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

[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

[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…

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Hey! I REALLY LOVE your work ❤️

Could you do a part 3 of "A Flower Among Stone" please?

Where the reader finaly agrees to go to Eregion with Elrond. They're invited to have diner with Celebrimbor. Some other elfs make fun of the reader because of her dwarvish maners and Elrond stand up for her?

Absolutely!! I love these two. They are so sweet together

Among Friends and Enemies

The sun was high, casting its golden light over the vast expanse of Eregion, bathing the city in warmth and brilliance. The towers and spires gleamed, their elegant curves catching the light, while the air smelled faintly of fresh blossoms and crisp mountain air. It was a far cry from the cool depths of Khazad-dûm, and though you felt the ache of homesickness, there was something undeniably captivating about this elven city.

It had been months since you last saw Elrond, and his invitation—once politely refused so many times—had finally worn you down. You weren’t sure what had changed. Perhaps it was Disa’s teasing, or Durin’s knowing looks, or maybe it was your own curiosity. Whatever the reason, here you were, standing at the gates of Eregion, dwarfed by its beauty and majesty.

A familiar figure approached, graceful and composed, yet with a warmth in his expression that softened the sharp edges of his features. Elrond.

“You came,” he said, his voice rich with surprise and something more tender that he didn’t try to hide.

You smiled, feeling both nervous and exhilarated. “I suppose I got tired of saying no.”

Elrond chuckled, a soft sound that seemed to ease the tension in the air. “It is no small journey, and yet you made it.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, the world seemed quieter, the bustling city beyond the gates fading into the background. “I’m glad you did.”

You felt the weight of those words, the sincerity in them, and you lowered your gaze, feeling suddenly shy. “I wanted to see what was so important about Mithril,” you said lightly, trying to break the intensity of the moment. “And perhaps to prove Disa wrong.”

Elrond’s lips curved into a smile. “Disa is rarely wrong.”

“That’s what makes it all the more infuriating,” you replied, your tone teasing.

He stepped closer, offering his arm in a gesture both formal and familiar. “Shall I show you, then? What we’ve been working on?”

You hesitated for only a moment before slipping your hand through his arm. “Lead the way.”

As you walked through the city, Elrond pointed out the marvels of Eregion—the intricate stonework, the lush gardens, the graceful arches that seemed to reach for the sky. Yet it was not the city’s beauty that held your attention, but the way Elrond spoke, his voice filled with pride and reverence, his passion for his people and their craft shining through with every word.

At last, you arrived at a large, open hall where elves worked with quiet precision. The scent of molten metal and polished stone filled the air, and in the center of the room, resting on a pedestal, was a small ingot of Mithril, its surface shimmering with a light of its own.

Elrond released your arm and stepped toward it, his expression softening. “This,” he said, gesturing to the Mithril, “is more than just a metal. It is hope, strength, and resilience.”

You stepped closer, the light from the Mithril casting a faint glow on your face. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, reaching out but stopping just short of touching it.

He watched you, his gaze thoughtful. “And it is dangerous,” he said quietly. “A blessing and a burden.”

You looked up at him, something in his tone tugging at your heart. “Is that why you asked me here? To see the weight of it?”

Elrond met your gaze, the softness in his eyes returning. “I asked you here because I wanted to share this with you. You understand the cost of resilience more than most.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you thick with unspoken words. And in that stillness, you realized that perhaps Disa had been right all along.

The dining hall of Eregion was grand and elegant, the long table laden with silver platters and crystal goblets, the scent of freshly baked bread and rich stew filling the air. Elven lords and ladies sat in graceful repose, their robes shimmering in the candlelight. At the head of the table sat Celebrimbor, his keen eyes watchful as he welcomed his guests with a warm, if reserved, smile.

You sat beside Elrond, your posture stiff as you tried to blend into the surroundings. The grandeur of the room made you feel conspicuous, the polished refinement of the elves highlighting your more humble appearance, the edges of your sleeves worn from years spent in the mountain halls.

Dinner began smoothly, with polite conversation and soft laughter. But it wasn’t long before the subtle barbs began.

One of the lords, tall and lean with a haughty tilt to his chin, regarded you with a faint smile. “How curious it is,” he said, his tone smooth as silk, “to see an elf so enamored with dwarven culture. I imagine it must be quite... different from the comforts of our own lands.”

Another lord, seated further down, added with a chuckle, “Indeed. One wonders if the air in the mountain halls hasn’t dulled her finer senses. The dwarves, after all, are hardly known for refinement.”

You felt your cheeks heat, the warmth of shame and irritation spreading through you. You looked down at your plate, wishing for the stone walls of Khazad-dûm to surround you once more, where no one would care how you dressed or carried yourself.

Elrond’s voice cut through the laughter like a blade, cool and measured. “It is a rare thing,” he said, “to find someone who can thrive in two very different worlds. Adaptability is a strength we should all aspire to.”

The room grew quieter as all eyes turned to him, his expression calm but firm. “Few among us could endure what she has and emerge with such grace.”

His words were spoken gently, but there was steel beneath them. He turned his gaze to you, his eyes softening. “She has shown resilience that many of us can only admire and a kindness that transcends borders. To belittle that is to misunderstand the true nature of strength.”

Celebrimbor, who had been watching silently, raised his goblet in a subtle gesture of approval. “Well said, Elrond. Kindness and resilience are indeed worthy of respect.”

The room stilled for a heartbeat before conversation resumed, quieter now, the air less biting. The lords who had spoken earlier exchanged uncomfortable glances but said nothing more.

You glanced at Elrond, a quiet, grateful smile touching your lips. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the clink of goblets and silverware.

He turned to you, his expression warm. “You need not thank me,” he said softly. “It is simply the truth.”

For the rest of the meal, the weight on your chest lightened. The room felt less oppressive, and the warmth of Elrond’s words lingered, steady and sure, like the steady pulse of the mountain’s heart.

[lathbora-virann]

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

[dewdrop-writes]

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

Dio Brando x Reader (AFAB reader)

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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.

[not-glorfindel-stop-asking]

The Rivendell Record: A Most Auspicious Morning

Dearest journal and people of the inter-...web?

A miracle has occurred.

No, not the return of spring, nor the melodious arrival of migratory birds—though both are, of course, happening in their own poetic and seasonal manner. No.

Today marks an event of far greater significance.

I was enjoying my morning ritual: a steaming cup of perfectly prepared coffee, rich and frothy, kissed with just the right amount of honey. The air was crisp, the waterfalls sang, and for a moment, I allowed myself the foolish hope that this would be a peaceful day.

Then, fate intervened.

From the heavens above, with all the precision of a divine omen, a bird—freshly returned from its long sojourn to the South—unleashed its blessing directly upon Glorfindel’s golden head.

Glorfindel, radiant in his morning arrogance, was mid-sentence when it happened. ☀️✨ Truly, he was at his most insufferable—grinning like the morning itself was personally crafted for him, gesturing grandly as though recounting some great, heroic deed (it was probably the tale of That One Time He Did Something Allegedly Spectacular for the hundredth time). I do not recall what he was saying, for as soon as the blessed event took place, all other sounds faded into insignificance. The birds ceased their song. The wind stilled. The waterfalls of Imladris hushed their eternal murmuring in solemn reverence.

There was only the startled squawk of the bird. 🕊️ The soft plop of justice being served. 💩 And the sheer, exquisite poetry of his expression.

He froze. I froze. The world, for one breathtaking moment, held its breath. 🌎

And then I laughed. Oh, how I laughed. I have not known such pure, undiluted joy since the Second Age. I laughed so hard that my very soul felt lighter, as though I had been granted a great gift from the Valar themselves. Tears streamed down my face; I clutched at a nearby column for support. My knees threatened betrayal, but I held firm, for I knew—I knew—that I had to witness this moment to its fullest extent.

Glorfindel, mighty among elves, balrog-slayer, golden terror of Rivendell, stood stricken. His glorious mane, his greatest pride, had been sullied. The light of Aman dimmed in his eyes as he beheld the small, righteous stain upon his head, and I? I wept with mirth.

He lifted a hand—trembling, disbelieving—to his hair. He wiped at it, looked at his fingers, and then, in a voice so betrayed one would think the bird had struck him through the heart, whispered:

“…That was deliberate.”

And perhaps it was.

Who am I to say what grievances the birds of Rivendell hold? Perhaps they, too, have suffered beneath his overwhelming presence. Perhaps this was a calculated strike, a long-awaited vengeance for every overly-loud tale of his past glories, every time he had laughed too boldly, shone too brightly, disrupted their peace.

Or perhaps the bird was simply having a good day.

Do you know how rare it is to witness such unfiltered karmic retribution? How seldom the universe aligns to deliver such perfect, poetic justice? I may write songs of this day. Ballads, even. Future generations shall hear of the time Glorfindel, the Mighty, the Undying, the Ever-Graceful, was bested by a creature no larger than my hand.

He, of course, did not find it amusing. Which only makes it funnier.

A good day, indeed. The birds have returned, the air is alive with their song, and my coffee is still warm. The Valar are kind.

[hateno-house]

Post-TotK | Rated E

The Demon Queen on AO3

Summary: It's been seven years since the Demon Dragon's defeat, and Hyrule has settled back into a quiet, thriving rhythm. Leaving an abandoned castle and empty throne, the Hero and the Princess have instead retired to Hateno Village's hillside, their legends just beginning to fade in local imagination. It's in this unassuming peace that an extinguished threat finds new life to rise and flourish, with its eternal ambitions fixed not only on the Crown, but the kingdom's reluctant Queen.

Torn apart by Ganondorf’s resurrected intent and his coup’s overwhelming victory, Link and Zelda are forced to confront the shadows they’ve left dormant, both within their shifting world and the darkest recesses of their hearts.

Today's Update: Chapter 3

Ganondorf stood from the velvet-tufted throne, and the stone crimson loftwing crest behind him gave the magnificent illusion of his already imposing breadth gaining a wingspan. He regarded the crowd in silence, relishing the heady anticipation that drew the air tight as a drum. “Princess Zelda,” he finally said, his voice rising up to the soaring rafters. “You and your people have done a magnificent job of bringing this castle back to its former glory. I especially love these fascinating trinkets you’ve dug up from across this ruinous land.” His right fist unfurled, revealing a gold crown dripping in expertly-set gems. The Dragon’s Helm, they’d called it. A gift she had received upon the christening of the new Hyrule Castle and the town, designed and crafted by Gerudo and Goron artisans to showcase the distinct beauty of the north and south. From there it had sat under thick glass in the Royal Library as visitors and schoolchildren passed in awe, awaiting a coronation that had yet to happen. “And yet, how curious to leave such treasures open for anyone to claim. I return from slumber to find the land I have coveted,” he mused, pivoting his palm for his glistening trophy to catch the most blinding light, “this place of potential and plenty, languishing in mediocrity, its greatness locked beneath glass, its bloodline stymied to the recesses of its peasantry, all but begging for dilution. A world which has everything and has still remained less.” One of his warriors swept in from the wings, plucking the crown from his grasp. He knelt just enough for her to place the jewels upon his thick red mane that settled as if an extension of his being; each made for the other. “Such a flourishing land deserves a rightful King.”

“As light breaks through shadow, as shadow eases away the light,” the crowning warrior proclaimed, “so shall the lands of Hyrule unite in faithfulness and service to the word and will of their King.” Words of anointment begrudgingly memorized by every grade-school student in all regions, a lesson hastily committed and then dissolved. Dislodged from meaning and consequence but for once in a generation. “In the name of the Goddess Hylia, under the eyes of Din and Nayru and Farore; Ganondorf Dragmire, may you accept this crown and all such rights and privileges as our undoubted King.”

For a moment she felt as if she were plunging underwater. That muffling in her ears, the dizzying panic as the truth pummeled against her.

He’s right. 

[an-unexpected-sideblog]

It is Perilous to Stir

“The Sea! Alas! I have not yet beheld it. But deep in the hearts of all my kindred lies the sea-longing, which it is perilous to stir. Alas! for the gulls. No peace shall I have again under beech or under elm.” - Legolas in The Return of the King, "The Last Debate"

A Bagginshield poem for @lisellelascelles <3

---------

When I was young, my mother said Home’s rolling hills were like the sea. I asked her what she meant by that, But no reply could settle me.

What words could ever quite describe The neverending swells of foam, The flat horizon blazing red, The longing ache for the unknown?

She tried to help me understand, At first with words, and then with paints, But rather humble grayish-blue Just emphasized her own constraints.

What drying colors could portray The sand that shifts in drifts and rows, The crashing waves that pull you in, The ways you’ve changed that no one knows?

[Read more below, or on AO3]

At last she set aside her brush, And canvas never looked more real, But mother sighed and murmured low, The sea is something you must feel.

Her painting done, my mother seemed To shed the weight of memory, But somehow I inherited Her quiet yearning for the sea.

For years I tried to use as wax, From paperwork to parties, all That hopefully would spare me from The far horizon’s siren call.

Until in swept a hurricane, Which threw me from my stable craft, Yet when I turned to look behind, I only saw a rotting raft.

Thus long before I traveled west, I washed the other way instead, Up to a mountain tall and proud And noble as the man who led.

Their kingdom was forthwith returned, And so I bade the rest farewell; Another journey called to me, Far past the place I used to dwell.

But ships cannot be sailed alone, And every captain needs a crew, And all my longing seemed to fade, When I made room on deck for two.

We crested over waves of earth, Above us wheeled the endless skies, And when the map ran out we found My mother’s art before our eyes.

The flat horizon blazing red, The sand that shifts in drifts and rows, The crashing waves that pull you in, The neverending swells of foam.

I thought the yearning ache would cease, The tempting song would soon relent. Yet longing still washed over me, And then I knew what mother meant.

For I have seen the boundless sea, In all its humble grayish-blue, And could describe it easily, But now my yearning is for you.

[salad-006]

Most Esteemed and Talented Artist Salad, I hope you're doing well. Allow me a moment to express my profound admiration for your work, which stands as a beacon of inspiration in my own humble artistic journey. Your inventiveness and boundless creativity are a constant delight, and I confess that this letter is penned with no small degree of dread, given the immense esteem in which I hold you.

It is with great reverence (and perhaps a touch of trembling courage) that I entreat your permission to embark upon a most joyous undertaking: a fandub of your splendid comic, Tally Hall vs. Evil Hall. My intent is to translate this delightful piece into the Spanish language, enlist the aid of my comrades in lending a voice to its characters, and share it with the world on the grand stage of Youtube.

Naturally, I would take utmost care to ensure that proper credit is given where it is most due. Your Tumblr, Twitter, and Youtube domains shall be heavily acknowledged within the description, and both at the commencement and conclusion of the video, thus directing all respect to your rightful domain.

I fervently hope that this request does not appear untoward or peculiar, for it stems solely from a deep appreciation for your craft and a wish to celebrate it in a manner that entertains and delights. Should you grant your blessing, I shall consider it the highest of honours.

Pray forgive the length of this letter; nervousness and enthusiasm have conspired to make me rather verbose. I eagerly await your response, and regardless of your decision, I remain ever a devoted admirer of your extraordinary work.

(Respectfully I am nervous to send you this ask, I tried to make it funny but I am as anxious as a chihuahua on the street/pos)

While i think itd be funny to just reply "no" , ill give you a legitimate answer

While I appreciate the respect and I'm glad you enjoy my work, I'll ask that you don't produce this dub. To put it simply, I don't want the comic to develop any larger of an audience. I'd like to let it fade into obscurity. If you were just looking for a yes or no, there. But if you want more of an explanation, continue reading.

When evil hall blew up, it put me in the spotlight pretty quick. I kinda became a bit of a celebrity within the Tally Hall fandom. And while it was cool initially, it pretty quickly became a bit of a burden. Multiple times I had people harassing me, borderline stalking me, I kept getting pulled into dramas, I had multiple friends turn out to be awful people, and generally I didn't enjoy just being "the evil hall guy." I didn't like being reduced to just my tally hall content. I also didn't like being set to this higher standard and treated like a celebrity. Not only did it create this weird barrier between me and my fans, but it also opened up a wave of people insulting me specifically just because I was the author of a popular thing.

I dont say this to try and garner sympathy, but rather just to help set the stage. In June I released a shitpost dub of the entire comic, and announced it would be the last thing Evil Hall I would do. Plain and simple, I no longer enjoyed working on the comic. What started as a passion project quickly became more of a burden, hense the indefinite hiatus (ironic) that happened after the last chapters finished by me. Infact I'd say those last few months were probably the most paranoid I've been.

With this in mind, I decided the only viable option was to just. Cut the rope. End Evil Hall, and quietly ask that the fandom respected my wishes in letting it fade into obscurity. Allowing it to continue existing would sort of leave me in this endless limbo, where I'd never truly be free from the comic. While I still get an occasional outlier, for the most part the fandom actually listened, which I am incredibly greatful for. I've been able to completely exit that bubble and return to an environment I'm much more comfortable in.

TLDR: Ive moved on from the comic and i really just want everyone else to as well, cause the tally hall fandom is hell

[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.

[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

[telleskyggene]

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 centre 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.