#FROM THE FADE I CRAFTED YOU AND TO THE FADE YOU SHALL RETURN

[aethernoise]

"To you, My second-born, I grant this gift: In your heart shall burn An unquenchable flame All-consuming, and never satisfied [...]” 

- Threnodies 5:7

[invinciblerodent]

"I need to rein it in, I don't know the characters yet, so I won't write fic about them- it'd just end up being out of character anyway."

(proceeds to write like four pages)

"well, okay, that's.... fine, it's ambiguous enough, they barely speak. but i won't mention the kind of tattoos this character is supposed to have without seeing what options I have for them in the cc, just to keep things neat and canon-accurate."

(proceeds to spend like half an hour brainstorming ideas for exactly that)

[sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts]

𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝙼𝚎 𝙰 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Marcus Acacius x F!reader | WC : 2.1k | Proof read : NO

Summary : The night before a battle, General Acacius has something to tell the blacksmith's daughter.

Warnings: SMUT, LOSS OF VIRGINITY, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), masturbation F and M, implied age gap, scars, breeding kink

A/n : I wrote this in like an hour so...enjoy my horny Roman general smut with a touch of lovely dovey bc ovulation, Also I'm very dyslexic lol

The needs of any general are important, and yet your father handles the most critical element of all: crafting the armor and swords meant for battle. Among all your father's customers, General Acacius was your favorite. Alluring and tempting, he was a force of nature, and he knew it. He almost never lost a fight. If your father knew about your infatuation, he might just muster the strength to overpower the general himself.

But that didn't stop the glances. You dreamed and prayed to the goddess Venus that he would take you as his wife or even a whore.

You helped your father polish the swords and armor for the men. This week, another battle of the gladiators loomed on the horizon. It was late, the night sky high above as you rubbed polish along a chest plate. The sound of an approaching horse made you stand tall. It was a single horse, a white steed adorned with armor you knew all too well. It galloped up to where you were, at the part of the blacksmith's forge that was outside. The firelight illuminated his face as he spoke.

"Evening, fair one," General Acacius said, his voice as smooth and commanding as ever. He dismounted, his gaze never leaving you. "Is your father about?"

You shook your head, your heart pounding in your chest. "He has retired for the night, General."

Acacius stepped closer, the flickering flames casting shadows on his chiseled features. "Then it is fortunate that I find you here. I have something important to discuss."

You swallowed hard, the anticipation building within you. "What is it, General?"

He looked down, his expression softening. "Tomorrow, I march into battle. A battle that carries great risk. And I cannot go without first telling you what is in my heart."

Your breath caught in your throat. "General, I—"

He raised a hand, silencing you gently. "No titles now, please. Call me Marcus."

"Marcus," you whispered, the name feeling strange and intimate on your lips.

He stepped even closer, so close you could feel the warmth of his body, smell the faint scent of leather and steel. "For too long, I have admired you from afar. Your beauty, your spirit, your kindness. You have captured my heart, and I can no longer keep it hidden."

You felt your cheeks flush, a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion flooding through you. "Marcus, I... I never thought..."

"I know," he interrupted softly. "And I do not ask for an answer now. I only ask that you know the truth. Should I fall in battle tomorrow, I want you to know that I love you. With all that I am, I love you."

Tears welled in your eyes as you reached out to touch his hand. "Marcus, please come back to me."

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly. "I will fight with all my strength, for you give me reason to survive. But if fate decrees otherwise, remember my words and hold them close."

As he turned to leave, you called out to him, your voice trembling. "Marcus, I love you too."

He paused, looking back at you with a fierce determination in his eyes. "Then I shall return. For nothing, not even the gods themselves, can keep me from you."

Marcus closed the distance between you, his eyes darkening with an intensity that made your heart race. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek before pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss. His lips were firm and demanding, yet tender as if savoring every moment. You melted into his embrace, the world around you fading into nothingness.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were ablaze with desire. "Come with me," he whispered, his voice husky and commanding. "We do not have much time."

Without waiting for a response, he took your hand and led you away from the forge, his grip strong and unwavering. You followed him through the shadows, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on the path ahead. The air was thick with anticipation and the promise of what was to come.

He guided you to the far side of the property, where the cattle were kept. The soft sounds of the animals settling for the night filled the air, creating a backdrop of calm amid the storm of your emotions. Marcus led you into a small, secluded barn, the scent of hay and earth surrounding you.

Inside, the dim light revealed a space both intimate and hidden from prying eyes. Marcus turned to you, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. "I have waited too long for this moment," he said, his voice low and fervent. "I need you, here and now."

You nodded, your own desire mirroring his. "Then take me, Marcus. I am yours."

He pulled you into a passionate kiss, his lips firm and demanding. His hands slipped under the shoulders of your gown, letting the fabric dip. You gasped, the cool night air grazing your exposed skin. He looked at you intently, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Have you been taken?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"I'm no stranger to my own touch," you admitted, feeling small and vulnerable under his gaze, "but to a man?" You shook your head, your heart pounding.

A flicker of something dark and primal flashed in his eyes. He pulled your dress down the rest of the way, letting it fall into the hay scattered across the barn floor. You instinctively moved to cover yourself, but he was quicker. His hands were on your sides, warm and possessive. He kissed you once more, his hands moving upwards, palming your breasts as he began to kiss your neck. You gasped, planting your hands against his armor.

"Marcus," you breathed.

He stopped kissing you and gently patted your shoulder, a silent command to lie down in the hay. The loud clang of his armor hitting the ground sent a jolt of excitement through you. He stripped off his underclothes, revealing himself to you. Immediately, you jumped to your knees, meeting him on the ground. You looked at his body in shock and awe, the scars scattered across his muscular frame telling stories of battles fought and won.

Worry etched your brow as you reached out to trace the outline of his muscles and scars, getting lost in the feeling of his skin under your fingertips. He lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"They're healed," he murmured, his voice tender. "I feel no pain."

 He caressed your cheek with his thumb before pulling you in for another kiss, cradling your head as he laid you back down. “Touch yourself,” he commanded softly, his eyes dark and hungry.

Your eyes widened at his request, but the slight smile on his lips and the warmth in his eyes gave you the courage to comply. You brought one hand to your clit, using slow circles to work yourself up, while the other hand roamed your body, seeking out the places that felt the best. You closed your eyes, small moans escaping your lips.

You frowned slightly, still concerned, but he caressed your cheek with his thumb before pulling you in for another kiss. He cradled your head as he laid you back down. "Touch yourself," he whispered, his voice a seductive command.

Your eyes widened at the suggestion. "Go on," he almost chuckled at the slight shyness you showed.

With trembling hands, you took one to your clit, using slow circles to work yourself up. Your other hand grasped your breast before roaming your body, seeking out whatever felt good in the moment. You closed your eyes, letting small moans escape your lips. You brought your hand that had been circling your clit to your mouth, opening your eyes to see what Marcus was doing.

He watched you with a hunger that made your pulse quicken. As you started sucking on two of your fingers, he stroked his length at the same speed, thick and overwhelming. Precum lined his cock, glistening in the dim light. You let your fingers out of your mouth with a pop, and he growled a low, primal sound. You spread your legs further, looking him dead in the eyes as you inserted two fingers into your wet cunt, thrusting them slowly while maintaining eye contact. Soft moans spilled from your lips, your back arching.

Marcus cracked, stopping your hand with a firm grip. You whined at the sudden stop of pleasure, but he pulled your hand from your cunt and sucked at the slick-covered fingers, savoring every bit. He released your hand with a pop, then spit into his own before rubbing it onto his cock. He leaned down, kissing your neck to distract you from any discomfort.

He rubbed his dick along your folds before pushing into you slowly. The action made you claw at his back and let out a yelp. You'd managed to put three fingers in your cunt at one point, but nothing compared to the size and mass of Marcus Acacius.

"Shh, shh, the pain will end soon," he whispered, kissing your forehead. He began to thrust into you slowly, being careful not to cause more pain. Eventually, the discomfort faded, replaced by a growing pleasure. You began to moan, and Marcus groaned, planting a hand on your hip while the other wandered up and down your body.

He bit his lip, a bead of sweat forming along his forehead, his curls sticking to his skin. His strokes became more forceful, and you started to moan louder, feeling yourself nearing the edge.

"M-more, General," you gasped for air before continuing, "more."

He growled in response, speeding up. His free hand moved to rub your clit, his thrusts harder and faster. The hay scratched at your skin, but you didn't care. Your hands gripped his forearms as you felt your pussy start to clench down on his cock. Your orgasm crashed over you with a loud moan, and Marcus continued thrusting, fucking you through your climax with sloppy, erratic movements.

With a deep moan, he spilled his hot seed inside you, filling you completely. He kissed you passionately before pulling out and collapsing beside you in the hay. You lay there together, bodies entwined, the afterglow of your shared pleasure enveloping you. The cool night air mixed with the warmth of your bodies, creating a cocoon of intimacy that made the world outside seem distant and unimportant.

Marcus turned to you, his breath still heavy, his eyes softening as they met yours. "I will return," he said, his voice a blend of steel and tenderness. "I will win this battle, and when I do, I will make you my bride."

You felt a surge of emotions, hope, and love intertwining with the remnants of your passion. "Marcus, you must be careful," you whispered, your fingers tracing the lines of his strong jaw. "I couldn't bear to lose you."

He took your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, then your wrist, before bringing it to rest over his heart. "With you in my thoughts, I am invincible," he declared. "Every sword I raise, every enemy I face, it will be for you. The gods themselves could not keep me from your side."

You gazed into his eyes, feeling the weight of his promise settle deep within your soul. "And I will be here, waiting for you," you vowed, your voice trembling with emotion. "My heart, my body, they are yours."

He smiled a rare and beautiful thing that made your heart skip a beat. "Then it is settled," he said, his tone resolute. "I will fight with all my might, knowing that my bride awaits me."

He shifted, rising from the hay with the grace and power of the warrior he was. You watched as he dressed, every movement deliberate and filled with purpose. The sight of his scars, his muscles, the very essence of his strength, only made you more certain of the love you felt for him.

Once fully dressed, he turned back to you, offering a hand to help you rise. You took it, feeling the roughness of his skin, the strength of his grip. He pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both a promise and a farewell.

"I will return to you," he whispered against your lips, his breath warm and reassuring.

"And I will be waiting," you replied, your voice filled with a mixture of longing and certainty.

With one final, lingering kiss, he stepped away, mounting his white steed with the same grace and power that had always captivated you. As he rode off into the night, you watched him go, your heart swelling with pride and love.

The barn seemed empty without him, the silence heavy with the weight of his absence. But as you gathered your gown and dressed, you felt a new sense of purpose. You would prepare for his return, ready to welcome him back as your victor and your husband.

[something-about-sunflowers]

ALRIGHT, *cracks knuckles* let's get into that teaser, shall we?

Should I itemize this? I think I'm going to itemize it lmao.

So:

Starting here because this is a baseline for Stede, he's got no neckerchief here. This is likely early in the season, probably the very start.

Man's got a fuckin' ARM.

This is Ed. You can see the bare right arm in both shots.

Red neckerchief. Ed's scrap of silk? Beat to shit if it is, which, he did toss it out to sea so, it would be.

Ed's not wearing the knee brace. Or gloves for that matter. I know the knee brace being an actual mobility aid is unconfirmed canon/fanon but it does make me :(c to see him without it. Either it wasn't actually considered as a mobility aid or he's lost it like he's lost his gloves OR he's going without it because he doesn't care if it hurts.

Closer shot of the neckerchief.

I just wanted to point out all the knives stabbed into the table. Also, those look like bits of paper on the windows, did they keep some of the books to repurpose for window blocking purposes?

THERE HE IS!!!!!!!! Other people have already pointed out the makeup and his ring still on his tie, along with the whip on his hip cjizzy real. He's got a new baldric but I also think his clothes look. Darker? Than in season 1? This is a darker/heavier contrast setting but it carries into other shots of him too I think? Like they're less sun/saltwater faded or something?

Other thing to note: If I have my orientation right, this is to the right of Stede's bed nook and to the left of the library, which means this shelf is the one with the auxiliary wardrobe opening mechanism. Which I bring up because:

This little guy seems to be in the place of the mannequin. Ed kept the auxiliary wardrobe and gothed up the mannequin to justify it still being there.

SO much here. This is, I'm fairly certain, Benjamin Hornigold. This camp he's set up (along with what he's wearing) looks like it was made out of a shipwreck. Ed's barefoot and missing his jacket and gloves, and his shirt's torn up at the sleeves. Definitely where he washed up from his dip in the ocean.

Note the trees and the lighting, that comes up later. Ed shoots here and Ben moves with the shot but it doesn't look like he was actually HIT by it to my eyes.

'Wanted. |Blackbeard| Villainous Pirate. Murderer, thrice over. $400 Reward for the criminal responsible for: theft - brigandry - larceny - arson - tax evasion ➡' Presumably there are more crimes/info on the back, though we see the reverse side in the next cut and it's either blank or all in very small text, I couldn't quite tell.

The poster to the right says 'Port' something which has me wondering Port Royal but that's just the only 'Port' something I know, could def be somewhere else.

(Also, just for fun:

Here's how much abouts Ed's capture would be worth now.)

Wider pic than it needs to be but I didn't wanna cut out Olu lol. ANYWAY. Neckerchief again. Also the back of the poster, see what I mean about it either being blank or very tiny?

Babygirl. . . But also that Bride Ed figure kinda slays. Little bralette with the midriff showing, I see you Babygirl. When will he be allowed to just rest and do silly little crafts WITHOUT heartbreak looming over him?

Well. Four is not nine. So. There's that. The other five could be used or out of frame though, of course.

OH. He's back to his fingerless gloves! They might actually be different from his original ones though, they look different at the wrist to me, not quite sure though.

The BOYS!!!! Frenchie looks like he's having a GREAT time. Considering he suggested they turn the hostage into a table and complained about the Republic of Pirates being a bit gentrified I'd say this is more in line with what he's used to in piracy. I 100% buy he was going along with Stede's way because he knew it was an easy ride compared to real piracy. This wouldn't necessarily be a return to form for him but definitely something he's more used to? And he gets to be kitty :3c

And FANG!!! Look at him showing a bit more skin!! Good for him!!

Everybody say 'Thank You David Jenkins'. Right now. Look at this Mad Max shit. Fuckin' Imperator Jimenez right there. LOVE that tye added the 'beard' after the 'fuck's wrong with your face?' bit in 1x10. Full 'it looked weird on you but I slay' energy.

Jim

Izzy

Fang

Near as I can tell at least. I can't make out if Frenchie is in the shot and I'm pretty positive Ed isn't cause he stayed by the cake when they charged in.

Man, yknow I know we were all kinda clowning on it a bit at the end of 1x10 but this look really is so JARRING. Like, in the dark it's menacing but in the light? It's unhinged and that reads as more dangerous imo.

Also just for comparison's sake the pre-Ed-ified version of the bride figure. He really did full on customize that thing lol.

I DON'T THINK ANNE KISSED STEDE HERE. It feels out of character of the show to pull the 'It's fine if a woman does it to a man' kind of thing with regard to unwanted kissing. This is the frame the scene starts on in the trailer. She's leaning back from him and isn't nearly close enough to his mouth to say for certain that's where she was coming from. My money is on her leaning in to whisper something into his ear, maybe under the guise of it being an advance/intended kiss, which would also explain the annoyed look when she's interrupted. She either got ACTUALLY interrupted or it's part of the act. Stede doesn't look nearly as uncomfortable as he would be if she'd kissed him or tried to, he looks confused.

Izzy going for his sword when this guy tries to get the drop on Stede. He either is starting to care or he knows how much Ed needs him alive.

Also, this is the other potential source of Stede's neckerchief. Mr, Knife right here has a red one and Stede doesn't have it in this scene. I do think this one is a little less distressed than the one Stede has though so it could just be coincidence.

See? No neckerchief. He DOES have a sword at his hip tho! So this, I think, is after Izzy's started training him.

Also, he actually looks really good in red lol.

Baby. He's definitely missing the ring in this shot. It sits higher than the baldric is covering. I want to give him a little kissie on his ouchie and then let him have a nap, he needs that.

The pants match the coat. Also, black shirt. Stede is kinda slaying ngl.

Still missing her head :(c. Isn't that bad luck?

Maybe yall didn't hear me properly with the Jim pic. I'll repeat:

EVERYBODY SAY 'THANK YOU DAVID JENKINS'.

I can't get over how Stede's just standing there politely with his arms behind his back lmfao.

Also, Izzy's got his right leg up, he's putting his weight on his left. . . 'foot'.

I SAID EVERYBODY SAY-

I know tits and all but also. The belly. I would like to. Bite.

*ahem*

ANYWAY. On the left (our left) side of the barrel you can see the tip of his right boot so he's def got that leg off the ground. Perhaps someone is trying to relearn their footwork? Now that they've got a different balance than they're used to? And perhaps a difference in sensory input in the leg he's standing on? Possibly?

This is the same beach Ed was on when he did the fuckin' RAD takedown of the other officer but it definitely looks like different times of day. Having both in the teaser is def meant to be a red herring. He doesn't have the neckerchief in this shot either.

Bra för honom. (Is how google translate tells me you say 'Good for him' in Swedish.)

Is Jackie's hair the same here as it is in the VF pic with Ed? Or like, similar enough to be a 'later in the day after some Fun™ messing it up a bit'?

Roach!!! Fully sleeveless now, added a belt, got some flowers tied to the strings/straps of his apron. Looks like he's having fun lighting that cannon lol. Pretty sure this is the same scene as that one leaked photo of him dancing with Fang and Izzy's green screen sock. He had the flowers in that, right?

[Ran out of allowed images, please hold]

[the-fiction-witch]

You Don't Know What You're Asking For

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n (Daughter of Galadriel and Celebron, Basically taking the place of Celebrían) Rating - 15 Word Count - 3118

Elrond even to this day found immortality rather strange and somewhat uncomfortable. He watched friends age and wither while he still lingers. He watched castles turn to dust. He watched the peace he helped create be abused by whichever opportunist sought power and pride. Twenty years seemed to pass in a blink of an eye and all things seemed to fade away. But there were small joys to in immorality, the soft joy of winters end and the gentle blooms of spring, as well as the visits few and far between of those he cared for,

Today was such an occasion, the lady Galadriel was visiting, with her husband Celeborn and daughters, from their usual home of LothLorien,

He smiled, feeling his features ease into a relaxed and welcoming smile before waving towards the small party,

First to emerge was lord Celeborn, who then took the hand of his wife Galadriel to aid her down from the horse,

"My lord, it has been too many of these long years," she greeted,

Elrond gave a light laugh, "It truely has been long, too many years" he replied, returning the greeting with a bow and taking her hands, "You look as radiant as ever my lady,"

She smiled the two sharing a moment in peace after such a long friendship,

"Last I saw this place it was a barely pile of rocks and mortar," lord Celeborn laughed, "you have crafted her into a place grander than Lindon I think,"

Elrond laughed, raising one of his hands in a dismissive gesture, clearly proud of the work the elves and men of Rivendell had done, but humble enough to not openly say this at the lavish praise of his home, "I simply provided the groundwork, a place for the great people of middle earth to call home, and it bloomed into this" he replied,

"A second home for many I'm sure" Galadriel smiled just as three girls approached,

Last elrond saw them the two eldest where barely maidens, and the third didn't exist. Now three stood before him.

"May I introduce, Themyscira our youngest" she explained and the little girl no higher then a hobbit bowed in her little blue gown,

Elrond chuckled at the introduction, lowering down to kneel in front of the young maid, smiling as she bowed to him, "It is a pleasure to meet you, little one" he said, his voice warm and soft, gentle and welcoming as he took her tiny fingers into his hand giving her hand a proper little kiss,

"And of course, you will recall Mellimina" Galadriel nodded,

The last time he saw the middle daughter she was a meer child no taller then his knee, she now stood almost to his shoulder with long blonde hair like her mother in a soft yellow gown,

"It is a pleasure, my lord," Melimina bowed,

Elrond nodded remembering her as a little girl, He was surprised by how fast she'd grown and how grown up, "No need for that, mellimina" he said warmly, waving a dismissive hand, "I am simply a friend, no need for titles and formalities" he smiled taking her hand to give it a polite kiss too,

"And I'm sure you shall recall Y/n," Galadriel smiled,

And for a moment elrond was speechless, Y/n, galadriel’s eldest daughter, last he saw her she was barely a maiden coming into her own, she stood now at his shoulder, a bodythat would be a Syren call for any man, wearing a lilac gown with embroidered stars, with hair pins of silver stars gracing her locks, a elvish gem necklace around her neck,

She looks up at him with eyes like gems as she bows without a word,

Elrond stared in awe, his heart beating a little faster as he looked upon the woman who stood before him. She was not the girl he remembered, she was grown now, grown and stunning. All the air seemed to flee his lungs as he gazed into those emerald eyes, her image in front of him like a vision that he would gladly lose himself in for an eternity. He stared for a few beats, unable to speak as he returned from the trance and gave her a nod, praying to the Valar that nobody had noticed his stare or the pink hue creeping across his cheeks, he swallowed, trying desperately to regain his composure and force the words from his lips "I remember you well my lady," he smiled taking her hand and giving it a slightly prolonged kiss,

"I to recall you my lord, I admit such memories I am reminded of fondly, I hope such years have blessed you with good health since last we met?" Y/n smiled, she spoke like a proper elven lady, much like her mother

a warm, genuine smile played across elronds lips as he nodded in response. She was as poised and as elegant as he remembered, but now there was also a maturity about her, a beauty that he'd never noticed before. He would get lost in the sound of her voice had it not been for her question, "Yes- yes I am well," he replied, his mind suddenly blank as he found it near impossible to think of anything to say when he stared into those eyes of hers, he took a quiet breath, gathering his thoughts and composure as he prepared to speak. He was a powerful elf Lord and commander, and yet now, in front of this beautiful maiden all he could think of was the way her gown shone in the sunlight, the way her lips moved when she smiled and the way her necklace sparkled against her neck, "And you my lady.. you are well?" he asked, silently cursing himself at how awkward he felt in this moment. He sounded like a flustered fool, stumbling over his words

"I have been blessed by such peace," she nodded

Luckily Galadriel and Celeborn requested to prepare their room, the younger girls did also but,

“If it is all the same I would adore a walk of the Rivendell Gardens,” Y/n smiled, “The foliage this time of year is so divine,”

“Yes, yes of course I’d be happy to take you.” he nodded

Galadriel, Celeborn and the girls excused themselves, Elrond praying silently they would keep a safe distance. He turned his attention back to Y/n, now alone in the courtyard.

Elrond exhaled a breath he had been holding, a soft sound of relief, his nerves slowly fading as he smiled warmly at her and offered his arm to lead her down to the gardens, he walked slowly beside her, silently trying to come up with something to say "You've grown so much.. you were just a small girl last I saw you" he laughed softly

she smiled as they walked, her hands wrapped around his arm in a very lady like way,

"Yes, the years have been long since last we are one another. I believe it was when you came to visit lothlorien before the birth of Themescara, I was but a child then,"

"Just a small child yes," he agreed quietly, his mind wandering back to the memory. He could still picture her, running through the gardens chasing butterflies, her little dress covered in a dusting of dirt, he chuckled as a thought crossed his mind, causing him to look at the woman beside him "You did cause quite a bit of mischief as a girl"

"I suppose it is the blessing of all children, to be graced with such chaos" She smiled,

He chuckled quietly, the image of her small form tearing through the gardens still clear in his mind "Yes.. though not all children have quite the same level of chaos. I believe you were one of the worst"

"I suppose I was, but isn't that the job of a first born?" She laughed

he laughed with her, shaking his head and looking down at the ground, "No, my sweetling, the job of the first born child is to be a good example, good role to their younger siblings, not to cause chaos" he teased gently, his voice soft and warm

she softly blushed "I know, I straightened up of course, for my sister's and for the people of lothlorien,"

he smiled down at her, seeing the blush that had risen to her soft cheeks. He felt a strange flutter in his stomach, butterflies that he had not felt before, as he looked at her face. He swallowed a lump in his throat, his thoughts racing as he desperately tried to find something to say, "Of course.. and look at you now, such a proper elvish lady" he teased gently

"I do my best" she smiled "… Father says he must take me to Lindon" she said rather sadly

he felt a pang in his heart as she spoke, a soft frown on his face. "To lindon… why?" he asked, his voice quiet and sad. The idea of losing sight of her again, being unable to see her or speak with her left a sour feeling in his chest.

"To formally present me to the elven court, and the high king." She nodded "as daughter of lady galadriel and lord celeborn, I am to be formally presented at court, so I may be wed to a high elven lord" she explained sadly

his heart clenched at the sound of the last part of her words, a cold feeling forming in his chest and a bitter taste in his mouth. His mind filled with cruel images of her being courted by high elven lords, her gentle laugh heard in the halls when she smiled at some young commander, her arm linked with another mans. It filled him with a strange mixture of anger and sadness. he tried his hardest to keep the anger he felt from showing in his voice "So.. you will be wed"

"I must do what my father commands of me"

he felt the words like a stab to his heart, a deep sadness filling the place where the anger had been. He had held her as a child, watched her grown into woman and now, after all these long years he was so close to losing her again "You could refuse" he said suddenly, his grip on her arm tightening. He stopped and pulled her to a halt, forcing her to face him

"I do not wish to upset them" she said "I must do what is best for my people, must I not?"

"But it may not be best for you" he said, gripping her upper arms now, turning her body to face him. "Being wed to some commander, some high elven lord, forced to live far out in lindon, is that truly what you want?" he asked, his voice quiet and pleading

"… I want whatever will make my family happy, whatever makes my people happy, whatever brings peace and tranquility is all I desire. And if my happiness is what must be the price then … So be it"

he felt a lump form in his throat, the thought of her sacrificing her happiness for others breaking his heart. He found himself taking a step closer to her, still holding her arms firmly, his fingers gripping the soft material of her gown "You can't possibly believe that. You deserve more than that, you deserve to be happy too"

"… I gave up many happinesses in the years since you last saw me. I suppose that's part of maturity, learnt to then away from that which use to bring you such joy…"

he stared down at her, his heart wrenching in his chest at her words. Without thinking, he reached up and cupped her cheeks, his fingers on either side of her face

she gasped her lips parted,

He swallowed, looking down at her. He noticed every feature now, the way her lashes framed her eyes, the rosy pink colour of her lips, the way her hair framed the soft curves of her face "You cannot give up on yourself" he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion "you cannot just accept that you will be unhappy…"

"… If I did what I knew would make me happy, I would have been cast out years ago" she whispered "there is… So much in this world I… desire. But my own pleasure and joy is not the life of a lady… Even if I so wish it could be"

he felt her words like a physical blow, his chest aching under the weight of emotion. Every part of him longed to pull her close, to hold her against his chest and assure her he could give her whatever she desired, to kiss those soft pink lips till he had taken all the air from her lungs. But he held himself firmly in place, his hands gripping her cheeks gently "And what is it you desire my sweetling…"

Without a single word, she moved to her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, he lips soft and tender, she smelt of lavender flowers and tasted of strawberries, her hands settling on his chest as she pulled back enough to see his eyes

he froze in shock for a moment, unable to believe the soft feeling of her lips on his. For a moment, it seemed to him that the earth had stopped turning, that the world was no longer moving. The press of her lips against his own was like a jolt of electricity that shot through his body. It took an almost painful amount of effort on his part to prevent him from wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him, crushing her body against his in an embrace, until she pulled back and he gazed down at her, his heart racing "that.. was what you wanted?"

"mhm," she nodded her fingers playing with his clothes a little,

he exhaled a shaky breath, his mind still swirling from the feeling of her lips on his own. The way she played with the material of his clothes sent a strange shiver down his spine, and it took a lot of effort to not press her back against the nearest tree and claim her for himself he gazed down at her, unable to look away from her beautiful face, her pretty pink lips "And what else do you desire, sweetling?"

she softly bit her bottom lip and pushed his arms to entrap her waist

he let her move his hands, the feeling of the soft material of her gown under his fingers like silk as he slid his hands down to her waist. He could feel her body under the fine material, every curve of her waist and hips, and it took all of his self control to not pull her body against his, "And what else?… Tell me, sweetling" he said again, his voice thick with desire and need

"hummm I think it's your turn to tell me something you desire, my lord."

he swallowed, his hands gripping the material of her gown, taking in the feeling of her body against his palms. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly that he ached from the want of her. He wanted to hold her, feel every curve of her body, to run his hands through her hair, taste her skin.. he wanted her so badly it was like a fire in his blood he took a quiet breath, trying to control himself "You.. I desire you"

she bit her lip a little harder, and she giggled a little as he pulled her against him, squeezing their bodies together, "as so I" she whispered against his lips

he swallowed a gasp as he pulled her close to him, the feeling of her body against his own sending a shiver down his spine. He could smell the scent of lavender and it filled his mind with thoughts, of tangled legs and the sound of her soft moans. He longed desperately to run his fingers across her skin, to find every sensitive spot on her body and claim it for himself, he lifted a hand to her chin, tilting her face so they were only inches apart "How am I to keep my hands to myself if you do that"

"I do not wish you to keep them to yourself" she softly giggled

a smirk slowly formed on his face as he heard her words, his thumb caressing the soft skin of her chin as he gazed down at her, "Oh sweetling" he whispered, his heart racing, desire and need filling his body like liquid fire "you don't know what you're asking for"

"I have had years to know what I am asking…" She whispered back

he exhaled a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he tried to control himself. The feel of her body against his own was driving him insane, the sound of her voice in his ear sending his heart racing. He knew this should stop, that he should pull away from her before it was to late, before he could no longer control the fire in his blood. but her words, her breath against his ear, her body so close to his, it was like a drug that he could not resist, "You don't know what I want to do to you, sweetling"

she softly Giggled "I do not, but I'd like to know."

he felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound of her laugh, her voice like sweet music to his ears. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the soft skin of her neck, just below her ear "I want to touch you. I want to hold you… I want to bury myself in you" he whispered quietly, his voice thick with desire

she blushed hard craning her neck to allow him more space to kiss

he pressed a line of soft kisses down her neck, his hands gripping her sides as he whispered against her skin "I want to hear you moan" he purred, his voice like velvet "I want to taste you, make you come undone in my arms" he continued to kiss down her neck, his hands moving to her rear and pulling her body against his as he whispered in her ear "I want to take you to my bed and keep you there, so I can hear the lovely noises you make when I touch you"

she giggled once more as he pulled her as tight to him as possible, his hands on her ass, her chest pressed against his, heaving as she gasps desperately, "Then what is stopping you?"

he felt a shiver of pleasure run down his spine, the way her body was pressed against his own like sweet torture. Her voice in his ear, the feeling of her in his hands making his heart race, his blood burn, "Nothing." he whispered, his voice thick with need. He took her hand and pulled her towards his chambers…

[dewdrop-writes]

Blood of Ambition - Chapter 3: Where Paths Cross Once More

Dio Brando x Reader (AFAB reader)

<<First || <<Previous || Next>>

Days passed with few notable events since your chance encounter with Dio, yet your mind remained restless. Dio had changed considerably. Naturally, he’d grown over the years spent apart—that much was to be expected. His air of superiority, though unsettling, wasn’t entirely surprising either. He had always been ambitious, and given the life of luxury he now led, it made sense that he would carry himself with even greater pride.

Yet something about him felt… off. It could have easily been your mind playing tricks on you after all this time apart. Still, in brief moments, you caught glimpses of the boy you once held dear, small slivers of his old self peeking through.

With a frustrated sigh, you wiped your hands on your apron. It had been so long since you’d thought of him in this way, yet here you were, cursed once more by his absence. By mere accident, he had dipped his toes back into the depths of your mind, only to withdraw, more likely than not, never to return.

You banished thoughts of him to the depths of your mind once more as you prepared for another busy day. Rising before dawn, you had already been baking and cleaning for hours before the shop would open. At first, the routine had been a challenge to adjust to, but now you found comfort in the rhythm. The brisk pace of your days kept you engaged, and at night, you usually drifted off the moment your head touched the pillow.

“(Name)!”

Startled, you turned to see Mrs. Haverford poking her head into the kitchen. Recognizing your employer’s wife, you relaxed and offered a sheepish smile.

“Yes?” you asked, facing her fully.

In her hand was an envelope, and even from where you stood, you couldn’t help but notice the elegant, flowing cursive gracing its surface.

“There’s a letter for you, dear,” she said warmly, her eyes crinkling into a kind smile.

You were taken aback. No one had ever sent you a letter before. Anyone who wished to reach you could usually take the time to find you with ease. Blinking away your bewilderment, you stepped forward and accepted the envelope, brows knitted together in confusion. 

The envelope was heavy, made of sturdy, cream toned parchment. Despite never having received a letter of your own, you knew this was no ordinary one. The sender had even sealed it with brilliant red wax. Running your fingers along the edges of the object, you could make out details that had been embossed into it.

This envelope was nothing ordinary. Had it been addressed to the wrong person?

Your suspicions faded as soon as you flipped it over to check the sender’s name.

It was addressed to you, without a doubt.

From Dio Brando.

You nearly dropped the envelope in shock, only just managing to catch it before it could fall to the flour-covered floor.

Dio had sent you a letter?

You couldn’t help but wonder if you were dreaming.

Palms sweaty, you cautiously opened the envelope, curiosity thrumming through your veins. The writing on the letter matched the elegance of the envelope, each stroke as refined as it was intricate. It was a level of formality and flair you weren’t accustomed to, and you found yourself squinting slightly, trying to decipher the words woven through the dizzying, graceful script.

Dear (Name),

I am writing to amend the brevity of our last encounter. It seems we were not afforded the chance to catch up as fully as I would have liked. As I shall still be in London for the next few days, I would welcome the opportunity to speak with you again before my return.

Please meet me at the address provided below, promptly at 7 p.m. this evening. You needn’t trouble yourself with a response; I will be waiting.

With warm regards,

Dio Brando

Your brows furrowed as you absorbed each meticulously crafted sentence, unsure what to make of it. Part of you bristled at the arrogance seeping through Dio’s words.

“You needn’t trouble yourself with a response; I will be waiting?”

You scrunched your nose. Quite presumptuous of him to assume you’d agree to meet. Still, there was no denying a part of you wanted to. You chewed your lip, deliberating.

The address listed was nothing grand—just a modest pub a short walk away. You were surprised he’d pick such an unassuming place, given the luxury he clearly embraced now. But after another moment, it began to make sense.

Of course he’d arrange to meet you somewhere simple, far from the haunts of nobility. He wouldn’t want anyone seeing him with you, after all.

You took a shaky breath, trying to banish the thought. Dio had changed, but was it fair to make such assumptions about him? Your encounter with him had been brief, yet there had been unmistakable glimpses of the boy you once knew peeking through this new, polished persona.

Perhaps, in that sense, Dio had been right to assume you would accept. Curiosity had always been a part of you, after all, and for all you knew, this might very well be the last time your paths would cross.

The crisp evening air caressed your cheeks gently as you made your way towards your destination. You’d done your best to tidy up, discarding your apron and kerchief, and dusting off as much flour from your woollen dress as possible. Before leaving, you’d thrown on a shawl for warmth, hoping to keep the chill at bay.

Your eyes drifted across the facade of the pub nervously. You could feel your heart stammering against your ribcage violently, threatening to break free from its confines. You chided yourself for the hesitance. Despite everything, you were only meeting an old friend.

With a shaky breath, you stepped inside, feeling your body relax as the warmth of the pub greeted you. The cosy interior was thick with mingling scents of food and drink. You scanned the room, almost ready to resign yourself to the idea that he’d played a prank, when you spotted him at last.

He was no longer donning the extravagant clothing you had last seen him in. This time, he had picked out something much more simple. He would have easily blended in with the crowd surrounding him were it not for his striking features. Your gaze was met by his and his lips curved into a subtle smile. Gathering your nerves and swallowing your apprehensions, you approached him. 

The noise and scents that had briefly overwhelmed you blended into a quiet simmer in the background as you sat down at the table Dio had seated himself at. He’d picked out a more secluded area, nestled away in the corner furthest from prying eyes. It did little to ease your suspicions regarding your meeting.

“Good evening,” Dio spoke smoothly, his guarded smile never wavering. You returned it with a slight nod and a tight-lipped smile of your own.

“Evening, Dio.”

“Are you hungry? Order whatever you like—I’ll cover it,” he offered, his tone cool and detached, yet there was something almost childlike in the gesture. Was he trying to flaunt his wealth?

You bit back a retort, holding onto the faint comfort of familiarity in this strange, newfound distance between you both.

You were seated in tense silence as you hesitantly picked at your food. Dio had not said much since ordering your meals and you couldn’t quite muster up the courage to do so yourself. You could sense this was weighing down on Dio as well, picking up on the subtle shifts in his expressions.

“(Name),” he finally broke the suffocating silence, his voice losing some of the coldness it had held. Your gaze snapped up to meet his expectantly.

He seemed to be carefully weighing his words before he spoke again, his voice hushed. For a brief moment, you saw flickers of a temperamental child with whom you had shared your happiest memories.

Finally, he spoke, the crease between his brows deepening.

“Life’s been somewhat dull without your company.”

You fell silent, your undoubtedly wide eyes staring straight into his. Something simmered underneath the surface that you couldn’t quite discern. You forced yourself to look away, resisting the pull of his gaze.

“Somewhat dull…,” you finally replied with a hint of wistfulness in your tone as your fingers traced idle patterns into the top of the table. A tightness rose in your chest. His words should have lifted your spirits, yet here you were, reading into them far too deeply.

Somewhat.

Had Dio always spoken this way? Or were your memories of him tinted by a rosy hue?

You managed a strained smile.

“I suppose I could say the same, although now that I work at the bakery, I don’t mind the repetitive days so much.”

Something in Dio’s smile tightened, his eye twitching just slightly at your words.

“So…Mr. Joestar treats you well?” you asked, taking another bite and hoping to lighten the atmosphere by steering the conversation elsewhere.

He nodded, and just like that, a more relaxed expression settled on his features once more. “Better than my father ever did,” he replied, taking a sip of his drink. His gaze shifted back to you, quietly assessing. You could still recall how he’d sometimes pause to observe people, studying every detail as if searching for hidden meaning. You never understood his fascination, though you’d always enjoyed hearing his theories on perfect strangers.

“That’s good. I’m happy for you, Dio.”

He tensed at your words again, though you couldn’t fathom why. You cleared your throat, breaking the tension.

“And his son? Jonathan, I think his name was? Do you two get along?”

His lips curled into a smirk for a fleeting moment, his expression darkening. “We didn’t always. But I’d like to consider us friends these days.” His tone carried an air of mystery, as if hiding something unsaid. As well as you had once been able to read him, you doubted you could still do it now.

You hummed noncommittally in response, unsure what to make of his response yet again.

“Are you content working for the baker?” he asked, gaze nailed on you.It was the first question he had posed all evening. You responded with a polite smile.

“Yes. He and his wife treat me well. It certainly beats stealing for a living,” you sighed, reminiscing on times you and Dio had done just that. “My wages are modest, but I have my own room, and I never go hungry.”

He fell silent once more, his eyes roving across your face curiously. It almost seemed as though he was looking for something—something that might contradict your words. Did he doubt your sincerity?

“What about friends? Do you have any?”

That stung a little. 

You worked to keep your face neutral. “I don’t have much time for friends. I suppose I have a few regulars I could call that, though.”

Dio’s demeanour shifted. “Charles,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes.

You smiled, raising your brows in mild surprise. “Yes, he’s one of them. You have a good memory, Dio.”

“You knew that already, (Name).” His response drew a lighthearted chuckle from you.

“Do you have any plans for your future?” he questioned, his gaze locked on you, mesmerising, unsettling. He almost reminded you of a hunter stalking prey. There was something off about him.

You considered his words briefly. Did you?

“I’m quite happy where I am. There’s not much else out there for me. With any luck, I can keep working for Mr. Haverford as long as he’ll have me.”

“Hm.” Dio sounded unimpressed.

“What about you? I assume you have something much grander planned for yourself?” your words were coloured with a tinge of sharpness. If Dio noticed it, he concealed it well.

“I’ll be studying law soon. Both Jonathan and I are set to attend Hugh Hudson Academy.”

You smirked. “I suppose I could see you as a lawyer. You are rather conniving.” That earned an amused eye roll from Dio. “Will Jonathan be following in your footsteps?”

There it was again—a twitch of his hand, a crack in his composure.

“No. He plans to study archeology. I suppose he has no need for a real occupation, so he’s free to study something so…frivolous.” The bitterness in his tone was barely concealed, seeping through his words.

You lowered your eyes, focusing on your cooling meal. The distance between you and your old friend seemed greater than ever. You couldn’t put a name to the feeling that overwhelmed your senses. 

Was it longing? Bitterness? You couldn’t make sense of it.

To your surprise, Dio offered to walk you home once you had finished your meals. Seeing no reason to protest, you had agreed. The walk was mostly silent, with only a few strained words exchanged between you.

“(Name),” he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush against yours as you reached the bakery. Your eyes flickered up to meet his. He withdrew his hand quickly.

“I will write. When I get back home, that is,” he said, his voice bold but his expression stony. You raised an eyebrow.

“I trust you will respond?”

You chuckled dryly. “You want to keep in touch with me?”

His brows furrowed ever so slightly. “I believe that was what I implied, yes.” 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Very well, then. I will respond.”

He offered the barest hint of a smile, and, for a moment, you could see the friend you once knew. Perhaps he hadn’t changed as much as you thought.

“Goodnight, Dio,” you spoke softly, fishing out your key and heading for the door. You could feel his intense gaze on you as you fit the key into the lock. With a final glance over your shoulder, he gave a short wave and turned to walk away.

That sure was something.

As you clad yourself in your nightwear, your mind buzzed with the night’s events. You had him, but now that you had encountered him once more, you were feeling wary. Things between you felt strained, the warmth between you had cooled over the years. Still, the boy you had held dear was there, just, different. 

And he had insisted on writing.

The frostiness surrounding him was unsettling, but the lonely child within you was eager to push that feeling aside. 

Maybe it would be worth it. 

Even with the undeniable differences in your standings, you found yourself longing to rekindle your bond. A part of you, the younger self that still wanted to understand him, stirred hopefully.

As you tucked yourself into bed, your thoughts raced until, eventually, you drifted into a restless sleep.

[macklemorrigan]

in your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame, all consuming and never satisfied. from the fade i crafted you and to the fade you shall return each night in dreams - that you may always remember Me

[dariusult]

FFXIV Write Day 6- Halcyon

-The following is a transcript of an address made to the Garlean IXth Legion by its Legatus: one Vectis van Coronus, following the legion's suspension from its deployment to Othard after the now infamous Yanxia Bay incident wherein Vectis van Coronus earned the title "The Butcher of Yanxia Bay". The recording of this address was retrieved from the wreckage of the IXth Legion flagship following its destruction in Corvos.

"As I gaze out across the brave sons and daughters of the Ninth Legion, I cannot help but feel a great swell of pride in my breast. You who remained faithful to your oaths. You who would neither shrink away from nor balk at your duty. You who can see the shining future for which we strive, and you who dare to walk the thorny path towards that future. To you, I extend my sincerest congratulations.

You have proven yourselves to be soldiers of genuine character. Sons and Daughters of Garlemald true. In culling from our number those of weak resolve we have once again returned the Ninth Legion to its rightful place as a place fit only for those walking the path of true rigor.

Consider not on the judgments of those content to languish, fat and contented, in the capital. Accept not the hollow camaraderie of those pining for faded glory, steeped in their insipid nostalgia. Heed not the spineless criticisms of the Populares, reveling in their weakness and extolling their wretched cowardice as virtue. The bureaucrat, the traditionalist, and the pacifist—parasites, all.

We who walk the true path do not see war as a means to an end as the bureaucrats and traditionalists do. We understand that war is both the means AND the end. Those who seek to reclaim what we once had fail to learn from the mistakes of the past, and those who seek to be contented with what we have now are no better than livestock. War is the purest expression of a people's strength, the truest test of their value and the surest way to cull that which is superfluous. As the craftsman continually hones his craft, so too must a people continually hone themselves in that great crucible of war. To cease this process of continual improvement is to invite stagnation, irrelevance, and death.

History has shown us this with what befell Allag. A great empire fallen not to foes without, but the rot of greed and indolence that hollowed their nation out from within. Garlemald has long sought to emulate once-great Allag, but the Allagan legacy is one of failure. We will not repeat Allag's mistakes, even if our countrymen are content to strive no higher than what has come before, we of the Ninth Legion will never cease our march towards our glorious future, greater than that of any peoples seen before on this star, enduring until the end of all things!

And make no mistake, my friends the end IS coming. When it comes, the Ninth Legion shall rise to answer it! For that great war is what we are preparing for. That great final war that has been prophesied since time immemorial... The war that shall scorch the earth, rend the skies, and boil the seas. Doubt not that it is coming, for it WILL come; and we who have honed our craft with diligence shall reap our just reward: victory and glory everlasting. Omnes Legioni!"

-I find it interesting that some account of the Final Days appears to have survived since antiquity, morphing into this tale of the 'final war' that Vectis was so obsessed with. Further accounts of the IXth Legion, known colloquially by their peers as a 'war cult', seem to indicate that Vectis' obsession began before his rise to legatus. It may be worth searching any archived resources in Noumenon for mention of this 'final war', though research on the Echo as well as notes from the Scions of the Seventh dawn suggest that there may be some sort of shared traumatic memory re: the final days. Further research may be required in these fields. -Archon Deki Lihzeh

[kefiteria]

Clematis Whisper

Characters: Ivan x Till (Alien Stage)

Tags: Flower shop AU, no angst, no aliens, no round 6, just pure comfort and fluff of Ivan and Till.

A/N🍨: I used to be an adventurer like you. Then I took Round 6 in the knee... I'm sleep deprived but this au shall exist to ease my mind

In the heart of a quaint suburban town nestled between rolling hills and whispering trees, a charming little flower shop awaited the dawn, tended to with care by Till. With delicate movements paired with his rough palm, he trimmed the stems of vibrant blossoms, ensuring each petal was fresh and full of life. The soft murmur of a melody drifted through the air, blending seamlessly with the gentle hum of Till's voice as he worked, infusing the shop with a serene ambiance.

The golden rays of morning sunlight filtered through the lace curtains they bathed the shop in a warm casting dancing shadows upon the polished wooden floor. The air was sweet with the scent of roses and lilies, carrying whispers of a thousand dreams and secret wishes.

The quiet stillness of the early hours, Till meticulously checked the inventory, ensuring that every bloom was accounted for and tenderly watered those in need of a little extra care. The cash register sat patiently, ready to greet the day's first customers with a cheerful chime.

Amidst the tranquility, a tiny steps with anticipation knowing that soon the shop would come alive with the laughter and chatter of visitors, each seeking to bring a touch of floral bouquet into their lives. With a smile, Till continued arranging a bouquet of clematis, destined to bring joy to its recipient at precisely 11 am.

As the clock chimed 11 am, a figure draped in a sleek black turtleneck, his hair meticulously styled, entered the shop. The gentle jingle of the bell announced Ivan's arrival, his stoic expression masking the warmth within.

“Till, I'm here.” Ivan spoke in his usual reserved tone, his presence commanding yet understated.

Till nodded in acknowledgment, a soft smile playing on his lips as he greeted his friend. “Ah, Ivan, it's wonderful to see you.” Till said, his voice carrying a warmth. “Your bouquet is ready. Allow me a moment to retrieve it for you.”

With a reassuring nod, Till went into the depths of the shop, his steps quiet and deliberate. Moments later, he returned cradling the meticulously crafted bouquet in his hands.

“Say Ivan, you've been buying flowers a lot recently. Mostly it's clematis. Is it your favorite flower?” Till asked, his curiosity piqued by Ivan's consistent choice.

Ivan's response was tinged with a quiet nostalgia. “Not necessarily my favorite.” he admitted, his voice carrying a hint of contemplation. “But there's something about clematis… They hold a special significance for me, a reminder of something… or someone.”

“Must be one lucky person, then? Good for you. Well then, like always don't forget to trim the stems at an angle, change the water every couple of days, and keep them away from direct sunlight to make the clematis last longer.” Till reminded Ivan, his voice gentle and reassuring as he recited the familiar care instructions.

As Till moved to attend to other tasks, Ivan's mind raced. He had assumed Till would catch on, but the realization that his subtle hints had gone unnoticed hit him like a wave. With a sigh, Ivan resolved to be more direct in the future, lest the opportunity slip away entirely.

“Yes, the person is indeed a lucky one,” Ivan replied, his surprise evident in the slight widening of his eyes. “And thank you for reminding me again about the flower care.”

The day ended well for Till, the gentle hum of the flower shop gradually fading into the tranquility of the evening as he made his way home. As he approached his doorstep, he noticed something improper – a single clematis, its delicate petals illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights, resting gracefully on his doorstep.

Till's heart skipped a beat as he picked up the flower, a small note nestled beneath its stem. With trembling hands, he unfolded the note with his eyes scanning the handwritten message:

“Till, you are the lucky person I mentioned earlier, and I hope this clematis serves as a reminder of the beauty and joy you bring into my life. With gratitude, Ivan.”

Till's heart soared with confusion as he read Ivan's heartfelt note, his cheeks flushed with warmth. For a moment, he stood there overwhelmed by the depth of Ivan's feelings.

But as reality slowly seeped back in, Till felt a sudden rush of emotions. He glanced around nervously, suddenly self-conscious of his emotional display on the doorstep.

With a quick shake of his head to clear his thoughts, Till composed himself and tucked the note safely into his pocket. Taking the clematis with him, he entered his house, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him.

Closing the door behind him, Till couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had just shifted between him and Ivan. He settled into the quiet comfort of his home, he couldn't help but wonder what the future held for their relationship.

[ebaeschnbliah]

Before the travellers lay a wide ravine, with great rocky sides to which clung, upon shelves and in narrow crevices, a few thrawn trees. The channel grew narrower and the River swifter. Now they were speeding along with little hope of stopping or turning, whatever they might meet ahead. Over them was a lane of pale-blue sky, around them the dark overshadowed River, and before them black, shutting out the sun, the hills of Emyn Muil, in which no opening could be seen.

Frodo peering forward saw in the distance two great rocks approaching: like great pinnacles or pillars of stone they seemed. Tall and sheer and ominous they stood upon either side of the stream. A narrow gap appeared between them, and the River swept the boats towards it.

`Behold the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings!' ...

... cried Aragorn. `We shall pass them soon. Keep the boats in line, and as far apart as you can! Hold the middle of the stream! '

As Frodo was borne towards them the great pillars rose like towers to meet him. Giants they seemed to him, vast grey figures silent but threatening. Then he saw that they were indeed shaped and fashioned: the craft and power of old had wrought upon them, and still they preserved through the suns and rains of forgotten years the mighty likenesses in which they had been hewn. Upon great pedestals founded in the deep waters stood two great kings of stone: still with blurred eyes and crannied brows they frowned upon the North. 

The left hand of each was raised palm outwards in gesture of warning; in each right hand there was an axe; upon each head there was a crumbling helm and crown. Great power and majesty they still wore, the silent wardens of a long-vanished kingdom. Awe and fear fell upon Frodo, and he cowered down, shutting his eyes and not daring to look up as the boat drew near. Even Boromir bowed his head as the boats whirled by. frail and fleeting as little leaves, under the enduring shadow of the sentinels of Númenor. So they passed into the dark chasm of the Gates.

Sheer rose the dreadful cliffs to unguessed heights on either side. Far off was the dim sky. The black waters roared and echoed, and a wind screamed over them. Frodo crouching over his knees heard Sam in front muttering and groaning: `What a place! What a horrible place! Just let me get out of this boat, and I'll never wet my toes in a puddle again, let alone a river! '

`Fear not! ' said a strange voice behind him. Frodo turned and saw Strider, and yet not Strider; for the weatherworn Ranger was no longer there. In the stern sat Aragorn son of Arathorn, proud and erect, guiding the boat with skilful strokes; his hood was cast back, and his dark hair was blowing in the wind, a light was in his eyes: a king returning from exile to his own land.

'Fear not! ' he said. `Long have I desired to look upon the likenesses of Isildur and Anárion, my sires of old. Under their shadow Elessar, the Elfstone son of Arathorn of the House of Valandil Isildur's son heir of Elendil, has nought to dread! '

Then the light of his eyes faded, and he spoke to himself: `Would that Gandalf were here! How my heart yearns for Minas Anor and the walls of my own city! But whither now shall I go?'

The chasm was long and dark, and filled with the noise of wind and rushing water and echoing stone. It bent somewhat towards the west so that at first all was dark ahead; but soon Frodo saw a tall gap of light before him, ever growing. Swiftly it drew near, and suddenly the boats shot through, out into a wide clear light.

The sun, already long fallen from the noon, was shining in a windy sky. The pent waters spread out into a long oval lake, pale Nen Hithoel, fenced by steep grey hills whose sides were clad with trees, but their heads were bare, cold-gleaming in the sunlight. At the far southern end rose three peaks. The midmost stood somewhat forward from the others and sundered from them, an island in the waters, about which the flowing River flung pale shimmering arms. Distant but deep there came up on the wind a roaring sound like the roll of thunder heard far away.

`Behold Tol Brandir!' said Aragorn, pointing south to the tall peak. 'Upon the left stands Amon Lhaw, and upon the right is Amon Hen the Hills of Hearing and of Sight. In the days of the great kings there were high seats upon them, and watch was kept there. But it is said that no foot of man or beast has ever been set upon Tol Brandir. Ere the shade of night falls we shall come to them. I hear the endless voice of Rauros calling.'

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, The Great River

[alicewritingstories]

Whumptober Prompt Fills Part 9: Breath

~Also on AO3~

No. 15: “I don’t need you to help me I can handle things myself.” | Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.” | Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.” | Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

Warning: Brief mention of alcohol use, chronic cardiac and respiratory issues, internalized ableism

Central character(s): Sky, Twilight

As the stars were coming out and the last echoes of the Picori Festival's fireworks display were fading away, the Chain started to drift back together at their chosen campsite in the forest. Tomorrow they would travel on to visit Four's grandfather - Four had gone on ahead with his father to give him some time with his family before his other family descended on them - but tonight would be spent under the stars as usual.

The chatter among the little group was lively as they compared their experiences. Warriors was flushed and slightly giggly, relaxed after the entire bottle of something alcoholic that he'd drunk during the fireworks. Wind, meanwhile, couldn't stop showing off the beautifully-crafted knife he'd won, tripping over his words as he admired it and related his triumph in a quoits-throwing contest.

Twilight heard Legend drop the good-natured observation in Warriors' ear that the young hero really shouldn't have been allowed to join contests alongside ordinary children, but he agreed as Warriors said sleepily that it was good to see Wind act like a child for once.

"What did you do with Sky, Twilight?" asked Wild suddenly, looking up from where he was laying out ingredients for dinner.

Twilight looked at him in confusion. "Me?" he asked and looked over at Time, who was also looking confused.

"I thought Sky was with you, Wild," said Time. "I was about to ask you the same question."

Twilight blinked. "I thought he was with you," he said. "Didn't you go looking for souvenirs for Malon and Sun?"

Time shook his head. "I thought he was going around the food stands with Wild."

"I didn't see him after we separated," said Wild, sitting back on his heels. "I thought he went to watch the horse races with Twilight."

Out of all their Hyrules, Four's was one of the safest, but that didn't mean a missing hero was something to be ignored. Time eased back to his feet with a soft groan and started putting his just-removed armor back on, saying, "He's probably fine, but let's go and check. Wind, Twilight, and Legend, check north, south, and east respectively; I'll take the west. Return in an hour even if you haven't found anything. Hyrule and Wild, stay here and finish setting up camp."

"Shall I check the elixir supply?" asked Wild seriously.

"I hope we won't need healing, but it's worth knowing. Likewise, Warriors, I hope we won't need you to be sober." Time chuckled as Warriors shot him an unfocussed look that he probably intended to be irritated. The remark lightened the anxiety that had been starting to thread through the air, but didn't take it away entirely and as Twilight set out into the darkening forest, heading for the south side of the town, he could feel it twisting somewhere in his gut. He was sure Sky hadn't followed him when he set out through the busy streets, following the sound of hoofbeats and cheering. He really thought he'd heard the other hylian agreeing when Time had said he was going to find a gift for Malon.

What if he'd been wrong and something had happened to Sky when he was separated from the group? How long had he been missing?

Twilight tried to push down the worry. If one of them was going to disappear for a few hours, this was one of the safer places for it to happen. Most likely they'd find that Sky had simply lost track of time or forgotten the rendezvous.

It wasn't like him to have forgotten, but it wasn't impossible in all the noise and excitement of the festival.

And was it more or less likely than that something had happened? There had been no sign of so much as a keese anywhere near the town, but it wouldn't be the first time a member of the Chain, taken unawares, had fallen victim to hylian enemies of one of his brothers. Four had as many enemies as any of them with the exception of Wild and Warriors, who had significantly more.

Twilight gritted his teeth. A crowded festival… someone would have noticed the fight Sky would have put up if attacked.

He was sure he'd gone alone to look at the horses.

He was sure Sky hadn't come with him.

He was sure that if something had happened it hadn't happened right behind him.

His thoughts were interrupted as he caught a familiar smell on the breeze and saw something white gleaming in the forest ahead. Perfume and a white sailcloth. With a gasp of relief, he broke into a jog, calling, "Sky!" as he saw the figure of his brother in the dim light, sitting on a tree stump, leaning his elbows on his knees.

Sky looked up and waved as Twilight heard the wheeze on his breath and realized how fast he was breathing.

"Sky," he said more seriously, crouching beside him. "Are you OK?"

Sky nodded, his hand to his chest, the wheeze more pronounced as he sat upright. "Fine. Sorry, I… know I'm… late."

He couldn't even make it through a sentence without losing breath.

"Are you hurt?"

"No. I'm fine. This happens… sometimes. The damp… makes it worse." Sky forced a grin. "And I made… the mistake… of dancing."

"I didn't know you danced," said Twilight.

"I love dancing." Sky coughed and wheezed. "Unfortunately. Used to be… easier."

Twilight nodded. He wasn't sure what was going on, but said, "Do you need anything?"

"Just to rest." Sky shook his head. Twilight thought he looked pale, but as he propped himself on his knees again his breath seemed to come a little easier.

"OK. It'll be a bit before anyone really worries, so take it easy."

Sky nodded, laying a hand on his chest and wincing. "I thought… I was handling… it. It was fun… to dance again. Even… alone."

"Hey, take it easy. You don't have to make excuses to me and you've not got the breath for much talking, so just say what you have to."

Sky nodded.

Twilight patted his shoulder. "Is this… a new problem?"

"Since… my adventure. Well… mostly."

"OK, tell me the rest later." But he couldn't help asking, "Is this why you can't run as fast or far as the rest of us?"

Sky nodded.

"Why don't you tell anyone that?"

"I'd rather be… made fun of… than treated… like I'm broken."

Twilight started to argue, but remembered he was supposed to be calming Sky down and letting him catch his breath.

Slowly, Sky's breathing steadied and quietened. He sat up and pressed two fingers to the pulse point in his own throat, then nodded.

"OK, I'm all right now," he said. "Let's go."

Still, when Twilight offered him an arm he accepted it to get up.

"You can tell them you found me asleep somewhere," he said with a small smile as they started walking.

"I'll tell them no such thing," said Twilight. "Nobody acts like Time is broken. Nobody's going to think less of you because sometimes you can't breathe right."

Sky shook his head. "I can manage. There's a reason you've not seen me that bad before. But if everyone knows my lungs are always heavy and my heart doesn't beat properly any more…"

"We already know you can't run as far or as fast. What do you think will change from knowing why?"

Sky scowled at the ground.

"If you really want, we can still tease you about being slow and sleepy, but -"

Sky jutted his chin proudly. "But you'll keep a better eye on me to make sure I'm OK? Keep a wing over me in case I fall?"

"Just like with Four when it's cold."

That hit home. Sky sighed, bowing his head. Twilight heard the last of the wheeze.

He put an arm around his shoulders. "Listen, you don't have to tell anyone anything you don't want to, but I'm not lying for you and I think you should tell the truth. Nobody thinks less of you for having scars from your adventure, any more than they do of Wild or… or any of us. It doesn't matter that yours aren't on the outside. Nobody will think you're broken or useless or anything else."

Sky was silent for a long moment, then he said, "I'll think about it."

Twilight hugged him gently and they walked on.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Week 1 - Camping

Day 3, another prompt to completely disregard and twist...

Have some annoyed Vairë and brave Námo.

Prompt: Camping

Pairing: Námo x Vairë / Námo & Irmo

Words: 1 005

Warnings: Sadness, light injury, some weird thread magic

Vairë’s hands did not still even though her mind was reeling. Rivers of thread ran steadily and unerringly through her fingers, coalescing into a cloud of shimmering black before her wet eyes.

Her task was the mere recording of history—it was her husband who’d pass judgment on all that was said and done, and yet her heart quailed at the picture taking form under her rhythmically weaving digits.

So Manwë had gone and found nought but emptiness that now devoured his soul.

Impuissant anger rose within her at the thought of the Elder King’s suffering—surely, Námo could have warned him about the bitter price he’d pay for his noblest intentions.

Every fibre of her essence, braided of the colourful strands of deep love and honest devotion, yearned to lay down the bobbins and rest, but a new sense of urgency overcame her.

Little by little, greyish purples and faded blues bled into the swirling vortex of utter darkness, and she sighed in relief.

She recognised the diaphanous blotch of hope within the warring obscurity of the Judge’s verdict and the endless nothingness of Melkor’s penalty.

Irmo.

Even on canvas, her husband’s young brother couldn’t be tethered by the filaments from which he’d been created—Vairë looked on, flabbergasted, as the tiny moth appeared in one corner of her opus as by magic.

Had she drawn the light silver thread all the way from the centre of the piece to its confines? She could not remember having done so.

Nonetheless, Irmo was there—undeniably, inescapably there, and she knew not how to recall him to the place where he was most needed.

“Wife.” She heard the word, thrumming through her soul, before it had been thought.

Even though she oft failed to understand the motives and desires of her husband, she could read his needs as easily as the strings curling around her hands.

Námo was a creature of many worlds to whom time meant nothing, but his wife was inexorably bound to an eternal present, made up of tiny increments that unravelled into a past she could and would not consider.

Thus, she was akin to a blind person who only ever perceived the world in haphazard sequences of disjointed snapshots.

“You seek your brother,” she said before his greeting could be vocalised. “He’s not here.”

“I know,” Námo replied gravely, stoking the fires of unjustified frustration in her ample bosom.

He came to stand behind her, his hand bony and yet heavy on her strong shoulder as he surveyed her latest work.

His low, reverberating hum grated on her nerves, but she kept her peace, knowing that her spouse had other worries than her displeasure.

“I shall go out to find him,” Námo declared. “For the task Nienna has given us, I need his help.”

Nodding solemnly, Vairë looked back at her ruined craft. Even while her focus had shifted to Námo, the battle between pitch-black and stubborn grey hadn’t subsided, and so she didn’t need to ask for clarification. The matter was gruesomely clear in its stark simplicity.

“You’re to pacify Manwë?” she asked, swallowing the sharp-tongued addendum that she found it doubtful that anyone other than Nienna and Irmo would find comfort in the mysterious, hermetic bond the Fëanturi shared.

In lieu of an answer he knew to be superfluous, Námo bent down and breathed a tender, conciliatory kiss onto the crown of her head. “I shall return as quickly as I can. Worry not for me, beloved.”

Vairë simply lifted her hands, chafed raw with the speed and insistency of the threads racing through her palms. “I won’t. I shall watch and see.”

She listened to his footsteps as he retreated.

“On the third hook from the right,” she said softly. “I’ve finished it recently.”

Only when she heard the muted swish of a brand-new cloak, big enough to serve as a tent and blanket and infused with her sincere, unwavering love, did she return her attention to her oeuvre.

Annoyed and exasperated as she might have been with the incomprehensible ways that dictated her lover’s decisions and actions, she’d never forsake him in his hour of need.

In secret, she wished she could bind him to her, so he’d never leave her side, but she knew better than to attempt the impossible.

No, her place was here—watching, witnessing, working indefatigably.

Traces of Veridian, bleeding into the Gardens' green and the mountains' dark violet, appeared on the canvas.

Vairë smiled. Soon, Varda’s stars would add sprinkles of gold and silver to the top border to light Námo’s way as he fought his way through the fields of black in dogged pursuit of the elusive moth.

While he didn’t exactly have to rest, Vairë nevertheless hoped that he—who rarely left his hallowed Halls—would take the time to bask in the beauty of the open sky and the sweet night air.

Her eyes travelled longingly along the wall covered in bobbins of every imaginable shade; she yearned to recreate a panorama of dark greens and deep blues in which her bewildering and yet beloved husband would be but a darker blotch, melting into the ambient twilight.

When a dusty purple materialised beside her, she bowed her head in silent gratitude. Námo had spread the cloak, made by her very hands, over his gaunt shoulders and was admiring the flowering, free lands rolling like solid waves beneath his feet.

Already, the little speck of grey was within reach, and Vairë’s fingers moved faster and more fluidly now as she transcribed the seemingly immaterial tale of fraternal reunion faithfully.

She was still unsure whether Manwë would find solace in her in-laws’ unity, but the knot of roiling black defacing her art was slowly dissolving into a kaleidoscope of various splashes of fading obscurity.

Nuance, she thought serenely, that was what was needed in this situation, and—between Námo and Irmo—there would be enough genuine light to dispel the gloom that had seeped out of the Void like a poison.

@fellowshipofthefics Day 3 of Week 1. I am on track :)

-> Masterlist

[dragon-age-codex-entries]

Codex entry: The Maker

"There was no word For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky. All that existed was silence. Then the Voice of the Maker rang out, The first Word, And His Word became all that might be: Dream and idea, hope and fear, Endless possibilities. And from it made his firstborn. And he said to them: In My image I forge you, To you I give dominion Over all that exists. By your will May all things be done.

Then in the center of heaven He called forth A city with towers of gold, streets with music for cobblestones, And banners which flew without wind. There, He dwelled, waiting To see the wonders His children would create.

The children of the Maker gathered Before his golden throne And sang hymns of praise unending. But their songs Were the songs of the cobblestones. They shone with the golden light Reflected from the Maker's throne. They held forth the banners That flew on their own.

And the Voice of the Maker shook the Fade Saying: In My image I have wrought My firstborn. You have been given dominion Over all that exists. By your will All things are done. Yet you do nothing. The realm I have given you Is formless, ever-changing.

And He knew he had wrought amiss. So the Maker turned from his firstborn And took from the Fade A measure of its living flesh And placed it apart from the Spirits, and spoke to it, saying: Here, I decree Opposition in all things: For earth, sky For winter, summer For darkness, Light. By My Will alone is Balance sundered And the world given new life.

And no longer was it formless, ever-changing, But held fast, immutable, With Words for heaven and for earth, sea and sky. At last did the Maker From the living world Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth, With souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear, Endless possibilities.

Then the Maker said: To you, my second-born, I grant this gift: In your heart shall burn An unquenchable flame All-consuming, and never satisfied. From the Fade I crafted you, And to the Fade you shall return Each night in dreams That you may always remember me.

And then the Maker sealed the gates Of the Golden City And there, He dwelled, waiting To see the wonders His children would create."

—Threnodies 5:1-8

[myfavouritelunatic]

The Blacksmith

To everyone who has read, liked, and/or reblogged this story... THANK YOU! ❤️

There’s trouble on the horizon...

Pairing: Halbrand/Sauron x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Very light physical violence, but otherwise none.

Links to Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, and Fourteen!

Chapter Fifteen

It wasn't long after he departed that your curiousity got the better of you, wanting to see what he was helping this Lord Celebrimbor craft. Once you found and entered the forge, a glorious sight was before your eyes. Halbrand was at the centre of the room, no longer dressed in that azure coloured outfit from earlier. He still wore blue, but this fabric had a grey shade mixed in with it, and was lined in silver beading that matched the metal torc wrapped around his neck, resting on his collar bone. He was also covered in a leather apron and gloves to protect him as he worked, sweat and grime staining his skin where it could be seen. He looked incredible, and you knew this was exactly how he felt when he saw you in your crimson dress.

Halbrand beamed as you entered his vision, and he stopped what he was doing. Grabbing the attention of an elf close by him, he urged them to come over to where you stood. It was the same elf that had been present with Elrond during your emotional arrival in Eregion. "Celebrimbor, meet the love of my life." "I thought smithing was your love." Celebrimbor spoke in jest. The three of you shared a knowing laugh. "Well one cannot make smithing their queen. But I can be its king." "What pray tell are you making, Lord Celebrimbor, that requires the assistance of my love?" The elven smith and Halbrand glanced at each other excitedly. "We have been charged with making something that will save the elves of Middle Earth." Celebrimbor answered you. "Save the elves? What do you mean?" "Their light is fading. This is the only hope they have, my love. Otherwise they shall make for the grey havens and sail to Valinor. Never to return." explained Halbrand. "Does that include Galadriel?" Halbrand nodded gravely. "The object we craft will restore the elves to their full power. Then they can remain here and not dwindle into relics." 

"Forgive us, my lady, but we must return to the task at hand." said Celebrimbor, and you gave a slight nod, then Halbrand kissed your forehead, and you retreated into the shadows of the room to watch them work. You found yourself completely transfixed by what was happening before you. Thoughts of your first meeting with Halbrand appeared in your mind, memories of how easy the small tasks you had given him were, and how he still relished the work despite that. Yet that was nothing compared to this. The focus on his face, the deliberate and concise movements he made with the equipment, his interactions with Celebrimbor and the other elves in the forge. You could sense the feeling in the room, the feeling of vital importance that surrounded their quest to bring forth the saviour of the elves in material form. Hours passed by with you simply content watching your man work. Every now and then he'd shoot you a quick glance from across the room. And each time he looked back to what was in front of him, you noticed a smile on his face. He was very pleased you were witnessing this. You wondered if you were a distraction maybe, but given no one had asked you to leave, you assumed you were right to stay.

Then suddenly, an explosion wrecked the building. You used your arms to shield yourself quickly, but thankfully no major debris was flung in your direction. As the dust and smoke cleared, you and Halbrand ran to each other to be certain the other was unharmed. He clasped his hands over your arms and studied your body furiously. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" "I'm fine, I'm fine. But you?" you asked frantically, more concerned for him. "I'm okay, my love. Celebrimbor?" he called out with worry. "Yes. All good here." the elf spoke between coughs. It was then that Galadriel and Elrond entered the room. "What has happened?" she asked, shocked at the fallout before her. "The mithril is proud." answered Celebrimbor. "It refuses every effort to bond it with lesser ores." Elrond spoke up then. "Tapping into the powers of the Seen and Unseen world seemed to soften the boundaries between the two." Celebrimbor sighed in frustration. His predicament was vexing him, but not Halbrand. You could tell by his face his mind was searching for the answer they needed. "Doesn't make any sense. We used enough pressure to fuse the heavens with the earth. It should have held this time!" The elven smith’s anger was clear. "Patience. This is a journey." Elrond offered his counsel. "Not every step we take will be forward. It may take time." "Time? We don't have time!”

“Perhaps that is enough for today.” Galadriel declared, hoping to cool the temper that had risen within Celebrimbor. “Perhaps we've been pushing ourselves too hard?" Her words were stern. It was then that your love interjected, and you watched the cogs tick over behind his eyes, as the solution finally presented itself to him. "'Pushing ourselves too hard.' Supposing that's the trouble. Supposing we've been using too much force?" "Meaning what?" asked Elrond, unsure what Halbrand meant. Celebrimbor was now putting it together himself. "Meaning that the metals shouldn't be forced to join but more... drawn or coaxed together. Now, if that's true we've been... we've been doing it all inside out!" He laughed in his bewilderment, and Halbrand grinned gleefully. "Quickly." Celebrimbor motioned to his new smithing partner. "Dismantle this. We start again."

You looked to your love, hoping to catch his excited expression at this new approach, but you caught something else entirely. For Halbrand's eyes were not on you then, they were on Galadriel. Following his gaze to her, you watched as an elf handed her a large scroll. You noticed Halbrand turn away back to his work, but you decided then to follow Galadriel, and discover exactly what she had been given. If it had piqued the interest of your king, then it was worthy of yours as well. Based on your earlier conversation, you had hoped that within this scroll there lay the answers to what treachery was plaguing Halbrand and yourself. That had to be it.

Catching up with her on the stairs that lead down and out of the forge, you began your interrogation. "What is that, Galadriel?" The elf however said nothing, only kept walking. Once the bottom of the staircase was reached, she grabbed you by the arm and lead you into a nearby room, closing the door. She then unrolled the parchment, studying it intensely. You saw how her demeanour changed from hopeful to sheer anxiety. "Galadriel... what is that?" you repeated your earlier question, praying she would enlighten you. "Galadriel!" you shouted her name, pressing her. It was then a single tear quickly fell from her eyes, and her fair skinned face turned even paler. She could not look at you as she spoke.

"The line... was broken... Halbrand is not the king of the Southlands." "What?!" you practically yelled the word. "What do you mean?" "The royal line was severed... over a millennia ago..." "That can't be right." you said, not believing a word from her. "Let me see that." You approached her, snatching the scroll from her hands. Unfurling it before your eyes, you followed the royal ancestry of the Southlands, one descendant after another until... there were no more. You threw the parchment on the floor in disgust. "This is a lie. A fabrication. Treason!" you spat these words at your elf friend. She let your name pass her lips, her voice quivering. "It is no lie. These records are precise." Galadriel sighed then, almost in defeat, and finally looked you in the eyes. "Halbrand... is not who I have proclaimed him to be. He is no king."

Your eyes widened in shock at her words, refusing to believe her. "How dare you!" you screamed at her, and pushed her back up against the wall. Looking at Galadriel, you knew who she was, what she meant to you, to Halbrand, yet the anger within you now made you wish you had your dagger to her throat. Halbrand wouldn't lie, not about this. You couldn't believe Galadriel would let herself be deceived by such a falsehood. "You have made a grave error, elf." your voice was sharp, and tinged with the darkness you could no longer keep at bay. "Halbrand is the king of the Southlands. And I am to be his queen. I pray you find another scroll that speaks this truth, because this one is faulty. Something has gone awry." The next words you spoke were wrapped in your malevolence, and they were loud. "Don't you dare betray us!" Your rage was blinding you, but somehow, there was still an inkling within you that told you maybe Galadriel was right. And that you were using your words against her, to convince yourself.

"Release me." the she-elf hissed through gritted teeth. You reluctantly did so after a moment, and Galadriel picked up the discarded lineage before composing herself. "It seems the woman I thought my friend is gone. I could not save her in time." It was bizarre to hear her speak of you this way, to you as if you were not in the room. Suddenly a sharp pain rippled out from your chest. "But what could I have saved... when he already had you." Galadriel let another tear fall, then she took her leave of you, and the pain grew until you were sobbing in agony. You wanted to rip your heart from your chest to make it stop. It was then you realised the pain was not physical, it was mental. Your heart was breaking. Galadriel seemed lost to you. The one and only true being that had been by your side since the moment you met her... had abandoned you. Or rather, it appeared, you had forced her away.

Could she have been right? Because a bigger question crossed your mind then: why would Galadriel lie? Was Halbrand a deceiver? You knew him to be capable of concealing truths, maybe even speaking in double meanings, but to actually lie to you... Your stomach dropped as a realisation hit you. Could this revelation about his heritage have been what he was about to tell you? He had been seconds away from finally revealing all he kept hidden within. Was this it? Or was there something else entirely at play? Regardless, your tears consumed you, the grief of losing a friend taking hold. Suddenly you didn't care anymore. You wanted answers, and you wanted them now.

  Storming out of the room, you took the steps up two at a time, making haste. Reaching the forge, you realised instantly that Halbrand was no longer there, uncertain as to why. However, Celebrimbor was nearby, so you strolled up to him, inquiring as to the whereabouts of your love. "Why he went to fetch Lady Galadriel. There has been another thrilling development." "What's that?" "We have come to the conclusion that, in order to achieve the desired outcome, we cannot stop at one object. For there would be too much power held within it, and that is too great a risk. We shall be forging two rings." "Rings?" you repeated, surprised. All this fuss for two tiny circles of metal. "And they will be great rings of power indeed, unlike any this world has seen." Celebrimbor's eyes were glowing, his joy almost palpable. "Two rings... that will save your people?" you asked sceptically. "Of this, I am certain." His conviction was unwavering, and you smiled at him warmly. If you were no longer to be saved, as Galadriel had said, then you were glad something could be. Deciding not to wait for Halbrand's return, and fearful of what Galadriel was going to confront him with, you bid farewell to Celebrimbor, letting him return to his work. Something in you told you to head for the river, as it seemed a place Galadriel found peaceful, or at least it was a place she felt comfortable with confrontation.

On your way to reach the banks of the Glanduin, the object of your desire appeared. Halbrand was without his smock and gloves now, that gorgeous blue grey outfit on display. It might have been your favourite thing you'd seen him wear thus far. However, there was something off in his demeanour. You knew instantly that something had transpired between him and Galadriel. And since she was not present, you didn't know what to think. "Halbrand, whatever she showed you... it is a fiction." He only smiled at the words you said, before taking you in his arms and bestowing upon you one long kiss. You melted into his touch, like you always had, and always would. When he let his lips part from yours, he spoke low and closely into your ear.

  "Galadriel is right, my love. Although... I am a king... just not the king she thought." "Halbrand, you're not making any sense. Is this what you were going to tell me earlier? About what lies underneath?" "Yes, my love." And as he pulled himself back so his face was in your view, you gasped in horror. His eyes were not his eyes. They were the eyes of the Halbrand you had dreamed about. The one consumed by his darkness. Your love let a small smile appear on his face. "I am the one they call... Sauron."

Tagging: @starlady66 @denzit @chimeracuddles @restless-tides @hikarielizabethbloom @anemarie @coraleethroughthelookingglass @mordorgp 

[crownedtargaryen]

RIBS : Aemond x Reader x Lucerys

RIGHTEOUS

MASTERLIST | ( < this story has more parts that cane found here)

A/N: This chapter is hella short, I apologize. I’m also trying a slightly new layout.

TW: THIS STORY WILL INCLUDE INCEST, SEXUAL CONTENT, ANGST, ABUSIVE TOPICS, EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, POST PARTUM.

NOTES ARE APPRECIATED! (SHARES, LIKES, COMMENTS)

Word Count: 1.2k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @twizzy123

The storm hides in her bed, as the warm resonation of the musician's lyre meets the air with the anticipation of the morning's growing debut. 

She lies unknowingly in silence, preparing for the constant assault of noise forced upon her by the bustle of the populated kingdom, Storm's End.

The music is crafted by the musician as a gift; a beautiful example of a human being's selflessness, spreading the flame of joy's candle to the world flowing around them. Those few seconds of organized sound vanquish the dull hum of the everyday, and temporarily free her from those routine patterns of thought she holds, attempting to please her followers. 

I listen as the sound waves through the air. And my brain, sometimes unknowingly, creatively responds to the audible phenomena. The musician's words are one of my few remaining ties that hold creativity afloat in a sea of monotony, resulting from my surrounding industrialization of the darkened stone walls around me. 

I strike a match, holding it to the wick of the candle, watching the wax melt slowly. I had been doing this for days, losing my rooting to the ground. My sense of reality, my ability to tell time had faded. I hadn't seen Lucerys in these times, listening to the music in grief. My musician saw the harshest sides of me, the yearning for the worst of people. He never judged me; he merely played until I provided him with a break.

"Your grace?" A small voice echoed in the doorway. I signal for my musician to stop, which he does, and looks as well in curiosity. It was one of the servant girls, one I hadn't cared to learn more about since she hadn't belonged to me. I wave for her to continue, sitting up from my bed. "Prince Lucerys Velaryon has left with Prince Aemond Targaryen to attend their blood’s wed feast. Prince Lucerys has left me to bring you this, Princess (Y/N)." She scurries over, handing me the yellowed scroll of parchment. I smile softly, looking at her with a grateful expression. 

"It's much appreciated, thank you, love. Now, may you both clear the room?" I say softly, fingertips trailing the parchment resting within my grasp. The two caretakers scramble out of the room as I undo the parchment. His handwriting seemed a tad sloppy, but it was of his character to write in such a way. I loved it about him.

The contents of the letter were various sincere apologies for his actions, assuring he meant nothing negative of it and wishes that I do not take them as such. But just as my heart melts, I see the political matters that follow. He will be gone for a week, readying for his brother's wedding and celebrations over in Winterfell. He assures me he will be back soon, but is unsure if it will take longer than he wishes.

Then, I read the words I will dwell on for the time Lucerys is away. Father has sworn to the side of Rhaenyra Targaryen, which means the Velaryon boy is set to marry one of my blood, or me.

He informs me he feels he should tell his mother of the plans before settling completely. Though he's decided, I shall be his bride, and he will propose such more formally when he can see me face to face.

Part of me is relieved, whilst the other part of me dreads his return. I'm not marrying Aemond, which was positive to the list of negatives. Though I hadn't talked to Lucerys for days on end and suddenly we were to be wed? It didn't feel right, I wasn't ready to marry. 

Quickly, I stood from my bed and changed my dress, rushing out of my chambers and down to where Lucerys was kept, opening the door.

No one.

I rush outside, the rain pouring from the sky and wetting my entire outfit. I rush into the caves, panting loudly as loud grumble echoes. My eyes wander, swallowing hard with heavy breathing. 

"Lucerys?!" I yell out, cupping my hands in an O-shape around my mouth. "Lucerys!" I call out once more, hearing a growling noise. And to my surprise, the man I just craved to see exits the shadows.

"Princess (Y/N)?" He questions, spotting me and rushing over. "What are you doing out here? It's not safe! The storm! I- I can’t have you growing ill." He holds my face with his warm hands, inspecting my soaked figure. I shoved the damp piece of parchment into his chest, looking at him with teary eyes.

"Why hadn't you consoled me, Lucerys?" I choke out, staring into his doe-like eyes. He looks at the paper, then at me.

"Princess, I wanted to. But it all happened so suddenly, and before I knew it I had to leave," he starts, my heart aching at the sound of his voice. "If I'm being true, miss, I wish not to see you wed another man in the days to come. It hurts me in ways I cannot express." His voice becomes quieter; I almost can't hear him over the storm. "Even if you hold no love for me, I would rather you be married to someone you can trust rather than a lying scum." He laughs softly, and I stare at him silently. 

It takes a few moments before I can speak, the silence almost deafening. "You wish that for me? Truly?" I manage to say, watching as he takes my hands into his. 

"I wish to keep you safe and healthy for the rest of our days, Princess," he says softly, my eyes glossing over. "I know you have not much of a say in the matter, but I hope you can grow to bond with me as I have with you." 

I swallowed hard, staring thoughtlessly into his eyes. He looks at me expectantly for a response, which I don't provide. I merely moved in and embraced him, burying my face in his shoulder. He embraces me in return, not minding the icy cold temperature on my skin from the rain. Slowly, he moves from me and holds my hands once more.

"Princess, I have to go," he weakly says, making my heart break. I watch as his dragon lingers behind him, the boy eyeing the beast and walking over to it. "I will write every day. Promise." He places a kiss on my forehead that melts my insides; I look at him and smile graciously as he places himself onto the back of the beast. I walk next to it, eyeing the small-scaled creature, so many questions inside of my head.

"Safe travels, Lucerys. I'll miss you greatly," I call to him, watching his eyes shimmer as he looks at me. 

"I'll miss you every moment we are apart, Princess (Y/N)" he whispers. Then, Lucerys opens his mouth to command his dragon; but before he can I tell him one last thing.

"(Y/N)," I yell, his eyes looking to me one last time. "I do not crave such formalities with you, Lucerys." 

He breaks into a smile, gripping the reins on his dragon harder than before with pure joy. "(Y/N)," he corrects himself laughing under his breath. "May your rests never ail you until we meet again." 

And with that, he shouts “Sōvegon, Arrax!” at the beast and takes off before I can stall him any longer.

[celestialholz]

ok you already know what TF is going on!!!!

tm 45 venoshock (evil). tm 146 grass pledge (gay). tm 95 leech life (divorce snail). tm 156 outrage (eviler). tm 115 dragon pulse (because if nobody else does it i will).....tm100 dragon dance (🥰). do not feel obligated to do them all these are just a compilation of the concepts we talked abt

Oh Austro, darling. I'm about to murder you in cold blood. ;) A tale in three parts for you, my good pal. The last one of these three was also requested by dear @xfriki26, and the other two here will be under a read more to respect space. Cross-posted to AO3 here as chapters five, six and seven respectively, welcome to a miniature saga of just about every genre going, which we shall begin with by killing y'all stone dead with:

TM115: Dragon Pulse

Beep.

Beep.

Brassius thinks he may be going mad. He’d thought that a multitude of times during his ice-cold, static darkness, but this is a different form of insanity: a hammering, a fractured, desolate, desperate despair.

Beep.

Beep.

He wants the beeping to shut up almost as deeply as he cherishes its rhythm, its sheer brilliance. He could wax artistic lyrical on how fervently he cherishes the machine that affixes his sun to its true orbit at his side, paint it in the yellows and oranges of joy and the purple of dragons for its remarkable cleverness – wide, tender brush-strokes, gentle gratitude poured into every trembling sweep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

How ironic, he muses darkly, that Hassel’s heart should be the thing to fail – that loyal, stalwart, core of sunshine, that is so achingly full of acceptance and understanding and vibrance, that had dragged his beloved back from the depths of the shadows.

Between them, now, they can barely make a decently functioning pulmonary system. The breath of life, the heart of the matter – both irreparably scarred, merely patched over with bandages and craft glue and hope and the most blinding, frantic adoration. They’ve operated upon his love, as though he is a mere tapestry, sown and stitched and patched -

Hassel is not meant to be fixed. He should never be broken in the first place. He’d thought they understood one another very well, after fifteen years together. You stand tall, querido; I fall, me. Not you. Never, ever you, because how am I supposed to -

He chokes back a panicked breath, squeezes dull, greyed eyes closed. He doesn’t have contingency for this – he was never supposed to make any. This isn’t his role. And perhaps that makes him the world’s most selfish bastard, perhaps he’s awful and leech-like and unworthy of such light, but perhaps he’s also saved because he would swap them, swap them every single damn time – you already have my lungs, take my wretched heart as well, it’s better than watching this –

Beep.

Beep.

… He hasn’t even gotten around to asking him to marry him, after all this time. They’d had forever - what was the rush? The gap in Hassel’s family is glaring, he doesn’t want to invoke painful memories of people who would never wish to attend, and they are husbands in all but name nevertheless, promise rings long since sculptured from crystals and worn against their hearts anyway.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected the chance to be possibly lost for all time -

Beep.

Beep.

Gods, how the hell does he deal with this every time it happens in reverse? How many hours has his world watched his own slowly fade away?

“It doesn’t matter,” Hassel had told him once, tears glistening in warm, adoring eyes. “It simply doesn’t matter. You are worth every moment of the agony, darling. You coming back each time is the only thing that counts.”

He tries, physically shaking, to hold such sentiments against his core, because his dragon’s always been entirely right. He is damaged goods too, now – he can empathise, now. And later, when muted sun meets frosty moon once again, all will be harmonious in the celestial sphere. The stars do not lament; they celebrate a joyous reunion, the return of gravity to a uncertain universe, an essential dual orbit.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

His role, flipped, is now to support – to shine himself, to endure, to treasure a recovery Hassel will make. You will make it. I need you. Always have done. And I will look after you, smotheringly, achingly. Oh, you’ll hate it, even though I will see the smile in your beautiful gaze and understand that you love it.

He breathes a quivering laugh, stumbling across his own tongue.

… Well, it is night-time. It’s his shift anyway.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

He clings to his sunshine’s hand as though it’s all that tethers him to the earth, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Come back to me,” he pleads, infinitely soft. “Come back and be my husband, won’t you dearest?”

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

TM146: Grass Pledge

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

“… Br…”

Brassius snaps awake from a light doze on their fifth night in the hospital, as though bidden by hope alone, to find a weak Hassel staring straight at him. Sunlight stabs at his frozen heart, piercing its outer shell instantly, and he breaks, fragments of ice shattering down around him.

“D-dear,” he whispers, heat pooling immediately in his gaze. “You’re here, you’re back -”

“Mm,” his beloved murmurs, coughing softly. “Just… just about…”

Water is poured by trembling hands, held to lips, tipped up ever so gently even as Hassel blurs before him, rendered briefly invisible by tears and heat and relief and gods, thank you -

"Br..." Hassel clears a now lubricated throat, and Brassius immediately meets his gaze - sunshine swathed by shadows, the darker moments before sunrise. As deeply grateful as he is to see the light, he curses its lack of luminence.

"Yes, my love?"

"... You okay?" He coughs again, and despite the sun's dimness, his concern is clear as day. "You... are too pale."

Brassius stares at him for a second, aghast, before dissolving spontaneously into tearful laughter, exasperation and absolute joy, and he's trembling, and dear heavens, why would it matter what he looks like -

"The sun came back out," he tells him eventually, as a weak hand clings to his as tight as it can, as he's watched with soft worry. "I'd been beginning to think it would never stop raining. I'll... I'll be fine, now."

"Good," Hassel murmurs, reassured; even as his eyes droop closed once more, and a thread of anxiety rushes back up his lover's spine, a gentle thumb runs against his in silent promise. Alright, now. "Wouldn't do... for us both to be old and broken, d-darling."

"You are no such thing," Brassius protests immediately, heart rebelling against the mere thought. "Look at you, querido. Sunshine incarnate."

Hassel murmurs a small laugh, cherishing the water that he's once more offered.

"Funny, you say that," he whispers after a further drink, a wonder held in his gaze. "I only... see one source of light, here."

Even as he's tenderly kissed, even after he drifts back off to much-needed rest, inspiration strikes his beloved, a sparkling of genius.

Oh, you clever, wonderful, miracle of a man. You conductor of moonlight. Where the sun meets the moon...

He makes plans, as he falls asleep himself: gentle, loving, delightful schemes, tears slipping beneath closed lids as he nods off.

/////////////

He prepares quietly, when they get home; sets the stage as Hassel recovers, buys the equipment, purchases the perfect jewellery, bides his time. Doting on his beloved is by far the more pressing matter, and thus it takes him weeks, but eventually...

They finish a homemade casserole lovingly prepared, just as day begins to shift; just as it begins to turn to night, he asks his beloved to head outside with him, into the garden that overlooks the shimmering beauty of the East Paldean Sea.

"My dear, where on earth are we g -"

Hassel stops instantly at the sight before him; at the ring boxes, at the arch strung over with vines and lights, at the strands of green and purple cord that sit between it all, tearful eyes slowly drawing to his nervous partner's.

"Is that...?" he swallows a sob, utterly rapt.

"It is," Brassius confirms, eyes scanning him, gauging his thoughts, reading softly a man he knows the soul of better than his own. "Should you wish it to be, anyway -"

He gets no further for a long minute, damp kisses pressed to his lips, over and over.

"'Should I wish it,'" he repeats, laughing shakily in disbelief. "And at dusk, no less. Where the sun meets the moon, you brilliant, brilliant individual."

Brassius chuckles, similarly breaking. "You'll forgive me my poetry, I'm sure."

"I will forgive you anything, my darling." He chokes down tears, conscious of time, conscious of his lover's artistic vision. He can cry later, and he will - oh, he will. He doubts he'll stop for hours.

"So, you will, then -"

"Yes, I will," Hassel tells him clearly, fondly, adoringly, trembling hand coming to a precious, flushed cheek. "Arceus himself could drag neither of us away, despite his best efforts."

They marry, as the warmth of ambient sunset glazes over them; hands wrapped in cord of alternate colours, the draconic for the biological and vice versa; they whisper nonsense vows, straight from their cores, babbled and pure and perfect; they adopt glistening emeralds or dazzling violets as the moon takes reign, and there are tears enough to proclaim the sea that spectates them flooded.

"Why now?" Hassel asks his husband afterwards, tears still glistening in his eyes, his forehead gently pressed upon his beloved's. "All these years..."

"I thought we had forever," Brassius tells him simply, voice thoroughly raspy by this point, clinging tightly to him, as though he might fall to his doom should he ever let go.

"We do, my love," comes the replying whisper, the utter certainty. "I'm sorry, for frightening you so deeply..."

Brassius sobs into him, believing him with his whole heart, and shakes his head.

"You were worth every moment of the agony, dearest," he promises him truthfully, burying himself into soft folds of fabric, and the softest man of all.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

TM100: Dragon Dance

It’s difficult to practice for a celebration, when one’s heart or lungs have had their cracks filled in as though via liquid sunshine; an astral kintsugiri leaves one less willing than they might have been to put their beloved through physical stress.

“Well,” Hassel notes tiredly as they take seats together, “come the moment, darling husband, we could just vibe with it.”

Brassius glances at him, bewilderment strewn through his grey gaze.

“You know, as in do our collective best, dependent on our emotions at the time?” Hassel’s expression creases in thought. “I think that’s what my students mean by it, anyway…”

The pair burst into soft laughter, hands automatically finding one another’s and gripping on tight.

“Everything will be wonderful, querido,” Brassius whispers, “because you will be there, and I will be right there with you.”

Hassel takes a gentle breath, and melts into his side, stinging eyes closing as he smiles warmly.

“Indeed,” he murmurs, content. “That’s all I’ve ever needed.”

“And I.”

Hassel kisses him, swallowing his tremulous voice, assuaging his lingering anxiety.

/////////

It is beautiful if mad, their celebratory dance. They don’t say vows – they already have, the words for them and them alone, sparkling in the intimacy of the dusk. They simply host a small gathering, fairy lights strung up across their whole garden now, Grass types mingling between fauna, guests somewhere between buffet tables, wine refills and comfortable garden furniture. Lilligant develops a quiet, blushing crush on Katy’s dear Heracross, who flexes happily for his smitten acquaintance; a far too competitive Breloom attempts to spar with a far too competitive Staraptor, who promptly and triumphantly puts the bird to sleep the moment he gets too feisty; Flapple doesn’t leave the side of her fathers, chirruping happily as a laughing Hassel feeds her cake with a wink and an indulgent promise that she’s only allowed a little.

“Have a heart, kid,” Larry announces dryly, as he plucks her phone from a whining Iono, who has been attempting to livestream the event. She tries to snatch it from the air, which goes about well as such a height difference might imply.

“Awww! Just tryna share the joy!”

“Enjoy it, instead. Live in the moment. Pick up tips for the future, when someone feels like putting up with you for long enough.”

“Hey!”

He smirks down at his pseudo-daughter, his face softening. “Trust me,” he mutters, glancing warmly at Katy, who’s giggling at her Heracross. “If I can find them, anyone can.”

It’s endearingly awkward and inaccurate when their dance comes, when they take centre stage; steps misaligned at points, gentle amusement tripping from their lips. Shoes are stepped on, but the twirls are dramatic, and the audience appreciates their stars nevertheless, cheers, sobs and applause raising from their friends.

“Doing well, my love?” Brassius whispers as he swept up from their bowed finale, being drawn into a gentle, loving kiss.

“Doing perfectly, my darling,” Hassel promises tearfully after a moment, nuzzling his forehead to his husband’s. “And you?”

“Can’t complain,” he teases, and they both burst out laughing until tears stream down their faces in utter joy. Breath is briefly pulled from lungs, exhaustion reigns, but nothing ruins their harmony, their victory, their perfectly imperfect wedding reception.

They may have to take tomorrow slow; they may have to take the rest of their lives at an easier pace, a gentle stroll into forever instead of a sprinting wildness - but take it together they will, every step of the way.

Got a request for The Technical Festival, which celebrates Ephemeralart and Vanillacupcakes through the medium of TMs? Take a look here; my askbox is open!