#even though it would have destroyed her not to be

[angrenwen]

"This new villain before you was a nightmare come true. You could admit you were scared, your hands were shaking, your breaths hurt like the stab of a knife due to your broken ribs and your right knee was barely supporting you anymore after the villain had dropped a piece of concrete on it.

Under any other circumstances, you would have fled. There was no way for you to win. In the time the villain had broken your bones and made you bleed, you had landed one hit. One they hadn’t even reacted to. This was a Class A villain and you knew protocol when crossing paths with someone who far surpassed you in skill and power: Retreat, regroup and call for reinforcements.

But there were civilians behind you and you had barely kept the villain from killing bystanders so far. If you left, they would attack the city. They had proven their willingness to murder as many people as necessary for whatever plans they had. As soon as your heart stopped beating that was.

You had never felt so hopelessly weak and terrified, all without budging from your position in front of a group of high schoolers who frantically tried to get away.

The worst part, somehow, beyond the pain and fear, was the terrible, horrible knowledge that people would get hurt and die the moment the villain took you out. All you could do was buy time and shout at people to get away.

You had to blink back tears, swallowing nausea and raised your fists in front of you, even if your bleeding arm viciously protested the movement. You couldn’t win, but you could play punching bag for a little longer and hope it made a difference.

The villain lifted an unimpressed brow and raised a hand in a near lazy, unhurried motion, hurled cars at you, too fast and too many to dodge them all. Your knee buckled as you tried to duck below the first one and the second car slammed into you with the force of a truck, crushing you into the building across the street, glass shattering and raining down around you.

You couldn’t move, pinned by the car and you couldn’t breathe anymore. You managed to wrench one arm free and shove the car off, gasping for air. Dimly you were aware of lying beside one of the teenagers that had tried to run away, the girls eyes wide and so, so terrified.

You had to get up, at least one more time, for her sake.

You hoped someone would look after your dog Suzie after you died.

"Run," you forced yourself to speak, blood dripping from your mouth, the taste of sweet copper still overpoweringly strong on your tongue. You braced your good hand on the wall and used your good leg to push you up, the world swaying and tilting dangerously.

You couldn’t fight anymore, you couldn’t even walk, but you lifted your head anyway. A hero never loses their smile, you remembered the words of your teacher and you smiled at her.

"I’ll be okay," you said, though you knew she knew you were lying. "Go, run."

You couldn’t move further than this, but the villain would take another shot at you and not the girl. Even if all you wanted to do was collapse and either pass out or cry, you didn’t, because this sixteen year old girl deserved better than to be turned into a bloody pulp, left on some half destroyed sidewalk.

Your heart was pounding and panic and pain were stealing your breath away, but you stared the villain in the face and kept the smile on your face. Another hero might have had something funny or witty or impressive to say, but you were barely staying upright and your mind felt simultaneously too empty and too full.

"Pathetic," the villain drawled and as they made half the street around you float, cars and street lanterns they ripped out and shattered glass, you did the last thing you could. 

You managed to grab the girl who stood frozen beside you, tears running down her face as she stared at the villain and twisted to shield her with your body, tucking her head beneath your chin and praying it would do anything at all to save her.

The grunt of pain, the sound of metal crashing to the ground and glass tinkling, made you open your eyes and blearily look back. Silver stood behind you and the new villain was lying on the street, groaning and struggling to move. Strange cables had wrapped around them and there was the hum of something electronic.

Silver glanced back at you, his mercury eyes worried and his face grim. You had never seen him look so serious or so furious. The Silver you knew was excitable like a schoolboy when he presented his inventions and trash-talked with a grin so wide it must’ve hurt his cheeks.

"I came as fast as I could," he said and swiftly stepped up to your side, helping you sit down. "Easy, darling, it’s going to be alright." He glanced at the girl who had heavily sat down as well. "Can you call an ambulance?"

She wobbled her head in a hectic nod and Silver helped you lie down onto your back. The girl remained kneeling at your side and fumbled her phone out of her bag with trembling hands. While she dialed, Silver took off his leather jacket to fold it beneath your head.

"Careful," you rasped and he met your gaze, steady and reassuring.

"I will be," he promised. "Rest, I’m here now."

He stood up just in time for the villain to free themselves from whatever trap he had sprung on them and now they looked absolutely pissed off. Silver flexed his hands and metal slid free from his sleeves to cover his hands, soft blue light lighting up like veins.

"I’ll take care of this," he said and stalked forward, anger in every line of his body.

It was too hard to keep your head up so you let it sink back, blinking blearily and when the girl began to cry, sobbing into the phone, you offered her your good hand to hold. Her skin was ice-cold and she clung to you, trembling all over. 

"You’re okay," you rasped as she finished the call. "Deep breaths, yes, just like that."

You managed to loll your head enough to catch glimpses of the fight and you swore every time you blinked the new villain looked worse and worse, as though Silver was beating the everliving shit out of them singlehandedly. 

He had some gadgets with him you had never seen before, nothing big and clunky, no, what he had brought to this battle were smooth working, futuristic inventions. Tough armor was revealed without his jacket, weaponry you had never seen him use before, glowing knives and mini-freeze-bombs and some kind of technology in his boots that allowed him to perform large jumps and fast-forward lunges, too quick for the telekinetic powers of the villain to keep up.

The new villain was beat into the ground in no time flat and Silver tied them up before he was back at your side. He knelt down, his silver-white hair disheveled and strands had gotten free from his braid, his gaze worried and he looked unsure if he should reach out or not.

"Thanks," you managed to say. "Sorry."

"No, darling, no need for that," he answered softly, as you heard ambulance sirens close by. "They’re almost here, you’re going to be alright." He offered a smile that looked to be trembling at the corners. "You did so fucking good, you know that?"

You felt tears gather again. "Liar," you rasped, and amended, "Pretty liar."

His brows furrowed, but the ambulance arrived before he could say more and he stepped aside as the medics rushed forward. He disappeared in the fray, but the girl stayed at your side until you were loaded into the ambulance.

"You’re going to be alright," one of the medics promised, just as you started to black out.

.-.

You had gotten countless of gifts and cards during your stay in the hospital. You put smiles on your face whenever doctors and family members showed up to check on you. You recorded a message for the public once to reassure them that you were alright, make-up put on your face by your visiting cousin to ensure you looked less hellish. 

You hid your shaking hands beneath the blanket of the hospital bed and tried not to remember the feeling of your bones breaking, your blood spilling and that horrible, ugly, terrifying knowledge that you were going to die. You were going to die and condemn everyone else around you to the same fate.

You were a disgrace of a hero, if you could still call yourself that. You had thoroughly succeeded in showing the city just how incapable you were once someone stronger than you had shown up.

No one would feel safe with you patrolling anymore and you half expected to receive a polite letter informing you the position of protector had been handed to some other hero who looked for a solo gig.

Silver must have dropped by one time when you had been gone for a check-up, since there was a little mechanical flower waiting by your bedside table. If you pressed a button, it unfurled its petals, a little clunky and sometimes you needed to shake it a little so it worked again.

You found you had many questions about your nemesis. If he had such inventions at his disposal, how come you were constantly arresting him? How had he not taken over the city yet? Well, to be fair, he seemed to have no interest in being some kind of governing body, but he could force you or anyone else to bend to his demands.

You’d have to talk to Silver to get those answers, but the very idea of having to fight now send a spear of ice down your spine. You were scared. You were so fucking scared since that beatdown from the telekinetic villain you either felt disgusted by yourself or had to breathe through a panic attack.

The day you were released you donned your civilian disguise and went home to pick Suzie up from your neighbor who had looked after her during your absence.

"I’m so glad to see you recovered, dear," the stocky woman said. "I was so worried when I heard you were involved in a car crash. I’ll bring you some food later, so take it easy and don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Mrs. Fin, that’s very kind," you answered with a weak but grateful little smile. Suzie was losing her shit, she was so happy to see you again she nearly became a kangaroo in order to reach your face for kisses.

You said your goodbyes and went back home for the first time in weeks. The air smelled stale, but Mrs. Fin and her wife must’ve looked after the place since it was clean and no food was rotting in your fridge or your fruit bowl.

You slowly, carefully, sat down on the couch and Suzie was immediately hopping up, her tail wagging so hard her little body shook. You hugged her and pressed your face into her fur, suddenly so deeply grateful that you got to go home. That you got to hold her again.

It was this thought that made you break down crying, all the repressed emotions welling to the surface, like murky silt getting churned up to cloud water.

You remained there for some time, curled up on the couch with Suzie licking your face and tucking her little head into the crook of your neck, warm and soft and alive.

The city returned your hero suit to you a week later, freshly washed and perfectly repaired. Your smile felt like cracked glass on your face as you accepted the package from the delivery man. You dropped the box onto the kitchen table and stared at it for a long time, torn between longing and dread.

In the end you shoved it into the closet. You weren’t allowed to return to active duty yet anyway and the hero association had sent a substitute for the time being.

Silver, to your surprise and confusion, was very quiet, for he hadn’t shown up with a single invention since your hospitalization. At first you thought it was because he wanted a fair fight and you were still hurt, but that didn’t explain why he wasn’t challenging the substitute hero. He had claimed this city as his home as much as you had, so why wasn’t he testing the new guy?

It was pure coincidence that you ran into him a few days later while walking Suzie. You had taken a shortcut, hood up to hide your face just in case there was someone who might recognize you out of costume, when he emerged from a dumpster with a triumphant noise.

Silver was easy to recognize, mainly because he had never bothered with a mask and his hair and eyes were hardly inconspicuous. He was, for some reason, carrying an armful of used, broken shoes. You stared at each other in silence for a long moment.

"I can totally explain," Silver said and you absolutely believed him. He probably needed those shoes for some kind of new invention, the only question was which one.

The thought of fighting immediately made dread draw tight around your lungs, your fingers gripping Suzie’s leash hard.

"So, fancy meeting you here," Silver said, leaning against the dumpster in a may that might have been suave if, well, it hadn’t been a dumpster and he didn’t carry old, dirty shoes. He smiled, batting his lashes. "Come here often?"

That made you huff softly, cracking a brief smile. "Don’t you know alley meetings are lit, as the kids say?"

Silver blinked, then laughed, the sort of throaty, carefree laugh of true amusement. "Oh no, you sounded so old!" Suzie yipped and his eyes brightened. "And who is this gorgeous little fluff-ball?"

"Suzie," you answered and after a second, you tacked on, "You can pet her."

Silver was out of the dumpster in record time, shoes shuffled to be squeezed beneath one arm so he had the other hand free to hold it out to Suzie. Your little dog decided she found him acceptable and he was allowed to touch her. Silver was cooing softly as he pet her carefully, smiling softly.

"You’ve been quiet," you found yourself saying. "No new schemes cooking up in your lair?"

Silver hummed and smirked up at you. "Of course, my next invention is going to kick ass after all and that needs some time, you know?"

You didn’t know how to voice the thoughts muddling around your mind like drunk, bouncing balls. How he had defeated that villain but somehow lost against you time and time again. How the tools he had brought to that fight had been so different to the inventions he brought to your battles.

All you could think was that he didn’t take you seriously and was having fun at your expense and you simply had been too dumb to notice it until now.

"You look tired," Silver said quietly, scratching Suzie behind the ear. "Are you recovering well?"

You had no idea how to tell him that you were scared to go patrolling, that you felt like a useless poser and utterly unnecessary. That you waited for the hero association to demote you to a little town no villain was interested in. Aside from that, though, you were healing fine. 

When you didn’t say anything, Silver looked up, his expression was solemn and serious.

"It’s okay if you’re not alright, you know that, yes?" he asked and you bit down on your lower lip to keep your expression in check. He rose from his crouch, adjusting the shoes beneath his arm. "I know that sort of advice sounds like shit when it doesn’t feel true, but what happened was scary. No one would blame you for needing some time off."

He shrugged and gestured vaguely towards the rooftops where the substitute liked to patrol. "The new guy’s alright enough to keep the peace, I guess."

"Why don’t you fight him?" you couldn’t help but ask. "You like fights."

Silver was quiet for a moment, his face giving nothing away. Then he sighed softly and brushed back a stray strand of hair, only to grimace when he briefly smelled his own palm, holding his recently dumpster-rooting hand away from himself.

"I like fighting you," he said. "I don’t care about the new guy."

"Why?" It felt like there was a bit of a disconnect between yourself and your mouth and words were clumsily tumbling out. You had to know what he really thought about you, though. "I’m hardly a good opponent -"

"You are," he protested so sharply your mouth clicked shut. He looked at you, mercury eyes strangely captivating in their earnestness. "You’re not a failure for losing. We all meet someone stronger than us one day, someone who is the perfect kryptonite to our abilities or fighting style."

Your face must have given your troubling thoughts away, because Silver’s expression gentled and his eyes were deeply understanding.

"Do you know that everyone talks about how well you protected the civilians?" he asked and, no, you hadn’t known. You had avoided any and all news entirely since the fight, scared of what people might say and hating how cowardly you were acting.

"Not a single civilian got hurt when a Class A supervillain showed up," Silver continued. "They talk about your bravery and your cool-headedness." He smiled, warm and honest. "They’re all worried for you, hoping you’ll return soon."

"Oh." Your voice was soft and you felt surprised and yet, something deep down within you felt like it took its first proper breath in too long. People still wanted you. People still trusted you.

"Why haven’t you beaten me yet?" you asked, a question that had bounced around your head whenever you had lain awake after a nightmare.

He fiddled with the shoes in his grasp, for once avoiding your gaze for a moment. "I don’t like using those inventions you saw me use," he said softly. "I occasionally make things to get the shit out of my head, but it’s for emergencies. I don’t like making things that kill. I’m a villain and I’m proud of that, but I’m not vile."

That was true. Since the day he first showed up to challenge you, he had never endangered a civilian. There had been a few near-accidents, but he’d always either stopped to let you help or had actively helped you usher some moronic teenager out of the way, scolding them in a way that strangely enough reminded you of an angry goose.

"I’ve been in a fight like you have been too," Silver said out of nowhere. "Back when I debuted in another city, Terra beat me and I had to stay in the hospital for nearly a year to recover. After I managed to get away, I, well, I stayed hidden for a while."

You knew of Terra, of course you did. She was the hero of Mossville, a massive city a state over and she was one of the big league heroes, single-handedly keeping her city villain free since claiming it. The villains had nicknamed her Terror for her ruthless, violent response to anyone threatening her home. You had heard a rumor that a number of villains had been so severely injured during battle they had ended up paralyzed or were otherwise unable to ever work in their chosen career again.

Silver shrugged again, but this time it was a little tense and not as nonchalant as he tried to make it look. "I was a bit messed up for a while. And as I said, I don’t want to kill and I don’t really want to hurt people either. What I want, what I love, is the thrill of knowing I can be creative and someone else will meet me step for step." 

His he smiled again, charming and a little lopsided. "I love fighting you, because I know you’ll actually let me do my thing. Because you treat my inventions with respect, because you never even think about kicking someone who’s down."

You blinked in surprise. You knew that Silver loved his intentions, it was obvious in the way he spoke to them when they stuttered and glitched at times. Now that he mentioned it, you remembered your first fight with him, how he had craned his head to stare back at you as the police led him away, the worry lurking in his eyes. How they had widened when you had ordered for the walking ball of Crazy Kung-Fu, as he had named it, to be confiscated instead of destroyed.

His inventions all disappeared the same day he escaped prison, of course, but it had never crossed your mind to smash them to pieces. Or to hit him when he had already surrendered.

Silver offered a small, soft smile. "I know nothing bad will ever happen to me or even my inventions when we fight. You never break more than you have to and no matter how cleverly I hide dead-switches and weak-points, you always find them so fast. It’s so much fun to fight you. I don’t have to second-guess anything or worry about losing, because I’m, well, I’m safe with you."

You couldn’t help but stare and he coughed, suddenly looking a little awkward. "So, you know, let me know of any new triggers and I’ll be mindful of my actions." At your dumbfound expression he shrugged a little. "You hate it when I use my inventions anywhere near animals or children."

Oh. That was true. You remembered the time he had set loose a pack of robo-bunnies beside a pet-shop and you had been upset during that fight, taking the asphalt- and electronics-devouring metal-bunnies out as fast as possible. He hadn’t even bantered with you back then and instead had looked a little startled and then every solemn and kind of apologetic.

"I’m scared," the words sounded chocked as you spoke and shame was hot on their heels. You stared at the wall over Silver’s shoulder, resisting the urge to turn tail and run. What a hero you were, crying and sniffling after one near-death encounter. In front of your personal nemesis no less.

Silver was quiet, then suddenly snapped his fingers, making you startle. "I know just the thing! Give me a month and I’ll let you know where to meet me."

With those words he turned around and bustled away with an air of great importance and you were too dumbfound to stop him.

Right up until you realized he had no way of contacting you and you had to hurry after him to exchange phone numbers. He smiled in a utterly dazzling manner, holding his phone close and promising that he’d never misuse your trust.

You knew villains usually weren’t to be trusted, but this was Silver, your nemesis. The man who knew you better than anyone else and, well, if he was safe with you, then maybe you were safe with him, too.

.-.

A month later, after the doctor declared you were healthy enough to train again so you could return to active duty, Silver texted you an address.

You found yourself standing in front of a shady looking factory and the only reason you weren’t getting worried was Silver himself, who had poked his head out the front door and was waving you in.

He let you into the entrance hall, bouncing a little on his heels and grinning from ear to ear. He looked as excited as he did whenever he had come up with some particularly fun inventions.

"This way," he said, leading you down the hall towards the production hall. Or the hall where a production line once had been, before everything had gotten dismantled and Silver had gotten his hands on the building.

You had to fight to keep your mouth closed as you looked at a training parkour so grand it would have made the entirety of the hero association jealous.

"I made as many simulations as I could come up with," Silver said, showing you the multitude of settings on a tablet. Numerous ways to train your endurance and strength and to fight against robots and machinery. "I may have hacked my way into some databanks and looked up the abilities of other villains to simulate them as much as possible."

"All this, for me?" you choked out, turning to stare at him, awed and wide-eyed.

His smile became soft and understanding. "After I lost to Terra I trained relentlessly to regain a sense of safety. It helped me to feel better prepared, I thought it might help you as well. If you find anything lacking, let me know and I’ll build it."

He held the tablet out with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. You reached back to take it and he shuffled a step closer to point at the settings again, rambling over how you could go wild, things were build to endure and be resistant and he’d fix anything that broke during training.

"Well, I’ll leave you to it and go back to my business." He suddenly pointed a stern finger at you. "Do not go towards the back of the factory, I really don’t want to spoil the surprise for when you’re read to fight me again."

You couldn’t help but smile a little. "Alright, I won’t." He turned to leave, a spring in his step, when you spoke up again, "Silver? Thank you."

"Of course, darling," he said, warm and unexpectedly sweet. "You’re my nemesis, after all."

Part Two"

Your supervillain nemesis is little more than goofy comedy relief, always coming up with clunky machines and insane, nonsensical schemes. When a new dangerous villain appeared, your nemesis utterly destroyed them, and then continued on like nothing happened.

[whereserpentswalk]

Fae do not have a concept of good and evil. But they do have a concept of fair and unfair. They are creatures of politeness and impolitness. Even when they're doing things that would be horrifying to humans, they do these things with a specific set of rules around them.

Most of their weaknesses are only weaknesses because they see them as making things fair. Fae are physically capable of lying, but they consider it cheating to lie to someone who isn't familiar with the fae. Likewise, fae can create unbreakable curses or unsolvable puzzles, but it's considered improper to do so. Even their material weakness works this way, if a fae is cut by an iron sword they'll but hurt by it because it was the polite thing to do.

They'll also always match the power level of any human who wanders into the fae realms, so the human in question never meets a challenge they can't overcome. When a knight of the Holy Roman Empire and his men tried to conquer part of the fae realms in 1126 the fae fought like medieval soldiers, using tactics and strategies that would be clever and strange but understandable to him and his men, the numbers of warriors never being too much for him to defeat, even when he could. And when the D.T.L paranormal containment organization sent in modern soldiers with firearms and gas masks to assassinate the fae Queen of Winter Dawn in 2004, the fae responded accordingly, with ranged weapons, and hit and run tactics, that a modern commander could play off of. And, in 1873, when three children got lost in the fae realms, deeper then any human who had been lost there before or after, the fae filled their path of peril with puzzles and traps that the children could solve. One of the children ended up having her eyes turned into spiders, and all of them were traumatized, but it's the fairness the counts to the fae. When you're billions of years old you just care about different things.

And of course. There are some fae that break the rules, fae who will truly do everything in their power to affect the world. These fae are useally exiled from the fae realms, to far off and desolate planes, where they wander and seek power. They are truly terrifying creatures, though in the places they are sent they can rarely use their power. Few who encounter them who aren't their loyal servents escape with both their lives and their humanity.

And of course, fae politeness isn't universal. It applies to humans, and to other fae, and to some other entities. But when there's a true threat to the existence of the fae they will use everything in their power to stop it, polite or impolite. When the star spawn and the great old ones attempted their invasion of the fae in 700MYA they were very promptly destroyed, and pushed back using horrors humanity can't comprehend, horrors the star spawn could barely comprehend. And when the demons on the 8th abyss attempted their invasion in 10MYA they were given almost an equal horror, spared only from pure destruction because they fae found such creatures to be useful.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Let’s talk 1x08 and 2x08 epilogues and how they set up next season

Allow me to explore this idea: what clues can 2x08 epilogue give us on what to expect for Season 3, taking 1x08 epilogue as an example? In TV shows, the epilogues of season finales are meant to set up the events and the tone for the next season.

Let’s start with Season 1 finale, and how it translated in Season 2:

1) Setting up the feud between Elrond and Galadriel in Season 2:

2) Setting up Celebrimbor’s pride as the reason for him to fall prey of Sauron’s deception:

3) Setting up Eregion (mainly the forge) as the one of the major locations of Season 2:

4) Setting up Sauron’s connection to the Three rings of power:

5) Setting up the forging of the rings of power plot in Season 2:

6) The red herring:

Now, let's take a look at Season 2 finale epilogue, and what clues it might give us for Season 3:

Sauron and Fëanor Hammer:

To me, this scene is quite straightforward: it’s foreshadowing for Sauron forging the One ring in Season 3. Because the show can’t postpone that to Season 4 (Fall of Númenor), really. We know this from Tolkien lore. 

"A sanctuary. Protected... by the Elven Rings":

This location will definitely be Imladris (more known as Rivendell), and, if Season 1 finale is anything to do by, it will be one of the major locations in Season 3. With Elrond building it, and becoming an Elf-lord of his own right.

Gil-galad: Sauron's armies are roving across Eriador. All Middle-earth is within his reach now. Even Lindon. We must decide whether to attack and bring the fight to him... or to fall back, to prepare our defenses. Galadriel: The sword or the shield. Elrond: Many of Eregion's bravest fell. The few who survived are all but broken. In body or spirit. They have little strength left with which to fight. They barely had strength to flee. Arondir: What course would you advise, Commander Galadriel? Galadriel: I would remember the counsel of our dear friend, Celebrimbor, Greatest of Elven-smiths. And remind our people... that it is not strength that overcomes darkness, but light. And the sun yet shines.

From Tolkien legendarium we know several things: Sauron will attack Lindon, and lay siege to Rivendell (“First Siege of Imladris”). The Elves will also fight back, and this will culminate in the Battle of the Gwanthló (probably Season 3 finale), where Sauron allows himself to get captured by Ar-Pharazôn and brought to Númenor as prisoner, kicking off Season 4.

Will there be consequences to Morgoth’s crown wound?

What consequences will this wound have on Galadriel?

In “Fellowship of the Ring”, Frodo is injured by the Witch King of Angmar, using a Morgul blade. In spite, of being healed by Elrond, this wound never fully heals, even after the One Ring is destroyed and Sauron is defeated. On the anniversary of receiving the wound, Frodo becomes seriously ill, and he's unable to lead a normal life (like Sam, for instance). This leads him to go to Valinor, at the end of the story.

“Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured," said Gandalf. "I fear it may be so with mine," said Frodo. "There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?” The Return of the King

Frodo: It's been four years to the day since Weathertop, Sam. It's never really healed. The Return of the King (2003)

This wound forever changes Frodo, and it’s only a blade forged by Sauron, what consequences will Morgoth’s very own crown, a object filled with dark magic, have on Galadriel? And can 2x08 already have provided us with some foreshadowing on this?

These shots can imply blood binding theory is correct, and Sauron might have transferred some of his powers to Galadriel. This is not mere “camera work”: in the first screenshot it’s Sauron looking down at Galadriel, and the second is Galadriel waking up. The effect on both is the same; hinting a sharing power between them.

In Tolkien lore, Galadriel is a powerful elf-witch, an Elven queen of great magic and power, however in "Rings of Power" we haven't seen her either dealing nor displaying any kind of magical abilities. Yet. Having her blood bound with Sauron can be the show’s explanation for her source of magical power, as well as to why she never faces him directly, working against him from afar, and why Sauron couldn’t conquer Lothlórien unless he went there, himself; as well, as to Sauron’s grouping of her mind for thousands of years into the future, and how Galadriel is able to see into his mind, too.

The Three Elven rings of power: 

Season 2 finale epilogue also focused on the Three Elven rings of power, and this is not random, because Sauron will try to get them during the “War of the Elves and Sauron”. If blood binding is correct, Sauron might take advantage of this to have Galadriel handing the rings to him.

This scene is meant to symbolize the end of Galadriel and Elrond feud over the rings, but also to showcase that Elrond trusts these rings, now.

I’m not sure if this is also foreshadowing for Elrond getting Vilya next season because it seems a bit premature, so in on the fence with that one.

Gil-galad worried expression:

This expression recalled me of Elrond’s on Season 1 finale, which makes me wonder what it can mean. Is this look connected to the rings of power or with these characters?

Gil-galad is the current ring-bearer of Vilya, and, from that perspective, it doesn’t seem to make sense for him to worry about the rings. Especially since he used its power (+ Nenya) to heal Galadriel, earlier. So, it can be related to the characters, yes. And from his angle, it can point to one in particular: Galadriel.

Where is Gandalf headed next?

Woman: Goodbye, Grand-Elf. Gandalf: Grandelf? Nori: They've never seen an Elf before. Never even left home before. [...] And what to leave. If I had my druthers, we... We'd walk the wastes of this world. Eatin' snails and beetles till the sun run out of days, but it's high time. I walked my path, and you walked yours. Gandalf: We are very different creatures, Nori. When all is said and done. Nori: Not so different at all, if you ask me. Nori and Gandalf part ways, 2x08

Can this dialogue be foreshadowing or set up for Gandalf meeting the Elves in Season 3?

Is there a red herring like in Season 1 finale?

Yes, I believe so. And it’s Galadriel appearing all victorious and light after her fight with Sauron. This can parallel Sauron Season 1 finale red herring; where he arrives at Mordor, also looking victorious and ready to take over the place (we all know how that turned out).

If this is, indeed, a red herring what can it mean? That Galadriel will find herself struggling harder than ever with the darkness in Season 3, as a consequence of Morgoth’s crown wound.

[vrystalius]

Yo! Hello its me again! Could i please request like a reverse isekai where the kny characters end up in reader's house? And maybe she is like Mad rich but like.. Not a spoiled brat she likes to do charity and make money for herself and maybe she is living with her cousins, she is smark but can be stupid (if you know what i mean) i don't know, you can do whatever you want, (there is not enough reverse isekai fanfictions😭), anyhow, hope you have a good day and you didn't get sick of my (a lot) requests😁🫶🏻👋🏻

Hashira getting reverse isekai’d

Your favourite hashira suddenly appeared inside your home! How will they react to your home and the modern world?

Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Giyu x gn!reader

Sanemi Shinazugawa

He will not adjust to this change quietly��� he is ready to destroy and slice every single piece of tech that decides to randomly beep or talk to him. You once found Sanemi trying to get his katana out of your ceiling after throwing it with full force against your smoke detector, after it beeped to remind you to change battery. It scared the shit out of him, so he put an end to that thing. Often times when using your phone, Sanemi accidentally activates Siri. He first thought that a demon was speaking through the phone with some kind of blood demon art, then, after explaining to him what exactly Siri is and what she does, he just begins cursing her and cussing her out every time she activates on him. You once had to remind him not to grip it so tightly, or else your screen might crack.

A thing he really, really likes about your modern home though is your bathroom. The shower, the large mirror, sink, toilet… just everything about it. The first time he stepped into your shower and closed the glass door behind himself, Sanemi was first confused about the shower settings. He turned every knob that is able to be turned, both cooking himself alive and dodging the water in fear of freezing, achieving both of these things in one shower. Once he finally found the perfect temperature, it was time to test all of the products you have, and not sparingly. Shampoo, conditioner, hair masks, shower gel, body scrub and whatever else he could get his fingers on— once he got out of the shower and returned to you, his smell was almost overwhelming, but at least you know now that his har is somehow able to look even better than before.

After a long adjustment period, you sometimes catch Sanemi watching the TV. He made himself comfortable in a corner of your couch, cuddled up in heated blankets (he learned how to use the settings all by himself!) and watching one movie after another. He’s quite the binge-watcher apparently, watching one action movie after another for hours on end. At the end of such day, he’ll complain about his eyes burning up without having any idea how that happened.

“Hey, wanna join me? Blanket s’ warm and I found a movie about some weird metal things moving really, really fast and guys kicking each other’s asses— Huh? Cars? Are those these fast carriages sliding around on there?”

Kyojuro Rengoku

He is incredibly curious about every single thing and would try to understand how everything works. Kyojuro would inspect your microwave and press every button their is, watching the pizza pocket he threw into there react to the different settings and then grieving about how the once weird snacks he wanted to try turned into a piece of burnt remains. Despite being the most comfortable with the traditional meals he used to eat, Kyojuro would love to try any dish you even mentioned by name once! Since you can get your food delivered to your front door, Kyojuro can try as many different cultural dishes as he can get his hands on! Or as many as you can get delivered to tour home. Ordering food is something he always gets very excited about, like what do you mean you can order all kinds of cultural food in a matter of minutes? How do the restaurants have all the ingredients available and are always ready to serve customers? And why do you refuse to order a so-called Happy Meal for him? Isn’t it supposed to make one happy?

Another thing Kyojuro is very excited about is the gym. He accidentally stumbled upon a fitness center after returning from buying groceries, staring at the people training inside with those weird machines. The hashira spotted a couple of people build broader and stronger than him, making him realise that this may be some kind of modern training ground. He begged on his hands and knees for a membership so he can explore all these new machines and weight excursuses. Once Kyojuro got inside, he was like a child in a candyshop. He spend the whole day testing out every machine, noting his own limits and setting goals on how to get even stronger. Despite no demons terrorising your world, he still wants to keep his muscles and gain strength to offer nice pillows you can lay your head on and also have the ability to open sealed jars for you without struggling.

“Can we order sweet potato tonight? I miss eating it, and it’s my comfort dish…. Also, I believe I may have started to develop homesickness. I miss my brother the most, though… Not that I don’t like it here, I love it! I just miss my father and brother, that’s all.”

Giyu Tomioka

Staying true to his nature, Giyu would be silent and awkward in this new space. He’s scared of offending you in any way but simply taking his haori off or sitting down onto your couch since he has no idea about the manners and behaviours expected from him in this world, but at the same time doesn’t bother to ask you in order to not burden you in any way. So, he quietly followed you around the house in and inspect your furniture and decorations, sometimes curiously picking something up and inspecting its function. His favourite object so far is a rubix cube he found on your desk. You caught him turn the sides, trying to understand what the point of this thing is. Does it have something on the inside? Why are the colours all scrambled up? While watching his irritation grow because of not being able to sort the colours, you suggested that Giyu can keep it and try to solve it after giving him a small briefing on what the point of the cube is. Thanking you, he kept the rubix cube on his body to play around with it whenever he has time. He is seriously invested in it and really wants to solve it in order to prove to himself that he can solve a complex puzzle and to maybe even impress you a little.

Also, you discovered that Giyu likes noise-canceling headphones, music and e-books. You often find him cuddled up together on your sofa, his face illuminated by your Ipad in his hands. You could hear the faint sounds of soft and slow music from the headphones he was wearing. He looks incredibly invested in whatever he is reading, so you snuck up on him and glanced over his shoulder, reading a couple of lines. It wasn’t a fantasy story or a random novel like you thought, but Giyu was actually reading an article about the behaviour of cats. Adorable, you thought, so you left him be and went on with your day. The water hashira eyed your form as you left, sneakily switching tabs and returning to what he was actually reading: a fluffy romance novel. He looks over his shoulder twice, thrice, checking if you are still near before feeling comfortable enough to continue his reading in peace.

“Can I borrow your.. headphones? They’re called headphones, right? Yes, I’d like to borrow them again. I want to use them to have more silence, you are being very loud and I wanted to read something.”

💠

You never bother me with your requests! They are always so fun to write for!! Also, I hope it’s okay I kind of “simplified” your request�� I hope you enjoyed this anyway. Also, I didn’t include Gyomei because I was unsure of what exactly to write for him, but I may update this tomorrow and a small scenario for him <3

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

[izvmimi]

cw: another wishful ending to bnha. about shigaraki but mostly from izuku's perspective. hint of a future healed!shigaraki x reader.

Izuku is not sure what he should wear for an occasion like this. 

Between the grueling, far too hands-on curriculum of becoming a hero, becoming the greatest hero Japan had to offer, and the aftermath of meta war that felt like ages (and probably aged him too), it was all too easy for him to forget that he is, in fact, still a teenager.

And a teenager doesn’t exactly always know what to wear when going to decide the fate of another man’s life.

Despite the fact that he’s pretty sure Hawks doesn’t actually care what he looks like at this point, Inko is kind enough to iron a suit for him and adjust the now shaggy-when-regrown mop of green curls into something professional once he’s dressed. She pats his face, letting her hand rest on the scarred side of his cheek.

“I think it will go well,” she reassures him, even though she can sense that he’s nervous. “You’re doing a good thing.”

Izuku is mostly sure, possibly 99% sure, but the 1% of uncertainty dissipates with his mother’s words. He nods.

“Right.”

—

About 5 months have passed since the culmination of the meta war. Owing to the valiant efforts of the people, with Quirks and without them, the guidance of multiple construction companies (including the Urarakas who have made not shy of hundreds of millions during this time), and heavy political support from local and abroad, the city is mostly rebuilt, to the point that it would be hard to believe that so much was destroyed in such a short time ago in recent history.

Izuku finds his way to the new Hero commission and stops at the front desk to present identification but is quickly passed through with a big smile from the security guard’s face. It’s still hard for him to get used to this treatment, but he remains polite and bows before making his way down to the conference room in the email.

A formal Hero Commission email addressed to around ten people, give or take, and he’s probably the last to arrive of those few, all of them seated at a round table once he arrives. Panicking a bit, he checks the time but before he can look at his phone, Hawks takes a moment to give him a once over and then stifle a laugh at his outfit.

“Now, don’t you look dapper?” he jokes.

Hawks is wearing a fitted suit himself, but he’s now president of the Hero Commission so it’s not out of the ordinary. All Might, offering a pleasant but weary smile next to him, is also dressed up, but he has been a fan of fitted suits in the public eye recently anyway so that’s not strange. Best Jeanist is… well, Best Jeanist… and perfectly coiffed and styled in… denim jeans. Mirio, however, is dressed down in a plaid button down and plain slacks, and bounces up to greet him pulling him to sit by him, Nejire, and Tamaki.

“Nice threads, Izuku!” Mirio cheers, while Nejire pulls at the sleeve and asks him if he bought it at the thrift store. Tamaki stares at a wall, having hit capacity for the number of people in the room.

Izuku wasn’t the last person here because Mirko and Katsuki squabble loudly as they finally enter the room, with Edgeshot in his diminutive form and difficult to see upfront trailing close behind, possibly annoyed (you couldn’t tell from this distance). Mirko is wearing athletic wear and Katsuki is wearing-

A suit.

Katsuki and Izuku lock eyes and the recognition sets in at the same time. His cheeks turn red and then he looks away before shuffling into his seat.

Once everyone has been settled and assistants have brought in coffee and pastries, Hawks finally moves to the first order of business.

A hologram shows in the center of the room with two images - one of Tomura Shigaraki taken as an aerial shot while he was screaming, in the midst of the meta war, and just beside it, an image of Tenko Shimura taken just a few days ago, at a construction site using his Decay quirk for demolition as part of a community service effort, quirk disabling wristlets in full display with the ability to be toggled on and off. The contrasts between these two images are evident - the rage distorting the young man’s features as Shigaraki as he is positioned to destroy and kill, unkempt white hair flowing in the air and a small serenity emanating from the young man’s visage as Tenko as he works to disintegrate rubble and clear land for reconstruction, dark hair cropped short and tousled slightly by fall breeze. If you look closely there is a hint of a smile in the second image, and fear in the eyes of the first.

Two very different men.

“We’re here to discuss our next steps with Shig-, Tenko Shimura.”

All Might lets out a breath no one knew he was holding. Izuku wonders if it’s by All Might’s request that Hawks has used his correct name, perhaps to honor his mentor and Tenko’s grandmother. He makes a mental note to always do the same. 

Katsuki keeps his lips pressed into a straight line and doesn’t say a word; Izuku doesn’t blame him, and in another circumstance would have never imagined being willing to sit for this conversation so easily, but he also appreciates that Katsuki is present for this vote at the very least.

“Let’s go through the facts.”

Hawks, pacing around the room, recounts the actions of the man once known as Shigaraki Tomura, as well as delineates what actions are his specifically and what actions were in conjunction with All For One. He shares testimonials from various psychiatrists who have worked with Tenko in this short period of rehabilitation before this discussion and the people who have worked with him on community service. He provides excerpts from social media influencers as well as political and religious opinions. 

The case is long and drawn out and by the time he is done, Mirko is yawning loudly and Mirio is trying very hard not to fall asleep. Aizawa, however, is asleep in the corner of the room, having shown up dead last, and not interested in a word being said.

A vote is meant to be cast by the end of today. Izuku wonders if Tenko is on the other side of that door, waiting for his fate to be decided. 

If no one can agree to rehabilitate him, he will most likely go to jail, deprived of the ability to use any Quirks possibly for the rest of his life. His best chance is now, as Izuku does not imagine any turnover in power will allow him as much amnesty as the current group here.

Izuku has spent the last few months pleading to the Hero Commission to consider his proposal, using the very fact that Tenko relinquished his OFA-related Quirks back to him almost immediately as a perfect example.

Tenko did give his inner child a second chance, and Tenko did fight back. He just needed help.

“All motions to go forth with a continued rehabilitation plan, please say-”

Mirko raises her hand immediately, interrupting.

“Aye.”

Placing both her feet on the edge of the table, she defends herself before anyone can ask.

“If he tries some shit again, I get a rematch,” she says, grinning. All Might gives her a pleased look but says nothing.

Aizawa chimes in from inside his sleeping bag.

“Aye.”

While Izuku’s eyes widen, Katsuki finally interjects.

“Have you guys forgotten this man killed me?”

“And lifted you up with his toes.” Mirko adds. “But you lived, didn’t you, pipsqueak?” she says, grinning. 

Best Jeanist, not at all pleased by the joke, raises his hand.

“Nay. This is a ridiculous idea.”

“What’s ridiculous is your outfits but we don’t-”

All Might clears his throat. “Aye.”

Endeavor takes a look at All Might, crossing his arms over his chest. His retirement is still hot off the presses, and he chooses to take a step back here too.

“Abstain.”

Izuku’s heart is racing and he’s not exactly sure why. Part of this waiting period involves Izuku keeping an eye on Tenko and in repeated conversations, he has always gotten the sense that Tenko could change but his hope had been tempered. The truth was, as much as he wanted to save Tenko, a small part of him was still a little angry for the harm he did, and he imagined that if he felt that way, it was only a fraction of what the public and his peers must feel.

But today, there seems to be a chance.

“Aye!” Mirio and Nejire say in unison and Tamaki quickly follows up. 

Katsuki rises suddenly and leaves the room and while Izuku wants to follow him, he knows that it’s a waste of time.

That’s a problem for days to come.

“And why exactly are we forgiving him?” Best Jeanist asks, as he rises himself to go after his student.

“Because we don’t plan to leave anyone behind,” Edgeshot finally admits. Best Jeanist shakes his head.

“It stays Nay for me but it’s your responsibility.” 

He files out of the room, but Hawks’ smile isn’t deterred, knowing he’ll come around. 

The majority chooses hope.

—

Four and a half years have passed since that vote.

Izuku watches his friend, a girl from the support class a year above him who isn’t Hatsume but just as good in her own realm, fiddle with tracking devices and quirk-neutralizing wristlets attached to the first iteration of Entropy’s Hero suit. Entropy’s hero costume doesn’t include a mask, but Izuku has an inkling that no one will recognize him prior to his debut as the man who almost laid waste to the entire country. There is something about a person’s soul that can permeate a vessel, it’s a reminder that beauty is only skin deep, but goodness will shine through no matter what one looks like.

Tenko is however somewhat handsome in the way that his Hero grandmother was beautiful and that helps. Wavy, dark hair frames his face to a shoulder length, and his dark eyes are actually warm now that he’s had time to shed off most of the loneliness. He’s filled out slightly with better food and less angst, which is another thing that is sure to make him more appealing to the masses. 

Izuku can still sense the trepidation however in the slight tremble of Tenko’s fingertips as he holds them out for the support engineer to readjust the gloves, and wonders if he’s projecting.

Part of the arrangement for Entropy’s debut is for Deku and Entropy to work as partners for at least a year to satisfy the civilians who still don’t trust him (with good reason) as a contingency plan in case Tenko changes his mind about being a productive member of society and needs someone to stop him a second time.

Izuku is pretty sure he won’t fall back into that dark place again by now, even if a select few will never, ever forgive him. Even Katsuki still grumbles, but agrees that Izuku might be right. 

“I feel like a leashed dog still,” Tenko finally pipes up as the engineer adjusts the literal silver collar on his neck. It’s meant to be a joke but it’s not exactly false. Izuku offers him a small consoling smile.

“It makes the commission happy, so bear with it, I guess.” Izuku says. It’s a lame response, he admits, but it’s all he has to offer. 

Between the emergency shock collar that’s stylized to appear as part of the prototype suit, a physical tracker, and internal restraints, there are a lot of things to stop Tenko from becoming Tomura again, but at least the adjustment of all of these in the homey atmosphere of Izuku’s apartment feels less like house arrest. 

Izuku’s girlfriend peers in from time to time from where she’s holed up studying for clinical examinations to check on their progress, a steaming mug in her hand. The girls wave at each other before she disappears again and locks the door, loud music with heavy bass playing from her computer speakers. 

It’s a miracle she’s not afraid of Tenko given Tomura almost killed her during the meta war too, but Izuku understands that this is a testament to how much she trusts his judgment. 

“Thank you for doing this,” he says finally to his friend. She practically beams.

“I’m just giving you the ‘your future wife is my bestie’ discount.”

Izuku goes red at the ears and Tenko stifles a laugh. She turns and gives him a look and he immediately looks away, somewhat startled by how quickly she gets into his face.

“It is however a really big favor, I just worry you’ll be somewhat accountable if something goes wrong, too.”

Tenko frowns. “I’m right here, you know,” he murmurs. He pauses before he uses her professional name, which turns out to not be so professional at all. “... Sparkles.”

Sparkles doesn’t hear him, the jitteriness of three days of no sleep in the setting of piled up audits at her security technologies company getting to her. “Just don’t forget to get me the paperwork, Izuku.” 

She then turns her attention back to Tenko finally as Izuku searches for a pen in a basket under the coffee table.

Tenko again, possibly too affected by how quickly, she moves, seems to stand up a little straighter as she sizes him up.

“Are you planning on hurting anyone?”

Sparkles hadn’t realized Izuku’s girlfriend had left the room again to grab more sugar for her tea.

“If he says yes, what exactly are you gonna do, babe?” she hollers, disappearing again before waiting for the answer. Izuku chuckles.

“I’d ask him if he meant it,” she yells back. She turns to him again, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Do you mean it? Are you planning on hurting anyone?”

Tenko tenses up and Izuku tries not to laugh, wondering if he should leave Tenko to Sparkles’ charms or allow him to rest.

Regardless, he has great aspiration for the world’s former greatest villain’s future, yet.

[verecunda]

I personally see that "torture" conversation again as gaslighting from Annatars side, to be honest. Because (I double checked again to make sure i am not mistaken) "Never in Tolkien's lore does Morgoth torture Sauron. Some moments could imply such an act, such as in The Silmarillion where it is mentioned that Morgoth would have, if victorious, destroyed even the beings that followed him" - So to me it has that even ... Crueler twist of Annatar just trying to gaslight Celebrimbor again. Maybe that is just me though! And maybe in the series Morgoth really did unimaginable to Mairon. WHO KNOWS

Hi, Anon! This got long-winded, so bear with me here. XD

That is certainly a viable reading of the scene, and I definitely think we should never take Sauron at his word because, well, he’s Sauron. But honestly, I think it’s much more interesting, much more horrifying, if he is being honest here.

First, to get the lore stuff out of the way: agreed, nowhere in the books are we told Morgoth ever tortured him. But at the same time, we’re never told he didn’t. Sauron was obviously his most valuable and trusted servant, but he still was that - a servant, an underling, subject to his master’s caprices. And we don’t have any scenes of them interacting directly that allow us to gauge their relationship; we just have a handful of references that can be extrapolated in multiple ways. (For full disclosure: I’m an enthusiastic Angbang shipper, and I tend to view their relationship as more or less positive, one of the only good things they have going for them, but I try to keep an open mind on what canon does/doesn’t tell me.)

Most notably, take the scene where Sauron is defeated by Lúthien and Huan. She tells him she’ll send his spirit back to Angband : “There everlastingly thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes.” Whereupon Sauron flees, and we hear nothing more of him till after the War of Wrath. We don’t know anything that he does in the meantime; we don’t even know if he returns to Morgoth’s service (the Lay of Leithian does suggest it, but the published Silmarillion gives us nothing either way). Whether or not Morgoth would actually punish him for his failure is probably beside the point: the point is that Sauron clearly believes punishment is a likely outcome. There are other ways you could parse this bit (and I do have Feelings about it!!) but the most obvious reading is that it’s terror of his master’s likely response that sends Sauron into hiding. So overall, it’s an ambiguous scenario, but there is certainly room to interpret a darker take on their relationship, and even allowing for deliberate ambiguity, it does seem to me that the show creators have chosen to explore that darker take.

To return to this particular scene, I don’t think he’s trying to deceive Celebrimbor any more - now that his true identity is revealed, outright deception is no longer going to work, because why would Celebrimbor believe anything else he says? Better to reel him back in with the truth. In that scene, I think Sauron is actually trying to make him understand his grand vision for the “healing” of Middle-earth. We already know he believes that's what he's doing. I don’t think he views Celebrimbor as an equal, no way, but I think he does consider that Celebrimbor’s ambitions chime with his own.

But crucially, his failure here is that in baring his soul and talking about the genuine suffering he’s gone through, he inadvertently reveals just how warped and ultimately irredeemable his own mindset has become. We actually saw this first with Galadriel at the end of s1: Sauron reveals his relief at Morgoth’s defeat, his feeling that a “great, clenched fist” had been released from about his neck - yet just a couple of minutes after that, he repels her because he admits that he sees saving Middle-earth and ruling it as the same thing.

It’s the same in the tower scene. Revealing his torture by Morgoth does engage Celebrimbor’s sympathy, but he loses it almost at once when he starts talking about his pain being a triumph of his own willpower, then especially when he breaks out all the textbook abuser lines about how Celebrimbor has “forced” him to hurt and deceive him. I don't think he would have said all that if he was just lying. All that self-justification strikes me as the response of someone who has suffered, but has never found a healthy way to process any of it, and who has ultimately gone on to continue the cycle of abuse. And when Celebrimbor demolishes all these self-justifications - “You can deceive even yourself” - I think Sauron's expression there speaks volumes. That’s the look of a Maia who has just been hit where it hurts, because rather than being taken in, Celebrimbor has just confronted him with exactly how damaged and fucked up he really is.

[schoolhater]

it is election day. i wrote a little essay to share with my IRLs who can't fathom why i might want to abstain from participating in the bloodshed by putting holocaust harris in power, or giving the transpbobic and anti-abortion green party federal campaign money. i've reposted the entire thing under the cut for anyone who wants to read.

but before i begin: donate to mohammed al-habil. he is recovering from surgery, his little sister is chronically ill. the genocide ruined his senior year of high school. it’s his birthday today. he should be celebrating and instead he’s begging on an internet full of people trying to justify the continued destruction of his entire people.

learn more + donate

i keep hearing from people defending their choice to vote for the genocider that even though the democrats are bad, the republicans are worse. or that this election is the most important one. i often see trolley problems that declare that the *only* people who would suffer under the democrats would be palestine, and, because *americans* would suffer under the republicans, we have to put aside our grievances about the potentially-three-hundred-thousand-and-thiry-five people who have been murdered in the past thirteen months and offer our full support to the person who did it.

nearly every time settler colonialism has occurred in history, the first wave of settlers is some vulnerable yet radicalized population who believes they will achieve prosperity in the new world. the uae-backed rsf is establishing settlements using refugees from other african countries in southeast sudan right now. the first wave of israeli settlers were poor. even herzl planned this in the 1890s, in 'the jewish state' he writes that the first wave of settlers should be poor farm workers. and now, the modern settlers in the illegally occupied west bank live in and they are the most radicalized most. despite facing extreme racism within israel, arab israeli settlers are among the most radical zionists. the first settlers in america were poor and tired religious extremists from britain. when they came here they didn't have shit except the military backing of the empire and the carte blanche to commit massacres of indigenous people.

imperialism needs these vulnerable people. it needs to funnel the oppressed populations it creates back into the machine to enact further violence. these people are effective cannon fodder against the indigenous population. they are vulnerable enough that they cannot resist, but their lives are comfortable enough thanks to subsidized housing and special treatment that they begin to identify wholly with the imperialist entity, so they don't even want to. if you're stuck thinking 'well, of course kamala and trump are the same to palestine, but trump will be worse for us!' you've taken the bait. that's exactly the kind of attitude that is allowing this genocide to happen right now. do you know why the usa gives subsidized healthcare to israelis? why we give so many benefits to veterans? why do thousands of people risk their entire lives to come here after we destroy their countries? the usa wants to recruit you into participating in the genocide of gaza so you never oppose it, because it would mean opposing yourself.

even kamala harris knows this. multiple times she's repeated some version of "sure people care about the genocide, but they also care about the price of eggs" as if these things are remotely comparable. because to her supporters, they are. to americans, the rest of the world does not even exist.

i said this on my instagram story and i'll say it again - we understand that the israeli elections are just a performance of democracy to pacify criticism of a violent genocidal apartheid system. none of us would really care if netanyahu stepped down tomorrow because we would see the bombings continue. well, america is the world's "israel"! to the rest of the world, america is that attack dog that only ever brings death and suffering. and regardless of which party is in charge, that doesn't change. and the democrats arent even hiding it anymore.

what the discourse around this election and seeing so many people i once respected voting for the genocide has taught me is that there is no red line for the majority of americans. we are the most self centered, narrow minded, backstabbing group of settlers on this earth. we have seen the terrorist organization that occupies the land we live on fund 70% of the most vile horrific crimes against humanity - the most nightmare inducing rapes, tortures, kidnappings, incarcerations, concentration camps, people being burned alive, people being ripped apart, rendered unrecognizable as human bodies, literally vaporized, killing over three hundred thousand people over thirteen months - and we still want the entities that did all this to exist tomorrow. we want to invest into a future in which all of this still exists.

and when asked to stop, we will threaten to do worse. a greater evil is imagined.

what does this make us?

....

i refuse to participate in this bullshit even to support a third party candidate. i refuse to be bought. i refuse to invest my time and energy into an institution that kills children. i don’t care who runs it.

i wanted to push back against this idea before the polls close as a sort of last ditch effort to be heard. i am not being heard right now. i have gotten into way too many arguments with people i once respected over why voting in favor of a genocide might not be the best idea. and every time i am met with utter disrespect - i am not treated as a person with a political perspective based on my experiences and learning, i am treated like an idiot. and the people voting for genocide are pragmatists, somehow. in lieu of a reason to disagree with me they resort to belittlement. i feel betrayed. i hope this rant changes some minds; if not, let it explain why i treat you differently now.

[cbrownjc]

The sad thing is? I predicted this.

Yeah, so I've been gone from Tumblr for a while, I know. I had my major surgery back in the second week of October and have been home recuperating for two weeks now.

But I wanted to come on here tonight to vent a little about the presidential election.

Because even though there was a part of me that dared to hope even just a little, I KNEW this was going to happen. And I called it the minute Joe Biden was forced to drop out of the race, back in July.

This is the text message exchange I had with my sister the day he announced he was dropping out:

And let me make this clear: I'm a born and raised California native. I voted for Kamala Harris for both DA and Senate. I voted for her and very much wanted her to win.

But I know this damn country. I saw how Obama was treated and the freakout and build-up of white supremacy after he won twice. That's why 45 got in in the first place.

And as I said in the text to my sister? Never in the 4 other times that Democrats have replaced a candidate this late in the process has that candidate won. Ever. Only those who've never studied political history thought doing such a thing would actually work.

Anyone who called for Biden to drop out? Congrats, you fell for the most obvious Chaos OP EVER.

I don't usually talk politics on Tumblr. I save that for Twitter. But now that Apartied Clyde has taken it over and this mess has happened, I plan to delete my Twitter account by the end of the week. The only reason I'm not doing it sooner is so that those who only follow me there can catch me before I delete it.

Anyway, I can't even cry or be sad about this. I already went through that stuff when Biden dropped out. I'm just kinda numb. And tired. And disgusted. But, at least thanks to my dad, I feel like I very much saw this coming thanks to his lessons on this country and race/racism. He and my mother both lived through Jim Crow and so yeah, they knew.

"This is not who we are" some are saying.

Yes, it damn well IS who we are. And it's who we've always been. I can give you a history lesson, and I'm not just talking about slavery, civil rights, and the 19th Amendment. I'm talking about Lee Atwater, Nixon, and the Southern Strategy. All that has happened between 2016 and now is a full culmination of that.

A majority of white Americans would rather destroy the American Republic than share equal power with black people. (With misogyny and misogyny thrown in there as well.) I wish I could be surprised by that, but I sadly am not.

And this tweet pretty much sums up my feelings regarding what's next:

I'm still healing from my surgery. Once that's done and I am 100%, it's about me and my loved ones now, protecting the few remaining ones I have left. (I am SO thankful that none of my close family or still-close friends voted for that man . . . but then, the majority of them are black women too, so . . .)

Because this country has pretty much shown black people that we are hated -- and always will be on our own.

Everything my parents and grandparents fought for regarding Civil Rights will be gone now. The only thing I can be thankful for is that none of them are alive anymore to see this.

I NEVER thought I'd live to see the end of the republic but here we are. And done by people willfully voting to give it up because, as I said back in July, a majority of white people in this country would rather destroy the country than share power with black people.

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 12

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content (parts 9 and 11), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning.

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44, @melmel-fandom, @hufflepufferine, @shadows-and-flowers, @xcrybaby555x, @bespectacledhuman

Face claim: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9 (contains smut), Part 10, Part 11 (contains very brief, light smut)

A/N: Once again, the chapter ate words, and demanded that it be split into two. So here's the actual wedding, and then the coronation and wedding night will be in the next part! Also - the Quenya is probably pretty horrible/inaccurate, and I take full responsibility for bad translation. -WTT

Part 12

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear. The sun shone down through the trees, turning everything a pale gold, as if the weather itself were smiling and approving of what was to come. 

The servants had brought her breakfast, but Linnea had barely been able to eat. She had managed tea, and had nibbled on a piece of fresh, hot bread, but the thought of anything more sent her stomach twisting into knots. She reminded herself that there would be ample food at the wedding feast - and perhaps her nerves would settle by then. 

She slipped into the bath and let Pendes carefully wash her hair, trying to relax in the hot water. Steam drifted around her, scented with roses and lilies, and she ran her sponge over herself as Pendes massaged her scalp. It felt so ordinary - the same motions as she performed every morning - and yet, there was a sparkling haze over it all. The previous night had been restless, everything almost too clear and sharp to her eyes. Today was softer, as if half in a dream.  

When the bath was finished and she was dry, Linnea wrapped herself in her robe before going into her dressing area. Her wedding dress waited for her, another thing that didn't seem entirely real; as she drew the dress over her head, it felt like it was barely there in her hands. Lavan laced it for her up the back, and once it was tightened, she lifted the skirts and stepped into her shoes.

Hair next. She seated herself at the dressing table and Pendes carefully combed out her curls, arranging them just so on her shoulders. For the wedding feast, she would wear the gold filigree circlet that she had worn the prior day, but that would be replaced by her new crown at the coronation.

The crown was not in her rooms. It was waiting along with everything else for the wedding; the gold rings, and Gil-galad’s cloak, that she had carefully wrapped in gold silk. Elrond had been entrusted with the logistics of the ceremony, and even though she had not spent much time with him, she felt confident that everything would go smoothly. She had been able to give Elrond the cloak and whisper that it was a surprise, and trust that her secret would be kept safe.

Pendes finished with the comb, and stepped back. Linnea looked in the mirror.

Her hair shone. Her skin was clean and flawless, glowing with health and vigor. Her eyes were bright, and her cheeks were pink.  

She was ready.

The courtyard that they had chosen for the ceremony was fitting. It was just the right size for the small group, and moreover, it was private, and it was reasonably close to the kitchens for purposes of the feast. And it also happened to be the courtyard that Linnea had arrived in, that very first day in Lindon.

Adabes had overseen the decorations. Poles had been erected, with cloth streamers and garlands of flowers stretching between them. A small dais had been set up for the musicians, a harpist and a flautist and a singer. More flowers had been strewn on the tables; lanterns and banners had been hung; candles had been placed. The tables themselves were small, no more than four seats each, allowing for more intimate conversations. It had also avoided any awkwardness in seating; it had been easy to put groups together that would not risk offending anyone.

She couldn’t see it, but she could picture it; she had seen it all the previous day, one last look to ensure that everything was ready. And she could hear it; the guests were mingling, and she could make out the murmurs of conversation. 

Linnea had paused in a small antechamber that led to the large terrace out front, the terrace where Gil-galad had waited for her. He would do so again now; she would emerge so that everyone could see them, and they could greet their guests. And then the feast would begin.

She waited, but she did not wait long. Adabes came into the cool, shadowy side room, beaming. She was dressed in gold and green, and had wrapped the silk shawl Linnea had given her over her shoulders. 

“It is time,” she said. “All awaits you, my lady.”

Linnea inhaled deeply. 

“Thank you.”

It didn't even sound like her voice, coming from her lips. But she smoothed her skirts, and then stepped forward.

As she’d known he would be, Gil-galad was waiting for her on the terrace, where everyone could see them coming together. And he glowed.

He had chosen white samite, shot through with threads of gold, and she understood his smugness when he had seen the color of her dress. The cut was similar to his council robe, long and fairly simple, with an overrobe of the same samite. The edges and the sleeves were bordered in pale gold, and the gold was embroidered with flames in silver thread - the noble fire of his name. His dark hair looked even darker against the white and gold, brushed smooth and shining, and his crown shone atop it. 

The crown was not his only adornment. He wore the gold pectoral he favored, and a gold belt hugged his waist. And both Vilya and his betrothal ring sparkled on his hand. 

She wondered how all of this had happened. What she had done, how she had been so fortunate to wed him. He was beautiful in every way that an Elf could be, but seeing him now - how was it her he had chosen to wed? 

No sooner had she had the thought, than she felt the ósanwë come to life.

I am the fortunate one, rîn vuin. You have chosen me, and I will be grateful for it until the end of my days. 

She could feel it, too. His joy, his gratitude, his wonder.

The warmth of it made her smile, and as he held out his hand, she placed hers in it without hesitation.

Gil-galad led her to the edge of the terrace, to the stone railing that circled it. The musicians, that had paused when she stepped out, began to play again. And, still with her hand held in his, he raised his voice in song.

Eldalie!

túl rimbë símen esse sina sinome 

i lillassea laurë, i nen lutta 

túl ar morco cetta ana sina ertie

i tuine sir, i wilin líre. 

Eldalie!

Túl sina, i amaurea o veryanwe 

i salque na lai, i úrin na calima 

túl ar líre, túl ar merenya 

túl cen sí ve emme vanda melin oiale.  

It was a song of welcome, a song of invitation for all to come and celebrate their marriage. A simple melody, but one that set the tone - and Linnea would never tire of hearing him sing, whatever the reason for it. 

Once finished, he led her to the stairs, slowly descending to the table that had been prepared for them as the guests took their seats. The expectation was that the two of them would not stay seated for very long at once; they would move about the other tables to speak to the guests. The feast was presented in courses, and after each course, they would visit another group.

And they would also receive their gifts.

She had realized it only a few days ago, but of course there would be wedding gifts. And given that this was a royal wedding, they would likely be extravagant. She had shyly asked Gil-galad if there was any way they could request that gifts be foregone, but he had shaken his head. And she understood why; this was political too, just like the wedding itself.

Gil-galad seated her gracefully, keeping her hand in his as she took her chair. It had been plain to her from the start that he enjoyed these small courtesies of a husband: helping her from the saddle after a ride, giving her his arm when they walked together. And those things delighted her as well; small though they were, they added to the constant feeling of being loved, being cherished and cared for and protected.

Once she was seated, he sat beside her. They were the only two at the table, allowing for a few private moments while they ate. The wine had already been poured, and he raised his full glass in salute to the guests.

“Á tule! Mate ar suce merendesse.”

A rumble from the assembled group, everyone else raising their glasses as the first course was brought out and set before the guests. It was a light start, an arrangement of fresh sliced fruits and berries, and Linnea was grateful for it. Her stomach had settled slightly, and the sweet aromas tempted her.

But there was another small ritual that accompanied the food, and it was one she had looked forward to. Perhaps unreasonably so, but seeing it at other weddings had touched her heart in a way she could not explain. 

She picked up her fork, loading it with a small bite of the fruit, and turned to Gil-galad.

He was smiling, as he opened his mouth to receive the food. She carefully extended the fork and he took the bite, chewing and swallowing, and then repeated the exchange for her. The juice spread on her tongue, bursting with flavor. 

A bite from her plate for him, and one from his for her. A wedding ritual for commoners and royalty alike. Perhaps it was the symbolism that had always moved her so, that bride and groom would always care and provide for each other, putting each other first. And she knew that her own marriage would not always be so - she was marrying a King, she was going to be crowned queen. There would be times when the realm’s needs would have to come above their own. But seeing his smile, the love in his eyes, none of that seemed insurmountable.       

“Gi melin,” she murmured, once she had swallowed. 

He reached over, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “Gi melin. Once again you render me speechless, rîn vuin. I shall have to find a better way to praise you than to call you beautiful.”

“When you discover it, I would be glad to know of it,” she smiled back. “For I am in need of such as well, aran vuin.”

He kissed her hand again, and perhaps it was for the best that they sat by themselves. She nearly laughed at the thought of others having to tolerate these words, these displays of affection. It was often so, at weddings - part of the joy in celebrating was to see and share in the couple’s love. But it felt more intense now than she had ever been part of, and perhaps that was simply because it was her love. Perhaps everyone felt this way, when it was their turn. 

It seemed no time at all before they had finished the fruit and were standing, walking arm-in-arm to the first of the tables, where the four commanders of the armies were seated. Once again, this had been carefully planned; the most important of the guests would be greeted later in the feast, corresponding with the main dishes. Yet there was still honor in being first, and the choice of the commanders was an acknowledgment of the storms that awaited them and the fights to come.

A long box lay on the table waiting. And after the greetings and wishes for happiness, Gil-galad opened the lid to find a matching pair of daggers resting on a bed of blue silk. They were fashioned expertly, sheathed in ivory leather, and the handles were chased with gold and silver. Beautiful, but also simple; there was no disguising that these were weapons of war. They were meant to be used.

The day that they had begun their journey to Lindon, Hellathas had - without comment - presented Linnea with a dagger to carry. It had been plainer than these, but no less a weapon for that. She had not had to use it, and had been relieved. Her hand, accustomed to shuttle and thread, did not know how to hold a blade. The dagger in the box - the smaller one, plainly meant for her - would feel foreign to her, she who had never had cause to go armed.  

But those thoughts tickled at her again, the reminder of her responsibilities as queen. The responsibility to defend not just herself, but the realm she and Gil-galad ruled.

She echoed the thanks he bestowed on the commanders, praising the skill and beauty of the craftsmanship, and took his arm again to return to their table, her thoughts astir.

A light vegetable soup for the next course, and a visit to the Lorien table, where Amdír and Amroth sat. Their gift was simpler than the daggers, but Linnea privately thought it was much lovelier; they had brought a set of wooden drinking bowls, carefully carved from tree burls and polished to a brilliant, smooth finish. She was on more solid ground here than she had been with the weapons; she lingered, examining and handling each of the bowls carefully. Gil-galad stood watching, smiling as she praised the work, and he chuckled as he nearly had to pull her away for the next course.

“Nán alassea alassetyanen,” he murmured, as they finally returned to their table. Your joy gives me joy.

The next course was fish, poached with wine, and accompanied by root vegetables. And afterward, the table of the Dwarves.

The guests had placed their gifts on their tables, and Linnea had been curious about this one. It was a wooden crate, large enough to where it was difficult to see Durin and Disa sitting behind it, taking up most of the table. It was simple; the shape gave no hint to what it contained. As they approached, the Dwarves stood, and came around to the front of the table to greet them. 

Disa spoke first, beaming as she curtseyed. “High King. My lady. May your marriage shine as bright as Aulë’s own forges.”

As she straightened, Linnea extended her hands, clasping the Dwarf princess’s. “We thank you, Princess Disa, and are honored by the presence of yourself and your lord husband.”

“Indeed,” Gil-galad murmured from beside her. “We look forward to continued goodwill between Lindon and Khazad-dûm.”

Durin cleared his throat, nodding. “There is much that is uncertain,” he rumbled. “As you well know, High King. Yet let our gift be an indication of the potential we see in friendship.”

Gil-galad raised a brow, and reached to open the crate. As he lifted the lid and set it aside, Linnea’s eyes widened.

It was ore. Silvery ore that shone with its own light, heaped in the crate. They had been given mithril. 

Linnea was no smith, but even she could tell that this quantity was vast. It would forge a full set of armor and to spare, or multiple weapons. And with that thought, she was struck by the political brilliance of the gift; something made by the Dwarves would have been difficult for the High King and Queen to accept and use, but the means to make it was entirely different.

Gil-galad looked as stunned as she felt. He reached into the crate, picking out a small piece of the ore. A hush fell over the guests as he raised it up, as everyone saw the light emanating from the depths of the metal.

“Lord Durin,” he murmured. “Your generosity honors us beyond words. This gift is indeed above mere friendship.”

“There's more,” Durin said. “We brought two others. Didn't want to break yer table with the weight.”

Linnea had to stifle a laugh. Gil-galad had shared the incident involving the stone table with her from when Durin had first visited Lindon; he had known the entire thing was a ruse, but had gone along with it as an investment in the future, a seed of friendship planted. 

“My bride and I give you our most humble thanks,” he said. “And we bid you enjoy our hospitality here in Lindon for as long as it pleases you to remain.”

“We depart in the morning, High King,” Disa said. “There is much that demands our attention at home. But perhaps you and your Queen would honor us with a visit one day.”

She had made the offer to Linnea the previous evening, after Tinnaril had left. The expression on her face had been shy - strange to see, on a Dwarf - but it had been honest, and hopeful. And Linnea had assured her that she had not overstepped, that she too would take pleasure in it. 

Gil-galad's face did not betray any of his thoughts, not even to Linnea; he merely inclined his head. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “If the King and Queen of Khazad-dûm wish it, such might indeed be possible.”

He had writ between his words, and it was clear enough as to his meaning. If Durin came to the throne, the friendship between the realms could continue. But it was contingent upon that, and perhaps would even serve as some encouragement to Durin. Seeds planted, indeed.

Gil-galad once again offered his arm to Linnea. As they moved away, back to their own table, she could see servants coming to retrieve the crate - and even they grunted at the effort to lift it.

“What will we do with it?” she whispered.

He looked down at her, his eyes dark. “I know not,” he murmured. “But I feel it should be kept until we are certain. Such a gift has a purpose, even if we do not know it yet.”

His words echoed her own thoughts, and she nodded. “We shall save it until the time is right. Our minds are as one in this, meleth nín.”

He smiled as they reached their table, once again gracefully seating her. “May it always be so, melethel. May it always be so.”

There were several more courses, each more delicious than the last, and in small portions to allow everything to be fully enjoyed. And between them, more gifts; it was an effort to keep track of them all, but Linnea was conscious of Adabes’ watchful eye in the background. She knew there would be a list the following day, precisely noting who had given what, to allow her to send letters of thanks after the wedding was over.

And at last, the final course was finished, a layered pastry confection that was so light it practically melted on the tongue. And the last table waited for them; they had saved Oropher and his family for the end, to allow their gift all the attention that it merited.

There was no box. It was a bundle of leather, placed on the table carefully. The Woodland Elves stood as they approached; Linnea fancied that Tinnaril’s gaze held a trace of warmth, but Oropher and Thranduil were stern and cold. They looked as though they might be twins, with their blond hair and distant eyes. 

“Gil-galad,” Oropher said. “Lady Linnea. Please accept this gift to celebrate your marriage.”

No flowery words; that was not Oropher’s way. Gil-galad had dealt with him enough to know that, and knew better than to push back. Instead, he simply nodded, and began unwrapping the leather. 

Just like the very first gift, it was a pair of matched weapons. But these were bows, both light and sturdy, made in the fashion of the Woodland Elves. Unadorned and yet beautiful; the grips were carved bone and wrapped in virgin leather, and the limbs were smooth and shining. Linnea did not know the wood by sight, but it was dark in color. 

One bow was smaller than the other. She reached out and lifted it free, and her hand curled around the grip in a perfect fit.

The daggers had not spoken to her. This did.

She felt Gil-galad's eyes on her, watching as she turned the bow back and forth. He had not touched his own bow, but he was smiling faintly as he looked at the one in her hands.

“It pleases you, melethel?”

She would need to learn to shoot it. There would be no lack of teachers among Lindon's warriors. And for the first time, the thought of having to fight did not fill her with trepidation; rather, it was a sense of pride, a sense of honor that she would do so for her realm. It was a responsibility that was hers to accept, and with the bow in her hands, she felt that she could accept it.

“Yes,” she breathed. “It does.”

She turned her gaze to Oropher, and bowed her head deeply to him. “We are honored by the workmanship of our Woodland kin, King Oropher. You have our gratitude.”

Oropher nodded at her, and then shifted his gaze to Gil-galad. “I hope you are not so preoccupied with your new bride that you cannot return to the Greenwood soon,” he murmured. “I await the continuation of our discussions. Especially given your queen’s acknowledgement of our craft.”

Inwardly, Linnea groaned. Oropher was proud, she knew that, and she saw the trap too late. The Woodland Elves were skilled, but the Noldor were more so, and it was a sore point for Oropher that his people were less well armed and armored than Gil-galad’s.

But Gil-galad did not rise to the bait; he simply lifted a brow a fraction of an inch. “If my queen is welcome to accompany me, we would be pleased to visit as soon as it is convenient.”

Oropher didn’t reply; he simply nodded once more and sat back down, and Tinnaril and Thranduil followed his lead.  

Do not fret, melethel. 

That candle lit back in her heart, even as Gil-galad turned from the table and extended his hand to her. Oropher is a slippery snake. But there is honor in him, and we will find our way to pin him yet. 

She took the extended hand with a wry smile. Your patience will outlast the stars, my love.

Perhaps in some things. But in others…no, my queen. I have spent these last hours growing more and more impatient.

The ceremony.

Now that the feast was finished, it was time.

He led her to the far end of the courtyard. The murmuring and conversation among the guests died down as they walked, their destination clear; a bower of flowers and vines had been set up for the ceremony. Elrond had seen their movement, and was already waiting there, his hands folded in front of him. He bowed as they approached, and offered Linnea a smile as he straightened up and stepped to the side.

They needed no priest or commander to officiate, as Men did. Their marriage was between the two of them. Silence fell over the courtyard; the only sound was the occasional chirp of the birds. Linnea turned to face Gil-galad, and he did the same, carefully taking both of her hands in his.

“Nál melme coivienyo,” he said simply. “Ma aþal vesta ninna?”

A tear welled in her eye, spilling down her cheek. She knew it would not be the first.

You are the love of my life. Will you marry me?

“Nál melme coivienyo,” she whispered back. “Aþa.”

He had known her answer, but he still smiled at it. His eyes shimmered, and closed briefly.

“Ta, nai Manwe Súlimo tiruva me, Ereinion ar Linnea, ar nai Eru Ilúvatar alyuva me.”

Then, may Manwe Lord of Wind watch over us, Ereinion and Linnea, and may Eru the Father of All bless us.

The invoking of Eru’s name sent a shiver up her spine.

“Ar nai Varda Tintalle hlaruva ellorlma, Linnea ar Ereinion, ar nai Eru Ilúvatar alyuva me.”

And may Varda Star-kindler hear our calls, Linnea and Ereinion, and may Eru the Father of All bless us.

The words were simple enough, but as they rolled off her tongue, she felt the power in them. It was similar to how it had felt walking to the clearing of the Yavannildi; the eyes of the Valar were upon them, and she could practically feel those gazes pressing against her skin. 

And a warmth, too. An approval of the love that filled the clearing. A feeling even greater than the sense of the Valar, a feeling that made her tremble in its power and its vastness.

But all that paled next to the look in Gil-galad’s eyes.

She could have beheld it until the sun set. But Elrond was coming forward, taking a small bundle of velvet from within his cloak, and that meant it was time for the exchange of rings. 

Once he reached them, he unfolded the velvet reverently, letting the two rings rest in his palm. They were plain bands, no jewels or engraving, just an unending circle of gold.   

Gil-galad went first, and Linnea couldn't help but marvel at his confidence. He took her hand and slipped the silver star off her finger, setting it back in the velvet that Elrond held, and then lifted the smaller of the two bands of gold. In another moment, it was resting cool on her finger, simple and pure. 

Her turn.

The betrothal ring slid off his finger easily, as if even it knew that its task was done. And the gold ring went on just as easily. It was the work of a few seconds at most, but even in that short time, that gold ring looked like it had always been there. Vilya itself was overshadowed.

Another tear welled up and spilled down her cheek. She saw his hand move, and a moment later, felt his warm palm cup her face. 

“Melethel,” he said softly. “I have something more for you.”

At that, she looked up, her eyes blurred from the tears. He smiled gently at her, and then tilted his head slightly so that his voice carried out to the guests. 

“On this our wedding day, I bestow a gift upon my new wife.” His words rang out clear, and even had the group been twice the size, no one could have failed to hear him. “For you, melda tarí, as a symbol of the light you have brought to my heart.”

She wasn't entirely surprised. Not after she'd revealed having a gift of her own. And she guessed he had adhered more to tradition, as he extended his hand to Elrond and the herald filled it with another small cloth-wrapped bundle. But she still lost her breath when he opened it.

It was a pendant, wrought of gold, on a golden chain. It was faintly oval in shape, but formed of swirls and curls, evoking the flames she'd thought of when she'd first seen the embroidery on his robes. But at the center of the swirls was a fire opal the size of the pad of her finger, glowing from within, and setting off glittering sparkles in its depths as the light struck it. 

She dragged her eyes from the jewel to Gil-galad's face, unable to speak.

“Calagûr,” he murmured. “May I?”

Calagûr. Heart-light. Linnea had never taken an epessë; not her, a simple weaver. But the word resonated in the air as Gil-galad spoke it, settling upon her shoulders like a cloak of her own. A name, and one that she would carry for the rest of her life; she knew that with utter certainty. 

In the face of it, all she could do was nod, and turn her back to him. His arms came around her, his hands deftly settling the pendant in place and maneuvering the chain beneath her curls. And once he hooked the clasp, the necklace settled into place just above her heart, and the gold was not cold, but as warm as if it had been in the sun all day. 

She turned back, and she met his eyes.

“Melda aran,” and her voice was soft; it was only for him. “Hantanyë tyen.”

It was the most thanks she could give at that moment, with everyone there; it would be most improper for her to grab him and kiss him as thoroughly as the gift merited. But she would do that later - and there was something else she could do now, something she'd been eager for ever since she had begun working with the brown wool her mother had woven.

She took a breath, raising her voice. “On this our wedding day, I bestow a gift upon my new husband,” she said. “For you, melda aran, the work of my hands, that you may feel me near even if we are apart.”

She saw him smile at her words. As Gil-galad had been putting the necklace on her, Elrond had discreetly slipped away, and now he was returning with a much larger bundle. The bulk of it filled Elrond's arms, the gold silk wrapping shining.

Gil-galad didn't look entirely surprised either, but of course she had told him she had a gift, and it would not take great wisdom to surmise that it was something of fabric. She accepted the bundle from Elrond and then extended it to Gil-galad, and he took it. He shifted it to one arm, using his free hand to unwrap it, and then the gold silk fell to the ground as he shook out the cloak.

Linnea had cut it with ample room, using every bit of the brown wool. There were pockets inside, reinforced and concealed within the lining, and the lining itself was of brown velvet. She had given it a deep hood as well; if the need was there, he could wrap himself in the cloak and draw the hood and be all but invisible. 

Even without touching it, she could feel her mother's work. Lhénes’ charms had held strong through the cutting and sewing, and the cloak hummed with them. 

And she herself had done more. His vision had stayed with her, of the brown sheep and the snow and the fiery heat of Sauron. Between the wool and the velvet, the cloak was warm and heavy, but she had embroidered charms into each of the seams and along the hem. Inside, protected by the lining so they would not snag or unravel, dozens of charms against fire and heat. He could not stand in the middle of a bonfire in the cloak - at least not for long. But it would buy a few moments, and it was often enough where even moments counted for much. 

She flattered herself that the cloak was pleasing to the eye, but it was a purposeful garment - its place was in war, not at a wedding. But Gil-galad cared nothing for that; he swirled the cloak around himself, draping it over his shoulders to try it on. The edge stopped just above where his feet would be; she had gauged his height well. He looked at the fabric where it hung over his chest, stroking his hand down it.

“It is as beautiful as its maker,” he said softly. “And wearing it will remind me of my wife's embrace. Thank you, melethel.”

She smiled, and bowed her head to him. He slung the cloak off and handed it to Elrond, and then extended his hands to her again. This was the final part of the ceremony, and she placed her hands back in his with no hesitation. Normally, they would speak these final words in Quenya just as they had done with their blessings, but out of consideration for their Dwarven guests, had agreed to do so in Common.

“What was two, is now one. Let all assembled see and know, that Ereinion Gil-galad and Linnea Calagûr are wed, now and forever.”

His voice was still soft, but again it carried. Linnea swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on his.

“What was two, is now one. Let all assembled see and know, that Linnea Calagûr and Ereinion Gil-galad are wed, now and forever.”

She wasn't certain that anyone had heard her, the words had come out so quiet and so choked. And her eyes were fixed on Gil-galad. But she heard the applause start - restrained and polite from the Elves, exuberant and joyful from the two Dwarves - and that was proof enough. 

And then Gil-galad leaned down.

It was a chaste kiss, a brief and gentle touch of lips. Appropriate for such a public setting. But she felt just the softest nibble, the briefest hint of the desire and the love behind the kiss, and she nibbled back just as quickly. 

It would do for now.

TBC...

Gil-galad's welcome song:

O Elvenkind

Come gather here in this place

The leaves are gold, the water flows

Come and bear witness to this union

The river runs, the birds sing

O Elvenkind!

Come on this, the day of our marriage

The grass is green, the sun is bright

Come and sing, come and celebrate

Come see us now as we pledge our love forevermore.

[affableramen]

this idea has been living rent-free in my mind jealous!pantalone early stage of relationship, spy and criminal themes

Jealous!Pantalone was coming up with a plan to expose an evil merchant who had been plotting something big and cruel against Teyvat economy. This particular merchant abused power and destroyed many innocent lives. Yet the mastermind Pantalone is, he created a strategy to take over this nasty man’s plans and finally unveil his dirty business. Yet this whole plan had a big flaw - your involvement.

Pantalone, Tartaglia and Arlecchino were all at his desk while he was explaining the rules of the “game” he plotted against the merchant. At last, you enter the room but, good god—what are you wearing?

“I’ll be the bait.” In extraordinary clothes you shine like a precious diamond, and the glittery makeup makes your rounded eyes the centre of attention.

Arlecchino looks at you with approving and slightly proud look - what a bold move you’ve taken for the sake of Fatui’s secret mission. Tartaglia agreed too:

“She is the only one who can do it”, though his words sounded ambiguous and indefinite, Tartaglia coughed into his fist and explained, “I mean… She kind of seduced you too, Pantalone. I think she can work her charms on another merchant just fine.”

“And besides - it will be nothing more than just shallow flirt.” Arlecchino glared at Tartaglia who just could not shut his mouth in time.

Pantalone stopped writing and almost dropped his pen but gripped it immediately then.

“Absolutely not. We’re not doing it.”

He sounded more gloomy and grumpy than usual, not a hint from the familiar friendly-mannered and charming Harbinger.

Everyone stared at him like if he were an idiot.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Y/N won’t be the bait. I do not allow it, even if it is simply for mission purposes.”

“I will simply talk to the target and look pretty, nothing more nothing less”, you finally said, but that did little to convince Pantalone. He shook his head, the Knave and Childe fell silent.

“Are you jealous?” you crossed your arms.

“No.” Pantalone turned away and continued drawing the plan. “This task is extremely dangerous, I refuse Y/N’s involvement.”

“Yes, he obviously is. If I were him, I would feel jealous too”, said Arlecchino nonchalantly.

“Come on, give her a try, Pants. We don’t really have another choice. There should be a beautiful lady involved in such missions. As if someone would die of it!” He rolled his eyes.

Arlecchino gave you a smirk.

“What are you two blabbering about?!” Pantalone finally exploded. “I won’t let her go—not looking like…this!”

“Looking like…what exactly?” Arlecchino was not happy with his choice of words.

To shift the attention in some way and prevent a conflict you used the red lipstick and rubbed your lips together.

“Then it’s decided.”

This little action made Pantalone bite his own dehydrated lips as the sight of you was so intoxicating.

“Is that enough to charm our target?”

“Too much for some greedy old man.” Pantalone responded earlier than Tartaglia or Arlecchino could open their mouths.

“Relax.” You said to him silently.

“How am I supposed to—when you’re going to work your charms on another man?”

“We need it for a job. We need it to take the damn criminal down.”

Pantalone hit the desk with his fist furiously.

“Fuck the plan, I don’t want to sit and watch you flirt with an old jerk.”

Arlecchino and Tartaglia gave each other a knowing glance and left the room.

“You two decide it between yourselves.”

When everyone left Pantalone grabbed you by your hips and set you on top of his desk and kissed you in the lips passionately.

“Stop—come on—you’ll ruin my makeup!”

He only stopped for a second to look at your face again before proceeding to kiss you more anxious and desperate. After a while he pulled away, breathing heavily, like a pathetic jealous old man he is.

“You may flirt with the target but under one condition”, still gasping for breath profusely he says quietly, his fingers lingering on your shoulders as if he were discreetly trying to hug you.

“What is it, [Pantalone's real name]? What are you afraid of?”

One hand appeared on your cheek and he stroked it gently and affectionately.

“You’re going to seduce me later.”

“You’re unbelievable!” You chuckled under your breath. The audacity and bluntness of this man were insufferable. “But I promise to stay safe and come back to you after this all ends.”

[eddwardharrison]

thoughts on Clippet? (eclipse x puppet)

I think I would actually start eating bricks for breakfast

I’M SORRY!! NOT ACTUALLY LMAO || ALL LOVE / NO HATE

I don’t see Eclipse as a shippable character! ESPECIALLY not with Puppet.

Eclipse (as a whole when it comes to having any kind of relationship) is a character that struggles to keep connected to people and much less open up to them. The only time he’s ever opened up about anything is to try to defend himself when someone assumes the worst. He’s never comfortable around anyone, and he’s expressed many times that he just isn’t interested in the ideas.

THERE IS FOOTAGE OF HIM BEING ACTUALLY COMFORTABLE. WATCH VILLAIN PLAYS. HE’S SO /RELAXED/ IN THOSE VIDEOS IT’S INSANE. (Thanks SleepyNoGay for opening my eyes to VP…)

This is heavily why I HC Aro/Ace, because he is originally a Moon. I do agree that he is his own person and could have different preferences, which is EXACTLY WHY I DON’T CARE IF HE GETS SHIPPED ANYWAYS, but I just think, because he used to be THE Aro/Ace character (Moon), that he’s more than likely aro/ace too.

ALSO FOR THE PEOPLE WHO GO “aro/ace can still be in a relationship” HONESTLY DNI (not actually, everyone is different and I simply am not someone who can understand) AS AN ARO/ACE PERSON THAT LINE MAKES ME SO SICK TO MY STOMACH, EVEN THOUGH I’D LIKELY BE THE EXCEPTION!! ALSO THAT IDEA WAS ONLY BROUGHT UP BECAUSE PEOPLE WERE CRYING ABOUT NOT BEING ABLE TO SHIP ALASTOR FROM HAZBIN HOTEL. GET OUUUUT!!!!!!

Acespike and Cupiromantic, THAT’S WHO I AM!! But I could NEVER be happy in a relationship of any kind because my aro/ace would DESTROY me. (Tested and proven. Numerous times.)

Also he’d likely neglect his partner, and when he realizes he’s being the toxic partner, he’d feel really really sick over it, and would likely break up because of it. I just don’t think it’d be healthy for either parties!

BUT I HAVE BEEF WITH PUPPET, AND ECLIPSE DOES TOO.

I’m SORRY did we FORGET the MONTY AND PUPPET PODCAST?!??! YOU KNOW, THE ONE WHERE ECLIPSE WAS KIDNAPPED, TIED UP, AND THEN EMOTIONALLY AND PHYSICALLY DEGRADED?? THEY PUT THE /WORST/ TITLES THEY COULD WITH BARELY ANY CENSORSHIP AND FRAMED HIM FOR BEING /SEXIST/.

THAT EPISODE WAS BAD ENOUGH TO MAKE ME HATE PUPPET FOREVER…UNTIL SHE APOLOGIZES…depending on how she apologizes.

But also, her way of “befriending Eclipse” is just so bitterly annoying to me, and she would only make me want to destroy the universe I reside in more. She’s so pushy to believe Eclipse can be better, yet, like a plant, she starts screaming at it to grow and then complains when it doesn’t. BECAUSE…YOU PUT IT IN A DARK ROOM, WITH NO WATER. IT’S GOING TO DIE, PUPPET.

I can’t even see this whole Eclipse and Puppet Show as a “redemption arc”, it’s genuinely just a live broadcast of Eclipse’s energy weakening more and more until he either collapses or falls off a cliff whether someone pushes him or he just decides “now is a great time for a nap.”

He’s just being overwhelmed the whole time, and because his previous tactics of lashing out and making people fear him isn’t working, he’s just giving up entirely. You can SEE how angry he is ALL THE TIME, he still LASHES OUT but it’s been reduced to small outbursts and hitting things.

“Well, if he’s so upset, why doesn’t he just leave?!”

Where would he GO?? Eclipse’s are UNIVERSALLY HATED and Puppet probably wouldn’t LET HIM because she’d think he’s going to cause problems elsewhere!

Eclipse is literally just masking.

SIGH

SO, UNFORTUNATELY…

I think Puppet x Eclipse sucks beyond mortal comprehension.

Am I also just…nauseous with shipping fictional characters, so there’s my only bias.

BUT LIKE IF YOU LIKE THE SHIP, SLAY BESTIE!!! I REALLY DON’T CARE WHAT YOU DO OR DO NOT SHIP AND HEADCANONS + FAN LORE ALWAYS EXISTS!!! This is just my personal opinion!! 😋😋

[nightlyrequiem]

Would you consider writing something about detective reader and Valeria? I think it would be so cool that reader is looking for her and she’s fascinated (maybe in a twisted way/maybe she isn’t a really good person) and Valeria is interested in her bc of how she matches Valerias energy. Idk!!

One unhinged woman? I'm in love. Two unhinged women? I died and went to heaven.

I purposefully left the ending a little open ended because I want to come back to this and write a part two someday

I <3 evil women

Tags/Warnings: WLW, Violence, Stalking, Valeria and Reader Fight, Reader Has Questionable Morals

Alikeness

 Observant. Persistent. Obsessive. All qualities that successful detectives should have. You've been doing this for ten years. Like a bloodhound with a scent, no case remains unfinished when assigned to you. A good detective revolves their life around their work. A good detective is her work. You know your preoccupation with your job isn't healthy. You've lost little pieces of yourself every case. Chipped away at yourself until something new and distorted crawled out from it's shell. the newest thing bouncing around inside your skull is El Sin Nombre. A notorious and influential Mexican drug cartel leader. No one has been able find his true identity. Allowing him to live up to his moniker. Your eyes burn as you stare at your computer screen. At three different headshots belonging to three different former special forces officers. He may not even be a he.

Truman Wenchow, Seth Veros, and Valeria Garza. All had gone awol after La Araña had been dethroned. You can feel it deep beneath your skin. An inkling that has never steered you wrong that one of these individuals is your person. Finding out that Seth has died sometime in twenty-twenty narrow things down. Corruption isn't uncommon. Not in Las Almas. the reigning Cartel has always had its claws sunk deep into the local authority systems. Everyone has a price after all. Local is usually where it ends though. El Sin Nombre is far too ambitious to stay in the confines of 'local'. El Sin Nombre has expanded their reach into the hearts of Puerto Rico, Ecuador, El Salvador, and the States. This bleeds deeper than you thought. The closer you get to the truth the more dangerous this becomes.

Only a few weeks ago, just a shy of a month, you began receiving threats. Warnings to stop. It had the opposite affect intended. Your mind glossed over the words spelled out for you and instead rearranged them into something else entirely. 'You're close. Come find me.'  this could very well kill you, you're aware. late nights spent in the darkest corners of the internet have shown you just exactly what cartels are capable of. You find yourself unafraid. You've done similar things in pursuit of answers, and you will do worse to obtain more.

Out of the three suspects on your list, only one still lives in Mexico. as elusive as she is. All you're able to find are traces. Breadcrumbs left behind. Credit card history, grainy camera footage. Government documents. Getting information on Valeria Garza was like pulling teeth. Only a few former brothers in arms were able to offer up meager footnotes about the woman of the past. headstrong, ambitious, violent, efficient. You were able to track down her home, though. An unassuming property located on the quieter side of town. It's not the home one would expect a wealthy drug lord to keep but you've found that exteriors rarely match their interiors.

The sky is clear and inky. A high half-moon and it's thousand glittering eyes watch over you as wait outside of Valeria's home. It's neat and taken care of. There's a single car parked in the driveway. A dark colored SUV. Not a light on inside the house. Valeria is inside. El Sin Nombre is inside. Asleep in one of the rooms. Such a human action for such a monolithic figure. You pull on your gloves and check to make sure your firearm is working before getting out of your car. Seek and destroy. You walk up to Valeria's home with confidence. Sticking close to the rough, stony wall as you head towards the back. The backdoor is naturally locked, and you know already that she doesn't keep a spare key. 

You always come prepared. You deftly pick the lock. Listening for that small click that has accompanied you for every final act. You slowly push open the door. Overly cautious of creaking and step inside. Her kitchen is tidy. Counters free of dishes and bags. A small bowl of fruit that's beginning to rot sits dead center on the kitchen island. You make it two steps inside when she speaks. Hidden away by shadows, glaring at you from the hallway.

"You don't have a warrant to be in here, detective."

 Of course you don't have a warrant. there are leaks in the police department and trying to obtain one is not only a lengthy hassle but could also alert her that you're closing in. You prefer to keep your cards close to your chest. You turn your head to face her. Barely making out her outline.

"No, I don't." You reply calmly. You don't have a warrant. Legally you can't step foot into her home. Not that it matters to you, you have to be above the law to enforce it and there are workarounds to everything. Your heart pounds with excitement and fear. You're finally face to face with El Sin Nombre.

She steps into the kitchen. A sliver of pale moonlight cuts across her face. You can see her better. In a wife beater and sweatpants. A gold chain glinting from around her throat.

"You must have-"

You don't let her finish speaking. You have only one goal in mind and that is to exterminate. You raise your arm with the intent to kill. Her reflexes are faster, and she lunges at you. Knocking your arm down fast enough that the bullet you fire shoots into the ground by her foot. You've been in physical altercations before. Have had to fight off people. However, you were prepared for a fight those times. Valeria is much stronger than you thought. The wind is knocked out of you as you slam into the ground. The gun slides away from you and bumps into the wall but you don't freeze and panic at the loss of your weapon. You're exhilarated. Mustering up the strength to shove her off of you.

You have but a few short seconds to get your bearings before she's coming at you again. A stray punch catches you in the gut. It's nauseatingly painful and you double over, narrowly missing a blow to the head. you shove down the pain and lash out. Slamming your fist into her neck. Valeria splutters but to your dismay she barely reacts. She grabs ahold of your neck and throws you to the ground. Your back smacks down on the hard black and white tiled floor. Pain blooms purple flowers throughout your shoulders as you struggle beneath her. You hear the click of a gun and stare down its barrel. The both of you breathing heavily and regarding each other with caution. Valeria sets a foot down on your chest to keep you still.

"I have you under surveillance." She says quietly. "I was tipped off about you leaving your house. I knew you were coming here."

 Valeria's strength impresses and aggravates you. "Good for you." You reply. There's not much hope that you'll regain the upper hand here, but you cling onto that small slice of it.

"Very good for me."

You silently understand that you haven't succeeded this time. The thought angers you. You're going to die in here on her floor. Your body thrown to the streets for the stray dogs to pick at.

"I suppose this is it for me then." You murmur. deceptively calm. You've done good, but you've also done bad. Maybe this is just your punishment for all the wrongs you've done.

Valeria lowers her arm, keeping her gaze tethered to yours. There's no anger in those dark pits of nothing.

"I couldn't stand you at first." She begins. "Coming into my town and snooping around. I was going to just kill you."

You furrow your brows. "So why didn't you?" You wheeze. You wish she'd take some pressure off of your chest.

"I did my own research." She hums. "You're just an evil little thing."

Your skin prickles at being referred to as evil. "I am not evil. I find it and rid this world of it. Of people like you."

Valeria cocks her head at you, dark brows raised. "You kill the people you uncover." She laughs. "Putting you on a case is like is like putting someone to death. And last I checked it's not up to you to decide of someone is worthy of death."

"I do what needs to be done. You can relate to that, I'm sure. You've had such an impressive career, from military ranks to commanding a cartel. I bet you're very proud." You hiss. Her success is envying.

"It sounds like you admire me." she remarks, adding more pressure to your chest. Pushing out the breath from your lungs.

"You have admirable traits." You admit begrudgingly. "Too bad you used them the wrong way." the pressure is suddenly lifted as she backs up from you. Giving you room to stand. there's a dull ache in your stomach as you do.

"I was going to kill you," She continues, waving the gun at you. "but you're deranged, really. So dedicated to your cause." She says. "And I respect that, I really do. I think you can really hone those skills of yours and become something great."

"I am great." You growl. Disgusted and elated at having her respect. she smiles and trails the gun down your jaw, the cool metal sending goosebumps over your skin. Valeria just scoffs and steps away from you.

"You're arrogant and delusional." She says. "You have potential, come back when you're ready to use it."

You pause, confused.

"You're not going to kill me?" You question. Leaving you alive is a fool's decision and Valeria didn't strike you as a fool. 

"You won't be able to kill me," She says. "and I know you won't go to the police because you like to take credit for finding and 'punishing' people yourself."

Those words make you uncomfortable. It makes you sound like you're only doing it to soothe some deranged urge inside of you. You are doing it for the greater good. Your hands stay dirty to keep the world clean.

"You and I are alike." Valeria remarks quietly. Not looking away from you.

You won't be able to do anything now. Valeria has a gun, and you don't. She's right. About you not going to the police. It's not because you want to the credit. It's not. It's because you don't believe they'll do what needs to be done. Only you can. Police can be bribed, you can't. You raise your chin with defiance and take a step back towards her door.

"Be restless, Valeria." You warn. That's all you say before you turn and leave the way you came. Expecting a bullet to the back of your head that never comes. This isn't the last time you and El Sin Nombre meet. The next time it happens, one of you will die and it won't be you.

[the-perverse-library]

Prompt (RWBY): Team RWBY are sent to detention with Glynda after another food fight. Unfortunately for them, Glynda has a new lesson she wants to give them, and she has the tool to do it.

Glynda was furious! The name, the reputation, and the prestige of Beacon Academy were being destroyed by a quartet of simple-minded ne'er-do-wells and their sloppy, stupid schoolyard antics. She had caught Team RWBY instigating another food fight at the mess hall and decided that she needed to set them right. If they wanted to behave like brainless little bimbos, then Glynda would make them brainless little bimbos.

The blonde disciplinarian stood before the four seated students. Her eyes drifted from face to face, gauging how much shame or guilt they felt as she glowered at Beacon's four biggest troublemakers. Ruby had guilt written all over her face, Yang seemed smugly defiant of her, Weiss retained her haughty, arrogant disposition, and Blake was more invested in whatever was on her scroll rather than her. Glynda tensed up before she slapped her riding crop down on Blake's desk. "Welcome to detention, girls, I hope you know why you're here." Glynda coldly stated as she towered over the four girls.

"B-because we had a food fight." Ruby meekly offered up. "But we had fun, you can't punish fun, right?"

"It wasn't even that bad, though. Do we really need to be in detention?" Yang probed as she flexed her arms a little. "Did someone just whine cuz they lost?"

Weiss just rolled her eyes. "Just tell us we need to write an essay or something. We promise not to do it again, " she remarked dismissively.

All the while, Blake kept her attention down and on her scroll, entirely ignoring her or the nature of her punishment. As if she was pointedly ignoring her.

Glynda only felt justified in her decision as she strutted to the blackboard and used her telekinetic powers to pick up some chalk. "Your punishment ends when I say it ends. Read the rules and understand that they are absolute." Glynda remarked as she pointed to the three rules written up on the board. Goodwitch's Rules 1. Twerk when twerked to! 2. No Eating *except me* 3. Obey the Boombox

"Eh? What kind of rules are those?" Yang asked as Glynda pulled a shimmering gold boombox onto the teacher's desk before her.

Glynda just smiled as she poured her aura into the golden device, bringing it to life. "Well, Miss Xiao Long... these will be the last set of rules the four of you will ever need." Goodwitch firmly instructed the blonde brawler as the thrumming baseline echoed through the classroom. The mature disciplinarian could feel the unique power of the boombox seep into her already as she stood in front of Team RWBY. "I hope you're all ready? Not a soul gets to leave until I approve of your twerking." Glynda's eyes flickered purple as she ripped her skirt clean off her body and began dancing. Her fat, round asscheeks slammed and crashed together as the boombox's music filled the classroom. ~Shake it, twerk it, clap it, break it~!

Glynda looked over her shoulders to see her students were beginning to feel the power of the boombox overwhelm them. A cruel smirk found its way onto her lips as she called out the four Huntresses. "Eyes front Ladies! Listen carefully, or you'll find yourselves crushed under the weight of detention." The mature witch joked as she walked backwards and practically started to bounce her ass against their faces.

The quartet didn't know what to say or what to think. The music was loud, piercing, and repetitive, slowly but surely replacing any thought they could have with its four simple commands. ~Shake it, twerk it, clap it, break it~! The four Huntresses soon found themselves dancing, making their asses bounce like Miss Goodwitch's, which they ogled with both reverence and envy. Ruby could only whimper as she made her ass bounce and ripple as hard and as fast as she could as Goodwitch slammed her ass directly onto the raven-haired reaper's face. I-it's in my head!! M-My ass~! I can't stop moving m-my ass~! Ruby thought as her eyes flickered and turned purple.

Yang shuddered as she felt herself cumming as her the bass rippled through her, making her ass and thighs swell until her pants exploded. "Hey~! I-I wanted ~thunder thighs~... B-b-but not like... a-ahhhhn... ~this~." The blonde fell into a deep squat and made her ass clap as pleasure flooded her mind, turning the powerful Huntress into a mewling, moaning mess as she twerked harder and harder.

~Shake it, twerk it, clap it, break it~!

Weiss wished she was as resilient as her fellow teammates. But she wasn't; even Glynda could see it. The moment she heard the aura-infused music, the Schnee heiress had lost complete and total control of herself. The dainty thing rushed forward and buried her face deep into Glynda's mature cunt as she twerked her little Atlesian heart out. C~Can't... stop~... Can never ~stop~... Weiss's thoughts were sluggish as she ravenously teased the headmistress, desperate for praise, desperate to be a good girl who follows the rules.

The only holdout was Blake, the faunus, who had her hands covering her ears, which only sparked a fire within Glynda. "Hands away from your hears this instant, Miss Belladonna!!" The mature blonde pulled Ruby out from between her growing asscheeks and quickly made Blake take her place. "You better learn to listen to me and focus if you ever want to grow as a Huntress." Glynda giggled at the blatant lie she was telling the cat-girl. Only to feel that Blake still had her ears covered. "Hrmmmph! Yang, please make Blake listen to reason." Glynda watched the climaxing blonde give a shuddering nod before she fell against Blake.

"N-no, Yang! Please, let go of my ea-~OooooOoooh!!!" Blake's plea collapsed into a lewd, mewling purr as the full force of the golden boombox hit Blake all at once. Causing the kitty to shred her clothes and nearly pass out from the intensity of her own storm of orgasms. Each one making her as dumb and as brainless as Weiss.

Glynda smiled at her four "students". "Now, you will report here every day for an hour so you can be properly equipped to handle life as a Huntress." Glynda gleefully lied to the four twerking, climaxing troublemakers. "Then I will send you on missions to the dorm rooms all over the school to help the other teams prepare to take on Grimm. Then every afternoon, I want you in this classroom, practising with me." The disciplinarian felt smug as she had planned to use her four most troublesome students as part of the free use fuckdoll rollout to incentivise Huntsmen to go on more missions.

"Y~yes mistress~!" Team RWBY squealed in unison as all four came, gushing and squirting over each other before passing out from exhaustion and extreme bliss. Glynda smiled as she turned the boombox off and confidently leered at the four transformed bimbos with a depraved hunger.

"I think I should get the first round, after all... I made you, why shouldn't I get to take all four of you for a test drive." The disciplinarian darkly chuckled to herself.

[originallandlockedmariner]

Today seemed like a good day to do this class exercise…

IF YOU REALLY KNEW ME:

“You would know…

I started cutting myself a few months ago, and I hate it, but I can’t stop.

I feel so unlovable and I’m always lonely.

My grandfather is in jail because he tried to kill my family.

I’ve struggled and suffered my whole life with experiences that really forced me to grow up too quick.

I am terrified that people will judge me and it destroys my self-esteem.

I think no one will ever love me for who I am only who I pretend to be.

I need help in school, but I’m too embarrassed to ask so I just struggle quietly.

My best friend is in a coma, she has been like that for over 22 days and before her accident, we stopped speaking so all I feel is deep shame and guilt.

No one knows that I have a rare form of cancer, I’m struggling every day, but I don’t want anyone to know.

I can’t get rid of the feeling that I am my mom’s least favorite kid, I know she loves me, but I think she only takes her anger out on me.

I’m always seen as the friend even though I don’t like being around people and I don’t know how to change that.

I definitely struggle with body image and eating, so I work out twice a day every day and restrict my eating to compensate for it.

I always feel I’m not good enough for my family and my friends and teachers.

I am extremely fragile for a man I can sense tones, and people and most of the time find that I think everything is my fault.

Struggle to get out of bed every day I just hide in my room and feel sad and useless.

My relationship with my father is very hard because he hasn’t been there for me and would rather go out with his friends and drink, then take care of me and my family.

I feel like I’m drowning, constantly no matter what I do to stay afloat at school or at home and I’m always compared to my brother who seems to have his shit together.

I lie all the time as a reaction and I can’t stop myself, I want to be honest, but I think it’s too late.

I feel like normal ever love me as much as I love them, and I will be alone forever.”

[mayasaura]

There's a stanza from Annabel Lee that's been tickling my brainstem for a while, and it feels even more relevant now that we know how John and Alecto are bound together, and that their love was and still is mutual:

But our love it was stronger by far than the love    Of those who were older than we—    Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above    Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

That's the heart of it, isn't it? The source of all of John's power, the reason he's God, it's because his soul is connected to his Annabel Lee's. To end all of this, they'll need to be dissevered.

I'd say that the angels have already tried and failed, and the demons look like they're winding up to take a shot. Odds are that'll go about as well for them as it did for Augustine and Mercy. But there's someone the poem doesn't ask. It doesn't account for Annabel.

I think that may be why it matters so much that that Alecto still loves John, and where the true horror of love comes in. If Alecto's soul is going to be seperated from John's, Alecto has to want it. No one else can do it for her. Annabel Lee has to become the subject, and not the object.

[paperglader]

i just feel like someone should take one for the team and write the fanfic where miss homotron goes to dragonstone on foot, meets her situationship’s new lover, and immediately goes like blind with jealousy and fury (rhaenyra, as always when alicent’s near, looks and behaves like a very confused kicked puppy)

i just need homotron and saphotron to meet, so the real war can begin