Please Tell Us A Bit About The Different Types Of Hairstyles That You Would Try Out And About His Precious

Please tell us a bit about the different types of hairstyles that you would try out 👀 and about his precious reactions.🙃✨️

Hear me out:

✨Zyglavis with a ban✨

(if I was his girlfriend, I'd constantly try out different hairstyles with his hair.)

yayyyy mutuals hiiiiiiiii reblog if you love your mutualssssssss hiii mutuals

REBLOG IF IT'S OKAY FOR ME TO BOTHER YOU IF YOU'RE MY MUTUAL

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Y'all are amazing. Reblog to hug the person you’re reblogging from.

Thank you so much!!! 💖💖💖🙂

A Penance Unwanted

Request: Hi!🙂 How are you? ❤️Can you please spin the wheel for Gwindor? Thanks 💝✨️

Pairing: Gwindor x Reader

Genre: Timeloop au

AN: @mairablue Thanks for requesting!! Gwindor is awesome gotta love him. Such a fun concept. (What in the Hell is Happening Event)

“God dammit! You should have held him.” You groan watching Beleg die for the 25th time. Gwindor winced next to you. And from a distance you both watched Turin lament in the same low groaning pitch for the same 25th time. 

“I couldn’t have done that!” Gwindor replied indignantly. “Beleg wouldn’t listen. Look at these arms, do you think I can stop Cuthalion? You should have killed the orcs and then hit Turin on the head or something.” 

There had been a time when Beleg’s death daunted both Gwindor and you into silence. But now, it was a recurring event. Painful but numbed by the inevitable recurrence. 

You were back at it again. Stuck in the storyline of Turin and Beleg’s tragedy. Whatever deity found this funny had a messed-up sense of humor. 

"Next time, take Beleg through a longer route," you muttered, forming yet another plan, your voice heavy with a weariness born of repetition. "I'll try to find a way to poison the orcs, and hopefully, knock Turin out before he…" You trailed off, the futility of the task gnawing at you. But giving up wasn't an option. There had to be a way to break the loop, a way to alter the story.

"I swear to god if this is damned Melkor," you muttered, waiting for the inevitable reset. For both you and Gwindor to return to the past, to relive Beleg's death, and Turin's despair.

Knocking out Beleg, setting traps, and almost battling the thought of driving your sword through the emo king of Arda. This stupid loop tested you in every way. And most of all Gwindor who, unlike you, couldn't escape the grasp of Melkor's evil. The weight of his struggle, the subtle changes in his personality with each loop, filled you with a cold dread.

“Melkor can only so long imprison the children of Illuvatar,” Gwindor replied gently. His voice- so peaceful despite the pain he witnessed every reset. Taking your hand in his he continued, “We will find a way. One way or another you will return to your world and I will come to bear my fate.” There was this amazing elf. Comforting you when the hell broke loose around him. 

There was something truly extraordinary about this elf. Here he was, trapped in an endless cycle of loss, yet he offered you comfort when the world around him crumbled.  You couldn't help but wonder if it was the same unwavering faith in the good that led to his capture in the first place. 

It wasn't the scars or marks of torture that marred his once-handsome face that hurt you most, but the sheer unfairness of it all. He, who deserved a life filled with music and laughter, was trapped in this nightmarish cycle, forced to relive his torment while offering you solace.

"It isn't me you should be comforting," you chuckled, the sound hollow even to your own ears. "This is my penance. A fate that has led me to this nightmare, a well-deserved one." You didn't remember much of your world, only flashes – the resentful faces of strangers contorted in anger, the screaming voices that echoed relentlessly in your head, driving you to the teetering edge of insanity. You remembered everything but Gwindor from the rotten book you found in your dingy cell, the only companion in your solitary confinement.

The same one who now sat beside you, his hand warm against yours, a beacon of comfort in this unending darkness. "I deserve this. You don't," you whispered, the words heavy with a self-loathing you couldn't quite explain. He, who you sometimes questioned was real or a figment conjured by your fractured mind.

No. You wouldn't accept this twisted fate. You would break the loop, not just for your own sake, but for Gwindor's. Even if it meant defying the very fabric of this story, you would find a way to free him from Melkor's clutches.

Fuck Melkor, Ocrs, Turin, Valar, Illuvatar, and his wretched song. You were going to tear it all apart.