#once again is my tag kin or the kin I have no idea

[artaintfartwarriors]

Sleekwhisker design pls (my apologies if it is already done since my Tumblr search is glitchy).

Oooooh fun! Idk how I haven’t done her yet!

[lucalicatteart]

A new sculpture! Finally... I feel like I never sculpt anymore since I'm always sick or have some 500 other things going on or projects to finish, but I'm trying to schedule time to do it more often this year hopefully..! Just a generic fantasy creature as usual, but did try making the eyes a little more sparkly this time.. hrmm..

[nerdkiller]

i get the sense that maybe Victoria Sr. never had real powers *not just because the additional game docs for Classic kinda prove that the Mistresses actually don’t* but also also in the sense that her influence is made up period. that she’s a figurehead for a greater power. The way that Capella uses Taya feels like a clue into how Victoria Sr. must’ve used Taya’s grandmother... unfortunately we never get any info about this figure, but still. There’s something so telling how linked Capella’s and Taya’s rooms are in their construction, and how they share a metaphor of being a queen bee with a hive of loyal workers. Taya’s/the Kin’s powers (or powerful) are continually affirmed to be real in a way that the Mistresses’ just aren’t, i.e. the fact Taya really did seem to keep all those floors accessible to her alive, how it was impossible for her to get sick for most of the game, and other ways the game mechanics are on her side in a way that isn’t reflected with Capella

[windupaidoneus]

now some people may not like to hear it but even the worst people who exist are still people & there is no human being who has More right than others to decide whether others deserve to live or die (does not mean i personally condemn murder in self defense or anything of the sort or killing fascists or whatever i'm just saying as a baseline This Is How it Is) & this is why the death penalty is not a good thing no matter how good & trustworthy the people in any government might be. people on average also deserve the chance to learn to do better. & no, someone who's been forcefed propaganda their entire life will not let go of that deeply entrenched mindset so easily, it's not particularly unrealistic & it absolutely sucks to deal with but in the context of tangibly working toward world peace it's also not an issue to try & help such people both in material ways & in helping them learn better rather than cut them down or abandon them to a grim fate. all this to say that's why i don't think garlemald is written badly, as unpleasant as the experience might be. walks off the stage

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Affections

Fandom: The Hobbit Ship/Pairing: Thranduil x F!Reader Trope: Unrequited love that’s requited after all Note: No idea. I probably made heavy mistakes in the mythology. Don't hesitate to point them out if need be. Warnings: Miscommunication, father-son relationship, rejection Word count: 6 282 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstareditd @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

“Legolas!”

Seeing your friend after so many years made you so happy, your eyes were watering even before you could feel his arm embracing you.

“My dear friend. I am so glad you could finally come home.”

Decades earlier, the young prince and you had learned and grown together under the watchful eye of the Mirkwood. Small ones were a rarity, but two at the same time almost never happened. Once an adult, it became clear you needed to leave the palace’s grounds and see the world for yourself. The only kin you had left was your aunt Ede, and she encouraged you to go, despite being torn upon your departure.

Now, finally, you were coming back to your place of birth, filled with new memories and new experiences. During the war, you were following the refugees, learning medicine and healing amongst them as you had for the past decade. Fortunately, this knowledge became of vital importance after the conflict and here you were, talking animatedly with the Crowned Prince, sharing adventures and stories.

“I am sure your father must not have taken kindly to that friendship.”

Legolas laughed, his long hair moving with the winds around.

“No, he did not. Gimli is a close friend of mine and I would not allow him to be treated with the disrespect my father is so easily using. — Still. Of all the people present in the Company, the only one you find to be a friend is the son of Gloin? The very last member of Thorin Oakenshield’s entourage? — I did not choose, you know. And…”

Before he could finish his sentence, you stopped your steps. The place had grown so much since you last were there. The tallest trees reached peaks you could not see anymore, cutting into the sky slices of clouds and sunshine. The hall around you felt heavier. More grounded in stone than in wood. Ravages of the Great War had reached even here, it seemed. From the stairs in front of you, a tall she-elf, with her dark auburn hair and her proud stature, was staring right. Your feet guided you to her in a hurry. Her embrace felt like a warm bath, smelling of lavender and a quiet temperance you needed in that moment. Ede was one of a kind. She was the one who had taught you the basics to healing and the plants, as well as the stars. Your mother had been a valiant soldier of the King’s army. She perished on the front of the battle of the Five Armies. Ede became a support and an ally in the pain of her loss. It made you two grow closer, especially when her brother - your father - left for the Shores after his wife died. He did not see the future in as much brightness as he used to and did not want to become a hindrance for you. It was with the certainty of meeting him again that you let him go.

“Aunt Ede, I have missed you so much. It is a genuine pleasure to see you. — As it is for me, child.”

She pushed a strand of hair back, watching you intently with those profound dark eyes of hers. Once Legolas reached you, he saluted the Royal Healer before leaving the both of you, a soft smile on his face. You spent the rest of the day walking around and rediscovering the grounds with your aunt. They had planted bigger gardens next to the Healers Quarters. A gardener had been appointed specifically for them, allowing time and space for the now withering Ede. She was growing tired more easily and, despite her appearances, was becoming more depressed by the day. Her work was never done in this place, being the sole reference for every other healer in the woods and sometimes outside of the country and into others. Everyday that passed made her long for her home in Rivendell. Her husband had gone back the year before and the separation was taking another toll on her, time only making it worse. At the first signs of dusk, she brought you to your room, next to her own. It contained a simple bed and a desk as well as two tall windows, looking out on the garden below. The bag you carried when you arrived finally found a space to rest too next to the neat sheets.

“Child, I bid you goodnight. We shall talk more in the morning. -Yes, my aunt. I wish you pleasant dreams and a restful sleep.”

She kissed your forehead, smiled and closed the door behind her. Soon you crumbled into the heavenly made bed, but could not find sleep. After all, the real reason of why you left had been kept secret from everyone. Including yourself. You were becoming more agitated with every minute passing before meeting the King. You had not left on particularly good terms with him, a show of restraint on your part, inclining you to keep quiet and move on. Nevertheless, the memory kept replaying in your mind, as you felt yourself drift into a soundless sleep.

In autumn, the leaves fell, and Legolas was in the trees. Well, one tree. The tallest at the time, a great oak with leaves reaching into the sky as if trying to touch it. The Prince loved to climbed its branches, storm or high wind was of no matter to him, wanting to admire the sky more than anything. Also, it was the only place his father would not think of searching him in. Lately he had been adamant in having his son with him at all times, protected and locked in, close to him where he could not be lost. Or killed. That oak was where you found him.

“My Prince, I am afraid your kingly father will be upset with both of us if you do not come down this instant.”

Silence. Thranduil had asked you personally to go in search of his son. Out of the two of you, you were in appearances the more mature one. Even now young adults, you could not help yourselves and hid from each of your parents whenever you could, spending most of your times observing the wood’s life. The fleeting murmurs of the trees settled, leaving a melody of singing birds behind. Soon, he came down, looking sheepish.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to cause my father’s anger towards you. — No need to apologise. I understand why you would want to hide. Yet, you can not do so forever Legolas.”

He nodded, following you back inside. His father had grown tensed and tired after his wife’s death. Her warmth was the heart of the forest and once she was gone, every winter became colder and colder. The King only grew more weary of the outsiders, leaving no choice but to close the borders to most of them. You knew him in happier times, grew with his son and should have grown attached to the Prince. Yet, in your heart, Thranduil had the only space you could allow to be filled. It had pained you to acknowledge it, more so when Legolas’ mother passed. A voice inside wanted you to reach out and to pull the pain away from him. From them both, but you could not. As well as Thranduil’s borders closed, his mind and soul did too. For the longest time, he retreated so far inside that no one could reach in. Not even his son. Your arm looped around Legolas’ shoulders, trying to comfort him however you could.

“Do not fret. He was scared to death you broke your neck. Once he sees you intact maybe he’ll calm down”

It did seem to make him chuckle at least, as he leaned into you. You felt ashamed feeling this way towards a brother’s kin. It was a torment you would not wish on anyone not even your greatest enemy. It became a soft agony and then a feeling deeply buried. Sometimes, you hoped you would find yourself looking at Legolas the same way you looked at Thranduil. It never happened and you grieved the proper relationship that would never be. It had been talked about, making a match between the two of you. The Prince could have been inclined. Your own affections lead you to say no, to the disarray of your parents and Legolas’ poor heart. He never resented you for it but you did. You resented yourself so much it blinded the young spirit you had into biding yourself to this place, when nothing new could be learned, nothing new could be seen. No new love would grow. Ede had mentioned leaving before. The idea was taking roots but Thranduil’s actions were the final push into the adventure of your life.

Upon arriving in the King’s room, you caught onto three things. The first, he was still worried sick, apparently repeatedly pacing the room with no signs of stopping soon. The second was that once he saw his son, he embraced him, where you had seen him lash out in anger at others. The third, you were sure that when his eyes landed on you, he would burn you right where you stood. He took his time, checking if his son was alright if he was injured, who’s idea was it to go out and hide like that. Once his nerves settled, he dismissed Legolas, closely watched over by two guards. As the Prince left the room, you shared a soft smile, already knowing what was bound to happen. Once he was gone, the air left the room and the reprieve you had ended right there.

“How dare you?”

Thranduil’s voice was carrying across the room. He was standing as far away as possible from you, as if trying to avoid catching a disease you had.

If only that was the reason, he would sleep better nights. Not watching the stars peak and go down every morning, growing mad with every time he saw you. He knew it was, in truth, for another set of reasons entirely. His body was betraying him. His heart ached in the most delicious ways, retreating from its hiding place. He would have thought it dead if it weren’t for you. You with your sharp mind and loud laughter. You who had a spirit all of your own. You who were the oldest friend and confident his son had. How could he feel that way for you, he never wanted to know. It would have meant accepting he nourished feelings for you. He watched you grow and become a mighty warrior and a spirited young elf. Once well in adulthood though, that was only then that he noticed you. Before that you were a shadow compared to his wife’s memory. He saw and perceived all too well your longing looks and tight smile for him only to see. It touched his otherwise dead heart. The pain of knowing that it could never be and the blossoming feelings he carried for you were growing inside of him intertwined. Now, your eyes haunted him at night, hot and feverish, lingering in his mind. He longed to be touched by you, when he knew he should not have. The remorse was ever present. What would she think of all of this? She would want him happy, cared for and content. He wanted it too. He would not yield, not crumble under your stare. He had to protect his people from disappointment in their ruler. He could not afford jeopardising his rule so. Even for your beautiful mind and gorgeous soul.

“How dare you compel my son into acting so? You and your ideas! Of course you were the one to give him such ideas about freedom and… — Your Majesty, with all due respect, I gave him what he asked of me, nothing else.”

He was livid. What he asked of you? A jealousy he had forgotten the name of, formed in his stomach, giving his wrath a fuel to keep on burning. What did he ask of you? What did you ask of him?

“How could you? You are full of yourself. Arrogant. Reckless. Do you not know the influence you have over him? How dangerous that could be?”

He could see you, bowing your head, biting your tongue. He drove the knife deeper still, wanting you to react, to do something. Anything was better than you not reacting at all. Especially to him. The cruel intentions in him a reflection of his frustrated state at seeing you and not touching you.

“Answer me!”

The scream rang through your body. Teeth clenched, you had been biting your tongue this entire time, not wanting to make this situation worse. Although, he was on the right path for it to get worse.

“Why would I? You seem to have all the answers already! About your son, about me!” You kept on going, even as he stepped closer and closer to you, domineering and hovering over you. “He needs to experience life! If you can not give him that, at least give this to his mother!” This touched a nerve, his face darkening with fury. Where he knew you were right, he wanted to make you quiet. Those truths either he was not ready to hear. “She would certainly not want her only son to go to the Shores having never touched life with his own hands. Never fighting for what he believes in, never seeing the sun high in the sky or never feeling the touch of a lover, because of you. Sire, you cannot keep him in a gilded cage like this. Either you let him go or he will escape.”

He was invading your private space now. You could not look up. You would not look up.

“How would you know how to care for a child who is not your own? — I know him better than you think.”

Better than you lingered in the air, unsaid, deeply felt. His long fingers gripped your jaw pulling your eyes along them, then his deep burgundy robe before meeting his darkened pupils. He narrowed his eyes, the very tip of his fingers were burning with the yearning of touching you. He could not give in. He would not give in.

“Do you now?”

His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, in what was supposed to be a show of power. Both of you knew it was not, still thinking the other to not know about it. His teeth bit lightly into your earlobe before you could stop him. Frozen in place, you did nothing when his lips drew goosebumps down your throat. In a swift movement, he sucked a deep bruise into your skin. You cried out as he held your face in place, merciless in his grip. It was not a cry of displeasure and that surprised him. As your hand gripped the one holding your face, he searched your expression looking for a momentary lapse in judgement. Maybe something to stop him. Something to tell him this was wrong. He found nothing of the sort. He slid his fingers from your jaw to your cheeks, finding comfort into the plump and supple skin of your face, before all but tearing himself apart by kissing you. You kissed him in return, feverish and wanting. Too soon, he stopped. Disgusted with himself, he turned around, hurting like never before. His weakness was showing, all too visible to his own eyes.

“Go. Now. And never come back. — Sire…”

Your voice was but a whisper, the fluttering of your heart where his skin had met yours turning your whole body into a beating drum.

“Leave! Leave and never show your face again!”

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. You did not let them and left the room, closing the door as hard as you could behind you. Once in your room, everything went blank. Almost as if on drugs, mechanically, you gathered your things, warned your aunt of your departure. She did not question it. She knew of your yearning to leave and did not stop you either. Only accompanied you to the main road, wishing you farewell and a heartfelt goodbye. Legolas received a delayed goodbye, by letter. He was angry with you, but understood. You never told him about what happened and it said a lot about his forgiving nature that he did not hold that hurt against you today. She figured Thranduil might have something to do with it when the next day he asked about you. He seemed hurt beyond measure when she told him you were gone, almost surely never to return.

The first rays of the sun sneaked through the glass windows, shades and hues of red and yellows nesting into the corners of the room. After a change of clothes and a frugal breakfast, you accompanied Ede to the gardens along with her pupils, witnessing the classes she gave to elves from all backgrounds and all horizons. Midday approached and she took you aside after leaving her students.

“Child, we need to talk. — Yes, aunt Ede. What do we need to talk about?”

Her next words startled you as much as they turned your world upside down.

“I will be direct, my child. I need you to replace me, here, at the palace. I need you to become the next Royal Healer.”

*

Ede and you had carried that conversation long into the night. She was adamant that it was you who was supposed to carry on in her place. On the other hand you were less than convinced. Especially considering that she always described the task as a burden - more so in the last years. You would not negotiate with her and complained, exposed, revealed what you feared and felt unable to do. She would hear none of it. Her sole purpose here was to give her place to you, of that she was certain. Deep within her a longing of her home had taken root and she had wanted to leave for a long time. If only for her sake, you had no other choice but to do what she asked. For your own, you would have to face Thranduil when that day would come. Maybe, it was for the best. You could not stay in this place of ignorance and avoidance. A quick walk through the garden and you found yourself, face to face with Legolas, all smiles and a hint of mischief in his eyes you were worried about.

“Good morning to you. -And good morning to you, my friend.”

His smile did not falter as he proposed to accompany you through the palace, talking animatedly as usual, until finally you reached the healers quarters.

“I do have a question though. — Yes, what is it?”

As he opened his mouth to say something, he closed it again, his eyes drawn to something - or rather someone - in the room behind you. The door had been left ajar. Distinctively you could see Thranduil’s back and when he stepped aside, your aunt Ede too. Her brows were furrowing and her lips were pinched in a thin line. That could not be any good. The King on the other hand, was towering over her, rolling his eyes and pinching his nose every time she spoke as you would do with a child. That, that was intolerable. Legolas tried to stop you, his hand slipping from your arm only to be left bewildered and strangely, amused, when you stepped inside, slamming the door open.

“Your Majesty. Aunt Ede.”

You bowed your head as he observed you from head to toe. Since that night, it was the first time he was seeing you again. As you, him. A beating sound rang in your ears. His sharp eyes looked down upon you, considering your face, your lips. He stopped and turned towards Ede again.

“Your Majesty, this is… — We shall talk about it at another time. ”

She bowed and did not dare question his statement. He stepped out of the room without another word, only mildly surprised at finding his son at the door. He inherited his need to meddle in other’s affairs from his mother. It both amused him and annoyed him to no end.

* “Ede, what was that about? — Oh, nothing. Have you eaten yet? I was hoping we could eat together and talk some more about your new position?”

There was no negotiating her. Soon, she led you towards a secluded spot under a willow tree you used to hide in when you were a mere child. It’s blooming branches looked smaller now, even when surrounding both of you in its fresh shadows.

“Aunt, please tell me what this talk was about. With the King.”

Ede sighed, plugging some grapes from her bag. She stalled, settling down cheeses and bread at a luxuriously slow pace.

“Aunt… — Yes, I know. Listen, it is a matter between the King and I and… — Was it about me? — Sort of.”

You snorted loudly, startling a few birds in the tree.

“What do you mean? — It was about my replacement. He disagrees with my choice.”

That should not have stung as much as it did.

“And I told him that I would not be changing my mind anytime soon. And that you would be taking my place in three weeks time as per what was planned. — Wait… Three weeks? From now? It’s too soon, Ede.”

She shushed you with a finger against your lips, as she did when you were younger.

“No discussion, no negotiation.”

She proceeded to tell you all about the Royal Healer’s position. You were to tend to the Royal Family, anytime day or night, big or small wounds. Fondly, she recalled a time when Legolas was still small, and had fallen off of a tree, breaking his wrist. He had been restless for the long process of the cast and even more when he had to not use his arm for weeks after that. Being light of foot was not something you were born with and he had mastered it with numerous injuries and various broken bones. You recalled the infinite patience his father had to show. The prince was not as quiet and calm as he was now. She kept on with an extended list of places you were expected to go and help, as well as the palace. Indeed, she had taken it upon herself to replace the old healers in all the neighbouring villages. Most of them had been replaced, yet there was still work to do and new persons to train. At the first lights descending in the sky, she excused herself, exhausted that she was. She kissed your temple and walked away.

Your room felt smaller once you reached its bed. The walls seemed to be getting closer with each moment and soon, you could not stand it any longer. The night had just settled, the first stars showing above. Without much thinking, your feet wandered around the place, finding bushes and crannies, the deep river you knew. Several times, you passed by the willow you had eaten under earlier that day. Somehow, it drove you to its shelter, the rays of the moon shining through the leaves, giving the place an eerie and melancholic air.

Carefully you immersed yourself in this small reprieve of the world.

What you did not know was that you were not alone, sneaking around at night, unable to sleep.

* Once done with the argument, Thranduil had left the infirmary in a hurry, not wanting to dwell in a room where you were. Inadequacy was not something he was fond of feeling. Legolas followed him back to his chambers. He could sense his son’s amusement from behind him. When he turned around, stepping into his bedroom, the very same son had the audacity to laugh wholeheartedly.

“You do remember you owe me allegiance, even as my son and heir.”

The elf struggled to gain back his composure and nod. Finally he had come to his senses.

“Yes, Father. Although I choose to find our relationship into its more domestic issues than its governmental ones.”

Or not.

“Legolas, I swear on your mother’s grave if you do not explain why you are mocking me I will send you to an early retirement deep in the forest with nothing but bread and water to survive, as well as the animals to keep you company.”

That made him stop. Thranduil’s threats were always outlandish. They were also never made in vain or carelessly. Legolas stepped closer to his father, leaning in as in confidence. The King’s eyebrow lifted in a show of not being impressed. From where he was sat, he could see the sparkle in his son’s eyes. The one that meant no good.

“Your affections are showing, father. — My…”

If he had not been angry to begin with, he might have been now. He thought back to that night and could not wash away the culpability creeping in. After you had left, he had spent sleepless nights, without an end to his thoughts about what he could have done worse. Never better. In fact, he had come to the conclusion that where you were concerned, things was to be left alone. A sort of status quo, left undisturbed. Nevertheless, he stayed quiet. The silence worried Legolas.

“Father, I never meant any harm. — I know.”

He couldn’t face Legolas anymore, a veil covering his vision. The King felt the weight of the past years weighing him down, sitting in that chair behind this table, his future in the eyes of his only child. How much he had wished there had been other children with her. Legolas was as perfect now as he was when he was born but he was alone. He released a heavy sigh.

“Sit.”

Legolas obeyed, fearing something worse than a stern talking to.

“Nothing is ever meant to happen between…” The name on his tongue travelled down his throat to his heart. He chocked on it. “It is not meant to be, my son. Of my own fault. No harm can come to her. Not more than the one I have already done.”

Questions began plaguing the prince’s mind, almost wondering aloud what his father could have done to deserve your absence and his longing. In a way, those questions were answered shortly after he thought them up.

“I was the one who chased her away. — You…”

Thranduil’s hand stopped him. It barely lifted in the air, before resting again.

“In a very unkind manner. The behaviour I had was… Unworthy.”

No other words were necessary for he was one to choose them precisely. His close circle knew that. That knowledge was what made his son get up and look at him, with so much disappointment in his eyes he could have made his father drown in it if he so much as wished it. Legolas did not have any will in himself to do so. Instead, he channelled this frustration and shame into his words, chosen carefully as he had been taught to, many times before.

“Did you even try to talk with her? — No. — Why?”

His tone had taken a harsh turn, startling Thranduil in his immobility. No good excuse came to mind. He had been afraid and incapable of voicing his apologises. With you gone, gone was the possibility of redemption. Now that you were here again, he could try. Legolas’ mother was still in his mind, chastising him for his actions. He had come to accept that he would never forget her. That she would remain his conscience for the years to come, the years until his disappearance from this Earth. He had known her for so long, she would always be there. Telling him when he was doing wrong too. Even if it was with the voice of their only child, now grown, looking at him with something akin to violence in his eyes.

“She is out there, thinking she has done something wrong, when you could have freed her from that burden long ago. That, father, is not an unworthy behaviour. That is the behaviour of a coward. — How dare you speak to me in such a way? I am still your King… — Not as long as you behave like this, you’re not.”

He strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. His words resonated against the walls and the mind of the one left behind. A deep frown settled on his forehead, erasing all traces of previous fury. A weary hand pinched his nose, narrowing his eyes at his own anger. In a careless gesture, Thranduil pushed everything off of the table before him. Papers, ink, quills… everything went flying across the room. The only thing left were his hands gripping the edges of the table, ready to throw it too. Soon, he found himself crying silent tears, trying desperately to stop them from falling. His hands were shaking, a whole body tremor going through him, as sobs escaped him. This had to stop. A knock at the door interrupted him in his misery. Quickly he composed himself and followed the council servant outside, attending absentmindedly the meeting he was supposed to preside over. Legolas’ absence thrust another surge of sadness, pure and raw, through him. His absence only making him think about yours. In this scenario, he could lose you both. He could have none of it.

Once the first rays of sunshine started disappearing behind the clouds and down the horizon line, his feet brought him to his son’s chambers. He had to at least try to make this right.

* Under the willow tree, you laid, head resting against the trunk, eyes up in the sky. Sleep would still elude you, in the most peaceful ways this time. The clouds were moving with the winds, hiding and showing the numerous constellations up above. A rustling of leaves brought you back to solid ground quickly. Someone had found your hiding place, of all the places in the palace.

“Legolas? What are you doing here?”

The shadow did not answer, only advanced and stepped in the moonlight. It was indeed Legolas, but his eyes were different. A solemn toll had taken hold upon them and it was strange, if not completely out-worldly to watch him be this serious.

“I fear, the same as you. I could not sleep. — How did you find me?”

He did not answer right away, throwing a glance behind him before looking back at you.

“I followed you.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. His steps had gotten more silent with the years, apparently. From your room to this place, you had not heard him once, not even in the gravel or the grass.

“Listen, I am here…” He hesitated a moment. “I did not meant to follow you. It was the only way. The most opportune one. There are things you need to talk about. I thought that if I was the first to show, you would feel less incline in running. — The first to show?” Fear ran through you. “What have you done Legolas? — I talked with my father.” Something sank within you. “About you.”

Your voice died in your throat. “I never meant to overstep my position, as your friend. I was worried about what he could have done to warrant such guilty actions from him. — What actions? Wait. Did he tell you…?”

Thranduil’s voice interrupted you both. His tall stature loomed over, albeit hunching over to pass through the leaves and come to you.

“Legolas, would you leave us for a moment, please.”

The gentleness in his tone surprised you. It seemed it was a normal occurrence for the Prince who reached and squeezed your arm reassuringly before leaving with a bow of his head.

“I believe we have much to talk about.”

Neither of you said another word, before he stepped forward and sat down next to you. It felt awkward to see your King in such an informal setting. You could see the discomfort it brought him to be this close to you. You were about to get up and go, when his hand pinned yours to the space between the two of you. Stunned, you looked at him straight on. He avoided your gaze at all costs, not taking the risk to say hurtful things again, out of spite. Out of fear.

“My rank demands an exemplary behaviour and it seems I have failed in that task.”

Your breath caught in your throat, you kept staring at his profile, making it hard for him to keep going. Through greeted teeth he added more words you never thought you would hear from him.

“My actions towards you were nothing short of ungraceful and puerile. You have my deepest apologies.”

Finally, he looked at you, tall and head held high. That was as far as he would go. Legolas might have had a hand in that forsaken apology. It was a needed humiliation, if he was to keep you in his court. With him. Near him.

“Sire, you have my sincerest thanks for this. There was no need for you to do so and you demonstrated a great kindness by this gesture.”

His face relaxed slightly, his jaw unclenching. His hand was still on yours. The feeling erupting from that meeting left you dizzy and energised at the same time.

“Was that all, Sire?”

Thranduil could see the hope on your face. Brows pulled down, frowning around your beautiful haunting eyes, lips pinched in a thin line. What took him over he would never know, for he did not recognise himself behaving like this.

“No. The kingdom is deeply grateful to have you back here with us. This land deserves excellency and perfection. That is why I can be demanding of my people. As well as of you.”

His hand gripped yours. You did not stop him from doing so, letting him finish his thoughts. He seemed to be needing it as much as you. A prickling in your eyes made you withdraw your hand for a moment to wipe it out. Your fingertips erased the tears down your cheeks, while your tongue felt as a leaded weight in your mouth.

“I understand.”

Only then did you put your hand over his, squeezing lightly. A sharp hope ran through him, a knife of helplessness felt deep in his bones. He did not want to recognise the feelings growing inside of him. He knew what they were anyhow.

“Thank you.”

Words ran away in the night. Your eyes found the sky again, the stars and the moon above lighting your way in the dark. He was staring. You could feel it. You kept on looking away, biting your lips and swallowing your tears down your throat. If this was what you could get, then you would take it. At least he was sorry. Your feelings, you could deal with on your own. Thranduil’s stare was boring into you with little care for his heartbeat accelerating. Here he was, sitting in the grass, in the middle of the night, watching someone he thought he had lost. Something to smile about, finally, he thought. He was committing to memory the shape of your nose. The curve of your chin. The apple of your cheeks, the soft trace of your eyebrows. The stubbornness and intelligence hiding in your eyes. As he did back when, his hand slipped down your cheek, bringing you to meet his eyes. He settled in your throat, slender fingers finding their place under your jaw. Half hooded eyes and a sharp inhale from your mouth were all it took for him to meet your lips. Slowly, both his hands came to cradle your face.

Then, you were the one to pull away. He frowned, trying to meet your eyes. You wouldn’t. Cradling his hand against your cheek, you pushed it away. Deep within, the restlessness of your heart had not gone quiet with his words. Only louder, the beating in your chest trashing around, begging to be freed.

“My lord, I… I understand. I really do understand what is at stake, here.”

You met his eyes, full of something you never thought you’d see again. Worry.

“Nonetheless, I want more.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to stop you. You stopped him first, the palm of your hand quietly overtaking his senses, when meeting with his face.

“This. What is happening here, I will not have it hidden away. I cannot. Not after this long. I…” You licked your lips, anxious at his reaction. “I belong to you. In whatever shape or form. But, if you give me this…” The skin of your thumb caressed down, meeting his lips. He had stopped moving. “There will be no going back. All out of the shadows. And, if you break my heart a second time, I will not be coming back.”

For someone with a patient talent for words, the King was left speechless. No proper sentence could carry his meaning. Only gestures, actions and demonstrations of his affection and commitment could. So he did. For the first time with you, he became hesitant, his mouth shaping itself around your throat, your open neck bathed in the moonlight. He clung onto your waist as one would a lifeline, your hands threading through his hair when he kissed you. His hunger and thirst for you was unmatched. Unparalleled. He had forgotten what that felt like.

That night, as many others afterwards, you found yourselves bound together, under the willow.

[anonymooseforever007]

Shadow by the Bed

(Mainly Finn & Tommy platonically) + (Technically Finn Shelby x Unnamed Girlfriend)

Summary: It's the middle of the night after a family party and everything seems calm. Until Lizzie's woken up by a shadowy figure standing over her and Tommy's bed.....

A/N: Hi Y'all! No trigger warnings other than Finn and his Girlfriend getting drunk. Also even though this was made as a Finn x Reader fic in mind, it really is a Finn and Tommy funny fluff fic, and I actually didn't use Y/N in this one at all. I think I want to connect it to some more ideas I have for the same girlfriend in mind, hence the tag. But the prompt for this one has been on my mind for a while and it was super fun to write! Also I looked it up and it seems the first "instant portable camera" so to speak was invented in 1923 which I checked on that fact! Enjoy❤️

WC-4.2k

Main Masterlist

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It was Lizzie who woke up in the early morning to the sound of master bedroom being entered. The squeak of a doorknob broke through her previously unconscious mind, and the soft stumbling steps towards the bed woke her even further. And for a second, her sleep idled mind thought it was Tommy.....but he was ,for once, sound asleep next to her. Then she thought it could be Charlie, trying to find comfort in their bed after a nightmare. But when she looked over, her blood ran cold and she froze, seeing the tall figure standing by the side of the bed, cloaked in shadows too dark to see his face.

The intruder looked at her for a second, and tilted his head, as if he was confused to why she was there. Tommy himself still hadn't woken up which served to scare Lizzie even more since he was probably the lightest sleeper she'd ever met. Every time she went to check on baby Ruby, or when Charlie tried to sneak in because of a nightmare, Tommy would be wide awake as soon as be heard the turn of the doorknob or footsteps by the bed. So the fact her usually vigilant husband was still softly snoring while an unknown man stood over them both, only increased her growing fear of what was about to occur. But before she could open her mouth to scream or hit Tommy awake, the figure moved again. He raised his hand and waved at her, almost eagerly, like he finally recognized her as someone he liked a lot.

"Hiii Lizzzzieee!"

Finn. 

It was Finn standing beside the bed in the middle of the night waving at her. He was drunk too, very drunk in fact, but Lizzie recognized her youngest brother in law. She remembered the party the family had that night. By then end of it, the only two people remaining in the living room were Finn and his girlfriend who, sat on his lap as they eagerly talked, lost in their own little world again. Evidently, after the rest of his kin had gone away Finn decided he wanted another drink... or four. Placing her hand over her chest, she took a few breaths trying to calm her racing heart. Now it made sense why Tommy hadn't woken up. 

Thomas Shelby was a hard man to sneak up on, even in his sleep. He was a light sleeper and had been since before the war. Almost every little creak or bump in the night was enough to wake him to at least open one eye and see what was going on. It was like his mind perceived any noise as a possible threat he needed to size up.  And as he grew older it remained that way. But for some reason, Finn was the only one able to move around at night and not wake up Tommy. It didn't matter if he was trying to be quiet or accidentally knocking over the dining room chairs at three o'clock in the morning. It was like Tommy's internal danger sensor had a glitch that would skip over any ruckus made by his youngest sibling. And there was a reason for that too. It was likely caused by the years of young Finn sneaking into Tommy's bed at night. Whether it was because of the cold or nightmares or just because he wanted to, there were many nights before the war then Tommy would wake up to his youngest brother sprawled out on his chest hogging all the blankets. And even if in the beginning Tommy would wake up, it seemed he got use to it. So much to the point where his little brother's movements at night became a background noise he could recognize even in sleep. One he recognized as nonthreatening and thus not a reason to wake up. And it was a noise he could apparently remember even years later today. Hence why Tommy was currently laying on his bed eyes closed and breathing peaceful, while his youngest brother and his wife stared each other down. 

"Hiiii Lizzie....."

Finn repeated again, slurring slightly, noticing he didn't get an answer the first time and in his fogged mind figured she hadn't heard him. Lizzie ran a hand down her face once and finally composed herself again, whispering to the freckled twenty year old who grinned at her drunkenly.

"Finn? What are you doing here? Is everything alright," she questioned, hoping that nothing had happened to him or his sweet girlfriend after the family had left them. She couldn't think of any reason why he'd be here otherwise. Something must have been wrong. Tommy grumbled slightly and shifted in his sleep at her words.

"Noo.. It's all fineee," Finn replied, his words being drawn out and trialing off as he spoke. But he still hadn't told Lizzie why he was there. She'd evidently have to try a new route.

"Ok, that's nice Finn," Lizzie spoke in the same manner she did to four year old Charlie when he showed her the croaking dirt covered mystery box he was trying to take to the bathtub one day. She still wasn't sure how he'd caught so many frogs... "Why don't you tell me why you're here ok? Wouldn't you rather sleep in your bed?l

"No. I want Tommy."

"Tommy?"

"Yeahhhh, I need Tommy right now," Finn raised a hand to rub the back of his head, nodding like everything made sense. He nodded to himself again, looking down at his sleeping brother  once more. Then to Lizzie's surprise, and with much more agility than a drunken boy should have, he sat on the bed and rolled to lay right on top of his older brother. It was the sudden weight on top of him that finally woke Tommy. Even if he could ignore the noises his little brother made moving around the room, the sudden, almost crushing heaviness on his chest was enough to scare him out of his sleep.

"Fucking fuck....Fuck!"

Tommy shot up, cursing as he tried to get his bearings. Well, he tried but the heavy mass on top of him, grumbling in his ear, made it hard to move. Fortunately, before he could grab his razor cap from the side of the bed, he recognized the annoyed whine of his baby brother coming from the man whose head he was trying to shove back. It was Finn. Why the fuck was Finn on top of him?

"Finn?"

"Tommmyyyy!," the mentioned man groaned lightly as Finn shifted on top of him. Despite being the youngest, Finn had nearly a head over his brothers and wasn't quite the tiny little thing he use to be. He practically blanketed Tommy as he sprawled over the bed. "Tommy I'm gonna sleep here tonight. I want you to rub my back."

A brief glance to his left, showed Tommy his wife who was quietly laughing at his predicament. After she got over the fear of his intrusion, Lizzie found the whole situation quite entertaining. It wasn't often Tommy was caught so off guard, especially when he couldn't just threaten or fight the person off like he usually did. Polly would probably beat his ass if he shoved Finn off him and left him to his own devices while this intoxicated. It didn't happen too often, but when Finn did get as drunk as his older brothers usually did, it never ended well. Last time it ended with him climbing a tree and refusing to get down even when all his brothers demanded it. To his brothers' slight annoyance, in the end, all it had taken to get him down was his girlfriend passing by on the street, who saw him and asked if he would come down to hold her hand. Before she had even finished her request, he was out of the tree, fingers entwined with hers, grinning like an idiot even though she was softly lecturing him on the dangers of drunk climbing. But now, Finn's girl was nowhere in Tommy's, admittedly limited, sight. That still didn't stop the growing annoyance towards the brother who'd interrupted his sleep.

"Don't you have a your own bed to do that? And stop moving your fucking legs, I don't need you kicking me in the balls."  

Somewhat defeated, Tommy closed his eyes again and laid his head back against his pillow. Lizzie, still laughing silently, obviously wasn't going to help him, and truth be told Tommy was still tired enough that he didn't want to keep trying to move what wasn't moving. Finn ignored his last comment, shifting again to get more comfortable, and buried his face deeper into the blankets on top of Tommy.

"I can't go to bed. My girl's there."

"Your girlfriend's in your bed?"

"Yeah, I have a girlfriendddd and she's reallyyy pretty and I lo..loveee her and she helps me read and she had this really cute fucking freckle on her top lip that's slightly off the middle and you can only see it if..." Finn's intoxicated rambling about his favorite person could barely be heard as he described his love. Rolling his eyes beneath closed lids, Tommy wished he could free one of his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"That's great Finn, she sounds great, so why don't you go to her and ask her to rub your back and play with your hair? Why don't you get in bed with her?"

It was a decent enough question too. What would compel a young drunk man to seek the company of his grumpy older brother over the girl he's so in love with? Especially if he wants affection. In fact, Tommy was rather confused why Finn came to him instead of her. He knew that when he was this young and drunk he would rather have been with Greta than Arthur any day of the week. He remembered the nights long ago when they'd both fall asleep on his small bed after a night out. She use to play with his hair and kiss his neck lightly while he drunkenly professed his love in Romani... But that was a long time ago. And judging by the way his head finally shot up in shock, and by how he attempted to...glare maybe?....At Tommy, Finn had other opinions.

"I'm a not fucking pervert," he slurred out slightly while mixing up his words and bringing up a hand to thump his brother on the head, almost as if admonishing him for suggesting such a thing. Which confused Tommy even more as it wouldn't have been the first Finn shared a bed with his girlfriend. He'd come across them curled up in Finn's room after a party on more than once occasion, so it wouldn't be a stretch for it to happen again. 

"What does that.... stop fucking hitting me... Lizzie grab his hand... Lizzie help me.... Lizzie help.... ok. What the fuck does that mean?"

Rolling his eyes (or trying to) and pulling up his head to scrutinize his brother again, Finn huffed.

"She's drunk. I'm not gonna get in bed with her if she's drunk," he explained as it was the most obvious thing ever. "She doesn't like doing it with me. So I'm not going to do it with her. It's respectful and all that shit."

"She's drunk?"

"Yeahhhh, we played a game to see who could flip a coin into a cup first and if you lost you had to drink and theeenn we both lost a lot. And she kept giggling and almost tripped on the stairs and then she was tired so she's sleeping in my bed. But I'm not gonna get in with her. Not tonight. No no no," Finn shook his head eyes closed as he recounted the end of his night with his girl. Even if he had too many drinks, he still remembered all the times she sent him to her couch for being a bit too tipsy after a night out. Sure, she'd still give him water and kiss his forehead, but she didn't want to risk getting thrown up on. Besides she had told him she didn't feel comfortable getting in bed with him when he was drunk and he figured she'd feel the same way about it if she was. 

Finn kept shaking his head to show how much he wouldn't be sleeping in his room that night, until the motion made him nauseous and he groaned burying his head back on the bed. He didn't notice Tommy's look to Lizzie, who was already grabbing her robe from the side of the bed to go check on the occupant in Finn's room. Though it was unlikely she was injured or needed help, the older pair felt it would be safer to check just in case. 

Now the only two people in the room were Tommy and Finn, the latter of whom was still sprawled out over his brother. Tommy shifted around once again, hoping that Finn would move to take the spot Lizzie left empty but to no avail. It only served to make Finn groan more as the consequences of the alcohol began to hit his his system. 

"Tommy.... rub my back... don't you love me?"

Finn had resorted to trying to guilt trip his brother now. It was something he'd done many times when he was younger. Asking for something and then questioning his siblings love if they said no. It was always done with the mischievous intentions of a sneaky child. It rarely worked on Polly, who was immune by now to the childish manipulation, but more often than not his siblings were more than willing to "prove" they loved him the most. 

Tommy let out another sigh, but this one was laced with slight amusement. Even if it was slightly annoying, there was some entertainment to seeing Finn this way. It felt nice for Tommy to be able to recognise the bit of youth still left in him. Truth be told, he didn't see it as much anymore. 

In recent years, Finn had become very different from the kid he use to be. And not in the fact that he was a bit harder like his brothers. No, Finn was undoubtedly softer than the rest of his family, something that wasn't necessarily bad. But as he'd grown, the effects of the pressure he felt from his family had become more and more obvious. Almost gone was the Finn young who use to ask lots of questions and run around, rather spending the day playing football than sit at desk. He was replaced with a quieter young man who often lacked the confidence his older brothers posed. He didn't laugh loud enough to be heard from the street like he use to, always unsure if it was the right thing to laugh at or not. He seemed to make a point at time never to be louder than his brothers. like they set all the limits for what should be done. Where his brothers gladly wielded the power their last name held, Finn didn't seem to know what to do with it. He was always somewhat tense even around his closest family and friends. Like if he fully relaxed and acted as he did when comfortable, he'd be teased or told to man up like so often before. Tommy wouldn't apologise for it, but he knew it was partially him and his brothers fault for that. The anxieties that came with what Finn thought his family would want him to say or do or enjoy often lead him stay quiet, and do nothing, rather risk the wrong thing. At it's worst, it came to a point where someone would have probably looked at him and the only words they'd have been able to use to describe him would be Shelby and Blinder. He's gotten so caught up in appeasing his family he forgot to have a life and personality outside the image he believed they wanted him to be. 

Luckily however, finding his girlfriend seemed to fix that. She was the sweet girl who had agreed to teach him how to read. One day their lesson plans switched from reading words in books to reading the word cards during a silent film. Then when she started taking him places with her friends and going to do the things they liked to do, Finn was able to get a bit of his younger self back. When he was able to find a place in life that was completely separated from the one he was strictly living, and have time to try interests he enjoyed independently, even if his brothers didn't care for them.... That's when his family noticed another, admittedly healthier, change in their youngest. He was more relaxed and comfortable making his own decisions, knowing that there was someone there for him at the end of the day, even if he'd messed up at work or the rest of his family was fighting. A little bit more social at the family gatherings again, he wasn't as annoyed by the teasing comments they'd always made, and felt a bit more confident to share his opinions, knowing he had someone who'd usually try to back him up or at least hear him out. His girlfriend had done some good in him, helping him recognise that he could still have a life outside of his family's expectations. And while it did hinder somewhat his brothers plans to toughen him up to the darker side of the business, they were glad to see Finn a happy as he was. When he was around her he reminded them of the bouncy kid he was when he still laughed loud enough to be heard down the street. And Tommy was glad for that. 

"Tommmmyy," Finn mumbled again, his eyes were closed and he was almost asleep. His words were barely audible. Tommy looked at the face of his twenty year old brother, seeing it was still so much like the one he'd had at five. Sure he'd lost the baby fat and gained a numerous amount of freckles and a few small scars, but it was still the face of the small boy who climbed in his bed because at night when Arthur's snoring sounded like a monster in his closest. It was the same face that shared a mischievous glint with Ada when he wanted to prank John. It was the same face that tears were streaming down on the day he'd left for France and the same one buried in his neck the day he'd returned. It was the face he kept seeing in nightmares for weeks after the Lee family blew up the car, imagining what would have happened if he hadn't got there in time. It was the face of Tommy's baby brother, he still didn't like to deny, even if he did it more and more often these days.

"Do you really want me to rub you back like I did when you were little?"

"Uh huhhh...." 

Finally relenting, Tommy rolled his eyes again, but this time he had a small smile on his face. Giving a somewhat dramatic sigh, the older brother was finally able to free his arms from the weight on top of him. Then, much to Finn's delight, Tommy moved his arms around to rub and scratch his brother's back. He did it the same way he'd done it all those years ago, calming movements all the way down and then rubbing a few small circles between the shoulder blades. Occasionally he'd move one hand to the base of Finn's neck and place some pressure there for a few seconds. 

Tommy's couldn't even hear Finn's mumbled thanks as the younger man had finally fallen asleep. The soft familiar snoring made it's way to Tommy's ears less than a minute after he'd finally given in, leaving him to chuckles softly under his breath. Finn always did fall asleep fast, especially when someone was rubbing his back. Tommy could have chosen to stop now, rescinding his hands and moving Finn off of him. He could have gotten up and gone to meet Lizzie in the guest room by the nursery that she was likely sleeping in now.... However he didn't. 

That night Tommy would spend another half hour rubbing his sleeping brother's back, before he fell back into his own, surprising peaceful, sleep. Finn remained sprawled over his brother, softly snoring in his ear, while Tommy's hand lay on his brother's back, softly gripping the shirt he wore. And once again the night was calm.....

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"Fucking hell Ada, go slower or you're gonna step on my balls"

"I am going slow, it's not my fault that John's fat ass is making the bed squeak."

"Fuck off, my ass isn't fat! Besides at least I'm not the one using his head to keep my balance."

"All of you quiet before you wake them."

Argued whispers broke though Tommy's mind a few hours later. It confused his sleep idled mind. Not the fact they were arguing, that was a regular occurrence, but just hearing the voices of Arthur, Ada, and John so early in the morning. Why was he hearing them this early?...

Or maybe it wasn't early, Tommy could feel a warmth on his back probably from the morning sun. Usually he was at breakfast before it came up. Still half asleep, he ignored their argument, not wanting to deal with whatever fight they were having now, and shifted to get more comfortable. Only to find that he couldn't move, still held down by a heavy weight. Moving agin to try and free himself he realized that not only had he turned on his stomach during the night, but the warmth on his back was from Finn, still asleep hugging onto his form. He also figured it was Finn's hand gripping his hair tightly too. The quiet ginger had a habit of doing that in his sleep to Tommy when he was younger. 

The hushed voices around the room froze, and he could feel eyes on his form. Then he felt the bed shift slightly and the soft thump of a hand hitting a chest. What the fuck was going on?

"Shit, Esme take it already."

Groaning at the bright light, Tommy opened his eyes and lifted up his head. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust and his nose inadvertently scrunched at having to wake up. For once, Tommy was actually sleeping well and he was mildly annoyed at having been disturbed. But that annoyance turned to more confusion soon enough. 

Ada, John, and Arthur were all situated on their own spots in Tommy's bed. He could feel the back of Arthur's knees by his head to the left side of the bed and it was Arthur griping his hair, apparently for balance. Ada seemed to be next to Arthur sitting criss-cross, the extra pressure over his back indicating that she was leaning some of her weight on Finn. And John he could actually see sitting directly on the back of Tommy's knees, keeping him from rolling over again.... had Finn not still been sprawled on top of him. Looking to right he saw not just Esme, but Lizzie, Linda, Polly, Michael, AND Uncle Charlie watching them. He also noticed Finn's girlfriend over Lizzie's shoulder, wrapped tightly in a blanket, watching silently with a glass of water for her own hangover. They were all observing the scene before them with equal levels of amusement as all the Shelby siblings plied into one bed for the first time in an over a decade probably. It was that moment Tommy, still half asleep, noticed the camera in Esme's hands and realised what was about to occur. But he didn't get the chance to protest.

"Shit he's seen it, ESME GO!"

A second before Esme took the photo, Ads raised her hand and brought it down as hard as she could on Finn's back. 

Scared shitless Finn shot awake and cursed, his eyes wide open. Instinctively he began fighting off whoever was on top of him, causing Tommy to groan in pain as an elbow was driven into his back. This started a miniature wrestling match between the five of them as Finn scrambled to grab whoever hit him, Ada, John, and Arthur, fought to hold him down just because they could, and Tommy, having enough of it all, fought to get up. They were all yelling, but none of them could be understood by the rest of the family watching on. Eventually, Finn tried to shove himself up again and succeeded to do so while also knocking Ada off the bed. When she fell she grabbed John and Arthur, who ended up grabbing Finn, who grabbed Tommy and they all ended up in another pile on the floor. 

Across the room Linda and Lizzie were almost crying they were laughing so hard. Uncle Charlie was holding onto Michael's shoulder to keep himself up right as they laughed. Polly was chuckling quietly but just mostly watched the scene with a nostalgic smile on her face, remembering the times when the siblings acted like that more often. It have been a long time since then and it was nice to see them acting like they did when they were younger. Esme's smile was partially hidden as she held the camera to her eye to take another photo of the pile on the floor. Finn's girlfriend was still wrapped with a blanket around her like a hooded cloak, and she was grinning while telling Esme the best spot to take another picture. In her hand was the other photo that had just finished developing. Arthur, John, and Ada could be seen smiling happily as they piled over their two brothers, Finn's face showed pure fear as he was smacked awake, and Tommy's half asleep confusion finally processing what was in Esme's hand. It was a perfect picture showing the Shelby siblings in their natural habitat....Chaos.

From the pile on the floor, it seemed as if Finn's body finally remembered the events of last night and he heaved slightly as the nausea kicked in.

"I'm gonna be fucking sick."

His siblings scrambled to get away.

....

Main Masterlist

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

WIP Wednesday + Writing Share + Out Of Context Line Tag Game

WIP Wed + Out Of Context Line tag: @holy3cake

Writing Share tag: @aintgonnatakethis

No Pressure Tags: If you tagged me, you're tagged to do the other one/s + Open Tag

Rules: WIP Wed/Writing Share: Share any snippet of your writing, often the last thing you've written. Out Of Context Line: Share any line, but give no context.

The fatigue is high today so I'm gonna post these all here, open tag!

Something new today, snippets from a Gwayne Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen (Gwaenyra? Gwanyra?) House of the Dragon "oneshot" since the idea of this pairing ruined me. (I am very much team Black, this is from Gwayne's POV!)

Late WIP Wed/Writing Share;

"Who's this?" The Lady spoke, gentle voice clear and commanding, it echoed through the room. If there was any doubt in his mind as to who this woman was, then the Whitecloak's immediate response confirmed it.

"My Queen," The Whitecloak said, bowing quickly, "We believe it to be Ser Gwayne Hightower, brother to the Dowager Queen Alicent."

The Lady Rhaenyra Targaryen herself, Pretender-to-the-throne, once-heir, enemy of his kin. Whore of Dragonstone, Cole called her. Her violet eyes fixed upon him, doe like in evident suprise.

"Is it true? You are Ser Gwayne Hightower?"

"If you believe you can ransom me, My Lady, you are sorely mistaken." Gwayne told her, dipping his head briefly to make at least some effort to be courteous.

"You will refer to Her Grace with her proper title!" The Whitecloak at his side snapped, to which he scoffed. Lady Rhaenyra held up a hand, waved the man away.

"I do not wish to ransom you, Ser. I want what I am owed, and I want peace. Too much blood has been spilt already." Lady Rhaenyra spoke calmly, but Gwayne could hear the demanding petulance clear as day.

"I'm flattered, Your Grace, that you think of me so highly," Gwayne cared not to hide the sarcastic emphasis he placed upon the false title, smirking up at the Lady of Dragonstone before he continued; "Perhaps once my good sister would have harkened your words, sued for peace for mine safety. Alas I fear those days are long gone."

Her silvery brows knitted into a frown, as she appeared to deliberate what he'd said. The room was silent in anticipation of her response, and Gwayne suddenly found his throat dry, eying the winecup atop the table with a wanting envy.

"Your own sister cares not if you live or die?" She eventually replied. Gwayne wasn't sure he'd been expecting that as a response. Gwayne realised it unsettled him that she hadn't risen to his disrespect, had he spoken to his dear nephew King Aegon that way, he was liable to have his guts strung up with the damned ratcatchers. Not that his dear sister would allow that, but threats would surely have been made.

This though... He knew well enough no matter her standing that Alicent wouldn't be able to do a damned thing amongst the posturing fools that sat at her side, and if Cole had his way, Gwayne would probably be left to rot.

"Oh I'm quite sure she cares, in her own way. But none else share the sentiment, I fear I am quite expendable."

"What of your father? You are his only son- his firstborn. Surely he has a care for you?"

"My Father..." Gwayne paused then, gave an emotionless laugh, "I'm sure it would please him to see you try to use me for political gain."

He had spoken true, Gwayne knew well enough if his father, Otto Hightower, the great Hand-of-the-King could see him now... then the man would be disgusted. Gwayne had ever been the family disappointment to Lord Hightower, his "only son a damned disgrace", and now? Bitterness welled up within him at the thought.

The False Queen had grown silent again at his words, appearing to ponder them. The way she had spoken reeked of desperation. Surely he could exploit that somehow, prove that the lessons his father had taught him were not lost on him entirely...

"No matter. Queen Alicent will still desire to see you returned unharmed. We may yet come to some accord with her."

Queen Alicent. And quite suddenly the contrast between how the Lady before him spoke, and how she was spoken of intruiged him. No matter who said it, her name was spat with venom, if there wasn't an outright insult used in place of it instead. Yet Lady Rhaenyra spoke of Alicent with a quiet dignity, no insults hurled. At least not yet. That earned her a modicum of respect, he supposed.

Out-Of-Context Line:

"Your Grace," He kneeled, unwilling or just unable to meet her gaze now, "Please, I-I humbly beg of you, show him the mercy that they denied to you."

[fromfiction]

(excuse the slight lengthiness of this ask pls 😭)

um hello! i’ve seen you answering questions on this blog, so i hope you can answer this one! /nf

i’m entirely new to the term and idea of “fictionkin” but ever since i found out about what fickin was and what it meant, i figured it might be me but i couldn’t be 100% sure because of a smaller thing.

for a bit more context which i feel may be important: i pretty much spent all my life mentally viewing myself as literally animated, as animated medias have always been a special interest since i was little (i’m now diagnosed w/ autism which is why i used that term btw). though i never truly viewed myself as any canon character, i always viewed myself as my self insert sonas growing up, my finest examples of this through the years would be self insert sonas of mlp and eddsworld. nowadays, as my main special interest is my own work (as a writer and artist) i mentally view myself as my persona, i always have during these current years and i believe i always will, to the point where i don’t even associate myself with my body or face physically bc i’ve always viewed myself as some sort of fictional version of myself and in my mind that’s how i look to myself. to put this in terms of an example, i once told someone that my physical body is like a car because i like to decorate it and make it look nice and i use it to get around in this world, but my persona is the driver because in my mind, that’s who i am and i’m simply using this “car” to get around (remember this is an example i don’t literally think my body is a car lmao)

but yea, the reason i’m very confused is because i always see fictionkins identifying as canonical characters from a media, or ig even self inserts as i’ve heard somewhere (correct me if i’m wrong) but i never hear about people identifying as their OWN characters if this makes sense. in my mind, a fictional character is a fictional character, which would include my persona that is very much fictional in every way (atp my persona is a developed character with fictional lore, other worldly traits (like magic), and is always a part of little scenarios or short stories i make up for comfort or outta boredom, just happens to resemble me irl in most ways but is basically how i view myself mentally down from personality to clothes that i really connect with but don’t really wear irl)

but anyway yes, i’ve tried and tried to research for anything that might be similar to my case but i don’t really find much at all.

i hope this ask was okay to send, ik it might be lengthy ik you weren’t asking for my “life story” it’s just that i’ve always wondered what was wrong with me in terms of this topic and why i viewed myself as being a fictional character, and now that i feel closer to a possible answer it’s very relieving but still confusing since i don’t know if the label really fits what i go through. i can’t help but wonder if it’s also maladaptive daydreaming or multiple things/something else but i prob can’t expect much advice or help w that on this blog which is perfectly okay lmao

again, if you read this or even answer this, thank you i’ve really needed to ask this desperate question to someone who seems to know a lot about this subject for possible help so i came here bc i saw that this blog was active for the most part! i’m also sorry if i asked things that weren’t okay to ask or have said/assumed things that weren’t okay either, again i’m very new to fictionkin as a whole.

have a great day and thank you <3

Hey friend. No worry about asking!

It sounds like you're asking if you can be fictionkin of an "original character".

The answer is absolutely. There are plenty of people who are kin of their own ocs, you just don't usually see them talking about it, mostly because their posts don't end up in fandom tags.

[doodle-pops]

Since You Been Like This

Maeglin x reader

Request: I can’t find a lot of Maeglin x reader online, so I was wondering if I can get an Maeglin x human reader, where he’s overprotective and possessive of her due to her being human? -Anon

A/N: This is probably the furthest idea of what you had in mind when you requested for this. I decided to take a trip down the angst and manipulative path and I slipped...oops! I have tagged this as yandere content since the possessive behaviour opens up to that theme displayed.

Warnings: possessive behaviour (borderline yandere), manipulation, argument, overprotectiveness, hurt/no comfort

Words: 1.3k

Synopsis: The day you met Maeglin was the day your life changed for the worse. After years of endurance, you took your stance, unaware of the possible dangers that lay ahead.

“Maeglin…Lómion, I’m sorry, but…I can’t do this anymore.”

Your words were like an arrow filled with deadly nightshade which shot through his heart and left him doubled over, gripping his chest where your venom made its make before spreading to his mind. Glassy eyes that reflected your heartbreaking figure standing in the doorway of his vestibule, blinked once, then twice before a single tear rolled down his cold cheeks and soiled the onyx carpet. He couldn’t move to stand before you like he desired; to shake the nonsense out of your mind that someone perhaps had poisoned you with. An unmovable force was restricting his body from making that step to convince you he was right, and you were safe with him. You didn’t know what you were saying, you were placing yourself in danger by walking away.

Groaning as his body was forced to make one step in your direction, his glassy eyes blinked and released another tear before straightening from his hunched disposition. His body ached and cried, screaming at him to rush over to your tiny figure and pull you closer to him. To lock the door and teach you all over again, the horrors of the world beyond for the life of a simple mortal. Gondolin might have been considered a safe haven by others, but not by him who has seen the treachery within its walls between kin. He lost one who meant the world to him, he would not lose another.

“Y/N…what are you—what are you saying?” His lips trembled as they lifted to formulate a smile, resisting the urge to drop and become stern, showing you his displeasure at your decision.

Not able to take another step closer and left to stand beside the bottom of the staircase, his left hand rose to brace his weakened body. His heart was grieving at the space between you both, yelling at him to close the gap and whisk you away to safety. Could you remove all foul thoughts about you not wanting or needing him anymore? You were young compared to him, and a mortal; you knew nothing about the horrors of the world out there and within these walls. Without him at your side, where would you be?

Fidgeting with your sleeves, you fought to drop the eye contact he attempted to hold—you knew his trick by now. He would use it to read your soul, becoming ten steps ahead of you and chaining your head with your weakness as a mortal. Now was not the time to fall for it…even if the action clawed at your heart. You loved his eyes; they were a beautiful shade of black you could spend hours gazing into. You could see many things in his orbs, beyond his simple-minded comprehension.

“Lómion, I’m leaving. I can’t stay…with you any longer. I’m not happy like I once used to be,” you squeezed out in a lower pitch, soft enough for only him to pick up.

Shaking his head and fidgeting while his smile fluctuated, his right hand pushed his body off the balustrade and strolled towards you. Tall and straight, he stood like a knight before the enemy—your self-doubt—ready to strike it with his fury and hatred for its attempt at stealing you away. Nothing could come between you both when his mind was set on keeping you at his side…forever. “You can’t leave me Y/N; you’re just a mortal. You need my protection, you need me,” he whispered connivingly like a snake slithering its foul words into your ear and constricting its body around you. Preying on its helpless victim.

You were the bunny, and he, the snake. He’d bite you and blame the lion, and silly you would believe it poisoned you. But not today.

“No I don’t!” you shouted, too loudly for the first time, leaving you both stunned. “The only person I should need protection from is you. I-…I haven’t had a proper life since I met you. Everything was always an issue! You’ve kept me away from everything that was good—”

“I kept you away from harm and danger! You’re too fragile and weak, you cannot defend yourself alone!”

“Then I will find someone else who can…someone who will not treat me like a prisoner!”

You spoke back to him?! No, you threatened to find someone else? Someone apart from him, better than him!

You shrunk as soon as the words slipped past your lips, fearful of what next he would say to lure like a spider into its web. A million different images were displayed across his face in a mere second. With rage, disbelief, fear, humour and craze, he was deciphering his next course of action to show you how wrong you were about your ideals. He wanted nothing more than to crush your bubble and have you running back like a bunny, meek and timid, begging for his protection and crying about his truths. To watch as you clung to his robes, praising his protectiveness and finally understanding his reasons was all he wanted, and he would have it whether you desired it or not. He always got what he aspired for.

Rocking back on his heels, his tongue kisses his teeth as he releases a single laugh; it was the start of something catastrophic. It was as though a timer went off and bellows of laughter echoed throughout the vestibule before vibrating the house. His laugh sounded, at first, comical, mocking your pathetic attempts at standing up for yourself before growing broken and becoming a sob. Now hunched with his head resting against the wall, obscured from your line of vision to prevent the gleam in his eyes, he sobbed and wailed like a woman in pain. Clutching his stomach and dropping to his knees, he knelt with one hand on the wall and pleaded.

“T-There’s nothing that I can do to make you s-…stay?” he hiccupped. “You are human, you cannot survive among the elves with me…we need each other…”

You sensed the air within the house shifting to something sinister the longer you observed his performance. The stench of the atmosphere felt suffocating, filling your fragile heart with worry the longer you looked on. This was new, never before had you seen this side to him and never had he ever had reason to show this. You’ve always been obedient and complacent, only receiving minor pleas and reminders, but this… It felt like a horror scene.

Taking a step back and making your way towards the front door, you held your eyes on his figure while shaking your head to answer him. “I can’t…I can’t stay Lómion. I can’t let you clip my wings, I need to fly,” you whispered before turning to march towards the exit. If you stayed another minute longer in his house, you would have gone back on all the help you received to find courage. Right back down the rabbit hole and into his arms.

He waited for the soft click to echo in his ear, signally your departure before rising off the floor and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. There was no mistaking the silent gleam in his eyes as he glared at the door. He wanted to rip it from its hinges as it release you from his clutches. But you would come back, and he was sure about that. Gondolin wasn’t huge and he knew many persons who would be willing to assist him with proving the dangers within this paradise city. All that was needed was a tiny little accident and you’d come running back.

“Fly for as long as you want.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @singleteapot @asianbutnotjapanese @justellie17 @justjane @stormchaser819 @wisheduponastar @hoshinokurasa

[heilith]

Bottled Up

A/n: Aaand it’s here! :DDD I couldn’t be happier. 

The absolutely stunning art was brought to life by @mysandwichranaway​ Applause, guys, please - I will never forget how he saved the day and stepped up to collaborate with me, when I was absolutely discouraged. Thank you, my friend, you’re gorgeous!

Long story short, here’s our piece for The Hobbit: An Unexpected Collaboration 2022 project, that united so many talented, kind and creative people. @fellowshipofthefics​, you, guys, rock. 

Our prompt was “Musical Bards and Their Heroic Muses”. 

@i-did-not-mean-to​ You know, the night before I wrote it I dreamed I was writing it with you for 3-4 hours straight. So you can totally consider yourself a co-author and an inspiration

Also tagging as requested - @mismaeve (a new Lindir, my love!!!), @glassgulls @oenothera5 @noldorinpainter @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @eunoiaastralwings​ @a-contemplation-upon-flowers​ (may be, you will enjoy it)

Forgive me, if I forgot anyone. Ok, I shut up.

Bottled Up

“Spin that baby, laddie!” Bofur cheered happily.  

“I don’t want to kiss you,” Kili growled, pushing the bottle with one finger only, “Any of you, on that matter.”

“Why are you playing this, then?”

“There’s a lady among us,” reminded Kili with a wink.

You laughed, just happy to relax and leave the troubles you all had to live through in the back of your mind, if only for a while.

Of course, the refined abode of the Elves was no place to play such childish games, but the cheer of the Company was contagious, and you let yourself get unleashed for once. Spin the bottle seemed just the right thing to teach them. You had to admit it was hilarious, the whole thing in general and the way each of them demonstrated the involvement in the process so peculiarly.

Dwalin kissed his loyal kin and fellows with the face he must have been saving up for the fiercest of battles, the ever-enthusiastic Fili was as enthusiastic as ever and Ori just a bit less bewildered than you had predicted.

The ones that had the luck to kiss you were rewarded with handclaps and sighs of envy.    

The attendant Elves were judging you hard, which only added zest to the already spicy pastime.  

The day was obviously a success.

Once again congratulating yourself on a lucky idea, you stretched your neck and took at the waist of the bottle resolutely.

“Let it be me,” prayed Fili, whose luck with you had been failing him this afternoon.

It wasn’t. Neither was it anyone else. The bottle made two lazy spins and stopped, pointing between Ori and Dori…Right at the Elf who had been the first to greet you in Rivendell and was stepping on the Company’s heels ever since. He’d been watching the game, too, a sour expression not leaving his face for a moment.

“Go kiss him,” Kili suggested, before you could replay your go.

The Dwarves perked up, anticipating a good laugh.

“Kiss the boy!”

“Go for it, buttercup!”

“Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him,” they chanted as one. You were looking around desperately in search of at least one disapproving grimace – but no. It was impossible to thrust in a word, let alone make them change their minds.

Caught up in your own game, you stood up to approach the one called Lindir in uncertain steps.

The closer you were getting, the less life and blood were remaining in his face. You had no idea why he didn’t move back – the alley behind him was clear, yet he opted out of escaping for a reason inconceivable to you.

Instead, he simply froze still, looking at you in what seemed to be rather close to panic.

You stood on your tiptoes and shut your eyes not to see what a fool you were about to present of yourself.  

“Kiss him!”

You didn’t know why you failed to make it a peck on the cheek or forehead. May be, it was the heady Elvish wine you’d tried for the first time this evening, or the overly heated encouragement of the Company, but, instead of taking it easy, you went for the honest to Eru mouth-to-mouth.

The Elf’s lips were surprisingly smooth and coolish, the banal word “silky” describing them best of all. He gave a start, but didn’t pull away as you cupped his face with the last surge of boldness and kissed him deeper and more softly.

It felt good, almost like the real thing, despite the lack of response on his part.

At an instant you had an almost-but-not a sensation that some reluctant sort of a reaction was still there, but you couldn’t truly tell. And surely, it would be strange to expect him just stand there like one of those prim statues, which surrounded you at each step in here.

Having counted to ten, you called it a kiss and stopped to retreat to the safety of the Company’s circle.

There was a very pronounced response to your ministrations, after all.

Your victim’s face was flaming, and so were his eyes. He reeled, then stammered something you didn’t understand. The Dwarves were laughing without mercy, and some of the Elves followed the example, but you were probably the only one who paid attention to it. Lindir didn’t look like he cared. As shocked, he turned on his heels and almost fled the scene, leaving you and his duties behind.

“There goes the courage of the Elves,” Bofur concluded out loud and reached for the bottle for the hundredth time since morning.

“Spin that baby!”

All it took was one single mental image of your dragging the thing on your back all the way to the Lonely Mountain, with no to little chance to ever put it in good use.

Alas, a tin ear was the rudest of understatements in your case.

You snorted without any backthought and was ashamed of the sound immediately, as your eyes met his.

“Am I being a figure of fun?”

“Not you,” you tried to sound placating. It wasn’t each day you experienced a cultural revelation in such a brutal way, “And still, I’m sorry, I can’t take it.”

He had found you lazying around in the gardens, your head more than a little heavy with the consequences of yesterday’s overindulgence in cheer and drinking. In the good news, your usual case of a nosebleed had happened minutes before that. You’d just barely managed to wash the last spots off your face and shirt in the nearest fancy fountain, when the one still called Lindir stumbled upon you, a lute in his hand.

Had he’d found you a moment earlier, it would have definitely added only more awkwardness to what was enfolding before your eyes now.

“I can’t let you not,” stated he very slowly, as though his opinion of your comprehension skills was less than poor.

You couldn’t say you blamed him for that.

“Let me have this straight,” your temples were splintering with ache, “I have to take this with me, because I happened to be your first kiss?”

The thing he did with his shoulders reminded you of an agonal twitch. His lips stretched into a lopsided line for a moment, and you concluded he was enjoying this one-on-one as little as you were. And that was really not a lot.

“By the ways of my people, yes.”

“And this … instrument is your most precious possession, that is now mine? Because I happened to be your first kiss?”

“What do you do, when your first kiss comes?”

Just as always, you spoke quicker than you thought.

“Pop a foot.”

Lindir’s brows went up, but, as your luck had it, he obviously interpreted your answer as another manifestation of how small a brain you had.

“Am I being a figure of fun?” repeated he patiently.

“No, I’m sorry.”

Without further words, he held the lute out for you yet again. And yet again you couldn’t imagine yourself taking it.

The pause was a lengthy one, so dragged-out you had to wonder whether his arm was getting tired of holding the weight of this “precious gift” you had earned through such a little effort.

“I can’t,” you shook your head again.

“Please,” a note of desperation slipped into his voice.

He was travelling from anger to misunderstanding and spiraling farther into unhappiness, that you couldn’t fully comprehend, in a matter of seconds.

“Are you a minstrel?” you asked him at last.

The lute came down.

“Isn’t it obvious?” reciprocated he with a merriless smile.

“Write me a ballad.”

You didn’t doubt you would feel bad about this new brainchild of yours, too. But you had to save yourself out of the honour and him – out of the misery.

“I beg your pardon?”

“When this journey ends, I want to look back and know I did well,” the inflow of inspiration made you unusually eloquent, “That I was a hero. I don’t need a lute, what good can I get out of it? I want something I can remember, not break one day and never regret it. You wouldn’t wish I did that, would you?”

The deep dark eyes were never off you. This Lindir guy wasn’t the one to hand out his approvals easily, you thought, when another handful of minutes had passed without a word from him.

“I wouldn’t,” agreed he finally.

“Then write me something about how brave I can be. What deeds I can do, if there’s a chance. What hardships I can deal with. And I’ll say you paid for that ki-.”

“What do you know of pigeon mail?” he interrupted you suddenly, in the most business-like kind of voice.

“But how-“

The Elf allowed himself a smile, showing only too clear that your standing somewhere between a mindless rubble and a bit more mindful slug wasn’t changing for the better with him.

“How do I sing something I have no knowledge of?”

And just may be, he wasn’t that wrong on your part.    

“A deal, then?” you put out your hand for him to seal the agreement. Much to your surprise, he didn’t hesitate to accept it, wrapping his long fingers around yours politely, if a bit stiffly.

And that’s when the awkwardness returned.

You were quite ready to have your limb to yourself again, yet he had decided otherwise.

“Noble Y/N?”

Your fingers were feeling the pressure that his ones were giving them quite acutely.

“Yes, my Minstrel?” you decided not to dwell on it, in hopes that the light tone will repair this change to his manner.  

“Did you…” he stumbled through the question, which you somehow realized was not a common occurrence with him, “Did you do it on purpose?”

“Did what?”

You hoped you sounded surprised enough. Just like you didn’t guess the answer on your own and didn’t wish he had never asked that.

“Spun that bottle…that way.”

It was safer to keep on playing dumb. He was surely able to forget that kiss. Would he forget other advances you had no intention to offer him was quite another question.

“Why would I?”

His hand went loose around yours.

“True,” uttered he with a nod, “I thank you then. For the kiss. And your generosity. And I promise to honour our deal.”

“I have no doubts you will.”

You were becoming a smooth liar.    

 My dear Minstrel,

I fear I thought too much of …I wish I hadn’t been that presumptuous… I can’t recount the events of this day in…I saw them, Lindir. The stone giants. They were murdering each other right before our eyes. It was a life-altering…an experience, that I…

Scared, my dear Minstrel,

But I’m still here.

Yours,

Y/N

My dear Muse,

Do not test your skill and my patience with…

Do you not think me able to read a simple…

I’ll pray to the Valar to keep you safe. Or what my ballad will be worth of otherwise?

Your faithful Minstrel.

My dear Minstrel,

I have one word for you. Goblins. I’d love to say my heart was not in my feet, but it was.

You could describe it better, if you were me, Lindir.

But I wish you’ll never have to be in my place.

Yours,

Me

My Muse,

I wish you were not yourself, either. I wish you were not there where you are.

No song is worth it.

Lindir.

My Minstrel,

The castle is under siege. I don’t know how it ends. I just know that it will.

Do I need to say that word? Scared?

I don’t. I am not scared.

I didn’t mean to kiss you. But it was not bad.

Your-

A heavy drop of blood rolled down your lips and splashed against the scrap of paper. Your last one. As the things were rushing now, you couldn’t even ask Ori for a replacement.

Who even cared?

You tied the string around the pigeon’s neck carefully. Something told you it was the last time you did that.

“Go.”

You wanted to cower under his stare. He was not like you remembered at all. The eyes narrowed in anger, the jawline sharper and outlined more cruelly.

“So…You’re an Elf-Friend now?”

It wasn’t in the least the happy reunion you’d imagined to yourself.

“Your friend, too, then, my Minstrel,” you tried to mellow his temper with a smile, but it didn’t work. It couldn’t have worked with the way he kept scorching you alive with this disdain.

“You’re not,” he spat out, flinching back at your attempt to approach him.

Very well. You had your pride, too. It’s not like you had ever needed the friendship with a handful of faceless letters on a torn piece of parchment.

“If you wish.”

The next thing you knew were his hands, digging into your shoulders so hard that bruises were just a matter of minutes for you. He shook your whole body twice, with a furious murmur in some distorted kind of Elvish, and let go, as though touching you was the last thing he had expected himself to do.

“I thought that you…” he drew in a heavy breath and went on, with about as much success, “I thought…”

“I didn’t, Lindir.”

You felt it happening too late. The world filled with the steely smell of blood. You choked on it, just as usually, and coughed, lowering your head to let it flow freely. You were not fond of what swallowing it brought on.

The red blots painted the floor with a pattern that was always new and curious.

A sigh of exasperation reached your ears.

“Oh, please,” Lindir exhaled tiredly.

He had nice handkerchiefs. At least the one he had run against your mouth and chin. And his hands could be tender.

And he had gone a long way in kissing. That was the last thing you could think of clearly, when his lips brushed against yours and he returned the favour you’d done for him that sunny Rivendell afternoon a long time ago.

“Now,” being so close to him was still a novelty, but the one you couldn’t but welcome, “Where’s my ballad?”

Lindir chuckled, tightening his arms around you not to let you slip off his lap.

The golden fountains were singing their soft, honeyed songs…

And you wanted one, too.

“Forgive me, my dear Muse, but your writing abilities are not to be boasted of. What was I to do with your missives?”

“So that’s how you’re honouring our deal?”

“I’m agonizing in shame,” drawled he with no shame written on his face whatsoever.

You furrowed your brow and drew yourself up, straddling him more securely.

“You’re forcing me to take drastic measures,” you said, a threat in your voice.

“Do,” invited he through a smile.

Unhurriedly, taking your precious time, you wrapped your fingers around the brooch at his collar and unclasped it in a soft motion.

The sound he swallowed was sharp, as you skimmed your lips against his neck and had the kiss linger to make your point clearer.

“It’s either a ballad or else,” you purred into his ear, “Don’t you hate being in so much debt, my dear Minstrel?”

“Or else, my Muse,” he whispered back as carelessly, “I find I’m less complaisant that I had thought.”

[nerves-nebula]

I’ve been rotating your TMNeglectedT AU in my brain and read all your posts about it so here’s a dogpile of thoughts and questions (you don’t have to answer/reply to all of them):

I don’t know if you’ve answered a question like this before but- do your versions of the turtles deal with the idea of “my parent was nice to me once so they can’t be that bad-“? Especially Donnie, i feel like Splinter could be polite to him (or just acknowledge him) once and then he’d be like “well now I’m horrible for thinking he’s bad because he’s been decent before-“

do you plan to make this into a story (whether a comic/fic/etc.) with a plot or just a world build in a way-? (Sorry if i don’t make any sense-)

Would you say that Mikey uses Maladaptive daydreaming to cope/has Maladaptive Daydreaming Disorder? In which his daydreams can often take over whatever he’s doing to such a degree that it effects him negatively- 

I hate Splinter for being so shaped, like i love his design but i VIOLENTLY hate him

Raph being afraid to cry/not letting himself cry is so me- you mentioned in a reply to an ask that he doesn’t cry for really long periods of time which is 🤝(i definitely think i experienced some form of emotional neglect when younger- and reading about this universe is confirming that to me)

You’ve mentioned Donnie having experiences with grooming, this adds another layer of trauma to him- Would he ever experience flashbacks/triggers to his uncomfortable experiences? For example if someone grabbed his arm a certain way would he experience panic from previous situations. How would him and/or his brothers react to that? (him being triggered and how he reacts because of/during the flashback) at this point i kin your Donnie and I might be projecting

Donnie 🤝 Me (intrusive thoughts)

If i were to make fan art and post it how should I tag it? Or should i tag you in the post?

Thanks for reading this long ask and again you don’t have to answer/reply to everything!

gonna answer these in order

yes, this is actually the hardest for Leo to deal with, since he was treated the "nicest." nobody wants to think their parents suck (unless you've gone full in on it like Mikey haha) so it's a rough road for everyone. it's like, he COULD'VE BEEN SO GOOD.

I plan to do a bunch of one of comics, and I'd like to either make one big fic or a bunch of smaller fics in the same universe. but right now I really only have time for posting on tumblr, since I've already got to deal with college and my ongoing personal comic that updates once a week.

I'm a little bit confused about what specifically maladaptive daydreaming is/looks like. I've watched a few videos on it but am still not sure what its actually like, so i hesitate to say yes, but he definitely spends a lot of his time in his head, sometimes to the detriment of himself/his brothers.

I also hate splinter <3 he's so The Worst

yea i actually cry really easy (or i used to before T) so that's something based off my oldest sister, who straight up could not cry for years hah. trauma's a bitch.

I think all of the turtles experience frequent flashbacks/triggers. they're all pretty heavily traumatized, so it just makes sense. Donnie is probably embarrassed about how his flashbacks/ptsd symptoms make him seem more "twitchy" than his brothers. but they all have ptsd/cptsd. he's just the one who's the worst at hiding his symptoms. that being said, the ways the brothers react really depends on the specific situation. sometimes they'll mock him, sometimes they wont even realize whats happening.

you can tag your post however you want but I'll only see it if you tag me, which I advise you do, cause I like seeing fanart :)

[pitxroxas]

The castle of my heart, the places to come back. You… it’s you…

Welcome to my blog!

Hi there!!

‘m PitXRoxas, and welcome to this hell of a blog!! Make yourself at home! Or not! Idk! I don’t dictate your life choices!! Side Blog (@roxasxpit) <- kinda just exists

discord: (@pitxroxas) alt (@pittosilver)

Basic Info: -PitXRoxas, Leo, Pit, Roxas -Minor (16+) -He/They -Biromanic Aromanic Asexual -Non-binary (Questioning Gender Fluid) -Mentally ill (MDD + Anxiety) -Assigned Autistic by all my friends + my partner (personally i have 0 idea how to feel about this!!) -Undiagnosed OSDD-1b System [Icarus System] -Taken!! -Fanfic Writer -Vocalist (Soprano) [Youtaite] -Flutist -Theatre kid (kinda) -Newbie Audio Mixer

Interests + Kins + Favorites: Interests: -LU + LoZ (Linked Universe, Legend of Zelda) -Ensemble Stars -Genshin Impact -Honkai Star Rail -Monster Hunter -Project Sekai -Elsword -Alicia Online -Writing -Art -Music Kins: -Childe/Tartaglia (Genshin Impact) -Razor (Genshin Impact) -Yanfei (Genshin Impact) -Zhongli (Genshin Impact) -Venti (Genshin Impact) -Leo Tsukinaga (Ensemble Stars) -Hokuto Hidaka (Ensemble Stars) -Leonardo (RoTTMNT) -Ravio (LU) -Wild (LU) -Wind (LU) -Sky (LU) -Time (LU) -Link (LoZ:SS) Favorites: [Produced, Ensemble Stars] -Tsukasa Suou -Ibara Saegusa -Wataru Hibiki -Eden -Knights -Valkyrie [Mained, Genshin Impact] -Aether (Anemo) -Venti -Kazuha -Kaeya -Childe/Tartaglia -Diluc -Alhaitham [Mained, Elsword] -Bluhen (Ain) -Richter (Ain) -Luciel (All paths except 4th) [Shipped, Ensemble Stars] -Shukasa (Shu, Tsukasa) -Shumika (Shu, Mika) -Izuleo (Izumi, Leo) -Sorakasa (Sora, Tsukasa) -PolyEden (Nagisa, Hiyori, Jun, Ibara) -Narumika (Arashi, Mika) [Shipped, Genshin Impact] -Cheaya (Childe x Kaeya) -Childe x Zhongli [Shipped, Project Sekai] -Ruikasa (Rui, Tsukasa) -Polyshow (Rui, Nene, Tsukasa, Emu)

BYF + DNI BYF: -I swear. Alot. -I keysmash alot -Self Depreciation (not the illness just the act) is something common you'll see with me -I overshare... -i use caps -I tend to be hard on myself (this comes with self depreciation) -you WILL get loved on -'m stubborn -i tend to make weird noises in text (like uuee or uuwahh or waah!!) -if a fictional character has a pet phrase or something like that, i'll pick it up. (ex. "Umu!!" "uuchuu!") -I apologize a LOT -i tend to speak my mind alot, usually little to no filter -i get high energy sometimes and i jump from thought to thought / really disorganized -i ask questions alot im so sorry (< oops doing it again) -yeah i do (<this) -i say "kms" a lot -if i simply Do Not like you i'll create a very silent boundary on that DNI: -Zionists, Genocide deniers, If you dislike or heavily dislike any of my likes i listed above, Homophobes, Transphobes, Xenophobes, Any type of hate group does not get my respect nor attention— its an immediate block, thank you.

Tags: #Leo speaks (<- General me posts, this can be from SPP posts to me just talking) #Leo speaks with all his heart (<- tag only appeared once, but its when I get really emotional about stuff, only applies to my posts) #Delete soon (delete never) (<- Venting, block this tag if you legit dont wanna see me vent. These posts are NON-REBLOGGABLE for a reason.) #(Username) (<- ex. tia tag!!!, these tags are for my mutuals /friends who appear in my askbox or rbs. DM me if you simply Do Not want a nickname or a specialized tag)

[fictionkinfessions]

Once again, been a while since I commented here but I did wanna share some things with the blog since a few things have happened kin wise.

I'm not gonna go tooooo deep into personal history (the things I'll be confessing here are just the tip of the very deep iceberg) but like. if my friends or people who know me don't already know that this is my tag, it'll be a dead giveaway H

This will be a bit of a ramble but maybe it'll give someone some sort of insight maybe???

A while ago, I kinfirmed Josuke Higashikata from JJBA. Doesn't sound like a big deal at all. Just another, "woohoo! Another to add to the list of lives I've cycled through, I suppose." But in this life it was... rough to accept at first. Lemme explain.

For years it was hard to accept that I may be that flamboyant zesty 90s kid (which is REALLY funny said out of context) due to some bad experience with someone I used to be friends with. We were in a JJBA roleplay together that me and another friend (that I'm still friends with) ran. I played Josuke, they played Kira. Said roleplay fucked me up bad, to say the least.

From that point on after the whole ordeal, I didn't even want to think about kinning Josuke. I think it's because in my mind at the time, that roleplay Josuke that I played was the one I was gonna be, and I didn't want that as my canon. Oh, god, I wanted nothing to do with it. I was so scared of becoming the woobified version of me that this 14 year old roleplayed as that I was essentially blinded by my own bias against me.

Mainly, I was scared of it because what I saw and felt was accurate to things I didn't know were details from my canon were projected onto the characterization. This further pushed the idea that if I somehow kinfirmed Higashikata, then I must be the one I roleplayed as (not true at all).

Some of the things included: I was a lot more caring than canon is, I remember I got a job as a hair stylist, etc etc. It's only natural when you end up a character you roleplayed as has the shit you headcanoned revealing itself to be parts of what you used to be. It's projection. Again, I was so blinded and scared that I was gonna be that woobified uwu pastel one that I played as 14 and didn't even stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I could think about the feelings I had about certain people and events and realize.... whatever angst shitstorm that happened in that roleplay was purely fictional, and that my canon is my own and not what me and some other people made up on the spot as an angst fest.

I harbored this distain for years because I couldn't NOT associate JJBA with that roleplay until one of my friends started to get into it. It was at first to me, "Oh, okay, cool. People can like what they like :] /gen"

And then one of my other friends kinfirmed YOSHIKAGE KIRA. shit was absolutely shocking because one of the main reasons I was so turned away from part 4 was because in aforementioned roleplay, the person who played Kira and was absolutely toxic to me. The weird ass interactions between rp Josuke and rp Kira had like fucked me up pretty bad and as a result I couldn't see Kira the same way for years.

Again, all up until my friend kinfirmed the man and, while not of my canon (unsure what they did in theirs) it clicked that. I NEED to let go of that and see things in a different light. That's my actual friend, a real person, and not some weirdo that another 14 year old roleplayed as and essentially woobified the shit out of. Real ass person, not the same. I needed to drop the grudges.

This is what also made me start to accept--not realize, I'm pretty sure I knew for a long time--that I was Josuke, specifically part 4 Josuke. Everything clicked so hard, for years all the complaints and headcanons I had made so much sense because it WAS me. That abhorred rat episode? Didn't react like that at all. I tried to help those people (and failed). The fact I was so turned away from the 'Josuke becomes a cop' headcanon that I used to see all the time back in like 2019/2020 or something? It was because I didn't become a cop at all! Josuke was like, in essence, my first kin before I even knew what kinning was.

It feels more at peace to leave the trauma behind and instead holding onto it and despising a media that didn't really wrong me itself, but instead the people I used to know back in the day. Leaving it behind and accepting it leads me to new discoveries on all ends, like the fact that the memories I have as Josuke are as vivid as the ones I have as Klavier Gavin. Or, the fact that Josuke feels like a super close kin...

Maybe because for some reason I like to kin really zesty motherfuckers such as Mettaton, Klavier Gavin, and Josuke Higashikata... Fits right in with my kintype flawlessly.

Anyways, I share this all not only to kinfess but to say that, hey if you read it all the way down here... Hi :] I genuinely hope that, if something similar has happened, you're turned away from a character or a media you used to enjoy because of someone... It's okay. Let yourself recover, and don't be afraid if you feel it may be you. It probably is. And if so, whatever headcanons or complete characterization you used to have isn't what your canon's going to 'turn into' when you kinfirm. You are complex and you are your own person. You can't get it all right, especially when you didn't know it was you. Give it another shot, and like I said, take your time to recover. Have a great day!!

(sorry for any bad grammar or misspellings I may not have caught)

-#🕹️👾🎸

🐸

[hxhhasmysoul]

I remember you mentioned a while back that you rarely made any online friends who are artists. You stated that you made four, three from the HxH fandom and one in JJK. The thing that intrigues me the most is the statement of you most likely won’t be able to befriend another artist within the JJK fandom in such low stakes condition. I was wondering what you possibly meant by that, and was hoping for a possible clarification or explanation. Although I can see where you are coming from, the JJK fandom is extremely… active in comparison to the HxH fandom. Additionally, I do wonder how did you befriended this JJK artist in the first place.

I don't remember how I phrased the low stakes thing. Maybe I was confusing and rambly when I wrote about it. I'll try to write it out clearly but it will take some background.

Despite the HxH fandom being small, much smaller than JJK, it's actually pretty active. But most of all it has Shal, I tagged Shal recently in one of my answers so I won't do it again, not to bother her.

Shal isn't the only person who's active like that in the HxH fandom but she's like a staple of the HxH fandom, someone who the fandom owes a lot to, probably the most to. Shal and her kin are community organisers. For years, like fucking clockwork, Shal has successfully run several HxH annual events. Shal runs a very chill and active HxH fandom server called Greed Island Server. If you look at HxH posts you will see that many of them mention that server. There's a blog on here called HxH events that aggregates and promotes HxH events.

My theory is that, because of Shal's achievements there are also many other HxH events going on here without Shal.

This lowers the bar of entry into the HxH community here, makes it low stakes.

Most events have discords. In a general discord it's sometimes hard to jump into the convo, hard to say something. In an event discord it's easy to interact, talk about the event. Talk about the stuff you're doing for the event. Discuss ideas. The topics are clear. Also many people join these events and some of them are there for the first time, some are veterans. The newbies will ask questions about how it works, the veterans will answer. Clear topic, clear interaction purpose. Also in the servers it's rarely directly to a particular person. At least initially. That also lowers the stakes. Someone starts a topic and others join in or they don't but there's enough people so there likely be some response, not radio silence.

And once it gets going you can make friends. You may find you click with some of these people. You may go to the dms and talk about other stuff. (though no guarantees, this is not a promise that the moment you join an event you will make deep and meaningful connections. doing that will improve your chances, that's it.)

As far as I've noticed JJK has nothing of the sort. There are some popular accounts, some popular writers, artists, meta writers, popular aggressive clout chasers with their cold takes. You will have all of that in the HxH fandom, the good, the bad, the irritating.

But because there are no events to interact with people in the JJK fandom you have to do it here. You have to either be a mean fuck like me and give little shits and just comment on posts in notes, tags or reblogs. You need to send asks off anon. It requires putting yourself out there in a situation where you don't know whether the person, and it will always be one on one, wants the interaction. Any interaction at all or just on this particular topic.

JJK fandom is active like a big city centre. There's a lot of people around, some are in groups, most are there on their own. Most people are going somewhere. It's hard to come up to someone and start a conversation.

HxH fandom is active more like fair, it's smaller but people come there to do stuff together. They may not know each other but they are open to having fun together at the same time. (it's not ideal, there are shit people, I'm not romaticising)

I hope this explains what I meant.

Re getting to know the artist. It was one of the weirdest things that happened in my life, it was stressful and a bad idea and bad choices on my part that turned out surprisingly ok. I don't feel like revisiting it in detail anymore. It's also not something I'd advise anyone to do. In normal circumstances I would've got blocked because I was a dick.

[venomous-ragno]

Martyr (Prologue)

I've recently been obssessed with CoD again and had this idea of a storyline that I needed to write or else I'll explode. This is not an rp thing, just my own story I may or may not continue.

Warnings: Mention of blood and death, nothing descriptive tho

Tags: CoD, f!reader, possible CoD boys x f!Reader in future parts

"So let me recap", Soap massaged his temples with a drawn out sigh, "we're supposed to find and eliminate a German soldier whose whole squad was decimated... Months ago? And the German government calls a team of SAS vigilantes to do the job? Did I get that right."

Price wordlessly flipped through the papers. Given to him by an acquaintance of his in the British armed forces, he'd accepted them with a healthy dose of scepticism, no less confused than his team now.

"How do we even know if she's still alive?" Gaz addressed the elephant in the room. "It's been three months. Not even we have it easy out here, let alone a single person entirely on her own." His eyes darted back and forth between his comrades, each deep in thought. Soap sported an expression of insomnia and doubt with a dash of migraines; Price kept skimming through the pages in his hands, each decorated by blackened out bars redacting information, marked with bright red [TOP SECRET] stamps.

And Ghost?

Ghost leant against a wall somewhere in the back of that run down warehouse they called base. The most unseeming, long forgotten place on the outskirts of a city lost to chaos. The flickering lights of their only lamp barely reached him, casting him into the shadows he so loved.

"Something's fishy." Husky was his voice and careful his words.

Captain Price nodded.

"According to what limited info we have, they're certain she's alive because there's been an SOS signal set off somewhere in this area, and it was directed at German comms. As if that were proof enough..." He muttered the last part, unceremoniously throwing the folder unto the table in their midst. Not enough reliable hints and too many unanswered questions.

"So what do we do?", Soap asked, "go on a treasure hunt for someone who's most likely dead?"

"An order's an order, Soap." Price's brow rose. Soap sighed. He knew that tone. Commanding. Reprimanding. I call the shots, you follow.

"Of course, Sir." He replied, grabbing a somewhat broken stool and sitting down with it's back facing the table, "what's our plan?"

Eyes closed for the briefest of moments. Her back pressed against concrete, grip tight on the rifle in her arms. She calmed her mind and flattened her breath; can't have them find her now, not when she's survived for this long, not until she's found him.

Agitated screams echoed through dimly lit streets. Dogs barked and cars honked, covering the sounds of debris crunching underneath blood crusted boots. Her eyes darted left and right, up and down. Every rooftop, every corner and dark alley scanned for possible threats until she took refuge in what was once a beautiful villa, now, remnants of times long gone. Times of peace and happiness, of laughter and family gatherings and birthdays - nothing more than a distant memory in the minds of the locals. She knew what it meant when they looked upon her with a gaze so cold as they reached for the gun hidden underneath the belt. All that pain and fear and anger clutching their hearts.

And truly, who could blame them?

Their home lay in ruins and their kin in blood.

She ducked as a car drove by. Windows smashed and one door missing, hood bent and tires covered in grafittis of a symbol she recognised even in the dark. How proudly they displayed it: On houses, cars, even their uniform had it plastered all across expensive armour. It left a bitter taste in her mouth, that symbol.

Counting seconds even after the patrol disappeared and its sounds mingled with the city, she glanced down the street before continuing her way forward. Deeper into the center she went. Idiotic, really. Suicidal even. All it needed was a single moment of negligence on her part, no, a stroke of bad luck would be enough and it'd all be over. Three months of raw survival for nothing.

How long would the candle burn in the midst of  lashing winds?

The blood of her comrades had long dried on her, melting into the camouflage of her uniform.

She won't die here. She promised. And she'll keep her promise, no matter what.

Taglist: @undertaker-02

Dividers by @mikeykuns & @silkholland

[atmymercy]

Hi tea! Tysm! Yes, a one-shot would be perfect!!! ShikaIno prompt: She knew he was alone, as she knew this would be their last time, in a few months they would start relationships that had nothing to do with each other, her knuckles meet wood and she waited with her heart on her throat. She believed that their duty would be their end but it turned out that destiny would be her new hope. She is pregnant and neither the village nor her duty would take it away from her.

hello anon!

it was my pleasure! hope you enjoy! please leave a comment if you do!

[ a03 ]

"You can't fight what is, Ino."

He sounds defeated. He's been in negotiations about this for months now. But now… he is resigned and he accepts his fate. He always does. He loves to just lie back and…

She watches him leave after their very last night together. He doesn’t understand what’s tucked in his vest pocket with his favorite red-tied kunai or three would lie, the ones she had braided and personally tied the handles of when they were twelve. Though she had to replace them again when they were fourteen… Fifteen… And Seventeen. He got really good at not needing those weapons replaced for a long time there. She’s glad this last batch is lasting longer too.

But she never wanted their eighteen birthday to come. Which is funny because Ino was all about birthdays and celebrating but have you ever thought of how much an animal in the zoo celebrates its birthday? No? Well, Ino felt a deep kin to those caged animals now.

For the most part, Konoha was great and it was their home. But it didn’t live alone out at sea. No, there were neighbouring countries and allies to be made! At the age of eighteen, certain shinobi and the rare civilian were sent across borders in goodwill and a show of family!

And how do you make a family of two different nations? Marriage, silly!

This custom was supposed to be an honour. To be chosen is to mean another country sees your worth, skill or even size! There’s no fighting about rare techniques and types when you had a chance last year to trade your Charizard for a Shiny Pikachu! Ooh!

Of course, Shikamaru was chosen. Ino knew he always would be. She had seen the interest and hypothetical territorial Suna flag that was spiked into Shikamaru when he was seen at their genin games and it was always destined that the year Ino and Shikamaru turn eighteen would be the year and alliance strengthening of Konoha and Suna. They all politely took turns with their yearly designated buddy. So fair! Let’s not mention a certain blonde that Ino didn’t like to think about either. Ino just knew that woman was a driving force behind it as well.

"Wish I was related to the Hokage too…"

She folded her arms and watched him go.

And this had never meant to be anything anyways. This relationship was supposed to be fun and games! They were young and good-looking! Maybe a little too curious about one another… Honestly, Ino wasn’t even sure of what had come over them. One moment they were friends on a hill, hanging out and the next afternoon or week later, she wasn’t sure anymore, they were a lot more.

Ino half blamed the sun for being too nice those days when she had just decided to climb into his lap and never leave.

If she closed her eyes, she could feel his hands lining a groove into her hips and thighs. He would chuckle and it would create tornadoes in the pit of her that made her yearn to drink his smile. He had never questioned what she was doing.

Nope! His eyes would just watch her carefully like an explosive tag that was thrown too close. But she doesn’t miss it. The flicker of his eyes to her mouth. She had savoured the moment, the intensity and the feeling of him growing uncomfortable before her. She giggled and pushed him further into the grass.

Their first kiss seemed so far and close all at once.

“Shika!”

She knows it’s a bad idea. It had already taken them thirty minutes to calm her tears when his roll call came closer. But she couldn't let him go without one last feel of his arms around her.

Especially when she knows her secret plan B may never work. The Hokage had promised her mother and her they would do all they could when the news broke but there was no guarantee that Suna still wouldn’t want the Nara heir, even with a bastard on the way or not…

The tainted goods effect would hopefully sour their favouritism for him. Either way, this was a risque idea and she had never thought it would come to this dirty of tactics.

But they were all ninjas by trade so…

“These three kunai signify more than just you and me now,” she whispers into his ear when they finally break free from a kiss that was all fire and hail. Anger and heat that neither of them could express.

She hopes she hasn’t just ruined the plan but she couldn’t let Shikamaru go without at least a hint of the political mess he would be walking into. His eyes hold hers and she tries to place an image of a swaddled newborn into her mind and hope her abilities would work a miracle in this moment if her words weren’t enough.

She doesn’t know either way. He presses a last, lingering sweet kiss to her brow before he phases away. His hands on her shoulders tighten before he is gone.

"Hmph. I probably am too troublesome,” she smirked, placing a comforting hand on her tummy.

A moment passed before Ino laughed at the ridiculousness of her life. “But don’t worry because if all else fails, Hokage said I get the first choice in a husband! So who do you want to be your new daddy if this plan fails horribly?”

An odd craving for ramen came.

“Huh… Naruto, really? I guess he does want to be Hokage one day… Hmm… How about…”