like that for five minutes before his muscles got tired.” John flexes his arms and gives you a determined look. “Well, I am used to heavy labour, so I can take it!” The sight makes you flush and you clear your throat, looking away. John relaxes his body and smiles, thinking of the pink tinge on your cheeks as adorable. 

“Just… Take on a pose that you can maintain for about forty to fifty minutes.”

His eyes widen. “Forty to fifty– Right, okay. Art takes time.”

You smile and nod, waiting for the fisherman to poise himself in such a way that does not strain him yet is interesting enough to make a drawing of. He leans a hand on the log he is sitting on, puts his legs a little further apart and turns his gaze to you. The way his dreamy eyes seem to drill into you as he stares nearly makes you snap your piece of charcoal between your fingers. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you abashedly query. 

John shrugs. “Well, then it will seem like I’m looking right at the viewer.”

In an attempt to gather yourself, you inhale through your nose and calmly exhale right after, shifting in your seated position. 

You hold out your thumb in an attempt to somewhat figure out the proportions, and make a rough outline of the shape of his head. Every time you cast your eyes back up at him, your heart skips a beat, the intensity of his gaze making you flustered. 

“I’ll… I’ll need to fix your hair a little.” you say. 

John smiles. “By all means.” 

He sits still as you card your fingers through the thick, dark brown locks. The moment you make contact with it, your breath hitches, and you are not brave enough to let your focus go down to John, who is gently gazing at you. 

“That’s better.” you state when it’s shaped into a better model, sitting back. “Okay, let’s see…”

You sketch the first outlines of his features as well as the shape of the mop of curls that sits untamed on his head. Squinting, you roughly sketch where his beard goes and try to get the broadness of his neck and shoulders right, and John flicks his tongue over his lips, giving you an amused look. 

“You’re cute when you’re concentrated.”

“Huh?” Having missed his words, you look up at him a bit confused. “What was that?”

John gives you a tight-lipped smile, suddenly self-conscious, and shakes his head. “Nothing.” The motion causes his hair to spring back where it had been before. 

Clicking your tongue, you reach over to it again and softly play with it in the hopes of tucking it into just the right place. John enjoys the feeling of your fingers against his scalp, letting out a small hum. “Everything okay?”

You nod and lean away again so that you can resume your work, trying to calm your racing heart down, which is affected by his proximity. Although the fisherman does not smell clean – you’re certain that you don’t smell amazing either during this long time on the road – you bask in his scent regardless. It is comforting, and you suddenly wonder how things would be between you if he knew what you felt for him.

With a slightly unsteady hand, you draw him, and slide the charcoal against the parchment in just the right places. Studying people in this way never fails to make you amazed at how incredibly complex God’s creation is, each face different from the other. Staring into the eyes of your crush is an added bonus to this particular sketch.

“How is it coming along?” 

His kind demeanour puts you at ease. Your gaze meets John’s and you smile. “Slowly but surely. Be patient, now. Here, hold on.” Once again, you find yourself reaching forward to get some of his curls to sit in a prettier way, and he chuckles. 

“I shouldn’t rush art, sorry.”

With a pleasant hum, you continue your drawing. 

In relative silence, you get down to the largest features quite easily, and you’re soon already working on the smaller details, swapping between different pieces of charcoal that you carry in your bag. At some point, you carve a chunk of charred wood into a tiny, fragile point with your pocket knife in order to capture each and every curl to your best ability. 

John sits there, awaiting your results yet not pushing you to hurry, like Nathanael had done. Every few moments, you find yourself looking up into his eyes and deem it almost intimate. Your tummy swirls with butterflies more and more every passing second, and you wish that you would never finish this drawing, just to keep him in front of you for longer.

Watching you in this way makes John almost abashed, your scrutiny intense yet adoring in a way that you so delicately add details here and there, showing that you’re truly studying him. Your concentrated state is nothing short of adorable. Something in his gut drops, resembling disappointment, that you hadn’t heard him tell you that he thinks you look cute a while ago. Perhaps he should repeat himself – or maybe that he shouldn’t, for he doesn’t want to make a fool out of himself–

A gust of wind pulls both you and John out of your focused state, and you can barely hold onto the piece of parchment that threatens to escape. You puff some air from your lungs out of relief and smile at the younger son of Zebedee, who grins back at you with an equal beam.

“That was a close call.”

Humming in acknowledgement, you gaze at him again, shaking your head in disbelief at the sight of his curls all across his forehead, casting way different shadows over his face than they had done before. 

“Ugh, John, your hair is so messy!” you quip, swiping a finger over his forehead from left to right in the hopes to somewhat push it back into place.

John rolls his eyes with a smirk. “Oh, please. It’s because you can’t stop touching it!” 

“The wind keeps messing it up, and I just need to draw it perfectly. I cannot help that your hair is just so… Inviting! Captivating!”

“Says who?”

“Says me! And how am I supposed to properly get it on here if it keeps bouncing out of place?”

John chews on the inside of his cheek to fight his spreading smile as the warmth of your index finger causes a thousand butterflies to erupt into his stomach. 

“There.” You say once you’re satisfied with how his curls are sitting. Turning back to your sketch, John feels a pang of disappointment that you’ve stopped touching him.

“(Y/n), I’ve been meaning to tell you something.” His heart pounds against his chest as he says the words. 

With a questioning gaze, you look up from your drawing. “Is it important, can it wait for a few moments? I’m nearly done with this.” 

His gut spins and he nods a bit, and he watches your hand as it slides the charcoal over the paper, skilled, talented. 

The next time it moves up to touch his hair, John decides right then and there, he will most certainly– He doesn’t have a long time to overthink his plans when you put down your charcoal again in order to once again adjust his dark locks, tucking and pushing the strands in the places you deem right so that you can have a great–

John catches your wrist in his hand and brings it down from his forehead. Whilst maintaining eye-contact, he presses a light kiss onto the back of your fingers, smiling a bit shyly with flushed cheeks. 

Shocked, you freeze in your spot. Upon seeing your reaction, John releases your hand and shakes his head apologetically. “Oh, no, I’m–I’m so sorry, (Y/n), I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that, and–”

Finding your voice, you whisper his name. “John,” you mutter, cupping his face with that same hand. He leans into it without realising it and smiles. “It’s okay. Does it… Does this mean that you like me?”

He lightly laughs and nods, biting his bottom lip in thought. “Very much,” he admits, but his smile falls. “I… I didn’t mean to pressure you by kissing your hand there. It was not proper of me, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you repeat, softer this time, and you flick your gaze down to your sketch momentarily. “The drawing is nearly done. Would you like me to finish it now?”

With eyes that glitter in amusement, John puffs out his cheeks and lets air escape slowly before shaking his head, taking your other hand in his as well. 

“Perhaps we should discuss other things first. You can always tame my hair another time. Would you like to take a walk whilst we talk over things?”

You smile and nod, allowing him to help you up by taking his hand. 

Carefully folding the unfinished sketch, you put it neatly into your bag to complete later. 

You’re certain it will not be the only drawing you will ever make of him.

[tamurilofrivendell]

Where We Go From Here | Thranduil & Calithil

Characters: Thranduil & Calithil (OC daughter) Supporting/Mentioned Characters: Legolas & Caleniel (OC wife) Summary: Calithil’s beloved mother has been killed and, in the weeks that follow, her father finds a little strength through his own grief at various moments to comfort his daughter. Content: Grief. Violence/death etc. Translations: adar (father) // pîn ithil (little moon) // sellig (my daughter) // ionneg (my son) Read on AO3

Shadows danced upon the walls in the flickering candlelight. The chill in the air did nothing to truly affect her phyiscally but Calithil felt it in her bones nonetheless. 

That very night, her beloved mother, Caleniel, Elvenqueen of the Woodland Realm, was slain. It was all Calithil could do to stand there in the throne room, awaiting her father’s return, and not break down into floods of ugly tears. The only thing that kept her from dropping to her knees and weeping in the most un-princess-like fashion imaginable, was her older brother Legolas, standing beside her, gripping her hand in his own.

He was standing as still as a statue, facing the entryway, but she could feel him trembling. 

The word had come back about the fate of the Queen, carried through the forest ahead of the King and his soldiers. Calithil felt as if she had been thrust into a nightmare. Not even five hours ago, she was sitting in the library reading a book of poetry, only mildly worried about her parents’ return journey from Rivendell. It was such a standard thing, so commonplace and routine, that she did not even think that something quite so dreadful could ever happen. Especially not surrounded by so many of their people, their best warriors. All of the details had not yet reached the Woodland Realm and Calithil did not know whether she would prefer to be kept in the dark or not.

Maybe if she learned no more about it then she could pretend as though none of it had actually happened. She could pretend that her mother - her beautiful, strong, loving mother - was alive.

There was a sudden commotion and in strode her father, his pace fast and furious. His face was like thunder but she could see the fresh sorrow shining in his eyes. He would not show it here, not like this, she knew that... and she had to do the same. She squeezed Legolas’ hand tighter, telling herself to be strong and she felt his gentle comforting squeeze in return.

“Father.” Legolas stepped forward then, dropping her hand. Calithil clasped her hands in front of her to avoid fidgeting.

“Calithil.” Thranduil boomed, ignoring Legolas for the moment, not even looking at her. “Leave us.”

Briefly stunned, she blinked back at him. “But adar-” Calithil started, abruptly cut off by her father as he turned his gaze of steel upon her.

“Now.” His voice echoed through the room, hanging heavy in the deafening silence that followed.

Ducking her head just slightly, Calithil’s expression creased into a frown. She glanced at her brother, who blinked back rather helplessly, and then she turned and fled.

“Was that entirely necessary?” Legolas quipped, gritting his teeth as he turned from the door his sister had just retreated through, and back to his father.

Thranduil looked furious but Legolas knew that fury was not due to either of his children but was aimed at the filth that had ambushed the travelling royal cavalcade and taken the life of the King’s treasured wife.

Thranduil turned his gaze to his son, raising a brow. “What?” He asked, as if he had no idea what Legolas was talking about. It was very evident that Thranduil was using a great deal of energy to appear as calm as he was.

Legolas held back a scoff. Emotions were running understandably high and he didn’t want to make things worse for his father... but he was hurting too. His sister was hurting too. They had just lost their mother.

“She worships the ground you walk on, father.” Legolas muttered, watching his father bid his guards to come closer from down the walkway.

“You would prefer your sister be privy to details of the murder of her own mother?” Thranduil wondered, making a big show of his attention being elsewhere but his voice was taking on more malice with each passing second, his composure slipping. He had only wanted to keep it up long enough to get his daughter out of the room and now his grip on it was deteriorating.

“If I am expected to be, surely so can she.” Legolas replied, a rush of grief flooding through him as he thought about his mother being executed. He did not relish knowing the details but he knew that he must. “She is stronger than you give her credit for.”

“Would you wish me to describe to her the length and colour of the knives that plunged so deep into the flesh of your mother’s body that she was immediately beyond any and all help?” Thranduil continued as he rounded on his son, glaring down at him.

The throne room had fallen utterly silent, all eyes upon the King and the Prince. The grief even from the staff was unmistakable.

“Would you wish me to explain to her that it happened so quickly that not even I could reach her in time?” Thranduil continued, tears beginning to collect in his eyes, threatening to fully betray his anguish to everyone in the room... though none of them would think any less of him for it.

“Do you wish, my son, for me to look into the eyes of your sister and tell her that I, her own father, am responsible for her mother’s death?” He snapped finally, the tears spilling down his ivory cheeks. “That your mother was targeted and taken from us simply for being my Queen?”

Legolas said nothing, simply allowed his father to release it all. He already knew that sometimes his father’s more delicate emotions could come out veiled in frustration or anger. His mother had always told him that Thranduil’s bark was far worse than his bite and sometimes all you had to do was wait for the storm to pass all by itself. Legolas had learned the art of this quite well... letting his father feel whatever he was feeling before letting it out in his own way.

He knew that this, right here and now, was about his father’s grief... that it was about his father’s guilt.

Legolas also knew that Thranduil had sent his sister out the way he had as some means of protecting her, much like he always did, but Legolas knew that there was no shielding her from this.

His father loved him deeply, he knew that, but he had always seemed to want to keep an extra blanket of security over his youngest child. Legolas, too, wanted to protect his sister but they could not protect her from everything... especially not this.

“Do not shut her out, adar.” Was all Legolas said once his father was done. He gazed back at Thranduil, eyes full of empathy for him and of sorrow for himself. He stepped forward and placed a comforting hand upon his father’s shoulder. “Do not shut either of us out... you are not to blame and you are not alone.” Then he turned and left the room, retreating to the royal chambers to drown in his own grief.

A week later, Calithil had retreated to one of the lower levels, sitting beside a waterfall that flowed through the underground hall from somewhere above. She held her hand out, letting the water flow over her fingertips. Usually, such a simple thing would bring her a little joy, but not today.

She still felt cold. Two whole weeks without her mother had been hell on middle-earth. How was she supposed to do an eternity this way?

Legolas had gone out into the forest. She had not wanted him to leave her alone here but she knew that this was one way that helped her brother to work through things. It kept his mind distracted and busy. Calithil was not going to deprive him of anything that would take away just a little bit of distress from him.

She sat down upon the ground and sighed, closing her eyes and listening to the water. She didn’t know what to do. She felt so alone. Calithil had seen her father once since that night, at dinner, but he had not come again. She heard he had shut himself away in his chambers and answered to no one and nothing.

So she was surprised, to say the least, when she opened her eyes after sensing another presence, and found Thranduil himself standing there a short distance away. His gaze was fixed on the waterfall, the way the moonlight shone through it from a crack in the vast ceiling.

Calithil did not speak. She did not know what to say. If her father wanted to talk, he would do so. She wondered briefly if he was unhappy to find her here. Perhaps he too had been seeking privacy and peace outside the confines of his room.

She was debating whether or not to take her leave when he finally spoke, turning to look upon his daughter. “I have always enjoyed the solitude of this particular cavern.”

It wasn’t the first thing she expected him to say to her but she just nodded. His words made her wonder if she had been right and that he wished to be alone here. Calithil rose from the ground, inclined her head out of respect, and turned away in the direction of the exit.

“Calithil.” His voice was gentle, tinged with sadness and regret.

Her footsteps stilled and she turned around again, looking back at him. At the broken image of her father. Thranduil stepped towards her slowly, reaching out for her. He gently cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks, looking into her eyes as if he were committing every part of her to memory. For some reason, it broke her heart.

“My little moon.” He murmured, thinking to himself that she was the very image of her mother.

The tears came then as Calithil fell forward, collapsing against her father’s chest as his arms circled her and held her close. He stood there with her for a long while, letting her cry it out in his firm embrace.

“The forest is changing.” Legolas stated, striding into the private royal dining hall and shaking his head, having just returned from his seclusion in the woods.

Thranduil’s mouth pulled into a thin line as he thought about the darkness that had been descending upon his beloved forest. “I am aware.” He said evenly.

“Changing how?” Calithil asked, looking up from the bread she had been picking at. She was not truly hungry but she had just been happy that her father had been leaving his rooms and spending time around her again.

Legolas turned to look at her and opened his mouth as if he were going to answer but he was rather abruptly cut off before he could even get a word out.

“It is nothing for you to concern yourself with.” Thranduil said, his tone leaving no room for discussion as he focused on his wine.

Calithil frowned but she said nothing. She sat for a moment longer in the tense silence that followed before she stood, pushing her chair back with enough force to show that she was frustrated, and then she turned and stalked from the room and away down the hall.

She could hear the soft arguing that sparked up between her brother and father behind her as she went. She heard Legolas saying her name and sighed heavily as she retreated to the royal chambers.

Calithil was tired of her father cutting her out of everything. He had been doing it since the night her mother died and she was growing upset with his back and forth moods and of him keeping her at arms length this way.

Nobody had even really spoken to her of what happened that night. She had had to glean what information she could from various sources around the halls, but all she truly wanted was for her father to talk to her about it.

She just wanted him to talk to her.

Another week had passed and Calithil had slept for three days in her mother’s chambers. Curled upon her mother’s large bed, feeling like a little child again, Calithil could feel those pesky tears once more but she did what she could to keep them at bay. It made her angry... that her mother had been taken from this world in such a brutal way.

Suddenly, the door opened and Calithil sat up, some distant part of her mind telling her that it was her mother, that she was home... but of course that was impossible.

Her father stood in the doorway, tall and imposing as ever, but gazing at her with a grief in his eyes so deep that she could have drowned in it.

She sniffed and lay back down again, squeezing her eyes shut. There was a silence and she half expected him to leave but the bed shifted and when she opened her eyes again, she saw her father sitting beside her, looking down at her with tears shining in his eyes.

“Forgive me, little moon.” He murmured, regret cutting through him like a knife. “I do not mean to be so cold.”

Calithil was quiet for a moment as he brushed his fingers gently through her golden hair. “It’s okay.” She said softly, blinking up at him.

Thranduil shook his head. “No, darling... it is not.” He sighed, shifting to carefully lower himself so that he could lay down beside her. Thranduil studied her face, fingers combing through the ends of her hair as they lay there in silence for a few moments. Calithil’s eyes drifted closed again, feeling like a little elfling but there was a great comfort in it.

“I miss her...” She whispered, unable to help herself, keeping her eyes shut in an attempt to ward of the tears that once more threatened to fall.

Thranduil sucked in a little shaky breath. “I know, pîn ithil, I know.” There was another slightly drawn out silence. Thranduil’s fingers continued to tangle comfortingly through his daughter’s hair. Just before she drifted off into the welcoming embrace of sleep, she heard his voice again. “So do I.”

Four weeks later, Thranduil had done his best to be less distant and more present for his daughter. His wife would not have wanted him to push them away, their beloved children. He knew this, and yet Thranduil still longed to allow himself to drift away into the embrace of complete and utter misery, allow his grief to swallow him whole, pull him down beneath the waves and never surface.

Still, he persevered.

“I can’t do it!” Calithil whined, letting the sword she was holding clatter to the ground with a heavy sigh. “It is too difficult.”

Thranduil, standing before her holding his own sword, gave her a look of disapproval. “You have barely tried, sweetheart. Pick it up and let’s go again.”

She stubbornly shook her head. “No.” He had been making her do this for five days and yet she still simply could not.

Thranduil raised a brow as he eyed his daughter. “Calithil.” His tone was low and there was a dangerous bite in it that she had heard many times before.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why do we have to do this anyway!” She complained, staring at him. “What am I going to have to fight in these halls?! Nothing.” She finished, folding her arms in front of her as if the conversation was over.

Thranduil, however, would not concede. He blinked back at his stubborn daughter, her expression the very image of her mother when he had done or said something to affront her.

This thought only spurred him on.

“And what if you are outside of these halls?” He asked, spreading his arms in question. “What then?”

Calithil gave him a funny look, tilting her head as she looked at him. “Ada, I am never outside of these halls without you.”

“And neither was your mother, Cali!” He finally snapped, losing his temper.

Calithil froze and went silent, staring at him for a long moment. Grief and guilt both curled together in her gut as she looked at her father, his face no longer a mask of cool detachment.

She realised, then, that he wanted her to learn the skills to defend herself because he wanted to limit the ways that she could be put in a position to get hurt. Her mother had been a skilled warrior and yet she had still been taken down. What of Calithil? What if she were travelling to Lothlorien with her father’s caravan and they were set upon? Would she have more luck on her side having to sit in the centre, being defended, or would she have more luck being able to wield her own weapon?

Calithil pressed her mouth into a thin line to try and hold back the tears she felt as she was witness to her father’s deeper emotions, and then she bent down to pick the sword back up again.

She nodded. “Show me again.”

Thranduil stood quietly for a moment, watching her with pride, and then he offered her a soft smile, eyes shining as he took up a stance before her.

Legolas and Thranduil were sitting in the family room when Calithil walked in.

Thranduil looked up from his book and followed her movements across the floor. “Where have you been?”

“Sleeping.” Calithil muttered simply, receiving a frown from her father and finally drawing Legolas’ concerned attention.

“You have been doing that a lot.” Legolas said, tilting his head at her.

“And what of it?” Calithil barked back, walking over to the  large chair beside the extravagant fireplace and throwing herself dramatically down upon it.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow as he watched her. She was often the very image of her mother but in this moment she struck him as very much the image of himself. A perfect blend of himself and Caleniel, the both of them were.

“The Eldar do not need to sleep as deeply as you have been, nor the same amount as mere mortals do, Calithil.” Thranduil stated calmly, turning his gaze back down to the book in his lap. “I believe it is time that you return to your meditations. Enough time has passed.” He made a point with his tone, perfectly aware of the reason his daughter had been subjecting herself to such deep sleep so very often, where her dreams and even her senses were far more shut off than was necessary.

Because of her mother’s death. She was doing her best to shut herself off as much as she possibly could.

Legolas frowned, glancing down at his hands briefly, before he looked back up at his sister. “Cali...” He murmured, keeping his gaze on her before she looked up again.

“What?” She asked after a beat.

Legolas stood and moved over to his sister, sitting on the arm of the chair. “You are sleeping your days away. You are still barely eating, do not think we have not noticed.”

She frowned up at her brother. “So what?” She snapped, drawing her father’s gaze once more.

He lifted his head with a frown. “Cali.” He warned, letting her know that her tone was unnecessary.

She sighed, looking down and clasping her hands in her lap. “Sorry...” She whispered.

Thranduil set his book aside and rose from his own chair, graceful as ever, and floated across the room towards his children. He crouched down in front of Calithil’s chair, his hands moving to close over hers.

“Beautiful daughter... look at me.” He said softly, watching her eyes lift to meet his own. There were tears shining in them.

He smiled sadly. “Your mother would not want you to neglect yourself... neither of you.” His gaze lifted to meet his son’s, who he knew was pushing himself to the point of punishing out in the forest. Legolas lowered his gaze guiltily. Thranduil gave another sad little smile and sighed, removing one of his hands from his daughters and reaching out to take one of his son’s.

They sat like that - father, son, daughter - for a while, before Thranduil found the strength to finish what he had been saying.

“She has left this world for the next and, whilst we are allowed to feel sad about that, drowning in such anguish is not acceptable.” He gave Legolas a look to shut him up when he noticed his son opening his mouth to speak. “And I know that I, too, am guilty of this, yes.” He admitted, sighing again.

“Listen to me.” Thranduil continued. “Sellig. Ionneg. We three remain. And we three must endure, we must persevere.” He looked between the two of them, his entire world wrapped up in these two beautiful beings. “And so we shall. Together.”

[loversofthegrave]

BALLAD OF A FREAK BOY - sammy playlist X

no one's boy marcy playground 2. my beloved monster eels 3. where is my mind pixies 4. me and the devil soap&skin 5. please please please let me get what i want deftones 6. to be alone with you sufjan stevens 7. flume bon iver 8. child psychology black box recorder 9. brother alice in chains 10. your lucky day in hell eels 11. king's crossing elliott smith 12. i'm so tired fugazi 13. talk show host radiohead 14. son of sam elliott smith 15. how to fight loneliness wilco 16. heart of darkness sparklehorse 17. lonely day system of a down 18. metal heart cat power 19. bleed the freak alice in chains 20. half right heatmiser 21. nutshell alice in chains 22. bottle up and explode elliott smith 23. troubled times screaming trees 24. sad and beautiful world sparklehorse 25. last call elliott smith 26. a wolf at the door radiohead 27. bootcamp soundgarden 28. frogs alice in chain 29. losing my religion r.e.m 30. say hello 2 heaven temple of the dog 31. do you believe in the rapture sonic youth 32. mental eels 33. gouge away pixies 34. novocaine for the soul eels 35. spaceboy the smashing pumpkins 36. last night i dreamed somebody loved me the smiths 37. inbred ethel cain 38. the bends radiohead 39. i need some sleep eels 40. sleep forever portugal, the man 41. father of mine everclear 42. just mark ronson, phantom planet 43. opium marcy playground 44. jigsaw falling into place radiohead 45. sinister kid the black keys 46. special death mirah 47. the wolves (act I and II) bon iver 48. why i don't believe in god everclear 49. love of the loveless eels 50. about today the national 51. it's been awhile staind 52. too afriad to love you the black keys 53. one more suicide marcy playground 54. lonely boy the black keys 55. mouth bush 56. to forgive the smashing pumpkins 56. fell on black days soundgarden 57. out of my hands dave matthews band 58. what's the matter milo greene 59. little black submarines the black keys 60. cold contagious bush 61. only dying - demo stone temple pilots 62. eye the smashing pumpkins 63. abuse me silverchair 64. soma the smashing pumpkins 65. pretty (ugly before) elliott smith 66. the vampyre of time and memory queens of the stone age 67. ugly - sadlands demo the smashing pumpkins 68. freak silverchair 69. feel the pain dinosaur jr 70. creep stone temple pilots

[phoenix--flying]

Nakamura Makoto had beautiful eyes.

delicate and large, framed by lush white eyelashes, the watery blue, colors of rain.

grandma always said that her son was blessed by the god of water, and therefore, no matter how many trips Nakamura Makoto made on a submarine to study marine life, he always returned on time in one piece.

Ethan Nakamura loved Daddy's eyes for their beauty and loving gaze.

and that's why he liked the left eye more, it was exactly the same as dad's beautiful watery color and even the eyelashes and eyebrow on this side were white.

angry children said it was ugly, Dad hugged him with love and said in a warm voice that it makes Ethan special.

of course Ethan believed his smart and kind father.

his eyes were the only thing that reminded him of his beloved dad and... Ethan gave it to Nemesis for a chance to establish balance.

He started painting his eyebrow and eyelashes on the left side with thick black mascara, because it was too painful to see the white color.

just like looking at the gaping void in his eye sockets.

Ethan wanted his dad so badly.

ow okay I didn't see this in my ask box too😔

OW

like

O W damn okay u woke up and chose violence huh

[o-a-crutchfeild]

Tale of the Witch Bourgeois

@mlsecretsanta fic for @hpeveryonelives! Merry Christmas!

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Stories were never written fairly. At least, that was what Chloe’s mother had always told her, and what she told the trail of frogs and gargoyles and beasts she left in her wake. Everyone liked to pretend that fairytales all had happy endings, but the truth was a much less pleasant creature. The truth was that, at the end of Aurora’s fairytale, all the servants lost their families outside the castle walls, a hundred years parting them forever, so that the Princess wouldn’t have to bear the same pain. The truth was that while Cinderella’s stepsisters were disfigured after their cruelty towards her, the stepmother who raised them to be as such walked away with the money and home, all the same. The truth was that fortune favored the same people as royalty. If those were pretty, pure-of-heart damsels, or spoilt princesses who had the world stopped to spare them heartbreak, it was all the same. Someone won, someone lost, and the witch was only punished if she was caught. 

As a witch herself, Chloe had been careful to learn the ways of stories, and stay on the good side of King Gabriel and his son. As long as she didn’t interfere with their affairs, she would be considered a fairy by most people. Her golden hair helped with that image, of course, long blond curls that cascaded over her shoulders when it wasn’t tied back for her spellcasting. Most people thought of witches as old, ugly hags with bent shoulders and crooked noses. Still, the magic in her blood was fed just as readily as any other witch’s, boldened by suffering and stolen life and humanity. 

It was not part of her plan to be called on by a heroine. 

The knock at the door came on a beautiful night. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and in the forest where she made her home, you could see every star. None, however, shone as brightly as the blue eyes of the girl who called upon her. 

“I need your help, please,” the girl said. Not so much as a “How are you?” or even a “Nice night, isn’t it?” before the demands started. How naive. Even if one was dealing with a fairy, manners were tantamount. 

She stepped closer to the girl. “What have you brought me, in exchange for my trouble?” 

The girl seemed a bit surprised by this question. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t know I was supposed to bring something…” 

“Well, then, why don’t you come in?” Chloe asked, a smile crossing her face. “I’m sure we can work something out. I could always take a service, rather than an object, if that would be agreeable to you.” This girl was young, beautiful, and absolutely radiating purity. To trap her into a familiar contract… Chloe’s mouth watered at the idea of how much power she could drain from her. “We can discuss details later.” 

The girl looked relieved, and stepped into her home. “Oh, thank you! Adrien said you were a friend, but I didn’t know if I believed him.” 

Chloe froze at the name. Adrien. The King’s son, the crown Prince. A chill ran down her spine, as she began altering the plan in her mind. In her greed for power, she’d just tripped right into the middle of a story. 

Not noticing the shift in Chloe’s demeanor, the girl continued on with her story. “We’re in love, you see. We met at a masquerade ball, but his father says he can only marry a Princess. My father is a baker, not a King.”

“That does pose a conundrum,” Chloe said flatly. Oh, perfect, another Cinderella. If she screwed this girl over, that would set her up as the villain, and if she knew Adrien, he was the type to come after her with a flaming sword to protect his beloved. She hadn’t planned to play fairy godmother–or godsister, because really this girl was practically the same age as she was–to a starry-eyed heroine, but if it kept her far away from any hot iron shoes or eyeball-eating birds… “What do you expect me to do about it?” 

The girl looked up at her, a little confused. “Well… make me a Princess. Right? That’s what Adrien said you would do.” 

Chloe stared at the girl for a long moment, before bursting into laughter. How ridiculous! Just… utterly ridiculous! Make her a Princess? “What exactly am I supposed to do?” she demanded. “Just magic up a whole new country and citizens and insert you as ruler? On what land? Or perhaps you want me to create a whole island for you too?” She shook her head. “Or no, we could send your baker father to war with another King, have him take over and install martial law! Yes, that will certainly go over well, a man with no military experience up against a full army. Or perhaps you thought I could turn mice into soldiers for more than a few hours? Come back when you’ve thought your request through properly and come up with something I can actually do.” She tossed her hand, and a wind blew the front door open. 

“But that boy in Arabia…”

“That was a genie. Significant power difference.” Chloe smirked, relaxing into her favorite chair, crossing her legs. A way out! She could be unhelpful, she figured. That was allowed. If she truly couldn’t do what this girl asked–and really, she doubted she could–then the story was unlikely to punish her for it. Or more accurately, Adrien was unlikely to punish her for it. She could close the door after this girl, pretend this had never happened, and be back to turning people into frogs by dawn. 

The only issue was that the girl did not appear to be leaving. 

“There has to be something you can do to help me. I don’t have to be a real Princess, I just have to convince King Gabriel that I am for long enough for Adrien and me to be married,” she said, clasping her hands together. “Please, good fairy! Help us!” 

Chloe sighed, rubbing her forehead. “And Adrien’s signed off on this deception?” she asked. “I don’t know if it would be prudent for me to involve myself in a clash between royalty…” 

The girl knelt on the ground, looking up at Chloe with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes that she’d ever seen. “Please, good fairy. He loves me, truly, and I love him. Can’t you take pity on us? I’ll do anything you ask.” 

Chloe paused at that. Anything, hmm? A smile began to spread across her lips. Well, that did change things. A vow of “anything” from a woman who might someday be Queen. That was truly valuable. In fact… if she played this right… perhaps, one day, she would see her own blood on the throne. “Anything, you say? Very well. I can provide you the deception you seek. Someday, though, I will call in the favor. Is that agreeable to you?” 

The girl lept to her feet, and threw her arms around Chloe, delighted. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” 

“Come to me when you have need of an alter ego. I will dress you in starlight and shadow, make you a carriage of the forest leaves and attendants of the beetles and bees,” Chloe promised. “But these spells will not last past the dawn, when all the woods must return to their daylight selves.” 

“I’ll come to you tomorrow evening,” the girl vowed. 

“One last thing, before you leave,” Chole said, frowning. “What is your name?” 

The girl smiled, ever so sweetly. “It’s Marinette.” 

“No. For every night that you’re spelled, you will be Princess Ladybug.”

… 

That day, as Chloe rested, her mind was racing as she made plans. The false Princess being installed on the throne was risky. Then again, this whole plan was risky. She couldn’t just demand that their child be betrothed to hers. That would cast her as the villain for certain, and the marriage would never go through. Even if the bargain was made willingly now, she’d learned from Rumplestiltskin that royals had a way of wriggling out of their deals, if they didn’t like them very much. No, this would need a deft touch. Perhaps asking for the children to be raised in tandem, with the plan being that a romance would bloom naturally? Of course, that was trusting much of it to luck, something that, in stories, rarely showed up when it ought to. Still, it was too great an opportunity to pass up. If she could become a royal, then the story would bend to her… and her child, of course. 

She would find a way. First, though, she had to figure out the best way to trick the King into believing in Princess Ladybug. 

As the witch gave herself over to sleep, she did not dream about starry eyes, or bright smiles. She dreamed of nothing at all, except the power that awaited her at the end of the story she’d found herself launched into.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

An Act Of Pure Grace by Charles Spurgeon

He who knows himself will never think that he had much to recommend him to God.

Beloved, when God passed by the field in which you were lying (Ezekiel 16:6), He saw no tears in our eyes until He put them there Himself. He saw no contrition in us until He had given us repentance. And there was no beauty in us that could induce Him to adopt us. On the contrary, we were everything that was repulsive. And if when He passed by, He had said, “Thou art cursed, be lost forever,” it would have been nothing but what we might have expected from a God who had been so long provoked and whose majesty had been so terribly insulted. But no—He found a rebellious child, a filthy, frightful, ugly child. He took it to His bosom and said, “Black though thou art, thou art comely in my eyes through my son Jesus. Unworthy though thou art, yet I cover thee with His robe; and in thy brother’s garments, I accept thee.” And taking us just as we were, all unholy and unclean, He took us to be His forever children!

[darkmatter-nebula]

Some "Lost But Now Found" AU facts about the Universe in the "Lost But Now Found" AU Multiverse (Colliverse) where everyone is human ahead, my dear fellas:

Collin, also known as Colli, and Hunter are the sons of Caleb and Evelyn. Colli has his mother's eye color. Philip, who always hated Evelyn, already planned to kill Colli as soon as he noticed the lavender haired little boy's beautiful red eyes.

Caleb and Evelyn died as Hunter was ten years old and Colli was one year old. What no one knows is, that Philip manipulated Caleb and Evelyn's car, which caused a fatal car crash. Colli doesn't remember his parents. Philip always tried to drive Colli and Hunter apart, but it never worked. The blonde boy and the lavender haired boy always were inseparable.

After Philip tried to burn Colli to death, the catholic got arrested. But he is a very wealthy man and was free soon. Still! Almost everyone in Gravesfield despises him for what he did to his six years old nephew. Only a few fellow catholics excuse his actions. Thankfully, most catholics distance themselves from these jerks.

One year later, Colli and Hunter were adopted by Eda. Upon finding out that Colli likes Space, her affectionate nickname for him is Little Star. She doesn't think his scars are ugly in the slightest! She thinks everything about Colli is beautiful. Including his burn scars.

Lilith punched Philip's face VERY hard as she encountered him again. She broke his nose for hurting, and almost killing, her beloved little nephew. She, not unlike Eda, Hunter and Kyle 'King' Clawthorne, is super protective of the seven years old Colli.

[theorist-influencer-untitled]

2.13.24 Wednesday

12:04 am

I still have windblow... I'm no longer happy in Cavite and it is so funny that Cavite are so fighter that they always wanna win...

I want attention angels... I want to have someone not coming from Cavite...I really wanna leave Cavite...

I lost my youth and I wasn't able to get a beauty award of anything....They took my days and I wasn't able to appear in the eyes of my beloved having a good presentation...

The red heart cup and syrup are still missing... Now, I feel stress,my green sports bra and black sando are missing as well...I need money and job...I feel self-pity here in Cavite.

9:16 am

Missing red heart cup of John and his syrup never seen, until now....

My green sports bra and black sando are missing as well...

I feel stress coz I'm using my cheap stuff these days... I don't have extra to buy so I just want a family that I can trust...

9:43 am

I really wanna leave Cavite coz if they can't use you, you are nothing that's their system a particular group here...

Hey! I was spoiled! I hate people who have bad inner soul or bad character!!!

I hate stealers there must be ending for them!!!

10:21 am

I don't like people who always wanted a negative effect in this house....

I don't like a blood related who wanted us to be in the middle of embarassment for 17 years and they passed the good image on George's family just for them to create their own circle and to lift up only themselves and competed us here unfairly. Aside from the other people who are naturally having a bad soul and wanted to damage my entire life as well...

There must be ending, even a bad media...

10:32 am

I still have blemish on my butt and I can't manage to continously buy a Navarro's bleach now but hoping Kojic can whiten my blemish butt...

This is not my ideal aging angels... I wanted me to have a good future, I know I deserve coz I was religious...

I deserve the vanity and my travels and our show me and John...

I deserve to have a smooth and unblemish butt...

12:19 noon

Out of budget mommy Peachy...

But Love2x baby-John...

Always under the table lately... Runny Nose and having gurgly ( may halak )...

12:41 noon

Ooppss! It is under the sofa...I found my green sports bra...

But the red heart cup and syrup are still missing...Plus, the black sando is still missing...

1:14 pm

I still have windblow... I feel bitter... I feel fat and ugly...I lost my men.. I lost my supposed to be circle...

I really just wanna end-up with a gigolo who are class A, able to speak English. A class A Gigolo...Nice balls and healthy sausage,clear inguinal....How can I pay for that?

I aslo wanna put a remedy on my butt and vagina as well...I used to be perfect but look at me now...

Lift me up a super class A gigolo! I feel fat and ugly!

7pm

Another issue that Mayor Barzaga they put the claiming of 1k for senior in area G court...They should put the senior group here in our baranggay...

It is so degrading and tiring... Sometimes I hate politicians.... Though, they helped us before but it is somehow degrading... I grew-up already... I wanna leave Cavite...

7:21 pm

I wanna leave Cavite... I don't like being here...Now, I hate politicians even sons and daughter's... I feel out of place...

7:49 pm

I feel jealous on them and on their women...

Where is Mitch? Did she give me a "simple battery"???

8:19 pm

So, it is the birthday gift from the government... I will claim it the 1k of nana as a senior citizen of this country... I will claim it in Area-G,according to this Uncle Jun. But still I grew-up already and I feel out of place here and I feel different now on the son's and daughter's of politician...I'm just 17 and 43... I feel different now... I suddenly feel jealous...I always lost my crown... I hate being 2nd choice.I grew-up already...

I still wanna leave Cavite... I needed attention and I feel fat and ugly...

I still wanna do a nose perfection and oh! God if I can just get some gluta and get my own gigolo... I miss being spoiled angels... I feel jealous for not having attention and for being at the bottom for 17 years...

I feel jealous...Nobody wants me...I can't create my own circle to be someone's "Kate"...I feel frustrated 17 years too long and too much... 17 years of windblow, plus another 3 years to reach 20 years??? Why?

I wanna leave Cavite.... I lost my crown!!! I hate being 2nd choice! I was supposed to be their sister!!! I feel different now... I've got some virus ( not literally but the hate feeling )... I want a gigolo to lift me up...

8:53 pm

Pay for this for me 20's or reds.. Still, be responsible...Like Mitch? Did she give me a"simple battery"?

What about the penis? Is there a muscle?

This is cutie!!!

9:17 pm

I don't like George's group and I don't like his family for being lifted up.... Hating the politician's now...I hate being 2nd choice...

All my dreams fell apart and I have my butt blemish now and I gained.I feel bad for 17 years...

I feel fat and ugly....

9:23 pm

From the past months and years, I was really concious and I was able to perfect my skin and why did I do that??

For sex of course! For self-esteem and confidence and for me to be liked by the man that I want but after 17 years, nobody wants me.Now,I gained and got some bugs bite from Conduent...My feet need some foot spa maintenance, I lost my perfection! They want me ugly and fat and they made me feel fat and ugly!!!

9:40 pm

I feel bitter... I have x bf in states....On my xhusband I can go to states as well...

But why for 17 years, I'm just here.... I want my life back... I want my own circle....I want my own life not just here in Cavite...

All my exes were big penises! I feel hurt now,nobody wants me...I feel ugly!

I didn't get any beauty award...I lost my youth... I need acknowledgement that I have pretty face. Again, I just blackened myself....A lot didn't know!!! Now, I'm aging and I can't fix myself. I feel ugly and fat... I want some praises on me... I want a gigolo tall and handsome bf, but I can't pay for gigolo now... I need a lift,I needed it most now.

10:45 pm

I have windblow and I really feel fat and ugly.... I feel that someone is putting an unfair barrier... I want a nose perfection and my gluta and how can I fix my butt... I'm 17 but college graduate and 43...I feel bitter... I'm 17 but I need a botox now coz of me 43....I lost my future...

I need a good future... I want far away from here....

10:51 pm

What? Windblow2x Ashton Kutcher, crazy windblow but of course I'm not gonna say no most specially if he will lift me...

A man who truly loves you or gentleman will lift you up, this is my case... But I see none for 17 years....

How can I pay for a gigolo? I want someone sweet who will return me into a fresh barbie looking after my timeline plans....

[chronic-claire-universe]

Tokyo Revengers: Taking Care Of You During Your Pregnancy Pt.2

We continue the scenarios about our TokRev Dads 💜 For the ones who don't know it, this is a continue of this so give it a read if you didn't 😌

Characthers: Rindou Haitani, Takashi Mitsuya, Shuji Hanma

Warnings: A tiny bit of Angst, Lot of Fluff, Detailed Birth, Cursing

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3 

Rindou exhaled a sigh, finally home, he thinks taking off his coat "y/n" he says quietlly but as soon as he ears muffled cries he runs to the source. "Here you a-" he says but seeing you bare-chested and crying he already knows what's happening.

Mood swings happen very frequently from the moment you got pregnant, you couldn't accept the way your body changed, you felt awful and Rindou didn't help in that way.He cuddles you, he gives everything you want, but he has difficulty doing the do with you, this let you feel way more horrible than normal. "Baby, what's happening?" Rindou says huggin you from behind and tracing caresses to your 5th month belly, "Jeans don't fit anymore. I'm fat and ugly" you say sobbing desperately, "We can buy another one, and don't say things like this. You're not ugly, you're never been so beautiful, with our baby growing in your belly" he says kissing your lips, "Then why you don't want to have sex anymore? You'll grow tired of me and leave us even before he will be born", Rindou eyes wide "It's not this" he says with flushed cheeks, "I-I'm afraid to hurt you, both of you" he confesses, "But the doc sa-" you try to say, "Yeah but I'm afraid I will not know how to control myself" he says. Normally your hormones woldn't help judge the situation, but suddenly you understand that you aren't the only one struggling, "Rin, I'm sorry I didn't understand that you need help too. Beside this I trust you, I love you and I know that you know to take care of us" with that you put his hand in your belly and he feels a kick, "See even Kaito agrees" you say smiling and kissing him, "Thanks y/n" he says sketching a smile meant only for you.

After four months, you gave birth to a healthy baby boy, Rindou was a rock outside, but he never got so distressed seeing you in pain. "He is way too calm" Ran says looking at his niece, who looks at him, "But he's so cute, congrats daddy" he continues, "Wanna take him?" Rindou said with a smile, you were surprised to see Rindou giving his newborn son to his careless brother, but here he was, cradling his niece and smiling to him, "Little brother will not say it y/n, but we are very happy to finally meet him. You are great!", Rindou couldn't wait to enjoy his family, you, Kaito and his beloved big brother.

Did you ever heard about Mitsuya being husband material? Yep and this is what Mitsuya becomes as soon as you tell him that you're pregnant. "Taka you're overworking yourself" you say at 3 am in the morning when he wakes up to accompany you to go to the toilet, even the easiest thing to do are too difficult with the belly you find yourself in your eighth month of pregnancy, "Don't worry about it angel, I'm here for both of you. I'll sleep with you when you're going to take your nap promised" he says giving you a pinky, just like a kid.

Mitsuya is always present and trying to do everything, but the moment is in a meeting with a clients and his phone start to enlighten and buzz, he tries to ignore it, the calls continue and starting to sweat he says, "I'm sorry but I have to answer, my girlfriend is pregnant" he says letting the fiancées smile, "Angel what is it?" he says but as soon as hears another voice he panics "Takashi, I'm with y/n at the hospital, the water broke" Yuzuha says. It's early, it's early Mitsuya can only think about this, running to the car and rushing to the hospital, but here you are, talking to Yuzuha and Hakkai, just a bit distressed "ANGEL!" "Taka don't worry, everything is fine" you say but as soon as you feel another contraction, he juts out to you, "Angel I'm here, breath" he says and his friends take their leave, so that you will have your privacy. After a while the pain ease, but everything was long, it took you six hours and at the end you were the ghost of your normally self, weak, wheezing and crying, "T-taka it hurts" you say for the thousand time, "I know, I know, please be strong and push, we're going to meet our baby soon" he says with sweetness and caressing your forehead with a handkerchief, "The head is out" the doctor says and Mitsuya eyes grow, you're trembling and screaming for the pain, but Mitsuya with the purest smile, says "Cmon angel our baby is here, just one push, tight my hand and push". The courage grows in you and crying Mitsuya's name, a wail is heard in the room, "Congratulations, Ms y/n, Mr Mitsuya, here your babygirl , Mitsuya suddenly got hit by reality and looks at his daughter, with his same hair, "Hey baby, daddy is here" the whimpers calm down as soon as she feels her father's warmth and your voices, it's almost like she recognized after all these months talking to her, and Mitsuya can't help but cry, "You did a great job angel, our baby is here", refusing to discover the gender during the checks up, you turn to your boyfriend and taking her you say "What name we should give her?" you ask and Mitsuya sighing and caressing your arm says "Hime", "Hime Mitsuya, princess do you like it?" you say to your baby who's sucking for milk and slowly falling asleep, just a gurgle leaves from her mouth and you nod in approvement, the beginning starts joyously.

When you told Hanma about your pregnancy you expected the worst, smoke near you, leaving you for days and I'm not gonna lie, the first trimester he wasn't really present, but he tried his best, he wasn't smoking in your house, but sometimes he left for the day and come back in the middle night drunk and you throwing up, you couldn't stand it. Hanma grew better when your baby bump started to show, he couldn't say it openly but he found you very attractive and finally the proof that the kid you created together was here, he couldn't be unmoved about it.

It was night again a craving woke you up and being alone, you went towards your kitchen and taking the bowl of french fries Hanma took for you, you put it in the microwave and let it heat. "What do we have here?" found guilty, you feel Hanma huggin you from behind and caressing your belly, "Shuji" you say caressing his hands "Is Emiko hungry?" but before you can reply a sharp pain hits you and you find your pajama wet, "Shu-shuji" you say but your boyfriend saying anything, he brings you to the room, change clothes and bringing your baby bag and you he runs to the guard outside your penthouse, "Hospital now" and you run in there.

"Cmon doll, it's almost ended, our daughter will be here even before you notice" he says with an affectionate smile, "There's a fuckin head coming out of me, stop saying bullshits and do your job" Hanma grins taking your hand "Eh love you too doll". Hanma is really good, masking his distress, he wants to be strong for you but he feels a bit uneased, how could a woman bear this pain? how can she survive this?. Many questions roam to his mind while you scream but everything stops as soon a babygirl is put in your arms, "E-emiko" he says with bright eyes, your daughter keeps on crying but the blissful beauty and her eyes, got both you and Hanma strucked "You did so great doll, she is here. Emiko, daddy is here!" he says taking the baby and carefully caressing her cheeks the baby calms down, "Already a daddy's girl?" you say noticing her attachment to her father, Hanma suddenly thinks to the day where you said that you were expecting her and turning to you, he says "I love, you and her even more now, I will always be here for my princess. Thanks doll" he says with a pure smile, "I love you too Daddy boy"

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