#[ kin: fallen kingdom ]

[wreckrinho]

a girl in my class told me to draw the "blue clown" (she calls shadow milk like that lol) being REALLY evil, and then I thought: oh, why not? :)

I did it a little lazy because I was tired from so much studying, but I think it turned out cool in the end!

inspiration:

[experimental-raptor]

My kin playlist :>

[furretsden-archived]

Indoraptor {Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom} name suggestions for 🔧🪨 anon

Chasin, meaning "fierce", also it sounds like "chasing" which I find fitting for an Indoraptor!

Dino, short for "dinosaur"

Indo, obvious shortened version

Jet, one of the names forming the Indoraptor's code name {Stealth Fighter Jet}

Raptor, other obvious shortened version

Sheridan, meaning "untamed"

Wilde, meaning "wild", could also indicate a leader

[gamerkinz]

hnngh i rlly wanna talk abt fictionkin/fictionlink stuff with ppl but THE EMBARRASSMENT

"oh yeah im an irken and a jester and an edgy mii and an AI and a spambot and a littol guy who likes halloween and a rat filled with angst who wantz to distance myself from my mediaz creator and a scottish,, bird thing??? and a polygon girl and a gay radio host and a nice robot master AND i also identify WITH a girlboss and a silly flipnote cat"

[serpentface]

Renyari Asinya, member of the Hoüheteni warrior order, posing with a handcannon.

Most of his weapons and armor are self-supplied, though the handcannon is allotted from the Odonii priesthood's armory and the helmet is made to standard as a marker of this warrior order. It's trimmed and caped with the mane of a wildtype lion, rather than the pale to white furred semi-domesticated temple stock. The mane is worn for ceremonial purposes and can be unclipped and removed from the helmet when in combat, though many will choose not to.

Two of three khattanocuy on his belt are rewards for distinction in combat, and the center one is Hoüheteni specific and made with sacrificial temple lionsmane that only Odonii, their blood kin, and their associated warriors are permitted to wear.

---

Imperial Wardin has eleven total major warrior orders, and a couple dozen minor (mostly ceremonial) ones. Warrior status is distinct from being a common footsoldier mobilized in states of active warfare, with warriors having an esteemed social standing and receiving special privileges and command roles over common soldiers. The vast majority of warriors are noblemen (and the inclusion of combat training in the childhood education of male nobility serves to bolster these numbers), though these orders are not outright averse to merit-based induction. Distinguishing yourself in combat as a footsoldier is one of very few avenues of upward mobility for lower class citizens (even peasantry), as induction into a warrior order usually grants a degree of wealth and privilege, and can sometimes entail receiving a sub-nobility lordship status and allotment of land. Captured enemy combatants may (very rarely) be inducted if they demonstrate exceptional prowess and are deemed likely to integrate well and find their given status favorable.

The primary use of these orders over the state's history has been subjugation and maintenance of tributaries, and upkeep of a loose border with the Wogan kingdom of Morihe to the east (with which mutual hostilities are near-constant, though conditions of outright warfare are not). Imperial Wardin has not expanded in any major way (barring its ultimately brief hold of Finnerich) in about a century, so many of these orders have developed functions that are more ceremonial than anything else, and some outright just do petty mercenary work or function as forms of urban law enforcement.

The Hoüheteni are unique among these orders, having originated separately as a class of servants, squires, and guards to the Odonii priesthood and their temples. Their initial roles in combat was just as ceremonial as that of Odonii, being arms bearers and war dancers while their associated priestesses performed their battlefield functions of spiritual guardianship. However, the fact that these squires were not necessarily Restricted to noncombatant roles would routinely lead to instances of them actively engaging and being encouraged to do so. Actual combat training gradually became a requirement for this role and improved their viability in the field.

They achieved their status during the peak expansionist period of the state after its initial formation. They first received major commendation in the process of subjugating the Wermani kingdom, which fought a lengthy war before its rulers finally submitted to tributary status. A group of pre-Hoüheteni squires are known to have helped turn the tide of an ambush in the early stages of the war by taking up weapons of fallen soldiers, with one remembered famously for killing a Wermani lord with a thrown spear at a distance (depending on accounts, this ranges from an impressive 15 meters to a completely ridiculous 40, given he's not described as using a spear-thrower). These men went on to serve increasingly active roles in the fighting for the duration of the war.

The Usoma at the time was Hittsanaebiwa Yanne, who is remembered quite favorably by the general public but has been recorded as as impulsive and unresponsive to cautious counsel. Upon the triumphal return with the spoils of war and first payments of tribute, Hittsanaebiwa singled out and rewarded the pre-Hoüheteni squires by declaring them an official warrior order to the Odonii priesthood, gifting them the full rights and privileges of other warriors (including armament) and granting landed status and command roles to the most distinguished members. He did not, however, place them within the core military structure under his own appointed general, instead moving a few men from other orders to be their commanders and symbolically assigning the Odomache as their general.

This move was not Completely absurd in context. At this time, the Odonii were a fairly decentralized priesthood entirely dependent on the state for its functions, and the role of Odomache was exclusively ceremonial with little to no hard power. In granting the Hoüheteni the status of a warrior order, he was empowering them to be better guardians to their priesthood and a symbolic completion of the concept of Odomache as the protector and ensurer of sovereignty, in creating a warrior order devoted to It specifically. This was also a political move, demonstrating the state's increasing wealth and power by socially and materially rewarding not only the warrior-nobility but the outstanding merit of common folk (these guys were essentially servants, none were nobility) who achieved this conquest. It was a popular move with the general public, and also a very bad one in retrospect.

This decision went on to be a thorn in the side of every Usoma since then. By the time the Usoma Hittsanaebiwa Yanne died, the Hoüheteni had nearly tripled in number, distinguished themselves in further conquest, and cemented themselves in the public consciousness as beloved, venerable figures. This was now a private militia existing outside of the central structure of Wardin's military under the command of an increasingly powerful priesthood, and represented an extremely obvious political threat to the already shakily centralized monarchy.

While not Directly within the command structure headed by the Usoma, they are still subject to his laws and decrees. Thus, there have been many decrees over the decades since to curb them from becoming Too powerful, while avoiding risky maneuvers such as 'revoking their status or disarming or killing them' likely to anger the general public or make outright enemies of the Odonii. Their number is presently capped off at a maximum of 300, on the given basis that their status is highly elite and should be restricted to only the best of the best. In tandem, a policy began of promoting distinguished combatants to Other orders in the central command structure as quickly as possible, improving the material privileges for these inductees (more land allotments, gifts of state weapons and armor, etc), and requiring inductees to swear binding oaths of service to their Specific Order to prevent them from being tempted away. This intended to reduce the pool of potential inductees to the Hoüheteni and force more to be chosen from eunuch squires (who serve the ceremonial/servant roles the Hoüheteni once did).

The goal was to physically weaken the order by depriving it of intact men, and to decrease its public esteem by the same means. This was ultimately not successful, as the presence or lack of testicles does not innately change a person's capability of killing things with swords/spears/arrows/gun's, and the novelty of a warrior order that was notably successful and fearsome AND composed of eunuchs on more than an incidental scale only improved their public opinion, by and large.

Restrictions around the allotment of handcannons were also gradually tightened, with only 30 being permitted for Hoüheteni use in conflict (to be given to only their most Elite high ranking members), with the concession that the greater number allotted to the Odonii for ceremonies and perpetual armament was permissible to be used for training their men. Under the Usoma Amanti Asita during the conquest and partial colonization of Finnerich, the number was decreased to only 10 on the basis that gunpowder and these highly costly weapons were in greater need by other orders dispatched to combat more frequently. He commissioned 10 high quality handcannons for Hoüheteni use, as well as a lavish gift of 300 (nonfunctional) gold handcannons for ceremonies.

Growing tensions between the Odonii and the monarchy in recent history lead to more overt tightening of the leash. The Usoma Amanti Asita, towards the end of his reign, forbade the Hoüheteni from attending the annual rites at the Sons of Creation as soldiers (though they had the same permission as every other citizen to travel as unarmed pilgrims). Instead, in an unprecedented move that is Ostensibly a major honor, he provided members of his own personal guard to attend the Odomache and the senior Odonii present. This has remained the case since that point.

The Usoma Amanti Stawis later prevented Hoüheteni from being dispatched to the rebelling Finnerich on the basis that cavalry had to be heavily prioritized for allotment of state weapons, resources, and ship space. He also provided members of his personal guard to protect the attending Odomache. All this ultimately looked really, really bad when the Odomache proceeded to get captured and killed and paraded around on a lance as a severed head.

The anxieties involved in these decrees are evident to everyone involved, and the conciliatory gifts of beautiful useless weapons and lavish praise have utterly ceased to curb ill will after the recent death of the Odomache. At this point, Hoüheteni opinions towards the Usoma Amanti Stawis trend towards the "he conspired to have her killed and needs to die badly", to the point that the Odonii are beginning to have difficulties controlling the regicidal sentiment in their own militia (which, in spite of tensions, is not a sentiment shared by the majority of Odonii leadership).

This came to a head in an assassination attempt on Amanti by a group of nine Hoüheteni (who at least Appear to have been acting alone, or at least not on the behest of the senior Odonii as a collective) two years before present. The attempt was foiled and the conspirators were executed by means of forced honorable suicide (decided upon as the best possible option for a deeply unpopular ruler in troubled times, giving them what is culturally the Cushiest death sentence possible to minimize potential public anger while not appearing outright passive). He decreed that Hoüheteni could no longer carry combat weaponry on their person within city limits (which is entirely forbidden to all civilians who are Not within warrior orders or Odonii, regardless of other status), thus effectively (though not explicitly) revoking their status as a warrior order altogether. This doesn't end up helping things much, and the Hoüheteni can now be collectively described as a revolutionary force whose ideological goals are to replace the monarchy with the same kind of monarchy except it's headed by a god-king.

---

This order is notably unique for a large portion of its members being eunuchs. This is entirely because many of its members are graduated former servant-squires to the priesthood, and these squires are required to be castrated to begin with. Eunuchs aren't outright Forbidden from joining other warrior orders (they have same overall Legal status as men even if socially considered de-gendered) but are less likely to be invited to begin with, as eunuchs aren't often nobility and are subject to cultural assumptions that (aside from a few outstanding outliers) they are innately weaker than intact men. Squires to Odonii have at least some combat training and opportunities to demonstrate themselves as viable, and are semi-frequently rewarded with Hoüheteni status when noted to excel (though most graduate to administrative or training positions instead). It is not an all-eunuch warrior order however (none exist here) and an approximately 2/3rd majority are intact men.

Much of its membership is composed of family members of Odonii, but initiation as Hoüheteni is EXTREMELY selective (due to its imposed membership cap) and is the most preeminently merit-based and least nepotistic of any Wardi warrior order. Not even being nobility blood kin to an Odonii with enough skill for merit-based promotion to other orders is necessarily sufficient.

Hoüheteni function primarily as light infantry. Most carry a javelin + spear thrower set, and a sword and light shield for melee. Strong proficiency with throwing spears (with or without a spearthrower) is the central requirement for selection as Hoüheteni. Their armor needs to be on the lighter side, and most will wear linothorax rather than the heavier iron scale/lamellar shown worn by a commander here. As they are funded by a wealthy priesthood and are limited in number, all members are supplied with linothorax, an iron helmet, javelins and a sword (though still generally have to obtain their own shields and any additional armor).

In organized battles with both sides in formation, they serve primarily to disrupt and soften enemy lines for the heavier infantry and cavalry of other orders behind them. In such open battles, they are known for singing coullagri summoning prayers to Odomache prior to their advance and mimicking the eye rolling and teeth baring of Odonii battlefield performance. More commonly, they're just used as lightweight smash and grab raiders against disorganized targets. Because they now only have 10 allotted handcannons at any given time, they don't have an organized artillery function. Use and assignment of their limited firearms is very flexible- Hoüheteni commanders carry them on a ceremonial basis, but in actual combat will generally assign them to their subordinates to provide cover fire from concealed or semi-distant positions.

Outside of combat, their non-ceremonial functions are primarily in training the squires of Odonii, and getting the Odonii themselves to required ceremonial weapons proficiency. Some act as guards to the Odomache or to senior Odonii when traveling. Hoüheteni aren't actually dispatched into combat very often (especially since BITCHASS Amanti Stawis has mostly prioritized developing sea trade over landgrabbing and tributary acquisition), and in practice these duties are 90% of their job. It is at least Heavily Suspected that some Hoüheteni function as enforcers for the Odonii priesthood and may have periodic involvement in assassinations at the priesthood's behest.

[dewdropdinosaur]

The Whole Being Dead Thing

LUCIFER X READER (PLATONIC) Summary: Lucifer is your father and to say you have been distant the past 7 years would be an understatement. Being the sarcastic owner of a murder business doesn't exactly make the family reunion even more enjoyable. Warnings: Some cuss words and a gun --> Reader is similar to Blitz from Helluva Boss. Rating: PG-13 Can't remember who requested this but here you go!

In the bustling streets of Pentagram City, where sin and redemption intertwined in a chaotic dance, there lurked a figure shrouded in darkness. Y/N, the eldest daughter of Lucifer Morningstar, once roamed. Born into a lineage of darkness and power, she was destined for greatness—or so it seemed.The disappearance of her mother, Lilith, shattered the fragile bonds that tied Y/N to her family. Amidst the turmoil and whispers of betrayal, she made a choice that would alter her destiny forever. With a heart heavy with unresolved pain, Y/N turned her back on her kin and vanished into the shadows, leaving behind her legacy and her birthright.

Long had it been since Y/N departed from the opulent corridors of her father's domain. With her heart heavy and her resolve unyielding, Y/N ventured into the abyss of uncertainty, carving her path through the crimson-lit alleyways of Pentagram City.

In the shadows, she found her solace, her purpose. She became a legend whispered in hushed tones—a silent specter weaving through the fabric of the city, a master of the art of assassination. With meticulous precision and deadly grace, she built her empire, brick by blood-soaked brick, until her name became synonymous with fear itself. Starting her own business built on assassination both inside Hell and up on Earth, Y/N essentially ruled the criminal underworld of Hell. Her own kingdom, not given to her by birthright, but by hard work and a penchant for blowing shit up. 

Years passed, and Lucifer, the fallen angel turned proprietor of the infamous Hazbin Hotel, watched over his kingdom with a heavy heart. The absence of his daughter weighed upon him like an anchor, a constant reminder of the rift that had torn their family asunder. After the disappearance of his eldest, Lucifer then distanced himself from his youngest; believing himself the one to blame for everything leaving.  He missed his daughter, though he would never admit it openly. The pain of her absence lingered like a wound that refused to heal, a constant reminder of his failure as a father.

 However, as time wore on and Hazbin Hotel grew - Lucifer reintroduced himself into Charlie’s life and they became reconnected and virtually inseparable. Charlie, being the optimistic being that she was, decided that if one family reunion was going so well, another should follow. Drafting out a letter to her older sister in bright pink ink, the note was mailed and received. 

After weeks of debate, Y/N finally relented. Maybe seeing Charlie after all would be nice, just the two of them. Putting on her normal outfit: white tank top, black leather jacket, and black jeans along with combat boots; Y/N marched to the hotel. Knocking on the door, Y/N straightened her top. However, what greeted her was not her energetic sister but instead Lucifer, who stood with wide eyes. 

Time seemed to stand still as father and daughter locked eyes, a thousand unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between them. For a moment, the world faded away, leaving only the echo of their shared past and the weight of their estrangement.

Charlie, the ever-optimistic princess of Hell, stood beside Lucifer, her gaze shifting between the two with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Sensing the tension thickening in the air, she stepped forward, a beacon of warmth amidst the shadows.

"Y/N," Charlie finally spoke, voice high pitched as she reached to embrace her sister. "It's been too long."

Y/N's expression remained impassive, her mask of stoicism betraying no hint of the emotions that roiled within her. She nodded, acknowledging her words with a silent understanding.

Y/N's gaze was steely, her demeanor guarded as she faced the father she had long forsaken. The awkwardness between them was palpable, a tangible barrier separating them even as they stood mere feet apart.

"Y/N," Lucifer finally spoke, his voice a mix of longing and regret, "it's been... too long."

A flicker of emotion crossed Y/N's face—a fleeting vulnerability that was quickly masked behind a facade of indifference. “Hi, dad.” 

Lucifer shifted uncomfortably, sensing the palpable tension hanging in the air. "How have you been?"

Y/N's lips twisted into a bitter smirk. "Oh, you know, same old, same old. Just running a famous murder stick in the depths of Hell. How about you?"

Lucifer winced at the reminder of his daughter's chosen path, a pang of ick gnawing at his insides. "I've been... managing," he replied evasively, unable to meet her gaze.

“So after 7 years that is all you have to say to me? 'How have you been'?” 

“Well, I--is that a gun!?"

Sighing and tapping the glock strapped to her thigh, Y/N spoke “Yes, dad. it's a gun. Sheesh, for sin incarnate you really are such a downer. Get it? Downer, cause like you go down on people...oh whatever.

Charlie, you got a bartender in this place right? Cause I am gonna need a shitty drink if y'all are gonna be a tough crowd."

Charlie, sensing the awkwardness and unable to get sex jokes thickening, attempted to lighten the mood. "Well, uh, why don't we sit down and catch up? I'm sure there's plenty to talk about and yeah…we have a bartender.!"

Y/N's laugh was hollow, devoid of mirth, completely avoiding her father in favor for his sister. "Sure, why not? I've always wanted to hear about the latest happenings in the Hotel for lost souls. So tell me sis, how’s life been mhmm?” 

The reunion was awkward, fraught with the weight of unresolved grievances and unspoken apologies. Yet, amidst the awkwardness, there lingered a glimmer of hope—a flicker of light amidst the darkness that had shrouded their relationship for so long. Alcohol made Y/N much friendlier anyway.

[jesterwithpaws]

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

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┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

┊ ┊ ⋆˚         

✧. ┊     intro post

⋆ ★

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꒰ঌ about me ໒꒱

[🐾] dazey/milk, 6teen, they/he/neos

[🐾] nonhuman/neutral/masc terms

[🐾] otherkin, fickin, songkin, therian, demihuman.

[🐾] selfshipper, voidpunk, radinclus (not rq)

[🐾] queer + xenogender (& neopronoun) user

[🐾] audhd, schizoaffective, bpd, c-ptsd

[🐾] disabled (seizure disorder)

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꒰ঌ therio-types ໒꒱

[🐾] arctic wolf

[🐾] fox

[🐾] green june beetle

[🐾] border collie

[🐾] small-spotted genet

꒰ঌ kin-types ໒꒱

[🐾] black smoke turkish angora

[🐾] vampirekin

[🐾] fallen-angelkin

꒰ঌ songkins ໒꒱

[🐾] girl anachronism - the dresden dolls

[🐾] ...well, better than the alternative - will wood

[🐾] maggot - dazey and the scouts

[🐾] i might b3 sick - femtanyl

[🐾] black hole - kmfdm

꒰ঌ fictionkin ໒꒱

[🐾] shadow milk cookie - cookie run kingdom

꒰ঌ questioning 'types ໒꒱

[🐾] black forest cookie (cookie run kingdom)

[🐾] music conceptkin

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꒰ঌ more info ໒꒱

[🐾] i am a selfshipper!!!

[🐾] i ALSO have a boyfriend irl! i love him dearly <3

꒰ঌ gender + sexuality ໒꒱

[🐾] nonbinary

[🐾] songflux

[🐾] caninething

[🐾] exhazic

[🐾] sleepinertiac

[🐾] genderfreakish

[🐾] toric (NBLM) & homoflexible

[🐾] demiromantic & demisexual

꒰ঌ neopronouns ໒꒱

[🐾] xe/xem

[🐾] vamp/vamps

[🐾] it/its

[🐾] hx/hxm

[🐾] honk/honks

[🐾] ve/ver

[🐾] moon/moons

[🐾] thing/things

[🐾] that/thats

[🐾] bite/bites

[🐾] fang/fangs

꒰ঌ tag system ໒꒱

here's a link

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꒰ঌ dni ໒꒱

[🐾] I DO NOT have a DNI i dont really mind who interacts :) but keep in mind i am a minor so mdni & nsfw blogs should probably steer away.

[🐾] althouggh.. anti otherkin and bigoted folks should fuck off

[howlingday]

When I was a boy, I only had one dream. I wanted to grow up to be just like my dad. You see, my father wasn't just an adventurer. He was a LEGENDARY adventurer.

Papa Arc: And then I kissed the beast so fair~

Papa Arc: And kissed her beastly bits down there~

When he would come back from his trips, I would sit in the tavern an listen to his songs, and I'd imagine myself traveling with him.

Papa Arc: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA~!

Lady: Kyaaah~!

That's right! My father is the one and only NICHOLAS ARC, the greatest Bard in the whole Kingdom! And I was going to be a Bard just like him!

Or, at least, that's what I thought at the time.

I guess part of growing up is realizing that your heroes aren't perfect. They're flawed people, and sometimes those flaws get really, REALLY messy.

Jaune: Dad, I'm home~!

Papa Arc: NOT THE PROSTATE! NOT THE PROSTATE~!

It was the day when I walked in on my father getting his butt plowed in the middle of an interspecies foursome. Again.

At that moment, I decided that I didn't want to be like my father.

Jaune: Dad...

Papa Arc: WHOA?! You're home early! Wait, let me explain! I'm practicing wrestling!

Jaune: Dad...

Papa Arc: Remember the basics of CQC!

Jaune: Dad, I know what sex is...

Jaune: Dad... I said I wanted to be a Bard like you when I grow up... But I've changed my mind. I'm going to become a PALADIN.

Papa Arc: ...

Papa Arc: Heh... That's a great idea, son! Chicks dig Paladins!

Jaune: No, Dad... A REAL Paladin, not the Fallen kind.

Grimm Lady: Ooh~! Your son is really cute~!

--------------------------------------------------

Years later...

Jaune: Ambrosius, Spirit of Creation and Control, please give me the strength to continue living a healthy and disciplined lifestyle, monogamous and uncorrupted by lust....

Yup, that's me. My name is Jaune Arc, and I'm a "Paladin of Order" now. I try my best every day to be a Lawful and Good citizen.

Nora: HEY! Are you STILL praying, church boy?! Get your ass in gear! It's dungeoning time! We don't got all day if we're gonna loot B3 and get back before happy hour!

Pyrrha: Hello, Jaune~!

This is Nora. She's a real dwarfy Dwarf, and a really good person.

Nora: Hmph!

Pyrrha: Nora's anxious because she's run out of lien again. (Giggles)

And this is Pyrrha, she's a Fighter of Jinn, and has been my best friend since I was a kid.

Nora: So, when did your dad say he was gonna be back?

Jaune: Around sundown, but I'm not exactly excited to be back before then. Really not looking forward to spending time with him.

Pyrrha: Oh, come now, Jaune! He's going to be off on a new adventure soon! Who knows when you'll see him again?

Nora: Yeah! Nicholas Arc is a legend! You should be glad he's your dad!

Jaune: Easy for you guys to say. Every time he goes on an adventure, he comes back with a new WIFE. I heard he was in the Kingdom of Mistral, so he's probably impregnated another Dwarf noble.

Nora: Damn... What an alpha...

Jaune: Do you know how awkward it is to deal with a new stepmom every year? You should see the drawings I did as a kid.

In hindsight, I had a weird family structure growing up.

Jaune: Anyways, it's not like I hate him or anything. I'm just sick of introducing myself to another new "mom".

Nora: Mm... I get that you have daddy issues.

Jaune: Gee, thanks.

Nora: But you don't have to be the opposite of him! You're living with a stick up your ass!

Jaune: I'm living with discipline, Nora. That's what it means to be a Paladin of Order.

Paladins of Ambrosius, the Spirit of Creation and Control, are champions of their own personal laws.

Ironwood: I only poop standing up! THIS is my solemn vow!

By living within the confines of a strict individual code, they seek to free themselves of animalistic desires and act through reason.

Nora: BAH! Order, schnorder! You need to get LAID! That'll fix ya!

Pyrrha: Yeah, Jaune! You do need to get laid! As your best friend, I'll take responsibility! That way we can lose our virginities together~!

Jaune: PYRRHA, YOU SHOULDN'T MAKE JOKES LIKE THAT. YOU SHOULD ONLY HAVE SEX WITH SOMEONE YOU HAVE DEEP, ROMANTIC FEELINGS FOR. I KNOW WE'RE CLOSE, BUT YOU WOULD REGRET LOSING YOUR VIRGINITY TO A GUY WHO IS ONLY YOUR FRIEND.

Pyrrha: Yeah... You're right... Ha ha...

Nora: You okay?

Jaune: Let's go.

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Nora: Alright! Get your crap in the bag! It's go time!

Pyrrha: ...

Jaune: Gear check before we go in.

"The Black Roads." It's said it was created by a shunned Witch to avoid outsiders; this cave system leads down into one of the largest dungeons in the continent.

Guard: Hey, Jaune!

Jaune: Hey man.

Guard: Going down the pit, right?

Jaune: Yup.

Guard: Oof... I'd take a rain check on that. There's a horrible creature that was spotted last night.

Jaune: Like what? An alpha beowolf? Or maybe an Ursa?

Guard: WORSE! Word is, someone ran into...

Guard: A GRIMM-KIN!

Nora: A GRIMM-KIN?!

Grimm-Kin are a Grimm subspecies that live deep in the Black Roads. They have a harsh, matriarchal society that enslaves men. It's well-known that Grimm-Kin women are inherently evil.

Jaune: We haven't had a Grimm-Kin sighting in years. Did something happen?

Guard: I'm not sure what's going on, but you be especially careful, Jaune! A handsome guy like you? Grimm-Kin would be slobbering just for the chance to get at your pecker!

Jaune: Don't worry. I'm an expert at rejecting the advances of horny women.

Pyrrha: Oh boy... Wouldn't I know...

Nora: You okay?

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Nora: I HATE GRIMM-KIN! In fact, I HATE REGULAR GRIMM, TOO! I'm not racist. I just don't like Grimm.

Jaune: You're a real dwarfy Dwarf, Nora.

Nora: WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!

Dungeon Level B3

Grimm: (Barks)

Grimm: (Snarls)

Grimm: (Growls)

Grimm: (Yips)

Grimm: ?!

Grimm: (Snaps, Snaps in two)

Pyrrha: Do you ever wonder what the Grimm talk about?

Jaune: Probably Grimm stuff, like how to get the most negative emotions out of a person. Oh, scoop up that ash.

Nora: How much ash have we got? What's the market price?

Jaune: Er, not great. Last I heard, Grimm Ash was going through another inflation.

Nora: AGAIN?! SERIOUSLY?! HOW AM I GONNA PAY MY RENT?!

Jaune: Well, you can stop drinking syrup from the top shelf.

Nora: Wow... That's a low blow. You think we can go deeper than this?

Jaune: I wouldn't do it. We should get at least a four-man party, preferably five.

Nora: Mm...

Pyrrha: (Turns, Sees arrow flying at her)

Jaune: (Grabs Pyrrha, Blocks arrow)

Pyrrha: Thank you, Jaune!

Jaune: See? This is what I'm talking about. We need a scout to prevent ambushes like this. Show yourself... GRIMM.

Cinder: (Steps out) Well, well... You parried my arrow cleanly. Looks like you're not just a pretty face... HUMAN.

Jaune: Why did you attack us, Grimm? We mean you no harm.

Nora: I DO! I'm gonna harm that skull into PIECE, BONE-FACE!

Jaune: Nora, can you please be quiet for just a second?

Cinder: Oh my... Isn't it obvious? I attacked you to get what I want. Because there's one thing every Grimm-Kin girl wants...

Cinder: HER VERY OWN MAN-SLAVE~! HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO~!

Cinder: YOU, PRETTY BOY~!

Jaune: Huh?

Cinder: I like you~! Ufufufu~... Back home, all the men I got were broken hand-me-downs from my mother! Now, I get to finally have my own boy-toy~!

Cinder: Don't worry, I won't kill anyone~! My blades and arrows are coated with knock-out poison, so I can take you all down with just a scratch! Then I'm going to drag pretty boy off and teach him how to please a woman~!

Jaune: Ah... So, let me get this straight. You're attacking us just because you want to have sex with me.

Cinder: Oh~? Have I piqued your interest~?

Cinder: It's not a big deal, is it~? You only need to become my pet and I'll allow you to play with this body. Imagine the desperate moans I'll make as you drag your tongue over my peaks and valleys, driving me wild with pleasure~!

Jaune: Hm... That does sound like a good deal.

Pyrrha: J-Jaune?! Wait! Don't fall for her lies! She's trying to trick you!

Jaune: I'll admit, you're a very attractive lady, and I'm sure there are many men out there who would give up everything to be with someone like you.

Cinder: So you'll be mine then?!

Jaune: BUT I REFUUUSE! GIRLS AND BOYS MUST NOT FORNICATE BEFORE MARRIAAAGE! NO CASUAL ENCOUNTERS! NO KISSING BEFORE THE TENTH DATE! NO MOUTH PLAY! NO ASS PLAY! DEFINITELY NO ASS TO MOUTH PLAY! ONLY MISSIONARY FOR THE PURPOSE OF PROCREATION! BETWEEN MARRIED COUPLES! MONOGAMYYY! NO HAREMS! NO ORGIES! HAND HOLDING IS OKAY, BUT DON'T! LOCK! THOSE! FINGEEERS!

Pyrrha: ...

Jaune: ...

Nora: ...

Cinder: ...

Nora: ...

Cinder: ???

Pyrrha: Whew!

Jaune: Khm! My name is Jaune Arc, and I am a Paladin of Order. THIS is my solemn vow.

Cinder: Uh... Is every surface dweller this prudish, or is it just him?

Jaune: ...

Nora/Pyrrha: It's just him.

Cinder: Okay! So, uh... Kinda got sidetracked, but you're not volunteering to be my man-slave, right?

Jaune: Yeah.

Cinder: Good~! I prefer doing this the old-fashioned way.

Jaune: Here we go. Stay behind me. I'll handle this.

Cinder: Hoohoohoo~! A little overconfident, aren't we? THE ONLY THINGS YOU'LL BE HANDLING ARE MY NIPPLES IN BED~!

Jaune: (Holds action)

Cinder: (Leaping strike)

???: Oscura Ventos...

Cinder: (Knocked on her back) GAH!

Jaune: ?!

???: What have I told you about "No more man slaves"? Such a naughty girl~...

Cinder: Dammit! You always get in my way...

Cinder: MOTHER!

Salem: But then again, I'm not surprised. You always were needy for attention.

Cinder: Why did you stop me?!

Salem: Because slavery is WRONG, Cinder. We need to start treating men as equals.

Jaune: You okay?

Cinder: Oh, fuck off! You were going through three men a day just a week ago, so cut the crap!

Salem: That was the old men. I'm a new woman now, ever since I met...

Salem: (Cuddling to Papa Arc) My husband~! Mr. Nicholas Arc~!

Papa Arc: Heya, son~! How ya doin'?! (Laughing with Salem)

Jaune: ...Hi, Dad.

Papa Arc: Jaune, my boy! How's it hangin'~?

Jaune: I'm fine, Dad. Why are you in the dungeon with two Grimm-Kin?

Papa Arc: Ah, yes... These lovely ladies. It's a long story, one full of danger, adventure, and rrromance~...

Jaune: Let me guess; you and your party were hired by a rival faction in Mistral to attack a Grimm-Kin nation, single-handedly destroying their army and were supposed to kill their leaders, too, but then you saw the Grimm-Kin queen was hot, so you couldn't resist and just had to seduce her and screw her brains out, and then you smuggled her out of the war zone with the promise of marriage... again.

Papa Arc: HUH?! H- H- HOW DID YOU KNOW?!

Jaune: This is, like, the eighth time you've done this, Dad.

Papa Arc: Aw, geez... Don't tell me I'm getting predictable!

Nora: By the Brothers! I'm in awe of this GigaBard! This man is my HERO~!

Papa Arc: Ahem! Well, I was going to do this later with your mother, your sisters, and all your other mommies around, but since you're here now, allow me to introduce...

Papa Arc: Your new stepmother, Salem Arc, formerly Salem, Queen of the Grimm-Kin, and her daughter, Cinder, your new stepsister!

Salem: Apologize to your brother, Cinder~.

Jaune: Grr! I'm sorry I tried to enslave you... I guess...

Papa Arc: I was showing them around the dungeon since it's the most profitable job in the Kingdom of Vale.

Jaune: They'll be living with us in town?

Papa Arc: That's right! They'll be strangers in a strange land and they'll need someone to help them get used to our lifestyle. I'll be with Salem, so could you take care of your sister?

Cinder: Hmph! (Turns away)

Jaune: Uh... My "sister" tried to kidnap me and turn me into her sex slave... five minutes ago.

Papa Arc: I know! Isn't it great?! You're like family already!

Papa Arc: C'mon, Jaune, if someone doesn't watch her, she'll be arrested in a day. And besides...

Cinder: (Turned away from everyone)

Papa Arc: She looks like she could really use a friend.

Jaune: ...Fine, I'll do it.

Papa Arc: Attaboy, Jaune~! I knew you'd say yes! That's why I already bought a HOUSE for you! You two will be living together without any supervision~!

Jaune: What?

Cinder: What?!

Pyrrha: WHA- WHA- WHAT?!

Papa Arc: Sorry, Pyrrha. That's just how these things work.

Jaune: ...

Cinder: ...

Pyrrha: ...

Cinder: Ufu~! Ufufufufu~! I've always wanted a little brother~.

Pyrrha: HUH?!

--------------------------------------------------

And so, in this new house, my strange new life began.

Cinder: Step bro~! Step bro~! Oh, it's just awful~! I forgot to bring my clothes with me, so now I have to come out of the bath NAKED and SOAKING WET~!

Jaune: (Eyes shut) Here, I brought you a change of clothes. Cinder, please stop trying to seduce me. Seeing your nipples aren't going to make me break my vows as a Paladin.

Cinder: (Hugs him) Are you suuure~?

Jaune: Yes.

Some journeys start without taking a step away from home.

Cinder: Help, Step Bro, help~! I'm stuck in this conveniently positioned hole~!

Jaune: NO, YOU'RE NOT! WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT?!

I didn't know this at the time, but my stepsister's appearance was about to steer my Lawful life into a Chaotic world I was utterly unprepared for. But even then, one thing was obvious...

MY GRIMM-KIN STEPSISTER WASN'T GOING TO LEAVE ME ALONE

--------------------------------------------------

Nora: I'm a huge fan of your work, Mr. Arc! Could you sign my hammer?!

Papa Arc: Why, of course, my dwarven friend! Anything for a fan~!

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men with a Kaladin Stormblessed Coded Reader

AN: idc I really wanted to write this. And this is not perfect so I will write more. No one hold me back. I fucking love Kaladin Stormblessed.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader (Kaladin coded)

Ingredients: 100% honor, 100% angst.

My Fav: Rafayel. Because I like bitter love interests.

(I do not own any of these characters. Literally nothing. Don't sue me please)

Xavier:

The battle was over. The ground was slick with blood. And you...you stood swaying in the center of it all, torn open, barely breathing, but still shielding the fallen behind you.

You hadn’t fought for yourself. You hadn’t even hesitated.

When Xavier reached you, he didn’t speak. He didn’t scold. He just looked at you, at the jagged wound slicing across your side, at the blood pooling at your feet.

How dare you. How dare you value your life so little. How dare you give yourself away so easily, as if it meant nothing.

He carried you back. His armor stained, his gloves slipping slick with your blood, and still, he never once let you go.

Not when the healers came. Not when the others whispered. Not even when you, half-delirious, tried to push him away.

Later, after the chaos settled, he found you again, stitched, bandaged, asleep and pale in your tent.

And he knelt. Sword drawn, point resting against the ground. Head bowed. An oath. Not for a king. Not for a kingdom. For you.

"Next time," Xavier said, voice low, cracking at the edges, "bleed for yourself first." His hand tightened on the hilt. "I’ll be there to cover the rest."

Rafayel:

"There must be another way," you said, loud enough to halt even the bloodthirstiest of the court. "If we flood the lands of the living, we bury not only our enemies... but ourselves."

A scoff split the air.

Yorrick’s voice thundered across the tent, thick with disdain. "And what would you know of it, General?" He spat your title like it tasted foul. "You, who have never worn chains. You, who speaks of mercy for those who would slay your own kin?"

You should have been afraid. You were not. Instead, your gaze slid past Yorrick, and found him. Rafayel.

High Prince of Lemuria. Silent at the head of the war table. Watching.

"You think blood will cleanse blood?" you said, voice steady. "Who has ever bound the sea? Who has ever forced the tide to obey?" You stepped forward, every word a hammerblow.

"Even water trapped in water skin finds its way back to the ocean. Bodies can be enslaved. Minds…" Your eyes locked with his. "Minds cannot."

A tense silence fell. Yorrick’s hand twitched toward his blade.

Rafayel moved. The sea answered him. A gust of salt wind tore through the war tent as the High Prince rose, the gold of his robes whispering along the floor.

"Enough," he said, voice a low roll of thunder. Yorrick froze. The council froze.

But Rafayel wasn’t looking at them. He was looking only at you.

"You think to lecture me on captivity?" he said, and each word landed like a dagger in the gut. "You think to remind me what it means to have chains set to bone, and salt stuffed in the wounds?"

He descended the steps. Every movement a tide pulling the world with him.

"I was broken," he said, softly now, and somehow that was worse. "And you would have me thank them for it?"

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the sea, restless beyond the walls of the tent.

Then you lowered your gaze, but your voice carried clear and sure: "What better are we than mortals," you said, "if we seek the same ruin in our vengeance, my prince?" You bent your knee. Bowed low before him.

"It is not your nature to destroy," you murmured. "Yours is a soul made for creation."

Zayne:

"Traitor," they called you.

Shunned you from the world of the living. Cast you out into the mist. No longer a person, but a shadow. A sprite.

Your crime: offering mercy to the broken souls of the fallen wanderers. Your sin: seeking redemption for the lost. Bringing back their souls to some peace.

But you became one of them.

Had you been wrong? Had your hands, reaching out in hope, only dragged more souls into ruin?

Zayne saw it all.

Any sane man would have let you fall. Would have watched, silent and grieving, as the world devoured your unyielding heart.

He could have stayed. He was a cardiologist respected, revered. He could have saved hundreds, maybe thousands, safe behind the walls of the world you abandoned.

But he did not. He could not.

When the world turned its back on you. Zayne chose to turn his back on the world. If your fate was to fall, then he would fall with you.

Without hesitation. Without regret. Without ever looking back.

Sylus:

A foot soldier with a rusted spear stood before the dragon. Sent alone to slay the beast that noble knights refused to face. They sent you instead.

Sylus snorted, even in his dragon form, smoke curling from his nostrils. He had enough mind left to know the difference between prey... and bait.

Your death would not glorify him. It would strip him of his title as a noble beast. Seal his mountain in shame. Mark him forever a monster.

So he waited, crouched in the gloom, calculating how best to rid himself of this wretched mortal without bloodshed.

He was still scheming when you moved.

Without hesitation, you stepped forward, and snapped the rusted spear against your own thigh, the brittle wood cracking in two.

Sylus stilled, stunned, as you dropped the broken pieces at his feet like an offering. "I shall not harm you, old dragon of Philos," you said, your voice carrying clean and sure through the cavern's heavy air. "I will return to my world. No harm shall come to yours."

You looked at him eyes steady, unafraid. Clearer than any mortal he had ever seen. Perhaps that was what a foolish, fragile kind of morality did to a mortal body. Made it stubborn. Made it beautiful.

Sylus shifted, his great head lowering, his molten crimson gaze fixing you in place. "They will hunt you instead," he rumbled, the cavern trembling with the force of his voice. "An ineffective bait is a discarded one." There was something like mirth in his tone. A low, curling amusement.

How could he not savor this moment? It was not every day the Creator bestowed upon the world a mortal so foolish, and so brave, that even a dragon found himself... entertained.

Caleb:

You refused to step foot in the town where your failure lay. The charred remains of your once home.

You had failed to save him. Failed to protect him.

The nightmares of the fire still haunted you, licking at the edges of your sleep, dragging you back to that day, again and again.

You had let the fire take Caleb from you. You, who fought for the world, who swore to guard it, had lost the one soul you should have shielded most.

It was always the same. Anyone you sought to protect... was taken from you.

Just like Caleb had been.

You went through the motions of life after. Fighting wanderers. Mining protocores for the Hunter’s Association. A hollow blade wielded by a hollow hand.

But no matter how many beasts you struck down, no matter how deep you buried yourself in work, there was no victory.

Only smoke. Only ashes. And a heart torn apart by its own hand.

"Forgive me," you whisper to the night sky, over and over on lonely nights. "Forgive me, Caleb," you repeat, tears slipping down your cheeks.

"I failed, Grandma. I'm sorry." Your voice cracks as you look up, searching the stars for answers that never come.

[wreckrinho]

mmMmEEEEE~~!!! SHADOW MILK CCOOOOOIKKKIEEE~

I kin him so bad. Hes on my kinlist now

Everyone praised my drawing at school! Even the teachers thought it was cool... it was the first time that people in the classroom praised me because of a drawing... I'm happy!! and I feel like I'm getting better at traditional drawings

[whimsical-musingss]

Amongst Gods and Men Masterlist

Rhaella Targaryen is the eldest daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent Hightower. On the cusp of strife in the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaella uncovers a large conspiracy brewing in the Red Keep, as well as pieces of secrets her father has been keeping from everyone.

King Viserys gives Rhaella one last request: to finish what he has started, which will undoubtably bring war in Westeros and beyond. War amongst kin, amongst dragons, amongst gods and men.

Cregan Stark X OC!Targaryen

Warnings: GOT universe, so that entails violence, gore, dragons, war, more violence, language. Multiple POVs. This is unedited but I’m too lazy to edit it so! Slow burn but it’s worth it. Canon divergence.

Below is a sneak peek, plus the list of chapters. Thank you for reading! If you enjoy this and want to stay up to date, I can create a taglist.

“Kostilus…” her father, King Viserys Targaryen, rasps. Please. His once full head of silvery white hair has now fallen away, leaving but a few wispy strands that sway as he wheezed. His one eye that remains is a milky white, symbolizing his descent into full blindness. His empty eye socket is wrapped up neatly in a bandage, and soon, his other side of his face will be bandaged as well.

Rhaella Targaryen, his eldest daughter with the Queen Alicent Hightower, pauses her reading. She hardly remembered the contents of the book; she read to provide comfort or perhaps distraction for the ailing king, who now shakily reaches his hand out to grasp nothing.

“Father?”

“Kostilus…”

It wasn’t uncommon that King Viserys mumbled nonsense, either in High Valyrian or in the common tongue. Rhaella dismissed most of them as displays of the king’s madness: his disease brought him so much pain that it afflicted his mind. Milk of the poppy did not help matters.

“Father, do you need water?”

“Istia ivestragon Rhaenyra…”

Rhaella waited patiently for her father to finish gasping out his request. He mostly begged for death, for his previous wife, Aemma, or for Rhaenyra. In this case, he wanted Rhaenyra, his eldest daughter and only child with Queen Aemma.

“Aegon’s jaelagon…his dream. Remind Rhaenyra of her path.”

List of Chapters:

Chapter One: Rhaella

Chapter Two: Silverwing

Chapter Three: Life and Death (coming soon!)

[conundrumoftime]

Day 4 of @celedrielweek, for the theme of kingdoms/refuge. 1100 words, rated T for mentions of war/violence.

The days before this (these stories are all meant to come one after the other chronologically): meetings | courtship | marriage |

The sea is quiet here. Old pieces of driftwood half-buried in the dunes suggest the presence of higher waves and stronger storms in years gone by, and Galadriel assumes more will come in the years ahead; she knows better by now than to believe any peace can be forever. But for now the waves only whisper into the sand and nothing disturbs this little haven’s calm.

The sea’s hush is the only one she welcomes. The town seems too quiet, although it is busy enough with the hammering of nails for new buildings and carts of timber coming down from the woods and the mending of fishing-nets at the quay. It is the sound of voices that seems all too often absent. Some of it, perhaps, might be the inadequacies of translation - since the exiles from Gondolin came here there are many who are unfamiliar with each other’s tongues. But more of it, Galadriel thinks, is the inadequacy of language itself.

Two kingdoms fallen. Gondolin ruined and Doriath burned, and fair lands now crawling with rot and darkness. She will not surrender hope; she has found joy after despair before; and they have not lost everything, although what they saved seems so very little.

The two children playing before her do not speak, neither to each other nor to their two minders. Their game of digging water-channels in wet sand is conducted entirely in silence. Elwing has always been a quiet child and Galadriel does not know little Earendil very well so perhaps he is the same, but she remembers playing upon the jewel-strewn beaches of Alqualondë as a child and she does not remember it ever being so silent as this.

And then there is Celeborn who sits beside her in a silence she does not disturb - cannot disturb, because more and more now she finds she does not know what to say to him. And this of all the silences is the hardest one to bear.

They have been married for centuries now. For all her own grief over Doriath, she knows him too well to imagine she can speak to the depth of his. Even if she tried - who is she to speak of it at all? His kin are dead at the hands of hers; and while she tried to defend Menegroth as she tried to defend Alqualondë, once again she could not save them.

At first there had been too much else to do to think of it. They fought together and together they carried Elwing out of Doriath, and it had been a long, hard journey south with the child and the Silmaril she kept hugged tight in her arms, every mile of it alert and watchful for hunters on their trail. Then she had gone to Gil-galad and Círdan to tell them of what had happened, leaving Celeborn with the little band of survivors at the mouth of the river; and then there had been a town to build, and then the news of Gondolin and the refugees who trailed their way here too.

They had worked side by side for all of it as they always had, but now… now it is done and there is time for other things, time to let wounds heal, time to begin to speak of futures and the kinds of joy that can still grow again after grief like green shoots on a charred battlefield. Now, she finds her words keep failing her.

“You are looking at the sea,” he says.

She had been, it’s true, although she hadn’t been seeing it. It’s more habit than anything else (she thinks, she tells herself) that somehow keeps her attention drifting back to the west and the setting sun.

“Tuor has spoken of sailing west,” she says. “The ban given to my people does not lie upon him. Perhaps if he still has Ulmo’s favour the Valar will send aid to us here.”

Celeborn lays his hand over hers and laces their fingers together, and the cold sand pressed to her palm seems somehow to anchor her in place. “Perhaps,” he concedes. “Perhaps Oropher has it right.”

Oropher had left the previous year with a band of Doriath’s refugees and a few of the Sindar who escaped Gondolin, determined to head as far east as they might, away from Morgoth and the Valar and the Noldor alike; to cast off all their broken alliances and misplaced loyalties, to seek out Cuivienen and to live as the Avari did as if they had never accepted the summons of the Valar at all.

Celeborn’s anger is quieter than Oropher’s and lies deeper beneath his sorrow, but she does not doubt it is there.

“You would join him.” Fear stills her as soon as the words are said. She knows, in that moment, it is true.

But Celeborn shakes his head. “He can’t think beyond loss. He wants to undo what has already been done. I don’t want to join him but I… but all the same, I…”

He gathers himself, and it takes only moments but it seems to her an eternity.

“It is time to go,” he says. “There is nothing for me but sorrow and nothing for you but the sea. We should go east ourselves.”

“And leave them?”

“And build something they can come to and be safe. Let Morgoth have Beleriand, what’s it to us any more? There are lands beyond the mountains where the orcs have never reached. I can’t stay in these salt marshes, I have no hope for anything here. I have almost forgotten what it felt like to want the things we wanted - our own kingdoms, futures, children of our own -” Here he nods towards Elwing and Earendil, who give no indication of having noticed. “I don’t wish to find Cuivienen and I don’t wish to return to the life of the elves before Oromë led us west. I wish to find the Middle-earth I loved and find in myself the person I was when I still knew how to love it. Come with me.”

She tightens her grip upon his. She nods. The silence no longer seems a gulf between them; now it feels like comfort.

(And briefly, for the first time in many long years, she glimpses the future: a vision of a golden-haired boy playing at her feet at the shores of a great lake surrounded by tall pines. Peace; and safety; and pride, in their son and their lands and their future. Hope.)

[exhausted-archivist]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Deluxe Edition Cosmetics

These are the cosmetic items you can get with the Dragon Age: The Veilguard Deluxe edition, I've noted down the couple of referenes, easter eggs if you will, as well as translation of any elven words.

6 Weapon Appearances For Rook

Stave of the Fallen Kingdom

Bow of the Fallen Kingdom

Spellblade of the Fallen Kingdom

Blades of the Fallen Kingdom

Aegis of the Fallen Kingdom & Sword of the Fallen Kingdom (Aegis means protection)

Maul of the Fallen Kingdom

1 Warrior Armor Set Appearance For Rook

Armor of Bellanaris (Bellanaris means 'eternity' in elven.)

Ghellara Helm

1 Mage Armor Set Appearance For Rook

Revas Robes (Revas means 'freedom' in elven.)

Circlet of Awe

1 Rogue Armor Set Appearance For Rook

Harellan's Bolts (This translates to "Traitor to one's kin" according to the Rebel God codex. So "Traitor to one's kin's Bolts")

Katriel's False Face (Katriel, for those who don't know was King Maric Theirin's first love that Loghain lied (by omission) to him about and convinced him to kill. She has light gloves in dao called Katriel's Grasp.)

7 Weapon & 7 Armor Set Appearances For Companions

Bellara's Nerve

Ringlet of Sorrow

Davrin's Resolve

Plate of the High Constable & Beacon Edge

Emmrich's Mystique

Staff of Incessant Gaze

Harding's Focus

Sunderbow

Lucanis's Gall

Heartpiercer

Neve's Fervor

Cat's Eye

Taash's Might

Grief

[hailturinturambar]

Corrupted Blessings.

Pairing: Melkor/Morgoth x Nienna

Word count: 10.668

Author's Notes: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes or confusion. This is so distressing, but it feels so right. So I apologize in advance.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. Unprotected sex, p in v. Oral (female receiving.) Masturbation. My romantic blood kink. Toxic relationship. Manipulation. Abuse of power. Sauron being a complete bastard. Anguish.

Summary: The drums are beating, and the battle is drawing ever closer. The masks have fallen, and Sauron's cruel schemes are revealed. But his lies are powerful, and Nienna must fight against the fears he has awakened, while confronting Melkor for all his wickedness.

PART XIV -> SERIES MASTERLIST

Since the victory of Beren and Lúthien, Middle-earth had been on the brink of war, as if the shadows of battle were so thick that even in Valinor, it was possible to contemplate the future ruins that would surround all the enemies of the Dark Lord.

For, gathered as the Union of Maedhros, all the free peoples of Middle-earth were called to fight for their liberty. Long indeed would be the war, and only united would they stand a chance against the hostile forces of Melkor.

New hope gripped the Elves of Beleriand. With them, the Edain and the Dwarves gathered, swearing loyalty in the coming war. For a long time, they prepared, combining weapons, devising strategies, plotting the best ways to defeat The Great Foe. Trained for war were the Bór and Ulfang, whom they did not suspect to be a spy among friends.

In Nogrod and Belegost, the smiths worked tirelessly, forging the finest and noblest weapons for battle. Turgon, too, was invited to go to war alongside his kin, so that they might finally be free from the Shadow of Melkor. Alongside them, the Men of the House of Hador would also fight alongside the people of Haleth.

Yet, all help was needed. For so much evil and misery had Celegorm and Curufin wrought, that the people of Orodreth had turned their backs on Maedhros's pleas, refusing to fight at his side. Nargothrond, the king had sworn, would not take sides in the coming battle, though those who wished might go and help. But from the king no help would come.

They could not fight this war without all the peoples standing side by side. Maedhros, in charge of the battle preparations, set out for the kingdom of Doriath, desperate for help. He found no comfort or companionship there.

The evils done by the two brothers reached Thingol's ears, and he was furious when he heard of the attempted kidnapping of Lúthien. He was still in great wrath ever since his daughter had gone with Beren. But the evil done by the Sons of Fëanor was worse, and the King of Doriath closed his heart to them.

As Orodreth, he did not prevent his people from following Maedhros. But many of Thingol's people loved Lúthien, and few showed him mercy. Defeated, Maedhros could do nothing, for he too felt the weight of his brothers' actions. And he had no wish to bring war upon Thingol.

Though the weight of the Silmarils weighed heavily on the eldest's chest, he turned his back on the king, accepting the consequences. Yet, Thingol's wife, Melian was, and in the Elder Days she dwelt in the Undying Lands.

Much of the Valar she served. But special affection she had for Estë, Irmo's wife, and for many days she walked in their gardens. She feared for Nienna, deeply. For herself had suffered in bearing Lúthien, who had demanded too much of her spirit.

Thingol, however, was too enraged to think beyond Lúthien, his beloved daughter. But Melian feared what might happen if the Dark Lord's fortress were besieged. No affection or good thoughts for Melkor did she have.

The war worried her, anyway, because she thought of Nienna. And how much Irmo must have worried about his sister. The whispers in Middle-earth were intense, and Melian was in tune with all living things. As soon as she learned of Nienna's pregnancy, grief filled her breast. So before the Elf could leave the land of Doriath, she left the king's company to search for him.

Maedhros, completely surprised, noticed that the queen quickly reached out to him, asking that they speak in private. Fool, he was not, and it was obvious that Thingol had not changed his heart. Yet, Melian seemed determined to speak to him.

So, he let her walk with him, keeping him away from the guards, so that no one else would know what she would ask of him. After all, many would not understand her concern, or why she was almost, even if unintentionally, helping the enemy.

“My queen?” Maedhros said, as Melian led him to the farthest part of Dortiah’s gardens.

“It will seem strange, what I have to ask of you,” Melian whispered. “But who, besides me, will think of her?”

For a brief moment, Maedhros believed she was talking about Lúthien, but none of it made sense. Because she was safe with Beren, and Melkor had more serious problems than hunting her to recover the lost Silmaril.

“Do not attack Angband,” She said. “At least, not yet.”

“My queen.” He murmured, confused. “Whatever time we have is short, it is insufficient. We need to organize ourselves, before the enemy is ready.”

He was right, of course he was. Melian knew that, but she also knew that Nienna would be alone in Angband, with nothing but Melkor's protection in the fortress. Because Melian had suffered so much during her pregnancy, she could not even imagine what Nienna was going through.

And if war reached the Dark Lord's fortress, he would have no choice but to attack. Nienna would be completely alone during the siege, without protection, without help. Melian could not let her risk that, not alone.

“His wife, Nienna, is pregnant.” Melian said, reluctantly.

Maedhros's surprise was immediate. Horror, Melian saw, came over the Elf's delicate face. A Valarindi had never posed a threat to Elves or Men, for they all lived in Valinor, and as pure as their parents they were.

However, it was different with Nienna. For she might be merciful and pure, but not Melkor. And this baby would be as much hers as his. Not even the Valar knew how much the child would become like the Dark Lord, and great concern grew in the Blessed Realm.

“If she remains by his side, we have no choice,” The Elf said firmly. “This dark path is hers, and hers alone.”

“No, Maedhros.” Melian said, disappointed with the Elf.

After everything his father had done, what he and his brothers had done in the name of their oath, she had hoped he would be understanding. That he would at least understand why Nienna remained at Melkor’s side. Like Maedhros, she was choosing to stand by a deserter out of love.

“Nienna deserves more, much more. I stood by her side, in Valinor. We all did.” She took the Elf’s hand, begging him to understand what she was asking. “Do not judge her for his choices.”

“Then we must remain surrounded by pain and suffering, because she loves a monster?” The Elf quipped.

Melian shook her head, not letting go of Maedhros's hand. She would never, in all her divine life, ask the Elves to stop fighting, to choose defeat and suffering. They did not deserve this, she knew. But how could she condemn Nienna and the innocent child she carried?

“Nienna will be consumed by the child, Maedhros. She will be weak, vulnerable. She cannot even protect herself. She needs him.”

The words Melian struggled to say brought a disgusted look from the Elf to her. But even if he would not admit it, he knew she was being honest. Maedhros, Melian thought, knew the weight of doomed love.

When the Elf faced the queen, she knew that nothing could be done, not for Nienna, not for her baby. Determination burned on Maedhros's face. This was the only chance they would have. They could not risk everything for Nienna.

Melian said nothing, waiting for his answer, still hopeful. But he simply let go of her hand, almost as if he felt guilty for choosing this path. After all he had done, he could bear one more burden to carry, if it would ensure the peace and safety of his people.

“I am sorry, but we cannot wait.” He said. “You know we cannot. But I pray to Eru that she survives this war.”

Maedhros turned his back on Melian, departing Doriath. He would find nothing there, no help from the king. He must return to his allies and prepare for war. Yet, the queen's words consumed his spirit, and great guilt gripped him as he departed.

And even after many years, Melian still waited, worried and fearful for Nienna. For when in the First Age, the year 471 shone in the hearts of all in Middle-earth, the battle was ever closer. Elves and Orcs plotted in the shadows, preparing for the great combat.

Countless Orcs worked tirelessly day after day, forging weapons for battle, protecting Melkor's dark creatures, preparing all beasts for battle. For the Elves believed they had the upper hand, but the traitors were many, and their hearts were dark.

Nothing thought, nothing done by the Elves, escaped Melkor's notice. The forces of Angband were nearly ready. The free peoples of Middle-earth, no matter how numerous they were, or how prepared they were, could not face Melkor and win.

In Angband, Melkor prepared himself against his enemies, against all who dared challenge his sovereignty. He was, and all must soon accept it, the King of All. The King of Arda. By what right would they march against his fortress?

It was unacceptable, indeed. He would not allow the Elves and their allies to threaten his reign, to challenge his power. He had much to think about, for Angband was strong and nearly indestructible. But Melkor would be forced to protect the fortress. For her.

Nienna could not leave for Angnaire, not without the enemies around the fortress reaching her, and Melkor, deep down, doubted that the Elves would be merciful to her condition, Aratar or not, for she carried Melkor's child. He could not fight and protect her at the same time.

Nienna, Melkor thought, seemed confident that the child would soon be born. That soon they would be accompanied by their little creation, as Melkor called the baby. Because he was their creation, was not he?

Not the Creator's, not Ilúvatar's. His, wholly his. For Eru might be the bearer of the Imperishable Flame, Father of All Creations, but not that one. The Valar, as Eru had determined, could create nothing that was not born of his thought.

But that was exactly what he had done, and Melkor was perversely pleased with it. In knowing that this baby, his son, was his and Nienna's creation, and no one else's. Not even Ilúvatar could interfere with Melkor this time.

That was not how Nienna thought, however. She was, despite all the suffering that bearing a child brought, terribly content. Happy, even. Because this baby would be a part of her, but a part of Melkor as well. And, Nienna thought, if they could create something pure together, perhaps Melkor could be saved from the darkness, too.

However, Melkor's motivations were not as pure as Nienna's, and if a child was what it took for her to be his forever, he did not mind making this small sacrifice. Even if it was costing Nienna dearly.

He believed that she would be fine in the end. Nothing would happen to her that he could not fix. He was powerful enough to keep her safe. But even though he was powerful, Melkor was so preoccupied with his own desires that he did not even notice how Sauron was enjoying Nienna's mind, keeping her under torture for countless years.

Nienna, knowing nothing, suspected that it was the evil in Melkor that was weakening her. In a way, she was right. Never in the history of Arda had a being of pure light been united with a being of darkness and gloom. No child like that had ever been born. And perhaps no other would.

But Nienna bore the burden in silence. A year had passed since Ulmo’s failed attempt to discourage Nienna, and yet she no longer trusted the Undying Lands. She feared, deep down, that she would have to return to Valinor.

Great suffering she was facing in Middle-earth, more suffering awaited her, but she would endure as much as she could. How could she return to the Blessed Realm when her son was seen as a threat by all the Valar?

This, Nienna thought, was the path she had chosen to tread. She would face all the consequences, alone. No matter how great her grief, or how much suffering she had to endure. It was better, she knew, to suffer than to trust those who feared the one she loved most.

Ulmo had made it clear that the baby, her baby, was a mistake. She would not, of course, let him be harmed, not even by the Valar. And Nienna feared these thoughts, which came with motherhood.

The need to protect, the instinct to care for and keep away any threat. Very similar to how Melkor behaved, always protecting himself, before others had the chance to attack him.

Sometimes, however, it was too much for Nienna to be around Melkor, his Shadow, which seemed to devour her more than ever. For that Shadow lived within her as well. Even if it was not filled with malice or cruelty, the child, she could sense, had a shadow of his own.

So, she left Melkor to continue preparing for battle, while she begged Eru to prevent any more bloodshed. That the Creator would have mercy on them all, and not allow Melkor to soil the lands of Middle-earth with any more blood.

Nienna's chambers, Sauron was certain, had been all but forgotten. They were too far from Melkor's for him to accept her being there. He wanted her near, at all times, in every corner of the fortress, always at his side.

Adar, without Nienna or the Dark Lord suspecting, ordered the Uruks to empty Nienna's old chambers, taking all her belongings to the one closest to Melkor. Not that Nienna needed new chambers. But it was not her that Adar was thinking about.

Because in 471, rumors of the birth of the Dark Lord and the Lady of All Mercy's child were rife throughout the fortress. That, and Nienna's increasingly fragile state. Some, secretly so as not to be tortured by their master, believed that once the baby was born, she would be fine. Free, even.

They would not admit it, but many suspected that it was Melkor and his wicked, evil spirit that sickened Nienna. Honestly, they were almost right. Because it cost all the Valar a great deal to create a new life. But to create a life with such an evil being would taint even the purest of spirits.

Adar wished he could ease Nienna's burden, and he would, all he could. He decided to trust Sauron, of course he had. Lovers, they were, and had been for ages, even if Sauron had been different since the loss of Thuringwethil.

Cunning and diabolical, Sauron promised that he would help Adar. Honestly, Sauron was not trying to affect Adar, not even close. He was just having fun with Nienna, knowing that neither she nor Melkor suspected all that he had caused. All the suffering that he was putting her through.

And, as promised to Adar, Sauron waited for Nienna in the new chambers. He had not been completely honest with her, he never was. She should not be surprised, after all. All Sauron had said was for her to visit the new chambers and wait for Adar.

Nienna was worried about Adar, whom she saw less and less of as the years passed, while Melkor took advantage of her vulnerability to keep the Uruk far enough away that he would not catch even the slightest glimpse of her.

So, she had said yes to Sauron, agreeing to meet with Adar. Melkor, Nienna thought, was too busy to keep watch over everyone in the fortress, not when the Elves seemed increasingly determined to do battle with him.

Silently, Nienna entered the new chambers, which looked very much like the old ones, that had been hers since she had agreed to become Melkor's wife. However, these were not gloomy. Not because flames illuminated the chambers, but because something else.

When Nienna descended into the depths of Angband, into the dungeons, to comfort the captured Elves and grant them forgiveness and mercy in their final moments, she always admired the lights that illuminated the deep mines of Angband.

Fëanorian lamps, they were, but Nienna did not know how they had been found, or if Melkor had stolen them from the Elves. Like tiny crystals, a bright blue light emanated from them, making even the darkest of rooms feel comforting.

Those same lamps were there, in her chambers, illuminating the dark environment with delicacy and purity. Nienna knocked the doors of the chambers, silently admiring those delicate lights, touching each one with appreciation.

It reminded her of Valinor, it reminded her of home. But such memories were now tinged with pain and melancholy. Alone in her chambers, delicate tears streamed down Nienna’s face, staining the divine face that had brought even the Dark Lord to his knees.

Melkor, Nienna thought, was her eternal melancholy. The cause of all her misery, too. But he was hers, and would always be hers. No matter how much he hurt her, or how much he made her suffer.

Nienna did not fear the grief caused by him, by the melancholy that he was. She feared, above all, losing the reason for her suffering. Because suffering for him, she thought, was better than not having him at all.

As the tears fell, the veil covered Nienna’s sadness, keeping her suffering to herself and no one else. Many things, she was enduring in silence, in solitude. And, she preferred to keep the anguish to herself.

Then, as she briefly lifted her veil, believing herself to be in complete solitude, she noticed an unusual object in the chambers. Nienna had not witnessed much of the Valarindi's early years, and she knew little of them, or what they needed.

But as she approached the object, she knew what it was, for many Elves had one in their dwellings in Valinor. It was a cradle. An iron cradle, she realized, as she drew near. Indeed, the details reminded Nienna of the Iron Crown of Melkor.

From her crown, too. Small spikes surrounded the cradle, as on his crown. Gently, she touched the cradle, feeling how hot the iron was, as if the flames of the Silmarils were rekindling there. In contrast to the bitter cold of Angband.

From a distance, to an Elf, Nienna thought, the crib looked brutal, rustic, but it was nothing like that. Every detail had been delicately thought out for the protection and comfort of her child, she knew that. But Melkor had not been responsible for this. She doubted he had thought about what it took to care for a child.

Gentle taps were uttered against the door, catching Nienna’s attention. She smiled, even through her tears, thinking it was Adar. The friend she missed deeply. That crib, Nienna suspected, had been a gift from him.

But unfortunately for Nienna, long strands of red hair dominated her vision as Sauron entered her chambers. It could not have been him, she thought, who had bothered to forge a cradle, even if he had been skilled.

“My Queen,” Sauron said, with false respect. “Adar asks forgiveness, but he cannot come.”

“Is everything alright?” Nienna said, walking towards Sauron.

She did care about Adar, indeed. And so she did not notice Sauron's smirk as he gazed at her uncovered face. The veil, Sauron thought, hid enough, that was for sure, for Nienna grew paler with each passing day.

How much Melkor had noticed, or cared, Sauron did not know, but he doubted Melkor realized how much Nienna was suffering. Which was good for him, of course. The more fragile Nienna was, the less of a problem she would be to him.

“Matters of war, I fear.” He said, touching her arm lightly. “Come, Nienna, do not strain yourself too much.”

Sauron's voice was so melodious, so delicate, that a stranger could believe that he really cared about his master's wife. But that was not the case, quite the opposite, he had never hated her as much as he did now.

Vulnerable, too exhausted, Nienna just accepted Sauron's arm, letting him lead her to the bed. He smiled at her, sitting beside her, as his hand reached for hers.

“Is it to your liking, My Queen?” He said with the most sincere of smiles.

“Were you the one who forged it?” Nienna asked, surprised.

In truth, Sauron would never do anything to make Nienna happy, or bring her comfort. But he was a great deceiver, and lies were his greatest delight. So he simply smiled at her, nodding, as she looked at him in surprise.

“That is very kind, thank you, Mairon.”

Surprised, he stared at Nienna, letting go of her hand, as if she might burn him if he held on too long. Nienna, he thought, had never called him by his old name, not since he had left Valinor with Melkor.

And he hated the name he had been given when the Elves learned of his fall. But he bore it with pride in Angband, as if that name was who he truly was, even if he did not think so.

The Abhorred, they had called him. And, Sauron thought, if that was what they thought of him, he would be the most cruel and wicked being in Middle-earth, honoring the unholy name they had given him. But somehow being called Mairon had provoked more wrath in him.

Because Melkor, at least when they were away from the others, called him Mairon, as he had since the Beginning of Time. He only used the new corrupted one when he was enraged at the Maia. Nienna, he thought furiously, had no right to speak that name.

“Nienna,” Sauron said, but he sounded strangely evil. “There is no hope, you know that, do not you?”

Confused, Nienna stared at the Maia, sensing the horror that those words carried. A slight pang took over Nienna's mind, as Sauron tested her barriers. Perhaps it was bold of him, because he noticed the understanding on Nienna's face.

“Get out of my head!” Nienna snapped, pushing herself away from Sauron. “All this time it was you, while I thought there was something wrong with my son.”

“But Nienna.” Sauron laughed, stepping closer to her. “There is something wrong with your son, do not you see that?”

What did it matter that Nienna had understood what he had done, when she had no strength to fight him? Honestly, he did not even believe that she would tell Melkor, fearing what he might do to the Maia. Because Nienna might be angry, but he knew that she was not cruel.

“Your son, my dear Nienna,” he whispered, cupping her face. “He will be no different from Melkor. He will not be good or pure, like you.”

Nienna denied, trying to push Sauron's hands away, but her efforts were nothing compared to the fury that dominated his face, which gripped her face tighter and tighter.

“You are wrong.” She muttered.

“You know I am not, because you feel the darkness in your son.” He said, enjoying the tears that were shed by Nienna. “You know as well as I do that your precious son will be worse. No light will he inherit from you.”

When Nienna's hand hit on Sauron's face, he smiled at her in surprise. She was not violent, he knew that. But he also noticed how cornered she felt by him, knowing that he could look into her mind if she called upon Melkor.

“Your fear of the Valar is necessary, for if Melkor falls, so will be the fate of your son.”

Nienna's sobs were like music to Sauron. As if her suffering were the true Song of the world. It was refreshing to behold one of the Aratar so debased, so defenseless, and all because she had chosen, out of love, to have a child with Melkor.

How innocent Eru had been, Sauron thought, in allowing Nienna to be bound for all eternity to Melkor, in allowing her to create life with the Dark Lord, who knew no forgiveness, only perversion.

“So powerful, so divine,” He murmured, caressing Nienna’s face. “And yet so helpless in the face of darkness. You cannot even protect your own son.”

Perhaps, he wanted to know how far he could push Nienna before she gave in, before she broke completely. Unfortunately for Sauron, he had to admit that she was stronger than he had ever imagined.

Even in her most vulnerable state, she showed more strength than he had expected, more resilience and determination than others in her situation. It was cruel, and he knew it, to torture her while she was pregnant and fragile. But why should he be less cruel to her?

“You are pathetic.” She said, pushing at Sauron’s chest, even though he did not let go of her. “So lonely, so unhappy, that all you are capable of doing is making other people’s lives miserable.”

Slowly, Sauron's smile faded, as he noticed the growing fury on Nienna's face, the protective instinct he was unexpectedly awakening in her, as if she was finally tired of his games.

“Hear my words, Sauron.” She spat his name venomously. “Loneliness and defeat will follow you, through all the ages of Arda. Nothing you touch will be pure or lasting.”

Even though Sauron held Nienna, keeping her face close to his, he could not silence her, he could not extinguish the fire that shone in her eyes. In that moment, she looked awfully like Mandos.

“What you forge will meet its end, and your own creations will turn against you. You will have no friend or companion, while all you represent is a mere shadow of all that Melkor is.”

Furious, Sauron pushed Nienna away, rising from the bed. Impatiently, he ran his hand through his hair, messing up the red strands. He was furious, no, much more than that. There were no words in Arda for what he was feeling.

For, damn it be Nienna, thought Sauron, she had used a lesser fraction of Mandos's powers on him. She had prophesied against him, praying defeat and ruin upon him, that he might suffer as much misery as he had made her suffer.

“How much longer, Sauron, do you think you will be able to deceive him?”

The mere suggestion of Melkor discovering what he had been doing for years with his wife frightened Sauron more than if Eru had stood before him. For Sauron knew that Melkor would not be kind or benevolent to him if the truth were exposed.

Melkor, Sauron suspected, had not realized what he was doing, for the simple reason that he trusted Sauron, and that he recognized that the Maia feared him enough to not attack his wife, or defy one of his orders. But the slightest slip, the slightest mistake, would prove to Melkor what he had done.

“Do not you dare turn him against me!” Sauron roared, walking toward Nienna. “You are like a plague, a slithering serpent, consuming everything, destroying everything we have created.”

One last time, Sauron held Nienna's face, touching her tears with affection, as if, like Melkor, he could devour her sadness. Her essence made everything worse, everything more exhausting, because he could no longer bear to be near her. The years were weighing on him as well.

“We will all fall together, Nienna.” He smiled. “You need me.”

“No.” She said firmly. “I need Mandos. I need my brother, not you deceiver.”

All Sauron could do was laugh, pleased with her hope, the foolish hope that Mandos could protect her in the end, that he could keep her safe when the babe was born. Perhaps it was possible, but Sauron knew that Melkor would never let Mandos near Angband.

“Keep your hopes to yourself, Nienna. They are all you will have.” He whispered.

And his face was so close to hers now that Nienna was troubled by the darkness she glimpsed in his eyes, the dark, hidden desire he had been sowing for all these years.

A hunger, Nienna thought, that even he did not know where it came from. She did not know what caused it in him either. But she had her suspicions, noticing the way he looked at her intently. And if she was right, she would keep her baby from Sauron, for all eternity, if need be.

“But do not worry. I am here with you.”

Before Nienna could pull away, Sauron kissed her face, trailing kisses down her cheek as she turned her face to the side, keeping her lips away from him. He just laughed, lightly touching her belly.

“You know, Nienna, your presence is not so bad after all.” He said, smiling cruelly at her.

Before she could respond, Sauron stepped away from her, finally giving her the freedom she was desperate for. Walking out of her chambers, Sauron smiled, hearing how her crying seemed worse now that she had reached the limit of exhaustion after trying to fight off all of his advances.

But he did not want to test Nienna's kindness, or how much she would keep his attacks a secret, by leaving before Melkor had a chance to look for her. Because he was, in fact, after her.

Sauron might be playing with Nienna's mind, but her connection to Melkor was different, stronger, more intimate. And, as Ulmo had feared, he could sense when she was in pain too great for her to protect herself or bear alone.

Because, in truth, Nienna could no longer bear this, not alone. Yet, Melkor could not be there for her, not in the way she truly needed. While he cared for her, in his twisted way, he was incapable of being the kind of help she desperately needed.

So concerned about Nienna leaving for Valinor, all Melkor was doing, in the end, was giving her every reason to leave. So that she would choose to trust the Valar and ask for Mandos' protection.

Slowly, Nienna rose, walking to the cradle, her hands touching the iron delicately. It should have been, Nienna thought, a blessing to bear a new life, beside Melkor. A corrupted blessing, it had become, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She did not trust Sauron, not now that she knew how he had played with her mind. Still, his words were not entirely dishonest, because he had stayed long enough in Nienna’s mind to understand her true fears.

And there, all alone, she wept. But she did not weep for herself. Nienna never wept for herself. She wept for him, for her unborn child, who was already trapped in a legacy of death and corruption.

She did not hear Melkor approaching, nor did she hear his mind calling out to her, not understanding what had distressed her so much. To be honest, he was completely furious with her. Because Melkor used to want to devour her, but now, it was as if she consumed everything of him.

Ungoliant was right, Melkor thought, stepping into Nienna’s chambers. She had always been right, had not she? He just had not realized it before. Because he had been so fascinated by Nienna, so obsessed with her, that he had thought he would never need to feel anything more than this, never need to think about her more than this.

But against his will, it was as if she was stealing his corrupted heart, even though she did not want his true darkness. Even though she was completely horrified by his behavior these past few years, she remained by his side.

Melkor, however, could not bear the need, the constant thoughts of her, even while he should have been preoccupied with the war. He hated admitting that he loved her, it was more painful than be burning of the Silmarils.

So he loved her, and simply lied to himself, pretending he did not need her. But he always ended up loving her a little more. It was sickening. The Valar, Melkor knew very well, did not believe he deserved her, even though she loved him more than anyone else could.

The moment he saw her, with her back to him, in front of an object made of iron, he knew it was as if she was slowly dying, for him. Because of him. Because she would rather endure anything, as long as he stayed by her side. She had reached her limit, too, he could see.

“Nienna.” Melkor said, walking towards her.

But she just shook her head, refusing to talk to him. She could feel his fury, how restless his Shadow was. And deep down, she knew he was furious with her. Because he could see into her mind, and he knew how much she longed to be with Mandos. The only one who would understand how much she needed help.

For Irmo was a kind and loving brother, but Melkor's darkness weighed heavily on her, and Mandos, if no one else, could hold back even the greatest darkness. He would not leave Nienna alone, not when she needed him most. This, Nienna thought, was her punishment for remaining at Melkor's side.

“You will not leave me.” He practically bellowed, gripping her arm tightly.

“Loving you, Melkor,” She whispered. “It is killing me. Do not you see that?”

“These are Ulmo’s words, not yours.” He tightened his grip on her arm.

But she did not care. She had not cared about many things for a long time. Small sufferings did not compare to what awaited them all. Nienna just stared at Melkor, helpless, exhausted, but never giving in. Not in the way he had expected her to.

“I am being consumed by your emptiness,” She said. “Because you are never satisfied. Nothing is ever enough to fill the void you have cultivated so deeply in your hunger for power, that you cannot even feel anything beyond it.”

Was this the reason Nienna would abandon him? Melkor wondered, studying Nienna's pale face. In these last years, she had almost seemed mortal when she was like this. Depressed, tired, devoid of any hope. Much like the look on the Elves' faces when Melkor came to them in the dungeons.

“Even beside me, you know no mercy.” Nienna whispered.

Melkor stared at her, furious, holding her other arm, keeping her close to him, not allowing her to escape from him. Because he felt that she could disappear, at any moment. It was all he had thought about for the last few years, because he knew he could not follow her, not to Valinor.

“Did your beloved Valar have mercy on me?” Melkor said, with such fury, with such sorrow, that it surprised Nienna. “When they reduced me to nothing, as if I were unworthy, as if I deserved no more than they. Tell me, wife, did they have mercy on me?”

Nienna's hands reached for Melkor's, trying to push him away. But he did not give in, on the contrary, he held her tighter. And, Nienna thought, Sauron was right. Because he and only he, understood that for Melkor, pain, suffering, was almost a reward.

Sauron did not care that Nienna had it, that she was suffering because of him. Like Melkor, pain was not a punishment, but a gift. A test of who was stronger, of who could endure more before giving in. And Nienna was tired of their mind games.

“Do you listen to yourself?” She roared, pounding on his chest with all the strength she had left in her. “Would you rather sacrifice me, your wife, to achieve your revenge?”

“Revenge, Nienna?” He laughed, pulling her to him, his furious face almost touching hers. “This is not about revenge, we both know that. This, my dear wife, is justice.”

Unfortunately for Nienna, she knew he was being sincere. This was Melkor's truth. He did indeed feel what he was pouring out against her. But Nienna knew that Melkor's justice, the justice of the unjust, was never good, or right.

Nienna closed her eyes, letting Melkor rant as much as he wanted, but she would not agree with him. She loved him, yes, deeply, with all her heart. But she did not like who he was becoming. She feared who he was becoming.

“I cannot go through this, not alone. You know that.” She whispered. “I need Mandos, I need Irmo. Please.”

Melkor released Nienna's arms, but did not pull away. With the loss of his rough touch, she opened her eyes, watching as he looked at her, as if he were facing Eru himself, Melkor's greatest enemy.

In that moment, he hated Nienna, and she knew it. Because she could feel his fury, in her chest, in her mind, as he just stared at her silently, his Shadow flickering like a corrupted serpent.

“No, Nienna,” He said, but his voice was hollow. “You begged to spend eternity with me, that you wanted that more than anything.”

“I want to spend eternity with you.” She whispered.

Nienna turned her back on Melkor, unable to bear to look at him, unable to hide all the dark emotions Sauron had awakened in her. How much he had weakened her mind, taking advantage of her fears, her insecurities. Because she was alone, and he knew it.

In the silence of her chambers, Nienna did not shield her thoughts enough, not from Melkor. And when she heard the roar of dragons deep within Angband, feeling the wrath of their creator, Nienna wondered if he knew, or even suspected, what Sauron had done to her.

“Look at me.” Said Melkor.

His voice was measured, but it also brimmed with fury. Whether he was angry with her, or with Sauron, she did not know. She did not even care. Every time he called out to her, every time he whispered in her mind, she ignored him, unable to face him.

Because Melkor, Nienna thought, had chosen revenge over her. And in doing so, he had broken her heart, when she most needed his protection, his understanding. She did not look at him, letting the tears stream down her face.

When Melkor stopped behind Nienna, and she could feel the heat of his Fana against her back, she remained silent. Possessively, his hand reached for her neck, squeezing, practically demanding that she react to him, that she not ignore him.

She did not do what he wanted. Not even when he brought his face close to hers, kissing her entire face, savoring the taste of her tears, not being strong enough to resist her, even when he felt nothing but anger for her.

How dare she think of leaving him? He would destroy her before, if necessary, she had the chance to turn her back on him. Nienna was his wife, completely his, and no one else's. She was pregnant with his child. There was no way she would leave him, abandon him.

“Tell me you are mine.” He whispered, biting her ear hard.

She gasped, disgusted with herself for giving in to the heat of his touch, his overwhelming passion. Melkor would not give up, not until she swore that she would stay by his side, no matter what. That she would continue to accept him, to love him, no matter how cruel he was.

No Valar, no Elf, no Man, had ever been as stubborn as Nienna, stirring such fury in Melkor's breast as she was doing. He loved her tears, but he despised her silence. No, he feared her silence.

Melkor did not let go of Nienna's neck, the shadowy hand through the Silmarils smoothed her neck, only to tighten afterwards, while his free hand traveled her body, slowly rising up her chest, noticing how she gasped involuntarily.

It was always easier that way, in fact, he preferred it that way. Because Melkor would not make promises to her, or beg her forgiveness on his knees, swearing that it would be better, less cruel, as he had lied to her, when he asked her to have a child with him.

For Melkor, it was easier, more enjoyable, to seduce Nienna until she gave up her anger at him, even if she was proving particularly difficult this time. She moaned when he squeezed her breast, but she kept her gaze averted from him, chastising him for all the times he had made her suffer.

So be it, he thought, briefly releasing her neck to pull back her veil, freeing her dark strands. He rubbed his face against her hair, lost in the essence of her, in the light that seemed to emanate so strongly from her, even though she was not feeling truly strong.

Everything about her was enough to consume Melkor, to dominate his thoughts. And he hated it. He hated that she made him feel this way, as he trailed his kisses down to her neck, reveling in her divine, pure skin.

Because any part of her felt right against his lips, as his tongue slid across her skin, only for him to bite down hard afterwards, and her blood to flow. Like a creature of the night, he lost himself in her heavenly blood, desperate for the taste of her.

Desperate for any reassurance that she could not break their bond, that she would not leave him behind in Angband. Satisfied, he stayed, listening to the moans she could not contain as he gripped her dress so tightly that it tore against his shadowy hand.

With her eyes closed, she could only feel the fabric giving way, tearing against Melkor's strength. He was impatient, not caring that the dress practically disappeared against his hand, with each new tug, with each new tear. But Nienna understood. He was, indeed, furious. But, above all, he was feeling rejected by her, and he did not know how to bear that feeling.

Nienna opened her eyes, staring at the torn dress at her feet, though she did not understand how he had done it with a single hand. He was so disgusted that she was not surprised. Not much, at least.

“Say it.” He whispered, biting harder into her neck.

Indeed, the vampires appreciated Melkor, deeply liked him as a master. For in that moment, as he licked Nienna's neck, fascinated by her blood, he looked very much like his corrupted followers.

“Promise me.” She whispered.

And he had not expected her to answer. Because Nienna, Melkor had learned in the years she had been by his side, could be difficult and tempestuous when she wanted to be, when she was not willing to give in to what he was demanding of her.

Slowly, he pulled away from her neck, running his dark, eternally warm hands against her body, memorizing how she felt so divine against his touch that he wanted nothing more than to devour her.

“Promise me you will not abandon me when I need you.” Nienna said, whispering, but still so firmly.

Promises, they knew, were not made lightly in Arda. Each and every oath carried a fate, a weight, a destiny that the sworn could not escape. Or, ruin and misfortune tainted their spirits.

And this, Melkor thought, was Nienna's price. The price for her to forgive him again, for her to accept the new deception he had wrought for her so easily. She was, more than anything, frightened. It was obvious, was not it?

All the anger, all the distrust, was nothing but her vulnerability screaming at him, begging him to protect her. Melkor knew no loyalty or forgiveness, but Nienna was desperate for any reassurance, even if false.

“I will not leave you.” He whispered against her ear, tightening his grip on her waist. “I promise.”

“But in your heart you wanted to.” Nienna murmured.

That was what she had felt, was not it? He could see clearly now, what she had felt all those years. While she had been left completely vulnerable, with her own mind being invaded, because he had not even been paying attention.

Melkor would never admit it, but he had abandoned her, many years ago. And in the end, he would always abandon her. For his desires, his hunger for power, would always come before Nienna. Above all else, was his desire to be King of Arda.

“I am yours, Melkor.” She said.

Nienna pulled away from his touch enough that she could turn, and look directly at him, at his beautiful Fana, so scarred by all the battles he had faced.

“But you will never be mine.”

She did not wait for his lies, or the false truths he told himself. Whether out of necessity, or another of the Creator’s mysteries, Nienna simply brought her hands to Melkor’s face, so she could feel his lips against hers. It was all she had, and it was all that mattered.

Uncertain, these were their years, and she accepted his cruelties, his perversions, because they were part of him. They were all he was, and she could not exist without him. Not while she returned his kiss with such desperation, with such hunger, because he was always ready to devour her.

She ran her hands up into his silky dark hair, touching it as if it were the most precious thing in all of Arda, while his hands wrapped around her waist, pleased that she had finally accepted that she could fight all she wanted, but she would always be his.

If need be, she would lose herself in his lips, forever, forgetting everything that was happening in Middle-earth, not caring about what was happening in Arda. When she was in his arms, only he mattered to her. All her devotion belonged to him.

It was a devouring love, yes, and she had been eaten away by its furious currents, allowing him to be her melancholy, to consume all her wants, all her desires, all her thoughts.

“My Melkor.” She moaned against his lips.

But he did not allow her to break the kiss, kissing her with even more need. Because she was wrong. He was hers, how could he not be, when the war was approaching, but he was there, consuming with desire for her.

Her blood stained his lips made the kiss more intense, more desirous. Everything between them was like this, an explosion of eternal desire, so strong, so intense, that it could consume everything around them.

“My Nienna.” Melkor whispered in her mind.

Nienna moaned against his lips, pulling away from him reluctantly as she gripped his robes tightly, hating this barrier when all she wanted to feel was his skin. Because she was as much his as he was hers.

She ran her hands over his covered chest, determined to feel him as much as he was always desperate to feel her. At least, she thought, he was not wearing the damn armor.

Teasing him, as he had teased her, tortured her before, she took her time, slowly freeing his body from the dark robes he wore, even as she felt desperate for him, to feel him.

He gasped as her delicate hands touched his chest, now exposed to her. Satisfied, she smiled at him, bringing her lips to his, worshipping his Fana, worshipping anything about him.

Melkor held her hair tightly, feeling her brief, teasing kisses against his skin. She did not care that he was as desperate as she was, as her tongue slid across him, biting his chest.

Ever since the Great Song, all his thoughts about her had been profane. There were so many of them, that they would have surprised even the most corrupt of Men. She fed these thoughts further, biting his chest, letting his black blood cover her mouth.

To Melkor, it was as if there were two versions of her in Arda. The Lady of All Mercy, who wept for the damned, who granted forgiveness to those who suffered. And his wife, who seemed so wanton, so unholy, that he would be a fool not to desire her. She was desperate for him, it was obvious.

And he was desperate for her. Because as she kissed and bit his chest, consumed by him, by his blood, by their union, he was completely needing her, pulling hard on her hair. After all, let the Valar judge him, but how could he not want her?

That in Valinor they feared pleasures, that they feared giving in to passion, he would not be like that. Not when his wife, pregnant with his child, seemed ready to deny even the Creator if he asked her to. But she had enough, he thought, tired of waiting for her touch any longer.

Pulling her hair, Melkor brought Nienna back to him, kissing her as if they were already doomed. Maybe they were. It did not matter. Because if she was his doom, he was willing to walk into the Void.

She moaned his name, lost in the kiss, lost in the way his mind sang to her. A dark melody, yes, but a melody of passion and desire, too. And she was given over to him. Body and soul, as she had always been.

“I love you so much.” She whispered against his lips. “That sometimes, I think I hate you, too.”

He just laughed at her desperate words, because that feeling was not foreign to him. He felt the same way about her, after all, much more intense, too. Nothing but hate that is love, and love that is hate.

Melkor loved Nienna as much as he hated her. Because he could never have enough of her, because he could never stop wanting her. It was torture, endless, and he could not stop the hunger, the need, to devour her, to possess her, to grow.

Nienna’s hands left his hair as she pulled away from him. It was too much, she knew. Being with him was often more than she could bear. A heavy weight she held in her heart, for him. Because of him.

However, he would not let her give up on him, on them. All his efforts had proven enough so far. And Melkor was not known for being defeated so easily, for giving up so easily. In the end, he got what he wanted, always.

He stepped closer to her, brushing her long dark hair from her neck, exposing her divine skin to him. Eru, blessed be the Creator, had given Melkor the greatest gift of Arda he could wish for. She was his, made for him, and no one else.

“Only I can have you like this.” He murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

Her back was pressed against his chest, and she held on, feeling how warm he felt. Because even though all of Angband was wintry, surrounded by wickedness, oozing so much cruelty that the air was thick. None of that existed in Melkor.

He radiated heat, Nienna thought, as if he were made by Airefëa himself. She knew it for sure when his hands roamed her body, teasing her, laughing wickedly every time she gasped.

That feeling, the way she practically melted against his touch, was what he coveted most in all of Middle-earth.

“Melkor.” She said it, so breathless, so soft, it was almost cruel.

Not that he minded, not when she moaned his name when he finally touched her, as his lips explored her neck. It was not fair, though, as she was so sensitive to him, to his touch.

Honestly, she had been like this for a long time, and he knew it. The bonds created by true breeding were too intense, binding couples together so tightly, that he suspected she could not bear to be away from him, even if she threatened him with lies about leaving.

Nienna reached for his arm, digging her nails into his divine Fana. Her scars, Melkor thought, were more heavenly than any other. He liked that she marked him, that she was as possessive, as needy, as he was.

Her head fell against his chest, giving him the long-awaited opportunity to intensify the kisses, while she closed her eyes, so lost in his touch, in the way he touched her, as if she were a private melody that only he knew, that she would have agreed, in that moment, to anything he asked.

This was what being in love was, she thought. So surrendered, so irrational, that even the greatest catastrophes did not seem so bad, compared to the promise of eternity side by side. Eternity would be long if he kept teasing her. But she was fed up with it.

She smiled, enjoying his groan as her hands left his arm to slide her fingers along his divine Fana, teasing him, being as unfair as he was being to her. And when she touched him, he was almost a mere supplicant before her greatness.

Though many worried, nothing more could be done. Surrendered, they were, and nothing could separate the growing bond between them. Not even the greatest cruelty, not even the greatest sadness.

“I need you.” Nienna said, moaning as he bit into her.

Countless marks he would give her, until all of Arda understood that she belonged to him. Until the world was remade. Not that he thought about it much, not now, as she, her face streaked with tears, touched him passionately.

Nienna, his sweet, devoted and dedicated wife, always willing to be his, to give him pleasure. But, she gave the best thing, the one that no one else could give him. For Nienna, and only she, cried all her tears for him.

Everything about her, Melkor thought, seemed made just for him. A gift, a divine piece fashioned by Eru, so that Melkor might know redemption, so that like the others, he might have a chance.

But he had no need of redemption, no need to beg for forgiveness. He would only go to his knees in Arda for her, and no one else. Let the Valar be lost in their own lies, he had all he needed.

Nienna's moans were muffled by Melkor's kisses, which traveled along her neck calmly, with cruel slowness, until he kissed her. She sighed, feeling his hand holding her face, deepening the kiss, while his touches became more intense, more passionate.

As passionate as her touches. Because she never tired of seeing how destroyed he looked. Melkor, always restrained and impenetrable, impossible to reach, just moaned against her lips, his dark hair falling over her face.

It was hard, impossible for her not to love him, or even be mad at him. How could she, when she cumming against his fingers, totally devoured by him, by his feelings. Everything about her, was about him. Not knowing where she began, where he ended, where the dark, Silmaril-burned hand merged with her heart, controlling the reason she, deep down, should still feel.

He would not let her touch him any longer, holding her hand. All control, Melkor thought, was his, and if Nienna, with hands so pure, so delicate, were to continue to hold him, what little reason he had left would be gone.

Melkor let her pull away from his body briefly, forcing her to sit on the bed before him. The Valar did not kneel for anyone. Melkor did not kneel, not anymore, not when he was nearly invincible. But he was on his knees, for her.

Nienna smiled at him, so fascinated by him that she seemed more like a follower. But it was quite the opposite, no doubt. Because she was his goddess, always had been, and he was content to spend eternity worshipping her. As long as she stayed by his side.

“My Melkor.” She said, stroking his hair. “My only love.”

Of all the wars, of all the battles, he had faced, conquering Nienna was the easiest, the most pleasurable of all. Because only he and only he had the pleasure of having her so intimately, only he knew her most devoted and profane side. A true prize, indeed.

“Keep your eyes on me, Qalmë-Tári.”

Perhaps, Nienna thought, this was the hardest of all trials. For Melkor kissed her thighs, lost in his desire for her, letting her blood stain his lips, as if she were his prey. Which, in fact, she was.

Such a sacrifice, to her, was not so bad. Because it felt right, it had been since the first time she had accepted his twisted love. She had already fallen too far to give up on him now.

So many consequences she would accept, just to live trapped in that sensation, in the pleasure of feeling his lips against her, while she struggled to keep her eyes on him, trapped by his intense gaze, even though the pleasure was too much for her.

She let him devour her, let him crave all the feelings he was unable to express in his desire for her. She grew a little more desperate for touch every time he flooded her thoughts. Even if all her thoughts were about him.

Crystalline tears streamed down her face, but she did not take her eyes off him, not even when she felt on the edge, when she knew, that if she were mortal, that pleasure would be too painful for her.

“Melkor!”

Her moan had been so passionate, so devastated, as she cumming on his lips, that to be in Angband was to be forced to know that they were in love with each other, always desperate for each other.

Melkor's kisses traveled up her body, kissing, licking away her tears, as she sighed, holding tightly to his arm, desperate to stay sane, so that he would not contaminate her every thought.

In truth, other thoughts occupied Nienna's mind. For she had been close to Melkor, during all the years they had been together. However, it was different, now.

Because she did not feel like herself. It was difficult, profoundly difficult, for spirits to remain incarnated for long periods of time without the spirit suffering from this act. She was not corrupted like Melkor, so the process would be less painful.

And maybe she was too deadly, too insecure. But Nienna did not feel right, not with her body, at least. So changed, so vulnerable, so fragile. She did not understand, not at all, why he kept wanting more and more of her, as if nothing had changed for him.

Unfortunately for her, their thoughts were too intertwined for him to understand her fears and insecurities. And none of them made sense, not to him.

What could he want more than to have her united to him, for all eternity, body and soul? There was nothing more exciting than the feeling of possession, of control. Who knows, maybe she would understand in time that she was everything he wanted.

“Nienna.” He whispered.

Before she realized what he was doing, he was no longer on his knees, and all she felt was him laying down on the bed, pulling her body on top of him.

It was not a problem, really. They were too powerful, too divine, for a Fana to be a real problem. Still, she looked away from him. Again, she closed herself off to him.

“Wife.” He said, knowing he would get her attention quickly, and he was right. “Keep your beautiful sad eyes on me.”

Reluctantly, she looked up at him, resting her hands on his chest. Whatever Sauron had done to her mind all those years ago had broken something vital in her. Something that was too lost for her to be as she had been before.

“Be a good wife, and look at me.”

She could not beat him, could she? They both knew he was stronger, and that she was not trying to fight him, not really. All she did was nod, looking at him. Passionate and vulnerable, but she did as he ordered.

He let her hold him by the waist, sitting her against him as they moaned together. His raging pleasure did not exist without her melancholic pleasure, and she did not believe it was possible to feel that with anyone else.

Nienna moved close enough to him to reach his lips, kissing him not just with desire and need, but with all her love.

Because for Nienna, it was not just physical, it was just passion. She was in love with him, she loved him unconditionally. And that is why, she thought, she accepted his mistakes so easily, always forgiving, always choosing to be strong for the next heartbreak.

She did not know when the greatest of anguish would come, so she just endured it, beside him. And it felt so right, so good, as if this was all they were meant to do in the ages they had been apart, unable to feel each other's touch.

Nienna moaned into the kiss, lost in his love, as he moved her body against him, as if she had been forged by his hands, as if only Melkor and no one else knew how to shape her.

Still, she always wanted to be his, she kept wanting to be his. And Nienna held his face, deepening the kiss, moaning against his lips, whispering in his mind how much she needed him. Honestly, she would always need him, no pleasure without him, to her, made sense.

For a long time, she felt lonely, but not now, not when he held her waist so tightly, with her dark hair covering his face, without wanting to he managed to break the kiss, but biting her lips hard.

The Valar were right, yet, she was choosing to fall with him, because she loved him so much, that she was not thinking of her future, but of theirs. And of all that they could lose, if Melkor were taken from her.

Her tears mixed with the kiss, but Melkor did not stop kissing her. In fact, he only held his wife tighter, lost in her closeness, as she looked divine, even sitting on him.

And when she broke the kiss, moaning his name so loudly that he had no chance to resist, cumming with her. Nienna smiled at him, watching how fascinated he seemed by her.

She kissed his entire face, kissing his chin, while his hands went up her back, caressing her back. Those small affections, even if she did not admit it, meant a lot to her.

Still close to him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her face so close to his that his lips teasingly touched hers. The Dark Vala had never seemed so special to her as he did now.

“My Melkor.” She whispered, smiling lovingly at him.

A very great contrast. Because her love was kind, pure, even. But Melkor's love was reckless, cruel, to the end. And she was enduring many things, for love of him. He knew it, of course he knew it, he just would not admit it.

“My Nienna.”

Perhaps, Melkor would understand, in time, that she would not go anywhere without him. The only one making sacrifices was her, she had always been the one. And, above all, she was the only one who had a chance of losing him, forever.

But, they would face this together, at least, she was what she hoped for, what she begged Eru for, every time the fear of separation became too much for her to bear.

And, illuminated by the blue lamps, Nienna kissed Melkor once more, smiling against his lips as his kisses grew more impatient. She did not care, and returned it with as much love as he did. To Nienna, only he mattered.

I'm always surprised when I think about this story. I only intended to write one chapter, so I thought I'd write three at most. And, well, I still have a lot of things to tell now, and I didn't think I'd have so many ideas for this story.

Oh, I can't wait for the baby anymore. You know, I thought of his name over two months ago, and now he's finally going to be born.

tag: @valar-did-me-wrong

[gwaedhannen]

[Excerpt from Sorrow Beyond Words: Collected Testimony of the War of Wrath, 4th Edition; ed. Elrond Peredhel. Archive of Cîw Annúminas, inaugural collection]

“Simply reaching Menegroth was a struggle. Doriath had become a twisting nightmare of overgrowth and rot and mists, as Morgoth’s power warred with the remains of the Girdle and our old songs. Ai, our home, our haven! I know the name of every holly in Region, before the exile. We found deadfalls surrounded by dozens of animals who’d lain down beside the trees and rotted before they died. Blind moose more antler than flesh staggered towards us even after a dozen arrows. Vines covered in dripping thorns reached for our eyes. The cherry trees were overladen with fruits that smelled like gangrene. Deildhod stumbled into a nest of maddened vipers, and only escaped because their tails were all tangled together into a festering mass and could hardly move. We never saw or heard a single bird. I’m amazed we lost no one in that whole push through Region. No, I speak a lie. I know how we passed through with nothing worse than scrapes. Elrond was with us, and the ghost of Melian’s love still recognized her kin.

“Esgalduin had nearly been dammed by one of Hírilorn’s fallen boles, but the bridge still held. We crossed and reached the ruined gates, wrought twice and broken twice. Within there was only darkness to be seen; we knew not what manner of horrors Morgoth had sent to infest the city, but Ingwion was unwilling to leave them at the rear of his forces as he moved north, if it could be helped. Celeborn stood at Elrond’s right and myself at his left. Far less an honor guard than the heir of Elu Thingol and Melian Besain deserved. Yet in those dark days it was all the honor we could muster. King Dior Eluchíl had known thirty-six summers when he was unrighteously slain. Queen Elwing Nimaew thirty-five when despair took her to the sea. Lord Elrond Peredhel beheld the city of Elu for the first and only time in his twenty-ninth summer.

“Elrond stood before his inheritance and Sang. He sang a lament, for the lost endless years of joy and peace, for deep halls lit by birdsong and echoing with wisdom, for the Forsaken People who awoke the forest and earth with many voices, for the works of beauty never to be seen again on this side of the sea. He sang a promise, that the glory of Menegroth will be remembered in the songs of Middle-Earth for as long as its children endure. He sang thanks, for the protection the halls granted us until it could shelter us no more. As his song at last ceased, I thought I heard nightingales answering him.

“Stars shone on his brow, and his hair glistened as the vault of night, and the memories of our once-eternal bliss in the woods of Thingol’s realm under Elbereth’s gifts arose in my mind. Let Oropher dream of a deep hall for his own; let Celeborn reign where he will at his wife’s side! I knew in my heart, as the echo of nightingale songs faded, that there was no lord or king I would ever stand beside save Elrond Elwingion.

“The living stone in which our kingdom once thrived knew his voice, and at long last laid down its burden and passed. The darkness over Menegroth was lifted, and we went forth into its corpse, and no beast or orc could stand before us. I do not sing of what we found and left behind when we cast down the bridge and gave leave for the river to flood the caves. It is not worth remembering.”

[aventurineswife]

What if the Tsaritsa had a spymaster (reader)?

Like just imagine a reader who holds a position above the Harbingers as the "left hand" of the Tsaritsa, the Spymaster. Every meeting, every interaction with the Tsaritsa the reader is there in her shadow.

Rumors circulate that the reader is a demon in service to the Tsaritsa. They blend with shadows too easily, they are too perceptive, and their combat capabilities go beyond what should be possible for someone who doesn't possess a vision.

The reader is the Tsaritsa's most valued asset and most trusted confidante. Because of this there is jealousy from some of the Harbingers, some who try to act superior to the reader. Yet the reader always brushes off the glares and thinly veiled threats, they know their place after all, at the side of their beloved Tsaritsa.

Oh but when the Traveler first encounters the reader? Traveler is immediately on edge, the readers presence feels wrong, it feels like the Abyss.

Those rumors aren't too far off it seems. The reader is a demon, a ghost from a long fallen kingdom that slew countless people just because they could. And it was only when they encountered the Tsaritsa that they found a purpose in life outside of senseless killing. And for that, the reader will give the Tsaritsa Celestia itself.

Oh, this Spymaster!Reader concept is incredible. The idea of a figure who exists as the Tsaritsa’s shadow, unseen yet ever-present, feared yet barely understood, adds so much depth to the dynamic of the Fatui.

The Harbingers may command armies and exert their influence openly, but you are the one who ensures their every move aligns with the Tsaritsa’s grand design. Some Harbingers whisper that you’re above them in rank—others refuse to acknowledge it.

Rumors run rampant in Snezhnaya’s underworld: A creature that slips through walls, listens where no ears should be, and kills with a flicker of their blade. A demon bound to the Cryo Archon herself, yet given free rein to act as they see fit.

You do not need a Vision. There are things older, darker, and far more powerful than the gifts of Celestia. And the Abyss recognizes you—when the Traveler first meets you, their instincts scream danger.

The Abyss Order hesitates when they cross your path. They do not know whether to call you kin or enemy. They do not know if you were cast out or if you walked away willingly.

The first time the Traveler meets you, their breath catches in their throat. There’s something unnatural about your presence—it’s like the Abyss, but... older. Deeper.

“That feeling...” Paimon murmurs, shivering. “It’s like Dainsleif, but—worse. Like they don’t belong here.”

And yet, when you bow to the Tsaritsa, there is nothing monstrous about your expression. Only devotion.

Before you were her Left Hand, before you were the Spymaster, you were a monster. A remnant of a kingdom that shouldn’t exist anymore.

You killed for sport. You thrived in war. You wandered through battlefields long after the fighting had ended, looking for the next thrill.

And then you met her. The Cryo Archon who did not flinch at your presence. The woman who looked into your soul and saw not a demon, but a purpose.

She did not tame you. She simply offered you something greater than yourself. And you accepted.

For the Tsaritsa, you would burn the heavens. For her, you would bring down Celestia itself.

This concept has so much potential, from the Harbingers’ jealousy to the Traveler’s deep unease.