fix older

…you know, I think Hunter x Hunter might be the first fandom I’ve come across where there are legit no time travel fics. 

Thranduil  drinks to numb his body, for it is constantly in agony.

The aches of Mirkwood creep into his soul, as his fea is connected to the woods, his magic like a shield enveloping the darkening forest. As it ails and sickens, so does Thranduil. And the pain is unbearable.

The spiders and their poison are like a searing hot venom to his body, their webs and nest consuming his trees are like pins and needles shattering his bones. All they touch crumbles and decays. So why should Thranduil’s body not do the same (when the dwarves arrive in the woods, when he captures Thorin, the King Under the Mountain thinks his scars are acquired just from his battles with the dragons. But in reality, Thranduil is falling apart).

Somedays he cannot leave bed, others he stumbles on his throne.

On his worse days, his nose bleeds, his body aches, his head pounds, and he wakes up with advisors and guards ushering him to the healing wing.

Because his pain is both mental and physical, he finds the numbing effect of alcohol to be quite beneficial.

It helped after the death of his wife, before the aches began. Helped him sway away the image of her dead body from his head, helped expel her ghostly figure—brown skin and dark hair, bright eyes and gentle lips—from beside him.

The warm drink brightened his mood just enough so that he could get through a council meeting. It was small at first—a glass of wine a day for one meeting, and perhaps two for another.

And then the aches, they came. Disorienting and agonizing, excruciating, they came. And as the woods died, so did he.

So he began to drink excessively (not quite an alcoholic, not yet at least).

He makes the wine strong, and soon Mirkwood is notorious for its potent alcohol. All thanks to their ailing king.

Yet it fixes very little. Only hazes his mind, muddles it enough to get him through kingly duties.

Other elves regard him as a drunk. Galadriel calls it irresponsible and is glad for his absence in the White Council (and he scoffs at her, for she has never seen what he has, and never felt what he has, not hiding behind realms and rings. He supposes, that’s why Elrond says nothing of the matter).  

His people regard him as a dying elf, a proud king clinging on to his crown for the good of his Kingdom.

As expected, he becomes addicted.

A cup or bottle in his palm; a platter beside his throne, a waterskin on his horse. But he is a king none the less, and the greatest left in Middle Earth.

No one judges his behavior—no one who knows him that is. Not when he blushes from the effects of his alcohol, nor when he passes out on the floor, laughing, after a successful council meeting, with Legolas dragging him out.

Their king drinks because he is hurting. Their king drinks because he is dying.


I’m late but…I’ve been traveling

Transcript: It’s getting harder and harder to keep track of the days…Day and night are meaningless in space…A year is merely the motion of one rock around one star…Even my seconds are longer, but by how much? If only I knew how fast I was heading away…But all I know is that I’m getting older. Still, even if I could count the days, I wouldn’t. Because I know he’s counting them too.


stayed up way too late working on this but oh well. here you have it, the opening of Race to the Edge as if it was made like F.R.I.E.N.D.S. i hope you all like it!

EDIT: the size is fixed! plus, my older brother (who knows Adobe Premiere a lot better than I do) helped me make it so much better. also, thanks for the notes, you guys! I’m so happy you all love it!

Best feeling in the world:

When you’re working on a big project and it somehow didn’t save one night  and you lost all the work you did on it one night and it’s just the greatest because now you have to do it all AGAIN and it totally makes me happy and not want to cry.

Imagine being a single, pregnant mom and Dean wants to be the father of your child because he’s been in love with you for years and wants to have a family with you.

“Dean, you really don’t have to do this.” you whispered, placing a hand over your belly as the older Winchester fixed on the last shelf for your books.

“Come on, (Y/n), you have more books than Sam himself. You needed the shelves and I had nothing better to do. What else was I supposed to do? Let you get it done on your own?” he scoffed, shaking his head as he kept going with his work.

“Dean, I could have done it! It’s not that hard, you forget I was able to put up with you and Sam ever since I was a little kid?” you teased with a smirk as he shot you a glare, but at the same time couldn’t help a grin.

“Shut up, you know you love us.” he mumbled and you giggled, nodding your head.

“Yes I do.” you whispered, wanting to bad to say you loved him more and in a much different way than Sam, but holding yourself back in the end “But I mean it you know. Just cause I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I can’t do a thing on my own and you know it. I could have just as well carried everything and put it together on my own, it’s no science Dean.”

“No it’s not but-” he let a small breath as he got back up on his feet, having finished his work “There was no way I was gonna let you carry anything on your own, 9.5/10 pregnancy books say that especially during the latest months of your pregnancy you are not allowed to carry anything heavy, not to mention overwork.” he shrugged as if it was nothing, putting back all of the tools in one place.

“Wait-” you smirked, raising an eyebrow “You- you- how do you know that?”

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pika-ace  asked:

Oh my GOD! I was staring at the post about Benny thinking Sonny was magic and just thought...what if Sonny WAS magic? Or had some kind of superpowers and Usnavi and the barrio have to protect him from the government or something?? (Sorry, my AU mind is going crazy again... XP )

tbh if lil sonny was magic he’d exclusively use his powers for one thing 

well that and messing with benny

I’m sick of the idea that children are somehow responsible for saving the world. New generations, new young adults, new children, they’re all brought to life with this pressure that they’re somehow supposed to fix the world that older generations have fucked up! And mind you, not fix for themselves, make life good for themselves, noo, they’re supposed to fix the life FOR the older generations! They’re supposed to save faulty industries, support exploitative capitalistic systems, make up everything to their abusive parents, and then sacrifice their time and labour and will to live so the world could function better for everyone else, and if they happen to fail at this impossible task, then they’re failure as a human being and a burden on society! Do older generations bring new people in this world literally only for their own benefit? To make things better for themselves?

I’m fucking furious about this, as if it’s not enough we’re brought in this world where it’s such fucking struggle to survive literally every person I know has this deep fear of the future, anxiety at what’s going to happen to them, how the world will change for worse and if they’ll be able to ever be safe and sound. We’re somehow expected to fix problems we haven’t created and we have no power to stop, these are problems that are done TO us, they’re not something we’ve been given power over and authority to end.

We had fucking dreams when we were born into this world. We had our aspirations and desires and things we wanted to be, we wanted to achieve, we thought this world was worth something, that we’ve been born into a functioning society, and for a reason, that we had our lives in front of us, and now we have to face that this is nothing but a dysfunctional dystopia and everyone is blaming us for it? For not being enough to impossibly make it work? We’re not here to be what the world needs, we’re here because we’re human, we’re here because we’re alive, we deserve to live, we deserve to experience the wonder and joy and beauty of being alive on this planet, how do they reason taking this away from us? How do they reason throwing us into this pit of impossible expectations while somehow failing to notice that all the good things they’ve had somehow never reached us, somehow got destroyed on the way of their path to success? Our happiness is lost among their winnings, and they’ve still not had enough.

Fucking nobody cares about children anymore.

anonymous asked:

Stranger Things prompt: Eleven comes over to Mike's house and has dinner with the whole Wheeler family for the first time. :)

She’s going to be grounded.

So grounded.

Grounding is a thing now. Now that she can leave. She can be punished. Of course being grounded isn’t anything like the punishments she’s used to receiving, but the way Hop looks when she misbehaves is starting to make her insides squirm. Still, she’ll just have to get over it. This isn’t for her. She walks over to the counter and pays, holding the boxes carefully as she makes her way across town. The lights are on when she gets there, she thinks she might hear yelling but then tells herself she’s being silly. She walks up to the door instead and presses the doorbell twice. Nope, she can definitely hear the yelling. She thinks about pressing it a third time and decides to wait. A moment later the door opens.

“Hi,” she says and holds out the boxes, “I’m sorry I slept in your house and ate all your Eggos. I was hiding and Mike helped, but it’s my fault. I’m sorry,” she repeats, holding the boxes out a little farther, “these are for you,” she adds, in case she doesn’t know.

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promptis + highspecs babiessss~

(anon asked for highspecs + promptis baby playdate. YOU’RE WELCOME.)

There’s a little back courtyard in the citadel. Not very many know about it, and Noct’s pretty sure that’s intentional. There’s a little side hallway with a little stairwell that leads down here, but it’s otherwise inaccessible. He has fond memories of running around back here as a small kid. It’s got high walls – though not too high for an ambitious teenage prince to scale, as he knows from experience – and is shaded heavily by trees. It’s a nice place to waste a lazy afternoon, when you’re an exhausted king.

Noct steps out into the little area. It’s still a bit of a mess of crumbling pathways and tall weeds, but the corner has been shaped into a little garden, sylleblossoms bright and vibrant, dutifully cared for, though normally they refuse to grow here. Noct’s steps hasten and a little smile bubbles up, as he shuffles over to where Prompto’s leaning up against a tree, sitting on a soft blanket he’s spread out.

“See you got stuck with babysitting duty,” Noct says as he lazily settles down, sprawling on his back and laying his head in his husband’s lap. Prompto laughs, a hand drifting, immediately, to work through Noct’s hair. He hasn’t bothered to tie it back today, and it’s long, curling a little at the back of his neck.

“Dunno if I’d say stuck,” Prompto looks down and grins, though he has one eye open still, focused on the two babies flailing on the blanket. Noct turns on his side, sighing as Prompto’s fingers lazily trace over the shell of one ear, tugging a little at the tiny skull earring he’s got – something dumb they all got, a symbolic gesture, of sorts, to mark the end of their journey – and it’s impossible not to smile at the sight.

“You sound tired,” Noctis points out. “Look tired, too.” The two babies, for the moment, are occupied with two plush toys, a fat chocobo and a moogle with a pom that squeaks. Their son is making happy baby noises, a fat fist stuck in his mouth, drooling happily as he waves the chocobo around. The other baby – fair-haired and green-eyed – is offering up her best haughty baby look, and seems to be trying to negotiate in some vague, baby-like way, a trade of toys. It’s entertaining to watch, at the least.

“She’s almost walking, Noct,” Prompto’s voice is a strange mixture of frustration, terror, and sheer wonder. “She’s gonna be a nightmare. It’s crazy how much personality babies have, when they can’t even talk.”

“Takes after her mother,” Noct says with a smile. Their son, all curious smiles and wide-eyes and freckles everywhere, takes after Prompto, Noctis has decided. He’s hoping that eventually he picks up on Noct’s love of sleep though, because they’re existing in a half-dead state of constant exhaustion.

Prompto nods, but he’s shifting out from under Noctis when the baby girl decides she’s bored with whatever little game they’re playing, and rolls over to drag herself to the edge of the blanket. “No, nope, Gloriosa, you get back here… we aren’t playing roll around in the dirt again, Iggy’s already gonna kill me, your clothes are filthy…”

Noctis laughs, and he sits up. True to Prompto’s words, there’s grass stains all over the little girl’s yellow shirt. She’s giving Prompto a solemn, reproachful look, and reaches a hand up to tug at his hair as Prompto scoops her back up and settles back down on the blanket, the baby in his lap.

“He’s gonna be running around soon, too,” Noctis says lazily, reaching over to pick up their son. He’s still holding onto his chocobo plushie with iron fists, cuddling it close against his chest and chewing on its beak now. Noct tries to disentangle it, but he hears the beginning of a wail forming, and gives up. Whatever. It’s a chew toy now, apparently.

“I hope he starts napping around then, too,” Prompto grumbles, but he laughs, head settling happily on Noct’s shoulder, like it belongs there. Because it does belong there.

“Just wait till he starts warping,” Noctis adds, a hint of laughter in his voice, and he’s well aware that he’s going to have a heart attack a million times over, ensured by fond memories of accidentally warping onto the roof, or escaping Ignis for hours on end by leaping right through him in a blur of blue, swirling magic.

“That’s not fair,” Prompto pouts, “I can’t keep up with you stupid Caelums. Two against one.”

Noctis smiles. The matching rings on their fingers are catching the sunlight, through the branches of the trees. Ignis and Aranea’s daughter is restless again, fumbling as she crawls out of Prompto’s lap, and into Noct’s, perching in that swaying, awkward, uncertain way that only a baby can manage, as she goes for the chocobo plushie again, determined.

“Share your toys, Sol,” Noctis lectures idly, as his son’s face scrunches up in the beginnings of a stubborn wail, the two babies both tugging at the toy. Prompto leans forward and snatches up the moogle, and waves it in front of the two babies, and it distracts them for a minute before they’re back to poking at each other with fat little fists.

“You’re a Caelum, too,” Noctis points out, a little belatedly, though he’s now bouncing a sniffling son in his lap as the most cherished chocobo toy changes hands with a good deal of reluctance. “Stuck with us.”

“Guess so,” Prompto says with a laugh, “I kinda signed up for this, falling in love with a king, didn’t I? Don’t think sixteen year old me had any idea what I was in for.”

“Don’t think either of us did,” Noctis laughs too though. “But we figured it out.” Somehow, they did.