no anvils needed for that one

Okay, but now I want fic where Diana and Peggy meet in a New York bar after World War II, and sure, it’s different wars, and different Steves, but they’re both a few pints in, and and sharing each other’s pain, and somehow, they end up back at Diana’s place, and it turns into a semi-regular hookup until Diana meets Peggy at the automat one day, and the moment she sees Peggy with Angie, Diana becomes the original Cartinelli shipper, and starts encouraging Peggy to tell Angie how she feels, while dropping big, anvil like hints to Angie

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Falconer - Lord of the Blacksmith
From their self named album ▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄ Link to buy Falconer http://www.amazon.com/Falconer/dp/B000059WJ5/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1224208017&sr=1-2 ▀▄▀...

@we-are-blacksmith


Where the winds sing
The laments of times long gone
Where the elves dance
Their dances of solitude
Hearken to the mountain
Can you hear the echoes
Of the hammer’s beat
From deep within the shadows?

The lord of the blacksmiths
Keeps forging on
Through the endless time
Master of the anvil
Alloys the metals
With an essence of magic

With wisdom and sorcery
From the beginning of time
Magnificent works are forged
For gods and for mighty kings
Uncrushable shields
Powerbelts and magic rings
Swords that never miss
Sceptres and crowns and other things

There is a holy presence
In his hidden existence
Listen to the hymn
It sings in the galleries
Powerful runes he carves
Into the shining steel
To have protection
From the powers of mystery

2

And she’s homefree, everyone! Fenrien is honestly such a sweet, fluffy bean and I love him. Hopefully you either really like him or really hate him. >:) I wrestled with whether or not I should upload this one but honestly I’m so behind on requests and I just wanted to upload something! Let me know what you guys think. Enjoy!

Prompt[s]: Ok can we just talk about the fact that part 25 of ‘The Tower’ made me cry. And not cute crying either like ugly, sobbing hysterically crying.

She’s out yay, she can finally get back to loki. I wonder how man and worried he is?

I sense that there is a possibility that her ‘escape’ will be short lived 🤔🤔🤔

‘The Tower’ (Part 26)

All Chapters // Part 25

The stables were relatively easy to find, situated closely to the main entrance of the palace at the bottom of the main staircase. Reddish wood comprised the structure from bottom to top, with a few haybales outside the front providing warm contrast. As you approached the tall open doors, a heavy whiff of grain and oats hit your nostrils – a wholesome smell – tainted by the stench of dirt, soil, and sweat. You wanted to believe that you couldn’t smell manure, but that wasn’t to say the area was free of it.

Stepping inside, several paddocks lined the walls, a thin flooring of straw just visible underneath the borders of each one. The good news was that it was empty of guards.

The bad news was that it was empty of horses too.

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Best Boyfriend You’ve Never Had (Bucky x Reader)- Part 3

Summary: The wedding is now in two weeks, and the Reader and Bucky do some planning on the backstory of their ‘relationship’. A mission doesn’t go as expected, and Steve suggests the reader and Bucky head for the wedding early as a well-earned break. 

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Reader, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Bruce Banner (briefly mentioned), Thor Odinson (briefly mentioned), Maria Hill (briefly mentioned), Helen Cho (briefly mentioned)

Warnings: Panic attack, slight angst, comforting, cuddling, fluff

Word Count: 3634 (holy cow!)

Masterlist

Part 2 (Previous) / Part 4



You were sitting in your room, reading a book with the TV quietly playing a random show for background noise, your attention consumed by the plot unraveling in the pages under your gaze. Your fingers fiddled with the corner of the page you were reading before eagerly turning it to the next, your brow furrowed in bewilderment. You barely registered the soft rapping of knuckles on your doorframe until the sound of your name spoken in the voice you knew so well pulled you from the world of Paul Sheldon and the psychotic Annie Wilkes. Your eyes reluctantly tore their gaze from the story to the doorway, soaking in the sight of Bucky leaning relaxed against the frame, arms crossed and long dark locks tucked behind his ears. You smiled in greeting. He was dressed in a black V-neck tee with dark grey sweatpants resting low on his hips, feet clad in the fuzzy red and green striped reading socks you’d bought him for Christmas last year. He looked as comfortable as you felt in his presence.

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An Honest Man [Billy Russo]

Prompt: can you write some sort of the punisher canon-au(frank and karen are together, billy is not a villain and hasn’t slept with dinah, sam is alive etc.) where billy is secretly married to the sweetest and most adorable reader(he wanted to protect her from his enemies so so far only punisher squad + anvil know about her) and everybody finds out about her because they’re finally safe + dinah tried to make a move on billy (sorry for so many details)
Prompter: Anonymous

So I kind of fell in love with this prompt and got something written up quickly. I hope you enjoy! :)

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Chronological List of Kastle & Kastle Important Scenes in The Punisher

Complete with brief thorough scene overviews and approximate episode timestamps!

PART TWO, FAM. (DDS2′s list here!) [ Stops after 1.10 as all parallels after of Frank’s scenes are arguably up for interpretation, so this is keeping it to the explicit stuff! ]

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anonymous asked:

Winteriron Bakery AU where Tony is the owner of Stark Bakeries and falls for Bucky. Steve and Sam tease Bucky a lot because Bucky always goes out of his way to visit the cake shop. Granted the cakes are delicious but it's way out of Bucky's workplace. Rhodey and Pepper tease Tony a lot whenever Bucky comes. Bucky is always blushing when he talks to Tony. One day Bucky shouts that he loves Tony. Tony immediately agrees to date him. Fluffy, cute story. Happy ending.

AN: Woooow this got totally out of hand. XD Also, it’s barely edited because I’m awful. But yeah. Probably angstier than the asker intended. Sorry! But it’s still pretty fluffy sometimes? idk Hope you enjoy it! Because it is super long, there is a ‘Read More’


Bucky hadn’t been home before 10:30 at night in almost a month and a half.

It wasn’t that he was pulling overtime, though he’d managed to fool his roommates for just over a week with that cover story. Evading their questions had gotten trickier after that, but Bucky persevered for two more blessed weeks. It wasn’t that he was ashamed or embarrassed about where he was spending his time… it was just that he didn’t need Stevie or Sam ruining everything. He’d been certain that as soon as they knew where he spent his time, they’d show up and figure out why he was going there. Once they figured out, their ‘I’m a little shit’ switches would be flipped and the teasing would begin. And yeah, they wouldn’t really mean any harm, and once they both settled they’d be supportive about it, but… It was just that he didn’t need them destroying his new happy place.

He’d discovered the little cafe completely by accident. One day, one horrible awful shitty day, he’d just started to drive. It was something that had always helped him calm down, and he hadn’t had any specific destination in mind. He just… drove, taking turns when the urge hit him, getting further and further away from both his work and his apartment. Bucky hadn’t even thought about stopping until his stomach started to complain, which was when he started looking for diners or maybe a donut place.

What he’d found instead was a shop named ‘We Sell Fucking Cakes’, except the 'u’ on the sign had been replaced with an adorable looking cupcake capped with what looked like a wrench. Intrigued, he’d found a place to park and found his curiosity further peaked by a poster in the window that announced they’d defeated 146 attempts to force them to change their name. It had seemed like Bucky’s kind of place despite the cutesy looking decor - when he’d opened the door, it had been to the sound of hammers hitting an anvil instead of a bell. He’d thought it was the weirdest and cooling fucking thing ever.

And then… then he’d fallen in love.

Not with the food or the coffee, though both were pretty amazing. Their menu of 'real’ food was pretty limited - some sandwiches, one kind of soup every day, the occasional taco or casserole special. Where they really shone was in their desert selection. It was as varied as the baked goods were delicious, and Bucky often wondered why they hadn’t opened up a bakery that was only a bakery.

“Because I need coffee like I need air,” the resident genius baker had told him with a shrug and a twinkle in his eye. He’d also had flour streaked across his nose and on his cheek, and Bucky had ached to brush it away with a few tender swipes of his thumb. “If we sell it, I get to drink it for free. Duh.” It wasn’t fair that the wink he’d given before disappearing into the kitchen made Bucky a little weak in the knees.

It was for him that Bucky made the hour-long drive everyday after work. He’d been purposefully vague whenever he was asked about his job and where he lived. From the way Pepper’s eyes danced, he wasn’t fooling the woman who handled both the register and all of  'We Sell Fucking Cakes’  marketing. She and Rhodes (who the guy Bucky desperately wanted to impress called Rhodey) were very clearly aware of his gigantic crush, and they were always making sly comments whenever the man who’d stolen Bucky’s heart came out from the back to mingle. At first, Bucky had fucking panicked, sure that they were going to ruin this as surely as Stevie and Sam would.

Thank fucking Christ that Tony seemed oblivious as to why they were teasing him the way they were.

Tony (whose last name he didn’t know, but it was fine, Tony could just take his) sometimes blushed or darted quick looks Bucky’s way, but he seemed oblivious to Bucky’s feelings. That was both a blessing and a curse. Because sure it meant Bucky was too chicken-shit to ask him on a date, but it also meant that they could talk without things getting awkward. Tony not knowing about Bucky’s infatuation meant he could sit in the warm, welcoming cafe for a couple hours a day. It meant they weren’t avoiding each other’s eyes or pretending things didn’t get weird when one person was crushing and the other person wasn’t.

And Tony definitely wasn’t. He came out and talked to Bucky all the time, but he tended to talk to most of the patrons. Everyone loved meeting the man behind the baked goods, and Tony seemed to thrive on the attention. He preened and boasted, and it was so well-deserved that Bucky found it endearing instead of ignoring. The fact that he lingered or even sat at Bucky’s table was easily explained away; Tony was a nerd. A total, complete, unapologetic geek. In Bucky he’d found a kindred spirit, and their discussions usually revolved around things like Star Wars, Star Trek, Dune, and various books and video games. They even had a book club of sorts, where they traded beat up paperbacks and then argued over what the author was trying to say. It was friendly, it was Tony wanting someone to talk nerdy to, and not anything more.

Bucky was the one who wanted a romantic relationship, and he was the one who was too scared of losing what they had to ask for it.

It was fine though. He liked being Tony’s friend. Eventually his crush would (probably) fade, and he’d get to keep Tony’s friendship for a lot longer than dating would likely last. So it was fine. He had a great little spot to hang out, eat dinner, and spend all his money at. He had Tony stopping by his table for chats, and he had Pepper and Rhodey shooting him knowing glances without giving up his crush to the object of his affections. Bucky had it good, really, and he was thankful for it.

Then Sam and Stevie got curious and way too nosy, and he knew that his good thing was living on borrowed time.

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disjointed Monday

Woke up feeling utterly hungover. Weird, I haven’t indulged in anything except negative self talk in six weeks. 

Oh. 

What a stupid ass weekend I just spent doing a bare minimum of anything. I did make myself clean out my closet and bureau yesterday, and I think I’ll start a Poshmark store to try to get rid of some of the stuff I never wear. 

Why am I so angry? Got dam I need my company to pull the trigger on offering us insurance so I can finalize this divorce that feels like a soul-flattening anvil hanging over my head. 

I finally unmatched from the carpenter on that dating app that I impulsively purchased a six month subscription to thinking what the hell, I met one truly wonderful human on here, maybe there’s another… but every time I opened the app, there was his face in my connections tab…always online. And the main photo he uses is super flattering, and isn’t how he looks in the day to day at all. He’s an incredibly handsome guy, but this photo brings it to next level for me and everything got all tangled up in my head. Took me a minute to accept that it’d be best to stop seeing that. 

He did email me back and say he’d really like for us to be friends. I of course prolly ruined that by gushing back at him how much I’d like that. Have not heard from him since, and I’m not going to force a thing. I feel foolish enough as it is. 

I’ve got several conversations going with new people, and they all feel flat and hollow and pointless. 

Hey, but I haven’t reached for a drink. I’ve thought about it a few times, but more in a hmmm… what if I had a drink right now…kind of way, and then followed that through to the end and made tea instead. 

I’m joining the gym down next to my office this week. It’s a Y with a pool. I can’t wait to get in the water. 

I once again did not hang the new blinds in my bedroom. I dread doing it. I know I’m going to fuck up the wood frames and end up having to drill more holes than are necessary and they’ll be crooked and goddammit, my bathroom sink is also clogged and the kitchen sink aerator fell out and now the hose won’t work. I’ve got some real Feng Shui nightmares going on around here that I need to solve, and I just don’t have the capacity right now. 

Fak. I need to get in the shower. I’m going to be late for work. Can you tell I don’t wanna? I don’t wanna. 

Here, a sequel of sorts to that last one.

“I’ve seen them smile at you more times than I’ve seen them before in their lives.” The same words, two different sides of the keep, said by two different people, about the exact same thing.

-

Jon had finally returned to Winterfell to work on rallying the troops, finding Gendry there as he had sent. More importantly though, he had found Arya and Bran who… who had been dead. He was certain of it. There was nothing more concrete about their fates. Arya had vanished from King’s Landing, then had been accompanied by the Hound before disappearing from the earth once more. Bran had more literally died, his body burned to a crisp by fucking Theon. But he hadn’t, it hadn’t been him. Still, he was gone, and no one had seen him since he had abandoned Winterfell. Yet here they were: with him, and Sansa, back at home. They’d lost so much, but at least they still had each other.

And for Arya, one other. “Honestly, she spends her time smiling at your or screaming at you, which both indicate strong feelings.” Gendry looked embarrassed, and he didn’t look at Jon, focusing instead on his labor, hard at work, pounding, pounding, pounding at the steel of a blade. Winterfell would need his hammer, but for now, it needed it with anvil and tongs first. It helped that Gendry was so skilled, all his work was coming out like blades of legend. Jon was impressed; he had not anticipated his new friend to be quite so good at this.

“I don’t know, seems to me like we’ve got bigger problems,” Gendry dismissed Jon’s speech, though a little halfheartedly. He did have feelings for Arya, that much Jon had decided. And he could tell Arya felt the same way about him. Again, smiles or screams, both meant the same thing.

“Dammit Gendry you’re going to go leave here and tell her or I will for you.” Jon said straight up. Gendry bristled, paused in his work, looked to Jon. His blue eyes were intense, and his frame intimidating, but he looked more scared and anxious than anything else. Of course he was scared, he’d be confronting Arya if Jon had his way. “I’ve died once. Life is short, and it’s not going to get longer with that army headed this way. Worst case scenario, you both die content. Now, please, get to it.”

Gendry watched Jon for a little longer, as if still in disbelief. Emotions crowded his eyes, frustration, anxiety, but more than a little joy. At being encouraged to do this thing he’d wanted to anyway. Gendry left the forge.

-

“And I have seen his whole life, I know it for fact,” Bran said emphatically to Arya, who merely stared out her window at snow falling, feeling… frustrated. Obviously. Bran knew his sister, knew that she grew quiet when she didn’t know what to do. She was trying to come up with a plan, or an excuse, to escape him. But Bran was not letting her leave here without some kind of admission.

“Still very creepy you know,” Arya noted, not looking at her younger brother. “Spying on people’s lives,” It made her uncomfortable, Bran knew, but this was who he was. Who he had to be. The Three-Eyed Raven was essential to this war. As were Arya and Gendry, and they’d be better off if they ended this farce and got on with it. Bran was happy to help that along if he could.

“As you’ve told me. Does not make it less true Arya,” Bran watched her back as she continued to look out on Winterfell, busy as it was this hour. Every hour truly. There was no shortage of things to be done after all.

Arya turned to look at him, looking very insistent but also very scared. Bran almost scoffed. She was being entirely ridiculous. “You’re misinterpreting him. He can’t feel that way. I’m… Arya.” Bran inhaled deeply, before replying to her nonconcern.

“Perhaps I am. I’m not, but maybe I am. I’m not misinterpreting you. You like him.” Arya’s look betrayed he was right, not that he needed the confirmation. The way they behaved, always together, always content. And when they weren’t content, the passion of conflict was hotter than any forge fire. “And my sister, who fought assassins, soldiers, criminals, escaped King’s Landing, Harrenhal, Braavos, is not scared of rejection. Go.” She seemed immediately emboldened by his words, and Bran smiled softly, feeling effective, reasonable, and like he had helped a good thing come to be. Arya left the room without another word.

-

Arya and Gendry met halfway, outside in the snow. It fell onto their hair and clothes and was very cold but it didn’t matter. They looked at each other, pausing in the crossroads. “Hey,”

“Hey,” It wasn’t an impasse, rather just a start. A buffer, for as they looked at each other, they needed the time to think about why they were doing this. Not just because their friends and family had bugged them into submission, but…

Their lips matched perfectly, and snow seemed like it would melt off their skin. The warm embrace, the wet and nervous but still perfect kiss, it exuded everything that they needed. That they had wanted. The hardships they’d endured, the prices they’d paid, none of that mattered here and now. They did this because they loved.

TTB -- Forging Love

Title: Touch the Butts Hobbit Edition— Forging Love  

 Summary: You were a simple office worker, until a twist of fate sends you tumbling into Middle Earth and into the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.  You don’t know what to expect, you don’t know if you will survive, but you have this feeling that there is a great love story in the making.  But who will be the one you are destined to be with?  Make your choice and Touch the Butts.  

 Warnings: Language.  Fluff.   Talk of sexy times.

 Start From the Beginning

Originally posted by tinysofia

The forges of Erebor had always fascinated you.  Granted, after the whole thing with the dragon, you couldn’t really look at them too seriously, but they were still magnificent.  Every worker there was able to make the most incredible things. Small jewelry that seemed like strings of gold tied together, special weapons with runes on them, armor, just fascinating to watch.  

You tended to sneak down and watch every now and then, standing off to the side just to listen to the sounds of the hammers hitting the anvil’s, the gold bubbling, the silver being cooled.  But today, you got a special surprise when you trekked down to the forges with your lunch in hand.

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greek mythology mbti (the weird version)

INFJ - dionysus
Dionysus is represented by city religions as the protector of those who do not belong to conventional society and thus symbolizes everything which is chaotic, dangerous and unexpected, everything which escapes human reason and which can only be attributed to the unforeseeable action of the gods.

ENFJ - apollo
Medicine and healing are associated with Apollo, whether through the god himself or mediated through his son Asclepius, yet Apollo was also seen as a god who could bring ill-health and deadly plague. Amongst the god’s custodial charges, Apollo became associated with dominion over colonists, and as the patron defender of herds and flocks.

ENTJ - athena
She is the patroness of various crafts, especially of weaving, as Athena Ergane, and was honored as such at festivals such as Chalceia. The metalwork of weapons also fell under her patronage. She led battles (Athena Promachos or the warrior maiden Athena Parthenos)[25] as the disciplined, strategic side of war, in contrast to her brother Ares, the patron of violence, bloodlust and slaughter—"the raw force of war".[26] Athena is the goddess of knowledge, purity, arts, crafts, learning, justice and wisdom. She represents intelligence, humility, consciousness, cosmic knowledge, creativity, education, enlightenment, the arts, eloquence and power. She stands for Truth, Justice, and Moral values. She plays a tough, clever and independent role.

INTJ - medusa
The name “Medusa” itself is often used in ways not directly connected to the mythological figure but to suggest the gorgon’s abilities or to connote malevolence; despite her origins as a beauty, the name in common usage “came to mean monster.”[19] It is the Lie that makes him free. Animals alone are given the privilege of lifting the veil of Isis; men dare not. The animal, awake, has no fictional escape from the Real because he has no imagination. Man, awake, is compelled to seek a perpetual escape into Hope, Belief, Fable, Art, God, Socialism, Immortality, Alcohol, Love. From Medusa-Truth he makes an appeal to Maya-Lie.

ESTJ - perseus
The legendary founder of Mycenae and of the Perseid dynasty of Danaans, was the first of the heroes of Greek mythology whose exploits in defeating various archaic monsters provided the founding myths of the Twelve Olympians. Perseus beheaded the Gorgon Medusa, and saved Andromeda from the sea monster Cetus. He was the son of the mortal Danae and the god Zeus.

ISTP - theseus
Theseus volunteered to slay the monster to stop this horror. He took the place of one of the youths and set off with a black sail, promising to his father, Aegeus, that if successful he would return with a white sail.[10] Like the others, Theseus was stripped of his weapons when they sailed. On his arrival in Crete, Ariadne, King Minos’ daughter, fell in love with Theseus and, on the advice of Daedalus, gave him a ball of thread or clue, so he could find his way out of the Labyrinth.

INFP - achilles
In other words, Achilles is an embodiment of the grief of the people, grief being a theme raised numerous times in the Iliad (frequently by Achilles). Achilles’ role as the hero of grief forms an ironic juxtaposition with the conventional view of Achilles as the hero of κλέος kleos (“glory”, usually glory in war).

ESFP - zeus
“Even the gods who are not his natural children address him as Father, and all the gods rise in his presence.”[7] For the Greeks, he was the King of the Gods, who oversaw the universe. As Pausanias observed, “That Zeus is king in heaven is a saying common to all men.”

ENFP - poseidon
In his benign aspect, Poseidon was seen as creating new islands and offering calm seas. When offended or ignored, he supposedly struck the ground with his trident and caused chaotic springs, earthquakes, drownings and shipwrecks. Sailors prayed to Poseidon for a safe voyage, sometimes drowning horses as a sacrifice;[citation needed] in this way, according to a fragmentary papyrus, Alexander the Great paused at the Syrian seashore before the climactic battle of Issus, and resorted to prayers, “invoking Poseidon the sea-god, for whom he ordered a four-horse chariot to be cast into the waves.”

ISFP - artemis
Artemis, while sitting on the knee of her father, Zeus, asked him to grant her six wishes: to remain always a virgin; to have many names to set her apart from her brother Apollo; to be the Phaesporia or Light Bringer; to have a bow and arrow and a knee-length tunic so that she could hunt; to have sixty “daughters of Okeanos”, all nine years of age, to be her choir; and for twenty Amnisides Nymphs as handmaidens to watch her dogs and bow while she rested. She wished for no city dedicated to her, but to rule the mountains, and for the ability to help women in the pains of childbirth.

ISFJ - hestia
A hearth fire might be deliberately, ritually extinguished at need, and its lighting or relighting should be accompanied by rituals of completion, purification and renewal, comparable with the rituals and connotations of an eternal flame and of sanctuary lamps. […] Hestia, you who tend the holy house of the lord Apollo, the Far-shooter at goodly Pytho, with soft oil dripping ever from your locks, come now into this house, come, having one mind with Zeus the all-wise: draw near, and withal bestow grace upon my song.

ISTJ - hephaestus
Hephaestus had his own palace on Olympus, containing his workshop with anvil and twenty bellows that worked at his bidding.[11] Hephaestus crafted much of the magnificent equipment of the gods, and almost any finely-wrought metalwork imbued with powers that appears in Greek myth is said to have been forged by Hephaestus. He designed Hermes’ winged helmet and sandals, the Aegis breastplate, Aphrodite’s famed girdle, Agamemnon’s staff of office,[12] Achilles’ armor, Heracles’ bronze clappers, Helios’ chariot, the shoulder of Pelops, and Eros’ bow and arrows.

ESFJ - prometheus
Henceforth, humans would keep that meat for themselves and burn the bones wrapped in fat as an offering to the gods. This angered Zeus, who hid fire from humans in retribution. In this version of the myth, the use of fire was already known to humans, but withdrawn by Zeus.[6] Prometheus, however, stole fire back in a giant fennel-stalk and restored it to humanity.

INTP - hermes
Hermes is a god of transitions and boundaries. He is quick and cunning, and moves freely between the worlds of the mortal and divine, as emissary and messenger of the gods,[1] intercessor between mortals and the divine, and conductor of souls into the afterlife. He is protector and patron of travelers, herdsmen, thieves,[2] orators and wit, literature and poets, athletics and sports, invention and trade.[3] In some myths he is a trickster, and outwits other gods for his own satisfaction or the sake of humankind.

ENTP - daedalus
This story thus encourages others to consider the long-term consequences of their own inventions with great care, lest those inventions do more harm than good. As in the tale of Icarus’ wings, Daedalus is portrayed assisting in the creation of something that has subsequent negative consequences, in this case with his creation of the monstrous Minotaur’s almost impenetrable Labyrinth which made slaying the beast an endeavour of legendary difficulty.

ESTP - tyche
Tyche (English /ˈtaɪki/; from Greek: Τύχη,[1][2] meaning “luck”; Roman equivalent: Fortuna) was the presiding tutelary deity that governed the fortune and prosperity of a city, its destiny. The effectiveness of her capricious power even achieved respectability in philosophical circles during that generation, though among poets it was a commonplace to revile her for a fickle harlot.[10] In medieval art, she was depicted as carrying a cornucopia, an emblematic ship’s rudder, and the wheel of fortune, or she may stand on the wheel, presiding over the entire circle of fate.

    The tavern is packed tonight, every table and barstool full, every bed upstairs reserved. Of course there’s no mystery to that. There had been a new round of quests posted; bounties, missing posters, pleas for help with monsters terrorizing villages and groups of thieves that needed taken care of, and even some things as simple as the blacksmith looking for an apprentice or help with farm work. Most have a reward posted, some don’t, but few of either ever stay up long. The mission postings are across the street, so The Cracked Anvil Tavern is the closest one for people to prepare at, and do they ever.


I pour another round for the folks at the bar: four dwarven lagers, two elven meads, three barley stouts, three Quadiran ciders, two ales, and another absinthe. The last for him tonight, I thought as I handed the glass of vivid green liquid to the tall man at the end of the bar, who had already had enough that his face was flushed the same bright red as his hair. He downed the drink, and almost on cue he fell out of his stool and decided that that was close enough to a bed. The crowd around the bar consisting of those who got here too late to find a seat adjusted around him and continued their various conversations.


    Around the tables that take up the rest of the first floor of the tavern, various groups of adventurers eat their meals, drink their beverages, and discuss their plans. Two half orcs with draconic golden eyes, one in heavy armor with the mark of the dragon god Bahamut on the crest, one in scorched leather armor and a cloak with a suspicious amount of pockets on the inside, seem to be settling a sibling argument in their usual way: a drinking contest. A crowd has gathered around their table, and I pour twelve more shots of Dragon’s Piss for one of the waiters to take to them. When it arrives, the crowd starts cheering as the orc twins, who come here frequently enough for this to be somewhat routine, start downing shots.


    “Ready to give up yet, Dorn?” the one in the cloak says between their first and second shot, breaking their sober facade with a burp that most likely could have caught fire had there been a match lit.


    “Not till you admit that my plan is better, Mihratt.” Dorn is doing… less well. He’s trying his hardest to seem sober, but his eyes seeme to be having trouble focusing, and he’s swaying in his seat. No one could blame him; this is their third round of Dragon’s Piss. Still, he seems determined to get his way. He downs another shot, and cringes.


    “Starting on the roof and working our way in is our best bet. We know there’s a roof access, we know it leads into the servant’s staircase, and we know that will take us wherever we need to go throughout that section of the castle.” Mihratt knocks back another shot. “What do you have against this plan?” An elf moves through the crowd, bumping against the members of the audience the two have gathered with their dispute and murmuring apologies as he makes his way through.


    “Sentries. Sentry towers. They keep archers posted at all times. We should knock out a couple of guards, take their armor, and blend in until the time is right. We know that there’s a patrol on the hunting grounds scheduled for that night, there will only be two guards posted on that patrol, and we can sneak in and out easy as long as we avoid other guards.” Another shot, and a groan. “Plus, I’m scared of heights.”


    “We have wings, Dorn.”


    “Didn’t ask for those.”


    Mihratt snorts out a laugh, any semblance of sobriety gone. When they sit back up, they say, “I guess that’s fair. If we do it right, we might not even have to fight anyone. Probably won’t, but that’s never stopped us before.” They look at the seven shots remaining on the table, unnecessary now that the dispute had been settled. “Are you gonna drink those?”


    “Hells no. It’s a miracle I made it this long.”


    Another table gets knocked over, sending bottles flying and shattering to the floor in an array of green and brown glass, and I look at the source of the scuffle to see the elf that made his way through  the now-dissipating crowd being lifted a few feet off the ground by his throat by an angry-looking orc woman. “You want to give my pouch back?” she asks with a voice like rusted nails.


    “What pouch?” the elf asks unconvincingly in a strained, high-pitched tone. The orc shakes him a little, and an impressive amount of pouches, wallets, and loose gold falls out. Tavern patrons check their pockets, and upon finding their possessions missing, become outraged.


    The orc raises the fist that isn’t holding the elf, before looking at me and thinking better of it. She nods and carries him outside by his throat. I see the look of regret on his face as he gulps audibly. A large portion of the patrons follow, some to get their things back, some to watch them.


    There’s a silent understanding in taverns like mine, you see. They’re neutral spaces, and that neutrality is enforced by the patrons. Troublemakers don’t stay long here.


    Wordlessly, someone rights the table that was knocked over in the fight, levitates the broken glass into a rubbish bin, scoops up the coins the pickpocket left on the floor, and drops them into my tip jar. I smile and reach to pour them a drink, but they step briskly out the door, leaving only a few stragglers in the tavern.


    I help the man who once sat at the bar up off the floor and lead him up the stairs to put him to bed, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand. Gods know the poor bastard would need it in the morning.


    Walking downstairs, I take a moment to take in the tavern while it’s still quiet inside. The tables have glasses and bottles in various states of emptiness (or fullness, I suppose, depending on who you ask), but every plate is empty. The green wallpaper adorning the walls is peeling in some places, especially near the wooden support beams that line them, but they’re mostly well-maintained. Most of the furniture matches to some degree, in that it’s mostly made of the same birch wood, with the exceptions of a few armchairs and settees that have significantly more padding. Those are arranged around the grey stone fireplace, which contains the remnants of a fire that had been burning bright when I started my shift, but now dwindles to embers. I pile more firewood onto what remains and stoke the flame. Then, once it reaches a satisfying heat, I reach into a pocket on my apron and drop a sprig of cinnamon bark into the fire- an old tavern-keeper’s trick that I learned from my mother in the years before I inherited the Cracked Anvil. It overpowers the scent of alcohol and makes the place smell inviting.


    I sink into my favorite seat by the fire, a puffy chair covered in furs and blankets. This the first time I’ve sat in nine hours. Posting days are always the busiest, and today was no exception.


    Those that were outside trail back in, with the notable and unsurprising exception of the pickpocket, and upon seeing me in my chair, walk upstairs, some taking their drinks with them. A few pat me on the shoulder as they walk past. Most leave a generous amount of gold somewhere I can see it. I sink further into the chair, the furs soft against me, and rest my eyes for a moment.


    Today was a good day.

wolf-beil  asked:

Beowulf for the character list!

Ohhhh gosh Jordi! How are ya pal!!! (I still have to finish the other ask you gave me! I’m making it super long and detailed just for you!)

AND GOD YES, THE FAVE BABE OKAY HERE GOES

  • Favorite thing about them:

Beowulf’s motif and his huge ass muscles because they’re goals. Also, the wolf pelt, definitely. Oh! Oh! And his happy-go-lucky attitude because my ass be having it too omfg.

His bravery is another thing, tbh, because he just straight up tells everyone on tv that his match was rigged because he knows he’s not really a hero. He’s the people’s hero. That was the reason in the first place why he got famous! To go in front of people and explain the situation knowing full well you might get back? That takes guts.

  • Least favorite thing about them:

The “Wrestler Bro” attitude sometimes. It’s fine, but the dudes at Lab Zero gave him a split “Does he think wrestling is real or…?” and “He says things you don’t expect in whispers.” in fights and it’s a wasted Easter egg Imo. The game makes him act and behave as though he’s rather dim-witted, which, cool because he’s a simple guy, but they also shoehorned Annie in to save his butt time to time and I dislike the sort of relationship they gave them both. 

It’s also been said behind the scenes Beowulf did take part of the nationalistic effort in the war. Now, granted, if that was the case? Why didn’t they expand upon this? If he was a soldier, I feel he should obviously be referenced too, if not, as it already seems Parasoul knew he was merely a political pawn, I feel Beowulf’s love of the Canopy Kingdom really should have been broadened on because it’s bad writing Imo that they left out these things in favor of highlighting Annie in his story mode.

Personally in my essay I wrote, I really am big on the Annie inclusion, but I feel that it took away from Beowulf’s true personality and potential. Why add in Beowulf being saved by Annie, if he was meant to destroy Grendel anyway via suplex? I feel if such was the case, have Annie take on Double in the first place after she swallows Beowulf into Gehenna and he takes on Marie Ala Squigly and Filia.

That said, the dimwittedness is rather bland to me. It’s obvious Beowulf’s intellect shouldn’t be the brunt of the joke, and the fanbase was even worse with his treatment, outright ignoring him or treating him as the butt-monkey of the cast because Annie or Minette wasn’t voted in and it really does tick me off. We could have really shown how Beowulf was obviously using the wrestler persona to grieve for Grendel. We really could have had Beowulf figuring out just how big the Medici Mafia is and him going after those who wronged him after beating Marie. 

We really lost out. And that’s my biggest pet peeve.

  • Favorite line:

I am two hundred, eighty seven pounds of FOLDED STEEL, AND SEX APPEAL.

Originally posted by gingersnap23


  • brOTP:

Beowulf and Adam

Beowulf and Big Band (After their fighting in the story mode and I imagine him coming back to right wrongs)

Beowulf and Annie (I feel like she should have been much more better friends with him. And of course I feel like she’d be so goddamn dirty with him in making censored jokes because he GETS it but he… He can’t man. The kid’s got him. And he can’t curse because how would that look!!! You can’t call out a kid who referenced how your ex was “all up on your blood sausage.”!

  • OTP:

Beowulf and Me aofhiefsjfa[

I’m actually okay with Beowulf and Ms. Victoria actually! I think they’d be so cute together, if anything because I use to think of me and my ex like that, hilariously enough. I.E: Beo is the sort of guy who would waste like 50$ on you at a carnival because he wants to get you the huge ass prize, but then on his last dollar, you take the shot, win it, and you give it to him and his eyes literally are just hearts.

Originally posted by ryuzaki-lester

  • nOTP:

Beowulf and Eliza (Realistically, she’s only gonna use him for his blood to get stronger. I feel like if anything, there’s nothing left of Eliza. So, at this point, you’re dealing with a real monster.)

Beowulf and any underage cast member - I mean C’mon. Really.

Beowulf and Annie - See above

  • random headcanon(s)

- Beowulf actually is really literate, and writes poetry time to time. However, no one would pay to see him go “To be or not to be… SUPLEXED”

- He likes to wear suede and you can find him walking and going about in his scarf and puffy jacket drinking hot tea and lattes because just loves winter months

- The Hurting actually is a sentient being and was given to Beowulf via his old sleazy manager Unferth (In the original tale, Unferth gives Beowulf the Hrunting, but beowulf is so strong, he breaks it.) yet it stays strong to this day. When Beowulf is alone, or when he’s really in a pinch, the Hurting opens up its maws and has long sharp fangs and monstrous tongue used to grapple opponents. Only Beowulf speaking to it can calm it down and turn back to an original chair. No one realizes a thing.

- Grendel’s arm hears EVERYTHING beowulf says, as Grendel is still alive through the arm. However, all it hears is Beowulf screaming his quotes so instead of coherent sentences its: “ALL’S CHAIR. RUNNING WILD. AWOO. I AM TWO HUNDRED–”

- Beowulf actually is a secret musical / Opera critic and is a big benefactor of the arts. He also shouts insults and screams very helpful messages to the actors. 

- When out of a job, Beowulf once took up a librarian job working in Filia’s school. Cue Ms. Victoria having to attend to students and him riding on the Janitor mobile and D. Violet secretly having a crush on him. He also bench pressed many a book case. I would know. I was one of the book cases. The kids later were the first ones to see him back in action with Ms. Victoria after he got back in the game, and they gave him a crude letter to him about being a hero and boy oh boy do I love Beowulf being kids’ hero like he was to me.

  • Unpopular opinion:

As the only male dude besides Big Band I feel he was purposefully thrown under the bus and really, there’s not enough porn or love for him. Much less, everyone seems to have like 2 intro animations, Beo has 1. I call favoritism but, anyway:

I think he doesn’t need a paring to shine as a hero. I think he needs to be shown more so people can realize just how awesome he really is, not with Annie saving his butt all the time so he can tout about wrestling being real.

Had he not shown up, we only would know about him via Peacock’s story mode with Andy Anvil saying he came out of retirement.

Give him love! He’s earned it!

And also like, I think he is as smart, if not, smarter than the rest of the cast, he just hides it under a veneer of being a pro wrestler. No one pays for WWE style entertainment in new meridian, they want real emotion, and that’s what Beowulf’s so used to. Because of that, he whispers and talks about things, but when you really think about them, they all have some meaning behind them, like when he calls Eliza the Crimson Scourge. I hate the idea that people think he’s a dumb dude because he’s not. Y’all just sleeping on a good character.

  • Song(s) i associate with them:

Space Jam’s Let’s Get Ready to Rumble

Dudley’s remix: Dudley Blew My Mind

Alex and Ken’s theme from Street Fighter 3: Third Strike

Major Lazer and Ariana Grande - All My Love

Because he liked 80′s songs and because I love funk music:

Bite the Apple - Rainbow Team

The Limit: She’s so Divine (In this case, he: “When I got here in July…”)

Let’s Get Physical: Olivia Newton AKA SIDE TO SIDE BEFORE IT WAS EVER SIDE TO SIDE

Reminder: I gotta draw him in that outfit afjnlsfgs

Also!!!

Side to Side + Let’s Get Physical MIX:

Dua Lipa: New Rules 80′S MIX (Totally something he’d listen to for the gym)

  • favorite picture of them

Wow it’s super nsfw but I’ll crop it for the benefit of all.

Here’s my fave sprites too

Look at him, majestic creature, no?

BICEP GRAB

Ass a palooza

And finally…

Keep reading

Forged

Notes: I wasn’t really sure if the person that requested this wanted full on smut or not, I shoulda asked when you first sent in the request. I apologize, though, if you did! I hope you still enjoy this though. :) Also, I wasn’t sure if the place where they made weapons was called a Forgery (bc that is the act of like signing a name that isn’t yours), then there is the Smithy, which is the one I used. I’ll have to check back in a few chapters of the Hobbit to see which one Tolkien used.

Anyways, enjoy. <3 :)

Keep reading

This Isn’t My Fault! (I Think)

So, since we now know that Jensen can easily carry Misha bridal-style, piece of cake, I can’t help but think about Dean carrying Cas and the moment unfolding in one of four ways:

  1. Cas squinting the entire time and grumbling, “Dean, this hardly seems necessary.” Because, gosh, he’s an Angel of the Lord and he doesn’t need to be carried to the couch, thank you. He’s strong enough to smite entire buildings and help save the world- “Dean, did you hear me? Stop distracting me with kisses, Dean. I could spin an anvil on my pinky, I’m not fragile, I-” (“Okay, angel.”)
  2. Cas blinking in surprise at first, just looking at Dean sort of owlishly. But then he breaks into a smile, all soft and pretty and content, and obligingly wraps both his arms around Dean’s neck and snuggles close. (And this is when Dean blushes pink, clearing his throat as he walks them down the hallway to their room. He’s glad that Cas’ face is tucked into his shoulder and out of sight, because he might be carrying his boyfriend bridal-style, but it doesn’t mean he wants to be caught blushing, okay?)
  3. Cas having fallen asleep an hour ago, their X-Files marathon partway done and his head on Dean’s shoulder, drooling a little. Dean thinks it’s cute (just how in love is he?) and stands up to carry Cas back to their bed. Cas murmurs something that sounds a lot like “Dean” and Dean can’t fight the grin that spreads across his face. He’s so gone.
  4. Cas being far too gorgeous for his own good and Dean finally throwing up his hands and picking him up and saying “Let’s go make out before Sam gets back.” He’s practically dashing through the bunker and Cas looks concerned - at their speed, at Dean - and mumbles, “I think you should slow down a little” but doesn’t complain when they stop to kiss. They’re passing the kitchen after, except Sam is back early and catches them at the door. He stares at Dean (now with kiss-bitten lips) then over at Cas (who’s still in Dean’s arms), hunches his shoulders and releases a sigh and says, “I was going for a run anyway.”
Things Said at College (15)
  • Look what you did.
  • Look how dumb you looked.
  • I left work in tears, because I was so stressed.
  • It builds up, and you have to let it go.
  • She’d cry, I’d cry, I didn’t know what to do.
  • I can see that you’re angry.
  • Sometimes it’s just best to say you’re sorry.
  • ____ is me, but smaller.
  • Stinky little baby in it’s crib.
  • You don’t want an anvil on your head.
  • That’s all babies do, they work out all day long.
  • Who needs to breath? I look fine~
  • We’ll blame it on our trochanter, that’s what it is.
  • We don’t have an elbow cap.
  • If you jump on a scale, you weigh more… Not sure why anyone would want to do that.
  • That will bring a tear to my teacher eye.
  • You’re right, I am that stupid. I’ll buy those from you.
  • That is one ugly little baby skull.
  • When we see children we can’t help but want to take care of them.
  • What up non-primates, I can hold my cup special. I got thumbs.

crzyimp  asked:

Hey if you have time, can you write a prompt with Ulthane? Like at the beginning before War showed up and he's having 'vermain' trouble with his food; but it's actually a human taking the food.

Y E S ! I’M SO READY TO GIVE ULTHANE SOME ATTENTION! So this is (again) a little longer than I’d planned, and explores a more….realistic survivor reader. 

Gradually forged friendships based on similar heartaches yaaaay! <3 xx

Be slow to fall into friendship, but when thou art in, continue firm and constant.

” - Socrates

“Thievin’ little son of a-!”

The air is rent by a loud, furious shout that echoes relentlessly throughout the demon-infested city. A flock of crows is disturbed from their slumber in the early morning light as a pack of wicked raise their heads with melancholy, responding howls. But they don’t go in search of the curious bellowing, perhaps recognising that it would be in their best interest to stay away.

Deep in the slightly more picturesque corner of the decrepit landscape, in a place that’s become locally known as ‘Anvil’s Forge, the enormous, imposing juggernaut; Ulthane, slams his heavy fists down onto the lid of a rusty, old dumpster. The contents inside are jostled violently. Decades old soup cans clang and clunk against each other alongside randomly assorted jars of preserved honey and dried biscuit packets.

The Old One rubs a hand over his tired face, pausing to scratch at the auburn beard on his chin before he gives the dumpster an aggravated kick, then stalks back into the cave he’d fitted out to serve as a home.

For the last couple of days now, Ulthane had begun to notice that his carefully accumulated stockpile of human food had started to gradually diminish. It’s not as though he actually needs the food. Makers have often been known to go for whole centuries without eating.

No. The reason for his ire is that somewhere in this city, there lives some sort of pest that has actively chosen to steal from him.


Ulthane grinds his teeth audibly as he slaps a hunk of metal down onto his anvil and begins to absently shape it, if only to give his hands something to do. If there are two things the old one despises, it’s trespassers and thieves. Especially the extra sneaky kind.

The fact of the matter is, though Ulthane would loathe to admit it, that he’d recently come to discover just how good human food tastes. He’d never known such a wonderful explosion of flavours could possibly exist until he exiled himself to Earth. Say what you will about humans, but the little guys sure as Hell knew how to appeal to the taste buds. So when he found a significant amount of his stock had gone missing, again, the maker decided that enough was enough.

Tonight, he would be ready.

Tonight, he would catch the thieving rat.

Darkness falls heavy over the city. Ulthane squints against it to properly make out the dumpster on the other side of his ‘yard.’ He sits behind a stack of rusted, hollow cars and waits patiently until the moon has begun it’s slow descent back behind the city’s skyline.

Yawing, the maker stretches out a kink in his neck and is about to question whether the effort is really worth it, when all of a sudden, there’s the faintest pitter-patter of approaching footsteps.

Ulthane sits straight up again and strains his ears to hear over the gentle tumble of the twin waterfalls. Flicking a firefly off his nose, he stares intently at the tunnel entrance that leads to his home.

The creature that emerges is one that he really didn’t expect.


He’d thought it could only be a scavenging demon, maybe one of those odd Earthen rats or even the Griever’s irritating pets that happen upon his yard every now and then. The very last thing he’d anticipated was for a scrawny, dishevelled little human to tiptoe warily out into the open.


Ulthane has to stop his jaw from clanking down on top of the car he’s peering over.

How the Hell has a human survived out here?’ he thinks, bewildered.

Although, it really didn’t seem to be really surviving at all. It’s clothes, from what he can tell in the dim glow of the moonlight, are torn and bloodied. There’s a thin layer of grim and dust coating it’s skin and the hair falls limp and tangled against its skull.

Like a nervous deer, the human ventures out into the open space, wild eyes darting about until they light upon the dumpster.

As the maker watches with raised brows, the tiny human limps over towards the food with an almost manic desperation. Ulthane’s pale blue eyes roll down to the bandages wrapped around it’s right calf and he grimaces, despite himself. ’That had to have hurt.’

Still,’ he then reasons, ’A thief is a thief. No matter how miserable they appear.

The Maker remains crouched in his hiding spot whilst the little culprit collapses against the side of the dumpster and winces at the pain in its leg. Cautiously, it glances over to Ulthane’s stone door and cocks its head to the side, listening.

When no sound emerges from the cave, the human places its hands on the lid and swiftly but quietly lifts it up. Once the dumpster is open, the it hoists itself up until it sits on the ledge, then swings both legs over and hops down inside.

The burley old one pinches the bridge of his nose with a hefty sigh. Grumbling to himself, he stands and swiftly lumbers over to the dumpster. Without wasting any time, Ulthane grabs the lid and shuts it softly, earning a very rodent-like squeak from the small human inside. He smirks at the likeness, heaving the entire dumpster up underneath his arm and begins to march purposefully into his hovel.

Once inside, Ulthane sets his cargo down beside the anvil and moves to shut his secondary door. It slams shut with a resounding boom, making the entire cavern shudder with its force.


“Alright then,” Ulthane starts, clapping his hands together, “Just what do we have here?” He pulls open the dumpster lid, flooding it with the glow of his wall torches and causing the stowaway to yelp in terror.

Wide, frightened eyes meet cool blue, the human clutching a can of tomato soup to their chest which heaves in and out rapidly. Now that Ulthane has a better vantage point, he can clearly see the wear and tear that living post apocalypse has had on the shivering creature.

There are huge, bruise-like dark circles beneath their eyes, both of which are horrendously bloodshot and wet with encroaching tears. The leg beneath the haphazardly wrapped bandages looks to have been viciously mauled by something with enormous teeth and though the blood has dried, the maker can tell it happened recently. The lips are chapped and raw from being constantly wet by a tiny, pink tongue. All in all, a truly wretched little human.


“Not a rat….” The Old One huffs, plunging his hand into the dumpster and plucking the poor, frozen  thing up by the scruff of their coat, “…but definitely some sort of rodent.” He tilts his head and appraises the bundle of fear for a moment. “Mayhaps, a mouse?”

The maker sneers and prods the dangling human in the stomach with the tip of his forefinger. “Aye! A greedy little mouse. Didn’t yer elders ever teach you not to go around stealin’ things that don’t belong to you?”

In spite of the obvious terror wracking their frail body, the human manages to shoot him a heated, accusatory glare. “Y-y-you- you-!” they stammer, but evidently, the dangerous gravity of the situation proves too much. Their jaw snaps shut with a whimper and they instead choose to weakly wriggle in an attempt to slip free.

The maker chuckles at the frankly useless escape attempt, then he turns to place them gently down on the anvil. The second he releases them, they scoot backwards, away from the giant until their arms give out and they slip onto their back with a grunt. Ulthane rests his meaty arms on the anvil behind the human, effectively trapping them between his face and his hands, should they end up falling off the anvil’s edge. He leans forward, looming over the human’s body and huffing out a gust of hot air from his nose.

“Now,” he rumbles, “How about you calm down and tell me why you’ve been stealin’ my stuff.”

The human snaps upright at his words, taking in the sudden closeness  and, with a startled gasp, they press back into the warm flesh of his arms. The maker shakes his head. “M'not in the business of pummelling helpless humans,” he snorts, “even ones that nick things.” Ulthane’s gruff voice lowers to something a little softer. “Not gonna start now. Take it easy, you’re alright.”

The shaking subsides fractionally at the unexpected gentleness in his voice. They stare up at’ him, awed but still exceptionally wary and swallow thickly before speaking. “Y-y-you st-stole first.”


That statement has Ulthane’s bushy eyebrows flying up his forehead. “Beggin’ yer pardon, littl'un, but I don’t take kindly to folks accusin’ me of things I didn’t do,” he growls.


The gutsy little thing stands up fully, almost coming nose to nose with the maker and bravely locks eyes with him, in spite of how they still tremble. “Y-yes you did!” they bark, “you went into my safehouses that I set up all over the city and you broke down the door! Then you just-just!” All of a sudden, they seem to lose what little nerve they’d managed to conjure up and lose their balance, falling back against Ulthane’s arms once again.

Meanwhile, the maker watches them sit, a vacant expression on his face as he tries to recollect the way he’d come upon the food. It’s with a creeping sense of guilt that he remembers how convenient it had seemed to just find all the canned goods lying around, totally unguarded behind thick….locked….doors.  

The truth hits him like a hammer to the face.

Below his head, the human begins to speak again, though much quieter this time. “I risked my life for all that food. I spent years finding enough to last me through this coming winter. Just because you’re bigger and stronger than us d-doesn’t mean you can just take whatever you like…..” They timidly look down at their feet and cringe, hoping that calling the giant out won’t cause him to squash them.

Ulthane’s own head drops defeatedly for a moment, before finally lifting it and giving the human a sheepish, toothy grin. “I uh….I didn’t know it belonged to you,” he rumbles softly, “I assumed all of you humans were long gone.” He pauses when you flinch slightly at his choice of words. ’Still a sore subject then,’ he muses, ’after all these years.

The human peers up at him curiously and tilts their head a little. He copies the action.

“D-didn’t you think it was strange to find all that preserved food just laying around?” the human asks.

He chuckles lowly and rubs at the back of his thick neck, having just thought the exact same thing. “Aye, a touch strange, to be sure…” He suddenly removes his arms from the anvil and waves his hands in the air. “But why didn’t you just come out and tell me when you saw me takin’ yer supplies?” he points out.

In reply, the human uses both hands to make a vague, up and down gesture at Ulthane’s whole body as if to say, ’Why do you think?’

“Hmm…point taken,” the maker admits. The cavern grows quiet, save for the constant, thrumming flow of the lava surrounding it’s makeshift forge and the soft rustling of autumn leaves that blow in from several holes in the ceiling. In the silence, Ulthane regards the human, wondering just how much of their sorry state is because of him. Surely with all of this food, they’d be in far better condition. Is he really responsible for the awful emaciation of this little human? It had only been a week or so at most since he first started discovering the stockpiles of food, but perhaps they’d been severely rationing themselves. The old one hums thoughtfully. ’Thane’s always been better at dealing with the young ones than me,’ he muses.

The human, eyes curious but exhausted, conducts their own examination of the strange, gargantuan man. In their eyes, he’d been little more than a bully. A cruel bulldozer of a creature without a care for anything’s well being. To the human, when they watched him 'steal’ their food, they’d thought him little better than the demons and angels that cause them so much grief. But, as they look up into the cerulean blue eyes and listen to the genuine remorse in the man’s gruff voice, they can’t help but feel as though they’d severely misread the situation, just as he had.

“S-so,” they cough, breaking the heavy silence, “This has all just been a…a misunderstanding then?”

The maker nods his great head and strokes his beard thoughtfully. “Aye, t'would seem so….” He watches the human carefully, monitoring the way they scrub at their eyes, when he asks, “D'you have a name?”

That gets him a suspicious frown. “What’s it to you?” they mutter warily. Shrugging, Ulthane thumbs a speck of dirt from the back of his opposite wrist.

“Not much. Just reckoned it was the done thing, nowadays.”

“Ha, nowadays,” they scoff, “….yeah…” It takes a few more seconds of silence before they pipe up again, hesitantly. “Y/n,” they whisper.

Ulthane’s ears twitch up at the sound of an unfamiliar name. “Whassat now?”

“Y/n. My name, it’s Y/n,” the human answers, clearer this time.

Satisfied, the maker’s lips tilt upwards in a smile. “Ulthane,” he rumbles. “Or, The Black Hammer,” if yer feelin’ formal.”

The human giggles lightly, coughing when the unfamiliar motion irritates their throat. They remain seated on the anvil and bite their lip, awkwardly. Ulthane is struck with the impression that they want to ask him something.

“You can have your food back, if that’s what yer after,” he coaxes. Gazing up at him, Y/n seems unsure.

“I-I wouldn’t want to just assume,” they stutter.

“Assume what? That I wouldn’t give you back the things I took from you?” The maker lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Hell, I got that all shades of wrong. You weren’t the thief, little mouse. I was.” Let it never be said that he isn’t a sporting chap.

“So, Y/n,” he grins and takes a fistful of his preferred snack. 'Twinkies,’ the packet said.“What I’m dyin’ to know is, how’d a little human like you manage to survive, alone in a dead world?” As he speaks, he scoops up a startled human in his free hand and makes his way over to the large, stone cot at the side of his home. Although Ulthane would be the first to admit that he’s probably the least sociable maker, a century or so spent in exile tends to get remarkably lonely. If he were being honest, he finds himself wanting the company this human could potentially provide him. ’And besides,’ he thinks as he sets them down on the cot and takes a seat next to the carved head-rest, ’S'the least I can do for nearly squishin’ em for a crime they didn’t commit.’ Surely that warrants a night or two in his home, at least until that leg heals properly.

Y/n stumbles a few feet away from Ulthane before falling to their backside with an 'oof.’ The maker wastes no time in shoving his handful of Twinkies into their unsuspecting arms and grunts, “Eat.”

They oblige without hesitation, stuffing as many of the sweet treats into their hungry mouth whilst trying to decide whether or not they can trust him.

Granted, he hasn’t hurt me,’ one part of them reasons, ’Yet…,’ argues the other part. They inspect the maker as he leans back against the concrete wall and watches them expectantly. Swallowing the first mouthful, Y/n sighs.

“I wasn’t alone,” they mumble, “at least, not until quite recently.”

This new titbit of information intrigues the auburn-haired maker, who raises a brow down at them.

Y/n averts their gaze and fixes it on the hypnotic glow of the fireflies that have somehow made their merry way inside the maker’s hovel. Swallowing, they take a deep breath and carry on. “Used to be a whole load of us, out in the countryside. Less demons out that way. We’d fortified a proper little settlement for ourselves. There were pockets of us dotted around all over the place. Some were even as big as a village!” A small flicker of pride lights behind the human’s eyes as they speak. “My great grandma told mum about the end war, then when she and grandma died, mum told me all about the Earth before the apocalypse.” Y/n’s eyebrows suddenly knit together and they bite their lip harshly, eyes now glistening. “I wish I could have seen it.”

Subtly, the maker peers down at the human and finds that their eyelids are swollen with sleeplessness and unshed tears. He grimaces, wholly unprepared to deal with a crying human. Before he can offer some kind of bumbling words of comfort, they pipe up.

“Then, a couple of months ago, we had some bad luck. That’s all it was,” they laugh bitterly, wiping at their sore eyes frantically. “A few of those big buggers, the uh…Trauma? I think the angels call them. Well, at least three of them must have wandered away from the city and just kept going, because all of a sudden, we were all woken up by something smashing through our walls!”

The human throws themselves backwards onto the thin, brightly coloured fabric that Ulthane had stitched together to create a blanket. They cover their eyes with their arms and the maker has to lean closer to see the tears silently leaking down the exposed cheeks, running tracks through the dirt and grime there.

“So, we tried to fight back!” Y/n hiccoughs, “but our gunner, Charlie. He’d been so fucking busy flirting with Mary that he wasn’t at the gun when those…those things came up to our camp. So, nobody sounded the alarm! Nobody warned us!”

The human’s arms fall away from their face and they turn it towards their new acquaintance, not at all sure why they were suddenly sharing all of this with a perfect stranger. A perfect stranger who simply studies their face with woebegone eyes and a solemn sigh.

“There were kids in there. Really little ones,” Y/n whispers, horrified. The maker pulls his lips up over his fangs in a half-snarl at their words.

Bastard demons,” he growls.

Nodding in agreement, the human stifles a yawn, blinking up at Ulthane blearily. “I was the only one to get out….because I-” They hesitate and let a hissing breath. “I hid! I hid in the well, kept my head underwater for so long I thought I’d surely drown. Kept coming up for air and praying they wouldn’t hear me…..” At the admission, the human chokes back a loud sob, “I searched for hours, after the demons left, but didn’t find anyone. Then I just kind of…sat there, waiting for those things to come back and finish what they’d started.”

A scowl appears on Ulthane’s face then, but he reins it in when the tired eyes of the human rove up to his face once more. “They never did come back. So I started thinking about how I’m probably the only one left now who remembers anything about the old world, even if I didn’t see it for myself. If I didn’t survive, then the demons that murdered my species really had won. I figured that was reason enough to at least try and carry on, I guess. ”


“Spite’s as good a reason as any,” the giant agrees. In his mind’s eye, the maker can still picture the betrayed look on his friend’s faces when he’d escaped through the portal to Earth, safely away from corruption. If anyone could empathise with the human’s guilty conscious, it would be him


Y/n smiles grimly then rolls onto their side, facing Ulthane and allowing their eyes to slip closed. “Mmmm, so I came back to the city, best place to find food,” they murmur sleepily. “Then I made all these safe places and…..” they yawn widely this time, jaw clicking, “…and, well….you know....the…..rsss……..………..”

Ulthane quirks a brow at his newfound companion when they trail off entirely, lost to the realms of sleep, at last.

The old one runs a hand over his face, pulling his eyelids down wearily. He flexes his arms and casts a quick glance down at the human laying beside him.

It’s just one night,’ he privately ponders, ’tomorrow, the kid’s gonna leave and have to make it out in that demon-ridden city.’ He grimaces at the un-tempting thought. ’Let em sleep here, you big lummox,’ he gnarls quietly.


Groaning to himself, Ulthane shakes his head and begins to stand. He throws the dumpster an accusatory glare, as though it were the cause for his sudden predicament.

He calls it a predicament, because that’s exactly what it is.

He has, in his home, a young, lonely, injured and starving human, who seems to have fallen asleep on his own cot, he notices with a soft snort. His old friend, Azrael would have his head if the angel ever found out he’d turned someone so in need of help away from his doorstep.

Just until they’re leg’s healed,’ he debates internally, ’Or, until they’ve put a bit more weight on.’

Ulthane’s hard eyes catch movement when Y/n rolls over, quietly emitting tiny snores and mumbling in their sleep. He nearly smacks the smile off his face when he feels it spread across his cheeks.

You daft bugger,” he growls lowly, “don’t you start getting soft because of one little human.”


Throwing one last glance down at the sleeping figure, Ulthane purses his lips with a scowl. In light of the awkward explanation he’d surely have to give tomorrow as to why the human was waking up in his own cot and the inevitable, stupid, dense, idiotic attachment he could already feel worming it’s way into his gut, the maker almost wishes it had been vermin that were stealing from him.

[DRABBLE] Boyfriend!Jeonghan (G)

Requested by: @jeonghanlife
Prompt: Jeonghan Christmas winter scenario
Word Count: 1,908
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: None!

A/N: WHOO IM ON A ROLL WITH THESE REQUESTS (I can only hope that my drive doesn’t crash and burn anytime soon) Okay, I know Christmas is WAY over, so I changed the request a little (I am so sorry ;;). But I still hope that this drabble manages to encapsulate the same magical feeling. I’m really new to this whole winter stuff *glares at the temperature which peaked at literally 34 degrees Celcius today wowilovesingapore* 

Please enjoy it ^^

wooed<3

Originally posted by jihanlife

*highpitchedscreeching* BYEOBEETCHINAERINDA SHYAALAALALAALALLAALLAAAAAA cough sorry ok on with the story



You find yourself stirring awake after lingering in the abyss of sleep, and your eyes flutter open to unfamiliar surroundings. This isn’t your room, is it?

But a low rumble of a snore reminds you that you’re in Jeonghan’s apartment, cozily tucked in his bed despite the day being well into the afternoon. When the temperature had dropped to the negatives on the day you were planning to go sightseeing, and with your body not being very accustomed to cold weather having lived in the tropical regions of Australia for most of your life, Jeonghan was more than happy to call it quits. As a result, his more-than-happy declaration of “Today will be a lazy day” was what you went with eventually.

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courting miss sætre (6/6)

Fandom: SKAM
Ship: Noora x William
Summary: Miss Noora Sætre has ambitions of spinsterhood; Mr. William Magnusson has other ideas.

(The wildly anachronistic regency era au that literally no one asked for)

Notes: Thank you so, so, so much to everyone who’s followed this story! It’s been insanely fun to write, and it means SO much to know that other people have enjoyed it too. Noorhelm and historical romance novels are two of my very favorite things, trying to combine the two with this fic was seriously like my Dream Project – every like and reblog and comment on this story made me over the moon happy, I love this fandom more than words <3 <3 <3

ao3

“I’m never forgiving my parents for this,” Eva declared.

Noora only had a few things left to pack; she’d started upon returning to the Mohns’ townhouse last night, before Mr. and Mrs. Mohn had even hinted that she’d need to leave as soon as possible, and had risen early to finish. “Eva…” She’d expected the dismissal. Keeping a scandal in their home, as their daughter’s principle companion, would do their reputation no favors.

“I haven’t forgiven you either.” Sitting beside Noora on the floor, Eva shook her head at the ground, loose hair spilling about her cheeks. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about Mr. Magnusson!”

“As you tell me everything?”

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