#i will forever be a prisoner of my own mind
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starschu · 4 hours ago
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Battling through the mortifying ordeal of exposing my Twitter acc cause, unfortunately, I needed to share this comment I wrote because????? The pieces just clicked in place for me seeing that user’s post
Of course Jayce was able to grit his teeth and shoot Viktor at the commune, even though every fiber of his being was (literally) screaming at him not to—
Of course he rejected Viktor’s invitation in the council room, even though I’m sure he almost rejoiced when Viktor called him his partner again—
Of course he willingly gave up his life, didn’t fight as Viktor took over his mind even if it risked him being ascended and trapped forever as a statue, never able to think or move or breathe, a prisoner of his own body—
—because all of it would ensure, at the end, that Viktor would never have to come back to himself and see that he doomed the world. That his evolution was a massacre. That he’d be alone, indefinitely left to agonize over what he’d done. Because Jayce would never let that happen
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lucaanis · 24 days ago
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I made a similar post before a long ass time ago for the other three da protags but now it's time for rook, this time in poll format <3
as always feel free to ramble about your ocs in the tags!! 👀
#💾#dragon age#mostly threw this together bc i think it's a fun dragon age character development question#and i wanted to bring some oc community engagement to the dash today#community? comradery? positivity? idk#← rare moment of me not minding if one of my posts breaks containment#ive had this sitting in my drafts forever and kept forgetting about it so whatever. go my scarab#also i want to make a spirit version but i cant have 2 polls in the same post. L#anyway. for lleyth it's actually hard for me to figure out for once bc like i could see pride for obvious reasons including solas#but at the same time i think lleyth is... actually quite humble and does not believe themself to be any better or more qualified than anyon#like they dont want the position they're in at all and they doubt their own leadership skills constantly#and they do what they must bc they have to. not bc 'they're the only one who can (do it right)' like solas wants to believe ab himself#and i think people who make good targets for pride are people who would do anything for power. lleyth does not want that#which leads me to think they would probably be targeted by despair.#i think they are someone who is used to being forced to lock away their sadness and either turn it into useful rage or compartmentalize it#but there is just. a deep and profound sense of not belonging anywhere and doubting their place in the world/others' lives#and if they weren't the type of person whose instincts kick in like a failsafe and make them keep fighting no matter what#i feel like they really would be stopped in their tracks by an overwhelming feeling of futility and misery#and there are a Lot of miserable moments in lleyth's life a demon could use to manipulate that within them 😔#plus despair seems to be the polar opposite of determination. which considering spite really likes/is drawn to lleyth... yeah. yeah#and the fact that despair demons constantly single out rook in combat is like. haha whats going on there bud........#and i personally think the inverse of this question (what spirit would be drawn to them) answer would be determination#bc damn kid you don't know how to quit. you will punch up at the cost of even your own fists and it's admirable#constantly swinging at something bigger than you that you cant take down etc etc#*take me to war by the crane wives starts playing as i lean out over the balcony smoking a cigarette*#take me to war honey i dare you. i'll be the sweetest thing to ever scare you <3 etc etc#plus its also tasty to me to think about lucanis having to break them out of the Despair Mind Prison#by chipping away at all of the awful things they believe about themself. as payback#🫵 get loved and adored idiot
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pepprs · 1 year ago
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i literally need there to stop being situations circumstances events developments complications and happenstances. for the fucking love of god
#purrs#but there will never stop being any of those things so actually what i literally need is to learn HARD AND FAST how to stop getting so#fucking triggered over a situation i know is NOTHING so bad that im anxious for the entire rest of the day and can’t even get any work done.#like (jade from tesco voice) girls… im not gonna lie to you. i think therapy is not working. i think i am not mentally or emotionally strong#enough to work in this job and i think i am never going to get mentally or emotionally stronger. ive been stuck in the quicksand too long#and now im atrophying. i cannot develop the situational awareness and motor skills or awakeness (and i mean AWAKEness.) to safely and#consistently drive a car. i cannot develop the intellect and drive and courage to get an advanced degree or be in a leadership position that#everyone actually sees as a leadership position lmfao. and i cannot develop the emotional intelligence and inner peace to not get triggered#out of my fucking mind at work to the point where im having anxiety heart palpitations and fighting back tears. i am just stuck as i am#forever. and you know how i know that? BECAUSE IVE WORKED AT THE NATIONALLY RENOWNED CENTER FOR YOU-ARE-NOT-STUCK-AS-YOU-ARE-FOREVER FOR#FIVE FUCKING YEARS SINCE ITS LITERAL FOUNDING AND HELPED TO FOUND IT AND IM STILL LIKE THIS!!!!!!!!!!!! i go back to square one EVERY#FUCKING DAY!!!!!!!! how am i supposed to tell other people who they are is what they bring and the world can change and whatever when i am#the fucking antithesis of that. when i don’t even believe my own words. like the way i want to punch out every window in this building rn i#HATE BEING LIKe this i hate being in the psychic prison of scared little girl mode all the time forever no matter what and being beyond help#and disappointing and burdening the people around me because i can’t be fucking normal about like. hierarchy and institutional politics LOL#delete later
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defectzim · 1 year ago
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TaTr is real and good. <- have a whole story in its head that would NOT fucking happen in canon.
#show doesnt give us anything my brain fills in the gaps#itd I GUESS be an AU but in my heart and mind its real jus lemme have this#Tenn gets re encoded as a service drone after the incident with the SIR units. tallests would rather put the blame on her than admit fault.#They get sent to moo ping 10 not as a prisoner just to work there (i go back on forth on what her specific job is. BUT its low profile.)#something like a custodian. tenn takes it as best she can but she DOES have a bit of that dramatic i want to get revenge feels.#like they've just lost their mission through no fault of her own. its a difficult time for her as she starts to kinda...question things.#like the way the world (or the only one she knows) works around her. but she also knows there isnt much they can do yk.#eventually she meets Tak there. who IS there as a prisoner.#i think theyd bond over the way theyre both victims of circumstance. and how they couldnt do anything to get where they were when meeting.#but hey. maybe being at your own rock bottom isnt too bad if someone's on the same level.#one thing leads to another they start their own “resistance” BUT really it is just them chilling in space.#theres lots of gaps BUT. but....shhh lemme have this i know its corny and would NOT fucking happen but they make me giggle happy smile.#ZIM SPEAKS#oh also mimi is included too. mimi is their emotional support kitty.#kitty mimi is forever i luv her FOREVER.#also i use they/she for tenn jst so theres no confusion ^_^!
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frankenstheythem · 9 months ago
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if i disappear from here its probably bc i psychwarded myself again jsyk. considering the idea
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mellowwillowy · 1 year ago
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𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲
Yan! Lawyer Husband x GN Spouse Reader
—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕
CW: mafia related stuffs (ALL FOR READER...), disturbing ideations. NSFW
You were the subject of envy for everyone, the spouse of the infamous lawyer, Yulian de Alpheus, who possessed wealth, reputation, intelligence, and undying loyalty to you. To people, you were the beautiful dove living in the gilded cage he had given you, luxuries that fulfilled anyone's needs and wishes.
𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒈𝒆?
To him, the one who was truly locked in the cage was him. He was and would forever be locked in the gilded cage, forever drowned in his adoration toward you. If he had to live in a world where you did not exist, he would not hesitate to shoot himself to death and find you again.
--
"Dear, how about we go on a vacation this month?"
His words had you choked on your food. He immediately stood up and pat your back, a handkerchief that you embroidered for him handed to you as he handed you a glass of water, "Apology, did my question catch you off guard dear?"
You shook your head while you regained your composure, "It's just that I was surprised, you had been busy these days so how could you spare me your time for a silly vacation?"
Yulian chuckled as he patted your head, "True, and I plan to work even harder to finish all the mess they had shoved me to work on, I'm sure I could finish it right in time before our estimated vacation."
You frowned to yourself, your husband had always been a hard-working man. It was no surprise judging by the amount of assets he could own at such a fairly young age. While some of it was thanked to his father, you knew those would not remain had he not worked hard to keep and grow.
"Dear, I don't want you to over-exert yourself with this case just for a vacation. If you were worried about me then please pay no mind, I am content with everything but you stressing yourself."
Yulian sat back and started slicing the meat on his plate, "Dear, I did not marry you just to have you live in this house as a prisoner," the way he sliced things was of good etiquette but you knew. You knew how he always looks at the things he sliced as a subject of... low-life. "I want my beloved to live in happiness, a life where you get to have and own anything you want without a single worry," It's almost as though he wished he could use more force with the knife, "A life where you do not wish to end," Yulian used his fork to pick the sliced meat up to your lip, "A life where you wish you could live in for eternity."
You thought to yourself for a moment, drowning in thought before smiling at him, "Yes, a vacation this month sounds nice." You opened your mouth and ate the piece.
--
"What were you even thinking about to the point you tangle yourself into this mess?" Yulian furrowed his eyebrow, in his office was the leader of a renowned mafia group in the underground world and Yulian sat on the leathered chair with his hand wiping his white gun.
The ringleader's subordinates were clearly displeased with the way Yulian easily belittled the case and him but they knew better than to cause a mess.
"So? What do you need this time?"
Yulian stored the gun back in its respective place, locking the shelf with the key before handing the ringleader's subordinate a folder of files.
"I'll need you to fabricate everything I handed you. I've given you options of people for you to use as a scapegoat as well."
The ringleader took the folder and started reading the files in it, scanning the words that were typed on it.
"And I expect you to finish it all by this week. I'll be taking a vacation for myself by the end of the month so I'll finish the case in a few trials. I'd like you to find a way around the judge and jury as well. The more the better, understood?"
Yulian was an infamous lawyer. A lawyer who would validate any way to make his client proclaimed 'Not Guilty'. As much as he hated having to drag his name around the underground world, he had no choice but to work together with them. Why?
"Fine, I'll inform you everything this weekend." The ringleader left the room with his subordinates following behind him meekly. The moment they had walked out of his building and entered the car, one of them posed a question.
"Why did you let that shrimp belittle you, boss? It's not like he is the only lawyer we could have our hand with."
The ringleader did not look at his subordinate as he was still analyzing the content of the files. Even so, he was still attentive enough to answer them back, "Well, if you know exactly how strong my influence is, why do you think I allow him to boss over my men?"
The man gulped as his hand held the steering wheel tightly. Why would a measly bug be able to hold power over his boss?
"... He somehow got his hands into our mud. In simpler terms, he blackmailed me."
His right-hand man sighed, "Yulian is nothing but a coward, Kaspar. A coward."
What difference did it make to him? The fact that the two of them blackmailed people to survive while the ideations were biased to each side was nothing but hypocrisy.
"And yet he is the coward that dared to step into the underground world just to protect his spouse..." Kaspar winced at the word 'spouse', "he did all of that just for the love of his life. Is that supposed to be considered foolish or not...?"
The men fell silent until one of them proposed a question, "Then why not use his spouse against him?"
--
The basement that you did not know even existed. You knew there was a bunker down your house but you were never aware of the existence of the basement.
You were asleep so technically you couldn't have heard anything. No, the room was made to be soundproof, no one could hear what was going on in the room.
But you heard it anyway. You heard it faintly, the sounds of people screaming. It wasn't clear, almost below a whisper but it kept you awake. You looked to your side and found your husband absent from the bed again.
"Is he working again?"
You stood up and slipped your feet into the slippers before walking out of your shared bedroom. The hall was lit up by the warm white lights, the light that always comforts you no matter what. You walked toward his office which was located on the first floor, giving the grand door a knock before entering it.
"Dear?"
No one was inside the room. The room was laced with the smell of coffee, the only thing that he probably could love aside from you. You walked to his desk and read some of the files on it. The words on the paper were beyond your comprehension so you stopped reading it, glancing at the cup of coffee, you feel the cup with your hand. It's cold and full. Weird.
You took a look around his office, bookshelves on the side while a framed portrait of you and him hung on the other side.
He must have really loved this portrait, refusing to change it with a new one.
"Dear?"
You jumped at his voice, where did he come out from?
"Dear, where did you come from?"
"Ah, I was in the washroom. What brings you here? Did something wake you up?" Yulian asked you as he approached you while drying his hand with his handkerchief.
You took a closer look at it, it's not the same handkerchief you gave him. Weird. He had always been insistent on only using the handkerchief you embroidered for him.
"Dear?"
"Ah," you snapped out of your thought, "it's just that... I felt lonely. How long are you going to stay up again tonight dear?"
Yulian thought to himself as his eye shot toward the corner of the room, "Please, don't wait for me. I won't be finishing my work in any time so I hope you would use those time to retreat yourself to bed." Yulian pat your cheek before giving your cheek a peck, his emerald eyes had always drowned you in a ripple of the lovesick sea.
His hand snaked its way to your waist as he led you back to your shared bedroom, opening the door for you and urging you to lay on the comfortable white bed. He placed the blanket on top of you before sitting next to you, humming a lullaby while easing you down.
"My little Lily of the Valley is a curious soul hm? Your husband told you to sleep and you naughtily sneaked out of your room..." He playfully reprimanded you while you tried to drift yourself back to sleep. Hearing him teasing you like this was weird, but at least in a good way. What boosted his confidence?
"Someone like you should not wander around in the mercy of nighttime, even if it was in our own house," his hand caressed your hair while his eyes stared into your half-lidded ones, "my lily-of-the-valley should not wander around in the darkness anymore..."
Did you hear him right? Come to think of it, what woke you up earlier?
"Good night, my love."
--
"Good night, bastard."
A thud and the man who was tied to the chair plopped down, lifeless. The other men could only tremble in horror as they waited for their turn. Perhaps death would be the only slightest bit of virtue that he could offer, a mercy at his hands that was covered in bloodstains.
Just as he approached the other men, the alarm rang. Someone had entered his office. Yulian turned on the screen to the camera and saw you walking toward his desk, observing everything that was scattered on it.
He was glad that he didn't put anything 'suspicious' on it even if you wouldn't understand it. He didn't want to risk it.
Yulian went to the sink and washed his hands before motioning for someone to come out from the darkness. The members of the mafia walked out and waited for his order.
"Ah right, relay this message to your boss. Not only do these bastards will have to face the consequences of trying to touch my beloved, you guys too, will have to face it."
The men shuddered in fear as they thought of what he could do to them. The greatest mercy they could have would be that their boss would be the one who punished them and not the lawyer himself.
"Remember," Yulian walked toward them, hand taking out the handkerchief you embroidered for him, "I work for Kaspar so that this kind of thing won't happen. If this happens again, I'd personally make you guys crawl through the tunnels of prison for eternity."
His emerald orbs almost lit up into a burning fire as his jaw tightened in anger. He made his way toward the door before taking a look at the handkerchief.
He shouldn't use it for something so filthy.
He slid it back into his pocket and used another plain handkerchief instead.
--
"In short, he is the man who would not hesitate to kill his own children, his own blood and flesh, or his family just to save and love his beloved Lily of the Valley."
Kaspar sighed as he read the report. The scapegoats that he offered were his men who were on duty to protect his spouse.
"He is the man who had lived for eternity just to find and love his beloved again and again."
-- log end
Afternotes:
I didn't expect the fic to be this short (says the one who got lazy mid-way and cut half of the story...) anyway, I thought to myself, rather than let this rot in the draft, wouldn't it be better to post it even if it was only half completed without any proofread yet?
I'm really happy my first LIfE Project event features my favorite son, Yulian first! The next one might be Eleanor!
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harrysfolklore · 6 months ago
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my favorite fics (f1 version)
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hii i wanted to start a fic rec list so i can keep track of the fics that i love and also get more people to read them <33 i’ll be adding more stories as i read them
all of the stories and authors below are amazing ! give them a read and a follow 🤍
MY MASTERLIST
oscar piastri:
tangerine by @scuderiahoney
but mama i love him by @pierregazly
somethin stupid by @taasgirl
uh oh by @uluvjay
late night talking by @jamminvroomvroom
lost in japan by @sunrizef1
call me your fool by @userlando
my own pastry by @f14fun
can i tempt you? by @uglyducklingofthe2000s
charles leclerc:
that’s who i’m racing for by @leclerity
so long monaco by @goldsainz
tis the season, i guess by @predestinatos
you'll change your name or your mind by @monzabee
this is a relationship i don't think anyone saw coming by monzabee
i'll look after you by @roostersgirlfriendlovesf1
it’s called love by @racinggirl
max verstappen:
the vegas saga by @theemporium
and they were roommates by @itsallyscorner
café de paris by tinycoffeeroom
at fault by itsallyscorner
there she goes by @heartysworld
chaotic texts by @norris55s
let me be the lighter by @nostappen
guilty as sin? by sunrizef1
look after you by weeknd-ogoc
cat-sitter by @be4chywritez
hungry for life by @predestinatos
baby verstappen by @driverlando
glitter by @disneyprincemuke
helmets and hats by @foreveradreamaway
playing with fire by @chrisevansonly
prison for life by monzabee
all i want by @verstappen-cult
unknown by @thatsdemko
carlos sainz:
treat you better by @tinycoffeeroom
money, money, money by @norrisleclercf1
style by mickyschumacher
playing cupid by @somejazzinthemorning
future replacement by @edwardslvrr
mini sainz by norrisleclercf1
no mustache by @chillipeppersainz
don't go by @thef1diary
always and forever by @55szn
this by @cutielando
handprint by @vivwritesfics
one of your girls by disneyprincemuke
birthday posts by @f1version
lando norris:
matchmaker by @dumbseee
just us by @calumthomcs
you came you called by @dilemmaontwolegs
walk him like a dog by @sharlsworld
this by norrisleclercf1
drinks and jackets by @of-many-fandomss
lewis hamilton:
get him back by @theyluvkarolina
warm, buttery and soft by @laneywrld
family ties by @eccentricwritingbaby
george russell:
broken bones by @coco-loco-nut
million dollar baby by @everythingne
he got the girl by @claypgeon
my jacket now by fastandcarlos
ollie bearman:
paddock princess by jo-com
under investigation by @lxclerc
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primofate · 1 year ago
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You are the embodiment of fairness...
is what Neuvillette believes. There is not a single hair on your body that is selfish. Not a single thought in your mind that strays into evil thoughts.
The Chief Justice is just as fair, just as sensible. Though on you, he stays his gaze for a moment longer. Allows the slightest tug upward of his lips as you discuss the latest trial with him. The difference between the two of you? He doesn't think that he is as "well-behaved" as you are. There have definitely been times where he had thought to abandon his gentlemanly and prestigious image, just to lean in and brush his fingers on your cheek. Thankfully, so far, he hasn't done so, even though the two of you had decided to enter a romantic relationship.
The Chief Justice was very guarded, but so were you. The two of you were never seen together, only in the privacy of his home or yours did the two of you enjoy each other's company. Perhaps only his most trusted Melusines knew. Professionalism was important.
"I hope the next trial resolves to your liking, Neuvillette," you smile knowing what his answer would be.
"It isn't my thoughts that are important, Y/N-" he starts and he finishes his sentence at the same time as you chide in with him.
"It's the evidence. I know, I know,"
You bid him goodbye rather curtly, not even a kiss, just a brief pat on the arm. It's working hours, and it's not the time to do such a thing.
Working hours.
As the Chief Justice sat in court, trial in session, he locks eyes with you, the accused. He recognizes the confusion in your eyes as genuine, the hidden panic behind clear as day.
"Neuvil--Your honour," You catch yourself, voice trembling a little. "This is a mistake, it wasn't me,"
and yet all the evidence points to you. Photographs, witness accounts, the hat that you'd left behind in the crime scene. No matter which way you look, the answer was you.
"Guilty," was all he could muster, when he usually said more. His hand looked for the oratrice, hoping that the machine would give him something different, but he already knew it in his heart.
"According to the judgement of the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, the accused, L/N Y/N is..."
One second.
Two.
Three seconds.
Four.
The crowd started to bristle a little.
At five he opened his mouth, and closed it again, gritting his teeth in secret.
At six, he repeated his own words. "Guilty,"
Cheers erupted from the audience, he could not bring himself to look at your face, though he heard you loud and clear.
"No! NO! This is a mistake! I didn't kill anyone!" Your hysterics were comparable to a mother who had lost her child. To a hardworking man watching his hard earned house burn down.
"NEUVILLETTE PLEASE!"
The Gardes struggled, just as they always did, but you pushed forward, unable to understand nor accept what happened. At that moment you had not noticed the tears of desperation running down your cheeks.
You were going to that underwater prison forever. Dark and alone. What if the sea swallowed you? Or worse, what if the silence swallowed you? All by yourself hundreds of feet below, drowning was such an easy possibility.
Neuvillette almost grimaces, but keeps his face hard as stone. There are a thousand things running in his mind...but the Oratrice was absolute, and so was its verdict.
"Bring the accused to The Fortress of Meropide,"
The wails you let out haunted him, more than any other trial had.
Author's Note: Hello! This is just a quick update, literally wrote it in 30 minutes so excuse any pronoun slips or mistakes! I just wanted to let everyone know I am great and still playing Genshin! Just a quick reminder that The Ruthless Prince is still available on Amazon in paperback and all my previous works are still accessible in my Masterlist!
Do let me know what you think of this one though, and if you think I should turn it into a full fic!
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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 3 months ago
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With Me Forever
Dark!Mommy!Agatha Harkness x fem!reader
Word count: 1.3K
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Stockholm syndrome, Dubcon, kidnapping/confinement, psychological conditioning/manipulation, Mommy kink, emotional manipulation, pet play, loss of autonomy, magical manipulation, breeding kink, objectification, power play
Authors notes: Man Idk who took over while writing this one, but they were amazing.
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The room is dim, heavy velvet curtains drawn over the windows, allowing only slivers of muted sunlight to filter through. You’ve been here for days—weeks, maybe even months. Time feels warped in this house, your new prison. Every surface is lavish, grand even, but that doesn’t dull the sharp edge of fear that grips your heart.
Agatha is watching you again. Her presence is unmistakable—she's never too far from you, whether you see her or not. You’d taken notice of a cicada in the room she kept you in. It never got too close to you, but always somewhere you could see it.
 Her deep, sultry voice curls around your senses like smoke as she enters the room, heels clicking against the hardwood floor. She’s dressed impeccably, as usual, in a pair of dark purple suit pants, a white button up and a navy blue overcoat, her sharp eyes glittering with amusement as she watches you on the bed.
"Good morning, my little bunny," she purrs, her voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Have you decided to behave today?"
You turn your head away, trying to ignore the way your body reacts to her. Every fiber of your being wants to resist her, to fight back against the constant manipulation, but it’s hard—too hard—especially when your body betrays you. You hate how she’s gotten under your skin, how her touch has become something you crave, even as your mind rebels.
Her hands are the only touch you’ve felt in a long time let alone a nice touch, something tender that doesn’t leave a mark on you. Your body wanted more of it even though you knew this was all wrong. She kidnapped you. She’s keeping you here for her own amusement and pleasure. 
Agatha chuckles darkly, sensing your internal struggle. She moves closer, her fingers trailing lightly along the curve of your neck. You flinch, but you don’t pull away. You can't.
"My sweet girl," she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear, "it’s only a matter of time before you stop fighting. You’ll see that everything I do is for you, for us. I could give you so much more than anyone else ever could including that other little witch you were so fond of. All you have to do is surrender."
Her words are a poison, dripping into your thoughts, planting seeds of doubt. She’s always been careful, never harsh and certainly never violent. Instead, she plays with your mind, with your desires, making you question everything. 
Is it really so bad to want her? 
To give in?
"You and I could be so much together," Agatha continues, her hand sliding down your arm, her nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver. "I know what you can do and I could teach you things that would make the world bow at your feet."
You close your eyes, trying to block her out, but it’s impossible. She’s everywhere, inside your head, inside your heart. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you feel yourself breaking, crumbling under the weight of her words, her presence.
"You’ll never leave," she says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Not because I won’t let you, but because you won’t want to."
And the terrifying part is that you know she’s right.
You feel her hand move over the curves of your body, goosebumps running over your whole body. Her fingers were always freezing as she somehow made your skin feel like it was on fire. The only movement you were allowed was to arch into her touch. Your body once again betraying you as it did just that, asking for more from her as you don’t dare look her in the eyes. She chuckles, dark and low, at the action. 
“Your body doesn’t lie to me bunny. Look at me. Look at Mommy.” She’d started to call herself that. Mommy, you thought it was just a jab at all the Mommy issues you have and it very well might be the case, but fuck you just wanted to make Mommy happy. Yet you still want to fight against her. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction. Not yet at least. 
Her hand starts rubbing your thigh, each stroke drawing closer to your heated core. You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. You feel her movement and the bed dips down between your legs. You’re moved slightly with where her weight is and you feel a hand on each thigh. 
Her strokes are gentle as she leans down, her heated mouth meaning your skin. A rush of heat to your core hits and a needy whine comes out of you.
“All you have to do is ask, bunny.” She mumbles against your skin. This was the game that was played every time. Like some even more twisted form of conditioning. She’d wait until you were all needy, begging for her cock, begging to be bred by her. It wasn’t fair. You bite your lip debating if you want to hold out this time, you’ve done it a few times, but you’d always regret it because she’d work you up and ruin your orgasm each time. 
“Please Mommy…need you…need you inside of me…” You manage out and Agatha looks down at you, slowly rubbing around your overly sensitive nub, but not actually touching it. You swallow hard before continuing. You know what she’s waiting for and you want to say it. You want her to know, need her to know. 
“I’m yours Mommy please I’ll be your good bunny! Need Mommy’s cock inside of me. Only yours makes me feel good. No one else could make me feel good like you Mommy. No one could make me cum like you do Mommy!” You feel tears prick the corners of your eyes. 
A smirk appears on Agatha’s face, a snap of her fingers and your clothes are gone. She has her purple enchanted strap out and ready. It was already pushing at your soaked entrance. Making it easy for Agatha to slip inside of you. 
“F-fuck…” You arch into her, not realizing how much you needed her. 
“You’re so tight, bunny. You feel amazing. Mommy’s going to make sure you feel amazing.” She manages out, you can tell she’s breathless just from entering you. Feeling how tight and wet you were. 
“Please Mommy I’ll be your best bunny ever!” 
She simply smirks as she grips your hips and before you can say anything else she’s pounding into you relentlessly. You can’t help but moan as she hits your spot over and over again. You don’t feel one of her hands move up to your head, it isn’t until you hear the Latin come out her mouth that you know she’s using her magic she’s making you more fuzzy, more needy for her. Another form of conditioning, her magic. 
You watch her fingers, watching her hand flex and fingers move. It isn’t her magic making you fuzzy and needy. You grab her wrists and don’t think about it as you take her fingers into your mouth, sucking on them eagerly. 
You look up at her with half lidded eyes, dark and lustful. You were ready to be completely hers. She could see it in your eyes. 
“That’s my good bunny. Just like that. You’re Mommy’s bunny aren’t you?” She asks, her voice full of lust, her heated breath you could swear you saw. You nod and mumble an ‘mhmm’ around her fingers. 
You don’t think it’s possible but she speeds up. You’re moaning around her fingers and she can tell you’re close. She keeps her pace, letting you fall over the edge as you let her fingers go, choosing to lunge forward to hold onto her as you rocked your hips into her. Her hands find their way to your back, her natural nails clawing down your back. 
“My bunny.” You feel her fill you, her hot cum hitting against your walls. You were hers completely and you had been for a while, you knew that. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be, you don’t even remember that other witch’s name.
“Your bunny Mommy forever.”
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gay-dorito-dust · 29 days ago
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Could you do caracalla marriage headcanons? Thank you !! 😸
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Being married to a man who was destructive, unpredictable, chaotic and dangerous as Caracalla was a long and contiguous battle you had to fight through.
It wasn’t smooth sailing in the slightest but you try to make the best of your situation, as though you were trying to make windows within the walls of your makeshift prison. It wasn’t pretty as often times you were accused of favouring his brother, or had to deal with the aftermath of having a poor innocent person sent to their deaths just for merely being too close to you.
The blood deeply stains his hands and now they stain yours also. Whether you liked it or not.
Sure the people pitied you for being with such a man but would wholeheartedly sing their anger towards you due to your association with Caracalla, it was the only way for them in order to clear a path for someone…better suited for the position.
Geta had confided in you about his illness not long after your marriage to his brother had started;
‘His outbursts have become frequent, for the illness from his loins has now spread to his brain, and he worsens day by day.’
You knew why this wasn’t public knowledge as it would be a glaring weakness for others to expose, to lessen the claim the brothers had over Rome, so you kept quiet about it yourself.
You would take his words to heart and would even encounter a few outbursts of your own where you were held at knife point by your own husband.
‘Put the knife down Caracalla.’ You’d say softly.
‘You don’t love me! You only want him!’ He’d retort, keeping the knife at your neck.
‘I married you, no one else can win my heart when you’ve got it locked in a gilded cage with your name carved into the golden metal so possessively.’ You replied even when the tip of the knife was pressed against your neck. You were terrified but you knew that in this moment you had to talk to Caracalla in a manner that wouldn’t worsen his already deteriorating state of mind.
‘The gods would have to try harder if they wish to tear us apart, for I’m not going anywhere without you, I’ve made that vow to myself and I intended to stick by it dear husband whether you like it or not.’ You add firmly this time and you could see that you had said something to make him falter as the knife had soon clattered to the floor, but the sting from where it had cut you was a reminder from how close you were from certain death.
These moments would only grow stronger the worse his condition got, but thankfully you were more then competent to handle him at his worse, even if it did leave everlasting scars that will stick with you for a lifetime, a reminder that everything was forever fleeting and that even the things that were encased in gold was in danger of corrosion due to the passage of time.
Your bond wasn’t meant to last but it was better if you made the best of it while you could before you passed the point of no return.
However all was not bloodshed, violence -even if that was a major part of your life with the emperor- and the never ending chaos. There were moments where you seemingly were the only calm Caracalla has ever known, his hands would grip you tight as his head was rested against your neck, eyes closed shut and how all he could feel was you against him.
‘Dear husband you cling so tightly as though you’d fear I’d slip away.’ You whispered against his temple.
His hold on you tightened as he pulled away to rest his forehead against your own as his eyes pierced into your own, making you feel seen but also seen through at the same time, which was a feeling that haunted you when you realised that a quiet Caracalla was more terrifying then a one who voiced his need for bloodshed. ‘I fear that you are dream that I have yet to awake from, a dream that’ll result in my descent to madness for a being such as you feel too good to be true.’ Caracalla says with a sigh. ‘The gods play the cruelest tricks on the strongest humans to test their resilience but I fear that mine will break the moment you are taken from me.’ He adds.
You caresses his cheeks and pull away to kiss his forehead, down the slope of his nose then on his lips as a giggle escapes his lips, warming you in the process for even if a moment like this was momentarily but that didn’t stop you from taking advantage of these softer moments with him; for he was your husband and his husband he will forever be.
‘I won’t be taken from you, for why would the gods gift me to you but then take me away from you in the same breath? My dear husband I wish I could remove your worries from your clouded head and give you peace, give you love as you are deserving and heal you of all wounds if given the power.’ You whispered to him as you began to pepper his face in kisses, making him smile and laugh as your affection bled into his skin and deep into his soul, feeling as though it was burning him but in the best way possible.
Burning him in the way that had him craving more from you as much as he did violence and death.
From the way you message his temples, to the way you kiss his face as though it was moulded by the gods themselves, the chaos within him subsided beneath your touch or rather yet find itself at ease with the peace you present. Chaos and peace, cancelling each other out yet completing the other so seamlessly, which is how many saw your union with Caracalla; you cancel the other out and complete the other in ways that could be considered destructive one way or another.
Yet the destruction you were both bound to have would be beautiful and painful at the same time, you’d fear it but except it when the time comes. So until your inevitable demise you’ll embrace Caracalla as if he wasn’t the one inflicting the wounds and lapping them up simultaneously as he begs for forgiveness with blood on his teeth.
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calisources · 10 months ago
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𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.
All sentences and quotes have been taken from different media about starcrossed lovers or forbidden love, full of angst, some bold words, some nasty ones, possessive nature and letting someone use you as a replacement. So, some toxic energy in this one. Change pronouns, locations and names as you see fit.
I love you,and I will love you until I die,and if there's a life after that,I'll love you then.
Do people always fall in love with things they can't have?
And there is a difference between having your heart break and having your soul shatter.
I'm falling in love with you.
I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. I have waited for this for such a long time. Consequences be damned.
These violent delights have violent ends.
 I’m only human. And you are …all-consuming.
Don’t go into this lightly. If you’re mine, you need to understand I will burn the fucking world to the ground for you.
I will never let you go, do you hear me? 
 will keep you safe. And I will find a way for us to be together.
If you make me cry at my own coronation ball, I’ll never forgive you.
If you were any less the man you are, I would beg you to take me with you.
If you were any less the woman you were, I would beg you to come with me.
I've known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.
This is lust.
She’s your very own forbidden fruit.
You said you didn't want this.
We all desire what we cannot have.
Have you noticed how the boy looks at you?
Do you think I didn’t notice? The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?
You are dangerous desire, and I am your prisoner.
We can’t do this on so many levels.
I can't even whisper her name, my heart would burst out of my chest.
But I would fight against the stars for you.
I have ruined your life.
Some lines you just don't cross. 
I want to take you under the moonlight.
Having something forbidden is exciting, don't you agree?
The closer we get—the more I let you in…the more dangerous this gets.
Don’t you get it? You’re what everyone wants! But I’m not going to let them win.
Make it so I never have to dream about this again—make it so we can have this…forever.
Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.
We were doomed from the start. 
Nothing is as deadly as the love of a powerful man.
But this kiss? It's ruined me. This is the type of kiss I never knew existed. 
You sure about that, Dad? Because he's done everything to me.
Are you scared of me now?
You loved me - then what right had you to leave me?
I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.
One moment, you give me everything that I want, and in the next, you snatch all of that away.
It's hopeless. We can never work out.
The world didn’t want us together so I forged a new one where we would.
How could a peacock lust for a lion?
You're tattooed onto my skin, and the more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.
I’ve always liked you, from the first moment I saw you.
It's absurd how crazy love can make you...but even more absurd how stupid jealousy can make you.
 That you and I are meant to be together, but never meant to be.
Why does fate seem always to conspire against us? To deny us life's simple pleasures?
We'll meet after this war. I'll certainly find you wherever you'll hide. 
War makes fools of men and women wanton.
What offends you most, Father? That she's Catholic, or that she's poor?
If my father discovers you here, he'd cut off your little nuts and eat them. He can't stand you.
You tempress, I see you once and all I can think of is having you.
Feelings are forbidden, does not mean we cannot enjoy one another.
The more you deny me, the more I desire you. You are a plague in my mind.
Ever since we met, no one else can compare. 
How can I be with someone else, when I’m with them, it’s you I see.
You can have me, think of whoever you love. For tonight.
You can pretend I'm her/him. I don't care. I just want you.
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citricacidprince · 3 months ago
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HI I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE UR RELATIVITY FALLS TAKE!!!!!!!!! could you go more in depth or make drawings about the town o stans thats stans mind prison bubble thing? its just so intrestinggggggggg
sorry for the fangirling (fan enbying? fanboying? idk im still trying to figure it out)
Hiiiii sorry this took like,,,, a whole month, these kinda took a hot second, I kinda went wild with these lmao
(Also, thank you for your sweet words!!!!)
Anywho, I already mentioned some of my ideas here, but here are some actual concept drawings of the bubble!!
This is Stanley’s Prison Bubble during Weirdmageddon, Town O’ Stan: Where No Stan is Left Behind! A boardwalk town that’s very similar to Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey!
The boardwalk goes on forever and there are no residents other than Stanleys! There’s a beautifully awful beach with a huge pirate ship docked on the shore named Stan O’ War, owned by the ruler of Town O’ Stan, Captain Stan!
(I have more doodles of Captain Stanley I’ll post in a bit, I went a lil insane about him, he’s my little goober who’s trying soooo hard to not be upset <3 )
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(This took WAAAAY too long please like my art pleaaaase 😔💔)
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fishnapple · 14 days ago
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What can bring true satisfaction to your heart?
Let's end this year by hearing what your heart yearns for. And also trying out my new AAB (Animal Advisory Board) set for divination ✨️
This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.
Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐
About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)
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ORANGE
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On the surface level, what feels like satisfaction for you is recognition for your hard work. You feel a sense of lack when it comes to your material possessions, that that sense of lack can affect your sense of self greatly. You could feel that the more you have, the more confident and safe you are, you find safety in a familiar physical world. Working, earning money, and then being recognised for your effort can elevate your "worth" in this world, or so you believe. And being worthy is the solid proof of existence and meaning. But you will soon find that in chasing success and recognition, you risk burning out and losing your vitality, your jest for life. Being too focused on a goal, a task can narrow your perspective and make you feel like life is just a race, a competition. You want to show your best, to be known as the most hard working person, the one who contributes the most, the one who can take on any tasks without fear, the one who shines the brightest. Life seems like a stage where you have to perform constantly, even when you're alone, your actions are being observed by an invisible audience.
But your inner self disagrees with that approach, and it will demand a change from you. You can't keep running in "the race" forever because there's simply no race for you to run, just a life for you to be in and to live. A part of you is sleeping, latent inspirations are trapped inside without the means to be expressed. It's quite contradictory, on the outside, you look so busy and active, always doing something, but on the inside, the energy is stagnant and inactive. This feeling will continue to pile up until you can't take it anymore and want to burst out, to take off. The feeling of true freedom, of flying for the first time will open up a floodgate inside you, you will begin to nurture a different perspective, you will want to slow down your run and look around, suddenly you will find so many interesting things around you that you haven't noticed before.
By being free, you will also have a different view on relationships. Your heart yearns for freedom, freedom to be yourself, and freedom to love. You will want to bond deeply with people, to seek comfort in the emotional sense, not in the physical sense anymore. You seek true understanding, of yourself, of the other person and the world you live in. Deep connections can bring the most satisfaction, something that you might have been oblivious to up until now. You won't seek recognition from the general crowd anymore, you will seek the transparency of being seen completely by a loved one.
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WHITE
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For this group, I see a lot of images about predators attacking prey. This can mean that you are having contradictory thoughts and feelings inside yourself, like an inner critic, always watching and judging your every wish and action. This creates lots of unnecessary fears in you, you're held prisoner by your own mind. You desire many different things, or said in a different way, many different things can bring you satisfaction, but they can be at odds with each other. The solution for you is to go ahead and do them anyway, no matter how much your mind protest or try to "talk" you out of it, which sometimes can be in a really aggressive way. Your mind can create visions of people ridicule or criticise you for your decisions. What you need to do is triumph over those visions, shoo them away, and just do what you instinctively feel drawn to do and then see for yourself, with you own eyes, the actual outcome, only then will you have solid "proof" to chase away those intrusive thoughts in your mind. For you, getting over your myriad fears will be your biggest achievement and satisfaction. For every victory over your fear, no matter how small, you deserve to get a pat on your back. Be gentle with yourself, but firm enough to give yourself a chance to grow.
About your many desires, one is about receiving and giving love. You might just focus on romance and dating right now, without much serious thought about a long-term commitment and building a family with someone. But in the future, when you allow yourself to grow more and gain new perspectives, the thought of commitment will naturally arise in you. You won't just desire love and affection alone, you also desire a place to call home, a place where someone will be there to welcome you. You will want to nurture someone, and be nurtured back, work for the connection, and see your effort grow into a deep bond. You're working hard right now, but mostly to build your own foundation, later in life, you will want to work hard to build that foundation with another person. Your heart will flourish in the nurturing environment of a steady relationship.
For now, just focus your energy on getting to know yourself, every nook and cranny. Come to your rescue when your mind begins to nag, especially when you want to rest and contemplate hidden things behind the veil of mundane life. Use your resting time to let your mind explore foreign subjects, coax it gently when it tries to resist learning new things. The more you explore, the more your mind will soar, the more your heart will feel tranquil and happy.
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PINK
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Does the question of whether the person you're attracted to romantically can also be your friend ever cross your mind? Or the question of whether that person can truly connect with you on a mental level? I see the people who chose this group are ardent lovers. The kind that would focus their all on a connection, passionate and gripping. You might be the person who loves falling in love, the feeling of romance and relationships brings you great joy. But the pitfall here is that you tend to idealise the other person and the connection to the point of overlooking some glaring incompatibilities. On a surface level, a person might seem fun and physically ideal to be your partner, but let some time pass and look closer, you will find that you don't really connect on a more deeper level. A telling sign would be that conversations are lacklustre, there's an uncomfortable silence between you, the subjects of the conversation are superficial. In the long run, this can create dissatisfaction in the relationship.
What you might not realise is that a deep bond, especially forged over many conversations, is essential to your feeling of overall happiness about life. Friendship matters, even love should be built based upon friendship. Having many people who you can call friends is actually more satisfying than having many lovers, friends who come from many walks of life, from all around the world. Having a group of close friends who can go on adventures with you, who can nurture you, who can build you up, who can make your mind buzzing, who can be your family, that's what brings true satisfaction to your heart.
Can you see the stag nipping at a tree while the peacock is facing the opposite direction? I think right now, the way you express yourself can be like a form of reaction to the specific person whom you're interacting with, rather than just communicating who you are in general. In conversations, you might try to act more cool, showing the best of yourself in order to build a favourable image, which is what all of us do to some degrees, consciously or not. But this shape-shifting energy can be detrimental to really connect with the other person. Instead of letting the other person provide you with 'nutrition' for your mind and heart, you're busy impressing them. This can happen in all your interactions, whether with strangers, acquaintances, friends, family, lovers. You should take a more relaxed approach, allowing the words to seep into you leisurely, building friendship as if growing a tree, then you will have a flourished heart.
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GREEN
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The word 'Success' has a lot of meanings to you, and all meanings have weight that defines your life. For you, being successful doesn't have to be about earning lots of money of being famous, though that is a part of the 'Success' that you pursue, it's not all. You want to leave behind your legacies, the proof that you exist, the proof that you have lived hard and well, that your life has meaning.
Throughout your life, you will encounter various stumbling blocks that require you to reinvent yourself, like ascending a stairway, each step bring your higher, closer to your ideals. You're willing to change yourself, to bring about a complete overhaul, allow yourself to play various roles, don many masks, life is a big stage and you're a magician, a jester or a seller, who always has something to dazzle and sell to the audience. This 'performance' is not fake or disingenuous at all, it's what you're born to do, to achieve prestige and finally reach the top of the stairway.
You have a core that's very malleable and agile, constantly moving, though it can help you be flexible and move through situations with ease, it can create an inner confusion. You feel like you have to be at all places, here and there, never settle down, forever swimming, nothing can hold you down and keep you in one place for long. This fuels your desire to find an anchor in the physical world. To know what you've done, what you've achieved, where you need to go. You need external structure and stability so that your internal spirit can swim freely. You can move a lot, but you need to feel a sense of home wherever you're. And that's not easy to achieve. But you have the knack to connect instantly with people, you can make the most distant stranger your friend in no time. The more people surround you, the safer you feel. Community and sense of camaraderie soothe you nomad heart. As long as you have people around you, everywhere can be your home.
And in that hope will you work your magic, working tirelessly to build your foundation. Even though your spirit is a nomad, constantly moving, you have trouble letting go of things and people, gradually, the stuff you pack with you gets more and more heavy, slowing you down. The challenge for you is to learn when to let go, to travel light. What your heart truly wants is the feeling of ascending the ladder, of knowing that you've done something meaningful and left a mark, of giving away the fruits of your labour, not the feeling of possessing and holding on to as many things as possible.
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cross-crye · 8 months ago
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𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔰
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summary: twst & hsr charas with different soulmate au prompts that i think would fit them
incl: azul ashengrotto, idia shroud, malleus draconia, lilia vanrouge, aventurine, blade, jing yuan, sunday
wc: 0.9k
a/n: after an absolutely horrific year i'm finally back to writing!! got half a lifetime's worth of lore in what is essentially 2/3 of a school year lol. but hey at least i got some new lore, so what better way to celebrate that then writing abt my fave au?
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monochrome vision
Even the most powerful of beings weren't immune to the effects of the passage of time. After spending such a longevous existence in solitude, enduring loss after loss at every step of the way, he becomes resigned to the notion of forever living in a grey-scale world. Perhaps he wasn’t meant for such luxuries. Perhaps he was one of the unlucky few who was condemned to a live barren of companionship and deeper meaning. He could only wonder in the late hours of the night, or in the lonely moments trapped within his own mind while sitting at his desk: ‘Just what sins have I committed in a past life in order to earn this karma?’ Imagine his surprise upon upon realising that perhaps he wasn’t fated for eternal despair and desolation, and that perhaps, he himself had a chance to experience true joy. As colours bloomed in front of his eyes for the first time in his life, one so long others would struggle to count it, all he could think was that perhaps it had truly all been worth it as he gazed at you, forever ingraining the details of your visage deep inside his memory, to be forever treasured as the face of his saviour.
lilia vanrogue; jing yuan
matching tattoos
Wearing long sleeves, covering up despite the less than optimal weather for such attire, developing and maintaining a preference for the indoors as soon as the temperatures start to rise; anything to keep that damned mark hidden away. If nobody sees it, it doesn’t exist. If nobody can spot it and remark a similarity, then its not there. As long as he can keep hiding the mark, he can keep denying the existence of his soulmate. To bear a curse such as his is an already horrific fate, he couldn’t allow himself burden anyone else with it. It was like a plague, it would only continue to spread and affect others, drag them down to the depths of despair; and for what? He couldn’t let his feeble desire for companionship be the reason somebody else lost their humanity. Yet when he found himself doubting his philosophy after bandaging your cut shoulder blades (curtsy of having fallen into a thorny thicket on your earlier walk that he begrudgingly joined you on) Spotting the familiar mark on you was something he hadn’t ever expected. His companion and dear friend had been his soulmate all along, a shocking revelation which had caused him to impulsively lift his own sleeves and point to the matching pair.
blade, idia shroud
interacting within dreams
That’s what you were to him, a dream. Something he could only long for and yearn with the entirety of his soul yet fail to reach every time he tried. Despite not having even see your face due to the dream’s magic, your presence was deeply ingrained in his heart. He had envisioned you so many times, imagined what you’d look like, wondering if you’d look as beautiful as you sounded. You would overtake every waking moment, for his dreams were no longer enough, he would daydream about you, and play your voice in his mind on loop, all he desired was to suffocate in your presence and truly surround him in a way his dreams of you never could. He memorised everything about you, from what you mentioned to eat for breakfast to your aspirations and moral philosophy. If simply thinking of you hard enough would have brought you to life, you would have been born anew countless times. He could only live on in a prison of longing of his own making, every moment increasing his desperation to finally meet you and escape his mediocre existence. His obsession ran so deep he could perfectly render your voice in his head and hear you talk to him of thinks you hadn’t yet said. He thought he’d finally driven himself mad with yearning, hearing your voice while awake even when he hadn’t been the one to picture it, only to turn to see you for the first time, the image of perfection that even he couldn’t have dreamt, finally complete.
malleus draconia, sunday
countdown until first meeting
The little wristwatch was what kept him going, seeing the numbers go down was his motivation to go on, giving himself a purpose despite his lack of one in others’ eyes. Knowing that out there there was somebody who could truly understand him, who could see his worth and achievements in light of his struggle. Early on he had been victim of the critique and ridicule, but the hope of one person’s existence in contrary to this fuelled him to keep going. To strive to be better, to do something better with the unfortunate cards he was dealt. What worth other’s pinned on him no longer mattered, and as long as the ever-changing numbers on his wrist would continue to decrease he’d continue to prove the world wrong about their initial perception of him. All his life’s work amounted to this, the fateful meeting with who was supposed to be his one true love. As he continued down the winding streets of the town he could only anxiously stare at his wrist, taking note of the handful of hours left. His distracted state however, lead to him making the wrong turn and the counter adjust itself, not even letting him take in the shock of seeing that it had now only read a couple of seconds as he immediately collided into somebody, gripping the stranger’s shoulders to maintain his stability. Neither of you processed the beeping sound of your timers as you gazed in each other eye’s awestruck at finally meeting your soulmate.
aventurine, azul ashengrotto
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cross-crye © 2024.
no reposting, stealing, copying, translating my works or feeding them to AI
reblogs, comments and likes are all highly appreciated
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spookwriter-xo · 2 months ago
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Coppélia
Chapter 6 - The Kim Estate
Chapter Summary - A little bit of Y/N's backstory and her family's history. She gets a tour of the Kim Estate from San and Wooyoung and gets a brief glimpse into the boys' private lives.
warnings: San does get a little violent towards the end, and Wooyoung cracks a few sex jokes (MDNI)
Series Masterlist
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The house I grew up in was nothing short of a prison. I had all the luxuries of high society, yes, but that didn't mean I felt the same warmth and compassion children should be surrounded with.
My father owned a fashion company, Belluxe, one of the biggest in our part of the world. He had a lot of ties with some dangerous and powerful people, and as I got older I realized how much it had really gotten to his head.
The power. The greed.
I was forbidden to talk to him when I was young, only if we had guests. If I did without permission, he'd get angry. He had only gotten physical with me once, and that was when our family bond broke forever.
I was nine years old, home from boarding school with Christmas like I normally would be. My younger sister was ecstatic to have me home, finally having someone other than our mother to play with. Our older sister, she wasn't around this time. I figured she'd stayed at school for the holidays, but as I got older I found out she had run away.
I went by a different name back then, first and last. I'd changed it once I was disowned at 17, wanting to leave that old life behind. It was a lot easier than it should have been, all things considered.
I remember we were sitting at the dinner table, the only sound coming from our cutlery scraping across the porcelain plates. My mother had asked briefly how school was, and I gave a short but honest answer; "It was alright."
My father leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty seat where my sister should have been. He cleared his throat, causing us all to turn our heads in attention.
"Chariya, you'll be the next heir." He says simply, my old name, it felt weird hearing it even if it was just a memory. "Since Chalita has failed to exceed my expectations."
My family was Thai on my mother's side. She'd named us all after members of her family still in Thailand, bringing a piece of her old life with her.
Mother and Father married after father knocked my mother up with Chalita, the eldest. My mother used to say he was a kind man until she gave him too many daughters and no son. I think she just used it as an excuse to hide the snake he really is.
"My love, she is too young-" My mother states before she is cut off.
"Enough! I told you not to speak against me." He shouts, slamming his fist down on the table. My little sister, Chaluai, begins to cry at the sudden noise. My mother bows her head and stands, taking Chaluai with her as she exits the dining room.
I stare down at my plate, hearing the sound of his chair creaking as he leans back.
"Your mother doesn't understand the ways of this world." He says. "But one day you will."
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I was startled awake by a knock on the door, causing my body to jump from my skin.
"Hello?" I call out groggily, sitting up.
"Uhm... Y/N? It's San." A muffled voice from the other side of the door calls out.
"Right..." I murmur, the events from the last few nights creeping their way back into my head. I stretch and swing my legs over the side. My feet hit the wood as I shuffle towards the door, opening it slowly.
San stands there on the other side, wearing a suit a little different from the one he wore last night. His eyes widen as I open the door, quickly looking up.
"Just thought I'd wake you... Wooyoung and I are home whenever you want that tour." He says, finding the ceiling very interesting.
"Oh! Just give me a few minutes and I'll come find you." I say, fingers gripping the door. San nods before hurriedly rushing down the hall and towards the stairs. I watch him go before closing the door. He was a lot shyer than last night. Maybe something was on his mind.
I walk into the walk-in wardrobe and look around at all the luxurious clothes hung up for me. There was a cabinet in the center, inside millions of dollars worth of jewelry for me to choose from. I feel a shiver run up my spine at the sight. It had been so long since I'd seen anything like this, and it felt wrong.
I hadn't worked for it, I didn't buy it myself. These men had only met me last night yet they were already willing to spend millions on me. Why?
I settled on a simple top and skirt, slipping on some fluffy slippers that were positioned neatly beside my bed before making my way out into the hallway.
The eery silence shared with the darkness of the hallway settled a sick feeling in my stomach. It was so quiet, that no chatter or thumping of footsteps could be heard. I figured Wooyoung and San were downstairs somewhere, praying that they weren't the type to jump out and scare me.
I head towards the staircase, the scenery getting brighter as I peek down at the pretty white marble that now glittered in the sunlight. My hand slides down the railing as the stairs take me to the lower floor. I gaze at the paintings on the wall, one of all 8 of them positioned on and around a fancy-looking couch, and another with a younger-looking Hongjoong, who I assumed to be his mother, father, and brother.
I didn't know he had a brother, I wonder what happened to him?
I glanced left and right once I reached the bottom of the stairs, the house felt like a maze, going on forever in both directions.
"San? Wooyoung?" I call out, my hands finding my elbows as I glance around. I decided to go left, entering what seemed to be the main living room based on the three couches and the fireplace with a television situated above it. I reach my hand out and press my fingers into the plush cushions, feeling the soft fabric beneath my skin.
"Y/N?" A voice makes me jump, I turn around to see Wooyoung standing in the doorway I just walked through. He had a grin on his face. "Scared ya?" He says with a light cackle.
I splutter for a moment before crossing my arms tighter. I watch as he scans my figure, admiring my figure.
"Eyes are up here, Wooyoung." I tease, as he stares a little too long at my legs.
"Yeosang picked your wardrobe well." He says, ignoring my words and stepping a little closer. "Would prefer you don't wear it around me though."
I hold my hand up and stop him from coming any closer right as San enters from another door behind me.
"Hongjoong said we should give you a tour." He says gruffly, his hair looking a lot messier than it was when he visited maybe 20 minutes prior. I glanced at his knuckles, noticing the light bruising that had begun to blossom before he quickly hid them in the pockets of his jacket.
"I'm ready to start whenever you are," I say, offering him a smile which he hesitates to return.
"Well, this is the main living room. Pretty obvious since it looks like a living room." Wooyoung chirps, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "Don't mind if San is a little quiet. He gets grumpy when he has to work early."
I glance back at San as Wooyoung starts to lead me through another archway into a large room. I gasped as the realization hit me that this was a ballroom. A large and grand ballroom, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. There was a grand piano on a small platform tucked away into a corner, floor-to-ceiling length windows with a matching door that led out to the backyard and a large diamond-clad chandelier dangled from the ceiling.
I could feel Wooyoung's grin as I slowly moved away from him, my jaw hanging slightly as I walked to the center. There were mosaic patterns that formed a lily flower on the floor under my feet which made me smile.
"Seonghwa told us to open the curtains for you, they haven't been opened since Hongjoongs parents were alive. The only person that uses this room is Mingi when he wants to play piano." San says from behind me. "Hongjoong's mother painted the lily flower herself."
"It's a painting?" I ask, turning to look back at both of them in surprise.
"Doesn't look it right? She was extremely talented at making things look different than what they are." Wooyoung says, the same grin on his face.
The tour went on, and every room amazed me more than the last. The kitchen was huge, almost twice the size of my bedroom with a dining room attached to it which was just as big. My mind wandered to all the grand dinners they must have hosted when Hongjoongs parents were still alive. Did they host balls too? It would be foolish not to considering how beautiful the setting was.
There was a pool, a greenhouse, and even a golf course in the backyard. I glanced over the hill and caught a glimpse of a tennis court on the far side of the golf course. I wondered how many acres this house was on. We weren't that from the city, however I couldn't see any other buildings for miles.
Inside on the first floor, there was a two-story library, another 2 smaller seating rooms, and laundry/housekeeping quarters behind the kitchen. The hallways were twisting in all directions, as if intentional. Was the layout meant to confuse people? Maybe intruders?
It would be smart if it was, all things considered. The house was intimidating from the outside just on its own, getting lost on the inside felt like a terrifying idea.
"Do you guys have maids?" I ask my arm now linked with Wooyoungs. I'd hate to be a worker here, having to clean this house would have to take days. Not only that but cooking? Laundry? Maintenance work would be a nightmare too.
"We do, they have Sundays off." Wooyoung answers, leading me back to the main stairwell. "Upstairs is mostly bedrooms and bathrooms. Hongjoong's home office is at the end of the hall on the right." He adds.
I nod, my neck craning to look at the paintings lining the walls once again. There was a painting of a woman, a beautiful woman with long black hair and piercing green eyes with freckles dusting her cheeks. I stared at the painting for a moment, getting a sinking feeling that she was staring back.
"That's Aurora." Wooyoung murmurs, eyes on the painting too. "She was... The one before you." He hesitates to say, glancing down at me before looking back up at the painting. I let go of his arm and climbed a few steps to stand directly in front of her painting.
"She's beautiful... Pretty name too." I say softly, my eyes softening as more details reveal themselves.
"You would have liked her," San says, his arms crossed as he looks at the painting, a sad look in his eyes. "She was like you, not a dancer though... More of a reader."
"If you wanted to find her she'd only ever be in the library," Wooyoung says with a small chuckle. "Most of the books in there were gifts for her, from us." He says.
"What happened to her?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I turn back to them. They're both staring up at the painting, Wooyoung lowers his head and lets out a soft, pained sigh once he registers my question.
"We'll tell you in time. You should get settled first." San answers, his voice low.
Oddly enough, I didn't feel an ounce of jealousy. It was obvious she wasn't in the picture, whether she was alive or not. However, the pained look on Wooyoungs face and the behavior of the other boys when she is mentioned made me think it was the latter. I felt sad for them. It was obvious they loved her, maybe more than I would ever realize or truly know.
A part of me was envious of that fact. To be loved so unconditionally was something I had dreamed of since I was a little girl. But, another part of me was scared. Did their work have something to do with her death? It made sense in a way.
A loud crash made me jump from my thoughts. I look to San and Wooyoung who are suddenly on high alert before San grumbles something and storms off into the direction of the main living room. I glance at Wooyoung as I step down the stairs to follow but the man stops me.
"Don't follow him." He says in a hushed voice, gripping my hips in a tight hold as I glance behind him. My eyes widened, the door San had entered through at the start of the day was wide open with a man stumbling through. San grabs the man by the back of the neck and practically drags him back into the darkness beyond the door.
The man lets out a string of curses and begs as San slams the door shut behind them both, his cries fading into nothing the further they go.
"It's the basement," Wooyoung says, answering my question before I even had to ask. "It's the only place in this house that you are not allowed to go. Understand?" He says, his expression void of any playfulness I had come to associate with his character.
"I understand," I say, staring back up at him with the same wide-eyed expression.
"Good girl." He says with a grin, hand cupping my cheek briefly before moving away, heading towards the staircase. "Come, I'll show you everyone's rooms."
I glance at the door to the basement for a moment before following Wooyoung up the stairs.
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I've decided to update the story consistently every Tuesday at 12 am (AEST). A Christmas special is being planned which will be set a few years after the events of this book.
I urge minors to not interact beyond this chapter, for it's going to start getting heavy from this point. I will be checking profiles to make sure so please have something to prove your age on your profile! I don't want to traumatize children <3
Also, I closed the taglist a little early however I'll be going through the comments and the past few posts and making sure I didn't miss anyone. If you aren't on it when this chapter is posted, I'll add you to the next one.
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taglist:
@bellaptv @arilevenatz @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @hecateslittlewitchling
@neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone
@vtyb23 @bigbabygremlin @professormingiglasses
@pinuspot @astral-trashcan @ateezswonderland
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Text
Kill and make up (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)
-> in which you and your husband discover that Celebrimbor has escaped with the Nine, and it brings out the uglier side of your relationship
Warnings: evil!reader, brief eye injury, intense argument between spouses: reader and Sauron aren’t physically violent with each other (only like a hand grab and a shove), but they scream and throw things towards each other (he does it by accident, she does it on purpose, neither get hit); seeing and touching a severed finger, sadistic tendencies, lots of violence, murder, allusions to smut, fucked up relationship dynamics (as usual with these two but this may be the most deranged one I’ve written to date)
Note: part of the evil!reader collection. For context, reader has been married/soulbound to Sauron since before Adar killed him and infiltrated herself in Eregion as a smith while she waited for his return.
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Sometimes you wonder if, when you and your husband bound yourselves to one another and part of his power was bestowed upon you, he had not let some of his short temper trickle into you as well.
But you never were entirely level-headed, even before Morgoth took you. The difference now is that you have tasted the fulfillment of giving in to your more violent urges in the past, which makes for even greater frustration when you must, for practical reasons, withhold.
Hence why you are now striding down the chaos-filled streets of Eregion, rather than watching over Celebrimbor whilst your husband commands the city’s defences. You do not trust yourself to leave him intact so he can finish the Nine unless you take the time to cool down after the little stunt he tried to pull on you.
He was only just applying the final touches to the very last of the Rings, and not a moment too soon. The siege had gone on into the night, and soon there may not be much of Eregion’s people left for your husband to promise he would spare so long as Celebrimbor provides him with the Rings. You meant it as a gesture of encouragement, truly—the way you idly fiddled with the keys to Celebrimbor’s shackles as you sat by his side, all but dangling his freedom before his eyes.
He must have noticed, though he did his best not to glance your way. You supposed he was taking some refuge in the work, throwing himself into it so that he might forget his less than savoury circumstances. That was fine by you. The thoughts in his mind were of little consequence, so long as his hands performed their duty with their usual skill.
And skilled they were indeed. Your eyes had drifted to the distance, glazed over with boredom at some point after your husband had left you alone with Celebrimbor, but you were pulled out of your little reveries of ruling Middle-Earth when you realized eight of the Nine now stood each in their holder on the other side of Celebrimbor, all shiny and brand new. Your fiddling with the keys had stopped then, and you stood to walk there and lean over Celebrimbor’s shoulder, touching the cool metal of one Ring in awe as you admired them.
“You have outdone yourself, really,” you praised, and meant it. The designs of the Rings varied, but they all possessed the same utterly impeccable kind of beauty, and the fact that you knew they had been made with your husband’s precious blood... you would wear and cherish them forever yourself if they weren’t meant for more practical purposes.
Celebrimbor, however, didn’t seem as proud of his own work.
“I had little choice,” he muttered, not looking away from the Ring in his hand.
You straightened yourself with a little sigh, and placed a hand upon his shoulder.
“This really is a pity,” you confessed. “I always hated being your so-called ‘subject’, but I can’t say you ever gave me another reason to dislike you. And your talents are bound to prove most useful in the future as well.”
At that, he looked up at you with a fresh kind of disbelief in his eyes.
“Am I to be your prisoner for the rest of my days, then?” he asked, nearly a challenge.
“That would be quite bothersome for everyone involved, wouldn’t it?” you said, perfectly pragmatic. “Hopefully, we can come to... understand each other. My husband and I are more than willing to make some allies of your value.”
By which you meant conveniently skilled or powerful beings who would serve your purposes blindly, much like you expected the Orcs to do, but the word ‘ally’ had a better ring to it.
It was plain to see in Celebrimbor’s eyes that he was hardly convinced, though, as he kept his stubborn silence. The time was fast approaching when your true conquest of Middle-Earth would begin, and it was never too early to plant the seeds for the network of opportune connections you planned on weaving all throughout it.
But also, you did enjoy being the equivalent of a cat playing with a mouse.
“How about a peace offering, then?” you said, plastering an inviting smile on your face. “A little show of good faith, to prove that your suffering in itself is far from our end in all this. Once you finish the Nine,” you made a show of holding up the keys, then tucking them safely away in a discreet pocket at the waist of your dress, “I leave you free to roam about the room, and merely lock the doors behind me whilst I deliver the Rings to my husband. Not that you’d make it two steps into the streets without being dragged back here by your own guards, but, as I said—in good faith—I shall spare you the humiliation of trying.”
There was a slight furrow in Celebrimbor’s brow as he hesitated. How confusing it must have been for him, to reconcile the kind tone of your voice he’d heard so many times with the cruel reality of who you are.
“Well,” he said tentatively, “I suppose that would be a bit better than my... current position.”
You gave him a bright smile, satisfied you had managed to bring him in agreement with you for the first time since he learned the truth. That was how it began—small victories, little ‘yeses’ here and there, until the intended target settled into a collaboration, or rather subservience, that was most convenient to your plans.
As you passed by Celebrimbor to return to your seat, he turned around on his stool and grabbed your hand, calling your name with sudden urgency. Your instinct was to shake off the touch, but, with only a tick in your jaw, you stopped to indulge him. You were playing nice, after all.
“Was truly all of it a lie?” he asked in a disheartened breath. “Was there no part of you that... wanted this life you have made for yourself here with us? The craft and the friendship we shared?”
He was quite the pitiful sight, looking up at you with that glint of hope in his eyes. You were quite sure that had been snuffed out the moment you had told him the story of how the bond between you and your husband had been forged, the salvation you had found in it from Morgoth’s cruelty, erasing all doubts that you and him might ever betray one another now.
Even Celebrimbor wouldn’t be so foolish as to believe he might still sway you with his words. You suspected what he was truly after—but you played along. In fact, you even stepped a little closer, and held up the hand with which he had grabbed yours, patting his knuckles condescendingly.
“Why would I want to serve you as a smith of Eregion,” you said, “when I could be served by all others?”
Celebrimbor’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, containing the nervous tremble of his voice as he spoke, “I may have been Lord of Eregion, and as such above you in station, but I never thought of you as anything less than my peer and my companion. Sauron—your husband,” he corrected, perceiving your ire at the less than savoury Elvish term, “he may believe even himself when he claims to consider you his equal, but with time... with the Rings...” He sighed, closing his eyes as if it pained him to speak the words, but in the end met your gaze and said with all the sincerity he could muster, “I do not wish to see you hurt.”
You tilted your head and knitted your brow in sympathy, softening your gaze as well as your voice.
“Oh, Celebrimbor,” you sighed, “have you come to care for me so much that my fate still concerns you after all I’ve put you through?”
“I’m afraid I have,” he confessed quietly.
You were meant to be surprised, intrigued, perhaps even touched. Distracted, in any case, your focus drawn to his face and the one hand of his you held within your grasp. That was his intent, which you had sensed since the very beginning of his entreating speech. He had some reason to believe his idea would work. His smith’s fingers are, after all, nimble and quick, as his craft demand them to be. But unlike you, he is a stranger to deceit and the mere attempt at it suits him ill. The only reason he succeeded in his little misguided endeavour was because you preferred to end his satisfaction, rather than prevent it altogether.
“They say imitation is the highest form of flattery,” you all but purred to him. “Alas, you have not the talent for treachery that I do.”
With that, you wrenched your hand from his and grabbed his other one. His struggle was brief and futile as you forced that fist to open, and retrieved the keys he had just subtly slipped out of your pocket.
Any trace of poorly feigned concern vanished from his face, replaced by the frustration of defeat. You tsk-ed to yourself as you shoved the keys back into your pocket.
“And here I thought you were becoming reasonable,” you lamented, leaning against the table by his side with your other hand planted onto your hip, much like an irritated teacher. “What did you imagine? That you would unlock yourself when my back was turned and then... what? Outrun me? Fight me? I know you’ve never seen that particular side of me, but I assure you, I am as skilled in combat as you are in your craft.”
He couldn’t hold your scolding gaze. He turned back towards the table and leaned his elbows on it, resting his forehead upon his clenched fists, no doubt trying to stave off a stress-induced headache and crushing sense of hopelessness. Still, to ensure he knew better than to underestimate you next time, you intended to grab his chin and make him look you in the eye as you made one final threat, but he spoke before you had the chance to.
“In that case,” he admitted, lifting his head, “I suppose I was going about it all wrong.”
This time, you didn’t see it coming. By the time you jumped out of the way, he had already grabbed a small recipient on the table and projected the powdered metal inside straight into your eyes—real powdered metal, not the blood your husband had passed as mithril. The burn of the fine shards in your eyes was instant, forced them shut and ripped a cry from your throat as you scrambled away, one hand covering them—
Celebrimbor grabbed that elbow to yank you into his lap, but that only made it all the easier to drive it into his ribs, knocking the breath and a short scream out of him. You needed no eyesight for that—only sharp instincts and red-hot anger, and you had quite enough of both. He hadn’t even managed to find your pocket again before you escaped his grasp and stumbled out of his reach, even without seeing where you were going.
A quick thinker, the bastard. The moment he understood he could not defeat you by sheer strength or deceit, he had attempted to blind you instead.
With a string of anguished grunts, you fumbled around blindly until you knocked into what must have been the railing to the upper side of the forge where you and Celebrimbor were, with enough force that you might have toppled over it if you hadn’t caught yourself. Gripping the metal, you squeezed your already shut eyes, and tried to concentrate through the pain and mend the damage. You may not have had to do it in recent years, but you’d had enough such experience under Morgoth’s rule. Gradually, the burn dimmed, and the metal in your eyes dissolved, and you were left shaking with wrath as you opened your eyes.
In different circumstances, you might have slowly turned towards him first, made him cower in terror under your murderous gaze before you sprung into action. But you were beyond such theatrics now. With the swiftness of a snake lunging to sink its fangs into a victim, you whipped around, marched over to Celebrimbor and grabbed his throat so quickly he didn’t even get to gasp before your other hand yanked his head back by the hair.
“You are going to regret that,” you growled. Rage boiled within you, a furious thirst for revenge, an all-consuming urge to return the pain he had given you tenfold and hear him scream—
But the Nine were not finished.
It was with tremendous self-restraint that you slowly lowered your face an inch away from Celebrimbor’s, your ragged breath hitting his quivering lips.
“...later,” you whispered viciously. “Finish!”
He gasped for the breath you had denied him the moment you released him with a shove, nearly falling from his chair with the force of it. No amount of deep breathing in his presence would stop the blood roaring in your ears. So, you stormed down the stairs and out of the forge, slamming the doors shut behind you without even locking them.
He was in shackles, after all.
As you reenter the forge room some time later, you are pleased to say you have regained your composure. Nothing like a stroll through a raging battle to calm the senses, especially when you were briefly treated to the sight of your beloved standing upon a distant rampart, tall and fair as he commanded the forces of Eregion.
If not for the need to maintain appearances, you’d have called for his attention through your bond and blown him a loving kiss from below.
“All right, Celebrimbor,” you say now, shutting the doors behind you, “I believe we must clarify some—”
He’s gone.
Heart pounding, you practically fly across the room, running up the stairs to the empty desk where Celebrimbor had been sitting before. Your husband could not have freed him. Could he? You had only just seen him outside, and the Rings are gone as well. Had they been finished, surely he would have reached for you through your bond the moment he had learned of it, called you to bask in the victory at his side. You scramble through every object on the desk, turning them over, opening cases, looking for any sign of the Rings.
Something squelches beneath your foot. But before you lower your gaze all the way down there, something else catches your eye on the floor—Celebrimbor’s shackle. Still locked. Blood-stained.
Entirely mechanical, you reach down and pinch the wet thing beneath the sole of your foot between two fingers, lifting it to your eyes to confirm your suspicion of what it is.
A severed finger.
When you wish to, or when the circumstances demand such a thing, you have many more vicious and sophisticated ways of expressing anger than mere spoken words. However, at times such a predicament arises where you are simply reduced to plain old foul language.
“Fuck,” you breathe out.
If the Rings were not finished, that is going to be a problem. But you have a feeling that they are, which is precisely why Celebrimbor has resorted to such a desperate gesture to withhold them from you and your husband.
Speaking of whom—his familiar steps are echoing down the hall.
Nearly releasing another expletive, you rush right back the way you came, down the stairs and across the room and out the door just in the nick of time to slam it shut before your husband would have stepped inside. He halts before you, taken aback.
“Love,” you greet him with a small smile. He’s seen enough of those to know which ones are fake. Not to mention the slight tremor in your voice, the alarm you’re attempting to conceal on your end of the bond, and—if those weren’t quite enough—the severed digit in your grasp which you seem to have acquired in your husband’s absence.
It’s endearing, really, how your skills of deception vanish like smoke in the wind when it comes to fooling your husband in any regard.
“I see our friend has upset you once more,” he remarks calmly, eyeing the finger in your hand. “However, I should hope you allowed him to finish the Rings before you claimed your little trophy, beloved.”
His smile is ever-so-slightly tense, his tone ever-so-slighty warning, and you are a lot more than slightly flustered to realize that in your haste, it had slipped your mind to do something so simple as to toss away the bloody finger in your hand.
You do so now, furiously wiping off the mess on your dress for lack of a better outlet for your nerves.
“I did not...” you begin. “Celebrimbor has apparently...”
“What is it?” your husband demands briskly. He knows something is wrong, wrong enough to have you acting so flustered, and that can only mean it will anger him beyond belief.
You release a sharp sigh, and quite frankly, give up. There is no way to break the news to him gently. So, you fix your husband with as stern a look as you can. “If you could just refrain from tearing this whole place to the ground—”
But he has already pushed past you and burst into the forge room.
“—that would be nice,” you finish to the empty hall, then follow him inside.
“Where is he?” your husband growls, storming up the stairs and staring at the empty desk with wide, crazed eyes as he shouts, “Where are the Rings?”
“He must have taken them,” you tell him, angered but far more level-headed than him as you climb the stairs as well. “They were nearly finished, and—”
An entire wooden cabinet clatters to the ground, furiously toppled by your husband. But the sound is barely the buzz of a fly compared to the deafening roar that tears out of his throat. You halt near the top of the stairs and wince, waiting for the sound to die down. No doubt it echoed to every Elf below, even through the ruckus of battle.
This... is the sort of thing you were hoping to avoid.
How nice of you to inform Celebrimbor that his absence has been noticed, you think, simply because such quips are in your nature. You know better than to say it—but you are both fraught with powerful emotions, and your bond turns volatile, and things slip through. You know he’s felt the reproach the moment his furious gaze turns upon you.
“Perhaps I should ask...” he says, eerily quiet as he approaches you, “where were you?”
Someone else might have fled, or fallen to their knees to plead for mercy under such a withering glare. You, however, have the luxury of knowing that you are the only being who has or ever will remain perfectly unscathed despite incurring your husband’s wrath. So, you climb the last of the steps and meet his gaze head on, unintimidated by such theatrics.
“Celebrimbor attempted a most distasteful treachery,” you declare, arms crossed defiantly as your husband comes to tower above you. “He tried to steal the keys to his shackles by blinding me with powdered metal. I knew better than to risk damaging his precious fingers—or worse—in retaliation before his work was finished. As such, I stepped outside.”
“You left him alone,” your husband fumes in disbelief, “because you couldn’t keep your daggers sheathed?”
“Oh please,” you scoff. “You’ve made far more strategically inconvenient kills for far less. I was merely being practical.”
“Practical, you say?” he mocks, whipping away and striding back to Celebrimbor’s work table. “Pray tell, how come you were within his reach to begin with?” He proceeds to toss every item away and open every possible compartment, his voice growing to a hoarse shout with each accusation he spits. “Were you perhaps taunting him, goading him, playing with your food as you can never seem to refrain from doing?”
“Oh, so when you do it, it’s fine,” you raise your voice right back, uncrossing your arms so you can gesture as frantically as he behaves while he moves to deface another table. “When I do it, it’s irresponsible.”
“What is irresponsible,” he points a finger at you, “is that you left the Nine and our most valuable asset unattended so you could go for a stroll!”
You’ve seen dragons with less fire on their hottest breath than that of the rage ignited in your chest. You surge towards him and snatch his accusatory finger in a death grip.
“I needed a break,” you scream in his face, “and he was in shackles! And he’s obsessed with his craft—which very much requires hands! How was I to imagine he’d be idiotic enough to chop off his own fucking finger?!”
“Enough!” he roars over your screech, prying your hand from around his with a powerful shove. Your calf hits Celebrimbor’s desk stool as you shuffle back, and you kick it with a yell and a burst of your power that sends it flying over the railing and splintering to pieces on the steps all the way at the entrance to the forge room. The same destructive force is behind the glare with which you fix your husband.
Forget not tearing this place to the ground. You feel as if you could crack every table in two with your bare hands, you could shatter all the windows with nothing but a shriek, you could crumble the stone floors with the stomp of your foot, you could— you could—
You turn on your heel and storm away. The moment you do, your husband demands in a gruff shout, “Where are you going?”
“To fix this!” you snarl. You whip around to face him, your voice dropping to mocking sweetness before it builds right back into a hoarse scream. “But please, do keep smashing to pieces every single object in your sight. I’m sure Celebrimbor simply stashed the Rings in some hidden corner whilst he went for a nine-fingered stroll in the rubble!”
With that, you leave again. The sounds of destruction resume behind you, but you block them out the same way you do your husband’s inflamed end of your bond. Until you’ve nearly reached the stairs, and some glass object hits the railing with a loud smash, shattering to pieces. Relatively close to you.
You don’t even look down. You simply stop, take a breath in the sudden silence. Turn around. Then, chin high, perfectly poised and in the most controlled of tones, you ask your husband:
“Did you just throw that in my direction?”
Rage rolls off him in waves—but he has ceased his rampage, and there is the subtlest hesitant crease of his brow as he looks at you.
“Don’t be absurd,” he says stiffly. “I was hardly even looking your way—”
But then he’s dodging a projectile—a metal case you had picked off the ground and chucked his way in the blink of an eye.
“You weren’t looking?” you growl, already snatching a creasing hammer from the table to throw his way next. “You weren’t looking? Well, I am!”
He catches the hammer, swats away the chisel that follows with his power, advancing through the enemy fire until he can grip your wrists and pull them to his chest to stop you from gathering further ammunition.
“Save you energy, love,” he growls as you struggle in his grip. “Try as you might, you cannot harm my flesh.”
“I know! That’s why I’m trying!”
You wrest yourself out of his hold, chest heaving as you stumble back a couple of steps. For a moment, your ragged breaths are all there is. But the storm is far from over, and the moment you open your mouths again, your voices escalate into screams once more.
“You, on the other hand,” you accuse, nearly in tears, “the moment my back was turned—”
“You know very well I cannot hurt you!”
“But you wish to hurt me?”
“I wish to hurt something!”
“So do I!”
Your roar echoes in the chamber, your throat raw, your every muscle trembling with rage. You cannot harm my flesh. But you could harm his soul. You could, simply by doubting him. You have. It brings no satisfaction. It isn’t what you want. What you want is for him to kneel and beg forgiveness for his words, or maybe to fuck you so hard you forget he ever said them at all.
But you can have neither, because you are no longer alone.
They must have arrived when you and your husband were at the height of your screaming match, thus why you only now turn your heads to see them entering the room—ten or so guards, led by Captain Malendol and, supported by him as he limps to a stop, Celebrimbor himself.
“Marital spat?” he derides flatly, a shred of defiance in his voice even as he cradles his thumb-less left hand to his chest. From the appalled way in which Malendol looks at you, it’s plain to see that Celebrimbor has somehow regained the trust of his guards and exposed you for who you are, once and for all. Or perhaps the glimpse he’d caught of your lover’s quarrel had been proof enough. Either way, you’re so ablaze with rage, you can’t even bask in the grand reveal.
“Foreplay,” you reply dryly—and there is, after all, a bit of satisfaction in the various degrees of shock and discomfort that flash across the guards’ faces.
“Where are the Rings?” your husband demands, ice cold as he passes by you and descends the stairs.
“Not here,” Celebrimbor answers. “They will be far  from your reach by now.”
“Oh, come now, Celebrimbor,” you coax with all the goodwill of a viper as you join your husband down the stairs. “It was such a silly thing you did to that precious hand of yours. If you return the Rings, maybe we can find a way to mend it.”
His eyes shine with tears, which he holds proudly back.
“The loss shall be well worth it,” he says, pained, “so long as it ensures that neither of you will ever touch a Ring again.”
You grit your teeth, his audacity adding fuel to the already blazing fire of your rage. Whatever retort you and your husband might have made, you are rudely interrupted.
“Seize them!” Malendol orders, and his soldiers march forward. “By order of the true Lord of Eregion, you, Sauron and—”
The words die in his throat. He’s choked out, jaw slack and quivering as he struggles against your husband’s power. The soldiers halt, gazes shifting hesitantly between you and your husband and their captain.
“I believe you’ve spoken my wife’s name quite enough times already,” your husband says. Any other time, you would be delighted. With Mirdania gone, it’s time for the Elf whose affections you had entertained only closely enough to grate your husband’s nerves to meet his own end. Perfect symmetry, mutual satisfaction. But you are beyond being assuaged by such games in this moment.
You grip your husband’s arm, and fix him with a gaze which demands that he meet it. It would be so easy for him to flick that wrist of his and have the guards fall upon their own swords. But that would leave the issue of your unconsummated lust for violence, and when such a volatile feeling bounced off each other in an endless loop through the bond without release, it led to nothing good, not even for you.
So, staring in your husband’s eyes, you hiss, “Let us hurt something.”
You need not say a word more. Your husband narrows his eyes at you briefly, but the suggestion immediately sinks in. Malendol sputters a panicked breath as his throat is released from your husband’s power, a look of even deeper dread than before written on his face, but he repeats his order.
“Seize them!”
And his soldiers, now valiantly joined by their captain, advance on you once more. The sight of them circling you with swords drawn as you and your husband stand back to back is quite invigorating. It even brings a little smile and a quip to your lips.
“Might you be so kind as to lend me that?” You point to the sword of the guard facing you.
And answer your own question—with lightning-fast mayhem.
A concealed dagger is brandished from your sleeve and you swiftly send it flying to its new home in the guard’s skull. A quick pull of your power draws the hilt of his sword to your hand whilst your other imitates the dagger-throw and sword-stealing with another guard, and by the time three others have attacked, you have more than enough steel in your hands to meet their own with a loud clang. Behind you, similar sounds of confrontation are made by your husband and his own side of opponents.
It is to be noted that the ensuing fight is by no means a desperate struggle for escape on you and your husband’s part. In fact, the guards are hardly your main focus, even as you single-handedly hold your own against several of them at the same time and, over the course of the following few minutes, decimate them one by one. You simply wish to feel your bones rattle with each blow you land, to hear the tearing of flesh under your blade, to give yourself an outlet of your anger whom you have no reservation to make bleed, when the true source of your rage is quite off-limits in that regard—and driven by the same compulsion to inflict pain as you.
Now, you can really have a go at each other.
“You realize,” your husband begins between easily placed parries, wielding a guard’s sword to which he had helped himself, “this only serves to prove my point.”
You glance briefly at him, kicking a guard in the shin whilst you block another’s blade. “Which is?”
“There is work,” he grabs one by the helmet, “and there is play,” then slits his throat before attacking another. “And you, my love, tend to confuse them.”
“Yet here you are,” you retort through grunts of effort, “indulging me as though you take no joy in it yourself.” You are as triumphant in your words as you are in thrusting your sword into a guard’s gut. But your husband does not relent.
“There would be nothing to indulge,” he growls, “if you hadn’t allowed the Rings to be taken!”
With a furious wave of his hand, a guard flies out the window, screaming on his long way down.
“Maybe the Rings would not have been taken, had you not grown negligent with your illusion in the first place!” you growl right back, snapping a neck. “Maybe if you had spared a thought to the way candles function, we would not be here!”
Your husband crushes a skull. “You have not the slightest idea of the skill required to maintain such an intricate illusion. You had one simple task of—”
“One simple task? One?” A well-placed kick relieves a guard of the future children he might have had, if you didn’t cut his throat next. “Was it one simple task to spend centuries insinuating myself by Celebrimbor’s side—”
“Not this again—”
“Yes, this again! This, forever!” you scream over the guard whose leg you break. “I put myself through years of suffering based on nothing but blind faith that you would return!”
“And yet,” your husband presses on cruelly, plunging his blade into a heart, “you could not perform the simple task of ensuring Celebrimbor remained in his shackles.”
You slash a throat, screaming. Speaking of Celebrimbor—in the quick glimpse you catch of him, he looks like he might be questioning his reality all over again in the face of your ‘marital spat’.
And he thought you licking your husband’s blood was deranged.
A guard nearly stabs you in the side, and you resume fighting fueled by a brand new bout of anger.
“You do this... every time!” you yell at your husband. “The moment something doesn’t go to plan, you blame everything and everyone but yourself.” Having stripped the guard of his weapon and helmet, you are now in the process of forcing him to his knees. “And since I’m the closest at hand, you blame me!” For good measure, you emphasize each word with a smash of the guard’s head into a nearby table. “Every,” smash, “single,” smash, “time!”
Smash and thud, when the guard’s limp body hits the ground.
Your husband watches, his lips twitching into a snarl as he flings a guard into a wall.
“Very well,” he grunts. “We are both to blame. But if you could restrain your sadistic tendencies—”
“Oh, please! Nothing gets you harder than your wife wreaking havoc, even when it’s in defiance of you. Especially then.” You put a guard in a chokehold, throwing your husband a most flirtatious smile. “If it was in my nature to ‘restrain my sadistic tendencies’, you would not have wed me.”
Snap goes the guard’s neck. Another struggles on the ground, much like a roach beneath your husband’s boot on his chest.
“If I wished only to sate my carnal desires,” he rasps out, “I would have wed no one at all.”
He crushes said chest as he steps over it to lunge at another guard. You cackle like a mad woman as you break a nose. “You are a Maia! You had no carnal desire until I invented it!” You feel the retort on his tongue, no doubt a claim that you are exaggerating—which maybe you are, but not in what you say next, between the occasional pants and grunts of the fight.
“There was always me, or no one—and from the moment you first had me, you could never go back to not having me.” Your current opponent drops to the ground, his heart pierced by your blade. “So blame me all you want, love. I could inconvenience you a thousand times, and you’d adore me still.”
There is no retort. No screams, or clangs of metal, or broken bones, or any noise at all—for all your foes are dead, and your fight consummated. All that is left is you and your husband, standing before each other in the aftermath of your destruction. Panting, covered in blood. Sated.
Gazes locked, you move towards each other, sparing not the slightest of glances to the rubble and bodies over which you step until you are close enough to breathe each other’s air. Weapons lowered to your sides, you do not touch, or speak. One last confrontation, to see which one of you will break first.
“I spoke in anger,” your husband yields.
As he very well should. Still, you eye him with a not-quite-convinced look. “Is that your idea of an apology?”
“What is yours?” he challenges, but his words have no true bite. Not anymore.
It would be less of an apology and more of something you would have done anyway, but the timing is poetically symbolic when the guard whose chest your husband had crushed under his boot suddenly takes a whizzing breath. Captain Malendol himsef, as a quick glance tells you, is still alive—barely—and picking himself off the ground a few feet to your side with staggering resolve.
He raises his sword, charging towards you with one last, valiant cry, and manages the great feat of having his throat swiftly cut by with your blade. A most tragically heroic sight, surely, but you wouldn’t know, since you never once took your eyes off your husband’s while you did it.
The captain’s armored body clatters to the ground, the same time as your weapons. Your husband’s eyes dart to him, visibly satisfied, but not fully so. His gaze meets yours, then lowers to your lips, and he leans in—only half the way, in invitation.
With an indulgent little hum, you close the distance and give him a kiss. No more than a little peck, really. A token of reconciliation. Something clicks back into place within you as the tension in your bond subsides, and you feel a matching sense of relief on your husband’s end of it. Fighting each other always feels like tearing out your own flesh, yet you do it anyway, with lethal consequences—to others, of course.
Towards others, in fact, is the only direction in which you and your beloved should ever direct your fury, as you feel him agree now that you have finally murdered your way to making up.
“Look at us,” you lament, “blaming each other, when the fault is all his.”
The last word is as venomous as the look with which you then fix Celebrimbor, glued to the same spot where he had been standing since he entered. Defiance and terror battle in his eyes as he stares back, mouth slightly open in disbelief at your display, surely aware that any attempt to escape would only end in more suffering than is already in store for him—should he refuse to obey your husband’s command, that is.
“How right you are, my love,” your husband says as you face Celebrimbor, standing as one once more. “You will give us the Nine,” he orders darkly.
Celebrimbor shuts his mouth, clenches his jaw, as if that would be enough to keep the secret of the Nine’s whereabouts locked behind his lips. His eyes dart to the fallen soldiers decorating the floor of his once beautiful forge, and you can practically hear him resolve to ensure that those sacrifices will not have been in vain.
“Oh, my love...” A most wicked smile blooms on your lips. “I think he wants us to play with him, too.”
Your husband’s voice is lethal.
“He shall have his wish.”
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