#‘yes there will be singing. about the dark times’

[somereaderinblue]

As someone who's recently gone down the LMK rabbithole, binge read this fic & also loves this song, this has to be a sign. Decided to try rewriting the lyrics into a simplified & child-friendly story MK would sing. Hope you don't mind, @smilesatdawnmain!

[MK]

Okay, put on your listening ears for five minutes. Got them on? Good. Now here’s the story:

Long ago, there lived a monkey 

With six bright ears and he ran

An ancient theatre where he was its very star

With me?

[RED SON]

Monkey’s a star, yeah.

[MK]

No! The monkey's name is

Liu-er Mihou, and he's famous

People come to see his plays from near and far.

[RED SON]

Got it.

[MK]

Good!

Now, there's a rumor going round

That in the mountains far away, there lives-

[RED SON]

Oh wait, I know! Can I guess?

[MK, rolling his eyes]

Sure, go ahead.

[RED SON]

Another mysterious monkey! Right?

[MK]

Right, well, mostly

But the twist is that this mysterious monkey is the mighty Monkey King

Now, this king had been blessed

With a gift he possessed

Numerous powers completely unmatched

But, as you often will find

In epic tales of this kind

This gift came with a curse attached

A pride that was arrogant

And so jarring

He wore a crown as penance for his folly

[RED SON]

Cool!

[MK]

And lived underground inside a hole….for like, 500 years.

[RED SON]

Wait, a hole? Why a hole?

[MK]

All his life, he had tormented, teased, and taunted

And now his hunters would become the haunted

The world that always made him feel unwanted would hear the toll

The sounds of a tortured soul….

[RED SON]

That’s just sad.

[MK]

I’m not finished! Listen up, you're gonna need to know this.

One day during his travels

Distant sounds of a soprano

Drifted towards him from the theater afar

Sweeter than a bird

In all his life he'd never heard

A sound like this, and he was instantly in love

[RED SON, gagging]

Gross.

[MK]

The voice, of course, was Liu-er Mihou

And Monkey King went and sought him

To become his trusty warrior, and his muse

And if you think he found this oh-so-enigmatic monkey monarch

Kinda creepy, then I've got some shocking news

[RED SON]

Oh no-

[MK, grinning]

Because he fell, and fell hard!

He was battered and scarred

But he could see that inside, there was more!

Something alluring, he'd find

In the sadness behind

That tragic crown and smile he wore!

[RED SON]

I don’t wanna hear a love song about your parents, MK! Gross!

[MK]

Heh.

And though he was hideous

And he was perfection

Both sun and moon found their connection

A bond beyond their own control!

And though cruel fates and battles sought to hurt them

And sometimes to darkness they’d lose themselves in

The thread between them and their friends would help them, make them whole

The sounds of two healing souls.

.

.

That's the basic plot anyway. Wait till you hear about the hero and the warrior!

[RED SON]

Yes, not like I’ve heard that one a gazillion times.

[MK]

Oh hush, you love it too!

-END

Have you ever heard of the song Story of the Phantom from Goosebumps? Everytime I listen to it, I can't help but imagine MK as the singer narrating his parents' story.

Speaking of stories, will we ever see the moon & his little star in chinese opera outfits?

(I drew this... so quickly. My hand hurts) BUT I LOVED THIS SONG, how dare you introduce it to me !! I love the idea of MK just singing about his parents and being all dramatic like his Baba XD XD

And YES! You will see the Moon and his little Star performing together. Gosh I need to learn how to draw some Chinese opera outfits~

[anarchiii]

Where The Wild Roses Grow-1 —ACOTAR AU

Part One | Warnings: angst, very mild swearing | Azriel x Tamlin’s!Sister

Summary; in the heart of the dreaded city of Hewn. Y/n struggles to stay herself, the bleak and cold air surrounding the mountain slowly stripped its inhabitants of any hope or sense of joy, but when the Shadowsinger appears. She suddenly finds that when love and hate collide, it can be devastating. . .

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist ⚔︎

(Contains physical descriptions of the Reader—hair, eyes, ect.)

Azriel’s POV

The frigid mountain winds blew at him from all directions, his wings starting to numb, ever so slowly. He tried to block it out, taking in as much light from the never ending party inside, Azriel had never been one for parties of any kind, especially when they were full of drooling females and disgusting males—males that continue to do things that sickened even the ironists of stomachs—yes, he was a monster but he was not the same at the people in there. They were truly something else.

So that’s how the Shadowsinger found himself lingering outside in the dark gardens, how plants managed to grow down here—he did not know, did not care. All he cared about was going home before the sun crested the surrounding mountain range, the ethereal glow it created like the hands of the Mother encompassing the world in one big embrace, oh how he wished to full the wind rustle his leathery wings, the first appearances of winter’s frost landing on his hair.

Alas, he was stuck with the bleak gray rock around him, so the Shadowsinger turned his head to the sky that was not there and stared and stared, soon it was not stone looking back at him but stars, thousands of little bright lights. The moon’s soft glow illuminating every surface.

As the Illyrian male stared on, he did not hear the soft sound of gravel crunching and shifting for the feet that walked upon it, no. The only thing he noticed was the smell of oleandrin flowers and jasmine, he breathed the deadly scent in, getting a rush of ecstasy he did not realise he needed. Whoever it was-was addictive, the challenge imbedded in their scent like a bee’s nest to a hungry bear, singing a lovely song like a siren. He was enraptured.

-

Y/N’s POV

She scowled as she watched everyone dance and drink wine at the party that seemed to never die, why she came to these events that consisted of nothing more than pure debauchery, she did not know.

Y/N eyed the High lord and his court, that signature wicked smirk always on his face, his mate mimicking one of the same cruelty, she tried to tell herself that they were good people but she could not believe it, not when she saw them that way. Saw them look down on her companions, like they were merely dirt beneath their polished boots, Y/N knew better than anyone else that they weren’t the best of people, but that didn’t mean they deserved to be treated with such disdain.

She sighed, shaking her head, it was no use to think that way, no point to try to fight or disagree against the high fae that believed themselves better, not when said fae could execute her at a moments notice. It wouldn’t take much more than a wave of Rhysand’s hand for her head to become estranged from her neck. Perhaps if they caught wind of her actual identity then the prospect of death would become that much more certain.

If she was being honest, she couldn’t really blame them, Y/N had heard the things that gone on in the Spring Court—her home—involving her brother and Feyre Archeron all those months ago, years, even. Time moved differently down here, they could not rely upon the sun to tell them it was bedtime, no winds to signal the changing seasons.

It was a wonder Y/N hadn’t gone insane down here, or maybe she had. She wasn’t made for the darkness, no, Y/N was born in Spring, a place where sunshine found you anywhere and where fields of flowers stretched far across the land, further than even a Fae’s eyesight could see. She missed those frilly, colourful dresses she’d adorned daily, the jewellery she put on with ritualistic ease, like muscle memory—but what Y/N did not miss was her brother, she and her brother, Tamlin had never been close, especially after that faithful night years ago, resulting in the untimely death of their parents.

Her parents had never been the kindest Fae, that she knew. And after all the years they’d fought and screamed at one another until they could no longer speak. . . She found herself hardly grieving when she met violent purple eyes one night, widening as they realised she lived. Y/N had never found herself hating the young High Lord, no. She quite liked him, actually.

He was horribly charming and a good dance partner, and that wicked smirk of his never failed to make any female swoon—even her, to Tamlin’s eternal dismay—they’d always had such a tenuous relationship, said relationship was non-existent these days. Not that Y/N would know if that had changed, gossip was hard to come by when it wasn’t about some scandalous affair or who was looking like more of a whore that day. Such nonsensical things. Well, to her at least. It wasn’t useful information.

Gods, she sounded like that Shadowsinger, craving information, wanting to know all the secrets of this place, perhaps Rhysand would hire her. Y/N snorted out loud at the thought, gaining a few side-eyes from a couple females, she quickly gave them a vulgar gesture before walking off.

How dare they judge her when they were the ones dressed like frisky brothel workers, Y/N was nothing like them, dressed in a long black shoulder-strap dress with slits on both sides that barely went past her knees, she might as well have been dressed as a Saint among them, a true black sheep. Not that it was the most modest thing alive, but compared to the lingerie looking attire that she was supposed to wear, it was good enough.

She sighed as she rubbed her face vigorously, still careful not to ruin the kohl she’d painstakingly put on earlier and the blood red lips that made her look like a male-eater. Y/N prided herself on her looks, her ability to get whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, it was sometimes hard to believe she was from Spring, she was made for the Night court with her cunning, wicked and adept personality. She wondered what Tamlin would think of her if he saw her again, then again, perhaps he’d forgotten she’d existed—Y/N had always been the black sheep of the family, with her pitch-black hair and brown-ish red eyes, it wasn’t hard to see why, perhaps she wasn’t even related to them, that’d make sense.

She found herself once again sulking, drowning herself in the horrible voice that was her doubts and worries, drowned in it like it was the finest wine, addictive but destructive. The female shook her head in dismay and dismissed the party, opting to instead sulk outside were she could feel the wind flowing through her onyx locks, as soon as she stepped outside, she regretted it.

Not only because goosebumps appeared quickly and teeth started chattering but because she was in fact not alone out here. No, it was a Fae’s greatest mistake to believe they were alone when the Shadowsinger was nearby. Watching. . . Waiting.

-

Y/N watched her own breath curl in the wind, winding and swirling like smoke infront of her, her eyes flicked to the Shadowsinger and back, did he know she was there? No—what was she thinking? Of course he knew, he was their High Lord’s spymaster for Cauldron’s sake.

Her gulp was audible, shifting on her feet, Y/N silently wondered if she should make a run for it or if that would end in her death. She stayed still, deeming that the best option, awkward and probably about to die is better than being dead. Afterall, the Shadowsinger wasn’t known for his kindness or compassion. No, the male was a force to be reckoned with, a creature of death.

A dark part of her wasn’t scared of that darkness, yearned for that blissful tragedy. . . A broken porcelain looking for a shard to fit perfectly, no matter how chipped and uneven, hoping that one day she’ll be one for, once more, not just as thousand tiny pieces.

Suddenly—a sharp noise could be heard from inside, startling both fae. The orchestra had begun their final piece for the night, the music started off soft but got louder and louder by the minute, building to its crescendo. The Shadowsinger turned to her slowly, an indescribable emotion could be found in his eyes—like a rock in the ocean, lonely, all it’s ever heard is the crashing of waves. . . Y/N didn’t know what compelled her to do what she did that night but by the time she did It, she wasn’t regretting it. But she surely would the next day.

-

Azriel’s POV

He sucked in a sharp breath as the strange female held out a hand to him, an invitation—an offering of companionship, the Spymaster was too far from words to decline as he took her fair hand in his scarred one. Both the female’s hands rested gently on his shoulders and he put his on her waist in return, Azriel couldn’t breathe properly as they started moving, his shadows singing to a song even he couldn’t hear—but as they danced in the pale moonlight that seeped through the cracks, illuminating them like a spotlight, he let all his worries wash away.

Gone until only they remained, his blood thrumming as the crescendo built and built. He found himself doing what he’d always hated to watch—to dance, the male now realised why so many loved to dance, why they laughed as they were spun, drank in the smiles of their partners until they were too drunk to waltz. It was beautiful and wholly mesmerising, the dance of a shadow and his moon.

Tears lined his eyes faintly as he watched her, as she watched him—he swore his heart stopped in his chest when the crescendo shattered, bursting into a million little notes. Even when the music stopped, when everyone went to bed—or other people’s beds—they stayed like that, slowly moving around, her head resting on his shoulder. Beauty and the beast, he thought to himself, a dove falling for a raven. Perfectly imperfect.

Shadow and light, sun and moon, brought together in a great symphony that only they were apart of.

The End.

Authors note: I’m so sorry everyone for being so inactive, I’ve had the biggest writers block but I decided to push myself and get this fic out, it’s been sitting in my drafts for months now and I thought it was time they were brought to life, I apologise again if this series goes on hiatus so please don’t pressure me. Thanks for all the love and support, you guys are incredible <3

—Vi xX

Taglist-

@shadowsingercassia

@mellowmusings

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the Taglist for this series or all my fic’s!

[bueckersstuff]

REMEMBER

PART ONE

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Genre: Childhood friends, separation, amnesia, angst, slow burn, smut, romance.

Description: Dead eyes, pale skin, no memories. Returning to Minnesota convinces your father that it might be for the best. The familiarity of everything, he says, might help. But you have no recollection of living a life here, except for the old basketball court just around the block from your home. And somehow, you find yourself walking aimlessly toward it, wasting your remaining time sitting on the rusted metal bench. No one comes here. Yet, you feel like you're being watched.

Then, one sunset, a vehicle abruptly stops in the distance. A woman with blonde hair steps out. Blue eyes, glowing skin... and suddenly, your brain snaps. Memories.

You almost feel happy, hopeful that you can regain your lost memories. But when you look into her eyes, all you see is hatred.

Chapter 1: Snapshots of Memories

"Are you ready, honey?" Steven, your dad, asks for the nth time today. You’re packing up all your things because you're going back to Minnesota, your hometown. "It's for the best," your dad says. And, with your current state, you're in no position to negotiate.

You haven’t looked in a mirror for the past three years, but one glance at your arms tells you that you've become skinny—like, malnourished-skinny. Gone is your rosy complexion, replaced with deathly pale skin. You could pass as a vampire, minus the fangs. Plus, you feel like a shell, void of any memories. The only memories you have are from three months ago—waking up in a hospital bed, with your dad hysterical and shaking from exhaustion, and maybe from the happiness of you finally waking up.

Apparently, you learned that you were involved in a traumatic car accident. Your mom, Emma, was the driver, and you were in the passenger seat. Sadly, she didn’t make it. After hearing that, you kind of want to hit your head for not recalling anything about your own mother. You feel guilty and weirded out that you can’t even feel sad, hurt, or broken when learning about the loss—because you couldn’t even put a face to the name your dad calls his beloved wife.

"Yes, Dad. Are you?"

And now, three months later, you're leaving and moving states.

Minnesota

You arrived at last. It was a cozy home, with your nice room, and you saw things and trinkets a 12-year-old might own. You're 22 now, you think to yourself. That’s what your dad tells you—he showed you your documents. You're a senior college student, majoring in Civil Engineering. Ironic, considering you're supposed to be so smart, and now you're just… meh.

You went down to the living room and saw your dad unpacking other things, so you told him you were going to head out and check the premises. There was this gnawing feeling inside you when you passed by that old, abandoned basketball court. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it was the only thing that felt familiar.

And then it became a habit. Every day, you walked toward the court, your mind empty, then sat there for a couple of hours until the dark started consuming your vision, and you’d know it was time to go home. Your dad noticed your strange behavior but, oddly, didn’t comment on it—he just smiled.

One morning, while eating breakfast with him, you asked:

"Did I play basketball before?" You felt so drawn to it, but not enough to buy a ball and actually play.

"No, you preferred swimming. You liked to excel in areas where physicality and aggression weren’t present. You liked to draw, you could sing, not sure if you danced though, but definitely swimming. That was your therapy," he said, a faraway look in his eyes.

"So, why was I drawn to that place? It’s the only familiar thing here."

"Oh, honey. I did say you didn’t play, but you loved to watch someone who did."

Your heart stopped upon hearing that. I used to watch someone play basketball in that court? Is that it? Was it special?

"Who, Dad?" Your heart was thumping.

"A friend, honey. But I think she’s not around here anymore," your dad said with a sad smile, followed by a sigh.

"Oh." That was all you could say. What a wasted opportunity to regain my memories.

Days passed, and you slowly adjusted to your new life. You read through your past documents, searching for articles that might be crucial to your development. On your free time, of course, the basketball court became your personal meditation place. But ever since that conversation with your dad, coming here felt like you were being watched. You were certain no one was close enough to actually be watching you, except for the passing vehicles on the block. You thought you were just being paranoid.

Until one sunset, a car abruptly stopped in the distance. You turned your head, thinking there might have been an accident because of how loud the screeching of the tires was. But then, you saw a woman with blonde hair step out—blue eyes, glowing skin—and suddenly, you were holding your head because it hurt. Snapshots of memories flooded your brain, all with the same description of the woman, but with no face.

Once the pain subsided, you finally felt hopeful and happy that someone might hold the key to your memories. But when you came face to face with the woman—eye to eye—all you saw was hatred.

Dad, is she the friend?

[tomionefinds]

Abandoned but Worth It

What does this mean? We have an Abandoned tag. We've decided to compile a list of fairly popular, now some obscure, fics that are abandoned, but worth reading. Our criteria for this title is thus:

It has not been updated within the last 2 years, has been orphaned, or has been given a fast summary at the end by the author

Presents a unique take on the relationship or a new dynamic to the ship

Advances world-building, or posits its own magical theory, in the HP world

Length (we avoided those with only a few chapters)

Here are some of the fics that met the criteria for abandoned but worth it. We will continue to add to this list as the year goes on. And never say never. Fics left alone for years can suddenly come back and finish.

Authors; If you see your fic on this list and its not abandoned, please DM us.

-TF Team

This Tangle of Thorns by theriskybusinessofwriting

M | 39k Her mother had gotten herself a new lover. His name was Tom. Modern AU. No magic. Slightly inspired by Lolita.

The Orphanage by Xylosaurus

M | 66k

She was only 8 and had already lost her parents and memories all in one tragic night. Forced to live in Wool's Orphanage, Hermione finds friendship with a 9-year-old Tom Riddle but is soon ripped from him by a prophecy. Six years have passed and he still looks for her. AU Tomione

Bodyswitch by Winterblume

T | 50k

Hermione's in hell and all her nightmares have come true. She's turned into a brainless bimbo and is failing all her classes quite spectacularly. Her teachers have, in fact, already given up on her and just sit back and watch her flunk all her NEWTs. Yes, it's nothing but hell for Hermione. On the upside, things can hardly get any worse. Right?

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang by LovelyVillain

E | 300k

Hermione hasn’t seen Tom since he disappeared from Wool’s Orphanage eight years ago, taking her heart with him. But now, he’s returned, a string of bodies at his feet and a league of assassins at his back. British Intelligence Officer Harry Potter leads the investigation to catch a highly skilled killer wreaking havoc across Europe, while Hermione struggles between what is right and the man she loves. Killing Eve inspired AU

More beneath the cut!

Orphea by SallyJAvery

M | 48k

"You could not believe I was more than your echo." A spell to sing the dead to life, when the living are lost. Tomione, post-war, dystopian AU.

The Pendulum of the Mind by AvaJune

M | 118k

Tom's fingers slid across her skin as he pulled up her sleeve, feeling irregular bumps and scarring as he watched in fascination as instead of a dark mark, he steadily revealed rune carvings. His eyes flicked back to hers, watching her reaction to his touch. "I will give you this, witch. You are unbearably intriguing," he murmured. Madness flies in the face of logic, and if there is one thing Hermione Granger cannot abide, it's things that defy logic. There is always something against her, this time the very laws of time and space. There is, however, a truth she now knows about herself; she isn't quite the rule girl she once thought she was. *Hermione - Tom Riddle. AU, Post Battle of Hogwarts*

Ad Infinitum by Speechwriter

T | 77k

As he forges inexorably toward the end of time, he may come to wonder if this is a world worth ruling. Science fantasy. [summary in final chapter]

Nothing Like the Sun by Orphan_account

E | 118k

There’s something unnerving about Tom Riddle. Hermione’s never quite been able to articulate just what it is about him that unsettles her so: after all, Riddle’s popular and charming and adored by Hogwarts staff and students alike. Still, she’d swear that there’s something lurking beneath that warmly polite veneer of his, something that lies in wait like a serpent in the dark. But it’s not until her sixth year at Hogwarts, when she rashly confronts him over an unprecedented act of violence, that the full force of Riddle’s chilling regard is abruptly and wholly turned on her.

Blood is Thicker by AbsintheDreams

M | 75k

A/U: Still Hogwarts Universe, but I play with the timeline alot. Hermione is just twelve when she meets Riddle. Just a child when she witnesses a sadistic murder in the halls of her sacred school. Popular, humble, well mannered, Riddle always gets what he wants. Victims, admirers, enemies, followers…they all fall in line. Except the defiant girl with his mark on her skin. She only wants his downfall, and he will only settle for her total submission.

The Anti-Heroine by cheshire_carroll

M | 641k

Hermione Granger knows she's not a good person. Disillusioned with life at only twelve years old; she is cynical, manipulative, ruthless and, above all else, a survivor. For six years she has lived on the streets of London with only her sharp mind and her sharper knives to keep her alive, but a letter from an owl changes everything for Hermione, and the bond she forms on the Hogwarts Express with a timid boy with broken glasses, skinny wrists and a lightning-shaped scar will change the whole of Wizarding Britain.   Main Pairing: Harry Potter/Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle

Handling a Dark Lord Wannabe by cleighc

E | 89k

Hermione was not amused. Not. At. All. They had defeated Lord Voldemort after years of struggle. Witnessed the end. She had thought, with relief and without an ounce of charity, that she never had to deal with that pretentious, presumptuous, melodramatic, homicidal son of a bitch ever again. Apparently the castle had other ideas.

Bitter Almonds by orphan_account

E | 63k

What would happen if the Mauraders, the Golden Trio, and the Knights of Walpurgis all went to school together? Also, what if Tom Riddle developed a strange obsession with Hermione Granger?

Et in Arcadia ego by muggleriddle

T | 55k

When Hermione found that little spell hidden in between the complicated illustrations of a book, she imagined she would get a destroyed horcrux with it, not a brand new Tom Riddle.

Journey of the Soul by Queen_Medieva E | 197k

A decade spent as the Undesirable Number One under the Dark Lord's tyrannical regime would challenge anyone's perception of "right" and "wrong". What lengths would YOU go to for a chance at a new life? In the early morning hours of May 2nd 2008, exactly ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione Granger ceased to exist.

Addendum: He is also a liar by ergott

Not Rated | 158k

Despite his impoverished circumstances, Tom Riddle always knew he was destined for great things. The ability to travel back and forth through time was a bit of a surprise, though. Also a surprise: the bushy-haired little girl he meets in the future who possesses powers to match his own. Eventual Tomione; starts pre-Hogwarts

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Yes, except for the last part - Maedhros doesn’t arrive just in time to see him die. Maedhros never reaches Fingon, and retreats from the battlefield while Fingon is still alive. Then Fingon dies.

But even as the vanguard of Maedhros came upon the Orcs, Morgoth loosed his last strength, and Angband was emptied. There came wolves, and wolfriders, and there came Balrogs, and dragons, and Glaurung father of dragons. The strength and terror of the Great Worm were now great indeed, and Elves and Men withered before him; and he came between the hosts of Maedhros and Fingon and swept them apart.

Yet neither by wolf, nor by Balrog, nor by Dragon, would Morgoth have achieved his end, but for the treachery of Men. In this hour the plots of Ulfang were revealed. Many of the Easterlings turned and fled, their hearts being filled with lies and fear; but the sons of Ulfang went over suddenly to Morgoth and drove in upon the rear of the sons of Fëanor, and in the confusion that they wrought they came near to the standard of Maedhros. They reaped not the reward that Morgoth promised them, for Maglor slew Uldor the accursed, the leader in treason, and the sons of Bór slew Ulfast and Ulwarth ere they themselves were slain. But new strength of evil Men came up that Uldor had summoned and kept hidden in the eastern hills, and the host of Maedhros was assailed now on three sides, and it broke, and was scattered, and fled this way and that. Yet fate saved the sons of Fëanor, and though all were wounded none were slain, for they drew together, and gathering a remnant of the Noldor and the Naugrim about them they hewed a way out of the battle and escaped far away towards Mount Dolmed in the east.

Last of all the eastern force to stand firm were the Dwarves of Belegost, and thus they won renown. For the Naugrim withstood fire more hardily than either Elves or Men, and it was their custom moreover to wear great masks in battle hideous to look upon; and those stood them in good stead against the dragons. And but for them Glaurung and his brood would have withered all that was left of the Noldor. But the Naugrim made a circle about him when he assailed them, and even his mighty armour was not full proof against the blows of their great axes; and when in his rage Glaurung turned and struck down Azaghâl, Lord of Belegost, and crawled over him, with his last stroke Azaghâl drove a knife into his belly, and so wounded him that he fled the field, and the beasts of Angband in dismay followed after him. Then the Dwarves raised up the body of Azaghâl and bore it away; and with slow steps they walked behind singing a dirge in deep voices, as it were a funeral pomp in their country, and gave no heed more to their foes; and none dared to stay them.

But now [once the eastern forces are no longer on the battlefield] in the western battle Fingon and Turgon were assailed by a tide of foes thrice greater than all the force that was left to them. Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, high-captain of Angband, was come; and he drove a dark wedge between the Elvenhosts, surrounding King Fingon, and thrusting Turgon and Húrin aside towards the Fen of Serech. Then he turned upon Fingon. That was a grim meeting. At last Fingon stood alone with his guard dead about him; and he fought with Gothmog, until another Balrog came behind and cast a thong of fire about him. Then Gothmog hewed him with his black axe, and a white flame sprang up from the helm of Fingon as it was cloven. Thus fell the High King of the Noldor; and they beat him into the dust with their maces, and his banner, blue and silver, they trod into the mire of his blood.

y’all ever think about how during nirneath arnoediad morgoth purposefully delayed maedhros and then waited to unleash the monsters until he arrived in anfauglith, which meant that fingon spent the entire battle thinking maedhros abandoned him and maedhros got there just in time to see him die

[aimfor-theheart]

cielo !! im sorry you had a bad day, i hope it gets better soon. we’re all cheering you on !❣️

the other day i took a pic of this young stag as he was feasting on apples from a fallen tree. he was so beautiful and surprisingly gentle, it almost made me cry just admiring him i saw a man so beautiful i almost started crying?

somethin somethin.. finding the will to keep going ! life is still full of wonder if you keep your head up 🥰 sending you lots of love and good vibes ✨

friend this is beautiful 🥺💕

oh to be a beautiful wild stag eating apples from a felled tree with a set of lovely, large arching antlers atop my noble head.

this is an incredible picture!! and an incredible moment you had!! i don’t blame you for tearing up!!

i really appreciate you sharing this photo and moment with me!! 💕 it makes me so ☹️💕 in the best way like my heart is full!!

and you are right—life IS full of wonder even when it’s hard. and i am nothing if not a stubborn scrappy fighter!! i have much fury for this life yet, don’t you worry.

and i appreciate your support!! your love and well wishes!! i am sending them right back at you 💕💕

i hope you see many more gentle and lovely stags in your future 💕

[jewishcissiekj]

The Stark Hyperspace War arc is so good I've gotta reread some Star Wars 1998/republic arcs

[onewomancitadel]

I think on the joy of storytelling. I genuinely don't know who I'd be, or how I'd get through my life, without it. It is basically the essence of existence. Imagine that we get to spend time on Earth and do this no matter where or when we are.

[girlsharpenedtoapoint]

about the dark times....

the air smells like ozone; an old plump man smokes outside his trim-fenced lawn, and a jaunty radio-fizzled tune plays from somewhere unreachable. it’s been sunny for weeks; the soil of my limbic system was dry and compact. the temperature has only dropped ten degrees, but my once-functioning brain has muddied from the rain. somehow, this single incident hits harder than when my mind was a constant soup of worms and sticks. there is a strange muted light in only ever having bad days; when you’re caught in a thunderstorm, do you even notice more rain?

i slept far too long last night (and dreamed of singing sweets) and somehow not at all. i spent the whole of the night trying not to think, which did not work; i have spent today trying to think, and that’s not working either! frankly, i feel conspired against. the man’s smoke curls in the air, mingling with the scent of rain, creating a very specific sort of cocktail. his presence is a bit of a contrast to my internal tempest—i am often struck with the wide astonishment that we exist inside ourselves. that he can smoke there, slow in his stolen moment, and i can think here mired in murk and malaise. and neither of us ooze or overlap into one another. we are only stardust shoved into skinsuits, we are the universe experiencing itself, and our shared origins make it impossible to not share at least one glance. it is a miracle that, that is our only correspondence.

the tune from the distant radio—a cheerful melody in defiance of my mood—sounds less like a cruel joke, and more like an offer. its notes reach me as if from a different universe, a place where things make sense and light penetrates through the clouds. i wonder if this feeling will ever lift or if it will continue to pull me under, deeper and deeper, until i am nothing but a faint echo of who i once was. for now, all i can do is sit here, drenched and exhausted, waiting for the rain to pass or for the strength to rise again, to fight through the mire and find some semblance of the world that seems so effortlessly just beyond reach.

it’s not the storm that hurts me really, i have always been fond of rain, but the sudden and brutal reminder of how easily i can be pulled under. despite any previous semblance of clarity. though this rain is a bit more mocking than usual... practically spitting onto my window.

yet, though i crave for release from this pit, there is something to be said for 'the lure of the deep.' it’s easy to cloak yourself in your failure and let the sadness and suffering become all you are. it’s tempting to wear your flaws like a label because that way, you aren’t surprised when they come together to put on a show. it’s certainly easier than trying to overcome them, because if you want to learn to swim, you first have to accept that you cannot.

i could shut myself in my room, refuse to see or talk with anyone who is not necessary. i could let the world go on with its business somewhere far away from me and wait as the feeling of sunlight on my skin fossilizes into memory. when everybody knows you’re angry and bitter and that you have no interest in making things better for yourself, they leave you to it—and if you never try, there’s no way you can disappoint. ah but, these are just musings, i'm learning to have 'bad days' without letting them seep into 'bad weeks' and 'bad months' and—well you get the point. though my spotify shuffle doth seem intent on maintaining mine melancholy, i adore thee radiohead but a curse upon thee, domini corporati!

lucidity is, of course, always shy in its return. i feel like i am drowning, but not with the sense of urgency one typically associates with such a thing. more a thick descent in some swamp, less an overwhelming ocean. it’s a resigned sort of oxygen loss. there is no tip off a cliff, or great summation. but rather the stickiness of sloth grinds itself into my gears limb by limb, so that when i do notice it's like i have always sort of known. 'when did the music stop?' i can feel the pressure of that dark, dank water on top of me, pressing me down and slowing every movement and thought i have. my mind is filled with a heavy fog, and time moves slowly, like blood oozing from an old, putrefying wound. i feel myself hazing out of life, devolving into a sick, sad creature best pushed to the background and forgotten about. i behest my brain to not give into such whims!

anyway, today my grandmother relocated a spider in her car instead of killing it. and today my little brother started my favourite childhood book series. and today i will resolve to follow these things back toward the blindingly sunny days. because that is what sigma (fe)males do!

[radio-4-is-static]

WONDER BOY'S AKUMU CLUB - Yojiro Noda

[bigbuffjoonie]

SCREAMS

Okay now that I’m more normal, this fic was so thrilling! Going through the mountain pass I was holding my breath too! The feeling of dread just building up until The Splashes just -chef kiss-!! Loved everything about this and I cannot wait to see pt 2! 💕

The Obsidian Pearl (I)

— pairing: mermaid seokjin x (f) reader — word count: 7.2k — warnings: yandere, descriptions of death/blood/violence — summary: Sailing through The Dead Man’s Passage is a death sentence and the whole crew knows it. But with the ship’s stocks dwindling fast, your captain is left with no other choice. When a haunting melody makes the crew jump ship one by one, you find yourself alone with the demon lurking in the murky red water. As the creature beckons you to jump into the icy ocean – “come to me, pet” – you find that you can’t do anything but obey.

“Captain, this is a bad idea.”

A hush falls over the deck, a few whispers being passed back and forth between the crew as they watch you challenge the captain’s decision. There’s an audible gulp somewhere behind you as the captain pins you with a hard gaze, his jaw clenched tight with annoyance.

He taps the map that’s spread out in front of him, voice leaving no room for argument as he says, “This is the fastest route.”

“That may be, Captain, but it’s not worth the risk. Haven’t you heard the stories? The numerous crews that have gone missing after sailing in this area? There’s a reason it’s called The Dead Man’s passage!”

Keep reading

[picketsignonthecorner]

Running Orders // Lena Khalid Tuffaha

[starry-bi-sky]

FUNNIEST fucking shit that comes with making Danny eleven years old when he had his accident in "late at night, when the nightingale sings" is the implication following, that everything that happened in the show did too. And I fully intend on (mostly) keeping it like that. There'll be some changes (of which I need to figure out) but for the most part??? Yeah relatively the same.

Like I FULLY intend on keeping Dark Danny occurring 6 months post accident. Do you know how fucking HILARIOUS that is??? That Dan got his ass kicked by a goddamn FIFTH-SIXTH GRADER?? I'd never show my face ever again. Homeboy spent the last ten years being a one-man mass extinction event, only to get his ass beat by a kid who hasn't even lost his last baby tooth. That's hysterical. I'm losing my mind just thinking about it.

AND PARIAH DARK TOO. Imagine being an eons old tyrant capable of dragging whole towns down into your dimension, and you get singehandedly shoved back into your coffin in less than 48 hours by a kid whose bedtime is still 8:30. You didn't even have the time to expand your army! You were still trying to take over the city the kid came from!

And he just!!! Shoves you back in!! Insane! This kid hasn't even been dead for a full year yet! He's still growing in his ghost fangs! And he just knocked you flat on your ass in an oversized mech suit. What the fuck! It's like looking down and seeing a four week old kitten meowing very indignantly at you and trying to bite your feet, except that kitten is also actually a black-footed cat and they have a 60% kill success rate, and oops! Now you're dead. You took too long laughing at the kitten trying to attack you that it clawed up your pant leg and ripped out your throat.

COULD I, realistically, span these episodes out over the course of 2.5 years prior to Danny's family dying?? Yes I could! Do I think it's hilarious (and horribly traumatizing, which makes it twice as fun) to shove all of this into the span of (roughly) a year instead?? Yes. Because the show has such a skewed timeline that I've always just assumed that at the end of the show, Danny was starting his sophomore year in high school. So fuck it, lets go for it!

[rafesangelita]

⊹₊⟡⋆♡ cowboy!rafe always snuck into farmer's!daughter!reader's room to give her a goodnight kiss.. but what happens when their innocent little kiss turns into something much more?

warnings: sweet fluff, flirty banter, brief flashback, daddy kink lol, sneaking around, unprotected sex, dirty talk, rafe covering your mouth, crying, overstimulation

a/n: i’ll be opening req’s soon! lately here i’ve been wanting to get out some of my own prompts since over half of my works are all req’s.. but i’m excited to see what you girlies send me! find more of farmer’s!daughter!reader and cowboy!rafe here <3

wc: 1.2k

“open up, doll face.” you sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as rafe lightly tapped on your window. he made you so giddy, you scrambled up from the warmth of your sheets, unlocking the hatch before helping him climb in. “i thought you weren’t coming..” you whispered, pouting up at him as he snickered. “y’gotta have faith in me, sweetheart. when have i missed a goodnight’s kiss?” rafe cupped your face, both of you smiling against each other’s lips before melting into one another.

you always felt so warm and fuzzy inside when you and rafe got to share your secret little moments together, the simplicity of just being together without having to worry about someone catching you two made both of your hearts swell. rafe knew how to sweep you off your feet with a single kiss, a string of giggles tumbling from your mouth as he not-so-quietly threw you onto your bed. “rafe!” you scolded him, your heart beating in your ears as he slotted himself between your thighs.

“my daddy is next door! what if he hears..” you slapped his chest playfully, the man above you arching a brow. “daddy? i thought i was your daddy.” your cheeks heated in embarrassment when you recalled the quickie you two had in the barn not too long ago. rafe had you bent over a hay bale, his thrusts making you unable to speak until he asked you the golden question.

“hmmph! fuckin’ say it. tell me what i wanna hear, who’s your fuckin’ daddy?”

taking your bottom lip between your teeth, rafe smiled as he shook his head down at you. “you just thought about it, didn’t you?” snapping you out of your flashback daze, you laughed when he leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to the column of your throat. he smelled like soap, the slight stubble on his cheeks tickling your skin. as if your hips had a mind of their own, you grinded your clothed cunt against rafe’s thigh, a whimper leaving your lips at the lack of friction.

“hey,” rafe cupped your tits through your flimsy night top, “you thought i wasn’t coming tonight, right? that’s what you said.” your eyebrows knitted in confusion before a gasp slipped from your mouth. “yes..” rafe trailed a hand underneath the waistband of your sleep shorts. “so why don’t you have any panties on?” you froze, eyes flickering down to where rafe ran a finger between your folds. keening, you couldn’t help the moan from leaving your lips.

rafe stared at you for a moment, his eyes growing dark as he clamped a hand over your mouth. “i’ve been thinking about this pussy all day. ‘think you can stay quiet for me?” of course you couldn’t.. and rafe knew that. you stared at him with wide eyes, butterflies fluttering in your tummy when he took himself out of his pants. “i mean it. we don’t want your old man chasing me down with that shotgun of his, now do we?” you shook your head, your eyes fluttering shut when you felt the head of his cock prod at your entrance.

you shrieked, his hips rolling into yours as he slowly bottomed out inside your cunt. if it wasn’t for rafe’s hand muffling your scream you’re sure both of you would be in deep trouble right now. rafe rested his head on your pillow, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he started thrusting. feeling his weight on top of you like this had easily become your favorite thing, the closeness of it all made your heart sing. “fuck, i could never get used to this.. ‘feels like the first time all the time.” he grunted.

you held onto his wrist, your thighs hugging his waist as he kissed the side of your face. “taking me so fuckin’ good, you were made for me, yeah?” you whined, your eyes watering as rafe continuously hit that soft spot inside of you. your headboard started hitting the wall, a smirk gracing your boyfriend’s features. “rafe!” you whispered, tearing his hand away from your face. “s-slow down!” you attempted to push him away while simultaneously trying to keep your noises to yourself.

rafe picked up his pace, wrapping a hand around your throat. “can’t..” you shook your head, your chest rising and falling as the knocking of your headboard only got louder. rafe cursed under his breath when you cried out, working fast to get you turned over so he could push your head into the pillows. “what did i tell you?!” he scolded, landing a smack to your ass. you didn’t have any time to react to the stinging sensation on your backside, your orgasm washing over you once rafe started stroking your clit.

you fisted the sheets underneath you, biting down on your lip as white hot pleasure blinded your vision. rafe made no attempt to soothe you, instead he wrapped your hair around his fist, pulling you up as he nipped at the sensitive skin in the curve of your neck. “sweetheart?” you gasped when your father’s voice sounded from the other side of your bedroom door. you cleared your throat, frozen in place as your door knob rattled. “answer him.” rafe spoke in your ear, his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

“what?!” you stammered, heavy tears rolling down your cheeks as rafe continued to rub hard circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. “answer him or i’ll make you scream.” you wanted to shoot a sassy ‘you already did’, but you didn’t dare chance it. your chin wobbled, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. “y-yes?!” you called out, glaring at rafe over your shoulder when the sound of his hips slamming into you bounced off of the walls. “you alright in there?” you bit the back of your hand, your head falling weakly.

“is this a girl thing or somethin’, should i call your aunt?” your cheeks heated, a chuckle sounding from the man behind you. “no! i’m o-okay!” rafe pulled your hair again, his lips close to your ear as he whispered the dirtiest things you’ve ever heard. “what would your pops think, huh? catching his perfect little angel getting fucked like this..” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your knees slipping out from under you when rafe pushed you flat on your sheets.

“alright.. goodnight!” you ignored your father’s voice, the only thing your brain allowing you to process was rafe cumming inside of you, his fingers digging harshly into the flesh of your hips. “shittt,” he hissed, “son of a— fuck!” it was his turn to cover his mouth, his muscles constricting as you practically milked him for all he had. you reveled in the feeling of his hot cum filling you up, the thick ropes still connecting you two even after he pulled out.

you sighed, both you and rafe panting in the small space that was your room. “you okay, doll?” rafe kneeled down at your side, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your lips. blinking at him, you nodded before pulling him next to you. “it’s really late..” you yawned, glancing at the little clock on your bedside table. “i know.” rafe grumbled. there was nothing he hated more than having to leave you like this. wrapping his arms around your waist, rafe waited until you fell asleep before slipping out of your window again.

[ozzgin]

It is the 19th century and you are returning home by ship. Before you embark, you happen to find a glowing shell abandoned by the docks. It seems that the sea creatures are searching for it. Or maybe it's something else they're interested in. content: gender neutral reader, violence, dubious consent, based on Return of the Obra Dinn

January 1802 What's the matter with me, I wonder? As if my luggage wasn't heavy enough already, I had to drag around a big shell of sorts. Found it by the docks while I waited for my ship to arrive. It has a strange glow to it, this shell. Can't quite place it.

January 1802 Cheeky bastards! The seamen are such a flirt. From the moment I stepped onto the main deck, a handful of them haven't dropped the whistles and stares. One of the topmen - I recall he's Scottish? - he's been pestering me about the ship. "I'll show ye around, can't find a better guide," he says. His mates laugh and clap to his petty attempts.

February 1802 Some of the sailors are dying from lung illness. I was on the orlop deck, playing cards with the three Russians, when the surgeon rushed to one of the cabins ahead. "If it was contagious, we'd all have it by now. Damned if I know what it is, or where it comes from," I could hear him groan. I wondered out loud if I might catch it myself, but then I noticed one of 'em rascals trying to cheat the cards. February 1802 I saw it again tonight. Ever since we launched from Falmouth, as soon as the sun sets, there's an eerie glimmer in the distance. It reminds me of this damned shell. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Oh, the sea is so terrifying in the dark. There's nothing but black stretching all around. My window is low; whenever the waves break against it, the wooden walls let out a groan that awakens me from the deepest slumber. Surgeon gave me pills to sleep. The creaks of the ship sound like a weeping maiden. February 1802 I think the cursed glow is getting closer. I couldn't sleep anymore, so I snuck onto the main deck. Scotsman found me wandering towards the bow, so he quietly hoisted me up by the waist. I thought he'd tell the Captain, but he sat me on the lower rigging, next to him, and we listened to the waves. I was afraid I'd fall off, but he kept a steady hand on me. I wish I could tell him about the light stalking our ship. Would he think I'm mad?

February 1802 Second Mate returned today on a small boat. We heard shouts coming from upstairs, so we rushed to see what was happening. Bosun had his pistol readied next to the Captain, and the sailors lifted the cargo from below. I thought I was dreaming at first. Some creatures, unholy beings, were caught in the net. They had the body of a human, but thick, fish tails covered in spikes. One of the Formosan passengers muttered something in Chinese, and some of the tail spikes suddenly pierced him dead. The old Miss next to me fainted on the spot, and the stewards urged us to leave. Right before I turned, I noticed one of the beasts pointing at me. It had a monstrous grin on its face. Oh, what a sight! The Scotsman guided me away, but I can't forget those eyes. Was it malice? Such an intense stare, burning straight into my soul. Now that I'm writing all this, a memory has come to mind: the creature had the same shell as mine, dangling from its neck.

February 1802 The pills no longer work. I can't rest anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I hear its wretched voice, calling me from the lazarette. That's where they locked those sea monsters. It sings nonsense, blasphemous lies. We're not fated soulmates. I've nothing to do with those devils. I should've never picked up the shell. I can only pray we reach land soon.

March 1802 God, oh God, what disaster has befallen us? I don't have much time. The gun deck is in shambles, more than half the crew dead. Underwater beasts have crawled their way up our ship; strange humans with spears, saddled on top of crabs larger than I've ever seen. The poor midshipman, oh, a young boy! He set himself on fire to stop the nightmarish fiend. Threw the lamp across the floor, and the flames swallowed both of them up. I scrambled up on the main deck, but there was no peace to be found; colossal tentacles sprawled around the ship, pulling the rigging apart, tearing humans like insects. The Captain's wife was struck by a falling pillar, I saw her crumble right before me. Scotsman is still alive, but his arm is missing a good chunk of it. I don't know where to find the surgeon.

March 1803 They left. They took the last boat, I only found out this morning. I tried to join them, but one of the sailors stopped me. "Witch," he shouted at me, "the beast down by the cargo hold screams your name. You must've called it here, brought this curse upon us." I don't know what he's talking about. Tonight I'm going to the lazarette, I can no longer bear the calling. This blasted fiend, oh, he's ruined me. I'll rot on this wreck. Mother, I don't think I'll ever reach the shore.

Your steps are hesitant as you tiptoe your way around the dried blood and debris, until you reach the locked chambers. The door is bent and folded away, as if hit by a great force. You do indeed notice the round prints against the rusty surface: giant suckers from a blasphemous being.

There he is, the wicked varmint who plagues your sleep! A pale creature is propped up, halfway out of the water, welcoming you with a toothy grin. The shell around his neck glows mockingly.

You throw your own shell at him. The small, ivory object rolls with a hollow thud.

"Is this what you wanted, damned monster?"

"Why, what am I to do with two?"

His voice is harsh and deep, rapping against your eardrums, scratching the inside of your head.

"I've been waiting for you. Can't leave this place without my beloved, can I?"

"There you go again with this nonsense. Villain! Drown me if you must, but spare me your deceit."

His smile falters, eyes narrowing in a frown.

"Is that how you find my love? Some petty lie told by a charlatan? Ungrateful brat, who do you think freed you from their shackles? Who do you suspect has summoned the leviathan, from the deepest trenches of the sea, to save your mortal soul?"

"The kraken left with the storm," you counter as the blood drains from your face. Could it be that you were to blame, after all?

"No, it left after the bargain."

He pulls himself up and sits on the edge of his former cage. You observe his features in mild awe: the texture of his skin, the dark locks of hair reaching all the way to the tail, the spikes breaking out of the thick, hard scales.

"What bargain," you ask fearfully.

"The last ones are free to escape, if they leave you to me."

Why, your horrified expression is not quite something he expected. Surely one must feel relief once their freedom has been guaranteed. And not just any kind of freedom - you've been returned to your soulmate.

He's spent weeks chasing the currents, trailing the faint glow in the distance. He hasn't stopped once, tail pushing forward to the promise of a reunion.

Yet, you seem unsure. Perhaps his approach has been too hurried, too nonchalant. You need a little bit of convincing, and he happens to be a master of courting.

His thorax suddenly expands, and you can almost hear the twisting sound of his ribs cracking and breaking under the pressure. A sweet voice rolls out of his mouth, a song you've never heard before. Your heart pounds tremendously, threatening to burst out of your chest, and a foreign panic floods your senses.

Despite your desire to flee, your lids are heavy, eyes slowly closing. Through your lashes, you can discern the beast crawling towards you, the same defiant grin plastered on his face.

It's time for you to come home.

[pityroad]

IN THE DARK TIMES, WILL THERE ALSO BE SINGING?

from Lady Chatterley's Lover, D.H. Lawrence (via)

“Grief will come to you. Grip and cling all you want, It makes no difference. Catastrophe? It’s just waiting to happen. Loss? You can be certain of it. Flow and swirl of the world. Carried along as if by a dark current. All you can do is keep swimming; All you can do is keep singing.”

from How Beautiful the Beloved, Gregory Orr (via)

Lev St. Valentine (via)

letter to Gustave Flaubert, 27 June 1870, George Sand

from Collected Poems; Horses at Midnight Without a Moon, Jack Gilbert (via)

from On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong (via)

Snow and Dirty Rain, Richard Siken (via)

YES, THERE WILL ALSO BE SINGING. ABOUT THE DARK TIMES.