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jeanette-luminia · 6 months

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A/N: Haven't written anything for 3 months(?) now, so this is very scrappy :)

If you were a second late, he wouldn’t be here now—sitting in front of you as you frantically try to bandage the best you can with limited resources. He sees your worry, your tears forming in the corner of your eyes, your trembling hands, and the way your lips quiver. He sees it—yet doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t dare to say anything in this state, it was his fault anyway. He can live that up.

He tried to reach for you, but the severe burn on his arm didn’t help. Each second, it felt like he was still burning from the fire that the curse made. Nonetheless, he reached for your wrist.

“Dear…”

No. You can’t stop now, he has to live, he has to. Everyone needs him, Yuuji needs him, Gojo needs him, You need him.

You ignore his voice, focusing on amplifying your reverse technique on him. “No, shut up.”

“Sensei…” You averted your attention away from Nanami for a moment and focused on the two students before you. It shows that you weren’t keeping your act together, regarding the concerned faces they gave you. But, you smiled. There was nothing else to reassure them in this chaos.

“Go to Shoko, both of you.”

“But–” Before Nobara protested, you cut her off.

“That is an order. You need proper treatment.” Your glare gave them goosebumps, thus, they had no other choice but to obey. “...Okay, but be careful, Nanamin, Sensei.”

Be careful.

“We will.”

If only that was the case. You hoped this was just a huge nightmare—and that once you woke up, it would be your day off, laying in bed till noon with him, or maybe even going on a date. Maybe, maybe, maybe—

These emotions appeared slow and controlled. Then suddenly, you find yourself in the eye of the whirlpool, consuming all at once. Your breath becomes rigid, the tears in your eyes start to fall, and you cannot control your curse energy at the moment. Everything felt so hazy. Your throat began to close off, and you felt like someone had your nose clogged as you couldn’t breathe properly, and you couldn’t see anything with all the tears falling.

Then suddenly, you were hit with the realization. If you were a second late, the man you desperately love will be gone right before your eyes.

…athe

Bre—

“Darling, look at me.” you felt the ringing in your head, yet his voice was heard. As you looked at him, even with how bruised he was, he still carried that… expression in him. That soft expression as if—as if he wasn’t about to die.

You covered your face. “You’re being unfair.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I hate you. You were supposed to ask for help if it’s too much, but you didn’t.” you gasped for air, feeling your heart breaking every second as you spoke. “You could have yelled like Yuuji did. I could have been there for you. I could have fought alongside you. You wouldn’t have suffered this much.”

Nanami leaned against the wall but never left his eyes on your figure as you cried your heart out. He allows you to. Because if it was you in this situation, he would have done the same.

“You promised you’d stay alive. Yet you nearly died if I was a second late!”

Nanami, who was quick to grab your wrist, pulled you onto his chest. “S-stop! Let go. It’s painful!”

Hearing your words, he only strengthened his grip. “It’s not as painful as you crying knowing I can’t do anything.” This pain he can tolerate. Yet somehow, he can never tolerate your anguished cry, knowing he was the cause of it. He can’t do anything about it, because what is done, is done.

He can only do now to hold his dear beloved, hoping to tell you that he is alive. He survived—thanks to you.

Nanami Kento then realized that he would rather be selfish than live in a world where you aren’t here anymore.

#☕: writes #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #Nanami Kento #Nanami #kento nanami #nanami my beloved

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ikeromantic · 4 months

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Hmmm, how about some fun with Cyran at the Tavern with some Eggnog 😏

Oooh I do love some Cyran. This one turned out more sweet than intended, so perhaps a non-alcoholic eggnoggy for you, hm? ^_^ Approx. 900 words of our favorite non-royal (who def deserves a sprite and a route!) IkePri New Years Event story!

Cyran regarded Emma over the foam of his pint. She was here, but she wasn’t. Her gaze was lost in someplace else, wherever her thoughts had taken her. The rose liquor in front of her sat untouched, as did the food. It seemed the princes would haunt her, even beyond the palace walls.

“Hey.” He reached over and set his hand atop hers.

Emma gave a little start and then gave him a strained smile. “Sorry. I was -”

“Thinking. Yeah. It’s okay.” He gestured to the plate in front of her. “I didn’t want your food to get cold. The fried mushrooms are only really good when they’re hot.”

“Thanks.” She speared one on the end of her fork and then popped it in her mouth. Her expression immediately brightened. “These are good!”

Cyran chuckled. “I thought you might enjoy them.” He took a sip of his beer, purposefully letting a bit of the foam get on his nose. “You should try the pickles next.”

Emma giggled. “You’ve got something on your face.” Her shoulders finally relaxed, and the tightness of her jaw eased.

“Do I?” He wiped at his cheek, and then his chin. “Did I get it?”

“No,” her grin widened as she reached across the table and swiped at his nose. The foam hung on her fingertip and before she could pull back, Cyran grabbed her hand and put the foamy digit between his lips.

Her expression of surprise was absolutely worth the whole charade. As was the blush on her cheeks as his tongue lapped her finger before he let her go. Cyran grinned unrepentantly. “Hm. Tastes better with you. Maybe I need to season all my drinks with a bit of Emma . . .”

She laughed and pulled her hand back. “Absolutely not, you big tease.”

“Pity.” He sighed. “I can imagine how good this would taste if I licked it off your bre-”

“Ehm.” Emma’s eyes went wide. “Not good table conversation. Not even at the tavern.”

Cyran reached across the table, stroking the back of her hand. “Apologies, my lady. I get carried away at the slightest taste of you.”

“Sometimes I think too much Clavis has rubbed off on you. Big tease.” She playfully smacked his hand.

“Mmm, the prince wouldn’t say such a thing. He’s a gentleman, you know. He’d say . . .”

Emma giggled, “Oh! I know. He’d say, ‘As the most handsome and eligible prince in Rhodolite, you are lucky to be the toy I’m interested in.’ Er, or the - the cup!”

Cyran grinned. “That sounds about right. You make a decent impression.” His beloved was relaxed now, her worries fully behind her and he was glad to see it.

“Thanks.” She picked up one of the pickle wedges and took a bite. Her lips instantly puckered and she set it down to take a gulp of liquor. “Oh! Oh my god, Cyran! It’s spicy!”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, here,” she lifted it again and held it out to him.

She was so adorably naive, he thought. He took the rest of the pickle wedge, and kissed her fingers. “Mmm, I think you’re spicier.”

The heat in her face went all the way to the tips of her ears. “Cyran! We’re in public!”

“Oh?” He looked around and then back at her. “I don’t think anyone’s paying attention. I could kiss a lot more of you before anyone looked.”

“Don’t you dare.” Her expression was so serious that he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I would never.” Cyran settled back with another sip of his drink. “I like to keep all the best things about you to myself.”

“Best things?” She tilted her head.

He nodded. “Sure. I mean there’s so much about you that I love, things everyone can see because it’s just you. But there are other parts that are mine. Like the face you make when I kiss your neck. Or the little sound at the back of your throat when I lick your -”

“Cyran, if you keep talking about that I’m going to have to take you home.” Her lips turned down in a mock severe threat.

“Ooooh, is that a promise?” He raised his eyebrows.

She couldn’t hold back a laugh. “It is! But you promised me dancing and drinking and fun . . .”

Cyran chuckled. “I did. But who’s to say we couldn’t do all of that in your cozy bedroom?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “One track mind, hm?”

“With you? I’m afraid not.”

“What do you mean?” She leaned forward, instantly curious.

Cyran felt the full weight of her gaze, that insightful look she had. The one that she used when evaluating the princes. It almost made him nervous. “Just that with you, there’s so much I feel. My heart and mind overflow.” He could feel his own face get hot, his cheeks nearly the color of his hair. “Of course I want to make love to you. But I also just love to see you. To talk to you. I want to protect you, and hold you. I want to wake up every morning to see your face. Have every meal together. Watch every sunset. I want everything . . . with you. Because with you, everything is better.”

Emma was silent for a long moment, and he worried he’d said too much. Confession was a dangerous thing, afterall. But then she smiled and it was like the sunrise, he thought. Brilliant with joy. “I love you, you know that?”

“Every time you say it, it’s like the first time.” He took her hands, squeezed them gently. “I love you too.” His smile hurt his cheeks but he couldn’t stop grinning. She was just so beautiful to him.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri Cyran #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #fluff

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majorproblems77 · 2 months

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Well first I was going to ask about your favorite link and then I saw it was Sky. Then I was going to ask about fluffy headcanons and I saw you lean into angst.

So I got nothing 😂.

Uh…what’s your favorite color?

Hahaha this made me chuckle.

My favorite color is yellow :D

I do have some fluffy headcannons, I mainly lean into angst cause writing fluff to me always involves hurting someone first.

Let's see, Sky's preferred cuddle pile is Himself, then Wind then Twilight, Twilight's wolf pelt keeps him and the sailor warm and he feels like he can protect the sailor (Who totally doesn't need protecting but will grumpily lean into cuddles) when the smallest is sandwiched between himself and Twilight.

Oh, and Sky totally fakes being tired or sick to get cuddles from the links who ain't as cuddly. He's managed to get hugs from warriors, Time and legend this way.

Cuddly head cannons are the best

Screw it Everyone give your cuddly headcannons!

#bre beloved!#corner answers with major #What about you?#Whats your fave colour?#Do you have any fluffy head cannons?

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sungbeam · 1 year

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𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤

motorcycle racer!ji changmin x gn!reader

1.4k words, flirting, changmin is wearing a leather jacket and aviators and dog tags (swoons), he calls u sweetheart ofc

a/n: at this point, i might as well just keep on going — btw, i recommend reading "rush" before this so the plot is put into context, but if u don't that's cool too

You had never seen Ji Changmin in the daylight before.

You had been summoned down to the front of your apartment complex by his text message, informing you that your car was waiting outside. Instead of seeing only your beloved, hand-me-down sedan, you found yourself gazing upon the very thing mentioned beforehand: Ji Changmin, in all his glory.

He was leaning up against the side of your car with his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, a garment riddled with pretty patches of art and emblems you'd like to take a closer look at. His dark hair was swept back slightly, just enough to be out of his face. He wore a pair of dark aviators over his eyes, and your keen eyes caught the dog tags hanging from the chain around his neck.

He grinned at the sight of you, his tongue caught between his teeth. The dimples were throwing you off immensely.

"Well?" He said in greeting, throwing his arms out open wide in a vague gesture. "Told you, you could trust me."

You made your way down the stairs toward him and your sandaled feet slapped against the concrete. You laughed under your breath, a little disbelieving. "I have to admit: I didn't think you could drive cars, Ji."

Changmin's mouth pressed into a smile then, taking a step toward you until the two of you stood face to face on the sidewalk. "Just one of my many charms, sweetheart."

You braided your arms over your chest. "Well, uh, for what it's worth—thanks for bringing my car back safe and sound." You made a show of peering around him at the vehicle. "At least, I hope it's all sound."

He snorted. "You're talking to the city's resident mechanic, Yn. It's as sound as sound can be."

"Ah, so you're a mechanic now?"

"I always have been." He leaned forward slightly, and you saw his eyes over the rim of his glasses, just as his tongue swiped over his bottom lip. "If you want, we can take it out for a spin and maybe you can learn a few more of my many talents."

You tilted your head to the side. Your thundering heart was making it difficult to think, or maybe that was just Changmin. This man was definitely keeping you on your toes. "I think some things are better left to the imagination."

Even with the aviators, you saw surprise flash over his features, and satisfaction purred in your chest. It felt good to elicit that kind of reaction from him.

You shifted your gaze to movement in your periphery to watch as one of your neighbors pulled into the lot down the block. The thought suddenly occurred to you that if Changmin had your car dropped off here, he might not actually have a way back to wherever his residence was, unless the walk wasn't far.

Maybe you were about to take your car out for a spin after all.

You sighed, facing Changmin again. He was still waiting for you. "Let me grab my wallet," you exhaled, already turning on your heel to head into the complex.

His laugh followed you all the way in.

You had to adjust the driver's seat when you got into your car. Changmin was already settled in the passenger side, seat belt strapped over his chest and aviators propped up on his head. The keys were left dangling in the ignition for you, and he had even gone so far as to roll down his window and let the radio start playing.

"You've made yourself at home," you noted as you sat up straight and quickly checked your mirrors.

You stole a glance over at him at the same time as he did for you.

He looked like he had too much room over there with his legs spread like that. "It's not every day that I get chauffeured. Usually it's the other way 'round. Pull out onto the main street and make a left," he instructed.

"Yes, sir," you muttered under your breath as you followed his words, glancing over your shoulder as you turned out of the neighborhood and onto the bustling main intersection.

Changmin tongued his cheek to keep from smiling.

As you sped along the main road with the rest of traffic, you said, "For some reason, you feel very nocturnal to me."

He chuckled. "Why? Because races are at night?"

You lifted a shoulder half-heartedly. "I mean, yeah. I haven't seen you or associated you in any other context besides that. And maybe as Chanhee's weird friend—"

Changmin shot you a look. "I'm the weird one? Have you seen that man play Cool Math Games when he's bored?"

You guffawed aloud, and Changmin's mouth widened into a grin at the sound. "Do I keep going straight, or where do I turn?"

"Oh, keep going for two more intersections and then make a right into the first alleyway." He peered out his window for a second to watch the pedestrians and other cars on his side. "Again, not really sure what gave you the impression that I'm the weird one."

The smile on your face just wouldn't go away. But this time, you didn't have Changmin's helmet to hide it.

You heeded Changmin's instructions and followed the road past two more intersections, then signaled to turn into the first alleyway. The alley led you into the back parking lot of what you assumed connected to the street of shops facing the main road. Changmin pointed toward an opened garage door like the yawning jaws of a cavern just down the block, and you carefully swung your car into park along the curb across from it.

Changmin unbuckled his seatbelt and popped his door open. "My bike's inside," he said, as if interpreting your silent gaze toward the open garage door as a question. You could see all the equipment inside, as well as his motorcycle amongst the chaos. It seemed that he wasn't kidding about being a mechanic.

Your eyes darted upward at the second level above the garage. "Do you live here?" You blurted. "Sorry that was nosy—"

He shook his head, his hand propped on top of the car door where he stood just outside the car. "It's all good. Yeah, I live up there. It was just convenient and I couldn't exactly pass up the chance for a two-in-one rent," he chuckled.

You nodded. There were thoughts running through your head, and yet, none of the words felt right on your tongue.

Changmin pursed his lips into a dimpled smile, saluting you again. "Thanks for the ride back, Yn."

"Thanks for getting my car back," you replied.

The car door slammed shut, and you slumped in your seat, waiting for him to round your car and head into his residence.

Except, he rounded the car, then knocked on your window instead.

You furrowed your brows, jamming your thumb on the button to lower the window all the way down. "Something up?"

He broke into an impish smile. "I forgot to give you this." He shouldered off the leather jacket on his shoulders, exposing the muscular build of his upper arms constrained in the navy blue T-shirt he wore. Your eyes widened as he folded the jacket in half, rolled it in a neat bundle, then passed it to you through the open window. You stared down at it like he had just placed a bomb in your lap.

He snickered at your reaction, leaning his forearms above his head on the top of the car as he ducked his head in your window. "They see that, they'll let you in for free," he said, nodding to the jacket.

You raised your head to meet his eyes. "They know it's yours?"

Changmin hummed, teeth capturing his bottom lip. "Mhm."

Oh. "They're gonna assume things."

"Like what?"

You deadpanned at him, and swore your heart tripped at the boyish smile on his face. He knew exactly what you were trying to get at. "They're gonna assume that we're an item."

Changmin shrugged his shoulders. "So? What does it matter what they think or assume? We know the truth."

"The truth?" You echoed. "You can't just tell them to let me in when I show my ID or something?"

Instead of addressing your logical suggestion, he simply said, "It's none of their business who you are to me."

You blinked; his expression was unfaltering. You didn't know what game he was playing, but you had to remind yourself that you were only in this city for a short time, not a long one. (Then again, maybe that was more reason to live your life out like you had never gotten to before.) "And who am I to you?"

Changmin straightened, pushing off the car. He began walking backward toward his garage, putting distance between himself and his jacket. There was that cocky, smug smile again. "Whoever you wanna be, sweetheart."

a/n: i *really* need to make up for the lack of jacob fics now :/ (sorry cobie close ur eyes !! u don't see ANYTHING)

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @honeyhuii @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @soobin-chois @mingiholic @ja4hyvn @ethereal-engene @justalildumpling @vatterie @yogurteume

#the boyz x reader #ji changmin x reader #changmin x reader #q x reader #the boyz drabble #the boyz oneshot #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #changmin imagines #changmin oneshot #changmin drabble #changmin scenarios #the boyz fanfic

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topaziraphale · 9 months

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Hi I still haven't gotten out of bed but I'm already fully armed and ready to shoot down anyone that tries to say Aziraphale doesn't care about Crowley anymore or WORSE, never loved him THAT much in the first place.

Crowley is quite literally his top priority, he made that very clear with how distraught he is when Crowley leaves. Why would he shout "Don't go!" "Crowley, come back!" and "I NEED YOU!" if Crowley wasn't always at the forefront of his mind? Why is he so visibly striken and upset when he gives him that last, longing look, begging for Crowley to come with him and be with him forever, before deciding to step into that elevator? When he gets in there, his entire purpose shifts. He IS going to make everything better, and he IS going to make Crowley see the error of his ways.

I can promise you all Aziraphale is going to stop at NOTHING to get Crowley to come be with him forever, as an angel. He is going to do WHATEVER it takes, now that he is the acting Supreme Archangel. It's Crowley he wants first, Heaven he wants second, and, sadly, due to the Mettatron making this offer, a life on Earth he wants last. And that sets up such a FANTASTIC conflict for S3!!!!!

Aziraphale, our beloved, fussy, STUBBORN Aziraphale, is now compromised. He is compromised with POWER. Power as the LITERAL, SUPREME ARCHANGEL. Is this NOT SUCH AN EXCITING AND HEARTBREAKING PROMISE FOR A WILD S3 EXPERIENCE??

Guys, we ALL know Aziraphale let Crowley down, but you have to see that Crowley let Aziraphale down in his eyes. Just as much. That's what makes this scene so tragic. We know Aziraphale isn't thinking the way we and Crowley thought he would, or HOPED he would despite how the world Didn't End. How despite everything in how S1 ended, he was still left with an uncontested sense of superiority that we were all too elated to see was something Left Behind within him.

This season brought all that stuff out:

"We will win of course. Obviously. Heaven will triumph over Hell. It's all going to be rather lovely."

"You were an angel once..."

"Why, yes, I am a great deal holier than thou, that's the whole point."

(after gabriel/beelzebub leave in s1) "See, Crowley, it's as I said--" (back to what he said in the Bentley in S1E2, how Evil always plants the seeds of its own destruction and Good will always win out in the end)

These types of thoughts, and him spending all of the 6,000 years he knew Crowley separating them as one inherently good and one inherently wicked.... guys, that won't just go away after only 4 years of being on their Own Side. We hoped it would. We wanted it to. But it doesn't make sense. Yes, even if the earthshattering realization Aziraphale had that Heaven never truly cared about what was Good did change his character and essentially complete his arc in S1... it didn't change everything.

His arc in S1 was completed when he learned that Heaven wasn't for him. That they never cared. That only he and Crowley could save this world. But this is where the show deviates from the book - Aziraphale in the book is angry. Bitter. Scorned. Aziraphale in the show is just heartbroken. He mourns for the only ever family he knew. He mourns what he always saw himself to be. That mourning isn't just going to go away after 4 years. What is 4 years to a creature that has lived for a possible billion before the Creation? 4 years on earth to 6,000? That terrible wound he suffered that day is still VERY much fresh. It's an open wound he didn't properly take care of. And the Mettatron noticed, didn't he? Yes, you can understand that someone or Something isn't FOR you, and know all the reasons why, yet still wish you could go back... it's how abusive relationships work. You confuse nostalgia with remorse. You confuse nostalgia for real love.

Of COURSE he would seize the opportunity to get what he felt he lost back. And HE could do it. HE has the power. He can make it ALL RIGHT again, everything he's ever wanted...

...and this is why he completely breaks down when Crowley doesn't want to be beside him to do it. Rewatch it. Look at him. Look in his eyes. The way he winces when Crowley kisses him. His internal conflict (Heaven/Crowley vs. Our Side/Crowley) is externalized through Sheen's brilliant acting. His arms coming up to embrace him, but they never fully commit, they just graze him and hover around his body. The way he launches himself backward, away from the kiss, but his body is still slightly leaning forward. When he brings up his shaky hand to touch his lips, and not crying. Never crying. Because he is an Angel, and Angels don't cry. Not like a Demon would. Crowley is all he wants, but now, Crowley doesn't want him. Not like this. Not anymore.

Because, well, Aziraphale said it, didn't he?

Nothing lasts forever.

#GOS2Spoilers #good omens #good omens s2 #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #character analysis #derpy speaks #*i do think he's going to be more of a figurehead than anything else but he has to at least gain the PHYSICAL powers of being an Archangel #that promotion DOESNT just come with name only. it comes with form.#I think a major part of him in s3 is realizing the true power he has now #despite being a figurehead

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winters-mistress · 1 month

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Raindrops and Roses

"Here, girl." Vesemir says, placing a wooden plate upon Ciri's lap. The dog in her lap shifts, hid weight a conofrting presence. Icy blue eyes snap in Vesemir's direction, and Thunder growls at him. He's a breeding stud, and one of Ciri's favourite dogs that are here in the Keep. Hunting dogs, they tell her, a soft of wolf shepheard cross, but all Ciri sees are enormous fluffy beasts who she adores. He'd been napping on her ever since she'd returned from lunch, and she had been comforted by the weight and the warmth of the fluffy black and white dog.

The girl looks up from her camp of an old mage's settee settled by the fire, piled with blankets and furs and pillows, her skin pale as she looks up at the oldest witcher.

He reminds her of Eist, warm and strong and commanding and reliable, although Eist definitely wasn't as prickly as the old witcher was. The Skelligan jarl never handed out chores or lashes or scoldings in the way Vesemir did, but her beloved grandfather never lectured Mouseack or Calanthe the way he did Geralt, Lambert and Eskel when he felt they were treating her unfairly or too harshly. It wasn't often, and the quiet talking to's during pillowtalk the Skelligan had with Calanthe never produced the same results as the venomous lectures or whip lashes that the eldest witcher gave out to his pups.

Both men are strong and wise and raggedy and trustworthy and loyal, and Cirilla's heart aches with how much she misses him. The way he would tuck her into bed and curl around her when she had a nightmare, dump blankets upon her little head or rub his knuckles against her temple, tell her stories of his homeland and sneak her cookies and tartlets after one of the nannies had sent her to bed without supper when she had snuck out to play knucklebones or throw rocks in ponds. She misses him horribly, but there is an echo of him in the old wolf that tells her that he will be just as instrumental in healing her hurting heart as much as his pups would.

Geralt is her echo of Calanthe, strong and brave and wicked with a sword. Parental and forceful, antagonistic with her when she needs it just as much as they were gentle when the times for love came. Protectors in their own rights, a strong pillar coming in quick after grief.

Eskel is her echo of Mouseack. Magical and eerie, spiritual and gentle with a gruff exterior. Mouseack's imposing height and large beard spooked off as many people as Eskel's bulk and scars, thick, large hands that are scarred and powerful are the same ones that brush her hair back and wrap bleeding cuts and kiss her hair and light up her room with beautiful images when her ghosts threaten to tear her apart.

She cannot pinpoint who Lambert stands in as just yet. Perhaps a mix of Eist and Lazlo? Eist, who would teach her all the dirty tricks of knucklebones and rook and all the drunk card games, and Lambert, who tells her each and every dirty trick he has with a blade and at the card table as he taught her gwent. Lazlo, who would keep her in line when she would run off with her group of little companions scolds her just as much as Lambert does when she edges too close to poison ivy in the woods or in the caves below Kaer Morhen when the two of them go fishing one afternoon. He is rough and gruff, but he sits outside her room whenever she's woken up from a nightmare, gives her an extra slice of bread and slips her a couple sips of Rivian cherry liqueur whenever Geralt wasn't looking as the witchers hit the bottle.

She loves them all, as gruff and snappy and imposing and scarred as they all are.

Ciri comes back to earth and looks down at the plate Vesemir places in her lap. She doesn't understand why he's feeding her at first, they've had lunch two hours ago. Thick slices of chicken with warm bread and green wild vegetables, as well as some lovely strong and hard cheese and a couple berries Eskel hadn't useful for the pies the day before.

She still thinks about that hunk of cheese and bread, slick from the freshly churned butter that melted into the thick slices. Her mouth waters at the thought.

It's honeycomb. She realises, looking down at the plate. Two large and uneven hunks of the stuff, dripping and slick with honey, and four cookies with dollops of strawberry jam in the middle. The dog snuffles, uninterested at the food, and closes his eyes again.

Her eyes widen at the treats, and she looks up at the old wolf.

"Uh-" he scratches at the back of his neck, an uncharacteristic show of nerves. "I know our tonics and herbs fucked up your-" he points at her stomach underneath the dog and the blankets, and she wishes she hadn't. She'd forgotten about the pain for a few minutes, warm from the dog, while her back was similarly heated from hot waterskin Eskel had gotten for her that morning when she'd woken up in a panic, her sheets slick with blood and horrible cramping in her abdomen.

The witchers ran in, swords at the ready, one after another, and she couldn't find the words to stop their fears, blinded by tears and shaking with the pain.

She remembers when Triss was here and she'd gotten her cycle, when it came to light that the tonics they had her on were fucking her up good and proper. Her bones refusing to heal right, blood thinner than it should have been, the nausea and the headaches and the vivid nightmares and the aches and pains all coming to light, as well as the lumps Triss had found inside her after an examination.

They'd wear off in time, and she had thrown all the bottles of tonic and tea leaves in the fire after slapping them all silly. Verbally and physically.

She'd left for now, promising to come back at the end of spring with word of Ciri's pursuers, and warned all the witchers to never, ever, ever give any type of supplements to the girl again, otherwise she'd rip their balls off and shove them down their throats.

It's only been a month, Ciri supposed, Triss said it would take a while for the cysts to heal. She'd done all she could, made sure they wouldn't rupture, but she was no surgeon who could ease them out, and all they could do was wait for them to come out on their own.

But good gods, this is horrific.

"-the breadseed poppy's milk'll help the pain. But I thought these would make you feel better, try and make the next couple days a bit more bearable." He looks so earnest that it makes Ciri's heart heart a bit.

They hadn't meant to hurt her, hadn't realised the effects the supplements were happening. All they saw was her endurance and muscles were improving, and they all felt awful when Triss beat them all to Ciri's shaking doorframe as the girl screamed in pain.

Kaer Morhen should never hear a child scream like that again, not when it's seen so many.

They'd all apologised, seeming to be beating themselves up and be in worse shape than Cirilla herself had been. Lambert drunk himself into a stupor, Eskel had run -just like those first couple weeks when he couldn't separate the two granddaughter's of Kaer Morhen from each other- and Geralt had gone to slay one of the beasts in the caves wearing too few armour. And Vesemir had slapped them all and brought them to the girl so they could apologise and promise never to do it again.

All the pups think that suffering barters suffering, it seems.

"Thank you." She whispers, touched. These remind her of the honey cookies and strawberry tarts of her childhood, and her heart hurts with the memory and aches with the love she feels. "I-thank you."

Vesemir gruffs and pets her hair like he would the dog upon her legs.

"Eat up, girl. Need all the strength you can get right now. Then take a rest, 'll get Eskel to drop off one of those books you like whenever he and wolf get back from their hunting trip. Lamb's experimenting with some powder he found, so don't be surprised if the keep goes to shit and I have to dig the whip out again."

Ciri giggles, and Vesemir cracks a smile.

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lamemaster · 1 year

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Hello, stopping by to make a request.

If it's okay with you, might I have some headcanons for Finrod, similar to the Maglor (10 ways to kiss your elf)? It's alright if you can't do the entire ten, any amount you're able to write would be great 🌻. Thank you and hope you have fun!

11 Ways to Hug the King of Nargothrond

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning: character death

AN: Yay, my first official request. Thanks for requesting this. I had so much fun writing this that I might've gone overboard. I hope you like it

1.Recipe to hug- Finrod stands unmoving. His ancient heart beats louder than ever. Even the constant shuffle of your footsteps fades as blood pumps in his ears. He watches you make your way towards him with wide open arms and a pleasant smile on your face. The sun settles in your flowing hair. It changes the color of your hair as if becoming a part of your hroa. Nothing better proves that the Edain truly are the children of the sun. Lost in his pondering, he almost loses his balance when your arms encircle his neck. You stand on your toes. Your body leaning forward to meet his. Finrod leans in as he bends down to let your feet rest easy. From the close up he can see the light of his own eyes reflected into yours. You smile and it does not take long before a similar smile finds itself on his face. “Like this,” you say as you pull away one of your arms to hold his hand and guide it to your waist. Followed by his other hand. “This is how you hug, My King,” your voice rings close to his ear and the faint warmth of your breath catches him off guard.

2. Cuddling hug- Finrod’s unfocused eyes stare back at you. Elves dreamt with their eyes open. They slept, unlike men they slept less. Only the labor of several days led to a night of deep sleep. Finrod’s elven sleeping form had scared you out of your wits the first time you had seen it. Your horrified scream at that time was followed by an army of guards swarming in your room and not to forget your beloved who woke up with the scariest look in his eyes. Now as you lay next to your slumbering lover for the first time you find yourself awake while he sleeps. Turning to him you move closer. You both had been traveling and now that you were back in the safety of Nargothrond your beloved finally let down his constant guard and welcomed sleep. With your movements as quiet as you can manage you embrace Finrod in a hug. Your beloved remains sleeping, thank Eru! You pull closer to your lover, basking in the warmth of your contact. Somehow even deep in his dream Finrod’s arms encircle your waist. Pulling you closer. Your head rests on his chest as you try to go back to sleep with a wild heart.

3. Hesitant hug-A unlit room welcomed him. While Finrod himself can see well in dark he seriously doubted you could. Worried about your safety he looked around trying to link you to the steady beat of your heart that rang in his ears. At last, he spotted a small but noticeable lump on your bed. Covered in blankets, you were the most adorable mountain ever. “Well, what brings you here?” Your voice held a sulky tone. “I’m not outside my room now am I?” It was not hard to imagine the pout you probably had on your face right now. Empowered to witness it himself Finrod made his way to your moping form. With the grace of a duck, which very much made him cringe, Finrod climbed up the bed. “Meleth, you must understand,” he begins only for you to scoff at him. Ready to enter the metaphorical battlefield even under the cover of blankets. “Listen to me,” with the most foreign movements Finrod wraps his arms around you. A hug is still something that escapes his elven senses. With the little hill in his embrace, Finrod rests his chin on top of your head (a gesture that you don’t pull away from). “How about we wait your cold out for a few days and then plan an outing?” A small cold, he tried to reassure himself. You would get better soon, he reasoned in his mind.

4. Reassuring hug- As you run through the woods your breath comes heavy. You pant as the heavy footsteps following you grow louder with every passing second. So close. You are so close to home yet, it seems farther than ever with your faltering steps. “Ahhh!” Your trembling hands try to untangle your hair that gets stuck in a wayward branch that you failed to notice in your haste. A delay that costs you more of the precious seconds you have on your pursuers. ‘Please…help,’ you plead and beg to those who dare listen to your prayer. With your hair free you resume your struggle. This death would be too painful of a fate for you and your beloved. ‘Eru,’ your thought is cut sharp as a protruding root on the forest floor catches your foot only for the doom to inch closer. ‘Don’t let him know of this,’ you bargain with the fates. But never feel the impact of the fall that you anticipate. A firm hand holds you and your scrunched-shut eyes shoot open to greet the sight of an elven guard. Distant screams of agony fill the forest as the party of elven soldiers clears the orcs following you. However, your world narrows at the first glance of your beloved, who rushes in carrying a bloodied sword. His eyes find yours with a panicked look in them. A maniacal look. Letting go of the hand that supports you, you make a last run. Ignoring your screaming lungs and protesting heart you run to him. On the other end, you watch him drop his sword and run towards you with a speed unknown to man. And you meet in the middle. Your limbs a mess, your faces inches apart, and your bodies shaking with uncontrollable tremors. His hands hold you close. Too dangerous, too close, too soon. Words remain unsaid but the relief fills in. That day he becomes greater than any god, any supreme being, any creator.

5. Heartbeat through hug- Your head rests on his chest and Finrod can’t help but marvel. His own heart fades into nothingness as the rhythm of your heart fills his sense. His enhanced senses can feel the strength of the heart of the secondborn. With a curious idea brewing in his mind Finrod leans in. Getting closer to your face, he lifts your chin to make you face him and inches closer. Nearer and nearer until he hears it. A skip of the beat and then a faster rhythm. You look at him with a beautiful red gathering on your face. Your breath hitches and Finrod feels victorious as your heart races. His heart follows yours. His own heart pauses to beat when you lean in and steal a kiss with a mischievous smile on your face.

6. Compensatory hug- Your beloved kisses you crazy. His kiss leaves you arching into him. Wanting more. Finrod gently lays you on the bed as he crawls on top of you continuing the kiss deeper than ever. His eyes shine brighter than the sun, the moon, and the stars. His golden hair is almost silver with the moon that seems to shine only for him. Pleasure and heat fill you as his hands travel your body. You want this. You have waited for so long. You love him and you have the right to want him in every way. He loves you in return. You know this. Your reasoning fades as voices of self-doubt erupt in your head. ‘She awaits him,’ one of your voices whispers with venom. ‘It is immoral,’ another adds with unconcealed scorn. ‘No,’ the other argues and the room feels too full. Too crowded with your voices, Finrod, and the stars glaring at you. You are as shaken as Finrod when a sob breaks through your throat. Tears come easier than ever and the voices in your mind blame you for the hurt look in Finrod’s eyes. ‘No, no, no, no…’ your panicked thoughts are left unsaid. Instead, you hug him. A hug is all you can give to him, who someone awaits in distant lands. Someone who would accompany him for eternity and not leave him withering in an inescapable world. “We can’t,” your voice cracks with an effort to speak. Finrod freezes in your arms. The next second your arms fall to your sides as your beloved leaves the room with the door slammed shut. And the voices return louder than ever.

7. Tired hug- 1, 2, 3, and Bam. The door to Finrod’s study blasts opens with your unrestrained might. From the corner of his eye he watches you gather your flowing gown in your hands, a gesture so mannish that it leaves him more in love than ever. He feels the thud of your steps vibrate through his very being as you stomp your way to him. For once the papers about spices and silks feel uninteresting but Finrod continues the facade of being interested in the texts. “Hmph,” you grunt in determination as you remain unfazed by his lack of attention. He almost squeals in a very unkingly voice when you very much drape yourself over him. Putting all your body weight on him, you slouch on his back. Finrod almost faceplants into his desk. The paper in his grasp slips when you whisper, “Human very tired. Must sleep,” right next to his ear. Your breath tickles his neck but Finrod resists the urge to move. “Wha-” his question is interrupted by a small snore. The King of Nargothrond finds himself in a predicament unlike never before.

8. Princess carry hug- Finrod looks scandalized. He turns to you with a shocked look on his face, asking for a silent explanation. “It is tradition. A race in which you carry your spouse and run,” you reply to your beloved. Around you, all the men prepare for the race. Many are busy instructing their spouses on the correct hold. The small settlement that you and Finrod are visiting emerges with a new life as everyone prepares for the Spring festival. “Should we take part?” You ask your lover whose gleaming eyes are enough of an answer to all your questions. The next moment Finrod gawks as you carry him in a princess carry. “Just checking,” you explain to your lover whose legs almost touch the ground even in your embrace. “It would be only fair that I compete with my fellow men and leave your Elvish Highness out of it.” The King of Nargothrond barely looks at you as his arms encircle your neck and his face buries in the crook of your neck. “You better win,” he whispers and you can’t stop your own bubbling laugh.

9. Hug that hides tears- A squelch of wetness overwhelms Finrod’s senses. The concerning creak and wear of your lungs are not gone unnoticed by him. The room fills with your struggling breaths. A process leaves you panting and sweating. “Stay,” you muster to say even in your delirious state. Finrod stays. He sits next to you as you hug him closer than ever. Holding him in a way that keeps him from breaking. However, the comfort of your mannish gesture does little to calm him. A sickness he wished upon himself. Something, anything to spare you of this pain. He wishes for the same doom to take him where it drags you. Next to you lay bloodied handkerchiefs. A proof of the future that awaits him. Finrod stares at your blood. He stares and wishes for it to go away. He has already prayed and pleaded with the gods who ignore him. He has scoured texts for a cure only to find the inevitability of doom. He feels his shoulders shake with grief. His petty tears make your gown wet. A gesture that helps little…but he can’t stop. But you, even in your pain and suffering hold him firm. You comfort him even as you struggle to oppress an emerging coughing fit in your lungs.

10. Hug of leave-taking- “Here,” Finrod drapes a thick coat around you as he flutters around the room. His own armor gleaming in the light of the day. He fusses around your droughts, “you must take them all at the right time,” he instructs for the tenth time in the last hour. “I will,” you reassure your beloved who seems unaffected by it like the last nine times. You find the strength to push yourself up from your bed and make your way to Finrod. “Have I not recovered already?” You ask him as you take his hands in your own. “This cure…it can help,” Finrod stammers. His voice so uncertain, so fragile. “I am sure we’ll all be fine,” you hug him. His arms close around you. “Take care on your journey. Take care of yourself,” you add as you push away the words bubbling on your tongue. The hug lasts longer and you find yourself rocking in a small dance. “I’ll wait for you,” you add before you watch him leave. The last words you say to him. For when the King of the Nargothrond returns from his excursion, he returns to you gone. You do not make him witness your fall. Your last moments are not his tears. So, you leave to die in a faraway place that hides your agony from him.

11. Hug of reunion- The bright golden world of the men blends with the silvery calm of the firstborns. After ages when Arda is unmade. It is then that Finrod, who longer remains the King of Nargothrond, neither betrothed to someone nor bound by a different world, finds you. Untouched by sorrow, pain, or disease, he finds you. A hroa that shines with the might of the Sun. Even tears escape him in a moment so precious. Without a delay, he rushes to embrace you and you run towards him. Light is all that remains as he finally gets to be with you.

#silmarillion #silmarillion headcanons #one shot #tolkein #tolkien elves #noldor elves #noldor #finrod felagund #finrod x reader #silmarillion x reader #fluff #angst #romance #nargothrond #rebirth

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intern-seraph · 3 months

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Hey, sorry if this is a weird question but. I was wondering if you knew of any blogs specifically for responding to/arguing against leftist antisemitism? I want to be a good ally to Jewish people, but also I Am Not Immune To Propaganda and sometimes I just don't quite notice the implications, you know?

There's been a few posts going around recently, where there's screenshots with the water filter, and someone responding to them like "yeah this is actually pretty fucked up for x and y reasons". Those have been really helpful because, while some of them are much more obviously antisemitic, some of them I'm not sure I would've noticed, and now I'm a bit better educated. That's the kind of thing I'm looking for.

Again, sorry if this is a weird question, and I hope you have a good day!

none that i'd recommend tbh? i feel like laser focusing on something can get to the point of seeing it everywhere, and there's also a risk of becoming reactionary abt it if that makes sense. the blogs i do rec are mainly other jews' blogs, especially the ones you've prob seen me rb from.

my main rec for recognizing leftist antisemitism is familiarizing yourself with antisemitic tropes. some of the most common ones you'll see:

Blood libel: Originated in medieval Christian Europe, spread throughout Afroeurasia and persists today. The accusation that Jews kidnap gentile (Orig. Christian) children to do nefarious things (Orig. and still relatively commonly "blood rituals" or "taking their blood to use in making Matzah") with. You'll see this often alongside "Jews rule the world" antisemitism.

Jews rule the world/Zionist-occupied government/Evil Cabals: What it says on the tin. If you see some shit about how "Oh isn't it SUSPICIOUS how many billionaires/millionaires/rich people are Jewish?" or "The ZIONIST-CONTROLLED MEDIA is suppressing this!", that's a variant on this canard.

Khazar theory: Antisemitic pseudoscientific theory that Ashkenazi Jews aren't ackshually descended from the Judeans who were forcibly exiled from our homeland, but instead descended from Turkic Khazars who converted to Judaism. Easily disproven by actual genetic studies that show that uh yeah all ethnically Jewish folks, Ashkies included, are descended from common ancestors that originated in the Levant. Also Yiddish is derived from, y'know, not Turkic languages. There are definitely Khazar Jews, but they make up a small number of an already small population. Variants you'll probably see of this are basically anything saying that Ashkies are somehow less Jewish than other Jews, that we're all White People (Jewish connection to Whiteness is Complicated) who have no connection to the Levant, How Could Ashkenazim Be From There When Some Of Them Are BLONDE?, etc. Shit like that.

stalin shit: a lot of modern leftist antisemitism has its roots in soviet antisemitism, which used "zionist" as another word for "jew" in order to pretend to not be antisemitic. people still do that today. if you see a post where "zionist" can be replaced with "jew" and it reads word-for-word like a classic antisemitic trope, well, you know. don't trust anyone who stans stalin (or modern russia to be honest. tankies (derogatory)).

this is non-exhaustive ofc. here are also blogs i recommend blocking asap (with / in their names to inhibit name-searching); they're all in the same far-left antisemitic atrocity apologist circle (i.e. assad stans, putin stans, holodomor deniers, uyghur oppression deniers, CCP stans, houthi stans, etc):

her/ita/gep/osts (north korea stan, which is fucking insane. beloved tumblr funnyman who implicitly blames jews for the actions of the israeli govt in multiple gross posts and has targeted multiple jewish bloggers, prompting mass harassment)

ko/ms/om/ol/ka (nasty character all around. claimed she was banned for being pro-palestine, it's actually prob because she's been reported before for being a fucking racist antisemitic freak lmao)

tx/tt/le/ta/le (ew)

bre/nda/nic/us (happily antisemitic. homophobic too, as a treat i guess)

blo/g/lik/ea/ne/gyp/tian (egyptian nationalist. don't ask her what happened to cairo's jews. makes nasty posts that outright state that jews should feel guilty for current events ON JEWISH HOLIDAYS.)

whe/nma/gic/fil/led/the/air (infamously antisemitic. block.)

a-si/ent-/ecli/pse ("Happy Holocaust Memorial Day")

ara/bia/n-k/nig/ht (extremely and openly antisemitic kid. just, like, don't engage)

nat/ive/ne/ws (tweet screenshots aren't news. loooooves spreading disinfo and misinfo)

ap/as-/95 (part of the tankie committee)

les/bia/nch/emi/cal/pla/nt (i think she's a jew but she's, like, the tankie tumblr pet jew istg. she's also an asshole. girl they will gladly turn you over once you outlive your usefulness 😬)

other advice: anyone who claims to be "anti-zionist NOT antisemitic" who only ever fixates on jews and jewish orgs instead of the christian zionists who vastly outnumber the entire jewish population is lying, they're antisemitic (whether they realize it or not). houthi stans generally are stupid jew-haters who would rather support the ethnic cleansing, racism, misogyny, antisemitism, and chattel slavery party than possibly say that Someone Who Rejects The Enemy(tm) is, yknow, not morally pure. people who are abnormal about ashkenazim are generally abnormal about non-ashkies, too, but in a different and still nasty way. if someone claims that "everything was fine before the Zionists(tm) attacked", they are wrong. do some research on the history of jewish life in the region and it's very clearly wrong. if someone says that they're tired of jews and jewish feelings and jewish safety being a focus, they probably don't feel particularly kind things about us in general. fact-check claims. screenshots aren't news. people who are okay with widespread civilian death/suffering in one direction probably only desire vengeance more than anything else, which does nothing for anyone and is a net loss. anyone baying for blood is suspect, anyone without a concrete solution/plan beyond "burn it down" is not going to do much constructive work in terms of delivering justice.

#ask #i-looktothe-stars #o7 godspeed #unfortunately a lot of this comes down to training your eye #it's a rough and wild world out there #steeped in a fine blend of centuries of antisemitism #antisemitism #seraph speaks #sorry for how scattered this is #and my allergy to the shift key

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