#by my troth a good fic

[terrainofheartfelt]

Hope you're doing well! Can I be recommended some unpopular but well written Dair fanfictions?

Hi love!

I don't know from unpopular, but I'll shoutout some fics that I think tend to be less acclaimed, but are very deserving!

first, I must throw a shoutout to a couple wips: like a rolling stone by my ride-or-die @strideofpride & Set It Up by my ride-or-die @blairwaldcrf both fantastic aus that are rife with beautiful dairtastic moments.

Escape -- a 5x14 au where they do go to the DR. lots of pining.

you're the song that I can't stop singing -- another S masterwork. will always rec. if any fic could fix s6, it's this one

Lemons, Limes, and Tomatoes --- entirely charming character study

this city screams your name --- a Hollywood au. or a film actor au. it's so cute and it's never really left me since I read it.

my heart of dust would still rejoice --- LITERALLY a roman holiday au!!! it's so good!!! by the brilliant mind that gave us the definitive ues/brooklyn roleswap au!

The Disaster Within --- same author as above, an AU of A Room with a View! it's so good, and I say with conviction that my LW and P&P aus would not exist without it.

A Waltz for a Night --- on this, the Before Sunrise website, i have to give a shoutout to this gorgeous Before Sunrise AU

[inchidentally]

Crown Prince Lando AU idea based entirely on his appearance today in Italy for his trophy and Lawrence writing about how every team is courting Lando

okay so I wrote this rly fast on the work laptop and you have to just ignore the weird interpretations of how royalty and inheritance etc works. and completely fucking with how things went down in F1 history. it's an absolute mess and possibly unreadable but I literally couldn't stop myself.

if you're a fic author then pleaaaaase have a look and see if you can take this and actually make anything out of it even if it needs a lot of changes.

Crown Prince Lando has been fought over by nations since he was seventeen years old. His parents had retired from royal duties to live quietly in the countryside but a series of deaths and lack of heirs resulted in Lando living most of his life being prepared for ascension to the throne. His parents did as good a job as they could to keep Lando humble and "normal" while having to live a kind of sequestered monastic existence.

As he grew so did his future subjects' love and adoration of him. They loved his humor and his cheeky treatment of the solemn institution surrounding him. As he grew into being a beauty the country took endless pride in him and watched his exploits as a touring royal closely.

Fernando Alonso was the first to pledge his troth to Prince Lando because he could see the promise in Lando of one day becoming a truly beloved ruler - a quality he himself had found wanting in his own slow gathering of power. However he was persuaded early on by his advisers and Lando's parents to withdraw due to his 'already advanced age'. Lando's debut at court was postponed by his parents to prevent any other establishment attempting to lay their claim before Lando felt comfortable and ready.

The powerful Sainz Vázquez de Castro family swooped in next and arranged a series of public meetings between Prince Lando and their wicked (meaning "experienced") and devastatingly handsome son Carlos Jr. His charisma and dark eyes charmed Prince Lando immediately and a wedding date was set for the following year. Lando's debut at court was hastily arranged to happen mere days prior. Probably should insert something here about Lando being made to live this period of life in a guarded tower and attendants being present whenever he was with Carlos because chastity being required for marriage. And the only way to keep Carlos' dick out of Lando was the threat of a priest's guard cutting it off. But lbr they manage to sneak around well enough to do everything else.

Unfortunately the royal courts of Europe were shaken by a quick series of upsets: Sovereign Prince Lorenzo of Monaco abdicated the throne in search of a quieter life - his heart had never been in it since his father, the former sovereign, had become ill and abdicated. This left Lorenzo's unwed brother Charles to be hastily crowned Prince Regent at the tender age of 22 (and unable to become sovereign himself due to being a second son, again my weird rules). As a result Charles suffered the loss of his long-time suitor, nobleman Sebastian Vettel, who couldn't bear the thought of being sovereign let alone of a land that wasn't even his own.

Enter the Sainz Vázquez de Castro elders siezing the opportunity and negotiating a deal with Monaco in private conclave with the Papal State (??) to wed their son Carlos to the Prince Regent. Carlos is ashamed at giving in to the temptation… to not just be King Consort but to be Sovereign Prince, to rule over the vast wealth of Monaco and by extension the Holy See, to have the coveted beauty Charles in his bed. So he agrees to be spirited away to Monaco and the ugly business of dissolving his betrothal to Lando is left to members of church and state.

But Carlos experiences a complete conversion when Charles is on his knees in the cathedral - looking up at him with docile green eyes as Carlos' fingertips touch the warm red roses of Charles' lips as he holds the chalice of holy wine for Charles to drink. Carlos was almost hard beneath the ermine and velvet robes in a house of God when the crown was on his head and Charles next to him - and slightly below - smiling up at him with filaments of gold hanging from pendants on his chaplet, framing his achingly beautiful face. If Carlos feels his immense happiness and prosperity darken whenever he sees Lando's picture or encounters him at one of the courts then no one need know.

Prince Lando is of course too heartbroken to consider other suitors and his court is demoralized by their own failure to seal his future. Only brash American tycoon Zak Brown keeps the faith that Lando's appeal as he grows will land him a better match than any Euro old money looking to aggrandize themselves and take advantage of Lando's youth to displace his rightful future as King.

A stroke of genius is the arrival of commoner Daniel Ricciardo whose rise up the ranks of society has hit more than a few speedbumps over the years. He's in the perfect position to act as placeholder and a sort of 'playmate' for the young Prince Regent. Daniel does the job of squiring Lando around and cheering him up beautifully. So beautifully that Daniel begins to see in his charge's wide eyes a future that he had only ever let himself dream of before. He begins to publicly push the boundaries of propriety with Lando like holding hands, embracing him from behind, dancing scandalously close together. The dam begins to break when Daniel opens a public social media account and begins posting adoring and fairly intimate videos of Lando that prove to be a massive hit with the public… and that fan rumours of the Crown Prince breaking with tradition and marrying a commoner.

Exeunt Daniel Ricciardo.

(Yes I know this isn't remotely his role but go with it) Newly appointed Lord Chancellor Andrea Stella proposes that only a candidate the same age as Lando - or ideally younger - should be considered to ensure that his claim to the throne be safeguarded. Because Lando hasn't spent the intervening years doing nothing but swooning over a succession of suitors, he's perfected his role and learned his court and won over the hearts of his people. He's effected harmonious relations with rival kingdoms seemingly effortlessly. The royal coffers have never been so full and trade is booming. Lando and his court all know that Lando could easily rule alone. But the fire that the now King of Monaco had lit inside him refused to go out. It begged to be fueled and to burn brighter.

Then one day Andrea hears a murmur of controversy happening in the middling levels of the aristocracy. The scoundrel Alonso had construed a match between one Oscar Piastri and Frenchman Esteban Ocon as a means of effecting his (Alonso's) escape and aggrandizing the Alpine dynasty. There were further details about a drama between Ocon and countryman Pierre Gasley but all that interested Andrea was that young Piastri had ordered a direct pronouncement be made against the match and any further association with Alpine. He had already rejected the opportunity of being presented at court and clearly had plans for his own future that would not depend on the protection or condescension of any other power but his own.

Imagine Andrea's surprise when Zak Brown announces at the next privy council meeting that preliminary arrangements had been made with young Piastri to be the Crown Prince's companion for the following season. A pretense at Piastri having an interest in royal politics was to be given to everyone, including Piastri himself. But Andrea and Zak shared a knowing look across the mote-stained light straining through the high windows of the old chamber. The Crown Prince barely even hears the details as he wearily signs off on the public notice along with the other endless papers at his elbow. He doesn't even dream that a wildcard is being played for his future happiness.

The eldest son of the prominent and noble Piastri family from Tuscany is suitably beautiful with the characteristic straight brow, fine pale features and soulful deep amber eyes of his people. He is tall and still growing with an effortless regal bearing despite his youth. The first few meetings between him and the Crown Prince are cordial and with a promising warmth. Andrea is encouraged by the pink that rises high on Piastri's pale cheeks whenever he shares smiles with Lando but he's even more encouraged by the steady intensity of his gaze when Lando isn't looking.

For the first few months, Piastri remains a faithful but distant part of Lando's royal retinue. They interact often enough and clearly like each other. But it also comes at a time of unrest in Lando's kingdom as a result of the ascension of an ambitious and possibly ruthless young King in the Netherlands. Lando proposes a visit to Castle Toro Rosso and asks Piastri to accompany them due to the Italian affiliation with the Dutch royal house. Something about Piastri's calm and quiet confidence helps stabilize Lando and he needs all the support he can get.

The visit is strained and the Dutch court is intimidating - and rather grating - in it's brash opulence and show of dominance. The young King is more of a mystery, seeming cold and aloof but flashing a wry smile at Lando's well-known charm and humor. The tide turns entirely in Lando's favor at the tourney. Lando has been barred from jousting following his formal presentation as crown prince due to some finicky archaic British law and it eats away at it him to have to sit and watch while the Dutch King was allowed to ride for himself. More than once Lando moodily pushes at the circlet that keeps slipping over his curls and can feel himself being increasingly bratty and short with his attendants.

Piastri was already reknowned for his prowess in jousting and was automatically given the seat to represent the Crown Prince. When he appeared mounted on a blood bay charger that gleamed almost golden and black in the hot sun (MCL colors kinda??) Lando has A Moment when Piastri tips his visor open and addresses him formally and those intense brown eyes behind the cold armor make him look so much older. Lando causes a stir when he descends from his seat and gives Piastri his favor in the form of a ribbon from one of his full sleeves. They have one of Those Looks between each other before Piastri turns to take his place. He bests every one of his opponents and isn't unseated once.

Then the Dutch King Max Emilian appears and strangely shuns any pageantry associated with a knight's entry, let alone a king's. His Lady sits in his place flanked by both her own and the King's powerful families and court. Lando finds himself suddenly flooded with fear because what would happen if Oscar lost? What would happen if Oscar won? When had he become 'Oscah' and not just Piastri?

The collision unseats both King Max Emilian and Oscar and they draw swords. The fight is precise and clinical and breathtaking. Perhaps it was because of having more to lose or perhaps it was the press of the Crown Prince's lips against the silk ribbon he gave as tribute but Oscar suddenly anticipates a step too far ahead for the young King and a unified gasp is heard when Max Emilian's body hits the dirt. It's instinct that has Oscar's sword held at the King's throat. But when Max Emilian throws his visor back his bloodied mouth is stretched in a wide toothy grin. He barks out a series of high cackles and ceremonially begs mercy. Oscar breathes out in a rush and claps his armored hand around the King's and helps him to his feet. Max Emilian flicks Oscar's visor open for him and lifts his hand declaring Oscar's well-earned victory. Lando forgets himself and leaps up yelling and cheering as his court smiles ruefully over at the stiff, formal "celebrations" coming from the stands opposite.

Holy god I've written way more than I meant to but let's have it finish off with Lando whispering to gain access to the tent where Oscar is undressing and cleaning his wounds. Perhaps his armor has been removed down to the hips the way driver's drop their race suits down after a race. Oscar startles when he sees Lando alone with him and rushes to kneel to him. Maybe Lando puts his hand under Oscar's chin and tells him to rise up and oh maybe seeing Oscar sweaty and dirtied with a cut to one cheek and a few bruises on his body makes him forget himself. Maybe he surges up and kisses Oscar and maybe Oscar is shocked but also feels exactly the same way and kisses him right back. Then probably Oscar decides to make his boldest move yet and says that if Lando doesn't want him then he'll quietly go away - but if Lando does want him then Oscar would welcome the title King Consort, would be proud of it in fact to be in service a king like Lando one day.

Then Lando either passes out because he's been in blue ball hell since Carlos and years worth of arousal hit him all at once or maybe he just whimpers a little and starts wondering how fast a royal wedding can get planned so he can Get That Dick ASAP.

Fin.

[imakemywings]

For the femslash requests: Mithrellas x Nimrodel with one carrying the other in her arms

Hi anon!! I actually had to do some research to remind myself who these characters are exactly but then I got a bit carried away so...here's all this.

Here's also a fun version of the song of Nimrodel, which Legolas sings for the Fellowship in FotR!

Summary: Mithrellas would follow Nimrodel anywhere--even across the Sundering Seas--but fate has other things in store.

Length: 4.8k

This fills the "F/F," "history," and "ace/aro" squares on Fellowship of the Fics' Pride Month bingo.

AO3 | Pillowfort | SWG

Where She Wanders None Can Tell

Long ago had Mithrellas made her choice. When Nimrodel had come among them speaking words that sparked like fire and pushed like river currents, Mithrellas reoriented towards her, and with her went her cousin Almmir and her brother Enelion, and for many years they followed Nimrodel. Now Almmir lay beneath one of the elms from which she took her name, and Enelion was departed to live among the sedentary, settled Elves of Lothlorien, but not before a terrible parting quarrel with Mithrellas.

(Traitor, Mithrellas had accused in her fey temper, You abandon everything we have stood for!)

Yet the hour was come when proud Nimrodel’s resistance to King Amroth’s proposal at last expired; Mithrellas had stood by the eaves of Fangorn Forest while the pair plighted their troth and Nimrodel agreed to follow him west, and over the Sundering Seas.

And Mithrellas was to go with her.  

Once, Nimrodel, full-throated and straight-backed, had decried the very notion of village-building, and chastised with fire and brimstone these newcome Elves from the west who ate up land and stirred up trouble. She disdained the settlement of Lothlorien and refused to speak other Elvish tongues. Now, she had confessed lowly to Mithrellas, tucked against the bole of a tree in the twilight, it seemed all other paths had been closed to them. A balrog sundered Moria to pieces, and there were whispers of a shadow growing in the Greenwood, and Fangorn whence they fled from Lorien had closed itself to them. Moreover, Amroth whom she loved meant to leave these lands for good.

Who will rule in Lorien after him? Nimrodel asked. For doubtless there would be a new lord, and she did not believe it would be anyone as trustworthy.

Mithrellas meant to tell her to fight. She meant to echo some of Nimrodel’s own stirring words and infectious passions. But Mithrellas had no gift of tongue, and before Nimrodel in particular she faltered, and so she said nothing, and Nimrodel kept her own counsel.

Still Mithrellas was silent as to her thoughts while they assembled themselves for the journey westward. Amroth and Nimrodel meant to leave immediately with Amroth’s small company of staff and what of the remnants of Nimrodel’s band that would follow her so far.

On the morning of their final preparations, Mithrellas combed out Nimrodel’s glossy black hair, and tied it up in a braid that hung to her ankles. Accustomed to traveling afoot, they had been prepared to leave much behind to hasten the journey west, but Amroth had supplied mounts, and Nimrodel’s followers found them more than adequate to carry everything. They were, after all, nomads.

“You keep quiet counsel,” Nimrodel observed as Mithrellas carefully arranged a few sacks of food onto one of the saddles. The sunlight gleamed off her hair and Mithrellas wondered if they ought to produce the summer hoods, to keep them from taking too much sun on such a long, exposed ride.

“Nothing have I to add,” Mithrellas replied, tightening a strap.

“Nothing? Or disapproval?” Nimrodel speculated. Mithrellas’ hands slowed, then stopped.

“I go whence my lady goes,” she said at last, staring at the horse’s flank. “There is naught in it for me to approve or disapprove.”

“Mithrellas has no opinion on this journey?”

“Mithrellas has chores to be done,” answered she. Now she looked at Nimrodel. “And what counsel she has, she has given.”

“As I have spoken, none are obliged to make this journey with me,” Nimrodel said. “Doubtless Enelion would welcome you into his home, if your preference was to remain.”

“It is not,” said Mithrellas. “Not in absence of my lady.”

Long Nimrodel regarded her, the brightness of the sun only just reaching the edges of her loam-dark eyes. At last she said: “Nothing have I done to warrant such loyalty, yet all the same, I will be glad with your presence. These are troubled times, and yours is a soothing companionship.” For a moment, Mithrellas thought that Nimrodel meant to touch her, and she held her breath, but at length the lady only nodded and departed to preparations of her own.

***

The sun shone invitingly on their traveling band through all the start of their journey, so that even Mithrellas felt inclined to tentative optimism. Nimrodel rode at the head with Amroth, and Mithrellas in the back with another to ensure none fell behind. Nimrodel sat her saddle with a back as straight as an oak, but Mithrellas caught the little twitches of her head each time she knew Nimrodel wished to look back, but dared not give the impression of second-guessing her choice. Occasionally, the sound of Amroth’s voice reached back, borne on the wind, doubtless reassuring Nimrodel that she had made the right decision.

Mithrellas occasionally was obligated to glance back to make sure they had dropped nothing, and she tried to draw in these last looks at their homeland for the sake of Nimrodel.

At night they rested the horses and Nimrodel’s remaining people sat alongside Amroth’s and together they ate, and on one upbeat night, traded folk songs one after another.

But the foreboding of Mithrellas and Nimrodel was proven not all amiss when they reached the White Mountains. Knowing the danger of the path, the Elves had girded themselves to contend with those beings which inhabited the mountains, including goblins, giants who took none too kindly to trespass, and remnants of Morgoth’s creatures which gathered in hazardous places where Elves and Men seldom lingered.

What proved most treacherous after all, though, was the weather.

Even at this gentler time of year, for which reason Amroth had urged Nimrodel to accept now rather than wait until the year waned, the mountains were formidable, and the weather like to change on a whim.

Halfway through their first day into the pass, rain began to lash the company, and it did not let up until they were near to elevation, at which point the rain dissolved into a seemingly impenetrable fog. Landslides, rockfalls, and bolting horses contributed to the chaos, until Mithrellas and Nimrodel had only three other Elves alongside them, and had lost sight of Amroth and his men entirely.

“We must carry on!” Nimrodel insisted, her voice echoing against the rock. She bled from a gash across her right cheek and ear where a fragment of stone had struck her. “Amroth will wait for us on the other side, if needs be!”

By the time they reached the downside of the mountains, Mithrellas and Nimrodel were alone.

The mountain reclined into forest, where fog once more enveloped them amidst the thick foliage of that ancient wood. There was no path on which to walk, nor was either woman familiar with this place, and the horses and Silvan had committed acts of mutual abandonment so that Mithrellas and Nimrodel were on foot and bare of their provisions.

All her life Mithrellas had spent in the loving if occasionally stern embrace of the trees, and yet to stand there in that forest made her skin crawl as if she were a rabbit under the shadow of an owl.

Nimrodel looked about them in bewilderment, seeing no sign of Amroth, nor of the others of the company, nor of their mounts, and Mithrellas suspected her iron-willed lady was close to a breaking point.

“We must carry on!” Mithrellas echoed. “Amroth will await you beyond this foul wood!” It was not like her to cast such aspersions on a plant of any kind, but such were her nerves at that time.

Nimrodel spoke not, but they moved forward through the wood, taking turns at the lead. Mithrellas refused to look back; she did not want to see how deep into the forest they had gone, and she wished to give Nimrodel the reassurance of thinking that Mithrellas was certain of their course.

It was only when she paused in her blundering forward that she realized she could no longer hear Nimrodel’s steps behind her.

“My lady?” She turned back. “My lady?” It was possible Nimrodel had stepped into the foliage only for a moment, but unusual not to ask for a halt. When no answer came, Mithrellas tried again, panic beginning to swell her throat. “My lady, are you there? Please, answer me!”

There was only the wind in the trees, and the dying screech of some small animal—a rabbit, perhaps.

“My lady!” Mithrellas began to run back the way they had come, and she had gone but a few yards when she spied Nimrodel prone on the ground. “My lady!”

Nimrodel did not stir when Mithrellas rolled her over, nor did she wake when Mithrellas pinched her cheeks.

“Never fear, my lady,” she panted, dragging Nimrodel upright to scoop her into her arms. “I will see us through.” Nimrodel had led long enough—let it be Mithrellas now who was the pillar on which to lean.

Mithrellas had feared days of travel, but the woods came to an end by the close of day—or nearabout as Mithrellas could tell under such cloud cover—and not in all those hours did it cease to torment them. Every sound was an alarm; her face was stung with nettles; the howl of wolves chased at their heels; and the fog, the fog which covered all, which netted them up like flies in a web; which denied Mithrellas any sense of direction so that they were stumbling out of the eaves of the forest before she even knew it was over.

Heavily it seemed she felt Nimrodel’s weight as she staggered with relief through the thinning underbrush.

“Done,” she gasped. “That’s done!” Yet when she looked down to give Nimrodel a smile, her arms were empty, and the weight was gone. Eyes flying open, mouth agape, Mithrellas whipped about.

“My lady?” she cried, the register of her voice leaping to a hysterical squeal. “My lady!” She ran in circles around the edge of the forest, thoroughly convincing herself she could have dropped Nimrodel and somehow not noticed. “My lady!”

The trees loomed dark and jagged out of the obliterating fog, and Mithrellas panted like a trapped animal.

But she had made her choice long ago.

Back into the forest she went, beating through the foliage, looking for some evidence which did not exist.

“My lady!” she wailed. “My lady! Nimrodel!”

***

Two years Mithrellas spent in the forest in Dor-en-Ernil, trying to bury a fact she had known in her heart from the first moment she stepped back into the woods: there would be no sign of Nimrodel’s fate. Yet for the sake of one beloved, one may convince oneself of many things. At times, Mithrellas felt certain even that she had entered the forest alone, that Nimrodel must have remained behind in the mountains, and she ranged about there as well, but found no trace of Nimrodel, nor of Amroth, nor any of the others who had been with them.

When Imrazôr the Númenórean of Gondor found her with his hunting band, she could have mapped every inch of that forest, and could have believed herself the last person on earth, and had no will left for fighting. Everything of herself she had emptied into her quest for Nimrodel; there was nothing left, it seemed, of Mithrellas.

Imrazȏr, enraptured at once, promised her wealth and family and honor as a noble lady of Gondor, but all that Mithrellas heard was: rest. A place she might close her eyes, someone else to look after her, a forced end to the torment of her vain search.

So, wearily, Mithrellas plighted troth with Imrazȏr, and took the cloak he offered her from his own back, and as she turned away from the woods, she drew up the hood, and wept rather than look back.

***

Elves did not wed with Men, and Mithrellas was an oddity in Belfalas, the only one of her kind there, and Men even less familiar with Silvan Elves than with other Elven kindreds. They gaped at the geometric patterns inked beneath her eyes and on her chin, and many openly suspected she had ensorcelled their lord with Elven magics (to what this referred, Mithrellas could not possibly have guessed). Imrazȏr told her the fate of King Amroth of Lorien, and then—perhaps wishing to make a show of sympathy to his Elven wife for her drowned kindred—renamed the high hill on which his castle sat Dol Amroth. It seemed to Mithrellas that she slept now upon two graves.

(She thought better of Amroth, though: she too, would have thrown herself into the sea rather than be carried away from Nimrodel.)

Imrazȏr her husband treated her kindly enough, if he was dismissive of her thoughts, as he was dismissive of the thoughts of all women, and Mithrellas forgot that there had been a time she would not have tolerated being talked down to by men many hundreds of years her junior.

The Men of Belfalas laughed when they learned Mithrellas could not read nor write, and made many japes about the supposed superiority of Elfinesse, though one woman gently offered to write to any of Mithrellas’ family, if they would be able to read the letter. She thought of Enelion far off in Lothlorien, and of the differences she might cite between herself and Elves of the Sindar, Noldor, or other cultures, and declined the offer.

Traitor, she thought. Traitor, traitor, traitor.

A son she bore Imrazȏr, for it was expected: Galador, who was called the first prince of Dol Amroth. Imrazȏr was delighted with the boy, particularly as he had been concerned, Mithrellas knew, over the fertility of a union such as theirs, when she had not beget a child within the first year of their marriage. A hefty part of his attention was thus diverted to the boy, and he asked less after Mithrellas, and that was not entirely displeasing to her.

What would Nimrodel think of her now, as she sat in her hard-seated throne beside Imrazȏr, ruling over a court of Men, birthing Mannish children, keeping behind the cold walls of Dol Amroth as she was bidden?

Imrazȏr had seen her dirty and wild in the woods, and believed she was a broken thing which he could fix. What he misunderstood was that Mithrellas had no desire to be fixed. In her brokenness, life was made bearable: if she felt not the joy of her child’s love, nor the tenderness of friendship with the Men of Belfalas, nor the satisfaction of tasks well done, neither did she feel grief for Nimrodel or her lost people, which it seemed must consume her if she permitted it to exist at all. Perhaps to live in a city of stone, one must become stone, and so Mithrellas resisted the return of any feeling beyond the detached indifference which had carried her through the last several years.

On a time Imrazȏr gifted her a beautiful rowan horse on their anniversary, one which she knew by then must have cost a fortune, and took her riding out in the fields beyond the city walls, though the hill of Dol Amroth was always visible wherever they roamed.

He told her that he loved her, and called her “wife,” and praised her work in decorating the castle, though he chided her for allowing Galador to run too wild and grew cross here and there with her seemingly perpetual dolor. A-times he even managed to lighten her melancholy with his words or his songs, and Mithrellas told herself that this—that Dol Amroth, that Gondor, that Imrazôr—was her future, and so she became pregnant a second time.

***

Galador played in the yards and the streets like other mortal boys. When he played pretend, he named the kings of Númenor and the heroes of the houses of Hador, Bëor, and Haleth. When he spoke of the future, it was of ruling Dol Amroth and already other children deferred to him as the son of Imrazôr. He grew so quickly to Mithrellas’ eye—already he seemed halfway to adolescence, and yet it had been only a handful of years ago that she had produced him.

He was not interested in learning the names of plants or the histories of the Elves, for the Men of Dol Amroth boasted that the Age of Men was come, and the time of the Elves was past, and plant-lore was wise-women’s work, and Galador had little interest at that age in being a healer of any kind.

When Mithrellas took him out, he liked to race along the beach and wrestle in the mud, and sometimes that brought a smile to her face, but Imrazȏr did not think it appropriate for a young boy to spend too much time with his mother, nor was it thought proper for the princess of Dol Amroth to romp with a child; and Mithrellas often had other chores about the castle of which to take care. (These moments necessitated particular attention to her detachment, for they often came close to the tasks she had managed for her people before, in which she had once taken pride.)

There was the same fuss at Mithrellas’ second birth as there had been at the first, and it sobered her then as before to be reminded how fraught an endeavor it was for mortal women. Imrazȏr seemed relieved to find both mother and baby alive at the end of it.

Nevertheless, Mithrellas perceived that he was disappointed to have a baby girl, rather than another boy (She understood that in Gondor, as among some other peoples, only a male child could inherit land and titles by law, and so there was a preference for boy children). He offered to let her chose the name, but she accepted his suggestion of “Gilmith” as she knew she could not give the child an Elvish name. “Gilmith” recalled some ancestors of Imrazȏr whose story Mithrellas had not bothered to listen to, and when she looked at the child asleep in its cradle, she could not attach the name to the baby. “Gilmith” meant nothing to her. Gilmith did not belong to her.

“When you are well,” said Imrazȏr, “we must make plans to journey to Minas Tirith. It is time Galador saw the capitol.”

Mithrellas had heard from their guests and those of Dol Amroth who had been that Minas Tirith dwarfed Dol Amroth in size and towered as a mountain above the plains. She said nothing, and a nursemaid—not the same who had nursed Galador—arrived to take the babe away. Mithrellas had held her only once.

Mortal women needed time to recover from a birth, but two days gone Mithrellas had regained her strength, and with it, a budding restiveness she could not ignore. One night not a week from Gilmith’s birth, Mithrellas dressed herself and led her horse from the royal stables, bidding the stableboys quiet with a gesture. It was not that Imrazȏr forbade her from leaving Dol Amroth—it was only that he disliked her to go alone, and he would not approve of going so soon after childbirth, and he would tell her to put it off until the weather was better—which would not be so until fall was ended and winter come and gone and spring good and settled once more by his estimation, though the climate at seaside Dol Amroth was quite mild in Mithrellas’ opinion.

So Mithrellas told no one, and left under cover of darkness, and rode out to the edge of Dor-en-Ernil, out to the woods at the foot of the White Mountains. There her horse would go no further, so Mithrellas left it to return home or not, as it chose.

Into the wood she went. The years had not left it much changed, and Mithrellas’ old familiarity with it returned at once.

She walked.

Mithrellas was Elf-kind, and not given to the enfeeblement and world-weariness she had observed in Men, nor was she easily prey to exhaustion, but there was a frayed feeling about her which she had long felt, and it came upon her keenly then, and seemed to increase moment by moment. Her heart throbbed so sharply in her breast it was as if she had taken a blow to the sternum, and a fear began to overtake her that death was at her door. Elves did not die of age, but she had heard they might perish of sorrow, though she had never seen it herself. Perhaps that which she had kept so long at bay had come for her at last.

“I should not have left you behind,” Mithrellas said, pressing forward. It was not until she first stumbled that she became truly aware of how tired and clumsy she had become, but still she went on. The pain in her breast increased, and she felt choked as if there were a hand at her throat. After what seemed like hours of walking, she stumbled for the last time, and hit the ground in a small grassy knoll on her hands and knees.

The forest, which had seemed before to wield such malice, wrapped around her like a cloak. Overhead, the call of birds she had never heard in the city, and rustling through the underbrush little creatures that would be chased out of castle halls. The smell of the fallen leaves and animal trails and flower perfumes surrounded her.

“My lady,” she murmured. “I forgot…I forgot my place.” It was with Nimrodel, it was always with Nimrodel. Had she not decided that centuries past? What had possessed her to take the hand of some Man of a far-off land she knew not? What a coward she was!

Mithrellas sank down into the thick grass. It poked at her face and neck, and she pressed her face into the crisp scent of it.

“Nimrodel,” she whispered to the blades. “Nimrodel, Nimrodel…” What life had she been living in Gondor? Her life she had left behind in the east—with Nimrodel, with their people, with their land. She had gone with Imrazȏr because she was weary—but now it seemed no rest she had found in Gondor, only a different sort of weariness, and the grief from which she had tried to flee still lurking underneath.

A tremor wracked her body, and again the pain in her heart, and Mithrellas closed her eyes, and did not expect to open them again.

It would be good to die in the forest.

***

It was the sound that woke her. An almost halting kind of tune, as if sung by one hesitant, and when the nature of it was clear to her, Mithrellas wept profusely.

“Why do you weep?” asked Nimrodel, ceasing her song.

“For you must be dead, as I am,” Mithrellas answered. “Else I would not hear you here.”

Nimrodel’s arms tightened about her, pulling Mithrellas closer against her.

“Nay, not dead,” said Nimrodel. “For I think then I would not see you as I do now, nor feel your flesh against my flesh. Open your eyes, Mithrellas, and see.”

So Mithrellas opened her eyes, and loath as she was to part from Nimrodel’s embrace, she sat upright immediately, to gaze in wonderment upon the face of her lady. Recognition flooded through her at the sight of Nimrodel’s dark, dark eyes, with their lovely doe-eyed shape, and the tattoos at her throat and forehead which Mithrellas could and had sketched from memory, and her noble black brow.

“My lady!” she gasped, and reached out as if to touch Nimrodel’s face, but drew back before making contact. Nimrodel caught her pale hands and pressed them to her cheeks.

“My Mithrellas,” she said.

“My lady,” said Mithrellas again, and wept. Abruptly, as if remembering, she stopped and said: “Amroth is dead.”

Nimrodel looked sad, but not surprised.

“It has been a long while, hasn’t it?” she said softly. “I feel much has changed.”

“I betrayed your teachings,” Mithrellas blurted out in confession. “I lived in a stone city. I espoused a Man and bore him children. My son will be a prince of Gondor.” Her face crumpled, and the tears resumed. “I would that I had destroyed myself,” she said. “Better to have done it that way, than to live without you and the rest. Better to die than to have betrayed myself.”

Nimrodel studied the ground, still holding Mithrellas’ hands. Then she turned her gaze again on Mithrellas and said: “You are here, now. And I am glad.” She drew Mithrellas into a hug and held her there. “I hear your grief,” she murmured, “and for that I sorrow. I did not mean to leave you so long and lost.”

“I left you,” Mithrellas sobbed, her voice breaking. “I failed you. To you I committed myself and then I failed you. I—you were—you were in my arms! And we were free! But it wasn’t true.”  

“It is true now,” said Nimrodel, holding Mithrellas tighter. “And were I dead I would not have you sit at my grave forevermore. Rather I would have you love the flowers and the trees that would grow there. I would not see you destroyed for my sake.”

“I would never leave you again,” said Mithrellas. “I will never.”

“Such promises may prove difficult to hold in Middle-earth,” said Nimrodel, drawing back to look into Mithrellas’ face.

“Still I swear it,” said Mithrellas fiercely through her tears. “My loyalty has been yours since first I heard you speak, my lady. And though I have ignored it these past years, I have not forgotten it.”

“Ah, Mithrellas,” said Nimrodel softly, wiping at the tears on Mithrellas’ cheeks. “Your affection sustains me. I am glad ‘tis you, among all the rest, to find me here.” Mithrellas held back more tears, for she wished to see clearly, to drink in the sight of that much-beloved and long-missed face. When Mithrellas’ cheeks were mostly dry, Nimrodel rose to her feet and offered Mithrellas a hand. “Will you wander with me again, Mithrellas? Even in my slumber I have missed my companion.”

Mithrellas shifted onto her knees and grasped Nimrodel’s hand, bowing her head over it.

“I will go anywhere my lady commands,” she said.

“Your lady offers no commands,” said Nimrodel. “But Nimrodel asks a question of you.” Mithrellas tipped her chin up to gaze up at Nimrodel.

“I will go,” she said. “I will go gladly.”

“Then rise,” said Nimrodel, and Mithrellas did so. Then Nimrodel drew her nearer with a hand at her waist, and pressed her forehead to Mithrellas’. “If you chose to go, you would go with my love,” she said.

Mithrellas trembled, but spoke with breathless surety. “Having it, I could not imagine leaving, my—.” And then suddenly, Nimrodel’s name seemed far too intimate to speak aloud, and Mithrellas blushed.

“And if you stay, will I have your love?” Nimrodel asked. Her breath was warm on Mithrellas’ chin.

“My—. You have always had my love,” Mithrellas answered.

“And yet you would not counsel me against Amroth, not once I had decided.”

“What kind of love would intervene in the happiness of its object?”

Nimrodel observed her and then said: “You are a rare kind I think, Mithrellas. Again I feel I have been unjustly fortunate in your acquaintance. May I kiss you now?”

Mithrellas’ shock was difficult to put to words, but she had barely finished nodding assent when Nimrodel’s lips pressed over hers, and then Mithrellas felt she nearly swooned. When they parted, Nimrodel’s arms were tight around her, and Nimrodel was smiling.

“I have seen now how to effectively disarm the formidable Mithrellas!” she said.

“Not so formidable,” Mithrellas answered feebly, light-headed. “Not where—not where you are concerned.”

“Will you not call me by name, Mithrellas?” Mithrellas flushed again and looked askance. Nimrodel sobered again—they had never been much given to mirth, these two, and the recent years had added none to it—but she took Mithrellas’ hand and made to lead her further on, perhaps back over the mountains, or perhaps off to some new place. “Will you abide with me at least, then?”

Mithrellas gripped Nimrodel’s hand tightly, and locked her gaze with her companion’s.

“I will, Nimrodel,” she said.

***

Of Nimrodel, it is sung that she became separated from Amroth during their journey west, and fell into a long sleep, and came no more into the histories of the Elves but for the song and the river which to this day bear her name.

Of Mithrellas, it is said only that she disappeared after the birth of her second child, and never again returned to the realms of Men, though her strain of Elvish blood lingered long in the princes of Dol Amroth.

Where they wander now, none can tell, but where they go, they go together.

Nimrodel left and Mithrellas right from this picrew

[the-au-collector]

I've got to ask, what is the unusual/unique (in a good way) au you've come across (or cooked up yourself)?

Thanks for the ask!

I realize now you asked for one fic but uh--I kinda compiled a list of some of my favorite AUs instead. I've read a lot of fics, but to save your sanity I'll stick with my 3 main fandoms: Linked Universe, Kingdom Hearts, and Tales of the Abyss. I'll tag authors where I can, but some I just couldn't find anywhere 😭

This definitely isn't all of them but if I tried to compile every single AU I've loved, we'll be here all day.

Kingdom Hearts:

Familiars by @kutikue @letoasai- all the characters are witches and/or familiars. I've just started reading it but it seems good so far! Definitely one of a kind!

Runaway Wind by Pred1059 - Ven wakes up early. It gets very off the rails very quickly.

Vulpes to Dandelions by YumeTakato (deviantart profile)- An Ava is Sora's Mom AU as well as a Master of Master's Arc speculation series. This one also goes into alternate universes and other things that make it unique.

Linked Universe:

Links Assemble by @vicmillen (Victor_Millen on AO3)- Marvel fusion AU featuring Warriors as Captain America. It's in-the-works so seriously, go over to Vic's blog and check it out!

Townhouse AU by st0rmy - a really fun AU where all the Links end up living in the same townhouse together. Chaos ensues. Time is tired.

Tales of Courage from Across the Galaxy by @wizard-finix (CubanCracker62 on AO3) - Star Wars fusion. I'm currently reading it, but it's good so far! There's also some art for it too!

Linked Nexus AU by @zarvasace- Space AU. I've just started reading it but I can't wait to see where it goes.

Wing Bois AU by @breannasfluff - probbaly one of the most unique AUs in the fandom. The Links have wings and bird traits. It's also very fluffy!

Hero's Aspect AU by @tashacee - Wild gets stuck in the Hero's Aspect outfit. I'm currently trying to catch up on all 45 parts, but it's definitely one of the biggest AUs for Linked Universe.

Opera House AU by @bokettochild (FlamingIdiot on AO3) - modern AU but all the Links work in an opera house. It a very different and interesting setting for a modern AU. I also can't reccomend Ketto's fics enough to be honest.

Fierce Hero 9 by @crazylittlejester (Can_Opener on AO3)- Big Hero 6 but it's Linked Universe. It loosely follows the plot of the movie, but there are some huge, interesting differences between this and the movie.

Tales of the Abyss:

Bladework by @starcrossed-sky - probably the best "Asch joins the group" series out there. Lots of political intrigue. The characters are so well-written and the 2nd person POV is so unique! Definitely made me obsessed with 2nd person POV lol. Follows the plot of the game initially

Reflections by @darkangelmya - an AU where Asch decides to return to the manor instead of running away with Van. Asch is an overprotective brother and it's awesome! Also follows the plot of the game, probably the most religiously of all my other fic recs for this game

Troth by @daily-rayless (Rayless_Night on AO3) - A post-game Asch comes back too AU focused on Asch and Natalia's relationship. Very beautiful, Rayless is an amazing author!

As for stuff I've written... I have to say the more unique ones boil down to [obscure media I read when I was 13] fused with either Linked Universe or Kingdom Hearts 😅 So like, my Lockwood and Co Fusion or the Stravaganza fusion I'm thinking of making lol. I also have a lot of unfinished Kingdom Hearts fics from years ago, like a "Eraqus gets brought back to life but he's 16 again and has amnesia" fic and a "Brain ends up in the time of Days and changes things" fic.

As for serious fics... I can't not plug my passion projects, the Reconnect the Chain AU and Relinked AU. They're both Linked Universe fics where the Links reunite (though I'm planning Relinked to be a comic). They're AUs of each other, with Reconnect the Chain being an AU that boils down to "what if Relinked happend 10 years earlier minus all the kidnapping?" (AKA, it's my fluff outlet lol).

I yet again managed to write an essay but uh--enjoy the fic recs!

[starspray]

Or, send in a ⭐star⭐  to have the author select a section they’ve been dying to talk about!

#been in a writing slump #maybe this would help kickstart things

have a star! *pulls up a chair and sits down to listen*

Once again, I got the star and I blanked on everything I ever wrote, lol. But I have one thing to say about the last scene in Fair as the First Snowdrop in Spring:

“And what of your future, Elrond?” Gil-galad asked later, as he and Elrond sat in the Hall of Fire. It was otherwise empty—a good place to sit and think, or to have a private conversation. “Have you thought of marriage?” Elrond’s thoughts immediately turned to Celebrían, but he shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “No?” Gil-galad looked at him, one eyebrow arched. The silver ribbons in his braids seemed to glow in the soft light of the low fire. “Not even Lady Celebrían has changed your mind?” “What has Lady Celebrían to do—” “Oh come, Elrond. Perhaps she has not noticed, but anyone who knows you has. You are badly smitten. Don’t tell me you do not plan to speak to her.” “We have only just met,” Elrond said, since denials would get him nowhere. Gil-galad did not roll his eyes, but it seemed a close thing. Elrond tried again—this time feeling himself on firmer ground. “The time is not right.” “What time could be better?” Gil-galad asked. “You have just established yourself the master of your own realm, we have beaten Sauron back—” “But he will rise again,” Elrond said. “The lands south and east of the Anduin are dark to me, as are the coming years, like gazing at a horizon hidden by heavy storm clouds. I do not know when the storm will reach us, only that it will. Until it passes, whatever befalls, I will take no wife.” Gil-galad sighed, all traces of teasing humor gone. “Very well. I will not ask again. But nothing would bring me more pleasure than to stand with you at your wedding, here in Imladris in the spring—whether it is Celebrían or some other deserving lady.” Elrond smiled. “You will be the first to know of it,” he promised.

Okay so the main point of the fic is me finally writing my version of the first meeting between Elrond and Celebrian, because they were on my mind thanks to my other fic White Water Flowing. And the thing one has to decide when writing this pairing is why did Elrond wait so long? They met right after the end of the war with Sauron, after he was chased off to Mordor with his tail between his legs, as Elrond is establishing himself in his own realm of Imladris.

Is he shy? Not really--he's not a shy person, but also he's never been smitten before, and it's thrown him off a bit. Is he intimidated by his potential in-laws? I don't think so. I don't think Elrond is easily intimidated even by Galadriel--and by this point he's pretty close in friendship to Celeborn.

So I settled on foresight--or the lack thereof. When he describes the lands in the southeast being dark to him, I was thinking of when he says in FOTR that all the lands east of the Misty Mountains are hidden from him (or something to that effect--I'm paraphrasing from memory). The War of the Last Alliance is in this fic much what the War of the Ring is in LOTR.

And to that point--Elrond's decision to take no wife at all is a deliberate echo of his...what's the word. Not an order, exactly. And admonition? Prophecy? Idk. Anyway what he says to Aragorn after word gets back to him that Aragorn has fallen in love with Arwen (and I am going to get the quote for this):

Aragorn, Arathorn's son, Lord of the Dunedain, listen to me! A great doom awaits you, either to rise above the height of all your fathers since the days of Elendil, or to fall into darkness with all that is left of your kin. Many years of trial lie before you. You shall neither have wife, nor bind any woman to you in troth, until your time comes and you are found worthy of it.

I'm not putting Elrond's decision to delay marriage on the same level as Aragorn's fate--Aragorn has the fate of a whole people in his hands, and Elrond's choices are much more personal--but I wanted this to be something Elrond would not ask of someone like Aragorn without having done something similar himself. Marrying someone, much less Arwen, would have hindered Aragorn in his travels and in taking the risks that he needed to take, and similarly I think Elrond feels that marrying Celebrian too soon would hamper his own ability for potential risks and sacrifices (remember, he stands by Gil-galad along with Cirdan during that last fight against Sauron). When he marches to Mordor at the end of the Second Age, he is not necessarily certain he'll come back.

[iztarshi]

Ooh I gotta know about the rottmnt jägers au!

Verbatim from my notes:

the Rise boys as a group of detached Jägers because they have the energy for supersoldiers prone to shenanigans

Raph - doing this for honour, the troth and to protect the Jägers that remain with Klaus. Very determined to do a good job and also keep the group safe.

Leo - has zero hope of finding a Heterodyne, went because he'd rather stay with the others than the pack. Drives Raph up the wall because he'll shy away from cities where Raph thinks there's a real lead as "too dangerous" but drag everyone into trouble over a nice hat. Is mostly trying to keep everyone distracted from their fate, especially himself

Donnie - would have broken through if he hadn't taken the draught. The necessity of surviving with just four is pushing his latent Spark to the forefront again. He can even manage a little Jäger medical care and he's guiltily enjoying how important it makes him.

Mikey - has hope, but mostly trusts that if they're fated to find a Heterodyne they will, I think. The hardest for me to pin down the character of.

…even Raph is distractible, though. He's both Raph and a Jäger.

Black Heterodyne made Donnie, Red Heterdodyne made Leo.

*

I did post a fic from this universe last year, but not the one I'd originally intended to write.

The one I meant to write was one where they meet April, random townperson from near enough Mechanicsburg that she's heard of "riding with the Jägers" and decides to give it a try a generation late. They're detached and the time and it also would have been quite Donnie centric, since his latent Spark is definitely becoming less latent the more he leans on it.

[waldorph]

Fic Writers Q&A

I was tagged by @rcmclachlan! Thank you!!

How many wips do you have currently?

Three. I think. One that's an official WIP on ao3, two other that I'm fucking around with privately.

Which one are you finding the hardest to finish? Why do you think that is?

I think I need to uhhhh rewrite bits of Troth. The problem with restarting a WIP after a decade is that your thought process is not exactly cohesive.

What does it usually look like when inspiration strikes for you?

I sit down and I write. I just sort of sigh and haul open my laptop and start writing.

Do you curate playlists for each fic or is your process different?

There's usually a ~vibe that goes with each fic, and sometimes I have an existing playlist for it and sometimes I need to create one, but it's that delicate balance of match the vibe but don't overpower.

Do you go balls to the wall and write as you go or are you more organised?

Hahahahahahaha I am...a mess. I am REALLY good at concepts and beginnings, but middles are elusive. All of my friends have heard me at one point or another wail BUT WHAT IS THE PLOT IT CANNOT BE JUST VIBES to which I get varying levels of OF COURSE IT CAN BE and then I sulk and that's how we get wips. The problem is I get bored if I write to an outline. It takes all the fun out of the thing. I usually rewrite huge chunks of every story I've ever written before posting, so that's also you know. Part of the process.

[zmediaoutlet]

Hello, hope you are doing well!

I know you get discouraged because this is a dying fandom I guess but just know that your samdean fics are my comfort pieces of art that I turn to from time to time. They are just so so so good. I read your recent one - troth and as usual it broke my heart but also smh fixed it? That seems to be the theme with most of your fics re: my emotional journey.

I just need you to know as long as writers like you keep loving samdean and their love for each other, writing them in a way that feels true and non sketchy and not at all far fetched, just a incestous extension of canon (lol) I truly believe, we are in good hands! :)

-says girl after rereading the archivist and that post 12*05 raped sam fic again where Dean tries to 'spare his feelings' and crying again

that's super, super kind of you, bud. <3 Thanks for letting me know you go back to the things sometimes -- a rare happy thing is just what I needed today.

[rosethornewrites]

T & G reading since 2/8

Finished

Teen:

Encounter in Qinhe, by Ilona22 (3rd in a series, locked)

At the beginning of the war, Qinhe is retaken. Shortly after, the remnants of the Jiang arrive.

Poison, by snowberryrose

In which only Wen Qing survives the Heavenly Godess attack

Renovation, by WithBroomBefore (5th in a series)

The house itself is described by the realtor as “needing a little work.”

Contrapuntal, by WithBroomBefore (13 chapters)

In which Wei Wuxian is cast back in time to the school at Cloud Recesses instead of falling to his death. Everyone is very confused and upset. Wen Qing fixes things.

General:

If We, by StoriesOnlyScarsCanTell (2 chapters, locked)

You know, for such a simple question, that is something in which I have so many ways to respond to.

But I will only say one thing to you.

I am loved.

Wei Ying received letters from his future self.

common people, by harborshore

Wei Wuxian keeps expecting Lan Zhan to go home.

in the lull before paradise, by stiltonbasket (47th in a series)

“A-Zhan, married after all this time!” he chuckles to himself, quivering a little at the sweetness of it all. “I can scarcely believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Wangji says sleepily, propping himself up on his elbow. “Xiongzhang, aren’t you tired yet?”

“No, not really. I’ve been trying to sleep, but I can’t.”

Wangji puts a hand on his brow. “Are you ill?”

“Not in the slightest, didi. I was only thinking about tomorrow.”

Or: on the last night before his wedding, Lan Wangji sleeps in the Hanshi with his brother.

No, Wei Wuxian, You Cannot Divorce A Man You Haven't Married Yet!, by stiltonbasket (8 chapters)

"Have you heard? The second young mistress of Yunmeng Jiang broke her troth with Hanguang-jun and ran off to the Burial Mounds with Wen Qionglin!"

"Ah, poor Lan-er-gongzi. Breaking her sister's engagement wasn't enough for Wei-guniang, she had to betray her own intended!"

In which Wei Wuxian ditches the cultivation world, Lan Wangji goes grocery shopping, Lan Sizhui narrates his parents' love story, and Nie Huaisang is the only one who knows what's really going on. Prompt fic!

All in All, Life is Good, by BurningBlueDiamond (7th in a series)

The conclusion of the series: what happens in the new timeline?

Unfinished

Teen:

Music Heals All Forms Of Misery, by idontknowwhatimdoinghalfthetime

Two years after the downfall of Jin Guangyao, two individuals are sick and tired of seeing the cultivation world hurt Wei Wuxian even after being cleared of his crimes. So they decide to show the world the truth from all sides. The beautiful and the ugly. Whether or not they are forgiven by the demonic cultivator, in the end, is to be seen. But they know this needs to happen for him to heal.

Maybe it'll be easier to digest if it happens... through song? (*ﾟᗜ˚) (－‸ლ)

catch and release (and catch again), by Gaez (bell_flowers) (locked)

Before he can even puzzle out what’s happened he’s falling. Falling but still holding Lan Zhan’s hand. Still holding Lan Zhan’s hand because Sandu has severed Lan Zhan’s wrist.

(Lan Zhan was not supposed to catch him. He most certainly wasn’t supposed to follow Wei Wuxian over the cliff.)

But, After All, I Am A Wen, by theleakypen

Jiang Cheng holds out the comb to Wen Qing. This is a bad time for giving gifts of affection, but he doesn’t know if he’ll ever have a better. “If anything happens to you in the future,” he says, “come find me and I will help you again.”

**

Wen Qing takes the comb and the promise and makes her way to Qinghe to see that the promise is fulfilled.

“I have found my brother, but I need help to rescue him from the Qishan Wen sect. Jiang-zongzhu— Jiang Wanyin, if you can help me rescue him and bring him back, I would be forever grateful.”

General:

Lies and Truth, by parodismal (locked)

What happen if Lan Wangji decided to actually check Qiongqi Path after Wei Wuxian leave?

....

It leads to a domino effect towards a new Chief Cultivator

Is it a better?

Or worse?

[somewhereinthepines]

@ jupitoronthevenus he’s sure does lol. tho the idea of ryan using a bit of black eyeliner is aesthetically good to me. the kid loves death metal, after all. so it might be a thing, actually. and glad, that my fic made you consider them as a ship. chris/ryan deserved more stuff. 

...

@ lycan-troth haha, thank you! it’s so kind of you to say! i don’t draw often, but at times, i just kind of want to do it. personally, i find drawing lines relaxing. it’s the polar opposite of overly self-critical feeling, when i’m writing smth. i can never be as easy-going about my fics, as i’m about my drawings. so it’s really cool, if someone can have fun with my uh, scribbles! and ah, i sorta love limited colors, and simple looking styles at times. esp like toony ones. glad, if it looks alright! 

mm, tbh i think a lot about how chris at times uses music/singing as an outlet. and how it was one of those things, that sort of attracted ryan toward him, when he was younger. ryan loves music, and he loves hearing chris singing. it’s kinda one of very few things, that they have in common, hobby wise. and yeah, it is a bit of a nod toward ASB. prob bc when i wrote it, i’ve decided, yup whatever they’ll do, chris singing for ryan should be a thing. always, haha. and same. ryan deserved to ape shit a bit, esp considering how many horrors he was put through.

nope. he’s just really loves his camp operator. 

[terrainofheartfelt]

It’s not a dair fic but i need everyone to know there is a fic where Dan & Serena’s daughters date and it is phenomenal https://archiveofourown.org/works/847097

OOOOOH thank you love! this author has some bangers!

[blackestnight]

{/sweat}. WE DID IT!

this makes the third year i’ve completed all 30 days of ffxivwrite (31, this year—thank you for the bonus day, moen!), and i realized late last week that it was actually the second month-long challenge in a row i did (having completed au ra august.) y’all, i’m tired. holy fuck.

i’m so, so grateful to @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast for running this event every year. the prompts for this challenge are always so thought-provoking and unique, and daily challenges help me to keep up a habit of writing and force myself out of the mental rut of not feeling “ready” to write certain stories, or even to feel like some stories aren’t worth telling. it’s a bad mindset, and having a whole community writing alongside me is immensely helpful in forcing myself to stop thinking that way. you guys rock. thank you for the enthusiastic yelling, it really is the best medicine for creative funk.

and hey, speaking of the ffxivwrite community—YOU. yeah, you. did you write something this month? anything? yeah? GOOD. YOU KICKED ASS. I’M PROUD OF YOU.

okay i’ll quit being sappy. stats and masterlist below the cut!

TOTAL WORD COUNT: 36,327 words*

LONGEST FILL: “the ordeal of” (3139 words)

SHORTEST FILL: “in the ring” (87 words)

*the total word count isn’t completely accurate to the words i wrote during the duration of the challenge, because i did write an entirely separate fic between september 30 and the bonus day, and i was working on other writing projects this month, neither of which are included here, but it sort of balances out because i included the extra 900 words or so from “the ordeal of” that i had already written and tacked onto my fill for that day.

1. foster - children of the heart - 2251w hanami and rielle take a moment to discuss parenting.

2. aberrant - seek not forgiveness - 2306w after hanami narrowly avoids a murder conviction, aymeric confronts her.

3. scale - the dragon’s wake - 525w haruki knows he has no place being a hero.

4. baleful - polymorph - 1172w aymeric can’t decide if he’s being assassinated or just has indigestion. starfinder au.

5. free day (scion) - heritors - 1918w hanami and aymeric address the question of names.

6. avatar - reach out and touch faith - 907w after ravana’s defeat, hanami and ysayle share a moment in a storm.

7. speculate - alter idem - 1835w hanami discovers that she is being hunted by a voidsent. she makes a mistake.

8. adroit - no hand on the rein - 738w aymeric knows her body so well. nsfw.

9. friable - autodestruction - 1119w hanami knows how she lost her horn, but her subconscious is happy to embellish. body horror.

10. heady - blackfire - 1313w aymeric tends to hanami on the airship ride back to mor dhona...or tries to, anyway.

11. preaching to the choir - o gracious companion - 245w hanami and estinien are good friends. no, really.

12. free day (announcement) - the ordeal of - 3139w so hanami kind of forgot to tell the scions she was getting married. for a year.

13. oneirophrenia - made manifest - 1230w her soul is like a sieve at the best of times, and amaurot is not the best of times.

14. commend - veneration - 1465w the veneration of saints is a time-honored tradition in ishgard, and aymeric makes no exception for hanami. suggestive, but sfw.

15. thunderous - the crowd goes wild - 704w hanami hates talking about her gladiatorial career, so of course thancred brings it up whenever possible.

16. crane - crime and punishment - 255w munehise slacked off on his chores. haruki motivates him to get them done.

17. destruct - slower, slower - 543w hanami and fray start to wind down after one of nastrond’s shows. modern au.

18. devil’s advocate - in the ring - 87w handeloup and aymeric discuss the ul cup contenders.

19. free day (troth) - the adoration of - 2796w hanami presents aymeric with a pair of rings.

20. petrichor - make me a believer - 233w coda to “reach out and touch faith.” hanami wakes up with ysayle.

21. feckless - though the losses be grave - 862w after the sin eaters’ assault on lakeland, ardbert and hanami reflect on death.

22. fluster - just give me mercy - 366w a’dewah is going to die because hanami is going to kill him and his so-called friends are fine with it? apparently?

23. soul - absentes adsunt - 1254w sequel to “alter idem.” a voidsent hunts.

24. illustrious - slip of the tongue - 992w aymeric seeks to make a good first impression upon the warrior of light. he...does something, alright.

25. silver lining - that hum of night - 1576w facing unexpected delays in limsa, hanami and aymeric attend a light festival.

26. free day (traditional) - schemers and betrayers - 2446w hanami has no idea what a hen’s night is supposed to be and she’s afraid to find out.

27. benthos - give a man a fish - 832w haruki presents a’dewah with the catch of the day.

28. bow - road to mastery - 2204w dulia-chai presents hanami with a thoughtful gift and hanami has a minor breakdown.

29. debonair - of the silver lining - 432w when she deigns to appear at formal events, hanami is guaranteed to turn heads.

30. abstracted - case study - 300w summarizing unusual applications of jaeger technology in the medical field. pacific rim au.

31. free day (catechesis) - build an altar here - 352w follow-up to “veneration.” aymeric prepares to worship his most favored saint. nsfw.

[riosnecktattoo]

Jawbreaker 💚💚

Thanks! I feel like I have few for this one 😊

In the original Part 1, which I had fully intended to be the only part, there was no almost-kiss. I was just planning to be a bellend and have Rio sad and yearny.

But then I was talking to @foxmagpie and she was like "so when do they kiss?!" and I was like........oh my god they don't, who am I, okay I'll add an almost-kiss at the end. And then that almost-kiss was the springboard to expand it.

They write an essay on East of Eden in Part 1 purely because I'd been listening to a lot of Mumford and Sons at the time, specifically the song Timshel. I had written some more stuff about choice and how Rio felt about Beth's choice but ended up cutting it cause it felt heavy-handed.

The whole Rio's favourite colour is green thing that carries through the whole fic only came about by chance when I last minute edited the car ride in Part 1 and was like What if Beth wore a dress that she knew Rio would like but he's too dumb to realise?

I then TOTALLY lucked out that the MSU school colour is green. I googled the college while writing Part 2 and was like fuck off that's so lucky 😂

Rio's jersey is 23 purely because Nathan Scott in One Tree Hill was 23 and Nathan and Haley were formative for me. (I also headcanon Beth not getting a Chinese hip tattoo, but a 23.)

The love poem Beth remembers Rio reading in class, The Good-Morrow by John Donne, is one of my personal favourites. I know it by heart. I loved the idea of Rio reading the line "I wonder by my troth, what thou and I did, till we loved?" aka the whole fic before they stopped messing about and KISSED.

Fic Secrets

[albusgellertalways]

Closer Than Brothers Cont'd fic update

Chapter 9: Albus and Too Many Clubs :P

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29179806/chapters/80075998

Excerpt: Gellert pulled their pendant out from under his shirt.  “I promise on our troth that I won’t ever purposely interrupt your class.”

“Thank you.”  Albus climbed onto the bed and sat up against the headboard.  “Come here, love.  It’s alright.  No real harm done.”

Gellert snuggled into Albus’ arms and relaxed.  “Mmm, this is nice.  It’s where I belong.”

“It is.  But if you do something like this again, you’ll have to stay in the Hospital Wing for the night,” Albus warned.

Gellert wrinkled his nose.  “Looks like I’ll have to toe the line from now on because I don’t ever want to be separated from you at night.”

“In my class, you will need to,” said Albus.  “However, I never said anything about your behavior in other classes.”

Gellert gave him a sly grin which Albus returned.  “That’s right, you didn’t.  Good, I was afraid you wanted me to be a square.”

“Definitely not,” said Albus.  “I love your mischievous streak, as long as it’s not directed in me in a classroom setting.”

“Do you forgive me?” Gellert said, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

“Oh, darling, that was never in doubt.”  Albus kissed Gellert’s cheek and tightened his arms.  “I love you with all that I am, Gellert.  Even when you’re being…”

“A jerk?” Gellert supplied.

[mockturtle8]

Ballads Ahoy

@bendingsignpost wrote a great fanfic called The Courtship of Combat (here).  In this fic, Castiel is a knight, and Dean is a prince.  Ballads get written about them.  By me, among other people, apparently.  Anyway, if you like folk-style slightly-soppy ballads based on an A/B/O Supernatural AU, see below! 

Ballad 1

In Rapture's hall there lived a man A knight who was the King's right hand Devoted to the King was he And Leader of the North Army

Sir Castiel was the good man's name Of noble heart and battle fame He broke the rebels one and all And glory brought to his King's hall

The King to Castiel says one day It's time that you had gone away Away to find your mate for life No more to follow drum and fife

Oh no my King, I cannot go A mate for life I'll never know It cannot be for me to wed Or ever share a marriage bed

How can this be, inquired the King For you, I would give anything For my right hand, no price too great To find for you your perfect mate

Sir Castiel said, if you must know My heart was claimed ten years ago He was too young, it was our fate We parted ways, I swore to wait

I've kept my faith and kept my love Through battle I have stormed and strove But even unto this fine date His father will not let him mate

The King cried tears of royal woe How can it be that this is so? And what omega stole your heart? Who forces you to live apart?

The one I love, said Castiel Lives in a castle on a hill In Winchester, with eyes of green The firstborn Prince, whose name is Dean

Dean's father has decreed, he said Prince Sam, the heir, must first be wed Before Prince Dean can tie the knot I fear heartache will be my lot

Cheer up, cheer up, then said the King And through the hall his voice did ring Your laddie with the greenest eye Will surely marry by and by

And when he does, you'll win his hand For you're the best knight in the land Take heart for soon will come the day When you will bear your love away

Ballad 2

One morning the king called his knight to the hall He said to the knight hang your shield on the wall Tomorrow we ride from the east to the west To find you the one who your heart will love best

The knight to his king said my lord I can't go I cannot ride with you or search high and low My heart is not free for to pledge or to give For I am in love for as long as I live

O whom do you love, my true knight, cried the king I thought you were free as a bird on the wing How can you have kept such a secret from me You know that I long for to see you happy

My love is a prince with a twinkling green eye A sword and a shield and a strong battle cry My love he has lips like the blooming rose And poetry follows wherever he goes

When my love's on the field he is fierce and he's wild But when he is home he is fair and he's mild With skin like a lily and hair like spun gold I'll be true to my love, I'll have him to hold

My love is a prince in a far distant land And when he is older I'll ask for his hand I'll give him my pledge on the day he is grown But until that day I must remain alone

The king to his knight said of course you must wait I give you my blessing for you've found your mate And when the time comes for to plight your troth I wish health and wealth and joy to you both

[royalcordelia]

This is just a girl’s way of coping. Do with it what you will. A future fic, in the (hopefully not so) loooong, distant future. Spoilers for 3x02.

..through every collapse and creation.. 

Anne Shirley had learned long ago to keep heart open to uninvited visitations of the past. Otherwise, they’d burst in, tearing the doors off their hinges to eat away at her with such an unforgiving vengeance that Anne would forget that she was in the present. 

But Winifred Rose was not one to viciously erupt into anything, and the sight of her across the train platform in Charlottetown sent an odd feeling through Anne. Dressed in hues of pink that were reminiscent of early spring blossoms, Miss Rose sat alone on a bench. She held a leather satchel in her hand and turned her delicate features up to the wind. 

Anne peered over her shoulder, wondering how much longer Gilbert would be purchasing the train tickets. When no sign of her fiance was seen, Anne moved through the waiting passengers over to where Miss Rose was lost in her thoughts. 

“Might I interrupt your thoughts for a moment, Miss Rose?” 

Sunlight shone into the lady’s eyes as she peered up in surprise. Anne tried not to bristle in quiet jealousy at how golden Winifred’s hair appeared in the midday luminescence, and instead focused on enjoying the company of a person she’d known many years ago.

“Anne Shirley, I hardly recognized you! What a delight it is to see you!” Miss Rose’s delighted laughter rang through the air as she hopped to her feet and pulled Anne into a fond embrace. Joy bubbled into Anne’s heart, the strange aura from just moments ago gone. 

“You are ever the picture of loveliness, as always!” Winifred continued, holding Anne at arm’s length to examine her. 

“I should say the same for you!” Anne chuckled in her mirth. “What are you doing here? I thought you were traveling the world, putting all those stuffy medical men in their place.” 

“Oh, I have a lifetime’s work ahead of me on that front. Strange how men gawk at the presence of a female doctor in a hospital. I’ve butted heads with more, as you say, stuffy medical men than I can count!” She lifted her bag up to her shoulder. “I was actually just meeting here with a Nova Scotia doctor about my discoveries. He seems partial to the idea of employing me, can you imagine?” 

“I can, I can! He could not hire a more suitable physician, even if he scoured the world,” Anne swore. “Except for Gilbert, maybe, but he seems content to keep his medical practice closer to home.”

At the mention of Gilbert, a reminiscent smile crossed Winifred’s lips, though Anne couldn’t know quite what she was remembering. She’d heard brief stories of uncomfortable tea chats and purple violets, but that had been so long ago. 

“How is the good Avonlea doctor? I ran into him at a conference last fall, but confess I haven’t seen him since.” 

“He’s abundantly well, much to my relief. He was quite ill with typhoid last spring and the doctor wasn’t sure if he’d make it. But he’s made a rapid recovery, for which I’m grateful,” Anne said warmly. Winifred, grabbed Anne’s hand in understanding, and gave a kind smile. “Actually, Gilbert should be out any minute. He came here with me.” 

“Another escort to Miss Barry’s?” Winifred teased. Anne smiled at the memory of the train rides she’d shared with Gilbert, even the ones that were tense and cold. How far they’d come, how far they’d grown - she mused. Remembering the real reason they’d caught the early morning train, Anne flushed.

“Actually, Gilbert and I came here to look at...well, troth rings. He proposed last month.” 

Winifred Rose could not have looked happier if she’d been told that all the illnesses in the world had been cured. Her beautiful smile stretched the length of her cheeks, eyes falling down to the pearly band on Anne’s fingers.

“Please accept my sincerest congratulations! I’m so pleased, I cannot begin to tell you.” She held Anne’s hand up to her eye. “And it suits you perfectly.” 

Anne was about to utter her genuine gratitude when a head of curly brown hair caught the corner of her eye. He came up beside her, grazing her back with a gentle caress of his fingertips.

“Sorry darling, the trainmaster had a rash that he wanted me to-” His eyes fell on the amused gaze of Winifred Rose, and he stammered. “Miss Rose. It’s been quite some time.” 

“It has! I was just catching up with your fiance about all the mischievous things you’ve been up to.” 

“Betrayed by my own betrothed, my good name sullied!” Gilbert replied dramatically. Anne nudged his side with her elbow and peered up at him with playful eye. Gilbert grabbed Anne’s and leaned a little closer. “Anne-girl, If we don’t get to our platform soon, we’ll miss our train.” 

“Then it appears I should leave you to your afternoon,” Winifred said, putting on her hat. 

“Promise you’ll visit before you embark to Europe again!” Anne cut in. “I want to hear about all of your interesting encounters.”

“And I wouldn’t mind hearing about Oxford’s new advancements,” Gilbert added.

“Absolutely!” 

With that she pressed a kiss to Anne’s cheek, then Gilbert’s and waved as the new couple departed for the boarding train. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, hands held as appropriately as possible given the onlooking eyes. The hum of the chugging train lulled Gilbert’s eyes closed, and in his exhaustion, he leaned his head on her shoulder. Anne nuzzled his soft curls before pressing her lips to them. 

“Turns out you’re not that bad of an escort, after all,” Anne whispered when Gilbert’s breathing had evened out.