#poor sigrid

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Living off the (Si)grid (dp x dc)

Sigrid does not remember how long they have been waiting for someone to come but as time went on and Sigrid was still captive, it seemed as if they had truly been forgotten by all.

A failed experiment that had been left unfinished in the lab, nothing more than a project. And Sigrid had grown colder, their blue skin hardening like ice. And yet, even as the temperature drops and drops, their breath never clouds.

Dead things do not breathe and Sigrid is ice and snow, desolate and forgotten.

"Hello?" A voice says.

At first Sigrid believes they have imagined it.

"Is anyone here?" The voice sounds again.

Sigrid lifts their head, looking beyond the bars, the electrified door of their cells and searches for the voice's owner.

"Hey," Sigrid hears and then there is a floating figure, with snow hair and aurora eyes. Their chest tightens in familiarity.

"Hi." Sigrid has believed they'd forgotten how to speak but here they are, mouth and tongue working as they've done before.

"What's your name?" the boreal figure asks. "I'm Phantom."

That is a hero name, and Sigrid should give their own hero name in return but they do not feel like 'Icemaiden' any longer.

"Sigrid," they answer.

"You got ice powers, don't you? I can feel it." The figure floats down and approached Sigrid's cell, who tenses at the approach. "It's ok, I have ice powers too." Then, Phantom opens their palm and in it forms a crystallized ice drop.

Sigrid's eyes are wide open as they leaned in towards the ice, forgetting amidst the awe about the electrical barrier separating them.

The shock is painful and tears a cry out of them.

Immediately, Phantom is by their side as if no barriers can stop them, "Are you ok?" the borealis child asks and Sigrid blinks, but before they can answer, the ice child continues, worriedly. "I'll get you out right now."

Then Phantom is out of the cell, and is plunging a hand in the console in front of the cell. The constant buzz fades out and replacing it is a blessed sound of silence.

"You're free. Sorry, I should've started with that," the aurora child says, bashfully.

Sigrid looks out and cannot see the tell-tale shimmer of a force-field. Hesitantly, they take a step out and then another and another and they're out.

"I'm free," Sigrid repeats, hardly believing it. Phantom gives them a slight shy smile and Sigrid can not stop themselves from embracing the child. "Thank you." Their voice trembles and the sincerity in the words is unmistakable.

Softly, the child's arms come to rest on Sigrid's back in a gentle embrace.

This must be a dream, Sigrid thinks. If it is, they don't want to wake up.

[acourtofquestions]

HOFAS SPOILERS: Chapter 20-24

🚨

I’m sorry… what?! THEY DID NOT JUST KILL MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT WOLF?? What was the point of even making her the epilogue to kill her out of nowhere. There’s no way my girl Sigred is dead. Nope. No one tell me otherwise😭

[momhwa1117]

THE AMOUNT OF TIMES VERAMUDE GOT FRIENDZONED LOL ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°

[sanctumpyre]

{🗡️} - Sigrid when we eventually put the two Michaels in the same room with her.

LOUD UNINTELLIGIBLE SOUNDS THAT CAN ONLY BE EXPLAINED AS A VOLANTIC ERUPTION. WHY TWO DADDY????

[qierxing]

Glass Doll

Commissioned by the wonderful thefangirlhasarrive Yan!Vil x F!OC TW/CW: Implied long term drugging, manipulation, unhealthy relationship, obsessive behavior

“So? What do you think?”

Victoria looks up from the crinkled script to the director, then to the nervous scriptwriter next to him, dark bags sagging under his eyes. 

In all honesty, it was a mess. The actions were near impossible to decipher, the transitions were abrupt, and the whole thing felt like a five tiered cake only a couple inches away from collapsing. But. But. There was a glimmer of something raw and rich in the text that had her pause in remuneration. She’s been through enough B-rated films and top grossing releases to know that what she read has a spark that she hadn’t seen in a very, very long time.

“I think it’s something that we can work with,” came her measured reply. The script writer looked ready to collapse in relief at her verdict, no doubt knowing that his work could have never seen the light of day if it weren’t for her approval. 

“Wonderful!” The director smiled, clasping a meaty hand onto the script writer’s shoulders, jostling the poor man. “I had a feeling you would see the potential. Mr. Schoenheit did as well!”

The smile drops from her lips as soon the words leave the director’s mouth. So it wasn’t just hinging on her opinion. Her lips curl ever so slightly in a sneer as the director continues going on about plans of casting, set dressing, and script refining. 

Now, Victoria had nothing against the up and rising actor Vil Schoenheit. She’s never crossed paths with him, so the only thing she knew was that he was a NRC alumnus and no matter how hard paparazzi did try, his private life is still a mystery to this day. In this day and age, she has to admire how he’s managed to escape the prying eyes of the ravaging media.

But she did not like being set aside like a delicate china plate in favor of prettier, shinier silverware.  

“And what exactly does Vil Schoenheit have to do with this?” Her cold question snaps the director out of his rambling to turn with a face of disbelief.

“Why, he’s your co-actor! We got him to agree a while ago–we just needed your agreement.”

–

It was after Victoria went through various dress rehearsals and makeup testing that she got to meet the person she is supposed to go mad for. He is indeed beautiful as the people say. Vil’s beauty is knife-like, all sharp edges with nothing to sand them down. His eyes, especially, are hypnotic; an enchanting amethyst purple that one could not help but look twice to appreciate. His shiny blond hair is done in a deliberate way that the stray strands curl and frame his face perfectly for viewing pleasure. Each part of his appearance is meticulously crafted to the point where Victoria wondered if he himself could pass as a work of art.

He introduces himself with a confident air that makes her lips tilt upward unconsciously. She did so like those charismatic enough to meet her fierce tawny eyes head on. Perhaps she can almost forgive the director for the earlier slight of weighing their opinions against each other. 

“Victoria De La Rosa. I look forward to working with you, Mr. Schoenheit.” His thin, bow shaped lips curl into a satisfied smile at her confident introduction. His bare hand accepts her own outstretched one with a surprisingly firm shake.

“As do I, Ms. Rosa.” 

The filming goes along swimmingly, with only the usual minor hitches and mishaps of a movie shooting. During breaks, Victoria has come to relish in the company of Vil, whose presence feels like a balm in the hustle and bustle. Although she is no stumbling wide-eyed rookie, Vil’s advice is insightful and not condescending, a refreshing change from her previous contracts.

“Your speech is slurring a bit here,” Vil taps a manicured finger on her paper, highlighting a line. “Make sure to enunciate. Lady Sigrid is not someone who minces words.”

She nods in agreement, making a mental note. The two of them were sitting next to each other in director chairs, going over their parts together while interns and prop designers rushed past to help set up the backdrop for their scene. 

“I didn’t think you were much into horror.” The words leave her mouth before she can think about it, and her face colors dark in embarrassment as she realizes what she’s just said to the famous actor. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable! It’s just–”

He cuts her off with a husky chuckle that makes her spine tingle in a strange way. “It’s just that I’ve never done horror movies?”

Victoria can only nod in response. He leans his head back with a contemplative hum, his white neck gleaming in the dull showlights like porcelain. (Seriously. She must ask him later about his skin routine)

“If I may return your question with my own?” Vil posits, “Why did you decide to act for this? I’m well aware an actress of your caliber has better pickings besides this smaller studio.”

A warmth blooms in her chest at the subtle compliment laced in his question. He wasn’t wrong. If she had to give one reason…

Psychological horror is something Victoria greatly adored, in all of her acting stints in movies. There is no need to rely on a hidden red paint bag to burst and cover your body in fake blood for the fear to sink into people (she certainly appreciated not having to clean it off each time they had to reroll). Indeed, what lurks in the recesses of the mind, she thought, would be far scarier than stab wounds or chopped gore.

“I think far too many people think that horror is something that is supposed to make someone scream,” she carefully says. “And it can be. But I’m getting tired of the predictable zombie apocalypse or serial killer thrillers. I want something that can truly make someone shudder and think about why we fear.”

Vil smiles with a flash of blinding white teeth almost akin to a snarl, as if he knew exactly what she would reply with. “Precisely. You and I both know what makes this particular production worthy.”

The director calls for them in the distance, and Victoria has no time to dwell on the way his pretty lavender eyes had made something burn in her core.

—

Being with Vil felt like downing sparkling wine–bubbly, fizzy, and most of all, titillating. 

Her heart soared whenever he handed her water bottles or leaned in close to whisper tasteful quips in that velvet smooth voice of his. It’s almost scary, just how much he knew what would make her perk up with pleasure. It’s like he actually understood her, not like the others who only saw her superficial shell. 

It made her hopeful, optimistic. Real friends were hard to come by in the industry. It was not that far of a stereotype to say that actors were cutthroat in their endeavors to reach the top. The games her fellow coworkers played were akin to the political machinations in the time of the Seven. As much as she wanted no part of it, Victoria knew she could not escape either.

It’s a rare day to relax for once. The first batch of filming had been done, so while the film was being post-processed, the director decided to let the actors have a quick breath before they were back to the grindstone.

She had intended to put the day to good use: a trip to the hotsprings spa she adored, then afterward, some time in the antique bookshop she had found a while back, and finally seeing Neige’s new movie that had come out. A ping on her phone distracted her from the planning in her mind.

With a huff, she’s about to mute her notifications when she sees the Magicam banner with the quote “@vdelrosa 👀 lookin kinda cozy”. Her frown deepens. It’s from a rando account, but her gut twists, and she taps her thumb on it, a post popping up. The comment was nestled under a picture. When she takes a closer look, she realizes with a strange sense of detachment that the picture is of Vil and her during the filming, when they were exchanging quiet conversation with each other. The picture’s angle is intimate and with a realization of disgust, Victoria realizes someone on the set had been leaking pics, or worse, paparazzi had managed to bribe someone. 

Victoria knew better than to look through the other comments. No doubt it would be a riotous mass of either those against her or egging on the tabloid like gossip. Her fury burned like a wildfire inside her, and before she could think, her phone was hurled into the soft covers of her bed, hard enough to make a weighted dent inside the fabric. 

Her phone chimes again and she groans as she realizes her phone wasn’t muted, so distracted by the post that had exposed her to the public. Victoria picks it up again and once again she pauses, because this time, it was a text message banner.

You had also gotten tagged in that post, right? Don’t worry, I took care of it, dear.

Victoria’s heart fluttered when she read the sender’s name: Vil. Her stomach churned even more at the sweet endearance. Dear. Dear. It was so casually said, yet she couldn’t help but feel like she was floating in the clouds at the nickname. 

And despite the danger that whispered, Victoria couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t alone anymore.

—

It was a simple vial that caught her attention.

Vil had invited her to practice their lines together in his dressing room, which she agreed readily, trying not to let her pounding heart show in her eager face. He had stepped out for a moment, but as the seconds ticked on, her eyes began to scour the room in fascinated curiosity.

In the midst of the rich swathes of fabrics thrown over chaises and makeup containers decorating the creaky old vanity table, a dark midnight blue vial stood innocently among them. Unlike the other makeup vials, it had no label and was unusually tiny. Against her whisper of unease, she picked it up and realized with a flicker of surprise, that it was translucent. An unknown liquid sloshed inside the glass, fizzing and bubbling ominously. 

She furrowed her eyebrows in distant confusion. As far as she knew, there were no brands of serums that had this kind of carbonation in the formula. It would be the first for her. Perhaps a nutrition drink of some sorts? But such a miniscule size–how much did he pay for it? And what were the benefits?

Before Victoria could blink, the vial was magicked away from her hand, and she whips around to see VIl with a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. It was the first time Victoria had seen someone use their magic so flawlessly, without any effort or incantation. Yet, despite the light countenance the actor bore, there was something taut with tension in his smile, like a bow drawn with an arrow.

“Didn’t your parents ever tell you that looking around someone’s belongings is rude?” His voice had none of the scolding she expected from someone having their belongings rifled through. Certainly, it was her wrong, but something didn’t feel right.

The awkward situation is remedied faster than expected, but Victoria doesn’t miss the way Vil treats the vial far more preciously than she had expected for a skincare item. 

—

“How’s your shooting going along?”

The sound of the coffee shop echoes around, clinks of cutlery and cups tinkling in booths behind them. The shop workers were smart enough to stick them in the hidden corner of the shop, where it was dim and only lit by the weak sunlight streaming through the one gothic window next to them. 

“Tori?” She finally drags her gaze from the stained glass to Neige’s worried chocolate eyes. 

“It’s been going fine.” She sips at her earl gray tea latte, relishing the warm sweetness that blooms over her tongue. It quickly warms her bones from the chilly Shaftlands air.

Neige purses his lips, but takes a sip of his own drink. Hot apple cider. He’s never been very fond of caffeinated drinks, even if his work would have been improved by it. Instead, he leans in on his elbows.

“How’s Vi? The two of you aren’t…fighting, are you?” Victoria bites her tongue at Neige’s cautious question. 

“No way,” she shakes her head firmly. Neige looks somewhat relieved at her response. 

“That’s good. A lot of people find Vi…” he pauses, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek in a thoughtful look.. “...hard to work with. But he means well. He always does.”

Victoria takes another scalding sip of her latte to stop herself from saying anything in response. Vil’s crooked smile flashes in her mind, the tiny bottle practically burning a hole in her pocket. She feels guilty for the ulterior motive of this supposed catch-up, but there was no one else she could turn to. 

“Neige, you’re a mage, right?” The question takes the young man back. He nods hesitantly.

“Yes?” He tilts his head with a raised eyebrow. The winter light makes him even more radiant, like an angel. “But why are you asking?”

Victoria couldn’t stop the question from leaving her lips. “How well versed are you with potions?”

For a moment, the only sounds that could be heard were the cafe patrons’ murmuring and the dry leaves blowing outside. Victoria’s own heart hammered, for she knew she was toeing the line of no return. Neige’s conflicted countenance flickers back and forth from concern and confusion. 

“Alchemy?” His voice lowers even more quietly. “I’m not exactly a pro at it, but I did decent in school.” 

He pauses, then: “If you really want someone with potion expertise, you should be asking Vi. I heard he was the top of his alchemy class.”

Something cold slithers in her gut at that. As if aware of Neige’s words, the vial presses into her leg, practically molding itself into her very skin. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust Vil,” she deflected quickly, “It’s just that I don’t want any chance of this being…you know.”

He doesn’t need any more explanation. Neige nods his head in understanding when Victoria extracts the vial from her coat pocket with sweaty fingers, sliding it over the table into his opened palm. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Neige discreetly examines the vial with a scrutiny that was unfamiliar on his youthful heart-shaped face. “It’ll take me a while, though, if it’s not a basic potion.”

Victoria bites her tongue. By now, Vil probably had noticed it gone missing, and she could only hope by then, she would be apologizing for a misunderstanding. 

If it was a misunderstanding, that is. 

—

A celebratory toast. That’s all it was supposed to be. All it was meant to be. 

The box office release has been a smashing success, and Vil wasted no time in extending an invitation to share a drink over their ‘hard work’, in his words. 

But this?

She steps into the foyer of the regal penthouse, looking around rather uneasily. The interior was just as lavish with various tasteful paintings dressing the halls and elegant embroidered rugs lining the white marble floors. The click of heels turns her attention away from marveling silently to Vil giving his usual charismatic smile. 

He had dressed up, alright. It almost made Victoria self conscious, even if the midnight blue dress that hugged her form just right and the glittering pearls on her neck could hardly be called underdressing. Vil, on the other hand, donned a casual white peasant blouse that showed a generous expanse of his fair neck and collarbone, with waist high black pants. His hair had been slicked back, with only a couple strands of dyed hair free to frame his face and neck. 

“Thank you for coming. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” Victoria shakes her head as he leads her through the hallways to the grand living room and seats her on a fancy deep purple Rococo style sofa. He wastes no time in taking the spot next to her much to her chagrin and directs her attention to the spread on the coffee table in front of them. 

“Please, help yourself.” He pours a bottle of champagne into two crystal glasses, handing one to her. She welcomed the familiar sensation of alcohol burning on her tongue, followed by the fruity lightfulness of the aftertaste. Just as she takes it, the doorbell echoes, and Vil excuses himself to greet it, leaving her disoriented by the sheer luxury of the room.

A buzz, disturbing and urgent peeled through the air like the hum of agitated wasps. It was her phone.

Tori, how did you get this potion?

Neige. Her heart immediately stops. Before she could type a reply, her phone buzzes again.

If I’m correct, it’s a love potion-and those have been banned for decades now. I don’t think it’s possible to have one unless you went to the black market or somehow brewed it yourself

Love potion? Her mind races with this information. What was a love potion doing in Vil’s room? Suddenly, Neige’s words surface in her mind.

 “If you really want someone with potion expertise, you should be asking Vi. I heard he was the top of his alchemy class.”

How many drinks has she accepted from Vil? Even this champagne that had already wetted her lips was not any different. She had simply trusted him, and because of that…

Another buzz. 

You’re not safe, where are you?

“My dear?” Vil’s silken voice cuts through her veneer of panic. 

Tori?

Try as she might, when she looked up, Vil immediately saw past her flimsy facade and bore witness to the muted horror that painted her face. She had finally pieced the puzzle together.

“You know, my dear, I didn’t want this to happen.” A sigh, as if he was a disappointed parent who was trying to make their child see sense. “It wasn’t easy making that potion.”

Her eyes desperately scanned the room for anything, any clue that could be used for escape, or more importantly, a weapon. But what could she do against a mage? Vil was blocking the only exit out of the living room.

”If you didn’t catch on, the potion would have done its work.” Her breathing quickened. “But, we’ll make it work, won’t we, my dear?”

“Nothing to lose, nothing to fear. The shining crown is meant for me. ” With faint dread, she realizes he’s chanting a spell, but as her body succumbs to the raw, primal instinct to survive, it is already too late.

“Fairest one of all.” 

Just as the last word leaves his lips, her body locks like a ball jointed doll, frozen in action of bolting, her last ditch attempt to escape halted right in its tracks. Her voice comes out in a frustrated scream, but even that, too, crackles in her throat.

“Come to me.”

Her body refused her control and with the same kind of seductive sway, her legs had floated her to the very villain who put all of this in motion. His smile now was cruel, puncturing with the jagged sharpness she had seen all those weeks ago. Still, embarrassingly enough, his hands were gentle as they caressed her sides and even worse still, made her burn with yearning. 

“Until you fall completely in love with me, my darling,” Vil’s warm breath hovered over her own lips, teasing with the possibility of what she could have. “You will not be able to disobey me. Curses are powerful things, as you know.”

Victoria wanted to scream. She wanted to punch Vil, throw things at him. But she couldn’t. All she could do was watch helplessly as her body perfectly curled into Vil’s own lithe form and her hands began to undo the laces that held his shirt together. 

She wouldn’t be alone. She just wouldn’t be able to remember what it’s like to be herself.

[kat651]

Bard x Reader

You walked through lake town with a smile. It was winter and freezing but you didn’t care, you were to happy to care. Sure lake town was a poor place to live but you were happy for reasons even you didn’t know about. You were part elf but not enough that it prolonged your life. You did have healing abilities though. But you swore never to use them even for the greater good. 

“Tilda!” You heard a voice call. 

You looked over to see a boy staring into a hole where the ice had broke. He was striping off his coat and about to dive in when you beat him to it, diving headfirst into the icy waters. 

You saw a body slowly sinking and you reached out, grabbing the girl by the scruff of her coat and swimming back to the surface. 

You came back through the hole gasping for air, hauling the girl onto the ice. She was shivering. “Hey look at me, i need you to crawl away from the hole, do you understand, crawl.”

She nodded and crawled to the boy who had called her name. 

You pulled yourself out and crawled as well before slowly standing. You placed your hand in your head and moaned. 

You looked over to see a tall man with curly shoulder-length black hair wrapping the girl in a coat before the boy lifted her and ran into a house close by. 

The man slowly made his way over to you as you trembled. He gently smiled as he guided you off the ice. You trembled and clutched his shirt as he led you into the house that the boy had entered with the girl only moments before. 

-.-.-

The next hour was a blur as you warmed yourself in front of the fireplace.

“Thank you for saving me,” the little girl said. 

You smiled at her. “It was nothing.”

“No, it was everything,” the man who you knew must be her father said. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you,” he said, giving you a warm cup of tea. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, taking the cup. 

He smiled warmly and you were glad that you weren’t able to blush. He was the most handsome man you’d ever seen. 

-.-.-

A month passed and you visited Bard and his family often. 

“Y/n!!!” Tilda shouted, knocking on your door early one morning.

You yawned and opened your door. “What is it Tilda?”

Tears were in her eyes. “It’s Da… h-he’s sick.” She whimpered. “Really sick…”

You brought her inside and quickly changed before grabbing your bag of medicines and fallowing her. 

She led you to Bard who lay in bed, coughing and taking ragged breaths. 

You knelt next to him. “Bard, hey, can you hear me?”

He moaned and nodded. 

You placed your hand in the back of his forehead and frowned. “Bain, will you get another blanket? Tilda get a cool cloth please. Sigrid please get your father son tea.” The three children set to work and you whispered for Bard to hold on. 

Tilda came to you with a cool cloth and you lay it over Bard’s forehead. “Everything will be ok,” you whispered mostly to yourself. 

Bard opened his eyes. “Y-y/n?” He moaned before coughing again. 

You gently stroked his cheek with the back of your hand before realizing what you were doing. You pulled away and you watched his lips turn to a frown. 

You placed your hand back on his cheek and the frown left, his face relaxing into one of peace. “Y/n…”

You gently shushed him and rubbed your thumb over the stubble on his cheek and he smiled a bit more as he took a ragged breath. 

-.-.-

You spent the whole day caring for Bard. His children had all gone to bed and you were sitting on a chair, hovering over Bard as he panted and gasped for breath. His face was pale and sweat was rolling down his face. 

You griped Bard’s hand. “Please, come on…don’t die…”

“Bard, bard please, please don’t die. Your children they need you, please, Bard, please…” you let out a sob. “I-I need you…” you whispered. “Bard please.”

His fingers tightened around your hand and he whispered your name. “T-take care of my children, please…”

“Nonononono, bard please, no…”

He panted and squeezed your hand. “Y/n, I’m sorry…”

“No bard please...“ You let out a sob. “Bard please, stay with us…”

He coughed and brought his hand to your face. “Please take care of them for me…”

“No, Bard no, don’t you dare!”

He slowly lowered his hand and you fell to your knees, sobbing into his chest. Your tears soaked his shirt as you begged him to stay alive. 

His hand fell upon your head, tangling in your hair. You looked up at him and let out a sob. “Bard I-I love you…”

Bard’s fingers tightened in your hair. “I love you too…”

You slowly lifted your head and placed your hands on his chest, if you were going to break your promise to yourself it would he for him. you closed your eyes as your hands emitted a warm silver light. 

Bards breath slowly returned to normal and his eyes opened. “Y/n?”

You fell limp and he sat up, grabbing you. “Y/n?”

You looked up at him. “You’re gonna be…ok…”  

Bard clutched your body close and sobbed from shock. “Oh, y/n…” he whispered, pulling you into the bed. 

You looked up at him with exhaustion in your eyes. “Please don’t tell anyone…”

He pulled you to his chest and brushed your hair from your eyes. “You saved my life, there must be some way to repay you.”

You let your head fall on his shoulder. “Just let me sleep…”

He gently pulled you into his embrace and you fell asleep nearly instantly but you swore you felt him gently kiss your head. 

When you woke you were laying in a bed that wasn’t your own. You sat up and looked around confused. You stretched and stood. 

You walked out of the room and into the kitchen. Bard was cooking something and you smiled. “Good morning,” you said. 

Bard turned and pulled you into a hug. “Good morning,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead. 

You looked at him with a smile. “Good morning, Bard,” you said, kissing his cheek in return. 

-.-.-

You sat next to Bard, talking quietly as the two of you ate. The children were still asleep and you thought it would be fair to let them sleep since they were up late helping you take care of Bard. 

You took the dishes and went to clean them when you felt two powerful arms wrap around you and then lips press on your neck. You chuckled softly as his lips tickled you. He moved to your cheek, kissing you repeatedly. “Y/n, thank you for everything…”

You turned around to face him and stood on the tips of your toes, pressing your lips against his. 

His hands were on your hips and he pulled you closer. 

“Da?”

The two of you turned to see Bard’s children standing with wide eyes. 

Tilda was the first to react. She ran and threw her arms around you and smiled at her Father. “Is y/n staying with us?”

You smiled at her and Bard bit his lips, looking to his other two children. 

Sigrid was the next to walk up and put her arms around you but Bain remained put, jaw dropped. 

Bard slowly walked to his son. “Bain… look at m-” he gasped as Bain threw his arms around his father’s middle. 

“If your happy I’m happy, she’s a good person…”

You felt tears prick your eyes at his words and walked over to him. “Bain…”

-.-.-

You sat on the sofa with the children, they had all fallen asleep and you were drifting off as well.

That’s when bard came into the house. “Y/n,” he muttered softly. 

You slowly stood, trying not to disturb the children. 

Bard kissed your cheek. “I’ve something to ask you.”

“What is it?” It had been two weeks since his illness. 

The children were suddenly up and standing with their father, huge smiles on their faces. 

Bard got on one knee and produced a ring from his pocket. “Will you marry me?”

You gasped and let out a sob before nodding your head. “Yes…”

He placed the ring on your finger before kissing you gently. “I love you…”

You smiled and let your head rest on his shoulder. “I love you too…”

[basil--and--sage]

Geniue question - how's religious guilt even works in dwarfs?

Hi Sigrid!

Oh that tag referred to my fic A Swift Ascending. It’s currently on hiatus, but I am looking forward to getting back to it, when things are better.

In the fic, Fíli is trans and Dwarven society isn’t very open to that and a big factor is the role of Mahal as the Maker. I wrote something for that last year: here.

And since poor Fíli collects quite a lot of tragedies in the fic, one of the worst the events on Ravenhill, where Thorin and Kíli die, there is always this underlying feeling of being not only forsaken by his Maker, but also actively punished for not just playing the role society expected of him.

Though, it is fair to say that guilt in general is one of Fíli’s big themes in that fic, next to self-worth, identity and closeness to others.

That’s basically it :)

[kingofthe-egirls]

TRAINING SESSION: LUFFY x Y/N

modern au

(cw: boxing, training, hand!kink, stretching, ballet, silly, kissing, sweetness, fluff, food)

(a/n: haha what if i made a book about this 👀)

Songs: "Sucker Punch" by Sigrid

words: 2.5k

"Like this," Luffy commands, demonstrating the technique. He dodges: ducking between swipes of the reaction target stick, rotating at a medium pace. You're both in his private gym, you standing a few feet away on the mat floor while Luffy shows you his training routine. He bucks up with his forearm fronting: hitting the bar to send it backwards in its rotation.

He repeats the move several times, with both hands. He turns to you, hitting the bar without looking. His grin is irritatingly cocky.

"Your turn," he stands straight up, backing away to give you room. You twirl your ankle on your toes, wiggling a little in the mesh of your sneakers. You've had more experience in ballet, truthfully. And the hardcore sports world is one you've never dabbled in. You huff, embarrassment flooding your cheeks. You're not athletic, besides several poor attempts at tennis and cheerleading.

Ballet is best.

You lift up onto your toes, reminiscent of your days at the barre, practicing relevés until your feet hurt. Your calves burn.

"Okay."

You step up to the reaction target stick, bouncing a little in your knees. "Um...," you falter, loosely clenching fists in front of your tits. "What do I do?"

Luffy laughs, and starts the stick rotating gently for you. "Dodge."

You duck, awkwardly, as the top bar cuffs your head. "Ow," you complain, hitting it back with the side of your wrist. It slaps around faster, and hits your other side. "Fuck!" You huff, puffing out your cheeks in frustration. You wish you could slide around a pole, instead.

"Try again," Luffy stops the bar, hand on your lower back. His heat presses into your body, lining up your side with fire. You clear your throat. You nod, readying yourself again.

He starts the bar slow.

You dodge, leaning far enough away to miss getting hit. You do that a couple more times, getting used to the feeling. You have to bend your knees farther than you'd thought. He hums in approval, backing away a few steps. "Good job," he says, "Now try hitting it back with your fist."

You try, and awkwardly bump the bar as it slowly rotates around you.

"Good job!" he says again, slapping his palm against your chest in approval. He hits just below your collarbone. You huff, unappreciative of the nerves roiling in your belly at every touch or skim. He spins the reaction stick faster, lip caught between his teeth. "Try harder, now."

You blush, and practice dodging a few more times. Moving like this feels strange, having spent most of your life training to bring yourself up, up onto your tippy toes, and this sport required you to sink down low into your center of gravity. You fight against gravity, all the time.

"Start hitting back, y/n."

"Fuck," you breathe, hitting the bar back way too hard. It spins around and knocks you in the face. You straighten up, fists hanging at your sides. "I'm done."

"Okay," Luffy rests his hand on your lower back again, stopping the bar with the other. His knuckles are bruised and scabby, testaments to the hours he's spent in this gym. He trains several hours each day, you saw from the schedule he keeps on his phone.

"Let's stretch," you say, seeing the way his fist clenches around the bar, veins and tendons moving over the knuckles of his hand. Your face flushes harder, and you step away from the contraption in front of you. You twirl around, heading back to the yoga mats across the speckled, rubbery floor. It smells like plastic and Windex. You wish there was a glossy wooden barre strung across the wall-length mirrors, but oh well.

You'll have to take Monkey D. Luffy to a dance studio, sometime.

As it is, however, he grins as you start to stretch. He crosses the room in a jog, his gym shorts hanging loosely around his hips. He's shirtless, abs softly spotlighted by the gym's overhead fluorescents.

You swallow.

"Here," you say, stretching over to the side, one arm over your head and the other below your stomach, like a lowered fourth position. "Let's stretch," you say again, flattening your back as you turn your torso parallel to the floor. You reach your arm straight forward, feeling the pop of your hips and the strain of your shoulder. You grimace.

It's been a while since you've stretched.

"I used to do ballet," you say, switching sides. He copies your movements, slightly. His hands are sloppy, arms loose instead of bowing gracefully like your ballerina-shapes: fingers pointed with your thumbs tucked in, elbows slightly bent to form an oval. "When I was a kid."

"Oh?" He asks, looking up from where he's stretched out on the floor, one leg extended and the other bent. He reaches his toes without a problem. You fold forward, feeling the stretch of your hamstrings as your fingers touch the ground. It's spongey, beneath your touch. Your back is to the mirrored wall. You frown at your own face, upside down. Luffy grins in the reflection, too. "That's so cool!"

"Yeah," you laugh a little, switching to wrap your hands around your left calf. You moan a bit at the soft burn. It feels so good to stretch.

"I did it through high school, too," you swallow, switching sides, "But once I got to college the classes were way too intense." You grimace, straightening up to standing. You fold your arms above your head, leaning one hip to the side. "But I still miss pointe."

"You did pointe?!" He asks, excited. He bounces up on his feet, sinking into a low squat. You watch in awe as his heels stay firmly planted on the floor. Your Achilles tendons could never do that. You twist your lips in jealousy. He's all smiles, though, flushing face and raven hair that sticks out in fluffy spikes. You lean forward to ruffle it, feeling the crow feathers beneath your fingers. He reaches up to grab your wrist, pulling you down to kiss the palm of your hand. "Pretty," he says, staring up at you with a grin.

"Thanks," you say, thumbing his cheek. His face is lit up with a smile, eyes crinkling like crescent moons. You swallow.

"My feet used to hurt all the time," you admit, sitting cross-legged in front of him. He joins you, hands resting lightly on your knees. He leans forward for a quick kiss, and you comply. A soft moan leaves you in the back of your throat. He cups the side of your neck, warm and sure against your skin. You sigh against his lips.

"Why'd ya do it?"

"Because I loved it," you say, straightening up with your hand still on his cheek. You stroke his scar fondly, the line folding under the pad of your thumb. You press into it, gently. "The pain was so good, in a way. It felt so perfect to be able to make those shapes, like...it was so beautiful, and it felt like I was acting out art, in a way. Like those pictures by Degas. I love those paintings," you say, leaning back to support yourself on your hands.

"I'll getcha one," he says, cocky. You snort.

"I don't think you can just...get one of those. Aren't they like, only in museums?" You raise an eyebrow, and watch as he pulls out his phone. The skull-and-crossbones charm clinks against the case.

"Hm," he thinks with his tongue stuck out, "I think ya might be right..."

"Ha!" You laugh, letting your head fall back. You feel warm and rubbery from the workout today. You're guessing Luffy is nowhere near tired, though, from his exercise regimen and the fact there's no sweat on his face. He'd even ran a mile before you'd even started. "Hey," you say, knocking your foot against his, "Let's go eat."

He perks up, sparkles glinting in his brown eyes. "Okay!!!"

****

After a few rounds of burgers (Sanji had told you that Luffy "eats meat no matter what regimen I try to put him on"), Luffy and you are sitting in his lavish apartment. He lives here in the city for a few months out of the year, when he trains for most of the days.

"Like it?" Luffy asks, wiping grease off his chin. He has half a burger in his hands, quickly disappearing. You pick at your fries: thick and crispy from the fryer downstairs. Sanji had cooked these in avocado oil for you by hand. Your nerves are keeping you from filling your stomach, though, despite how good the food tastes.

"I do," you hum, crunching another fry in your mouth, "Does he cook for you all the time?"

"Yep!" Luffy happily grins, "I won't eat anything if Sanji didn't make it!"

You raise an eyebrow, thinking of your mac-and-cheese dinners you make out of a box back home. You wrinkle your nose a little, pushing a fry around in some homemade ketchup. It's thick, with a slightly tangy aftertaste. You frown.

"I don't know how to cook."

Luffy grins. "Me neither! But I'll eat restaurant food, or if my friends make food! I love food," he devours the rest of his burger, and closes the paper container Sanji had brought it up in.

"Butterfly Hero," he says with his mouth full, looking at his phone. You see your own profile page on his lit-up screen. How he can stare at the blue light (without any filter) is beyond you.

He flicks his eyes up to you, dark and intrigued. "What's the name for? Why'd ya choose it?"

"I--," you start, then hesitate. "My girlfriend really likes butterflies. And she does this thing every year where she plants seeds for the monarch butterfly migration. It's with the National Wildlife Federation, I think? It's to save them from going extinct."

"Butterflies are extinct?" He tilts his head, scratching his fluffy hair. You shake your head.

"No, but they're endangered, I think. Monarch butterflies are on the red list," you pull out your own phone to Google something. "Blue butterflies don't seem to be that endangered," you muse, "But some are really rare. Can't find a definitive answer, though." You frown, scrolling through a couple pages.

"I like blue butterflies," Luffy says, scratching your knee with calloused hands. He's smiling at you, wide and bright in the setting sunlight. His windows are open, letting the sea breeze drift in from off the coast. It's cool, but not unpleasant.

"Me too," you say, scooting in closer to his heat. His body radiates warmth, like the setting sun itself.

"So, ya named yourself after an endangered species? Because your girlfriend loves them? That's pretty cool," he congratulates you, pulling you into his side with one arm. The muscles flex under his skin, and you flush. He tilts his head back, thinking. "I wonder if I changed my name...what it would be."

"What's your stripper name?" You ask, "It's gotta be powerful, and glamorous. Like you can conquer the world with the name."

He screws his face up in thought, full lips twisting as his brown eyes slide to the ceiling. "...Mars? Or something strong, like that." He taps his fingers against his own knee, drumming thick finger pads against his bronze skin. His legs are long and athletic, toned and tanned, with a fine layer of soft dark hair. There's a freckle under his left knee.

"Mars is pretty cool," you admit, smiling slightly. You pull your own curvy legs under you, leaning against the fluffy pillows. Luffy lays his head on your chest without hesitation. You stroke his hair, soft like crow feathers, and hum softly. "Like the fire motif," you stroke through his thick strands of hair, finding his scalp and scratching at the top of his head. He presses into you like a satisfied cat.

"Hm?"

"Your moves are all fire based, right? Or gun based," you list off your fingers, "Rocket, Red Hawk, Elephant Gun, Bazooka...," you frown, "Well, I guess it's mostly guns. D'ya like guns, or something?"

He punches his fist into the air, flexing powerfully. "My punches are like pistols!" He grins, tilting his fluffy head up to catch your eyes. His are sparkly, like a goddamn Disney prince. You nod.

"They sure fucking are," you admit, remembering the one-hit-knockout he'd slammed poor Koby with. Luffy nuzzles into your chest, wrapping his strong arms around your waist.

"I like you, Hero," he says, muffled by your t-shirt. You'd changed into clean clothes after taking a hot shower in his (luxurious) bathroom.

"I like ya too, Luffy," you hum, kissing the top of his head. Raven hair tickles your nose, and you smell sweat. Luffy had not taken a shower.

His BO smells musky, obviously, but also cinnamon-spicy, like chai tea. Or rooibos tea, you muse, letting your fingers trail down softly to the side of his face. He leans into your touch.

"Hmm," he moans, throaty and unashamed. "Wanna play?" He winks up at you, cheeky, and you grin. You can't help yourself.

"Course," you mumble, and let him shift over you. He hovers on his hands, planking on the bed as you shrink underneath him. You nestle back farther into the pillows, and let him start tugging off your comfy pajama shorts. They have clouds on them: light blue and pastel grey. Your ballet teacher would have called it an ice tone.

Luffy leans down to start kissing your neck, already sloppy with lustful desire. You croon, arching your neck to the side to give him more room. His lips are soft as heaven, and press heat into your skin with every kiss and swipe of his eager tongue. You hum, hands coming up to slip under his own t-shirt, hungrily gripping at his abs as he flexes. He giggles.

"Like my muscles?" He asks cockily, raising a sharp eyebrow. You nod, devouring the sight of his tanned arms as he rips his t-shirt off overhead. He does that hot-guy thing where he pulls it over his head with one hand. You moan, already hot and heavy with need.

"Love em, Luffy," you whine, arching your back up to welcome him back into your embrace. He slides down your torso, leaning his weight fully into you. He braces his arms on either side of your face.

"Love you."

You blush, caught off guard. He's never said that before. "Uh--um," you swallow, stuttering over your words. "Sure?"

He stops, lips paused in an open, half-kiss. His face is inches from yours, and his eyes regard you with a shivering anticipation.

"Sure, what?"

His voice is small.

You swallow.

"You sure?"

He shakes his head, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because I love you, too." You say, breathy. Each word is forced out like a stone. "And once I love someone, I don't stop."

"Good."

He presses his nose into your cheek. He inhales deeply, lets it out slow. "Was worried ya didn't feel the same, butterfly."

You shake your head vehemently, the crisp pillowcase shifting beneath your head. Your hair is up in a messy bun, slowly coming undone. Like you. "I love you, Luffy."

He snickers, and kisses your lips.

"Ya better."

[rebel-hunk-enjoyer]

Rules: shuffle your 'on repeat' playlist and post the first 10 songs, then tag 10 friends to do the same.

I was tagged by @itspinkflowers, tyyyy!!

I don't know what this says about my current music tastes but I feel like whatever it is probably has the parenthetical "(derogatory)" next to it? Which seems fair. 😂😂😂

Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift

Mary On a Cross by Ghost

Wonderful Nothing by Glass Animals

Too Sweet by Hozier

Everybody Knows by Sigrid

Let It Happen by Gracie Abrams - **kalluscore song, i'm so serious**

All My Love by Noah Kahan

Running Up That Hill by Placebo

Anti-Hero by Taylor Swift

Hell's Comin' with Me by Poor Man's Poison

I'm not sure who to tag in this and definitely not, like, 10 friends. But! Um. @may-be-a-plant or @mossywriting or @mymblesbuir if you'd like! 💖💖

[lamemaster]

Men Reacting to Meeting Elves First Time

AN: Inspired by this post- by @actual-bill-potts. Idk I just felt the urge to bring this to the world. No elves were harmed in writing this.

Summary: A series of interviews brought to you by yours truly :)

Ulfang: (stares directly into camera with deadpan expression) the first time I saw Maedhros, I held his arm, his only arm (chuckles) to help him cross the road.

(Camera zooms in)

Ulfang: (shuffling in his seat) I thought he was blind. I though he was poor blind elf with no pupils. I even told the kids to be kinder to him...

Interviewer: Andreth please put down the book for now.

Andreth: (annoyed Edain noises) Ah yes the shadow in the East-

Interviewer: Nope not this again (Athrabeth flashbacks). We're talking about your first meeting with Aegnor

Andreth: He was so still I walked past him confusing him for a lamp. (Love crazed smile on her face) Gangly limbs and wild gleaming hair and very eerily still. And then I jumped ten foot into the sky when he suddenly called for me.

Andreth: Flame and moth, (dreamy sigh) thats what they call us.

Beor: We really could not see anything but a blob of light and follow the music that filled the air. I mean what else would anyone assume. Only gods hold such prowess.

Interview: (muttering under breath) Well Celebrimbor and Ar-Pharzon would disagree...

Beor: What (confused dad smile)?? So I approached Nom, whose form stood shrouded by glowing hair that seem to carry the notes of his music.

Beor: At that moment I knew I fell in love, he would be my people's salvation.

Turin: The first time my mother took me to Thingol I scream cried for an hour (Embarrassed head shake).

Interviewer: You lived after that??

Turin: I did because Thingol thought my reaction after seeing a semi-transparent Melian was better...I thought she was the ghost of the crazy lady who lived next door...can you image the childhood trauma of all that in one day...(continues shaking head vigorously. I was scarred. That damned Saeros never let me live it down...

Beren: (Cuddling into Luthien) Society says twisted taste, I say man of culture.

Luthien: They won't dare love (percariously taps her claws on the interviewer's table).

static noises

Aragorn: (barging into Boromir's interview) Why was I not invited?

Interviewer: part elven and the Dunedain don't count...too desensitized.

(Bickering continues)

Interviewer: What was it like meeting the king of woodland realm?

Bard: I was half delirious and running on adrenaline I think I saw four of him and rolled with it. Altough Tilda and Sigrid did complain about unfair hair privillages.

Interviewer: I see (agressively scribbles crying emojis)

[vixnarts]

I had a dream last night about Leo and Sigrid (an OC of mine that I shipped Leo with, she's the daughter of Poseidon) and Leo was rebuilding some kind of rocket. Then he began to make out with Jason without poor Siggy knowing Leo's cheating on her. This ship really has been getting into my head space lately.

EDIT: With the song Calendar Girl by Neil Sedaka

[hazel-of-sodor]

Day 6 A-Rex

Day 6 A-Comedy

Other Stories

Other Days

Rex fumed for the rest of the day. All he wanted was to do was nap, but no, these blasted Scottish twins had to keep singing. Bert was no help, laughing at his misfortune.

He simmered discontentedly as he was turned around at the top station. He eyed where preparations were being made to extend the line further up the old Mid-Sodor trackbed. There was talk of new engines being brought in to help once the extension was brought in. 

Rex sighed as he ran around the train. The line was changing faster than he was comfortable with, if he was honest with himself. It had originally just been the five of them, the three steam and two diesels for maintaining the line. Then Frank had been bought to keep up with shunting as the traffic on their little line proved to be greater than expected. Then Jock had been built as the passenger work increased as tourists found their railway. Then Sigrid had been bought, to pull the mine worker's trains. 

At first he had been excited for the Ffarquhar Road branchline, and Everest had proven to be the sweetest of engines, but the line had only swelled passenger numbers further. 

He was tired, it seemed he was always run off his wheels the last few months. The last thing he needed was the big engines keeping him awake for their amusement.

His musings were interrupted by Jock arriving with an empty line of hoppers. He returned the 2-6-2s whistle, no need in taking his poor mood on Jock.

Actually…Jock might be just the engine to help him get back at the Scottish twins.

Rex smiled, content with the idea, and waited for Jock to run around to get water.

[blodgmonster]

Crescent City: House of Flame and Shadow reread commentary part 3. Only my one friend reads thia but you can't stop me. Here we go.

- "I'm Bryce Danaan, Queen of the Valbaran Fae." Power move. Ballsy. Inaccurate?

- I remember reading this for the first time and all the stuff about Lidia's inner fire, and her form being a deer, and her golden haired beauty made me think is she related to Aelin. But then I reached this sentence about her twins "The thoughtful, quiet stone to Brann's wildfire" and I was like, oh, she's a Galathynius for sure.

-"to be confined to this ship...was it any better than being held by the River Queen or the Viper Queen?" Yes, you mer-idiot.

- creepy twins who can read your mind without asking. Very Hybern-ish. Remember those twins?

-Bryce offering Lidia friendship is wonderful. Has Lidia ever even really had a friend? A girl friend? Every woman needs friends and she's been without them for probably her whole life. Poor love.

- "Can we just... hold each other tonight?" AWWWWW

- 'sup Hypaxia!? Long time no see!

- Tharion has now disobeyed A THIRD QUEEN by leaving the ship. Like, I GET why he does it but omfg .

- the stag imagery around King Morven screams Terrasen but he's clearly Pyrthian fae. And Lidia is the child of Terrasen here.

- "as a female [Sathia] has no worth here beyond the offspring she might bear Avallen." King Morvan fucking sucks

-he picked at an invisible piece of dirt. Take a drink.

- "Females are forbidden in both the Avallen Archives and the Cave of Princes."

"I don't really care," Bryce said.

"You spit on our sacred traditions."

"Get over it." FUCK HIM UP, BRYCE.

- "I never had anyone to fight for me." Oh LIDIA

-"I'll marry Sathia." Tharion. Dude. Like, it's super SWEET of him, he's a very sweet boy. But impulse control is non-existent.

-Sigrid is a REAPER now?? Good Lord. What is the POINT of her storyline?

- Hypaxia has spent 7 hours, 7 minutes, and 7 seconds trying to bring Sigrid back. Because Ithan fucking decapitated her. SIGRID chose to become a Reaper. And now Ithan has the AUDACITY to yell at Hypaxia to "fix this"? BUDDY IF YOU HADN'T FUCKED IT UP IN THE FIRST PLACE. Lower your fucking voice and say thank you, you arrogant prick.

-Hypaxia, stop. Let it GO. You want to drag Sofie back to life to drag Sigrid back to life, all against their will? Fuck up, fam.

-Why is Sofie's corpse on Avallen? And why...it's fucked up to want to bring her back just to USE her. Instead of wanting to bring her back for her brother who loves her.

- Flynn thinks reading is boring. Another red flag alongside his frat boy lifestyle

-Hey...there's been no spice?

- oh, nevermind.

- "'You're a prince," Lidia said coolly. "Start acting like one." FUCK HIM UP, LIDIA

- oh shit the Empire is attcking Lunathion

- "such fear of females — such hatred. Why?" Good fucking question, Bryce

- a fae male just showedbup to thank Lidia for saving his life and for all the lives she has saved. I hope Ruhn feels like shit.

- Flynn and Dec are missing and Ruhn's like, those lazy assholes. Do you know them at all?? They are lazy but they've never left you in a lurch before. Dummy.

-oh hell. Morven and the Autumn King just joined the chat in the Cave of Princes.

- Yup, there's Flynn and Dec. Captive.

-"I blamed my mother for letting him take me away. I became his little protégé, I think out of some hope that it would wound her when she heard I had turned out exactly like him." Lidia, sweet Lida, this reminds me of someone.

No wonder I like her so much. She's Black Widow and Azula squished into one amazing character.

- "I don't fucking care who you are, as long as you're mine...Because I'm yours, Day. I'm fucking yours. " YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

- He pinned her hands and she flinched and he automatically stopped and checked on her and wants to kill Pollux. MEN WRITTEN BY WOMEN ARE JUST BETTER.

- "No sex. Just...stay with me." YESSSSSSSSSSSSS

- Hunt is having a freak out because Bryce isn't telling him everything. He would not last one day in the court of Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.

-where is Syrinx??

- "'Welcome, son,' said the Prince of the Pit." OH SHIT. REALLY?

"Thanatos scoffed. 'You're no son of his...If anything you are mine."

-the "black crowns" aka the halo on Hunt's head were collars the Asteri used to enslave the people of hell. Similar to the black collars of the Valg. Though, of course we've already figured out they are Valg. So why am I surprised by this connection ?

-okay. Hunt is NOT genetically the son of the princes.

- "I'm sick and tired of people using girl as an insult." Preach, Bryce

And they're back from their jaunt to Hel and facing off againt the Asshole Kings. Time to wrap this up before it becomes a novella. Stay tuned to for part 4

[separatist-apologist]

https://www.tumblr.com/sigrid-of-solstheim/779761271855808512?source=share

Ai Tumblrinas be out there being stupid and rude, but the good part is that they don't matter! Anyway, I was thinking abt I Know Places again, and saw this, and thought of you, and how great it is that I can read such passionate, incredible work of art for free because a talented stranger from the other side of the globe decided to share her beautiful story about fictional hot people! Yay for that, or whatever they say in the north!

I think AI Tumblrinas, on some leve, know what they're doing is wrong but they've rationalized it in their mind as "well everyone else is doing it too". So when you say something it directly conflicts with that thought and they feel defensive and lash out rather than reflect on the fact that:

a. you are stealing from other people in a way you would never be okay if they did to you

b. not everyone is doing this- in fact a LOT of people are not.

Writers arguing that AI generative images for their covers are FINE because they're a poor little indie author who can't afford to pay an artist- and do you even know what they charge?? Would be LIVID if I dumped their unedited slop into AI so other people could benefit from their work. It's fine to steal from artists, though! Like you can't have it both ways- if you want to normalize AI, then its your work in the plagarism machine, too. I get to put in my lazy prompt and create a lazy book based on, and trained on, your writing because you've decided no one actually gets to own things.

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

you watched NGE, right? I think? If so, then can I request my boy Kaworu Nagisa for the character 🎵 draw? :3

I did indeed watch NGE! back in 2017 I think the song Mr. Kaworu got fits him quite well in spite of my poor memory. So I simply stuck him in the music video.

Raw by Sigrid

[silver-dragonborn]

Here's some Dragonborn!Rhaenyra Trivia for my upcoming fanfic series: Ascension

>During her first year in Skyrim, Rhaenyra lived with Hadvar's family relying on their generosity and setting aside her pride to take up odd jobs around Riverwood to earn gold. As Princess and Heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra was humiliated at having to lower herself to work alongside smallfolk, but Hadvar made it very clear to her that in Skyrim respect is earned and not given. She was a stranger in a strange land and no one would give a foreign Princess the time of day unless she proved her mettle and pulled her own weight. Her time with Alvor's family helped mold her into a more self-sufficient and capable young woman with a strong survival mindset and tempered steel.

>Coming from a long line of dragon riders with magic in their veins, Rhaenyra took to learning the arcane. At first, Rhaenyra's upbringing in the Light of the Seven prevented her from learning magic as she feared its power, but the more she denied herself the knowledge of Magnus, the more curious she became until one day, she bought a tome from Lucan Valerius and taught herself to cast Flame nearly setting fire to Hadvar's hair. It was not exactly a glorious first beginning as a mage, but Rhaenyra was too proud of herself to care and spent the gold she earned from helping Alvor around the smithy on every tome Lucan had available.

>Having come from a Royal family so closed off from the world, Rhaenyra had trouble connecting with the people of Riverwood, but when Sigrid took her out for a night of fun in the tavern, Rhaenyra found herself connecting with them and having fun for the first time since Syrax brought her to this foreign land and abandoned her. Rhaenyra still does not understand what led Syrax to disobey her commands and fly them far from Westeros or what prompted her to abandon her rider, but for now, Rhaenyra would enjoy this night.

>It's only when Lucan is robbed of his beloved Golden Claw does Rhaenyra see an opportunity to finally venture out on her own. She's bought and studied enough spells to pass herself off as a passable mage and learned some archery as well as surviving the weather of Skyrim from Hadvar. Rhaenyra is prepared and convinces both Sven and Faendel to accompany her to Bleak Falls Barrow, promising them half of the treasures they'll find within the crypt. Both men put aside their rivalry for a chance of glory...and to finally win the heart of Camilla. With Rhaenyra's novice magic, Faendal's archery, and Sven's sword arm, what could possibly go wrong?

>Everything that could go wrong does go wrong. The trio were equipped, but massively unprepared for the bandits they encountered at the crypt. Poor Rhaenyra wasn't even prepared for the giant spider that crawled down from the ceiling, using a scroll of fireball in a fit of panic to kill the damn thing.

@itspronouncedjulia