#ice scream kin

[deepsea-kinniies]

uuhm if ur doing mood board reqs could i get a foggy winter winter themed idate one?

Here you go! I hope this works for you, thank you for waiting :3

Free to use with visible credit ; please do not reupload

[platinumshawnn]

A Union of Ice and Stone | Cregan Stark — prologue

pt i (next)

Synopsis: As the war between Targaryen kin looms, the young Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark, marches in favour of rightful heir, Queen Rhaenyra, gathering men for his army. His path leads him to the foot of House Arryn’s door and the Lady Lysara Arryn.

Content Warning(s): adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content.

inspiration playlist

word count: 3.4k

Lysara's heart pounded in her chest, each step a struggle against the slick, rain-soaked earth. Her cloak, heavy with water, clung to her frame as she sprinted through the open field, heading south of her house, blinded by the unforgiving dusk that did nothing for her vision as she blindly navigated the grass by memory; she knew these fields like the back of her hand, every tree and bush, every dip in the ground that threatened to trip her as she bolted.

The high grass whipped at her skin, her dress drenched and weighing down her movements as she struggled for air, her lungs screaming for adequate oxygen that she was not successful in sucking in with each deep gasp she inhaled; suddenly she regret all those years of not joining her brothers as they trained in the yards, building their stamina, as her limbs burned with exhaustion but she could not afford to slow down as she was still within sight of the Arryn men who patrolled the boundaries of their land should they have come this way at any given moment — her head twisted to look behind her as she readjusted her tight hold on the skirts of her dress as the the fabric dipped momentarily, her eyes wide and terrified as she stumbled a step in the process when her toes caught the hem — if she had been caught now, surely that would be it. Her head would be on a spike somewhere on the gates of the Eyrie, on display for all those who cast their eyes upon it, both a warning and a promise — a show of strength from her cousin who did not need to try to succeed. Her reputation never failed to precede her. The thought of being caught now, when she was so close made her nauseous and sick at the thought of being dragged back — her arms flailed out in front of her in an effort to steady herself as her right foot shot out as she threatened to fall forwards, the pain radiating up her ankle and into her knee as her weight slammed into it, eliciting a gasp. 

Despite the radiating pain that caused her now to limp, she continued to run. 

The storm's fury mirrored the turmoil inside her, each thunderclap a reminder of the risk and imminent danger her current position placed her in. She had prayed that the rain would hold off, the clouds rolling in as she had retreated to her rooms for the night after dinner, but as some cruel reminder of how little control she possessed, it had downpoured the moment she had snuck out of the gates; scarcely sneaking past the guards that were planted at the front -- it had only taken her weeks of being practically held captive inside to bribe her way out, wanting to crawl out of her skin as she made promises she was not proud of -- but anything was better than staring at the plain walls of her room for several weeks again. 

She had tried for weeks to get out, but Jeyne seemed to keep on her heels as best she could, and if it was not her; it was one of her men -- one of her personal guards who hovered close every waking hour, always watching her from some corner of the room, ensuring she did not step out of line or try anything that she had not already been warned about time and time again. She was already treading thin ice, but there was nothing worse than being held captive in your own home; considered something of a traitor by your own people and no longer possessing the trust of your kin. She heard the whispers and saw the looks, she wasn’t stupid by any means -- but worst of all, she knew her father would have been disappointed had he been able to see her now. 

A loud burst of thunder sounded from above her as she tumbled forwards, her stocking becoming soaked by the grass that brushed her legs with each step as she neared the river that separated her from the only place she had ever known peace these past three years; a little patch amidst the dense forestry, concealed from prying eyes and shielded by the trees from the rain. She was so close…

Lysara's breath hitched as she reached the edge of the river, the torrent of water mirroring her frantic heart. The cold seeped through her soaked garments, chilling her to the bone, but she hardly noticed. All she could think of was Gareth, waiting for her on the other side, hidden amongst the thick underbrush where they had spent countless stolen moments together. The thought of his warm embrace, his whispered promises of love, gave her the strength to press on.

With a determined push, Lysara waded into the river, the icy water biting at her ankles. Each step was a battle as the current tugged at her, threatening to sweep her away, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself forward. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she refused to yield. She couldn’t afford to. 

Finally, she reached the other side, stumbling onto the bank with a cry of relief and clawing her way up onto the riverbank with desperate hands, the soil embedding itself under her nails. She didn’t pause to catch her breath, instead, she plunged into the forest, her steps faltering as the pain in her ankle flared anew. The branches snagged at her cloak, leaves brushing against her face as she pushed deeper into the woods. She could hear the river behind her, the rushing water almost drowning out the sound of her own heartbeat. Almost.

“Gareth!” she called out, her voice barely a whisper above the storm. Panic gripped her when there was no immediate answer. What if something had happened to him? What if Jeyne had found out and set a trap?

But then, from the shadows, he emerged. Tall and broad-shouldered, Gareth stepped into view, his dark eyes filled with concern as he rushed to her side and dragged her into the trees, whilst his eyes quickly swept the bushes behind her. 

“Lysara, what happened? You’re hurt,” he said, his hands immediately going to her arm, steadying her as she swayed on her feet.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, though the pain in her ankle told a different story, “I don’t have much time.”

She heard the unbelieving scoff as he knelt by her side, pulling the hem of her dress up enough to snake his hand underneath the fabric and gently brush his fingers along her ankle -- the soft gesture elicited a sharp hiss, flinching in pain as she leaned into him with a hand planted on his shoulder, “You need to be seen by the maester,” He scolded as he looked up at her. 

Her eyes widened, “Come, I can carry you back,” Gareth insisted, standing and beginning to wrap an arm around her waist to support her against him, “We can tell her I found you between the borders, I was on patrol and you were there…” 

Lysara shook her head, “No, you can’t.” 

“She’d understand, surely” 

“She’s not stupid, Gareth,” She snapped, her voice panicked as she attempted to tear from his hold, “Why do you think it took me so long to come back? She’ll kill me this time-- if not worse, she would have you killed on the spot.” 

“If that is what it must come to, then I am willing to face it with a stiff lip-- but I will not allow you to stumble back like this, not in this weather.” He muttered, attempting to crouch to sweep her off her feet; an arm coming behind her knees. 

“Lysara Arryn!” The shout echoed through the trees, carrying over the wind and pinning the couple where they stood; frozen in fear. The colour drained from her face as she quickly shoved his hands away, pushing him in the direction of the bushes that concealed them; an effort to hide his presence, “Come out! You are found, girl!” Ser Harrold called. 

“Go!” She harshly whispered, eyes wide in fear as Gareth stumbled to his feet, “You cannot be found, hide!” 

Her hands planted against his chest, shoving him so hard he nearly fell into the bush head first, still reaching for her -- she could hear as the heavy hooves of his horse trampled through the trees; the leaves crunching under the stead’s weight, “We know you are here, as does Lady Jeyne! There is no use hiding!” 

His eyes continued to peer out at her as he ducked into the shrubbery; using her body to shield him then as her back pressed against the bush, whipping around as Ser Harrold and his men burst through the trees and into the clearing. He stood in front of the men who rushed forward to surround her, her breath heavy and panting, eyes wide and flushed cheeks as her fingers touched the leaves of the bush that concealed the man only a mere inches away from her, “Where is the boy?” He asked, approaching her. 

“What boy?” She quickly replied, feigning an innocent confusion. 

“Do not play me for a fool,” Harrold warned. 

A silence passed through them as she snapped her mouth shut, her bones tense with anxiety and clenching her jaw to keep from shaking as she spoke, “I know nought of what you speak.” 

“The Royce boy!” He finally snapped, “Where has he gone?” 

She lifted her chin, her fists balling at her sides, “Nowhere, I have not seen…” “Enough with the lies!” He interrupted her, dismounting his horse that whinnied. He released its reins to close the small gap that separated them, his gloved hand closing around her upper arm and jerking her towards him, “It has never been your strong suit, Lysara, so let’s cut the messing about.” 

She writhed against him, trying to free herself as he then tugged her upright and on her feet, earning a yelp as a jolt of pain tore through her shoulder, “I have not seen him, he did not show! I am alone, please!” She insisted.

His grip tightened, sure enough to leave bruises as he let out a frustrated sigh; dragging her through the dirt and towards his horse, “You probably hid him and gave him a head start, he is probably too far gone and back over the boundaries of his own land by now, you ungrateful little girl.” He grumbled, forcing her against the horse, her hands flying out to stop herself from going face first against its side, “Your cousin has tirelessly defended you time and time again and you continue to defy her but no more. You know, you are lucky it has been her who has handled you, should it have been my choice--” 

His hands closed around her waist, hoisting her up and forcing her over the saddle of the white horse that stumbled underneath her sudden weight; the rein pressing into her ribs uncomfortably, hardly allowing her a chance to swing a leg over and mounting in behind her -- she wanted to be sick and gag as he pulled her flush against him; his chest pressed to her shoulders as he tightly gripped the the reins in his hands, “You can’t threaten me, how dare you!” She exclaimed. 

His breath fanned d against the back of her neck, every hair standing in alert as she cringed away from the feeling only to be drawn back by a hand that gripped her nape and brought her back into him, “You are hardly a respectable woman, much less a daughter of Arryn— your father would be disappointed to see you’ve taken after your brother’s stupidity.” He said, releasing her neck with a shove forward. 

With a sharp jerk on the reins, the horse launched forward and turned, rushing back out towards where she had come from only moments prior — with a last glance behind her, her eyes settled on the bush where she knew Gareth remained; growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared from view. Only then did she relax, the feeling of dread finally sinking in as she leaned into the horse, her arms wrapping around its neck and closing her eyes. 

The journey back to the Eyrie was a blur. The rain continued to pour, soaking through her already drenched clothes, but Lysara felt numb to the cold. Her thoughts were consumed by the dread of what awaited her. Jeyne Arryn was not a woman known for her mercy. Lysara had defied her one too many times, and she knew that this time, the punishment would be severe.

As they reached the gates of the Eyrie, Lysara felt the weight of her situation settle on her shoulders like a leaden cloak. The men dragged her through the courtyard, up the stairs, and into the main hall where Jeyne awaited her. The Lady of the Eyrie sat on her high-backed chair, her expression unreadable as she watched Lysara being brought before her.

For a moment, there was only silence, broken only by the sound of the rain against the windows. Then, Jeyne spoke, her voice quiet and calm but her eyes bordered rage as she stared at her, “Have you no shame?” She asked, standing from her seat, “No honour? I spare your life, despite pleas to disinherit and banish you and this is how you repay me? Have I not been merciful in your favour?” 

“I am grateful, Jeyne,” She insisted, stepping forward as she tugged herself free from Herrold’s grip, “I am. I do not know what your men have told you, but I promise you, I have done nothing to imply otherwise…you and our house are where my loyalties have always been.” 

Her expression remained blank, but there, at the corner of her mouth, was a twitch of a frown, “Do you think so lowly of me as to be that stupid?” 

She stilled, her mouth hanging open and unable to respond, like a terrified animal as she stared back at her cousin, wide-eyed and stammering, “N-no, of course not!” 

“Then do not treat me as such,” She snapped, beginning to approach her, “Do you think I do not hear the whispers of where you disappear to? That you have disappeared off into the woods with that Royce boy, for hours on end, alone?” 

She stopped a mere inches away from her, a frown etched deep into her sharp features as paused to scan her cousin’s features and trying to gauge the guilty expression that tugged at her brow; silent and unable to protest, “You sully yourself for a boy who cannot provide for you-- for some second-born bastard who only seeks to use you as cover from his reputation like some sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. You are not a stupid girl, Lysara.” 

“I am not,” She echoed, her voice small among the room. 

“Then do not behave as though you are,” She argued. “I cannot protect you much longer-- the council grows restless every day and continues to press for me to wash our hands of you, every day, do you understand that?” 

Lysara lifted her chin, meeting her cousin’s gaze with as much defiance as she could muster, though inside, she was trembling. She knew there would be no forgiveness this time, “Then why haven’t you?” 

“Because you are my kin!” She finally exclaimed, exasperated as she spun away from her for a moment to regain composure -- Jeyne pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes squeezing shut and taking a few deep breaths before she turned to look at her again, “We have been close since our youth, I have even considered you to be a sister all these years, and even as I honour that, you continue to stomp your pretty little foot all over that. As though that has no value, as though that means nothing to you.” 

“It has not stopped you before-- from slaughtering your own kin in order to protect your name, so do with me as you will. Imprison me, kill me-- whatever you see fit, just as you did my brother then,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her. “But know this: nothing you do will make me regret loving him.”

Jeyne’s eyes flashed with anger, but she said nothing for a long moment. Then, with a flick of her hand, she dismissed her men, leaving the two women alone in the hall.

“Maybe you are a fool, Lysara,” Jeyne said quietly, the weight of her words heavy with disappointment. “But you are still my blood. I will not have you put to death, though you have earned it.”

Lysara’s breath caught in her throat, relief washing over her in a dizzying wave. But Jeyne wasn’t finished.

“You will be confined to your chambers until I decide what to do with you,” Jeyne continued. “And as for that Royce boy…he will be found and dealt with accordingly.”

“No!” Lysara gasped, stepping forward, but Jeyne’s glare stopped her in her tracks.

“This is not up for debate, Lysara,” Jeyne said, her tone final. “You have made your choice. Now, you will live with the consequences. Now go clean yourself, you smell of the fields like some smallfolk.” She spat, her eyes scanning up and down to take in her full appearance -- disheveled, wet, and muddy up to her knees. She refused to move yet, watching as her cousin turned to retreat back towards her seat. 

As Lysara stood in the center of the hall, drenched and defeated, the heavy wooden doors at the far end of the room creaked open. A cold draft swept through, sending a shiver down her spine causing Jeyne to pause and glance toward the entrance, her brows knitting together in surprise.

A young knight hurried into the room, his armor clanking with each step. He looked flustered, his eyes wide as he approached the Lady of the Eyrie. “My lady,” he began, his voice betraying his nerves, “I must report—Lord Cregan Stark has arrived at the Eyrie. He… he’s demanding an audience with you.”

Lysara’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Cregan Stark, sharing her cousin’s visible confusion. What was he doing here? Her mind raced, a mix of fear and hope fluttering in her chest. Perhaps this was a twist of fate, an unexpected ally in her dire situation. But as she looked at Jeyne, she saw no relief in her cousin’s eyes. Instead, there was only tension.

Jeyne’s lips pressed into a thin line, her hand smoothing along the side of her skirts. “Cregan Stark,” she repeated slowly, as if weighing the significance of the name. “He is a long way from Winterfell. What brings him to the Eyrie unannounced?”

The knight shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “He didn’t say, my lady. Only that it is a matter of great importance and that he must speak with you immediately.”

Jeyne’s eyes flickered toward Lysara , and for a brief moment, their gazes met. She felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. Jeyne was no fool; she would have already started to piece together the implications of Cregan Stark’s sudden arrival.

“Very well,” Jeyne said at last, her voice clipped. “Escort Lord Stark to the Great Hall. I will meet him shortly.”

The knight bowed and hurried out of the room, leaving Lysara and Jeyne alone once more. The silence that followed was thick with tension and unease.

She could see the storm brewing in her cousin’s eyes, a mix of calculation and concern as her jaw tensed, clenching and unclenching. Jeyne turned to her, her expression unreadable, but there was an edge to her voice as she spoke. “It seems our conversation will have to wait but rest assured, this matter with Gareth Royce is far from over.”

Before Lysara could respond, her mouth opening to speak, Jeyne swept out of the room; her long skirts swishing as she moved. She was left standing there, her mind spinning with questions and a growing sense of unease. Cregan Stark’s arrival was unexpected.

As she was escorted back to her chambers by two guards, Lysara couldn’t shake the feeling that this unexpected visit would either be her salvation or her undoing. And with Jeyne Arryn at the helm, she feared it would be the latter.

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Pretty As A Picture - Chapter 10

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Theme: Soulmates - Feeling the connection as soon as you see each other.

Summary: When Bucky fell from the train, their soulmate was told he was gone. When Steve Rogers disappeared into the ice, their soulmate was again told one of her soulmates were gone. But she didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Committed to a mental health institute, she dies of a broken heart. That's at least what the hidden S.H.I.E.LD files say, but if that's the case than why is there a photo of her. A photo that shows her side by side two redhaired Avengers.

Warnings will be per chapter.

For this fic reader will be British, but let your imagination replace if needed.

Chapter Summary: The reader wakes up.

Chapter Warning: Mentions of hospital care.

“So, I’m gonna make it really clear, you’re going to have your work cut out with her. She’s stubborn, a know it all, unfortunately because she does know it all, photographic memory and all that, the situations she sometimes gets herself in aren’t always great but she always and I mean always has a way out. She doesn’t eat right. Her sleep pattern is worse than a teething toddler and believe me I know” He said looking down at Nathanial in his arms, “but she is fiercely loyal, if you call her for anything, she could be having tea with a royal and she’d drop everything to save your ass or in Laura’s case so you can have a shower without a screaming child and take a nap in peace. She’ll hold you through your nightmares, be your biggest supporter and snap a guys neck if they’ve hurt you. She feels all her emotions at ten times the level we do. Sometimes that’s great, sometimes it’s really not. Now, I’m gonna ask you, don’t pursue this unless you’re sure. Please.”

“She’s our soulmate Clint, there’s no way we aren’t pursuing this.” Replied Steve.

“I know she’s your soulmate but….”

“But what?” Asked Bucky.

“She sometimes, well it’s not my place to say.”

Steve and Bucky both huffed in response. They’d been sick of those words over the last few days. When you’d gripped the bed rail and bent it right in front of them it was clear you were different in some way. Match that with carrying Pietro like you did, Steve and Bucky were sure you were like them. A super soldier.

When Helen Cho entered the room after you’d been sedated, and spoke quietly to Bruce as they set up the cradle, they didn’t miss Bruce’s whispered “accelerated healing” or the mention of having to possibly rebreak some of your bones as they’d have already have set wrong. When they asked Bruce the response was “it’s not my place to say”. The same words were uttered when Steve asked Natasha why her and Clint were her emergency contacts and next of kin.

“You know I’m sick of hearing those words.” Steve told Clint.

“You know what fine, fuck it, yes I know language in front of the baby. He’s heard worse. Natasha and Y/N are his godmothers, he probably knows the f bomb in six different languages already. Look she struggles with the whole soul mate thing.”

Bucky’s head snapped up.

“How so?” Asked Steve.

Before Clint had chance to answer you groaned from the bed, causing the three men to jump to their feet, Nathanial jostling in Clint’s arms.

“Lightsssss, bright light, bright light.” You groaned, squeezing your eyes tightly.

“Shit, I forgot, F.R.I.D.A.Y dim the lights.” Clint instructed. “Good morning you little gremlin.”

“Gremlin?” Steve asked. “Sweetheart can you hear us?”

“It’s from a movie.” Bucky answered “Don’t put it on your damn list, it’s awful. Babydoll?”

“It is not. It’s a cult piece.” Clint replied.

“Whatever. Doll, can you hear us?”

You groaned again and muttered Clint’s name. He pushed past Steve and handed him a wiggling Nathanial, squeezing your hand and stroking your face affectionately. Bucky wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Hey kid, I’m here, open your eyes, you’ve had us all worried. Laura’s even started knitting again, you know how she hates it, only does it to keep herself busy, and don’t get me started on Natasha. I thought we’d have to sedate her at one point.”

“Natty.” You replied as your eyes started to flicker open.

“She’s upstairs, probably already on her way down.”

Bucky huffed. He didn’t want everyone in here. He wanted to speak to you, hold you, take care of you, figure out how the hell you were here. You started to look around, still squinting, jumping when you saw you were in the Med Bay.

“Easy kid. You’re in the compound Med Bay. You've been out for three days.”

You started to fidget in the bed.

“Y/N, listen.” and he gently cupped your jaw, moving your face to look at him. “You’re gonna be OK kid, you scared the shit out of us all, but you’ll be OK. You’re in the compound. Only Banner and Cho have looked at you. OK?”

You nodded in reply, your eyes full of tears. Clint kissed your forehead.

“Pietro? Did he? Is he?”

“He’s alive. See?” Clint stood upright and pointed to the next room in the bay. You followed his pointing to see you were separated by a glass wall but sure enough there was Pietro. Wanda and Vision at his bedside. He waved weakly at you and you attempted to wave back.

“Careful sweetheart.” You glanced up at the voice, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Hi honey.”

Spotting baby Nathanial in his arms, you reached out and made a gesture for Steve to pass him to you.

“Gimme.”

“Y/N,” Clint said as he perched on the bed “really?”

“Baby, gimme please.” You looked up at Steve with puppy eyes, who realised he immediately had no defence against your sad face and he turned to Clint, not knowing what to do. You pushed out your bottom lip for added effect and looked back at Clint.

“Fine, but you’re gonna need to sit up a little. Clint replied, before gathering up some pillows.

You tried to push yourself up as much as possible and Bucky silently tried to help. Why were you ignoring them? Clint moved around to the side of the bed Bucky was at and placed a pillow under your arm, saying something about it being the best side as your drip was gone, before whispering to you.

“Maybe stop being a brat and acknowledge your soulmates.”

You shifted uneasily and glanced at Clint as he gave you a knowing look, before he gestured at Steve to come around with Nathanial.

“Hello.” You said quietly, not making eye contact.

“Babydoll” “Sweetheart.”

Bucky placed a kiss on your head as you side eyed him.

“Is this a good idea?” Steve asked as Nathanial wiggled in his arms some more. “You said yourself how unsettled he is.”

“Just watch.” Clint laid Nathanial in the crook of your arm, making sure the pillow took most the weight. Nathanial snuggled into you, taking out his pacifier to give you a drool filled grin.

“Hi baby.” You said softly. Nathanial snuggled down more and closed his eyes, gripping on to the blanket Clint had placed over him.

The three watched you fondly as Nathanial drifted off to sleep, as you stroked his face affectionately. Bucky and Steve both felt a lump form in their throat as they watched. Thoughts of what could have been and what could be filling their heads. White picket fences seemed so far away now but there was something about you, their soulmate, with a baby in her arms.

Clint slipped back discreetly from between the two and moved to the other side of the bed. Spotting Natasha and Bruce hurrying down the corridor he gestured for them to slow down and wait, nodding back at Steve and Bucky. Steve slipped his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky mirrored his actions in return.

“We got her back bud.”

Bucky went to speak but let out a sob instead, as tears began to run down his face. Steve pulled him into a hug. You side eyed them not really knowing what to do. Clint noticed your uncomfortableness and squeezed your hand affectionately as tears formed in your eyes. You leaned back into the pillows, shaking your head.

“It doesn’t make any sense.” You almost whispered. “I can’t be their soulmate.”

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TAGLIST

@abaker74 @animegirlgeeky @calwitch @slowlyshycomputer @paasrin @cjand10 @otterlycanadian

[writerthatcannotwrite]

Modern AU Silm fic idea

So you know how if something is frozen, it's kinda preserved? And you know the elves who died in the Helcaraxë were... well... frozen?

So imagine, if you will, in modern times of Middle Earth, when the dwarves are no longer prevalent (maybe they live in the Middle Earth equivalent of El Dorado?) and the hobbits have gone elsewhere to do who knows what (they become forest cryptids in the Ered Luin AKA, the Middle Earth Appalachia), and humans have created modern technology.

As in RADAR, SONAR, all that jazz. And humans, who we all know are very curious by nature, go exploring the ocean.

Human scientists explore the northern oceans, where the Helcaraxë is/has been, and they find bodies in the ice; nonhuman, but bipedal and human ENOUGH bodies. Sure, their ears are pointed, their teeth are strange, and they have a different bone structure, but the likeness is uncanny.

After a while of simply observing, the scientists get the go-ahead from their respective governments (Gondor, if it's still there, maybe Rohan; all of those civilizations have forgotten the might of the Eldar, though) and they manage to carve one of the bodies out of the ice.

After bringing the body back to land and in a laboratory, they discover some things.

1. The body is female.

2. She has different DNA and tissues than the average human.

3. She is still living.

(They find this out when someone is trying to get a tissue sample but almost gets strangled in the process.)

She speaks an archaic language, one that no linguist can decipher. However, when she tries to communicate via writing, she writes in an ancient script similar to the letters and words found in some of Gondor's ancient artifacts---swords of olden kings, the runes on a stone crypt with a king and two (supposed) children beside him.

All the while, the news coverage is all over, and some people are panicking. Who is this woman who was found ALIVE in the ice? Why are her ears naturally pointed? How old is she? More importantly, what is she saying?

We, the readers, will know that this woman is one of the Eldar, and who is the last elf left in Middle Earth? After the sons of Elrond have sailed, after Legolas and Gimli headed West, and after Celeborn finally saw the shores of Alqualondë? Who is left?

Maglor.

Maglor sees these shocking images of a golden haired woman, obviously of the Vanyar, and recognizes her. That is Elenwë, the wife of Turgon and mother of Idril.

That is Maglor's kin.

And Maglor, who now works the most boring 9-to-5 teaching job in all of Eä, longs desperately for any kind of relative, whether they hate him or not.

So Maglor goes to the scientists, the elf that had evaded all suspicion of him being anything other than human, and wants to see his cousin. Of course, they ignore him; that is, until he shows them his ears and sings a haunting verse of the Noldolantë.

They let him inside and Elenwë sees him, speaking ancient Quenya.

"Where is my daughter, Makalaurë?" She demands. "Where is my husband?"

Maglor knows where Turgon and Idril are; they are in the Undying Lands, far, far away.

Maglor tells her, and Elenwë screams. Maglor, who has had hundreds of centuries to process his grief, tries to comfort her, but is dragged away by security. The scientists question him, and Maglor, who has not spoken of his family history in centuries, finally tells the story of burning ships, shining jewels, kidnapped twins, and the war that was supposed to end all wars.

Maglor, who is technically a citizen of whatever country this is, willingly allows himself to stay in the laboratory. He goes to Elenwë again, and after much screaming and weeping, tells her the story of a hidden city and a tortured son of Aredhel and all that followed.

Elenwë is distraught. Obviously. After, she knows that she needs to sail back to Valinor, Doomed or not. She WILL find her daughter and husband again, even if it means she has to cross the sea to do it.

After a few years, Elenwë is released to Maglor's care. She speaks the common tongue well, knows her history and geography, and, well, they can't keep a sentient being in a laboratory forever, now can they (A few want to. Maglor threads his voice with Song and they never speak of that idea again)?

Maglor returns to his job teaching at a university (he teaches linguistics and music theory) and helps Elenwë learn her way around the modern world.

"Yes, that picture is moving," Maglor explains. "No, it is not a palantír."

"I'm not stupid, Makalaurë," Elenwë hisses. She still has a shred of animosity in her heart for all the harm Maglor and his brothers had caused her family.

"And we don't list our genealogies when meeting new people," Maglor told her when Elenwë introduced herself to a bank teller and told them her lineage.

"I could tell by the look on his face, Makalaurë," Elenwë replied bitterly.

Elenwë always had the heater on, and Maglor could not blame her; millenia stuck in ice would make a person long for warmth.

One day, Elenwë points to the drawing on Maglor's mantle and asks, "Who is that?"

The ellon had lines on his forehead, just like her dear Turukano; she always said they were from dealing with Findekáno's oddity.

Maglor was hesitant. "That Itarillë's grandson, your great-grandson."

Elenwë is delighted to hear that her daughter found love in Beleriand, but there was something that Maglor did not tell her.

So he told her, of course; Elenwë always knew if he was lying. He told her about the fire-haired twins' death, the burning camp of refugees, and her grandson's children left at the hands of two kinslayers.

"And love grew between them," Maglor told her. "They were Elrond and Elros, and... I see them as my sons."

Elenwë wanted to be angry. Scream at her cousin for causing so much grief for her daughter's family, but she couldn't. Makalaurë was oathbound to find that silmaril, but he still sought to do good.

"He sailed with Galadriel, Artanis as you know her, a few Ages ago," Maglor said. "He was as kind as summer."

After a while, Elenwë got her own job, an apartment nearby. She gets a degree and finds a stable job. She lives by the coast, like Maglor, and feels the sea tug on her heart every time she hears the rushing waves.

Then, Elenwë buys a boat.

Elenwë buts a boat and asks Maglor to go with her.

"It has been millenia, Makalaurë," she says. "Will you not go to Valinor? Will you leave your family thinking you are dead?"

Maglor refuses. He thinks that he cannot leave Middle Earth. "I am Doomed, Elenwë, but do not let my choices prevent you from going. See your husband, your daughter, your grandchildren and so on. Do not dwell on the past as I have, Elenwë."

"You hypocrite of hypocrites!" Elenwë cries. "You tell me to go and see my child when you will not go and see yours?"

Maglor goes with her.

He takes his favorite pillow, his silver harp made by his father, Maedhros's copper circlet, Elros's wooden toy horse, and leaves behind a copy of the Noldolantë.

Elenwë and Maglor sail.

They think that they will aimlessly wander the Sundering Seas, but they are wrong. Eru smiles at them, and they see the banks of Tol Eressëa. The dock is long gone, but homes dot the sandy shores, still littered with pearls and white gems.

Maglor and Elenwë sail, and they are welcomed.

Maglor is welcomed by six brothers, all released from Námo's halls. He is welcomed by a guilty father, who begs for his son's forgiveness on his knees. He is welcomed by a grieving mother, who had never thought she would see her son again.

He is welcomed by a son that was not his, and a daughter-in-law that looks suspiciously like Galadriel.

Elenwë is welcomed by a husband who has grieved for millenia, who is guilty for not saving her. She is welcomed by her daughter, now grown, and a human man she calls her husband. She is welcomed by a woman with bird-like features, who is her granddaughter-in-law. She is welcomed by her great-grandson, whose picture sat on Makalaurë's mantle for all the time she'd been in Middle Earth.

Maglor returns to his family. He is not exiled, or Doomed to the Everlasting Darkness. He is called home for tea and to play games with his brothers. He is not a ghost story to tell children on rainy nights. He is not a warning to those provoked to anger. He is an elf; an elf who wanted to go home.

Elenwë returns to her family. She is not a casualty listed among the fallen of Helcaraxë. She is not a wife who was not named. Elenwë lives.

Elenwë lives, and she was not forgotten.

[mirkwdmstrss]

in his image

summary: adar attempts to escape from under the weight of mairon’s thumb, but is thwarted by the very one he tries to escape. after enduring punishment at his hands, he realizes the only way out is to plot his undoing

genre: angst

pairing: adar x sauron (as mairon)

word count: 1.8k

tags: blood and torture, mild sexual content, emotional manipulation

Frostbite scorched his flesh, the icy kiss of a howling wind rendering the tips of his fingers, nose, and ears aching and numb. And every time the air whipped across his face, he couldn’t help but feel as though he were back atop that mountain; chained to it with nothing but the scream of the wind to keep him company. Flakes of snow caught in his hair and lashes as he curled the ragged excuse for a cloak tighter around his shoulders.

He stumbled and fell to his knees in the ankle deep snow; hardly feeling the sting of the pain for the bone deep chill burrowing its way through his flesh. He cursed the stiffness of his limbs as he dragged himself upright and then cursed himself for fleeing as if he’d truly be able to outrun the shadow of His reach. In his heart he knew he would fail, but that didn’t mean he didn’t try. This was further than he’d gotten when he’d last attempted to unbind himself from this hellish place. How had he ended up like this? How had he fallen so far from the grace and power that had once been promised to him and the others?

He lived in shadow still, though the embrace of this darkness hadn’t always felt so bleak. He could picture the flames flickering in His eyes even now, warming him through to his core with just one look. He closed his eyes and visualized Him curling calloused hands, the hands of a smith, over his shoulders and the heat that would spread from his palms. He opened his eyes and the illusion shattered. There were no hands to hold him, no hearth to warm him; nothing but barren rock and ice laid ahead. Even the path beneath his feet remained hidden; a stark reminder that there would likely be no way out.

He trudged on for what felt like days, though it might have only been hours. The sun did not show its face here. There was no golden light to look upon except that which reflected off His face in his mind’s eye. Through Him only, could he know warmth. Every step sent a ripple of agony through what little he could still feel of his body. Just as he felt he would collapse to the ground and be forever claimed by the might of the blizzard raging on around him, the hushed whisper of voices pricked along the length of his pointed and blistered ears.

He squinted through the storm and two figures appeared, clad in pristine silver armor. Adar raised a hand to shield his eyes from the snow and sure enough, there, nestled between the crags of the open rock face, were two elves with hair the color of freshly milled wheat huddled together by the light of a fire. It baffled him how they might’ve sparked a flame in this storm, but the thick walls of stone surrounding them may have been just enough to keep the storm at bay.

Adar attempted to call out to them, but his voice was hoarse from lack of use and was lost to the wind. They kept their heads bowed low and did not seem to see him as he drew near. His steps were stilted, each one stiffer than the last as he trudged on. They were so close now. He reached out a hand; a sign and a plea saying, ‘Please see that I am here. See that I am of your blood, of your kin. Save me from this place.’ Exhaustion took him and he collapsed onto his knees, his hair falling around his face in a curtain of dark brown. Despite the pain it caused him, he dug his fingers into the frozen earth and found the strength within himself to crawl on his hands and knees.

Just as he was about to feel a flicker of the fire's warmth upon his wind-whipped cheeks, it snuffed out. A pained gasp escaped his lips as the elves too, vanished.

Snow crunched beneath the weight of polished boots. Adar’s heart slowed to a dull thump against his rib cage as his eyes trailed up the length of the figure looking over him; those looking back at him burning like two red hot coals. He immediately dropped his gaze out of habit.

“This is the thanks I get?” He hissed as He crouched down and wrenched His hand into Adar’s hair, fisting it into His palm and forcing him to look at Him. “What can they,” he spat, and with a flick of his fingers, conjured the image of elven warriors into being. “Offer you that I can’t?” Mairon’s lip curled back in disgust as He pushed Adar’s face into the snow. He bent down, His ginger hair brushing the curve of Adar’s cheek as He did so, and spoke in his ear in a low voice. “They would never accept you as you are. They would laugh in your face and cast you out.”

Adar squeezed his eyes shut and tears leaked from their inner corners into the frozen earth as the truth of Mairon’s words cut through his heart like a thousand knives.

He winced then, having expected the sting of pain rather than the gentle caress of the back Mairon’s gloved hand against his cheek. “Only I can keep you warm,” he murmured. “Only I can keep you safe.”

“Forgive me.” The words eked past Adar’s scarred lips in a harsh whisper, his throat cracking as he spoke.

Mairon took firm hold of his chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted his face up to look at him. Adar felt naked beneath the weight of his stare as shame slithered down his spine. “Forgiveness,” Mairon said pointedly, “is earned.”

Adar lowered his eyes. “I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit.”

“Yes,” Mairon answered resolutely, and Adar didn’t miss the flicker of glee that danced in his irises. “You will.”

••••

Adar tried hard not to cry out as salve soaked bandages were laid across the tattered remains of the flesh at his back, the pungent aroma of herbs mixing with the irony tang of his blood. It turned his stomach and he feared as though he might retch, but that would only earn him further torment at His hands.

He fisted his hands into the silk of Mairon’s crimson sheets, his knuckles split from when they’d thawed before the hearth in His chambers. Rope burns marred the backs of his hands and wrists from where he’d wrapped his fingers around it to brace himself against each slash of Mairon’s golden belt buckle, the sharpened points of which had torn into his flesh like a hot knife through the butter. He glanced at the two pillars in the center of Mairon’s grand chambers and the ropes that hung off of either. Long ago, he’d have been restrained to endure his punishment. Now, he accepted them willingly, surrendering his pain for His pleasure.

Adar had lost count of the strikes made against him, but when the belt had fallen from Mairon’s hand and clattered to the floor, He’d caught him as he crumpled to a heap at His feet with sweat pouring from his brow and his black blood pooling upon the stones. “There, there, my love,” He’d said as He’d stretched an arm around his waist to support his weight and help him to lie face down on the bed they shared together.

After a while, He helped him to sit up, the bandages now plastered to his skin. Adar groaned low in his throat as He began to wind a roll of bandages around his middle and over his shoulders, compressing his injuries. Mairon tsked and shook His head. “How I hate to see you in such discomfort,” he murmured as he secured a knot in the wrappings and smoothed Adar’s dark hair away from his face.

Adar hated how he couldn’t help but lean into the warmth of His palm. He turned into His touch and kissed the hand that had only just been raised against him.

Mairon smiled tightly and turned away from him, a silent order to untie the apron; the same one he wore in His forge, except now it was spattered with Adar’s blood instead of cinders and ash. Adar fought against the pain in his back as he lifted his hands and made quick work of the knot. The apron fell away from His slender waist and He sighed as if a heavy weight had been removed from His shoulders. Adar watched as He draped the apron over the drawing table and turned to gaze upon his body with the same look He reserved for the twisted metal creations He crafted in His forge, as if Adar, too, was something to be shaped and molded by His hand. Yet somehow, and no matter how Adar tried, He never seemed satisfied by what He saw in front of Him.

Mairon shrugged into a robe of emerald green, His ginger hair fanning about his shoulders. Adar’s eyes followed His every step as He drew nearer, flames sparkling in the reflection of the rings adorning his long fingers. He stopped in front of Adar and curled His fingers around the back of his neck. He gently tugged Adar’s hair, drawing his eyes up the front of his torso to meet His.

“Good as new,” He murmured as he stroked the knot tied in the bandages at his shoulder and bent to press His lips to Adar’s.

Adar’s mouth instantly parted for Him, and he moaned into Mairon’s mouth as He slipped His tongue between his lips. Adar’s legs spread naturally for Him and Mairon took a seat upon his muscular thigh where Adar could feel the length of His arousal pressing against his groin causing his own cock to twitch in response.

Mairon’s grip tightened in his hair and Adar hissed as Mairon bit his lip and tugged forcefully on his hair.

“Don’t ever try to leave me again,” He whispered, eyes hard and boring into his. Adar merely inclined his head, but gave no answer. Mairon tugged at his hair again and Adar clenched his jaw. When he drew his gaze back up to meet His, he was surprised to find His eyes wet with tears. “Don’t,” He breathed, the word closer to a plea than a command.

And though Adar dreamt of leaving this place, still, he slipped a hand around the curve of Mairon’s slender waist and up the length of his spine, caressing him softly as he pulled Him closer to him despite the pain it caused as his injuries stretched and split anew beneath his bandages; a reminder that as much pain as Mairon wrenched from his body, that He wrought pleasure too. He might have warped this body, but He worshiped it all the same. The line between pain and pleasure was lost to him now, but in rare moments of clarity, he knew in his blackened heart, that if he didn’t put an end to Him, that Mairon would be his undoing.

[justcallmefox89]

Gale and the Gith: Chapter Twelve - Inferior Part III

TW: brief mentions of violence/death

X'aa'nath struggles to be around his kin and Gale worries.

“I don’t want to alarm anyone,” Astarion calls out as he tries to open the door that exits the doctors laboratory.  “But we’ve been locked in.”

“Of course we are,” X’aa’nath mutters in a rare display of sarcasm, rummaging through his pack.

He tosses a scroll to Gale, who catches it awkwardly.  “Cast the spell.”

“What?” Gale examines the scroll, bewildered.

“Cast the fucking spell!” the sorcerer barks, the gestures at Astarion and Lae’zel.  “Prepare to fight once I’ve finished.”

The three jump into action, huddling around X’aa’nath as Gale casts a globe of invulnerability around the group.  The sorcerer rolls his hands together, shaping a growing sphere of fire, before finally launching it at the locked door and blowing it off it’s hinges in a near deafening explosion.

Heedless of the flames still licking at the remnants of the wooden doorframe X’aa’nath stalks into the outer room of the infirmary, already conjuring his next spell.  The others hurry to keep up, Gale concentrating on keeping the globe stable.  Astarion and Lae’zel barely have time to raise their weapons before X’aa’nath releases a torrent of ice.  Shards fly in every direction, skewering the waiting githyanki warriors.  Screams of the dying blend with the tinkling of shattering ice, creating a ghoulish melody that shakes Gale to his core. 

“Well… that’s that then,” Astarion says calmly, sheathing his daggers after ascertaining none of the githyanki warriors survived X’aa’nath’s attack.

Lae’zel dispassionately examines the body of her fallen kin, but something flickers in the depths of her gaze.  Grief?  Despair?  Satisfaction?  Whatever it is, it is gone too quickly for Gale to identify it.  His attention returns to X’aa’nath, as it always seems to, now crouching next to the dying ghustil. 

The gith strokes the doctor’s cheek with the tip of one dexterous finger, staring into her eyes intently.  “Die now,” he whispers.  “Die knowing that Khou’zal’s experiment, the unwanted one, ended you.”

He straightens up, fussily wiping his hands on his robes.  “To the kith’rak, kin.  To report your hshar’lak.”

Lae’zel nods slowly, clearly unhappy about this shift in the leadership of their group, but her desire to report the perceived traitor wins out, and she silently follows X’aa’nath as he leaves the infirmary.  Gale drop the globe of invulnerability and hurries after them, Astarion on his heels.  The walk to the kith’rak’s quarters is excruciating.  Gale is on edge, anticipating an attack from the numerous githyanki who watch them with guarded eyes.  Astarion brings up the rear of their group, nearly as anxious as the wizard, clearly doubting that the gith will let them leave this place alive once they discover the scene in the infirmary.  X’aa’nath moves like a puppet with cut strings, one foot in front of the other towards the kith’rak’s quarters but his body seems to resist with every resigned step.  Lae’zel stays close to him, a protective sentinel, scowling at anyone who gets too near or stares a second too long.

X’aa’nath hesitates only once, at the door to the kith’rak’s quarters, but quickly gathers himself and sweeps into the room, approaching the imposing githyanki elder with quick, decisive steps.

She glances up from the map on the table, unable to control a slight frown of disgust as she seem to recognize X’aa’nath.  Her gaze passes over him and lands on Lae’zel.  “I am not familiar with you ra’stil.  Do you bring news of the weapon?”

Lae’zel steps closer, glancing over at X’aa’nath, who grits his teeth at the kith’rak’s dismissiveness.  “We seek an audience with the inquisitor.  We believe there is a traitor within creche Y’llek.”

“Hshar’lak?  Whom would you accuse?”

“Your doctor,” Lae’zel replies confidently.

The kith’rak’s eyes widen slightly.  “A bold accusation from one who accompanies the vin’isk rumored to hold the very weapon that we have been seeking.”  Her gaze slides over to X’aa’nath.  “Ch’mar zal’a Vlaakith!  Give it to me!”

A wave of fear emerges from the hidden artefact, strong enough to nearly send Gale to his knees.  X’aa’nath isn’t unaffected either, doubt warring with another emotion on the features Gale has committed to memory.  At first the wizard thinks it is duty that compels the younger man to hand over the artefact, but he belatedly recognizes the expression on X’aa’nath’s face.  Longing… for recognition, to be accepted, to be a part of a greater whole, to be amongst his kin.  To no longer be other.

The kith’rak’s eyes gleam with excitement as the artefact hovers over her outstretched hand.  “Yes – there is it.  Exactly as described.  The inquisition will finally come to an end.”

The artefact trembles, then flashes with an otherworldly glow before it rockets back into X’aa’nath’s waiting hands.

“Tsk’va!  Trickery, heresy, how did you-” She catches her breath and sneers at him.  “You manipulate it when I cannot?  You who would not even be alive without Khou’zal’s pity?”

Astarion moves closer to his friend, ready to intervene if the situation escalates.

The kith’rak scowls one last time and waves her hand towards a door way at the far end of the chamber.  “Go, seek the Inquisitor below.  And take the cursed thing with you.”

X’aa’nath nods placidly, all the fight seemingly drained out of him, and tucks the artefact into an inner pocket of his robes.  “Come kin, the Inquisitor awaits.”

[marlsswrites]

ok, I saw ur put smth in ur ask box post I ship Jegulus, like hardcore and my relationship with my gf is similar to it. My gf is very energetic and is similar to James, as in she always thinks about other people before herself, she's funny and she loves her friends a lot. I'm similar to Regulus as in I'm the one who listens a lot and the one who's more silent!! I think my gf's the one guys, well I really hope she is Anyways! Whats ur fav ship and who do you relate to the most!!

That’s so sweet!! All these cute relationships ships oh my gods, I’m jealous. I’m sure she’s the one, from just that I can tell you two are literally PERFECT for each other! Like jegulus dynamic?? YES!!!

As you can probably tell from my posts, my favourite ship is Jegulus OFC!! I’m such a big Jegulus enthusiast, like those two are CONSTANTLY on my mind. I saw a magnum ice cream called starchaser flavour?? I SCREAMED.

My biggest kin is totally Regulus!! I relate to him in so many ways. I’m such a Slytherin and books are my whole life. Sometimes I feel like I come across rude when I promise I’m not!! Once you get to know me I’m a really fun person! My favourite hc for him is that he’s autistic, because so am I and it makes me love him even more. I’m also a younger sibling, often feel like the second choice and am by far the quieter of me and my sister. I love her so much but our relationship can be kind of rocky, that’s why when I read black brothers angst I SOB MY EYES OUT.

I also relate to Pandora a lot, again with the autistic hc. But also that she’s often seen as the weird kid and in reality she’s actually such a nice and thoughtful person. I know that’s how people see me sometimes, but I mean give me a chance LMAO. I also have a few REALLY close friends that I value with the world, I love them so so much I’ve not a clue what I’d do without them. <3

My third highest kin has to be James or Remus. I’m not a sunny bright person like James, but I relate to him with the whole people pleaser thing. I don’t tell people when I’m upset because I think their issues are worse than mine. And Remus because I’m a quiet type, and very bookish. LIKE BOOKS OVER MOVIES ANY DAY!!

Anyway that was definitely WAY more information than you asked for, but I have an oversharing problem so yeah!! Have a good day anon!! <3

[animatorweirdo]

Unexpected Reunion

You reunite with an old friend and hear about events that occurred during your time on ice. You decide to set your feelings to the side and start gathering ingredients for your medicine. Unfortunately, your trip to find Moonflowers takes a dark turn when you discover two possibly orphaned elven children and reunite with someone you hoped to avoid.

() = Elvish

Warnings: mentions of the second kin slaying, dead characters, angst, mentions of being frozen, troubled feelings, going through woods alone, smelling blood and smoke, nearly getting stabbed, fear, hiding, and getting a blade on your neck.

Chapter 2

---------------------------------------------------

The water nearly tickled your skin. You took in a deep breath before allowing yourself to be fully submerged in the warm water. A satisfied groan left you as your muscles relaxed from the warmth and the weightless sensation. Soap foam and bubbles floated above the water, and you finally scrubbed the dirt, sweat, and grease from your body. 

Taking a bath had never felt better after traveling in a sickened untamed land and walking around the city the whole day without a destination. You need to thank Melui for letting you take a bath and stay the night at his house. 

You leaned against the bathtub’s edge and stared at the ceiling, wondering about everything that had happened. It was no wonder so many things had happened. It's been over sixty years. 

How did you survive sixty years in ice? 

It was no mystery why Camilla would think you had died. You were certain you were dead too when those spirits caught you. You could still hear Camilla's scream at the entrance when the spirits froze your feet, making you unable to move. You could still remember reaching out to her hand before the ice froze your whole body and your mind got taken by the cold darkness. 

A tear fell from your eye when you thought about your friend. If it's been sixty years, then there was a high chance that Camilla had already passed away from old age. You doubt she could have survived as a ninety-year-old granny when Beleriand was in a state like this. She was smart and resourceful, but even she had limits. Not to mention, her family had some genetic illnesses that should act up during old age. 

You took a deep breath… trying to prevent yourself from breaking down in tears. 

You wonder how Maglor reacted to your supposed death. There was no doubt that he would have been devastated. After seven years of a happy relationship, you suddenly die of sudden circumstances. That would definitely have a negative effect on him. Could your death have taken a part in his spiraling to such a path? 

How would he think if he knew you were still alive? 

You shook your head and tried to stop thinking. You first need to ensure that the things you have heard about him are true. If anyone knew better what happened in Doriath– it would be Melui. In the meantime, you will also believe Camilla might still be alive, living in a lone cottage with a hundred cats, or something, until you learn more about her fate. 

After cleaning yourself, you arrive at the kitchen area, drying your hair with a towel and wearing borrowed clothes. Melui was preparing dinner and two vials of familiar-looking liquid sat on the table. 

Melui's home was big and rather nice. The kitchen area was attached to a large living room on the left while a set of stairs were on the right, leading to upstairs where bedrooms were located. The design of the walls and the colors were rather calm and different than what you were used to seeing in Himring. The house was empty since Melui’s family was away and Melui had stayed behind to watch over it. 

"Hey, (Name). How was the bath? Good I hope," Melui questioned after setting a pot on the table. You looked in and smelled something delicious, fish soup perhaps? 

"Yeah. It was good since it has been sixty years since the last time I took a bath," you said, making Melui release a chuckle. "You sure your sister doesn't mind me using her clothes?" you questioned as you adjusted the blouse and the dress. "It's fine. Those are pretty old so I doubt she even remembers having them," Melui said as you took the vials and drank the content. 

You grinched at the taste after drinking them both. "I never get used to this taste. Thank you for making them for me. The beast has been silent but I do not want to take any risks," you said and set the vials back down on the table.

"It's alright. I'm happy to help you with anything," Melui replied.

"Thanks... good to know you're still around at least. I don't know where I would be if you didn't find me," You smiled. Melui returned the smile. "Come on. I prepared some dinner and perhaps you can tell me in detail how you survived sixty years unchanged," he said and you both sat at the table to eat dinner. 

The dinner went smoothly even though you weren't a big fan of fish food. Melui had somehow made them taste delicious. You explained from the beginning how you and Camilla went to look for a rare herb in the cave and how you got attacked by the spirits, resulting in you freezing and somehow surviving until something broke you out. You even told him your theory of how you could have survived. 

"If my memory serves me correctly, I believe those spirits you described were Frost wraiths, spirits of the dead that had died under freezing conditions yet couldn't move on due to their hate," Melui explained. "They trap those who end up lost in their territory in ice and feed from the warmth of their souls until there's nothing left," he added.

"Sounds accurate, but I don't feel any different in my soul. How come they haven't eaten mine?" you asked while buttering your bread. "Your curse could be the reason. The beast is supposed to be affiliated with winter, right? So, perhaps it made your soul too cold for them to eat," Melui suggested.

"Maybe... but that doesn't explain the warm sensation I felt before I broke through the ice," you said. 

"Perhaps that necklace of yours could be the reason. Is that a dwarven rune you're wearing?" Melui pointed at the silver amulet resting against your chest.

"Oh, this?" you took hold of the amulet. "It... was a gift from an old dwarf who lived in Himring. It has some runes carved into it and is warm to the touch," you explained as the metal amulet warmed your fingers.

"Interesting-- I heard some dwarven runes may hold some hidden spells. Maybe that rune helped you break out from that ice," Melui stated.

"I doubt that. If it really worked like that then maybe it would have broken me out years ago," You chuckled and looked at him seriously, nearly worried to ask what you were going to ask of him. 

"Melui. I heard some things about Doriath and my lover, Maglor. I told you about him in my letters," you started and Melui nodded silently.

"I heard... he had committed terrible things and I want to know if they are true," you explained. "Were you still in Doriath when the kin slaying happened?" you asked carefully. 

Melui was quiet before looking at you. "Unfortunately yes," he answered. You stared at him before continuing. "So... all things of him and his brothers committing it are true?" you asked. "I'm afraid so..." Melui murmured quietly.

"I did not see your lover when it happened, but I did see how his brothers and their people came and started killing the people of Menegroth," Melui started. "They mostly kept their attention on those who willingly fought back, but then they started killing those who tried to run away," he explained. "I saw how the blonde one of the Feanorians fought the young king Dior in a deadly combat. They ended up killing each other. His wife perished in the attack and from what I have heard they left their twin sons to die alone in the forest. It was middle of winter as well," he explained and you nearly teared up at the thought of two young kids alone in the cold.  

"It was horrible," Melui nearly sniffed in tears. "And just when I and Nelle became engaged," he revealed and you felt light-hearted for a moment. 

"Oh, congrats. Is Nelle still around?" you asked. "No..." Melui shook his head and your smile dropped. 

"She was killed by one of the Noldor when she tried to defend one of the injured. It was not in her nature to harm anyone, so she didn't even try to fight them yet they still killed her. A sword through the abdomen," he explained. Your heart ached painfully when you saw his rather empty expression.

"I'm so sorry, Melui," you uttered.

He shook his head. "Don't be. It's been years now. I had family members to care for so I learned to heal from the sorrow," he explained. "And if Eru and the Valars are kind to us then perhaps I will see her again in the Blessed realm once my time to sail there has come," he said and took a drink from his glass. 

"I know it is not my right to tell you what to do next, but I advise you not to go to see your lover. He not the same elf you loved sixty years ago," Melui stated.

"Where is he and his brothers now?" you questioned.

"Last time I heard, they relocated to Amon Ereb," Melui answered. "It is not too far from here, perhaps a day's travel if you go on a horse," he continued. "I do not know what would happen if you go to him. I'm afraid you might receive an unpleasant reaction," he looked at you seriously.

"I get it... I think… I will concern myself with getting the necessary ingredients for my proper medicine. I don't think this would be the best time to show myself either," you said. Melui looked at you sympathetically. 

"I'm sorry things are like this," Melui said. "It's okay... I didn't expect much good when I first walked out of that cave and saw the world it is now," you reassured.

"If it's any comfort. I am willing to help you find the ingredients for the medicine," Melui said.

"Really? That would help a lot," you smiled.

"Of course, you're my friend. Just tell me what you need and I see what I can do," he said. 

"Well, the list is a bit long. I think we can find most of the ingredients in the city, but the Moonflowers are the most important," you said.

"Moonflowers? I do not think we can find any of them here, but I heard they are quite common at the Mouth of Sirion," Melui answered. "It will be a long travel thought," he added.

"That's fine by me. I can make the travel if I get a horse and some supplies to get there," you said.

"You can borrow one of my family horses, but are you certain you are willing to go back there?" Melui asked.

You smiled at him. "I will be fine. I did survive sixty years in ice and the trip here," you remarked, causing Melui to chuckle.

"I nearly envy your determination. Alright— Moonflowers grow in the nearby forest in Sirion, but there is also the Havens of Sirion. It is a city made up of refugees from Gondolin and Doriath. I have been there once. If you can't find any Moonflowers in the forest, you can go there and ask the people. They are helpful for those in need," Melui explained. "Nice," you nodded.

“Now let us eat. It will be a long day tomorrow,” Melui said and you two finished dining before retreating to the beds. 

The bed felt comfortable beneath you. However, you were not able to find sleep due to your mind being filled with thoughts on everything you had heard. Morgoth had taken over the world, you have survived living sixty years in ice, and now, Maglor and his brothers had gone down the path to commit horrid war crimes. It was a lot to handle, and you were not certain what to make of it. 

You nearly wanted to believe it was just a really bad dream. 

You brushed those thoughts away and closed your eyes. There was no use thinking and feeling sad about it. You needed strength for tomorrow to find the Moonflowers for your medicine. Maglor and everything can wait for later, even though your heart aches over everything that has happened. 

The morning graced the city. You were grateful to hear normal sounds such as birds singing in the nearby trees and the sounds of vendors as they opened their shops for the day. You would listen to them over the sounds you had heard lurking in the dark outside the city. 

You were patiently waiting at Melui's doorway, dressed in proper clothes for traveling and carrying bags for food and necessary items to collect herbs. You felt nervous to go alone but were confident you would be fine after memorizing the map and paths fully and prepared to deal with any situation possible. Technically, this was your first time traveling without Camilla. She never really trusted you to go alone without getting into some sort of trouble, especially since the incidents where you got accidentally separated. In your defense, you were in a difficult spot during those times and didn’t have the medicine to stop the beast from taking control of your body. 

However, this time you were not at the risk of losing control, so there was a high chance for you to avoid any trouble you might encounter on your way.

Melui approached you with a saddled white horse. You stood up, ready to leave for your trip. 

"This is Seastar. She has mostly been used for pulling wagons and carriages, but she's used to traveling alone with a rider. She will get you where you need to be," Melui handed the reins to you. You petted the horse, who seemed accepting of your attention. "Thank you. I'll make sure I bring her back safely," you said and climbed on the horse. You carefully handled the reins and then looked down at Melui. 

"Be careful... something unexpected might happen and I do not want to see you hurt," Melui uttered with worry in his eyes. 

"I know... but I am certain I can handle it. And to be fair a lot of unexpected things happen when I'm around, so it wouldn't be the first time" you said, making him shake his head with a smile. 

"Go now while you still have sunlight," he said. 

"Yeah, I might end up spending the night somewhere, so don't panic if I don't return," you stated.  "Okay, see you later. Take care,"

"Take care," Melui replied as you clicked your heels and rode away, eventually leaving the city. 

You rode through the safe path out of the city, into the wide lands that had not yet been infected with Morgoth's influence. It felt nice feeling the clean air brush against your face as you continued galloping. You made sure to take breaks and check on the map while letting Seastar drink before continuing your journey toward your destination, the Havens of Sirion. 

The sun had begun to settle when you finally arrived in the forest. You could hear the ocean in the distance and the air was chilly. It's been a long time since you've seen the sea or visited any beaches. Once you find the Moonflowers, maybe you could check the city after all.

You jumped down from Seastar. The forest looked too thick for her to get through. Uttering words in elvish, you told her to stay put and walked toward the forest, letting the white mare eat grass while waiting. 

The forest was thick, full of moss, and moist ground. Most likely due to being near the great river and the sea. Crows and Owls were hooting in the trees as it became rather dark for you to see. You checked the caverns and rocks, but no luck so far until you reached the last cave and noticed something glowing inside. 

You jumped over the fallen logs and saw white flowers growing on the cavern wall, glowing brightly as the moon in the sky. A victorious grin dressed your face as you took out a small sickle to cut them out. Your luck was finally looking up. 

You cut down a few of the Moonflowers and even a few with a seedling so you can grow them yourself. There were quite a lot of them. The place must have been fertile with light and songs for them to grow so many. 

After picking enough, you strapped the sickle back on your bag and prepared to leave until a strong smell of smoke filled your nostrils. Confused, you sniffed the air and then looked up to the sky, finding rising smoke pillars coming from where the city of the refugees should be. A deep worry settled within you while you stared at the smoke in the sky. Was the city being attacked? 

The scent of blood suddenly invaded your nose. You shut your mouth as you nearly gagged from the intensity of the smell, which confirmed your suspicions. The city was being attacked and it was a total bloodbath. It explained why you didn't encounter any patrols on your way even though Melui said the people of the haven were very guarded. 

Your ears heard something and from the corner of your eye, you saw a small shadow coming at you with a knife. 

"Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow!" You stopped the child just in time before they could stab you with the knife. The child backed away still holding the knife toward you with terror in his eyes. "Easy! easy—! I'm not here to hurt you!" You held your hands up while staring back at the little elven boy. Your eyes then noticed another child, hiding behind a rock in the cave, he looked exactly like the child in front of you, so they must be twins. 

Worry peaked within you as you stared at them. They had blood on their clothes and didn't look older than a 6-year-old. Your mind quickly pieced the pieces and you concluded the boys must have escaped from the city during the attack. 

"Hey, it's okay," you kneeled, trying to make yourself look less threatening to them. "(I am a friend. You're safe)" you spoke in elvish, hoping it would calm them down. The boy in front of you seemed to calm down, cautiously keeping his weapon close to him and staring at you wearily. 

"What are you two doing here? What has happened?" you softly asked as the other boy slowly emerged from his hiding place. 

"You... you are not one of the bad elves?" He asked. His voice nearly came out like a whisper. 

You looked at him confused. "No. I'm a human actually," you pulled back your hood, revealing your ears for them to see. They seemed to calm more. "My name is (Name). Who are these bad elves you are talking about?" you asked. 

The elf boy began to cry. "They came out of nowhere and began hurting people..." he sobbed. "We came here to hide to wait for Naneth, but..." he sniffed. "I think they have hurt Naneth too!" he said and his brother began to sob too. Your heart painfully ached for them and a sense of protectiveness overtook you. 

"Hey..." you caught the crying boy’s attention. 

"It's okay. What's your name?" you asked. "El...Elrond," he said and you then look at his brother. "And what's yours?" you asked. "Elros," he answered, rather angrily. 

"Okay, Elrond, Elros, do you possibly know why these bad elves decided to hurt your people and Naneth?" you asked, having a bad feeling over the situation. 

"Naneth… she said they came because they wanted the stone in her necklace," Elrond answered. "A stone? As in... a silmaril?" you questioned. Elrond nodded. "That's what Naneth and Ada called the stone," he answered. 

You felt frozen for a moment. So the bad elves were Maglor and his brothers? They had committed another kin slaying for the silmaril? 

"Fuck—" you silently uttered and then you all heard a loud snap in the forest. Elros and Elrond automatically panicked. "They're coming!" Elrond said fearfully. You carefully glanced over the rock and saw elves in familiar Noldor armor coming toward you. 

"Quickly! Come with me!" you looked toward the twins. 

The Noldor soldiers came to the gave and investigated it. You and the twins were hiding behind some bushes, you listened to them talk and felt sweat forming on your skin. They were looking for the twins. 

You glanced at the twins hiding by your side. Elros looked angry and ready to fight, while Elrond sobbed silently, terrified of the situation. You couldn't bring yourself to leave them at the mercy of the Noldor soldiers, not after hearing what they had done to the last pair of twins Melui mentioned.

Your eyes quickly scanned for a route back to your horse then you grabbed a small rock off the ground. The twins looked at you carefully as you quickly tossed the rock in the opposite direction. The sound of the rock hitting something caught the elves’ attention and they quickly left to investigate the sound, taking the bait. 

"Come on!" you whispered, leading the twins out while the elves were distracted. Elrond clung to your hand as the three of you finally reached the edge of the forest and your horse.

You quickly picked them up one by one upon Seastars. "Okay. We're gonna go see a friend of mine. You will be safe and we will see if we can help you get back to any relatives," you explained after picking Elros on the saddle. 

Elrond's eyes widened as he looked behind you. "(Name)! Look out!" he shrieked as you felt a blade suddenly rest beside your neck. "You will remain still if you want to live," a familiar voice said and you slowly raised your hand in surrender. You remained deadly still and cursed within your mind. Shit, you really have a talent for getting into trouble when you're on your own. 

And you could recognize that voice anywhere. It was none other than Maglor, except his voice sounded more tired and less gentle than before. You now feared his reaction more than anything. 

"Turn around," Maglor commanded. "Leave her alone!" Elros snapped at him. "Elros. It's okay," you softly said. You took a deep breath before slowly turning around, avoiding making any sudden movement that could make Maglor slice your thought. 

You locked your eyes with him. His eyes nearly looked lifeless, most likely from the fight in the city and years of bad things happening all over, but when he locked his eyes with you— they were filled with shock. His hold on the sword began to waver and he backed away from you. 

"(Name)...?" he uttered as he stared at you like you were a ghost. 

"Hello, Maglor," you started awkwardly. "Long time no see," you said, waiting for what would happen next. 

[synnamonroll666]

Are requests open? I have one I thought of, if not you can disregard this. Also love content by the way UwU!

Request:

How Bi-han would be as a father, or raising his baby son/daughter? Like wholesome Dad-han stuff. ^^

I'm sorry for taking so long to get back to this! I was so distracted by Kinktober that I couldn't really focus on anything else and I wanted do this when I could give it my full attention. 😅 I love this idea! I always wanted to do some content for Bi-Han because he was my very first MK crush. 🤭 And thank you! I'm glad you are enjoying my work. 😁🩵

Father Bi-Han Headcanons:

When Bi-Han first found out he was going to be a father, he was frustrated. How could he be a decent father and be the strong grandmaster that the Lin Kuai needed? However, once the news finally sunk in, he was happy.

He knew that this child would be gifted with his abilities—perfect for the next grandmaster of his clan.

During his wife's pregnancy, he is extremely protective. No one dares even go near her during this time. He treats her like a queen, giving her everything she ever wants or needs.

When it comes time to give birth, he is by her side the whole time, going between comforting her and barking orders at the doctors. After hours of screaming and crying (from his wife and the doctors each time he would start yelling), the child is finally born.

To say Bi-Han is proud is an understatement. He would not care about the gender. All that matters to him is that the baby is healthy. He holds his child in his icy arms, and he finds himself smiling. He knows this child will be strong and worthy of the title of future grandmaster.

Surprisingly, he is really good at dealing with a baby. Late at night, he sits in the chair where his mother used to sit with him and Kuai Laing, feeding his child and rocking him back and forth in his arms as he tells him stories of the great Lin Kuei warriors of the past.

Once the baby becomes a child, he begins training them. He is pleased when it turns out that his kin is as strong as he hoped him to be. He couldn't be prouder of his child.

When the boy/girl develops their Cryromancer abilities, Bi-Han is right there to help them hone their skill. It's a little rocky in the beginning, but soon the child proves to be just as great of a cryromancer as their father. 

Bi-Han's life changes quickly from work-oriented to family-oriented. He is still focused on making the Lin Kuei rise to their greatest potential, but he has learned to take one step back to be there for his family. 

Dinners consist of discussions of how the child's ice-wielding skills have progressed, instead of the usual silence he used to enjoy while eating. At least two hours of the afternoon were spent with the child, teaching them lessons and showing them ways to improve their skills instead of hounding on the Lin Kuei warriors to do better as they train. Perhaps even a snowball fight or two would happen to break out between the pair.

Yes, Bi-Han's life has changed, but he couldn't be happier about it.

[levwrites]

Vows

A knight finds out his king has been replaced by a demon - or was he a monster all along?

This was inspired by @raineandsky's prompt.

It's a fraction of a second. The knight turns the corner in the King's chambers and sees it: something strange in the King's eyes, an elongated fleshy shape disappearing under the hem of his shirt. Immediately all his instincts are screaming in alarm.

Anyone else would dismiss it as paranoia, as a trick of the mind. But the knight has seen too many demons, faced too many, to be so naive.

"What is the matter?" the King asks, turning to fully face him. Somehow he always seems to know when the knight has something on his mind.

And usually the knight is happy to tell him. Not this time.

Fire in his veins, ice gripping his heart, the knight unsheathes his sword and levels it at the thing in the King's bed. "Who are you?"

This creature stole my King.

The demon blinks. Looks down to the sword hovering so close to his chest. When he looks up again, he has the same expression the King reserves for traitors. "Ah, a wonder you haven't found out before today."

"Where is he?" The knight still sounds calm. Too calm. "Where is the King?"

How long has he been here? Fear consumes him. How could I not notice?

"I am the King." Vague amusement slips into the creature's tone, despite the faint frown creasing his brows.

The knight grits his teeth. "You will give him back to me. I am the King's knight, I have killed countless of your kin." Threat in every word, danger dripping from them. "I'll make you rue the day you were brought into existence."

"Oh, my love." The demon rises then, calmly pushing the sword out of the way as he does. "You don't know what you are talking about."

The knight's rage turns incandescent at the pet name. He almost sinks the sword into the creature's chest, but he can't - not yet, first the monster needs to tell him where is his King. "You are in the heart of his castle. There's no way you'll make it out of here alive." His grip on the sword tightens. "Tell me where he is."

The demon tilts his head, that dark look melting away in favor of proper amusement. His eyes are dark, magnetic. For the first time there's a strange new pull in them, something actively drawing the knight in. "My castle, you mean? You swore loyalty to me, my knight. Are you taking it away, after all these years?"

With a angry shake of his head the knight plunges the sword forward, aiming to hurt but not kill. He has no time for games, not when his King's life is in danger. Desperation consumes his mind.

I failed him. I let him get captured. I didn't even notice I was sleeping in someone else's arms.

The sword is yanked to the side as the demon deflects it without blinking, used to his knight's style of combat.

"I am the King." His words are firm. "For a decade I have ruled this country. Now let me ask again, my knight: are you taking back your Vows?"

Breathing hard, the knight looks up at him, desperately seeking the truth. The King watches him back with dark, inhuman eyes.

Oh.

The sword clatters to the floor.

The knight folds to the ground, with none of his usual grace. He gets on his knees, his forehead pressed to the ground. Prostrated. He's shaking.

He's fine. He's fine, he's here.

"Sire." A word full of relief. "I am sorry, I didn't know- I am your loyal servant." Horror fills his chest. He flattens even closer to the ground. "I apologise. My actions are inexcusable."

I held a sword to his chest. I threatened him.

The demon - his King - watches him for a moment more. Then he leans down and picks up the sword, holding it surely in his hands as he did when the knight took his Vows. "Kneel."

The knight's heart falls. I failed him after all. He feels his heart contract painfully in his chest as he rises up on his knees, head still bowed. Offering his neck to the King, unprotected.

He's fine. That's what matters. He's here. He blinks, eyes burning. He's going to kill me.

"Do you refute your Vows?"

The knight would rather die. "No, Sire. I stand by them."

I don't care that he's a demon, he's my King.

"Recite them for me."

The knight still knows them by heart, even after all these years. Voice clear and firm despite the tremble that has taken to his fingers, he recites them.

The sword rises. It touches his right shoulder. His left shoulder. The point of it comes to rest on the very centre of the knight's chest, nearly above his heart.

The knight looks at his reflection on the blade. A part of him still expects it to sink into his chest. It feels like he deserves it, right now.

"I accept your Vows." The King's voice comes from above him, echoing a little with something not quite of this world. The sword is lowered. "Rise."

He forgives me.

As soon as he's on his feet again, the King reaches out and tugs him into a hug, holding him firmly against his own chest. "You were trying to do your duty," he murmurs in the knight's ear. "You have no fault."

The sword is placed back in the knight's hand, where it belongs.

[deepsea-kinniies]

hello! can i please get some circle winter themed fem!shirogane icons? :3c

here you go! my first icons ever, i hope these are alright..!

Free to use with visible credit!

[writersmorgue]

Fic that came to me in a dream (that I may or may not write eventually who knows) where Deku (2nd year - no war au) gets hit by a quirk that knocks him unconscious and makes him unusually brave and clear headed for 24 hours after waking with a short lived migraine.. he suddenly knows exactly what he wants/has been missing and is brave enough to go after it. So he walks right up to Kacchan, grabs him by the wrist with a low "we need to talk" and drags him out to stand beneath a sakura tree and confess. It works out immediately to his surprise - no fighting, no posturing, no misunderstandings. Just Kacchan standing there with wide eyes and pink cheeks in stunned silence for a few seconds before lunging toward him to grab his face and kiss him! They're attached at the hip through the rest of school, tie for second top marks right behind Momo, get an apartment together after graduation, immediately register together as a hero duo and take the charts by storm.. they toy with the idea of opening their own agency but ultimately decide it's too much paperwork and they're fine having a boss if they can focus on the actual hero work and each other.. Kacchan proposes at the hero gala when they break the top 10 and all of Japan loses their minds.. when they're number 7 and 8 they're part of a rescue team up very similar to Eri's, and there are 2 traumatized toddlers with no next of kin that imprint on them like ducklings, so they make the difficult decision to foster them just like Aizawa did for Eri. And just like Aizawa, they end up adopting them when they still have custody 2 years later. It's slowed their climb toward number 1, but neither of them really mind. They have a family now! They're both so so happy! They buy a house closer to the neighborhood they grew up in, get a dog, get comfortable at 10 and 11 on the charts, celebrate with the rest of Japan when Mirio takes the number 1 spot, cry together at All Might's funeral, cry again when Kiri and Mina welcome their first baby to the world and ask them to be the god parents, watch Kota and Eri and Maharo and Katsuma all graduate.. they're walking home hand in hand after their oldest's middle school graduation and had just decided to stop for ice cream when his heart stops - someone he's thought he's seen from the corner of his eye a few times over the years is now standing right in front of him with a smug look despite the split lip and bags under their eyes - the same person who hit him with that quirk that helped him confess to Kacchan all those years ago. He can't move, can't even breathe, when they stride right up to him and tap him on the forehead. He has time to give Kacchan a panicked look and get confused concern in return before he crumples to the ground unconscious... and wakes up back in Recovery Girl's office in second year. There's a quietly relieved All Might sitting in the chair beside him, and a gruff teenaged Kacchan calling him a reckless idiot leaning against the wall by the door and he's hyperventilating immediately while he thinks about what this means.. he never adopted his children (he can still feel their hands in his and hear their muffled shouts of concern as he fell), never got married (he can feel his wedding band too, just as cold as the tears on his face), never broke the top 10 or celebrated any of his friends doing the same, never graduated, never had his first time with Kacchan, never even confessed to Kacchan.. he lost EVERYTHING in the blink of an eye and suddenly the migraine is back and the pain radiates down into his chest and he's screaming and he can see the panic in All Might and Kacchan's faces but he can't stop.

ANON PLS I'M BEGGING YOU IF YOU DON'T WRITE TRHIS I WILL,. OMFG. RTHEIUJYFG OJGJLHG I'M. NOT OKAY. OH GOD THIS WOULD BE AMAZING.

[alexanderlightweight]

that Pray to the Hunter prompt was so cool, I felt like I was in a dark epic fantasy, I got goosebumps. any chances of a follow up for the wednesday prompt?

i'm glad! i hope you enjoy this!

lumine

-

Alec stares at Fray’s mundane with a disgusted look on his face as he activates several of his runes. When Fray finally steps back, wiping her eyes and kissing the mundane on the cheek, he takes his opportunity.

There will be plenty of time to talk things out with his siblings later, there are more important things to fix.

Fray screams as Alec catches the mundane, having knocked him unconscious a moment before.

“Mundanes don’t belong in the shadowworld. This should have proved that. I’m going to get him checked over, we have no idea what a mundane could have picked up from a vamp den.” Alec ignores the little girl as he cuts his palm with a bone knife and carefully marks two runes with blood on the outside of the mundanes clothing.

It won’t kill him and it will keep him safe from the elements while Alec runs. There's far too much death energy on him after killing the vampires for it to be safe otherwise.

“Alec? Where are you taking him? Jace, he broke my wrist earlier and you’re just going to let him take Simon? He hates Simon!”

“Well technically,” Izzy says, with that smug voice that Alec just knows a smirk is stretched across her lips. “Alec has a duty to protect Simon and one to train you. I’d say Simon is the lucky one in this scenario.”

Whatever Fray is screaming next is gone, lost to the wind as Alec heads for the largest source of magic he can find.

It feels similar to the wards of the Institute and Alec respectfully cuts his palm, leaving an imprint and impression of himself to the hungry, curious wards.  It means that he’s unprepared for the High Warlock to actually open the doors.

Alec is practically finger painting with blood and he stills before he finishes the last curve of the rune. It brightens as it activates and the wards welcome its power eagerly and Alec feels ice trickle down his spine.

It’s intoxicating, like waking from a fever to a face full of frost.

“Oh, your death and blood magic are exquisite.” Alec is being told and he smirks, nodding smugly as hands — he scowls at first until they touch him, warm and strong — and then he tips into them. “I think Edom liked how you tasted a little too much, darling. Come sit hmm? And this… ah a mundane. Camille’s work by the looks of it.”  Alec means to explain how the mundane is involved, but the grip his ancestors have on his soul is finally fading.

The icy cold is receding to be replaced by an intense warmth that is warming Alec soul deep.

The greyish-white haze that’s lingered like a veil over Alec’s vision passes and the deep ache in his bones slowly starts to melt away.

“It’s a heavy burden, to bear the deaths of your ancestors.” Magnus murmurs above him and Alec shrugs, because it was never that to him.

“I want’d something tang’ble.” Alec tries to explain because the power in his family’s bones is so much deeper than his connection to Raziel. However, words are hard and he’s crashing, the toll of feeding death to his ancestors making him sluggish.

“And the closest thing you could get to tangible, was the bones of your kin.” Magnus murmurs above him and Alec doesn’t really hear him, too interested in the embrace of sleep.

A hand presses to his face and Alec can’t help the gasp he lets out in his sleep or how he pushes up and into it without knowing.

Magnus sees it though and he notes it down even as he sends the mundane through to Catarina’s ward. He’ll be put in a magical quarantine there, to ensure the vampires left no lasting damage on him and Magnus, well he has a shadowhunter to introduce to tangibility.

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

Drown

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Altair drowns. It doesn't stick, except for how it does.

A companion piece to this work by @whump-kin! (Go read it, it slaps) Also for @augusnippets Day 7

Contains: Drowning, temporary character death, resurrection, betrayal, panic and fear

~~~

Altair and Elze’ith had talked, before, about what they thought dying might be like. Fond grief in his eyes, Elze’ith would wistfully trace constellations and speak of souls rejoining the tapestries woven by the gods and last breaths becoming the first breath of a new life. There was some solace in that, even if it didn’t sound real. A promise of peace, of something better.

There was no peace in this death. There was just the cold, and the fear, and the betrayal. There was just Cal’s eyes, looking at him with a thousand emotions but no mercy. There was just the water filling his lungs, no matter how hard he tried to hold his breath, an inescapable fate.

His heartrate soared, and then it slowed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Elze’ith screamed. And then, there was nothing.

Nothing but the fear and the dark and the soul-deep knowledge that he had failed.

A rush of magic that he shouldn’t have been able to feel wrapped around him so tenderly and pulled him back into an explosion of light and sound and sensation. His instinctual cry of alarm was instantly cut off as Altair choked on the water that hadn’t left him; eyes wide and unseeing, he spasmed and flailed until cold hands helped him onto his side so he could cough it all up. The touch made him terrified and grateful all at once.

Air had never tasted so sweet. Each breath was a miracle, a monumental effort that took all of his attention. He needed to keep breathing. The thought of anything else, of going back into the water, was fire and ice and lightning in his veins, overriding all else.

He had died. Wings bound and magic sealed, he had died. Killed with freedom just beyond his grasp. Killed without even knowing if Elze’ith was safe.

For the first time in weeks, he was alone in his head, and that made him want to cough up his own heart alongside the water that he spilled from his lungs.

Trembling and weak, he forced himself to look up at Cal. The man he thought might be able to help them. The man who had led Altair into the water to die. The man who had proved Altair’s every worst thought and fear about vampires correct.

Cal didn’t say anything. Altair didn’t either. There was nothing left to say.

[volatilebrat4103]

Beyond The Dance Of Dragons and a Song of Fire and Ice (Chapter 6)

From Ashes to Embers

Rheagan's slumber continued, her absence left Daenerys and the dragons on edge, for no one knew how long the Dragon born would lay lifelessly or if she'd even awaken. In her absence Daenerys took the unfortunate opportunity to begin the restoration of Valyria, it would be gruesome and daunting, even more so without the woman she had grown close to in a short time, however she could not stand idly by when Rheagan had done so much already. With a heavy heart she pushed through, their vision to rebuild the once righteous city in mind, ingrained to her soul with the amount of detail the two had discussed whilst laying under the stars.

Daenerys had decided to start with a task held dearly to both hers and Rheagan's hearts, hatching the dragon eggs. Their hopes and dreams that were nestled safely in the large, handcrafted leather satchel. Though her heart heavy and mind uneasy she pushed forward, her thoughts often turned to the Dragon Born and the pure excitement that would take over her features upon seeing the skies filled with her kin once more, the promise of a new Valyria.

All had seemed fair and well, till it wasn't...There sat the mother of dragons amidst the pile of dragon eggs, her face etched with worry and frustration. She had tried everything she could think of to hatch them, but nothing seemed to work. Driven by desperation she had recreating the conditions she had hatched her own sons in yet nothing, these eggs seemed stubbornly resistant.

As the time ticked by, Daenerys' anxiety grew. For days, the Targaryen had been trying to hatch the dragon eggs, a task that had seemed simple enough when she'd first begun, but now seemed impossible. The fate of Rheagan's bloodline, and the future of Valyria, hung in the balance. As the days turned into weeks, Daenerys' sense of failure grew, threatening to consume her. The eggs, once full of promise, now mocked her, their silence a reminder of her inadequacy.

There in the middle of the dragon pit sat the Targaryen, covered in soot from head to toe, the smell of ash lingering, replacing the floral scent she had encompassed. Daenerys had been hauled in the dragon pit for days on end, her feeble attempts to hatch the dragon eggs laid scattered around her. Drogon's eyes burned with worry as he watched his mother's frustration grow, soft croons and cries from afar in feeble desperation to console her. He had noticed the stress lines carved into her now pale face, how she looked exhausted, or how she had yet to eat a proper meal despite his attempts to bring her some of his own meals, she looked so...frail.

Perched on her knees amongst the ash and eggs Daenerys' frustration boiled over, her face contorted in a mixture of rage and despair. Throwing her head back, a scream ripped from her throat like a crack of thunder, shattering the silence as she slammed her fists against the stone floor.

Drogon walked up to Daenerys, nuzzling her gently with his snout desperate to comfort his mother, but even his presence couldn't calm the storm brewing within her. He tried again nudging her gently and blowing warm air on her, ruffling her hair. She turned to Drogon, their eyes meeting, worry blazing behind his orange eyes whilst a plethora of emotions swam behind her violet eyes.

Carefully he connects his snout with her body, allowing her to fall into his embrace as she broke down, sobs wracked through her body. "N-nothing is working, no matter what I try" She managed through her tears, her breaths short and ragged.

Drogon stood patiently, his scales glistening in the dim light of the cave, his eyes fixed intently on Daenerys as she cried out her frustrations and fears. "I-I feel as though I am letting her down, she has done so much for me already" her voice cracked as she forced the words between ragged breaths, her voice trembling with emotion. Drogon sensed his mother's heartache, his own breaking at the sight before him as she gulped for air, trying to calm her sobs. He gently wrapped his leathery wings around his mother, as if trying to shield her from her hurt.

After a moment, the only noise to fill the dragon pit being the now soft sniffles and hiccups from Daenerys, and the comforting croons from Drogon. He slowly retracted his wings from around Daenerys' frail form, pulling back from her embrace as he stood causing confusion and hurt to flash across Daenerys' features. His movements were deliberate as he turned from her, walking away before exiting the pits.

Daenerys watched him go from where he had left her crumpled on the floor with tear-stained cheeks. What was Drogon doing? She could hear his loud roars and croons echo back into the dragon pit that he had left her in, alone and confused. She shook her head in disbelief before returning to her feet to attempt yet again to hatch the eggs that continued to mock her. Daenerys wiped the tear tracks from her face, in doing so smudging the soot across her face, the black mark a large contrast to her pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

Choosing to push through the torment, Daenerys begun to gather more firewood in hopes to succeed in her endeavours. Just then she was disturbed by the cries of her son, her red rimmed eyes turned in the direction of the noise only to well up once more. There Drogon stood in glee as several dragons followed close behind, quickly gathering around the eggs. Their scales glinting in the dim light of the dragon pit, one by one blasts of fiery breath kissed the eggs. The smell of smoke wafted toward a crying Targaryen as Drogon proudly strolled up to her, shaking his frills in delight with a purr.

She watched on in amazement, both for the sight in front of her and that Drogon had known what she needed. Her shoulders heaved, chest convulsed, and her face contorted in a mixture of joy and anguish. The tears streamed down her face as she was overwhelmed with all that had happened, her emotions bursting forth in a cathartic release. Her heart, once a battleground of sorrow and disdain felt both drained yet liberated, the weight lifted off her shoulders as she collapsed onto the warm scales of her son. His warm breath and steady breathing grounded her in all her turmoil.

The mixture of the warmth from the dragon fire kissing over the eggs with delicate precision paired with the warmth of Drogon rigid scales beneath her touch relaxed the Targaryen, she felt she could breathe again now that the eggs were in good care, with her mind at ease she unwillingly allowed sleep to consume her.

Daenerys' eyes slowly fluttered open, enveloped in darkness giving way to a sense of disorientation. She lifted her head in confusion though her grogginess did little to help understand what had happened. She was brought back from her confusion feeling the warm scales beneath her hands paired with the steady breaths of her son. Drogon had wrapped his whole body around Daenerys to allow the woman to get her much-deserved rest, his presence had lulled her into a blissful sleep. Having sensed her movements Drogon carefully drew back his wings and tail exposing Daenerys to the cool, smoke scented air of the dragon pit. The light danced across her face from the dim flame of a nearby torch highlighting her features, her once pale skin had regained most of its colour.

She took the time to study her surroundings, the air was cool and smoky yet the ground beneath her held heat, possibly from where the dragons had been incubating the eggs. Croons and roars of nearby dragons echoed off the walls of the cave like dragon pit, the sound of dragon fire blasting reverberating in the large space.

The peaceful atmosphere was soon foreshadowed as Daenerys' mind plagued with thoughts; would the eggs hatch? What else could she start doing to bring the vision of Valyria back to life? And more importantly, how long would Rheagan remain in her lifeless slumber?

Drogon had sensed his mother's turmoil, gently nudging her with his large snout, a puff of warm air escaping his lungs in reassurance. She shook her head of the negative thoughts, focusing her eyes to the eggs that were being tenderly handled by the older dragons, nursing them through their incubation period. Daenerys' body shifted, head held high with renewed determination, a newfound hope and fire lit behind her eyes.

The same fire that refused to die, her hope had grown as the days passed, days turned to weeks, then months, yet her determination had yet to falter. Two moons had come and gone when her all her efforts had paid off, the gruesome journey was coming to an end, the light at the end of the tunnel growing closer by each passing day.

Daenerys had been preoccupied by her newly established routine; one she had subconsciously fallen into since that day the dragons had stepped in to help incubate the eggs. She would wake up at the crack of dawn eager to accomplish as much as possible. The first task was her least favourite but necessary seeing as she had no helpers, she would spend several hours cleaning and rearranging the palace, working from one room to the other. The task was gruesome however she knew it was essential, she made a note to herself that once Rheagan had awoken, she would discuss hiring some helpers, if anyone dared to venture near Valyria that is.

Once she deemed enough work done in the palace she would move on, taking a lovely stroll down to the dragon pit, often accompanied by Drogon or one of Rheagan's dragons. The walk helped the Targaryen's reeling thoughts, allowing her to be at peace even if it was just for a short amount of time, she would let her mind be void of thoughts as she took in the fresh air, the salty scent from the ocean wafted over the lands adding to the tranquillity. Once at the dragon pits, she would continue her endeavours, ensuring all dragons were fed and healthy, checking that the eggs were incubating well. Often, she would sit amidst the eggs, if she listened close enough, she could hear the minute yet fierce heartbeats resonating from the plethora of colourful scale covered eggs.

Lastly, she would make her way to Rheagan's chambers where she would bathe the woman who laid in a lifeless like state, regularly changing her sheets and clothes.

It had been a particularly hot day; the skies were bright and cloudless when she had begun to make her way down to the dragon pit only to be met with a rather excited Drogon. His tail flicked in excitement as purrs fell from his throat, eagerly dancing around the Targaryen, his behaviour was completely out of character, being more so of an excited puppy rather than a fierce dragon. "What is it?" Danerys queried warily with furrowed brows watching her son act strangely.

The dragon continued his antics further confusing his mother, he proceeded to gently nudge her back as if to tell her to make haste with her movements. The Targaryen seemed to understand what he wanted, quickening her pace as her crooned happily continuing their journey to the dragon pit.

Upon arrival she had finally understood what Drogon had been so eager for as she frozen in her spot. The scene before her brought tears to her eyes, her heart swelled in admiration. Broken eggs shells laid sprawled out on the floor decorating the stone with shards of shimmering colours, the dim light from the torches danced across their surface creating a spectrum of light.

Whistles, clicks and whimpers echoed throughout the pit, paired with sound of small wings rustling. Hatchlings ran rampant across the warm stone floor, some still partially in their shells whilst others had yet to emerge form theirs. A handful of the small reptilians made their way over to Daenerys, curiously tilting their heads as they gazed upon her. Although overcome with pride and joy upon seeing the wonders of the hatchlings, seeing their tiny forms brought a sliver of sorrow to the Targaryen woman as flashes of memories played behind her eyes of her two sons, Rhaegal and Viserion, who were no longer. A single stray tear had slipped from her eye, a lump formed in her throat as she became overwhelmed by emotions.

Carefully she walked between the broken shells before she reached a single standing unhatched egg. She sat down, carefully taking rigid, scale covered egg in her hands, the light reflecting a plethora of blue from said egg as she tenderly cradled it. After a beat the egg began to crack, the shell began to crumble piece by piece as the hatchling slowly emerged from its cocoon of safety. Blue eyes met violet, wonder filled both as the little reptilian chirped tilting its head curiously electing a chuckle from Daenerys.

"Rheagan would have loved to watch you little one's hatch" She spoke to the hatchling as if he could understand her, she only received a chirp and a flutter of wings in return before it nestled itself against her. Drogon had carefully made his was to Daenerys, huffing out in annoyance upon seeing a hatchling nestled in his mother's arms causing Daenerys to laugh looking up at her son with shining eyes. He blew a breath of warm air at the two before gently nudging her with his snout, Daenerys obliged running a hand over his rough yet supply scales.

Her thoughts had drifted to Rhaegal and Viserion once more, how she had held them similarly to how she held the blue hatchling. How they all had such different personalities, Drogon had always been her strong boy, her protector, even now he still protected her. Rhaegal was her calm and poised boy, his presence grounded her, although he could be ferocious when need be. Viserion was her baby, the smallest of the three and the gentlest, although he was a lover not a fighter he still fought for his mother. Her heart ached at the memories, gold and green now void from her life.

He precious sons were no longer, and she blamed herself, had it not been for her selfish acts to get back the iron throne, her boys would be alive, Drogon would still have his brothers. Had she just stopped to think of them, to act accordingly and not out of emotion surely her sons would be happy and healthy, they would not be just a painful memory.

Drogon could sense Daenerys' inner turmoil as he nudged her, pulling her out of from her drowning thoughts and back to reality. She shook the thoughts from her head, her heart now heavy with the implications, her gaze shifting to the hatchling in her lap, "from the ashes new life shall rise" Daenerys whispered the same words Rheagan had once told her back in Volantis.

She spent the remainder of the day in the dragon pit, assisting with feeding the hatchlings, enjoying their discovery to their life. It had been years since she was able to appreciate the sounds of chirping and whistles from the new life, since she had heard the small pitter of claws and feet treading over stone. It was the first time she could truly appreciate the joys of hatchlings without fear of either loosing theirs or her own life.

Her thoughts shifted once more, this time they had shifted to Rheagan, how none of what she was experiencing would have been if it wasn't for the mysterious dragon born. A smile etched its way in her features at the thought of the woman, her eyes glowed with longing yet something else swam with it, something so familiar yet foreign.

The sun had begun to dip below the horizon casting a beautiful glow to the city, a kaleidoscope of colours glistening in the fading light. Daenerys took a moment to dwell in the tranquillity and ethereal essence of the scene, the light dusting her skin in orange hues highlighting her features as if she was sculpted from marble.

She took one final deep breath of the warm, fresh air before continuing her journey to Rheagan's chambers. Upon arriving at the large room she proceeded to carry out her usual tasks of caring for the comatose woman, starting with carefully bathing her. She couldn't help but admire the unconscious woman as she tenderly ran the wet rag across her skin as she spoke to her keeping her updated on the progress of their vision for the city. Although the woman could not hear her Daenerys enjoyed their one-sided conversations, relishing in her presence.

Smiling tenderly at the older woman as she brushed a tendril of hair from her face before her hand found its place on Rheagan's cheek, delicately caressing the skin beneath her fingers. "If only you were here to witness the spectacle today, I'm positive it would have reduced you to tears." Daenerys let out a weak sigh, turning her gaze out the window, where the dragons perform beautiful aerial acrobatics, soaring the skies together, "they miss you" she spoke with a heavy heart before letting her gaze fall back on the woman, "I miss you" her voice trembled in a professed whisper as a tear rolled down her porcelain skin.

Her once vibrant oceans that danced with mirth now turned a dull grey with more tears welling up, she quickly averted her gaze as one tear became a steady stream. Rheagan's hand weakly took its place on Daenerys' cheek, wiping away the tears that continued to stream down her face. The movement caused the younger woman to shoot up in shock, gasping in surprise, dull grey meeting vibrant forest green. Upon locking eyes both women could feel an almost otherworldly energy, the bond only growing stronger, smiles plastered on both woman's faces, Daenerys was first to break the intense staring contest, face dusting pink.

With a hoarse voice and smirk evident on her face Rheagan spoke up, "Miss me old blood?"

[bthebeachboi]

Forgive my northern attitude (Oh, I was raised out in the cold) [Alaska/Califronia]

Alaska might have been born cold. He doesn't actually know, since Gov would mention that states aren't exactly born.

(He remembered Russia, he remembered people and cold. Maybe that was enough.)

The point is, he was never warm, no matter how much sun he felt or under how much fur he slept, he wasn't warm. Just wasn't made for it, really. His character was usually off-putting to most, he kept his distance, he stayed what he always wanted to be - a mystery to others.

And then he got closer to California.

The man was like a sun as a person, even if Florida fought for that tittle like a small rabid dog. Of course, if you'll ask anyone else, they'll can start talking and not stop about how annoying he is, how he's such a know-it-all.

All Alaska can think about is that when he held his face in his hands, California's eyes were squinted in a way that showed his happiness with ease that Alaska could never even imagine. He thought about the way California would then hide his face in his embrace, mumbling something about being embarrassed, but all he could hear was his own heartbeat, hitting hard and fast.

"Cal" he asked him to call him once. "In private or not."

And if the man would be fully honest with himself, he knew that he would scream it from the fucking roof.

"Cal" he tasted how it sounded, he moved it around on his tongue and decided it belonged. "My Cal."

And looking at the shine in those golden eyes, looking at the way his lover's lip quivered, he was right.

"Yours."

And maybe Alaska was born cold for a reason, since the warmth he felt drowned him, pulled him under until his vision was blurry and his breath was hitched.

Maybe California was made for him, destined to make him feel the warmth. That thought just pulled him in deeper, a breathless, heartfelt chuckle leaving him.

Made for him, warm as a sun just to melt the ice, as he was made for him to stand in it and never burn, but bask.

Looking at the state of him in front of him, the smile and tears, the shaky breathing and loving eyes, maybe he wasn't alone with that thoughts.

Slowly, he reached for Cal and brought him closer, hugging him and letting himself feel the warmth. Cold will come back, he knew, yet now that he felt the warmness, how could he ever not come back to it?

///

Today I bring two grown men crying their eyes out because the love and feeling of belonging grabbed them by the throat <3

Hope yall ain't too mad for all the breaks, but rn am digging my nails into Mimir n Kratos, so sue me (HYPERFIXATION BE HELPFUL FOR ONCE CHALLENGE???)

This short is a lil messy, so lemme explain:

What's happening in the past: the face holding

What's happening right now: the talk and tears

also kinning Northern Attitude by Noah Kahan hard rn (thats where I took the uhhh name from <3)

Apparantly some part of Alaska is in the north uhh east?? or smth, idk

it was him or NY so :D