#please keep drawing these silly elves

[noirbriar]

Glorestor: 5 Times They Denied (5)

+ 1 time They Did Not.

From the POVs of the various folks around the 2 elves who are convinced they are courting, or betrothed, even though they were told otherwise.

Take this messy thing that is nearing the end! Here is a short palate cleanser between meals with our favourite hobbit adventurer in retirement waiting to call you out on your BS.

Also one dedicated and spicy part to @tamilhobbit , you will know which one ;)

---

5] Bilbo Baggins

“Curious isn’t it?”

Curious would probably be the last thing Bilbo Baggins would choose to describe the sight before him.

In fact, this is quite possibly the last thing he had expected to see when Lord Elrond called for his sons, the twin young princes of Rivendell, to give him a tour around the Homely House.

The old adventurer has been here enough times to know his way around.Though Bilbo really thinks the Lord is simply trying to take the opportunity to keep his sons out of certain mischief. If that playful glint in their eyes are anything to go by. He has seen that bright glint in far, far, far too many young fauntlings and Frodo with his cousins to miss that look.

Retirement now suits Bilbo well in his opinion, now that he has taken one last adventure with dear Bofur and Nori to ease that restlessness in him. Even if he finds himself unable to step into that magnificent mountain once more. With the conclusion of his last journey, he lays down his walking stick and have moved into the peaceful elven haven that has ensnared his heart long ago. In a few short days, the peaceful valley of Elrond Half-elven had done wonders to his exhausted and tired old soul.

Elladan and Elrohir settles beside him, leaning on the elegant railings along the high garden pavilion.The setting sun illuminating the Valley in golden light. They have shown him the great libraries, the council rooms and lovely gardens. Not forgetting the amazing kitchens and the wondrous Hall of Fire.

Yet he finds this one that they have wondrously called 'Rivendell’s Most Unbelievable Wonder Through The Ages' the most bizarre of all.

"I'm not sure how this is...a thing?" Bilbo gives the twins a wary eye, uncertain how he should feel about this with a willowy wave of his hand to gesture at whatever he is seeing before him.

In response, the twins' smiles grow wider and bright. Although the joy of the young Lords of Rivendell sends a dull wrenching twang into his heart. For once upon a time, he knew two young princes who shared the same bright smiles and playfulness in their eyes.

No, no, stop. Don't go back down that hole you silly old Baggins. Not here, not now.

“Oh, its a thing alright! Do not be deceived, Master BIlbo! Even if they deny it to this very day. In fact," at that point, Elladan draws nearer in a whisper, "every century, the whole House will update wagers on it."

"Aye! Isn't that right, Aerion?” Elrohir turns to ask the guardsman on duty nearby with a laugh. Even though said elven guard does not share the same mirthful sentiment with a careful look out of the corner of his eye to his young lords.

“Please don't bring me into this, my Lords. For I have no wish to have my guard duty extended by any means.” Elrohir and Elladan gave a loud laugh at that dry reply, which only serves to make the twins tease the tired guard even harder. Bilbo instead, takes the moment to watch on quietly as distant voices fade in the wind.

The two mighty guardians of Rivendell, Glorfindel and Erestor. Ephemeral and strong, walking alongside each other, gliding along the slender bridges by the waterfall gracefully like all of the elves seem to do. A serene scene of peace, as the golden haired elf bows down his head like a swan to allow his shorter companion to reach up and brush away the stray water droplets from his cheek. The fair Captain taking the opportunity to grasp those slender fingers, brushing a kiss on the back of the Chief Councillor's hand. His gentle lips lingering on soft skin. While the intimidating advisor simply indulges the balrog-salyer, allowing him his little whims.

The obviously private and tender moment brings forth another wave of old memories that Bilbo have laid to rest under rock and mountain, far in the East. Of a time long ago, almost as if it was yesterday, under the same setting sun. There upon the Carrock, where Bilbo once felt the warmth of another heart who had eyes that bore the colour of the endless sky.

No.

No,no,no. No reason to have those thoughts. He's gone, they are gone, its all in the past and he can do nothing to change that fact.

Bilbo shuts his eyes and smothers the beginnings of old memories resurfacing once more with his pain and regrets. Hands clenched in his empty coat pockets, grasping for the missing weight of his old trinket, before the old Hobbit simply sighs. He lets himself feel the sun on his skin, with the gentle air of Rivendell soothing his old soul, and he tries to breathe.

---

"-Oh and don't get me started on Court of the Vanyar! They make the Noldor Court seem simpler in comparison. It was all very stifling, to me at least, even when my family are only minor members of both Courts. Every clan had their own share of drama if I must say." Glorfindel shakes his head with a sigh, while focused on tidying his treasured trees. Their shapes lovingly sculpted and grown with painstaking care over the years in beautifully commissioned pots.

"Well, from what I have read about Finwe and his family, it very much reminded me of our own Hobbit families. Bothersome, is it not? It's probably the only thing I don't miss about the Shire. Especially the Sackville-Baggins! Oh, I do hope Frodo is dealing well with it all...But he's a smart lad, that he is!" Bilbo gives a small hum as he sips his cup of sweet hibiscus tea.

The tranquil garden and flora makes Bilbo feel at ease despite stressing over greatly early on being invited to tea in the Golden Lord's quarters. Much like their master, the many flowers in Glorfindel's private garden all bloom gracefully, beautiful and bright.

Glorfindel of Gondolin, Lindon, and now Imladris, had been an enigma. For it was only recently the hobbit had the chance to be acquainted with the legendary hero of song. Bilbo had not expected the balrog-slayer who have fought countless great wars to be this easy to get along. A very charming and animated ellon. His lively spirit shines like the light around him, golden and warm like the sun

The Captain too, had been curious about their newest resident and instantly felt connected to the hobbit once he saw Bilbo arrive into Rivendell with Sting tucked proudly by his side. The old Lord’s heart had gladden to find a relic of his past have landed into good hands. It was a little later they found that they had share a great love and interest for nature and tea, with the Lord keen in sharing his knowledge with the intriguing and scholarly second-born.

Looking at these lovely flowers is making Bilbo wonder how his own gardens in Bag End fair right now, but he knows young Samwise and the Gamgees are taking care of them well.

"To be honest I am not familiar, especially of Feanor's side. I was close to Fingolfin and Turgon only because my amil had been close to Lady Indis." At that Glorfindel seemed to pause and thought quietly for a minute with a thoughtful finger to his lips," Only Erestor would know, I suppose."

"The Chief Councillor? Was he truly close to Feanor and his sons as they say?" Bilbo pops a honey cake into his mouth, trying to remember the descendants of Finwe with as much accuracy as he could.

"Too young to know Feanor! Eres had served under Maedhros and Maglor, though he grew up in Thargelion under Caranthir. He's probably the only one left on this side of the Sea who knew all of Feanor's Sons and Celebrimbor. I don't recommend asking about it. It is, and remains... a difficult subject for him." With that Glorfindel lays down the tiny scissors in his hand, while brushing away any stray twigs.

"I noticed you both are very close, it is heartening to see such close bond you share." Bilbo quickly pours the ellon a cup of tea, who receives it gratefully. "Even if Lord Erestor seem to be a formidable individual to get along."

Indeed he was, for when the first time Bilbo had encountered the Lord, he was in a full blown rage at the apprentice scribes. The Hobbit just passing through the administrative halls with Lord Elrond when they hear Erestor berating the group of staff for a mistake with the invoices for timber and construction with heavy words. It was certainly quite an impression and a contrast to the Erestor he remembered seeing later on the bridge with Glorfindel. However, Bilbo has yet been able to make further acquaintance with the ever busy, and ever elusive advisor of Elrond.

"Oh, don't tell him I said this, Eres may look cold to all, but he's much like a chestnut! Prickly on the outside, but sweet on the inside! Even if he still refuses to help me trim these little ones while I'm on patrol!" Glorfidel gestures to his little trees that seem to be dancing in their pretty pots." Moving them into the shade is all he could do, he says! Is that not terrible? Said he did not want to water for fear of drowning them, which is very silly considering we are elves! These little ones can tell him how much water they require!"

The warrior and the hobbit laugh. Until Glorfindel turns to his flowers, caressing a celandine as the warrior's mood turns sombre.

"When all saw a flawless visage of an ideal Hero returned, it was only him who saw a broken soul who was made to fit a mould from the day he was born." Glorfindel admits quietly, as if its a shameful confession."I was so lost, so alone in all that noise. From Tirion to Gondolin and to Lindon...no one knew. Not even dear Ecthelion or Elgamoth. I realised later I had resented it."

Bilbo have no words as he watches Glorfindel's eyes glaze over, reminiscing of a time long past.

"I may be blessed by the Valar, but even I am no perfect being in Eru's Song. For that, I am grateful to have met Erestor in this second life, for he was the only one who dared called me out. He had opened my eyes, so that I can find the courage in myself… to simply be 'Glorfindel'. "

Bilbo froze, his teacup nearly slipping from his hand. A chill of deja-vu sends a chill down Bilbo's spine. A hand pulls up to his cravat while the other dug deep into his pocket with a tremble.

Fingers feeling a phantom touch of hands wrapped around an acorn and his own.The lingering touch of large warm palms that once laid hands on his bare neck burns. Of bloody hands full of calloused and scars growing cold in his own.

He snaps out of his thoughts just as quickly as it came. Foolish old Baggins! Old age has certainly muddled his mind. Best to have some tea to calm those damn thoughts as Glorfindel's voice began to grow clearer once more.

"-Well! He did punch my face in and then called me a friend and a 'fucking prideful twit and indecisive dick' all in the same breathe but-It was exhilarating!"

Bilbo spits out his tea.

---

-With a snarl, Mori makes a grab for Lote's hand, unwilling to let him leave. The Lord of the Moon tugs him back, pressing his full weight against the Lord of the Gardens against a tree, determined and unwilling to let his love flee once more. Eager lips crushing against the other in a hungry kiss. Each protest drowned out by the love they have as cries yearning for more fill the air.

Overcome by want and need, they tore their robes away, seeking for skin. To feel the other in desperation and assurance after everything, to join their souls once again.

In the midst of it all, the lovers have failed to notice the eyes of another watching them intently under the cover of emerald leaves. King Taur watches on, as he finally lets go, surrendering his desire to another who had claimed the heart of the mighty Lord. While the couple continue their passionate dance, as if nothing in this world mattered but the one in their arms-

"What are you reading that has captured your attention so, Bilbo?"

The old hobbit promptly snaps the book shut. A seemingly innocent leather bound novel in violet, with naught but a crescent moon and moonflower embossed artfully on the front. With a deep breath and some time to process what he have just read as years of proper, hobbitish decorum suppressed that undignified noise from his throat.

Which is ridiculous on second thought for he was a very old hobbit, not some young fauntling.

Bilbo then slowly tilts his head up to find Elrond watching him intently with a serene smile. The elf Lord of his new home who always seem to bear a soothing presence and eyes filled with wisdom of the ages.

"Good afternoon, Elrond! A pleasant day, is it not?" Bilbo greets, making light pleasantries to dispel any possible awkwardness present. All while scooting over from his spot on the garden bench."Come to enjoy the gardens too?"

"Well, I could use a break. At least, until Erestor hunts me down once more to peruse the trade agreement with Thranduil for the fifth time. Which is still five times too many, in my humble opinion. But do not tell him that." Elrond replies, shifting beside the hobbit comfortably, before he notices the innocent looking novel in his grasp. His dark eyes brightened at the sight of the cover.

"Ah,I see you have been reading one of Rivendell's most popular literary works. Long has it been since I have seen a new update! It is a rare collectable amongst those who live here, a book that appears in rare places, strangely enough. Celebrian had loved the series. She always did her best to seek out each new book to add to her collection." Elrond smiles, reaching a hand out to peek inside the pages.

"Oh, dear Elbereth! There is even illustrations now? How marvellous!"

"This? Truly?"Bilbo is baffled by Elrond's words and finds himself babbling on, a little embarrassed still to have been caught reading what was obviously a dramatic romantic saga.

"I just happened to be looking around your library, amazing collection, very impressive! Such splendid upkeep of history and culture, I daresay, even I'm inspired to pick up my quill to write something despite my procrastinations in translation of some lore! Oh what was I saying…Oh! Its just simply by sheer chance I spotted this book with such a lovely cover! Wonderful craft! It was tucked at the top. Awfully dreadful place, too high up, but Master Melpomaen was so very kind to help me get this. Although he did looked a little unusual and seemed a little reluctant to hand it over!"

"Of course. Considering this particular series is a contraband here."

Silence.

"I'm sorry but my ears seem to be failing me for I seem to not be hearing you quite clearly. Contraband? In Rivendell? For whatever reason could some simple romance literature be a 'contraband'?" Bilbo's fingers come up to do little gestures of a quote at the incredulous revelation, unable to wrap his head around the thought. A clearly ordinary romantic fiction, that is popular and well received by readers, a contraband in Rivendell where the greatest tomes and arts are to be found? Sounds rather foolish if you speak it aloud!

"Well, it is not banned, per say. More like its author is someone my Chief Councillor has been...eager, to meet for a very long time, to put it lightly." Elrond explains after a pause, only to receive a blank look from the gentlehobbit.

The robins chirp merrily and the tulips dances on while Bilbo blinks at the elven Lord.

"The main characters, do they not remind you of anyone?" Elrond tries again with a slight wave of his hand.

Actually, they do.

"Please do not tell me its Glorfindel and..."Bilbo takes a moment, "Lord Erestor."

"Ahhh, even an outsider has quickly caught on. Yes, that book has haunted my dear Councillor for many yeni. I am surprised to see the series surfacing once more and so soon this century." Elrond continues with an enthusiastic nod. Completely disregarding Bilbo's incredulous look and twitch of his nose while slowly processing the revelation as he studies the simple cover of the novel in amazement.

The sudden quiet rustling from the leaves above catches their attention.The elf and hobbit both look up.

Cold gold eyes peers down at them in a glower. The owl hoots balefully at the two.

"And very unfortunately, that is my cue to take my leave." The master of Rivendell mutters grimly before getting up with quick, silent steps. Not before he stops and back tracks a little after a short pause.

"Also, Bilbo, whenever you are done with that book, would you kindly let me have it?"

---

The stars glitter beautifully as a great fire burns brightly in the Hall of fire. The Captain is surrounded by his soldiers and a few of the Dunedain, playing a mannish drinking game involving some tavern songs with the minstrels joining in. Elrond on the other hand, did not looked too impressed that Elrohir and Elladan are playing along with some of the more bawdy ones.

However on the outer side of the Hall, Bilbo is unable to relax in the quiet corner despite the cheerful atmosphere. Even the lovely platter of cheeses and crackers on his lap cannot distract his scattered mind.

Lindir trills a jolly verse which ends with a round of laughter from all in the Hall. Meanwhile, his Baggins-ness demands him to ignore that implusive thought, even though the idea of leaving it alone does not sit well with Bilbo. It was a thought that has been nagging at him greatly for quite awhile yet it irks him to be so uncertain in how to address it.

Namely, to the one sitting right beside him.

Erestor seemed unbothered by the troubled hobbit beside him as he turns a page of Numenorian poetry in hand, occasionally picking up a berry dipped in sweet cream to nibble on with a delicate dessert fork from his plate. The perfect image of absolute control and composure.

His Tookish-ness finally bites.

"So, you and Glorfindel?"

Erestor pauses with his fork in mid-air and turns a side eye towards Bilbo. Observing in an almost unnerving silence. Before the Councillor lets out a heavy sigh, dropping his treat on his plate as if he is tired of answering the same old question repeatedly.

"We are not courting, if that is what you are asking." The quiet advisor replies flatly and then turns back to his book.

"Indeed, that is not."Bilbo takes a deep breath," rather, why are you both not? Its rather obvious you both are together if not, in love."

Erestor stills. The elf now turns his attention completely to the old hobbit. His silvery green eyes sharp and cold. Bilbo sees. This is not just any elf before him, but one who has seen far more bloodshed and violence, loss and sorrow, than a mere hobbit.

Yet Bilbo Baggins, previously of the Shire and of Bag End, is unfazed by this stern ellon's gaze. For nothing will ever compare to the cold eyes of stone glazed in cold molten gold. Not even the great piercing stare of an evil fire drake that towered over a gentlehobbit of the Shire. All the dreadful and cruel things, and all bearing the promises of fire and death.

"And what would you know of love, Master Bilbo?" The words are delivered quietly, piercing sharp like blades. Though not with disdain, but with cautious care. A true politician.

"I know because I had loved once, Lord Councillor." Bilbo leans his chin on his hand and gives a tired smile, slowly turning to stare into the fiery glow of the fire in the hall instead. As if the flames are burning him with old memories with snarls of wargs and the silhouette of the Pale Orc looming ahead. Of dragon fire and dwarrow leading a charge. Of a King fighting to the bitter end.

Of a beloved sitting close by his side in the quiet of night by the lake over the autumn moonlight.Warm, gentle hands beside his own.

"Love, I did." Bilbo continues to smile wistfully, reaching for those beloved memories that have kept calling out to him at long last, "And I will never again, at least until I find the Halls of Mahal."

Erestor turns fully now towards his companion, and Bilbo can feel the elf watching him with an unreadable gaze. Before he hears the shuffling of pages and a book being closed.

The laughter of men and elves resounds.

"Did they not know?"

"No.No... I never told him, even at the very end. Out of foolish hopes and denial I suppose. Afterall, what is a simple hobbit hoping to do, standing next to a King who bears a great legacy?" Bilbo lets out a helpless laugh as he wills the prickling in his eyes away.

"And why should a hobbit who bested a dragon not stand beside a King?" Erestor pushes on, seeking to understand the dilemma.

"Then why should two elven Lords of a great realm and esteem standing not be together in all sense of the word?" Bilbo counters.

There is no proper response as the two stare at the other, while the merry making crowd continues to sing.

"Its not that simple." Erestor finally whispers as he turns his eyes towards the dancing fire, where the soldiers are dancing to the beat. It was barely loud enough for Bilbo to catch on.

"Not if you keep overcomplicating it? To be alive, to be able eat and to drink and cheer and to feel the grass and stone beneath your toes with someone by your side... why worry about uncertain sorrow you have made for yourself?" Bilbo replies, before going on softly.

"Far better be it to love with your all now, even just once, then to regret what may be when its all too late. Time waits for no one, not even immortals."

The old adventurer stands, pushing away the plate of snacks to the elf and gives a slight nod, taking his leave. Erestor's eyes linger on, following the old hobbit as he walks away as laughter echoes on into the quiet of the night.

---

After he retires back into his room, Bilbo sits at his hobbit sized desk, watching Earendil glowing high above Rivendell.

Time is cruel. Time is fickle. But time will not stop him from meeting the One he loves again at the end of this winding road. Until then...he will not forget the gift he has been granted, walking out of his round green door.

The hobbit turns and looks at the crimson red leather journal in the corner of his desk. Old wrinkled fingers trailing along, tracing the texture of its leather cover. The bright laughter of two princes echoes in his mind with old friends, with the deep tenor of a beloved singing of home.

Bilbo dips a quill into ink as he begins to write.

---

A/N: When all else fails, always trust your resident Hobbit who has yet to address his deep PTSD.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)(Part 5)

[aeonianarchives]

Finrod x Reader

Finrod falls into a fountain trying to cheer his meleth up who is currently watching him from the balcony while they are in a meeting with a scholar from Gondolin, and they have to apologize for Finrod's behavior.

An Idiot King

Summery: Anon Ask

Pairing: Finrod x Reader

Warnings: non

Reader Pronouns: They/Them

You had always had little faith in yourself when you compared to the scholars of Gondolin, you were a little shadow worth nothing compared to them, you doubted your ability and the reason why Finrod asked you to be the master of Nargothrond's Library was it because you and him were courting were you using him but didn't know it.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you Master Y/n" The Gondolin scholar said distracting you from spiraling down any further

"And you I am sorry I am afriad I have not learnt your name" you said

"Tiarior, I am Aran Turgon's Chief Librarian" Tiarior said

"Of course, please follow me" you said you lead him to one of the balcony the library had they were normally secluded away from anyone who entered the library your assistant got you both tea and the books Tiarior wanted to discuss

"Aran Finrod talks highly of you" Tiarior said, Gondolin elves were boring well apart from Egalmoth and Glorfindel, you listened to Tiarior draw on and on about the history of the dwarvish language before the intervention of Celegorm and Curufin, you had rested your head in your hand and had zoned out looking at the courtyard, Finrod took a double take of you before walking out of the sheltered walk way you raised a brow to him, and he started making silly faces and dancing, you tried hard not to laugh given the scholar next to you, the king soon jumped up onto the edge of the fountain, and started doing his little dance on the edge of it.

it had rained last night so Finrod ended up slipping and falling into the fountain, drawing Tiarior attention away from what he was saying and to the courtyard, to see Finrod pulling himself out of the fountain.

"I am sorry for him, If i may excuse myself" you said standing and straightening your robes, you bowed your head to Tiarior and left to the courtyard, you pulled Finrod out the rest of the way of the fountain.

"You are an idiot" you said with a small smile on your face

"I made you smile that is all which matters you've looked down a lot recently Meleth nin I thought you needed a bit of cheering up although falling into the fountain was not part of my plan" Finrod said as you fished his crown out Finrod was holding you down by your waist to make sure you did not fall in, you manged to get it in the end and set it back on his head.

"Your going to have to clean before your meeting with your advisors" You said

"They have seen me do worse" Finrod said as you straightened his robes for him

"It is highly unprofessional I do not get how you keep getting away with it" you said

"Well it's not like it is Turgon or delegates from a different Kingdom" Finrod said

"Yet their is someone from Gondolin he might not be here for you but i had to excuse myself to deal with you and he is most probably watching" You said punching the kings should

"Oh no I have been assaulted" Finrod called dramatically

"You drama queen i didn't even hurt you" you said finrod chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead

"Gi Melin Meleth nin But i have to go before i am late, you know how he gets when i am late, have fun with the gondolin guy" Finrod said leaving you.

"I hate you sometimes" you called after him

"I DISAGREE YOU LOVE YOU" Finrod shouted back

Elvish Translation:

Gi Melin Meleth Nin - I love you my love

Aran - king

[theplantpot]

What is "The Plant Pot"

Hallo All! I'm Sage and welcome to my pot :D

Here you will be able to find anything you want to know about my series/collection/saga (whatever you call it): The Plant Pot. This is an on-going work spread between writing, animating, and videos to make a connected multiverse! If you have any questions or ideas or anything PLEASE send me an ask! (asks don't have to be about lore!)

There is so much I want to fill into this series and while I'm not the greatest at writing or drawing I want to pour my heart and soul and everything else into it, these silly fictional tales mean so much to me. I call this "the plant pot" because I'm just sooo funny and original branding myself as Sage Plant and my entire thing being plants. A lot of this has been thought out and written down somewhere but I just have to actually *write* the stories and draw all the things and make the videos which I fear but I love these ideas too much for that to stop me now.

With that out of the way, ✨LORE TIME BABY✨

The "main story-line" follows an alternate history version of our Earth that goes through an apocalyptic event, with stories touching on both pre-recreation(prc) and after-recreation(arc)! There's plenty more outside of that, I have plans for a series set through-out space and of course the multiverse itself (which has an even bigger story that connects to the "main story" eventually. I want this "main story" to be kinda mysterious as I flesh out more and more of the lore around everything and I also want to stay away from having to retcon things in the future. So to attempt that I want to establish lore that isn't too important/basically known things for all this:

The Multiverse - Every universe has it's own variations of reality and most are "locked away" from each other, having a complex magical spell needed to be casted normally by a god.

The Recreation - This is the "year zero" for the main timeline we follow. June 13th, 2021 a quarter of the universe is destroyed and recreated by some of the gods. This will be explained further in a few stories :)

Watchers - Both angels and demons, really just demi-god shapeshifters created by the gods in every universe to record and report the evolution of their universe to the gods. Somewhere along in history the watchers became more freelance workers for the gods doing whatever they ask instead of just record keeping.

Hopefully once I actually start posting these stories I will tag them correctly and I will also tag lore posts/asks with a folder emoji to help sort things out lol! My irl job SUCKS and drains me constantly but I am forcing myself to do what I enjoy and again I am so passionate about all this stuff :D

Mythics and Aliens - Mythics is a term for pretty much every mythical and fictional species such as dwarves, elves, orcs, goblins, etc etc. Both mythics and aliens are established in the prc world as known but rare beings on earth. Mythics are re-introduced to the world in a story called The Bloom, and I plan on making 4 or 5 species of aliens for the space stories! (Both will be centered in many stories!)

adding to that ^ I want to mix in different cultures and traditions and such to give the mythics a less stereotypical vibe, plus it's gives me an excuse to learn about a lot of things I dont't know :D

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other. A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.

Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.

Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.

Those were the words of his mother.

Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.

It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.

Time works differently at the TVA.

“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”

There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.

“Uh, yeah...Here.”

“Thanks.”

Probably an infinity stone.

The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.

Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.

Pathetic. But amusing.

The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.

There’s just...so much to think about.

And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.

Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.

Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.

He hadn’t seen that before.

The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.

Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.

The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.

You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.

He also wonders what your name is.

The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.

He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.

He clears his throat once more.

Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.

Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.

Oh. Oh. You—

Hm.

He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.

“I know you can hear me.”

His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.

Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.

A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.

Or so he thinks.

“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”

You don’t say anything, only blink in response.

Tough crowd.

Loki shifts in his seat.

“...What is your name?”

He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.

You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.

Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.

Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.

Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.

Then, you finally give him an answer.

“Agent.”

And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.

Agent.

Loki scoffs silently to himself.

Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.

He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.

Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.

Curious minds think alike.

-

You needed a change of scenery.

With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.

Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.

The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.

Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.

Dream away the pain, then.

Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.

Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.

You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.

You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.

Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.

Crap.

“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”

You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.

There’s still time to leave.

Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.

“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”

Well, too late.

With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.

You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.

This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.

Time to start fresh.

You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.

He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.

Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.

Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.

With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.

The air is tense. However, still breathable.

Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.

Classic Loki.

You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.

-

You snore when you sleep.

Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.

Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.

0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.

You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.

Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.

You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.

You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.

The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.

He prods you again.

You still don’t move.

Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.

Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.

His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.

When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.

Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?

The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'

Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.

There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.

Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.

He’s staring. Right. Back to work.

Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.

Then, he sees it.

‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.

His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.

He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.

He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.

You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.

He longs for home. He longs for family.

For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.

Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”

Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.

You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.

Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.

He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.

But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.

Curious minds think alike. Mostly.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

[pillarsheadcanons]

PHC’s Bigass Fanfic Author Masterlist

That’s right we’re gonna be doing some author shoutouts! What’s equally as good as amazing fanart? FANFICTION AND THE PEOPLE WHO WRITE IT, YA SILLY GOOSE. I put it together so you don’t have to, everything ranging from sweet sweet fluff content to that dirty nasty your sinning eyes are looking for.

@aban-ataashi (Does a great deal of sfw pieces and they also do killer aesthetic moodboards! Here’s a link to their tumblr fanfic master list as well! Watchers: Desta, Miervalids, Rudi)

Ao3 link 

@ampleappleamble (She draws elves kissing! Mature work on archive. Watcher: Axa Mala)

Ao3 link

Bazylia_de_Grean (No longer active on Tumblr but deserves the shoutout just as equally! They have an incredible amount of fics ranging from sfw to the nsfw: all worth the read. Watcher: Eidis)

Ao3 link

brightephemera ( @caed-nua-state-of-mind on tumblr, they post on both platforms so send the likes and kudos all around! Varied content between sfw and nsfw. Watcher: Vailond)

Ao3 link

@captainofthefallen (Lots of great one offs featuring our favorite animal loving farm boy! Watcher: Mara Emerys)

Ao3 link

@dreamerinsilico (Has a few great Iovara fics and mostly short pieces of varying ratings. Watcher: Acantha)

Ao3 link

@illustrious-e (Phynoma on Ao3. Plenty of Aloth content between Teen+ and Explicit! Watcher: Mirad)

Ao3 link

@long-john-furby (Firelight-And-Rain on Ao3. Cute one offs rated G. Watcher: Kadri)

Ao3 link

@lunarowena (Here’s a link to their tumblr fanfic master list! Mostly G rating with a few Mature in the mix. Watchers: Calendula, Lillian)

Ao3 link

@orime-stories (More varying works between the ratings of G and M, written by an awesome human being! Also posts works to their tumblr as well. Watcher: Seluna)

Ao3 link

@queen_scribbles (A truly extensive list of Pillars works. Like seriously how do you do it. Watchers: Adela, Emiri, Kei, Tavi)

Ao3 link

@rannadylin (Plenty of G rated works ranging from Watcher works to those involving their Leaden Key Inquisitor. Watcher: Lenneth, Violet)

Ao3 link

RisuAlto/RisuMezzo (Another extensive list of works with varying ratings! Some really awesome Aloth content worth the read! Watchers: Lili, Junsice, and Tai Lon)

Ao3 link (pseud link)

@samaelstoker (Currently one work, well worth the read! Watcher: Tehanu)

Ao3 link

@undyingembers (Mature and Explicit stories with plenty of the Handsome Fish c; Watcher: Amali)

Ao3 link

@yanara126-writing (G-M rating. Their Vela piece is very interesting! Watcher: Favaen, Francesca.)

Ao3 link

I’m going to do my best to keep this regularly updated for convenience sake! Please let me know if I need to include any more Watchers or if there’s any other main OC you’d really love to highlight.

[lilxberry]

Fond Of This Dwarf - Thorin Oakenshield

Requested By: @heyitsgarnet​

Hi! I really love your writing! Could I request a Thorin x elf reader who's with the company? He's kind of an doushe to her but then she saves his ass from orcs or something and he's like "oh shit I'm in love." thank yooou! <3

This probably isn’t exactly what you were looking for but I think it’s sweet and does just a good a job. I’m so sorry it took me forever to finish your request, I really wish I could’ve done something for you sooner. Thank you so much for being patient 

Warnings: Probably a bad word somewhere lmao. I guess racism??? Angst. Fluff. Mentions of war and death. Pretty much it, I reckon.

Words: 2,331

Parings: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader (x elf reader) (x female reader)

_______________

How on Middle Earth had Gandalf think adding you to a company that consisted of multiple dwarves were a good decision you’ll never quite know. You’re completely certain that the grey wizard knew of the dwarves hatred for elves, of course he knew, definitely explains the precautions he had taken when introducing you to those who you were to travel to the lonely mountain with.

Luckily, that hatred slowly dispersed as time passed during your journey. All the dwarves had eventually taken a liking to you, apart from the ever grouchy, complacently brooding Thorin Oakensheild. Even Dwalin had begun to be a more civilised dwarf towards you, for Valars’ sake!

The first one to show some form of kindness to you were Balin. Obviously, he had reason to be all sorts of rude and crude towards you because of your race but you figured he has witnessed enough hostility within his lifetime so refused to show any when truly nessicary.

Ori had been next. It took some time considering he was under the watchful eyes and influential words of his older brothers. Fílí and Kílí followed after that and before you knew it, they all began to follow suit.

Needless to say, you and Bilbo had no issues from the get-go. In fact, you were and still are joined at the hip. And Gandalf, well, he’s Gandalf. You’re not even sure he can actually hate anything.

The journey had been long and treacherous, but you were getting closer and closer each day, even with each and every hindrance and snag you faced. Running everyday for survival is outright exhausting but utterly needed, which is what you were currently partaking in.

“I spy-“

Ori was swiftly cut off with a collective groan from the company whilst you and Bilbo shared an amused look, no doubt Gandalf had a similar expression across his face at the front of the group.

“Not again, lad, for the love of Mahal, please.” Dwalin grumbled as he pressed his fingers against his forehead as if trying to sooth a forming migraine. Ori visibly deflates and sighs quietly, looking like a kicked puppy.

“No, go on, Ori. I’ll play with you.” He perked up just as quickly as he had been denied moments earlier. He beamed up towards you as he straightened out his posture.

“I spy, with my little eye, something…beginning with…T!”

“Tree.” The company’s response was almost automatic, the answer as clear as daylight.

You and Bilbo chuckled before you both turned your attention to the dwarf beside you once again looking down and ashamed. “Don’t worry, Ori. I’m sure as we get closer to the lonely mountain, we’ll find more things to spy.” Bilbo’s encouragement was so sweet that you just had to jump in and help brighten the young dwarfs sour mood also.

“Definitely. Don’t get me started about the endless possibilities for ‘I spy’ inside Erebor.” Ori smiled his widest smile towards you and the hobbit as the others chuckled. All finding amusement in your merriment of a silly childs’ game. All except one.

“You humour me how you would think I would allow you to step foot inside my mountain.”

All humour, all happiness quickly faded until there were scowling faces amongst everyone. You furrowed your shaped eyebrows and slowed to a stop and burn holes into the back of Thorins’ head. You shook your head and began to walk once more with haste, shouldering the rude dwarf as you pass him and race ahead of the company.

You wouldn’t admit it, not verbally, not so outwardly, but his words and distain towards you hurt, very much so. Even though Thorin has shown nothing but his dislike towards you, you couldn’t help to admire his strong will, his caring side that he had shown his kin, his handsome appearance-

-‘NO! Y/N, stop it!’ You scolded yourself mentally as you shook your head to rid yourself of those thoughts just as quickly as they had entered your mind once more. He didn’t like you, not your race at least. He made that more than obvious for you and everyone around you.

You sighed inwardly before slowing your strides, allowing the company to catch up to where you had stormed off. You could hear the scolding the few bold enough to do so were giving Thorin, though you knew that the probability of him actually considering of what they were saying were nought.

Someone, who you presumed to be Gandalf, cleared their throat, noting the proximity between you and the group now they have caught up to your small steps. The silence consumed the company as they all sluggishly dragged their feet as they trudged along, awkwardness surrounding each and every dwarf, once again, all except that stubborn royal pain in the jacksie.

“Out of the way, elf.” He spat the name of your kind with such distain and disgust that your heart panged with an immense pain, your chest tightened, your intake of breath quick and sharp. You felt the burning of tears build up within your eyes as he passed you gruffly but refused to let them fall.

You will NOT seem weak in front of people- no, dwarves- like him. Bilbo caught up to walk beside you and places a gentle, comforting hand on to your forearm, smiling up at you sympathetically. The rest of the walk was silent, that was until you all heard the shrill cry of an orcs horn.

_______________

Your lungs begged for air, every inch of muscle within your body burned and longed for rest. Fatigue was catching up with all of you and fast.

“We cannot run any longer, we must stand our ground!” You couldn’t tell if Dwalin was pleading or trying to be demanding with Thorin and Gandalf, all you knew was that his tone was as brass and harsh as usual.

“We can take them, of do you really have such little faith towards your company, Thorin?!” You huffed, clearly just as agitated and enraged as the others.

Thorin halted immediately and swiftly turned on his heel to face you, a deep, raging fire of hatred filled his gaze. He groaned in aggravation and drew his sword, ensuring the others quickly followed suit. You deeply exhaled through your nose and you spun yourself around to face the oncoming threat as you unshouldered you bow and raising it higher.

You withdrew an arrow from your quiver, quickly lining your body perpendicular towards the enemy and drawing the arrow back towards your cheek, staring down the length of the arrow. You exhaled as you released your firm grip and so, first blood had been drawn.

_______________

It was nearing the end of the gruelling battle but in truth, it was difficult to tell, exhaustion taking over every single one of the company. It felt as though the enemy just kept coming, multiplying as you take a singular orc down.

Blood coated you and the others, mainly that of orcs and Wargs alike, dried and cracked. As you took down yet another enemy, you heaved out a shaky breath, exhaling heavily with a slight groan.

You looked towards the others, all seemingly fairing well, all grouped together, all except, you guessed it, Thorin. Two orcs atop their Wargs brought the dwarf down on to the hard, filthy ground, defenceless, weapon astray. He crawled backwards, even that looked like such a struggle for him though.

The Wargs snarled and growled as they closed in on the drained dwarf, the orcs straddled upon their fur coated backs grinning wickedly. As quick as a whippet, you powered through your own exhaustion and pain and sprinted towards the predators closing in on their prey.

You released a cry of anger and frustration as you withdrew your elven sword from its place on your back before bringing it down on to the beasts head, emitting a pained whimper before it fell harshly against the floor, body now limp and lifeless.

The orc that once sat atop the dead creature stood from where it landed next to its Wargs’ corpse with a seething anger and charged towards you. You swiftly cut him down and turned your focus to the final orc/Warg duo all the while Thorin looked on with wide eyes and bated breath, watching you with a new found admiration.

Almost as quickly as the last, you had taken down the enemy and collapsed down to your knees, exhaustion washing over you completely. Your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you inhaled and exhaled heavily in repeat.

“Are you…okay lass?” Balin approached you cautiously as the others watched on, concern and their own tiredness evident on their faces. All you could offer in response was a single nod of your head.

Thorin snapped out of his reverie and slowly came to a stand, but before he could proceed to close the gap between the two of you, you raised to your own feet and began to walk away from the group. “We should keep moving. No doubt another pack or two is a day behind them.”

“Yes, Miss Y/N makes a valid argument. Come on.” Gandalf had gruffly agreed with the statement made from over your shoulder. And with that, the company tiredly trudged further along, leaving behind the corpses of their slain foes and the final dwarves’ disdain towards you.

_______________

“We make camp here.” Thorin’s authoritative command travelled throughout the clearing within trees and into the ears of the company. Pained grunts, relieved sighs and heavy knapsacks thudding against the ground were Thorin’s confirmation that he had been heard.

He dragged his feet as he walked over to lazily slump against the bark of a sturdy tree, exhaling heavily through his nose and closing his eyes, basking in the knowledge that he lives to see a new day. His eyes barely reopen as he scans across each and every member of the company. Or at least, nearly every member.

He luckily caught a smidge of your form disappearing past the treeline and his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. Surely you were tired? You had to be from all the walking and fighting you’ve done. Why would you head off away from the others?

With a huff of air, he pushed himself from his leaning position against the sturdy trunk and headed off towards the direction you disappeared in. Thorin kept himself quiet as he walked weaved passed trees, his strides small and light footed. He came to a slight clearing which was perfectly illuminated in the moons light, a heavenly glow across the small, vacant area.

And then he spotted you.

Sat precisely in the centre of it all, eyes softly closed, eyelashes resting on your cheek ever so delicately, the light breeze brushing your hair back from your face, a face that, even though is covered by the dried and cracked crimson smears, looked fair and filled with serenity, a calmness that was affect Thorin in many ways.

He had become so entranced that he hadn’t realised that he walked out into the opening further as he stared, stared at someone who he considered the enemy for far too long, at someone who he now admired, at someone who has kindled a newfound feeling deep within him.

“Are you going to keep standing around like some lemon or are you going to join me?” the sudden sound of your voice actually caused the dwarf to jump ever so slightly, taken off guard. You peeked an eye open, finding the situation amusing at a miniscule amount.

Thorin cleared his throat and wiped his hands down his front with a tinge of nervousness before making his way over and lowering himself beside you, arms rested atop his knees. A silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable passed before he spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

The simple two-word statement accompanied by his deep, gruff voice caused your eyes to widen slightly and snap your head towards the dwarf to your right. “W-what?”

“I’m sorry. For how I acted before. It wasn’t fair of me to judge you based purely off of who, or rather what, they are. I’m greatly disappointed with myself. Please forgive my ignorance.”

You were flabbergasted. THE Thorin Oakenshield, a prideful and stubborn dwarf, was apologising, hell, even begging, for your forgiveness. Thorin must’ve thought you were trying to imitate that of a fish out of water, your mouth opening and closing multiple times as you searched for the right words to proceed.

You recomposed yourself impossibly fast before flashing the sheepish, nerve wracked dwarf in royal blue and furs a kind, sweet, small smile. “It is okay, Master dwarf. It isn’t as if you had no base reason for your hatred towards my kind. Hopefully, like the rest of the company, we may put our bad blood behind us and move forward working together.”

Thorins’ sigh of relief was large and fairly loud, causing for a small giggle to pass your lips. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he flashed you the smallest, microscopic of smiles. “I’m glad. Oh, and thank you. For saving me.”

You gazed at him with such a soft and gentle expression that he was certain he could have melted at the sight. “Your most certainly welcome.” You pressed a chaste kiss to his hair covered cheek before ever so gently laying your head atop his broad shoulder. His whole body tensed at the actions before slowly unwinding, leaving him red in the face and bashfully playing with his fingers.

A peaceful, comforting silence quickly engulfed you two as you sat side by side, his arm now loosely wrapped around your waist, basking in the beautiful surrounding area. You weren’t sure how long you two had sat within each other’s embrace, but you weren’t one to rush a nice thing when it presented itself, so you continued in your contented bliss with a dwarf you had grown quite fond of. Fond of indeed.

_______________

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AAYYYYOOOO IS THIS AN UPLOAD??! 

That’s right ya dang bunch of cutie pies, I ain’t dead

My uploading is still extremely slow but I thought, since I’m close to being on top with my college work, I would finally finish this fic

It’s weird and probably makes no sense but it’s the best I can do with the amount of stress I’m enduring ‘cause of college so bare with me peeps

Anywho, I hope you enjoy reading this

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

[wrenhyperfixates]

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: It’s the Christmas season and Loki still has much to learn. Thankfully, he has his favorite little mortal to teach him all about it. Warnings: just straight fluff A/N: Alright, it’s December, and you know what that means: time for Christmas fics! Hope you enjoy my first installment for the holiday season. Happy reading folks :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant​​ @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @lokistan​ @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs​

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

It was bizarre, thought Loki, how seemingly overnight the world was lit up with red and green everything. Lights, wreaths, trees, inflatable decorations; you name it, and Loki could spot it from any corner in NYC. Everyone he passed seemed to be filled with joy, ready to start singing at any second. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Normally, people would give him the side-eye, but lately they passed by with a quick nod or wave. Loki doubted it had little to do with him and much more to do with the Christmas spirit floating in the air.

Ah, Christmas. He knew a decent amount about it, but had never paid too much mind to it. After all, it wasn’t like he ever really planned on living on Midgard. It was just the way things worked out. Now he wished he’d taken a bit more of an interest, for this fat, bearded, old man in a red suit made very little sense to him. And yet, he was everywhere this time of year. Though he could have asked any one of the Avengers about it, he refused to risk being teased. It should be easy enough to learn about if he truly desired to.

Loki marveled at the world in a sort of confused awe as he walked back to the Tower. This time of the year on Midgard, while so disagreeable to many, was perfectly fine with him. The bitter cold of the city at wintertime barely even felt like a summer breeze to him. One of the perks of being a perpetually cold frost giant, he supposed, was that you didn’t notice the freezing temperatures. As for those who did, well, he didn’t get why those silly little mortals didn’t just go somewhere warmer. You’d explained to him, once, that not everyone could afford to just pack up and move as they could on Asgard. A terrible shame, he thought, and he wished that he could do something to help, not that he would ever admit it. Feeling particularly generous, he dropped a one hundred-dollar bill in one of those collection bins that always popped up this time of year. It was guarded by yet another one of those strange, bearded men ringing a bell.

Hugging his so dark-green-it-was-almost-black peacoat to him, he rounded the final corner to get back home. Much like his gloves, it was more for style than anything else. Besides, no need to draw more attention to himself by dressing too lightly in the winter weather. Taking one last glance at the world around him, Loki pushed through the doors of the Avengers Tower.

“What in the Nine?” he sputtered as he was hit with a mouthful of glitter.

“Sorry, Mr. Loki,” Peter apologized. “We’re just decorating for Christmas.”

“By throwing glitter around?”

“Yeah. Why not? It’s Christmas, everything is glittery,” he said with a shrug.

“That, I can tell you,” Loki replied, patting Peter’s shoulder as he passed, “is absolutely true.”

All his other teammates seemed to be as excited about decorating as Peter was, though no one else was just haphazardly throwing that infernal sparkly dust. No, they were all using their special talents to hang garlands up from high balconies and banisters. Large ornaments and snowflakes were hanging from the ceiling. Every floor that Loki walked to was filled with merriment and yet more Christmas adornments. How they were put up so fast, the trickster god had no idea.

The common room was, much to his surprise, the least decorated place in the Tower so far. The team must have been saving this room for last, perhaps to do all together. Loki would have been upset that he wasn’t invited, but he was sure it was mentioned in one of those email blasts he always ignored. Now that he thought of it, he did remember seeing it in something that he skimmed. Regardless, this was a nice break from the hubbub in the rest of his home at the moment. In this room, there was only a tree put up and his angel working on prepping it. You.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” you sang to the music you had blasting through the room, unaware of Loki’s presence. “Everywhere you go.”

He watched in wonder as you twirled about the floor, taking out ornaments and other assorted trimmings for the tree. You grabbed a silver and gold garland and began the tedious process of wrapping it around the artificial branches, still belting your heart out. Though Loki was unfamiliar with the words, he caught on to the tune and began humming along, startling you ever so slightly. He walked up to you and grabbed your hand, joining in your spinning and dancing. Prancing around the room with you, Loki was filled with unbridled joy, and he thought he might be beginning to understand the reason for all the joy the season brings.

As you sang the final notes, you and the God of Mischief collapsed onto the couch amidst the boxes of Christmas knick-knacks, laughing your heads off. When you tried to get up, Loki pulled you back down to him, starting another fit of giggles.

“And how is my little mortal today?” he asked, playfully ticking you a little.

“I’d be a lot better if you let me finish decorating,” you teased, poking his chest.

He sighed and relinquished you back to your duties, watching you walk back toward the tree. If only he had the courage to tell you how he feels, rather than just admiring you from afar. You were best friends, sure, but he longed for more. Much more.

“Loki,” you called in a sing-song voice, batting your eyes. “Can you help me, please?”

“Of course, little one.”

He helped you string the garland the rest of the way around the tree, using his magic to get even the highest boughs. You squealed in delight as you admired your work so far, throwing your arms around Loki to thank him for his help.

Soon, the rest of the team joined you and began to hang the ornaments. No one particularly cared about where they were put, just that everyone was having fun. Loki tried to stay on the outskirts of the activity, but everyone kept pulling him back in. It made him happier than he cared to admit that they all concerned themselves with him participating. That they wanted him to participate.

“What do you think, Mr. Loki? Here?” Peter questioned as he held up an ornament in a prospective spot. “Or here?”

“The first spot, I suppose.”

“No,” Thor chimed in, making Peter worried he was going to start one of their infamous sibling battles. “The second spot, for certain.”

“I guess. I still do not understand most of this ‘Christmas’ stuff, to be quite honest.”

“Well, why did you not say so, brother?”

“Yeah, we can teach you all about it,” you added, showing up beside them. Then you snapped your fingers, getting an idea. “The tree lighting is tonight! At Rockefeller Center. We should go to that!”

“That’s a perfect idea,” Peter agreed. “So it’s set then. A crash course, then a field trip to see the tree lighting!”

Loki smiled at his friends as they bustled around him, planning the rest of the day. He couldn’t wait for later, and it made the rest of the time spent decorating even more enjoyable. Between the constant singing and cracking of jokes, there was not a dull moment to be found. While it would have usually drained Loki, he felt as lively as ever. Maybe there truly was something special about the season, after all.

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

Hours later, Loki stood with his teammates as incognito as possible in Rockefeller Center. It had been agreed that they just wanted to be normal people for one, not celebrities. To keep your group warm, Loki had cast a heating enchantment that they were all more than grateful for as they waited for the tree to light. In the last minutes before it was set to shine through the night, you summarized your lessons on the holiday.

“So,” you began, “I guess it’s basically a time for love, showing others how much they mean to you. And sure, there’s all the commercial stuff about candy canes and elves and trees and Santa Claus, which is nice and all, but that’s not the real meaning. It’s about being with those you care about and spreading goodwill to all.”

Loki thought back to all the times he’d needed a little charity or a helping hand, or really just to be shown he was loved. There were certainly a plethora of scenarios to pick from in his life. A whole season to spread cheer and show everyone things are not as hopeless as they seem sounded like a splendid idea indeed.

“I quite like the sound of that,” he said with a smile. As you looked back at him, an equally warm glow adorning your features, Loki realized there was one person he loved more than anyone else. With a sudden burst of confidence, he went to tell you exactly how he felt. “I must say this now, I-”

He was cut off as the crowd began the countdown. You gave him an apologetic smile as the both of you joined in. Upon reaching the last number, the tree lit up, filling Loki with a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. That was only accentuated when you grabbed his hand, bursting with excitement and awe. Once the cheering went down, and your group began to depart, you remembered Loki had been about to say something to you.

“What was it that you wanted to tell me before?” you asked. “Before the countdown.”

“Oh,” he said, clearing his throat. He’d already lost his nerve. “It was nothing urgent. I hardly even remember now. Another time, perhaps.”

“Well, that’s ok,” you replied, though you sounded a little disappointed. “Whenever you remember is fine.”

Back at the Tower, everyone said goodnight and parted ways to go to bed, exhausted from the busy day. In the hall between your rooms, you and Loki stopped to say goodnight one final time. You paused mid-sentence, spying something green hanging from the ceiling above you. Loki followed your gaze upward and immediately went a shade of red that put Rudolph’s nose to shame. Even before all your lessons from the day, he knew mistletoe when he saw it. And, of course, the tradition that went with it.

He heard snickering from around the corner and spotted Peter and Thor waiting for one of you to make your move. Undoubtedly, they'd fabricated the situation to try to get you together faster than you were going by yourselves. To be fair, at said pace, you’d never be together.

“Just kiss already!” Thor shouted before ducking away to give you some privacy.

“Pardon my brother,” Loki said self-consciously. “If you do not wish to, there is no law saying-”

He was cut off for the second time that night. This time, however, it was by something much more pleasurable. You had stood up on your tip toes and placed a kiss to his cheek, too sheepish to do much else.

“Night, Loki,” you said to the still stunned god. “Talk tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow indeed, my little mortal,” he said, pulling you in for another kiss, this time on the lips.

Oh yes, it was decided. This season was magical.

[out-there-so-it-isnt-just-me]

Hey guys...I have an idea if you aren't sad enough yet. I was struck by a painful comparison sort of crossover idea. It would never be canon, but  I'm mourning the end of Campaign Two, and I want to be sad and over-dramatic. Essek, but as Eliza from Hamilton in “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.” But, it’s for the entire Mighty Nien. Some of the lyrics are so on point for a poor Essek who will probably outlive all of his friends (Elves still generally live longer than Firbolgs by a good 200 years). Anyway, enjoy.

MN

Every other founding father's story gets told

It occurs to Essek, during one of the many periods without one of the Mighty Nein (the time that he dwells on them the most), how unfair their whole situation is. They saved all of Exandria, and no one knows. They are amazing, and odd, and frustrating, and no one knows. They will die loved deeply, but not widely. He knows they prefer it that way, all things considered. But, everyone else who saves all of Exandria becomes legends, while the people he loves best will be forgotten, remembered only by him.

And that. That sounds unbearable. 

So, in-between the times he sees the Mighty Nein, he begins to gather accounts. He writes down stories from those they helped, or simply left an impression on.  The people who have met the Mighty Nein have an air about them that he gets good at detecting. They attracted the oddballs and the outcasts. And if they're entirely normal (whatever that means), then they usually get a certain twitch if you ask for stories about interesting strangers. About half the time, a certain blue tiefling pops up in them. He almost has a heart attack when he hears  “go fuck yourself,” in Jester’s cheerful voice, when he knows Jester isn’t anywhere near there. He ends up getting the kenku’s story, and the voices of his friends are weaved into it. Essek thinks the Mighty Nein are the best people in the world, in their own rambunctious way. Part of him wants the world to love them as he does, or at least have the option to. Everyone should have a chance to get to know them, even if it's just through tales. The world would be a better place for it.

...And when you're gone, who remembers your name?

Who keeps your flame? 

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?

Who tells your story?

Once there is only him and Caduceus left, this becomes a more prominent part of how he spends his time. After...after a long, long period of mourning. He has so much life left to live without most of the people who made it worth living.

I put myself back in the narrative

I stop wasting time on tears

I live another 50(0) years

He stops hiding his past and bears his sins and his story to the world. Essek tells his story so their story can be appreciated to the fullest; his part in their story emphasizes the depth of their compassion and chaos. He tells his story, but not as himself. Essek continues to drift from town to town under a vast number of aliases. Everywhere he goes, he spreads his stories of his friends, some serious, most silly. He disguises himself so he can stay alive to do a little more good, tell a few more stories, to truly live the life his friends wanted for him.

...I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings

You really do write like you're running out of time.

Eventually, he gets his hands on some of Beau’s journals, Jester’s diaries, and Caleb’s research. Well, he always had the research, but he gets to the point where he can share it with the world. He slowly begins to share and explain their thoughts and personalities with excerpts from those. Maybe he also has letters that he shares parts of (though most of those, those words specifically for him, he keeps to himself, for himself). He wonders if they'd be angry at him for spilling their private thoughts. But neither Beau nor Jester filtered their thoughts very much in the first place, and he keeps anything truly painful out of the public eye. Caleb, well, Caleb was always about sharing his knowledge and research, provided it wasn't dangerous. And they were all dead anyway.  One of the last things they told him was to be happy. And talking about his friends, learning more about his friends even after they were long dead, that made him the happiest he'd been in a while. So he hoped they wouldn’t begrudge him this small joy he’d managed to grasp and forgive him, should it be necessary.

I rely on Angelica

While she's alive, we tell your story

She is buried in Trinity Church near you

When I needed her most, she was right on time

Caduceus isn’t particularly interested in being well known or famous, but he never shies away from telling a story about any of his friends. Plus, he thinks it’s a good project for Essek. It's a way to continue to show his love for them and keep them alive in the only way they can be now. When Caduceus eventually passes away, he joins the eight other graves (Veth refused to be buried apart from Yeza) that lay in a tucked-away corner of the Blooming Grove. There is one space left, nestled between where Caleb and Jester lay, but it will be empty for a long time yet.

And I'm still not through

I ask myself, what would you do if you had more time...

...You could have done so much more if you only had time

And when my time is up, have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

He keeps adding to his tale; he stretches it longer and longer with every shred he can remember. But, even his memory, as long as it is, runs out eventually. And their story finally ends, but he doesn't. He throws himself into activities that remind him of them. He does a lot of gardening ( mostly tea, poisonous plants, and flowers). He teaches children some rudimentary dunamancy in his spare time, for Caleb. He messes around with alchemy a little. Eventually, he publishes the last of the research that he and Caleb worked on together; ones that took him decades to solve by himself. He even finds himself drawing a surprising amount of dicks on random surfaces near the very end.

Oh, can I show you what I'm proudest of?

...I help to raise hundreds of children

I get to see them growing up

The time that doesn’t go towards his now worrying amount of hobbies, he spends doing what he has done since the beginning: caring for the Mighty Nien’s true legacy. He looks after and visits their children. He takes care of descendants of Luc, of Jester and Fjord, of the random teenager that Beau and Yasha seemed to adopt completely on accident, of TJ, of the Clays, and of a lovechild of Kingsley’s that found out who his father was and then somehow found Essek himself to learn about him. In an embarrassing show of sentimentality, Essek always keeps at least one offspring of Caleb's very first cat. There is a very funny story about Caleb thinking the animal was spayed when it was, in fact, not. He visits the different generations every couple of years or so (he has a schedule). The drow makes sure they know the stories of their ancestors, the adventures of the Mighty Nien; he tells them it's all real. He gives them ways to contact him if they’re in danger, or need any kind of help really ( he has funds to spare at this point). Every once in a while, a few of them will get it in their heads to write him yearly updates. It’s nice.

In their eyes, I see you, Alexander

I see you every time

And when my time is up

Have I done enough?

Will they tell your story?

It is strange and painful to see the attitude and mannerisms of the Nein in the descendants who have never met them. It is wonderful too. His stories of the Mighty Nein have become well-known tales that no one can decide how much is truth and how much is fiction (it’s true, it’s all somehow, hilariously true). He preserved them in his own way, in the right way (time travel is something he thinks of with a growing hunger the more years pass between when he last laid eyes on his friends). But in these men, these women, these children, they are truly alive.

One little half-orc girl has Jester’s mischievous eyes and infectious joy. Another halfling man squints just like Veth when she's trying to figure out if someone is bullshitting her. There’s a boy who charmingly bumbles his way through most social encounters, as Fjord did. A firbolg woman who has Caduceus gentle smile. A tiefling girl with all the audacious bravado of Kingsley. A man with eyes just as piercing as Beau’s, and a tongue just as sharp. Even Yasha’s kind and gentle demeanor somehow shines through in one small boy, despite her having no direct descendants. He gets to see these flashes of his friends in those who survive them, and it thrills him as much as it cuts him. (Sometimes, when the current cat has ruined some item of his, the pleased look it wears resembles the quiet glee Caleb exuded after he pulled a successful prank, but he’s pretty sure that’s just fanciful thinking.)

One of the last things Essek does before he dies is fully publish, in print, the entire tale of the Mighty Nein. How they came together, every person they helped along the way. The love, the loss, the kindness, the chaos, every moment he could recall or record was put into this one account (necessarily stretched out into several separate books). There is only one set, and he hands it over to the Library of the Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum. Then he goes on his lonely way.

Oh, I can't wait to see you again

It's only a matter of time

There are now ten graves, each one as unique as its owner, nestled in a small corner of the Blooming Grove. One grave has the dirt still fresh around it. And somewhere, beyond the Divine Gate, there are cheers and laughs and cries of joy as the Mighty Nien become the Mighty Nine once more.

fin.

MN

It’s my head-canon that by the time Essek dies he’s practically a mythical figure among the select families he looks after. It's  to the point that in certain locations ( that have a lot of Nein remnants) he becomes a local legend, the guardian angel of nien (no spelling specified and with no real distinction of what that means), with skin like the night sky who drifts (literally) through towns and helps those who meet a certain requirement, unknown to the general populus. There are rumors that certain people have bestowed upon them a token they could use to call upon the angel’s aid. Of course, the people who have the tokens (sending stones or something similar. IDK how he would get that many wondrous items, but I focus on satisfying narrative not, like, plausibility) know Essek and know that he has died and that the tokens no longer work, but for a while they keep them as heirlooms, to show the love of one drow wizard for the friends he had long, long ago. Eventually, one of Veth’s descendants sells off their set because sending stones are worth A LOT, and the money seemed more practical. They have their stories; those are enough. 

And before anyone complains about the Kingsley bit, I felt compelled to add a smidgen of Kingsley content because Essek loves Jester and Jester’s with Fjord and Kingsley is with both of them for years. I’m sure they get to know each other well enough that seeing traits of Kingsley is vaguely nostalgic and warming, even if it lacks the depth and love he feels for everyone else. Also, there’s no convincing me that Molly/Kingsley doesn’t have at least one illegitimate child running around from various trysts, he was basically the Scanlan of this campaign. It goes with the hedonistic vibe he gives off.

Also, is it normal that I completely designed the Nein’s burial site in my head because I did? Like I imagine they’re all spaced out in a circle. It’s almost like a stone gazebo but there’s not really a roof; it’s just a group of nine pillars that support a stone circle. The entrance is the Traveler’s door with dicks around the edge, and each of the nine pillars/supports is designed to look the knowing mistresses staff. The stone circle is covered in carvings of storm clouds and lightning. Wires are strung across the center of the stone circle to form the symbol of the Cobalt Soul. Not that you can see the wires, because vines have been grown all around them. Once you step through the Traveler’s gate, you’ll find yourself on some kind of rough mosaic floor, with depictions of a peacock, a pyramid, a snake, a sun, a moon, and (oddly) a pirate ship. The mosaic is made up of buttons of various materials and shapes. In the center is a saltwater pool/spring (depending on how magical we can get idk) and floating above it is an eternal flame encased in some sort of dunamancy magic that doesn’t  actually exist that keeps it floating and eternal. Look I'm running out of ideas.

I can’t imagine what everyone’s grave marker would be, but I’m pretty sure Yasha’s is a simple stone that says "YASHA NYDOORIN: wife of Zuella and Beauregard Lionette," and the place where’s she’s buried is just covered in wildflowers that spread outside of the gazebo to encircle the structure entirely up to the gate. Also, everyone has a stone tarot card by their grave with the picture and designation that Molly gave them. Beyond that grows a weirdly dense thicket of trees and bushes that make finding the Nein's resting place rather hard. It’s said only the descendants of the Nein’s family or those favored by the Wildmother (or Traveler, Or Ioun, or Storm Lord) can find their way to them. And one tree, directly behind Yasha, is dead, struck by lightning who knows how long ago. 

And they’re buried in this order: Yeza/Veth, Caleb, Essek, Jester, Ford, Kingsley, Yasha, Beau, Cad. I know there’s a good chance that a) Kingsley would just eff off and die somewhere unknown and b) Cad would probably want to be buried with the rest of his family, but shhh let me dream.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Eight ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3620

Warnings: Mild language, tw ptsd

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Happy early Thursday morning! Hope you have a good day <3

Cosima’s right arm grips around me like a vice. Her left arm rests gingerly on her leg. Baranor did what he could, but I imagine it is still painful to move the arm around and irritate the injury. To jostle her as little as possible, I ride as smoothly as I can. Faervel seems to sense that he needs to put extra care into the force with which his hooves hit the ground. When we hit an unavoidable jolt, I hear Cosima’s sharp intake of breath and instantly regret causing her pain. At one point, the hand curled against my stomach begins to shake, and I want to stop the horse. I want to pause and look her in the eye and swear to do better next time. I’ll watch more, fight harder, move faster, keep her safe. I want to explain to her my revitalized resolve—nothing will get to her now. She doesn’t need to worry, because I’ll do better.

But of course, I can’t do any of that.

And I definitely shouldn’t. It’s strange, feeling this strongly about the well-being of one measly human. But in truth, I’ve become quite fond of Cosima in our short time together. Maybe it’s because I don’t spend much time with humans, but I find her humor refreshing, her kindness captivating, and her wide range of emotions infuriatingly confusing. I can’t stop myself from seeking her out.

And I can’t stop myself from hoping she decides to return home with us.

I sigh. I should send her to ride with Orophin. I’m paying too much attention to her, thinking too much, allowing myself to become distracted. But the idea of sending her away, of distancing her from my care, makes me to tense. I have a feeling I would be just as distracted if she weren’t behind me. Inwardly, I remind myself to focus on my surroundings, putting it into the frame of keeping my companions safe. The closer we get to the Imladris border—and thus their border patrols—the lower the likelihood of us running into more orcs. As it is, we are too far away for Elrond’s patrols for comfort and I urge myself to remain vigilant. I can’t take any chances.

There’s a noise to my right—just pebbles dislodged by the quick feet of a rabbit, but Cosima’s human senses can’t find the source of the moment. She jumps, clinging even tighter to me, and looks around wildly, breath racing. Without thinking, I take one hand from the reins and wrap it around the hand she holds in a fist against my stomach.

Elves don’t usually engage in physical contact outside of family and romantic partners. At most, warriors will clasp each other at the elbow briefly to commemorate a job well done or to celebrate a victory. But she is human, I reason, trying to puzzle out my strange response. Humans touch each other all the time—they hug each other, hold each other, press kisses to the cheeks of those they care for. Part of comforting a human is offering them a physical lifeline, something tangible and solid that they can hold on to.

“It’s alright,” I try to soothe, not holding out hope that I’m any good at it. The wardens I’ve dedicated my life to don’t usually require soothing. “It’s just a rabbit—I saw it running off. It climbed over the rocks and caused a few of the smaller ones to fall down the hill.”

I wish I could turn around and face her. I want to look into her eyes, study her face, and see if my words have had any effect. I want to know that the fear has left her, see the relief of security smooth the tension in her brow.

She takes a couple deep breaths, and I encourage myself to take them with her. It never hurts to settle one’s heart. Then, a pressure against my shoulder blade. She’s resting her head there, I realize with a start. I stiffen automatically, not at all used to the contact. I try to relax. If it’s what she needs, I can try it. Once I get over the initial shock, I don’t dislike this feeling at all—in fact, it’s quite nice to be here for her like this.

“Okay,” she breathes. She sounds exhausted.

I weigh my options. Could we chance stopping early tonight? Would the rest result in quicker progress tomorrow? No, I decide, knowing the original plan is the best. Each of us will feel better once we are securely inside Elrond’s borders. If that means some discomfort now, so be it.

With that in mind, I push Faervel to go even faster, wanting to race towards Imladris with all haste.

{***}

I see the tension in everyone’s shoulders when we stop to make camp. Each of them carries the weight of this morning’s attack, the human’s most visibly. Since the moment Cosima left my horse, she’s been at Alexander’s side. I was right about human comforting tactics—his arm hangs around her shoulders and she lays her head against his chest. The sight is strange, and a little disquieting. Elves are so unused to seeing such blatant displays of physical affection.

For his part, Alexander also looks quite shaken. His hair, usually well-kept, sticks in all directions and his eyes dart from side to side constantly, never finding rest. He clings to Cosima as tightly as she holds on to him. While the rest of us are seasoned in the unpleasantries of battle, this is their first encounter with violence—that they can recall, that is.

I clear my throat, drawing the attention of the camp. “I will stand first watch with Baranor. Everyone else, get some sleep.” I address my brothers directly, then. “I will wake you at the halfway point.”

We waste no time. Baranor draws his sword and takes the East side of camp. I mirror his stance on the West. We found a relatively secure spot for the night — a small valley with a clearing of grass backed up to a rocky slope of mountainside. There is only one entrance to where the others sleep, unless someone were to jump from the rocks above. To prevent this from happening, Baranor and I pick points high enough that we could see any attempts to either enter our camp or ambush one of our watch stations. Before I know it, the sun sinks over the horizon and we are plunged into darkness.

{***}

Baranor wakes the others, and once Rumil comes to take my spot, I trek the short distance to the center of our camp. I lay on the now unoccupied mat next to the mountainside — across the small area, Baranor has already passed into sleep. Just as I stretch out, getting comfortable, my eyes meet Cosima’s.

She stares at the rock across the small cleaning from her, expression distant and glazed.

I call her name quietly, getting her attention without waking Alexander or disturbing Baranor. She should have nodded off hours ago. “Can you not sleep?”

She shakes her head and, even from here, I can see the exhaustion in her eyes. “It’s silly,” she whispers. I raise my eyebrows, hoping she’ll explain. “I know we’re relatively safe. I know there are always two people on lookout and I know you all have plenty of weapons. But I’m still so scared.” Her voice wavers. “I can’t remember a time in my life when I was attacked like that. Every time I close my eyes I see those…things.” She bites out the word, shuddering. “What were they?”

I sigh. I should have known she wouldn’t find peaceful rest in her current state. I prop myself up on an elbow, trying to make myself seem as assured as possible. My wardens tend to feel more confident when I seem confident—maybe it will help her, too. “They were orcs, some of the most evil beings in this realm.”

“And they wanted to kill us?”

“Yes.”

“Why? What did we do?”

“Nothing,” I shrug, at a loss for the reasoning of those foul beasts. “They are bred for evil, they desire it above all else. If they have the chance to kill, they will take it.”

She shivers again and throws a look over her shoulder towards the entrance of the clearing. “That’s terrifying.”

“They will not get that close to you again,” I swear. I really shouldn’t. I can’t say for sure—they’re no way I can be absolutely positive an orc won’t attack her again. But I do know that as long as it is within my power, I will do everything possible to make what I just said the truth.

She raises an eyebrow dubiously and I know that, even in her fearful and tired state, she sees through the logic in my statement. Even though I was just questioning the validity of my words, I find myself with the overwhelming need to prove them to her—and to myself. I stand, pulling my mat with me, and step around her, dropping the mat between where she lays and the entrance to the clearing.

“There,” I nod, laying back on my mat. “Anything that wants to get to you will have to challenge me first.”

Breath hitches in her throat. Her lip quivers, a shine glints in her eyes. I freeze. Oh Valar, where did I go wrong this time? But when she addresses me—albeit in a shaky voice—she sounds pleased. “You don’t have to do that.”

Relieved that she has one, accepted my offer and two, doesn’t seem to resent me for it, I smile. “It’s my job. Now, please close your eyes and try to fall asleep. I will wake you if there is need.”

She wavers for a moment and I put a hint of my Marchwarden sternness behind the gaze I level back. The edges of her lips quirk into a tentative smile and her eyes slide shut. She pulls her—my— cloak tighter around her shoulders and, in a voice so quiet I can barely hear it, whispers, “thank you.”

I settle on my back, keeping my sword and bow within easy reach, as I do every night. And, though I just told Cosima to go to sleep, I stay awake longer than I intend, watching the stars and listening to the sounds of the mountains. She was right—there is much beauty here. There is no civilization for miles, no hints of light to obscure the vastness of the constellations. As an elfling, I used to love staring at the stars. Even in my early days of the guard and battle, I would pass long nights gazing at the sky. When did I stop? When did the love of beauty for beauty’s sake leave me?

I hear the deep, even breaths indicating a human has fallen asleep and know that Cosima has finally given in to her exhaustion. I follow not long after, the soft light of the stars falling away behind my closed eyes.

{***}

The day is marked by easy travel. By my estimate, we will reach Imladris sometime tomorrow evening. It cannot come quickly enough.

Just as the sun is starting to set, we come across a small cave I have used in the past when traveling with various companies. Orophin sees it too and gives a triumphant call from his spot in the line. A cave means we can chance a fire, which means we can have meat tonight—if we can catch it.

About five hundred feet from the cave, I dismount, signaling for Orophin to do the same. I hand the reins to Cosima, give Faervel a quick pat, and raise my voice loudly enough for the others to hear. “We’ll make sure the cave is clear—the rest of you, wait here.”

The nerves, which seemed dormant in Cosima for the majority of the day, creep back into her features. Her hold on the reins tightens. I attempt to reassure her. “We’ll be back in five minutes. Stay with the others.”

I want to stay longer, to stay by her side until she feels safe, but I know it will be better for everyone once we’re settled in the cave. So I draw my sword and join Orophin at the yawning entrance.

The cave is too small to be used long-term, so it is commonly claimed by travelers who only intend to stay the night. The ceiling is plenty high for humans, but as elves, Orophin and I must take care not to stretch too high. In some places, I can feel the smooth rock graze the top of my head, dragging strands of hair out of place. But aside from that mild annoyance, no threats lie inside and I hurry to return to the others and give them the good news.

Rumil, knowing the expression on my face, grins and hops down from Roch, setting the horse to graze while he excitedly enters the cave to drop his packs. I roll my eyes, though not without fondness, at my brother’s exuberance. I quicken my pace, eager to settle the others for the night and go hunting so we can have a proper meal. As soon as I set Cosima’s feet on the ground and put Faervel to graze, I can go in search of rabbits or squirrels.

I am a few feet from Cosima when Alexander steps into my line of sight. He reaches his arms up to his friend. She smiles warmly at him, places her hands on his shoulders, and lets him ease her down from the horse. It’s a bit jerky, honestly, and I worry that her feet hit the ground with too much force. One has to be careful when helping another down from a higher place—if not, the person could suffer injury. Careless.

“Alexander,” I call. He looks put out but nonetheless inclines his head in my direction. “Leave your supplies in the cave and then meet me out here. I am taking you with me to hunt.”

He sputters. “What? No! I’m tired and I don’t even want to learn how to hunt. Take one of your brothers.”

I feel my eyes narrow. “Regardless if you would like to face the facts or not, you are in this world. And as such, you will need to learn skills to aid your time here, however long that may be. Cosima has learned how to care for the horses and ride and scout her surroundings. You will learn to hunt.” The human tries to protest again, and I raise my chin, none too pleased with having to justify my decision. “As long as you are under my care you will follow my orders. Am I clear?”

Beside him, Cosima’s eyes grow wide. She darts her gaze between myself and Alexander, watching our exchange. I raise an eyebrow at the man. It will not be me who breaks first. I have centuries of practice.

Predictably, Alexander cracks, breaking my gaze and nodding stiffly. He pulls away from Cosima and stalks into the cave, taking a few bags with him.

Baranor passes me on his way up the path—I’d nearly forgotten he was here. He lowers his voice to a volume the humans won’t detect. “He is not one of your wardens, Haldir.”

“As long as he travels in my company, he travels under my command,” I grit back, more frustration in my tone than is necessary. I work to push the emotion aside and stride forward, dealing with Faervel while I wait for Alexander.

Cosima hasn’t left. She stands, dwarfed by Faervel’s tall frame, gently brushing out his coat. There’s tension in her shoulders and I approach her almost hesitantly. I think I angered her.

She quickly confirms my suspicions.

“You didn’t have to be so rude to him.” She doesn’t take her eyes from my horse.

I purse my lips. I just need to make her understand. “He was being insubordinate.”

“Okay, but he’s not your subordinate,” she shoots back, voice rising in irritation.

I don’t quite know what to say. These humans don’t know how my job works, so their reaction is to be expected….But even Baranor commented on my behavior…was I wrong? Even if I did perhaps misuse my tone, I still can’t have someone openly refusing to do what I say. It’s a matter of security. Say he disobeyed me in the heat of battle? Someone could pay for his choice with their life. I can’t allow situations to pass now that would embolden him to disobey me later.

Cosima sighs, shaking her head. When she speaks, her voice is tight with disapproval. “I’ll finish the horses. You get to your hunt.”

I swallow. It seems I’ve angered her to the point where she wishes to cast me from her presence. I must respect that, then. “I will send Rumil to guard you.”

She nods once, still not looking at me.

I spare her one last glance then make towards the cave, feeling very unsure of myself. As Marchwarden, I’ve learned to make difficult, sometimes unpopular, decisions. People’s reaction to them usually doesn’t bother me…but something about the way Cosima wouldn’t even look at me, the frustration in her tone…it doesn’t sit well.

Rumil is already at the mouth of the cave, headed outside with a snack for Roch. I instruct him to stay with Cosima while I am gone, and he agrees easily. The two of them have been friends from the start. I’d wager he has never upset her as I have.

Alexander is waiting, too, looking annoyed. I try to remind myself to be nicer towards him, but can’t quite manage it. Something about his demeanor just irks me. But the hunting excursion will be good, I remind myself. It will allow me to get a better read on this human, to figure out where he stands and what his motivations are. With that in mind, I jerk my head to the rocks, calling him forward. “Let’s go.”

{***}

I don’t take Alexander far, but we do have to leave the noise of camp to find animals suitable for food. The human trudges behind me, probably scaring away every rodent within a mile. Why must the race of man be so loud?

“Roll your foot from heel to toe when you walk rather than stomping down,” I instruct. To my surprise, he actually follows my advice. He’s still not as silent as an elf, but there is definitely an improvement.

A silence settles between us. When he breaks it, there is a vulnerability in his voice I did not expect to hear. “Is Cosima really going to be okay?”

Baranor had assured me of the fact and I know from my years of battle that the wound is not severe, so I am confident in my answer. “Yes. I think more damage was done to her feelings than her arm. She takes things quite deeply to heart. It will take time for those scars to heal.”

I’ve offended him. He scoffs, expression morphing into a glare. “And that’s bad?”

Now, I grit my teeth. He seems always on the prowl for some reason to dislike me, and I don’t appreciate him twisting my words about Cosima to use against me. I throw his accusation right back. “I am not the one questioning her intelligence and calling her naive.”

“That’s taken out of context!”

“And in what context are your words favorable?”

He seethes, and I find a strand of amusement in the differences between our demeanors. I stand calm and cool as ever while he glares up at me, mouth pulled into a grimace, face going hot in anger.

“You know what,” he grits out, hands clenching into fists. “Don’t go on defending her. Don’t get too attached. Because after yesterday, I’ve got no doubt in my mind that I’m getting out of here. And Cosima’s coming with me.”

I scoff. “You cannot force her.”

“I won’t have to.” He exhales, an assured serenity settling on his face. For the first time since our argument began, I feel wary. “That attack broke whatever spell you all have put on her. She’ll leave willingly. I guarantee it.”

Maybe it’s the arrogant twist in his smile, maybe it’s the stress of the day finally hitting me, maybe it’s just because he’s been an ass since the day he arrived and I would like nothing more than to knock him to the ground and teach him to have some respect. Whatever the reason, I feel the cold dread creeping through my bones colliding with a white-hot anger that sears through my chest. It takes everything in me not to let the composed mask slip from my face.

Despite my efforts, Alexander knows he’s hit his mark. He can tell he’s gotten a reaction out of me, and this pleases him to no end. He waves a hand forward, gesturing to the wide expanse of the path before us. “Lead on, Marchwarden. People need to eat.”

I want to challenge him.

But that is not respectable behavior of a leader, nor polite treatment of a human under my protection. So I call on every ounce of maturity and discipline I possess and turn on my heel, continuing the hunt.

And though we have good fortune in our search and I should be pleased, I am too focused on Alex’s promise to share in the enjoyment.

Cosima choosing to leave is a very real possibility.

And that hurts me more than it should.

A/n Thanks for reading! So it looks like we’re having some ~developments~ -- what do you think?! Likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile! Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list :)

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[dinosaurs-last-day]

Of Witches and Long Lost Families

This is my gift for @because-were-fam-ily for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange 2020!

Their prompt that I used was magic au, and I also added an nonbinary character since another one of their prompts was nonbinary coming out. 

Relationships: platonic dukeceit, eventual romantic intrulogical, familial dukexiety and familial ancxeit. 

word count: 5004

warnings: ask to tag

Witches, demons, angels, elves, fairies. All considered mythical creatures to humans, all very real. Most of them live in hiding, unwilling to prove their existence to the non-magical humans, sometimes even fearful of what people would do if they found out the truth. 

Janus was one of these magical beings, they were a witch. Like many magical and mythical beings, they preferred to avoid humans, opting to live in the woods that were deemed “haunted.” Because so many magical beings lived in those woods, humans tended to stay away, which led to it being a magical paradise. 

Janus lived by themself, spending most of their time perfecting potions and magical spells. When they weren’t working, they were often with their best friend, Remus. 

Remus was a demon, a cruel and vulgar species. Remus didn’t live in the forest, he chose to live in the pits of hell, which suited him just fine. Everything about Remus was crazy, from his wild sense of clothing (billowing black shirts with tight leather pants) to his wild purple makeup and dark green demon horns. Remus’ favorite pastime was coming up from Hell to terrorize humans in the village closest to the forest. 

Janus was almost the exact opposite. They were calm and careful, full of grace and poise. Janus dressed with elegance, wearing long cloaks and flowing skirts that were practical but still had that dramatic flair that Janus was known for. They wore satin yellow gloves, which served no practical purpose, the gloves were purely because Janus liked them. 

Together, the two friends were a force to behold. Remus’ chaotic whimsy and Janus’ calculated cunning worked together better than most people would expect. Most of the time, their schemes were directed at humans who had wandered into the forest or offended the magic folk. Janus insisted on using their powers for protective purposes only, but Remus was known to convince them on pulling a cruel prank every once and awhile. If the two weren’t terrorizing humans, they were probably terrorizing Remus’ rival and brother, the angel Roman. 

On the particular morning our story starts, Remus had crawled up from Hell, bored and hoping that Janus could entertain him somehow. He wanted to go and trick his brother or his brother’s friend, but Janus insisted that he was too busy working to go do any of Remus’ crazy ideas. So Remus just sat around Janus’ cabin, moping, complaining and summoning hellhounds to keep him entertained. 

“Janny! Why must you insist on being so serious! We’re occult beings damn it! If we want to have a little fun, we should be allowed to have fun!” Remus draped himself across Janus’ couch dramatically, trying to tear Janus away from their work. Janus rolled their eyes and continued to stir the bubbling brew in their cauldron. 

“I’m sorry Remus, but I am working. I have to get this potion ready for Logan.” 

Remus perked up. “Logan the elf?” Janus nodded. It was common knowledge that Remus was romantically interested in the elven man for a long time. Logan himself was the only one who seemed unaware, but he wasn’t known for being the best at reading social cues. He was the most socially awkward elf that Janus had ever seen, which was saying something since elves were known for being an incredibly social race. 

“Are you delivering the potion today?” Remus asked. Janus nodded once again. 

“You can tag along if you promise to behave,” Janus told their friend. Remus agreed wholeheartedly that as long as they were going to visit Logan, he would stay out of trouble, specifically, he would refrain from terrorizing Roman. 

“Well then let’s go!” Remus was ready to bounce out the door but Janus held him back, reminding him that they had to wait for the potion to be done first. Remus sighed and flopped down on Janus’ couch, waiting impatiently as he summoned another hellhound and began to play with the giant demon dog. 

“It’s done,” Janus called, watching as Remus zoomed towards the door and out into the open air. Janus laughed and followed their friend outside, smiling as the sun peeked through the trees. 

“Let us be off!” Remus cried dramatically, leading the way. The two headed through the woods towards the more populated area, where Logan lived. They were still a ways away from the town when they heard a rustling in the bushes.

Janus stopped to listen, expecting some sort of rabbit or little fairy to pop out of the brush, but nothing appeared. Remus was starting to get bored, so he began to pull Janus down along the path. 

The moment Janus’ back was turned towards the bush, more rustling came and out appeared a young teenager. He was tall and skinny, his vivid violet eyes hidden by the hood he wore over his head. The boy froze when he saw Janus and Remus. 

Remus was the first to move, diving for the boy. The boy screamed and held out his hands to keep Remus from flying straight into him. 

“Remus no!” Janus yelled. Remus stopped mid flight, suspended in the air as he stared at Janus. The boy went to run away but Janus muttered a spell to immobilize the boy. The boy struggled against the magic for a moment before seeming to give up. Janus walked forward, motioning for Remus to come and stand on the ground. 

“What are you doing in the forest, dear boy?” Janus asked, standing in front of the boy. The teenager’s skin was a tan color, partly from being out in the sun and partly because of its natural shade. 

“I was running away,” the boy said through gritted teeth. He was glaring at the two mythical beings in front of him, shifting his eyes between the two, unsure of who was the bigger threat. 

“Janny, I wanna feed him to my hellhound!” Remus whined, tugging at the witch’s arm. 

Janus shook their head. “No, we’re not killing him.” Both Remus and the boy seemed shocked. 

“Why aren’t you going to kill me?” The boy asked. “Not that I don’t appreciate it or anything, but he’s a demon,” his glance flicked over to Remus for a moment before returning to Janus. “And I’m assuming you’re a witch. And I’m in your forest.” 

“Correct, Remus here is a demon, an annoying one too. And yes, I am a witch. My name is Janus. 

“Now, as for why we aren’t going to kill you, even though you are in our forest. I guess you spark my curiosity. You said that you were running away, why?” 

The boy looked at the ground for a moment, seeming to consider if he should tell his captors.

“Be honest now, or I’ll let Remus do as he pleases with you. I won’t stop him if he tries to feed you to his army of hellhounds.” Remus clapped his hand in excitement. The boy gulped and looked up.

“I hated it there, the village I mean. I don’t have a family and basically the only reason they kept me around was for working. I don’t know where I’m going, just not there.” 

Janus thought for a moment. 

“What’s your name kid?” The boy seemed surprised that Janus had even cared to ask, but Janus just stared at him. 

“Um, it’s Virgil.” 

“Well Virgil, if you don’t know where you’re going, how do you feel about becoming a witch? Having an apprentice would be nice, an extra set of hands and commany for when Remus is too busy terrorizing someone.” 

Remus gasped from behind Janus, but they focused on Virgil, waiting for a response. Virgil gulped and nodded.

"I'll become your apprentice. Anything to not be fed to a demon's pet dog." Remus growled, but Janus ignored him. With a few words in an ancient language, Virgil was released from the spell and collapsed to the ground.

"Remus, I'd like you to make the delivery for me. I'll be walking Virgil back to my cabin. We can't have anyone else see a human in our forest." Janus commanded, handing Remus the potion. “And please don’t make Logan uncomfortable, he is a valued customer.” 

“Fine, but only because you asked so politely,” Remus said, running down the path, glass vial in hand. Janus sighed, they knew that it was highly unlikely that Remus would actually respect Logan’s boundaries, that’s just how Remus was. 

They turned back to the teen who was still sitting on the ground. Virgil was staring up at Janus, his face expressionless. 

“Why did you save me?” He asked.

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Now follow me.” Janus headed back towards their cabin, allowing Virgil to follow just a few steps behind him.

“You offered me the option to live. I’m human, why would you do that?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t know. Something about you draws me in, interests me. But I’ve yet to put my finger on what that something is. I intend to find out though.” 

“So I’m some sort of experiment?” 

“If you insist on looking at it that way, then sure. But I think of it as an assistant with an interesting past that I intend to find out. Why do you keep asking, would you prefer death? It can be arranged.” 

Virgil stopped in his tracks. “No, I prefer this.” Janus turned around, facing the boy. 

“Then follow me and stop asking so many silly questions. Questions are for learning.” They turned back around and listened to the sound of Virgil’s feet hitting the dirt path as the boy followed along.

They approached Janus’ cabin, Virgil silently taking in the entire forest. When the two walked through the front door, Janus allowed Virgil to walk around and look at everything. They noticed how Virgil seemed to hang around the storage closet where Janus kept most of their potion ingredients. Virgil was inspecting the different labels, sometimes silently mouthing the names of the different herbs. 

Remus came storming into the building right as Virgil was settling down on the couch next to Janus. 

“I’m back!” He yelled in a sing-song voice. “Did ya miss me? How’s our new friend doing?” 

Janus looked to Virgil, who seemed surprised that he was expected to answer.

“Um, I’m doing fine I guess. As fine as a dude can be in this situation.” 

“You going to lay down some ground rules for him, Janny? So if he breaks them, I can feed him to my hellhounds?” Virgil visibly paled at the mention of the demon’s dogs, but neither of the adults paid him any attention.

“Yes, ground rules. First of all, don’t touch anything without permission. We don’t want you to accidentally cause an explosion. Second of all, you can’t leave my property without one of us, that’s for your safety. My garden is open to you whenever you want but outside my fence, if we aren’t there, we can’t protect you from any magical being you stumble across. And lastly, if I happen to have a customer over, it’s probably best that you stay upstairs. Again, this is for your own safety.” Virgil seemed to relax when he realized that the rules weren’t as bad as he originally thought. Remus pouted a little, realizing that he couldn’t actually feed the teenager to the hellhounds with these rules, but he knew better than to argue with Janus. 

“So I’m not a prisoner?” Virgil asked. 

Janus shook their head. “We’ve already discussed this, you are an assistant. And I’d like to make it clear that if you decide that magic isn’t your thing, you’re free to leave, go wherever you want. But I will not protect you.” 

“If you want to leave Jan’s boring potion making lessons, feel free to join me,” Remus said, sliding next to Virgil. Virgil laughed awkwardly.

“Join you?” 

“Gimme your soul and you’ll have everything that I have! Become a demon! It’s lots of fun, I promise.” 

“No trying to convert my assistant Remus. I doubt the boy is ready to give up his soul just yet.” 

“Yeah, I think I’ll keep my soul for now. I kind of like it.” 

Janus showed Virgil to the room that he would be staying in and told him that they would begin his lessons in witchcraft first thing in the morning. Right now, Virgil needed sleep. Janus insisted that it had been a very busy afternoon and that practicing magic while not being fully rested was a dangerous game. 

~

The next few weeks went by in a blur to Janus. What stood out to them about living with Virgil was how easily the teen picked up magic. It was like a second nature to him, Janus couldn’t help but wonder if Virgil actually had some mythical ancestry in his past that maybe, he didn’t know about. 

Virgil seemed to enjoy learning magic too, he was constantly asking questions about whatever Janus was working on and reading some of Janus’ old spell books in his free time. Remus wouldn’t stop bothering him about selling his soul, but now it was more of a joke, the subject didn’t bother Virgil as much.

And Virgil was really good at following Janus’ rules. He never went past the gates, which he claimed the very idea of heading out alone made him extremely anxious, and he always stayed in his room when there was a visitor, who was usually Logan. Virgil did spend a lot of time in the garden, choosing to read in the sun and warmth of the forest. 

One day, while Virgil was off somewhere reading and Janus was busy finishing a potion for Patton the fae, Remus slammed open the door.

“I’m home!” Janus rolled their eyes, used to the demon’s antics. “I brought company!” Remus dragged another person into the cabin. Janus immediately stood up.

“Logan! Hello. Did you come with another potion order?” 

Logan, the elf that Remus had been crushing on, was a very serious and simple person. He tended to stick to simple, practical clothes. A fitted navy blue tunic with pants and a half cape that didn’t get in his way. He wore glasses that matched his simple style. Even his accent, a traditional elven dialect, was crisp and simple. 

“I’m afraid not Janus. You see, I came here upon Remus’ request.” Janus turned and raised an eyebrow at Remus, who was bouncing up and down on his toes. 

“I convinced him to date me!” Remus said, holding onto Logan’s hands. 

Janus turned to Logan. “Blink twice if he threatened you into this.” Logan shook his head.

“There was no such threatening. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we’ve been spending more time around each other and I do not find Remus unbearable as others do. Quite the opposite actually, I find him quite enjoyable. He has a lot of interesting things to say and knows many things about topics I’ve never looked into.”

“You hear that, Janny? I have a boyfriend! I can’t wait for us to do things together! We can go on adventures together, create cool things, teach Virgil how to-” Remus cut himself off, realizing his mistake too late.

“Virgil?” Logan asked. “Who is Virgil?” 

“Virgil is no one, Remus is just being silly,” Janus lied, hoping that Logan would believe them. 

“I heard my name, is everything okay?” Virgil said, walking in from the garden, carrying an old spell book. He froze in his tracks when he saw Logan. Janus could see the anxiety rise up inside Virgil, knew that Virgil would probably have a panic attack any second now if this situation wasn’t taken care of immediately. But they didn’t know what to do. 

“Are you a human?” Logan asked, stepping forward. Virgil immediately took two steps backward, remaining silent. Logan didn’t seem to realize how scared Virgil was, continuing to walk towards him, backing Virgil into a wall as he examined the boy. “Goodness, you are human. How interesting.” 

Remus was the first one to truly react. “That’s actually one of my little demons in training! Not a human at all!” Remus had always been the worst liar that Janus had ever seen. 

“No, this boy is human, and quite an interesting one at that,” Logan mused, continuing to study Virgil. He noticed the book that Virgil was clutching to his chest.

“Can you read that? Understand it?” He asked. Unsure of what to do, Virgil nodded. His breathing was becoming rapid. 

“Fascinating. Can you brew potions, perform simple spells?” Another nod. Janus moved, slipping in between Logan and Virgil, motioning for Virgil to go outside. The teen obeyed immediately, sitting in the grass, out of sight of Logan. He focused on steadying his breathing. Janus would take care of this. 

“You can’t tell anyone he’s here. You know what some of them would do if they found out,” Janus pleaded.

“Don’t be ridiculous, he has just as much a right to live in this forest, just like every other mythical creature here.” 

Janus raised an eyebrow as the three adults moved to the couch. “What do you mean?” 

“Don’t you think it’s funny that a human boy can perform magic? And did you see what he was reading, those weren’t simple spells that he was studying. I think it’s more than safe to say he has witches’ blood. How ever did you find him?” 

Janus and Remus worked together to tell the story of how they found Virgil and brought him back to the cabin. Logan listened in rapt attention and thought a few minutes after they had finished telling the story.

“Did you ever figure out what drew you to him?” Logan finally asked Janus.

“No. For all I know, it was just chance,” they said. 

“I want to do some research back at my library, but I’m almost 100% sure that boy has witch’s blood in his veins. That would explain everything. Why he was drawn to this forest, why you decided to help him, why he’s so good at magic. I’m sure if you asked him, that would even explain why he decided to leave his home.” 

"So, Virgil can stay?" Remus asked. Logan nodded and Remus immediately moved so that he was sitting next to his boyfriend, as if he had kept space between them in case Logan said that Virgil had to leave. 

Logan left, insisting that he had to start immediately on his research into Virgil’s family history, leaving Janus and Remus alone. The moment that they were sure that Logan was gone, Janus ran into the garden, followed by Remus. 

The two adults found Virgil under a tree, tearing at the grass as if that would calm him down. He looked up when he heard them running towards him. Janus could still see panic in the teenager’s eyes. 

“I’m going to have to leave, aren’t I?” The sentence was like being stabbed through the heart with a sharp sword, Janus felt so much pain over it. Remus practically threw himself on the ground, pulling Virgil into a hug and holding him close. Janus joined the hug, keeping his own sobs at bay.

“You aren’t going to leave,” Remus said. Out of all of them, Remus was definitely the calmest in the moment, which was very strange. But Janus couldn’t focus on it at the moment. “If Janus tries to kick you out, I’ll feed them to my hellhounds and you’ll come with me.” 

“Of course I’m not going to kick you out or make you leave. If you want to stay, then I’d be more than happy to let you. You’re family by now.” Janus reached over and wiped a tear off of Virgil’s cheek. Virgil sniffled, trying to pull himself together. 

“But what about that elf?” Virgil asked between sniffles. “Won’t he try to get rid of me?” 

“Logan? He would never.” Remus looked slightly offended on his boyfriend’s behalf, but only slightly. 

Janus smiled. “He thinks that you’re like me. He thinks that you’re actually a witch.” 

Virgil’s jaw dropped a few inches. “But I’m human!”

“Virgil, do you know anything about your family? You never talk about them.” Janus knew that Virgil’s answer to this question could tell them more than all of Logan’s research put together.

Virgil shook his head solemnly. “I don’t know.” 

“Then I think it’s safe to say that the odds that one of your ancestors was a witch is very possible. Virgil, you’re the best student I’ve ever seen. You pick up concepts and skills quicker than anyone I know.”

“So I’m a witch?” Virgil looked at the spell book lying on the ground next to him with a new found appreciation.

“Quite possibly.” 

“Logan is looking into it right now,” Remus said. “He has a whole library full of books and he thinks one might contain a family tree that you should be a part of, if you aren’t already.” 

“So I can stay?” 

“Yes, of course you can stay.” 

~

“I’d like to see Virgil.” 

Janus looked up from their work, and made eye contact with Logan, who was standing in the front doorway. 

“Well hello to you too Logan. It’s a pleasure to see you in my house.” 

“This is important. I want to speak to Virgil. I think I may have found his family.” 

Janus dropped what they were doing, and immediately walked over to Logan. 

“You think so? Wow, that’s amazing.” 

“So can I see him?” Logan seemed slightly impatient, not unusual to him. Logan liked to know things, and not knowing things made him uncomfortable. Janus could tell that this was one of those moments where he didn’t know something and he expected Virgil to have the answers.

“I’m afraid that Virgil isn’t home right now. Remus took him down to hell to see the new hellhound puppies. I don’t know exactly when they’ll be back, but you’re welcome to wait here until them.” 

Logan nodded and thanked Janus before sitting down on the couch. Janus watched the elf for a minute, noting how his leg bounced in anticipation. For Logan’s sake, they hoped that Remus and Virgil would be back soon. 

~

The sound of two people shouting excitedly was what alerted Logan and Janus that Remus and Virgil had returned. Logan had been waiting on Janus’ couch for nearly an hour, sitting in silence with his leg bouncing. When he heard them, Logan practically leaped off the couch. 

Remus kicked the door open, floating inside. Virgil followed, excitedly explaining something to Remus, his hands waving around his head as he talked. He immediately stopped talking when he saw Logan.

“Lolo!” Remus said, throwing himself at his boyfriend. Logan kissed Remus quickly before turning back to Virgil.

“I’m sorry to spoil your conversation Virgil but do you have a moment? I’d like to talk to you, in private.” Virgil’s glance immediately shot to Janus, looking for an answer as to what was going on. Janus mouthed the word family and Virgil seemed to understand.

“Sure, yeah, would you like to walk in the garden or talk in my room?” Virgil asked Logan. Logan fidgeted with his glasses. 

“The garden is fine. This will only take a minute.” Janus and Remus watched as Logan followed Virgil out the door into the back garden. The moment that they were out of sight, Remus turned on his heels and demanded an explanation from Janus.

“Logan showed up to speak to Virgil about an hour ago,” They explained. “Said it had to do with his family. I can only hope that it's good news.” 

“Jan,” Remus sat down on the couch, his voice soft as if he was afraid to say what he was about to say. “What if Virgil finds his family? What if they’re nearby and he wants to live with them?”

Janus hadn’t even thought about this, but it made sense that Virgil would want to live with his real family, not with Janus and Remus. They sat down next to Remus, resting their head on the demon’s shoulder.

“I guess all we can do is support him. It’s his family, we don’t get to claim that title. He’ll probably still want to spend time with us.”

“And if he doesn’t? What if he prefers his new family, his real family, to us and never wants to speak to us again?” It was rare for Remus to worry about something, which indicated to Janus how much this was bugging Remus.

“Well, then we’ll just have to accept that. There’s nothing we can do.” 

They sat in silence for a minute, letting the thought of losing Virgil settle in their minds. When Virgil and Logan walked in the house, they both jumped up to greet them. Logan stood near the door in silence while Virgil walked over to the two adults.

“So, do you know who your family is?” Remus asked, hovering a few inches over Virgil. The teenager nodded. Remus sank down to the floor, leaning on Janus for support.

“Are you going to stay with them?” Janus asked softly. 

“My family was a line of powerful witches, but Logan says that nobody knows what happened to them. They don’t live in the forest anymore.” Remus stood a little straighter, hope glimmered in his eyes. 

“So that means you’re staying?” He asked. Janus tried not to smile, but he felt just as hopeful as Remus looked.

“I wouldn’t know where to start looking for my family. Besides, you guys are my real family now and I could never leave you.” Virgil wrapped his arms around both Janus and Remus, holding them close in a tight group hug. They hugged him back, both feeling full of joy and gratefulness. Remus looked up and motioned for Logan to join the hug, who agreed slightly reluctantly. The four of them were a family. An odd family, but a family nonetheless. 

~

“Virgil, if you don’t stir that right now, it’s going to explode!” Janus shouted, watching in horror as Virgil stood over the cauldron. Sure enough, the liquid in the pot let out a great popping noise as the room was enveloped in smoke and the two stood coughing. When the smoke cleared, the cauldron was empty, with a burnt smell coming from the bottom. 

“Sorry,” Virgil said, immediately going to clean up. He was laughing slightly at his mistake. Janus couldn’t help but smile, mistakes were rare with Virgil, he was so good at witchcraft. 

“Don’t tell Remus, he’ll be praising you for trying to kill us both and I don’t think I can live with that,” they joked, helping Virgil clean up. 

“Don’t worry. You know what Logan would say if he heard that I made such a rookie mistake? I’d never hear the end of it!” 

“Roman stopped by the other day, while you were out with Logan. He said that you and Remus were causing problems again.” Janus watched as the teen’s face turned a bright pink. Pranking with Remus had become a common pastime for the young boy, but Janus never found the heart to tell him to stop. Often, they found the silly tricks funny and couldn’t help but laugh at how Remus’ brother always reacted. Roman was quite a dramatic angel. If him and Remus got along, they would be quite a force to be reckoned with. 

“It’s not my fault! Remus was upset at something Roman said and he had the perfect revenge plan! I only used one spell and it wasn’t even that powerful!” Virgil defended himself but stopped when he saw that Janus wasn’t angry. 

“Just don’t get caught next time,” they warned Virgil. “I’ll have to tell the same thing to Remus. I swear, the two of you together are like two small children. I don’t know how Logan doesn’t go insane dating that menace.” 

“Did someone say menace?” Remus asked, popping his head through the front door. 

“Yes, we were just talking about you,” Janus said. 

“I knew it! I am the most menacing menace this forest has ever seen you know!” Remus floated into the house, followed by Logan, who was rolling his eyes at his boyfriend’s absurdity. 

“Are you all prepared for the family picnic?” Logan asked. Janus nodded, grabbing the large basket of food that they had prepared from the counter. 

“I’ll carry that!” Virgil said, grabbing the heavy basket before Janus could object. He had to adjust his hold on it a few times before he was comfortable carrying it, leading the way out the back door through the gardens. 

They set up the picnic under a large tree that was older than all of them put together. Logan took a few moments to tell Virgil about the tree’s magical properties, who listened in rapt attention. Janus would have listened, but he was busy stopping Remus from eating all the mini pies.

“You know, I’m glad I didn’t feed you to my hellhounds,” Remus told Virgil. “You’re a good kid.” 

“You could never feed me to them anyways, I’m too powerful and besides, they like me more than they like you.” Remus let out a dramatic gasp, offended. Virgil smirked, continuing to mock Remus. 

“You guys ready for lunch?” Janus asked. Everybody sat down and waited. Janus smiled at their friends gathered around on the blanket. He thought of how close they had grown, how many memories they had made. 

Janus held up a drink, indicating that they wanted to make a toast. The others followed suit. 

“To family, however strange we may be.” The others repeated the words and dug in. Once, Virgil looked up and smiled at Janus. Janus was sure that they would be speaking for everyone under that tree when they said that family was the best thing to ever happen to them. The odd, mixed family, with all of it’s magic, was probably the greatest thing in the world.

[rattyarts]

Huge-ask post (I am VERY funny)

Because I have so many questions that can be answered with just text, and I have mentioned my dislike of filling my art blog up with Words Words Words... let’s get them all done in one go!

(You guys can blacklist #rattytalks if you’re just here for the draws, btw)

A shit ton of asks under the cut!

Anonymous said: So for the center of the world, what with it being forcefully PG and all Bad Thoughts TM being prevented, how does having kids happen? Do parents just black out and wake up holding a child in their arms and vague memories of the last 9 months?

Ever seen a movie where they do that “and one day... a baby was born!” thing and a kid just appears offscreen with no explanation?

(This is how it works everywhere, Edgelands included; no one does the do or gets pregnant in this setting.)

Anonymous said: Hello! Quick question, and sorry if you’ve answered this before, but can other elves see the “intangible” bits of one another? Big fan of your work btw!

Nope! And thank you!

Anonymous said: Leopold was in my dream last night but I sadly cannot remember any of it.

I am SO sorry. I will try to keep my stinky murder men out of your head in the future.

Anonymous said: are the floaty bits stuck in one spot, or could the one they are attached to learn to move them around their body as long as its still within a certain distance? like, someone with the Floaty limbs, lets call him Ray, can move his limbs all over his body, allowing him to do all sorts of neat things that others with their attached limbs probably couldn't?

Whatever you want, honestly. As a general rule of thumb I don’t like putting down TOO many hard rules that prevent people from having fun with this setting. (Please ignore and scrap anything you think is stupid, I do this all the time and enjoy keeping this setting inconsistent and contradictory)

Anonymous said: Do elf names work off of Death Note rules, or is it like, if you know one elf’s name, all elves with that name are now unable to harm you? So if all the elf brothers are named Martin, for example, does it only work with blue?

I think it’s prolly just the one! Probably? Idk, might change if I think of something funnier.

Anonymous said: Can elves do magic on themselves or does thst go against the knowing name rule

Most people tend to know their own names, lol. So in my opinion, no, but don’t let me stop you if you got a fun idea.

Anonymous said: Could an Elf stitch on parts from another elf and have them work? i.e an Elf's finds the arm of another Elf. "Hey, free arm, might as well put it to good use", so they attach the arm and now they can give three high fives at once!

Same deal as previous questions, I personally would say no, but I also encourage people to do whatever the hell they want. It’s more fun that way!

Anonymous said: I bet elves are greasy to the touch.

They’re very powdery! Like if you rolled them in flour. And by flour I mean nasty glowing elf dandruff.

Anonymous said: Can elves fly or are their wings just for show?

No flying!!! (Unless you’re a mousefly)

Anonymous said: Something tells me that the elves would LOVE Obatzda.

Had to look that up, but definitely!

no1fan15: Not sure if someone asked already- Does Edgeworld have any equivalent to demons and angels? Like the old rubberhose cartoon kind?

Demons, yes! That’s what imps are: basically any demon, devil, or generic monster, but tiny! Even a couple of pop culture critters in there, there’s probably a very small gillman or robot monster running around there somewhere.

Angels, not so far. 

Anonymous said: How come Margaret hasn't yeeted George's jar into the Edge yet

I’d say being locked in a closet is good enough! (and also I need him for plot reasons, don’t tell anyone)

Anonymous said: If elves have knees bulges in the front then do they have butt bulges in the back?

i do not want to think about elf bulges

Anonymous said: So if you find a baby Therewoof and you say "aw you're so cute", their true name is So Cute?

Yep!

Anonymous said: Since a Therewoof's true name can be something like "cutie pie" or "dingus", does their name have to be spoken with "intent" for it to doggo-fy them? Or do they just have to live with the reality that any casual conversation/flirting can make them lose up to a month to Doggy Mode? My mom has little terrier dog named "Sweetie" so that got me thinking 'bout Therewoof names. & Anonymous said: here's a good question: If someone says a therewoof's true name, but not reffering to them, does it still affect them?

Just saying it will do! It’s based on those old werewolf stories where calling out the person’s name will change them back into a human/cure them, and a lot of the time it was by accident.

(My favorite is the one where they slam the door on the wolf’s tail and then say his name, and the dude ends up with a wolf tail for the rest of his life.)

Anonymous said: Would Seeing eye Therewoofs be a thing?

I... guess? Probably? Since regular dogs can turn into woofs, yeah. You might have to start paying em once they turn into a person tho. 

Anonymous said: Was ChalkZone ever an inspiration for you? Because I just love the silly world of ChalkZone and I noticed getting that same warm feeling when thinking about Edgeworld.

Maaaan, I wish. I’ve only seen about three episodes or so, but it seems really fun!

Anonymous said: So I saw your mimic post, and even though I don't think I've seen any other of your art before I was absolutely HAMMERED with an indescribable sense of slightly unsettling strangeness and comfortable familiarity. Your art feels like something from like, an old point and click computer game I would have had formative memories of before accidentally losing or scratching the disc therefore making me unsure if it ever REALLY existed. Sorry for being weird but I love the wacky nostalgia feel here

Aaaaaah, THANK YOU! That is SUCH a cool comparison and I appreciate!!!

Anonymous said: If the Edgeworld is based on cartoons then is there a Reverse Edge-world that’s based on anime?

Lol, I mean I DID have an anime phase for a while there, so...

caydebug: Man I’d love to see this as a cartoon some day

Honestly, same. Best you’re gonna get is the occasional animatic or gif, tho.

Anonymous said: Does anyone..."go" in Edgeworld? or is it like Pleasantville where bathrooms exist but there are no toilets in them because acknowledging it is yucky?

Oh god I keep getting asked this and have been avoiding it like the damn plague. But... Uh. No. No they do not. I am begging you all not to send any followup questions.

Anonymous said: Have you considered putting computer viruses or illnesses in with the buggymen? Since those are typically called ‘bugs’

Sure!

Anonymous said: are there any limits to what an Animimic could posess? i.e if they were in a costume of a Buggieman with multiple arms, could they control all of them? what about a small Mousefly costume? can multiple fit into one costume like a clown car? and what about in pitch black darkness, where you can only see the lights of their eyes and not their bodies? could one fit inside the pocket of a jacket you are wearing and help you steal things/wield a gun like a living turret?

Since clothing fills into the body type of the intended wearer, they would indeed be able to control all arms/legs in buggieman clothes.

Size restrictions is one of these things I wanna try to be vague about: I personally have been imagining them sticking to hiding in things no smaller than, um. Maybe imp sized, but really, whatever. It’s a cartoon eyeball critter!

You can put multiple animimics in one outfit!

They can move around just fine in darkness without being off screen, yeah!

And sure why not. lol

Anonymous said: I know you have been asked this once before, and you said nah you don't, but with a few more months of worldbuilding, do you have an idea for what could be down the edge now? 🤔

Not really! It’s not super important, honestly. I’d say any fan theory is about as valid as anything else I can come up with.

ps2polpo: I doubt you’ll ever elaborate on The Edge but I like to imagine there’s just one dude there like the Nowhere Man from the Yellow Submarine movie. Mostly cause the thought of someone accidentally winding up there being like “where am I?” And there’s just a guy casually waving at him like a friendly neighbor is funny to me & Anonymous said: The implication that the Edge is the physical manifestation of edginess so there’s probably like, Trevor Henderson monsters hanging out down there.

See above question! Valid! I also accept falling forever, getting erased from existence, ending up in another universe, getting stuck in limbo with thousands of other people, whatever you want, really!

Anonymous said: " he has very few bones and weighs basically nothing, " "Fastball special" trope, but with Leo?

YEET THE NASTY MAN

Anonymous said: did you ever watch dragon tales as a kid? because george and margaret make me think of murderous zak and wheezie from that show, and i love it to bits

I did not, but I would have loved it. Definitely up my alley!

(watched Quest for Camelot a loooot, though!)

Imma go ahead and stop here! There’s more but I’ve been writing for well over an hour and I have things to do. If your question is missing I’m either saving it for later, wasn’t entirely sure how to answer, or it’s spoilery.

Will probably do another one of these at some point!

[jelzorz]

56d

Through the Moon spoilers. Follows on from the lies and 56a, b, and c. 

At some point, Callum begins to doubt why he’s doing this at all. It’s been a year, he thinks, since he last saw her, injured and alone on the edge of the Uncharted Forest. It’s hard to say for sure, but it was winter then, and it’s winter again now, and all he knows is that his jacket is suddenly shorter at the sleeves and his sketchbook is running out of pages.

They’re mostly of her, these days. Sometimes Ez, sometimes his mother and father, sometimes of Soren and Claudia, even, but the last ten or so have been of Rayla, in part because he misses her differently, and in part because he’s afraid he might forget what she looks like. 

It’s silly because he knows he won’t. Having an eidetic memory means he’s never forgotten a face to begin with, but it’s as much a curse, at times, because he sees her when he closes her eyes and his chest tightens with that familiar longing for the way things once were.

But they’ll never be that way again. That’s the sad truth of it. The innocence of those days are long gone because he’s seen the world now; he’s seen how cruel and lonely and cold it can be, and how quickly hope disappears from it. Those nights are the worst nights. Those nights are the nights he finds himself wondering if this is worth it at all. Rayla had left, after all, and had told him she didn’t love him, and he’d been so sure that day, a year and a half ago, that she’d been lying, but now—

He doesn’t know. Maybe it’s time to go home. Maybe it’s time to give her up.

He’s put himself through fights, and connected to other arcana, and scoured every inch of every village for signs of her, but it’s always fruitless, always in vain, and… maybe she was right. Perhaps they are done, and it’s time to stop living in the past and to stop wishing for things long gone.

But one cold winter evening, while he’s camped near the ruins of Elarion on the verge of giving up (for real, this time), she appears once more.

Callum almost thinks she’s a mirage, but he knows she’s not because she’s different from the version of her in his memory. This version of her is longer, leaner, and garbed in the blues of Skywing elves instead of the Moonshadow green he’s been picturing her in this past year and a half. Her cloak is worn and too thin for this weather; her hair is cropped and uneven under the base of her chin; her knuckles are wrapped clumsily with stained bandages; but her eyes—oh, her eyes—Callum forgets how to breathe at the sight of them because they’ve seen so much, and they’re so tired and so lonely, and yet they’re still unmistakably, unapologetically hers.

He gets up. He stares. His breath leaves him in one shaking rush.

“Rayla.”

She stares back. Her lip trembles. She looks away. “Callum,” she whispers. “I’m—I can—” Her mouth snaps close and her hands form fists at her sides, before she takes a breath and forces herself to face him properly. “Sorry,” she says, swallowing. “I didn’t—I didn’t realize it was you. I’ll go—”

“No.” Callum starts towards her, and it takes more of his self control than he wants to admit to keep himself from launching at her and pulling her into his arms. “Stay,” he manages. “Please? Just—just for now, even. Just for a little bit.”

She hesitates. Callum counts the heartbeats that pound in his throat while he waits, and it’s the longest five seconds of his life before, at last, she turns away. For one terrifying moment, he thinks she’s going to leave again, but she relaxes her fists, lets her shoulders droop, and nods. “Just for a little bit.”

-

It’s a quiet night. It’d be uncomfortable if Callum wasn’t so grateful she’d agreed. He shares the rations he has with her wordlessly, and she, to his great surprise, accepts without too much of a fight. It’s more than he ever hoped for, which sounds pathetic, but it’s true. 

It wouldn’t have felt right to just give up without one more glimpse of her. He’d hoped he might spot her in town, with someone else, even—some sign that she was okay, and happy, and that she’d moved on so maybe he could too. 

But instead she’s here, and alone, and she’d stayed when he asked her too, and that—that lifts the weight a little in his chest. It’s a breath against the dying embers of his resolve. It’s a blank page in his sketchbook he hadn’t realized was there.

It’s hope.

“I shouldn’t stay long,” she says. Her voice is tiny but it shatters the silence around them, and Callum soaks it in and relishes the sound. “I—I have to keep moving. There are things that I have to—”  

“You don’t have to explain,” he says. “This… is something you have to do, isn’t it? It’s not about Viren anymore. It’s about… something else.”

She doesn’t answer. Callum doesn’t really expect her to, and that’s okay. There’s still so much guilt in the way she refuses to look at him, and he knows then that she hasn’t moved on any more than he has. She just… needs time. To allow him to help. To accept his forgiveness. To accept her own.

He gets up. 

Rayla flinches as he draws nearer, but she doesn’t stop him when he drops to his knees beside her, and she doesn’t bat his hands away when he removes his scarf from his neck and wraps it gently around hers.

“You told me once it was good luck,” he murmurs. “Stay safe, okay?”

A pause. A breath. Callum’s hands linger by her jaw, and though she doesn’t look at him, he sees the way she swallows and the way she fights the urge to lean into his touch. Then he pulls away, and the moment is gone. The opportunity is missed. The words he so wants to say hang unspoken in the air.

“Callum.”

When he turns, it looks like she’s one moment away from scrambling for his hands, and in turn, it’s a struggle to keep himself from going back to her.

She purses her lips and touches his scarf. “I’ll bring this back,” she croaks. “I promise.”

He smiles. His throat feels clogged, and his eyes sting, but he smiles because it’s the closest to the truth that she’ll allow herself and it floods his system with relief. 

I still love you.

He chuckles. “I’ll be waiting.”

I know.

[imnotwolverine]

When In Dreams

Angsty Elf!Geralt x OFC one-shot

Summary: As an ancient war awakens, so does a love that knows no bounds. [Lord of the Rings AU with elf!Geralt x human OFC]

Author’s note: A sweet congratulations is in order for dear @mrsaugustwalker​ on her 5k followers. Hereby a one shot based on your prompt-lists! I hope you may enjoy it my dear -- as well as the many other fics you’ll hopefully receive! 

Word count: 3.511

Warnings: NSFW - lots of angst and trauma with a smudge of fluff and smut - mentions of death, physical and emotional trauma, violence, blindness, prostitution and mentions of torture

--

I dreamt of home last night. I could smell the damp grass, feel the hug of threadbare cloth and hear the storm that roared in the distance. And I could see; I could see those heavy clouds as they gathered like wads of grey moss over the once crystal clear skies. I could see them threatening with fire, the white electric serpents of the gods already slithering over deep grey. But it wasn’t the serpents’ fiery, splitting tongues that worried me as much, as did the eastern horizon where the sun still kissed the grass and the loud beat of war drums echoed over the rumble of the storm.

War was coming.

It wasn’t the first time these lands would be wrecked by violence and pain. In fact it was as common as drawing breath in Northern Rohan, and I knew no different life ever since my mother gathered me in her arms. We lost father before I could memorise him, and then some years later, with the pestilence and the failing of crops, my mother was next to pay the inevitable prize that any herb-gatherer would eventually pay; with the point of a finger and the burning of a stack of wood she was gone and I was suddenly cast-out and alone, my life as I once knew it now but a faint memory.

I left, only to start my new life a few miles east of the village, where I found this abandoned cot near the Great Dwimordene Forest where demons danced and flesh eating faeries feasted. I never dared enter the dark grove, but my long-kept fear for the great ghost stories didn’t hold footing either. I never saw them, those faeries and demons, the months turning years without a single sighting. But I did see him. Accidentally at first, his face torn between anguish and surprise as I just watched him from the tall grass, his yellow eyes sparkling like golden treasure in the shadows. 

I had never seen the like of a man like him before, but even long after he disappeared - just as quickly as he had appeared - I thought of those honeyed eyes and his pale long hair. Was he one of the forest demons? If so, why didn’t he come to claim me? Roast me on a spit and dance around the flames? Long days, weeks and months passed and as the memory of his eyes faded, the eastern horizon became restless, the storm that now brewed in the sky forming a battlecry for the courageous warriors who fought there, their wives and children left behind. 

Returning home after the gathering of whatever meagre supplies I could find between burned crops and crevices - roots and herbs mostly, I felt the first tears spilling from the heavens, cold and bitter like the saltwater that would soon billow down motherly cheeks. I hastened my pace on the beat of the drum and thunder, my eyes reverting back to the east, where the last of the sun was now swallowed whole, spitting out only darkness and death, death that rode a pale horse. 

Literally though. It looked like someone was speeding towards me. A rider.

I still wear the marks of that moment, in mind, body and soul, my now unseeing eyes remembering the pained expression of the rider’s face, an empty cry bursting from his lips. The white manes of his majestic mount danced in the fierce wind as the horse tried to free himself from the desperate clutch of his struggling rider. But alas, it was hardly a battle in the end, for the horse was too spooked and the rider too pained. With a thud his body fell down on the wet grass and the horse eloped, fleeing from the scene.

In that moment I realised the cause of his pain. A crude arrow stuck from the rider’s back, straight through the layers of leather and heavy cloak that now lay motionless in the waving sea of green. Was he dead? My eyes searched for his attacker, but all I saw was windy waving grass and sharp solid rock; the bare bones of Rohan, my home. And his grave now too, probably. With a hurried pace I forgot about my return home, my hair now dancing around my weary eyes as I ate the distance between myself and the man, my fingertips uncovering braided long brown hair and peculiar armour; swirling and elegant, which for a moment made me wonder if he was one of the famed Rohirrim horse lords.  

There was no time for wonder though, for Rohan’s earth was restless. A deep growl thundered out over the storm and in an instant I forgot how to breath as death came again. This time not riding a pale horse, but a beast that I hadn’t seen the like of before. Horse-sized, houndlike and deadly, his daggersharp teeth rattled in the chase they were laying on the lifeless man..and me. Me. Me. Me-me-me…I froze in place and let slow seconds eat away, until finally I gathered my senses, my only option now being the one that presented itself by the dagger I found beneath the man’s cloak.

Silvery sharp, it gleamed in the low light of the mighty storm, a storm that roared in my blood now too. I felt sick in my empty stomach, for I knew not how to defend myself, my shaking hand betraying my inaptness. The beast and his rider saw it too, the rider letting out a orcish cackle of horrific amusement. My heart dropped even lower as our eyes met, his redbrown beads shimmering like blood diamonds on black marred skin. He was hideous. And unfortunately for me, graceful too. With a simple hop he got off his great beast, his split tongue flaking hungrily over his barely existent lips.

He spoke then, but I didn’t know what that snake-like tongue spoke of, though I could guess it was most likely vile..and something to do with his crotch, which he grasped for illustratory purpose. Again I realised that I couldn’t move, my feet seemingly swallowed by the grass that danced and danced - almost as if taunting me for my own inability to move. For a moment I wished I was dead already, my heart thudding nervously in my ears as the orc strode closer, his blistered black hands dragging out a cruel dagger, jagged edges still glistening with blood.

The war was here.

‘Please.’ I begged pitifully, but all the orc did was cackle louder, his horrid tongue once again flaking over his lips with a hunger. And again he spoke, and again I didn’t understand, my own lip now shaking from more than just the icy rain, the heaven water rolling down my cheeks mingling with bitter tears.

After all these years of misery, this is how I’d die. Alone, abandoned and scared. If only I was as brave as the shield maidens. If only I knew how to.. The orc reached out and I surprised not only him, but also myself when I lunged forward, my dagger finding the soft tissue of his belly. He cried out, his once amused lips now curling down in disapproval as his own dagger was raised. Our eyes met and by some odd twist of destiny, he hesitated, offering me yet another opportunity to grasp for what little honour I could find in shoving him off, down onto the ground.

This time I was less lucky though, his free hand taking me down with him, our bodies now rolling for life and death in the restless green sea. Somewhere in the tumble he too had lost his dagger, his freed up hand instead opting to rip out my dagger from his black oozing wound. What happened next was worse than the death I anticipated. Worse than life up to that point had ever been. His beady eyes burned into me as he choked me in a deadly grip and took from me what I would never regain.

He gauged out my eyes.

From here on the world literally became black, my eyes no longer crying for they were not there at all. And as faith would have it, he paid for it as I cried bloody tears, the Valar striking him down with all their might. At least, I think that happened as I heard his sullen cries. Perhaps it had been the faery demons instead. Either way, I wished they would be remorseful and offer me the only thing I now wanted; a swift and painless death.

—

Gasping I sat up, my empty eyes blinking even though there was nothing to see. A warm hand on my naked back soothed me back into welcoming arms, the death I had once pleaded for seeming so silly now.

‘Sssh melleth-nîn.’ Geralt’s deep oak voice pulled me back to the land of the living. The land of the elves. My new home. ‘I’ve got you.’

I wished he had. And that he could keep me. But with my awakening, I too realised that I was to start yet another day of misery. Of whispers that betrayed that our slow-simmering relationship was frowned upon. The war had felt like a beautiful start of something new, but reality learned that the elves, despite the great tales of Beren and Luthien, were little fond of relationships between men and kin.

I sighed and turned in his arm, trying to imagine how his golden eyes were now looking at me with a silent warmth. How his lips curled slightly. In fact, I knew they curled up, my fingertips almost unwittingly tracing them. ‘Good morning,’ He rumbled gently.

‘I guess.’ I said, betraying my melancholy, his cheek instantly rubbing into my touch, like a dog would to console his owner.

‘I see more of those guesses each day and it pains me.’ His hand found my cheek and brushed away a tear that strayed there.

‘I’m sorry.’ My lip trembled as the pain of being unwanted tightened around my heart, ‘I just…’

‘Ssh, my sweet. I will not abandon you. You must know that. You keep my heart,’ His large hand placed over my heart. ‘and anything else is unimportant. I know the cause of your sorrow, and though Lórien has been my home, it is no longer. You are.’

‘What are you..?’

‘Come away with me. Let us find ourselves a home where we are both welcome. Both can live and laugh and love.’ He pressed a kiss to my forehead, then my nose..and then my empty eyelids - a thing I both hated for it emphasised how imperfect I was, but also loved, for he loved me all the same.

Our love was literally blind. From the moment he carried me out of the rain and into his forest, to the first time he and I confessed that there was more than friendship between us. And though it pained me to take him from his beloved Lórien, it was clear that the life we wished for, wouldn’t be lived out here between the Mallorn trees. 

—

Our new home would be, quite fittingly, the Last Homely House, as was decided upon after he sent out requests far and wide. The good lord Elrond was welcoming to our indefinite stay and so, with the simmering war still pestering the lands, we started our arduous travel through long dark nights, our days spent in inns or trees.  

I could feel the ache of his heart, like it were my own, whenever he laid his hand upon bark, only to feel that these trees were silent. The world of men we travelled through was crude and harsh and even with his hair braided back and ears cloaked, people knew he was a foreign thing, his tree-like height and strength making them gasp and whisper when we set foot in small towns. 

But Geralt, my dear, didn’t relent. His warrior heart kept a steady beat as our feet again moved on, to yet another town, another waylay until the sun would come and travels were too dangerous. The long nights and days made us weary and cold, but our love held fierce as the fires on the mountain pass. We slept and wept and loved as one, and as our journey was soon to bring us to Rivendell, we felt that at long last the world would be kind to us. That our lives would find peace. 

We were fools to think such a thing, for we never set foot beyond the mountains, our treacherous journey ending in yet more pain as our destinies unwound. 

--

‘Geralt?’ I reached out for his warmth, but the cave was deserted, the meagre fire we had stoked gone cold. Outside the winter howled, silencing any other signals I could possibly pick up. I tried to ease my mind as I wrapped my cloak around my shivering frame. It's alright, don’t worry. He’s alright. He’s alright. I repeated the mantra as I listened and waited. Perhaps he had gone out. Elves were little sensitive to the wear and tear of extreme weather, so perhaps he had just left to retrieve more wood for the fire. Perhaps he had to relieve himself. Perhaps he...

‘NOOOOOooo.’ A cry echoed through the valley, soon followed by more voices. In tongues I knew too well now. Orcs. Quite instinctively I ducked away, hands following the rough rock as I tried with utmost terror to hear what was afoot. The voices were getting nearer and, where last meeting an orc I had frozen, now I ran, abandoning the cave for the bitter snowy wind that cut through my hair. 

And as I did, I let my hands follow the solid rock on my right, as my feet pushed forward. I trusted myself not to fail this time. Not now. Not again. This time I wouldn’t get myself in trou..

‘NOOOOOOOOOO.’ The heart crushing cry returned, now even more pained and broken. And his. It was his. I knew it was his. I felt my knees crack beneath the sudden weight on my shoulders, my heart giving way to the strength as our bond was stretched further and further. 

I sank down into the icy embrace of the mountains and realised that faith again, had decided I was to be alone. But not dead. I was never found by the orcs that took him from me and for days I then walked, my feet burning blisters and my skin bitten with ice. But none of it hurt as much as the loss of him, for whenever I heard the wind, I heard him too, his desperate cry calling out for me. Begging me to find him. 

But how, I did not know, for my blind eyes lead me more astray with every step. 

--

For a time all was forgotten. Our life together, those months of blessing, had become but dreams. The war wagered on and the lands remained restless as my journey continued, though I never made it to the last place I hoped to call home. Instead I drifted, my feet carrying me slowly over the licking waves of grass. And instead of a sweet life, again I was met with crudeness and pain, my ageing body the ship that broke through every storm. I ended my long drift in an inn, and where my heart still dreamed, my limbs were weary and in exchange for a bed I was accepting of the faith of lonely female flesh. 

They used me, they did. And each time a grunt with hairy thighs ground himself into me with pathetic whimpers and moans, I’d remember him instead. Smooth and gentle, great power wrapped in silk and whispers, his sing-song tongue telling me of the moon, the stars and the trees. How they all came to be, and would remain until his immortal days were long stretched and his soul weary. In his one hundred years he had already spoke broken and hushed, but whenever he was in between my thighs, his touch came alive and his brooding thoughts spilled from eager fingertips. Even now, years later, I could feel my skin burn with lust and love on the places where others now held on. 

All I could think of was him. 

--

‘Wench.’ A brusk rap on the door awoke me from a restless sleep. I wasn’t sure whether it was day or night anymore, my life seeming one never-ending loop of misery. 

‘Open.’ I croaked, my hands closing the coarse material of the robe that kept whatever little dignity I still had left. 

The door opened and the voice of the keeper sounded oddly kind to the customer he had managed to reel into his whoring house. The war had meant long lines of problematic and abusive customers, but apparently this wasn’t one of them. At least, not yet. And perhaps I kept my hopes too high and was this customer only loved, for he had paid handsomely to do whatever. 

The door closed again and, hearing the enthused whistle of the keeper, I knew that my guest was probably here, despite it still being so very quiet. 

I was slightly taken aback when he touched me, a rough thumb brushing over my hollowed cheek, moving over a scar I had received from one of my less loving clients. 

‘G’day.’ I quickly lowered my face and gestured at the bed, hoping he would be a quick and simple shag. But he wasn’t. Instead I finally heard him, heard his breath, a quiet hiccup barely managing to hide the sorrow that spilled from his hand that now returned to my face, brushing away the hair I had placed there to hide the wrinkles that had started to take away my youth. 

With every passing second I felt more restless, the touch of this man far more abrasive than I wished it to be. ‘You have received the rates from the keeper?’ 

A short silence followed and then suddenly he was there, around me, long arms entangling me in an embrace that pushed all air and sorrow out of my bones. ‘Melleth..’ He cried and instantly I remembered these arms, this smell, the tickle of long hair and the oak of his voice.

Geralt. 

My fingers braced him, finding he too had changed. He had become sinewy thin and as his lips crushed into mine, I felt that his cheeks too had lost their innocence. Scars riddled over his once unblemished skin and as I felt his silent tears on my fingertips I knew that a tree of a man like him wouldn’t cry so simply. He had suffered as much, if not more. 

What followed was the physicalisation of a dream I had long kept to keep myself going. The dream that one day he’d find me and love me again. The dream that had him unwrap me from these rough wools, so I could feel his fingertips caress my flesh. 

His rough fingers felt like home and as he carefully placed me on the bed I wished for the moment to not end, our lips locking in luxurious long kisses and soft hums and moans. I tried to forget about what I must look like to him, for it was now not only my blind eyes that made me imperfect. I had grown old, the chance of ever conceiving a child probably as slim as that he would love me like he once did. 

And yet, here he was, worshipping the remains of our love until the flame was rekindled and the bond that had grown so thin and weary, once more felt as strong as it had once been. 

We were one again. 

I felt it as he stretched me around him, I felt it as he rocked me to my first true release in years. I felt it as he too joined me in the epiphany of love, my womb welcoming his gift with lust, longing and sweetness. Salty tears streamed down our cheeks as we slowly rediscovered the planes of our flesh; his once beautiful skin now marred and haunted with the many years he had been captured in dungeons of evil. 

For a moment I wished I could look at him, could look into those treasure golden eyes and see him truly. See the pain and the pleasure that probably kindled behind the tears he cried. But never again I would, and so I just touched his cheek and laid him to rest on my breast, the release of finding each other being enough for now, the restless pub downstairs making the only sound above the soft hush of our exhausted pants. 

That night we dreamed together; of the short life we could share before my old bones would become to brittle and break. We dreamed of meadows and kisses of the grass beneath our unmarred skin. We dreamed of our first time, gentle hands drifting over the ocean of shivering gooseflesh, anticipation licking at our hearts. For it was then decided, that our love was stronger. And again he whispered: ‘Come away with me.’ 

--

End

--

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[goldenvoicedminstrel]

TGW prompt: I wanted to write something with Legolas and Beleg in Aman, but I didn't end up with the time - could you do it for me? :)

Sooo... first of all, thanks so much for this super interesting prompt! I never would have thought this up for myself so it was a lot of fun to come up with something. I hope you like it!  Link to ao3  here.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

They say never meet your heroes, but what if your hero wants to meet you?

He lifts his bow. 

There are no targets here in these unfamiliar woods of Aman, or at least none that he has not picked out for himself, but he would hate to lose his skill. Even if there is no use for his weapon in the Hallowed Lands, except for hunting and sport, 3000 years of battle readiness are not easily forgotten.

An understanding-he knows- that is shared widely in the Valinor he has come to know, where the elves of the First Age try their best to forget wars more gruesome than any warrior of Mirkwood could imagine. 

‘How strange it is to walk in the company of Legends’, he ponders. ‘To wander alongside the great Kings of the First Age, of whose valour little elflings beg to be told before they are sent off to bed. I do not believe I shall ever be used to it.’

Yet they had not been his bedtime stories, not exactly, as his father was notorious for his dislike of the Noldor, including their Kings and their great warriors, who had battled against Morgoth himself. 

No, it was not them the elfling in Legolas secretly wished to meet.

“Look Adar! Look at my bow! I’m Beleg Cúthalion and I will slay aaaaaall the orcs and rescue my friend!”

“I am sure you will, little one, but isn’t that bow a little tall for you?”

The little blond elfling pouts, while his blue eyes carefully measure the longbow that reaches a good few inches over his head and then, seemingly having come to a conclusion, he straightens his narrow shoulders.

“Then I will have to eat all the vegetables that naneth says will make me grow big and strong.” he pronounces gravely and his father struggles to keep an equally serious expression on his own face.

“That is a very smart idea, ion-nin. Your mother will surely be delighted and your friends grateful to have such a loyal and dedicated companion at their side.”

The elfling beams widely at his father’s approval and then takes off to get ready for supper with a new found determination. 

Legolas smiles at the memory. His resolve to eat his vegetables had not lasted, much to his parent’s disappointment, and neither had his father’s approval of his great role model. Not once he had befriended Aragorn and not once he had decided to follow him on the long path to Mordor.

“It is the right thing to do Adar, you know this. I cannot stand back when the fate of this world hangs in the balance.”

“There are others, who can care for this world. Your place is here with your people.”

“My place is by his side and I will not leave him. Not now, when he is to set out on the path of his destiny.”

“His destiny,” Thranduil scoffs but his scorn his tinged with desperation “And what will your own destiny be? Is it not enough they call you Cúthalion for you skill? Will you have to follow a mortal man into a doomed quest so they can call you Cúthalion for your fate as well?”

He notches another arrow and aims for a bundle of pinecones that hangs half-hidden behind a distant branch. 

Such a meeting would be most unlikely, he tells himself. After all, his, hopefully careful and discreet, enquiries had revealed that the elf in question does not often dwell in the great cities but prefers to roam the woods with his old companion and there is no reason at all, why he would come to seek out-

“You shoot well.” comes a voice from behind him and Legolas, who had been lost deep in thought and not focused on his surrounding- something that tells him he has become more used to life in Aman than he thinks- startles and let’s loose the string a fraction too high.

Before he can huff out a sound of annoyance at the interruption and his own carelessness however, the stranger has already fired his own arrow, which now flies with great speed towards Legolas’ wayward one and brushes it slightly, forcing it down. The pinecones fall.

Legolas stares. 

Then he turns around.

And stares some more.

“You- who- what- ? No!”

There is a smirk tugging at the stranger’s lips. 

“I do apologise for the rude interruption, I have not even introduced myself. I am Beleg, I hope I did not startle you too much.”

In this very moment it is only millennia of training in diplomacy and a courteous facade that keep Legolas from a very undignified display of disbelief. He answers reflexively.

“Legolas Thranduillion. It is - an honour to meet you, Beleg Cúthalion, your name truly serves you as well as the tales say.”

His companion- Beleg Cúthalion- laughs. 

“Truly, you flatter me! But I shall never be used to being thought of as a character in a tale, it seems so strange don’t you agree?”

“I would not know for they are no tales sung about me.” Legolas answers a little breathlessly, still in awe of the apparition in front of him. Beleg raises his brows. 

“Are they not? And yet I know you to be Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, one of the Nine, who set out to destroy the Ring of Power and end Sauron’s reign once and for all. Your archery is much praised, and from what I have seen before I so rudely interrupted, for good reason.”

Legolas tries his hardest not to gape at the revelation that Beleg Cúthalion did not only know his name but had also just praised his archery skills. 

“I- thank you. It is a great honour, truly to hear you speak of me so. I never would have dreamt that-I mean I-“ he can feel the tips of his ears turning red as he tries to find the right words and is saved further embarrassment only, when the legendary elf puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. 

“Peace, Legolas. You need not be afraid of me. After all, we have much in common you and I.”

“I would never dare to compare my skill to-“

“No.” Beleg interrupts him gently. “I do not speak of archery, even though I have heard there are those, who would gladly grant you my title. I speak of the company we have kept and lost, though fate seems to have viewed your friendship with kinder eyes.”

Legolas falls silent as years of memories well up behind his eyes, and his companion is quick to speak up again.

“Please forgive me if my words brought you pain, I know your grief must still be near.”

“No, no it is quite alright.” He shakes his head slowly. “I have made my peace with the price of our friendship long ago. I can call myself lucky it has lasted many years in the span of mortals…”

He trails of as he realises who he is speaking to, but Beleg seems to have taken no offence and only nods in quiet agreement.

“Indeed you are fortunate.” He pauses, and as he speaks his gaze is searching. “Not many of our people understand why I chose to follow a mortal man, but you do, do you not?”

“Yes.” Legolas answers, and there is a lump in his throat. “I understand.” 

And he does, for he would have done the same. Had done the same. And it was only by luck that death had not been his reward.

“Their spirits burn so bright, perhaps because they have so little time. Always changing, evolving, flickering in a captivating dance that draws us like moths to the flame until eventually…” Beleg quietens as something flashes behind his eyes, and as he opens his mouth again his tone has changed to something that might be longing or might be resignation or might be something entirely else. 

“We Eldar merely exist throughout our long days, while the Edain…they live. They cannot stand still, for life does not wait with them, so they move and decide and we move with them until our fate is decided. I envy them at times.”

“They make us feel alive.” Legolas echoes in agreement.

“Alive and of use for their goals are measured in years not centuries.”

“But why fish for reasons.” Legolas contemplates. “We do not decide who we lose our heart to, be it in the fashion of Beren and Lúthien or in great friendship like-” 

He breaks off abruptly. In great friendship like Túrambar and Cúthalion that’s how the saying goes, but it feels ill-fitted in his present company.

Yet the other elf seems to know what he had wanted to say, for he smiles with a melancholy curve of his lips.

“Our tale was not ultimately a happy one but I am glad our friendship is remembered, at least.”

They fall into silence.

“They can be rather silly, though.” Beleg suddenly remarks, and Legolas startles at the sudden change of tone before he catches himself and snorts.

“Oh yes, I remember.”

“Always rather dramatic for a start.”

“Please, you don’t have to tell me. The amount of times I have had to search the darkest corners of an appointed meeting place for a shadowy figure, you would have thought I was playing hide-and-seek with him like a child!”

“And all the names! Collecting epessës like berries!”

“And Eru forbid you use the wrong name once!”

“And really they don’t wash often enough! Streams are there to be used, I would tell him! Only because we share the forest with the animals does not mean we have to smell like them!”

“Exactly! But no, it is too cold, he has only washed two days ago and there is no time to waste on such frivolities, his clothes are dirty anyway and he does not have a second tunic and have I mentioned it is too cold?” chimes in Legolas, remembering all the silly arguments that had turned into a friendly bickering, that had warmed them more than their fire during the long days in the forest.

“Truly a delicate species.” Beleg adds in a mock grave voice and it only takes a brief look between the two elves before they burst into laughter.

“He was a good man.” Legolas says, once he has caught his breath again, and makes to wipe away a few stray tears in which mirth and grief have mingled, from his cheeks.

“Yes, he was.”agrees Beleg with bright eyes and Legolas does not ask who he is talking about.

“We shall see them again. Someday. I believe that.” And only as he speaks this, he realises it is true. In Middle Earth death had been final, a sundering even for the elves for which the Blessed Realm had been a distant tale and their fate a mystery in the hands of unseen powers. 

But here in Aman, where the Valar themselves walk among them, the edge of this world seems so much closer and sometimes Legolas feels as if he can almost see behind it.

They sit like this for a while, on the tree stump they had collapsed on in laughter earlier, before Beleg finally shakes himself out of his thoughts and jumps to his feet.

“Now, earlier I thought I might show you a little trick I invented, if you’d like. A slight modification in the way you hold your drawing arm that will give your arrow a greater momentum, while also not compromising the pace of your draw. I found this quite useful especially when-“

Legolas follows Beleg’s movements and explanations with rapt attention and only as he holds his arrow drawn on the string, his arm in a slightly adjusted position, his mind turns back to his earlier words.

‘I cannot wait to tell you of this, Estel’, he thinks and smiles, ‘after all, what could be called impossible when the Legends themselves walk among us.’

The arrow flies.

[commorsicoclub]

The First Beat (When Red met Penny)

Prequel to The Good Chase.  

(G/T soft vore. M/F. Human Prey, Giant Pred. Fearplay. Mouthplay. Belly rubs. Magic tricks. Snarky prey. Non-fatal. )

“You’ll be on your own starting tomorrow,” said the portly fellow in the driver seat. Maynard was thirty something years Red’s senior and was mere days away from his retirement. He’d been shoved onto the man last minute with vague orders to show the newbie his beat and aquatint him with the idiosyncrasies of the department. “I’ve got a few things still to wrap up before the end of it. It’s not a hard assignment. Boring really. You’ll be glad of it at first, but believe me. It gets old fast.”  

Eldridge Park was a middle class neighborhood on the west end of the city metro with its white marble apartment buildings and brownstone townhouses and tree lines streets. It was a nice place and crime was shockingly low so Red was more than a little disappointed to learn he’d been assigned to this particular precinct. He had hoped to be placed somewhere closer to the city center where they had actual crimes. Murders, arson, and armed robbery. Not petty larceny and littering. But he supposed it would look good on his record to have a year or two before jumping to another precinct.

“So, all I do is walk around the park in the middle of the night?” he asked flatly, looking out the window and then to Maynard.

“Not just the park, but that’s the better part of it,” Maynard replied. “It’s a big place, but don’t expect much real action. Worst I ever came across was a homeless fucker feeling up a girl on her way home from a late shift. Other then that, it’s just you and the humans.”

That got Red’s attention. “Humans?”

Maynard’s expression for the entirety of their shift thus far had been a placid neutrality leaning into boredom. But with this exchange, he looked at Red and grinned wickedly. “Oh yeah. Eldridge park is a hot spot.”

Red was no less enlightened. “So I’m going to be keeping hobos in check and arresting vermin.”

“You don’t arrest humans, kid,” Maynard said with a laugh. “Well, on the books we do. But there’s a lot of paperwork that goes with it, so none of us on this beat ever bother.”

“So, what do you do then?”

Maynard reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal case. He flicked it open with one fat finger and pulled a cigarette out. Holding it between his teeth, he struck a match and lit it. Only after taking a long draw from it did he looked back at Red to answer him. “You eat them.”

………………………………………….

The night was cool and crisp against his face as Red followed Maynard through the traipsing paths of the park. It was dark, but the moon was full and they had no difficulty seeing their way. He watched Maynard’s movements, noting the way the older officer walked and where his head turned to look at certain areas of the park. Old habits he’d developed over an entire career and he as eager to know them.

“They’re not too dissimilar to dwarf, but not as sweet tastin’ as elves,” he was saying. “And not as fast either.”

“And the Chief's okay with us just...eatin’ up suspects like that?”

“Humans are an invasive species, kid,” he said. “They pop through these…cripes, what the hell are they called again. Black hole kind of things. The just pop out of nowhere from some other dimension or something. Rivers can explain the science to you if you really want, but for my purposes tonight, we just gotta catch one.”

“How many do you normally find?”

“As little as one a week to as much as eight. You probably won’t see more than two a shift at most. And you better be real hungry if you get three in one night or you’ll have to file the paperwork for the one when the other two are in your belly. And they make a racket too.”

Red wasn’t unfamiliar with eating creatures smaller than himself whole and alive. He was quite partial to Elf, but the wild ones were so expensive and the farm raised just didn’t taste as good. Dwarf was all well and good, but they tended to give him indigestion. Goblins were tolerable, but they always needed a good wash before being anywhere near edible and their skin was an odd texture. They were a bit of an acquired taste and one he never really developed, even if they were the cheapest of all live prey available on the market. But he would treat himself to wild Elf on his birthday or special occasions when he could justify the hit to his wallet.  

He normally just stuck to sandwiches.

“If they’re so delicious, I wonder why no one’s tried to farm them,” Red wondered.

“Oh they’ve tried,” Maynard replied. “But they don’t reproduce as quick as other prey so the price of them once they reached eating size would be three times the price of top shelf wild Elf. That and most folks just see them as rats on two legs.”

Rev grinned. “More for us then.”

Maynard laughed and slapped the junior officer on the back. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s see if we’ve got any biters.”

Red obligingly followed his senior officer as he left the main path walked towards a cloister of bushes. Settled inside the thicker portions of the shrubbery, he saw a metal cage. It was empty and had not been tripped. The metal was dark and blended amazingly well within the bushes. He’d only seen it when Maynard pushed aside the leaves and the metal had caught the moonlight.

“I’ve got a good many of these all set up in the park. I’ve got a map in the car of where each of them are. Most human pop through confused and disorientated and try to find small hidey-holes to rest in. Most mistake these cages for a safe little place to stow away.” He looked up and grinned at Red. “Easy lunch.”

Red only nodded, feeling rather curious now. He’d had a good breakfast and he wasn’t particularly hungry, he wouldn’t refuse a little treat. The checked seventeen more traps over the course of the next five hours and none of them had been tripped. Maynard was begging to get a little impatient.

“It’s the perfect night for one to pop through,” he was muttering bitterly. “Cold clear nights are a good sign you’re gonna find one. I still have three more traps to check. Come one, rookie.”

They hit pay-dirt at second to the last trap. Even from a good distance away. Maynard spotted the his trap had caught something and he gave a gleeful hoot and waddled excitedly over. Red jogged to keep pace and could not help but privately ponder to himself that if Maynard hadn’t spent so much of his shifts stuffing himself full of humans, maybe he would be so darn fat.

His attention was abruptly pulled back when there came a shrill cry. There was a small creature inside the metal contraption and he tried to get a good look at it, but Maynard’s fat hand was pawing at it as he tried to open it up. Red was about to offer his assistance when the fat officer let out a “Ha ha!” and he wretched the little metal door open and drew out the prize from inside. The human was a pale pink color and was wearing clothing that looked much the same as an ordinary person would and it looked almost silly to behold it. But he didn’t get much of a chance to study it before Maynard held it up to him.

“Consider it a ‘welcome to the team’ treat,” he said with an oily smile. “She’s a fighter, so probably best to get her down as quick as you can.”

“Let me go, fucking piece of shit, giant ass fuck!” The human was very unhappy and was thrashing against Maynard militant hold on her, but Red was able to smell the distinct scent of fear and her and despite his curiosity to look at her more, to study her, he was all at once rather peckish. Maynard chuckled and pressed the little body into Red’s hands. “Down the hatch, rookie.”

Red laughed, swallowing the excess saliva and tipped his head back as he brought the little human up in the same gesture.

“You can’t be fucking serious right now, dude. No way. No! Holy shit, no, no, no, no, no, no, no...don’t you fucking dare!”

He ignore the panicking mantra from his lunch and slipped her feet onto his tongue. There was a sweet burst of flavor very reminiscent of elf, but it quickly faded into the more deep savory flavor more along the lines of dwarf. Oh, humans were delicious! Complex in their taste and her skin was so smooth. No where near the leathery lumpy affair that was goblin. He hummed in pleasure as he fed her upper thighs into his mouth and gave his first swallow.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, PLEASE DON’T!” Her shrill voice brought him back to reality and his eyes focused in on her face. She trembled in abject terror and struggled as much as she could given her lower half was in his gullet and her top half was firmly being held by his large fingers. He found himself smiling. It was a cruel gesture, but it was instinctual and he relished in the letting the true predator side of himself lose. He wasn’t in a fancy restaurant or a cafe where he needed to mind his manners. This was wild and free and without rules. The true manifestation of what it meant to be the top of the food chain. And Gods did he love the feeling...

He swallowed again and brought the girl’s torso into his mouth. He closed his lips around her neck and let go of her, letting her hang inside him and wiggle as much as she might. She was thicker bodied than an elf, but taller than a dwarf. A perfect middle ground of the two. He felt her little hands pressing against his lips and he almost laughed when one of her hands slipped and ended up slapping his gums. He supposed he’d tortured her enough and gulped hard twice in quick succession, sucking her down into his gullet and sending her on her way down to his belly. 

He breathed deeply now that his airways weren’t blocked and he looked to Maynard with an almost fanatical grin.

“Told you,” he said simply. “Tasty little fuckers, huh?”

“Fuck,” was all Red could manage. The human had spilled out into his belly and was now making all her complaints and protestations known by kicking and punching his insides. Such treatment was usually why he did not often partake in dwarf, but the human was no where near as strong and her strikes tickled more than anything. They were actually rather pleasant and he found himself licking his lips, trying to get one last taste of her.

Maynard laughed loudly, watching his junior partner’s sagging belly bounce and wiggle with his lunch’s frantic movements. He reached out and slapped it playfully. “How’d you like your first human, Red?”

“I think I’m a convert,” he replied, wiping the drool off the corners of his mouth.

………………………..

The human did not stop her squirming for the remainder of his shift. But by the time he slipped through his apartment door, roughly an hour later, she had gone quite and he figured she had finally succumbed to his stomach and would soon digest away like his other live meals. Though, he had to admit she had lasted a good while in there. He was almost impressed.

He pulled off his coat and shirt and sat down on his bed to pull off his boots. The maneuver required him to lean down over his own bulging belly and as he pulled off his first boot he heard it. A soft whimpering. And a voice. “..fucking stupid way to die...so fucking hot in here...can’t breathe for shit...smells like ass...”

Red started to laugh and that seemed to offend his lunch enough to spur her into one last kicking fit accompanied by a cry of, “YOU’RE A FAT FUCKING ASS HAT!”

He sat back up and looked down at his belly. “Well if I’m fat, you’re to blame.”

He wasn’t sure if her abrupt silence meant she had passed out or was too surprised to that he spoke to her to reply back. But then she did answer him.

“COUGH ME UP YOU FUCKER! YOU CAN’T GO AROUND EATING PEOPLE JUST BECAUSE YOU FUCKING FEEL LIKE IT!”

Red patted his belly, amused. “Funny you say that. Because I’m pretty sure I just did.”

She kicked him, lower than before and he winced. She’s struck a kidney or something.

“Dude!” she yelled again, but her voice had lost the volume. “Please, just...please let me out...”

“Why?” he asked, rubbing his gut in an almost affectionate manner.

“Because I don’t want to be your fucking food!”

“And yet, you are in my belly. Where food normally goes.”

“That was your mistake, not mine!” He was grinning. He’d never even spoken to his food before. More so because he didn’t speak elvish and the dwarf accents were so hard to understand that he just never bothered. And he wasn’t even sure Goblins had a real language. It was a pleasant change of pace.

“Tell you what, morsel,” he said, his voice low and almost growling. “If you can give me one reason why I should swap you out for the cold sandwich in my fridge, I’ll let you out.”

The human was silent for a moment. “...you promise?”

“Sure. I promise.”

“Like...pinkie swear and shit?”

“Well, I can’t exactly do a pinkie swear with you in there so...”

“Symbolic pinkie swear then!”  

“Okay. Symbolic pinkie swear. You just have to convince me you’re worth more alive then as lunch.”

After several moments, he felt the human suddenly shift. “Magic!” she said. “I can do magic!”

That got Red’s attention and eyed his belly dubiously. “Really now?”

“Yup! I can do magic.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I can’t show you from inside your fucking stomach now can I?!”  

Red stood up and walked to the kitchen. He flicked the light on and went to the sink. “OK. I’ll bring you out and you can do your magic, but I warn you now morsel. If you’re lying, I’m gobbling you back up and this time...” he paused. “I might just bite a little.”

It was surprisingly difficult to push his food back up once he’d swallowed it. Putting his fingers down his throat didn’t really do much other than make him wretch and his stomach clench. Which the human really did not appreciate. After the fourth failed attempt, he was ready to say fuck it and just go sit and watch TV until his belly finished her off. But he was genuinely curious now and he was spurred on more by annoyance and stubbornness than anything.

“Should...should I...like...help?” the human asked tentatively.

Red growled. “Might be nice.”

He tried one more time was shocked when he felt the warm lump push up into his esophagus. Once it had a good hold on the human, the rest went much more smoothly and after only a few moments, he felt her push up from the back of his throat and her little hands were grabbing onto his tongue and trying to pry herself out. He opened his mouth and plucked her from inside, pulling her from his jaws and setting her down onto the counter. She wobbled on her feet before falling hard onto her knees, too weak and disorientated to remain standing. Her skin was flushed and red from where his stomach acids had began to burn her and he felt a soft pang of guilt. It looked like it hurt. But he steeled himself and looked down at her with a frown.

“Alright, human. Let’s see this amazing magic of yours.” He knew some Elves could do magic and most fairies, but he had never seen any of it. Maynard hadn’t said anything about humans being able to perform magic, so maybe only some could?

The human held up both her hands, showing him the back and her palms as though to prove she held nothing. She presented the back of one hand, the thumb bent inward and used her other hand to place the tip of her other thumb so it aligned with the profile of its fellow, index finger and middle finger bent over to hide the gap. She slid the hand with the tip of her thumb visible back and forth as though she meant it as an impressive deed and the clapped her hands together and presented them both. Each hand still in possession of their thumbs.  

It was a parlor trick. A silly hand illusion to trick simple minded children that one could sever the tip of the thumb and magically reattach it with a simple wave of their hands. And almost as though to add insult to injury, the human finished their performance with a tired sounding, “Ta da.”

Red starred, expecting more and when the little human only starred back, he realized that he had been had. There was no magic. Just a magic trick, an illusion and it should have angered him. It should have made him furious and he should have devoured the wretched little liar right then and there…

...but instead he started to laugh. Loudly. He leaned back against the opposite counter and covered his face as the laughter turned into a fit of giggles and when he peeked between his fingers at the human, who was now looking at him with a fearful uneasiness, his laughter was renewed. It an absurd bargain she had made with him, betting her very life on the idea he might be impressed by such a paltry little showing. It was stupid and reckless and oddly...brave.

“S-so...” her shivering voice brought him back. “So...are you going to...let me go?”

He composed himself and regarded the little creature for a long moment and then said, “No.”

She scowled at him. “I knew it! You’re a fucking liar!”

He scoffed. “Me? What about you? That wasn’t magic.”

“It was a magic trick,” she replied firmly. “I just omitted a word. I didn’t lie.”

“Well, in any case I didn’t say I’d let you go,” he replied with a smug grin. “I said I would let you out. Never mentioned anything about releasing you or even that I wouldn’t be putting you back in later.”

The human’s scowl was gone and she bite her lip. As she began to scoot back across the counter, she started shaking in fear again. “Fucking liar...”

Red watched her shake and tremble, easily imagining she thought he meant to eat her then and there and he wasn’t in too much of a hurry to assure her of the contrary. He was having fun.

“I didn’t lie,” he purred as he loomed over her.

“You said all I needed to do was convince you I was worth more alive,” she spat, tears falling down her face now.

“And do you feel like you sufficiently did that?”

“I made you laugh,” she retorted. “Like...a lot. That should count for something, right?”

She was bargaining again, Red mused. “It was amusing, but if that’s all...”

“I didn’t say it was all,” the human snapped back. “I have more.”

Red regarded her with a flat, unimpressed look. “Oh do tell...”

“I can stick my tongue out and touch my forehead.”

Red blinked and his confused silence seemed to give the human the impression he was waiting for her display the odd quirk. But all she did was stick her tongue out at him and...touch her forehead with the index finger of her right hand.

Almost involuntarily, Red smiled and started to laugh again. He paced around the kitchen for a moment and then out into the hall before doubling back into the kitchen, laughing all the while. The human had taken his momentary absence as a chance to hide, but his kitchen countered were sparse and there were only two places to hide. Behind the toaster or inside the bread box. He could see the toaster well enough to know she was not there so he flipped open the box to see the human trying to hide under the remaining half loaf of bread. He chuckled at her and reach inside to pull her out.

She fought, but had grown very weak and could not do much of anything but smack his hand and kick her feet. “Please...please don’t kill me...”

He looked at the human and found that he didn’t want to eat her again. Not because she was not appetizing or that he wasn’t hungry, but she had succeeded in her original task; To convince him she was worth more than being his lunch. She was far too amusing a creature to sacrifice to his belly.

“I’m not going to eat you,” he said and watched her study him as though trying to figure out if she should believe him. “You’ve won your bargain, human. Congratulations.”

She sucked in a breath and shuddered, fat tears rolling down her face. “You’re not lying?”

“Nah,” he replied. “You’re a funny little thing. Might be worth keeping you around for a laugh.”

She held out her hand, little pinkie extended. “Pinkie promise.”

He eyed her. “We already did.”

“Real pinkie promise,” she said. “Promise that you aren’t lying and you won’t eat me ever again.”

He rolled his eyes, but obligingly offered his own pinkie of his free hand to her. “Fine, I promise I am not lying to you and I will not eat you ever again.” Their different sizes made it an awkward exchange, but the little human seemed satisfied enough. He sat back down on the counter and once she was standing under her own power, he grinned at her and licked his lips. “I make no such promises about eating any other humans though.”

She gaped at him, horrified. “Dude!”

He laughed and then asked, “Have a name, human? Or should I keep calling your morsel?”

“My name’s Penny,” she replied.

“Okay, Penny. I’m Red.” 

[stardomyx]

blindbrilliance replied to your post “Hetalia people!”

Alfred is HP Lovecrafts inspiration.

Similarly, JRR Tolkien based his elves off of Arthur. You know how he always vaguely describes his elves except for constantly repeating how tall, beautiful, and tragic they are? How their immortality is a curse and a blessing? How humans are lucky to have the gift of a short life? That's the APH Nation vibe all the way through. Maybe Tolkien was one of the few who knew the secrets of the nations.

What about hivemind nations? In extreme points in history we've seen countries and the people within become almost a single entity, all driven by one unknowable force.

Nations can permanently scar each other, but they can do much more than that if given the chance. They drastically slow and disable their kin by cannibalizing them. When one nation gains victory over another after a great war, perhaps they display their power and dominance by consuming the other. The consumed will grow back of course, it just takes a while.

You know how Germany's land was divided into east and west at the end of the war? It wasn't just his land that was split in half, and larger than life superpower nations like America and Russia tend to work up quite the appetite after being at war for long periods of time.

All nations have excellent hearing. Not just for sounds in the present, but in the past as well. America hears old Native American chants no matter he goes, China is so old that he hears languages that were only ever scraped out on cave walls, and  ancient Celtic lullabies will lull Arthur to sleep. Norway is sometimes deafened by long melted glaciers grinding over his land, and Russia is still serenaded to the customary firing of three hundred canons to announce the birth of a future Tsar.

Oops I got carried away and just dumped all my headcanon trash in here, not just the stuff about how the Nations look

OP I just want to say that I absolutely adore this, and I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to get back to you, I’ve been in a bit of a slump motivation-wise for a few days, but I’m starting to get back into the swing of things now.

Firstly I really want to touch on your points about Nations being inspirations to various writers, because not only are they amazing and absolutely something that would happen, but a long time ago I had a post in the works ft @hrharthurkirkland that revolved around how Nations inspired fashion. Mainly how Arthur unintentionally shaped the more ridiculous aspects of Tudor fashion.

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We never finished it, but I feel like I could quickly plug at least the concept here, I’ll try to keep it short but:

In a nutshell: My body headcanon for Arthur may have ended up contributing to quite a few fashion trends, mainly the fashion trends seen throughout Tudor England and into the Elizabethan era too kind of. If any of you have ever looked at Tudor fashion before, you’ll notice that it looks pretty silly with their clinched waists and their horrendously padded out calves. But what if the reason why it all looks so strange and unnatural was because they were trying to mimic the body of something – or in this case someone – that wasn’t human. Enter: Arthur Kirkland, with his tiny waist, weird skin tone, jacked teeth and numerous other delightful qualities that would’ve stood out about him back then.

I need to draw up and post my body headcanon for Arthur, but if you look at Tudor fashion and how weird they all look, that’s my body hc for him. He just naturally looks like that, and that signature Tudor Look was because - well - who better to take inspiration from looks wise, than the dang Country himself.

So your little tidbit at the beginning about humans taking inspiration from the ways Representatives look and present themselves really took me back to that post that never was, so thank you!

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CAN I SAY. THE HIVEMIND CONCEPT? Y e s. Please do elaborate on that because it’s something I haven’t really considered before OOF. Nations probably would resort to things like that when it comes to battle, which is why I also love your idea that they can straight up munch on one another?? Oof, that’s something I’ve discussed again with hrharthurkirkland but really that’s more up their alley than mine. I’ll leave this open for them to comment on since they know a bit more about it than me. Also since your example involves Ludwig, they’re bound to be all over this post like a rash.

And lastly YESS to their hearing being enhanced. Myself and others have also talked briefly about sounds like that being present in their voices when they shout. Nations have a v e r y impressive set of vocal chords and can scream down anything should they want to, and in that scream you probably would be able to hear things like cannon fire, the grinding of glaciers and the pounding of guns. Plus the little nod to them all taking comfort in listening to the past is,,, lovely.

I’m sorry if I didn’t cover all of your points, but please do know that I’ll be sticking this post in my save tag, please and thankyeuh.