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velvetvexations · 17 hours ago

Text

Okay OP, I'm gonna dig into your response now!

this is not true! tme/tma are for indicated institutional transmisogyny, not interpersonal.

Tell that to Everyone Who Uses It.

i have yet to see a transfem demanding that people use tme/tma in their bio or as a personal descriptor or so forth.

They don't have to if most people do it already. You certainly never see people arguing NOT to put it in your bio, although I definitely have seen people fiercely arguing that to give people the impression you're "TMA" when you aren't is an act of violence.

Also, transradfems can be self-identified TMEs, like yourself! A lot of them are, in fact.

txttletale

Her problem should be with people who use it and describe it that way every day then

But oh, joy, am I happy you did this! You're going to bring up how awful it is that a transandrobro doesn't think it's a good or feasible solution to kick all the Jews out of Israel? I'm going to make you explain to me how you defend the scores of genocide txttletale openly supports or considers NBD as a tankie.

i understand seeing it that way, but just because you read every post with the word "tme" as meaning "transmascs" does not mean that's what the posts are actually talking about.

Literally the other day I saw someone say "tme/cis men."

this is sort of silly. you just used the word transphobia right there! a word that suits most needs in the transmasc community!

I said transandrophobia was a "kind" of transphobia, just as transmisogyny is. This is silly. The thing I said is literally equally true of transmisogyny! Does that make transmisogyny useless as a term?

I don't think it does, btw. Just in case you're one of the TRFs that thinks people who believe in transandrophobia deny transmisogyny even exists.

do you maybe think this serves as a bad representation of your ideals?

I mean, there are TRFs out there writing books about reclaiming radical feminism and thousands of them defending jokes about killing other minorities, I think you can deal with me being a bit bitchy tbh.

i agree! you'll find later in my post that i said trans men being shitty doesn't excuse all of transfems' jokes or responses. then you said "not how it is" with no elaboration!

You said the transmasc response was disproportionate when almost all of the hostility has been from the TMA/TME crowd.

if we're going to bring up our personal experiences with being misconstrued as opposing sides of the tme/tma dichotomy,

We're not doing that. What we're doing is describing harassment we've gotten in the transandrophobia discourse trenches. That stuff happening to me wasn't an example of people mistaking me for being transmasc and randomly deciding to be mean to a transmasc, it was people attempting to punishing me for taking this side.

i would say trying to weaponize legal power and COUNTERTERRORISM against a tumblr post by a venting minority is a bit much, no?

Sure! Tons of transandrophobia people agreed with you and told him to get fucked. What'd I tell you about posting examples of transandrophobia people getting transmisogynistic? We don't tolerate being transphobic towards other trans people 'round these parts!

genuinely, legitimately, i would rather you insult me directly than trying to condescend me like this on my own post.

txttletale for her good opinions

Yeah? Her good opinions about genocide?

it seems fitting to start with acknowledging the massive harassment campaign

Yeah, sorry, two harassment campaigns against trans women by mostly cis people and completely unrelated to transandrophobia drama is not relevant here. Are you just trying to like...prove trans women have it worse than trans men? Because, sure, we can have THAT argument, but that's completely unrelated to if transandrophobia or it the people who believe in it are inherently transmisogynistic!

which really calls into question the recurring choice to accuse trans women of being radfems

^extremely popular Tumblr "transfeminist," who recently pushed for the word 'transemasculation' to replace transandrophobia and got a good number of self-identified TMEs to back it

terfs post in the transandrophobia tags to put down trans women

TERFs trying to exploit divisions in the community!? Oh my God! OH MY GOD THAT'S SO SURPRISING! It must be because the trans men are inherently the ones doing something wrong! TERFs would never try to exploit legitimate cases of transmascs being treated poorly, they're just attracted naturally like flies to all the evil transmisogynistic rifts in the community!

weird transmisogynistic theorizing

The first was written by a trans woman and the second was a very funny joke about hyperbolic whining about sOcIaL mUrDeR. And before you start with me, I was *actually* subjected to extremely cruel, prolonged, and viciously transphobic canceling and harassment over a period several years from the age of around fourteen to around twenty, so I have more than a right to be annoyed with said hyperbolic whining.

predstrogen sitch

straight-up not about trans men bro

we can have conversations for a million years about the fact that some trans women are assholes to trans men and vice versa and would probably get nowhere because, in your defense, me making a post where i go "well the trans guys were mean first" is not the best argument.

Yeah, you really do suck at this. I've never said trans men are never transmisogynistic, but that trans men who are transmisogynistic regularly get called out and jumped on by everyone else if they get notes at all, while thousands of TMA/TME weirdos will die on the hill that jokes about killing trans men are okay and non-binary people being called slurs is a transfeminist W.

i think its worthy to note in terms of severity just how prevalently "baeddel" gets thrown around

It's in half of TRF's URLs.

"well they got called it first"

good for them they were so insulted by being associated with ideology they totally don't support from people who sexually abused other trans women that they made it their public facing persona ironically

I've seen TRFs call the original baeddel group "based transfeminists." Have you ever seen anyone who complains about being called a baeddel complain because it's the name of a radfem group that sexually abused other trans women, or was it all just complaining because it's, like, such a totally mean name to call people? Because not having a problem with baeddel ideology, and actually propagating it with barely even a reskin, is why it cropped up in the first place! It did not come out of nowhere, my man!

but i don't think pointing out that some nonbinary people do in fact use their cagab as a crutch for bad takes is a crazy concept.

Yeah, then what do-

sorry

cagab

fuck yourself

but i don't think pointing out that some nonbinary people do in fact use their cagab as a crutch for bad takes is a crazy concept.

Yeah, then what do you make of this?

so laser targeted!

the last time i checked "theyfab" wasn't an incredibly dehumanizing porn category

no it's just a term invented by 4chan transmeds to mock non-binary people

spacelazarwolf is a zionist transandrobro

You're an idiot and an anti-Semite. <3

trans men vs trans women

Still not what's being discussed. Again, we can discuss that, but I'm trying to keep you focused because you keep going off track like an imaginative child that doesn't want to be constrained by coloring in the lines.

i think that transandrobros chalking up transphobia to anti-masculinity

FINALLY, God, that took you long enough to get back to transandrophobia. Did you have fun in Narnia?

If you want to call all the people who have directly attested to me that they were kicked out of "trans friendly" spaces for being too masculine liars, you may! Call them liars. Go on!

Also, just today I saw someone saying that they had to be scared of trans men because women have to distrust men as a result of misogyny. OP was unable to explain how this was different from TERF distrust of people AMAB, which, by the way, is absolutely because they hate people they perceive as men. They were radfems before they were trans exclusionary! Have you read The Transexual Empire? Have you read ANYTHING by radfems written in the 20th century? They didn't used to talk about trans people as they do now and even today a lot of radfems here on Tumblr are vocal about how you shouldn't hate trans women more than any other "man," which goes to show a lot of them have been brainwormed but that the roots of the ideology have always been an extreme reaction to the patriarchy that catches other women (trans women) in the crossfire.

or emphasizing trans women being amab further affects them being seen as a third gender that is inherently oppressed

People who can hold two ideas in their skull at once can understand the fact that a trans woman being perceived as a faggot rather than "a woman you can treat like a man" doesn't mean she's given male privilege.

i am incredibly familiar with the urge to self flagellate my identity for acceptance

clearly

there was a brief period of time when i empathized with transandrobros largely out of my personal discomfort as a nonbinary person with the terms tme/tma - this pretty much entirely dissolved when i began to understand those terms not as obligatorily publicized personal descriptors but as tools with a communicative purpose. perhaps more importantly, i learned that most of the people involved with the proliferation of the "transmisandry/transandrophobia" concept were treating trans women like complete and utter shit and then making tgirls out to be the instigators. for this reason i seriously encourage every transmasc who finds themself feeling riled up against trans women to, like, double check the kind of messages and comments the angry girls are getting. i promise you, it becomes a lot more evident why those women are describing discomfort or fear or bitterness around trans men when you see the kind of sexually abusive, misogynistic, violent messages they're getting first. no, that doesn't excuse every joke or response, but it makes you understand how disproportionate the transmasc reaction can be. and if you can't find what i'm talking about, you don't see any examples of trans men being misogynistic, literally just message me and i'll be happy to provide as wide a range of examples as possible

#transandrophobia #transmisogyny #discourse

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 1 day ago

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Putting aside all of the jokes and technicalities and such…do you think Marinette is a stalker?

Buckle up folks, this is gonna be a long one.

Personal Bias

When I was 14-years-old, a "friend" of mine got a crush on me and I made it clear that I wasn't interested. He then proceeded to follow me around school, often blocking my path so I couldn't go anywhere without talking to him. He knew I was uncomfortable with this, but refused to stop until I got school authorities involved. By the time it was all over, he basically had a school-imposed restraining order where he wasn't allowed to go near me unless he wanted detention.

When I was 16, another "friend" was so upset that I was dating someone who wasn't him that he figured out how to get into my school email and, through that, one of my socials. He proceeded to try to break me and my boyfriend up. He almost succeeded.

When a male friend of mine was around 16, he turned down a girl who had a crush on him. She and her friends proceeded to harass him on a consistent basis because she knew his schedule and used it to trap him in certain spots like when he was waiting for the bus. They wouldn't stop no matter what he did or said. It only stopped when school officials got involved.

When my cousin was in high school, a boy started following her home every day. It got so bad that the cops were called, but they refused to do anything because he wasn't "threatening enough." Her family had to move and switch what school she went to in order to get away from him.

As you may know, I have seen Miraculous. So has my male friend. So has my cousin. We were all some level of fan at one point or another and have talked about the show critically together. Guess who didn't phase any of us?

Marinette.

Stalking 101

Definition One

Stalking is pattern of behavior directed at a specific person that would cause a reasonable person to fear for the person’s safety or the safety of others; or suffer substantial emotional distress. (Source)

Definition Two

“Stalking is a pattern of repeated and unwanted attention, harassment, contact, or any other course of conduct directed at a specific person that would cause a reasonable person to feel fear,” according to the Department of Justice. Similar to crimes of sexual violence, stalking is about power and control.

Stalking laws and definitions differ from state to state. Stalking behavior can take many forms including:

Making threats against someone, or that person's family or friends

Non-consensual communication, such as repeated phone calls, emails, text messages, and unwanted gifts

Repeated physical or visual closeness, like waiting for someone to arrive at certain locations, following someone, or watching someone from a distance

Any other behavior used to contact, harass, track, or threaten someone

(Source)

Marinette Overview

When I say that Marinette isn't a stalker, this isn't me blindly defending my favorite character*. It's me considering her against the real-life stalkers I have actually dealt with as well as professional discussion on what stalking is and why it happens. When I look at those and then look at Marinette, she just doesn't fit the label.

"Stalker" is not a synonym for "creep." It's a term for specific patterns and types of behavior. When people use the term "stalker" for her, it never seems to come from some deep nuanced argument about her overall behavior. It comes from a handful of scenes where the writers absolutely take her too far. Those scenes understandably creep some viewers out. If those viewers just called her "creepy," then I wouldn't argue against them. Instead, they slap the "stalker" label on Marinette and call it a day without a second thought. I find that incredibly annoying in an analytical context and incredibly unappealing in a writing context for reasons we'll get to at the end.

That doesn't mean that I agree with Marinette's every action. The writers have made her do some extremely questionable things and I'm happy to criticize those moments! But, while I will happily agree that individual episodes take her too far, the overall picture doesn't fit a stalker even if you take things at face value and pretend that nothing is a joke/ignore that Miraculous is a comedy which is not how good analysis works. Ignoring the fact that Miraculous is a comedy shows poor media literacy and is another reason I can't take the stalker claims seriously.

If Marinette is a stalker, then every adult who showed up at Adrien's house in Party Crasher needs to be arrested because wtf were they doing showing up to a party thrown by unchaperoned 14-year-olds? If we take that episode seriously, then it's super creepy! But it's clearly not meant to be taken seriously because this is a comedy. The adults showing up was just done to make Adrien's party seem insane, not concerning like it would be in the real world. If you can wrap your head around that, but you're also trying to argue that Marinette's behavior in this episode was "problematic," then I just can't take you seriously. Pick a lane. Either all of the jokes are serious character beats or none of them are.

Marinette Analysis

To really dig into this, let's quickly look at a few of Marinette's worst behaviors and talk about why they don't set off my alarm bells for her character being a stalker. As we go over these, I want you to keep two things in mind:

stalking is about patterns of behavior not one-off bad choices

stalkers use stalking as a way to control and own their victims

Following Adrien Around

If Marinette were written as a stalker, she'd be doing this on the daily. She'd follow Adrien home every time we see him go home. She'd be at every one of his outdoor photo shoots. She'd transform into Ladybug and use binoculars to watch him in his room. But she doesn't. Most of the time, Marinette is happily living her life while Adrien lives his. She's more likely to watch his commercials than watch him which is not how stalkers work. That is how you write a fan, not a stalker.

There are a few episodes that do have Marinette follow him around, but it's always done as a way to start the plot and never as a fun little character beat like Marinette making Tikki hats. Even then, I think the Shanghai special is the only time when Marinette just randomly follows him somewhere to be with him (it's her most stalkerish moment, imo, but it's quite notably a one-time thing). Most of the time, there's an inciting incident that leads her to follow him for some reason other than just watching Adrien.

For example, Oni-Chan has Lila being creepy and lying her way into Adrien's home, leading Marinette to follow to see what's going on. That's not stalker behavior. That's comedically exaggerated concerned friend behavior. I could see Alya or Nino doing the same thing if they were allowed to be smart when Lila was around.

Sneaking into Adrien's Home

Once again, this doesn't happen in most episodes. I can only think of four out of 125: Chat Blanc, Party Crasher, Oni-Chan, and Gabriel Agreste. In each of these episodes, Marinette sneaks into the mansion - or tries to sneak into the mansion - because of some sort of mission or special circumstances and not as part of her normal behavior. For example, Chat Blanc is arguably the most questionable of these, but it starts because Marinette's girlfriends challenge her to give Adrien a present and not because Marinette just decided to go to the mansion:

Rose: That's it, Marinette! No more picnics, sleepovers, or going to the movies with us until you give him that gift! You made that hat for Saint Athanasius Day, which is today! How is Adrien's supposed to know you're thinking of him on his fifth name's day if you don't give him your gift? Alya: She's right. Today is the day! All the girls except Marinette: Go, go, go, go, go, go!

But when Marinette gets there, Nathalie won't let her in or allow her to wait. Nathalie doesn't even offer to take the gift, so Marinette sneaks in to leave the present behind. Good behavior? No, but not Marinette going to the mansion of her own volition to creep on Adrien. While this leads to the totally creepy pillow sniff moment, that's pretty much all Marinette does outside of leaving the gift. She doesn't go snooping in Adrien's room like Lila does in Oni-Chan because the point of this episode wasn't to make Marinette look like a villain or a creep. It was about punishing Marinette for using her powers to give Adrien a gift with her name on it as that's too selfish, I guess.

In fact, none of these episodes were trying to make Marinette look like a villain or a creep. Each one made her do something questionable, but only so that the plot would work. No present, no Chat Blanc. No party crashing or fake butler disguise and Marinette isn't there for the akuma. When there's no plot-necessary reason for Marinette to be at the mansion, she isn't. That's not how you write a stalker. For her to be a stalker, she needs a lot more Chat Blanc moments where she just sneaks in to leave him things or sniff his pillow. We need a pattern, not a one-off moment.

Having Adrien's Schedule

I know I'd said I'd take things more seriously than a comedy calls for in this discussion, but it's impossible to take this one even remotely seriously. How would Marinette even have Adrien's schedule for the next three years? Where did she get it? How is she keeping it up to date when things absolutely change on a weekly basis? How is anyone missing that this is a joke, especially when you consider how the show writes Marinette outside of this episode (Gigantitan)?

While Marinette is sometimes shown to know about things like Adrien's fencing schedule, most episodes present Marinette as if she's reacting to things that she just learned about. For example, in Backwarder, she freaks out about Adrien going to England with Kagami for a wedding that would have been on Adrien's schedule for months if not years.

Why would Marinette do that if she has his schedule? If she's a stalker, then as soon as she heard about the wedding, she'd be on a mission to find out if Adrien has a date and if there are any threats in attendance. She'd probably even find a way to stop Kagami from going like messing with her food. But Marinette doesn't do any of that. Instead, she's written as if she just found out about the wedding and is making up a plan on the fly:

Marinette: Girls! We have a very serious situation! (The girls are cuddled up in the couch, all of them except Rose looking extremely tired)Adrien and his father have been invited to the Royal Wedding in England this weekend. Alya: (annoyed and exhausted) That's the “emergency’’ you called us over here for on a Saturday morning? (frowns) Marinette: You don't get it! Kagami and her mother are going too! (paces around the room doing dramatic hand gestures) Which means that Adrien and Kagami will be spending an entire weekend together!

And her plan ends up being to give Adrien a note and hope for the best. Not exactly the obsessive, controlling behavior you'd go for if you were writing a stalker.

This also implies that, at most, she probably knows his weekly routine which isn't weird since that's something he'd talk about to his friends. Like all of Marinette's worst behavior, the "knows his schedule for the next three years thing" was a one-off gag. Please stop obsessing over it. This isn't how characterization works.

(Note from my male friend who I discussed this post with: the line about the schedule did put him on edge because of his experiences, but that quickly passed as Marinette's behavior didn't back up the line from a stalking POV.)

Stealing Adrien's Stuff

I'm pretty sure the only time Marinette steals something from Adrien when she takes his phone in Copy Cat. "I left an embarrassing message and have to delete it" is an established comedic plot that has been done by dozens of shows and not something uniquely chosen for Marinette, but let's ignore that for a moment and pretend that it's a serious character beat and not a comedy doing something silly because it's a comedy and that's how they work.

Even if we remove all that context, Marinette still isn't acting like a stalker. When my stalker hacked into my email, he was doing it in an effort to control me, not to delete an embarrassing message. He read everything he could find and used that to mess with me. It's actually how I discovered he'd done it. He knew too much. Marinette doesn't do anything like that. She deletes her message and then puts the phone back because stealing the phone wasn't about stalking Adrien. It was about fixing her mistake. A stalker would go through the phone to learn everything about her obsession.

Conclution

None of this is meant to say that everything Marinette does is totally fine and I think people are overreacting if her worst moments upset them. I hate many of the choices they've made for her character and think they were total missteps. If a real person was doing the things Marinette does, then I'd be getting psychiatric services involved because this isn't healthy. I could even see it devolving into actual stalking as the early warning signs are there.

However, Marinette's behavior isn't meant to be realistic and taken at face value. She's the fictional star of a comedy where the writers decided to make her failed confessions a running gag so they had to keep coming up with ridiculous situations to put her in based around her crush. That context matters when evaluating her character and deciding if her actions are meant to be as serious as Chat Blanc ending the world or silly as adults at a teenager's party in Party Crasher. For the majority of seasons one to five, it's very clearly Party-Crasher silly. That doesn't mean you need to like the jokes - I certainly don't - it just means that you do need own that they're jokes if you're trying to do any sort of serious analysis of Marinette's character.

I went through several elements of her behavior not to say that she's totally pure and fine, but to show you that people are taking a handful of really bad moments and acting like it's her standard behavior which isn't how large-scale character analysis works. I was also highlighting the difference between a character who is purposely written as a stalker and a character being the victim of a bunch of adult men making massive missteps while trying write a comedy about a teenage girl with a monster crush. If you want to take her behavior seriously in the context of what jokes are appropriate and what ones go too far, then be my guest! But that's not character analysis even if the analysis is focused on Marinette's character. It's a comedy or writing analysis. Any quality analysis of Marinette's character as a whole and how we're supposed to read her has to take the context of her actions into account.

To write Marinette as a real stalker, you have to go a lot further than the writers did. You have to make her worst behavior constant and not just occasional bad calls. You have to make her feel dangerous and change the tone from comedy to horror. You need to have her friends react with concern instead of egging Marinette on or pushing her into situations as if Marinette's behavior is fine. You need to have Tikki being deeply concerned and not just mildly exasperated. Canon doesn't do any of that because the writers don't intend Marinette's behavior to be read as concerning. When you look at the full context of canon, it's glaringly obvious that the problem is that the writers sometimes make poor calls when exaggerating her crush to tell jokes and not intentional elements of Marinette's character that you should take at face value.

Bonus Salt Fic Discussion

I said at the top that I find the stalker Marinette takes "incredibly unappealing in a writing context" and so I'll end with that as that is more nuanced than bad analysis.

Did canon give us a handful of moments that you can really lean on to back a read that Marinette is an unhinged stalker? Yes, it did. I can't say that people are making that shit up. The Shanghai special and Derision are especially solid "proof." Is fanfic often about obsessing over single moments and little details to an absurd degree no matter how insignificant those details are? Yep, I can't deny that either. That's not unique salter behavior.** Does Miraculous have wildly inconsistent characterization for basically every character with more the one appearance, making it so that you have to pick and choose what you're going to embrace as "canon" for you version if you want to be even remotely coherent with your own characterizations? 100%

All of that is why I'm on the record as saying that I get where the Marinette salt is coming from just like I get the Adrien salt and the class salt and so on. It's standard fandom behavior to bash characters you don't like and the salt takes aren't even doing that thing where people make shit up. It's all based on canon because canon keeps making terrible choice after terrible choice! I just don't find it fun because salt fics are all about embracing the worst writing in the show and expanding upon it, which is the exact opposite of what I want to see when I'm reading fic. I read fic to see better versions of canon! I don't want to be reminded of canon's very real problems. Problems I only expect to get worse as time goes on.

I have no doubt that season six will bring with it a bunch of new moments where Marinette and others act terribly. I wouldn't even be shocked if we reach a point where I agree that Marinette's standard behavior makes her feel dangerous because season five's ending certainly set things up to go there. However, for now, the worst label I'd put on her is "creepy" and that's only in the context of specific episodes. Generally speaking, she's fine.

*Btw, Marinette isn't actually my favorite character. My favorites are Alya, Plagg, and Adrien

**As an example of fandom obsessing over a more neutral detail and elevating it beyond anything canon ever dreamed of, I'll draw your attention to the fandom's obsession with Adrien saying that Marinette is "just a friend." I have come across multiple fics that would have you think that's his catch phrase. A pattern which was deeply confusing because I could only recall him saying it once or twice. After some digging, as best I can tell, he says those words four times and it's never even to Marinette's face, which is wild when you think about how many fics have her parroting the line as if he says it to her all the time. I've even had people tell me that he says that line all the time when that's very clearly not the case. I'd say it's weird, but it's probably just a variation of the fact that eye-witness accounts of crimes are notoriously inaccurate. People just don't remember things accurately.

#ml writing salt #ml writing critical #marinette deserves better #red-balloon12 #Feel free to let me know if there are additional “just a friend” moments #I only found that post because fics kept bringing it up and I was deeply confused because I didn't remember Adrien saying it all the time #I was starting to think I'd forgotten something #marinette defense squad

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thyras · 18 hours ago

Text

→ of the shadows

PAIRING → mairon | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 7.3k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → mind manipulation, shape-shifting, morgoth loves playing with his food, arguments, lies, secrets, sauron reveal

SUMMARY → the shadow has come for mairon, and he will do anything to get him back into his clutches.

AUTHORS NOTE → welp mairon lovers i am so sorry but this is it for mairon, and then we'll get into the ROP story line. this was tough to write and to edit because I wanted change it so much but this is it I'm washing my hands of it lol enjoy guys, gals, and my nonbinary pals ❤️

PARTS → one // two // three // five

In the years that followed, joy blossomed in your heart, mirrored by the flourishing of Laureandor. The city grew in grandeur, its shimmering white towers reaching ever higher, its vibrant beauty drawing kin from across Beleriand. The songs of your people filled the air, and the harmony of life seemed woven into the very fabric of the land.

Your husband’s renown spread far and wide, his craftsmanship celebrated by elves across the land. His name carried with it reverence and admiration, and you could see the pride that glimmered in his eyes each time his work was praised. It was a pride tempered by joy, for he found his greatest contentment not in his fame, but in the life you had built together.

The light that radiated from him was otherworldly, a beacon that seemed to grow brighter with each passing day. In this life, he was truly happy—content not only with his craft and his accomplishments but with the bond you shared. Each night, he showed you just how much you meant to him, his gestures filled with tenderness and reverence. Even showing you in the very glades that had first drawn you together, under the canopy of stars and moonlight, where your love seemed to echo in the timeless harmony of the world. There, in the quiet beauty of those moments, the bond between you only deepened, as unyielding and eternal as the light that now shone from him.

On this day, you had just finished your lesson with the children by the water’s edge, their laughter and playful shouts fading into the woods as they raced back toward the city limits. The peaceful moment lingered briefly, the gentle ripples of the water reflecting the dappled sunlight. But then, from the corner of your eye, you saw him—a stranger emerging from the northern edge of the forest.

His hair was as dark as the deepest shadow, and his eyes, piercing and unrelenting, seemed to hold the weight of an abyss. A chill crept over your skin, the once-familiar warmth of the glade now feeling distant and hollow. Your heart quickened as unease settled deep in your chest.

Quickly, you gathered your belongings, clutching them tightly as you moved toward the forest’s edge, your steps measured but urgent. Every instinct within you screamed with alarm as the figure continued his approach, his presence carrying an unsettling weight that seemed to darken the very air around him.

“You are of this grand city?” he asked, his voice low and measured, carrying an eerie calm that sent ripples of unease through you. You turned away from him, shaking your head quickly, and took another step toward the woods, trying to put distance between yourself and the unsettling figure. But the shadow of his presence seemed to grow heavier, drawing closer as though it had a will of its own.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, a sound that clashed unnervingly with the brightness of the glade. It sent another chill down your spine, the darkness of his being like a blot against the light. “You are not a very good liar, my lady,” he said, stepping closer still. His hand reached out as if to touch you, but you flinched back instinctively, your breath quickening.

“I forget myself,” he murmured, pulling his hand back with a ghost of a smile.

Your mouth refused to form a reply, the words caught in your throat as your eyes traced over his face. It was almost too perfect, too fair to belong to someone real. His features seemed carved from shadow and moonlight, and he stood tall, his commanding stance exuding an unnatural presence. He must be something in disguise, you thought, a being cloaked in a form meant to deceive.

The shadow of the Northern Realms.

“I am no deceiver,” he said smoothly, his voice cutting through the air like a blade, as though he had plucked the thought directly from your mind.

“Then why do you feel as such?” you managed, your voice steadier than you expected, though the unease within you remained.

“Because you have felt the touch of one,” he replied, his tone calm yet heavy with meaning. His hand lifted, reaching out toward you as if to cup your chin, but you instinctively moved away, the shadow of his words and presence tugging at the edges of your fëa. “Its dark web is deeply embedded in your being, a mark that cannot be hidden.”

You stepped back further, your heart pounding as his piercing gaze followed your every movement, unyielding and unnervingly knowing. Those eyes bore into you, sharp and calculating, like a predator assessing its prey. “It calls to me,” The being murmured, his voice low and chilling, “much like the light calls to you.” His presence loomed closer, his figure towering over you as his hand finally grasped your chin with an almost unnatural grace.

“You truly walk with her light,” he said, his gaze unwavering, “and her beauty.” His thumb, cold and unfeeling, brushed against your bottom lip, the sensation sending a shiver through you.

“But you have been deceived,” he continued, his tone soft but laced with dark certainty, “by the one they will call the Great Deceiver.” His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, as if they carried the weight of truth. You swallowed hard as his fingers moved with deliberate care, wrapping a strand of your hair around his finger as though it were a precious thread. His dark eyes locked onto yours, penetrating, as if they could peel back every layer of your thoughts and emotions. “You desire something,” he breathed, his voice so soft it felt like a whisper against your very soul. Tears welled in your eyes, unbidden and unstoppable, as if this being had summoned them from the depths of your heart.

A dark smile curled at his lips, sharp and cruel. “An act of creation,” he mused, his tone almost mocking. “So pure, much like Thingol and Melian. But that,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, “is not your destiny. Nor will you ever taste that pleasure.”

You stood frozen, paralyzed beneath his gaze, your body unable to respond to the storm raging within you. He leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, and his cold lips pressed against your forehead. The touch sent a wave of heaviness through your limbs, and your eyes drooped as though under a spell.

Before you could resist or even understand, darkness took you, and your body collapsed into the soft glade, the world around you fading into nothingness.

When you awoke, the familiar comfort of your warm linen sheets surrounded you, cocooning you in a sense of security you hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. Expecting to see Mairon’s familiar form beside you, your heart sank when your gaze fell instead upon Eärlindë, seated at your bedside, her face etched with concern. Across the room, Eäriel stood by the desk, her skilled hands deftly preparing another salve—no doubt for your recovery.

“Mother,” Eärlindë called softly, her voice tinged with relief as she noticed your eyes flutter open. She leaned forward, taking your hand gently in hers as though grounding you to the present. “Easy, Tintilmë,” she murmured, her tone soothing yet firm. “You are still weak.”

You tried to speak, but your throat was parched, your voice nothing more than a faint rasp. Frustration bubbled within you as your body refused to cooperate. You struggled to sit up, your mind grasping for words that refused to come.

Memories eluded you, slipping through your grasp like shadows cast over the corners of your mind. You had no recollection of where you had been for most of the day, nor how you had come to be here. The fragments of time that had been stolen from you left an aching void, a silent echo that had even taken your voice.

“We were all so worried,” Eärlindë said softly, her fingers cool and soothing as they brushed across your forehead, offering you a fleeting moment of calm amidst the storm of confusion. Her touch grounded you, but the questions swirling in your mind refused to settle.

“What happened? Where’s—” you began, your voice cracking, but Eäriel stepped forward now, moving to the edge of the bed. She sat down with an air of quiet authority, her hands deftly working to rub a salve onto your wrist, where a faint burn marked your skin.

“What is the last thing you remember?” she asked, her tone heavy with concern.

You shook your head slowly, frustration bubbling up as the shadows swirled over the fragmented pieces of your memory. “I think I was heading to the stream,” you said haltingly, tears slipping unbidden down your cheeks. “But I do not remember.” You clenched the sheets in your fists, overwhelmed by the emptiness in your mind. “Why do I not remember? Where’s Mairon—”

Eäriel placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, silencing your rising panic. “He is talking with the High Lords, but you need to rest,” she said gently, her voice firm as she stood once more.

“I want to know,” you insisted, your voice trembling with anger now. Their unwillingness to tell you only fanned the flames of your frustration. “I deserve to know.”

“Mother, she does have a right to know,” Eärlindë interjected, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Eäriel. There was a brief pause before Eäriel sighed deeply and turned back to you, her expression resigned.

“You never made it to your lessons that day,” she began, her voice steady but filled with a quiet gravity. “One of the parents enquired with Mairon, who then came to us and asked where you had gone.” You stared at her, fear creeping into your chest as her words sank in. “Over the course of four days, we searched for you,” Eäriel continued, “but Mairon kept searching on his own. On the sixth day, he found you.”

Her gaze flickered with something you couldn’t place—worry, perhaps, or even unease. “He would not say where or in what state you were when he brought you here. Only that if you awoke while he was gone, we were to tell you nothing.”

Her words struck you like a blow, leaving you reeling. “Why?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Why would he not want me to know?”

“That is for him to tell you, child,” Eäriel said gently, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Now, get some rest. We will be downstairs.” She motioned to Eärlindë, who hesitated for a moment before obeying, her worried gaze lingering on you as she followed her mother out of the room.

Left alone, you sank back into the soft feathered pillows of your bed. Your mind ached, the unanswered questions swirling relentlessly, pulling at the edges of your thoughts. Yet exhaustion weighed heavily on you, and despite the turmoil in your heart, your body surrendered. Slowly, the world around you faded, and you slipped into the quiet embrace of dreams, the shadows of your lost memories hovering just out of reach.

Mairon opened the door to your shared room, his sharp eyes immediately falling upon your resting form. Relief washed over him as he saw that you were still asleep, your chest rising and falling steadily with each breath. His mortal body ached to hold you, to comfort you in his arms and shield you from the horrors that had touched you. But the fire of his godly nature simmered beneath the surface, craving a fight, an outlet for the fury coursing through him.

This had his master’s hand written all over it. The bitter taste of the darkness was unmistakable, clinging to the air, shrouding you like a heavy, malevolent blanket. It coiled around you, obscuring any trace of memory from the encounter, as if designed to torment Mairon with the unknown. His fists clenched at his sides, the restraint it took to keep from unleashing his anger palpable in the tense line of his frame.

The message was clear. Very clear, in fact. Whatever had once occupied Melkor’s attention was no longer of interest. That focus had shifted now, entirely, to him. This was a reminder—a cruel and deliberate act to show Mairon that his master’s desire to break him had not faded. It was a call to submission, laced with malice and intent.

Mairon’s jaw tightened, his gaze lingering on you as the rage burned hotter within him. But he forced himself to stay silent, to suppress the fire, knowing that the moment was not his to act but to protect. His resolve steeled, he moved quietly to your bedside, his presence casting a soft shadow over you as he watched, waiting for the storm to pass.

He reached out, his fingers brushing gently against your soft strands, tucking them away from your face. The simple touch grounded him, even as the storm within raged on. He relished the sight of you, so peaceful in your slumber, your expression untouched by the weight of the waking world.

Each time he watched you sleep, he wondered what dreams wove through your mind. He often imagined them—beautiful, vibrant, filled with the life you had built together. He found himself yearning for sleep, not out of weariness, but so that he might join you there, in that dreamscape you unknowingly shared.

In your dreams, you had a family—a place of laughter, warmth, and belonging. A perfect life, untouched by shadow, filled with the beauty you carried in your heart. It was a life he could never give you.

The thought pierced him deeply, even as he tried to bury it. He ached for it with every part of his being, a longing so profound it nearly overwhelmed him. Yet, he could not let himself hope for it, for he knew the weight of what he carried. Instead, he let the ache settle within him, his gaze soft as he watched you sleep, imagining for a moment that the dreams were real.

Even though they were only part of an intricately woven lie. A lie so convincing that even he had begun to believe it.

For the Great Deceiver had, in the end, deceived even himself.

Mairon sighed, his chest heavy with the weight of his fury and helplessness, and moved to take your hand. His fingers worked delicately as he uncovered the wrap on your wrist. The moment the mark was revealed, his anger surged, a fire burning deep within him. His fingers traced the darkened imprint, and a cold, sharp sensation shot up his arm, the darkness embedded there biting at his very being.

“I hold her in my clutches now, weakling,” his master’s voice slithered through the air, as if carried on an unseen wind. The mocking tone cut deep, and Mairon’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding as he resisted the urge to lash out at the phantom presence.

“Your time is up,” the voice taunted, dark and dripping with malice. “And so will hers be, if you continue living in this little fantasy of yours.”

The words lingered like a poison, their weight pressing down on him as he stared at the mark, a cruel reminder of the power still looming over him. His hand tightened slightly around yours, as if trying to anchor himself—and you—to the fragile hope he still held onto.

He had to tell you. While Melkor had no access to his mind still, he had to tell you of how he wished no longer to serve underneath the cruel Vala, how he regretted being seduced into turning away. Just how twisted with hurt he was knowing Melkor would burn this whole city down before Mairon could live here peacefully.

Mairon’s thoughts were abruptly silenced as your body twitched slightly, and your eyes fluttered open. He moved quickly, neatly covering the mark on your wrist, burying all thoughts of his master deep within him where they could not reach you. Your fingers, soft yet tentative, reached up to touch his face, your touch grounding him in the moment. His own hand moved gently to cradle your wrist, his lips pressing a tender kiss against it, as if he could somehow erase the harm it had endured.

“Husband,” you breathed, your voice hoarse but filled with relief.

“My sweet wife,” he replied, his voice steady yet laced with affection. “How are you feeling?”

A delicate smile graced your lips, faint but radiant. “I am well now that you are here,” you murmured, your words filling the space between you with warmth. Mairon smiled in return, leaning down to brush a gentle kiss against your lips. The tenderness lingered even as he pulled away, but the peace was short-lived.

The questions began—the ones he knew would come. Questions that pierced through the fragile calm, ones he was not yet ready to answer truthfully.

How could he shatter the image you had of him? How could he tell you that he was far from the name he carried, when names meant everything to your people? To reveal the truth would risk destroying the bond you shared, and that was a weight he was not ready to bear. Not yet.

Over the following days, you felt the growing chasm between you and your husband, each vague answer he offered widening the divide. Though you could see it plainly in his eyes—he knew exactly what had happened—he refused to share it with you. The weight of that unspoken truth bore down on both of you. Yet, you did not press him further; each attempt to broach the topic only seemed to stoke his temper and leave him more restless than before.

He threw himself into his work, spending his days at the forge with unrelenting focus. The nights, once filled with quiet moments of companionship, were now empty. He would return long after the moon had climbed high, slipping into the room only to sit at his desk, where he scratched furiously at his growing pile of parchment. The soft glow of the candlelight illuminated his tense shoulders and furrowed brow, but never reached the bed where you waited.

The bed was always cold. And now, so was your heart.

The warmth you had once felt from the chain around your neck and the ring on your finger—symbols of the love he had pledged to you—now felt like iron shackles, binding you to a man who seemed to have locked his heart away. A man who no longer seemed to want you.

As you sat beneath the great tree where you had once pledged yourself to Mairon, your fingers turned the chain at your neck absently, your thoughts distant and heavy. You shifted your wrist into the moonlight, the faint mark there catching the pale glow. Some nights it seemed to fade, a dull ache lingering where it once burned fiercely. But on others, like tonight, it flared, pulsing with a fire that clawed at your resolve. A cool breeze brushed against your hair, bringing no solace as tears began to well in your eyes.

Everything felt so wrong now.

The shadows around you seemed alive, crawling across the ground, and the radiant glow you had once carried with pride seemed dimmed, dulled by the weight of grief and uncertainty. Was it the shadows themselves, or was it the grief? You could not tell, and the uncertainty gnawed at you.

“I hope I am not disturbing,” came a familiar voice from behind you. Startled, you turned to see Calandil approaching, his tall form illuminated softly in the moonlight. It had been many years since you last saw him—years that had carved new lines into both of your lives. Forgiveness was not easy, and with Calandil, it had felt like trying to mend an age-old wound. Yet, even as you wrestled with your feelings, you felt a flicker of something familiar, perhaps even comforting, at his presence.

“No,” you said softly, hastily wiping your tears away. “I just needed some air.”

Calandil nodded, his movements measured as he moved to sit beside you on the stone bench. The silence between you was heavy but not unwelcome, a shared quiet that seemed to acknowledge the weight both of you carried. You glanced at him, noticing the subtle weariness in his features—marks left by the battles he had fought in the North, where the shadow crept ever deeper into Beleriand with each passing day. Yet, there was a steadiness in him that you had not remembered, a calm amidst the turmoil.

And perhaps, in this moment, that steadiness was exactly what you needed.

“I heard what happened,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence between you. “I wished to come at once—”

“Calandil,” you interrupted, his name slipping from your lips in almost a painful whisper.

“Y/n,” he replied, equally quiet, the usage of your birthname catching you by surprise. It had been so long since anyone had called you that, but the familiarity in his tone reassured you of his sincerity. He reached over, his hand moving to take yours in a gesture of comfort. But as the dark mark caught the moonlight, his eyes widened, his expression shifting from concern to alarm.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, his voice tinged with urgency. You instinctively tried to cover the mark with the sleeve of your robe, but his grip was firm as he gently but insistently pulled your wrist into the light.

“Tintilmë,” he murmured, his tone now grave, his eyes fixed on the mark. “This is no ordinary mark. When did you come into contact with a blade crafted by his hand?”

You stared at him, utterly perplexed. “What are you talking about?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly, unknowing of what he was even referring to. The confusion in your gaze only seemed to deepen his worry as he continued to study the mark, his expression darkening with every passing moment.

“Morgoth,” Calandil nearly snarled, his voice venomous. The name sent a shiver down your spine, as though some deeply buried part of you recognized its weight and darkness. Yet, the War had scarcely touched Laureandor, leaving you ignorant of its true meaning, shielded from its horrors.

You snatched your arm from his grasp, pulling the sleeve of your robe down to cover the mark once more. “Does he know?” he asked, pressing further.

“I do not know,” you replied curtly, your voice almost trembling with sorrow. “He does not entertain me anymore, too consumed with supplying you with his wondrous weapons, I assume.” He turned to face you fully, his expression severe, his piercing gaze rooting you in place.

“You need to leave here,” he breathed, his voice low but urgent. “Go far away from him.”

You looked up at Calandil, bewildered, your brow furrowing in confusion. “No,” you said sharply, standing abruptly and stepping away from him. “If this is a ploy to get me—”

Calandil silenced you with a raised hand, his frustration evident. “If he were truly the man he claimed to be, then he would not have lied to you,” he said with biting intensity. “He has deceived this city for centuries, and you most of all. He has blinded you, kept you ignorant for a reason.”

You stared at him, your expression shifting to suspicion and disbelief. Calandil’s hatred of Mairon was well known to you, but his open disdain felt unwarranted, uncalled for. “Tintilmë,” he said, his voice softer but still firm. “He is not the smith you think he is.”

Your fingers clutched at the skirts of your robes as you moved to leave, stopping briefly to glance back at him. “I thought we were behind this now, Calandil,” you said, your voice thick with hurt. “But I see you still envy him, still cling to your jealousy. He is who Eru destined for me, the one my fëa calls to. Can that not be enough for you?”

Calandil turned toward you, shaking his head in disbelief. “No,” he said, his tone heavy with anger and sorrow. “Not when he has likely manipulated you into believing those things, slithering his way into your mind to pull at your sweet, innocent heart for his own ends.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as his words struck a deep, aching chord within you. Without another word, you turned and fled down the stone steps, your robes billowing behind you as you ran. You needed to escape—escape the voices, the feelings, the turmoil that now stirred in your soul like a storm you could not quiet.

Mairon walked toward home after a long day at the forge, but his steps slowed and his sharp gaze became fixed on your retreating form as your velvet and silk robes billowed behind you, vanishing into the trees. His fists clenched tightly, his breath shallow as anger coursed through him like molten fire. He turned his attention to where you had come from, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon a lone figure sitting beneath the great tree.

Darkness crept up his fingertips, curling like smoke as his blood boiled. The very thought that someone had upset you so deeply ignited a rage within him that he could barely contain. Without hesitation, he started toward the figure, his movements deliberate and filled with purpose. Yet, as he drew nearer, a familiar unease washed over him. The tendrils of his master’s influence began to pull at him, wrapping around him like chains, dragging his thoughts into shadow.

His body tensed as the figure turned to face him. It was Calandil—or at least, it bore Calandil’s form. But the eyes… the eyes were not his. They gleamed with an unnatural light, dark and piercing, carrying the unmistakable presence of his master. Mairon’s steps faltered as his whole being screamed with dread, his instincts warning him of the danger that now stood before him.

“She’s beautiful, truly,” the figure said, the voice shifting, deepening, as Mairon moved closer. The tone was rich with mockery, the cadence of his master’s words unmistakable.

The form twisted subtly, Calandil’s features warping until the fair visage of Melkor stood before him, his presence radiating malice and authority. “That it brings me great joy,” his master continued, a cruel smile spreading across his face, “to taint that beauty.”

Mairon’s blood froze, the weight of his master’s words a brutal reminder of the shadow that threatened to consume everything he held dear. “Do you mock me?” Melkor asked, his voice sharp and venomous. “Do you mock our vision by falling for the spell of such a naive child?” The accusation lingered in the air, oppressive and suffocating. Mairon’s lips parted, but no words came. He did not know what to say, nor did he dare to speak lest his master’s wrath grow further.

“Speak!” Melkor roared, the sheer force of his voice reverberating through the courtyard. The sound sent a shudder through Mairon, his shoulders tensing as he flinched under the weight of that terrible command.

“No, master,” Mairon murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the darkness itself sought to swallow the sound. He lowered his gaze, unwilling to meet the searing intensity of Melkor’s eyes.

Melkor began to circle him, his presence a black void that seemed to devour the very light around them. The soft silver glow of the great tree beside them faded, dimmed and consumed by the pull of his master’s malice. The air grew colder, heavier, as though the world itself recoiled from Melkor’s presence.

Mairon stood rigid, the fire within him warring against the oppressive weight of his master’s shadow, a battle he dared not reveal lest he be torn apart.

“You are a coward, Mairon,” Melkor hissed, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Mairon turned his face away, shame and defiance battling within him, but his master’s iron grip seized his chin and wrenched it upward. Forced to meet the searing gaze, Mairon saw the fire burning in Melkor’s eyes, an unrelenting furnace of malice and power.

There was no escape. He had known it from the beginning, but still, the faint glimmer of rebellion had lingered in his heart. Now, faced with his master, it felt foolish—a fragile hope crushed under the weight of an undeniable truth. To stop serving Melkor was to cease existing, and that, Mairon knew, was not a mercy his master would grant him.

“You will know great pain, my pet,” Melkor snarled, his voice dripping with cruelty. Mairon’s throat tightened as he swallowed hard, trying to suppress the tremor that threatened to betray him.

“For my mark is unhealable,” Melkor continued, his words deliberate, designed to wound, “and she will slowly fade into nothingness as long as you stay by her side.”

The words struck like a blow, shattering the fragile defenses Mairon had built. His master’s hold on him remained unyielding, the weight of his threat suffocating. He could feel the cruel satisfaction radiating from Melkor, his delight in delivering such a crushing blow almost tangible. Mairon’s chest heaved as he fought to keep his composure, even as his master’s promise echoed relentlessly in his mind. “I will take great joy,” Melkor hissed, his voice dripping with malice, “in razing this place to the ground, forcing you to watch as the people you’ve served so diligently are wiped from existence. Their cries will be a symphony to my ears.”

He leaned closer, his grip tightening as his words became more venomous. “Then I will take even greater pleasure in knowing that you will never know love again. Only the cold, unrelenting embrace of the darkness that forged you—the darkness that made you strong, that made you loyal.”

Melkor’s smile was cruel, his eyes blazing with the fire of his wrath. “I made you, Mairon. You are mine, a creation of my will and my power. And I can unmake you just as swiftly.”

His words carried the weight of an undeniable truth, one meant to crush any flicker of rebellion or hope. The shadow of his intent loomed heavy, choking the air and leaving no doubt of the punishment he was capable of inflicting.

Mairon’s eyes burned as he fought back the tears that threatened to spill, yet a few escaped, tracing silent paths down his face. His spirit, once so unyielding, felt fractured, his heart shattered under the weight of his master’s cruelty. His mind wrestled with the torment of the choice now laid before him—a choice that would alter the very core of his being.

For centuries, he had labored in silence, trying to carve a path of repentance for the sins that haunted him. Just as he felt the glimmer of absolution within reach, the rug was torn from beneath his feet, plunging him back into the darkness. Yet, even in the suffocating grasp of despair, there was a light—you.

His entire fëa sang only for you, a melody that drowned out even the most tempting promises of dominion and power. No kingdom, no crafted dominion over the world, could ever compare to the feeling you gave him. Every fiber of his being, every thought and desire, was yours to mold and sculpt. He had no need for the grandiose visions of conquest his master offered; he had you.

You were his salvation, and he was yours. Bound by a love so profound it defied the shadow threatening to consume him. You were his light, and he was willing to risk everything to keep it from fading.

But to lose you would be his undoing. To ask you to fade slowly into one of Melkor’s grotesque forms, twisted and defiled beyond recognition, was unthinkable. It would be a betrayal of everything he cherished about you—your light, your kindness, your unwavering strength. He could not bear to imagine you living out the rest of your immortal days as a mere shadow of the splendor you were meant to embody.

He wished only to see you as you were now, in your radiant beauty—dancing in the glades with the children you so lovingly cared for, their laughter mingling with your own sweet, melodic joy. The sound of your voice warmed his heart in ways nothing else ever could, a reminder of the life he once dreamed of building with you.

If he were to love you forever, he would have to do so from the shadows. To protect you, he would need to retreat into the darkness once more, to covet you from afar. He would become the shadow that followed you, a specter of what might have been, blotting out his own light so that yours might endure. And in doing so, he would sacrifice what little happiness remained in his fractured existence.

“So, Mairon, what is your decision?” Melkor’s voice broke through the storm of his thoughts, cold and unrelenting. Mairon’s gaze lifted, meeting the dark, consuming eyes of his master. His chest tightened as the weight of the question bore down on him.

You turned at the sound of footsteps and saw your husband approaching, his stride slow, his expression burdened with an almost sorrowful weight. A gentle smile played on his lips as he came closer, his eyes momentarily softening when he realized where you were sitting—the very place where you had first met. You hastily wiped your tears, forcing a soft smile in return as you began to stand, but Mairon motioned for you to stay. He lowered himself beside you, pulling you gently into his arms.

His touch was familiar, but he felt colder than usual. The warmth that had always radiated from him, so steady and comforting, now seemed extinguished. You tilted your head up to look at him, studying his face. He seemed distant, his gaze unfocused, as though a great weight pressed on him, something he couldn’t yet bring himself to share.

“You can tell me,” you said softly, your voice filled with encouragement. His eyes flicked to yours, but the light that once shone there was absent, replaced by a cold shadow that sent a shiver through you. Your fëa ached at the sight, a wound that cut deeper than you could bear.

“Time will mend what is meant to be mended,” you said gently, your hand reaching up to rest against his cheek. “And what cannot be mended, we will endure together.” Your touch was light, tender, but he flinched away from it, and the rejection stung.

“You told me that, my sweet Mairon,” you reminded him softly, your voice tinged with a quiet desperation.

“Please, stop calling me that,” he finally said, his voice breaking as he spoke. His words hit you like a blow, and you sat up straighter, your heart twisting painfully in your chest. “Nothing will mend what I have done,” he said harshly, his eyes meeting yours with a dangerous intensity. The green of his gaze, once so vibrant and alive, was darkened now, almost unrecognizable.

“Mairon,” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears welled in your eyes. “What have I done to hurt you so?” Your words were soft, almost a whimper, laced with a sorrow you couldn’t hide.

But he didn’t answer. Instead, he moved to stand abruptly, stepping away from you as though your presence had become unbearable. Tears spilled silently down your cheeks as you sat there, your heart breaking at the growing chasm between you. “Please, husband, tell me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion. “I want to fix whatever I’ve done wrong. I need us to go back to—”

“You stupid, naive girl,” he snarled, his voice sharp and venomous as he whirled to face you. The words struck like a physical blow, and you reeled back, your breath catching in your throat. Mairon had never spoken to you like this, never raised his voice or degraded you. The man before you seemed like a stranger, a cold shadow of the one you loved.

“You really cannot see past your love-lorn looks and your childish view of love, can you?” he spat, his words dripping with disdain.

Tears welled in your eyes as you whispered, “You’re scaring me, Mairon.”

“Good,” he roared, his voice echoing with a fury that made you flinch. “I should.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, leaving you frozen in place as the man you thought you knew unraveled before you. The warmth and tenderness that had once defined him seemed a distant memory, replaced by an anger that burned fiercely, threatening to consume you both. Gently, you took his hands in yours, your touch soft and steady, but he pulled them away with a sharp motion. “You are my husband,” you said firmly, your voice unwavering. “And I promised to love every inch of you, even those darker parts.”

He looked at you then, his expression unreadable, before a dark, humorless laugh escaped him. It was a sound that sent a shiver down your spine, so foreign and cold. “If only you knew what that meant, little one,” he said, his words cutting and bitter. “If only you knew what that truly entailed, you would have never agreed.”

“Try me,” you whispered, the words trembling yet resolute. Something shifted in him then, a visible change that made your breath hitch. The faint light within him seemed to flicker and vanish entirely, as though the night had descended and swallowed the last remnants of day. His gaze grew darker, deeper, like a well without a bottom.

“Tell me everything,” you urged softly. “Tell me who you are.”

A smile twisted onto his lips, a haunting expression that was both wistful and wicked, carrying a darkness that even the moonlight could not pierce. “I have walked this land,” he began, his voice taking on a chilling calmness, “since before you rose from the earth. Kept a watchful eye on your kind,” he continued, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming as his fingers moved to cup your chin. His dark eyes bored into yours, their pull undeniable, like a black hole drawing in every thought and emotion. “Reported back when needed, sowed seeds where I needed to, and stood ever mindful that one day I would hold dominion over this land.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. “I once was Aulë’s greatest smith,” he said, his voice laced with bitter pride. “His most trusted confidant. Then I was shown a different path. One of order and purpose. One of darkness.”

You tried to pull away from his grasp, desperate to distance yourself from the truth unraveling before you. But even as you tried, the sweet, haunting melody deep within your soul called out to him at just his touch, binding you to him in ways you could not escape.

“Mairon,” you breathed, his name a pained whisper, as though speaking it might shatter the fragile connection between you.

“I am not the admirable man you think you married,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of the confession. “I am—”

“You’re a shadow of the northern realm,” you interrupted, your voice trembling, your tears spilling freely as you uttered the words you had dreaded. “A servant of the Great Foe. You’re—Sauron.”

His eyes flickered, a momentary flash of something vulnerable and raw. He was stunned, not by your knowledge, but by the sound of his name spoken from your lips. It made his skin crawl, as though it defiled the love he still carried for you. That name was never meant for you, never meant to taint your light.

“You may have brought hurt to my kin,” you whimpered, your voice soft and trembling, “but I still love you.” The words came out as a desperate plea. “These centuries have been nothing but happiness, full of light. That light has always been there. You can walk away, Mairon. We can—”

“I cannot!” he yelled, the sound like a thunderclap, his voice a terrifying crescendo that made you flinch. His emerald eyes burned with an unrelenting fire, and his once angelic voice deepened into something monstrous, reverberating with a power that shook you to your core.

“He will not let me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, trembling tone as tears glimmered in his eyes. “He has made that impossible now.”

The sorrow in his words, the sheer weight of his anguish, made your heart ache. “Then we will endure this together,” you repeated his words, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest.

“We cannot,” he replied, his tone more composed now, though sorrow still weighed heavily upon it. His hand moved to touch the darkening mark on your arm, his fingers lingering as though trying to will it away. “He has marked you—his final torment, the only way he knew to make me relinquish my light. If I were to stay, you would fade away into the darkness.”

Mairon’s hand moved to your cheek, his touch tender as his emerald eyes searched yours. “I cannot have that on my conscience. When Eru created me, he was too kind, gifting me such an accepting and gentle being to love. I do not know if it was out of mockery, but I can never taint what is so pure, Mori.”

You couldn’t bear his words, couldn’t let them tear this moment away. Urgently, you pulled him closer, pressing your lips to his, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck. He responded instinctively, his arms circling around you, holding you as if he feared letting go would break him entirely.

“Taint me,” you whispered fervently against his lips, your fingers caressing his soft, gentle skin. “Love me, even with your darkness, Mairon. There is no part of you I could not love. I was sung into being for you,” you cried, your voice trembling with emotion. “No matter what or who you will be, you are still my sweet, admirable, and gentle Mairon.”

He sighed, his breath warm as he rested his forehead against yours. “You are too good for me,” he murmured, his voice heavy with longing and guilt. “Too pure, too innocent.”

You giggled softly as he kissed your nose, playful and sweet, just as he always had. For a brief moment, the man you knew returned, and your heart soared. But his eyes darkened again with the weight of his decision. “If I am to love you, I must do it from afar. Because I could never live with myself if I took away your beauty and your light.”

“Mairon—” you began, desperation lacing your tone.

“I have to,” he interrupted gently but firmly. He pulled back, his hands trembling slightly as he removed the chain from around his neck. Carefully, he draped it around yours, the weight of the gesture filling the space between you with unspoken emotion.

“No matter the horrible, wretched things I will do,” he said, his voice steady but thick with pain, “you will be my light. My redemption. And in this jewel, I vow that one day, when all of this is over, it will be us. Just us. And I will give you the world, my beautiful Moriquendi.”

His words hung in the air like a promise, both fragile and eternal. You could feel the depth of his love, the impossibility of his struggle, and the inevitability of his choice. Your tears mingled with his as you clutched the chain, knowing that this moment, as painful as it was, held the weight of forever.

Mairon leaned in once more, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was achingly gentle, yet heavy with the longing for a day that might never come. It was a kiss that held all the love he could not put into words, all the promises he dared not speak aloud.

When he pulled back, his voice was soft, almost breaking as he spoke his parting words. “I love you,” he breathed against your lips, the warmth of his words lingering as his touch faded, leaving only a whisper of shadow behind.

“I love you too, my shadow,”

#sauron x reader #mairon x reader #trop fic #sauron #mairon #the rings of power #rings of power fic

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velarisdusk · 3 days ago

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Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going!

Thank you @xxvalkyriesxx for the tag!! <3

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024?

this made me have to actually update my AO3 with all my fics lol so thank you for that. 168,286 🫣

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

47!!! lots of them were super short ones for kinktober but still very very proud of that wow

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

3 >:)

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

im gonna give two because i cant choose and y'all just have to deal lol i LOVED Unveiled Pleasures, one of the Rhysand x Reader fics i wrote for kinktober. but ALSO i love the bat boys fic i just wrote, I slept with Someone in Wings of Illyria

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

Shadows at Twilight!! it's a nesta and azriel fic (not slash, just &, lol). it wasn't suuuper experimental i guess but still different from my usual stuff. it was the first fic i've ever written that wasn't slash, and i loved writing their big argument, i was really really fun :)

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

i wrote VWMT thinking it wasn't gonna be a huge deal, i posted it and didn't think about it for a while. and then the notes started coming in. and they still have not stopped 😭 i didn't like it a whole lot when i wrote it but so many people loved it and im so so grateful for that.

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

Held by a Whisper, a Tamlin x Reader angst fic. very short, very sweet, very sad. i love it with all my heart.

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

i only recently started indulging bass player az, but it all started months ago when i saw this by elenana.art. last i saw, there were only 2 things in her au, but now there are more and i LOVE THEM AAAAA

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

there are a good few but most notably @azsazz, @rhysazriel, and @readychilledwine, they're all incredible authors :')

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

@highlordofkrypton !!!!!!! thank u for wildflowers it's what got me into tamsand i love them sm

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

No, none..... yet >:)

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

I FINISHED A SERIES!!!!!!! Breaking the Ice was originally gonna be just Ice Cold Jealousy, but a lot of people enjoyed it so i planned the whole thing out. usually once i plan a series i get sick of it and bored and i quit. BUT I FINISHED IT!!!!!!! and thats all thanks to you guys, if you all hadn't given me such wonderful feedback i definitely would've gotten sick of it haha

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

i've had to learn to not get discouraged if something i really enjoyed writing doesnt do well. notes/hits/kudos/comments do not determine the quality of what's been written, i still have to remind myself of that. i've ALSO learned that i personally cannot write a whole fic and then post it once im done. i get burned out and discouraged and then i start to resent writing. it works for lots of peope and thats wonderful, just does not work for me :/

14. What is your advice?

get a beta reader omfg i swear it's like a lifehack its like youre CHEATING. i've been saved from so many embarrassing typos and repeated words

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

man idk i just wanna keep writing. maybe i'll start and finish this az x reader series i thought of. i really think y'all will like it, i just wanna make sure ive got the foundations of it before i start posting lol

if you'd like to, @halo-hanging, @rhysazriel, @highlordofkrypton, @acoazlove @inkedinshadows @scorpioriesling <33 if not, no pressure, and happy new year!! <3 :)

#tag game #<3

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godlynott · 2 days ago

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HOLD ME, CONSOLE ME. – THEODORE NOTT

NOTES: This is inspired on my fic! 'Every breath you take'. y'all can go read it💟 also my first language is NOT english so sorry if i have any errors. HAPPY NEW YEAR !! (this is also my first time writing something short like this sorry if its bad😭)

——————

Rory sat curled up in the far corner of the Slytherin common room, her knees drawn to her chest. The green glow from the lake outside cast ghostly patterns across her face, and she stared blankly at the floor, replaying the argument with Cedric over and over in her mind. She could still hear his voice, laced with disappointment, and feel the sting of his words. She hated that she cared so much.

Theo entered the room quietly, his hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn’t one to go looking for trouble—or for Rory, for that matter—but he’d noticed her absence during dinner and figured something was off. Their dynamic was always complicated, teetering somewhere between grudging tolerance and outright rivalry. Still, something about her silence tonight nagged at him.

“Rory,” he said, leaning against the armrest of the couch near her. His voice was casual, almost indifferent, but his eyes held a flicker of concern. “What’s with the storm cloud over your head? Did Cedric finally trip over his own perfection and blame you for it?”

Rory didn’t laugh. She didn’t even snap back at him, which immediately set off alarm bells. Instead, she gave a hollow shrug. “Not in the mood, Theo.”

“Not in the mood?” he echoed, dropping into the chair beside her. “That’s new. Usually, you’d bite my head off by now.”

She glared at him weakly, but the fire in her eyes was dim. “Why are you here?”

“Because you look like you’re about to punch the wall or cry—possibly both—and I’d rather not have to explain why the common room’s a mess."

Her lips twitched, almost smiling, but it faded just as quickly. She sighed. “Cedric it’s over, Theo. We both saw him cheating on me. Also sent me a text saying im "Too slytherin'.” The word came out bitter, heavy with frustration and hurt.

Theo scoffed. “Too Slytherin? What does that even mean? Ambitious? Clever? Better at chess than him?”

“He thinks I manipulate people,” she muttered. “That I don’t care about anyone but myself.”

Theo frowned, his usually sharp features softening slightly. “That’s crap, Rory. Anyone who actually knows you would never say that. Cedric’s just—what’s the word? Ah, right. An idiot.”

Before Rory could respond, the door to the common room swung open, and Daphne Greengrass strutted in, her icy demeanor filling the room. Her gaze immediately locked on the two of them, and her lips curled into a smug smile.

“Well, well,” Daphne drawled, sauntering closer. “Isn’t this a cozy little scene? Rory, drowning your sorrows with Theo? How romantic. Or are you plotting your next scheme?”

Rory’s jaw tightened, and she stood, anger flashing across her face. “Not now, Daphne.”

“Oh, but now’s perfect,” Daphne retorted, stepping closer. “I just think it’s funny, really. Cedric finally saw through your act, and here you are, looking for your next target. How very predictable.”

Rory’s hands clenched into fists, but Theo stood before she could get a word out, placing himself between the two girls. “Back off, Daphne,” he said, his tone low and dangerous. “You’re not helping.”

Daphne arched an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Oh, how noble of you, Theo. Defending Rory, of all people. Since when do you care what happens to her?”

Theo glanced back at Rory, whose face was a mix of anger and hurt, before turning back to Daphne. “I don’t. But I care about not listening to your nonsense. Go pick a fight with someone who actually deserves it.”

Daphne’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“No,” Theo said sharply, stepping closer, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “But if you want to stay here, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Or do I need to remind you that I can outthink you in every way that matters?”

For a moment, Daphne looked ready to lash out, but the steely determination in Theo’s gaze seemed to cow her. With a huff, she turned and swept out of the room, her robes billowing dramatically behind her.

As the door slammed shut, Rory sank back onto the couch, rubbing her temples. “Great. Now she’ll probably tell the whole house I’m crying over Cedric.”

Theo sat beside her again, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Let her. Half the house hates her anyway. Besides, it’s not like we’re friends or anything. I just couldn’t stand listening to her whine.”

Rory let out a bitter laugh. “Enemies or not, that was surprisingly decent of you.”

Theo shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “Don’t get used to it.”

But there was something in his tone—something softer, hidden beneath the sarcasm—that made Rory glance at him a little longer than usual. For the first time all day, she felt like the weight of Cedric’s words didn’t matter quite as much.

#theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo zurzolo #theo nott x reader #theodore nott fanfiction #blaise zabini #slythein boys react #godlynott #my fic #imagine #mattheo riddle #tom riddle #draco malfoy #regulus black #yayyy #slytherin boys #hogwarts au

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kyri45 · 4 months ago

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We love MK, child of un-divorced. The next update will be more gay. And fluffier.

Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU (PREV / FIRST / NEXT )

before saying anything, read the stuff under the cut

About wukong and macaque

Both these bitches did wrong, but remember that MK saw the vision starting from the fight itself, not what happened before. He then read the chapters of the book and read that Macaque also attacked. I personally think he's mostly hurted by what Wukong did, not because it's worse of what Macaque did, but because he idolized Wukong for so long, and while he know he did so many wrongs in the past, his vision of a "hero" dissapeared in this moment. He s mostly dissapointed let's say. Of course it's not the best of things to put tour heroes on a pedal because you will always be dissapointed. I guess MK learned the lesson...

About what MK said in panel 8

Our monkey boy is remembering his own very stupid thing he sacrificied himself without trying to talk it out with the others AND using the circuit on Wukong.

About the posters

Yes they were Monkey King posters. MK ripped them immediately after the vision because he still was not sure was reality and vision and was scared.

About the eye

Because I would prefer no one dies of angst, his eye is fine, it s more like symbolism.

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bernardellinewsagency · 3 months ago

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short neuvifuri angst idea

"Oh, did you enjoy the script that she wrote? Did you like the role that you were cast as? I hope you were happy in those five hundred years, Neuvillette, because I never was!"

Furina storms off after pushing him, leaving him drenched to the bone and sitting awkwardly in the waters of the Fountain of Lucine with naught to do but contemplate his long lasting memories. Remembering the way she would smile is an easy endeavor. Furina always looked sincere when smiling; perhaps he wasn't looking hard enough, but surely even fleeting moments between just the two of them had to have brought her some amount of happiness, as small as it may be.

He thinks of one long ago night, during the third century of her reign. Actually, right on the cusp of the new milestone, he recalls the Palais had been eerily silent after wrapping up a week of festivities held in Furina's honor. The people of Fontaine were still celebrating, and would be doing so until the early hours of the morning, but all was still within the Palais. Except for them, that is. She had supposedly retired to her bedchambers, and him to his office, yet the two had bumped into each other within the kitchen.

"Let's go to the Opera," she had told him, in lieu of answering when he asked what she was doing. He supposes that the flecks of pastry crumbs on her clothes answered that, and he didn't ask other questions such as why she wanted to go to the Opera. He followed her as willingly as if she had simply asked for the time.

(Their whole relationship had been like that, hadn't it? A duty that extended beyond just an Archon and her Iudex. He once heard the Traveler mention a sea of flowers at the end of the world, and should Furina declare that she would like to see such a sight, he would tear down Celestia just to make it happen.)

Furina had packed a basket of food to bring, and two bottles of wine to go with. Then they partook perhaps more than they should've, and perhaps he should've questioned if Archons can get drunk, or if a Sovereign should be getting drunk with one. He definitely should have stopped her from going into the storerooms of the Epiclese and procuring even more for them. The memories start to get a little hazy after that, but he can vaguely recall a remark she made about the location not being the best choice, and that she wanted to get away from something. He can't recall who made the decision to go up, and have him help carry her as they climb to the roof, but suspects it was still her doing.

As clear as day, though, he can remember her smile, bathed in the light of the slowly rising sun as it crested over the waters of her dominion. Out of every beautiful sight in Fontaine, she is the one he gets to appreciate most often, but never before in a light like this. He could gaze at that moment for another hundred years and never tire of it. "Dragon of the waters," she had called him, "might you allow an Archon to call you theirs?"

Should she have asked him that at the start of her reign, should they have been in a similar situation, the answer would be clear. He might have even wondered, with the walls of the Court to block them from their peoples' sights, if an Archon so in love with her people would fall like one if he shoved her. But they were not in the past, and he already knew by then that he had come to love her, and thus his answer was "I was under the belief that I already was yours, Lady Furina, both within my capacity as your Chief Justice and without. The people of Fontaine adore you, yet it is my love for you that truly knows no bounds. Nothing would make me happier than to be yours."

"They do, don't they," she had whispered, a note he almost lost to time with how he just barely could hear her. "Promise me this, Neuvillette, if you wish to be mine- promise you will never stray from your duties to Fontaine, and you will always, always, do what is best for her people."

"I will."

"And promise that you will stay by my side forever, then, for another three centuries and beyond that, even if you grow tired of me!"

"Of course, Furina, is... is something the matter?"

It was the first time he had seen her come close to crying, droplets of tears clumping her eyelashes together yet disappearing as she blinked, "Oh, you silly dragon, only the fact that you make me ever so happy."

Leaving the warmth of the memory behind, Neuvillette returns to the cold of an overcast sky dripping with sleet, as a blue silhouette leaves him behind and disappears into the cloudy distance.

#i didn't feel like writing the beginning but it's just them getting into an argument over how they feel for each other #cause i love the idea of furina rejecting *everything* that anyone ever might have felt for her while she posed as an archon #bc then she'd have felt like they didn't love her. they loved *focalors*. they loved her for who she can pretend to be #and not for who she actually is.#she needs therapy!! so does he!! everyone in fontaine does!!#this may be barely edited but it's still getting posted :D #genshin #genshin impact #furina #neuvillette #neuvifuri #fanfiction #genshin fanfiction #angst #idk if anyone will see this but if anyone might start to be like “well *i* see them as having a parent-child or sibling relationship-”#do the fuck not. my headcanons do not invalidate yours and yours don't invalidate mine!#two people can interpret a canon relationship differently and that's okay! i also enjoy viewing them with a more familial relationship!#but i also enjoy getting to explore their characterizations within a romantic relationship! they've got multitudes! and that's fine!#and if you don't like something just block the tag and move on or smth you literally don't need to engage with anything if you don't want t #sorry for the rant!! love and peace everyone :D

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girlwiththegreenhat · 2 years ago

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Why the fuck are people on Twitter upset about nonbinary robots. Transformers are aliens, why would they follow another species gender binary based on reproduction when they don't even reproduce sexually. If anything, ALL the robots should use they/them.

#liz blogs #transformers #i need to finish earthspark #conservatives won't survive when aliens come to earth #imagine going to another planet and trying to translate pronouns #but either theres more than two or theyre not based on reproduction #how do you figure out if youre a glerp or a blongo or a dee when you dont even have a yundle #and guess what else. if the robots all have one gender. and they use different Earth Pronouns #that dont line up with - in conservative terms - the pronouns they Should have #guess what. all the robots are trans now.#this is probably fucking incoherent i just woke up but man i hate when people think the universe revolves around humans #smash the gender binary to pieces #i write this from an angle to shit on their stupid argument i know nonbinary people can use gendered pronouns as well #the point is its hard to translate. frankly we also deserve big macho bots picking she her because it sounds nice #and little femmebots picking he him because it sounds cool and they want to seem Tough in earth terms #hasbro hire me i love robots and I'll write a transformers show so good it'll make conservatives literally explode

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littencloud9 · 8 months ago

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#cont thoughts of my last rb but. i think ppl are so quick to say that teruko is a badly written character bc of her role in the story??#idk how to explain it but. yeah bsd isnt the best at writing female characters and theres hints of misogyny here and there #but ppl always say teruko's entire character is a product of misogyny and that is just. not true.#prob bc people focus too much on the fact that shes a rare female character idk #yeah shes extremely dedicated to the hunting dogs and fukuchi. her LEADER. i dont think thats misogyny #people dont say that about chuuya being extremely loyal to the mafia 😭😭#'her having to give the credit to fukuzawa for killing fukuchi is so misogynistic!!!' except youre ignoring what that scene is really about #it's about two kinds of people. how fukuzawa couldnt kill out of love vs how teruko killed because of it #it's about the fact that SHE can do it. shes strong enough to. SHE understands whats necessary. SHE pushed her feelings aside.#which i thought was amazing. it really solidified her role as a SOLDIER which was how she was introduced. shes VICE CAPTAIN of the hd i fee #like people always forget that.#it's also rare to see a female character act on smth that isnt emotional cause it's always male characters pushing aside their grief for th #better. i loved that we were shown how fukuzawa who is stone cold and an ex assassin CLDNT do it while teruko who is explosive and emotiona #could!! it was an interesting side to both their characters #thats not to say teruko isnt a victim of misogyny. cause people do hate her for traits they love in other characters (shes very similar to #ranpo and chuuya and jouno off the top of my head)#but to say that her entire self is a result of misogyny is doing a disservice to her character #and shows that you cant look past her relationships with male characters idk #saying she doesnt have anything outside male characters is so untrue i cant stand that argument. bc SHE DOES. youre the one not seeing it #her role during the skyfall arc was amazing how do we forget that #anyway sorry. to each their own ofc im not defending bsd's occasional bad writing #but teruko get behind me djhfjhd

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waterlogged-detective · 11 months ago

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i wanna write lore about my characters but i am in the eternal struggle of how do i start

#the pain of wanting to talk about ocs but not what to say #s o b #forget art block how do i deal with oc block #id call it writing block but i always have that lol #vibrates #i wanna talk about my idiots #like the corpse trade in london #especially since depending on what youre reading on site people come back to their bodies or they dont #its not super consistant #like i know darcy wouldnt care but others WOULD depending on if you come back ot your original body #which i think is true???#idk man its super unclear #but its super morally dubious and I KNOW det doe isnt cool with it at all think of the FIGHTS #couples arguments but make them about philosophy and the fact that youre both actually diametrically opposed to things and you cant always #have a healthy work life balance between the two of you #because even if it works most of the time darcy is going to end up working on someone his husband thinks deserves better #especially if he finds out about the burking darcy did on the surface #cutting out the middleman as it were #and cutting the middleman #anyway i wanna talk about ocs help

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ragnarokhound · 1 year ago

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"reading under the red hood and it's pretty good i think" - jason todd fan who has only seen the cartoon adaptation of under the red hood

#getting my hands on the comic for utrh is cracking my entire brain open about werewolf fic like you don't understand #the cartoon movie was pretty tight but the comic is more robust. and yall the themes for werewolf fic...they're all coming together #now if only i could write the girls fighting FR I'M TOO SOFT YOU GUYS OTL #i'm just feeling insane over the first confrontation with bruce and how Jason tells him that 'gotham is evil'#and 'you have to fight her where she lives' and 'i live there' LIKE #it's only fueling my crazed impression that the end to Jason's philosophy has only two ends #when he's done what he's set out to do and rid the world of evil by cutting it out (which is futile; blind and toothless etc but details)#either: he changes his philosophy and becomes the very type of villain he hates or he dies himself. because he also deserves death #'i live there' ARE YOU KIDDING ME???#sorry if this is Not News to people or if Jason has had some serious growth vis a vis this entire mindset but like.#I'M INSANE ABOUT IT. I'M CHEWING ON IT FOREVER #and bruce is the wrong person to try to sway Jason off this path. theres way too much baggage too much history too many complicated feeling #but...tim...? >.>#tim i think has enough 'this is not my philosophy this is company policy and i'm the worlds okayest employee' energy to eventually do it #like obviously stuff would need to Happen for it to be possible lol but you guys. this is what made jaytim so tasty to me in the first plac #tim being capable of meeting jason halfway like bruce can't; tim being able to hold the conversation with jason without it collapsing #tim having rebuttals to jason's arguments that might actually get somewhere with him eventually...#i'm not saying it would be fast or easy or even make sense in canon lmao but think there's a lot of fic potential there owo #like tim's vicious streak is something jason would appreciate. :3c #local jaytim fic author rambles about jaytim in the tags once again more at eleven lol anyway #jason todd #dc

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gibbearish · 8 months ago

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are we really back to "oh you support (blank)? name ten people who (do/are) that right now or else youre lying for allyship points and everything you have to say should be disregarded". i thought we left that back in like. 2012 misogynist nerdbro culture

#i have seen it on two entirely separate topics lately and its like. hello?????#'if you cant name 10 trans authors off the top of your head you shouldnt be talking about trans issues full stop.#i dont think thats an unreasonable expectation for anyone wanting to engage in rational discourse' how about we all go outside #because like yeah i couldnt name you too many trans authors but given my transgenderismness i think i do in #fact still deserve a seat at the table. and i dont think there should be a prerequisite academic education level to be allowed to talk.#'but you could find them for free-' yes‚ you can‚ but people should still be allowed to a) choose what they read based #off of what interests them and not mildly-to-extremely dense nonfiction writing and still Talk About Their Own Lives And Have #Opinions #shockingly not reading a lot of one specific type of author doesnt prevent a person from having reasonable and valuable opinions #if youre not capable of parsing someones argument because theyre not well-read enough then that just imo means you dont actually understand #the things youve read to be able to give them a synopsis #this isnt school. we're not being graded. there is no required reading and you are perfectly capable of giving people an #explanation on your stances if theyre unfamiliar with them #i had a b) but i dont remember what it was‚ i think it probably was part of what i covered there that i thought was a separate thought #but yeah just like. idk you can just say 'hey i would really recommend reading xyz but to summarize‚ (thing that disproves them)'#it is not . difficult to either Explain yourself or‚ if that is not possible‚ Not be condescending to the person youre not willing to teach #for not knowing #ill stop there bc ive already done that ramble before but. yes #origibberish #edit: ok upon reread i got turned around and switched from addressing the less educated one conveying their arguments #to the more well read one #bc that was the b is i was gonna talk about both #yall get what i mean though just like. split it in half and flip it turnways

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callme000 · 10 months ago

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I don't think audiobooks are bad or an inferior format - but they're not necessarily reading and they're not equivalent to oral storytelling! When people pass on stories orally, they are directly interacting with their audience, tailoring that retelling in that particular instance to that particular audience. Easiest example being campfire stories that are always about "nights like this" and "not too far from here". It's a false equivalence because audiobooks do not and cannot do that. (Ted Chiang has a very interesting story about oral storytelling called Truth of Fact, Truth of Feeling which is centered on the differences between oral and written tradition - fantastic read) The malleability of oral tradition is the most important part!

Audiobooks are wonderful for accessibility, for those who may have learning or physical disabilities that can make traditional print inaccessible - 100% in agreement. But audiobooks, especially in this day and age, are very often used as background noise when completing another task. Not saying it's impossible to be focused on an audiobook, but reading traditional print requires pretty significant active involvement and is hard to do while also dedicating some portion of your concentration elsewhere.

Imo you lose a lot with audiobooks: you can't make annotations, the reader/narrator's intonation and performance choices will color your perception of the book, it is difficult to jump between passages or sections or quickly browse through the book, you cannot really set your own pace without audio distortion - you also gain a lot: integration of music and background noise and multiple voices expand the world far beyond the page, it's great for accessibility, it can help incur a more visceral reaction (ex: Lolita's audiobook, which is excellent and I highly recommend it) in the listener.

But it is fundamentally different and I don't think it's entirely unfair to assume that people are often engaging with audiobooks in a less active way than they do with traditional print. Relinquishing your ability to "steer" the reading makes it a significantly different - and not necessarily equivalent - experience. To the point where, in my experience, it's often incomparable.

#before anyone gets mad at me i think audiobooks are good #i do not personally like them and try to avoid listening to them #lolita is literally one of two exceptions and the other exception (alone w you in the ether) is a novel ive read multiple times #and have thoroughly engaged with prior to listening to the audiobook #world war z is also another personal exception but i could never finish it #that being said again i think audiobooks are good but the argument being made here is targeted at the very extreme end of the argument #rather than what most people who i know dont like audiobooks (comme moi) find issue with - which is that people are just.#absorbing passively #sorry for writing an essay i am avoiding work #by me #coming back to add to the tags bc i see people talking about how many audiobooks they could listen to while doing other things #but how few traditional print books they could read bc they couldn't sit down and read #that is. my point!!!! in the age of goodreads and booktok people are just. consuming #i am a fan of the romance genre and am guilty of reading 7 popcorn lit type books in a weekend i know the joy #but! like come on man i think that just proves how actually reading takes more work and effort and is inherently different than an audioboo #sorry but i do not believe you all are dedicating the same amount of attention to an audiobook while doing the dishes #as a physical book you have to sit down and read #they are not bad but like lets not act like they are interchangeable experiences #we do not have to take the moral high ground for preferring something easier #its dickish to be rude about audiobooks but i do not think it's sensible to assume the average reader and average listener are #having identical experiences w the same text and the listener is much more likely to have passively engaged w the book

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avelera · 6 days ago

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*whispers* Viktor never once says anything mean or belittling to Jayce after they become partners. Not one insulting "you" statement, not one disagreement where he doesn't remained focused on the point of contention. He never makes ad hominem attacks, he never insults Jayce's appearance or intelligence.

Literally the single meanest thing he says to Jayce that could be considered a "you" statement is "Your mind has become rigid." Basically, he's saying that Jayce has suffered so much recently that it's closed his mind to broader intellectual possibilities like, that is barely an insult, and clearly Viktor just means it as a statement of fact, if not a challenge for Jayce to joyously consider possibilities again. And by the way? That statement is when Viktor is in his full his villain arc. It's remarkable because it's the only time he's pointed out a perceived flaw in Jayce since the night when he questioned if Jayce signed his notes out of being egotistical.

From the moment Jayce told Viktor about how beautiful magic could be, arguably once Jayce became a person to Viktor rather than a subject of academic discipline or skepticism, Viktor has not once leveled a personal attack against him as a person. Not even during the fight on the bridge. Not even when he called Jayce's Councilor work a waste of our time. Not even when Jayce was considering making Hextech weapons, Viktor still remained focused on the substance of the argument, expressed incredulity, anger, even disgust that Jayce would consider making weapons, but he never said it was because Jayce was stupid or privileged or blind. He pointed out specifically that he knew Jayce felt trapped by the decision, he knew Jayce was being manipulated, and then, in a very pointed manner, Viktor reminded Jayce that there's always a choice, challenging Jayce to stand firm and do what was right.

Even when they parted ways in 2.02, Viktor didn't say there was anything wrong with Jayce. He just said their paths had diverged, again not saying anything was wrong with Jayce, or even his choices, but rather that they're two different people who had stayed together longer than their diverging goals normally would have allowed because of the affection they held for each other.

I don't know, I get why people write Viktor as catty or mean or dismissive of Jayce. There's definitely some quotes from the day they met, before they become partners, that lend to the idea that Viktor can be quite dry and sharp with others. And conflict is the stuff of good fiction so again, totally get putting some conflict between him and Jayce in fic.

But I also think there's a tendency in derivative works like fic to Flanderize the characters, or worse, put them into narrow archetype boxes that are vastly different from their more interesting and nuanced canon selves.

How many times have we seen a wiggly man/straight man or blue vs. red personality partnership duo? How often have we seen those partners not be able to fucking stand each other, who are bickering all the time, who are snide or backtalk, or are perpetually sarcastic?

It's so common that I get why people see it with Jayce and Viktor but that's why it's so damn fascinating to me that they aren't like that.

Jayce and Viktor don't suffer each other unwillingly at any point, even when they're having a goddamn flying superhero fight in the final episode they're talking about how they're happy to see each other and praying that the other will please step away from this destructive path! They don't want to hurt each other, even verbally!

During the years of their partnership, they're constantly delighted by the other's presence, they are instantly comfortable together and never have a bad word to say to or about each other. They actually don't bicker! When they have disagreements, they stay entirely focused on the point of the disagreement and they never dip into personal attacks of any kind.

Even the tone of the time Jayce yells at him on the bridge, arguably their most acrimonious moment in the whole first season, isn't an actual argument, no more than a parent yelling at their child for running into traffic is an argument. Jayce says awful things but it's clear his anger comes from fear for Viktor and for their precarious situation. And it's clear this is a deeply unusual moment for both of them, Viktor is taken aback at how unusual it is, Jayce once called out backs down immediately, arguably because it's so unnatural for them to fight at all that it takes the wind out of the sails of Jayce's anger instantly when he realizes he's crossed a line.

No one can drag a bad word about Viktor out of Jayce, and vice versa! When Singed implies that Viktor might lose loved ones over his choices, Viktor immediately (and correctly!) states that Jayce will understand.

They are rigorously protective of one another too. Arguably all the times Viktor excludes Jayce from his Hexcore experiments in S1 is to protect him from his reckless and likely illegal experiments (as well as not wanting Jayce to stop him and wanting to live, but it can be many things). Jayce constantly cites Viktor as his partner and constantly reiterates that Viktor is his priority in life, that saving Viktor comes first. Jayce overthrows the goddamn founder of the city in order to protect Viktor!

Jayce's love for Viktor is so extreme that literally in S2, the only person who can convince Jayce to hurt Viktor, after seeing the post-apocalyptic Hell of a future that is caused by him, is Viktor himself. Jayce doesn't even get mad at Viktor after he learns Viktor is the cause of what he saw! He is instead desperate to get back, to avert the damage caused by their joint work in Hextech, and saved Viktor from the fate worse than death that is Mage Viktor's total isolation in the aftermath. And every step of the way, even knowing what he knows it's clear he's in agony at the thought of having to raise a hand to Viktor at all.

Now of course I'm getting into just how insane their love for one another gets in S2, but I just feel so baffled sometimes reading fic where Viktor is constantly undercutting, insulting, or belittling Jayce every which way. He never once does that after the partnership begins. And it makes me so insane because we have so many partnerships in media that do devolve into sarcasm, cattiness, and backbiting but Jayce and Viktor aren't one of them and that's really really fucking interesting and worthy of exploration I think.

#jayvik #arcane #arcane meta #jayce talis #viktor arcane

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whorelaud · 2 months ago

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꒦꒷ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 untouchable ¡

pairing experienced¡roommate¡rafe cameron x innocent¡reader

sunmary rafe guides you through your first masturbation after you told him you've never touched yourself before, his offer tempting you in ways you've never experienced before. your curiosity grows as well as your desire, leading to an intimate moment that changed things between you two.

contains smut! first time masturbating, guided orgasm, fingering, lots and lots of kissing, dirty talk, nipple play, needy reader, player rafe, hes a tease!! he also interrupts reader, uhh thats ab it (i think). wc; 4.2k

a/n hi !! this took two days to write and at least 1-2 months to get out of my notes blaahhh hope you enjoy!!!!

“Have you ever had someone go down on you?”

You choked out a snort of disblief, taken aback by the question. Rafe, who was seated inches away from you, chuckled, turning his head in your direction, causing the smile on your face to instantly vanish.

He wasn’t joking.

You cleared your throat, feeling heat crawl past your neck, until it eventually settled on your face. You’ve had your fair share of embrassing moments with your roommate, but this? You wanted the ground to split and swallow you whole, too ashamed to respond.

Truth be told, you’ve never involved yourself in any sexual activities, let alone had someone go down on you. Hell, you’ve barely ever touched yourself before, brushing off your random bursts of arousal whenever you were sexually frustrated

So, the question here was, how were you supposed to tell him that? Reveal that you were a virgin at heart, and that you’ve never had someone touch you intimatly; not that you’ve done it.

You were painfully aware of how experienced Rafe was, with the latter informing you all about his hookups; and that was besides the amount of girls he brought over. The walls were thin enough to give everything out, their loud moans and whimpers echoing through your ears. In conclusion, you didn’t need him to break down what he was up to.

“Not that I remember.” You muttered, brushing off the question.

“What?” He cocked his head to the side, snatching the spoonful of ice cream from your hold. “Who doesn’t remember getting eaten out?”

“People are busy, Rafe.” You scoffed, licking the drop of ice cream off your thumb. “Not everyone has the time to fuck around.”

“You’re not busy,” he muffled out, tossing the spoon back in the tube of ice cream on your lap. “You don’t go out, all you do is lay around the whole day, then proceed to complain over the fact that you did nothing all day.”

You rolled your eyes, faking an annoyed expression at his words. Rafe adjusted his position, manspreading on the sofa, until his knee was hovering over yours, the contact ceasing the distance between you.

“I mean, come one…” he trailed off, tone slightly teasing. “I’ve never seen you bring anyone over, are you really not interested in any of that stuff?”

“How about you mind your business?” You huffed, feeling your ears burn with heat. “Why do you wanna know so bad?”

“What?!” He defensively shot back, “I’m jus’ curious, besides, you never tell me anything, it’s always me talking.”

“It’s ‘cause there’s nothing to tell you,” you mumbled under your breath, avoiding Rafe’s gaze. “There, you happy?”

Silence seeped through the air, atmosphere heavy with tension. Rafe‘s lips parted with disbelief, speechles by your blunt response. That was… new, you never brought up your sexual life to the latter before, so to think you were admitting to being a virgin over a silly argument struck Rafe to his core.

"You're not like, serious or anything, right?” He attempted to laugh it off, smile fading when your expression remained the same. “Shit, you’re being serious.”

Your gaze settled on your hands in your lap, too embarrassed to glance over at Rafe, whose eyes burned holes through your flesh. You could envision the look of disbelief on his face, not having to look to know that he was shocked.

“Why are you surprised?” You giggled, brushing off the heavy tension seeping through. “You said it yourself, i’ve never really brought anyone over.”

“I was messing,” he swiftly replied, “I didn’t think you were you know… a virgin.”

“Okay, if you word it like that…” You tilted your head to the side, a tight-lipped smile spreading across your lips.

“Have you never like, engaged in anything?” Rafe muttered, trying to play off the question as something casual, though you knew it wasn’t. “You know, never gave a guy a blowjob before?”

Nothing about your roommate asking if you’ve given a guy a blowjob was casual.

“No.” You shook your head, a snort escaping your throat.

“You’ve kissed someone before though, right?” He asked, voice lowering with hesitation.

“I’ve kissed someone before.” You exclaimed, leaning your head back on the sofa. “You already knew about that.”

“You did tell me,” he nodded his head, “Have you never like…”

“What is it now, Rafe?” You question, teasing hinted through your tone. “Why are you investigating me?”

“‘M not; jus’ curious.” He muffled out, voice barely above a whisper. “Have you never pleased yourself?”

“What?” You ask, coming to a halt.

The question filled with temptation, something you both chose to avoid for the sake of your friendship. Rafe always playfully flirts with you, using every chance he could to tease you. Those usually end in you brushing it off, not thinking too much of it.

However, this was personal. He was asking questions that shall be private, not for him to hear, nor know about.

“Have you never touched yourself before?” He elaborated, gaze flickering to your lap. “You’ve touched yourself, right?”

You remained silent, blinking far too many times for your liking. You fidgeted with the rings hugging your fingers, busying yourself with the movie displayed on the tv, now long forgotten with the ongoing conversation.

“Fuck.” Rafe muttered under his breath, throat going dry. “That’s so…”

“Embrassing,” you cut him off, playing off your embarrassment. “I know.”

“It’s hot; somehow turns me on,” he corrected, continuing his statement. “Knowing you’ve never touched yourself before.”

Your head shifted in his direction, a flustered expression spreading across your face as you felt heat settle on your cheeks. You swallowed around your throat, mouth gaping to speak, met with utter silence in return.

Shivers ran down your spine, the sensation like feathers on your skin. Rafe’s blank expression made things worse, displaying how serious he was being. He wasn’t fucking around, even with how swift the conversation took a turn.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, clearing your throat. “Quit messin’ around.”

“Did that get you?” Rafe choked out a giggle, easing the tension between you.

“That wasn’t funny!” You huffed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Don’t joke around like that.”

“I mean,” he said, teasingly fidgeting with his tongue. “It wasn’t a joke, but–”

“Rafe!” Your face heat up, flustered expression spreading across your face.

“Sorry!” He chuckled, drifting off for a moment. His gaze trailed down your body, a sly smirk finding his lips once again. “You need help? I’ll guide you through it.”

You paused, considering his suggestion for a moment, even if he meant it as a joke. Your lips quivered into a thin line, feeling your throat dry up when his hand found your bare thigh, action teasing, tempting you in ways that were forbidden.

And before you got time to process the gesture, he grabbed the ice cream tube from your lap, instantly scooping a bite with the spoon inside. It took you a moment to catch on with what he did, attempting (and failing) to snatch it back from his hold.

“Hey, that’s mine.” You muttered, gaze shifting up to Rafe when he stood to his feet.

“What’s mind is yours, remember?” He winked, walking backwards to maintain eye contact with you. “We both pay the bills around here.”

“I paid for that, though.” You argued, mimicking the latter’s action as you followed in his steps.

“From whose wallet?” He reasoned, causing you to go quiet.

Right, you did steal ten bucks to buy that from him; though the boy didn’t mind.

Your shoulder relaxed, defeated by the boy’s response as you watched him enter his room, letting the door shut behind him.

That was that.

Later that night, you found yourself slipping under your convers, tempted by Rafe’s words from earlier. Your hands traced down your body, halting around the sliver of skin in between your shirt and shorts.

Your fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts, teeth digging through your bottom lip as your hand tumbled beneath the thin cloth, the sensation of your cold fingers brushing over your heat sending shivers throughout your body.

Your digits lightly traced over your heat, sliding down your folds, inaudible gasp escaping your throat when you noticed how wet you’ve gotten from earlier. Rafe’s words echoed through your ears as your eyes fell shut, imagining him guiding you through your masturbation with his words, the thought spiraling pleasure through your body.

You collected your juices with your fingers, gasping as you traced them back to your clit, the sensation overwhelming you whole. You started off with slow rubs to your cunt, letting your pleasure build up within every touch you committed to.

You imagined Rafe’s hand instead of yours, rubbing your clit while he whispered praises to your ears. The thought washed guilt over you, aware you were going to regret your pathetic thoughts once the pleasure wears off.

Imagining your roommate going down on you was your last predicament tonight, yet, here you were, touching yourself while pretending it was Rafe, his words never leaving your mind. You would’ve been down for whatever, the least he could’ve done was push through with his teasing, and you would’ve gladly accepted it.

But he didn’t, and that made you want him even more. The idea of not being able to have him, not even for a moment, because it was forbidden. You were well aware of that, barely holding back before, whether Rafe stood too close, or said something tempting.

“Hey, uh, have you seen my green–” Rafe burst through the door, freezing in his tracks once he noticed the state you were in. “Sweatshirt?”

The covers weren’t much of help, as Rafe instantly realized what you were doing. He gulped, feeling himself twitch in his pants, as his fingers clutched around the doorknob. You immediately jumped out of your position once you spotted him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your eyes trailed down to his torso, feeling heat crawl to your face when you noticed his bare chest, out on display. Right, that was a norm, you should’ve been used to it by now.

“What the fuck, dude?” You shot back, heavy breaths escaping your throat. “Can’t you knock?”

“Hmm?” He hummed, too hazed up to process what you were saying. “Right, sorry, I– I should’ve knocked.”

You felt so exposed under his gaze, tugging your bottom lip with guilt as you caught sight of his face. Maybe that was meant to happen, a sign that you shouldn’t have crossed the invisble line you created, pleasing yourself over the thought of your best friend.

“What do you need?” You muffled out, gulping when his eyes flickered down to your lips.

“Well, I was jus’ asking if you’ve seen my sweatshirt, but…” He trailed off, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “You seem busy.”

“I was sleeping.” You replied, though the excuse was not much help. “You– you interrupted.”

“Clearly,” He cocked his head to the side, seeking your gaze with his own, a desperate exhale escaping his parted lips when your eyes wouldn��t meet his. “I’ll leave you to it, then…”

He trailed off, hinting something with his tone. He hesitated to leave, still clutching into the door handle while he stared at you, waiting for you to at least say something, stop him before he does anything stupid and ruin your friendship in the process.

However, you didn’t, leading the latter to shut the door, the gesture causing you to wince. You gulped, observing as Rafe came to a halt, his back to the door, with his hand yet wrapped around the doorknob. His lips parted with an exhale, fingers finding his jaw as he busied himself with his chin.

And if you didn’t know him any better, you would’ve thought he was nervous. But he wasn't. You knew Rafe, he was your roommate, after all.

“What are you doing?” You questioned, voice low enough he could barely hear you.

Rafe remained silent, leisurely approaching you with haste. Your gaze followed his every move as he came to a halt around the edge of the bed, now towering over you. You fluttered your eyes up at the latter, breath hitching when you noticed the look of despair on his face.

His fingers hovered beneath your chin, thumb slightly tracing your bottom lip, the fraction causing your mouth to part. He tilted your head with the fingers around your jaw, cursing under his breath once he caught sight of your hazed state, too far gone to comprehend your surroundings.

“You need help with that?” He questioned, gaze flickering to the shorts that hung low on your waist, able to see them now that he was in your presence.

“Huh?” You questioned, vision going blurry when his thumb grazed over your teeth. “What do you mean?”

He groaned when your tongue darted out, licking a stripe of his finger, the gesture bold, encouraging him to continue. And he did, inserting his thumb inside your mouth, the sensation of your hot spit coating his finger earning a shuddered exhale out of the boy.

You swirled your tongue around the digit, driving Rafe over the edge. He imagined your lips wrapped around his cock instead of his finger, the dirty thought causing him to twitch in his pants, fully hard hard by now.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered, withdrawing his finger from in between your lips, and replaced it with his own as he captured your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. “Can’t believe you’ve never let anyone touch you before.”

“Is it that hard to believe?” You hushed, lowering your tone to match his. “Are you gonna tease me over it?”

“While that does sound tempting right now,” he smiled over your mouth, littering wet kisses in between his sentence. “I’ll pass, ‘rather focus on you, doll.”

Your face heat up at the pet name, too flustered to respond. You were still in disbelief over this, whatever it was, not expecting anything like this to happen between you two. Fuck, Rafe was kissing you, and you were totally in for it, in fact, your body was speaking faster than your mind, following your needs before you could process it.

“I’ll guide you through your first time, baby.” He muttered under his breath, knee finding the space in between your legs. He captured the corner of your lips in an open-mouthed kiss, one of his hands toying with the strap of your bra. “Let me make you feel good.”

“You know,” you trailed off, enjoying the sensation of his fingers tracing the bare skin around your shoulders, the contact like feathers to your flesh. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?” He asked, hands shifting down to your waist, barely above the hem of your top. “It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong, ‘m only helpin’ you.”

“Jus’ shut up n’ kiss me.” You slurred, wrapping both arms around his neck as you ceased the distance between you.

A content hum left Rafe’s throat, pressing you down to the bed with the hands around your waist. The latter hovered over you, angling his head to the side to deepen the kiss. A gasp escaped your throat as he nibbled on your bottom lip, the unexpected gesture causing you to part your mouth.

Rafe saw a chance, and took it, tongue invading the inside of your mouth with the access you granted him, your fingers toyed with the bozzed hair at the back of his head, almost yelping when his cold fingers made contact with the sliver of skin around your stomach.

You’ve never been touched by a man like this before, Rafe was exploring parts in your body that were meant to be hidden, not for his gaze to admire. Multiple times he had to hold back, watching you innocently walk around the house with a set of pajamas that barely covered anything, revealing all your curves.

You drove him crazy, with everytime you moved, slightly teased him, told him things no one should know, he wasn’t able to handle it, not with how oblivious you were to the hints he kept dropping. And if he rubbed one out to the thought of you, he wasn’t mentioning it; not to you, that’s for sure.

His fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts, withdrawing from the kiss to glance down, making you feel shy under his gaze. He tugged the elastic down your side, hissing when his fingers made contact with the warm skin hidden underneath.

“Fuck, baby.” He groaned, “Get these off, need to see you s’ bad.”

You moaned at the remark, letting your eyes fall shut as he tugged your shorts down, levelling them with your knees, until he could get a good view of your dripping cunt. A shuddered sigh escaped his lips, fingers instantly finding your folds.

You gasped at the sensation, arching into the touch, chasing after your pleasure when he moved his hand up your sides, pressing your hips down to the bed.

“Stay,” He whispered, lips ghosting over yours. “I’m supposed to be helpin’ you, ‘member?”

Right, that skipped over your head.

“Well then, hurry up and do it.” You whined, almost yelping when his hand hovered over your heat. “Fuck, Rafe, please.”

“Please what?” He question, a teasing grin forming on his lips. “Use your words, baby.”

“Touch me.” You demanded, words slurring out of your mouth.

“You know I can’t do that.” He chuckled, retrieving one of your hands from around his neck. “S’ supposed to be your job.”

He guided your hand down to your heat, pressing your fingers to your clit. You moaned, leaning your head back as Rafe moved your digits over your cunt, using his hand to lead you through the rhythm, slow and steady, not too much, in case you grew sensitive to it.

You desperately shuddered under the touch, gasping when Rafe pressed his hand over yours, the gesture spiraling pleasure throughout your body. His face nuzzled into your neck, littering wet kisses to your throat as he continued pleasing you with his guided hand, leisurenly picking up his (your) pace.

“Fuck,” you whined, nails digging into the blade of his shoulder, well aware he was waking up with bruises with how much pressure you were applying. “Feels s’ good.”

“Yeah?” He muffled against your neck, teeth grazing over flesh, before he nibbled right under your jaw. “Am I making you feel good, baby?”

You hummed, too accompanied with your pleasure to respond. You arched into the touch, muffled whines the only thing leaving your throat as Rafe’s fingers traced over your folds, until they found your entrance.

“Fucking hell,” he grunted, withdrawing from the crook of your neck. “You’re so wet for me, doll.”

Your face heat up at the words, turning your head to the side to avoid looking at the latter. One of his hands slid underneath your shirt, kneading your boob with his fingers. Everything felt overwhelming, whether it was the hand guiding your fingers on your clit, or the one squeezing your breasts, it was too much for you to comprehend with a hazy mind and a blurry vision.

He managed to get your shirt off with a bit of shuffling, and a bit of help from you; of course, leaving you in only your bra. His mouth salivated at the sight of your breasts, now half on display, only for him to see.

He swallowed around his throat, fingers toying with the thin material of your bra, using the digits to tug it down, until it exposed your nipple to the chilly air, causing goosebumps to break out across your chest. He rolled it with his thumb, fascinated with how perfectly your boobs sat.

You jolted under his touch, becoming sensitive to the finger flicking your nipple, growing even more surprised when he leaned down, taking your tit in his mouth. His tongue swirled over your now hardened nipple, letting his spit coat a stripe of your chest.

Your back arched into Rafe’smouth, eyes forcing shut as his hand found your back, unclipping your bra with a swift gesture. He let the cloth hang loose around your chest, finger dipping beneath the straps around your shoulders, letting them fall down your sides.

“God,” he grunted, his hot breath fanning over your boob, while his hand toyed with the other, squeezing and kneading the plump flesh. “You’re a fucking mess for me.”

You whined in protest to his words, feeling your pleasure build up, sensing your climax in the process. Rafe’s mouth found your lips once again, capturing them in a lustful kiss. He licked into your mouth, tongue gliding over yours as it met his half way through.

“I think I’m…” you spoke in between kisses, “Rafe– fuck!”

An audible gasp escaped your throat when Rafe circled your entrance, lining his finger up with your hole. And without a warning, he slipped a finger inside, the new found pleasure mixed with pain alluring you into his trap.

This was exactly what he wanted, to have you a flustered mess under his touch, show you how good he could make you feel, even if it was wrong, forbidden; in your words.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, parted lips ghosting over yours. “Wanna fuck you so bad, doll.”

You whined over the statement, picturing the idea of Rafe fucking you stupid, until you no longer were able to remember your name. His finger moved inside you, letting you get used to the digit moving in and out of you. Your hand was back to your side by now, letting Rafe lead you through your built orgasm.

The latter lined another finger with your hole, slowly letting it insert inside you, using his thumb to rub your clit, merely to distract your mind off the pain, and focus on pleasing you. His pace was slow, steady enough it drove you crazy.

His fingers continued pumping in and out of you, with you relaxing into the touch once you slightly got used to the digits stretching you out. Rafe picked up his speed when he noticed that, hand growing sloppy inside your dripping hole.

“Rafe–” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m so fuckin’ close.”

He hummed, littering open-mouthed kissed to your lips as you gasped into his mouth when his fingers hit your g stop. And you were so closer, with his fingers inserting in and out of you, while his thumb rubbed your clit, chasing after your pleasure.

Your legs trembled as you came undone, shuddering in Rafe’s arms as he walked you through your orgasm. He slowed down his pace, chuckling as a content hum escaped your throat, pulling him down for a quick kiss.

It was sweet, lingering for only a moment before Rafe pulled away, smug smile ghosting over your lips. He withdrew his fingers from your entrance, with you already missing the warmth of his fingers inside.

He traced his hand over your figure, coming to a halt when he reached your mouth. He parted your lips with his fingers, a silent demand that you shall not deny. You took the digits in your mouth, gliding your tongue over each one, tasting yourself on them.

Rafe smirked, watching you with despair, a look of want you only got to experience whenever he was hitting on other girls. Yet, here he was, fucking you with his fingers until you came undone.

He withdrew his fingers, replacing it with his own mouth as he pulled you in for another kiss, this time to taste you on his lips. He smiled against you, satisfied now that he’s able to savor you whole, having explored every inch of your body; though he knew that wasn’t enough.

“That felt good,” he started, rubbing his thumb over the corner of your face. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, I must say…” you trailed off, slightly growing flustered by his gaze as it burned holes through your skin. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You think?” He snickered, thumb brushing over your lips. “Should we give it another go, now that you lost your jerk-off virginity?”

“That’s lame,” You chuckled, a knowing smile suppressing its way across your lips. “Hmm, who knows, maybe that’s not the only virginity I’ll be losing tonight.”

“Okay, that’s a lame way of telling me you want me to take your virginity.” He grinned, amused by the embarrassed shove you gave to his shoulder.

“My god, shut up!” You blushed, hiding your face with your hands. “That’s not what I was sayin’.”

“No yeah, definitely.” He nodded, attempting to get your hands off your face. “Don’t be a brat, baby, look at me.”

Your hold fell loose around your face, letting Rafe move your hands off, revealing the smile tugging at your lips. He mimicked your action, expression switching into something serious, all while maintaining a teasing grin still.

“You know, that wasn’t such a bad idea.” He pecked the corner of your lips, leisurely trailing down to your throat, until he nuzzled in the crook of your neck. “Maybe we should test it out.”

“Test what out, idiot?” You grinned, tilting your head to give Rafe more access to the side of your neck.

“Lots of stuff,” he muffled, “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back, now that I got a taste of you.”

“So, don’t.” You shot back, mouth moving faster than your brain as you responded. “Don’t hold yourself back, ‘m all yours.”

And that was the only sign Rafe needed, ceasing the distance between you before capturing your lips in a kiss, one you don’t think you’ll be able to forget.

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