#and “THIS IS SOMETHING FAR GREATER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’

[newbieecosocalistboy]

Every redpiller who i thought they had escaped from that ideological still retained internalized misogyny—sometimes to an even greater extent than during their peak incel phase. There is zero redemption for any of them because something intrinsically rotten must exist within them to become misogynistic in the first place. This rotten personality trait will never go away, even when they openly acknowledge that their former beliefs were nonsense. Dont trust any former incel / redpiller ever, no matter how far they improved. Its also not matter how they socialized and got into this, its also not matter if they become this without there fault because mental health, socialisation, culture or Bad influence and experience or whatever. You can not trust a former misogynyst, especially not Redpiller, incels or religious ones. The rotten part which made them this back then will forever be a security issue for women and girls.

you cannot therapize misogyny out of a man because values are not pathologies. him not believing women are human will not be fixed by cbt or exposure therapy because it is not a cognitive health issue. it is an ideological one.

[ivesambrose]

𝐴 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 💌

Happy Valentine's Day everyone ❤️

This is a love letter with your name on it, there's someone out there who has something to say to you 💌

To Book a personal reading with me DM or email me at ivesambrose@gmail.com

More timeless readings

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Envelope 1

To the one my heart recognises,

You move through life like a dreamer caught between worlds, always reaching, always searching, always holding a litle more hope than you let on. And I see it. I see you.

You chase after the things your heart aches for, even when the path twists, even when the road splits in too many directions. You weigh choices in your hands like they hold the weight of the universe, afraid to step too far in the wrong direction. But, love, you are never lost to me. No matter where you go, no matter how far you run, I will always find you. Because I already know the shape of your soul.

The world hasn't always been kind to you, and I know you carry the weight of thingS unspoken, the fractures from moments that tried to break you. But even in your quietest battles, you are still becoming. still unfolding into someone even more extraordinary than you were yesterday. And I will be here, beside you, through every rebirth

So leap. Make the reckless choice. Follow the dream that won't let you sleep at night. You were not meant to stay within lines drawn by other people's expectations, you were meant to break through, to touch the sky, to chase the impossible and make it yours.

And if ever you need a hand to hold, a heart that won't waver, or someone who will remind you of the fire in your soul, you already know where to find me.

I am yours. Always.

Envelope 2

With all that I am,

The one who was always meant for you.

To the One My Soul Knows,

Loving you is like standing beneath the moon, soft light, deep mystery, and the quiet knowing that some things are felt more than they are understood. There are parts of you that shift like tides, emotions that swell and retreat, thoughts that linger in the silence before sleep. And I love every version of you, every hidden depth, every unspoken word.

You are a force, a wild thing that cannot be tamed, and I would never want to. There is something raw, something instinctual about the way you move through this world like you are both ancient and new, both fearless and tender. I see the hunger in you, the ache for something real, something lasting. Love is not a word you take lightly. Nor do I.

With you, I see forever. Not in the way stories promise perfect endings, but in the way two souls recognize each other across lifetimes. In the way your touch feels like something I’ve known before, something I would know again, no matter where time places us. You are home, not because you make things easy, but because you make them true.

I want to build a life with you, not just in the quiet, beautiful moments, but in the raw, messy, achingly real ones. I want to know the thoughts you never say aloud, the dreams you keep close to your chest. I want to trace every part of you, mind and body, learning you in ways no one else ever has.

Loving you is a temple I will worship in for as long as you’ll let me. You are the question, the answer, the universe wrapped in skin. And if there is a destiny greater than this, I do not want to know it.

You are mine, and I am yours. In this life, and in every one after.

Forever,

The one who chooses you.

Envelope 3

To the One Who Holds My Heart,

Loving you is an unfolding, slow, steady, something delicate but unshakable. It isn’t always easy, and I know that. You carry so much in that beautiful mind of yours, thoughts that keep you awake when the world is quiet, worries that press against your chest like weights only you can feel. But you don’t have to hold it all alone. Not with me.

I see you. The way you give, the way you pour yourself into others, always making sure there is enough love to go around. But love, when was the last time you let yourself receive? When was the last time you let someone hold you the way you hold everyone else? I want to be that for you. Not just in fleeting moments, but in all the ways that matter.

I don’t need you to have it all figured out. I don’t need you to be perfect. I only need you to know that you are already enough, just as you are. Even in your quiet, even in your uncertainty, even in the moments you hesitate to let yourself be fully seen. You don’t have to keep your heart wrapped in caution, hidden away like a gem buried deep in the earth. Let it breathe. Let it shine.

Love doesn’t have to be rushed. It doesn’t have to be forced. It’s something we build, something we water, something that grows in its own time. So take my hand. Let’s rest in this moment together, without worrying about what comes next.

Because no matter how long it takes, no matter how many times the world shifts around us, I will still be here.

Always,

The one who chooses you, again and again.

[he3ts]

FOR YOUR LOVE

squid game / masterlist

first chapter: years to grow / series masterlist

pairings: nam gyu x reader, minor thanos x reader

warnings: to be consistent with the plot reader is danish, smut, drugs, alcohol, explicit content, lots of music, for this story i was inspired exclusively by the discography of måneskin. i was inspired by one of their songs for this story. escort = a whore with a more graceful name.

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Music had always been a part of you.

Even before you knew what certain words meant, even before you understood the meaning of the emotions you felt, you recognized the sound of a guitar. It was instinct. The warm wood under your fingers, the metal of the strings vibrating at the slightest touch, the notes etching your ears.

You had started playing when you were just a child, your hands small, your fingers too weak to press well on the frets, but your determination greater than any obstacle. The first guitar was too big for you, too heavy, yet you had fallen in love with it right away. When you picked it up, you felt something inside you take shape, as if every note told you that that would be your path.

You'd spend hours in front of the mirror with the old Stratocaster hanging off your shoulder, imagining you were on a stage, playing in front of a frenzied crowd. No one was watching you, no one was judging you. Just you, your music and a dream growing inside you. Freckles dotted your cheeks, disheveled hair fell over your eyes, your fingernails were always marred by the strings. And you didn't care. You were in your own world, all about music and posters of famous bands. You dabbled with almost every instrument, you had a gift, or so your mother always said amazed at your affinity for instruments.

While the other girls at school talked about fashion, parties, and boys, you spent afternoons locked in your room, headphones over your ears, your fingers trying to decipher guitarist solos too complex for a young girl. You weren't different, you just had different goals. Still, you would not stop, stubborn you always had been. They told you it would just be a hobby, a phase. It wasn't.

Music had given you a purpose. An identity. You had never been the most popular, the most sociable, the one who knew what to say at the right times, but when you picked up your guitar and got on a stage, then yes, you were somebody. The fear disappeared, the doubts melted away, and all that was left was the sound. A powerful sound. Yours. You had found your band, so you could play on rainy afternoons, the ones where a beer for four is enough to be happy. But then at 16 you had to leave everything behind.

Leaving Denmark had never been in your plans; you had grown up in the salty winds of the North Sea and the quiet streets of a city where time seemed to pass more slowly. Gray skies, long winters, days that shortened too soon. But for you, the light had always been in the music.

Your first connection to South Korea had not been the K-pop everyone knew. Not the perfect choreography, not the glossy melodies, it was the underground rock, the dirty, visceral rock that pulsed in the streets of Hongdae, among tiny clubs, underground venues where bands played late into the night, not giving a damn about being famous. A raw, authentic world where music was everything.

You had discovered it by accident, on one of those sleepless nights spent in front of the computer, clicking on videos of concerts recorded with shaky cameras. It was a thunderbolt. The sound, the energy, the anger, everything had captured you. It seemed so far from your ordered world, yet so close to what you had always felt inside.

And when you had had the chance to move, you had not hesitated.

Your father had not understood. He had looked at you as if you were making the biggest mistake of your life. Your mother had tried to convince you to fly free on your own path.

It had not been easy. You were an outsider. Stranger.

Until, one night, you had taken the stage during an open mic.

You were nervous, more than you wanted to admit. The audience chattered distractedly, and your heart hammered in your chest as you picked up your guitar. But as soon as your fingers had touched the strings, everything else had vanished.

It was you. Your sound.

People had stopped talking, someone had started moving to the beat. And at the end, there had been real applause. And it had been on one of those evenings that you had met Thanos. His lively personality was unmistakable, infectious; he had molded your shy nature with a simple, welcoming smile. He had been staring at you the whole time. Not like others, not with curiosity or skepticism, but like someone studying something interesting.

And when you had come down from the stage, he had approached.

"You play well," he had said as he held out his hand to you "I am Thanos" there you had realized that he was an artist like you, with a stage name almost as fascinating as he was.

And that was how you had entered Saurer Sarg. You had known right away that that was where you belonged. A raw, visceral band that wasn't trying to please anyone. No veneer, no pretense. Just real, dirty, fierce music. You had slipped in with your guitar and your edgy riffs, and you had never come out.

And then there was Se-Mi, the bass player, with a sharp look but a sweet smile. She had christened you "sunshine" just because of your freckles sprinkled carefully on your cheeks.

And then there was Nam Gyu.

The drummer who seemed born to challenge you, to ignite that spark that made you play even louder. Always one step behind you, always one step ahead of you. Your tuning was made up of clashes, sharp jokes, competition. But you were only alive because of the music. Only for yourself, not for him. You didn't get along. If he was fire, you were gasoline. He was chaos, you were a storm. Where he was wrong with drums, you were wonderful in guitar solos. Where writing required concentration, which he didn't have at that time, and he blamed you for your annoyance. You unnerved him, but it was not your fault that Min-su, the old guitarist, had preferred to continue his studies abroad and leave the band.

You unnerved him because he couldn't stay away from you, because you made him miserable, because he was crawling toward you in every possible way, but you only had eyes for Thanos. Your chemistry was unparalleled, singer and guitarist, the sun and the moon, the pinnacle of the band. He was jealous because no one was better on stage than you, no one, not even Min-su, was that good. Your fingertips were tangible proof of how much that passion was wearing you down inside, you have to be perfect, you have to be the best, you just have to do it.

The hum of the amp enveloped you, a familiar sound that made you feel at home. Your fingers slid over the strings, searching for the right sound, the perfect note that could fit into the piece you were rehearsing. Thanos was sitting at the counter, a paper and pen in his hand, writing a song, Se-Mi was sitting next to him.

The venue was small, still empty, but you used it sometimes for rehearsals since you didn't have a fixed location yet. Another night with the Saurer Sarg, more change in your wallet, the usual five drunks who loved to hear you. You hoped someone, some manager would notice you, just now, or maybe in a few months, you needed to make music seriously.

From the drums came a sharp, almost irritating thump that had interrupted your train of thought.

"Too slow, princess," muttered Nam Gyu, as he set up the drum cymbals with his usual air of condescension. Barely lifting your gaze, you were already ready for battle. It was always like that between you.

"Min-su was better than her," "A foreigner? In the group?"

"You're too fast, maybe"

He chuckled, shaking his head, his long hair was in front of his face, his features were sweet but his eyes spat venom.

"You're just too slow to keep up with me"

The pick had slipped almost involuntarily from your fingers, flying in his direction. He parried it on the fly, with the naturalness of one who had already anticipated your reaction. The smile that spread across his face was cocky, defiant, exactly as you expected.

Your usual game. But now you had had enough.

"Thanos chose me for a reason, asshole"

"Thanos needed a replacement" the grin on his face sharpened his eyes even more.

On stage you were in perfect sync, as if your differences did not exist. Nam Gyu's drums are a chaotic, powerful, pulsating metronome, and you would follow him, catch up with him by playing next to him. When you play, you are one. You, Thanos, Nam Gyu and Se-Mi.

But out of there? Well, it was a different story.

You were fighting over every little thing. The set list for the evening, the volume of the guitar, a constant chase of vitriolic banter, eye-rolling, challenges that were never said out loud. Yet the tension between you had always had an all too obvious subtext. When no one is looking, the jokes become taunts.

"Aren't your legs cold in this skirt, fawn?"

Provocations become long looks.

And sometimes, in locked rooms, the stares become something else.

Again, as always, the evening was over, Nam Gyu was drunk, you were awake to mother the rest of the group. It was like that every day, you work just to have your independence in the morning and in the evening you became the rockstar you had always dreamed of being.

Things were going well that afternoon, Thanos had written a new song, and the video of your performance had gone viral on many social networks. It was important to propagandize with the public, you knew, you had opened a YouTube channel specifically just to upload video clips of your songs.

You and Thanos were still slumped on the worn-out couch in the rehearsal room, pencils worn between your fingers, crumpled papers scattered everywhere like the detritus of a creative battle. The neon above you flickered slightly, casting uncertain shadows on the walls papered with faded posters. It was one of those evenings where ideas flashed on and off too quickly, where every word seemed either too weak or too pretentious.

Nam Gyu, on the other hand, had remained aloof. All evening he had tapped his chopsticks, his chin down, his air absorbed. He had not commented, had not huffed, had not thrown any of his usual barbs. But now he cleared his throat, swinging his chopsticks between his fingers with a smile that tasted of defiance.

"I wrote something"

The words fell into silence with a weight you did not expect. You lifted your gaze, meeting his. Nam Gyu did not write songs. Or at least, he didn't share them. Thanos was the mastermind of the group.

Se-Mi, crouched next to her bass, stopped short, stifling a laugh as she tuned a string. "Wait, wait... You wrote a song?"

Nam Gyu cast her a sidelong glance. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Se-Mi raised her hands in surrender, but the amused smile remained glued to her face. Thanos, on the other hand, leaned against the back of the sofa, intrigued. "Yeah? Let us hear it"

Nam Gyu slipped his hand into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out his phone. The title of the file flashed on the screen for a moment before music filled the room.

Escort.

A dark, dirty bass pulsed from the speakers. The drums came in with a brash, pressing rhythm. That was just the base, then the lyrics had to be rehearsed with Thanos's voice. It was a difficult process. Crossing your arms over your chest, you closed your eyes for a moment. The melody was aggressive, the lyrics biting, sharp as a well-hidden knife.

He was talking about a girl. A whore, called in her most graceful way, about a woman who could play with looks, who could keep everyone on their toes, who was shy. And of him who, after a night of passion, had fallen in love with her in the most controversial way. You opened your eyes, finding his already fixed on you. He knew.

Thanos nodded with a crooked smile. "That's cool"

"Who are you talking about?" Your voice came out colder than you would have liked. So he had met a woman?

Nam Gyu raised an eyebrow. "Can't you tell?"

Blood rose to your head. Bastard.

You leaned forward slightly, shaking your head. "I'm not entirely convinced"

Nam Gyu leaned carelessly against the drums, arms crossed. "What's the problem?"

Se-Mi, who had not stopped sneering, lifted her chin toward you. "You don't like the lyrics or you don't like the vulgarity?"

You gave her a sharp look. "I just think we can do better"

Nam Gyu barely tilted his head, studying you. "I tried to write lyrics, you only know how to strum day and night with that damn guitar"

"Shut up, assh—"

"Stop"

You had bitten the inside of your cheek. Bastard twice. Thanos drummed his fingers on his thigh, observing both of you without intervening further. He knew you didn't get along. He just wanted not to fuel the fire.

Nam Gyu stood up slowly, coming toward you with his usual relaxed gait, but there was something fiercer in his eyes. He stopped inches away from you, the scent of his shampoo mixed with the familiar smell of cigarettes and overheated electrical wires.

He lowered his voice, his tone almost confidential. "Let's do this." He leaned just forward, brushing a finger over the guitar you held on your lap. "Let's try it out. If you still think it's no good after that, we'll throw it away"

His look was an open challenge.

He knew very well that you couldn't resist a good song. He knew you were curious. Who was the woman in the song? He was too confidential, too raw, too in love.

He knew that once you picked up the guitar, you would get into the song with every fiber of your body.

And the most frustrating thing? You knew it, too. Even more frustrating? That song had become a resounding success.

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INSTAGRAM

s3mi__: well what are you waiting for?? ESCORT IS OUT NOW!! 🌶️🌶️

lil.yn: who is that little lady?

s3mi__: i'm your little lady

lil.yn: DON'T MAKE YOURSELF TOO PRETTY OR THEN I'LL REGRET IT !!!!!!

namgyuu: escort on spotify at midnight. the devil's night 🌙

thanosxx: brother 🔥🔥

lil.yn: our baby is out now 🌙🌙

s3mi__: what are you doing? 🤨

lil.yn: thanos shared his drink!!!

saurerssarg: ESCORT. OCTOBER 31ST.

lil.yn: 🥳🥳

user1: THANOS AND YN WHAT

user2: THE SECOND PHOTO

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ESCORT ( lyrics )

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MASTERLIST.

[troglobite]

If you are taking Spironolactone now, and wish to quit, please be warned — quitting Spiro suddenly without preparation is difficult and hazardous, and your doctor is very unlikely to understand some of the problems you will encounter.  You should be able to find some peer coaching on the practical aspects of quitting in the Facebook HRT group for more information. Also, experience suggests that most trans women on megadoses of Spiro (200mg or higher) can successfully suddenly drop to 100mg a day without rebound effects (speak to your doctor), but following that, a slower reduction schedule may be required. But the best solution regarding Spiro is to never start. ... The prescribers are saving their patients from a small risk by exposing them to a larger risk. It is bad risk-benefit judgement. I have written more on this elsewhere. (7) It is notable that the 2009 version of The Endocrine Society guidelines even include a mention of estradiol injection (19) but still refer to Spironolactone. One final thought, this time a speculation: it seems possible based on observations that high levels of testosterone provide some protection against the cortisol-raising properties of Spironolactone, such that testing of the drug on male volunteers might not have shown such a large side effect when the drug was originally tested, leading to a situation where heavy dosing of trans women led to these oversized effects. Would the original manufacturer’s dosing advice have been different if the drug had been more thoroughly tested with female patients? Something worth looking into, perhaps. ...Our observation is that these effects [visceral fat] do not begin until the patient is taking doses of 100-400 mg a day, and takes these doses for at least 12 months.  Transgender women are being exposed to doses which far exceed the studied levels being used to claim safety.  Our own observations seem to indicate that taking less than 100mg daily, or taking Spiro for 12 months or shorter time usually does NOT lead to visceral fat accumulation.  We are raising the red flag on a patient population exposed to a MUCH greater dose.  Finally, there is the inevitable labeling of our observations as “anecdotal evidence” (or even drug-blaming from patients unhappy about unrelated issues). Let me just point out that much important medical knowledge starts out as anecdotal. Collect a large group together, and those anecdotes become “group knowledge”, which can progress to shared beliefs and practices, and then to clinical experience, and from there it may become accepted into the bulk of accepted medical science. New knowledge always starts somewhere.

quotes from the end of the piece^^ for context, so that everyone knows where to look and how to safely stop taking spiro.

also be warned that there is some discussion of BMI, "ob*sity", and fat gain. it's shitty "medical" language and wanted to give a heads up for it.

ALSO there are ppl in the notes of this post sharing alternative antiandrogens, as well, which may be helpful to bring up at drs appts.

Hey, if you're currently on Spiro, drop it! Give this a read and then stop taking it!

[yermes]

Happy Valentines day🩷

To everyone except my lab partners

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Pick a meme

123

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Disclaimer: please take what I say with a grain of salt and not as the gospel. I just want to share some ideas of practicing and giving advice using the medium as often as I can with school, work, and my own personal studies and practice. But I am working on sharing my notes soon so that will be exciting! Liking and sharing does a lot 🥰

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Socials: My Socials **☾**

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The cards

House + tree 🌲 🏠 

Love is a home and a being which can grow, it is all consuming, its all expanding all reaching. Its a home which is both infinite and finite. How to you put a cap on love? How do you put a cap on your expression and being? You cannot, you must reach and if those don’t reach out to meet you, you must reach some more. Grow into yourself, grow into your body, your home, your love. Grow into your own being by loving, grow into safety in comfort by loving and understanding completely in to the most upmost ability at which you can. With love you can only build a strong foundation do everything with love and step forward with it always.

Moon + Fox 🦊 🌙 

Your love, your hopes your dreams, something is deceiving you. Is it truly your dreams? Is your dream feasible or are you merely floating around the ether. Are you dreaming so much that there is no ceiling and floor and your very idea and grasp on life is becoming crippled around you. What you are attending to reach is so far and the faith you put in yourself is so little. Tell me is it far because its your dreams or another’s dream, would you daydream into being something so far from what you are not? To day dream so far out of your current condition to escape? Is it worth it? Is it worth out dreaming your reality or shall you attempt to live the reality you want.

Whip + book 📕🌩️

Academic validation girlie I see. Academic validation will not give you love and affection you deserve. Academic validation does not make the sun set and rise. Being the top of your class isn’t a personality trait and having it be your only priority is limiting you mentally and physically. Why limit yourself to a computer when you can expand into an entire being. You can expand to something much greater than you can ever be. You don’t need an A to validate your being, you don’t need it to validate your feelings. You can be loved outside of a letter grade, love has no grades

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Extras:

Story/vent:

Fuck my useless ass lab mates

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[evilminji]

I am going? Insane?? It's driving me mad.

(Ffs this isn't EVEN A PLOT OUTLINE) (｡>﹏<)

So! I am reading SVSSS, as ya do, because it's my current obsession, right? And?? The SAME terrible, awful, "oh~?"-"owo what's this?" GREMLIN part of my brain? Perked up, rolled out of it's decadent day bed, and started paying attention.

To the plot? The CHARACTERS, perhaps? Oooh ho ho, NO! THAT would TO FUCKING EASY! No, no! No, see, THIS horrible curse goblin? Inside my skull? Is the SAME one that fuckin OBSESSED over both Runes & magical crafts in Harry Potter AND Seals in Naruto!

The Daughter of a Crafter, who is in turn, ALSO a Crafter... presented with an INTERESTING new Medium, part of my brain.

ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ Guess I'll just di- obsess without the sweet relief of GETTING TO DO A PROJECT, huh? Yaaaaay~ ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

.·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. (This is hell. I am in hell.)

Cause? I WANNA TRY TALISMANS!!!

Yeah, yeah, cool Xanxia sword magic and flying thunder beasts. BUT WHAT ABOUT THOSE TREASURES? I wanna sit in on a hour long lecture about WHY you gotta use silk thread and not cotton to embroider this array vs that one! Can those qiankun pouches be sewed into anything? What OTHER things can I sew into fabric?

My hold over unused "a Lady is, in fact, a Walking Tank, you fools" theory carries over BEAUTIFULLY! Especially with all those LAYERS??‽ That? Is so, SO much fabric to carefully and intricately sew? Teeny tiny little Rune/talismans/array thingies onto? Into this slowly building brocade of pure power?

It would take foreeeeeever. BUT‽

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure!

Cause like imagine it? This middling cultivator. Nothing special. No great beauty, no legendary strength. Not even that STRONG spiritually. You think you can just... squash them like an ant. Just one more bit of Cannon fodder. Not even worth being called a pebble on your path.

You smack them aside. (Because even with protection. Somethings can not cross the gulf of raw power.)

And yet? They DO NOT die. They ALONE get back up, where far greater have fallen. How? Lightning rolls off them. Acid? Does not touch. Fire? They barely sweat. Swords do not seem to cut at ALL! But of course, nothing is flawless. Brute force still works. Each blow, softened as it is? Still lands.

And yours are powerful enough? That THAT means broken bones.

Just? Imagine~☆

Being a Treasure maker in the lands of gods and monsters. Each equally covetous, though half of them LIE. Wanting only to create for the simple joy of creation. The WONDER and curiosity of it all! And being HUNTED for it.

They want weapons! They want DEATH! Make them war, war, WAR!!!

Better ways to KILL each other.

They claim they are Righteous. Pure. Yet... standing before you? They hold such greed and distain. Such hatred. You no longer wonder, now. Why every master before you, fled to hidden realms.

You just want to learn. Cultivate. Grow.

Make beautiful, interesting things.

(You start looking up how to create a hidden realm. Because you are tired. Because enough is enough. Because... eventually? They will push too far. You just... you just wanted to create.)

@mayfay @babbling-babull @legitimatesatanspawn @hdgnj @spidori @leftnotright @lolottes

[sillylotrpolls]

Ship names used to be creative and fun, not just the boring portmanteaus you see nowadays littering @fandom. Let's bring that energy back for Valentine's Day 2025 and consider once again the most popular pairing from Tolkien's legendarium.

Extra credit: Gandalf says, "Long I fell, and he fell with me." Would you therefore consider their relationship a "slow burn"?

For additional context, excerpts from The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers are below the cut.

From The Fellowship of the Ring: Chapter 5: The Bridge of Khazad-dûm

Legolas turned and set an arrow to the string, though it was a long shot for his small bow. He drew, but his hand fell, and the arrow slipped to the ground. He gave a cry of dismay and fear. Two great trolls appeared; they bore great slabs of stone, and flung them down to serve as gangways over the fire. But it was not the trolls that had filled the Elf with terror. The ranks of the orcs had opened, and they crowded away, as if they themselves were afraid. Something was coming up behind them. What it was could not be seen: it was like a great shadow, in the middle of which was a dark form, of man-shape maybe, yet greater; and a power and terror seemed to be in it and to go before it. It came to the edge of the fire and the light faded as if a cloud had bent over it. Then with a rush it leaped across the fissure. The flames roared up to greet it, and wreathed about it; and a black smoke swirled in the air. Its streaming mane kindled, and blazed behind it. In its right hand was a blade like a stabbing tongue of fire; in its left it held a whip of many thongs. 'Ai! ai! ' wailed Legolas. 'A Balrog! A Balrog is come!' Gimli stared with wide eyes. Durin's Bane!' he cried, and letting his axe fall he covered his face. 'A Balrog,' muttered Gandalf. Now I understand.' He faltered and leaned heavily on his staff. What an evil fortune! And I am already weary.' The dark figure streaming with fire raced towards them. The orcs yelled and poured over the stone gangways. Then Boromir raised his horn and blew. Loud the challenge rang and bellowed, like the shout of many throats under the cavernous roof. For a moment the orcs quailed and the fiery shadow halted. Then the echoes died as suddenly as a flame blown out by a dark wind, and the enemy advanced again. 'Over the bridge!' cried Gandalf, recalling his strength. Fly! This is a foe beyond any of you. I must hold the narrow way. Fly!' Aragorn and Boromir did not heed the command, but still held their ground, side by side, behind Gandalf at the far end of the bridge. The others halted just within the doorway at the hall's end, and turned, unable to leave their leader to face the enemy alone. The Balrog reached the bridge. Gandalf stood in the middle of the span, leaning on the staff in his left hand, but in his other hand Glamdring gleamed, cold and white. His enemy halted again, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings. It raised the whip, and the thongs whined and cracked. Fire came from its nostrils. But Gandalf stood firm. 'You cannot pass,' he said. The orcs stood still, and a dead silence fell. 'I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass.' The Balrog made no answer. The fire in it seemed to die, but the darkness grew. It stepped forward slowly on to the bridge, and suddenly it drew itself up to a great height, and its wings were spread from wall to wall; but still Gandalf could be seen, glimmering in the gloom; he seemed small, and altogether alone: grey and bent, like a wizened tree before the onset of a storm.

From out of the shadow a red sword leaped flaming. Glamdring glittered white in answer. There was a ringing clash and a stab of white fire. The Balrog fell back and its sword flew up in molten fragments. The wizard swayed on the bridge, stepped back a pace, and then again stood still. 'You cannot pass!' he said. With a bound the Balrog leaped full upon the bridge. Its whip whirled and hissed. 'He cannot stand alone!' cried Aragorn suddenly and ran back along the bridge. 'Elendil!' he shouted. 'I am with you, Gandalf!' `Gondor!' cried Boromir and leaped after him. At that moment Gandalf lifted his staff, and crying aloud he smote the bridge before him. The staff broke asunder and fell from his hand. A blinding sheet of white flame sprang up. The bridge cracked. Right at the Balrog's feet it broke, and the stone upon which it stood crashed into the gulf, while the rest remained, poised, quivering like a tongue of rock thrust out into emptiness. With a terrible cry the Balrog fell forward, and its shadow plunged down and vanished. But even as it fell it swung its whip, and the thongs lashed and curled about the wizard's knees, dragging him to the brink. He staggered and fell, grasped vainly at the stone, and slid into the abyss. 'Fly, you fools!' he cried, and was gone.

From The Two Towers: Chapter 5: The White Rider

'Yes, together we will follow you,' said Legolas. 'But first, it would ease my heart, Gandalf, to hear what befell you in Moria. Will you not tell us? Can you not stay even to tell your friends how you were delivered?' 'I have stayed already too long,' answered Gandalf. 'Time is short. But if there were a year to spend, I would not tell you all.' 'Then tell us what you will, and time allows!' said Gimli. 'Come, Gandalf, tell us how you fared with the Balrog!' 'Name him not!' said Gandalf, and for a moment it seemed that a cloud of pain passed over his face, and he sat silent, looking old as death. 'Long time I fell,' he said at last, slowly, as if thinking back with difficulty. 'Long I fell, and he fell with me. His fire was about me. I was burned. Then we plunged into the deep water and all was dark. Cold it was as the tide of death: almost it froze my heart.' 'Deep is the abyss that is spanned by Durin's Bridge, and none has measured it,' said Gimli. 'Yet it has a bottom, beyond light and knowledge,' said Gandalf. 'Thither I came at last, to the uttermost foundations of stone. He was with me still. His fire was quenched, but now he was a thing of slime, stronger than a strangling snake. 'We fought far under the living earth, where time is not counted. Ever he clutched me, and ever I hewed him, till at last he fled into dark tunnels. They were not made by Durin's folk, Gimli son of Glóin. Far, far below the deepest delving of the Dwarves, the world is gnawed by nameless things. Even Sauron knows them not. They are older than he. Now I have walked there, but I will bring no report to darken the light of day. In that despair my enemy was my only hope, and I pursued him, clutching at his heel. Thus he brought me back at last to the secret ways of Khazad-dûm: too well he knew them all. Ever up now we went, until we came to the Endless Stair.' 'Long has that been lost,' said Gimli. 'Many have said that it was never made save in legend, but others say that it was destroyed.' 'It was made, and it had not been destroyed,' said Gandalf. 'From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak it climbed. ascending in unbroken spiral in many thousand steps, until it issued at last in Durin's Tower carved in the living rock of Zirak-zigil, the pinnacle of the Silvertine. 'There upon Celebdil was a lonely window in the snow, and before it lay a narrow space, a dizzy eyrie above the mists of the world. The sun shone fiercely there, but all below was wrapped in cloud. Out he sprang, and even as I came behind, he burst into new flame. There was none to see, or perhaps in after ages songs would still be sung of the Battle of the Peak.' Suddenly Gandalf laughed. 'But what would they say in song? Those that looked up from afar thought that the mountain was crowned with storm. Thunder they heard, and lightning, they said, smote upon Celebdil, and leaped back broken into tongues of fire. Is not that enough? A great smoke rose about us, vapour and steam. Ice fell like rain. I threw down my enemy, and he fell from the high place and broke the mountain-side where he smote it in his ruin. Then darkness took me; and I strayed out of thought and time, and I wandered far on roads that I will not tell. 'Naked I was sent back – for a brief time, until my task is done. And naked I lay upon the mountain-top. The tower behind was crumbled into dust, the window gone; the ruined stair was choked with burned and broken stone. I was alone, forgotten, without escape upon the hard horn of the world. There I lay staring upward, while the stars wheeled over, and each day was as long as a life-age of the earth. Faint to my ears came the gathered rumour of all lands: the springing and the dying, the song and the weeping, and the slow everlasting groan of overburdened stone. And so at the last Gwaihir the Windlord found me again, and he took me up and bore me away.

[stump-salsa]

This one image of papyrus is really interesting to Me.

[skyshipper]

HAPPY STAR WARS DAY! MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU

[impossible-rat-babies]

vierapril day 26--weapon

"and failing that, i'll have my trusty warrior of light box the ears of all concerned."

[creatively-cosmic]

more stuff for our cr retake looooore. something about cycles and reincarnations... supposedly.

[Lore under da cut . also blueberry milk is @viscarrion 's guy i just did concept art ^^]

[ edit: a lot of this is already outdated u-u ]

disclaimer: this was copied straight from a ramble over discord i did while very tired so this is Not final and might sound like a message written at 6am on a hyperfixation high

the thought with the ancients story is . We're making it cyclical with it babyy. age old legacies passed down over ages of cookies made of the same recipes yet Tweaked, born again, over and over, changing and evolving, lights of virtue watching and Waiting for an incarnation worthy of being their avatars. the beasts were a catastrophe that could not repeated- no, the next wielders had to prove themselves.

early attempts resulted in disaster, cookies chasing purpose and power, yet falling into the same corruption as the Beasts and becoming mirror images of their madness. as time passed and recipes changed, eventually, one success would rise- proven by their good natures and a great act of leadership and power. (possibly by striking down another corrupted incarnation deemed the Leviathans- smth we're still workshopping, based offa thing mentioned in the pre-registration artbook)

the soul jams had changed by then, too- but these heroes were, all the same, worthy of them. a successful batch at long last.

for a while the world thrived under their rule- peace prevailed and kingdoms were born, built, and flourished.

yet good things never last.

white lily, on the night of witches, fell into the "ultimate dough" after discovering the true nature of the witches all cookies revered as Gods- how they saw them only as snacks, puny and fragile and delicious. as the woman drowned in dark magic, poisonous ingredients, and was burnt from every angle from a second baking, she emerged changed. angry. pained. hateful. and imbued with that great power, she found herself strong enough to make a stand against the witches.

one by one, they fell. and in pursuit of vengeance and the power to change everything, let's just say that she decided to turn the dynamic of Witch and Cookie on its head. with bloodied teeth and bones as trophies, the now Wilted Lily cookie, who would come to be known as the Dark Enchantress, set out to show the world what she'd discovered. and how she would change it.

of course, the Heroes wouldn't let this stand. the enchantress did not take pleasure in fighting her once-friends. did not revel in how she had become unrecognizable. white lily, however, had always chased goals that she believed was for the good of the world- this was no different, and no one would stand in her way. at any cost, she would prevail.

on a fateful night, the war between her and the Heroes came to a head. Two kings, two queens, and a sorceress entered that battlefield.

what came of it were five shattered soul jams, four orphaned kingdoms, and only one survivor; sealed away by forbidden magic in a final attempt by Pure Vanilla to save the world as he knew it, in his dying breath.

a few hundred years passed. the dust settled- the war, forgotten. but having lost their leaders so suddenly, so cruelly, and while they were so young, the kingdoms left behind were weak. cookies left, rulers took and left the throne far faster than anything reasonable. societies rose of their own merits, but the remnants of kingdoms clung dearly to what was left, their people spurred on by whispers of legends- of undying heroes, who would one day return and bring their small lands to power again.

when spurred by belief, anything you hold closely can be true in the eye of the beholder.

a cookie was baked with pure vanilla extract and decorated in the flowers of the vanilla plant it had been harvested from. a kindly and pacifist healer, a shepherd- the village under the sky kingdom's remains watched closely, and began muttering of his uncanny resemblance to the legend of the kingdom above.

sparks of hope would become a guiding firelight in the villages hearts- slowly, the name Vanilla Flower was drowned out by the prayers for the return at last of Pure Vanilla.

a young girl cookie, red and tart and bursting with life, wandered into the Hollyberry kingdom from Dragon's Valley. she boasted of victory over beasts great and small, bringing great supplies and hopes for prosperity to the beautiful little kingdom. her passion shone bright, her natural sense of leadership even moreso. the queen that their age-old songs would never forget must have returned!

again, the name of Red Holly was lost under the voices singing of the triumphant return of Hollyberry.

The Cacao kingdom stood strong- a council lead them steadily and held them well through the endless winters of their land. But as time passed and mindsets changed, the council would fracture- no single party trusted enough to watch and unify. Nobody, except... Him. A decision was made- it was time to take a kingdom-wide belief seriously. They watched, as each newly baked cookie would come through. Trying to discern if one could finally be the reincarnation of their king. Until finally, a boy of lonesome and bitter origins came to them, begging for a chance to fight for the good of the kingdom. They saw the look in his eyes, and knew he had come home.

Frigid Cacao, under the guide of the council, quietly let his name be lost under their uplifting words of how Dark Cacao had returned.

The golden cheese kingdom had long ago made a promise to their queen- in the event of her death, they were to prepare and ensure her reincarnation happened smoothly. They did not simply sit and wait. Over those hundreds of years, they carefully engineered each step of the recipe- carefully gathered every ingredient, carefully crafted her dough, and carefully, carefully, set her aside- shaped to perfect form- to incubate in her golden egg cradle, slow-baked by the warmth of safety and adoration. It took ages, but she emerged almost perfect. It had taken too long to care about the flaws- for now, this cookie was their queen.

Before Pyrite could even learn her name, she was taught the only one she'd ever be called by her people- Golden Cheese.

the next cycle began with these four, names and identities cast aside to fill the roles of monarchs and heroes the people of the land sought for. They made idols of men, and each kingdom raised them as such.

And even so, how could they doubt who they were when even the lights of virtue told them exactly the same...?

though the soul jams were still shattered, each of the four had been baked with a small piece within them- a piece that now connected them to the past life they once embodied. the lights whispered of destiny, of rebirth- showed them memories of lifetimes long since passed. the four upheld their virtues as best as they could. even as the weight went on to exhaust them, burdened by the responsibilities, legacy, and promises of a life they had no say in- of a person they never were.

... what of the fifth?

dark enchantress, though sealed, was not dead. her soul jam was still hers, right? and white lily had no kingdom, no subjects to morn her, or to wish for her return....

... mostly.

the kingdom of the faeries held her in dear regards. she'd been a friend and savior, bringing unfathomable power only outdone by their own monarch. They led her along on her quest for answers... and felt responsible for the following chaos.

dark enchantress... that was not the cookie they'd known. whatever happened, it was not white lily. Not to them. white lily was still out there, exhiled from herself. what she needed... was help!

so the faeries made a cookie. as best they could, they made White Lily cookie. she would be born anew as one of their own, her flowers not quite the same.. but still hers.

and carefully, they laid that husk where one day, her soul would find its way home again.

Valley Lily cookie did not awake until desperation grew high enough to force a lost soul into her body. And given life... she awoke. Confused, lost, and with no idea of who she was, where she was, and even what she was ... though far more dazed, Valley Lily was no different than the other young "reincarnations."

the only difference was now, that cycle of uncertainty was not at the hands of a kingdom. it was at the hands of cookies who had been forced to remember the lily of a different life. of cookies who looked at a lost stranger, and instead saw an old friend.

[almostfoxglove]

askjhafksdjh DEZ!! oh my god oh my god. this was such a heartbreak and a fairytale all wrapped into one, and I adored it - forever n always will be weak for "I'll find you in any lifetime" and with OBERYN?? PLEASE. obsessed with the magic you made from the moodboard - this was SO much fun and hurt me SO DEEPLY but also healed me at the same time?? AH!

popping some favorite bits under the cut!!

Rumors always swirled around her, like the mists at midnight. Whispers of how she was the daughter of death but those were merely tales, weren’t they? Surely, she had to have been adopted, a stray taken in by Death, out of pity perhaps or some twisted dark humor.

THIS PREMISE?? YOUR MIND!! OBSESSED!!

“You’ve been watching me,” his voice smooth but edged with curiosity. A tilt to his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Do I know you?”

I could just see him here, you know? and hear him. ugh. so good.

But what was greatness without love? Without him? Without the other half of her soul?

:,) I'm not crying you're crying

“But you have to promise me something too.” “Anything butterfly,” he said.

the way I too would suffer an eternity for 1 (one) chance for this man to call me butterfly???

Being the daughter of Death, revenge was swift and oh so sweet, finding those that would take him from her, their blood soaking her skin as the ferryman approached, hand outstretched for payment. “You will get no payment from me nor them. Let them wander the shores, I care not.”

HELL FUCKING YEAAAH. love her.

Modern clothes were so restrictive and quite frankly hideous. She missed the days of wearing flowing gowns, of feeling a breeze tease the fabric against her legs.

she's so real for this tbh #bringbackflowinggowns

“I swear you have the tongue of a viper.”

>:-) the snicker I let out when I read this was hysterical

“Because Oberyn’s love for you would bind you to the mortal realm and you have a destiny far greater than being his lover, his wife. You are meant to take your fathers place when the time comes.”

DEZ! this was so much fun and so ouch-y and so lovely. I was over the fucking moon when I got to the end?? my adrenaline is PUMPING, love is REAL, oberyn is EVERYTHING - I loved this. thank you so much for joining the challenge and sharing such magic with us!! I'm so grateful!!

Of Death and Butterflies

Fandom: Game of Thrones-This is all AU.

Okay...It's here. It took a while because I wanted it just right. I played around with a lot of mythology on this. If this is not your shot of whisky, scroll on by. As a talented, wise woman has said, “I write for me and share with you.”

Rating: Mature-There is angst, angst, smut, teeny tiny fluff.

WARNING: Talk of death and blood.

Central Characters: Oberyn, Lilith and Death

Central Relationship: Oberyn and Lilith (Original Female Character)

Word Count: 7,979

AO3

Please do not copy my work. If you liked it, please re-blog and tag me. Please do not steal the mood board, it was a gift by the lovely Freya. Stealing is just WRONG. I do not give permission to copy, translate, or post my work to any other platform.

This is for Freya’s Let’s Get Angsty writing challenge.

Freya, I had such a gut-wrenching time writing this. Thank you for letting me partake. I utterly adore you.

Jana, Thank you for your encouragement and telling me you loved it when it was just a baby.

Bre, Ryan and Carole, thank you for the support.

Love you guys

Music Inspiration:

I Will Find You-The Phantoms

Love The Way You Lie-Rihanna

Rescue-Lauren Daigle

River-Bishop Briggs

Whispers In the Dark-Skillet

Summary:

Everyone’s heard the stories of Lilith. Of how she came to be. But are the stories true? Is she really a demon or something else? She was not born of angels but created by Death himself. To walk between the land of the living and dead. But what happens when The Fates intervene and present her soulmate? Countless lives and re-incarnations have been lived and lost. Will Oberyn remember before another life slips between their fingers like sand?

Standing at the doorway, tracing the infinity tattoo on her wrist, the bright yellow glow a sharp contrast to pale skin. Remembering her father telling her that it was a symbol of her refusal to let go of him, the deep ache settling in her chest as she watched the man who didn’t remember her.

Time stood still as she remembered her past, his always elusive. She’d been hidden in a small town, unlike anyone else, skin pale as moonlight, with eyes that saw both past and future, she had moved through her life with an unsettling grace. Rumors always swirled around her, like the mists at midnight. Whispers of how she was the daughter of death but those were merely tales, weren’t they? Surely, she had to have been adopted, a stray taken in by Death, out of pity perhaps or some twisted dark humor. Suspend reality for a moment, how could Death have a daughter?

Truth be told, she couldn’t remember any of her earlier years. All she knew was that Death himself had raised her, taught her to read from ancient books and walk silently across any surface. He had shown her kindnesses too, in his own dark way. On birthdays, there would be a single black rose waiting by her bedside. On difficult nights, he would wrap his cloak around her like the world’s heaviest blanket, dark but oddly comforting.

He never behaved like other parents. He was distant but watchful, a presence that filled rooms even when he stood outside them, his scythe never far, for he was both a guardian and a reminder of what she was, of what she could become. Until him. Until his soul called to her darkness, his vibrancy a contradiction to her darkness. Of course she made her decision known to her father, wanting to claim humanity for this man. Oh but there would be consequences to this.

“Some things,” he murmured, “are better left unknown, child.”

“What would they be Father?”

“Once you know, there’s no going back. Knowledge is a door; once you open it, you cannot close it.”

She felt a shiver creep down her spine but nodded, unwavering. “I know this.”

Death took a slow breath, though he didn’t need to breathe, as if gathering his thoughts.

“You are my own,” he finally said. “But if you choose this path to humanity, he will never remember you when he passes and is reborn. You will be destined to live with him and then without him until you find him again. Until he can fully remember, without any of your powers, this is how it will be.”

“What? Why would you give such conditions? That is torture Father, harsh, even for you.” 

“You were born from a fragment of my own essence, a piece of my soul given life. I carved you from the fabric of eternity itself. You are…my legacy, my beginning, and my end.”

His words filled her with awe and dread. She was not just Death’s child; she was a part of Death himself, as eternal and unyielding as he was. She was made from the very stuff that shaped the boundaries of life and death.

Death watched her closely, his gaze softer now, almost…human. “It will not be an easy existence, but it is yours. It’s my hope,” he added, “that one day, you will understand the power and the burden that comes with it and forget him.”

For the first time in her existence, she hated him. She understood her destiny but she desperately wanted to bend and create her own. Belonging to both the world of the living and the domain of the dead, a bridge between the realms, was a treacherous path, one she was unsure she could navigate. But then she looked up, seeing him step into the room, sharp features illuminated by golden light, spilling in from the high windows, devastatingly handsome as he had always been in every life before this that she could remember. His roguish smile, combined with a piercing gaze, she knew she had no choice. To him, she was a stranger, just another woman who had stepped into his world. A woman who’d been looking for years to find him.

“You’ve been watching me,” his voice smooth but edged with curiosity. A tilt to his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Do I know you?”

Her heart clenched, her father’s cruel conditions, leaving her stranded in this moment, faced with the impossible task of rekindling memories buried by the sands of time. She forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not yet,” she replied, her voice soft but steady.

Stepping closer, movements deliberate, predatory. “Then tell me, why do you look at me as if we share a history?”

Because we do, she wanted to scream. Instead, fists were clenched, nails biting into her palms. The succubus living inside her soul surged within her, whispering of the easy path—seduce him, ensnare him, make him yours, but she couldn’t. Oberyn deserved more than manipulation; he deserved to remember on his own.

“Perhaps it’s just curiosity,” she said instead, voice laced with a false confidence she’d mastered over centuries.

“Curiosity can be dangerous,” he murmured, eyes narrowing. “Especially with someone like me.”

“And yet,” she said, stepping closer, “I find myself drawn to the danger.”

For a fleeting moment, she saw something in his gaze—a flicker of recognition, a shadow of the man he had been, but it vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving her with only the ghost of hope.

That night, sitting by the fire in her chambers, mind replaying every interaction she had with him that day. She had tried to spark something, anything, that might awaken his memories, but it was as if the thread of their past had been severed beyond repair. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, his cryptic warning: He will not remember, and it is up to you to make him.

“Why?” she whispered into the silence. The infinity tattoo burned on her wrist, the pain a cruel reminder of her fate. She had been destined for greatness, her father had said, not to be tied to a man. But what was greatness without love? Without him? Without the other half of her soul?

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts, wiping her face, she moved to open it, finding him on the other side, his expression unreadable.

“You haunt me,” he said simply, his voice raw. “I do not know why, but I cannot stop thinking of you.” When they had parted ways earlier in the day, he assumed she would be like every other woman that crossed his path, a body to use, she refused him, someone that was just a passing desire but he found that her presence lingered in the recesses of his mind, causing him to seek her out.

“Perhaps it’s destiny,” she offered, voice trembling slightly.

“Destiny,” he echoed, stepping closer, a hand brushing hers, and for a moment, the yellow glow of her tattoo illuminated his face, eyes widening, a flicker of something deeper sparking within them. “What are you to me?”

Swallowing hard, resolve crumbling. “Everything.”

Brows furrowed as he looked at her, his usual confidence wavering. “Why does it feel like I’ve heard those words before? As if they’re a whisper in the back of my mind, something I cannot quite grasp.”

“Because they are,” stepping back, wrapping her arms around herself, voice barely audible. “You don’t remember me, but I remember you. I remember everything.”

“Then tell me,” He urged, tone more desperate now. “Tell me who you are, who I was to you.”

She wanted to tell him, wanted to spill every memory, every detail of the love they had shared, of every life before this but she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Words alone couldn’t reignite the fire that burned between them in every time before this.

“It doesn’t work that way,” she whispered. “You have to remember on your own.”

His frustration was palpable, reaching out, cupping her face in his hands. “Then help me. Show me. I can feel it—this pull toward you. It’s maddening, like I’ve lost something vital and you’re the key to finding it.”

She could feel tears welling in her eyes, delicate hands wrapping around his wrists. “It’s not fair, that I remember and you can’t” she said, voice shaking. “This task is mine alone. One day, in another lifetime, you will remember, I swear.”

His thumb brushed away a tear that slipped down her cheek, bringing it to his mouth, he could taste the salt in it but there was something more, something tugging at him, like his soul wanting his mind to remember. “Then let us make new memories,” he said softly. “If I cannot reclaim the past, then give me the present. Give me you.”

“You don’t understand. If you don’t remember, we’ll never truly be whole. I can’t… I can’t lose you again.”

“Again?” His gaze hardened with determination. “I do not understand but I will remember. Even if it takes a lifetime, I will find the pieces. But you must promise me one thing.”

“What?” she asked.

“Don’t leave,” he said. “Whatever it takes, stay here with me. Let me prove to you that I’m worth remembering.”

She hesitated, the weight of her father’s warning heavy on her shoulders but as she looked into his eyes, she saw a spark of the man she had loved, the man she still loved, would always love.

“I will stay,” she said at last, voice firm despite the turmoil in her heart. “But you have to promise me something too.”

“Anything butterfly,” he said.

She gasped as he called her by the pet name he’d given her two lifetimes ago. She’d found it humorous since anyone who came near her felt nothing but darkness. “Promise me you’ll fight. No matter how hard it gets, no matter how much it hurts.”

He took her hand, pressing a kiss to her wrist, where the infinity tattoo glowed brighter than ever. “Always.”

Days turned to weeks, Lilith staying by his side, trying to guide him through the labyrinth of forgotten memories. Some nights, he would wake in a cold sweat, fragments of their past flashing through his dreams. Other nights, they would sit under the stars, her voice weaving stories of the life they had shared but just as he would remember, they would slip through his fingers like sand. Then there were nights she was above and below him, the sex so incredible, he swore he saw colors but when dawn came, some fragments stayed, others vanishing like the stars but he knew she clung to hope, like a life line, praying he would remember not just who she was but what they were together.

“When the sun rises tomorrow,” he said, his voice thick with determination, “I will announce our union to the court.”

“Oberyn, they will not accept me. I am nothing to them.”

“But you are everything to me.”

A hand gently cupped his cheek, palm brushing against the prickly stubble of his beard, as strong arms enveloped her. “As you are to me, love. But tread carefully and remember your promise”

She knew what was going to happen before it did but she could not warn him, it would go against the rules just as the succubus within was demanding she claim him, forcing him to remember. It was primal, tearing at her, knowing when he died, they’d have to wait another lifetime to find him.

The next day, she awoke to chaos. Screams and shouts, piercing and echoing off stone walls, one of the maids bursting into their chambers, telling her to hurry. He had been found lifeless in the palace gardens and upon seeing his body, throat slit from ear to ear, it felt as if she was being flayed alive. Being the daughter of Death, revenge was swift and oh so sweet, finding those that would take him from her, their blood soaking her skin as the ferryman approached, hand outstretched for payment. “You will get no payment from me nor them. Let them wander the shores, I care not.”

Returning home, devastated once more, her path a wake of destruction, she found her father, sharpening his scythe, the click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval.

“Father why has this happened, you need to fix this, now. It is the closest I’ve been to him remembering. I can’t take this constant crushing hurt. We were so close.”

“I cannot. You know this. All the lives you’ve led with him will end the same, until he remembers. My child, you wanted your humanity for this man, this is the price you must pay for it.”

He watched his child collapse on the cold stone floor, great sobs wrenched from her soul, hating to see her in this kind of pain. Enveloping her within the folds of his cloak, shielding her from prying eyes, trying to give comfort as best he could. “Lilith, I must ask, is this man worth what you have gone through? What you will continue to go through?”

“Always father.”

Centuries later, the hum of modern London filled her ears as she sat in her corner office, typing away, stopping mid-sentence to adjust the cuffs of the blazer she was wearing. Modern clothes were so restrictive and quite frankly hideous. She missed the days of wearing flowing gowns, of feeling a breeze tease the fabric against her legs. Now the only time she wore them was on weekends. She would never understand the modern world and all the rules but she followed them like a bitch in heat, strung at the end of a leash.

Finger tips absently running over the tattoo, the soft yellow glow vibrating with her pulse. She knew he was here, his company on the cusp of going public. Sighing, pinching the bridge of her nose, knowing that they would have to start all over in this life. So many lifetimes that she’d almost lost count. Almost. In everyone they always got close but then he would be taken and she’d have to start over. In all the centuries his soul had started over in, none had come as close as the fourth one, when he had remembered the nickname, he’d given her. The butterfly, wings of vibrant yellow and earthy browns, decorated her other wrist, her father displeased with the defiance.

The intercom buzzed. “Miss Scott, Mr. Martel is here to discuss the merger.”

“Send him in.”

She rose, smoothing the black skirt, walking around her desk, nerves making her edgy and temperamental. As the door opened, he entered, his presence still commanding and familiar. For a moment, neither spoke but the handshake they shared felt electric, a jolt that sent flashes of another life racing through their minds. She let the handshake linger for another second or two, seeing the flash of recognition before it was gone. Her succubus, recognizing his soul, roared to life, clawing at heart and lungs, wanting to consume him. Inhaling a deep breath, holding for a count of five before slowly releasing it, she motioned to the chair in front of her desk.

“Mr. Martel, please have a seat.”

He had no idea what had just happened, the whole thing throwing him off balance. When they shook hands, flashes of memories, seared themselves into his sub-conscious. He saw her in a simple gown, smile radiant beneath the sun. Of endless nights beneath the brightness of stars. Of limbs and tongues tangled together, whispered words of love and lust, vibrant colors exploding behind eyelids as she came, his cock buried deep within her body.

“Do I know you?” His voice unsteady.

“Not yet.”

He’d heard those words before. More than once. He was so sure of it but it couldn’t be, could it?

She wanted to scream, let lose all of the rage and frustration. She wanted to rip her father apart for the endless loop of her life. Of finding him only to lose him again. She swore his determination at this game was more of a test than anything. Sitting down, fists clenched in her lap, those nails biting into her palms, forcing herself to remain composed when she actually wanted to slaughter the world. The weight of lifetimes pressed against her heart as she looked down. “So, let’s discuss the merger of your company with the one you are looking to buy.”

She could see the confusion etched into his features, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his lips parted as if he was about to say something more. But the conversation never switched from business to personal. Two hours later, all papers were signed and documented. “Well Mr. Martel, now that everything is in order,” Sliding a business card across her desk, a single black nail tapping the paper, “Should you need anything else before next week, please let me know.” Standing, she rounded the corner of the barrier between them and went to open the door. Suddenly large warm hands, wrapped around her upper arms, pinning her to the wall.

“I cannot shake this feeling that I know you but I don’t. I’ve never met you before today…” The urge to kiss her, to bury himself within her depths was primal, almost animalistic, mind flooding with images from somewhere in his sub-conscious. Her name rolled off his lips before he kissed her, mind and body coming alive almost as if they had been reanimated, the heat between them so intense, it could scorch the earth.

She was the one who broke the kiss, despite the desperate screams of the succubus, needing to breath. He was always so consuming when passion flared between them. “Oberyn.” She could hear her father’s voice, echoing in her mind, a cruel reminder of their fate.  

“My name from you sounds as if you have said a thousand times before today.”

“Because I have.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying her with a mix of curiosity and wariness. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” she replied, taking a step back.

Before he could respond, she turned and walked back to her side of the desk, heart heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. She couldn’t stop the cycle, couldn’t break free of it—not without him. But the question that haunted her more than any other was simple: Would this time be different?

“Good day Mr. Martel.” She was dismissing him, as if the kiss had never happened, knowing it would only be a matter of time before he found her. He was nothing if not persistent. This time, it only took two days.

The heavy wooden door rattled under his fist as he pounded against it again. The narrow street, cloaked in twilight, leaving the small village bathed in shadow. His chest heaved with barely contained anger and confusion as he stared at the intricate carvings on the door—symbols he didn’t recognize but felt unnervingly familiar. When the door creaked open, she stood there, eyes widening slightly before narrowing in a mixture of sorrow and resignation, the flowing black robe clinging to her frame like shadows, tattoo glowing faintly against the dusky light.

“Oberyn,” she said, voice a careful balance of warmth and caution.

“You knew it was me, didn’t you?” he growled, stepping forward until he was close enough to see the faint pulse at her neck, noticing that she didn’t flinch. “I need answers. Why do I keep dreaming of you? Of us? I’ve seen things—a life I can’t remember but feel like I lived. Tell me the truth.”

She sighed, stepping aside, gesturing for him to enter. Her home was small, dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of hydrangea’s and something darker, more ancient. Candles flickered on every available surface, their flames casting shadows across the walls. Here, in this place, she didn’t have to hide behind a façade, didn’t have to pretend to blend in with the modernness around her.

“You always were persistent,” she murmured, closing the door behind him, turning to face him, her expression softer now but tinged with a subtle anguish. “There are rules, Oberyn. Rules I cannot break.”

He stepped closer, dark eyes blazing. “Enough with the riddles. You’ve been in my head. Faces, places, emotions I can’t explain, you’re always there. Why?”

Lips pressed into a thin line as she turned away, walking to the small table in the corner, fingers tracing its edge. “Because you’re meant to remember, all I can tell you are stories of the lives we’ve shared, the love we had. The memories of them, the feelings behind them? It’s all inside you but you have to unlock it yourself. That was the deal.”

“What deal? With who?”

“My father.”

 “Your father? This makes no sense Lilith. You speak in such riddles.”

“Frustrating, isn’t it? I can tell you everything,” she said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “But if I force the memories, the cycle will never end.”

He stared at her, the weight of her words crashing down on him. “The cycle?”

She nodded, expression grim. “We’ve been here before, Oberyn. Many, many times. Each life, I find you. Each life, you remember too late, or not at all. And then…” Hesitating, voice breaking. “Then we’re torn apart again.”

“And what happens if I do remember? If I break this… cycle?”

Her gaze bored into his, fierce and unyielding. “Then we’re free. You and I. Free of the cycle that binds us. But the risk is yours to take. I cannot guide you, Oberyn. I can only share and hope.”

Stepping closer, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I don’t care about rules or deals or your father. I care about you when I know I shouldn’t. I’m not leaving until I understand everything.”

Lips curved into a sad smile. “You’ve always been so stubborn, persistent, demanding. Things I love most about you. But this path, it’s yours to walk.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the air thick with unspoken words, before he reached out, fingers twinning with hers. “If you remember everything, then tell me one thing only I would know.”

Hesitating, before leaning closer, voice a soft murmur against his ear. “You once told me that the stars reminded you of me. Because no matter how far away they seemed, they were always there, lighting your way.”

His breath hitched as the memory, dim and distant, flickered to life in his mind. A warm night, a sea of stars, and her laughter blending with the wind. His grip on her hand tightened for just a second or two before he let her go.  

She saw it, the flicker of something in his eyes, pupils dilating, the pause in breath. “Do you know how hard it is to have hope after so many centuries? I want to believe, to have faith but I don’t know if I can.”

“Te amo, Lilith.” Those words escaping his lips, without hesitation, without pause. It felt as normal for him to say it as breathing.

“And I you.” Those words had been spoken so many times, in so many different languages, Spanish being the last one.

The blackout curtains in her room blurred the line between night and day, casting the space in a perpetual twilight that made time feel irrelevant. Leaning against the headboard, the cool wood grounding him as his gaze stayed fixed on her, her breath, soft and steady, he couldn’t help but replay every moment they had shared. The weight of what had unfolded between them settled deep in his chest, equal parts exhilaration and disbelief.

When their lips met, it was more than a kiss, it was a spark igniting something primal and consuming within them. The intensity of it coursed through his veins, a heady rush that felt like fire and ecstasy all at once. She wasn’t just a fleeting distraction; she was an addiction, a pull so strong he doubted he’d ever be free of it. Laying back down, he gently traced her features with his fingertips, memorizing every detail, as if she might disappear the moment he looked away. The soft glow of the infinity symbol on her wrist, mesmerizing.

“Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to stare?” Eyes blinking open, his face inches from hers.

“Is it staring or admiring beauty?”

“I swear you have the tongue of a viper.”

“I am not being deceitful; I am being truthful.”

Moving, body now covering his, bare breasts crushed against the warmth of his skin. “Such a way with words. Tis no wonder woman threw themselves at you.” There wasn’t any hint of jealousy in her voice when she spoke, knowing there had been so many before she found him.

“Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Anywhere, I care not where, just as long as it is you and I.”

“Oberyn we can’t just run away.” Although she was wondering why they couldn’t. The job she had? A façade because she knew he would be here, in this time and place.

“It is really running away or is it wanting to be together?”

“How can I argue with such logic?”

“You can’t but first.” Flipping her over so that she was now beneath him, hands spread thighs apart, lips tracing a path down her neck, over the skin of a shoulder, feeling her shiver as his mouth suckled at the skin just above her breast before they wrapped around a nipple, teeth pulling at it until he could feel the hardness against his tongue.

A loud moan bubbled out of her as her back arched off the bed, enjoying the sensations that coursed through her. The demon within roared to life with the promise of him, needing the high only his soul could give them. He always left her breathless, needing more. Reaching down between them, she wrapped fingers around the hardness of him, feeling the warmth of his cock, using long strokes to tease him, feeling the vibration of his groan against her skin, hips thrusting into her hand. With each stroke, she could feel him growing harder and more eager. Increasing the pace, using faster strokes to bring him closer to release and just when it seemed like he was about to explode, she slowed down, teasing him with gentle touches that left him gasping for breath.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of foreplay, he pushed inside her with one swift motion, filling her completely with hard thick flesh, holding himself still for a moment, feeling her cunt spasm around him. Strokes were slow at first, wanting to drag out the pleasure for both of them but the way she gripped him, limbs wrapped his body, his pace became deeper and harder until her cries of pleasure echoed in his head.

Their bodies moved together in perfect sync, each thrust pushing them closer to release. Sweat dripped from his brows onto the sheets below, hearts pounding to the same rhythm. In end it wasn't possible tell whose moans were louder, whose body shook more violently but didn't matter because both knew exactly what other needed. She could feel the pad of his thumb brush against her clit, the orgasm so intense it threatened to drown them both as it fed her succubus, who would never get enough of the man above her. Power seeped from her pores as he came, seed scalding her womb, walls clenching around his cock, as he covered her with his body, warmth and weight seeping into her skin.

He didn’t know how long they laid that way before he rolled off of her, gathering her close, lips at her ear. “Such passion butterfly.”

Sitting up, she looked down at him, eyes wide before she leaned in, brushing her lips along his, body curling around him.

“What is wrong?”

“The nickname…Butterfly. You’ve said it before.”

“There is still something about you I cannot place, something that feels…ancient. It is something that tickled at the back of my mind. Is that why you have the tattoo on your wrist?”

Nodding against his chest, unable to form words, eyes drifting shut, remembering the past times he’s uttered the name. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take, of losing him, finding him. How many more lifetimes would she put herself through this before she simply gave up and claimed her birthright, heart heavy with the weight of truths. Wouldn’t it just be easier to simply let him go? She was tired, so very tired of the crushing pain every time he was ripped away from her.

Fingers found the hollow of jawbone beneath her chin, tilting her head back, seeing cheeks wet, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Where did you go butterfly?”

Shaking her head, she got up, wrapping silk around her, belt knotted tightly at her waist. “It matters not. If you want to go somewhere then let’s go. Anywhere. Spain, Italy, France.” She could feel it, the darkness edging around them, letting her know his time was coming. It could be weeks, could be months but however long they had, she didn’t want it to be here.

They’d been together two weeks, racing across Europe, desperately trying to shove as many memories into this life time as they could. Standing at the edge of the cliff, sun setting on the horizon, the edge of darkness was closing in faster than she wanted, knowing there was nothing she could do. Her father would soon come for him, the details, something she didn’t want to know. Be it natural or taken by force, his death would be her undoing and she would bath in blood, letting it soak her skin as she grieved yet another lifetime. Again, she wondered how many lives she could go through, how many times would she mourn before she stopped, finally letting him go.

Feeling the warmth of him against her back, arms winding their way around her waist, a faint smile given despite the crushing weight of what was to come.

“Hello lil butterfly. Where is your mind?”

“Everywhere.” Turning within his embrace, a palm resting on his chest. “Oberyn perhaps it is time for me to stop. To stop chasing something I shouldn’t have. It’s not fair to you. To constantly have my presence in your life. If I just let go, perhaps your soul could find peace instead of being tormented.” She could feel muscles tense beneath her hand, the way his expression darkened, feeling the shift of power between them. She’d been selfish, thinking she could be what she was and have some type of humanity but watching him die, over and over, with the hint of what could be, wasn’t fair to him. “Fate could give you what I cannot.”

The arm encircling her waist tightened as fingers curled possessively against the small of her back, his free hand came up to cradle her chin, tilting her face up so her gaze could meet his. “Do you think fate holds sway over me, Lilith?” voice low and steady. “Do you really believe that anyone could offer me something greater than you? You speak as if I am the victim but you, giving up, I do believe that would be the cruelest twist of said fate.” Thumb brushed against her jaw as he stepped closer, bodies almost flush, lips curled into a faint smirk. “You’ve told yourself a thousand times, haven’t you? That you are unworthy of what we are? You want to speak of everywhere? That is where you are. In my thoughts, dreams, every heartbeat.”

She hesitated for a moment, warmth spreading from her touch. “I love you more than my existence. It’s why I need to let you go. Human life is so much shorter. You need to live a full life, one where you grow to be a hundred, to have babies, to have all the things that are always taken from you because of me.”

“Lilith, none of that matters if it is not with you. Why can you not you understand that? I would rather go through a thousand lifetimes with glimpses of you, than one in which I never feel the way I do right now. I love you more than my soul. I care not how much time I have in any life as long as you are in it.”

As he slept that night, she grew restless, slipping from the bed, trying not to wake him, she opened door of their room and stepped into another that was foreign to her. Shock rooted her to the spot, and when she turned to go back, the doorway was gone. True she walked the land of the dead and the living but ending up someplace else…Yea that was new. The room was impossibly quiet, the kind of silence that stole your breath and in front of her was a spinning loom, threads weaving images of lives long gone and those yet to come. An almost ethereal figure sat at the loom, she was neither young nor old, eyes shining with smile.

“Come closer child.”

“I think I am fine where I am thank you.”

“Do you know why you are here? It is because Death thought himself clever but even, he cannot rewrite the destiny of another without consequence.”

“You’re one of the fates, aren’t you? What do you mean by consequence?”

“Such a clever child.” Hands hovered over the loom, tugging at a golden thread that pulsed, tangled with one that was inky black. “His soul is tethered to yours, always has been. But your father, severed his memories to spare you the constant pain of loss when in reality, your pain cries out to the old gods when he is taken from you. It was not Death’s choice to make.”

“I don’t understand. Why would he do such a thing? Why take from me what is mine?”

“Because Oberyn’s love for you would bind you to the mortal realm and you have a destiny far greater than being his lover, his wife. You are meant to take your fathers place when the time comes.”

Stepping forward, voice laced with determination. “That is not my choice nor my path.”

The Fate, shook her head, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “It has always been your path my child but we are not without mercy. There is a way to restore all to Oberyn, every life, every love, every moment shared with you but it comes with a price.”

“Doesn’t everything?”

“True. When Oberyn passes in this lifetime, you will have to be the one to guide him to the afterlife. Then you will take your father’s place as Death itself. You will become all that he is. The ferryman, the reaper, the shepherd of souls and you will no longer walk among the living. It is of course your choice to make. Just know that if you choose a different path, the cycle will never be broken. The bond between you both will weaken and eventually his soul will be lost to you forever.”

The weight of Fate’s words carved their way into her heart. “What if I just let it all go now, what would come to pass?”

“His soul would be taken, never to come back into a body. We are offering you this life, children to be born of the union. Children that were taken from you both, many lives ago. Human children that were destined for great things. Hence the knot of threads.”

She thought about every life they’d had together. How his was always cut so short because of her. How every time he passed, it destroyed a little piece of her. Now? They could have a full life. Together. They could chase every sunrise, exist under the stars and never have the fear of that darkness edging around their lives. Voice steady despite the storm raging inside her at what would come to pass after. "Do it. Give him his memories back. And when the time comes, I’ll take my father’s place."

The Fate nodded; her expression inscrutable. "So, mote it be."

She watched in awe as with a wave of her hand, the loom began to turn, the golden thread untangling and rejoining the black strands.

“When he awakens, he will remember all. Past and present. The mark on your wrist will fade by morning. That is when you must face Death. Love fierce and free my child.”

As Fate disappeared, the weight of her decision settled over her. The darkness that was edging around them now gone from her sight and on the morrow, they could begin anew.

She was jerked awake by the dream she’d had. It had to have been a dream, right? In all the years of her existence, she’d never met any of the Fates, remembering that there were those who believed they were even more powerful than the Gods themselves, at least that is what she’d been told. Shaking her head, cursing imagination gone wild, she got up, the robe wrapped around her, she stepped out onto the balcony that joined their room, watching oranges blend into blues as the sun rose over the ocean.

The dreams were relentless, like a montage of things from lives that belonged to him but didn’t. Chambers were bathed in soft orange light from a dawn so many lives ago, its vividness lingering like the scent of flowers after a storm. Silk sheets were pooled at his waist and he could see her, Lilith, eyes focused on him, her laugh soft but lethal, teasing the edges of his mind. Her touch was warm like the sun, setting his skin on fire when he touched her, always yearning for her. But the dreams weren’t what unnerved him the most, it was the memories that flooded him of them. He had been a Prince, she’d been nothing. She’d been a scholar, he’d been passing through the land, seeking shelter. He’d been a bloodied warrior; she’d been his bride. In every life, she’d found him, memories now cascading over him like an unrelenting tide but each one ended the same. Pain, loss, the ache of separation. Over and over, their fates intertwined, his memories, long buried under layers of mortal existence, came rushing back. Waking with a sharp inhale of breath, heart pounding like war drums echoing in his chest, he looked to the empty space next to him, panic causing him to scramble from bed, her name called out. “Lilith?”

Stepping back into the room, seeing him standing there, brows knitted together in fear. “I’m here,” she said quietly, voice a gentle balm against his panic. Walking towards him, she palmed his cheek, eyes searching his. “What’s wrong?”

“I remember.”

“What?”

“I remember. All of it. Spain. That was the last time before now. Every life, you find me. Every life you lose me. How could you endure it?” Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close. “Butterfly, I do not understand but I remember everything.”

Voice barely a whisper, knees almost giving out at the shock. “It was real. All of it. I thought it a dream.”

“What dream?”

Stepping out of his embrace, she sat on the edge of the bed and told him about the Fates, the loom, the yellow and black threads, the tangled mess they had weaved. How The Allotter had been angry for her father defying them, making his own destiny for her, that they would grant them mercy and allow him to remember. However, she left out the choice she’d made, that when this life was over, she would become what she was meant to be and he would, again, never remember her. She’d decided in that moment, to never let him know, that it would be her secret to keep. She watched as he came to his knees in front of her, arms wrapping around her waist. She didn’t realize she was shaking with the implications of what had actually happened. Heart pounding behind bone. Doubt, like vines, creeped through ribs, threatening to strangle. “Tell me something you remember.”

“A palace. A night beneath the stars. You told me stories of other lives before that one. A knight. A traveler. I was a Prince; you said you were nothing. Egypt. Italy. Spain. I remember all.” He held her close as he stood, nose rubbing against the skin below her ear, feeling the erratic pulse against her throat. “Do not question the how or the why, Butterfly. Just exist in this moment with me.” Lips dragged along the column of her throat, before teeth nipped at her earlobe. “I love you.”

The glow of the infinity tattoo had drawn Death himself to their moment of clarity, and as Oberyn and Lilith stood entwined, the air grew cold, shadows creeping around them until the room was plunged into darkness, words whispered against his lips before she turned, hand holding his. “Do not let go, no matter what.”

A figure emerged from the void—tall, imposing, and cloaked in an aura of eternal stillness.

Death’s presence was undeniable, commanding reverence and fear, yet she held her ground.

“Father,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart.

Death’s hollow eyes, void of emotion, turned to her. “You’ve defied me, Lilith.” His voice was like the rustling of ancient leaves, cold and unrelenting. “You’ve chosen to squander your destiny for a fleeting mortal love.”

Stepping forward, shielding Oberyn as if her defiance could protect them both. “It’s not fleeting, Father. You know this. Have known this. For hundreds of years. Oberyn was my destiny. You kept it from me.”

“Because you were meant for greater things,” Death replied, his tone sharp. “The daughter of Death is not meant to linger in humanity’s frailty. You are power, Lilith, eternal and untouchable. Yet you throw it away for him.” He cast an icy glance at Oberyn, who stood firm, unbowed, his gaze boring into Oberyn, as though weighing the mortal’s soul. “He cannot fathom it. I could unmake him with a thought.”

“The Fates will not allow it and you know this. How many children, human children were lost to us? Human children, Father. The Allotter told me everything. They were destined for great things but you took them from me. From us. You had no right.”

For a long moment, Death said nothing. The silence oppressive, heavy with the weight of millennia. Finally, he took his child’s hand. “You disappoint me,” he said quietly, though the words cut deeper than any shout. “You’ve chosen humanity, knowing it will strip you of what you are. You will age, weaken, and die, like all mortals. And yet, you stand here, unrepentant.”

Lifting her chin, tears brimming in her eyes, holding tight to both hands. One tethering her to her past, the other anchoring to her future.  “I choose this because he is the other half of my soul. The soul you gifted to me when you created me. You made me what I am, someone who could walk both worlds. It is my choice.”

Death’s form seemed to flicker, the edges of his presence blurring. For the first time, a glimmer of something softer passed through his eternal visage—regret, perhaps, or sorrow.

“So be it,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “From this day forward, you are no longer my daughter. You are mortal, bound to the same laws of time and death as the man you’ve chosen.”

The tattoo dimmed completely, fading into her skin until it was no more. She felt the shift instantly—her powers, the divine connection she’d always known, slipped away like sand through her fingers. “I will see you again, Father,” she said softly, watching as he simply vanished, leaving them alone, the heat of the rising sun bringing warmth and light back to the room. Turning to Oberyn, a now mortal heart racing in her chest, head tilted slightly, waiting for something, judgement perhaps, fear but his features showed none of it. Instead, he cupped her face, his lips pressing against her forehead. Eyes closed as she let out a shuddering breath before pressing herself to him, needing to feel, to have him close, wanting to climb into his skin and curl up beneath his heart, knowing they would only have this one last lifetime together. “I love you.”

“And I you Butterfly.”

Turning her, pressing his front to her back, lips finding the muscle of her shoulder, he pushed her forward, until she fell onto the bed, positioning himself on top of her. Fingers finding their way to her clit, gently pressing against it, already feeling her wetness, while a hand slipped around her throat, grip firm but not constricting, feeling her press against the raging hard on he had. “So beautiful.”

His weight was like the sun, warmth sinking into her skin, settling deep in the marrow of her bones. She could feel the orgasm already building, feeling his hardness against her folds, sent shivers down her spine, causing her to arc her back slightly, a silent plea for him to continue. His hand around her throat only added to the intensity of the moment, a gentle reminder that she was surrendering control to him. His movements were slow, deliberate, fingers teasing every ounce of pleasure from her, soft moans muffled by the pillow, his grip tightened slightly. She could feel herself getting closer and closer and when the orgasm ripped through her, he buried himself within her, cock twitching as she clenched around him.

“Beautiful butterfly, coming apart underneath me.” God she was so tight, her slick soaking the sheets as she rode out her orgasm around her. It took every ounce of strength he had to not come, as he kissed along her shoulder, feeling how supple she was, he pulled out just until the head of him was inside before he drove his hips forward. He could feel deep connection he had with her. This wasn’t just about the physical act, it was how trusting she was of him, of how she laid her self vulnerable to him. How her soul had claimed his. Movements became harder, faster, needing to feel her again, an edge of desperation seeping from him.

His name came from slightly parted lips as she came again, feeling the flutter of her walls as he drove into one more time before she felt the pulsing of his cock as he came, his heart pounding against her back, teeth finding her shoulder, the pressure of the hand around her throat, instantly slack, holding her to him. Despite the choice she made, knowing that when this life was over, she’d have to let him go, she knew she was exactly where she wanted to be-under him, surrounded by his strength, his love and his passion.

Rolling to his side, taking her with him, bodies still connected, tongue soothed the spot where he bit her, feeling the indentations of teeth marks. “Forgive me. Tis a sin to mare such beauty.” He groaned when she moved, feeling himself, somehow still semi-hard, leave the warmth of her body. Her lips were at the base of his throat, kissing and suckling at sweaty skin. “Marry me, Butterfly. Then we will go anywhere you choose. Just tell me where, where would you like to go?”

Slightly pulling back, head tilted up, eyes finding his. “Everywhere.”

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Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[group-dynamic]

Bartender: Hey, man, how's it going?

Me: Yeah, you know, it's good. Just thinking about how Gil Galad's kingship was haunted by Elrond. Like his first great failure after being crowned when he'd barely come of age was showing up too late to stop the destruction of Sirion. How he probably felt a deep personal responsibility to find Elwing's missing boys at least but couldn't even do that. Like, I know he probably got redirected by Cirdan toward all those refugees and stuff, but he probably really wanted a win, especially because he was kinda orphaned by then himself and knew how cruel fate was to the sons of greater destiny. Like all his family who'd been king before him died, like, horrifically? And then when Elrond returns all fine and he comes to Lindon and he's chosen the fate of the elves, Gil Galad's physically haunted by him again. See, but this time he chooses to be haunted by Elrond. Because I think he wants to fix what he sees as his first great failure by restoring a bright future for this kid which was robbed from him when Sirion fell--and it's probably like he wants better for him than what he got, too, because he got this kingship in exile thrust upon him when all he was doing was hanging out with Cirdan making ships or something with the other non-combatants and refugees like he and his mother who were fleeing war and violence and he was like fourth in line to the throne so he probably found out in one fell swoop that all his family's dead and oh, you're king and your destiny's out of your hands. So he's like, I'll make Elrond herald and give him all the experience and guidance on this leadership stuff I never got while also giving him better control of what kind of future he has. Then--get this--he never even marries or has kids and when his reign is coming to an end. . . Which, by the way, he probably foresaw his own death which is fucked-- because he gives Elrond his ring before the war of the last alliance, metaphorically making him his heir and also giving him the opportunity to shape his future. . .Yeah, yeah, cause Elrond wouldn't have been considered suitable to be a lord or a king or anything after he was raised by wolves the sons of Feanor. So when Gil made him herald it was like helping him gain political experience and any status he lost. So anyway, then Gil Galad dies, but in some ways he's spent a greater part of his life dedicated to the act of restoring Elrond to the path he should have been on in an alternate reality where he was raised as Earendil and Elwing's son and like correcting that first failure--but also changing Elrond's fate because Elrond has the ring, like, he literally has Gil Galad's legacy and power in his hands, something he wouldn't have had (or needed?) before. But he decides he won't be king. He'll use that power to guard the place that fulfills the legacies of both him and Gil Galad. He's rebuilt the home he lost, something Gil Galad was trying to give him, and then he makes it a place for all the orphans and the wounded and the refugees--like he even fosters a bunch of future orphan kings and like--

Bartender: Like the ending of Hamilton?

Me: *mumbling into my empty glass* Yeah, exactly like the ending of Hamilton.

[depvotee]

Okey, I'm going to say this:

I think some of you, only consume Elden Ring (and all souls like) through video essays, lore videos and theories of the game, which mind you nothing inherently wrong with liking the game and consuming it that way, the problem comes when you take these YouTuber's word as gospel when they we're just proposing a theory instead of going ahead and analysing the lore by yourself and coming up with you own conclusions, that's always been the way of these games, everyone sees everything differently and although there's *some* wide spread theories, that doesn't make then canon, so, the moment when something that you don't like/is part of your personal headcanon happens, y'all lose your minds.

[witsserviceablesubstitute]

I hate ship wars so much because, not only are they a ludicrous reason to abuse each other over in online spaces, the arguments only ever seem to tear down queer readings of a text for the sake of personal interpretations of a relationship (even if that relationship is also queer).

So you just have people arguing back and forth with each other over why their particular queer reading is the one true legitimate or canon or 'healthy' (please save me from that word, I want to pluck it from the world and tear it to shreds) queer reading and all others are wrong, dirty, sinful, a fetish... (you see what I'm doing here right?).

I hate ship wars. I hate how puritanical, antiqueer, and misogynistic they always somehow manage to become in the name of championing a queer relationship.

[beebfreeb]

hiii ive never interacted w you other than rbing sometimes but i just wanted to let you know that theres something ab the wir takeover of your blog ive genuinely loved. like i watched you get into it and then it just slowly took over your blog as you made it your own n like what youre posting now is almost in the territory of unrecognizable from the source material and i just think thats fun :) youre taking the world and characters from the movie and twisting it and adding onto it n idk, its special to me. its your wreck it ralph now. its filling the good sequel shaped space in my heart but way more creative n out there than disney would ever create

I'm glad you're having fun! A lot of people have unfollowed me LOL. I am easily delighted by characters made for a specific purpose and their relationships to that. I like playing toys with the setting and characters because there is a lot of questions that are never explored due to the scope of the movie.

What if the arcade had a GameCube in it for hosting Super Smash Bros. tournaments?