#fana the hateful

[justl-12]

dont know if ill finish these, so here's the sketches

from the top its: Reve, Fana and Latri

[bean-market-art]

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

Fanamimo // Modern

@bceventshub

[bceventshub]

you wanna ship fanamimo SO BAD..........

fana and mimosa are actually really similar when fana is NOT tweaking out on the evil heart (please free her) they're both just mad chilling, and i feel like they'd really get along and also they should kiss. during the elysia training arc they definetly kissed source: me. i live in tabata's ceiling so i know.

also i think it would be cute if mimosa grew a giant flower for them to kiss in and they were in there giggling. plus. plant x fire. its like opposites but peaker and gay actually.

in conclusion: mimosa vermillion should kiss the elf.

Thank you for submitting propaganda for: Fanamimo!

To everyone: please consider supporting this wonderful ship during Femslash Month in May!

[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.

[ttrtru]

2am crack head not-suggested-to-read-at-work AU idea. Non-con tw I guess?

Mairon hates cumming.

Mairon's first time was with Eonwe, the two playing around with their newly formed fanar. Mairon have experimented with his own fana before but only when Eonwe pushed him to the edge he found out what coming was, and he did not like it. It was as if losing control of both his fana and eala completely and it disturbed him greatly. Eonwe enjoyed the sex with Mairon but was worried at how Mairon was doing afterwards and so it was a one off.

Next time was with Melkor. He didn't like the fact that he wasn't Mairon's first but didn't bother him too much in the end. Mairon this time had the knowledge that he didn't want to come and avoided getting into such situation like the plague but Melkor promptly ignored him. Luckily for Mairon, Melkor wasn't too interested in sex overall. He was an Ainur after all and they didn't need procreation. The interest was from curiosity only.

It became hell to Mairon when Melkor came back paranoid and crazy, in a Morgoth state. To get away from the pain of the jewels Morgoth was much more engaging in carnal pleasure and sadism. Mairon could withstand torture but forced pleasure greatly scarred him.

As the First Age ended, Mairon has become fully traumatised with engaging in sex. He's ok with blowjobs where he himself is clothed and out of reach but he didn't want to be the target.

Second Age arrives and Mairon meets Celebrimbor as Annatar. They get together and the relationship becomes close but Celebrimbor sees that Annatar clearly has problems and doesn't push his boundaries coz he's noice.(although there can be some version where Celebrimbor doesn't give a shit and be an ass hole, fucks Annatar relentlessly, this is crack after all, ooc is the norm)

Now that Celebrimbor is skewered like teriyaki its Pharazon, Mairon is back with a crazy boss. He finds out what Mairon hates the most very quickly and finds the idea of him not liking to come entertaining. When there is a flash of fear in a powerful maia's eyes Pharazon loves it. Mairon was very happy when Numenor sank, even if it meant losing his body once.

By the end of the Second Age Mairon is in a high enough stable position that no one would take advantage of him. Murazor looks like he wants to engage with him in something but Mairon just punches him in the face.

But stability doesn't last long and Mairon loses his body again and also his ring. Third Age starts with his body unstable and is made to retreat in hiding. There's some moment where he feels weaker than Murazor but he puts on enough mask on him to stay strong until recovery.(or Murazor can over power him and do some stuff. He gets sent to Angmar coz he was uncontrollable when too close. )

After recovering for a thousand years he's happy enough that there's no one looming over him to harm him …but oh no the ring melted, he's now the most weakest being in existence.

Eonwe comes over to pick up the mairon-o'-wisp and now he's under the eternal turmoil of Manwe. Manwe's happy to make Mairon come, of course he likes it what are you talking about. The End.

[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!

[just-an-elf-with-the-socks]

I just fucked myself up by thinking about Mórul as an adult in a universe where Melkor spends those three ages captured and eventually comes back seriously hurt with the Silmarils.

Mórul doesn’t blame him for the first part. He knows better than to think his Ada would abandon them unless he absolutely had to. It’s what comes next that becomes a problem.

Melkor is treating Mairon like shit from the minute he gets home and the only reason Mórul doesn’t see it at first is because he’s busy fighting his own battles in the north. Also because Mairon is determined to hide it from him (Mórul may be grown but he’ll always be Mairon’s baby).

But Mórul figures it out after he has to go and search for his father in a den of wolves and finds his throat torn out with his fana nearly destroyed. When they get back Melkor doesn’t bother to visit Mairon in the infirmary, he doesn’t insist on having him recover in the privacy of their bedroom (neither of them have been sleeping in it). He doesn’t even ask if he’s alive.

Now, Mórul loves both of his parents equally and each in their own way. But he’s particularly protective of Mairon. There’s a special bond they share that came with the fact that Mairon carried Mórul for so long, spent two full days bringing him into the world, and nursed him nearly twenty four seven.

Once he starts to realize how bad things have been for Mairon and how this all could have been avoided if Melkor cared, he decides straight up that he hates Melkor. It’s a very extreme decision to make so quickly and Mairon desperately tries to talk him down, but he has both of his fathers personalities and that’s not exactly possible.

Mórul screams at him and when Melkor has no reaction other than to just stare at the Silmarils, he leaves for his post and lets Melkor know that if he ever comes back, it will be for Mairon and Mairon alone.

In a happier world, Gothmog gets to slap the shit out of Melkor (something he greatly enjoyed) and makes him realize that his husband was dying and his son had left, possibly for good. In a heartbreaking world, Melkor never sees Mórul again before he’s sent to the Void,and Mórul himself dies for the cause Mairon is struggling to keep going after all this time.

[bean-market-art]

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

[hailturinturambar]

Punishment of Lovers.

Pairing: Melkor/Morgoth x Nienna

Word count: 5.641

Author's Notes: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes or confusion. Requests are open, check the information before requesting. In the books, Melkor remained alone until his great defeat. But I always wondered, given Melkor's temperament, how he would react if he felt he was threatened and that someone wanted what was his. Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough. I wrote this story to the sound of I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace. It's so Melkor and Nienna it leaves me breathless.

Warnings: Deep anguish. Violence. Toxic relationship. Power imbalance. Manipulation.

Summary: After sending Nienna away from Angband, Melkor is forced to face the ghosts that remain in the fortress and accept the departure of his wife, the only one who still believed in him. Meanwhile, Nienna returns to Valinor and the grace of the Valar. But not even the Land of the Valar can heal Nienna's wounds and new obstacles arise in the lovers' path.

PART V -> SERIES MASTERLIST

When the Powers sang the Great Song, Varda, who was to be Queen of the Valar in Arda, sensed the evil in Melkor's mind, and despised him. Melkor feared Varda, and loathed her, above all others. For Varda was light. Pure and delicate light. And Melkor could not control light, much less touch purity.

While Melkor sowed discord with his Music, and fought for the sovereignty of Arda, Varda sang beside Manwë and supported him. But Melkor was furious, for he wanted more. He felt he deserved more. But Eru looked kindly but firmly upon him, and he knew better. In that moment, Melkor learned to despise the harmony and love among the Valar.

Ages passed, and Melkor still did not truly understand what that love was, the kind of affection that is born and flourishes in harmony. For beneath the darkness of Middle-earth, hidden by the shadows of Angband, Melkor bade his wife depart. And she departed, silently, mournfully. Never to return.

Never to feel Melkor's arms around her again. And Melkor suffered. Nienna regretted Melkor's words, his coldness. The spite he had poured on her, as if she were worse than anyone else. And perhaps she really was worse to Melkor. Because above all else, she loved him.

Nienna could still feel his touch crawling against her skin, like a shadow, like a serpent devouring her existence until it was sated. She, too, could feel his longing, the pain that burned in his rotten heart. For they had been born of Ilúvatar’s thought, and their spirits were alike. Their souls were made of the same pain and cruelty. The same lack.

Nienna's Fana cried out for Melkor, for his touch. For the love that deep down, she had believed he felt for her, even if it was rotten and dark. And Nienna suffered with all her longing, because she could not have that love. Melkor had cast Nienna out of his kingdom. The Void flooded her chest. Nienna's heart that still beat for Melkor.

In Valinor, the Golden Lands, they no longer shone for Nienna. She had glimpsed true love, true desire. All that remained was the endless void. The shadow of Melkor on her breast, where he had once been.

Nienna wept cold tears for Melkor. She would weep for him until he ceased to exist. Until she could exist no more, or he could exist no more. She would weep for him even when the Valar waged war against him and Arda grew dark and stormy without Melkor's essence.

Grief, yes, was what Nienna felt. The sense of loss so common to Elves and Men who had encountered Melkor's shadow, of his endless malice. And the Valar did not come to Nienna when she returned to Valinor. In their grief, they left her to heal her own wounds. In the lands of Valinor, Melkor's Shadow did not seek her, no longer. The loss hurt her deeply.

In the Halls of Nienna, she stood alone, watching the sea rage, uncontrollable, like Melkor. How could she forget him? Her existence was destined to remain trapped with him until the End of Days. Until Eru sang a new Song.

Of all Melkor's cruelties, that had been the worst. Melkor had not deceived, tortured Nienna's heart because she was his enemy. No. He had destroyed her heart because he was afraid of that feeling, afraid of her influence over him. His malice had wounded his wife, and he had not shed a tear of sorrow. Of repentance.

He had devoured her existence, Nienna thought. She knew the secrets of his heart, and he knew hers. The same shadows lived in them. And Nienna, the Lady of All Forgiveness and Pity, longed for the Great Enemy's forgiveness. Because she, and she alone of all the Valar, still fought for him.

Nienna's cry of grief rose from her Halls, reverberating throughout Arda. And Melkor, alone in his Tower, in his fortress of death and ruin, heard his wife's desolate cry. Her wailing haunted him. Her suffering horrified Melkor.

And for the first time in all of Melkor's long existence, he suffered. Because Melkor believed that Nienna loved him. She had no right to forsake him. Should not her love for him be more than for the Valar? She was his wife, his mate for all eternity. Melkor wished that she would choose him, and him alone.

Her devotion, her pity, existed for him, was fueled by his cruelty. To Melkor, they were joined not in flesh, but under flesh. Bound by blood, eternally. Neither the Valar, nor the Void nor Death, could separate their spirits.

“Damn her!” Melkor roared in his dungeons, surveying his prisoners. “May she drown in pain and torment.”

The Elves cowered in amazement, fearing that they would fall victim to Melkor's wrath. He groaned in fury, pounding the dungeon walls, his mighty strength as a Valar shaking the foundations of Angband. Melkor hated Nienna, he was sure of it. Above all, he hungered for her, a consuming hunger. For the Valar, he despised her.

“I care not for her tears,” He roared vehemently. “Let her weep for me. For us. Why should I, the Most Powerful of the Valar, care for her suffering, when she makes me suffer?”

With his tearing pain, Melkor thought of Nienna's end. How satisfying it would be for her to be no more in Arda. For him to no longer desire her company, her pure touch. She must cease to exist, he thought. Only then would he be free of the warmth in his chest when he thought of her tears. Of her kindness.

It was madness, yes, what he was experiencing in Nienna’s absence. In the dark of Angband, surrounded by darkness and malice and evil, listening to the desperate cries of the Elves, Melkor smiled. He would take everything from Nienna, he thought. Everything she held dear, everything she loved.

He would burn Middle-earth, Arda, even Valinor if need be. He would let his fury, his pain, burn beneath them all, against them all. Until there was no shelter, no refuge in Eä for her, except in his arms.

Nienna did not know the extent of Melkor's anger at her departure. The extent of his obsession with her. Because alone in Valinor, she had closed her heart to him, so that he would not be able to reach her with his shadow.

He had indeed gone mad at Nienna’s distance. The attacks in Middle-earth were worse, more brutal. Melkor, some of his own servants said, had gone mad. Alone in the abyss that was Angband, Melkor wished Nienna would return and fight him. To betray him, to hate him. So long as he did not have to live without her. But Nienna would not listen to Melkor’s pleas.

Olórin was there when Nienna returned. And he pitied her, and grieved for her, and with her. But Olórin had suspected that Melkor would harm Nienna, ever since the first appearance of his Shadow in Valinor. Melkor's love was like a plague, Olórin thought, that destroyed all life in its path.

But Nienna did not speak of Melkor, yet all could see his mark upon her, carved into her heart like the foundations of Arda. Nienna feared the Valar's reaction. They did not blame her, she knew, but would they trust her even after she had joined Melkor of her own free will?

Manwë, worried about Nienna, asked his beloved wife and queen, Varda, to search for Nienna. So that she would not fall into her sorrow, so that she would not think she had been rejected by the other Valar. So that she would not follow the path of darkness as Melkor had.

Varda, carrying the brightness of the Stars in her essence, came to Nienna. In the Halls of Nienna, Varda was surprised. Because even far away, even in Middle-earth, she could feel the influence of Melkor there, ingrained in everything that represented Nienna's melancholy.

Majestic and fair as a true queen, Varda held out her hand delicately to Nienna. While Varda shone like the starry sky at night, Nienna resembled the Queen of the Darkness of Middle-earth. She caressed Nienna's hand, while removing her veil with the other.

“Nienna.” She said with deep regret. “Worried, deeply, we all were.”

“I must ask your forgiveness, My Queen.” Nienna murmured, embarrassed, as tears streamed down her face.

“Manwë has heard your prayers,” She said kindly. “He does not blame you for Melkor’s cruel deeds.

Sighing, Nienna closed her eyes. Yes, they did not blame her. She had expected it, but the guilt she felt was different, stronger, darker. Because in Angband, they called her the Queen of Arda, and she was not.

“Martyr, I am, for choosing this path.” Nienna said.

Kindly, Varda smiled in denial. She raised her hands to Nienna's sad face and caressed it. Varda, as Queen of Arda, knew the minds and hearts of Elves and Men, as well as the Valar. And she saw no evil in Nienna and forgave her.

“It is dark, the path to love,” She whispered. “Tortuous, too. But Eru knows the end of it long before any of us.”

In Nienna's eyes, Varda saw true repentance. Like Manwë, she cared for Nienna's soul, that she might remain pure. Benevolent, like the other Valar. But unlike Varda, Manwë appreciated Nienna's choice to join Melkor.

Deep in the heart of Manwë, King of the Valar, he believed that Nienna, and only she, could save Melkor's spirit, so that he would not have to live forever in darkness, alone. Manwë might be the King of Arda, but he desired only the salvation of his brother.

Before Varda's gentle gaze, Nienna wept, sobbing. The weight on her chest, Nienna thought, was too much to bear. To live. Nienna was accustomed to suffering, to pain. She was the one who eased the hearts of those who suffered, who needed healing and forgiveness. However, for her, the limit had been passed as well.

“Nienna,” Varda whispered. “A malevolent Shadow spreads across Middle-earth. Melkor seeks you.”

Nienna knew, though. But she was pushing him away, preventing him from reaching her. Because she could no longer accept him destroying her heart. Should she wait for him, for him to drive her out of his heart again?

“The Eagles are worried.” The Queen of the Valar confided.

“Melkor holds a strong hold over Middle-earth.” Nienna agreed, worried. “Why does he extend his Shadow so far?”

“There is something,” Varda murmured uncertainly. “I beg your pardon, for I did not agree.”

Confused, Nienna stared at Varda. What could have happened in Valinor, during Nienna's absence, that the Valar were hiding from her? Honestly, she had many secrets hidden. Melkor's secrets. But many secrets that the Valar suspected, after all.

“Mandos,” She said. “Your brother can always sense Melkor’s Shadow, and he has not stopped it, until now.”

Oh, this was what haunted Melkor's nights. Even though Nienna was pushing away Melkor's influence, he was powerful enough to reach out to her with his Shadow, to monitor everything she was doing now that she was away from him. But Melkor could not enter Valinor, his presence needed to be fragile and weak so that the Valar would not interfere.

Mandos, however, would not accept Melkor's influence over Nienna, not when she had returned to the safety of Valinor. Varda said nothing more before departing, leaving Nienna alone. Alone in her Halls, without the Shadow of Melkor as a dark companion.

And Nienna was furious with Melkor, hurt by his words. Yet she would not allow Mandos to interfere with his power, with Melkor's power over her. Mandos might not like it, but Nienna was now wed to Melkor. For better or worse, that bond would remain, even if Melkor could not reach Nienna.

In the darkness, when the Elves of Valinor were silent, Nienna wept for the loss of Melkor. Cruel or not, she longed to feel his Shadow. A reminder, a mere touch, that what they had was not lost forever. That in the end, Melkor would accept that Nienna was a part of him and he could not fight the melancholy forever.

Nienna remained in her Halls, tending the departed Elves, tending their mourning, lifting the sorrows from their hearts. While she waited for the faceless Vala. And she mourned, for the fallen Elves had fallen by Melkor's hand. By his cruelty.

She, unlike Melkor, was not an outcast among the Valar. They forgave her and took pity on Nienna. For them, loving Melkor was already enough suffering for her; they did not wish to add to the burden she carried.

Nienna still remembered the darkness in Melkor’s eyes, the fire that burned in his eyes, when he had commanded her to leave. He did not want her, she thought, not anymore. Nienna felt like another of Melkor’s goals, just a means to something he desired.

He did not desire her love, her pity. Her love repelled him. Melkor despised emotions, he considered himself above them. And with a hardened heart, Melkor broke the heart of Nienna, the one in all Arda who loved him above all things. Even above what was right. Above loyalty to the Valar.

This was her punishment, then? A punishment for loving Melkor, for believing that despite all his cruelty, all his evil deeds, he could care for her. Try to be better for her. A punishment for those who love, but not a punishment for him. Because Nienna no longer believed in his love.

Melkor's love, however, existed. Not that Nienna would truly believe it. Or that Melkor would be able to accept it. But Eru was the Father of the Valar, and he had created Melkor with as much love as the others, and he was deprived of nothing. On the contrary, the essence of all lived in him.

Melkor, so powerful, and at the same time, so broken, could not accept that Eru had cursed him with emotions like that. It was a punishment, wasn't it? A punishment, in fact, for everything he had done. For all the discord he had caused among the Valar. For Melkor, this was the only reason.

Melkor trudged through Angband. The wound inflicted by Fingolfin was not healing, and it was painful to walk. Melkor's Fana was tired, exhausted by so many scars, so many wounds, so many blows that never stopped consuming his spirit. He had been trapped for too long in his form. He would never again be what he had been. Mighty and proud, above all other Valar.

The wounds from his brother's Eagle's claws no longer hurt, but the marks would never leave Melkor's face. Furious, he remembered Nienna's gentle touch, her tears against his wounds. How desperate she had been to heal him, to mend what was broken.

And he had been so furious, so exhausted from her attempts to protect what was left of him. There was nothing left of him to save, and the sooner she realized that, the better for all of them.

Reluctantly, Melkor stopped walking, pausing before the doors of the empty chambers. Very empty now that his Mistress had gone to Valinor. But her scent, Melkor thought, pushing the doors open furiously, had not left the chambers. A delicious torture designed especially for him.

Nienna's ghost remained there. In the abandoned dresses, in the forgotten veils. All left behind, as Melkor had been left. Was it abandonment he felt? No, probably not. Melkor had not been abandoned, he had ordered Nienna to leave. He had sent his own wife away. So far away from him.

So why did he feel Nienna’s ghost against his skin? Crawling against his flesh, poisoning his rotten blood. He wanted, more than anything, to hunt her light. Until her flame died in his hand, and he no longer needed to care about her leaving. When he himself had been free of her.

“My Nienna.” He whispered, but he knew she would not respond.

Not this time. And he had, indeed, been left behind. Without mercy or pity. Left alone with his fury, with the defeat that weighed heavily on his shoulders. In the darkness of Angband, Melkor wondered if this was an omen, of the brief life he would lead by Nienna's side.

He hated Nienna, Melkor thought, hated her so much that he cursed her name, railed against her and her pity. Melkor felt, for the first time in a long time, weak, frail, bereft of her pity, of her tears.

“May in your denial,” Melkor cried. “My torment destroy your peace. May you find no happiness or kindness on your far journey.”

Far from me, he thought. But he would not admit those words even to himself. Melkor was not accustomed to feeling this loss. As if Nienna were water, and his fire could no longer reach her. Extinguished, alone, in lonely and sad lands.

Why was Melkor there? Alone in his wife's chambers. Melkor's burned hands reached for Nienna's red veil. The veil she had worn the last time he could feel her body, the love that emanated from her, her blind, intense desire for him.

And also the veil she wore when she found the dead Elf, when she could finally gaze upon the monster that was her husband. For Nienna knew Melkor's evil, how dark his heart could be, but she still believed that there was the light of Eru within him.

“Bearer of all sorrows,” Melkor said, clutching the veil tightly. “The memories of you are the only nourishment I has found in these dead lands. May your heart be as tormented as mine.”

“My Lord,” Thuringwethil whispered respectfully.

Outside Nienna's chambers, Thuringwethil listened furiously to the Master's words. Even after Nienna's departure, Melkor still thought of her. It was as if her ghost loomed over all of Angband, so that she could never be forgotten.

“Tevildo is at the gates,” She said nervously. “He said he has urgent information.”

Melkor nodded, looking one last time at Nienna's veil that he still held. Melkor had taught his prisoners that grief and loss demanded to be felt. It was strange, however, that he was the one feeling it now.

For if Nienna was Melkor's poison, she was also the antidote, the only cure he needed. He would devour her melancholy when he had her once more. Melkor had promised himself that she would return to him. He looked one last time at the veil before casting the veil into the flames and leaving Nienna's chambers.

Melkor expected Nienna to shed tears of blood for him. And Nienna still suffered from the absence of Melkor. But Olórin, ever faithful to his Lady, kept Nienna from falling into grief, from suffering too much for Melkor.

And Olórin knew rumors that Nienna did not. Rumors, he thought, that would be dangerous if they reached the Dark Lord's ears. For before Nienna had joined with Melkor, another Valar had hoped that Nienna might join with him.

In the solitude of Nienna's Halls, the Lady of Mercy would often gaze upon the sea as she thought of Melkor. And the Shadow of Melkor would ever reach her thoughts, but another had think of her. For the Seas were Ulmo's domain, and to him Nienna was dear.

Like Nienna, Ulmo did not close his heart to the Elves and Men and wished them well. He maintained relations, even if distant, with the other peoples, and helped them when needed.

Ulmo shared Nienna's pity for those who suffer, and he saw an equal in Nienna. For throughout Valinor, all the Valar found mates and chose to live by love. Nienna and Melkor, like Ulmo, spent many years in solitude. Then Nienna returned to Valinor, as the wife of Melkor, the Great Enemy of Arda, and Enemy of the Valar.

Once united, the Valar remained together until the end, but Ulmo's feelings for Nienna could not disappear. Feelings that, if Melkor knew, especially while Nienna was away, would put countless people in Middle-earth at risk. Olórin, afraid to tell Nienna about Ulmo, kept it a secret, fearing what might happen.

“I can sense the despair in you,” Nienna said, stepping back from the balcony to look at Olórin. “What troubles you, my friend?”

“My Lady.” He sighed, walking toward her. “It is heavy, the secret I carry in my chest.”

“Let my words ease your burden.” She said.

Stopping in front of Olórin, Nienna’s hand reached out to caress the Maia’s face with concern. Olórin, Nienna thought, kept no secrets from her. They trusted each other; secrets did not exist between them.

“My Lady,” Olórin said fearfully. “I fear, yes, that it would be best if your brothers told you about this.”

Nienna nodded. If Olórin was reluctant, he had reason to not trust himself to tell Nienna what was happening. She had worried about him, about her Maia’s safety. But Olórin had said it had nothing to do with him. And Nienna had nodded, though suspicious.

“Nienna.” Olórin called before she left.

“My dear Olórin,” She said softly, smiling at him. “What worries you so?”

“Your safety, My Lady.” He whispered.

But Nienna did not understand his words. She did not understand his fear. Surely if Olórin feared Melkor and his wrath, this would not be such a great concern. Nienna was safe in Valinor, with the Valar.

The fury of Melkor, the Shadow of his wickedness, would not be contained in Valinor, when he discovered Ulmo's plans. For to Melkor, Arda was his Enemy, as were all the Valar. Except, Nienna, his wife. And he would not have her be separated from him.

Nienna calmed Olórin before departing for her brother's Halls. Mandos, the Doomsman of the Valar, had struck terror into the Elves ever since the Vala's prophecy. His words had proven true, and the Elves now deeply regretted their crimes.

Yet to Nienna, Mandos might be powerful and revered, but he was still her brother. And she knew she should not fear his judgment. His Halls were dark, cold as death, lonely as loss.

Nienna walked silently through the caves, with regret, thinking of the Three Ages in which Melkor had been imprisoned, under the rule of her brother. And that after all her efforts, her pleas, he had proven that he was not worthy of that forgiveness. Of her effort.

In the darkness of the Halls, Nienna searched for Vairë, Mandos's wife. She was not there, nor was Estë, Irmo's wife. And for ages, Nienna watched the brothers happy, complete with the one they loved, and Nienna wondered what that must feel like.

Melkor, for Nienna, would never accept being with her, being united with her. He was too powerful to wish to be united with another, to be bound to someone for all the ages yet to come. But he had, despite everything, united with her. Nienna, however, had lost Melkor in the same way.

She smiled as she caught sight of Irmo standing beside Mandos, who watched Nienna sullenly from his throne. Above all the Valar, Nienna feared how her brothers would react, how disappointed they would be in her for choosing to love Melkor. But how could she choose anything? She could not erase the feeling in her breast, the Song that had been woven in her heart long ago.

“Nienna.” Irmo said affectionately, extending his hand to Nienna.

“My brother.” She said, kissing his cheek. “There are no words for how much I missed you.”

“You’re here, now,” He whispered. “That’s all that matters.”

Nienna nodded, her heart heavy. She had missed her brothers while she was in Angband, but now she missed Melkor. They were two lives that could not coexist. Melkor would not trust her in Valinor, and the Valar would be worried while she was with Melkor.

“I was worried about you.” He kissed Nienna’s forehead.

Irmo, with his hair as white as the stars, sighed. He, unlike Mandos, was not ready to speak against Nienna's choice. He deeply feared losing his sister if he voiced his concerns. For Irmo, it was better to have Nienna by his side than far away, and so he swallowed his words against Melkor.

“I was in no danger, my brother.”

“No?” Mandos asked.

Before, so silent, so reserved, Mandos had not spoken a word to Nienna, much less looked at her as fiercely as he did now. Yet she had not the strength to rage against Mandos. Mandos, and only Mandos, would have witnessed the arrival of Fingolfin's fëa after the battle with Melkor.

“Mandos.” Nienna said, stepping away from Irmo.

Before the throne of Mandos, she bowed in reverence. Mandos, silent as ever, waited for Nienna's answer. For her honesty. But did he wish her to be honest? She did love Melkor. But Mandos would not hear it.

“As you can see, I am perfectly fine, brother.” Nienna said calmly. She did not mean to increase Mandos’s ire.

“Merciful, you are,” Mandos said, lost in thought. “Too merciful, I fear, my sister.”

“Speak freely, Mandos.” She sighed. “Release your anger upon me.”

“No, not about you.” He said vehemently. “How dare he?”

Confused, Nienna looked at Irmo, but he kept his head down, letting Mandos have the floor. Mandos, his hair dark as night, glared at Nienna, angry. But not because of her. But for her.

“How dare he condemn you?” Mandos said, rising from his throne. “What life could you have at his side?”

“I chose this.” Nienna said, tears in her eyes.

She approached Mandos, holding her brother's hands. Mandos was the two faces of death. Just and benevolent, but also cold and resolute. Mandos had been with Melkor in his Halls for Three Ages, so that he would pay for his crimes. Mandos, however, did not trust Melkor when he was freed.

“Cruel, Melkor is,” Mandos roared. “For condemning you, the most merciful, to this lonely and cold path.”

Nienna closed her eyes, unable to look at Mandos's face any longer. Because he was right, because she felt it deep in her heart. All Nienna had felt, since the Song, when Melkor had sown discord, was grief and sadness. And Melkor took pleasure in every tear she shed for him.

“What choice, Mandos, did I have?” She sighed, opening her eyes.

Immense sorrow was reflected in her eyes. Mandos took pity on her, touching her face. He was furious, of course, with Melkor. Had not he caused her too much suffering? To Mandos, Melkor was not worthy of Nienna, never would be, because Melkor was not capable of caring for her enough to try to be better.

“There is always another choice.” He said, mysteriously.

Nienna looked at Irmo, who was approaching them. Mandos and Irmo exchanged knowing glances, as if they knew something Nienna did not. Since the Great Song, there had been no secrets between the siblings.

“Your bond with Melkor, Nienna, may be eternal,” Irmo murmured. “But Eru may take pity on you.”

"What?"

“Nienna,” Mandos said, more seriously. “Your heart need not dwell in sorrow, not for Melkor’s sake.”

Their words, to Nienna, made no sense. When two Valar were joined, they could not be separated. The union was eternal, and Eru could only separate two immortal souls. But Eru did not need to separate Nienna from Melkor, for she did not wish to do so.

“I do not understand,” She whispered, looking at her brothers. “I am wed to Melkor, Mandos. Not even you can change that.

Mandos nodded, noting the sadness in Nienna's face. It was painful for them to behold the evils of Melkor in their own sister, while she suffered for loving the Dark Vala, who knew no mercy or forgiveness.

“If you will accept him, Nienna,” Irmo murmured. “Ulmo, would plead with Ilúvatar for you.”

Nienna gasped in surprise. This, she thought, was what Olórin had feared to tell her. For he knew that what they desired was impossible, and cruel too. Nienna, lonely as she was, was united to Melkor. And none of the Valar had ever been separated from their mate before. And, Nienna knew, Melkor would never accept that.

“Now that is wicked.” Nienna denied.

She turned away, her back to her brothers. Would this punishment never end? She wept, so desolate that Irmo regretted her words. Many tears Nienna had shed for Melkor, and many tears she would shed yet. But above all, she loved him, and wanted to be with him.

“Impossible, and so cruel.” She sobbed.

“We just care about you,” Mandos said.

He was genuine, she knew. They meant her no harm, they cared deeply for her. But Melkor's claws were too deep for Nienna to accept his words, what they were suggesting.

“No.” Nienna said. “I cannot.”

She looked at her brothers, tears streaming down her face. And she left the Halls of Mandos. Alone, with her melancholy, the melancholy that had been born of Melkor's cruelty, and of all his evils before Arda. Nienna's sorrow was woven into his Song, just as Melkor's malice was woven into hers.

The secrets of Valinor, however, did not remain locked away in the Golden Realm, for just as Sauron was good and pure in the beginning, many in the Blessed Realm closed their hearts to the Valar, and lived among them as traitors.

Thuringwethil soared over Middle-earth with fury and malice, but also immense pleasure. The Dark Lord's temper had been worse since Nienna's departure, but that was not surprising. And Thuringwethil did not mind that he was cruel to the Orcs.

And now, oh, she had great news for Sauron. The informers, Melkor's hidden allies, were eager to tell the mysteries that the waters whispered near the shores of Valinor. The secrets were now out in the open, and the words flew like the wind.

In the darkness of Angband, Thuringwethil patiently entered the wicked fortress, smiling at the Orcs' discomfort. They always seemed so uncomfortable in her presence, and she liked it. To instill fear was to instill respect in Angband.

Sauron, as Melkor's captain and lieutenant, provoked more fear and horror in the Master's servants. And Sauron, eager for news, sent Thuringwethil throughout Arda. Melkor would only be focused, at his full power, when all he felt was uncontrollable rage.

Mighty as a Lord, Sauron waited for Thuringwethil in the throne room. Melkor, taciturn and cruel, sat on the throne. The iron crown with the Silmarils radiated purity and perversion at the same time, like a corrupted beauty.

He looked stern and fearsome, but more majestic and beautiful than ever. Not even the new scars could erase the pure beauty of Melkor. Of the power forged by Eru and the light of the Creator that still shone on his face.

“My Lord.” Thuringwethil said with great pleasure, bowing.

Melkor did not even look at her, and Sauron smiled wickedly. Despite Nienna's departure, and Sauron's attempts to erase any essence of her left in Angband, the Dark Lord's mind was far away, with her. But that would change. Yes, it would change soon.

“My Lord,” Sauron said, with false modesty. “Thuringwethil has heard rumors…”

He was silent, so fearful and uncertain. But it was only a mask, to those who knew Sauron deeply. For he was more than pleased, and hoped that the seeds he had planted would reveal their thorns.

“Disturbing sounds, I must say.” He murmured, looking pitifully at Melkor. “Whispers from Valinor.”

At the mere mention of Valinor, Melkor's whole attention was focused on Sauron. The Vala's eyes, Sauron realized, seemed almost like living flames, so great was his fury. For now Mandos kept the Shadow of Melkor from Valinor. And Nienna had closed herself to him.

“What whispers?” He roared, clutching the throne with his Silmaril-marked hands.

“About Lady Nienna, My Lord.” Thuringwethil said.

Melkor, in murderous rage, rose from his throne and walked towards the vampire. His steps, even though he was still very injured, were decisive, powerful. Cruel. But she was not frightened, she was not afraid of him. She knew that Melkor's anger would be directed at someone else.

“Speak, before I tear the words right out of you.” Melkor growled.

Thuringwethil nodded slightly, suppressing a smile. She hoped that after this, Melkor would give up his foolish and tempting desire to remain tied to Nienna. They were as opposite as the Sun and the Moon. It could never work. Not when they lived separated between light and darkness.

“It seems, My Lord,” Thuringwethil said, very slowly, “That the Sea Lord is strangely interested in Nienna’s return.”

Silently, Melkor stared at Thuringwethil. He was taciturn, too calm. And that made him all the more dangerous, because fury, rage, lurked behind Melkor's heart of stone. The fury was not dormant, or contained, but merely waiting for the right moment to overflow.

Then he laughed. Loud, booming. Resonant. But it wasn’t a happy, joyful laugh. It was filled with malice and obsession. As if he could devour all of Angband and still not be satisfied.

Melkor turned his back on Thuringwethil, and Sauron smiled with great pleasure. Sauron watched with delight as the Dark Lord left the throne room with heavy, cruel steps.

“Can we be content with that?” Thuringwethil murmured, not very satisfied.

“Oh, my dear,” Sauron said melodiously, walking towards her. “Do not you see?”

He smiled at her confusion, letting his hands gently run over Thuringwethil's wings. So many new paths had opened up before Sauron at that revelation. All from the small suspicion that the Lord of the Seas desired the Dark Lord's wife.

“This, my dear,” He whispered against Thuringwethil’s ear. “Is only the beginning.”

Oh, chaos and anguish!! There's nothing better than that, right? So hold on tight, because there's always more anguish to come.

tag: @valar-did-me-wrong @redrosesandcharmingsouls

[tinkerbellsgf]

rinsha fana they could never make me hate you

[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.

[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

[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. ;)

[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.