#but i am also not taking any steps to change that

[hannieehaee]

you said in your svt with an older s/o that mingyu gives the vibe to be with milfs so,,,,, mingyu with a milf maybe? with her cute baby (p.s. stepdad!gyu!!!)

18+ / mdi

content: youngerbf!mingyu, stepdad!mingyu, you have an infant from a previous pregnancy, cute fluff with the baby, afab reader, smut, oral (f receiving), etc.

wc: 1364

a/n: i know nothing about babies but i hope i did well with this hehe<3

masterlist

"babe, have you seen lola's pacifier? i swear i've looked everywhere! she won't fall asleep tonight if she doesn't get at least half an hour with it before bed," you huffed, continuing to search at every nook and cranny if your apartment.

but you received no response from mingyu. and strangely enough, there was no noise in your apartment at all, opposed to the usual babbles or cries of the tiny resident of your home.

this would worry many others, but you knew the very logical explanation for this. you knew that the moment you walked into your baby's nursery, you'd find the dreamy image any woman would kill to have in their home.

and surely enough, as soon as you opened the half-closed door, you came face to face (or more so face to back) with mingyu's frame as he cradled your baby in his arms.

his gigantic arms dwarfed the tiny baby more than you thought possible, but his hold was nothing but delicate. the swaying of his arms provided her with the perfect motion to ensure she remained calm as she fell asleep. it was when he turned slightly that you managed to see that she was not fully asleep, but instead on her way there as she suckled on the pacifier you'd been searching for earlier.

"she's almost asleep, i think," he whispered when he sensed your presence. he turned to you then, baby still in motion in his arms, "am i doing this right?"

his time with the baby was not a new thing, but he still often worried about messing up. mingyu loved kids, but he had never loved one as he loved your lola. he was also slightly intimidated by the difference in experience between you. despite this being your first and only child, he believed your age simply made you wiser when it came to taking care of lola.

you continuously assured him that he was more than perfect with her, but mingyu, being mingyu, would still chuckle and deny it.

it was sometimes hard to decide whether lola or mingyu was the most adorable.

"you're doing perfect," you reassured, "here, let me take her so i can put her to sleep," you went to take her from him, feeling bad that he'd been taking of her on his own while you cleaned up dinner.

"can i- uh, can i do it?", he asked.

it made you smile. and of course, you concurred.

it took a few minutes, sneakily removing the pacifier and setting her to sleep on her crib. you remained at a close distance, but still allowed mingyu to do all the work on his own. the visual was one that went straight to your heart. your appreciation for mingyu grew impossibly bigger every time he showed his selfless love for your daughter.

your steps were quiet as you left the room, setting up the baby monitor before exiting with quiet hums of affection towards your daughter. once in the living room, you couldn't help but give gyu a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek to reward him for being so good.

in response, he held your hand as he led you to your bedroom, closing the door behind him as he sat you on the bed.

it wasn't done with any implications in mind, but they still invaded you when he began to casually change into his pajamas in your presence. you simply sat there and watched as he did so.

"you're amazing with lola, you know that? watching you makes me wanna pull out a ring," you joked.

mingyu chuckled in return, shirt off momentarily as he grabbed for a tank top, "don't. i already have plans for that."

"oh?," you stood up, walking over to him and halting him as he attempted to pull up some pajama pants, "you've got plans?"

he caught onto your drift immediately, "can't tell you, or else i'll ruin the surprise."

"can you give me a sneak peek, then?"

your hands wrapped around his shoulders while his let go of his pants and locked on the small of your back, a wolfish smile invading his lips.

"well, no, but i can give you a sneak peek of something else."

and then he kissed you, teasing completely thrown out the window.

it was soft in nature, the way in which he kissed you. you could tell he was tired, holding you in a way that screamed exhaustion mixed in with some neediness. his lips invaded yours in languid smacks until he led you back to the bed, sitting you as you'd been before.

before you could say anything, he knelt, pleading eyes betraying his large frame as he silently asked you to make space for him between your legs.

once they were opened, his hands pushed them even further apart, mouth leaning down to kiss at the skin revealed by your loose pajama shorts.

"'m tired, baby. but i still really really wanna make you feel good," he mumbled after a few pecks to the skin, "i'll probably wake up horny, but that's a problem for tomorrow.

"i'll take care of your problem, angel, don't worry. now just keep doing that ..." your words trailed off when his hands snuck under both layers of clothing, blindly finding their way to your sensitive bits.

"fuck, so wet, baby. were you expecting this?", he teased, "lemme get these shorts off, okay? wanna see it up close."

you lifted your hips to aid him, soon finding yourself unclothed from the bottom half and deciding to throw off your shirt to match. mingyu smiled from under you, biting his lip at the sight.

"you make it hard not to fuck you."

"then do it," you challenged.

"first thing tomorrow, i'll have you on your hands and knees, baby. but for now, i have something else i need," and those were his last words before his head lowered and joined the circling of his fingers, opting to sneak in a finger while his tongue took over in playing with your clit.

you gasped, hands digging into the duvet under you as an almost automatic reaction. but mingyu whined at this. something about wanting you to pull his hair instead. and who were you to deny him?

"taste so good after a long day, shit," he mumbled between swipes of his lips, "need to do this every night."

you encouraged him as your legs attempted to close around him and your hips begged to cant into his face. he was good at warding these things off, but more often than not, he welcomed them. it showed him how desperate you were for him even as he gave into you, he'd once said.

"shit, baby, keep going. gonna cum, fuck," your breath hitched and sped up at the same time. your body felt like it was on fire. everything was on edge.

"i know, baby, just, fuck, don't scream this time, okay? don't wanna wake up my baby," he said so naturally, knowing that you truly saw her as his own.

it was a strange dichotomy of emotions, both awe and arousal, but it made your orgasm all the better. your love for mingyu combined with your need for him made you see stars. your body didn't pay any mind to the boy beneath you, taking what it needed from him as he kept attacking at your cunt, knowing the sensitive sensations afterwards always made your eyes roll back.

it took a few moments after the fact for you to catch your breath, but your boyfriend had already managed to find a damp rag to clean you with in the meantime.

"knocked you out again, huh? i'm pretty good at putting people to sleep, i've been told," he snickered when you swatted your hand at him jokingly.

"suddenly he's the expert."

"hey, your words, not mine."

within a few minutes, he managed to get you tucked under the covers and into his arms with the same ease as he'd done with lola less than half an hour ago, providing you with a kiss to your temple as he adored doing to her too.

[warpedpuppeteer]

It would be great if they talk about how Buck thought his relationship woes would be "fixed" because he finally figured himself out as bi and that was the answer he was always looking for but that was only just one part of the journey.

Buck's problem with relationships is that he's always taking cues from his partners and course correcting by making unhinged proposals (like moving in) whenever he gets something wrong or thinks he can "prove" his love (or prove he can fall in love with them in the future).

He's never fully himself in any of his relationships. He's always playing the part of what his partners need (service top buck truthers this one's for you). Being an emotional pillar for Abby or a protector for Ali for example.

Even in his first relationship with a man, instead of exploring and having fun, Buck was operating in the assumption that he needed to be a long-time partner material and that it's just like any other relationships he's been in. Hence, the invite to move in with him.

And to be fair to Buck, gender really doesn't matter to him because it's like...okay it's a little bit different but it's still the same in that it's a relationship and it's someone he's interested in. So really, for him, his sexuality isn't where his issues lie.

In all his previous relationships, it's been more about him changing than being himself. He stepped in with Abby, he compromised with Taylor, he was philosophical/spiritual with Natalia, he was discovering a new aspect of his identity with Tommy etc.

And Buck is fantastic in that he's always willing to learn things about himself. He was always capable of being all of this for someone but he just needed time and experience to bring these sides out of him.

Now this would be great except...all his previous partners reacted adversely to these changes. He got too emotionally attached to Abby when she really only wanted the part of Buck that was fun and flirty. Ali liked Buck being strong & protective until she realized that he would risk his own life in being a protector even for strangers.

Taylor liked that Buck was thrilling and exciting until she realized that he had morals he won't compromise on. Natalia was so very interested in Buck's experience with death until Buck was more focused on living. Tommy liked that Buck was newly bi and curious but stepped back once he realized that Buck was taking this very seriously.

Instead of embracing all the changes Buck was going through, his partners almost wanted the Buck they fell for originally. Kind of like...they fell in love with the IDEA of Buck rather than Buck himself.

So Buck actually needs someone who knows him as Buck in his entirety. Someone who likes Buck as he is but also likes him even as he changes and grows. Someone who Buck shows his true self to instead of adapting to his partner's needs.

Take me as I am, flaws and all. Take me as I am, and as I will be.

Not only does he need to realize that he doesn't have to shove his own needs/wants into the background but also that he needs a partner who will not expect anything more from him than he can give. When he does realize this, that's when Buck is truly free of the hamster wheel.

Of course, i can go on about who exactly is the perfect partner for Buck but instead, here are a few quotes that's very important in showing who it is :)

"you're the guy who likes to fix things"

"just do what you always do, talk to him"

"you think you're expendable but you're wrong"

"now am i allowed to ask how you are?"

"once he knows that you're an idiot, he'd love you, like we all do!"

"there's nobody in this world i trust with my son more than you"

"i forgive you...just don't do it again"

And the most damning of them all:

"you don't have to be anything for anybody"

[void-star]

You're right that this is bad advice for people seeking how to politically organize to resist right wing and fascist governments-- at best, this is advice for socially isolated people to take the first step out of isolation and to figure out how and where to connect with others offline-- but to boil down its examples of where to find community as "sucking and fucking" and decadence is wild as fuck. The conservative moralism here, in my opinion, does not have a place in leftist politics nor in an analysis of what's ineffective about the quoted text.

The actual issue with the advice given is that it's deeply individualistic and not conducive towards actual political organizing and strategy.

Personally, I also am not looking for political advice that uses only one tool of surviving fascism-- hiding-- as its main tactic. I think it also leaves people feeling helpless.

I do think that isolated, scared people panicking on the internet have a tendency towards real life social alienation and isolation, and do need to hear that the first step is building and investing time in real life social connections. But that's the limitation of its uses.

I don't really know where Maia is from, but I'm also assuming "joining a political party" is talking specifically about an established, existing, major political party. That makes sense to me, because in the US, the DNC is insulated from any real radical changes to their political line with a lot of bureaucratic and political weapons able to neutralize an attempt at larger-scale political sway.

It's short sighted advice.

I dont think the answer is to turn away from political organizations entirely, its to find and form ones that you can actually strategize with. Grassroot ones especially, and potentially smaller political ones, but the latter I don't have experience with trying to work through.

And I would also seek out information on infiltration and counter-insurgency tactics to identify when someone is, intentionally or unintentionally, disrupting the real political action.

I did not expect much from maia arson crimew but its essay is really, really bad

[locomoqo]

Could we get something related to gun trying to convince the reader who he loves to stay with him. Reader is conflicted with her feelings because she loves him but she’s aware of his job and how dangerous it is for the both of them. Angst & comfort please!

love me like a sailor

— gun park x reader

details: angst with comfort, established relationship

A/N: 1.2k words whewww, also i hope i did gun's personality justice here🥹 i rlly do believe he'd soften around someone he loves (i have a feeling this didnt come off as angsty as i wanted it to be bleh)

The room is dimly lit, shadows stretching long across the floor as the evening light fades behind heavy curtains. Gun stands in front of you, his usually impassive face softened by an emotion he rarely shows—vulnerability. The tension between you both is almost suffocating, a thick silence hanging between breaths. Your heart is heavy with the weight of a decision you don’t want to make.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. You clutch your arms, holding yourself together because you’re afraid that if you let go, you’ll fall apart. You look up at him, eyes filled with the conflict that’s been tearing at you for weeks. He’s been distant lately, lost in the chaos of his work, and you can’t pretend any longer that it doesn’t scare you.

Gun’s jaw tightens, his usually stoic expression cracking for a brief second. There's a flicker of something fragile in his eyes. He steps forward, a little too quickly, as if he's scared you might vanish. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” he says, his voice quiet and distant—just like it always is.

You meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with unshed tears, hating that he makes it sound so simple. “But for how long?” you ask, your voice breaking. “You’re always chasing danger, always fighting, always risking everything. I can’t... I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t tear me apart every time you walk out that door.” The words spill out of you, each one a stab to your own heart. You hate how weak you sound, how vulnerable. But you can’t help it. You can’t stop loving him.

Gun’s brows furrow, his usual mask slipping as he takes a step closer. He towers over you, but there’s a gentleness in his eyes that contradicts his imposing presence. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for you but stops, hovering with uncertainty as if he’s not sure he has the right to touch you anymore. “I don’t know how to be different,” he admits, his voice raw and low, twisting your heart. It's true, fighting has become part of who he is, it's all he's ever known. “This is who I am. But if it means losing you, I’ll—”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head, feeling tears sting at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason you lose your edge. I don’t want to be your weakness.”

You see frustration flare in his eyes, the helplessness he fights so hard to conceal. His hands drop to his sides, curling into fists as he takes a shaky breath. “Do you think I want to be this way?” he asks, his voice suddenly fierce, desperation cutting through his words. “Do you think I don’t know what it does to you every time I leave? I’m trying, damn it, but I can’t just walk away from who I am. I’ve built my life around this, and I can’t change it, not overnight.”

He stretches his hand out, catching yours before you can pull away. There's an urgency in his grip—an unspoken plea hidden beneath his cold facade. The anger fades from his face, replaced by something hollow and broken. “You’re not my weakness,” he insists, his hold firm but gentle. “You never have been. You’re the only person who makes me want to be better. For you.” He swallows, eyes locked on yours. “I know it’s dangerous. I won’t lie to you about that. But I can protect you. I will protect you.”

Your heart aches at the sincerity in his voice, but you know it’s not enough. You pull your hand back, wiping away a tear before it can fall. “What if something happens to you?” you ask, your voice cracking. “What if I lose you?”

Gun’s expression tightens, and he reaches for you again, his hands settling on your shoulders with surprising gentleness. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he says firmly, his voice steady, as if daring fate to contradict him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He almost adds, “Not if it means leaving you,” but the words die in his throat.

“...I don’t want to leave,” you say, your voice hoarse, and it’s the truth. You don’t want to lose him. You don’t want to be without the man who’s somehow become the most important part of your life, the one who knows you better than anyone else. “But I don’t want to watch you destroy yourself either.” Your voice wavers, and you turn away as a sob escapes before you can choke it down.

Gun’s fingers gently tilt your chin back, his touch tender in a way that takes you by surprise. “Look at me,” he commands, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard. You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you see the raw fear in his eyes—the fear of losing you. “I’m not asking you to ignore the danger. I’m asking you to stay with me.”

Your chest tightens, and you shake your head as tears finally spill over. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

Gun’s hands come up to cup your face, and this time, he doesn’t hesitate. His touch is achingly gentle, his thumb brushing away the tears that fall down your cheeks. “Then don’t watch,” he says, his voice teetering on desperation. “Let me be the one who takes the risks. I’ll handle it. I’ll handle everything if it means I can keep you by my side.” His voice is so soft, so uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Isn’t that enough?” His eyes, usually so cold and distant, search yours, desperate for any sign that you might stay.

For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat, each thud echoing in your ears. The tears come faster now, and you let yourself lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palms against your skin. There’s a sadness in his gaze that cuts you to the core, but there’s also hope—a fragile, flickering flame that refuses to die.

Your hands tremble as you cling to the fabric of his shirt, your fingers curling into the material. “I love you,” you whisper, your voice breaking, “but I’m scared, Gun. I’m so scared.”

His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest. His hold is firm and unwavering, like he’s trying to shield you from the world itself. “Then be scared,” he whispers into your hair, his breath warm against your temple, “but don’t go.”

It's the first time you’ve ever heard him beg, and it shatters something inside you. You stay there, wrapped in the security of his embrace. He’s far from perfect, and so are you, but in this moment, you find a sort of peace—a hope that, maybe, love is enough.

Gun pulls back slightly, his hands still cradling your face as he stares at you with an intensity that steals your breath. “Stay,” he whispers, his voice rough and desperate. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to us.”

You don’t know what the future holds, or if his promise is one he can keep, but in this moment, as his thumb gently brushes your cheek, you find yourself nodding, your resolve crumbling in the face of the man you love. Gun exhales shakily, a soft, relieved sound, and pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. For the first time in a long while, you feel like maybe—just maybe—everything will be okay.

[novaursa]

Legacy (sun over the capital)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Just a reminder how events and timeline of the story don't match the canon.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: bloodlines

- Next part: the night is long

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The heavy wooden doors to Tywin’s private chambers in the Tower of the Hand were flung open with a force that made the guards stationed outside exchange wary glances. Cersei stormed in, her eyes blazing with barely contained fury, her voice sharp as she addressed her father.

“Father,” she spat, her tone filled with venom. “Is it true?”

Tywin didn’t bother looking up from the stack of documents on his desk, his face calm and collected, though his eyes flickered with a subtle hint of irritation. He set his quill down, folding his hands together as he finally regarded her.

“And what truth are you seeking, Cersei?” he asked, his voice even, though a trace of coldness lurked beneath the words.

Cersei’s nostrils flared as she glared at him, her fists clenched at her sides. “Pycelle has informed me that she—” Cersei’s voice dripped with contempt as she referred to you—“is with child. Your child. And yet, you saw fit not to tell any of us?”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, and a faint, dangerous glint sparked in his eyes at the mention of Pycelle. “I see I’ll need to have a conversation with Grand Maester Pycelle about the limits of his discretion,” he said icily, his voice carrying a warning that made even Cersei falter for a moment.

But Cersei’s fury was unrestrained, her temper flaring once more. “So it’s true, then? You’ve brought another child into this world, and you’ve kept it hidden from your own family! You think of nothing and no one but yourself, Father!”

Tywin rose slowly from his chair, his towering presence casting a long shadow in the low lit chamber. His expression was calm, controlled, but there was an unyielding authority in his gaze as he regarded his daughter.

“This child,” he said, his voice steady and sharp, “will be the future of House Lannister. Whether you approve or not, Cersei, this is a fact that will not change. I made this decision for the good of our family. You would do well to remember where your loyalties lie.”

Cersei’s face twisted with anger, her voice rising as she took a step toward him. “Our family? You mean your ambitions. This is all about your endless schemes, about the name Tywin Lannister—nothing more. And if it’s a boy, you’ll simply hand Casterly Rock to him, disregarding your own children?”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver. “If this child is born a son, he will indeed inherit Casterly Rock,” he replied with a note of finality. “He will carry the name of Lannister, a name that will live on long after I am gone. This child—my child—will be raised with the discipline and values that our house represents. And should he prove worthy, he will take his rightful place as Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Cersei’s eyes flashed with fury, and she let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “So you’ll set him above Jaime, above Tyrion, above me? Just because he’s the result of this… this alliance of yours?” Her voice dripped with scorn. “You’ll disregard your own blood—your true heirs—for a child born of convenience?”

Tywin’s voice remained firm, cutting through her tirade like steel. “This child is my blood, and I will not allow my legacy to falter because of your jealousy or pettiness, Cersei.” His eyes bore into hers, a silent warning in their depths. “You will treat this child with the respect befitting his place in this family. And you will not let your bitterness poison what I have built.”

Cersei’s mouth tightened, her eyes blazing as she struggled to contain her outrage. “And what of your daughter, then? What of your own children who have done everything for you, sacrificed everything for this family, only to be discarded when it suits you?”

Tywin’s expression did not soften, but there was a hint of impatience in his gaze, as though he were weary of her complaints. “This is not a matter of sentiment, Cersei. It is a matter of legacy. Every decision I make is for the strength of House Lannister, and I will not be questioned on this.” He took a step closer, his voice lowering but growing even more intense. “You would do well to remember your place, daughter, and to trust my judgment. There is no room for weakness in this family.”

Cersei’s face twisted with frustration, her voice low and dangerous. “You think this child will be some savior for our family? That he’ll be the one to carry your legacy?”

Tywin met her gaze with an unwavering stare. “If he is a son, he will have all that I offer—an inheritance, a legacy, and the guidance to become what I expect. And if he is a daughter, she will be treated with the same dignity. But I will not tolerate anything less than respect from you or anyone else in this family, Cersei.”

Cersei let out a humorless laugh, her voice tinged with bitterness. “So, we are all simply tools for your ambition, are we?”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, his voice cold and resolute. “I do what I must to ensure our house remains strong. I make the sacrifices no one else will. Do not forget, Cersei, that your position, your power, all stem from the strength I have built. If you truly care for our family, you will accept this and uphold our legacy.”

Cersei clenched her fists, her face flushed with anger, but she said nothing more. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words, before she turned on her heel, storming out of his chambers, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Tywin watched her leave, his face unreadable, his gaze sharp and unyielding. After a long moment, he returned to his desk, picking up his quill once more, his expression composed and resolute.

The soft murmur of voices filled the chamber as you sat comfortably among Lady Olenna, Margaery, and Sansa. Servants moved gracefully around the room, bringing refreshments and tending to every detail, creating an air of quiet luxury.

Olenna leaned back in her chair, observing you with her sharp, discerning eyes, a faint, wry smile tugging at her lips. She had a presence that seemed to command the room effortlessly, every line on her face hinting at a life spent maneuvering through the treacherous waters of court. Margaery sat beside her, her gaze warm and attentive as she listened, and Sansa, ever poised but still shy, stole glances between you and Margaery with a mixture of admiration and quiet curiosity.

After a few minutes, Margaery turned to Sansa, her tone light but inviting. “Sansa, would you care to join me for a walk in the gardens? I’ve been meaning to talk with you about some of the arrangements for the upcoming festivities. I could use your input.”

Sansa’s face lit up with a smile, nodding eagerly. “Of course, Lady Margaery. I’d love to help.”

With a graceful rise, Margaery took Sansa’s hand, guiding her toward the doors. She cast a warm smile back at you and her grandmother before stepping out, leaving you alone with Olenna. The older woman’s gaze lingered on the door for a moment before settling back on you, her expression one of curious amusement.

“Well,” Olenna began, her voice dry and laced with humor, “I must say, Lady Y/N, the former princess turned Lady Lannister. Quite a title for one to carry in such interesting times.”

You returned her gaze with a steady smile, sensing the probing nature of her words but refusing to rise to any bait. “Times have indeed grown interesting, Lady Olenna,” you replied smoothly. “Titles change with the wind, as I’ve come to learn. One must adapt, after all.”

Olenna’s gaze sharpened, a glint of approval in her eyes as she observed you closely. “Adapt, yes,” she echoed. “But you have done more than adapt. I’ve seen how you’ve managed to earn favor with Lord Tywin himself, a man who’s hardly known for his warmth. That alone tells me there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, though the weight of her words hung between you. “Lady Olenna, when survival depends on forging unlikely alliances, one learns quickly. Tywin and I both understand that much.”

Olenna’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Oh, my dear, it’s much more than survival. Don’t pretend otherwise. Tywin Lannister is many things, but sentimental is not one of them. He doesn’t hold people close unless there’s something worth keeping.” She leaned forward slightly, her tone taking on a more personal note. “And I daresay, it’s rare to see him so attentive to anyone.”

You felt the weight of her observation, her words cutting through the pleasantries and touching upon the truth you’d carefully guarded. Tywin’s attention had indeed been more than mere duty, and though he was hardly a man of outward affection, his loyalty and protective nature had shown in subtle ways.

“What Tywin values most,” you said slowly, carefully choosing your words, “is strength. I think he sees something of that in me, perhaps because we both know what it is to lose family, to survive by our wits.”

Olenna watched you intently, her gaze softened, though her sharpness remained. “Strength is one thing, but what you have is a gift for survival that goes beyond mere endurance. It’s an art form, the way you navigate this court.” She chuckled, a gleam of approval in her eyes. “A former princess of the blood, seated at Tywin’s side, holding his favor like a sword at her hip. It’s almost poetic.”

You allowed yourself a small, knowing smile. “Poetry, perhaps, but with a touch of tragedy, wouldn’t you say? Every choice is calculated, every alliance a delicate balance.” You paused, meeting her gaze with quiet resolve. “For Tywin and me, it’s as much about understanding each other’s strengths as it is about surviving the expectations placed on us.”

Olenna nodded, her expression contemplative. “Indeed. And in a place like King’s Landing, a partnership of that kind is as close to power as one can get. There are few who can claim such influence over the likes of Tywin Lannister.” She arched an eyebrow, her voice carrying a hint of respect. “Even fewer who can hold their own under his scrutiny.”

You laughed softly, a genuine sound that broke the formality of the moment. “Perhaps I should thank you for the compliment, Lady Olenna. But Tywin values loyalty and strength above all, and I value… survival, as we said.”

Olenna leaned back, studying you with a smile that hinted at admiration. “Oh, don’t mistake my words. I recognize a survivor when I see one, and you, my dear, are as skilled at the game as any queen who’s ever ruled from the shadows.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, a glimmer of satisfaction in her gaze. “But do not be fooled—what you have with Tywin is more than just survival. He wouldn’t waste his time or his protection if he didn’t see something valuable in you.”

You held her gaze, her words sinking in, and you knew Olenna spoke with the wisdom of someone who understood power intimately. “Perhaps he does,” you conceded softly. “But whatever he sees, it serves us both. And in a court like this one, such mutual interests are as precious as dragon’s gold.”

Olenna’s expression softened, her sharpness tempered by a rare warmth. “Well said, my dear. You’ve earned more than mere survival—you’ve earned a place of respect, even here, and that’s no small feat.” She paused, her voice lowering to a more personal tone. “But remember, in this game, allies are often as valuable as titles. And should you find yourself in need of friends… the Tyrells are not ones to turn away those with the strength to endure.”

You inclined your head, understanding the depth of her offer. “Thank you, Lady Olenna. I will remember that.” There was a subtle acknowledgment between you, a recognition that in the shifting sands of King’s Landing, allies could be the difference between survival and ruin.

Olenna’s gaze softened further, her voice holding a rare note of warmth. “Then let’s hope it’s a long-lasting friendship.” She lifted her cup in a small, quiet toast, her smile carrying a hint of respect, her eyes gleaming with something akin to approval.

The small, dimly lit room echoed with the clinking of glasses and soft laughter as Tyrion and Bronn sat together, sharing a rare moment of lighthearted drinking. The table before them was scattered with empty goblets, the dark red stains of Arbor wine smudged across the wood, a testament to the number of toasts they’d already raised.

As Bronn tipped his goblet back, the door opened with a quiet creak, and Varys entered, his footsteps light and his face calm but curious. Tyrion noticed him instantly, a grin stretching across his face as he raised his goblet in welcome.

“Ah, the Spider himself,” Tyrion greeted, gesturing grandly for Varys to join them. “Care to join us for a toast, Varys? It’s not often we have a cause for cheer in this dreary place.”

Varys inclined his head with a polite smile, stepping forward as Bronn slid over slightly, making room for him at the table. “A toast, is it? Now that does intrigue me,” Varys replied smoothly, his voice light but tinged with curiosity. “And what, may I ask, are we celebrating?”

Tyrion chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. “Oh, don’t play coy with me, Varys. I find it hard to believe that the master of whispers is unaware of any piece of news circulating within these walls.”

Varys’s lips curved in a mild smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “One could say I’m aware of… many things, my lord. But I do so enjoy hearing it from the source. It lends a certain charm to the information.”

Tyrion laughed, shaking his head before lifting his goblet to Varys. “Well then, let it be known that we are toasting to the newest addition to House Lannister… or at least, the one yet to be born.” He smirked, his voice laced with a hint of irony. “My dear stepmother is with child. And, as you can imagine, this has done wonders for my sister’s mood.”

Bronn snorted, raising his goblet to clink against Tyrion’s. “Aye, Cersei’s likely to drink the whole damn wine cellar dry by morning.”

Varys’s smile widened slightly, though his eyes remained calm and calculating as he glanced between them. “How… delightful. A new addition to the family, and one with such a distinguished lineage. Lord Tywin must be very pleased indeed.”

Tyrion’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he took a sip of his wine, savoring it before setting the goblet down. “Oh, ‘pleased’ might be too soft a word. I’d wager he’s envisioning an heir that can finally inherit Casterly Rock, a son that he can shape in his image.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “And wouldn’t that just be the thing to push Cersei over the edge?”

Bronn chuckled, raising his goblet again. “Here’s to that—no one drives her mad quite like her own family.”

Tyrion laughed, lifting his own goblet to join Bronn’s. “Indeed. Here’s to us, the fine architects of Cersei’s impending descent into madness.”

Varys, watching the exchange with amusement, finally accepted the offer of a goblet from a passing servant, though he held it delicately, not yet raising it to his lips. “My, my,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of humor. “A child born of both lion and dragon. The realm will certainly find that interesting, though not nearly as interesting as the politics it will spark within the family itself.”

Tyrion glanced at Varys, his expression thoughtful as he swirled the wine in his goblet. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re not intrigued by it yourself, Varys. An heir with Targaryen blood under Tywin’s roof—that’s enough to set even the most controlled noble spinning.”

Varys tilted his head, a glint of something almost approving in his eyes. “It does present… unique possibilities,” he agreed. “Tywin Lannister is not a man to make alliances lightly, especially one of such lasting consequence. And if this child should indeed prove to be a son, well… the implications for House Lannister would be substantial.”

Bronn gave a low chuckle, tipping his goblet back. “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. As long as the child doesn’t end up like Joffrey, Westeros should count itself lucky.”

Tyrion’s grin widened, a spark of mischief in his eyes as he raised his goblet to Varys. “Well said, Bronn. If this child inherits even an ounce of Tywin’s calculation and none of Joffrey’s malice, it might actually turn out to be the rare Lannister worth rooting for.”

Varys chuckled, swirling the wine in his goblet thoughtfully. “Let us hope, then, that this future heir finds the best qualities of both parents. Though, knowing Lord Tywin, I suspect the child will have little choice in the matter.”

Tyrion leaned back, his expression shifting into one of contemplation. “Yes, Tywin will no doubt be a forceful hand in the child’s upbringing. But… perhaps there’s a bit of Targaryen fire that might resist even him. I daresay my stepmother has shown herself more than capable of holding her own against the likes of Tywin.”

Bronn raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re actually rooting for her.”

Tyrion shrugged, taking another sip of his wine. “Perhaps I am. She’s proven herself a formidable woman, and not without a touch of compassion—something our family has always lacked. She might actually bring a bit of balance to the golden lion’s brood.” His gaze drifted to Varys, his tone turning thoughtful. “I’d say that makes her quite the wild card, wouldn’t you agree, Varys?”

Varys inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Indeed. In a family as tightly controlled as the Lannisters, a touch of unpredictability can be… refreshing.” His gaze turned contemplative, as if he were already calculating the potential outcomes of this new addition.

Tyrion gave him a knowing smile, clinking his goblet with Varys’s. “Then let’s drink to unpredictability. To dragons in lion’s dens and the chaos they bring.”

Varys lifted his goblet with a faint chuckle, finally taking a small sip, a spark of amusement lingering in his eyes. “To dragons in lion’s dens,” he echoed softly.

And as they drank, a quiet understanding passed between them—of the game, of the players, and of the thrilling unpredictability that even the most careful plans could not account for.

The heavy drapes were drawn to shut out the glare of the midday sun in the Queen's chambers. Cersei sat by the hearth, a goblet of wine clutched tightly in her hand, her face a mask of bitterness. She was nursing her frustration in silence when Joffrey burst into the room, his face twisted with a mixture of anxiety and anger.

“Mother,” he began, his voice urgent, “is it true? Is she… is she with child?”

Cersei didn’t look up immediately, her grip tightening on the goblet as she took a deep, steadying breath. When she finally lifted her gaze to meet her son’s, her eyes were sharp, her expression sour. “Yes, Joffrey,” she replied curtly, her tone laced with contempt. “Your dear grandfather’s new wife is with child. A Lannister-Targaryen child. Imagine that.”

Joffrey’s face paled, and he took a step closer, his eyes wide with a growing panic. “A child with Targaryen blood… and Lannister blood?” He swallowed, his voice a whisper as he processed the implications. “Doesn’t that mean… wouldn’t that mean it could have a better claim than me?”

Cersei’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile, though her eyes were cold. “Yes, that’s certainly what some might think, isn’t it?” She took a long sip from her goblet, the wine staining her lips a dark red. “A Targaryen child, born into the heart of House Lannister. Tywin’s pet project. A new legacy for him to fawn over. And you, my sweet boy, are expected to simply sit by and watch as it unfolds.”

Joffrey’s panic turned swiftly into anger, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “How can he do this?” he demanded, his voice rising. “How can you let him do this? This… this child could take everything that’s mine! My throne, my power!”

Cersei’s gaze darkened, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. “You think I don’t know that, Joffrey?” she hissed, her voice laced with venom. “You think I haven’t seen this coming from the moment he married her? This child is Tywin’s way of ensuring his legacy goes on, with or without us.”

Joffrey’s face twisted with fury, his eyes blazing. “He’ll be no better than Stannis, Renly, or Robb Stark,” he spat, pacing angrily. “Another usurper trying to take what belongs to me. And you—” he turned on Cersei, his voice accusatory—“you should be doing something about it!”

Cersei’s gaze hardened, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “I am your mother, Joffrey. And I have done everything for you, to protect your throne, to protect your future. But Tywin… he doesn’t care about anything or anyone unless it serves his ambitions.”

“But you’re the Queen Regnant!” Joffrey snapped, his voice filled with a petulant fury. “You can stop him, you can make sure this child never sees the light of day!”

Cersei’s face twisted, her anger simmering just beneath the surface as she looked at her son. “And how would you suggest I do that, Joffrey? I am not the one who wields the power here. Tywin does, and he has made it very clear that this child will be the future of House Lannister.” Her voice softened, a bitter edge creeping into her tone. “He is willing to cast aside all of us for the sake of this… this perfect heir he believes he’ll have.”

Joffrey’s breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to contain his frustration. “So we’re just supposed to sit back and watch as he creates another contender for the throne?” His voice was filled with disbelief, his eyes wide with anger and fear. “I’m the king, Mother! I won’t have anyone challenge me—not my uncles, not some… some child!”

Cersei took a measured sip of her wine, her gaze cool as she watched Joffrey’s reaction. “Then you’d better start acting like a king, Joffrey,” she said sharply. “This isn’t about whining or stamping your feet. This is about understanding who holds the real power—and learning how to play the game as they do.”

Joffrey’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “Tywin thinks he can control everything. He thinks he can just replace us whenever it suits him.”

Cersei’s gaze darkened, her eyes flashing with anger. “Believe me, I know exactly how Tywin operates. But for now, we have to be careful. This child isn’t here yet. And if it is born… well, there are ways to ensure it never becomes a threat.”

Joffrey’s expression shifted, his anger tempered by a glint of satisfaction at the thought of removing a rival before it could grow strong. “Then you’d better make sure it stays that way, Mother,” he said coldly. “I will not be replaced. I am the king. And anyone who tries to take that from me… will pay the price.”

Cersei’s lips curled into a thin smile, though her eyes were filled with bitterness. “Oh, my sweet Joffrey. I’ll make sure nothing takes your throne from you. But remember… in this world, it’s not always the strongest who survive. It’s the ones who know how to strike when the time is right.”

With that, she drained her goblet, her expression hardening as she met her son’s gaze. They both understood what needed to be done. And as they sat there, silent but resolute, a dark determination settled over them both—a shared desire to ensure that nothing, not even Tywin’s ambitions, would take away what they saw as rightfully theirs.

You lounged comfortably on a cushioned settee, Tywin seated across from you, deep in a stack of documents and letters. He seemed as immersed in the minutiae of the realm’s business as ever, though he’d allowed you this rare shared afternoon, a quiet moment that felt both peaceful and oddly domestic.

But the calm was interrupted by a soft knock at the door, and when Tywin inclined his head, a young servant stepped in, looking slightly flustered, his gaze shifting nervously between you and Tywin.

“Speak,” Tywin commanded, his tone cool and steady.

The servant cleared his throat, bowing his head respectfully before glancing quickly at you. “My lord, my lady… there is a visitor from Dorne in the city.”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened, his brow barely lifting. “Go on.”

The servant shifted from foot to foot, visibly uneasy. “Prince Oberyn Martell, my lord. He arrived in King’s Landing earlier today and is… insistent on speaking with Lady Y/N.”

At the mention of Oberyn, a flicker of surprise danced across Tywin’s face, though he quickly masked it, his expression hardening. He cast a sidelong glance at you, studying your reaction.

You arched an eyebrow, meeting Tywin’s gaze before turning to the servant. “Prince Oberyn is here?” you asked, a hint of curiosity in your voice. “Where is he staying?”

The servant hesitated, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he wrung his hands together. “Prince Oberyn is… currently at one of the city’s brothels, my lady. He was… most insistent that you be informed.”

You couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. Oberyn’s choice of accommodations was hardly surprising, but you sensed it wouldn’t sit well with Tywin. You glanced over at him, noting the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly against the table.

“Of course he is,” you murmured, a hint of amusement coloring your tone. “It seems Prince Oberyn hasn’t changed his ways.”

Tywin’s expression was as cold as winter steel, his gaze flicking to the servant with a dismissive nod. “You may leave,” he instructed, his voice low and controlled.

The servant quickly bowed and hurried from the room, leaving you alone with Tywin once more. He turned his gaze on you, his expression unreadable but his eyes reflecting a simmering irritation.

“Oberyn Martell,” he said, his voice like granite. “Trust a Martell to make his entrance at a brothel, of all places. Did he give any indication why he so wishes to see you?”

You shrugged, a faint smirk lingering. “Oberyn has never been one for propriety. I suspect he has his reasons, though what they are, I can only imagine.” You paused, a playful glint in your eye. “And I imagine they are as intriguing as he is.”

Tywin’s gaze grew colder, his jaw set in a hard line. “Oberyn’s intrigue is of little consequence,” he replied sharply. “The man revels in scandal as if it were a sport. If he seeks your company, it’s likely only to fan the flames of discontent and stir up trouble.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a calm confidence. “Perhaps. But Oberyn has never been one to seek out someone without purpose. He may revel in scandal, but he is not a fool.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice carrying a quiet intensity. “He may be a prince, but Oberyn Martell is still a Martell—impulsive, driven by passions that often cloud his judgment. Do not mistake his presence here as a gesture of goodwill.”

You held his gaze, a hint of defiance in your expression. “I know Oberyn well enough to understand the complexities of his character, Tywin. And while he may be impulsive, he is also… refreshingly direct. I’d rather hear him out than speculate.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened further, though a glint of grudging respect flickered in his eyes. “You intend to meet with him, then?”

You nodded, your tone firm. “I do. Better to speak directly with Oberyn than leave questions unanswered. He’s come all this way, after all. It would be… impolite not to.”

A slight frown tugged at the corners of Tywin’s mouth, though he inclined his head slightly. “Very well,” he replied, though his tone remained clipped. “But I’ll not have him stirring up chaos in this city. And I trust you’ll remember where your loyalties lie.”

You offered him a calm smile, a touch of reassurance in your gaze. “My loyalties are clear, Tywin. But I cannot ignore a visitor from Dorne. I’ll meet with him, hear what he has to say… and return here.”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you, a mixture of caution and an intensity that spoke of both his protectiveness and his mistrust of Oberyn. “See to it that Oberyn understands his place here. This city is not Dorne, and his actions will not go unobserved.”

You nodded, rising from the settee with a composed air. “I shall make that perfectly clear, my lord.” With a final glance at Tywin, you left the room, feeling his gaze follow you as you made your way down the corridors.

As you walked, thoughts of Oberyn filled your mind—his charm, his volatility, his relentless pursuit of justice. Whatever he wished to discuss, you had little doubt it would be laced with intrigue, perhaps even danger. But that was Oberyn’s way, and if there was one thing you knew about the Dornish prince, it was that he never did anything without purpose.

[sansaorgana]

— IN PERPETUITY (II)

PART ONE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Maia!Reader

SUMMARY — After murdering her husband, Sauron's wife disguises herself as a beautiful Elven maiden to live in Eregion and gain Lord Celebrimbor's trust as she hopes for him to forge her the Rings of Power. Her plans get interrupted when her husband comes back in a new form as well and he is thirsty for revenge.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The Reader in this fic is a Maia, so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. The title of the fanfic and its vibe are inspired by the song Sugarbread by Soap&Skin. Special thanks to @dinsbeskar for giving me the most appreciated feedback before I posted this fic! 💕 I originally planned for Sauron to be the dom in this part but... oopsie, I got carried away and surprise, surprise... He is a sub again! 🤣

WARNINGS — Reader is evil-evil with sadistic undertones, manipulation, gaslighting, SMUT, choking, hair pulling, sub!Sauron

WORD COUNT — 5,660

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

IN PERPETUITY (II)

You spent a few more decades in the North inside the very same fortress but its eerie aura was making you feel too uneasy. Adar could sense that too, as if Sauron’s death cursed this place furthermore.

He wanted to go with his children to The Southlands and to turn it into a home for the Orcs who could not bear the sunlight. You had slightly other plans but his schemes did not interfere with yours.

“I shall assist you and lead your army all the way South,” you told him one evening. “We should leave this place, it is not doing me any good and I cannot waste more time hiding here,” you informed him.

“What are your plans, my Lady?” Adar asked and you only smirked at him.

“What leader would I be if I shared all my schemes with you?” You asked and he clenched his jaw. You knew what was the thing he feared the most, so you quickly reassured him. “I want your children to have their home, too. In fact, such a land of darkness might be useful to me. I am not fond of sunlight either. Therefore, as I said, I shall lead you to The Southlands and assist you on the way. But after we arrive and you settle in, I will leave your side. We will remain in touch, of course,” you nodded. “But I trust you enough for us to split for a few centuries.”

In fact, you did not trust him enough. You would never trust anyone. But you had no other choice and you simply had to abandon your army for some time if your plan was supposed to turn out successful.

“Where will you go?” Adar asked and you gave him a mysterious smile.

“I have a business in Eregion.”

Indeed you had. Mairon was gone but not all of his ideas were. You were truly fascinated by his dream of crafting The Rings of Power but… you had killed your smith, therefore you needed a new one.

And who would be better for this task than Lord Celebrimbor himself? You just had to show up in Eregion as a fair Elven maiden and build his trust slowly, a century after century… And then, using some perfectly crafted and prepared beforehand opportunity, you would push him into the right direction.

You would have your Rings.

Your Ring.

And you did not need Mairon for any of that. It would just take slightly longer time but at least you did not have to bow to anyone or share your power.

Adar could see that you did not want to answer his questions any further, so he only nodded at you but he kept staring at you with squinted eyes.

Like you had planned, you did. Changed your appearance into one of the most beautiful Elven women in all Middle-earth and showed up in Eregion, claiming to come all this way from Mirkwood to learn Lord Celebrimbor’s craft.

The Mirkwood Elves were the most secluded kin, therefore no one was surprised to see you for the first time in their lives. But for that very reason you were also not trusted much in the beginning. That was no problem. You had time. All eternity.

Step by step, you began your journey. At first you were humble and compassionate without even seeing Lord Celebrimbor much. But as centuries passed, you were getting promotion after promotion until you found yourself being the very right hand of the Lord of Eregion.

Your backstory of coming from Mirkwood was useful in a different way, too – whenever you would go to The Southlands to check on Adar and your army, Elves of Eregion believed that you were visiting your family in Mirkwood.

Everything seemed to go well and according to your plan… Well, almost.

You could still sense him. Mairon. Even after leaving the cursed fortress where he had been slain, you could still feel his presence. You told no one about it, not even Adar. You had a feeling it was caused by the bond you shared with him through your blood but should you truly feel anything if he was dead?

You could sense which feelings were yours and which were unfamiliar to you and strange – those were undoubtedly his. And the main sensation you could feel in the back of your own, always creeping in the shadows of your soul like an unwanted guest was… hunger. Deep and primal starvation.

You tried to ignore that eerie sensation because you would go crazy if you tried to fight it or overthink it. However, late at night, when you were pretending to be asleep or studying the projects of the Rings that Mairon had left behind, you could feel it growing and growing inside of you. And your iron wedding ring that had been re-forged into a necklace seemed to burn your skin at those moments, too. But you never took it off for it was supposed to be a souvenir of a life you had once lived; of a previous Age.

You were quite sentimental despite your evil nature.

And when the light of the Elves began to fade in Middle-earth, you were frustrated and terrified that you were running out of time. If Celebrimbor was about to leave this realm, you would lose all those years of progress and preparations.

And who else would craft you such Rings? The dwarves? Would your next form be of a dwarf, trying to infiltrate Khazad-dûm?

You did not even want to think of such a possibility.

Thankfully, Celebrimbor was not eager to leave Middle-earth. He felt as if what he had done was not enough. He wanted to be remembered as the greatest Elf of this Age; the greatest smith for sure. The forge kept working throughout the crisis and at the very same time Adar finally managed to turn The Southlands into the new land.

Therefore, you left Eregion with an excuse to visit your family in Mirkwood. The times for the Elves were very challenging, so no one was angry at you for wanting to see your made up mother and siblings.

In fact, you hurried to The Southlands and you were truly in awe of what your Lieutenant had done to this place.

“How do you wish me to name it, my Lady?” Adar asked as you two were taking a walk amongst the ashes.

“Mordor,” you smirked at him.

“The Land of Shadow,” Adar nodded. “Why?”

“Mairon used to describe my heart this way,” you explained and Adar rolled his eyes slightly but he did not comment.

You continued your walk in silence. For a short while now, the eerie feeling from the back of your soul had been surprisingly gone and that sudden change was worrying to you. But perhaps after all those centuries of dying down slowly, Mairon’s spirit was truly gone now, leaving an oddly empty space within you…

“Do you miss him?” Adar asked suddenly and you shot him a scolding glance.

“Sometimes,” you answered truthfully. “I do not regret what I have done but we shared a long history and a powerful bond that went above our blood pact. He will remain a part of me in perpetuity.”

“My condolences,” Adar remarked and you snorted at his words.

In the evening of that day, you hopped onto your horse and went back to Eregion where surprisingly everything seemed to still be working and all the Elves were happier than ever.

“My dear (Y/N)!” Celebrimbor greeted you with open arms as you hugged him back, confused. “What you have missed, my friend, you will not believe it.”

“I can see that I must have missed something important indeed,” you mumbled.

“Come, let me show you,” Celebrimbor walked you to his forge and showed you the papers scattered all over his desk.

Those were projects of… the Rings.

Three Elven Rings for the Elven Kings. You froze at the sight of the drawings and the very familiar concepts.

“You… You came up with that idea to save our kin all by yourself, my friend?” You asked Celebrimbor. “They are the most exquisite,” you hummed to yourself.

“Oh, no, I…” Celebrimbor laughed nervously. “Well, Lady Galadriel came here and she brought a very special man with her. He was some sort of a human king, I do not know the details,” he shrugged his arms. “Either way, he was an enormous aid to me.”

“Are the drawings his?” Your heart skipped a beat at the revelation as your eyes studied the projects even more thoroughly.

“Yes. Some of them,” Celebrimbor nodded.

“I would like to meet him,” you clenched your jaw, trying your best to hide your nervousness.

“I am afraid that will be impossible, my dear. He is gone and Lady Galadriel claims he will never return. Even if he does, I have made my promise to her to never treat with him again,” Celebrimbor explained.

“I do wonder why,” you smirked to yourself but your hands turned cold when you realised it could have been him – your husband. Back in Middle-earth and so close to you.

He was the only one except for you who knew about the idea of the Rings. The idea was his, after all. And the lines of the drawings were like the ones you kept hidden inside your chambers that had been made by Mairon.

But what was even the meaning of all of this? You had spent centuries in Eregion, still too afraid to even mention the possibility of forging any Ring yet and he showed up and pushed Celebrimbor into making the Rings… just like that?!

“That man… Did he assist you in making those Rings?” You asked your friend and Celebrimbor shook his head with a sour expression.

“No, no… He only gave me an idea and helped me to find the way,” he answered and you nodded.

“Now, when the Elves are safe... Do you not think that perhaps other races would need such items, too?” You teased, carefully.

“(Y/N), my dear…” Celebrimbor laughed nervously and put his hands upon your shoulders. “Let us celebrate this victory first and leave the worry for some other day. Tell me, my friend, how is your family in Mirkwood?”

You were organising Celebrimbor’s papers inside his office while he watched with content how his smiths worked in the forge, drinking tea and smiling to himself. Your peace was interrupted by the smith Mirdania who gathered her skirts and walked up to Celebrimbor’s study.

“That human king… Halbrand. He is back,” she announced and you raised your head immediately.

“Well, tell him to go away,” Celebrimbor avoided her gaze. “In a polite manner, of course. I believe you can come up with something.”

“But… My Lord–” she started.

“I shall do it,” you stood up and nodded at him. “This way, we will get rid of him like Lady Galadriel asked but I will also meet the man who helped you to craft such wonders,” you smiled and Celebrimbor nodded.

You walked past Mirdania and all the way down to the gates of Eregion with your heart growing heavy with each step. Your blood ran cold as you could sense him indeed.

Your husband. Your nemesis.

He was back.

All the questions about how and why were unnecessary. You knew him too well and for the past centuries you had been feeling that what you had done to kill him truly had not been enough. Therefore, you were not as surprised as others would be.

But it still felt wrong and gut-twisting to see him again. The very last time you had seen him he had been a dead body laying in the puddle of his blood after your treachery.

Approaching the gates, you spotted a ragged man of human species with dark hair and dirty tunic. You would never recognise your husband in that person if it was not for the strong feeling in your heart that he was no one else but Mairon.

His back was turned on you but you saw his body freezing when you stood there. He sensed your presence, too.

He turned around, slowly, as you watched with curiosity. His form was different now and the hair colour was not the only thing that changed. His eyes, his nose, his lips, even his height were different. But despite the brand new form, he was Mairon.

He was your husband and you would recognise him anywhere.

And you were his wife and he would recognise you, too. Your form differed now from the one he had remembered as well. Those were not the very same hands that had slain him; yet they belonged to the same person.

“Lord Celebrimbor regrets to inform you he’s unable to grant you entry,” you told him, playing your role as well as you could under such circumstances.

Short silence occurred.

“Mightn’t I speak with him directly?” He asked and shrugged his arms, deciding to play his role, too.

“My Lord is occupied,” you explained, “but he wishes you good fortune on your journey,” you added and turned around to walk away, feeling your hands beginning to tremble.

“What a beautiful necklace it is that you have, my Lady. Was it a gift perhaps? From someone special to you?” He asked and you stood still, closing your eyes and sighing before turning around to face him once more.

“From an old friend who is long gone now,” you forced your lips to curl up and form a smile. “Are you not leaving?”

“I’ll just wait here,” he informed you. “Just in case the Lord of Eregion changes his mind.”

He will not, you wanted to say, I will make sure of it.

But you could not because that would be highly suspicious to treat him this way and the guards were standing there. Therefore, you only nodded and went back to Celebrimbor, feeling the necklace on your chest burning your skin to the point where tears of pain formed in your eyes.

You were trying to make Celebrimbor remember the promise he had made to Lady Galadriel and many times you mentioned to him how dirty and filthy you had found the human king named Halbrand. Mirdania, on the other hand, seemed to be enamoured with your husband’s new form and she was his greatest advocate.

“I am retiring to my chambers,” you informed Celebrimbor on that night after working for a few hours with him and Mirdania. “I suggest you two do the same, it has been a long and tiresome day.”

“And the night is so cold,” Mirdania sighed, looking out of the window.

You ignored her and smiled at Celebrimbor before going to your chambers and locking the doors behind you. The very first thing you did was to take off the necklace around your neck but when you did, you spotted a burn mark in the shape of it.

You focused on healing yourself but no amount of your powers was enough to heal it.

“What is going on…?” You muttered to yourself. You were a being much too powerful to fail at healing your form from such a minor injury.

Nothing seemed to work, though. Frustrated, you put the necklace back on to hide the scar with it and you changed into your nightgown.

As a Maia, you did not need sleep. But lots of the nights you were actually laying in bed and taking naps, because there were not many things you could do. And tonight you had to think of a new plan because Mairon’s return was not a part of your perfect scenario.

If only you had your crown with you, you would just take it, go downstairs and stab him with it again. But your crown was in Mordor, under Adar’s protection. Taking an item so dark and powerful to Eregion would make some of the Elves sense its disturbing presence.

But the crown itself apparently would not be enough. You needed allies. And as you tossed and turned in your bed, you were thinking of the Rings crafted by Celebrimbor. If they were not corrupted by Mairon, you could use them to help you.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a rapid knocking upon your doors. You groaned slightly and stood up to open the doors, expecting to see Mirdania in them, pleading for you to help her convince Celebrimbor to show mercy to the human king waiting by the gates. She had made such an attempt many times on that day already.

But when you opened the doors, you realised that she did not need your aid to succeed because she apparently had already convinced Celebrimbor to allow Halbrand inside Eregion.

There he stood, face-to-face with you. In yet another form but this one did not differ that much from the previous one. His ears were pointy now and Elven, his hair was blond and long. He was no longer ragged and dirty but seemed to radiate the light of Valinor and only a creature as dark as you could sense how twisted and corrupted the illusion was.

His robes were grey and humble, especially compared to yours. Even though you were in nothing but your nightgown, your clothes were the most exquisite. In the very early days you had been a disciple of Vairë The Weaver and ever since you had always had a taste for beautiful fabrics.

“Mairon…” You whispered, taking a step back because his presence was so overlooming that you could not do anything else but retreat.

“Wife,” he greeted you through gritted teeth and entered your chambers before shutting the doors closed.

“What is it with the new form? Are you trying to deceive Celebrimbor like this?” You snorted, nervously. “I shall reveal the truth to him.”

“You will not because you would have to tell him the truth about yourself, too. And that is something you will simply not do,” Mairon smirked and walked around your room. He froze at the sight of his drawings on your desk. The old ones, from the First Age. “So, that is why you are here.”

“And you? Why?” You asked and crossed your arms. “Why are you back with the living, dark spirit? Must you torment me so?”

“Torment you?” He asked, angrily, as his eyes filled with pure rage and hatred.

Before you could react, his hand was wrapped around your throat and you were pinned to the wall with his burning eyes right in front of yours as his eyelashes brushed your cheeks and you felt his hot breath on your parted lips.

“It is you who tormented me. Who betrayed me and slain me,” he drawled out.

“And you should thank me for it,” you smirked even though you were losing oxygen. You did not need it but it was still a slight inconvenience to your flesh.

“Thank you? I shall kill you, witch,” his grasp tightened.

“If you were not reborn, you would still be that pathetic and weak Mairon I remember. But you are different now. You have changed,” you pointed out and he let go of your throat but his eyes remained cold and empty; two black abysses observing your every movement as if he was a predator watching his prey.

“The change was required. The centuries I have spent on regaining my strength, I was driven by nothing but my desire for revenge. My hatred for you,” he spat out.

“Liar,” you were quick to answer. “All I could sense was hunger. And even now, I see you do not wish to see me slain. Otherwise, you would have already killed me.”

“Oh, sweet wife, you will not know the day nor the hour. I am all in for the dramatics just like you were,” he remarked.

“You are nobody, Mairon. Sauron. I am the one the Uruk follow and I am the one for whom Mordor is being prepared to rule over. I am the very foundation of this whole realm and I am its future,” you took a deep breath in as you stated. “You are nothing but a forgotten shadow that no one wants to follow, not even the filthiest of the creatures.”

“I am your husband,” Mairon’s fury won over his flesh once more as he grabbed you with all force by your arm. “And if I am nobody as you claim, you will forever be stained by being bound to a man like me.”

“You should have stayed dead, Mairon. I will turn your life into hell,” you threatened, your anger amplified by his as they mixed in your veins. “Do try to remember the suffering our master had put you through and I shall be worse. I will destroy you for good this time. I will tear you apart, piece by piece and torture every inch of you until you beg me to release you from your pathetic life forever but for each plea I will prolong the pain,” you drawled out and he grabbed you by your hair to pull on it as his fist tangled in your hair.

“You are only giving me ideas on how to get rid of you, treacherous vixen,” he whispered maliciously into your face. “The bane of my existence,” he added angrily as his empty eyes looked you up and down, stopping for a moment on your parted lips.

And then he kissed you. Eagerly and passionately, not letting go of your hair at all but pulling on it even harder and making your head throw back as your teeth clashed.

You clinged to his robes with your fists, trying to push him away but he was too strong for you to be able to do so. His free hand tore your nightgown off of your body as if he was a wild animal using his claws to get to what he craved the most.

You whined and he broke the kiss, holding your hair in his fist and twisting it to make you wince out of pain.

“Why did you betray me?” He asked, looking deep into your eyes and even though his expression was terrifying, you could sense his pain.

“I could have asked you the same, Mairon. Why did you betray me, husband?” You whimpered, searching for an answer in his eyes but he seemed to be confused that you were accusing him of such things. “We were supposed to rule together as equals but you were too greedy, my love, too eager. Yet, you were not fit to rule, not yet. So desperate to prove your worth.”

“Shut it,” Mairon growled and looked down at your naked body and the torn nightgown at your feet. “Are you not the most vain? The form you took as an Elf is so beautiful –  too beautiful. How can they not think of it as suspicious?”

“And you? Are you not vain, too?” You snorted at him and he let go of your hair, pushing you away and making your back hit the wall.

Mairon grabbed your necklace and tore it off of you to throw it on the ground as well, revealing your burn mark. He smirked at it before putting his hands on your naked hips and pulling you closer to his body. His lips placed wet and open-mouth kisses all around your neck where the scar was and you could feel it healing as his fingers were digging deep into your bones and pulling you harder and harder into him, the harsh fabric of his robes irritating your soft and sensitive now-Elven skin.

The sensation of his lips around your neck and the pain from his rough treatment excited you. It had been centuries after the last time you had given in to the desires of your flesh.

It had been centuries after you had experienced such desires at all. Apparently, it was only him who could awaken them within you.

You whined and moaned, reaching with your hands to cup his face and to bring his lips close to yours once more. This time it was you initiating the hungry and teeth-clashing kiss.

“I have lost centuries because of you, witch,” Mairon whispered after you broke the kiss. “You humiliated me. You betrayed me. You slaughtered me. I bled out. I fought each given moment to survive in the very depths of that cursed fortress. I spent ages on regaining my strength as a shadow with no heart, no limbs – merely a mind. Yet, a woman like you is worth the sacrifice. If it was your wish for me to be reborn into a man worthy of you, let it be then,” he breathed out and you let out a twisted laugh.

“Just like my old Mairon,” you caressed his new cheeks. “New face, new body, new powers… The very same pathetic devotion,” you chuckled and pushed him down onto your bed.

You crawled up on top of him with a grin, your hair falling down on his face as he gasped and you treated his robes with gentleness similar to the way he had treated your nightgown with – you tore them off of him and threw them on the floor.

“If you wish to follow me, my sweet Mairon,” you raised an eyebrow as you lowered yourself on his hard length, hissing at the feeling you had nearly forgotten, “you will follow me as my most humbled Lieutenant. You will bow down at my feet and pledge your allegiance to your Queen,” you began to roll your hips, which brought you great pleasure but to him it was nothing but a tease. His lips parted and cheeks blushed as your grin grew even wider. “Say it, my love. Tell me that you will.”

Short while of hesitation occurred. But when you began to clench the muscles of your cunt willingly to squeeze his cock as you circled your hips, he whined and nodded.

“I promise,” he breathed out.

You knew his words were not genuine but you enjoyed playing with him for now.

“I will make you my dog, Sauron,” you called him with the name he was known as amongst the Elves. The dirty name, spoken out like filth. You watched him swallow the lump in his throat when your hips stopped rolling and started to bounce slowly on his cock as you placed your hands behind you on his thighs to steady yourself. “Say it,” you ordered, harshly.

“I will be your dog,” he winced at the feeling of your cunt clenching around him and sucking in all the precum he had spilled already from your ministrations. “I will crawl on my knees after you, kiss the ground you walked on, build altars for you and make others worship you, too. This will be my purpose; the only war I will fight for you. The holy war to convert all the unbelievers.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet, my Mairon,” you admitted and leaned in to kiss his lips while putting one of your hands on his chest now as your hips picked up their pace. It was nearly brutal now how you were fucking him and you could feel your own high coming, too. But it never ended with one with your husband. “If you truly will be as good as you promise me to be, I will let you reside between my legs and lick my cunt in return,” you teased, “for as long as you wish, my sweet.”

To see you pleased with him was all he had ever wanted. Therefore, it was no surprise that your words were enough to make him fill you up that very moment as you threw your head back, laughing, straightening your back and continuing to ride him as if nothing had happened.

He whined and whimpered for a while, which you ignored, determined to reach your high as well. And it did come shortly after but by that time he was hard yet once more and that was how it had always been between you two – once you started, it was nearly impossible to stop.

However, when the dawn came, you had to put a halt to your desires, because you both had your duties around Eregion. As the sun rose, you left your husband casually as if you hadn’t just reached yet another one of your highs and you opened the wardrobe to pick the gown for the day, leaving him behind.

He rolled onto his side and rested his head on his elbow as he watched you with squinted eyes, his hair a ruffled mess and his cheeks still blushing. He was a sight, indeed. He had always been.

“It was never your intention to share your power with me either, was it?” He asked and you snorted at that.

“Do not be a fool. Why would I ever do that?” You asked with contempt.

“You are not hurt by my betrayal. Only your pride is hurt that I dared to betray you first,” Mairon pointed out.

“You forget yourself. I have killed you once and I shall kill you again,” you reminded him and brushed your hair in a rush after putting the dress on.

And just like that, you left him inside your chambers to go on with your day with a smile.

Despite everything between you two, you were glad to have him back. He was treacherous and awful – absolutely the worst. And yet, your life without him had been quite lonely and empty. A dull grey.

And if there had to be only two creatures left in the world, you hoped it would be you and him. In perpetuity.

After running your morning errands, you walked inside the forge and froze at the sight of Mairon. He had his grey and humble robes back on with no trace of your fingers tearing them open a few hours earlier. Celebrimbor and Mirdania were standing next to him and they all laid their eyes upon you the moment you joined them.

“(Y/N), my dear. You will not believe me who our human king turned out to be,” Celebrimbor exclaimed, excitedly. “Come here, my friend. Let me introduce you to Annatar, the Lord of Gifts, the emissary of The Valar,” he beckoned you over and you approached them, trying very hard not to laugh. To see Mirdania’s eyes full of affection and admiration as she stared at your husband only intensified your need to laugh, but you managed to stop yourself.

“It is such an honour, my Lord. Forgive me for the way I treated you by the gates,” you bowed your head at him.

“There is no need, my Lady. Lord Celebrimbor has been telling me a lot about you. You are his most trusted friend,” he looked you up and down intensely although the smile he gave you was kind. Nearly sweet. “And the most beautiful Elven maiden I have ever laid my eyes upon, most certain,” he added to tease you as Celebrimbor cleared his throat and looked away, awkwardly, while Mirdania lowered her head.

“You are way too generous with your compliments, my Lord,” you only answered. “What is the purpose of your visit to Eregion?”

“Lord Annatar is here to help me with the Rings,” Celebrimbor joined the conversation again immediately as his eyes sparkled.

“Are they not finished?” You furrowed your brows.

“No, no, my dear. Remember when you told me that perhaps we should craft more of them for other races that might be in need?” Celebrimbor asked.

“You did, my Lady?” Mairon raised his eyebrow at you with a very surprised expression, which made him look quite adorably innocent but you knew that he was teasing you and you had to fight an urge to roll your eyes.

“Mayhaps,” you only mumbled.

“Well, Lord Annatar is here to help me with these designs. You were right, my dear, we cannot abandon our friends in need no matter what kin they are,” Celebrimbor seemed to be content with this idea and you gritted your teeth.

You truly wanted to punch your husband right into that oh-so-innocent face as everyone would gasp and call you a monster. How dared he? You had spent centuries earning Celebrmbor’s trust and there he was, showing up in that blasphemous disguise and being the saviour of the day without any preparations; stealing and wooing the Lord of Eregion?

Therefore, a new and wicked idea bloomed inside of your mind.

To sabotage Mairon’s plan.

“Oh, really? Well, I’ve been thinking of it, my Lord. I do not think it is a good idea, after all, even though it was originally mine,” you told Celebrimbor and his smile dropped.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I do not think any other race is worthy of those rings. Who next? The Dwarves? And then? Humans? Once we agree to craft the rings for humans, we could as well craft them for the Orcs!” You exclaimed, dramatically.

Celebrimbor gasped and turned around as if he was rethinking his decision. Mirdania was not paying attention anymore to you and standing by the window, still jealous of the praise Lord Annatar had graced you with.

Therefore, your husband allowed himself to break the play for a moment and give you a deadly look, to which you replied with a wink.

The game had started and oh, how thrilling it was, how exciting to have an opponent.

And, in the end of it all, you would either kill him once more or end up dead yourself by his hand.

Or, perhaps, your love would only flourish in this environment of constant bickering and rivalry. Perhaps you would rejoin your souls and fates like you had rejoined your flesh on the night before.

Either way, the game was worth playing.

In perpetuity.

MASTERLIST

[inthedarkshadows000]

Thoughts at 3 am:

Dating suguru meant tolerating Satoru as his very whiny, half boyfriend.

Who, he had been unable to keep away after a few dates

"Suguru come on!!! I need to make sure she is good enough for us."

"Us? And no. You just want her to knows that she can't come between us, even though there is no us romantically. That's how you scared away the rest."

Who had actually told you exactly what Suguru said he would but instead of being weirded out, to his utter amazement, had just laughed and said "Don't worry, I'll just be the less pretty, side chic then, deal?"

Who had your name saved in his phone as Boyfriend Stealer. Yet dumped any of his flings/girls if they used it against you, even if it was kind of his fault for the misunderstanding.

Who would randomly put up infinity around Suguru right before you were about to jump him, because he is petty like that.

"Yes toru, I got you your favourite sweets. So if you could, please lemme hug our shared boyfriend after staying away from him for two, entire days. The two days that you spent with him on a mission. All alone."

"Oh! Why would you not begin with that, silly? Gimmme it."

Who would constantly rile you up only to expand his eyes dramatically and say, "Suguru!!!! Look at her!!! She is being to me!!! Will you really let her talk to your pretty partner like that!" All the while clinging onto his arm like a little damsel in distress.

"Satoru if you didn't want her to be mean to you then maybe you shouldn't have been pulling her hair like a kindergartener."

"You've changed Sugu, she has finally created a wedge between us!!!! I knew this would happen!!!! Why god why?! Why didn't you just make me ugly, if you really wanted to punish me? Why make me go through this?!"

Who would wiggle himself between the two of you during a walk, forcing you to stop leaning on his shoulder. Instead, you would wrap an arm around satoru's waist to reach over to your boyfriend's arm.

Who would whine for days after Suguru proposed to you, till you both got him a promise ring, to make sure he knew that he wouldn't be left alone, not to mention days of massive pampering because we were a few days late and it caused him emotional stress.

However, dating suguru also meant tolerating having satoru as your very sweet, half boyfriend.

Who kisses you on your forehead just as sweetly as Suguru does, on you you lips, before leaving for their mission.

"Well if you are Suguru's lucky charm, there's no way you aren't mine too." Was his logic.

Who puts up infinity around you when a guy starts becoming too chummy, while the two of you wait in a line for your orders and Suguru takes care of the table.

Who stood up to the elders when they bullied you for distracting the strongest because you simply existed.

Who would step in to take over any social situation because you needed a breather and Suguru to feel less overwhelmed but were too polite to leave.

Who would take turns with Suguru too nurse you back to health because both of them had missions and Suguru didn't want you alone.

Who had suddenly started relying on you to take care of him just as he had on Suguru, for so many years.

"Y/n..."

"Y/nnnnnnnnn......"

"Yes I do have your extra hair ties ru and no your shades aren't lost toru, you left them with megumi. You can use the extra pair I keep here for you."

So, although it was Suguru that you were in a relationship with, you realized that Satoru was a package deal. Not that you minded, afterall looking at them bickering like an old couple, it was obvious that there would be no Suguru to love without Satoru and no Satoru without Suguru.

You can't have YIN without it's YANG, can you?

[prof-peach]

Bit ooc but I have a question. How you do go about planing out your PLA comic? Like how do you actually turn your ideas/ storyline into comic form? Is it chapter to chapter or do you have the whole idea already planned out? Trying to find my own way in comic making so I’m just wondering if you could give any advice. Feel free to ignore if you don’t feel comfortable answering

So, at first this was al i could think to send.

because its incredibly accurate to my process.

Jokes aside, a lot of how i work is back and forth chaos, fighting with ideas until im happy with them. I will start with a list (usually not written down because im unhinged and keep a ot of it in my brain) and organise it in a way that makes sense to the situation, in this case workign with a game with an established plot...not that its a very strong one.

with a set of ideas, and a game to work around i will ramble and rant to a few choice people who i bounce well off, and also stare into space for hours on end building the ideas. This process can be days, it can be years. For context, i have some notes from 2019 about things i wanted to include that are still relevant. I have been scheming how to break and rebuild this OC for ages. Theres no correct time frame, so long as you simply do the work.

Once i have a fairly loose plan, i start to solidify the benning and the end. What is required to make a character compelling, what makes them believable, what makes them human in a way that we recognise. this isnt always a positive thing, people like to call characters who do bad things problematic, but its human nature to make mistakes and be damaged or difficult, the process of the story is not always rainbows and sunshine. For me, this hits even harder, as im trying to tell a story from the perspective of someone fundamentally broken, so showing those breaks and cracks has to be done wisely.

This is the point where i make notes about things that need to change from the start to the end. And ill say one thing, this story in particular, I have not solidly planned the middle. I am allowing space for me to come up with new ideas at points. Being locked into a dead set of ideas can be quite limiting, and as creators we consume and process things constantly to generate new stories. Id be a fool to make a plan and stick to it. everything i do is vague guidelines.

However, I know exactly how the story ends in Hisui, and where it goes to from there. And i think me personally knowing the end goal makes it easier to plot steps towards that, and some of those steps are anything but progressive.

If nothing else, the end was the only thing i saw clearly, and it has only become more complex and loaded and emotional as the rest of this has fallen into place. If you can see the goal, you can work out how to get there with time.

Regarding the chapters, i tend to draft plan up like 3-4 of them at a time, and then go in order to sketch out one after the other, so i have plenty of time to change things while i adjust. its constantly a process of seeing what you make, seeing issues, and scrapping whole parts just to redraw something better or new, unique even. I dont think a single page ive posted has resembled the very VERY first draft thumbnail ive made, and thats just how i do. Every panel, how big they are, the angle you hand the viewer, the way you light things, the expressions, this all dictates SO SO much.

Taking time over it is kind of the job, and let me stress, this is normally a job done by a team, especially the highly popular comics. one inks, one colours, one shades, one handles text, one edits, theres so many people behind it, so dont be bothered by the pace at which things are made if youre working alone like i am. One person means longer production times, if you can, spread the workload out, but its not required. Its why i always say it doesnt matter how long it takes to make, so long as youre still making.

I think its also worth noting, comics are consumed quickly, the bakcgournds and small details can be lost in the ace of the storytelling, pick and choosing your battles is wise, save your time on panels where you want the reader to shift along quicker, keep that pace high, and add in more detail and depth to panels you want to champion or get the viewers to hang around on more. its ok to let go of a "perfect" image in favour of getting content out, if youre being driven nuts by it. Again, time be damned, be happy with it. And if you can let go of petty details, id suggest doing it when possible, so long as it doesnt effect the storytelling.

I mean what else can i even say. This work is a passion project, I love it, more than i can even put into words, and i think you kind of have to, to make comics without monetary motivation. sure you can get lucky and find ways to make it big, but for most of us, its the love of the story. So maybe try not to be your biggest hater, its easy to slip into the behaviour, so try be gentle on yourself and the process. I should take that advice myself haha! but i really do mean it. This is HARD work, so be kind to yourself over it.

anyway, with a rough idea, a bunch of sketches, and time, they get inked and fussed over, i make a billion changes to layout and story, and eventually posting can happen but not after fighting with the monster that is creating. Idk what else i can say. This is not work for the feint of heart, but anyone can learn to do it.

Good luck, comic artists can always use it!

[milkweedman]

Made another spindle. It's very small. Also very irregular and lumpy due to the wood (I wanted the raised brown lines to stay and erred on the side of caution in how much I cut away...but that did lead to a very irregular spindle).

It also wanted to crumble as I carved, so pretty much all the fine tuning I just did by sanding it, which helps to compress the fibers down as well as remove material without crumbling or splintering.

It really came to life when I oiled it. Probably will be best after a few good coats and some time. My woodburning kit seems to be totally gone, which is a bummer. So I'm not woodburning anymore.

Spins well. Obviously being so tiny and light it was always going to be a fine spinning spindle, but effortless thread from an unprepped piece of fleece is pretty indicative as well. I seem to find myself carving mostly thread spindles at the moment. They're always so small and light in the hand, they remind me of holding baby birds.

[third-doctor]

I feel like I'm going insane. That episode read to me as a lot more tragic than other people are reading it. Yeah they were racist and rich and spoiled and awful but they were just kids. They were all just kids. Lindy was absolutely terrified throughout the whole thing and clinging desperately to what she knew, which was terrible. They could've had the chance to learn and become better but they chose to go die and it's infuriating and tragic because nobody deserves that. Nobody deserves to be eaten by slugs or die of exposure in the woods. Nobody deserves to suffer like that. But they chose it rather than let the Doctor help them because they'd rather stay in their rich white supremacist bubble and he just wants to help and there's nothing he can do.

Maybe it's because one of my core beliefs is that nobody deserves death and suffering. Nobody. Even the worst person on earth can learn from their mistakes and come back and change and everyone deserves that chance. There's no such thing as too late. But they're never going to get that chance because they actively rejected it and to me that's still very, very sad.

[dykedvonte]

If Ulysses has a million haters, then I'm one of them. If Ulysses has one hater, then I'm THAT ONE. If Ulysses has no haters, that means I'm dead. If the world is with Ulysses than I’m against the world.

[crescentfool]

beaming everyone on the dashh with good brain day vibes!!! i hope that you all can remember to extend self-compassion to yourself whenever you're feeling down about something 💙

[acourtofquestions]

Golden flame danced between her fingers.

Elide recoiled, and the fire vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"My name is Essar," the female said softly. "I am a friend--of your friends, I believe."

Elide said nothing.

"Cairn is a monster," Essar said, taking a step closer. "Stay far from him."

"I need to find him."

"You played the part of his mistreated lover well enough. You have to know something about him. What he does."

"If you know where he is, please tell me." She wasn't above begging.

Essar ran an eye over Elide. Then she said, "He was in this city until yesterday. Then he went out to the eastern camp." She pointed with a thumb over a shoulder. "He's there now."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's not terrorizing the patrons of every fine establishment in this town, glutting himself on the coin Maeve gave him when he took the blood oath."

Elide blinked. She had hoped some of the Fae might be opposed to Maeve, especially after the battle in Eyllwe, but to find such outright distaste...

Essar then added, "And because my sister--the soldier you spoke with--told me. She saw him in the camp this morning, smirking like a cat."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because you are wearing Lorcan's shirt, and Rowan Whitethorn's cloak. If you do not believe me, inform them who told you and they will." Elide cocked her head to the side.

Essar said softly, "Lorcan and I were involved for a time."

They were in the midst of war, and had traveled for thousands of miles to find their queen, and yet the tightness that coiled in Elide's gut at those words somehow found space. Lorcan's lover. This delicate beauty with a bedroom voice had been Lorcan's lover.

"I'll be missed if I'm gone for too long, but tell them who I am. Tell them that I told you. If it's Cairn they seek, that is where he shall be. His precise location, I don't know." Essar backed away a step. "Don't go asking after Cairn at other taverns. He isn't well regarded, even amongst the soldiers. And those who do follow him... You do not wish to attract their interest."

Essar made to turn away, but Elide blurted,

"Where did Maeve go?"

Essar looked over her shoulder. Studied her.

The female's eyes widened. "She has Aelin of the Wildfire," Essar breathed.

Elide said nothing, but Essar murmured, "That was... that was the power we felt the other night." Essar swept back toward Elide. Gripped her hands. "Where Maeve went a few days ago, I don't know. She did not announce it, did not take anyone with her. I often serve her, am asked to... It doesn't matter. What matters is Maeve is not here. But I do not know when she will return."

Relief again threatened to send Elide crumpling to the ground. The gods, it seemed, had not abandoned them just yet.

But if Maeve had taken Aelin to the outpost where they'd lied that the Valg prince had been contained...

Elide gripped Essar's hands, finding them warm and dry. "Does your sister know where Cairn resides in the camp?"

For long minutes, then an hour, they had talked.

Essar left and returned with Dresenda, her sister. And in that alley, they had plotted.

Elide finished telling Rowan, Lorcan, and Gavriel what she'd learned. They sat in stunned silence for a long minute.

"Just before dawn," Elide repeated. "Dresenda said the watch on the eastern camp is weakest at dawn. That she'd find a way for the guards to be occupied. It's our only window."

Rowan was staring into the trees, as if he could see the layout of the camp, as if he were plotting his way in, way out.

"She didn't confirm if Aelin was in Cairn's tent, though," Gavriel cautioned. "Maeve is gone--Aelin might be with her, too."

"It's a risk we take," Rowan said. A risk, perhaps, they should have considered.

Elide glanced to Lorcan, who had been silent throughout. Even though it had been his lover who had helped them, perhaps guided by Anneith herself. Or at least had been tipped off by the scent on Elide's clothes.

"You think we can trust her?" Elide asked Lorcan, though she knew the answer.

Lorcan's dark eyes shifted to her. "Yes, though I don't see why she'd bother."

"She's a good female, that's why," Rowan said.

At Elide's lifted brow, he explained, "Essar visited Mistward this spring. She met Aelin." He cut a glare toward Lorcan. "And asked me to tell you that she sends her best."

Elide hadn't seen anything that came close to pining in Essar's face, but gods, she was beautiful. And smart. And kind. And Lorcan had let her go, somehow.

[sucrose-soymilk]

hadn’t really regressed in a While and i didn’t realize how much i missed/dareisay needed it until i had the free time and ability to do so over the last few days and i have to say. i’m feeling a bit better

[oof-ow-my-bone]

replaying bioshock 2 and WOWWWW THIS GAME IS SO GORGEOUS???? turns out my graphics and audio settings have been all the way down all this time and it’s like a completely different game my mind is blown

[ofgentleresolve]

@jeoseungsaja​​ sent:

"It's you, isn't it."  At this point, it's no longer surprising to catch a shadow plastered on the dilapidated wall. At this point, he can recognize said shadow; take note of the outline of unmistakable hat. There's a long pause after something that might sound like a revelation; his back facing the vigilante as fingers carefully graze long leafs of Lily of the Valley. A little, saddened smile tugs at his lips, before letting out an elongated sigh. "The one who puts water in this plant once in a while." Touch releases itself from the damp green, turning about so he can address the Black Knight.

He doesn't understand. Doesn't understand why the masked vigilante does these things: comes around whenever he pleases, for as long as the door remains with that shabby lock (a lock Hyuk himself hasn't even changed due to a million penurious excuses; it almost feels like the detective welcomes him through actions, even if his stubborn words might say otherwise) and, on top of that, is observant enough to tell when this plant needs water.

Hyuk knows Nakamura uses the watering can to give the Lily of the Valley much needed showers whenever he forgets to do so, but it's almost impossible for the plant to remain this damp after hours of its last round of water. Plus, he doesn't think it's a coincidence that the leaves have fresh droplets of liquid on occasions he's found the Black Knight inside his office. Truly? He could question him about it, be relentless and ask why he's doing this, why does he even care; continue with worded brawls until one of them lurches forward.

But he doesn't. Instead, he looks down, pretends that he's busying himself with something else as he walks to his desk and takes a paper crane that wasn't there earlier. Suki must've folded some papers around here. Again. He's too tired to mind tonight.

"Thank you." He finally says, in the shape of a whisper more than anything else. "That plant...the--flower---" What is he doing? Is he about to tell him what it symbolizes? God, he must be losing his mind now. Head lifts, looking at the Black Knight and those eyes that unnerve him.

 A hand waves in dismissal.  He can't. He'll be too vulnerable.

 "Nothing. Just...thank you."

(IDK WHAT THIS IS BUT KASHDIUWEDH PLS TAKE IT, I HOPE IT'S OKAY; AS ALWAYS PLS FEEL FREE TO DISMISS IF YOU'D LIKE, HAVE A FANTASTIC DAY FERRE C:!!!) || flowers!! + pain ( unprompted. )

For once, he does not flinch when the detective calls to him. How strange it has become, this ritual between the two of them to convene in Hyuk’s rundown office when the city trades its certainty for the illusion of peace. They both know better; a single lock, even one sturdier than the one Hyuk still has not replaced ( perhaps Patrick should nag him on it although most things roll off his dear friend’s back like water, irritants included. Inspector Im would know; Miss Nakamura would too ) doesn’t guarantee any safety. The best mechanism against danger is AWARENESS.

And yet, here the Black Knight is again, slipping through a window into the office awaiting one exhausted, bitter detective who has lost the plot according to his former co-workers, maybe even the public in general. He winces, a twinge of pain shooting up from his back, where the sutures he received the last time they spoke haven’t quite dissolved, the thread, pulling the skin there taut.

And yet, the Black Knight knows this tenderness isn’t only a physical sensation. Sometimes when he looks at his dear friend, it makes Patrick ache. The source of the pain is never clear in those instances and while he can pinpoint his back as one of the sources this time around, the whole picture remains blurry. The line between tangible and intangible blurs.

Sometimes, Hyuk reminds Patrick of an old wound, crusted from the passage of time. And yet still raw even after all these years: the way phantom limbs will ache even when the said ligament has been severed years ago.

Patrick remains leaning against the wall, the shadows obscuring half of his face, where his hat will not. His gloves are slightly damp from handling the watering can. If Hyuk were to check, there would be reminiscences of warmth wrapped around the handle in turn. The soil seemed on the dry side when he had slipped in through the window. Winters are never kind of flowers such as these. Patrick follows Hyuk’s gaze.

He hadn’t noticed it the first time around, that pot of flowers. He had been too busy, too focused on taking that USB Drive to pinpoint the source of that scent in the office. But it made sense the second time around, that coy scent of spring, lemons, and REBIRTH. A fragrance brave enough to make its presence known, but humble enough to avoid saccharinity. Coy, but not cloying. It settles over the office the same way the grief has settled over Hyuk in a heavy coat.

The Black Knight should be practical. He should tell Hyuk to get rid of that pot- doesn’t he realize it gives him away? Not everyone smells like a lily of the valley, this mute flower that not even the deftest of perfumiers can replicate. To keep such a plant in the vicinity will only invite more danger to Hyuk. And his colleagues.

And yet.

And yet.

“If you’re going to take care of it, do it right, or don’t try at all,” he says, half-heartedly. Perhaps in their earlier days, there would be more bite behind those words. And besides, Hyuk would most likely know better than anyone else how difficult it is to protect someone.

The flower jostles gently under Hyuk’s coaxing. The buddings rustle the way bells might and for once, he imagines something pleasant to accompany it- something like her laughter. Or maybe Hyuk thinks of him. Not the Black Knight, but of a Patrick Grace long since buried.

Patrick hasn’t seen one in years; his favorite flower- a native wildflower to the English countryside that signal the start of spring, a symbol of starting anew. And yet there is one more reason, in a box of memories he stashed away, he can recall for adoring this meek blossom-

“…Do you know you what it’s supposed to represent?” He pushes off the wall and approaches the pot as Hyuk takes his usual seat at his desk. A light scent washes over the smell of smoke and burning for the briefest of moments as his thumb grazes the top of a leaf. “The coming of spring. Humility. Purity of heart. A return to happiness.”

In other words, starting over. Coming to terms after mourning.

Moving on.

( That’s not something Patrick deserves, but he knew that when he put the mask on. The greatest mercy he can ask for is sweet oblivion in the end. )

Hyuk gives something akin to a smile and something in Patrick clenches. ( If it feels something like guilt or regret even, he won’t acknowledge it. ) He lets his hand drop and turns away from his beloved friend, sharply.

“You should take a lesson from it.”