Humanelfdwarfdragonlord - Nightmare

When talking about the kind of elves that fix shoes in the middle of the night or work for old men making toys or who eat your socks when you’re not looking, you know, those guys? The little fellows with loud socks?

I think more of those guys should also show up in high fantasy settings but the tall long living use bows and arrows elves also exist. And they are also called elves.

Also they must hate each other for no particular reason.

does anyone wanna hold hands until we feel a little braver

NEW YEAR

WHAT IF HE CHANGED HIS MIND MID-SMOOCH?!

you’re welcome💕✨

…They kissed a lot.

It’s a coming

Aden

reblog to hug viktor and tell him that he is loved, that he is treasured, that he is a precious cinnamon roll and is worthy of affection and also to give him a healthy sleep schedule

Bilbo who braids Thorin's hair as he fucking dies. Bilbo who can't seem to get his hands to stop shaking but he just has to put the braid in now, before it's too late because they said they would. Bilbo who had the stupid, silver beads in his pocket, ready, because there was never supposed to be a war just a wedding.

I just can't stop thinking about how, sure, there were some rocky moments but that's all they were supposed to be; moments. Bilbo was sure they were going to pass. They were going to work through it. Why else would he be growing out his hair when normally it drove him mad after a certain point?

Thorin who passes gently, peacefully, with the sloppiest, most blasphemous braid in his hair which nobody dares to touch. Thorin who promises to return the favour in the afterlife but in the meantime please do it for me, ghivashel. Thorin whose final breaths are vows.

Bilbo who goes home and learns how to braid. Bilbo who never cuts his hair again.

ANYWAY I'M GOING TO SOB NOW!

Something something violence has always been the primary love language for Waynes, something something.

It breaks me that Bruce loves Jason so deeply, and Jason is so completely unaware of it. He comes to the conclusion that love is religion. You have to see to believe.

I’m just thinking about Jason watching evidence of how wrecked Bruce is after his death. He stalks Batman, always, tracks down every movement and breath. He waits for the perfect moment to shoot.

Your father only dies once, after all.

That moment, mysteriously, doesn’t come.

Jason’s never been scared of Bruce. Fear, to him, is darkness and cold and a bleach white face laughing at him. Fear of Bruce not being there at all. That’s fear.

I need a scene where Jason, — Red Hood, — watches Batman pin down a mugger.

He doesn’t know what that man says. Something about getting on him for not being there when Wayne’s boy got killed.

He’s never been scared of Bruce.

But when he punches that man, over and over and over, when his throat makes those horrible sounds of gasping effort, animal and feral, he’s afraid. Afraid Bruce won’t stop.

He’s about to jump in when another, smaller pair of feet runs up to the scene and Jesus Christ that’s a kid — A kid wearing Jason’s old uniform. Wrapping his arms around Batman’s and clinging.

The man on the ground is motionless. If he didn’t blink, Jason wouldn’t know there was a face anymore.

But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part is Bruce crying. Gasping, punched out noises, his hands drenched with red, squeezing the kid so close to him.

“My baby. Oh my baby.”