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yuurei20 · 13 hours ago

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Can you tell me about the teleportation magic? Does it need a potion, a huge magic reservoir? Are there any back lashes to it? Can anyone use it or there are conditions?

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! 🐊

Long post! Points below touch upon: ・What teleportation is in Twst ・Teleportation and limitations/pain ・Muti-person teleportation ・Telemancers ・Raverne

We might learn the most about teleportation magic in Twst from Baul:

He explains, "Teleportation magic works by converting the body--and mind, by extension--to aether, then reconstituting them at the destination. Such a process puts considerable strain on the sick and wounded."

This is why they were unable to teleport from the Citadel to Maleanor, as Lilia was too injured at the time to survive it.

There seems to be more risk to long-range teleportation than there is to short range, with even the injured Lilia managing teleportation from the outside of Maleanor's castle to the inside.

On EN Lilia says "Teleportation magic definitely hurts more when you're wounded" and I originally wrote so much about how interesting his use of "hurts more" is, implying that teleportation magic always causes some degree of pain that is exasperated when you are already hurt, but this is not true:

In the original game he simply says that teleportation magic hurts when you're wounded, not "hurts more," so it seems that it is usually a painless experience 📝

In addition to the backlash of using it when sick or wounded it seems that it is a dangerous option to take with things like unborn children, with Lilia's group having to physically walk from Maleanor's castle to Maleficia's due to teleportation putting egg-Malleus at too much risk.

At the time there was a bounty on the egg and they had to travel through territory flooded with enemies trying their best to kill them, and they still chose to struggle through rain and mountains while fighting for their lives at every turn as the safer option when compared to teleportation 📝

And another thing that came out of Book 7 was the teleporting of Sebek, Silver, Grim and the prefect!

So it seems that it might be possible to teleport mages that cannot teleport for themselves and even magicless people, although this was inside a dream where the rules of reality are not always followed very strictly.

It would maybe be best to wait until there is an in-game non-dream example of this happening, just to be safe, before calling it canonically possible!

While we do see Malleus instantly transport Silver in the real world, Malleus' limitations (or lack thereof) do not really apply to the average fae/mage, and this might not have been normal teleportation.

All the teleportation we have seen before/after this scene has included sparkling sounds and effects as is usually shown to represent the use of magic, but Malleus taking Silver with him to Diasomnia did not: it involved the green flames that seem to be unique to Malleus, and may have been a form of instantaneous transportation that only he can do rather than teleportation as we know it 📝

(Not guaranteed--it may have just been a more dramatic example of normal teleportation--nothing confirmed yet that I know of!)

The usual sparkling and sound effects are present for Malleus' transportation of the six other Housewardens to Diasomnia, including Idia in tablet form, implying that the magic did not interfere with their electronics.

And this may have been an example of "normal" teleportation? Except that Malleus says that he used it to link Diasomnia to the Mirror Chamber, so it was not focused so much on any particular individuals than it was two specific places, like a portal 📝

Is that normal for teleportation? Is it unique to Malleus? Curious~

It is also possible that Lilia/Baul themselves did not teleport the group in Book 7, but they were actually all teleported together via a third party: Telemancers.

After learning about the siege on Castle Wildrose Lilia calls for telemancers, with Baul ordering them to send everyone back except himself and those soldiers who were no longer standing.

And this asks so many questions:

・Do telemancers have to be fae? ・Does the existence of telemancers essentially prove that not all fae can teleport? Or is it just dangerous for multiple people to teleport to one location simultaneously, so telemancers are used in war so that soldiers do not get picked off by enemies in order of appearance? ・Can telemancers teleport themselves, or only others? ・If telemancers were who transported Lilia's group to Castle Wildrose, does that mean that teleporting others is something that most mages and/or fae cannot do? Is Malleus a special case? Would Lilia have been capable of doing so if he hadn't been injured at the time? ・Do telemancers do what Malleus did with the teleportation spell and connect two locations rather than focusing on who specifically is being transported, or are they only sending select individuals?

And the telemancer-teleportation from the Citadel is proven to be successful, which asks: why didn't they teleport to the Citadel in the first place?

There is the issue of mages disappearing when they tried to magically relocate to the Citadel before, but it seems that Raverne wasn't using teleportation when he disappeared--he was using flight magic!

If the problem with teleporting to the Citadel wasn't that people kept disappearing, then why didn't they--unless maybe teleportation does not work if it isn't to somewhere you have already been to before?

This hasn't been stated outright in the game (that I have been able to find), but it is another potential limitation to teleportation :>

I am not sure about the conditions of teleportation, if it is something that non-fae magic users are capable of at all, or if maybe it is limited to only exceptionally strong fae?

Sebek has a line where it sounds like he is impressed by Lilia's ability to teleport--are Malleus and Lilia the only fae he knows of who are capable of doing so? But this is all conjecture at this time :>

In Summary: ・I have not been able to find any reference to potions that make it possible to teleport ・There are backlashes to teleportation for the wounded, and it is considered too dangerous for the sick and unborn. ・As of this post I believe Malleus, Lilia and telemancers are maybe the only people we have seen capable of teleportation magic? This does not mean that they are definitively the only people in the universe capable of doing so, but if there is anyone else who can do it then they are keeping it to themselves 👀

#twstask #twisted wonderland

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actinidiafruit · 2 days ago

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Okay so i just recently watched the lighthouse again and a lot of things are becoming more clear to me.

Contains spoilers so uh, if you haven't watched (pls do), then don't read.

There's so many things to talk about and this post will probably come across as a crazy man's ramblings, but so be it.

Tom's role is interesting to say the least. Like, at first you kinda just think that he's being a dick for the sake of being a dick and he's just doing that classic old man shit. But then you get these little glimpses.

This is just my interpretation, but the way he mentions how his former second went crazy and was hallucinating mermaids and shit. It kinds plants the seeds into (for the sake of clarity I'll just call him Winslow) Winslow's head. And during their sober run together (before the bird + storm incidents), they're acting relatively normal. Of course Tom gives Winslow a hard time, but that's just him being Tom. Abusing his power as the elder a bit. But the way he morphs in the later half of the movie (especially now that they're both abusing alcohol). You see his intentions more clearly. The way he gaslights Winslow, tries to turn things on him, the way he wrote bad things about him in the log book(?). He's a mean old guy. But why? I still can't figure out why he's done this. Why he killed his former second (which he totally did, even if he didn't spill his beans about it). Is he protective of the light? Is that it? God knows.

And te way the mermaid is presented is... it makes you think. In my first two watches, I didn't understand why or why. But I think now it's a symbol for Winslow's sexuality (at least in some scenes). The way he'd use the charm in the shed. The way he had that hallucination on the rocks. The time he caught Tom having a private moment in the lighthouse and then hallucinated tentacles. Towards the end, when he's beating Tom on the floor and Winslow hallucinates him turning into some sort of sea king type creature.

Of course something must've happened between the two. That one scene where they're drunkenly holding each other, swaying, then go to kiss before breaking out into a fight. The whole master/dog thing. There's a lot of Winslow reflected in Tom. And of course he'd eventually spill his beans, want to be intimate, etc. They've been alone together for god knows how long. It's a very human thing to want to reach out and connect.

It's just so indicative of the human condition and the way that we connect. I feel like I need to watch this movie another 20 times before I fully get it, but my eyes were opened to quite a bit.

And the scene where Winslow looks into the light and laughs/screams. It gives me this sense of triumph (he finally got to see the Forbidden thing!) but also bittersweet. The laughter is triump, the bittersweet screaming is Winslow coming to grips with the fact that it's just a light. There was no point to why Tom guarded it like he did. It's like Winslow finally realises that he let himself be led to madness by some old, lying idiot and can't help but scream at his foolishness. The pointlessness of it all. And maybe that's why he lets himself fall down the stairs and ultimately die. His sins cannot be undone (done-bun can't be undone), so therefore he rots, being eaten by the very things that kickstarted his whole downfall.

Finally, just ugh. The cinematography. The unreliable narrator aspect. The way it's so open ended to interpretation. This movie has so much to give, I just wish my friends liked it even a little lol.

updated this list btw

RULES:

at least one of the pair MUST be over 50

20 year MINIMUM age gap OR they BOTH have to be over 50

has to be conceivably reciprocal (s.exually, no necessarily romantically)

#the lighthouse #ephraim winslow #thomas wake #thomas howard #discussing my thoughts on this

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miwiheroes · 2 days ago

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Dropping Byler Evidence Every Day Until Season 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Day 19: Colourgate is Undoubtedly Real . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

I think we don't often see 'gates' as real proof because they are based on pure speculation and some little pieces of evidence originally, but this theory (aka the Blue meets Yellow in the West theory) is literally true. Like without a doubt in my mind, this theory is completely canon, and it was the writers' intention to make it canon from when they coined that phrase. Either that, or they decided to latch onto a fan theory for some reason which I highly doubt.

I am only going to look at colourgate stuff from S3 onwards, because this is when the theory was written. I don't think they've had this particular theory planned from S1, and this can be seen in how little blue or yellow Mike and Will wear or are associated with (but you never know). Season 4 is obviously the richest of all the seasons for this theory, because it is literally where the theory gets canonised.

I don't think people understand that Byler becoming endgame in season 5 isn't the only thing that can prove this theory correct. I think that in season 4, this theory became canon for so so many reasons, although there were hints of it in S3 (because that is when it started).

And this obviously proves that Byler is endgame (duh) because why would they spend this much effort on foreshadowing and placing clues in for a couple that isn't going to end up together??

Starting from the beginning , from the ROOTS:

So it all really started with the Russian code that Robin cracks in S3, and we find out that this means when the two hands meet at the 9 on the clock. The full code is:

“The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. A trip to china sounds nice if you tread lightly.”

To me, the fact that the writers stated this is a code has to mean that it is also a code and a little hint for the viewers as to what will happen next in season 4. To me, I believe this code is literally true and the writers fully intended to foreshadow S4 plot points with this.

"The week is long." -- This means spring break. All the events that happen in S4 happen over the course of Spring Break, and it seems long because of all the things that happen.

"The silver cat feeds" -- This means Vecna. Vecna is 'feeding' off of people's trauma in S4 which gives him the energy to create 4 gates. And this occurs exactly when:

"when blue meets yellow in the West." -- This means when Mike meets up with Will in California. Blue has been associated with Mike and Yellow has been associated with Will in S4 mostly but blue was already Mike's colour anyway, before S4. Also, California is literally the westest of west coasts.

"A trip to China sounds nice if you treat lightly." -- This means a trip to the Upside Down. The teens in S4 went into the upside down and it was established by them that they needed to not step on the vines because it's a hive mind and would alert Vecna.

SOOOOOO Yeah this literally perfectly foreshadows the events of S4, but there are still people out there that believe that blue and yellow do not mean Mike and Will and could actually mean El and Mike (a reach but i have to acknowledge it).

But, in Season 4, I think that they easily canonise the phrase "blue meets yellow" with this simple shot.

Not only are the lights perfectly placed above their respective heads, but El is in the middle of the two, and this cannot be a coincidence. The lights are extremely colourful and this type of coloured lighting is also often edited in post, meaning the editors and the directors and set designers would have all had to agree on the colours of the lights and had it be an important thing. If anyone calls this a coincidence or not related to the S3 code, I am simply baffled.

It is also confirmed that when they hired this roller rink for the show, they actually built in NEW LIGHTS for the scene, meaning they specifically placed blue and yellow lights around the rink for this specific stuff.

When the camera pans down, the lights literally go:

all yellow leading up to Mike and all blue leading up to Will -> a singular yellow one over Will and a singular blue over Mike.

This was done in order to emphasise which colours are theirs specifically, because the camera stopped on the right ones.

To be honest, this ALONE would have made the theory true. But there's still so so much more proof anyway...

Obviously, there are the outfits.

I could talk about a lot of different outfits, but I think the most relevant ones to note are the ones from S3 and S4, because they're the ones most likely associated with the theory.

The clearest ones to me are these two outfit combos that COMPLEMENT each other. The complementary outfit pairings are enough by themselves, but the fact they are complementary to blue and yellow prove this theory pertains to Mike and Will. The reason why costume designers put couples in matching costumes is so that the audience subconsciously starts viewing them as a pair that makes sense together. That not only complement each other's styles, but complement each other as a whole.

Other outfits with these colours come from S3 and (i know I said I wouldn't talk about this but) S2, where they may have gotten some idea.

Although, it is interesting that here, Mike and Will are wearing their opposite colours in S3. This is the season where they have the most disconnect and have their fun (ahhh) breakup arc, although the writers could have simply revised the colour coding for S4.

Now let's talk about Lighting:

In this youtube video by the Duffers, they explicitly state that thought goes into the lighting in the show. This should really go without saying, though. Thought should get put into lighting in ANY form of professional filmmaking in order to imply different meanings to a scene. It completely transforms any scene.

Blue and yellow lighting is used in Byler scenes to further emphasise the canon-ness of the code from S3.

These lights have been purposefully built into this set, and were not there in the rink before the set designers had their way with it. Also these lights can be seen many times during the Rink o Mania scene, from different angles. Not only that but their faces are illuminated in blue and yellow lighting (each half of their faces) See below:

And then there is THIS SHOT. (below) I already love love love this shot so much it gives me butterflies ahhh -- not only because it's so intimate but because it is so beautifully colour matched. The directors and editors made sure that Mike and Will's outfits and the lighting of the scenery around them literally matched. Just to create this beautiful image oh my lawd....

Is that still not enough proof for you yet? Well there's MORE!

Their bedrooms are blue and yellow:

Their Netflix icons??? From S3: (and the fact that this is where the theory was conceptualised, meaning they were really trying to show you that it was hinting at something here)

If this has no connection to the code in season 3, these colour associations are still very very much proof. Associating two colours with two characters very heavily implies that they have a connection that will pan out tbh.

A possible argument is that this may not relate to the code -- maybe the writers just forgot they did that and this is all a coincidence and has no relation to Byler.

Well, this is all so relevant in my opinion, thanks to Finn letting us allllll know that he very much remembers this part of the code specifically (he was asked about the whole code and got like, loads of other questions wrong).

I get so confused when I see people saying that this is a fucking REACH and that we shouldn't use it as evidence. Like,,,, this is probably one of the most comprehensive sets of evidence ever. The only think holding it back is the fact that people just refuse to see these as anything but mere coincidences??? That's insane of you if you think that tbh.

So what does this all mean for Byler Endgame?: This amount of thought and care simply does not go into foreshadowing a couple like this who do not then go onto become endgame. I can't imagine doing all this effort then letting Mike stay with the person who he has not been colour matched with in a literal CODE spanning two seasons. Season 4 definitely canonised this theory, and I think that's why in Season 5, Mike and Will do not wear as much blue or yellow. Season 4 was the thing being foreshadowed in Season 3, not the whole end of the show. The reason I think this code implies byler endgame is simply because this much effort does not get put in for any of the canon couples either like???

#byler #byler nation #mike wheeler #will byers #byler endgame #stranger things #byler evidence #byler proof #miwiheroes daily byler

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gatitties · 3 days ago

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Zoro x reader with reader unable to feel pain since birth and suffers from haemophilia or a blood clotting disorder which causes heavy bleeding / haemorrhage even with the smallest cuts. But since reader doesnt feel pain, she doesnt notice the bleeding and thought she's just tired so she went to her room for a nap but actually ended up passing out on her bed. When Zoro thought he hasnt seen you for some time, goes to your room to check and is horrified to see pale reader and your sheets soaked in blood. Tried to see where the bleeding is from but cannot see a wound consistent with the bleeding, but notices a medium sized cut in your hand, though not heavy, this continues to bleed and doesnt show any signs of stopping even when he tried applying pressure in it. Panic settling in, he calls the crew for help. You can make it either angst or hurt/comfort, i'll let ypu decide ^^

─Zoro x reader

─Summary: Some advantages are also weaknesses, but above all a great concern for Zoro.

─Warnings: blood

"One last stretch and you can go rest"

Zoro warned you as your muscles flexed to strengthen your muscles and strength, ever since you decided to take the path of being a pirate with a bounty on your head, you thought that daily training would keep you fit enough so that the marines wouldn't give you too many headaches. Due to a disease you were born with, you are unable to feel pain, which is a great advantage in a fight but a disadvantage, not feeling anything will give you the drive to continue fighting without your brain registering the pain, but your body has its own limit even if you don't feel it physically. For that reason you asked Zoro for help with your training, since he did it himself, he checked that you didn't overexert yourself until your body started to fail.

"That's all for today, good job, you should take a shower and rest."

"Thanks, what's tomorrow?"

"Lower body" he smiled ghostly when he saw your annoyed face, he knew that training legs was not one of your favorite things but it was necessary "see you at dinner"

You said goodbye vaguely with a gesture, heeding his words, you took a long and well-deserved hot shower, although you didn't feel it, you knew that your muscles relax under the drops of water and it makes you sigh, the warm sensation relaxes you to the point of almost falling asleep, if it weren't for Nami wanting to come in, you could have fainted right there. You staggered a little trying to get to your room, thinking that your eyelids felt heavy due to the tiredness of training, as well as the slight feeling of dizziness, you didn't bother to adjust yourself, your body collapsed against the mattress and you immediately stopped being conscious.

The afternoon continued quietly like any other, Nami was mapping, Chopper was sorting out medical supplies, Brook was practicing some sheet music, Robin was reading while sunbathing, Sanji was cooking dinner… everyone gathered together once he finished today’s dish, but you didn’t show up at the time you usually did, Luffy was getting impatient because Sanji wasn’t going to let him eat unless everyone was at the table, so he sent Zoro to find you.

"Hey, dinner’s ready idiot, what’s taking you so long? I told you to rest, not hibernate."

He knocked on the door a couple of times with his knuckles, waiting a couple of seconds to knock again, not knowing that something more than impatience was making its way through his senses, he carelessly opened the door, horrified by the scene before his eyes, your body lay on your bed barely hanging on, ─you had been slowly sliding to the floor since you fell asleep─ your sheets were completely soaked in blood, your own blood staining the whole place as if someone had made a massacre right there.

"Fuck-"

He hurried to turn you around, your face was pale due to the loss of blood, his mind was going so fast that he didn't think about telling anyone at that moment, he needed to find where the bleeding was coming from and try to stop it, but his efforts were null, there wasn't any bruise, there wasn't any big cut on your body, it seemed as if you had simply decided to expel blood everywhere. He began to sweat as he noticed your labored breathing, overcoming the initial shock he screamed for help at the top of his lungs as he continued to investigate the cause of this strange event.

"Oh my God! What happened!? There's no time, quick, go to the medical room!"

He immediately carried your body, heeding the orders that Chopper barked with concern, the rest of the team followed them closely observing your condition with concern. Chopper did his job but he was also unable to find the reason for your problems, it was not until, when you entered a more stable state due to the blood transfusion that Zoro took your hand, he felt the crimson liquid stain his palm.

"Chopper, get a couple of bandages."

A small cut on your hand caused all that disaster, but once they found and fixed the problem, they allowed themselves to rest, at least the doctor and the others, continued with dinner as planned, Zoro however preferred to stay by your side in case you woke up, you always scared him to death with this kind of things, it's not the first nor the last time it will happen to you and he will never stop being worried enough about you, you are not helping him cope with his feelings and one day you will give him a heart attack if you keep going like this.

#op #one piece #one piece x reader #zoro x reader #reader insert #request #strawhats #strawhats x reader #sfw #zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader

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kiesbrainjuice · 22 hours ago

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— AFTERPARTY ! tooru oikawa

➥ pr : timeskip!oikawa x famous!fem!reader

➥ syn : waking up with a famous model in your bed after a afterparty you didn’t remember ? hell nah

➥ wc : 3.2k

➥ tw : drunk sex (no description of sex lol), suggestive talks, make out session at the end, fluffy morning, kind of a oneshot??

➥ a/n : new baby : tooru. but the matter is that I love tooru from s4 only (like the mini moment) because he is prettier in the art of the s4 (like all haikyuu characters lmao)

The bright morning light streaming through the slats of the blinds was enough to make Oikawa Tooru groan as he stirred in bed, his head pounding mercilessly. He squinted against the intrusive glow, and his hand instinctively came up to rub at his temple.

How much did I drink last night?

The pounding headache was relentless, accompanied by a haze of fragmented memories from the night before. He remembered the match—Argentina against Japan. He’d played well, as expected. The crowd had been electric, the cheers still echoing faintly in his ears. After that? The after-party. It had been a lavish celebration, as it always was when his team won a match.

He groaned again, this time shifting slightly to sit up. Something felt off. The sheets bunched uncomfortably low around his waist, and… there was a distinct chill against his skin. All of his skin. That’s when it hit him. He wasn’t wearing any clothes.

Oikawa blinked once, then twice, as the realization settled like a heavy weight in his chest. Slowly, he turned his head to the side, his stomach twisting with dread.

His breath caught in his throat.

There, lying tangled in his expensive silk sheets, was someone else. A woman. Naked.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him. Long hair spilled over his pillow, framing a face that could only be described as breathtaking. Even in sleep, she radiated elegance and beauty, her features far too familiar to him.

He blinked again, harder this time, hoping he was hallucinating. But no, it was her. You. The internationally famous model. The model who had attended the match last night, who had drawn attention from everyone in the room, including him.

“The fuck did I do?” Oikawa whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, willing his brain to recall more of the night. Images flashed in his mind—brief but damning. He remembered you laughing, your hand brushing his as you leaned in closer. He remembered drinking, and then drinking more, the two of you at the center of the party. Dancing. Your hand in his. The way you’d looked at him, eyes sparkling with mischief and something more.

And then… nothing. A black hole of memory.

His heart raced as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful not to jostle you awake. His bare feet touched the cold floor, grounding him slightly as panic set in. He ran a hand through his tousled brown hair, muttering under his breath, “This cannot be happening. What the hell did I do?”

He stood up, wincing as the pounding in his head intensified. The sleek, modern apartment he called home suddenly felt far too small, the walls closing in as he scrambled to piece together what had happened. His mind raced with questions.

Did we…? He glanced back at you, your bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheets. The answer was obvious.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered, louder this time. His hands tugged at his hair in frustration. What was supposed to be a simple celebration had somehow spiraled into this.

Oikawa moved quickly, grabbing his boxers and pulling them on with a sense of urgency. He needed to think, to figure out how to handle this before you woke up. The last thing he wanted was for the world to find out that Tooru Oikawa, Argentina’s star setter and public heartthrob, had spent the night with one of the most famous women on the planet—and couldn’t even remember how it happened.

As he reached for his sweatpants, he stole another glance at you. You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent as you shifted beneath the covers. He froze, his heart leaping into his throat. But you didn’t wake.

He let out a shaky breath. Figure this out. Damage control. His thoughts were a mess, his usual confidence nowhere to be found.

All he knew was that this was a disaster waiting to happen, and he had no idea how to fix it.

The sound of running water filled the silence of the apartment as Oikawa leaned against the counter in his sleek, minimalist kitchen. A glass of cold water sat on the marble countertop next to a packet of painkillers, a necessary remedy for the throbbing in his head. His thoughts were still scattered, the events of the night before refusing to organize themselves into a coherent narrative.

How do I get through this without making things worse? He sighed, rubbing his temples.

But just as he was about to pop the medication into his mouth, a small cry from the bedroom jolted him upright.

“Ah!”

This was followed by a loud thud.

Oikawa’s eyes widened in alarm, and without a second thought, he abandoned the glass and rushed toward the sound.

Pushing open the bedroom door, he found you on the floor, tangled in a heap of silk sheets. You were rubbing your temple with one hand, clearly disoriented, while the other hand clutched the fabric tightly to your chest in an effort to cover yourself.

“Are you okay?!” Oikawa asked, rushing toward you but stopping a few steps away, suddenly unsure of how to proceed.

You blinked up at him, your expression a mix of confusion and discomfort. “What the…?” Your voice was hoarse, your gaze darting around the room. It didn’t take long for your eyes to land on him—dressed now in sweatpants and nothing on the torso, his hair still messy from sleep.

Your eyes locked. For a moment, neither of you said a word, the silence charged with unspoken questions.

Oikawa broke the stare first, clearing his throat awkwardly and running a hand through his hair. “Uh, you fell. Are you—are you hurt?”

You shook your head slowly, your fingers still pressing into your temple. “No, just… dizzy. My head is killing me.” Your voice carried a groggy edge as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. “Where am I?”

“My apartment,” he said quickly, before realizing how bad that sounded. “I mean, um, last night… we… Uh…” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, his face flushing slightly.

Your brows furrowed as you pulled the sheets tighter around yourself. “Last night?”

“Yeah…” He scratched the back of his neck, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. “It’s… complicated.”

You groaned softly, closing your eyes and leaning back against the bed. “Of course it is.”

Oikawa hesitated for a moment before walking over to his closet. “Uh, here,” he said, pulling out a neatly folded sweatshirt. He handed them to you, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. “You can wear these for now. I, uh, couldn’t find your dress.”

You glanced at the clothes and then back at him, one brow arching slightly. “You ‘couldn’t find’ my dress? Or did you not want to look too hard for it?”

“Hey!” he protested, holding up his hands defensively. “I swear I looked!”

You let out a soft laugh, your voice laced with amusement despite your pounding headache. “Relax, setter boy. I’m teasing.”

“Setter boy?” He blinked, surprised you recognized him despite the chaos.

You smirked faintly, accepting the clothes. “You’re Oikawa Tooru. Star setter for Argentina. Kind of hard not to know who you are.”

“Ah, well, I guess I’m famous.” He flashed a small grin despite himself, but it quickly faded when he remembered the situation. “Anyway, uh… you can change in the bathroom if you want.”

Once you were dressed in his oversized sweatshirt—which practically swallowed you—you emerged from the bathroom and followed Oikawa into the kitchen.

He gestured toward one of the high stools at the counter. “Here. Sit. I’ll get you some water and something for your head.”

You slid onto the stool, glancing around the apartment as the golden morning light poured in through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The view was stunning, showcasing the bustling streets of Buenos Aires far below.

“You’ve got a nice place,” you commented, your voice light.

“Thanks,” Oikawa replied, handing you the glass of water and the painkillers. “Volleyball pays well when you’re good at it.” He gave you a playful smirk.

“Modest, aren’t you?” you teased, taking the pills and downing them with a sip of water.

“Only when it counts.”

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm, the initial awkwardness melting away as you both talked. You shared fragments of last night—how you’d ended up at the match, your thoughts on the game, and your blurry memories of the after-party. Oikawa admitted he didn’t remember much either, earning a laugh from you when he sheepishly confessed to drinking far too much.

“So let me get this straight,” you said, resting your chin on your hand as you gazed at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “You invited me to the after-party, we drank way too much, and now we’re here—me in your clothes, with no idea what happened in between?”

“Pretty much,” Oikawa replied, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “I swear this isn’t how I usually spend my mornings.”

“Sure it isn’t,” you teased, your smile widening.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re awfully confident for someone who woke up in a stranger’s bed.”

“Well,” you said, leaning forward slightly, “when the stranger is as charming as you, it’s hard to complain.”

Oikawa froze for half a second, caught off guard by your boldness. His ears turned red, and he quickly looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Charming, huh? You must still be half-asleep.”

You laughed softly, enjoying how flustered he was. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just fun to mess with.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but there was a faint smile on his lips. “Drink your water before you pass out again.”

The golden light bathed the two of you as the conversation continued, the tension from earlier replaced by a surprising sense of comfort.

Oikawa leaned back against the counter, watching you sip the water he’d given you. He tapped his fingers absently on the marble surface, his thoughts still a little scattered, though the easy rhythm of your conversation was helping ground him.

“So,” he started, after a brief pause. “You’re a model. Internationally famous, apparently.”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “What gave it away? The fact that half your team was trying to talk to me last night?”

Oikawa rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Not my fault you showed up looking like…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely in your direction. “…that.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was,” he admitted with a small smile. Then, as if a lightbulb went off in his head, he straightened. “Wait, do you like matcha?”

The sudden change of topic caught you off guard, but you nodded. “Yeah, I love matcha. Why?”

“Perfect.” Oikawa pushed away from the counter, opening a cabinet and rummaging through its contents. “I think I have some matcha powder lying around. Someone on the team gave it to me because they thought I’d like it, but I’ve never actually bothered to make it.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You don’t know how to make matcha?”

“Is that so weird?” he asked, glancing at you with mock offense.

“Yes!” you said, laughing. “It’s not hard at all. How do you not know how to make it?”

“Look, I’ve got plenty of other talents,” he retorted, pulling out a small tin of matcha powder. “But making fancy drinks isn’t one of them. Think you can handle teaching me, Miss ‘International Model Who Knows Everything’?”

You rolled your eyes, standing up and walking over to join him at the counter. “Fine. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Oikawa stepped aside, giving you room as you inspected the tin and found the necessary tools. He watched you intently, leaning slightly against the counter as you explained each step.

“First, you need a small bowl,” you said, grabbing one from a nearby cabinet. “Then you put a teaspoon of matcha powder in it, like this.”

You demonstrated, your movements confident and precise. Oikawa’s eyes lingered on you as you worked, taking note of how focused you looked.

“Next,” you continued, “you add a little bit of hot water. Not boiling, though—it’ll ruin the flavor.”

As you poured the water, he leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. “Okay, what’s next?”

“Now we whisk,” you said, grabbing a small bamboo whisk. You turned to him, holding it up. “You do have one of these, right?”

Oikawa blinked at the whisk, then at you. “I mean… I guess I do?”

You laughed. “Unbelievable. Anyway, you whisk it like this.” You began whisking the mixture in quick, precise motions, creating a frothy layer on top.

Oikawa leaned closer, peering over your shoulder. “You make it look easy.”

“It is easy,” you teased, glancing at him. The proximity between the two of you was suddenly very apparent—his face was only inches from yours, his warm brown eyes locked on the bowl. Your breath hitched slightly, but you forced yourself to focus.

“Here, you try,” you said, handing him the whisk.

Oikawa took it, his fingers brushing yours briefly. He hesitated for a moment, then tried to mimic your movements.

“No, no,” you said, laughing as you reached out to guide his hand. “Like this. You need to whisk in an ‘M’ or ‘W’ motion, not just stir in circles.”

Your hands covered his as you corrected his movements, and the closeness left you both a little breathless. Oikawa cleared his throat, his cheeks warming slightly.

“See?” you said softly, glancing up at him. “Not so hard.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, looking away to hide his growing embarrassment.

Once the matcha was ready, you poured it into two mugs and handed one to him. “Alright, moment of truth. Try it.”

Oikawa hesitated, eyeing the vibrant green liquid. “It smells… earthy.”

“Just drink it,” you said, rolling your eyes.

He took a sip, his expression instantly shifting from curiosity to regret. “Oh. Oh no.”

You burst out laughing, nearly spilling your drink. “You hate it?”

“It tastes like grass!” he exclaimed, setting the mug down and sticking out his tongue dramatically. “How do people drink this stuff?”

“Not everyone has the palate of a five-year-old,” you teased, still laughing. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“Well, I’m not acquiring it anytime soon,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

You smiled, leaning against the counter. “At least you tried. That’s something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Next time, I’m teaching you something. Something that doesn’t taste like… whatever that was.”

“Deal,” you said, raising your mug in a mock toast. “But I’m still counting this as a win.”

The playful banter between the two of you continued as you lingered in the kitchen, the golden morning light washing over the space and reflecting off the sleek countertops. Oikawa leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, shaking his head as he watched you sip your matcha with an expression of triumph.

“You’re way too smug about this,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Well, someone has to be,” you teased, taking another sip and setting the mug down. “I mean, you’re the one who didn’t even know how to whisk properly. That’s basic stuff, setter boy.”

Oikawa let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes. “I’m a volleyball player, not a barista. Cut me some slack, Miss Perfect.”

“Perfect?” you repeated with a smirk. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant to be—” he started, but stopped when he saw your grin widen. He huffed. “Fine, it was a compliment. Don’t let it go to your head.”

You laughed, stepping closer to him as you leaned against the counter. “Too late.”

Oikawa shook his head in mock exasperation but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. The conversation felt effortless, the awkwardness from earlier replaced by a surprising sense of comfort.

As the laughter died down, you reached for the mug of matcha again, only for your fingers to brush against his. Oikawa had moved at the same time, intending to push the mug further aside, and the sudden contact startled both of you.

“Ah—sorry,” you said, pulling your hand back.

“No, it’s fine,” Oikawa replied, his voice quieter now.

You both froze, the playful atmosphere shifting into something else entirely. You were suddenly acutely aware of how close you were—close enough to see the golden light catch the warm brown in his eyes, close enough to feel the faint heat radiating from him.

Neither of you moved, and neither of you spoke. The air between you felt heavy, charged with an unspoken tension.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first—maybe it was him, maybe it was you—but the distance between your faces vanished in an instant. Before you could second-guess it, your lips brushed against his, soft and tentative.

Oikawa stiffened for a fraction of a second, clearly caught off guard, but then his body relaxed, and he leaned in further, pressing his lips more firmly to yours.

The kiss was hesitant at first, like neither of you could quite believe it was happening. But as the seconds passed, it deepened, the tentative nature giving way to something more passionate. His hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your head slightly to deepen the angle.

Your fingers curled into the muscles of his toned torso, pulling him closer as his lips moved against yours. His other hand found your waist, the touch gentle but firm as he pulled you flush against him. The heat between you was undeniable now, your breaths mingling as the kiss grew more heated, more desperate.

Your back pressed against the counter as Oikawa crowded closer, one hand braced against the marble to steady himself. The other remained on your waist, his fingers curling slightly as if he were afraid you might pull away.

But you didn’t. If anything, you leaned into him more, your hands moving to tangle in his hair. He let out a soft, almost surprised sound against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening in response.

Time seemed to blur as the kiss turned into a full-blown makeout session, the golden morning light casting everything in a dreamlike glow. The taste of matcha lingered faintly on your lips, but it was quickly forgotten as Oikawa consumed your attention entirely.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath.

“Well,” you murmured, your voice slightly breathless, “that… wasn’t in the plan.”

Oikawa let out a soft laugh, his lips curling into a small, lopsided grin. “Yeah, definitely not.”

He kisses you again.

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his. “But you’re not complaining, are you?”

“Not at all,” he admitted, his voice low and warm. “In fact, I think I could get *kiss* used to this.”

Your lips quirked up into a playful smile. “Careful, setter boy. You’re starting to sound smitten.”

“Maybe I am,” he replied, surprising even himself with his honesty.

The golden light continued to spill into the room as the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence, the rest of the world forgotten for the moment.

tag : @haechansbbg

#⋆⋰☄︎ kie’s writes #haikyu fluff #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x you #hq fluff #haikyu smut #hq x reader #haikyuu angst #hq tooru #hq oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa fluff #oikawa torū #torū x reader

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anne-bsd-bibliophile · 2 days ago

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Devils in Daylight by Tanizaki Jun'ichirō

"Recently I have somehow lost interest in an ordinary life, and am no longer at home in my own skin. I have begun to feel that without some bizarre stimulus I cannot go on living."

"There are few things more insufferable than an overeducated lunatic trying to impress an ignoramus."

"Yes, it is true that, on the basis of her style and her taste in clothing, she would appear to be a geisha. The face too, I grant you, is the type of face one often sees on picture postcards of geisha. But did you not notice the strange expression hovering around those thick eyelashes — that frightful expression of cruelty and strength like that of a wild animal? What did you think of the cold cruelty of her lips, the bottomless cunning inscribed in the lines and colors of her face, somehow tinged at the same time with the melancholic luster of regret? Could there ever be a geisha with a beauty as sick as that? There are no doubt any number of women whose features would rival hers. But what geisha's beauty has a depth like that?"

"The more I thought about it, the more the whole affair seemed mysterious, as if some phantoms were at work. And yet even for a mystery it was too mysterious; and the lights were too bright for phantoms."

"A cruel murderer . . . yes, that's right. And she is also a beautiful sorceress. And yet to me her wickedness seems somehow abstract. It is completely eclipsed by her beauty. As I recall the scene from last night, all I can think of is what a tremendously beautiful monster she is, so ravishing — as to seem otherworldly. . . . She is a heroine ripped from the pages of a detective novel, a devil incarnate; a demon who has long been nesting in the fantasy world inside my head. She is the fantasy I have longed for, now manifested in the real world and come to comfort me in my loneliness."

"It's beautiful because it's frightening, silly! Don't they say that demons are just as beautiful as gods?"

#tanizaki jun'ichirō #japanese literature #quotes #book recomendations #book recs

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ssamaraxx · 2 days ago

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“That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.” : Why the Possibility of a Sexual Relationship Between Bellatrix and Voldemort Cannot Be Ignored

This has already been highlighted by other Bellamort fans, such as @keepmycandleburning, but I wanted to do a quick close reading of this specific passage. I will demonstrate how the passage below is one of the clues in the books that the nature of the relationship between Bellatrix and Voldemort is sexual.

“My Lord,” said a dark woman halfway down the table, her voice constricted with emotion, “it is an honour to have you here, in our family’s house. There can be no higher pleasure.” She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanour; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned toward Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness. “No higher pleasure,” repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bellatrix. “That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.”

The sentence can be interpreted on two levels. The first is a reference to Bellatrix’s devotion and how she is a loyal servant whose fervour sets her apart from the others. This interpretation fits perfectly with the primary target audience of the books: children. The second level has sexual connotations that an informed adult can detect.

Immediately before Voldemort’s line, the narrator introduces Bellatrix, concluding the paragraph with: “for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness.” The lexical field here—“longing,” “closeness,” “pleasure,” “leaned toward”—encourages the reader to consider the nature of the relationship between Bellatrix and Voldemort from a sensual, even sexual, perspective.

Voldemort’s repetition of “no higher pleasure” confirms the sexual undertone. The narrator reinforces the reader’s hypothesis. Through the phrase, “that means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you,” we can imagine a complex history between the two characters—a history that allows Voldemort to measure the degrees of pleasure Bellatrix can experience. Her pleasure is more or less intense (“no higher”), depending on the context. The parallel, in a context where a sexual innuendo is undeniable, leads us to consider an analogy with orgasm.

Moreover, in her line, Bellatrix speaks of honour (“it is an honour to see you there”) and pleasure (“there can be no higher pleasure”), but Voldemort only echoes the idea of pleasure, repeating it and adding that “that means a great deal.” He observes her for a moment, tilting his head slightly. Like his follower, his body language moves toward her, showing that he places her above the others, despite her sitting in the middle of the table.

Bellatrix’s name, set apart by commas, also helps to distinguish her. Of course, this emphasis serves as a prelude to her next humiliation, setting up the impact of the ironic and mocking remark he reserves for her shortly after, about Tonks and her marriage to Lupin. It is almost like a game for him—a sort of sexual prelude.

In this excerpt, Voldemort has already provoked and humiliated the Malfoys, as this interaction follows the famous scene where Voldemort mocks Lucius, notably comparing the size of their wands. It is Voldemort who imposes these sexual connotations. After Lucius, he turns to Bellatrix, but this time the remark is not intended to assert his dominance over her in a masculinist and virile way, as he does with Lucius. No, this time he refers to Bellatrix’s sensual, orgasmic nature.

In the chapter, Bellatrix is also described as: “her voice constricted with emotion,” “her face flooded with colour,” “her eyes welled with tears of delight,” “her lips parted,” “an ugly, blotchy red,” and “breathless and imploring.” The lexical field describing Bellatrix presents her as breathless, blending suffering and pleasure, flushed from the effort, and imploring. This echoes a sexual act—with probable BDSM undertones—where Voldemort enjoys constraining, humiliating, giving pleasure, and then inflicting pain.

However, unlike with Lucius, Voldemort makes a gesture toward Bellatrix to soften the tone and immediately reprimands his Death Eaters when they openly mock her.

“Enough,” said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake. “Enough.” And the laughter died at once. “Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time,” he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring, “You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest.”

He further soothes the situation by using the possessive determiner “our,” including himself. He shows leniency toward Bellatrix, even going so far as to share the blame with her.

Considering Voldemort’s narcissistic personality and the sexual subtext permeating his words throughout this chapter, it is clear that this interaction reflects their sexual dynamic: Bellatrix likely often makes the first move, addressing him and showing what she desires, Voldemort torments her as foreplay, finds satisfaction in denigrating her, and everything ends with a moment of “aftercare sex,” in the form of apologies.

Additionally, I believe Voldemort would not have targeted Bellatrix in this chapter if she had not addressed him. His focus was on Lucius, but when she leaned toward him to assure him of their honour and pleasure, he could not resist the temptation to tease her a little. However, it ends as soon as the Death Eaters turn on her.

The clues seem clear and strong to me, especially in a book aimed at children. If this is not proof that their relationship is intimate and complex behind the scenes, I do not know what more you would need.

#bellamort #bellatrix #bellatrixlestrange #lordvoldemort #harry potter meta #death eaters #harrypotter #character analysis #close reading #textual analysis

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yannaryartside · 2 days ago

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First of all, thank you so much for such a detailed answer.

I really think some scenes may not make sense in a medical context, the injection to the kid, for example, but are used to highlight Claire's attitude towards her patients. Other blogs have talked about this scene as a parallel to her relationship with Carmy, because she liked her to distract him from the pain as she did with the kid/

HOWEVER

Regarding the allergy thing, I am betting that is a flag they planted so people could suspect the grenade that relationship was the whole time. When you said:

"But my BIGGEST red flag in all this was that- normal doctors are not morbidly fascinated with death and disease. There is NOTHING even remotely romantic about that; most of us are so burnt out by it." the way other doctors would be concerned about an attitude like Claire's got me thinking of something...

On top of that, she does seem fascinated by people in pain or in crisis; there is this scene in Pop when she says, "Michael was fun, he would say things on fire," which was a dialogue way out of character for a medical professional. She also mentioned being used to being around sad and drunk people, and that made me think she saw Carmy as another drunk, sad person for her to fix or another patient in crisis for her to medicate (with kisses and a pleasing attitude).

It is concerning how much the show used Claire's profession to make the audience think she is this angel on earth and also keep raising red flags after another. We never see her being nice to other people who are not her patients, dysfunctional friends, or even more dysfunctional Berzattos.

It reminded me of this psychology professor who warned us that in movies, you are not supposed to make a narcissist look like a hero because, at that point, the audience will be caught in the manipulation too far to reverse it.

They even went to the extent of forcing the audience into her pov in s3, as we are supposed to root for her because she is caring for people while heartbroken, the Faks come and tell her she is the one to take care of Carmen (because she also takes such good care of her patients) and then. THEN they thought the flashback of her talking about almost killing her patient for an allergy. I still see posts of pro Claire people that say that scene was to make her look human, and I was like "I am sorry, do you want us to feel bad because she can read and almost killed someone?" They put a magic trick there to make us follow her as a doctor just to tell us she may be rather dangerous for others in her position. That she presents herself as competent when she knows she is not. I, for what is worth, really didn't see regret on her face while telling that story.

THE LACK OF EMPHATY, the ROMATICIZING THE PAIN IN OTHERS. You explained that so well I am so glad I was not imagining shit.

It screams that Claire enjoys being around dysfunctional people so she can feel good by attempting to fix them and receiving love and loyalty in return. She even created a whole romantic relationship based in that and I am supposed to feel bad for her. No, I don't trust this woman and Carmy now thinks she is at peace and what he needs and everybody keeps telling him to return to her.

It is almost like (metaphorically) Carmy has set himself on fire (his mental illness) and now he is gonna go directly to a person (Claire) who cannot even apply the right treatment for him, because she is indeed incompetent and lacks the empathy to actually help him and feel for his issues, and will allow him to continue to burn as long as she feels needed by him.

Sorry to vent, that took a dark turn. But the more I think about this subject, the more unnerving it becomes. Thank you @sydneysrissotto. tagging @whenmemorydies @brokenwinebox and @thoughtfulchaos773

I'm waiting for my residency match, so while I wait, let me tell you that being a doctor doesn't look anything at all like how they've shown Claire. I wish the showrunners did some research.

#claire bear is public enemy n1 #sydcarmy #the bear #sydney adamu #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #the bear meta #carmy x sydney #carmy the bear #sydney x carmy #anti claire bear #claire is a bad doctor

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on1occasionfork · 2 days ago

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But, soft! Bonus chapter: love goes toward love

Featuring artwork by @hanaan-v

Rating: M (G for this chapter)

Summary:

With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out; And what love can do, that dares love attempt. Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me. -Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene ii

Crowley's life is going well. He's got his shop, his friends, and a new flat with a balcony perfect for a few plants. That's when things start to get complicated.

Chapter Excerpt:

In a garden in the South Downs, two cats sleep. Well, sometimes they sleep. Other times they spend long moments grooming each other, sandpaper tongues roughly licking at pink skin or ginger and cream fur, paws holding their mate in place to go over a particularly needy spot, tails twining together in an affectionate dance.

Continue reading on Ao3

Or start from the beginning

Thank you to my lovely friend and beta @spectrallydistracted for giving this chapter her usual attention to detail.

@goodomensafterdark

#good omens #good omens fic art #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #azicrow #aziraphale x crowley #good omens au #good omens human au #cat dads aziraphale and crowley #ineffable cats #good omens cats

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greenleaf4stuff · 2 days ago

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Of Convenience 10.3

(all previous parts of "Of Convenience")

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage AU, 10th snippet, part 3. Celebrimbor has to confront his fears - and the one who took his city from him. The smith’s interference might just be the thing that decides the outcome of the final battle against Sauron for everyone.

There is some hinted past Celebrimbor/Sauron in this one.

Warnings for blood, graphic violence (bleeding wounds, choking), background and major character death, Sauron doing Sauron things and saying Sauron things. Okay, this is it, the final confrontation – I cannot believe we’ve made it this far. There is one more part to snippet 10 to go after that though, because this fight actually got longer than I had anticipated. I originally planned for 3 parts and max 7.5k words *stares at her wordcount* well… that did not work out. (It’s actually closer to 10k for all of part 10. Oops?) Anyway – enjoy!

Celebrimbor did his best to sneak up the staircase to his forge, even though he felt as if his heart was beating loud enough that it would surely give him away. This, he realized, was it – the moment they had all worked towards, and the moment in which he would have to face his own fears.

Clutching the sword in his grasp, he finally reached the top of the stairs, and chanced a glance around the open door and into the forge proper.

It was clear that the area had been turned into an active battlefield, albeit a less-than-ideal one. Various tools and bits of debris were laying about, even some of his scrolls and sketches had found their way to the floor, torn or ripped. Shelves and tables were overturned, the roofing was clearly damaged, and between all of that were blood splatters, splinters and dust.

With dread, Celebrimbor caught sight of more dead bodies. Judging by their clothes, more of the Eregion guards – and some of his former apprentices. Once again, Celebrimbor squeezed his eyes shut and averted his face, briefly, as he forced back the tears that threatened to rise.

He’d honor them and make sure they were given a proper burial, once all this was over. But he could not mourn the dead while there were still the living that he could – had to – protect.

When he managed to open his eyes again, Celebrimbor quickly took in the scene before him.

His friends were strewn about the room in various states of exhaustion and injury. From Gil-Galad using Aeglos to keep himself on his feet, to Elrond who had been seemingly thrown into a wall and was struggling to get his feet under him, Galadriel who clutched her upper leg which bled sluggishly from a long cut, to Adar who was bleeding from both his upper arm and his thigh as he was locked into exchanging blows with-

him.

He, who looked to be distressingly unharmed, even unfazed, in the midst of all this chaos and destruction. Sauron still carried his appearance as Annatar, long golden hair and black robes only lightly covered in dust. He was turned away from where Celebrimbor was, but in the tone of his voice, the elf could practically hear the wide, self-assured smile of the fallen maia.

"Face it, Adar," the Deceiver gloated, and pushed the uruk back with a kick to the sternum, causing Adar to stumble backwards and fall heavily. Sauron had ripped Adar’s dark iron sword – the reforged crown of Morgoth – from his grasp, and now tossed it behind himself carelessly.

The blade bounced off of the floor in a wide arc due to the force with which it had been thrown, and ultimately came to a halt where Celebrimbor had hidden himself behind the door. Right at his feet.

He stared at the blade, unsure if this was a coincidence or if something else was at work here, until Sauron’s words pulled him out of his frozen state again and made him reach down to grab the sword, exchanging it for this own, which he sheathed.

"Your first attempt on my life didn’t kill me, what made you think the second would be more successful? Celebrimbor fleeing my grasp might have set me back, but it’s only a matter of time till I regain a hold of him and finish the rings."

"And then, finally, I can heal middle earth from its ails, just as I had intended to do with you. Sadly, you lacked the belief – and the vision."

The words made Celebrimbor’s blood boil. He’d heard and seen plenty of Sauron’s plans, enough that he could guess that the maia might indeed be believing his own lies. Certainly enough to know that whatever ‘healing’ he intended to perform, it would spell misery for everyone in not just middle earth, but all of Arda.

To hear him making these claims was in infuriating, but Celebrimbor hated most of all how this fiend was standing over Adar and talked to him as if he were a mere worm under Sauron’s feet. Adar, who cared about his children and truly wanted to make middle earth a better place for them – and, as the alliance had shown, for the other races as well.

"But you won’t be here to see that," words that made Celebrimbor seize up, and then look into the room in a blind panic. Adar, for his part, was not crawling backwards and away, but stared his former tormentor right in the face as the other walked up to him, undoutably to deliver the killing blow.

Unafraid and defiant and so, so beautiful.

‘I cannot let him die,‘ Celebrimbor thought desperately.

He didn’t even make the conscious decision to slide from his hiding place, dark iron sword brandished in both hands as he sprinted over to where Sauron was bending down to get a hold of Adar.

Out of the periphery of his eye, he could see the moment Adar caught sight of him, how the uruk’s expression changed to one of pure spite to one of surprise, then fear.

The smith had enough of a mind not to scream like a madman, and this perhaps was the reason he got as lucky as he did, swinging the sword – and embedding it into Sauron’s right shoulder.

The impact of the blow rattled him, for indeed he was not a commander like Galadriel or a seasoned fighter like Adar, but he had managed to strike the maia nonetheless. Black blood burst from the deep cut he’d made; not deep enough to kill the other, but harm had been done.

As Celebrimbor quickly realised with a surge of fear, this meant the other would now be aware of him. But mixed in there was the relief of having saved his husband from getting killed, even as Celebrimbor stumbled backwards, leaving the sword to stick out of Sauron’s flesh.

The maia briefly remained locked in place, as if surprised, before he rose to his full height again. The smith could hear Galadriel gasp as she locked eyes with the smith, and he saw Ereinion helping Elrond back to his feet, but both their expressions were ones of shock and worry as well.

Adar, who hadn’t seemed to hold the slightest bit of tepridation in regards to his own safety, had grown even paler than usual.

And then, Sauron had turned around. The sheer hatred that rolled off of him came to an abrupt halt as he laid eyes on Celebrimbor.

For a moment, everything seemed to come to a standstill. The terror inside Celebrimbor was so perfect, so complete, so all encompassing that it filled every part of him, and he could not avert his eyes as he saw Sauron’s expression change from recognition to utter, obsessive glee.

Before the elf could do more than take another step back, Sauron had shot forward, and in two long strides, he managed to grab Celebrimbor by the throat and lift him up into the air. The sword in his shoulder seemed inconsequential to him, so focused was he on the smith in his hold.

As the elf grasped for the other’s hands in attempt to keep himself from getting choked, he could hear Gil-Galad shouting in rage from where he stood, but Celebrimbor’s eyes would not leave Sauron. Despite the elven rings, who he suspected had protected all of them from having their minds twisted by the Deceiver, he could not make himself look away.

Once, he had considered the face before himself fair – a face worthy of an emissary of the valar, matching the graciousness and generosity he thought to have seen within Annatar. Now, all that remained was a broken mask, an approximation of beauty that unnerved him, especially with the wide grimace of a smile that quickly stretched across Sauron’s face.

"Celebrimbor," the blond breathed. "So you have returned to me at last."

"Don’t flatter yourself," the smith spat, breathless as he was in the maia’s hold, and dug his nails into the skin of Sauron’s hands. "It is not you I came here for."

There was a twitch to the other’s jaw, brief but visible, and his grip on Celebrimbor’s throat tightened. The smith choked as he scrambled against where the other’s fingers were digging into his flesh. At least, he had Sauron’s full attention now. He wouldn’t hurt Adar.

The elf’s eyes slipped to the uruk, finally freed from the sight of the maia, and the two briefly locked eyes. He could see distress in Adar’s face, who was wide-eyed and painfully struggling to his feet. If he’d had the breath for it, Celebrimbor might have marvelled at how expressive the other could be if he didn’t consciously try to hide himself away.

The thought slipped from his mind as he caught Sauron turning around to follow the direction of Celebrimbor’s gaze.

When he turned back to the smith, his face held an expression of confusion, then disbelief, mixed with a malicious sense of humor.

"Oh, I understand now," Sauron leered at him. "You ran right into his arms, did you not? Found the first one who would listen to your pleas and help you in your fight?"

"My dear Celebrimbor – was it worth it? What did you have to sacrifice, to have him give his army and his own life to you and your friends?"

Despite the lack of air, Celebrimbor couldn’t keep himself from replying. He refused to look at the one who had warped his mind and tormented him all these weeks ago, and instead looked at Adar as he said, "Nothing. I sacrificed nothing, for what we have could never be a loss to me."

This time, he feared the tightening of the other’s hand would be enough to crush his windpipe. The sound of Sauron’s voice bordered on incredulous, now. "You-"

He didn’t get to finish his sentence when, seemingly out of nowhere, Galadriel ripped the darkened iron sword out of Sauron’s shoulder, spun around towards his left, and used the momentum to ram it into the Deceiver’s side instead.

The impact was strong enough to shake the maia and, in turn, the smith in his grasp. Thankfully, the unexpectedness of the attack caused Sauron to lose his focus, and Celebrimbor drew in several, shaking breaths as the grip around his neck slackened a little as a result.

Sadly, not enough to drop him, but getting to breathe again certainly was an improvement.

He wasn’t quite able make out Sauron’s expression from this angle, but Galadriel looked downright furious as she tried to yank the sword back out from where he’d sunk it into the blond. Before she could, Sauron had grabbed her by the throat as well. Thankfully for her, he did not insist to raise her up from the ground and seemed content to just keep her fixed in place.

She, too, fought to try and pry off Sauron’s fingers from her neck, but to no avail.

"Galadriel," the Deceiver spoke. He sounded almost disappointed as he regarded her, before his tone became smug once more. "I’d thought it to be you who had charmed the orcs to the elves’ side, what a surprise to see it was the smith instead. I suppose I should have known. You are, after all, rather well known for killing Adar’s ‘precious’ children."

Celebrimbor knew what the other was doing. Even now, when he had them all at his mercy, when he was so sure of his own victory, he couldn’t help but taunt and try to sow discord among them.

"How can you even bear it, hm? To see one of them despoil your friend in such a manner? A worthless, common orc, and you are letting him have access to the Lord of Eregion."

To her credit, Galadriel looked as incensed as Celebrimbor felt at the fallen maia’s words. "Who my friend claims for himself, whether as friend or partner, is his own choice. And he’s chosen well, picking Adar over you."

"He’s worth many of you – Lord of Nothing." Celebrimbor added, recalling of Sauron had tried to flatter him, and himself, when he’d first presented himself as Annatar.

When the Deceiver was neither a ‘Lord of the Rings’ nor a ‘Lord of Gifts’.

Judging by Galadriel’s pained gasp, and his own inability to breathe, Morgoth’s shadow had taken offense to that title. The smith grinned even though it pained him, and relished the small victory of Sauron’s anger where it became visible on his face.

And then, something else happened.

Again, the maia shook – the sword had been pulled from his side, and thick blood sprayed out of the wound there.

It was Adar who had taken hold of the sword – the sword, which Celebrimbor had made for him. Which he had hoped Adar might use to kill their shared enemy.

Judging by the look in Adar’s eyes, he was ready to do just that. The hatred burning there almost rivalled Sauron’s own.

The smith quickly understood what the uruk intended, and curled his hands around Sauron’s wrist – not to pry off his grasp, but to hold onto it. To keep the maia from reaching out and stopping Adar, even if he knew that the other had far greater strength than he himself did and would be able to shake off his grip eventually.

But, he wouldn’t be able to do so right away – and that would be all the time Adar might need.

Just like him, Galadriel too changed her grip, and held tightly onto Sauron’s hand.

The blond needed a moment to notice, his expression one of surprise.

He faltered.

Adar didn’t.

The uruk lurched forward with a shout, and drove the dark iron sword right into the maia’s chest. It went all the way through, spilling even more black blood.

His face was terribly close to Sauron’s now, the two staring at each other – the fallen maia in shock, eyes wide and unable to give any smug response, while Adar’s face held a look of grim satisfaction.

"Do us all a favor. And die, permanently, this time."

The uruk pushed Sauron back, then, and finally, Celebrimbor felt the pressure around his throat release.

He fell to the ground and likely would have crumbled into a heap on the floor, had it not been for Adar catching and steadying him before he did.

Like the times before when Adar had touched him, Celebrimbor felt warmth spread through his body as he felt the uruk’s arms wrap around him, and held onto the uruk’s arms with his own hands in turn. Even more so when he was quickly dragged away from Sauron, who was stumbling and staring at the sword embedded in his chest. His look was one of sheer disbelief.

Celebrimbor was glad to note that Elrond and Gil-Galad had also reached Galadriel’s side and were pulling her back as well. In the light, he saw all three of their rings glimmer at once, before his attention was pulled back towards his husband.

"Are you alright?" Adar asked him, sounding urgent, and tightened his arms around the elf as they finally came to stand, far enough away that the maia could not reach them. His gaze was searching, and still held genuine fear.

Celebrimbor couldn’t help but smile – even though the danger wasn’t gone until Sauron lay dead, he felt relief at seeing Adar alive and at being able to hold him. Living, breathing proof that he hadn’t lost the uruk.

"I will be, now that you are safe."

The other seemed ready to reply, but he only opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss for words. The elf couldn’t blame him.

There was a loud gurgling sound that ripped them out of their brief exchange, and both Adar and Celebrimbor looked over to see Sauron struggling to stay upright. He was trying to pull the sword out of his chest; whether he knew what it was, or had been, the smith couldn’t say, but he looked frustrated more than anything.

Which, of course – the crown hadn’t fully killed him the first time, after all. He likely still expected to survive this.

Galadriel stepped in front of Sauron again, ready to try and prove him wrong. Celebrimbor only hoped it would work.

She gripped the handle of the sword.

If Sauron had expected her to speak any words, he would have to be disappointed. Celebrimbor could tell she had yanked the sword out of his chest, but anything else blurred before his eyes as Adar turned them around and threw the elf and himself onto the ground as he covered Celebrimbor’s body with his own.

The last thing Celebrimbor saw, in that moment, was Vilya, Narya and Nenya, gleaming brightly as if with a power of their own, before there was a loud scream tearing through the forge and a blinding light shot out, bright enough that Celebrimbor had to close his eyes and turned his head into the dark, safe space between Adar’s neck and shoulder while he held onto the uruk for dear life.

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