#fana the hateful

[bean-market-art]

of course midterms hit me like a brick during rarepair week help me

Fanamimo // Modern

@bceventshub

[sherbet-requiem]

My piece for @2023legendoflinkzine!!! Big huge massive thanks to @seekingseven for being such a great leader and organiser for this whole project!!! I had such a great time

[possamble]

rotating the idea of what kabru's party would be doing post-canon and it's like. i know that one kabru and laios comic establishes that rin sticks around and likes marcille enough to sit and be hanging out with her on the side

underrated how sweet that is. elves have been fucking horrible to rin her entire life and she's a self-taught mage that magic academy graduates look down on. you'd think that marcille is the Prime Example of things that she hates but like... we all know how that probably went down. marcille, a half-elf, fawning over how good she is at magic despite having to teach herself with no guidance, complimenting her hair, and rin going ????????? help

[dovveri]

dancing with your ghost

synopsis: you and momo are brought up in an era of war. you’re taught to fight, and the time has come for you to put those skills to use.

warnings: needles, medieval fighting, death, torture, orphans, weapons, swearing, period mentions, suicide, blood

w/c: 6.6k

a/n: hi hey giggle feeling a little more emo than usual… this was originally birthed from black clover mars and fana 🫶 enjoy i love a good tragic lovers tale but i hate that i wrote it medievally bcs i think medieval is rly hard to do well but wtv i like writijg swords more than i like writing guns

𐃈

"what's your name?"

you look up curiously under your eyelashes, it's a girl that looks around the same age as you, she's wearing a shirt too big for her, going past her knees, scars dot the skin that's exposed, but she wears a smile, she's not threatening, just curious.

"y/n."

"nice to meet you y/n. i'm momo."

"momo." you test it out, rolling it on your tongue.

she nods happily, plopping down next to you, not minding the hay that pricks into her skin, used to it.

"where did they get you from?"

the reminder makes you tear up, and you’re back to scrunching yourself up in a little ball, covering your head and crying into your knees.

"woah hey! i'm sorry."

you sniffle, still unable to stop the tears, but then momo's tiny arms are wrapped around you, brushing through your hair, trying to calm you.

"it's okay. you're safe now." she repeats, over and over, until your sobs start to subside.

you blink up again, looking at her furrowed brows and concerned expression, "i'm sorry."

"why?" she looks surprised, cupping your face with her hands now that you're looking at her. her hands are rough, you can feel the cuts along them, the scrapes and damaged skin, but it grounds you.

"no-one left..."

she nods sympathetically, dropping her hands, "me too."

"you too?"

"dead."

"i'm sorry."

she shakes her head, "long time now."

"how long?"

momo thinks for a little, taking her stubby little fingers out to count slowly. "3 years ago. i'm 10 now."

"i'm 10 too."

"really?!" momo looks back up at you excitedly, grasping your hands in hers.

you nod, smiling for the first time since you were captured.

"yay! all the others are old. they don't like to play with me." she frowns, hands tightening around yours for a second, "will you play with me?"

you nod again, and she beams, "we're not alone anymore!"

you take the opportunity to have a look around. it's a relatively big room, you can make out mounds of hay, likely used to sleep on, there are other kids milling about as well, in a similar state of dress to momo.

"where are we?"

momo perks up, "the castle! we are special kids. chosen ones. that's what they tell us. they're going to train us to become secret weapons of the kingdom. it's good! they give us a home. and we repay them by training our best."

you frown, "but i don't want to be a weapon. i want to go home."

momo loses her smile, looking uneasy, fiddling with her fingers. "there's... there's no home to go back to."

"what do you mean?"

"they took you away right? that means... we are all orphans." she points to the other kids around the room. "all of our homes were destroyed. this is the only place that would take us in."

"w-what?"

"i'm sorry."

"that can't be true."

"i'm sorry."

"stop apologising! you're lying!"

momo looks shocked at your outbreak, shrinking back into herself, looking even smaller in the shirt 5 times too big for her. but you practically can't see her, only seeing images of your hometown flashing through your head, your parents, your school, your friends, your toys at home.

you don't realise you're hurting yourself and screaming until two guards come in, hoisting you up and ripping your arms away from yourself. momo's watching on with tears, unable to do anything while you thrash around in their arms, carried out of the room shrieking and crying, in disbelief of the situation you found yourself in.

𐃈

when you wake up again, you're lying on top of a heap of hay, wearing a similar oversized shirt that you had saw momo in. there's also a faint pain in the back of your neck, but there's no mirrors for you to see if there was anything wrong.

"y/n?"

you look up from your own pitiful state, seeing momo with wide eyes, holding a tray of food. she's a lot more cautious than the first time you met, not wanting to aggravate or send you into one of your tantrums again. she steps closer slowly, making sure you can see her every movement.

your mouth waters at the food in her hands, stomach grumbling.

she hears it and tries to conceal a smile. she holds it out, carefully sliding it forward.

you dig in immediately, gulping down a glass of water and reaching for the bread.

"are you... okay?"

you grunt, mouth still full of food.

"did they hurt you?"

you pause, returning your attention to her, "don't re-mber." you mumble out through your food.

momo looks behind her, then side to side, as if checking if anyone was listening. then she comes forward in a rush, whispering, "you can't do that again y/n. they don't like it."

you frown, swallowing, "what do you mean?"

"we have to do what they say. or else they'll hurt us."

"have they hurt you before?"

she turns around, parting her hair.

you gasp, staring at the little blinking blue dot embedded in the back of her neck, your hand automatically goes to your own neck, feeling the lump that wasn't there before.

"it's a tracker. so they know where we are at all times. because they're training us to be secret weapons, if get kidnapped or the kingdom's enemies try and use us for ransom, they can remotely activate this and fry our brains. we'll essentially be vegetables after that."

"how... how do you know all this?"

she turns back around, putting her hair back in place, "my friend. it happened to her. she came back from her first mission... different. she wouldn't tell me what happened. but right before they... fried her... she told me everything she could, like she knew they were going to get rid of her the next day."

"but you said... you said it was good they took us in."

momo hisses, "i lied. they were watching you. waiting for you to mess up so they could put the tracker in you."

"why- why are you telling me all this?"

she stands back solemnly, staring at her feet, you remember she was the same age as you, only 10 years old.

"it's only going to get worse from here. and... you're the same as me."

you stare at her, studying her, you'd taken her for a naïve little girl, still innocent despite the horrors she's been through. you'd hoped she was because that meant you could keep your humanity too. when she meets your eyes again, hers are fierce, there's a fire within them, an anger no one else could understand.

"...thank you for telling me."

all of a sudden she melts, and she's back to the girl you first met, clumsy and caring, but you can't unsee the wrath the world placed in a little 10 year old body.

𐃈

it's not surprising that you stick to momo over the next few years. all the older kids don't pay you any mind, and it seems you were the last one brought in, so there's no one younger than you. there's about 20 of you in total. there were 30 in the beginning but some were sent on missions and never seen again, and others died during training. eventually, when you all get too big to fit in the same little barnyard, they move you into the unused dungeons under the castle. you were all kept a secret from the majority of the castle population. at least when you lived in the barnyard you could see the sky, it's been 4 years since you'd last seen sunlight.

you're changing your bandages when one of the older kids runs in, frantic.

"it's momo."

you're up in seconds, running towards the makeshift training arena where you knew momo was sparring with one of the instructors.

you push past all the people straining to get a look, jumping up onto the platformed sparring arena and rushing to momo who's on the floor, gritting her teeth and clutching her stomach.

"what happened?" you get straight to business, gently moving her arms and lifting her shirt to survey the damage.

"she's fucking weak is what happened." the instructor above you spits.

you ignore him, grabbing the first aid kit in the corner of the sparring arena and cleaning the wound. it's a lot deeper than you thought it'd be.

the crowd has gotten bigger. it was normal for them to pit you against knights or prisoners of war, they were more experienced, bigger, dangerous. and now they were circling the sparring arena cheering on the instructor who is spewing nonsense about strength and integrity.

momo had picked a fight with one of the knights who had bullied you last week, he had stolen your rations and dumped them down the feces chutes. momo forced him to go retrieve it, pushing him down the chute and making him dig through the entire castle's feces to find your food, and then she made him eat it.

his captain found out, the one who was in charge of weapons training. the one who just now stabbed momo in the stomach under the pretense of sparring despite explicit orders that you and the other kingdom's 'weapons' weren't to be maimed.

when you finish cleaning and bandaging her wound, you stand up, kicking off the weapons in the arena, then face him head-on. he's taller than you, much more built too, he's got a nasty scar on the bridge of his nose.

he laughs when he sees you, puny and pathetic.

"you wanna fight little one?"

"n-no." momo tries to stop you, her voice is still laced with pain, trying her best not to cry in front of the crowd.

you step forward, chest to chest with him, "you lecture us about integrity but you fought someone half your size with a blade as long as her torso."

he scoffs, "the battlefield won't care about how big you are. that's the problem with you women, you think because you've been born weaker that everyone needs to cater to you. guess what? the real world doesn't care. i guess you wouldn't know that though because you've been cooped up in here all your life huh?"

"and how many women have you spoken to in order to make that assumption?"

he snarls, "more than you."

"that's not a great comparison considering i've only known the same 19 people my whole life. 5 of us who are women."

"fine. enough that i couldn't count them right now and give you a number."

you don't hesitate when your hand darts out and grabs his dick, yanking downwards so he levels with your eyesight, your grip squeezing the flesh tight enough he goes rigid with pain. "you won't mind if you lose this then right? the real world doesn't care after all. you should still be as strong as you were no?"

"you fucking bitch-"

you yank on it again, hard enough that he's toppling forward onto you, but then you bring your knee back up, using his downward force to launch your knee into his nuts, ducking out of the way before he keels over.

"that was fair wasn't it? not my fault you were born with a weak spot right between your legs."

he roars, stumbling around and clumsily throwing a fist your way while holding his testicles. you dodge easily, sending a kick into his side.

"i thought you said women were born weaker? does the fact that i'm beating you right now mean that you're weaker than a woman?"

he tries again, lumbering towards you with both hands this time, reaching for your neck. you easily maneuver around him, letting his own momentum send him crashing into the ground.

"enough!"

everyone in the room quietens down. they part like the red river as a tall, lanky man dressed in the royal colours strides towards you, stepping up onto the platform.

the captain immediately bows his head, shuffling backwards and trying to minimise his presence. you huff, standing in front of momo, prepared to take on anyone that wanted to mess with either of you.

the man tuts, slinking forward until he's cupping your face.

you rip it out of his hands aggressively, choosing to stare at the captain still cradling his balls.

"y/n."

you don't answer.

then he pulls something out of his pocket. your eyes widen, a cold sweat building up.

he notices immediately, smirking, "good girl."

you grit your teeth, forcing yourself to look up at him. he stares down at you, eerie eyes and perfect white teeth. thumbing the little remote control he has in his hand that controlled all of the trackers in your necks. then he turns, addressing the crowd.

"it seems like all our weapons are here. please step forward my children."

the other kids hesitantly clamber up onto the platform, all eyeing the remote he has in his hand. they had upgraded it a few years ago, could now use it to torture you if you acted against them. they realised the threat of rendering you brain dead wasn’t enough as you grew older, they needed you to experience real pain, for you to know they had total control over your minds, your bodies, that you were their property.

"good. i have an exciting announcement to make. there's talks of a treaty being formed between all the kingdoms, it means no more wars, no more innocent lives lost, freedom."

there's murmuring in the crowd of knights, shuffling around, unsure.

"there's a price though. as there is a price for all things. this new world needs a leader. and each kingdom wants to be its leader. the kings have agreed on one way to decide this leader. each will submit one team of 2 fighters to represent them, the winning team will gain this leadership title for their kingdom."

"what does this have to do with us?" someone from the crowd yells.

the man shushes them quickly, waving a hand and having the person who interrupted him escorted out loudly.

"before i was so rudely interrupted... this team will be selected from our secret stash of weapons we have here. other kingdoms already have data from spies inside our kingdom about our regular knights, but they won't know about you."

he turns and smirks at you, "so we're going to be making a big spectacle of this, and the 20 of you, will be fighting it out to get a chance to be that duo in a qualifying round 2 weeks from now."

there's silence.

he makes up for it by clapping, "hooray! isn't that wonderful? you'll finally get to do something with your lives!"

if he wasn't the advisor to the king he'd be dead on the floor now, your hands dripping with his blood. but he was, so he practically prances away, his hoard of guards following him. when he's out of the room, everyone starts talking at once, knights complaining about how they wish they could represent the kingdom, some congratulating us, some spitting at us. you don't pay them any mind, turning back down to lift momo up.

"i can walk."

you frown, supporting her on one side, only for her to almost fall over.

"just let me carry you idiot."

she purses her lips, thinks for a little, "help me walk until the rooms. i don't want everyone to see i'm weak."

you sigh, grabbing onto her waist and slowly inching forwards.

"hey!"

you ignore the captain behind you.

"i'm talking to you bitch!"

he tries to yank your shoulder back but you shrug him off, hoisting momo down where one of the older kids is waiting to help her.

"you not had enough big guy?"

he flinches when you turn, it's pathetic. but then he regains his confidence, standing tall again, "i don't need to fight you. you'll die in those qualifiers anyway. i'll be betting against you."

"then be prepared to lose your money."

you don't let him speak again, hopping down to wrap momo's arm around your shoulder, hobbling away as fast as her injury allows.

when you finally get back, you take her shirt off fully, removing the rushed bandage job you did and beginning to clean it properly with the rubbing alcohol you have hidden under the stone tiles of your shared room.

she hisses at the first touch, but you slap her hand away, focused on cleaning the wound perfectly. 2 weeks wouldn't be enough for it to heal before she has to fight again.

"you shouldn't have done that." she squeezes out.

"why not?"

"he's not going to go easy on you in weapons training tomorrow."

you scoff, "what's the point of even going to those classes anymore? we're all going to die in 2 weeks. and they need to make a big spectacle out of it so it's not like they’re going to prematurely kill us. these trackers are empty threats. at least for now."

"you're not going to die y/n."

you finally look up at her, she's wearing the same look she had when she first warned you about them, about the evils in the world you lived in.

you go back to dabbing at her wound "neither will you then."

momo groans heavily, "don't do that."

"do what?"

"try and protect me."

"that's what you've done my whole life."

"but that's because-" she pauses, wincing as you finish cleaning her up, grabbing the needle and stitching thread.

"because what?"

"you know..." she mumbles, hissing again when the needle enters her skin.

"i don't."

she's silent, watching you piece her back together like you have so many times in the past. once you're done stitching her up, you grab fresh bandages, tying her up again. and then you hesitate, but you're leaning down before you know it, kissing the bandaged patch of skin softly.

"y/n..." momo breathes out.

you stand back up, going to the bathroom to wash your hands. you hear her struggling to get out of bed and follow you, ultimately only succeeding in pushing herself up into a seated position. you sigh, grabbing a clean washcloth and putting it under some water, heading back into the room to start wiping her face, then body. you're not shy with each other, you've been together for almost 10 years now, half your lives. you've seen each other in every state of undress, been through every life stage together, had your first periods, first kisses, first times with each other.

she normally is more stubborn in letting you clean up after her, claiming she can do everything herself but always ending up needing your help, but this time, with the news fresh on both your minds, she's too tired to argue.

by the time you're done and you've curled up in bed next to her, squeezed together on the little single you've shared since you were 16 and moved out of the barnyard, her eyes are drooping and her breathing is laboured with fatigue and maybe also from blood loss.

you're careful not to aggravate her new wounds, wrapping an arm around her hips, a little lower than normal, nuzzling into her shoulder.

you think she’s fallen asleep, but after some time, she speaks up, “i would’ve won.”

you snort, “against the captain?”

“yeah.”

“you were on the floor bleeding out.”

“he cheated.”

“oh really?” your voice is sarcastic, you look up at her from your spot in her neck, suppressing your laughter at the determined look on her face, a little crease between her eyebrows visible.

“yeah. it was only meant to be sword to sword. he had a second dagger up his sleeve. that’s what really got me.”

you trace her hip lightly, humming.

“you believe me right?” she looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed.

you giggle, caressing her chin, “yes i do momo.”

“good.” she huffs, looking away to stare at the ceiling again.

you stare at her profile, her full lips, a little chapped, the tiny scar right under her right ear from when you were forced to spar one another and she made you cut her so that the fight could end quicker, the slant of her nose. if you knew what love was, you’d probably love momo.

“i was serious you know. you’re not dying.”

“i was too. if i don’t die than you don’t either. we’ll both get through.”

she sighs, hand coming to rest on the back of your head, “you know that’s not likely. we’re the youngest. all the others have more experience, most have actually been on missions, if we work together than at least one of us can get through. and it’s going to be you.”

you’re quiet, still studying her face. you knew she was too stubborn to change her mind after it’s made, there was no use arguing with her.

“do you remember that time we snuck upstairs and saw all those people and heard… music?”

she smiles, “it was so interesting. seeing people have fun like that. what did they call it? dancing?”

“dancing.”

“they seemed so carefree. like they didn’t know war was going on outside the walls.”

“there was no point to what they were doing. just moving around, there was no productive purpose. it was so different to everything we’ve been taught.”

momo hums, “i’d like to try it one day. maybe when the war is over. when we can afford to be that relaxed and let our bodies go, listen to music and laugh and dance.”

“what if you suck?”

momo looks down at you in abhorrence “i would not!”

“what if you don’t know how to listen to music and you trip and fall in front of everyone?”

“i’d be amazing. people would be lining up to dance with me.”

you laugh, rolling your eyes at her.

“i’d save the first one for you though.”

you almost didn’t catch it.

you inhale in her neck, taking in her scent, “no thanks. i don’t want to trip over your clumsy feet.”

momo whines, slapping you lightly while you laugh again, curling into her even more.

she was the only one who could make you laugh, who brought joy back into your life after your family was killed. as far as you were concerned, she was the only important thing left in your life worth fighting for.

𐃈

you were right. you decided to stay in with momo over the next fortnight, and no one came and bothered you about it. none of your instructors, none of the other kids, though you could understand that, you were expected to kill each other all very soon anyway, it was best to eliminate as much connection as possible before the battle.

you tended to momo's injuries, only leaving your room to grab your rations and steal some more medical supplies. on the third day, she's able to walk around again against your better judgement, and by the fifth, she's asking you to spar with her to practice before the fighting.

you're only convinced after she promises to tell you if anything hurts too much, and to eat half of your rations so that she could get stronger in less time.

she's basically back in shape at the end of the fortnight, although she's made it known she plans on protecting you once the fighting starts, you've secretly told yourself you'll be the one watching out for her.

"they're loud aren't they?"

"it'll be the first time we'll have seen normal people since... i don't even remember how long ago."

"yeah. the first time we'll see the sun too. or not if it rains. god remember how it felt when it rained? how it sounded?"

you try and block out the other kids milling about the waiting room, it was you or them, you couldn't humanise them, couldn't listen to them talk about their struggles, it'd just make it that much harder to kill them.

there's a tap on your shoulder.

you look up, seeing momo smiling, donned up in the light armour they've provided that only covers your chest and back. she sits next to you, your hands just barely touching.

"you ready?"

you grunt, not bothering to give a proper response.

"that good huh?"

you shoot her a look, rolling your eyes.

"chill. i got your back."

"that's exactly why i'm not excited for this." you grumble.

momo frowns, you had kept most of your complaints to yourself, but now that you were minutes away from actually having to start fighting for your life, you were a little less filtered.

"what is that supposed to mean?"

"i wish you'd let me protect you too."

"y/n..."

"it's fine. i get it. it's whatever, just focus on not getting yourself killed momo." you start to stand, not being able to sit so close to her knowing that you might not be able to see her again, but she pulls on your hand.

you sigh, only weak for her.

"just promise me you'll try. if you- if you die because of me i don't know how i can keep living knowing that." you say softly, still refusing to look her in the eye.

you feel her standing, and then she's wrapping her arms around your midriff, sneaking inside your armour to hold you. you tense up immediately, aware of how this must look. you'd kept whatever you were a secret from everyone else, afraid they'd use your relationship against you, but you were minutes away from possibly never seeing her again, so you throw caution to the wind, letting her hug you.

"i promise. but if you win and i don't-"

"don't say that."

she ignores you, "if you win and i don't, i want you to keep surviving. can you promise me that?"

you sigh, leaning back against her slightly, reveling in the closeness for possibly the last time. "... i promise."

and before you know it, you're being herded out, hot sun beating down on your patchy, grimy faces, bloodlust and screaming oozing from the crowd in the colosseum. you wondered if they knew what you'd been through. who you were. or if they just thought you were another run of the mill knight squad that was chosen to represent the kingdom. you don't have that much time to think over such useless thoughts though, because a loud horn is being sounded and the fighting begins.

𐃈

you whip into action immediately, lurching for the closest weapon you see. unfortunately, one of the other kids has the same idea, and now you're both tugging on the ends of a spear.

the pointed end is facing the other kid though, so you pull for a little, and then when you're sure he's pulling with as much strength as he can, you charge forward, impaling him, then yanking it back out, whipping the spear around in a circle around you to quickly get a grasp of your surroundings while creating a perimeter where no one could attack.

the blood is bright red on the end of your spear, and you cringe a little, suddenly recalling all the memories you had with the boy, sammy, 3 years older than you and momo, the one who helped momo down from the platformed sparring arena 2 weeks ago, dead.

you spot momo a few meters away, also engaged in a fight with one of the older boys, alex, 6 years older than you, split his rations with you when you were punished that time for showing up late to training. momo cuts him down with her sword. dead.

she looks around hurriedly, assessing the situation. you catch her eye very briefly before someone's charging at you with a battering shield. you use the long end of your spear to hoist yourself up and over them like a javelin, letting their heavy shield carry them forward, unable to change direction. you land on both your feet, quickly turning around and stabbing them in the back, yanking back out. han, 4 years older than you, your first ever sparring partner. dead.

you catch sight of an arrow whizzing past your head, straight in momo's direction.

you know momo can dodge it, so you follow the direction from where it was shot from, quickly running forward while he's distracted nocking another arrow in, swinging your spear so it whacks him in the side. he drops the bow and arrow in pain, and before he can put his hand out to defend himself, you're thrusting the spear straight through his neck, blood spurting out and colouring your silver breastplate. robin, 4 years older than you, taught you how to read, dead.

the adrenaline is running, you don't have time to mourn, only to find the next victim before they find you.

eventually, you find yourself back to back with momo, covering each other's blind spots while you fight in perfect harmony. the others knew you were close, they probably didn't know you had practiced dueling for more hours than you'd slept. you knew each other like you knew the sun rose every day.

you've been able to completely block out the cheering and the spectators, only focused on surviving. they'd underestimated the two of you. the youngest, the least experienced, but the ones that spent the most time together, the ones that corrected each other's every weakness in the training field while the older kids were out on missions or stakeouts where they couldn't hone their skills. every second counted. and they realised that now as they lost their lives one by one.

it's down to five of you. no, four, momo just stabbed through kim, the oldest girl, the one who taught you both what to do when you first started bleeding between your legs, dead.

the last two boys are the ones you'd thought would win. the eldest, leo, and his brother, kenny. they were orphaned together, and have spent just as much, if not more time together training as you and momo have. your breathing is coming in a lot harder now, huffing with effort, you're honestly grateful you and momo have survived for this long.

then they're running at you, swords pointed, ready to strike. you both parry them, the clanging of metal against metal ringing in your ears while you take kenny and momo starts fighting leo.

you push kenny backwards so that you're not in momo's way in case she pulls bigger moves, and so she doesn't have to watch your back in case leo tries to kill you when you're not looking. you no longer have to worry about keeping your eyes everywhere now, because everyone else was dead and momo was keeping leo occupied. so you focused your all into killing kenny.

you'd swapped your spear for a sword earlier on, preferring the larger blade than the distance necessitated accuracy a spear requires. you stab and slice and manage to get him to the edge of the colosseum, almost in the shadows when he finally runs out of space to back up. but he remains persistent, parrying every strike, blocking every advance. it would be a battle of endurance. so you grit your teeth and keep attacking, watching his every movement. it's worth it, because you catch the slightest falter in his back foot, and you take advantage of it immediately, darting forward and ducking under his swipe, forcing him to move his weight onto his back foot which was already placed wrong, so he loses his footing for a second, long enough for you to yank the hilt of his sword towards you, letting it flip up in the air before catching it with your left hand, then sending both through his head with a vicious thrust.

you're heaving, stepping on his breastplate to pull the swords back out, turning on your heel and squinting through the blood and sweat to see momo, still holding her own against leo. they both don't seem to notice you've won, so you bound forwards, grateful for your smaller stature and lighter frame, your footsteps not louder than the crowd or the clashing of metal for them to hear you coming.

you catch momo's eye very briefly, a signal flashing between you both before she starts advancing more aggressively, pushing leo backwards where you're waiting. you bring both your swords up and in front of his neck, slicing downwards and slitting his throat open. he drops his sword, clutching at his neck and falling to the ground, bleeding out.

you breathe, and breathe, and breathe, huffing, sweating, exhausted, your mind still playing catch up to the physical atrocities you just forced your body into. momo is in a similar state, hair sticking up in funny places where sweat has collected, fresh blood on her cheek and her arms and legs from cuts and wounds of fighting and killing the other 18 people you'd grown up with.

you can't hear the announcer's voice, sounding out around the stadium, announcing your names, the two that would be moving forward. your ears are only slowly starting to take in the cheering that you'd blocked out.

"-know you guys aren't satisfied yet! so we prepared a special surprise too!"

you blink up through your eyelashes, squinting at the announcer in his little podium box above the colosseum.

"there is actually only meant to be one representative from each kingdom! we've watched these two fight side by side, a killing machine but the joke's on them! now they're going to duke it out to find out who really is the strongest of them all! and have the honour of leading our kingdom to victory in the upcoming kingdoms clash!"

it's like time stops. you can feel every heartbeat, every breath coming in and out of your body, every painful blink as you stare at momo, mouth hanging open, swords clutched tightly by your sides.

"mo-"

she doesn't let you finish saying her name, lashing forwards with a yell, swinging her sword down hard. you're barely able to defend yourself, metal finding skin as she cuts your arm when you bring both swords to push against hers. her eyes are overcome with rage, you're not sure if it's at you, or the kingdom, or if she's just been blindsided by all the people she's killed.

you yell out, trying to get her attention, trying to shake some sense into her, parrying off each of her attacks that only get rougher and rougher. your hearing has come back fully now, you can see the laughter, the glee, the bloodlust in each of the citizen's faces. you didn't care if they knew you were slaves or knights from the beginning, the fact that they were finding enjoyment in this was proof of their cruelty enough.

you're distracted, head fuzzy, still playing catch up, still not really understanding that there would only be one person leaving the battlefield today. you keep begging, crying out to her, to the girl who protected you from day 1, who held you as you cried in bed each night missing your parents, who fought people twice your age and size to defend you, who loved you when you thought you'd never feel love again.

she has you on your stomach now, arms pressed behind your back, your swords long forgotten. it would be over soon. she would win. you were okay with that. you protected her. she would live. if you had to die for momo to live, so be it.

you close your eyes, memories of you and momo flashing through your head when there's a searing pain in your neck, she's cut open. you can see momo and you kiss for the first time, curious what it felt like after seeing two of the older kids doing it, you see momo sneaking into the kitchen with you in hand, shoving grubby handfuls of food into the makeshift basket you had weaved together using your old clothes, you see momo cry for the first time, hiding from you under the covers, trying to make herself as small as possible, as quiet as possible, not wanting you to think she was anything but your protector, you see it all.

and then there's a blinding light.

you can hear her too, her voice.

"this isn’t your fault. remember your promise. i love you."

you blink, eyes adjusting, and with horror, you wipe at your eyes, blood smearing across your skin, not your blood. momo coughs up more red bile in your face, smiling still, impaled on top of her own sword that was now somehow in your hands. her eyes are no longer empty, not like they were when she was advancing on you, they were full of life, of love, they were the same eyes that looked at you when you woke up in the morning, the same eyes that watched you when you fell asleep, soft and tender, devoid of the pains you'd experienced.

you scramble upwards, only impaling the sword in her chest deeper, she coughs again.

"momo- no no no you can't- what have you done- oh god-" you cradle her face in your hands, tears leaking out of your eyes, staring down in disbelief at the chunk of metal that went in through her chest and out through her back.

she coughs again, resting her forehead against yours, closing her eyes, still smiling.

"y/n… dance for me." her last words, whispered hoarsely against your lips, before her breathing stops, the only air moving between you is your own heavy breaths, shuddering, crying, sobbing, hugging her lifeless body against yours, wondering how everything could've gone so wrong.

they'll pull her away from you later, when the crowd gets bored watching a little girl grow hysterical over losing the one thing that ever mattered to her.

you'll scream and kick at them, clinging onto momo's dead body, pleading to spend more time with her, to mourn her. but they'll push you down, carrying you away like the first time they carried you away from momo, except this time she wasn't wide-eyed and teary with concern, she was gone.

they'll throw you back in the room you shared with momo, locking you inside while you pounded away at the door, hands bloody, face still spattered with momo's blood.

when you finally accept that no one was coming, you'll slump down, afraid to look around the room that reminded you of her, cradling your head in your hands, knees to your chest. your fingers will brush through your hair like she used to when she thought you were asleep, they'll meet fleshy, wet, skin at the back of your neck when your nails dig harshly into your hair and neck.

you'll blink, confused, inspecting your fingers at the fresh blood that coated them. you'll bring your hand to the back of your neck again, feeling around. the lump was gone.

with wide eyes, you'll realise the stinging pain you felt when you thought you were dying, was momo digging the tracker out of your neck. she had fought you so aggressively on purpose, gotten you on your stomach on purpose, all so she could free you before killing herself, making it look like you had turned the tables, like you had pulled her weapon away from her and stabbed it through her chest.

she freed you.

you were no longer a slave to the kingdom.

you'll purse your lips, resigning yourself to a new goal. you were going to get revenge for everything they'd ever done to you, to momo, to all 30 of the original kids that they orphaned. and you would dance, imagining momo dancing with you. you should've told her you thought she'd be the most brilliant dancer to have ever breathed.

[rakubalka]

30 Legend Worthy Beef In This Au

Yami Sukehiro vs William Vangeance - rivals to lover vibes

Asta vs Sally - aka Doctor with Morals vs Doctor without Morals

Jack the Ripper vs Nozel Silva - enemy to maybe if you squint your eyes at the right angle lovers

Zora vs any corrupt noble -self explained

Any and all Agrippa vs the Sun - it runs in the family their hate for the sun

Charlotte vs biggots

Purple Orcas vs Finral

Yuno vs the current Clover king's political party

Kahono vs all Silvas minus Noelle

Mereleona vs people's bullshit

Rebecca vs most of Hell

Fuegoleon vs the eye of the midnight's sun more specifically Fana - it wasn't even the coma that did it , it was being put as the especially high priest of the Fire God that did it

Leopold vs people's expectations

Asta vs unruly patients

Yuno vs unruly folks of animals

Nacht vs himself - he needs some serious mental and emotional help

Luck vs baths

Magna vs bikini armor

Noelle vs her ex-siblings

Gauche vs anyone threatening his precious people

Gray vs Julius - mainly when in transformed state

Vanessa vs the witches queen

Nozel vs Decaf

Charmy vs people wasting food

Father Otris vs Julius and Zenon both

Sister Lily vs child predators

Mary vs anyone threatening her precious people

Magna vs Yuno - only when flying on a broom however

Nero vs incorrect historical facts or documents

Mimosa with poison vs people underestimating her

[the-black-bulls]

For the headcanon, I was curious about Raia and William

seeing a headcanon you disagree with and it kinda pisses you off

sure thing, tagging @nachtssexycloak since you asked for william

Rhya:

- something about him not being responsible of his actions and it's more of a patri brainwashed him by the forbidden spell case similar to vetto and elf fana? I mean I don't know I've always been under the impression rhya was more aware of things than anyone else and just shrugged it off and lied and enabled patri because he's desperate to see his people again

William:

- okaaaay, to spare myself a headache I'll divide this into two parts:

- first, those who demonize him by claiming that he's an evil person, or that he wants the kingdom destroyed, or that he's a manipulator who uses people's emotions against them, or that he deserves to die or should be suicidal about what he's done... sure, william did a lot of unpunished bad things, but it doesn't justify turning him to satan

- second, those who woobifie him by claiming that he did nothing wrong, that he was brainwashed by patri or it was patri's feeling that enabled him, or that he shouldn't be held accountable for his crimes, or did enough to be forgiven, etc etc... I get that william is hated and sometimes you gotta defend your favorite at all costs, but let's not make excuses to downplay his crimes or shift the blame from him

- to be honest I've seen a lot of horrible takes from a specific toxic minority who claim to be william fans and insult everyone else in his name, but I know better than taking them seriously, thanks god his actual fans are some of the nicest people I've seen y'all rock!

[tinkerbellsgf]

rinsha fana they could never make me hate you

[temporary-joyride]

Need to go on a little rant real quick because is there like??? Another anime called Black Clover that I don't know about???? Because I've seen so many people shitting on Black Clover and obviously we did not watch the same Black Clover

Today I received this message from a friend who watched up to episode 130:

Respectfully,

WHAT!? WHAT?????

Um??? What about Noelle?????? What about Noelle, who couldn't hit a single target at the beginning of the show but held her own in a 1v1 against Fana?? Remember how incredibly excited her whole squad got when she made her first Sea Dragon's Cradle???

Bro what about Finral??? What about Finral, who was exiled from his family for being too 'useless' and accepted his job as Yami's personal mode of transportation, what about when he tried to escape the Underwater Temple by himself but instead chose to stay and fight for the first time in his life???? What about when he finally stands up for himself and goes against his brother, who has been nothing but cruel to him all his life?? And almost die for it?? What about Finral????

Dude what about Vanessa?? What about Vanessa's origin story literally being her escaping a cage after being told that she has the power to choose her fate? What about her unlocking the power of fate when faced with her mother trying to control and kill her family?

What about YAMI bro?? You don't even expect him to grow as a character! He's a squad captain he's already super powerful he doesn't need to grow but he DOES!! He learns how to slash fucking dimensions when needing to protect his squad after they've already surpassed all their own limits!!

Watched a youtube short called "Animes you HATE" and the very first words spoken were "Black Clover suffers from a boring story and boring characters" were you conscious when watching the show?? Did you fall asleep???? What show did you WATCH because it wasn't Black Clover

Boring characters what are you ON about dude have you no respect for the GOAT Fuegoleon?? And his "Being weak is nothing to be ashamed of! However, staying weak is!" boring characters my ass tell me you didn't want to know every word that Gordon was saying tell me you weren't at ALL suspicious of the pristine Golden Dawn captain wearing a mask all the time

'Nobody changed' 'boring characters' WHAT were you watching please tell me

[loneberry]

some notes on sufism

The other day I went to the Harvard Divinity School Muslims iftar (the meal that breaks the fast during Ramadan), which was followed by a concert of Turkish music that is traditionally performed in Sufi lodges in Istambul. Before the music began, the professor I’ve been auditing Islamic literature classes with read some verses from Rumi’s Masnavi and offered a meditation on fasting through an interpretation of the lines: “If you have closed this mouth, another mouth is opened, which becomes an eater of the morsels of mysteries.” That is the nature of mystical knowledge—gnosis (or maʿrifa) is not understood intellectually, but tasted (dhawq). The closing of the bodily mouth is an opening of the spiritual mouth. He asked us to listen to the music with the inner heart.

I went with my friend S, who has been nudging me toward conversion. I’ve been allergic to religion most of my life because I’m not really much of a joiner. I distinctly remember being in (Catholic) Sunday School as a child and thinking to myself: This sounds fake to me. As in, made-up, irrational. The people who treated the fanciful stories like fact seemed like crackpots to me, even to my child-mind. I don’t think I ever believed in Santa either—I guess my disposition was innately skeptical; perhaps that contributed to my identification with anarchism from when I was 13 or 14. Yet at the same time, my feeling for the invisible, for the world of the dead, was always quite strong, even when it was unstitched from a belief system. As a kid I would wander the house alone at night, thinking I could hear my dead parakeet chirping from a shoebox in the garage.  

I hated Sunday School. While I was always good at school-school (at least when I was a child, before I became an incorrigible truant), I was terrible at Sunday School. Because it seemed like hocus-pocus to me, none of it stuck. My classmates had internalized all the stories I thought were outlandish. During mass I would think exclusively about donuts, the ones we would buy from the ladies who would sell them as a fundraiser. I’ve thought about returning to Catholicism, but sadly, after the post-1970s political realignment in the US, all the leftist Catholics (the Marxists who loathed the Vietnam War and exposed the FBI’s COINTELPRO) are gone. As much as I love reading Catholic mystics (St Teresa of Avila, St John of the Cross, Angela of Foligno, Hildegard of Bingen, Meister Eckhart, Marguerite Porete, and others), Christian mysticism is more individualist than Islamic mysticism—asceticism and separation from the group is the way to commune with God, while Islamic mysticism is rooted in communal practices like sama (singing, dancing, reciting poetry, playing/listening to music) and dhikr (communal prayer for the remembrance of God). While Christian mysticism bears the imprint of the Neoplatonist trajectory of ascent, for Sufism, the trajectory is shaped like a paisley. After fana (annihilation of the ego/union with God/dying before you die), there is baqaa or subsistence, a return of sorts. 

I also much prefer the Islamic orientation to the created world than the Christian one, for in Islam, everything in creation can be understood as the breath or speech of God. The Hadith on which Sufi cosmology is based reads, “I was a hidden Treasure and Loved to be known, so I created the world that I might be known.” All of creation is a mirror to reflect God (this is why you must polish the rust from your heart, for the human heart can manifest all the names and qualities of God). In the Islamic mystical tradition there is an affirmation of the created world even though God and creation are not the same (as is the case in Pantheism). Everything has ontology. Nothing has ontology. The Sufi metaphysicians ask us to see with two eyes. The drop is not the ocean at the same time it cannot be separated from the ocean.

7 years ago I read Reza Aslan’s God: A Human History. After sampling the platter of world religions I joked to myself, Hmmm, if I had to pick the one I vibe with most, I guess it would be Sufism (Islamic mysticism). I didn’t know anything about Sufism other than the Rumi and Hafez poetry I read as a teenager, but the way Aslan described Ibn ‘Arabi’s concept of 'wahadat al-wujud' (or Unity of Being) reminded me of Spinozism. I guess what I’m trying to say is...I just think Sufi metaphysics is...right. Or, it speaks to how I tend to think about reality. It’s not something I can prove (that I don’t exist, while at the same time I am part of the ALL that is God), but it makes the most sense to me.

In the Sufi literature class, S jokes to me: “You’re the only non-Muslim in this class.” The same was probably true at the iftar + concert. S points to someone from the class: “The Maoist is a recent convert. This is their first time fasting for Ramadan.” “Is [our professor] fasting?” “Of course. I saw him at the iftar last night and talked to him about translation. I told him it’s ghastly to try to fit Persian verse into an English rhyme scheme. He agreed with me.” (We are clearly partisans of blank verse translations… yet so much of what’s out there has been poorly translated or not translated at all.) 

Much of the lyrics sung with the gorgeous music were verses written by the great Turkish-language Sufi poet and mystic Yunus Emre ("the Dante of Turkey," I whispered to S). S was ecstatic listening to the haunting ney (a kind of flute). We just so happened to be sitting in the same row as the professor. I tapped S and whispered that it looked like he was really enjoying the music. He was smiling with his eyes closed and swaying his head from side to side. He looked like he was having...a profound experience. This prof usually has what I guess you’d call ‘resting bitch face’ (which I always found funny because it runs counter to his sweet and gentle personality). But not at the concert. Pure bliss was painted on his face. It was then that it dawned on me that Sufism, for him, was probably something more than a scholarly interest. I thought about what it must have been like to discover something so beautiful and profound, and to know, in that moment, that your life will be changed forever—you might go off to Iran and devote your entire life to studying medieval texts. 

Of course this Ramadan I am thinking continuously about the genocide in Gaza, how an entire population is being starved to death by the sadistic leaders of Israel, how terrible it must be to be bombed and shot at during the holy month, or to break your fast with boiled grass and animal feed. I feel truly ashamed to come from a country that is complicit in this violence. I hope everyone continues to apply pressure to end this war—it feels hopeless now, but it is making a difference.

[ann-atar]

12, 19, and 30 for the rop ask game!

Thanks for the ask @flameunquenched!

What colour do you associate with your favourite character?

I’m going to pick Celebrimbor for this one because he was/is definitely a favorite this season, and the color I associate with him is green, a dark vibrant green or a lighter green, like all of the variations of holly leaves. In fact if you look at some holly leaves, the interior is a dark green but the edges are a bright light green, and those colors appeared in the details of some of Celebrimbor’s green robes in the first and second seasons. It’s less to do with nature though and more to do with the creative spark essential to the life of the artist.

Which characters who haven't shared screen time yet would you most like to meet one another?

I really want Disa and Galadriel to meet and to talk, at length, about what’s going on in Middle-earth, and about their own experiences too, and those conversations will hopefully focus on much more than their experiences with the male leads. I just want them to meet and appreciate each other in some way, even if they are wary of each other at first.

Choose three characters (not necessarily your favourite ones). Say three positive things about each of them.

Tar-Míriel: She’s humble and extremely brave. She understands the burden and duty of a ruler more than any of the rulers of realms and peoples we’ve seen so far (close second is Durin II). When circumstances and individuals try to rob her of agency she manages to retain it and continue to choose her path rather than have it chosen for her.

Durin III. He absolutely loves his family and his people. Even though he could have been less stubborn about communicating his reasoning when (Prince) Durin wanted to make different choices, his instincts were good from the start. He came back to himself in the end and died (mostly) on his own terms.

Sauron/Annatar. He’s the character I love to hate, and he’s ingenious and has a deep understanding of what motivates others. He’s a source of inspiration for others, and a good collaborator (heh). He uses individuals cruelly, but so far we’ve seen that, despite his self-serving and violent intentions, he can bring out the best in the people he uses: Galadriel found her purpose and her place again, Celebrimbor was able to see past the illusions and find an amazing inner strength and purpose in the end, and even Adar was motivated, in his own way, by love for his children after he thought he vanquished Sauron.

Third thing? Sauron has impeccable Fana-sense: he knows just want body to wear to get the effect he wants. ;)

[bean-market-art]

pov your name is rhya and you're getting clowned on by reve's weird kids

[spopsalt]

Spop fans: " omg, your so obssesed with hating catradora! "

me: says the person who is also obssesed with an incest abused ship and at least us anti C//A shippers don't support abuse irl

Spop fana, when they see a glimmadora fanart or when they see a valid opinion about hating C//A: " always the glimmer stans "

me: oh sorry, i didn't know having a valid opinion was forbiden in spop fandom also if you don't wan't to see glimmadora fanarts maybe block the tag so you cannot see it

srs friend, spop and C//A are the most childish fandom i ever seen, like they critic us for having valid reasons to dislike the ship but they always act rude and mean toward us anti C//A comunity just for hating c//a ?? i mean did they now the word " respect " or "opinion " ?? but well looks like for them shipping sister and abuse is their whole world for them but well here are the questions: do you wish the fandom would be less childish and that learns about respecting opinion ? what do you think when a C//A make comments like " always the glimmer stans " or " C//A on the top " in a glimmadora fanart or edit ? also do you wish there would be more anti C//A shippers ?

Yeah, the stans are really childish. One of them blew up at me because I used one of their few seconds gifs, and like I expected, they went straight to insulting me. They could've ignored the post or calmly asked me to remove the gif, but nope! They complain about seeing our posts like they can't just block the tags. They also called us obsessed for hating a show that ended years ago....but people hate twilight and 50 shades of grey, and that ended years ago? Make it make sense.

[lamemaster]

A Conspiring Universe (Curufin x Reader)

Pairing: Curufin x Reader

Genre: Lovers to enemies (hehe)

Summary: Such was the unfortunate tale of your meeting with Curufin. A fate orchestrated by the entire universe.

AN: Idk Curufin just came and demanded this so here it is. Another story for the underrated character event. @doodle-pops

"Your father destroyed lives, he does not get my respect," your words reverberate through the serene room, a stark contrast to the tranquility that hangs in the air. The faint scent of ripe oranges and sugar from your marmalade fills the space, a bittersweet reminder of domesticity amidst the impending storm.

In the golden light of the Sun, you see him for the first time. The last time you laid eyes on him, the Sun and the Moon had yet to grace the world. "You never even gave us... my family a chance. Always on your high horse. Always preaching whatever your parents told you about," Curufin remains unchanged. Despite the passage of time, the regrowth of his fana has not tamed his fervor, nor dimmed the fire that has long defined him.

This is how you greet your husband after eons of separation. Your veins pulse with adrenaline, your heart pounds like a drumbeat of fury. "You and your wretched family took away everything from me," your accusatory finger jabs the air, finding its mark on Curufin's conscience.

"You took away my son, his happiness; you trampled upon his heart," your steps carry you closer to him, until your breaths mingle, noses almost touching. "And in doing so, you took my everything," you refuse to let your tears fall. Not today. Not in front of him. He does not deserve them. Not after the last time you had begged him with the same tears. You had pleaded for your son.

"I wish I hadn't met you," the words slip out, unhindered by any interruption. So you continue, your voice like a river finally allowed to flow freely. "I wish you had perished at Alqualondë, or I wish you had ended my life before you departed Tirion," a tremor runs through you, but you steel yourself against it. After all these years, after carrying the weight of a bond you never asked for, it all crumbles like a dam breached under pressure. "I wish... I... I had died."

"Please," his voice is a whisper, a fragile sound that blends into the walls around you, almost lost in the echoes.

"Every single day of your exile, I yearned for death. To depart this world. To journey beyond even Miriel's reach, and to leave you. To abandon you as you abandoned me," your voice wavers, your knees threaten to give way, and the tears stream down. At that moment, the arms that wrap around you. 

You do not allow him to embrace you completely. You shrug off his arms even as the world blurs. “Curufinwe I hate you,” your voice is a whisper but you know he hears it. “I hate you so much.” Tears not belonging to you, stings the skin of your hands. Tremors foreign to your body rock your shoulders.

Curufinwe, like his father, fell in love with the most unexpected person. None in Aman had expected such to occur, yet, it had. Just like none had expected Feanor to marry unremarkable Nerdanel. They hadn’t expected for his son, his shadow, Curufin to wed the daughter of a priest.

But love comes where it is destined. And it stays there like an unwelcome tenant. It came for Curfin and you. 

Your upbringing immersed you in tales of the Valar and their valor, bound by reverence and tradition. Curufin, however, was raised in a household that reveled in defiance, a family that dared to question the authority of those who claimed dominion over Arda. Neither Feanor nor your parents had assented easily. But that too had come to pass.

Or else what could have been the chances of Curufin getting a sudden impulse to stroll, a mere few hours after he had delved into his father's smithy, a place he could stay in for days without respite. Why did he choose that exact moment for a break? And why did his steps lead him to the temple, a place his family had shunned? How was it that you, who usually worked out in the gardens of the temple was the one singing the hymn that morning? What had led you to sing like that, that particular day?

It was as if the entire universe had conspired to blend your path to him. On a pleasant sunny day, when the flowers bloomed bearing all the colors of the rainbow, and the air thrummed with the subtle fragrance of incense, you met Curufin. 

It had happened in a fraction of a second. Your eyes met his and it was undeniable. In a hall full of people your singing faltered at his sight. Notes forgotten and worship discarded. Curufin on the other hand did not pause. He moved towards you uncaring of the eyes on him. 

Such was the unfortunate tale of your meeting with Curufin. A fate orchestrated by the entire universe.

[kcuf-ad]

What are your black clover ships?

Cracks knuckles Oh boy, you have no idea what you just asked me, my good ol' friend, because this is going to be a long post (I hope)

Let's go: Asta X Noelle: What can I say, I love me some good Main Girl x Protagonist, and the fact that Asta encourages Noelle so much that she has gotten stronger because of how supportive he was and that he was the first person to not berate her in any way and even said that her magic was amazing.

Yami X Charlotte: The best Hetero ship of all time in anime as it 1. Doesn't make the female's only trait that she is in love with someone, rather a part of her character. 2. Make the guy respect her and even treats her differently that is noticable, but cute. 3. He basically saved her from despair at her lowest and even changed her life style, a bit.

Fana X Mars: Always love me some childhood friends to lovers trope, and this is a great one, as it is one of the cutest ships of all time and the way he just wanted to save her while she was in agony was chef's kiss

Finral X Vanessa: A guy that always flirts with girls and a girl that is extremely flirty with people that both have issues about their strength and that fact that by the end of one arc, they both became more confindent as they were extremely useful to our Protag and seem to be closer than the others? SIGN ME UP! Not to mention this works both platonically and romantically.

Lolopechka X Gaja: That man risked his entire life to save the woman he loves, and the best part? HE CONFESSED TO HER! That's right, a Shonen made a character confess to the other.

Fanzell X Domina: I just love this because of how confident this man was to find his fiance, and to seem that both of them are happy with each other is always great to see.

Magna x Midori: This is an OC x Canon one as she will be in my Star Magic: Yuno fic, but in short: It is basically a Nerd dating a Jock (A nice and friendly jock)

Nacht X Ichika: In short for no spoilers, they both hate Yami, their Magic is similiar and they would get along as they have a lot of things in common.

Mereoleona X Yosuga: Again, for no spoilers, basically a tough guy in love with a woman that could kick his ass.

Yuno X Charmy: Now, I actually don't mind some Yuno ships as long as it isn't Asta, like with Mimosa, but I love this ship as I find the most adorable and the most interesting, as she never seems to be annoying to Yuno and he always accepts her food without a question as I always think that is adorable, not to mention her crush on him is really cute.

[furious-haste-of-malice]

We’ve already discussed this in the DMs but here’s an official prompt/request: Manwe forcibly feminizing Melkor and messing with his fana to give him a “purer form”

Go wild.

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒆𝒅

"So you even admit that you would deceive me!" Manwë exclaimed, yanking the comb out of his brother's matted hair. "Not only have you denied me your love for ages out of cruelty and misplaced revenge, but you also insist on attempting to poison our memories! Why, brother? Have I not loved you enough?" 

"Not enough, yet at the same time too much," Melkor sighed. At least if he meant all the things he said to me and wasn't just pretending to please Father.

⊱ Characters: Melkor, Manwë ⊱ Pairing(s): Melkor x Manwë ⊱ Synopsis: Even after ages of Melkor rejecting their bond, Manwë is determined to love him and create the relationship he always dreamed of - by force, if necessary. ⊱ Featuring: Hair brushing, "bonding", sibling "love", ⊱ Warnings: Smut, non-con, sibling incest, forcibly feminized fána/non-consensual body modification, obsession Oneshot (~4.1k) Also available on AO3

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: Apologies for taking so long, but I went all out to make up for it. Let's go.

"Do you see how beautiful you are?" Manwë's voice vibrated with excitement and his hands rested on his brother's shoulders as if to embrace him from behind. 

Melkor stared at his reflection in the mirror, frozen in disbelief. What he saw resembled the form he had assumed so long ago, but it was not quite how he remembered it. His skin, formerly icy and ashen like the lands he used to dwell in, was smoother now, with a warmer, creamy complexion; his hair had grown throughout his captivity, its tips now reaching down to his heels; his shoulders were smaller and his limbs daintier, a good amount of muscle mass seemingly lost to time; yet what caused him the most discomfort was the soft roundness of his chest and thighs, reshaping his silhouette into one distinctly feminine. 

It was, admittedly, not the first time Melkor had seen himself thus. In his youth he had changed fánar as easy as breathing, experimenting with great delight and curiosity until any given form had reflected his current mood and need, yet this one he didn't recall choosing for himself, neither in the past nor through any recent efforts. 

The only thing he remembered was sleeping in his brother's bed while Manwë sang to him and stroked his hair, healing him as he had claimed. Neither did he have any memory of putting on the frilly blue nightgown he was currently wearing, its thin, sheer fabric leaving little to the imagination. 

Melkor frowned. "Did you change me?" 

"Changed you?" Manwë, seemingly oblivious to his brother's discomfort, was smiling. "I fixed and improved you, so you may be beautiful again like you were in the beginning, when we were one." 

"This is not the form I chose for myself," Melkor insisted. "What have you done to me?!" 

"Now that is no way to thank me," Manwë chastised gently. "You are now whole in body and soon you will be whole in spirit as well." 

It was only when Melkor pressed his lips together that he noticed how soft and plump they had become. 

"What. Have. You. Done. To. Me?" he repeated, hissing through gritted teeth. "Why wasn't it enough to heal me? Why do you need me to be "beautiful"? I am your brother, not your wife!" 

Manwë's talons gripped his shoulders harder, leaving red marks on his skin. 

"You were my beautiful, wonderful, flawless, perfect brother," he whispered with such fervent insistence that Melkor flinched away from the sound of his voice. "Do you not know how much I missed you? How much my heart was aching for you? I need you to be like that again. I need my brother."

"I don't know what you remember, but I was never like this," Melkor said coldly. 

"You lie to me just as you lied to yourself, twisting your own memories to convince yourself that you hate Father and I – but no more." 

Manwë finally let go of his shoulders, one hand trailing down his arm almost tenderly to take his hand.

"Come. Let me take care of you." 

"What if I don't want you to take care of me? I don't remember asking." 

"Of course you want to." All stubbornness and urgency had vanished from Manwë's expression and he smiled at his brother with his usual serene, wide-eyed innocence. "I know you were lonely out there and missed having someone to care for you."

"I had others." 

Melkor's instincts were screaming at him that arguing about this might once again bring out whatever strange behaviour he sibling had exhibited earlier, yet he couldn't help himself; his pride and curiosity alike had always been too strong for his own good. 

And indeed, his statement caused Manwë's soft, cloud-like brows to furrow like a storm forming on the horizon and blue fire lit up within his gaze. "You didn't have me." 

With that, he pulled his brother over to the bed and made him sit down, positioning himself behind him again so he could see the mirror. A lazy wave of his hand summoned a small gust of wind to fling a hairbrush and a comb directly into his grasp, and Melkor groaned in annoyance as he realised what Manwë intended to do. 

"Leave my hair alone." 

"No, brother. I need to take care of it." 

Thrice defied, perhaps even more. Melkor couldn't remember any other instance of his brother being this stubborn; in the past he had usually folded rather quickly, acquiesced just to appease and placate him, or had required the intervention of other Valar to argue on his behalf. Yet whatever this charade was, Manwë was determined to see it through, and the thought was more unsettling than he wanted to admit. 

Had he underestimated him after all? 

Melkor watched in the mirror as Manwë began to untangle the knots in his hair with the comb, starting at the tips and slowly but steadily working his way to the roots. His hair was, and had always been difficult, like it had a will of its own. Not even Mairon had managed to constrain it enough for even a simple braid, and many brushes, combs and hair ties had been destroyed over the ages. 

Now, however, Melkor's hair had lost its life and lustre, limply hanging in Manwë's grasp and enduring the vigorous combing in silent defeat. Whether it would recover or not he couldn't tell, and he wondered if he should attempt to cut it once he had the chance; though the chances of him getting his hands on any sort of blade or other sharp object appeared rather slim. 

Maybe if I break the mirror – 

"You always had such beautiful hair," Manwë's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Pitch black as if to trap all light, but when it shone upon its strands, it shimmered in many colours. I loved looking at it and playing with it." 

Melkor squinted at their mirror image, contemplating his words for a moment. Despite his earlier insistence on the accuracy of his recollection, he now searched his memories for anything close to what Manwë was describing. 

"You never played with my hair," he said finally. "I never played with you at all after Father made you. You wanted to, but I didn't." 

Manwë shook his head vigorously. "You always act like we were never close or had any relationship at all, but it is not true. We were brothers in Father's mind, and he made us as such." 

"Father can think so all he wants, yet it doesn't change that I didn't want any of it and remember full well what I did and didn't allow you to do," Melkor countered. 

In his ire, he flashed his brother's mirror image a cruel smirk and added, "Maybe you confuse me with Varda, Ulmo and the others that Father made just so someone would keep you company. Maybe you wanted to play with my hair, but I didn't let you and you got upset. If you're trying your hand at deception, Manwë, maybe don't try your luck with one who mastered it long before you." 

"So you even admit that you would deceive me!" Manwë exclaimed, yanking the comb out of his brother's matted hair. "Not only have you denied me your love for ages out of cruelty and misplaced revenge, but you also insist on attempting to poison our memories! Why, brother? Have I not loved you enough?" 

"Not enough, yet at the same time too much," Melkor sighed. At least if he meant all the things he said to me and wasn't just pretending to please Father. 

He had always assumed that it was all a lie and performance. Perhaps it made things easier for him to push his brother away and sever the bond before it could be fully formed; most certainly it made them simpler. Disown the impostor, despise the false king. Yet now it occurred to Melkor that there was one factor he had miscalculated, one aspect he had underestimated: Manwë's determination to reform their bond and receive the love from him that he had always wanted. 

No. Saved from the Void or not, Melkor still felt betrayed. He was not going to give it to him, he was going to deny him until the bitter end. 

Warm breath tickled his neck, and he felt Manwë's forehead resting against the back of his head. The comb lay discarded on the floor. 

"I will make it up to you. I will love you enough," his voice whispered in his ear. 

Melkor remained silent, waiting for the moment to pass. 

The very air inside the room seemed to stand still until Manwë sighed and picked up the brush to continue his work. Even as his hair was thoroughly groomed, it didn't regain its usual shine, instead remaining a dull, charcoal black as if it had been burned. Again, Melkor contemplated telling his brother not to bother and let him cut it, yet he knew he wasn't going to listen; not today, not anymore.

"Would you like something in your hair? I heard you like diamonds," Manwë asked with a sweet smile, putting down the brush to admire his work. 

He did indeed, though it seemed too good to be true. Wordlessly, Melkor shook his head. 

"Do you want me to braid it then?" 

"I never wear braids. Leave it." 

"Very well." Manwë nodded, his mien betraying nothing even as Melkor eyed him closely in the mirror. Yet another thing his so-called brother didn't know about him. 

You will never know me like Mairon does, he wanted to say, to hurl the cruellest insult he could think of at the Vala whose affection he had refused and despised his entire life. 

But he was no fool. If Melkor hadn't managed to break their sibling bond after ages of trying, what could he do or say now that he hadn't done or said already? 

The sickeningly sweet scent of roses assaulted his nostrils when Manwë pulled a flask out of his robes, poured a small amount of watery liquid on his hand and began to rub it into every inch of bare skin he could reach, most notably his neck and chest area.

Melkor let out a warning snarl. "Stop that!" 

"Don't you want to smell nice?" 

"I smell like myself, and that will have to be enough." 

"No." Manwë began to draw tender circles on his cheeks. "You smell like... evil. Like all the dark things you have seen out there. I cannot bear it."

"My hröa is not yours to mess with! I have to live in it, not you!" 

Once again Melkor's protest was ignored. 

"You used to smell like home," Manwë sighed, resting his head on his brother's shoulder and inhaling the offending flowery scent. 

"I... cannot fathom where you even got this idea." 

Melkor was upset. Bit by bit his chosen shape and attributes were altered and stripped from him against his will, just to fit some twisted vision born from Manwë's desire to be close to him. The way his brother described it was also strangely intimate, as if he had created an elaborate fantasy of their relationship and interactions in his mind. 

Worry crept up on him. Perhaps the damage done to his sanity was greater than he had ever known. 

Manwë wrapped his arms around him from behind and smiled at him in the mirror. "Do you like it? Are you happy that you are beautiful again?" 

"You know we always had a different understanding of beauty," Melkor said coldly. "You made me ugly." 

"You simply need to get used to it, then you will see. Though, maybe you need me to show you just how pretty you are?" 

The grip around his waist tightened, and Melkor's eyes widened in disbelief when he saw Manwë's reflection turning his head to kiss his cheek. His hröa began to feel numb from shock, so much so that he barely registered the sensation of lips upon skin. 

"Never kiss me again," he warned.

"But why? You are my brother, and I love you." 

"Do not. I mean it."

"No... you don't." 

Before Melkor could squirm out of his brother's grasp, his head was suddenly tilted backwards, and Manwë kissed him on the lips. It was, to his horror, neither a symbolic gesture nor a cheeky little peck, it was a long, passionate and deep kiss, brimming with enthusiasm and, worse yet, desire. He pressed his lips together to deny entry to his mouth and attempted to push the younger Vala away, but his current form lacked the strength to do so. 

With surprising dexterity, Manwë manoeuvred him into a lying position and climbed on top of him, shamelessly pressing their bodies together. 

"What in Eru's name are you doing?" Melkor hissed between kisses. 

"Loving you." 

"Manwë, I am your brother! Go find your wife –" 

He was silenced with another kiss. 

Good for nothing as usual, both of them, Melkor raged inwardly, the only thing he could do to process his shock and disgust. 

When Manwë withdrew from him, a small string of saliva hung in the air between them, binding them like a thread of fate. 

"Don't even try to pretend that you weren't thinking of me when you brought Túrin and Niënor together," he breathed, his eyes glowing with a fey light. 

"You do realise that didn't exactly end well for them?" Melkor countered. 

"Yes, but we are not mortal. The love between Ainur has always been free from such burdens." 

"You are sick." 

But Manwë wasn't listening. He appeared to be mesmerised by Melkor's angrily heaving chest and began rubbing his swollen pectorals, causing his nipples to harden. 

"Stop that!" 

"Are you afraid of enjoying this?" Manwë's expression was entirely too calm, too serene, too loving. "Do you want to keep lying to yourself?" 

"I don't –" Melkor was interrupted by a sharp gasp as his nipples were cruelly pinched by merciless talons, nearly puncturing the thin fabric of his nightgown – reminding him how easily it could be torn to shreds and leave him defenceless. He shivered. 

"Ssshhht. Let me love you." 

Manwë was almost pleading upon seeing the Dark Vala struggle against him; unfortunately it was but a farce, another attempt at acting like the sweet and lovable little brother he had always wanted to be. He continued toying with the newly discovered delights of Melkor's altered shape, rubbing, tugging, pinching and rolling his swollen nipples between his thumb and index finger. 

"You know, I did always wonder how it would feel to touch you," he breathed, utterly engrossed in the illicit touches he was bestowing upon his squirming and struggling sibling. 

"So at least you admit I never let you do this," Melkor snapped, trying to slap his hands away. 

Manwë managed to seize both of his wrists in one hand, courtesy of his long, curved talons, and held him down while his other hand began to pull up the skirt of his nightgown. 

"I wondered if you would like it," he continued, ignoring Melkor's attempts to argue. "Whenever I imagined myself touching you, it was just like this... you would try to brush me off, ridicule me, lie to me, curse me, fight me... yet in the end you would enjoy it because you yearn to be loved."

Determined, Manwë pulled the nightgown over his head, leaving his brother naked in front of him. Melkor glanced down at his body, dread filling him as he beheld those softly rounded curves, reddened, hardened nipples and his cock stirring between his legs. 

"You want this," Manwë whispered, eyes darkening with desire, "you want me too." 

"No. No. Give me my clothes back." Melkor tried to press his legs together, turn to the side to hide as much of himself as he could, free his hands to grab the blanket. Anything to escape the hungry gaze of blue eyes so much like his own. 

"Don't make me bind you with Angainor again," Manwë pleaded. "Let us enjoy this together!" 

"Never!" 

The feeling of metal encasing his wrists was familiar at this point, and Melkor contented himself with vicious warning snarls and fruitless kicking and struggling while he was restrained and his hands bound to the headboard. Manwë made sure his head was comfortably resting on a pillow, skillfully evading his attempts to bite him, and made gentle cooing noises to calm him. 

"Are you going to scream?" he asked, calm as if it was a normal and trivial question. 

"If you keep touching me? Yes. And I hope your wife hears me," Melkor said venomously. 

Manwë sighed. "I truly wish you didn't make me do this, but at least you are being honest about your intentions. I shall take it as a sign of improvement." 

Melkor's eyes widened when he felt all air leave his lungs. He tried in vain to inhale, gasping soundlessly as breath continued to elude him, and Manwë leaned down to kiss his quivering lips. 

"Worry not. Your current form does not depend on my element, it is but a reflex. I will let you breathe again as soon as you stop using your words to hurt me." 

With cruelty once thought impossible for him to conceive, he left Melkor silenced, breathless and helplessly twitching in his bonds and forcibly spread his legs to devote his attention to the most intimate part of his anatomy, intrigued by the mystery he had uncovered after ages of innocent curiosity turned depraved desire. He took his brother's cock in hand like he would take up his sapphire sceptre, examining and admiring it before beginning to stroke. His fingers were more than long enough to wrap around it completely, yet his hand – white like clouds and too dainty for war, having held quills rather than swords – seemed out of place, ill-fit for such an act of dominance and lust. 

Melkor tried not to feel, to ignore the sensation of being touched and pleasured by his brother. Yet no matter how desperately his mind sought to force his body into unfeeling, uncaring submission, his flesh at last betrayed him. Delight and fascination lit up Manwë's usually serene mien upon seeing his arousal, and he closed his eyes, unable to witness the continuous violation of the form he was trapped in. Perhaps his spirit at least could escape to a better place, pretending that it was but a bad dream or imagining someone else in his brother's place. 

A finger began prodding his hole with unabashed curiosity, and Melkor tensed. Talons retreated back into flesh to avoid drawing blood, but it made the touch no less unwelcome. 

"I assume your virtue has long since been lost," Manwë lamented, "and I must say that it pains me to imagine you giving yourself to another so readily while refusing me even the smallest gestures of affection." 

He was right, but Melkor wouldn't have told him so even if he'd been able to speak. Countless nights had he spent in the arms of others, most often his beloved little flame, and to Mairon alone he had granted the privilege of taking him when he was in the mood to receive the love of another. These moments had been profoundly intimate and intense, requiring ages of trust, patience and many soothing words from his partner; for he was a being of power and control, and to relinquish it was no easy feat. 

Melkor was afraid of what would be done to him, and his worst fear came true when Manwë pushed his finger inside of him – and his body wasn't resisting like it should. Neither spit nor oil had been used to ease the way, yet it entered him smoothly and with little to no pain. 

He noticed then how strangely wet his insides were, responding to the unwelcome intrusion by leaking all over his brother's hand. 

"W-what have you done to me?" he asked through ósanwë, almost pulling away instantly when he was met with exuberant joy. 

"I made you more receptive to my love," Manwë informed him. "After all, I wouldn't want you to be in pain."

Melkor bit his bottom lip. As much as he feared and hated being in pain, it might be preferable over yet another act of humiliating acquiescence perpetrated by his own body. 

He didn't see Manwë leaning down to lavish his hard, leaking cock with even more attention, only realising what was about to happen when warm breath tickled his skin and wet lips closed around his flesh. 

I'm not taking pleasure from my brother... I'm not taking pleasure from my brother... I'm not...

Yet no matter how often and desperately Melkor repeated the mantra in his head, the truth was that he was experiencing pleasure. Manwë appeared to not possess any gag reflex whatsoever, taking in his whole length like a seagull devouring its food and sucking him off with great enthusiasm; and his finger, now joined by another, had discovered a hidden pleasure spot inside of him, stimulating it with unending delight. 

"I wish I could hear you moan for me, brother." 

It was too much. It was wrong and forced and sickening, but it felt too good. Melkor attempted to suppress and delay his climax as long as he could, but was soon forced over the edge with a soundless sob. Manwë moaned around his cock while drinking his essence, not letting a single droplet escape. 

"You taste so lovely, just like I thought you would."

The sound of rustling robes caused Melkor to open his eyes in alarm, panicking when he saw Manwë hastily undressing himself. 

"I need you," he breathed. "Eru, I cannot bear to be parted from you any longer..."

"Father wouldn't approve of this," Melkor tried to protest, desperate to avoid what was about to happen, but he was ignored. 

"Don't be silly, brother," Manwë admonished, throwing his discarded robes on the floor. "Father made us to love each other and bonded us himself." 

He grasped Melkor's thighs and pushed his legs towards his chest to admire his helplessly twitching hole, then forced his cock inside. It was hard without needing to be touched, unrelenting in its pursuit of unifying their bodies, and despite the earlier preparation, it hurt. 

Had he been able to use his voice, Melkor would have screamed. This couldn't be happening. It was simply not possible. He had truly fallen so low that another Vala could force his will upon him, and worse yet, his own brother - smiling, innocent Manwë, always gentle, always agreeable, always forgiving him. Out of all his enemies, he had thoroughly deceived him, making him underestimate what he was capable of. 

And now, he was being mercilessly speared by his cock, used to fulfil a fanatic fantasy of brotherly love. 

In his despair, Melkor tore down the mental walls he had so carefully raised to protect his spirit and flooded their bond with his anguish, but Manwë didn't relent. He lay down on top of him and embraced him, whispering endearments in the ancient language of their kind to soothe his pain even as he continued his assault. 

The only grace Melkor was granted, whether by his indifferent father or not, was that it didn't take long. Manwë came inside him as soon as he forced him into another kiss, this time successfully pushing his tongue down his throat. Feverish praise and words of affection drowned out every other thought they might have shared in that moment. 

Exhaustion took hold of Melkor then, and he only realised that he was breathing again when he heard the sound of his own cries and sobs. 

"I know," Manwë cooed, kissing him again. "It was a lot. You are not used to being loved anymore. 

"N-no... you..." 

But he was out of words. What could he even say? That he had been physically altered, assaulted and raped by his brother under the guise of love? That he, despite the lack of connection and affection, still felt betrayed? That he was hurt and wounded in hröa and ëala in ways Ainur were never meant to endure? 

Manwë remained on top of him, tucking his head underneath his chin as if they were merely cuddling – as if nothing had happened. 

"I love you, brother." 

Melkor was silent. 

"I missed you so much. I am glad we are together again now." 

The walls around his spirit rose like thorny vines, shielding him from the twisted love Manwë was projecting through their bond. Evil or not, Melkor had known love throughout his existence, and this was something else entirely. 

Had pity and tears alike not escaped him, he would have wept for what his brother had become.

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March 24: Happy Birthday to a Rouge Mage formerly held from the Diamond Kingdom, childhood friend to Mars, formerly a member of the Eye of the Midnight Sun as the human host of the elf named Fana, the Black Clover character of Fana, alias “Fana the Hateful”.