#the gray garden kin

[deepsea-kinniies]

hiii!! could i maybe get some black and white/grayscale dialo icons with an old photograph theme? circle please! love y’all’s stuff!! <3

I hope these work! (The original colored ones are there just 'cause)

Free to use with visible credit

#dialo okegom #dialo kin #dialo okegom kin #okegom kin #the gray garden kin #the gray garden #dialo the gray garden kin #dialo the gray garden #dialo tgg kin #dialo tgg #tgg #tgg kin #mod wada #okegom #💫 #proto-charlotte

[problematickincalls1]

I’m Ivlis from Okegom / The Gray Garden. Looking for anyone, but especially Satanick, Rieta, or my kids. Interact and I’ll reach out, doubles are also welcome, because I know you probably need someone too.

.

#ilvis kin #okegom kin #the gray garden kin #anonymous #canon calls #gone mod

[findthebae]

hiya .!! im emalf from the gray garden B)

looking for anyone aged 15-18. i’m 16.

i already know ivlis, yosaf and poemi however they’re all okay w/ dbles ^^

i’ll be watching the notes like a hawk…. feel free to msg me on @emalfirl .!! tysm <3 🦇🦇

! ! !

#canon calls #the gray garden kin

[findinyourkin]

I’m Ivlis from The Gray Garden and other funamusea / dsp works. I’m looking for my children, Rieta, or anyone I was close with - but I’ll be happy to find absolutely anyone from the source. I’m an adult so I prefer response from anyone 18+, and I’ll reach out to anyone who likes.

!!!!!!!!

#canon calls #ivlis kin #the gray garden kin

[findmykins]

I’m Ivlis from The Gray Garden and other funamusea / dsp works. I’m looking for my children, Rieta, or anyone I was close with - but I’ll be happy to find absolutely anyone from the source.

Poster specified in a second ask that they are an adult and are primarily looking for anyone 18+!

#funamusea kin #dsp kin #okegom kin #ivlis kin #kin call #source call #canon call #the gray garden kin #deep sea prisoner kin #funamusea

[kincalling]

hi .!! im emalf from the gray garden :)

i’m looking for anyone from my source, mainly rieta.

i’m 16. please dont interact if you’re under 15 or over 19. thank you sm .!!

🎧

#emalf kin #the gray garden kin #canon calls

[paradoxical-catastrophe]

I love how one of my new interests are Deep Sea Prisoner stuff and yet I never completed Wadanohara or The Gray Garden

#like I kin Samekichi and Kcalb with all my heart and soul and yet #I never finished the games #wife was streaming Wadda to me and I was playing gray garden on my own #but still… never finished the games #man I miss my wife (he’s awake but still)

[emalfirl]

bestiesss !!

#emalf #yosafire #the gray garden #not a ship edit #the skrunkle #grabs yosaf and shakes her around like a snowglobe #do not tag as kin/me/id #< unless its yosaf #do not tag as ship #okegom

[rotworld]

10: Motel Hell

(previous)

desperate to get out of nelton, you make a risky decision and find somewhere to stay along the road.

->contains gore, graphic description of corpses.

.

.

.

Home is west. Northwest now, so far away it feels like the edge of the world. 

You’ve tried to get there a few times. Every now and then, you’ll get lucky. The Drift will have mercy and you’ll end up so close you think you can taste it, the pull urgent but not so taut and uncomfortable. Somehow, it’s always eluded you. You get turned around, your inner compass spinning haywire. The road spits you out just east, too far north, not at all where you mean to go. Lost—that’s what you are. But you never feel that way until you try to find home.

And even if you ever reached it, would it be worth the trouble? Would anyone see you as kin, or would it be a town full of strangers? You don't try anymore. Home is best left abstract and distant.

Night is falling. The shadows grow. The sign seems to lunge through the fog, sudden and vicious. “DRIFT INN. NEXT EXIT.” It’s not close enough to spot off the highway, but you do see a spatter of streetlights and neon. Not enough for a town, just a small place between things for the unlucky and desperate. Anything is good enough for you now. The exit is an uphill zigzag, a silent intersection with a light that takes too long to change. 

You see two long gray slabs with red roofs. Nothing around but concrete and tufts of hardy grass growing in the cracks. The parking lot is sparsely occupied, a couple windows aglow behind drawn curtains. Still, you hesitate. Your recent misfortunes have left you somewhat wary. You consult your map. You’ll make the final push for the University tomorrow, get there by dusk. South, then east? Or start heading east now? For once, you find yourself hoping there’s no town in that vast distance, no unexpected detours. 

Something flits past the window as you’re planning your morning route. It’s gone when you look up but you were sure, for just a second—

And then you see it. Another, drifting silently into your windshield. Landing on the glass and melting to nothing. The sky is the color of a coming storm. Your heart starts to race. 

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: SATURDAY NIGHT BY THE MISFITS]

The automatic doors wheeze open. A single fluorescent tube buzzes overhead. The floor is grimy-looking tile and the walls are off-white. Nobody’s sitting behind the check-in desk. All you can hear is the whirr of an electric fan in the corner and a crackling radio on the counter.

A tiered shelf against the wall displays travel brochures coated in a fine layer of dust, advertising the orchards and public gardens of Green Valley. These must be old. There is no Green Valley anymore—it’s been called the Stillwoods since before you were born, although the occasional antique road sign marooned along the highway might still bear the old name.

The doors open again behind you. There’s a woman standing there, hands in the pockets of a gray peacoat. She’s wearing heels and her hair is meticulously pinned into a neat bun. 

She gives you a quick, appraising look. “Hey there,” she says. “Checking in?” You nod and she slips behind the check-in desk, noticeably keeping her distance and never turning her back towards you. She doesn’t give you a price or ask how you’ll pay, simply reaching for a room key off the back wall and setting it on the desk. You don’t think there was a courier sign on the door. Your visible apprehension makes her grin. “So…I don’t actually work here. But I saw you pull up and thought you might appreciate a hand. There’s four of us here tonight.”

You take the key, the plastic tag attached reading 108. “Is the place abandoned?” you ask. That wouldn’t surprise you. This motel was clearly attached to the Stillwoods once upon a time, but now it’s out here in the middle of nowhere. That happens sometimes, during a particularly violent shift or an anchorware malfunction. That’s how the University became its own city, too.

The woman makes a noncommittal sound. “Not exactly. At least, it wasn’t when I got here. It’s like this, see?” 

She leans back and turns the handle of the door behind the desk. As soon as it’s cracked open, the smell of blood comes rushing out. She opens it just far enough for you to glimpse the back room and the body inside: head so badly bludgeoned that you don’t realize it’s lying face-up for a while, jaw broken and wrenched open so wide the mouth is more like a gaping wound of teeth. There’s blood pooling on the floor and arterial sprays arcing on the walls. Fresh enough to drip. 

The woman yanks the door shut again. She looks unbothered, you think, unusually cheerful considering the situation. She adjusts her small, rectangular glasses on the bridge of her nose. “See what I mean? Kind of a mess. I’d have taken off by now if not for how the sky looks. Rather take my chances here than out in a Drift storm.” The snow is heavier already, a thin layer blanketing the pavement outside. “Anyway, wanna get settled in? 108’s right with the rest of us. Gotta keep an eye on each other, after all. Hard to say who’s a mimic and who’s not.” 

You frown. A mimic wouldn’t waste that much food.

The woman is friendly, at least, and endlessly talkative. She’s a University graduate. She’s been living in Splitrock Junction for the past few years, testing the water and soil for “intrusional particles,” but she’s looking for a career change. “Anchorware! That’s where the money’s at,” she tells you. “That’s the future of the Drift, you know. It’s caught on in all the major industries but it’ll get more affordable later. The lab where they build that stuff makes the University look Stone Age. God, if I could get my hands on some of that equipment…” 

You barely say a word as she leads you outside and across the parking lot to the adjacent building. Four rooms are occupied in a row, lights on, muffled voices coming through the doors. You walk up in time to catch part of a conversation—an argument, more accurately. They’re talking about mimics.

“So you’re telling me the one that’s see-through and foggy like frosted glass isn’t called a glass mimic?” 

“Glass mimics are literally made of glass, man. Or something kind of like it. It shatters if you hit it hard enough.” 

“Kind of like it? So they’re not actually made of glass. They don’t even resemble glass.” 

“I didn’t name them, okay?” 

The woman pauses to knock on 106. “We’ve got another,” she says. 

106 opens just slightly, the door halting on a chain lock. The face that peers out at you is obscured by a surgical mask and a pair of sunglasses. “Shit, Chatterbox made it back in one piece,” he mutters. “So either it left you alone or you’re the mimic.” The doors on either side of him creak open. A man pokes his head outside of 105, looking nonplussed. Nobody comes out of 107 but you hear a quiet huff, a quick exhale of laughter.

“Well, this is all of us,” the woman says. “We’re a little short on trust right now so you’ll have to settle for nicknames. That’s Newbie in 105. He’s from outside. Like, outside, you know?”

“Outside the Drift?” you ask, startled.

Newbie frowns. He’s blond and clean-shaven, wearing an open suit jacket and loosened tie. “Couldn’t we have picked our own nicknames? God, it’s freezing all of the sudden.” 

“This totally normal, not at all suspicious guy lurking in 106 is Glasses.” 

“Bite me,” Glasses snarls. “Half the mimics out here copy faces. You’re not getting mine.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Shrug is in 107. He’s kinda quiet. Second most likely to be a mimic, if we’re making accusations.” 

107’s door opens slightly wider. The man standing there doesn’t show his face, keeping his head down and his hood up, hands stuffed in the pockets of an oversized sweater. He’s on the shorter side. “Hm,” he says, and shrugs.

“And I guess I’m Chatterbox.” The woman laughs. “I’m in 104. The walls are really, really thin, we mostly just yell at each other. Nobody else around so it’s not like we’re bothering anyone.” 

You unlock 108 and find a small, musty-smelling room. There’s stiff, crusty carpet, a single bed with sheets that feel like packing paper, and a closet-sized bathroom. You put your backpack on the bedside table and add the Drift Inn to your map.

“So what are we calling you, stranger?” Chatterbox yells. She’s right, the walls are really thin. Four rooms down and you can still hear her fairly clearly. 

“Courier,” you say back. 

The wind picks up outside, growing from a whisper to a vicious howl. You peek through your curtains and find your footsteps in the snow have nearly been filled in already as more blows across the motel parking lot. You scan the row of cars parked out front apprehensively. The one you saw in the blizzard was an SUV, you think. Silver. Hard to make out in the haze and all the white. You don’t see it out there now. You’d like to tell yourself that those two things can’t possibly be related, but there’s a corpse behind the check-in desk, beaten so badly the face barely looked human.

You don’t want to think about it. You let the curtains fall back into place and sit on the edge of the bed. “Newbie, you’re from outside the Drift?” you ask. “What made you decide to come here?”

You hear him clear his throat nervously. “I’m doing market research, you could say. There’s a lot of interest in developing the Drift, getting it connected to the rest of the world. You guys are missing out on a lot of things. Phones are only local, right, so you can’t call Prismville from the University. And mail takes forever since you don’t really have a reliable delivery service. Uh. No offense, I mean.” 

“Didn’t some outsider company already try getting a foothold here a while back?” That sounds like Glasses. “Like a decade ago or something. Putting all those cables in the ground, then acting surprised when they got fucked up after a couple shifts.” 

“Ohhh, that’s right! They started growing skin and then they all slithered off,” Chatterbox says.

“Is that what those are?” you ask. “I’ve seen those before. They’re farm pests, mostly. They really like eggs.” 

“Mhm,” Shrug adds.

“Can I ask about that? What’s up with the eggs?” Newbie says. “Why are they everywhere? I keep seeing people eat them raw, shell and all.” 

Chatterbox laughs. “So those aren’t actually eggs.” 

“You’re pulling my leg.” 

“No, I mean, they look just like eggs, right? So we call them eggs.”

“Oh, so these get called by what they look like, huh?”

“Okay, look, there are different kinds of shifts, right? Depending on how things are intersecting, or if they’re intersecting at all, and sometimes—”

The wind shrieks and the windows shake in their frames. Snow drifts under your door, melting on the carpet. Through the space beneath the curtains, all you see is white. “It’s getting bad out there,” Glasses says quietly.

“I, ah, thought the Drift didn’t get snow?” Newbie asks.

“It doesn’t,” Chatterbox says. “Unless the Road Ripper’s around.” 

There’s a pause. You’re holding your breath. Glasses is the first one to speak up again, scoffing, “That shit’s an urban legend. Nobody could live out on the road that long.”

“Hm,” Shrug agrees. Or maybe disagrees. You’re not sure.

“What if he doesn’t, though? What if he does come into town sometimes, drifts in and out before anyone realizes who he is?” Chatterbox insists. “It’d be easy. He could slip out with some couriers and nobody’d know. Maybe he is a courier.”

There’s another, longer pause. “Wh—really?” you say, incredulous. “I’m not a serial killer.”

Chatterbox makes a thoughtful sound. “Well, a serial killer would probably say that.” 

“I was the last one here! How could I have killed somebody?” 

“Not saying you did it, just saying maybe you should leave first in the morning,” Glasses mutters. 

The idea of falling asleep here unnerves you, but your car won’t be warm enough. You consider shoving a chair under the door. It’s flimsy, certainly nothing that’ll deter somebody hellbent on killing on you—somebody with the kind of strength you saw—but you’ll hear it fall over at least. You take a quick shower and crawl into bed, too tired to care how stiff the mattress is. The others are loud but the wind drowns them out after a while and the conversation dies down.

Maybe you won’t sleep, you think. You’ll just lay here on your side, facing the door and the windows. Listening for footsteps in the snow, or a car pulling up.  Just a few hours, you think, checking the clock. A few hours until dawn, at least. Maybe the blizzard will have moved on by then. You try to keep yourself moving, shaking your foot or tapping your fingers. The room is frigid, the heat barely able to keep up with the cold air seeping under the door, but exhaustion is slowly gaining on you. It becomes a struggle to keep your eyes open.

“…I heard that’s a thing he does,” Chatterbox is saying, sounding muffled and far away. “He picks somebody and follows them around for a while, but he lets them go a few times before he actually kills them. And it’s not like he just leaves other people alone, but that’s kind of different. It’s like he’s whetting his appetite or something. Picks off other people so can hold himself back from whoever his main target is. Maybe it’s a mimic thing? Do you think he shapeshifts? I had a friend back at University who specialized in mimics, I think some of them do similar stuff…”

Your eyelids flutter. Just a few hours, you remind yourself. A few hours and then…

You can’t breathe. 

It’s dark, a deeper black than night in every direction, and you can’t breathe. There’s something—something around your neck. Squeezing too tight. Wanting to split you open, wanting to tear into the soft flesh of your throat. It wants to, yet it never does. But even when it lets you go, uncoiling slowly, slinking out of sight, your lungs are on fire. You heave and you choke and you try to scream but you can’t get any air, can’t breathe. You can’t remember how.

There’s something in this darkness with you. You can’t see it but you can hear it breathing in deep, echoing sighs. You can sense its vastness, the crushing weight of its attention. You’re trying to run but your legs are weak and sluggish, flailing, going nowhere. The air ripples and it’s here, above and all around you. Silent. Observing. Your neck throbs where it touched you, skin tender and throbbing with your heartbeat, and still you can’t breathe. 

There is a dark moon above you. It’s a misshapen pearl, a silvery stone with a hole punched through its center. It’s growing as it sinks from the sky. It’s bigger than you, bigger than your car, so close you think you could reach out and touch it.

It blinks.

You gasp and jolt awake. It must be morning. Weak light trickles under the curtains. You’re cold, but not as cold as you were last night. The stench of blood is thick and cloying. Your door is open, the chair you wedged under it knocked aside. 

You sit up slowly. The room is red. Every breath draws in the smell of rust and rot. There’s hardly a surface in the room that hasn’t been spattered in gore. The walls are glistening with it. There are dark red puddles hardening into the carpet. The bedspread is soaked through beside you because there is a body there, posed atop the sheets as though it climbed into bed with you. It doesn’t have a face, just a head so badly bludgeoned that it could be a split pomegranate, soft and gooey and oozing chunks of meat through cracks in its skull. 

It’s wearing a peacoat, gray wool spattered with blotchy red stains. 

You scramble out of bed, lunging for your shoes. The carpet is so saturated it squishes wetly under your steps. There’s another body curled up at the foot of the bed in the same unsightly condition, intact except for the gristly paste where a head should be. Blood and brain matter spill across the floor in a pinkish smear, bits of vertebrae poking through the taut, torn flesh of the neck. Newbie’s tie is half-submerged in the slurry, tightened into an uncomfortably small knot.

The third corpse is propped up against the door, seated with its back against it. You shove it aside. You try not to look. But you see red, you see a scalp split apart and a broken shell of skull fragments underneath, little white slivers floating in a soupy clot. A gush of thick, partially coagulated fluid spurts out when it thunks against the ground in your haste to leave, dislodging the sunglasses folded neatly in its lap. 

The morning air is crisp. It’s just cold enough that some of the snow has stayed, the shallow layer left revealing the spotted prints of snowboots, a trail of blood, and smooth drag marks. Every door is wide open, a mess of red slush inside. The gruesome trail wanders out of your room and then rounds the corner, vanishing into a section of the parking lot you never thought to check. Nothing is parked there now but you still feel nauseous with fear.

Strangely, 107’s snow is clean. You notice as you’re leaving, starting your car, headlights flashing into the open rooms. Everything else is slick and splattered, dark red puddles frozen to the bed, except 107—the room right next to yours. The footprints, you notice, come out of that room clean. They go only in one direction; only leaving. 

You try desperately to remember Shrug’s face but you never saw it. He was careful, keeping his head angled down and his gaze lowered. Maybe it’s just hindsight, fear coloring your memories, but thinking back, you thought he might’ve had a small smile on his face when you looked at him.

(next)

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift

[deepsea-kinniies]

Emalf blinkies for Mod Kichi!

Free to use with visible credit (pls don't flat out repost them tho)

#Emalf okegom #emalf the gray garden #Emalf tgg #emalf kin #tgg kin #the gray garden kin #the gray garden #tgg #okegom #okegom kin #blinkies #flashing #mod wada #not requests #🐚 #(Kichi doesn't kin Emalf he just aks3d me 2 make these 4 him)

[problematickincalls1]

I’m Ivlis from funamusea / the Gray Garden / okegom / deep sea prisoner (the creator uses a lot of names for the work and themselves). Looking for anyone I was close to or who even wants to speak to me. I’m 20, so 18+ is preferred.

.

#ilvis kin #funamusea kin #the gray garden kin #okegom kin #deep sea prisoner kin #anonymous #canon calls #gone mod

[findthebae]

Hi, I’m Ivlis from The Gray Garden and other funamusea / okegom works. I’m looking for anyone from this general source but especially my children, Rieta, or Satanick. I’m an adult, so for those like Siralos or Satanick I’d prefer only to interact with other adults. I’ll reach out to anyone to likes / replies / etc.

! ! !

#canon calls #the gray garden kin #funamusea kin

[marietheran]

LotR reread - book 1, chapter 2 - The Shadow of the Past

This is where things start to get darker, and Tolkien was very vocal in reminding that it got written well before September 1939

"Merry and Pippin suspected [Frodo] visited Elves at times, as Bilbo had done"

"There were rumours of strange things happening in the world outside... Elves, who seldom walked in the shire could now be seen passing westward through the woods in the evening, passing and not returning; but they were leaving Middle-Earth and were no longer concerned with its troubles. There were, however, dwarves on the road in unusual numbers. The ancient East-West Road ran through the Shire to its end at the Grey Havens, and dwarves had always used it on their way to their mines intbhe Blue mountains... But now Frodo often net strange dwarves of far countries, seeking refuge in the West. They were troubled, and some spoke in whispers of the Enemy and of the land of Mordor... That name the hobbits only knew in legends of the dark past, like a shadow in the background of their memories; but it was ominous and disquieting." - Oh, this passage used to move me so, for some reason, though I'm afraid it's grown stale!

"But it was an old tradition that away over there stood the Gray Havens from which at times elven-ships set sail, never to return." :(

Though it is strange that it feels so so sad that the Elves are leaving... when for many it is a return home, and to kin they haven't seen for thousands of years, once dead and now living... but we see it from the perspective of Middle-earth.

"Lestways" is a neat word I should remember.

Tolkien's work with sound... the silence and Sam who can be heard working in the garden... is marvellous in this chapter.

Oh, and here comes the first allusion in the LotR tradition... "chance, but not chance", "meant to find the Ring and not by it's maker" indeed!

Tbh even the Silm which is usually more open about things, goes "a great Doom was upon him" or something whenever matters of Providence are discussed, so that's just a peculiarity of Tolkien's.

Not that every single time "fate" is discussed it means that, imo, but never mind.

"What a pity that Bilbo did not stab that vile creature, when he had a chance!" "Pity? It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and Mercy not to strike without need"... "He deserves death." "Deserves it! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement." - very student-of-Nienna-coded.

#lotr reread #lotr #the professor's mythopoeia #original post

[excalibutt]

Hello! List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! Get to know your mutuals and followers :D

in no particular order...

The feeling of being enthralled by a City at night. When you're out a little later than you intended to be, and even if you're alone—you're surrounded by the mellow but joyful thrum of people in your peripheral. It's dark, but you're awake, and alive. When you breathe in—you breathe in a little hint of hedonism. A simple little gift from the great body of the City that surrounds you. A gentle 'I love you' dancing on the tip of your tongue. A soft whisper of belonging, tingling the shell of your ear, because even if you cannot see someone—you know you're not the only one awake.

Unsolicited affection. The joy of someone who seeks you out simply out of fondness. Someone who sends you things either out of sheer joy for the subject matter or because they were reminded of you. A brush of the hand, a kiss to the temple, and shoulder touch. Remembering how you like your coffee or your tea. The slow-blinking cat, the dog that can't stop wiggling. Someone who seeks you because they feel you are alike, you are kin, because they LIKE you. You, in whatever way, are wanted. You are loved, even if it always surprises you.

Strange Art. The bizarre. The mind-boggling. The repulsive. The vivid. The symbolic. The fury of a staring at a canvas of a singular color, only to realize that you see no brush-strokes, and that this hue had never been captured before to such a scale. The monsters. The Metaphors. The imagery that sticks behind your eyeballs and waits for you when you close them and breathe. The surreal. The strange. The silly. The ugly. The challenging. The cringe. The camp. The refutation and condemnation of laws we take for granted. Pure, unbridled confusion. I want something that makes my eyes buzz with excitement, and something that breaks my heart.

Green. From the Douglas Fir to the Weeping Willow, to the grass-sedges, herbs, and weeds. Give me mint, give me matcha, give me a sickly wicked-neon glow. Give me malachite and emerald, give me houseplants, frogs, tortoise and cacti, give me kiwis, grapes, gardens. Give me swamps and lakes and snakes and rivers... give me glass... give me life. Give me green.

Study. Every single day I learn something new. I walk along broken concrete and I see a hundred crows all lighting around me, giving life and complex society to a gray and industrial place. I learn their behaviors, I study plants. I read, I write, I make. I open my eyes and see the mist settling over a distant hill, shrouding spires—and feel my heart melt at the beauty of it. I get to breathe, see, smell, hear and touch this place and become part of it. I get to experience the ephemeral and abstract as much as the physical and tangible. I can read stories of people long past, and I can feel their joy as vividly as my own when I read their words. There is joy in education... the easy-wonder and nostalgia of childhood remains within reach.

#ask game #thank you

[asters-random-sideblog]

hey guys!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

my name is aster.

my pronouns are she/her/they/them.

my main is @anxiety-lemsbian

If you want other blogs to follow my art/music sideblog is @phoebes-bridges

i love musicals, especially hamilton, matilda and heathers

my comfort movies are mamma mia and high school musical

likes: cats, phoebe bridgers, finland, vintage teacups, watercolours, music, bracelets, queer people, radio silence, taylor swift, rain, cardigans, knitted vests, embroidery, green, lorde, dangerfield, drawing, quirky stuff, ducks, stars, girls, tumblr, tacos, art, ballgowns, long skirts, oversized shirts/jumpers, sweetpeas, rainbows, alice oseman, daisies, mochi, lily of the valley, eliza and the delusionals, pale sunlight, typewriters, rotary phones, earrings, like three people, lavender, floral scented soaps/conditioners, peppermint lip balm, blue eyes, the texture of velvet, being alone, apple pie, gilmore girls, people using my correct pronouns, heartstopper, little women, reading, nice pink watermelon, british accents, a flower fairies treasury, sarcasm, sunflowers, the ocean when it’s raining or dark, stuff that’s naturally grey (rainclouds, etc.) lemon iced tea, frances janvier, spanish, macarons, bubble tea

dislikes: math, global warming, migraines, the sun, tight clothes, pimples, homophobia, spiders, racism, transphobia, shitty people, terfs, aphobia, tiktok, wasps, watermelon when it’s too red and floury, my father, school, most people, being bad at spanish, being alone when I feel people will judge me for it, depression, anxiety, people being ignorant, my mother, drunk people, smokers, feeling uncomfortable, most men, vomit, rejection, being delusional

i’m a minor

i speak un peqeño español and i love cats

my pronouns page:

i love osemanverse but im especially addicted to radio silence, solitare and loveless (i kin frances sm)

im gay (in a sapphic way)

BETH MARCH STAN OMG

love love love darcy olsson and sam kerr lol

i loveeeee enola holmes

im in love with the one bracelet i own

i have depression and anxiety, and probably asd and adhd

feel free to drop into my inbox at any time i love getting asks

i like sleeping

this is a list of songs i claim as my own:

liability, ribs, no better, stoned at the nail salon and sober II (melodrama) by lorde

happiness is a butterfly and cinnamon girl by lana del rey

not strong enough, anticurse, letter to an old poet and true blue by boygenius

meteor shower by cavetown

the story of us, seven, illicit affairs, you’re on your own kid, would’ve could’ve should’ve, if this was a movie , hoax, i don’t wanna live forever, right where you left me, i can see you, invisible string, the lakes, mirrorball and this is me trying by taylor swift

motion sickness, moon song, graceland too, garden song, kyoto and i know the end by phoebe bridgers

watch you sleep and rue by girl in red

there it goes and you’re just a boy (and i’m kinda the man) by maisie peters

summer child by conan gray

all-american bitch, brutal, deja vu, lacy, bad idea right?, hope ur ok, teenage dream, get him back! and good 4 u by olivia rodrigo

just exist and cigarette by eliza and the delusionals

ok i think im done

am i done?

i think imma make an aesthetic board actually

lets do it!!!!

also pls tell me if ur uncomfortable being called babe/darling/love

general DNI's apply, terfs, homophobes, transphobes, NSFW accounts etc etc

have a wonderful day i love you :)

[theelvenhaven]

Reunited in Rivendell

Request:  Hello! May I request Glorfindel x elf!reader where they reunite in S.A. Rivendell after the Fall of Gondolin? Thank you and I hope you’re doing well!

A/N: Hey anon! I hope you enjoy the request! :) If interested for some ambient music to go along with it I made this for this fic -> Rivendell’s Gardens

Glorfindel x Reader

1.7k words

Le suilon - s. I greet you (formal)

* * * 

Today was the day that Master Elrond would be arriving back home from the Gray Havens. Círdan’s message about a few weeks ago imploring the Master of Imladris that a visit was of the utmost importance. Just like that Master Elrond had taken off with a small envoy at Círdan’s behest. 

Leaving you and the other members of his council to help pick up the duties that had been left suddenly. Even though it was only for a short time, it had certainly kept you all busy as you had picked up Erestor’s duties since he went with his kin. 

Now you were tidying things up, arranging paperwork appropriately like Erestor liked it. You sighed out as you separated the stacks of paperwork and reports. Setting the books in question on the edge of his desk before you quietly admired your work. Not hearing the set of footsteps that entered the office, or the looming figure that stood behind you. 

Folding his hands at his waist before clearing his throat, bringing you to swivel around in surprise to find Erestor standing there. A neutral expression that ever found his face when he wasn’t frustrated, though there was a perpetual wrinkle in between his brows. 

“Erestor, le suilon.” You greeted in a breath, trying to calm the fast paced beating in your chest from being startled. Admittedly you hated when Erestor snuck up on you like this, but bit your tongue as it was relatively normal for him to do so. 

“Le suilon, Y/N. Master Elrond wishes to speak with you, he says it is imperative.” Erestor sighed out as he moved around you and towards the desk, eyes trailing down immediately to the neatly stacked paperwork. 

“Where is he at?” You asked him clasping your own hands together and fiddling with your fingers, watching as Erestor began to thumb through the paperwork on his desk. 

“In the main gardens and you are dismissed for the day.” He answered in a monotone voice, not bringing his eyes off the papers before him. Ever diving right back into his work, but you furrowed your brows at his final words. With all that had to be done you couldn’t possibly be dismissed for the day. 

“I beg your pardon?” You asked, but Erestor merely waved you away. Not bothering to answer you, at this despite him not looking you bowed your head formally before you turned on your heel to leave the office. 

Quietly you walked through the halls and walkways. Greeting those you passed with a simple smile, your thoughts churning with other things that needed to be done today despite the fact that he had dismissed you for the day. Catching Erestor up, running paperwork to and fro where it needed to go, filling in other council members. What was he thinking telling you that you had the day off?

Even as you approached the main gardens your thoughts spilled and tumbled over one another with thoughts of work, you only hoped that Master Elrond would not keep you long since your duties were so numerous. 

As you entered the main gardens you began to search for the Master of Imladris. Letting your eyes wander over the few elves that lingered tending to the many flowers and shrubs there. Your eyes passed over fountains that trickled soundly, adding a relaxing ambience to the gardens. Mingling with the birds that sang and flitted over head.

The sweet scent of blooming spring flowers filled your nose. You were grateful for having the opportunity to meet here as it was one of your favorite places in Imladris. Ever was it such a sight to see even in the dead of winter. 

As you came around to the area with the table that Master Elrond would normally sit at you paused. Spying a tall ellon standing there, facing the statues with his arms behind his back. Familiarity filled you, and you forgot all about the task of finding Master Elrond as your eyes soaked in the sight. 

His long wavy blond hair draped down his back, with few intricate braids strewn throughout his hair. The gentle glow was obvious around him despite the blazing of Anar’s rays that trickled in through the trees that hung over in this part of the gardens. Green and brown robes with yellow celandine embroidered on the hems of his outfit. 

Making your heart stutter in your chest as the sight was reminiscent of the love of your life’s outfit. Everything about this elf screamed Glorfindel even though you knew that was impossible. You were frozen in your spot, yet your mouth spoke it just as you thought it. 

“Glorfindel…” You breathed out despite yourself, bringing the ellon in question to turn around. You looked directly into ocean blue eyes that sparkled with mirth as they landed on you, watching the smile that spread across his face to see you. 

Oh stars it is Glorfindel! 

“Y/N!” He breathed out quickly closing the distance between you both as you were utterly rooted in your place. Eyes fixated on him, and your mouth slightly ajar in your surprise. Your mind still barely registering that it was in fact Glorfindel that approached. 

In an instant you felt warm hands reach for your neck as he leaned down to press his lips to yours. The sensation of his lips pressing to yours was enough to pull you out of shocked state, as you pressed yours back to his. 

Bringing your hands up to hold his face immediately, your stomach fluttering with butterflies and joy blossomed in your heart. To the point you felt as though it might explode. 

Your fingers caressed down the slopes of his cheeks, brushing down to his jaw as you melded your lips again with his more passionately. Trailing your fingers lightly down his neck, drinking in the sensation of his skin beneath yours, feeling Glorfindel pull you closer into him and how his fingers slipped into your hair. 

You grabbed the collar of his tunic and kept him pulled close to you, scared if you let go. If you broke the kiss… That he would slip through your fingers and be gone again. 

You hesitated, feeling Glorfindel begin to pull away from you. Opening your eyes to look up and see that he was still standing there before you. He didn’t disappear from your grip though you didn’t loosen your hold at all on him. 

“You’re really here! I’m not dreaming am I? Please tell me I am not dreaming?” You breathed out quickly watching the smile that began to pull at his lips. Before he hugged you close to his chest, you wrapped your arms around his neck snugly. 

“I am really here Y/N. I promise.” Glorfindel answered you with his arm wrapped around your waist, and you buried your face into his neck. Catching the notes of vanilla and flowers that were specific to him. 

“How! Why!” You asked frantically pulling from him, fearful that this was only temporary. Though were that the case, you’d happily abandon your duties to go to Valinor with him. You couldn’t bare the thought of being parted from him a second time not knowing how many more ages you could withstand to pass without him. 

“How long are you here for?” You pressed further, feeling his forehead move to rest against yours, still he chuckled along and you could scarcely see the amusement in any of this. These were very important and serious questions to you. 

“The Valar have sent me back with the Istari.” Glorfindel began, but you could hardly resist pressing. 

“Why and for how long?” You pressed again, not giving Glorfindel any time to be able to answer your first questions as you repeated them. You fingers brushing through his golden hair as you nuzzled your nose against his. Savoring the feel of him holding you, the warmth of his breath fanning across your face as he laughed again, 

“I am here to assist in dealing with the threat of Sauron, and I am here for as long as it takes.” Glorfindel said, giving you a squeeze around your waist and you beamed a big happy grin that he wouldn’t leave so suddenly. 

“Praise the stars that you are not leaving so soon.” You breathed out in praise pressing a kiss to his lips and sliding your hands from his hair to his face to hold again. Though you worried what it could possibly mean for him having to deal with Sauron. 

The thought making you nauseous and your stomach begin to turn in unease. The enemy was such a big concern… One that could easily cost Glorfindel his life. Again. 

“Promise me you will be careful in dealing with him. Glorfindel I cannot lose you again, I couldn’t bare it. Promise me please.” You hurried out as you peppered his face in kisses, unable to resist giving him all of your love and affection. It had been far too long since you had last gotten to do this, and by Eru did you miss this with him to the point you ached painfully. 

“I promise Y/N I shall take great care in this endeavor. Too many lifetimes have passed with us separated, I would not make it an eternity.” He breathed to you before dipping his head in for another kiss to your lips. Bringing you to hum out at the affections, letting your thumbs brush gently against his face. 

You lingered for a long moment, enjoying the softness of his lips against yours before you pulled away again. 

“How long do I have you before I must share you with the world?” You asked in a breath, pressing another kiss to his cheek, leaving Glorfindel to smile widely. 

“Master Elrond said we have a few weeks with one another.” At this you grinned happily, now you understood as to why Erestor had not given you instructions on what to do with your day despite the busy work you’d knew you’d have. 

“Then we must catch up immediately! I want to know everything that has happened, meleth nin!” You breathed out beginning to pull away from his hold, your hand shooting down to grab his. Glorfindel taking your hand and letting you begin to pull him out of the gardens. 

You could scarcely wait to hear everything, to fill him in on everything, and to have every waking moment consumed by his presence. 

* * * 

Tags: @saviorsong​ @lilmelily​ @dicksoutformtl​ @fandomhoe101​ @icarus-fell-in-spring​ @someoneinthestars @red-riding​ @miriel-estelwen​ @ta-ka-shi-ma​ @nerdyely​ @thegirlwithoutaname87​ @anunexpectedsideblog​ @venelia-rorwen​  @spidergirla5​​ @eunoiaastralwings​ @eternalabysss​

#Glorfindel #Laurefindil #Glorfindel x Reader #jrr tolkien #tolkien #the silm #the silmarillion #silm #silmarillion #lotr #The Lord of the Rings #the fellowship of the ring #the two towers #the return of the king #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #imagines #one shot #one shots #headcanon #headcanons #rivendell #imladris