#the ac was always on full blast so imagine using him as your personal blanket

[doll-elvis]

I’m rewatching some of the movies made about Elvis and I completely forgot about the one that Linda Thompson made in 1981 called “Elvis and the Beauty Queen”

but anyways- could y’all imagine laying in bed with Elvis like this, I need it so badly 😭

[tricewithaz]

Do you have headcannons about the Triumvirate Tamar Tolya and Nikolai all being a found family with lots of banter??

I do!! They're an incredible group with lots of interesting dynamics that aren't explored nearly enough in the books we genuinely get CRUMBS so here we go

As for group roles I feel like this: Tamar is the energy ball, life of the party, she hypes the others up if needed. Genya is the tranquil presence, often a mediator, she tends to take care of the others. She’s also the astrology friend, personality type friend. She analyzes people a lot and very well and it’s often useful. Zoya is the mean one, do I need to explain? She’ll definitely put your feet on the ground, she’s also the mom friend at times. Nikolai is the flirt, and the one with the bad ideas that always end up in good stories and possible death,he’s also the most ridiculous one when drunk. David is the hesitant one, most likely to talk someone (nikolai) down from a bad idea (although he will probably join if he gets enough drinks on him).  And Tolya is that reliable presence that will smack a bitch for you, but will also smack you if necessary.

I'm convinced Genya and Nikolai are That Chaotic Bi Libra/Leo duo. They have so much chemistry it’s crazy. They’re THAT friendship that constantly compliment and flirt with each other and slap each other’s butts. If Nikolai is bending over a desk, Genya will slap him. If Genya enters a room Nikolai will make all sorts of comments about her and wanting to kiss her and marry her. They’ll make inappropriate comments about each other and “eyefuck” each other. The best part about this is that there’s absolutely no sexual tension between them whatsoever. He also loves to keep up with palace gossip with her. Yes he’s the kind king that remembers your name and that your mom recently broke her leg. Yes he knows you were seen with the neighbors gardener last Tuesday after hours. Everyone’s just used to it. Nikolai and Tamar have a similar dynamic but a bit tamer.

Zoya and David’s dynamic is better than you would expect and they spend a surprising amount of time together. Mostly in silence, maybe she's reading, he's working, they exchange some chatter but nothing that goes on for too long. They mostly sit in silence together and only talk about significant things, it’s perfect for them. They truly consider each other a friend and trust each other. 

Tolya is definitely the one with the poetic wise advice, but it hides a lot of tough love. He’s super observant and can read people’s feelings super well. He won’t really say anything unless they actually talk to him but he’ll definitely throw in some comments hidden as poetry. 

Tamar is way blunter about it, if she thinks someones being a bitch, they will KNOW. She’s also the one everyone goes to if they need sincere love advice. 

Oh Nikolai and Tolya will swordfight a LOT, for pure entertainment for no reason whatsoever. They do it in weird places too, if a room in the palace is closed....they’re probably fighting there. They do it for HOURS and HOURS until none of them can stand anymore. They also have a weird ammount of sexual tension but its purely one sided on nikolais part

Nikolai and David being nerds.....what a concept......weve seen them literally design a full neon ship from scratch in rear...leigh....please....give us more....pleASE...like, just for entertainment. I feel like they will spend entire afternoons and nights designing and constructing their lil steampunk toys and whatnot. 

Girls nights get crazy (affectionate)

Boys nights get crazy (derogatory)

They like to play a lot, like they'll do board games, and they'll play sports together and shit, and they’re super competitive. Nikolai often plays chess with genya or David, sometimes with zoya too but not that much. Theyll all play cards together, maybe row at the lake too, sometimes they’ll compete swimming. Nikolai Tamar and Zoya are also the kind of people to really love a challenge so you can imagine how that tends to end. Sometimes they bet on it too.

Zoya!!!! acts of service as a love language!!! shell bring you tea and put a blanket over you if you fall asleep!!! its so cute but no one ever mentions it, shell never admit it. 

Dont!!! get me started about the partying. Actually you asked this so deal with the consequences. As I said, nikolai is the craziest one and if you leave him to be something will probably end up on fire. He dances with tamar and genya a LOT. i mean, he does it when he’s sober, but esPECIALLY when drunk. Not so much with Zoya cause if they get too close in such a state something might happen that they both regret in the long run.  And hell flirt with tolya unsuccessfully ace tolya rights .  Tamar also gets batshitcrazy and will indulge him in his bullshit before someone else stops them. David is a bit of a quiet drunk but he has a great time regardless. The girls together are a bLAST, they sing, they dance, they go full on abba at times. Zoya flirts a LOT with Nikolai but he tries rEALLY hard to contain himself. 

I feel like they also share books and opinions about them a lot. They get real passionate about it. And they leave little notes in the pages. If Nikolai is reading a book David gave to him hell find notes that will say “when you finish this chapter come talk to me” “what do you think of this??” and shit like that. Zoya Nikolai and David particularly like murder mysteries, Tamar Nikolai and Genya share adventure books, Genya Zoya Tamar and Tolya all like romance books. Sometimes theyll also read non fiction, it’s not uncommon to see David and Genya comment a chemistry book they've read recently for example. 

I think thats all for now but I do think about these six a lot so idk 

[theolddarkmachine]

Kingdom- Interlude: Once Upon A Night

Gajeel has had the dream about dying for the blue haired girl for as long as he can remember. Which is weird, since he’s never met anyone with blue hair in his life.

Levy has always loved myths and legends. So much so, in fact, that she was currently getting her master’s in mythological studies.

What neither of them realized was that they were living a legend all their own.

AKA the one with a knight, a princess, and a curse that keeps bringing them together just to pull them apart.

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

AO3

THIS WAS THE UPDATE FROM HEEEEEEELL. I literally started it like five days ago T.T Wrote almost all of the update, then decided I hated it and started over, only to have it still bend me over a table and have its way with me lol Anyway, I hope y’all like it, because even though it made me want to die, I actually really do like how it turned out. I just wish it didn’t need to be so painful to get there XD Also, har har, Once Upon A (k)Night. DO YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE. also fun fact: the name liam means resolute protection in case uh, you were wondering

**************************

Gajeel Redfox was always meant for greatness. It was an inevitability that was fixed in his fate, drawn out along the length of the string the mythic Greek witches had pulled for him. His father had made sure to assure him whenever he got the chance that the stars would kneel before him one day, and though he was now dead, Gajeel had never been given a reason to doubt his father.

The Iron Dragon’s own story had been one of fierce renown. Painted a hero to most and regarded a villain to others, it should have come as no surprise when he’d been slain by a crowd of enraged villagers shortly after they’d discovered their own personal bad guy was living just in the outskirts of their town. But wasn’t that the tragedy of being the hero? It was never as simple as black and white, good and evil.

That same village had been an enemy of the kingdom at one time. Where they’d seen themselves as the benevolent forces, Metalicana had regarded them as malevolent, and treated them as such. It had only been payback in kind all the years later when they’d slaughtered him in his home, led by a thief that had twisted events into his favor.

What had been an attempted robbery had been spun into a tale of unwarranted violence by a former enemy. His father had been an illustrious warrior, but even age and twenty angry townspeople could wear such a force down. By the time Gajeel had returned from the errands he’d been sent on that day, it was already too late. The pool of crimson and Metalicana’s soulless eyes haunted his dreams since.

It was the first true lesson that Gajeel learned.

Heroes were destined to be great, but never to be happy.

When his father’s friend, Makarov, came to visit days later, he’d found the then nine-year-old sharing his home with a corpse and looking almost as lifeless.

The man, who he later learned to be the king his father had once served-- even befriended-- took Gajeel in that day. Bringing him home to his kingdom, Makarov gave him all the food he could eat, water he could drink, and a plush bed to sleep. He’d even regaled Metalicana’s son with stories of their youth, words flowing freely and fondly as he spoke of his friend and times forgotten. Without any children of his own, the king treated the Iron Dragon’s son as if he were his, allowing him anything he’d asked for. It was this that led Gajeel to ask Makarov if he could begin training for the Royal Guard, knowing that the man would deny him nothing, especially the opportunity to seize the status his father had been so certain he’d obtain.

I wish to follow in my father’s footsteps, he’d said, kneeling before the king with a practiced flourish. I wish to serve by your side, just as he did.

Though the other pages had started their training two years earlier, setting him behind by circumstance, Gajeel had prospered in the training. At first, he was regarded by his comrades in arms with vague curiosity. A newcomer amongst their ranks would only mean another prospect to beat to reach the rank of a royal guard, and one that was already so far behind could hold no competition. If anything, he would offer a moment’s entertainment before he was quickly beat until he dropped out to become a stablehand.

Not much time passed before he proved to the rest of the pages that he deserved their attention, acing all their lessons and passing each test of strength.

Three years had passed since, and though Gajeel hadn’t made any friends of the other knights in training, he had made them take notice. Their mild indifference had curdled into full blown jealousy that was whispered in dark corners amongst themselves. With his head held high and chip balanced carefully on his shoulder, he’d listen to the rumors they hissed as he passed by, allowing them to feed the fire that blazed within his chest.

The king is the only reason he’s here.

He has to be cheating somehow.

I heard he’s the son of the devil.

Each statement was more kindling, fanning the flames into a roaring bonfire that lit his eyes. With its driving force, Gajeel pushed himself to work harder until no one could stand between his singleminded focus and the grandeur he hungered for.

His attention was concentrated on the single point in the distance, blinding him to all else. That tunnel vision had kept him so focused on his goal that he did not want for anyone or anything in his life. Friendships and social ties would only open him to the possibility of being let down, or worse, letting himself down. Hadn’t he learned so much from his father? He’d allowed himself to become complacent amongst others, and it ended up being his death. Gajeel wouldn’t allow others in so that he wouldn’t need to fear being stabbed in the back.

He wore that philosophy like well worn armor, pushing the other pages away from him, and those pages were all too happy to let him.

It wasn’t until one day at the stables that anyone broke through his defenses, with a solid right hook.

Gajeel had often found himself pulled towards the serene atmosphere that clung to the walls of the repository, its air still with nothing but the soft neighs disrupting the peace. Most of the other boys avoided the stable, worried they might be mistaken for something lesser than the meager position they already held, which meant it was the best place to go for an escape. He didn’t mind the near suffocating scent of horse and hay that filled the stable if it meant he could get away from the bothersome pages while he practiced.

The first thing that alerted him to trouble was the low grumbling of voices that didn’t belong in the space. Several voices tripped over themselves as the unwelcome guests fought to be heard over each other. Following the sound deep into the stables, passing the pens, Gajeel picked up one voice that stood out amongst the rest.

“Now what would a stablehand be doing practicing sparring techniques?” It was a sneering, loathsome thing, filled with all the contempt he’d grown accustomed to. The difference was that now that the arrow filled tone was aimed at someone else, it got under his skin, filling his stomach with bubbling anger that made his fingers curl into fists. His steps only quickened when he heard the snap of a body hitting the wooden slat of one of the pens and the small huff of breath that was knocked out of it.

“You aren’t in the royal guard, stablehand,” another voice hissed.

“And you won’t ever be,” said a third.

Rounding the corner at the end of the stable, Gajeel saw four boys crowded around one that was leaning into one of the pens, hand steadying himself against the wood as he glared at  those that surrounded him. The boy looked to be about his age, and was nothing but long limbs and obsidian hair. His equally dark eyes were trained on the ground, tracing imagined lines in the dirt at his feet as if he was seeing a plan play out before him. Gajeel couldn’t help but notice a strange scar that sliced through his eyebrow, puckering the skin with a crescent mark free of hair. He wondered if the other pages had given the boy that mark. None of them turned their attention to the new addition to their party, all eyes trained on the flushed stablehand, waiting for what his next move might be. The pages were wolves waiting for the rabbit to make one false move that would justify their attack.

“Last I checked, you weren’t in the royal guard either,” Gajeel replied. A satisfied roll of heat rippled through him when the tallest of the boys jumped at the sound of his voice. Four sets of eyes landed on him, filled with contempt and confusion. The tallest-- presumably the leader-- recovered first, his lips turning up into a pinched smile.

“I didn’t think you could actually speak, Gajeel,” he said, tone filled with dark humor. “We’re honored you’d grace us with your attention.” Dropping a mocking bow, his eyes flashed upwards through his bangs, watching all the while for his reaction.

“And I didn’t think you could stoop any lower,” Gajeel shrugged, ignoring the growling beast beating against the cage of his ribs. “Looks like we were both wrong.”

The air of the stables became charged as they held each others gazes, the power struggle between the two boys confined to the six foot space that separated them. Small gasps from the stablehand were the only sounds that filled the silence as everything else dropped away. It felt like the calm before a tempest, the ominous blanket settling over his skin, raising the hair on his arms. The beast rammed against its confines again, the jolt of it blinding him with a short blast of red against his eyelids.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the other boy said lowly, eyes still angled towards him. Somewhere deep within their dark pits, Gajeel could see the festering glow of hatred. Spurred by the challenge in his voice, he took a step forward, fists tightening.

“It can concern me, or it can concern the guard,” Gajeel arched a studded brow. “Make your choice.”

He watched the moment the page chose to unleash his fury on the him, the corners of his mouth turning downward as he made his decision.

“Devil’s son,” the boy spat, launching toward him like a cracking whip, all his energy focused into the single point of his outstretched fist. Smiling like the demon they accused him of being, Gajeel met the attack in the space between them, turning the sloppy mistake into an advantage as he sidestepped it easily. It wasn’t much of a fight as his fingers closed over the boy’s wrist, the speed of his punch pushing him passed Gajeel, and used the momentum to pull his arm behind his back. Wrenching his still closed fist upwards towards his shoulder blades, the page cried out as as Gajeel pushed the point of his knee up into his back and pushed him to his knees.

The boy’s companions just stood around them, mouths agape as they tried to make sense of the chain of events that had landed their leader in the dirt and hay. Bending at the waist so that he was level with the page’s ear, Gajeel spoke, his voice void of any inflection at all.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to mess with devils?” Tugging upwards on the arm for good measure, he pushed the boy away.

“If you come here again, I’ll make sure to tell the guard you do not uphold the values of a knight,” he said tersely, brows set low over his eyes as he fixed each boy with a glare as he spoke. The dismissal was clear as they scrambled to exit the stables. Anything to get away from Gajeel and the serious gleam in his crimson eyes. For just a moment, he had the very presence of the Iron Dragon.

As the boys scattered, leaving their friend to push himself off the ground, Gajeel turned his attention back to the stablehand who still leaned against the pen. His look was distant, as if he didn’t even realize what had occurred just moments before. Taking a tentative step forward, Gajeel raised a cautious hand.

“Are you alright?” He asked, fingers grazing over the scratching fabric of the boy’s tunic. Though it was as light as a butterfly’s wing, it snapped the stablehand from his reverie. Without warning, a solid fist landed its blow as it found his mouth. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth and stars danced over his vision at the sudden assault. Shock stole his senses as he ran a tongue over the new split in his lip that was oozing blood down his chin and into his mouth. Once the blinding spots cleared, he saw the look of surprise that had turned the stablehand’s face into a caricature of itself. Eyes wide and mouth frozen open with a small gasp, he looked at him with so much confusion it was almost as if he’d been the one to be hit.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, pushing back further into the wood behind him as if he could disappear into it. “I didn’t, I mean, I didn’t--”

“It’s fine,” Gajeel said, blood staining his teeth pink as he spoke. Clicking his jaw, he wiped a hand over his chin, only managing to smear the red further across his skin. Gathering blood and saliva into his mouth, he spit it on the floor beside him with a satisfying splat. “You have one hell of a right hook.”

“I’m sorry,” the other boy said again, black eyes darting to look at anything but the page in front of him. Shaking his head, Gajeel’s shoulders moved with his laughter.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he paused, waiting for the stablehand to fill in the empty space with his name.

“Liam.” The answer was so soft, he almost missed it amongst the neighing of the horses.

“Liam,” Gajeel nodded in confirmation as he offered his hand. “I’m Gajeel.”

A beat passed as if Liam didn’t know what the gesture was for, before he finally seized it and gave it a curt shake. Though he relaxed a little at the contact, his eyes were still filled with caution as he watched Gajeel carefully. It was a look he’d grown accustomed to, his wild black hair and ruby eyes standing out amongst most. Shrugging it off, he spoke again.

“I’d be happy to practice sparring with you, if you’d like.” Liam’s scarred brow shot up towards his hairline at the offer. Gajeel didn’t know why he’d made the suggestion, his own mind trying to catch up to the words that had left his mouth. He was used to his isolation, only speaking with the knights and Makarov. Anyone else was an unnecessary consequence to crossing paths with someone that mistook him as someone that enjoyed talking. Yet, looking at the stablehand, he recognized the darkness that tinged his gaze. It was the look that had distorted his own.

“Why would you help a stranger?” Liam asked, curiosity winning out over his caution. Gajeel shrugged, nonchalance shaping the bow of his shoulders as to not push the other boy away.

“I figure you can’t be any worse than those I do know. And a punch like that shouldn’t go untrained.” The truth of it all hung between them as Liam sized him up, trying to find any hint of insincerity in the words. Time stretched as he waited for an answer, watching the conflicting emotions that flit across the stablehand’s face as he considered.

“Alright,” he finally said, a small smile stretching across his face as he pushed himself away from the wall. When he wasn’t cowering against the grain of the wood, he stood a couple inches taller than Gajeel. The bonds of a friendship that would last the rest of their days settled over them as the Iron Dragon’s son nodded.

“Alright.” It was then, standing in the stables with a devil’s smile cracking his split lip further, that Gajeel learned his second lesson.

Sometimes others could give you purpose.

***

Gajeel was inducted into the Royal Guard by the time he turned 18, just a year later than his father had. It was a fact Makarov had been quick to point out with a mischievous smile. The new knight refuted it with a reminder that his father had also started training at the right age, and his own daring grin.

Over the years their relationship had evolved from that of an adopted familial bond to one of camaraderie, echoing that of the one the king had once had with Metalicana. He never said it aloud, but Makarov saw so much of his friend in Gajeel that often times he’d forget that they were not one in the same.

Those moments when he’d see the Iron Dragon stalking the halls, only to vanish in the black armor of his son, would send a sharp pain of sorrow ricocheting through his body. The king was always quick to mask the way his expression would falter as he remembered the past. They’d been a simpler time when royal politics and fate hadn’t taken away the two people he’d held dearest, leaving behind their ghosts to haunt him in the halls. After the night with the oracle, it seemed fate still did not believe it had taken enough from him.

The request for a private meeting with Gajeel had come through the guard, a formality that alerted him to the irregular nature of Makarov’s inquiry. Since becoming one of his knights, the king would skip speaking through Gajeel’s superiors, coming to him directly with orders that ranged from gathering a patrol to take around the kingdom to staying by his side as he met with diplomats from foreign lands. This strangeness of it all had him on edge as he finally entered the throne room, shoulders squared beneath the pauldrons that sat atop them.

Makarov sat on his throne, eyes shut as he rubbed his fingers against his temples. For just a moment, Gajeel noted the way age had grayed his hair and etched lines into his face. Stepping further into the room, he cleared his throat to alert the king of his presence before dropping to a knee before him.

“You wished to speak with me?” He asked, filling his voice with as much etiquette as he could. Speaking to the king as a knight and not as his adopted son was something he’d never been good at, easily slipping back into the latter whenever they’d discussed plans and orders. Makarov’s eyes opened, settling their cool blue gaze on him from where he sat. A weariness touched their corners, pinching them at the edges.

“Will you do anything for me?” The question was sharp, pointed at the edges as the words slipped from the king’s mouth without any preface. Gajeel felt his eyebrows pull together in confusion and concern as he looked up at the older man.

“As your knight, or as your kin?” He asked, letting bewilderment color his tone. A knight would follow any order from his king, having no other choice due to the oath he had taken. Kin would do so of their own accord. Gajeel would never disobey an order from Makarov, but the distinction would mean all the difference between obligation and choice.

“As you, Gajeel,” Makarov sighed, the unfamiliar veil of pleading falling over his face. “Will you protect someone for me?”

The weight of the request settled on his shoulders as he ruminated over the vague request.

“Who?” Gajeel asked. Doubt and confusion were a heated mix as they started to rush through his veins. Something was wrong, he could see it in the way the older man was hunched in his throne as if the world rest upon his shoulders and it was crushing him slowly.

“A young woman, living in the outskirts of the kingdom.” Still vague in his explanation, Makarov continued to speak. “I need you to swear that you will do whatever it takes to gain her trust and protect her.”

After a moment’s pause, his gaze boring into the king as if he could pull the answers straight from his mind, Gajeel spoke again.

“Why her?” Those two words cracked what little composure the king had clung to, its mask falling away as his features contorted with fear.

“You should not need a reason to follow my orders, Gajeel,” Makarov snapped, his voice uncharacteristically harsh as he spoke. Despair colored his tone with a muddled anger, his emotion displaced as his dark eyes bore into the knight. “I just need to know that you will do anything to keep her safe.”

Shoulders tensed and expression stormy, the king was a fearsome sight. For the first time in all the years he had known him, Gajeel was frightened by the man. He almost didn’t look human as he glared down at him. It was the look of a man that had lost nearly everything, and was ready to do whatever it took to keep what was left safe.

It was this in mind that Gajeel assented, nodding his head curtly as asking what it was that his king needed of him.

That was when Gajeel learned his third lesson.

Fear could sway even the most resilient of men.

***

The hardest thing Gajeel had ever done, was deceive the blue haired woman that opened the door of the cottage that day.

May I help you?

He had practiced the lie he would use to gain entrance into her home. Had planned how he would get the unknown woman to trust him so he could fulfill his king’s order. What Gajeel hadn’t planned for was the way her golden eyes snatched the breath from his lungs. No amount of preparation could have readied him for the way his heart stuttered in his chest, stopping momentarily before throwing itself into the cage of his ribs when she smiled up at him and invited him in.

Levy. Her name was Levy. And she had enamored him completely by the end of that first meeting. Day after day he returned under the guise of completing the job that had been set for him by Makarov, gaining her trust with honeyed words and sugared intent. He was so dedicated to the ruse, that at some point the gimmick became truth.

Eventually, he stopped returning to the castle, opting to stay with her full time under the thinly disguised excuse of added protection. Ignoring the quizzical look from the queen, the heavy handed silence of the king and the growing pressure located just behind his sternum, Gajeel became a staple in Levy’s life, and she became one in his.

When his father had told Gajeel he’d manage to obtain greatness, he hadn’t thought that greatness would so easily fit against his chest, clutched within the halo of his arms. Levy had worked her way into his heart slowly, her hold upon his affections tightening ever so slowly that he hadn’t noticed she held it completely in her palm until it was already too late. She was the other half of his soul; the light to his darkness; daylight to his moonlight night sky. Her radiance grounded him, and her brilliance enthralled him. All she needed to do was smile up at him, the sun dancing in her hair and wind rouging her cheeks, to land a carefully shot arrow between his ribs.

She built him up while simultaneously holding all the power to tear him down. But wasn’t that the glory of love? Odes, and sonnets, and epics were created in honor of the sheer heroism that came with loving and being loved in return.  

Happiness filled his days, pushing his original intentions to the deep recesses of his mind. Soon, Makarov’s original request was lost in the far reaches of Gajeel’s memory, buried beneath honey eyes and azure hair. It was enough to lull the Iron Dragon’s son into a false reality, seeing only what he wanted to and ignoring the very fact he’d learned all those years ago.

Heroes weren’t meant to be happy. He had let himself forget that truth. The mistake was fatal, leading him to the final lesson that he would learn.

Love was worth dying for.

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