#not much changes story wise for them though

[zannies-joestar-hut]

merl mei qi gets better with every appearance

[themirokai]

I got this comment on a story from my Other AO3 Account this morning.

(Info redacted because I prefer keeping these accounts separate but no one follows me on the side blog I have for that account.)

The story was posted almost a year ago and is relatively “popular” by my average statistics even though it has tropes and themes that are big turnoffs for a lot of people (hence separate accounts). This popularity is undoubtedly because it’s a Marvel Loki story and that fandom is massive.

So there is obviously an algorithm or a bot scrubbing ao3 statistics and leaving this comment on fics that meet a certain metric with the main character of the fic inserted into the comment.

I had a little time to kill this morning so I decided to investigate further. And y’all this is so predatory. Come on this journey with me. It made me mad. It may make you mad.

First, if you go to Webnovel’s website, you HAVE to choose between male lead or female lead stories before you can go any further. WTF?

And that’s weird, but this gets so much worse. This is basically a pay-to-read site that has different subscription models. Which… okay BUT! The authors don’t get paid! Look at that comment again. They’re promising a supportive and nurturing community, but zero monetary compensation. It’s basically, “post your stuff here so we can get paid and you can get… nice vibes?” I mean look at this Orwellian writing:

Using the phrase “pay-to-read model” in the same sentence as “qualitative changes in lifestyles for authors” deliberately makes you think that you can get paid and maybe even make a living on this website. But that’s not actually what it says and authors will not receive one red cent.

Oh but wait, the worst is still to come. In case this breaks containment (which I kind of hope it does) this is where I mention that I’m a lawyer in the US.

I don’t do intellectual property or copyright law but I do read and write contracts for a living. So I went to look at their terms of service. It was fun!

Highlights the first, in which Webnovel gets a license to do basically whatever they want with content you post on their site. This is how they get to be paid for people reading authors’ writing without paying them anything.

Highlights the second, in which Webnovel takes no responsibility for illegally profiting off of fan fic. This all says that the writer is 100% responsible for everything the writer posts (even though only Webnovel is making money from it).

Highlights the third which say that by posting, the author is representing that they have the legal right to use and to let Webnovel use the content according to these terms. So if a writer posts fan fiction and Webnovel makes money from people reading the fan fiction, and the House of the Mouse catches wise, these sections say that that’s ALL on the writer.

So that’s a little skeevy to start off with but the thing that is seriously shitty and made me make this post was that these assholes are coming to ao3. They are actively recruiting people in comments on their fan fiction. And they are saying they are big fans of the character you’re writing about and that they share your interests.

They are recruiting fan fiction writers and giving every impression that you can make money from posting fan fiction on their site and hiding the fact that you absolutely cannot but they can make money off of you while you try, deep in their terms of service which no one but a lawyer who writes fan fic and has some time to kill will read.

I see posts on here regularly from people who don’t understand how this stuff works, don’t understand that they (and others) can not legally make a financial profit from fan fiction. And there are tons of people who will not take the time to dig into the details.

Don’t deal with these bastards. Fuck Webnovel.

[astrosamara]

Astrology Observations #7

Hi! Sorry I've been gone for so long. Life has been so busy and I've barely had any time to dedicate to astrology, but I'm planning to hopefully start posting a lot more regularly :) Enjoy!

💜People without Taurus or Libra placements in their chart can struggle with being original when it comes to fashion, design, and beauty. It's not that they don't value these things, but they feel like they need a lot of inspo before developing their personal aesthetics. This can come a lot more naturally for Taurus and Libra placements, who are ruled by Venus.

💜A lack of fire placements in the chart can result in really struggling with motivation and drive. Laziness and passiveness can be a problem. Fire dominant people tend to approach issues, obstacles or dreams head on with little contemplation time. I've noticed this the most with Aries moons, where impulsiveness can be both a challenge and a benefit in achieving goals.

💜Pisces and Sagittarius risings/Jupiter in the 1st can come across as wise teachers, yet they can be a little bit too preachy over their beliefs and believe that if everyone just listened to them and followed their advice, life would be better lol. Also, people with these placements often find that others naturally come to them for advice and appreciate their wisdom.

💜I love north node conjunct AC synastry. The north node person can view the AC person as representing an absolute ideal, someone they really admire and aspire to be. They may feel they don't yet have the confidence to step into that energy, but the AC person's influence can really help them build that confidence and step into their true selves.

💜I'm not sure if this is an unpopular opinion, but I absolutely love to see sun/venus/mars placements in opposition in marriages. I've seen so many successful and happy marriages with this synastry. There can be this very supportive and balancing energy between them. I haven't seen this as often with opposite moon signs though, as this sensitive energy can create differences in emotional needs that are more challenging to navigate romantically.

💜Jupiter in the 11th tend to receive so much luck and blessings in their life through their friendships. Very optimistic friends. They can also just really benefit from being a part of groups in general. Also, a great placement for gaining a large following online.

💜Uranus in the 6th are people who NEED variety and uniqueness in their daily lives. There could be something about their routines that are unusual and exciting. Also, these are the people that always seem to have something strange or odd happening to them. They always have a new story to tell you about something weird that happened to them recently.

💜I've seen so many people experience sudden major career changes when Uranus transited over their MC. It tends to be a very electric and exciting time in their career and reputation overall.

💜Natal mercury retrograde people can overcommunicate a lot because they don't want there to be any room for potential miscommunication or misunderstanding.

💜I can't emphasize enough how important it is to dive deep into your moon and north node placements if you're feeling lost and unfulfilled. This is where you'll find your happiness and purpose. Of course, looking at the entire birth chart is always important, but I've had the most success with these two placements when it comes to these life areas.

💜If someone has their Jupiter in your 5th, this person can be someone who really lights you up and makes you feel more creative and childlike. Just being around them feels so fun and good. You enjoy doing a lot of the same hobbies together.

💜Capricorn/Saturn in the 12th have such intense subconscious fears of failure. These fears can even pop up in their dreams a lot. They can find themselves working so hard without really stopping to question why they're working so hard. They can also take their work very seriously. The type to never take time off work.

💜I don't think I've ever met a Taurus sun I didn't like. Just so down to earth and honest. They don't have time for games or putting on a facade. Their authenticity is so admirable to me as a Scorpio. They're one of the few signs where I don't find myself questioning what they say or do. This is also true for a lot of Taurus risings as well. It's just so easy to be myself around them.

💜Mars trine Neptune people have a beautiful harmony between their dreams and their drive. They're great at turning their fantasies into reality. Incredible at manifesting. On the other hand, Saturn square Neptune people have a hard time blending the two. They struggle constantly between diving fully into their dreams or limiting themselves to a more restrictive reality.

[verstappen-cult]

Hi Gwen, I really like your story. Can I ask for a lestappen x reader where they are going out together (shopping or date). Then when Max and Charles leave them for a bit, someone tries to hit on the reader but she's oblivious about it? Thank you!

“You think this would fit me?” You ask Charles, blue dress in hand. “But I want it in green.” Your boyfriend didn’t even have a chance to answer before you turned around, looking for something else. 

“I like how blue looks on you.” Max says, sitting next to an annoyed Charles. 

You’ve been shopping for the upcoming trip you’ve planned for summer break. They were excited to come with you at first, even though you insisted on going alone, so now they have a choice but to follow you around until you find everything you need. 

“That’s just because blue it’s your team color.” Charles huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “She looks prettier in Ferrari red.”

“Can you stop being so whiny?” Charles sticks his tongue out, leaning against Max. 

“Why don’t we go for something to drink, uh?” Your boyfriend says, wrapping an arm around the Monégasque’s shoulders. “Will you be okay?” 

“Can you get me an Iced Latte, please?” You look at him beneath your lashes as he stands up, dragging Charles with him. 

You decide to try on the blue dress just because Max likes it when you wear blue clothes. On your way to the changing room you spot a red strapless top and you grab it too. Making them happy is that easy. 

In the end, you like both items and there’s no doubt you’ll buy them, but you still want the dress in green. As you get out of the changing room, wanting to ask a saleslady if they have it in other colors, you bump into a young man which causes you to drop the clothes onto the floor. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” You’re quick to apologize. The stranger looks up from his cellphone, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. However, once he sees you, his expression relaxes and a smirk appears on his face. 

“Don’t worry. It was my fault, I was looking at my phone.” He crouches down in front of you, picking up the clothes. He scans the items very carefully before giving them back to you. “Good choice.”

“Thank you, I really like them.” You say, happy that someone thinks they’re pretty. Maybe he’ll buy them for his girlfriend too. 

“I’m sure you’ll look hot in that dress.”

You don’t know what to say or how to react. Most times you ignore what men say to you, other times you thank them when they have good intentions or you know they're fans that respect you. But this man doesn't give you good vibes, not with the way he’s smiling at you with his eyes running over every curve in your body. 

He takes a step closer, and you want to throw up. What kind of perfume is he using? 

“You can use it on our date.” He says it with so much confidence you want to laugh in his face, but you don’t do it because that wouldn’t be very wise of you. However, you still hear someone laughing behind you. 

You don’t have to turn around to see who it is, you can recognize that laugh anywhere. 

“Who told you she wants to go out with you?” You feel Max’s warm body behind you, his hand finding your waist in a very possessive way.

Charles keeps laughing, which is drawing the attention of everyone in the shop. 

“I’m sorry,” He says, wiping imaginary tears as he stands next to Max. “Does that really work out for you? Because it’s awful, mate.”

“You should really think about changing the way you approach women.” Max’s voice is dripping with venom, and you instinctively lean closer. 

“Waiting for them outside the changing room, really? Pretending to not see her?” Charles is not laughing anymore, he looks pissed. “She’s taken, by the way.”

The stranger looks between Charles and Max, recognition crossing his features. 

“I’m so sorry!” He apologizes, his whole attitude changing in a minute. “I wouldn’t dream of hitting on your girlfriend. Never.”

Max laughs, but ignores him. “Are you done, schatje?” 

“Yes, but I was trying to ask someone if they have it in green when… well.”

“Let’s go see, then.” Max gives you a pat on your ass, making you giggle and walk away from the still very shocked guy. 

“Oh,” Charles says, making you and Max turn around to see what’s happening. He’s a few feet away from the stranger, walking in your direction but looking at the man standing right where you left him. “Think about changing your perfume too. You stink.”

[winwin17]

I want to talk about Legolas and singing. (Hang in there, because it starts out a little silly but turns meaningful.)

How many times do you think he just broke off into song during the Fellowship's quest? Well, one time he's like, "Let me sing you this song about Nimrodel!" He also sings to himself in the middle of the night when he's on watch. When the Three Hunters reunited with Merry and Pippin, they relax and smoke their pipes - except for Legolas, who lounges next to them, looking at the sky and singing softly to himself.

He sings to the horse of Rohan when it freaks out about the Paths of the Dead. He stops in the middle of recounting a story to the Hobbits, breaking off to sing a song about the lands they passed through, which feature in the account he's telling. When he goes to see Merry and Pippin in Minas Tirith, people watch curiously, not only because it was odd to see an Elf and Dwarf at ease with one another, but also "Legolas was fair of face beyond the measure of Men, and he sang an elven-song in a clear voice as he walked in the morning...." And then later he mentions that he hopes to bring some of his people to the region - but he gets distracted thinking about the river, which leads to the sea, and he wanders off singing to himself of the sea.

We know singing is important to all Elves, but it seems to me that Legolas randomly sings more than maybe the average Elf does. Maybe it's just because we get to see so much of him compared to some of the other Elves - but either way, I like to think this is his way of keeping his hope up.

Legolas is from Mirkwood, and not only that, he's a prince. He possibly remembers when his home was still called Greenwood, before the shadow of Sauron came over it. Being that Mirkwood was one of the last Elven realms preserved in Middle Earth, it must have grieved and angered the inhabitants to watch this evil befall. Years were spent trying to fight back the Shadow over Mirkwood. It stands to reason that Legolas had a significant role in that. No doubt he took this very personally, trying to defend and preserve his people and their beautiful realm. At times it seemed that the Shadow was driven back, only to return again. Among the Wise, it was highly suspected that Sauron would make another comeback and the age of the Elves in Middle Earth would be over.

And yet Legolas keeps singing. He sings folk songs from his people, he sings of beautiful lands far and wide, of ancient heroes who gained renown fighting the enemy. Maybe he even made his own songs, too. And in the face of the darkness, when it seemed the Shadow would swallow everything up, the only thing he could do to keep his courage was to keep singing. I'd like to think that's part of why he's developed the habit of just singing to himself sometimes. That, and the fact that he just likes to sing and express himself in song, and he possesses a buoyant spirit. But where did that come from? Is it just a personality trait, or something more, something fine-tuned in the Shadows of Mirkwood in defiance of Sauron?

When Legolas sings, it comes from a hard-bought hope cultivated by years of trial. Greenwood may become Mirkwood, but the Greenleaf is still green, and he's not about to let that change, though it takes him to a battle against all odds at the Black Gate itself. He, too, sings to remind himself that the Shadow is only a passing thing. It cannot vanquish the joy and hope and wonder at the beautiful things of the world that overflows at random moments. And that's why we love him, silly moments and all.

[autisticsonic]

My take on a Sonadow fankid! She actually existed for a while now, but the trend gave me motivation to finally draw her!

Most sonadow fankids are purplish and tube-grown, so I decided to make her neither!

Background for the story under cut, in case it gets long!

So in this AU, stories from the more recent games happen when Sonic and Shadow are at most around 20 years old. Back then Sonic was rambunctious and reckless as we know him to be, and Shadow was a depressed, traumatized emo kid. While at first they were rivals as depicted in the games.

Over the years tho, just like their friends, the two matured. They started getting along a lot more, and became official friends, which eventually lead to dating. They both were afraid of getting serious though, so they took things slow and casual. Due to some of their unresolved issues, they couldn't get any closer. But not for much longer.

Some of it has been brought on by a Particular Event, and some of it due to restructuring how they go about saving the world, but things changed. As Forces has shown, putting so much responsibility on One Guy isn't wise. Sonic felt so quilty for failing, but it never should've been his job alone, so they created an organization, to share the load more evenly!

The org became global, with local groups of heroes being recruited all around, meaning that now the characters we know and love now had more time to take care of their personal lives.

While for some the change hasn't been much, Sonic, and to a lesser extent, Shadow, struggled quite a lot. Many of things happened in between, but eventually both of them grew to quite enjoy the domestic life.

They moved in together, and started taking things to the next level, now that both have done some healing and therapy. They found that they get along quite great. After a bit longer, they decided to start a family :)

Shadow came up with the name. He wanted to honor his sister's memory, but Mar-Mar was also a symbol of all his progress. He did go to therapy to make sure that he can handle them sharing a name, to see if it's a good idea, and well, it was!

She's now 4 and very loved, and her dads love each other very much as well. For a certain Sonic though, things won't go so great.

[moonstruckme]

The other day I fell down the stairs of my building and had to just like. Get back up and go to work and my knees are all fucked up and I’m so sore. Do you think you could write doctor!remus or casual dom Remus when his girl tells him about it hours later? Or whatever you think is best story wise lol.

Don’t worry about it if not, your writing is literally my absolute favourite right now, you are so amazing!! -angie

Hi Angie, thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 666 words (oooo)

When the car stops, Remus won’t let you get out on your own, which is embarrassing even though there’s no one but him around to witness it. Remus is overall in a horribly embarrassing mood. 

Though you tried to hide it, you’d noticed him noticing the stiffness in your legs as you walked out to his car after work, and before you had a chance Remus had reached over and buckled your seatbelt himself. The whole drive home he was spooky silent, occasionally shooting narrow-eyed looks to the blood stains on your work pants. 

“I’m okay,” you try to reason with him now, when he sets his hands on your hips to take some of your weight. “I’ve been walking all day, baby.” 

“I know. That’s worse.” Your boyfriend is huffy. He seems to be contemplating fully picking you up and carrying you inside. 

You press your lips together while he supports you the rest of the way to the door, holding you firmly to his side when he needs one hand to unlock it. The two of you go straight to the bathroom, where the dress you were originally going to wear to work today still lies on the floor. Remus frowns but doesn’t comment. 

When you’d taken a tumble on the concrete stairs outside your apartment this morning, you’d been running too late to be concerned with anything but looking presentable and getting to work. Your dress left your bloody knees exposed and made you feel like a child fallen from their bike, so you’d screwed up your mouth and forced a pair of work pants on over the burning cuts, then changed into an appropriate top to match. Your knees have been alternately stinging and aching all day, and when walking back home from work seemed too much you’d called your boyfriend for a ride. He seems determined to make you regret it. 

“Sorry,” you murmur after he lifts you onto the counter. 

Remus looks at you. “What for?” The question isn’t patronizing or a test. He wants to know. 

“For not telling you.” 

He sighs softly, looking down to fiddle with the button of your pants. You trace the cruel line of a scar from his forehead down to his cheek. 

“I wouldn’t mind so much if you’d taken the time to clean them properly,” he says. “But if you were in my place—lift up for me, love—and I called you to say I couldn’t get home by myself because I’ve been hurting all day and not done anything about it, wouldn’t you be a bit distraught?”

“I would,” you admit. You suck in a quiet breath when he starts pulling your pants down over your knees. 

“Sorry,” he says, unsticking the fabric from your ruined skin as gently as he can. They slide the rest of the way down far easier, and Remus kisses his teeth when your knees are revealed. “Dovey.” He sounds equal parts pitying and disappointed. 

“Sorry.” 

“Let’s stop trading apologies.” There’s the barest hint of humor in your boyfriend’s tone as he finishes tugging your pants off your ankles, letting them puddle on the floor and leaving you in your underwear. The countertop is cold on your bare skin. Remus wraps a hand around your thigh, careful of your knees as he leans forward to give you a kiss. “I’m not going to ask you not to do it again—although I hope you won’t—because I know you, but I get that you’re sorry, sweetheart.” His thumb swipes over the unbroken skin above your knee, lips turning down unhappily. “I’m sorry you hurt yourself, and that you’ve been in pain. I promise to try and lecture you about it as little as possible, okay?” 

You can’t help but smile, your voice coming out wry. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome, dove.” He gives your hip a condescending little pat. “You can make it up to me by sitting still while I take care of these and tell you about infection.” 

[avithenaftali]

October 28, 2022, 7:11 P.M.

For whatever reason I enjoy thinking about Diana Wynne Jones' writing as a whole and picking out unexpected or resonant trends. For example, some things that comes up often is:

She'll fabricate a world (right down to its cosmology), fill it with memorable characters, set one or two short novels in it... and then never touch it again. On to the next one. Rinse and repeat for her entire career.

The concept of multiple/parallel universes appear half a dozen times in different novels/sequences, but always in completely different ways. The multiple worlds of Chrestomanci function very, very differently from the multiple worlds of The Homeward Bounders, which themselves function so different from the Ayewards/Naywards of Deep Secret, or the walls between the worlds in Dark Lord of Derkholm. More importantly, all these approaches to multiverse explicitly contradict each other. There is no larger DWJ multiverse; there is no way to coherently combine any of them, much less all of them. I love her for this. Every book is its own project. Franchising be damned.

With one exception (which is the Dalemark quartet, oddly enough), none of these worlds are sealed-off secondary worlds. Our own Earth appears in all of them, though usually from the 'wrong' end of the telescope. Meaning, it's stuff like reading Charmed Life and assuming you're reading a magical secondary world fantasy for most of the book... up until the point when Janet is pulled into the story due to Gwendolyn's spell. The reader instantly understands that Janet is from our own world, from the 1970s when the book was written. She never makes it home, either. She never sees her parents again. She's a supporting character who becomes permanently stuck in the world of Chrestomanci, as a casualty of Gwendolyn's spells.

It is interesting, though, how there are almost no sealed-off secondary worlds in DWJ's oeuvre.

There are lots of neat things to say about how DWJ did this, and why she'd do it, and the implications in the storytelling. But tonight I'm thinking mostly about how it can be a moment, narratively, that makes you halt and have to recontextualize all these things you thought you knew (or were assuming) about the nature of the story.

In Ursula Le Guin's The Dispossessed, Urras is obviously the metaphorical capitalistic stand-in planet for our own Earth... up until a moment right near the end, where we realize our own Earth exists in this novel too and is an ecological wasteland due to unchecked climate change.

Urras may be the distorted-mirror, uber-capitalist version of our own world. But it's also a planet with a functional ecosystem. It's a planet where society is careful about maintaining that ecosystem. We're not going to be Urras, says Le Guin. We'll be lucky if we become Urras. To become Urras means we wised up in time to not go extinct.

And suddenly, little subtle moments in the worldbuilding around both Anarres and Urras—their shared attention to their own ecology—come into a different light. All because our own, devastated Earth turns out to be present in the novel too.

And in Howl's Moving Castle, Howl is a magician who fits into the fairy tale landscape of Ingary as naturally as anyone else—until the chapter when he has to go home to retrieve a lost spell, and you realize home is in another world, aka home is our world, aka Howl is fucking Welsh and found his way into Ingary by pure accident. And Ben Sullivan, Ingary's missing royal magician, is no native of Ingary either.

To Sophie, it just means that both magicians travelled to Ingary from the same enigmatic foreign land, which is as strange to her as any spell.

To us readers, it means "oh my god he's Welsh too? Just how much is Wales secretly connected to Ingary? Next thing you'll tell me Ben Sullivan's a rugby player as well—"

[flowerandblood]

Appearances (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x little sister • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, fingering, smut, angst, sexual tension, obsession, mention of arranged engagements ]

[ description: All Aemond cares about is the recognition and attention of his younger sister, but she seems to ignore him and shun him, driving him to an ever-increasing state of withdrawal and dark, grim agony. Something inside him snaps when his grandsire announces that it is time to marry her off. Sexual tension, understatements due to lack of communication, obsession. ]

This oneshot has its sequels: Experience & Refinement & Sacrifices, but can be read as a stand-alone story.

My other works: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him, though because of this his throat squeezed in pain and rage, that his little sister was simply afraid of him. He couldn't explain her behaviour otherwise – the way she quickly looked away, meekly lowering her eyelids adorned with her long, dark lashes, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture as she met his gaze.

She was the only one who didn't have their pearly white hair, the only one who didn't have the eye colour due to the gods.

Even when she witnessed his duels with Criston Cole, when she could see how much he had changed, how skilful he was in wielding his sword, defeating him again and again, she did not congratulate him – she turned and left the square, no longer bestowing even a single glance on him.

Confronted again with her wordless rejection, he thought in the back of his head that she was disgustingly ordinary with her dark hair and eyes inherited from their mother, that she could be the daughter of some commoner walking up to his knees in the mud feeding his pigs.

However, his great annoyance usually lasted only a moment, after which he went back to his state of despair.

He didn't follow her, wanting to spare himself this humiliation and discomfort, feeling his heart twitching in rage, in shame that he so desperately desired her attention, a few words of recognition, one warm look.

He saw her one morning through the window speaking to her servant, gesturing vigorously and laughing pearly, joyful; he thought with regret that she was consorting with people who might take advantage of her, who cared only about her position.

That if she were his he would protect her from them.

She would be safe.

She was so careless, innocent, wise and naïve at the same time, looking at him with those big dark eyes of hers when someone in her presence annoyed him, begging him with her gaze not to explode.

His tongue was like a blade, cutting anyone who approached him – she knew this and was afraid to open her mouth in front of him, imagining for sure how cruel his reaction would be.

He didn't know how to explain to her that he would never hurt her, his sweetest little sister, his greatest joy.

He watched from the distance like a cool, sinister shadow as her fingers intertwined with Helaena's, stretched out side by side on their armrests during supper, observed her leaning towards her with a sweet smile, whispering something tenderly, from which their older sister giggled quietly – there was something mythological in these scenes, making a shiver run down his spine.

He knew that they sometimes met in her chamber and even slept together, confiding in each other about their feminine affairs that were beyond his comprehension, however, he couldn't stop the feeling of burning jealousy that filled his chest when he thought of how he wished it was him she visited at night.

He thought then of how tender he would be towards her, how his arms would enclose her warm, delicate body in his tight, firm embrace, protecting her from anything that might frighten her.

He imagined how wonderful she would smell, her oils teasing his nostrils constantly, sweet and intense – looking at her figure seated next to him he felt the need to bite into her flesh like a ripe fruit.

He thought she would taste like a peach.

When at last they had finished their conversation and her beautiful, soft hand reached for her cup her gaze finally met his – her plump, glistening lips parted slightly, as if the intensity of his gaze frightened her, her breasts quivered in quick, shuddering breaths.

He felt what he saw in his breeches, his length all swollen, demanding her closeness.

Wanting to keep her attention on him he lifted the platter with her favourite dish, sweet cinnamon pie filled inside with apples; he saw that she blinked quickly, her cheeks flushed at the realisation that he knew she favoured them.

He watched her swallow with difficulty, her trembling hand set her goblet aside – his manhood throbbed hard when their fingers brushed in the air as she took the silver platter from him. She lowered her gaze, embarrassed, her sweet, plump lips parted to whisper a quiet, barely audible thank you.

He leaned back again, looking at the pleasing profile of her face, her long eyelashes gleaming under the warm candlelight, a drop of sweat on her skin shimmering like a small diamond ran down her neck.

Gods, how he craved her.

He wanted to touch her, stroke her shamelessly exposed back with his large hand, rough from holding the hilt of his sword, and dig his fingertips into her warm, smooth skin, with a subconscious gesture proving to whom she belonged, that she had been his right, his delight and his duty since she was born.

Why didn't she realize this?

He watched with a squeezed throat as she took a piece of pie into her mouth, the involuntary lick of her tongue with which she brushed her lower lip focused all his attention.

The thought that this fleshy lips could in the same way clench around his painfully swollen cock, suck it and squeeze it, barely able to fit it in with her sweet cry of effort.

He grunted, looking away, feeling his length twitching and pushing against the tight material of his breeches.

She didn't look at him again that evening, absorbed in a discussion with their mother and grandfather as he drank Dornish wine, staring dully ahead, its tart aftertaste melting on his tongue.

"I spoke to your mother about the importance of slowly deciding on a suitable candidate for your husband, my love." Began their grandsire with his eyebrow raised in satisfaction, directing his words to his younger sister, who froze in mid-motion – he saw that her hands, in an involuntary reflex of terror, clamped down on the material of her gown.

She remained silent.

"She's still too young, for god's sake." He hissed out feeling rage like a burning fire pulsing through his veins. He grew hot and took another quick, deep sip from his cup, an uncomfortable silence fell around him.

Otto grunted, turning with a creak of wood in his seat, his fingers stretched out and clenched into a fist on the table top in front of him, apparently wondering why such a sudden and aggressive reaction on his part.

"I understand that as an older brother you feel responsible for her safety, however, she is now of the right age and has begun to bleed, and that's why…"

"Father." Muttered their mother, looking at him pleadingly, clearly not wanting him to bring up such intimate and sensitive topics at the table, moreover in the presence of other men.

He saw out of the corner of his eye how his sister dropped her gaze, her dark eyes shining from the tears of shame that had gathered under her lids, her brows arched in pain.

If she had only asked him to marry her he would have done so at once, freed her from this laughable obligation that her marriage to some mere lord would be.

He felt his jaw clench at the thought that no one would ever love her as devotedly, dearly, warmly as he, her blood, her protector, her brother.

"In the coming months, we would like you to meet a few candidates we consider worthy of your hand." Concluded their grandfather, taking a deep sip of wine from his goblet; he felt rage filling his chest when he saw that his sister merely nodded her head, accepting her fate without a word of protest, looking down at her plate.

He got up from the table, bitter and furious, leaving the hall without a word, unable to look at her, once again letting his anger take over him, accusing her in his mind.

Her lack of reaction, her lack of opposition, when it was so obvious that her husband could only be him, him, him.

He walked into his chamber, undoing the buckles of his tunic, throwing it angrily to the ground, remaining in only his chemise and breeches. Although he did not usually do so, he reached for the wine jug and poured himself a full cup, grabbing it and sitting down with it in the chair by the fire, tilting his head back, letting out loud sigh.

He shuddered when he heard a quiet, tentative knock on his door – he ran his hand over his face, guessing it was his Queen, as usual wanting to be his voice of reason, to come to him with her stoic calm, explaining to him why he had to accept the responsibilities that faced their family, including those standing before his sister.

He didn't feel like having this discussion, however, he acknowledged with reluctance that he couldn't dismiss his own mother.

"Come in." He said coolly, staring into the flames.

He heard the creak of the door opening and closing a moment later – he glanced involuntarily over his shoulder and froze, feeling his heart stop in his throat at the sight of her, beautiful, teary-eyed, her face all flushed red with pain, her fleshy, plump lips parted in a hastened breath, her brow arched in pain.

"Lēkia (big brother)." She mumbled out with difficulty, choking on her own tears – he stood up at her words looking at her with eye wide open in shock, driven by some sudden emotion, moved that she had come to him as he had always imagined she would, vulnerable and desperate, seeking refuge and a reassurance in his arms.

"Come closer, hāedar (little sister). Come." He whispered softly, extending his hand to her in a gesture of encouragement; she moved tentatively towards him, looking up at him with her wonderfully dark, large eyes, tear drops glittering on her lashes like little stars.

He parted his lips and swallowed loudly when her smooth, warm hand touched his, thought with tenderness that compared to his she was so small, so fragile.

When he dared to lift his other hand to her cheek she twitched, wrinkling her eyebrows, breathing loudly, distrustful like a maiden who was afraid of a stranger's touch, simultaneously craving his closeness and fearing it.

He breathed quietly as she let his fingers touch and run over the wonderfully soft, firm skin of her pink cheek, her eyelids closed for a moment, a quiet, sweet sigh leaving her lips.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked in a calm, low, trembling voice, ashamed of how scared he was of her answer, of her rejection.

She looked at him surprised – her lips parted in astonishment as if she didn't know what to reply to his words, her quivering fingers touched his hand stroking her cheek.

"I fear your harsh judgment, brother. It seems to me that my person often arouses your frustration and impatience." She muttered in shame, lowering her gaze; he felt a squeeze in his throat at her words, not believing what he heard, what she confessed to him.

I am afraid of your harsh judgment, brother.

It seems to me that my person often arouses your frustration and impatience.

How could she think so? Was his eternal desire, his suffering so expressed in his gaze, his facial expressions, his gestures?

Did she perceive his rage at the lack of her closeness as his constant displeasure at the sight of her?

He was horrified by how deep the misunderstanding reached – he didn't know what he should do to fix it now, to reverse it, he ran out of words that could describe what he felt.

How glad he was that she was standing before him now, that she trusted him, that he had adored her from the moment she came into the world, cherished her with a love that was warm, tender and devoted, that he believed she had been born to be his, his sweet joy, his beautiful little sister.

He swallowed loudly, parting her plump, fleshy lips with his thumb, looking at her in emotion, feeling a painful tightness in his throat.

"My sweet sister, where did these words come from? How could I feel anything but adoration towards you?" He asked softly, feeling her whole body quiver at his words – her mouth parted involuntarily, letting his thumb go deeper, between her puffy, sticky lips.

Something changed in her gaze, dreamy and warm, from which he felt heat in his chest and lower abdomen, her fingertips digging into the skin of his palm.

"Ivestragī umbagon issa (let me stay)." She whispered in a trembling, uncertain voice, and he felt his breath caught in his throat, his manhood throbbed aggressively in his breeches at the thought that she wanted to stay in his bed, in his embrace.

His surprised silence made her lower her gaze, ashamed, apparently panicking at the thought of what she had suggested, of how indecent it was, surely thinking that he would now despise her.

"Very well." He muttered quickly, not wanting her to leave his side.

She lifted her hopeful gaze to him and nodded, swallowing loudly, her cheeks pink with emotion. He rubbed his thumb over her wet skin and leaned over her placing a tender, lingering kiss on her forehead, her wonderful scent filling his lungs again.

He took her small hand in his, guiding her towards his bed, sitting down on it with his face towards her, letting her stand over him and decide what would happen next, looking at her pleasant, girlish figure.

It seemed to him that she had no idea what they were doing, whether it was right – he could see thoughts and doubts running across her face, fears of what would happen if their mother found out.

"Come. Do not fret. Your big brother would never hurt you." He whispered in a voice trembling with emotion – he was hot, his heart pounding like mad in his chest, he felt butterflies in his stomach, a sweet delight of satisfaction spread through his body.

His words emboldened her; she stepped closer to him, standing between his thighs, breathing loudly. He sighed and closed his eyes as she took his face in her soft hands, stroking it for a moment with gentle, slow movements that made his throat dry up; he felt with horror that his cock was completely hard, all swollen and throbbing.

In a gesture of desperation he snuggled into her abdomen, clasping his large hands on her back – he heard her surprised gasp, her hands froze upwards for a moment before they began in a soft, calm motion to stroke his head as if he were a small child.

He closed his eyes, snuggling into her body, the material of her gown pleasantly delicate and soft; he could feel her flesh throbbing from beneath it, her womb that could swell with his inheritance, his dragon seed that could root deep inside her if only she noticed his devotion and love, if only she understood that they had always been destined for each other.

He clenched his fingers tighter on the material of her gown when he felt her lean in, enclosing him in her embrace – his face was locked between her shoulders, her womb and her breasts, enveloping him in her warmth, her hands running down his back with such tenderness and gentleness that he closed his eyes, wanting to focus only on that feeling.

"I am terrified, lēkia." She whispered softly, her breasts trembling in a broken breath – he moved away to look at her, his hand cupped her soft, warm cheek.

"Marry me, issa dōna rūklon (my sweet flower). Marry me and I will protect you. I will caress you, adore you, hold you in my arms, I will give you everything." He said in a quivering, low voice, placing the emphasis on the last word, so final, direct, betraying how desperate he was.

She looked at him for a moment, shocked, her lips twitching in disbelief, in terror and something else that shone in her dark eyes, but which he did not comprehend.

"You don't have to do this. Sacrifice yourself for me." She mumbled with a blush of shame, as if she thought his suggestion stemmed from his logic and tactics, from helping her not to leave her home, rather than from his feelings.

"How much longer do you want to torment me? Shall I fall on my knees before you and beg?" He asked resentfully, pain emerging from his throat with every word he spoke – her eyebrows arched in disbelief, her breasts began to rise and fall rapidly in accelerated, ragged breathing.

Her face expressed that only now did she realise what he meant.

"Marry me, brother. Marry me and never leave me again." She whispered so quietly that he barely heard her – they looked at each other with wide eyes, not believing what had just left their mouths, flushes of shame and doubt burning their cheeks.

He shuddered and drew in a loud breath as she placed her hands on his shoulders and climbed tentatively into his lap, startling him completely – he felt a jolt of heat, his cock so hard that he felt like it was about to explode.

All he felt was a squeeze in his throat and the heavy pounding of his heart when her soft fingers gently grasped his hand, her face blushing with embarrassment, a sigh full of arousal escaped her lips as she pulled her gown up, slipping it slowly between her legs.

They both opened their mouths wide and gasped loudly, surprised apparently at how intimate and shameless this sensation was – he thought in disbelief that she was leaking with desire, her hot opening pulsating restlessly under his fingers, her hand pressing them harder against her quivering flesh, eager to feel him deeper.

"− please − please −" She whimpered, breathing loudly, looking at him pleadingly with her dark eyes full of tears. He stared at her in shock wondering if it was possible that he had made a mistake, that he had misjudged the situation, that contrary to what he thought, she was reciprocating his affection.

His lack of hesitation, his fingertips that dug into her fleshy, hot womanhood surprised her so much that she squealed and hopped up on his lap – he put his free arm around her and held her in place, not letting her escape.

"− easy, little dove − shhhh −" He hushed her, his two fingers sinking into her plump muscles, collecting her moisture that leaked from her thirsty, throbbing core. He stared at her, seeing the expression on her face indicating that this experience had shocked her, sweet, soft moans erupted from her puffy, glistening lips, her hips involuntarily began to move to the rhythm of his hand.

"− that's it − let me take care of you − brothers know what is good for their sisters, don't they? −" He hummed low as if he were speaking to a small child and she only nodded, clearly having trouble concentrating. He sighed in pleasure as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her moist, sweet lips pressed against his in a sticky, loud kiss.

He murmured into her mouth with delight, thinking with awe that indeed her skin felt like the flesh of a fruit, wet and sticky to the touch, his fingertips teasing her bud hidden between her folds. He could feel her bouncing in his lap and trembling all over, quivering in his arms as his fingers roamed around that spot, their breaths raspy and loud, full of desire.

"− y-yes − right here, lēkia − mghmm −" She babbled in between their messy, saliva-wet kisses – he dared to slip his tongue between her plump lips answered by her sweet purr of pleasure, his hand all soaked with her juices, his long, slender fingers digging into her skin in circular, sure strokes.

"− just like that − soaking wet for me − issa dōna hāedar (my sweet little sister) −" He cooed in delight, feeling his swollen length pushing impatiently against his breeches, thinking only of how wonderful it would be to feel her, to watch his fat cock open her wide, her tight folds glistening from her moisture.

"− mhm −" She hummed between passionate, deep, ferocious kisses, a combination of their lips, teeth and tongues licking against each other.

She tilted her head back and moaned loudly as his fingers slowly made their way inside her, exploring her throbbing, swollen core – his thumb rubbed her her pearl, his fingertips searched intensely for the spot he'd read so much about in books, and when he found it her walls began to clench around him in convulsions, a pathetic whimper escaping her lips.

"− o-oh gods, brother, yes, please, please, please −" She mewled desperately, clasping her hands in his long hair, rising and falling on his fingers with a loud click of her moisture – he grasped the nape of her neck with his free hand and pulled her close, forcing her lips, swollen from his caresses, to join his in sticky, hot kiss.

"− come on, little one − I can feel you are close − thaaat's it, there we go −" He gasped out into her throat when a powerful shudder ran through her body, her moans of delight erupting from her mouth again and again as her hot muscles began to clench greedily around his fingers, sucking him inside, his hand all sticky with her fulfilment.

He was panting loudly along with her, cuddling her quivering body, thinking of how wonderfully warm and fleshy her insides were, how perfectly she would squeeze his cock once he could possess her whole, his sweet wife, filling her to the brim with his seed every night.

He intended to perform his marital duty with passionate devotion.

"− such a good girl − you did so well for me, dōna hāedar −" He praised her, wanting to reassure and soothe her, stroking her soft hair, pressing her face to the hollow of his neck, his hand between her thighs cupped over her pulsing, moist womanhood.

The smell of her wetness, of her flesh, of her sex filled his entire lungs, so lewd, ungodly and wonderfully carnal – his mouth placed involuntarily little butterfly kisses on her beautiful face, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted in delight and disbelief, her hands clenched on the material of his chemise.

He grasped her fingers in his and lifted them to his lips, kissing them with tenderness and reverence as his other hand stroked unashamedly her plump bare buttock hidden beneath the material of her gown.

"Now it's my turn."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses

[whatlurksbean]

Hello! I’ve been reading WLB from some time now, and I am still absolutely loving this comic every time.(on my 4th reread lol) WLB has inspired me greatly along with WC content and (also great!)creations by other creators to the point that I am almost about to script my own comic, with a few scenes that WLB had a huge influence on. Though, I can’t help but be a little overwhelmed when I actually think of creating one, mostly because of the fact I lack the skills to draw comics. Believe me, I am shit at panelling lol. But also l‘m a bit scared because even if I actually end up making my own series it absolutely could end up flopping and that would probably make me lose enthusiasm. I don’t necessarily want to make money out of my comics but rather show others my stories and characters that I love, but I have a history of making and posting oc art just for nobody to watch and kinda giving up.(even though I’m aware of the fact that this happens to practically everyone all the time, it still hurts) The (real)question is if there is some advice you can give to beginner/wanna-be comic artists, and how did you feel when you first posted The Recruit if that’s your first comic. I’m sorry if this sounds like a vent, and feel free to pass this if you want-just know you’re a great inspiration for many people. Stay safe, remember that YOUR well being is number one, and Love from Korea♥♥

Hello! I'm very glad you've enjoyed WLB!

A webcomic can for sure be a daunting and overwhelming thing. Most artists are a one man show, and knowing how to do Every Aspect Perfectly is an impossible task. I think it's important to remember everyone starts somewhere, and it is hard to get better unless you Start.

I mean, the first comic pages I drew digitally looked like this.

The comic lasted 6 pages before I got tired of it, and then I started The Recruit.

(which was over 430 pages long and started and had quite a style/writing change throughout the 7 years I worked on it)

You learn so much by just doing. There are a lot of helpful free resources online now a days to make the learning faster! There are tutorials on how to panel! And I think just reading comics in general is a great source of learning. Pay attention to the things you like (paneling, simplification process, color palettes ) and implement them in your work!

I think it's really important to figure out the level of detail you want the comic to be. I don't think it's wise or sustainable to put 100% effort into every aspect of it. It will burn you out. It's good to consider what level of shading (if any) you'll be willing to do for hundreds of panels, what level of background detail, how many colors the characters should have, and figure out what your focus is.

I've met a lot of comic artists over the years, EVERYONE has a different method or different focus. Creating is not a universal experience!

As for having your work be seen, it is honestly a lot of luck. Back in the day for TR I would just submit to all of the deviantart warrior cat groups and people would find it that way. deviantart groups are pretty dead now so I am unsure if that is any good now.

I personally really think ComicFury is a wonderful place for new artists. It's default page always shows the latest comic, so everyone always has an equal chance to be seen. You can be on the front page every 12 hours (i think, it might be 24..) and with a striking icon and consistent posting, you WILL find people.

It's not the largest site, but it is my favorite for comics.

I do not like the mindset of a comic "flopping." I think it takes time to build an audience. It is very unlikely for people to find your comic overnight, it will very likely take at least a few months of consistent posting to find a few engaged readers. I know it sucks to feel like no one is seeing your work, but it's just something that takes time.

Cat comics do tend to find readers faster though, so if that is your goal, I do hope you find success!

You could also post your updates in comic/art related places, like discords or post panels on bluesky or instagram. really any site or app that posts an image.

I also think consistent uploading is a strong key to building an audience. And to do this, it really helps to have a backlog. Meaning you draw like the first 10-20 pages of you comic (or however many) and upload one or two pages a week. The more your comic is seen popping up on their feed, the more likely people will be to finally click it. I usually do not click on comics I see once or twice, it usually takes a few weeks of me seeing it pop up before i decide to check it out. (talking about on Comicfury to be clear)

Once you've established you are dedicated to your comic, people do not mind if you take breaks. (and if they do, fuck em)

Also, having a community of friends or creators is a huge motivator. Show your work to friends! Share in a community of comic creators! Some things my friends have said to me about my comics has lifted my creative spirit more than anything.

This is turning into some 3am ramblings but to summarize my points:

•Find a style that will work for you to sustain a comic. (do not make 100% effort art pieces)

•Upload on comicfury (great comic site, equal opportunity for new comics) (I would also cross post to other platforms and link back to CF as a primary comic site)

•Work on some pages in private, so you can upload consistently once you begin your comic! (I would update daily for maybe a week and then switch to weekly pages, just to get the best chance of being seen + consistent posting. so that would be good to have at least 10 pages of backlogs. 7 for the first week, plus 3 weeks of backlog at that rate)

and the point most dear to my heart;

•Don't be scared of change.

I know a lot of folk wait and wait to make their comic until they are perfect artists or writers, but like, you'll never make anything if you wait for that. Change is so natural and normal in webcomics, in all art really. I think if you shade for 10 pages and decide you hate it, it's okay to change how you shade or drop it entirely. Change your art style. Change how you panel pages. Change how you do backgrounds. Change anything and everything you want. Enjoy the process and tell the story you want to tell.

Best of luck on your comicing journey, I hope you really enjoy it.

[hasnomoxxie]

Please for the love of TOUTATIS MAKE A WW2 RESISTANCE FIGHTER ASTERIX

Asterix but in a different time period!?!? Low key making a 'modern day' Asterix kind of doesn't appeal to me, part of the charm is that it's set in 50 bc.

BUT WW2 RESISTANCE FIGHTER ASTERIX COULD GO CRAZY THOUGH

I kind of skimmed a few sources to get the general vibe of what was going on in this period to make the designs (ong if I got smth wrong please tell me) but ummmmmm yeah!

Story wise and name wise for them... I dunno, I don't know much cause I feel that the village, getafix and ceasar would DRASTICALLY change with the period.

I dunno, I just make silly doodles :]

As I'm typing this rn, I just noticed I forgot to shade Asterix's right hand on the sitting sketch. kill me So glad I was reading cause I remembered this could be used foe obelix

Womp womp

ANYWAYS THANKS FOR THE SUGGESTION, IT'S DEFO A UNIQUE ONE! cookies and confetti for you

[itsswritten]

a new chapter

Pairing: Fairy x Azriel (technically no Az in this, but there's a nod to him if you look)

Word Count: 2.1K

Summary: The start of fairy's story. (Can be read on it's own, but if you read the other parts the pieces of the puzzle will come together.)

Wings Universe - More from this world.

The sting from the cuts had dulled as you continued to pull the thorn covered weeds with your bare hands. The feeling becoming numb as the pointed spikes drew blood across your delicate skin. You had never been afraid of hard work, never turned away from getting your hands dirty— but perhaps even this was beyond your ability.

“Y/n,” your best friend, Elodie, whispered with a melody of sadness, the warmth of her own hands gently coming to your shoulders to stop you.

You hadn’t realised till then that you had been crying. Crying while you helplessly tried to save the meadow you so dearly loved. But the meadow you loved was nowhere to be seen. The entire court had been ravaged by vines and thorns, and where no plant grew lay decay and ruin.

In a dishevelled state you wiped the tears from your eyes, faintly smearing dirt and blood across your face. Scrambling to your feet, you looked at your friend. The same sadness drowned her own expression. Whatever hope you held onto, no longer lived within her.

She had only stayed so long for you. The guilt began to gnaw at your gut as you took in Elodie’s dejected expression, dark circles sunk beneath her eyes that mirrored your own.

After Feyre had left, after the upheaval of Tamlin’s court, after the war– things among the land became estranged.

The court was deemed unsafe.

And after multiple conversations with the fairy council an evacuation had been ordered. You supported the move of all creatures, animals, birds, insects across the borders. And then species of Fae and Fairy relocated to the other courts too.

Not you though. You couldn’t bear to leave your home. Not when it so desperately needed your help, now more than ever.

Especially as Tamlin’s sorrow and anger seeped into the soil like a disease, transfiguring even the most beautiful flowers. Turning them into deadly ominous growths.

You had pleaded with Tamlin, even begged on your hands and knees. Head pressed to the floor by his feet. You had requested that he fix things, asked if you could go seek the help of the other High Lords, cried that you couldn’t bear to see the court turn to ruin. 

But he had dismissed you.

Tamlin too consumed by his own self-deprecation and hatred hadn’t wanted help, hadn’t wanted to save his court– or himself.

So you tried instead. A small group of fairies stayed– your friends, colleagues. People who held you in high regard and respect,  people who loved you and believed you when you said you could make a change. But as the weeks turned to months it was only you and Elodie that remained. Somehow, by some stroke of luck there was a small part of the meadow you had managed to maintain. Little blue dahlias bloomed much to the disarray that surrounded them. With time though, the buds began to decay and today you found your little patch of hope overgrown with darkness.

“Let me speak with him one more time.” Somehow you mustered some strength in your voice, composing the wobble in your tone. 

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Elodie asked mournfully, her stature limp with hopelessness.

It wasn’t. Wisdom and smart ideas were long gone. All you had left was desperation. You weren’t afraid of begging, didn’t care how pathetic you might look. You had to try, at least one more time. 

With that you made your way to the manor house, patting down the torn dress that sagged under the despair that filled the air. You pushed yourself through the dark branches that covered the home, the sharp limbs scratching at your skin as you forced your way inside.

The floorboards creaked under your feet, the manor now derelict and plagued by the sharpened vines that crushed the framework. 

This place, just like the court, was once truly beautiful. It was a tragedy what had become of it.

“Tamlin?” You spoke softly, knocking gently on a door that hung to the side on one hinge. Sharp growths sunk into the walls, causing the brick to crumble under its grip. The plant stretched out like roots across the building, the dark energy festering and growing from inside the room. 

You hadn’t needed to knock, but nervously, you had wanted to. Let him know you were here. Unsure what a surprise might spiral him into, and perhaps nervous to what you might find when you entered. You were psyching yourself up.

You could sense him in the shadows, crouched over his desk shrouded in a darkness you never thought could exist in Spring.

“The meadows…” you continued, stepping in when he didn’t respond. “There’s nothing left anymore–”

“Why are you still here?”

“Why?-” Surely he knew. You almost wanted to scoff. This was your home, a land you had committed to protecting and preserving. Had your pleading all those months ago not been clear? Did he even remember?

“Because it is my duty, as it is yours, to ensure the land flourishes and is a sanctuary to all creatures and fae. I am here because I believe we can fix this–”

“Stop.” He cut you off. “Stop with your self righteous bullshit. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Tamli-”

“STOP!” He cut you off like a sword cutting a blade of grass, sharp and swift but with a sting you felt pierce your skin. Tamlin had stood to his feet in defiance, his hands– no, claws, slamming onto the desk in front of him.

The wood groaned under his weight, splinters splitting under his talons. The darkness permitted in the air only grew. Vines slithering on the walls like snakes, while their razor edges glinted in the dim light in a taunt.

Was this person even Tamlin anymore?

The male before you resembled something more similar to the beasts you knew roamed the Middle.

You swallowed hard.

Your relationship with Tamlin was passing, as amicable as it needed to be. As was most fairy and fae connections. You’d always gotten on better with his emissary Lucien, but the beautiful redheaded Vanserra had left with Feyre and not returned. 

Your livelihood, your duty as a fairy had always existed outside of Fae law. You were the Mother’s firsts, her obedient children created to take care of the land. Fairies did not care for control or power. So when the Fae came along– those beautiful but greedy creatures flourishing in their power, fairies had chosen to stay out of their way. Moulded and conceded to their will you could say.

Your kind hadn’t objected when they began to split the land. When they picked rulers and chose borders. Fought over titles and possessions. This wasn’t because fairies were weak. 

No, that was something many misunderstood. 

But because it wasn’t important to your kind. You didn’t care to rule, didn’t care for wealth or power. It was your love for the land that would always come first.

And it was your unwavering adoration for the earth, the droplets that filled the rivers, the kaleidoscope of flowers, and the blessing of all creatures that brought you here–again. Pleading with Tamlin.

You felt for Tamlin, you truly did. You weren’t privy to the intricacies on what had happened among him and the now High Lady of the Night Court, and you certainly weren’t impressed by his questionable actions in the war. But your heart had ached for him.

However, he was now choosing to be an obstacle in your life’s mission. Your patience was wearing thin.

“Tamlin. You’ve wrecked the land.” You said sharply, deciding you weren’t going to dance around your words. No longer dance on that thin line Tamlin had drawn.

“I. Don’t. Care.” Tamlin growled out.

Your fists curled at your side, your wings striking back in frustration as a glow simmered faintly around you.

“You Fae should do right to remember that we were here long before you divided up the lands, and created your silly borders. Segregated fae and animals, we allowed you to reap the benefits on this structure, on the condition that the land would always remain protected–”

“You would do right to remember exactly who you’re speaking to.” Tamlin snarled, the vibrations of his growl rippling through the room as the weight on his talons crushed the desk in front of you.

Perhaps if you weren’t so stubborn you might have backed down. But you see fae, had always underestimated you and your people, dismissed your kind. And now you were angry…angry that all your hard work for years had been wasted, that your loved ones had been made homeless, and that your words were never valued enough by the courts to be listened to.

There was a vibration of power in the room, your fairy dust began to quiver in the air. This energy, pure and light sung within the pockets of air in the room, and while any onlooker would assume it was Tamlin asserting his dominance, they would be quickly corrected by the shock etched into the High Lords face.

As it was your energy causing a shift. Splitting up space with beams of light, fairy dust spreading and scattering in the room, Tamlins vines began to retreat to whatever dark pit they came from.

Just as his vines cowered, Tamlin took a step back.

Just because fairies had never cared for power and control, didn’t mean they didn’t possess it.

You felt a grip on your arm, tight but gentle, and then a slight tug. It was Elodie. She had fought her way through the deadly plants, perhaps pulled by the beaconed glow you were emitting. A warning look on her face, as you tempered your power swiftly. “He’s not worth it.” 

Your gaze flickered back to Tamlin, his expression bore one of surprise. His brows furrowed, frame finally resembling something more fae than beast. His eyes flickered between the two fairies in the room, fairies he had always assumed to be glorified gardeners. You could almost see the gears in his mind turning, as he began to question everything he’d ever known about the fairies that lived in his meadows.

You didn’t want to wait for whatever reaction may come from his revelation. Elodie was right. He wasn’t worth it. You had spent more than enough time trying to save his court, it was time to save yourselves.

Straightening your back, you looked Tamlin directly in the eyes. “We can’t work here anymore, it’s not safe for us and honestly, our talents are wasted in this void.” Elodie looked at you with a proud smile, a softness in her eyes. “If you change your mind Tamlin…just call on us okay?” You didn’t wait for him to respond, simply leaving him a small conch on his desk. 

𓇢𓆸

“Where to now then?” Elodie spoke, placing her hand gently in yours as you both stood on edge of Spring court. Your eyes were still, staring at the dark shrouded forest you had always called home, no semblance of familiarity remained.

“Your cousin from Autumn wrote to us, said we could join her?” Elodie continued, squeezing your hand gently. 

Her warming touch pulled your glassy eyes from the forest behind you. Fully turning your back on the only place you’d ever known. A ripple of sadness cursed under your skin, panging in your chest.

Is this what heartache felt like? At least, some version of it you assumed.

But what help would a heartbroken fairy be to the land, to the Mother?

You held onto that. The resilience that had kept you in Spring till now, a stubbornness that wasn’t going to allow you to give up.

“How about we experience it all Elodie?” You smiled widely at your friend, pulling on those tiny slithers of hope you had left.

Elodie tilted her head, a bright smile spreading across her lips at the notion. You had both always toyed with the idea of travelling, experiencing the terrain of the other lands, furthering your studies and training in the seasons and their creatures.

“Oh do you really mean it y/n?” There was a giddiness, a spring in your friend's step that hadn’t been there for a while.

“We could go see it all, the Pegasus’ of Day, catch a tan in Summer…even check out those Illyrians you find so handsome in Night,” She teased, bumping her shoulder against yours.

You were laughing now, like a pair of young girls again. Linked arm in arm as you took the first steps out of Spring. An excitement simmered in your gut, of what adventures would unfurl, what type of people you would meet.

You weren’t sure what this next chapter would bring, where you would find yourself in a year's time. But as you glanced back over your shoulder, the darkness of Spring feeling further and further, you hoped one day beauty would return to your home.

Whether you would also return to it, only time could tell.

a/n: I felt like fairy deserved a little backstory <3 show aspects of her character you perhaps haven't seen yet! But yes for those wondering...her and Elodie will absolutely be going on a girls trip across the land. Who would you like them to meet before they end up in Night Court? 👀 I'm sure Helion would be an amazing host and would adore her and Elodie...there's also Autumn, her cousin is there so it would only make sense if she meets Eris right?? What mischief do you think these two get up to? and with who? 😏

forever tags: @lilah-asteria @illyrianbitch @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan

wings tags: @megscabinetofcurios @minaethrym @scorpioriesling

[hyperions-light]

I Cannot See How To Begin: Lucanis in the Fade Ossuary

This is the fourth in a series of posts about Spite's Ossuary. The others can be found here, here, and here.

Okay, we've FINALLY reached Lucanis, hooray! Proceeding past Illario leads you to the torture room you found in the prison, which is... where he is, which is very disturbing, implication wise.

He asks Rook why they're here, and they say they're rescuing him. He then says there's no way out of this place for him, which makes Spite angry. Spite says that Lucanis is reneging on their deal by staying here, and Lucanis says, frustrated, that he doesn't WANT to be there. Rook then elucidates that though the Ossuary was a nightmare, it was a familiar one; it was a problem that Lucanis knew how to solve, and trying to face his life with Spite, to create a new identity and deal with his trauma is much harder. Lucanis gets angry, because Rook is right (side note, Lucanis' VA did SUCH a good job here, bravo) and Spite insists that Rook force him to leave. Rook explains that it's impossible, that healing takes time, and that this version of the Ossuary is not something Lucanis can just walk out of.

Lucanis finally agrees!! That he is going to work on his fucking problems!!! Praise the Maker!! He says he just can't see a way forward, how he should begin (the animators are doing WORK here, his expression is melting me). This is very understandable, considering the amount of trauma and violation he undoubtedly experienced. Rook suggests that he and Spite make a deal, agree on something small.

As the physical manifestation of Lucanis' trauma but also an actual guy, this is great metaphorically and literally. Lucanis makes peace with the actual entity inhabiting him and begins to process his trauma by dealing with it a piece at a time.

Lucanis and Spite agree to either focus on saving Caterina or punishing Illario, with Rook's encouragement in either direction, and then they all exit the Ossuary.

WHOOOOOOO okay! Deep breaths. Get water. Just like a couple more paragraphs to go!

The Ossuary is the climax of Lucanis' mental health struggles in this game, and it was exactly what I was hoping for. Because Lucanis is traumatized and does not appear to have been particularly communicative about his feelings even before the Ossuary, he can't ask Rook for help, or tell them what's really wrong, the same way he can't directly ask Rook to come with him to plan Caterina's funeral because he needs support. Spite intervenes on his behalf, and that is the only way that he can deal with his problems. He needs to confront himself; he needs to struggle with what he is, but he can't do it alone. He needs Rook's help, and the team's help, and SPITE'S help. It's clever that you can immediately see this change upon exiting this section, when he asks Viago and Teia for their help.

Lucanis was hurt immeasurably, in so many ways, in the Ossuary. his story is about climbing out of that pit, and this quest is the first real step. Watching him struggle and trying to help him for the first part of the game is heartbreaking. He is hurting himself, but he doesn't know how to stop; he can only do what he has always done, and go back to work. Rook shows him a way out of that, here. I think it was a fantastic way to show his inner conflict without having him do something out of character, and a beautiful way to show how he starts to heal from everything.

OKAY DONE! If you made it through all of that, wowie! Thanks for reading! Go get cookies or something! I know I'm gonna. See you... sometime. This took like six hours or something, so I'm going to go do something mindless lol

[sansaorgana]

— THE SERPENT QUEEN

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Maia!Reader

SUMMARY — The Queen of The Southlands is Adar's prisoner in Mordor but her husband comes back to set her free. At least that is what they want other people to believe. In fact, they seek their revenge on the Lord Father of the Uruks and they certainly are up to no good.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The idea for this story started quite simple – Halbrand looks so hot in this episode that while rewatching I thought... what if he was like "set my wife free" instead of "let my people go"...? 🥵 And in the end the story grew much bigger plot-wise and it's quite long but I didn't want to split it in two parts because I feel like more interesting things are happening later in the story. 🙈🤣 The Reader is a Maia and she changes her forms but I did not describe how any of them look like except for a little detail that is a scar and I needed it for the plot. She is also a shape-shifter like her husband but she is known for being a serpent and she is referred to as (Y/N), which is her "Maia name" but I also gave her three other names, which are for her disguises and their meanings are explained in the fic. BTW there might be a second part to my Chrysalis fanfic! But I wanted to write something else first! 🦋

WARNINGS — Reader is not a good person, mentions of Morgoth's past abuse (towards her, Mairon and Adar), Reader is being beaten by the Orcs as their prisoner (she is a Maia, though, so it doesn't really damage her or anything... but still!), brief mentions of other prisoners dying (including children), Reader has a scar on her chest/breast, shape-shifting into a snake (can it be a tw?)

WORD COUNT — 8,500 (🙈)

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THE SERPENT QUEEN

“Where did Halbrand’s wife ever learn how to use a sword?” Galadriel wondered after watching your little performance to show her that you indeed could pick the freshly forged weapon up and wield it.

You panicked at first, not knowing what to say, therefore you laid your eyes on your husband who was leaning on the wall with a smirk as he watched you. His tanned muscles, dirty from the forge’s grease, flexed in a very appealing manner as he smirked. After all, he was the master of deception, therefore you hoped he would come up with a good lie.

“That is how I fell in love with her, don’t you know?” He chuckled and shook his head, winking at you. “I started a tavern brawl once and there she was, showed up out of nowhere and pressed a knife to my throat, telling me to get out of her father’s tavern. She kicked my arse although I admit, I let her,” he added and you rolled your eyes.

“Bollocks,” you snorted at that. “Keep lying to yourself, Hal.”

Galadriel smiled at the story, however she remained vigilant.

“That does not answer my question,” she pointed out but you already felt more comfortable with lying since your husband had prepared the soil for it.

“My grandfather was a knight,” you told her. “A poor one that had been given some of his own land but he lost nearly all of his humble fortune because of gambling. He kept his sword, though, and I was his only grandchild. My old man never learnt how to wield it nor was interested in it but I picked it up quite fast. My grandfather was hesitant at first since I was a girl but he eventually gave in and taught me,” you added to make the story more believable. Galadriel, however, looked a little stunned while you grew frustrated. “Listen here, Elf, human women are stronger and more independent than you think. In the village not so far away from ours, there is this woman… Annie’s her name, am I right, Hal?” You looked at your husband with another made up lie.

“Aye, hard–headed Annie,” he nodded and Galadriel raised an eyebrow.

“She is a carpenter’s widow and when ol’ John died, Annie was left with nothing. She learnt the craft in a year and re-opened the workshop,” you told her and Galadriel seemed to be a little surprised but did not comment any further.

“Well, alright then, knight’s granddaughter,” she challenged you as she raised her own sword slightly to point its sharp tip at you. “Show me how you fight now. Holding the sword and waving it around is one thing but dueling with me is another,” she walked out of your house and you swallowed thickly, squeezing the sword’s hilt.

“Don’t overdo it,” Mairon squeezed your arm when you were on your way out. He leaned in to hiss it into your ear as he shot you a warning glance. “(Y/N), I mean it. Let her win in the end.”

You looked deep into his eyes without hiding your frustration and anger. 

“Oh? You think I would defeat her? Have you forgotten already?!” You snapped at him, lowering aggressively your white blouse from underneath your corset with your free hand to show him a scar on your breast.

The scar Lady Galadriel had left there the very last time you had duelled with her back in the First Age during the battle where she had known you under a different name and profession, which was one of Morgoth’s Lieutenants. The wound had been inflicted with a steel from Valinor and its pure light had damaged your physical form forever – no matter what shape you took, your form always had a scar in the very same spot.

Your husband looked at the scar and chuckled at the sight of it, which annoyed you further.

“Just go and do your thing but don’t make her suspicious,” he said and you fixed your blouse before following Galadriel outside but not without giving him a scolding look.

Mairon walked out of the building as well and leaned on another wall now but this time in the shadow of the building’s roof where he was able to watch your duel with the Lady of Light.

“Do not fret, it is but a friendly sparring,” she smiled at you.

“I don’t fret,” you emphasised and charged at her.

You were trying to keep your rage at bay and despite the centuries since your previous fight, you quickly found your rhythm again that resembled a gracious dance of two fierce ladies. Feeling your husband’s gaze upon you, not without feeling frustrated and humiliated, you stumbled a few times and let out a few groans of effort to look more human and less experienced than you truly were, hesitating here and there before making the next move even though it had been calculated and planned already.

The Númenorian commoners living on the same street as you and your husband these days froze in the middle of the pavement and abandoned their daily errands to watch the sparring between two foreigner women and what fascinated them the most was how this extraordinary duel was between a human and an Elf. But what they did not know was the fact that the fight in front of their eyes was even more special than they realised.

It was a fight between two old enemies and none of them was mortal. A duel between the Lady of Light, Commander of the Northern Armies of High King Gil-Galad and the Serpent Queen – the only female Lieutenant of Morgoth and then Sauron’s right hand and wife. You had been enemies with her for long centuries now and even in the songs and legends you had always been put against one another. However, that was something even she did not know of at the moment.

You finally landed on the ground, your shoulder blades hitting the pavement as you dropped your sword. She would probably win either way, which was something you had to admit to your own self bitterly, however this time you allowed it to happen much quicker than usual. The way you fell down on the ground hurt your human flesh, therefore you let out a whine and Galadriel’s eyes widened slightly. She visibly felt bad about the fierceness in which she had defeated you despite assuring you of the friendly nature of this sparring.

But throughout the fight you could feel her frustration growing when she had realised you were better than she had been expecting.

“Are you quite alright?” She asked, reaching out towards you with his hand. “You fought well. Your style reminds me of someone very powerful I had once known… Your grandfather must have been a grand knight.”

“I am fine,” you drawled out through your gritted teeth and grabbed her hand, allowing her to help you stand up while you picked up the sword from the ground. The people watching on the pavement were slowly going back to running their daily errands. “Do you think my skills are enough to fight the Orcs?” You asked, innocently.

“Yes, I think so,” Galadriel nodded with a furrowed brow and looked behind you to meet your husband’s gaze. “If your husband allows it, that is.”

“I don’t need his permission for anything,” you shrugged your arms.

“Of course,” Galadriel smiled softly. “But I’m sure Halbrand here would not want to lose you, Maira.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he approached you two and stood behind you before wrapping his strong arm around your waist. “She’s invincible, that woman,” he leaned in to kiss your cheek and you giggled. “My woman,” he added and you patted his arm playfully.

Galadriel kept smiling gently at the two of you. She was very glad her plan was working out and of course you had been making sure it would. Your husband had been playing the role of a man who wanted to have nothing to do with his heritage and you played the role of an insisting wife, motivating her man to do the right thing. A classic, old tale.

“The Southlands will prosper under your rule, of that I am sure,” Galadriel whispered with hope in her voice. “King Halbrand and Queen Maira. Your bloodline will be the bloodline of the great and righteous kings.”

“And queens,” you winked at her with a chuckle.

About that one thing you agreed with her, actually – The Southlands would prosper under your rule.

You would heal it, after all. And then you would be moving along to heal more realms and lands. Until all of Middle-earth would be nothing but perfect.

You were not sure if the volcano exploding was part of your husband’s plan. It probably was but as usual he had not told you everything and it frustrated you greatly. Either way, you had no time to discuss it with him as the dust and fire began to cause chaos and destruction. As the (self-proclaimed) Queen of The Southlands, you busied yourself with pretending to be a protector of your subjects, helping women and children to seek shelter.

The darkness and disarray made it possible for all the Orcs to break free and begin their slaughter as well. And somewhere amongst the messy battle, you were suddenly thrown on the ground with all force and attacked by the filthy creatures you had once led to the battlefield yourself.

Therefore, you knew perfectly well everything about how they were fighting and how they were thinking. Surrounded by darkness and chaos you could show the true potential of your abilities since Galadriel could not see you and find them suspicious. This way, you slayed quite a few Orcs but there were too many of them charging at you and, eventually, they kicked the sword out of your hand and held you by your hair, throwing your head back to expose your neck for the dirty blade of the biggest one amongst them.

“Mairon,” you called for him with your mind. You needed a rescue – you did not want to lose this flesh, which would separate you from your husband for another few centuries.

You had been patiently waiting for his return, hiding away from the Valar who wanted to find and judge you. If you lost your flesh now like he had once lost his, you would have to be away from him for a few more centuries. What a cruel fate it would be but perhaps that was the way for the gods to punish you from afar.

And how ironic it would be if you lost your wife because of the Orcs like your husband had once lost his as well. 

“Mairon!” You called for him again when the Orc’s blade moved closer to your neck.

Your husband, however, was busy fighting and perhaps he didn’t even sense your calling. There was only one thing you could do to save your flesh now, although it risked losing your disguise.

The human colour of your eyes subdued slowly and you allowed your pupils to narrow unnaturally as if you were a snake while one side of your human face swelled with thick, black blood flowing in your veins. The Orcs took a step back and looked at each other, confused. You quickly went back to your ordinary and innocent look, though, making them believe they had just experienced some sort of mirage.

They were only descendants of the ones who had been fighting by your side all the centuries ago before your army had turned their backs on you, leaving you in the middle of the battlefield to die from the wound Galadriel had inflicted upon you. Therefore, they could not remember you.

But, perhaps, the legend of the Serpent Queen was still being told between a father and a son amongst the Orcs. Amongst the Elves you were known as Lókë, too, just like your husband was known as Sauron. The Serpent and The Abhorred.

“I am Maira, Queen of The Southlands,” you breathed out the name of your human disguise to the Orcs, pretending to be as desperate as proud. “I am more valuable to you alive,” you added.

They were grunting between each other some things in the Black Speech, which you could understand perfectly but you pretended you could not. Finally, they agreed to let Adar decide your fate and you clenched your jaw at the mention of his name.

The one who had betrayed you and your husband. The one who had ordered the Orcs to leave you out to die in the battlefield where you had been fighting at the same time Mairon had been coronating himself. The war with the Elves had kept you apart on the day so important but you had been trying to remain hopeful – to win him a battle as his coronation gift and get your own coronation ceremony shortly after.

In fact, your husband had promised you that yours would be much grander and more beautiful if you had to have two separate ones. His had been supposed to be a humble one but yours would be the most breathtaking and splendid.

And after nearly coughing your lungs out after being wounded and naively left alone to die as if you were an ordinary mortal, you had crawled out of the battlefield, leaving a bloody trail behind you. And when you had arrived at your fortress, all you had found was Mairon’s dead body.

Knowing he would eventually come back to you, you focused on healing yourself and hiding from the outside world since now you had no army and no husband by your side, meanwhile the Valar had been searching for you. And all this time, you had been tempted to find Adar and seek your revenge but you knew your husband would not be happy that you had taken this from him. He had been the one personally slain by Adar, therefore the vengeance was his to take.

The Orcs put the shackles around your wrists and dragged you behind them to some shed where you were supposed to wait. And while you were on your way there, you finally heard him.

“(Y/N)?” You sensed a panic in his tone. “We are leaving, I am faking an injury. Where are you?”

“Go, Mairon,” you answered. “I am their prisoner and I am sure you can make an advantage of it,” you assured your husband with your mind. He was not replying for a while as if he was thinking about a new scheme.

“I will be back,” he only assured you after a while and you smirked to yourself.

“I know.”

Beaten and bruised, hair full of mud and dried out blood, you were dragged in shackles alongside other human prisoners and you were given no special treatment due to your status. Of course, despite the unpleasant experience of your human form, none of that could truly affect you because you were not bound to your flesh. 

If you truly were who you were claiming to be – a human common woman Maira – you would be long dead now, of that you were sure. In fact, you could see some of the humans dying out of exhaustion or injuries and they were mostly women and children.

Each time they were feeling worse, like the true Queen of The Southlands, you were begging for mercy and for help. And each time you were punished for that but of course nothing could damage your flesh permanently – except for pure Elven steel that represented the light of Valinor… but the Orcs did not possess such weapons, naturally.

They worked on some sort of a primitive settlement for themselves and the humans were required to help them. As a woman you were given a bit lighter jobs around and you were performing them although you wondered when would Adar finally grace you with an audience as you were gritting your teeth and wondering where your husband was and what was he doing.

And, finally, one day, while working alongside others, you spotted Lord Father taking a walk around the camp. He was talking to a few Orcs and nodding his head at their reports. 

You lifted your head up and Adar turned around this very moment as if he felt some sort of a connection between you two. Your eyes met and he tilted his head slightly when you were giving him a hateful look before going back to work.

After a short while, you were being beckoned over by the Orcs to approach them and Adar.

“You!” One of them called in his filthy, raspy voice. “Queen of The Southlands,” he addressed you with irony. “Come ‘ere, Your Majesty,” he emphasised the title as the rest laughed.

You straightened your back and walked up to them as much as the collar around your neck attached to a chain allowed you to. It was not enough, so Adar took a few steps ahead to stand closer to you and examine your face. You could feel your hatred for him growing and making your fists clench around nothing.

“What do they call you, Your Majesty? I believe your name has escaped me,” he started.

“Maira, my Lord,” you remained polite to pose as a person full of dignity no matter what circumstances were.

“Maira…” Adar hummed to himself and furrowed his brows. “The name sounds oddly familiar to me.”

Of course it did, what an idiot, you thought. You named your human disguise after your husband’s true name. And perhaps it had been a mistake, you had just realised.

“Named after my great-grandmother, I was,” you nodded at him. “I wanted to talk to you for a while now, actually. About the way you treat my people here. They need more food and water, better shelters at night, especially children,” you continued your play-pretend. “But I don’t think you want to talk to me about that, am I right?” You sighed.

“My children work as hard as your people. We all start with nothing here,” Adar pointed out and you clenched your jaw at his words.

“Yet your children walk freely and we have collars around our necks,” you told him.

“There is a price one must pay for being defeated,” he pointed out and lowered his gaze at the place where your blouse was torn, revealing a small part of your scar.

Adar furrowed his brows and lowered your blouse down with his cold finger as a shiver travelled down your spine and your heart began to pounder.

“My husband would kill you for that, my Lord,” you threatened but he ignored you.

“Where did you get a scar like this? I’ve seen you back there on the battlefield and you fought well, my Queen,” he addressed you with sarcasm, of course, “and you seemed to be experienced in combat.”

“The scar is not from any combat and I’ve been taught how to fight by my grandfather, he was a knight,” you answered his question but he kept staring at your scar and tilting his head. Was it possible that he could sense the source of the old wound? He was an Elf after all and what had poisoned you forever now was made out of Valinor’s light. “Aye, my Lord, the scar is from my past when I was a very young maiden and didn’t listen to my mama as I wandered around the woods on my own. Don’t worry, I defended myself and you should see the other guy,” you chuckled nervously and Adar finally raised his eyes to meet your gaze but he still looked unconvinced.

One of the Orcs approached him as he kept staring at you suspiciously. He whispered something into Adar’s ear and you could hear the word serpent as you realised that the same Orc had been one of those who had captured you before.

Adar nodded at him and laid his eyes upon you once more, this time even more intrigued than a moment earlier.

“My children claim you pulled a magic trick on them,” he pointed out and you had a feeling that denying it would only make it look worse for you, so you came up with another excuse.

Actually, you realised that lying was not such a difficult craft. So far, you had been mostly relying on your husband to prepare the soil for your deceptions but now, when he was not around to help, you found out it was not that hard to do it on your own.

“My grandmother was a witch, they say,” you remarked.

“You seem to be coming from a very interesting bloodline,” Adar smirked and you sighed.

“You want to talk about my ancestors, my Lord? Sure, why not. I feel myself invited for dinner then, but is it not rude to keep your guests in shackles?” You raised an eyebrow and his facial expression hardened immediately.

“Where is your husband, I wanted to ask?” He finally inquired what he had called you for in the first place.

“The hell would I know?” You shrugged your arms. “What do you need him for?”

“To send him a message that I have you,” Adar explained. “What other use are you to me if not a bargaining chip?” He pointed out. “If he doesn’t come for you, I can kill you easily and get rid of the burden.”

“He will come back,” you assured him with a head nod as your eyes became serious in an instant. “I don’t know where he is but he will not forsake me. You can expect him any day,” you added. “Not only I was left behind, my Lord, but his subjects, too.”

Adar nodded at you and dismissed you before walking away. You, however, stood still and kept staring at his back with nothing but pure hatred.

“What are you staring at?!” One of the Orcs barked at you. “Go back to work, whore!”

“You have no idea who you have just called a whore,” you only told him before turning around and going back to other prisoners. The Orc laughed at you. “Scum,” you muttered under your breath.

The day was windy and dark – like all days nowadays in the land that Adar had renamed to be Mordor. Mairon quite liked the sound of it and he thought he would not change it. Unless his wife would insist, of course. You hated everything that came from Adar, therefore you could want to change the name and he would not blame you.

If you two did not need the army of the Orcs so badly, you would probably insist on getting rid of them, too. That was how much you hated Adar and his children.

A few weeks you had suffered at the Orcs’ camp while your husband worked in Eregion with Lord Celebrimbor – pretending to be worried and heartbroken about his wife’s imprisonment, of course – but now he was finally back to free you and to continue his plan.

He had not been actually heartbroken – he knew his Serpent Queen was strong and truly invincible but he had been worried indeed. Worried that your impulsive nature had given your disguise away somehow during that time.

After turning himself in he was led in chains, with a collar around his neck, to see Adar alongside other humans captured on the way. He witnessed some people being killed for refusing to kneel in front of their new Lord and some being marked with burning iron for choosing to follow the new leader. As a man posing to be their King and protector, Mairon had to pretend to be sympathetic towards their fate.

“The King of The Southlands turned himself in, Lord Father,” one of the Orcs pushed him to stand closer to Adar who had been squinting his eyes at the man in front of him. “Says he wants to negotiate.”

“Is she alive?” Mairon asked as his voice broke a little although he knew perfectly well that you were – his sweet (Y/N), he could sense your presence from miles away now.

Adar hesitated before giving him an answer, visibly debating with himself inside of his mind.

“Worried about the witch, are you?” Adar finally asked and Mairon gritted his teeth.

What looked like him being angry at Adar for calling his wife a witch, was nothing but his anger towards you for being impulsive enough to earn such a title amongst them now.

“What are you talking about?” Mairon asked.

“Nothing,” Adar shook his head and chuckled. “She is alive and a burden to us all. Her wicked tongue and her big mouth surely are. If you want to take her, I am not going to ask for much in return. I will gladly get rid of your Queen,” Adar remarked and the Orcs laughed. 

Mairon moved uncomfortably. It was all a game, of course, but he felt real rage now at the disrespect these filthy creatures were showing to their rightful Queen.

“That is good to hear but I am here not only as her husband. I am here as the King of my people, too,” Mairon pointed out. “Let them go.”

The Orcs laughed again, which was something he had been expecting. Adar remained serious, though, and so did Mairon.

“...or yours will die,” he threatened, although as a human he was posing to be he could not do anything, of course.

Perhaps he shouldn’t be so angry with you for making too many hints about your real nature because he was giving in to the temptation himself now. It was simply impossible for creatures as proud as you two not to hint at your real greatness when you were forced to be humiliated by the circumstances.

Adar finally shook his head and snorted at Mairon’s threat.

“My people defeated the Men of these lands,” he said. “We defeated the Elves who came to their aid. We even defeated the allies, the Men from beyond the sea,” he stood up from his throne to walk up to Mairon. “There is no one left for us to fear.”

“There is one,” Mairon said to that, pretending to look hopeless and defeated. “Since Galadriel’s defeat, she sought out new allies,” he continued as Adar kept staring at him angrily but not without a hint of fear on his scarred face. “An ancient sorcerer and a Lady of Darkness, to instruct the Elves in forging a new weapon.”

The Orcs were visibly upset about the news as they looked at each other, worried.

“One you first told her about,” Mairon kept teasing to plant an idea inside Adar’s mind that he could be a source of his children’s demise. “A power over flesh,” he explained. “Do you remember those words? A power that will allow them to use your children as slaves in their army once more,” he finished his teasing. “I fled from them after finding out with whom the Elves wanted to forge an alliance,” he continued with the lie.

“Galadriel would never have anything to do with them. She spent long centuries fighting them and their evil,” Adar shook his head.

“Nothing brings people together as much as a common enemy. Perhaps she hates your children more than she hates them,” Mairon answered.

“Besides, they are both slain,” Adar chuckled nervously, trying to convince others as much as himself, therefore Mairon ignored that accusation.

“Set my wife free, let my people go, and I will tell you where they can be found, so you can destroy them and rid us both of their endless evil,” he made sure to sound a little frightened as well.

“No, Your Majesty,” Adar addressed him with irony as he moved even closer. “You will tell me everything you think you know of this sorcerer and his serpent whore now. Or I will spill the words from your throat.”

“If I die, all that I know dies with me,” Mairon pointed out. “You can’t kill me.”

“We’ll see for how long you keep that attitude,” Adar smirked before looking at one of the Orcs. “Bring her.”

You knew that your husband was back already, you could sense him for long hours now. However, you kept working as usual and pretending that you could not sense anything. The Orcs were already calling you a witch and you wanted them to think of you as an innocent village folk healer instead of a real sorceress with any grand powers because that would be too suspicious.

“You,” you felt a dirty hand grabbing you and turning you around as you nearly bumped into an Orc standing there.

“What is it?” You furrowed your brows, expecting him to inform you that you were free to go after your husband’s negotiations.

This, however, did not happen. Of course. Life would be too beautiful then.

You were dragged by the chain towards one of the wooden huts and thrown inside on the hard floor. You scratched your hands when you landed on it with your arms extended to avoid bumping your head.

“She is no part of this,” you heard a familiar voice and you raised your head as your eyes sparkled and a smile appeared on your face at the sight of your husband. 

He had a collar around his neck as well and he was as dirty and bruised as you were, chained to a wooden pillar. You wanted to run up to him but the chain around your neck was too short to be able to reach him as the Orcs laughed and they chained you to another pillar. This way you could face your husband but you could not touch him and what a great torment it truly was.

It was surely a torment much greater than the physical pain they were inflicting upon you to make him talk. And while they kicked and punched you, you dissociated – staring blankly at the wall and being grateful for the fact you were a creature powerful enough to be able to mentally leave your body like this.

“Stop it!” Mairon begged in a raspy voice as one of the Orcs kept his head still, forcing him to watch. When you laid your eyes on him once, you swore, he even faked a tear streaming down his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you heard his voice inside your head and it made you realise that the tear was not a play-pretend. Watching you being in pain was not something he enjoyed unless it was in your intimate moments – something rooted in love and mutual consent.

“I can handle that,” you answered. “What is your plan?”

“I will tell you when we are left alone by them. Can you endure a bit more, my love?” He asked, worryingly.

“I would endure centuries of that for you, Mairon,” you assured him. “I will, however, lose consciousness now,” you warned him so he would not be scared before you pulled the trick on the Orcs and forced your flesh to shut down, pretending to faint out of pain.

Enduring the pain they were causing you was easy. Watching them hurt your husband was worse even though you knew that his case was exactly like yours and none of the damage could truly take him down or become too unbearable. Watching his pain was still making your heart ache as you sobbed and begged them to stop while your head was being kept still and forced to observe like his head had been held earlier by them as well.

The Orcs were taking turns in tormenting you both and you already knew all of Mairon’s plan, which he had revealed to you when they had left you for the night, thinking you would sleep the injuries off, not knowing that rest was not something any of you needed.

One evening the Orcs brought a growling and snarling warg with a collar around his neck like yours and chained him to yet another pillar. He could not hurt any of you because of the length of his chain but they assumed his presence would make you more scared as they walked out laughing and wishing you a good night ironically.

“Aww, poor baby,” you sighed and leaned your head back on the wooden pillar behind you. “Look, my love, they keep him on such a short chain. It should be a crime,” you pointed out. “Shh, shh, sweetheart, it’s fine now,” you cooed to the warg and he barked at you angrily. “Oh, don’t be cross with me, it was not me putting you here!” You chuckled at him and took a look at your husband from the corner of your eye.

He was sitting up as well, leaning on his pillar and staring at you lovingly from between his ruffled brown hair with a soft smile.

“You’ve always liked them,” he whispered.

“What is there not to like about those big, hairy beasts that tend to bite?” You teased him with a wicked smile and he chuckled while shaking his head.

“Do you remember witnessing me like that for the first time?” He asked and you smiled at the memory.

“You stepped on me, my love,” you said and he laughed, therefore you pouted, “and I do not find it funny!”

“You were easy to overlook, my darling. You were a snake then,” he reminded you

“First of all, I was the most beautiful snake in the woods, so you should have spotted me immediately,” you teased. “Second of all, I was terrified, remember? It was the first time I transformed and I could not repeat it. I truly thought I would never go back into my old shape…”

“But then, a big werewolf stepped on you and you suddenly changed into the fair maiden that you are to scold him,” he finished the story. “My wife.”

“Your wife,” you nodded with a smile. “I recognised you immediately, my husband. I recognised you by your eyes alone even though they were yellow orbs of the beast but something about them told me it was my Mairon.”

“And you hopped on me and I took you back to the fortress and our master laughed at that, remember? He called me your dog then,” he chuckled as he shook his head but you frowned at the mention of Morgoth.

“I never liked how he would humiliate you,” you admitted.

“This humiliation I did not mind,” he said.

“This whole thing,” you looked around, “reminds me of the past. Adar treats us like our master once did – making me watch you being hurt and forcing you to witness my torment. Do you think he is inspired by what our master was doing to us? And now he is inflicting it upon… well, us?” You chuckled sadly.

“I… don’t want to remember that,” your husband winced as he leaned his head back on the pillar behind him.

“Forgive me,” you looked down.

“Do you know what pains me the most?” He asked and you raised an eyebrow at him. “That we will forever be known and remembered as his subjects. His followers and his successors. His shadows.”

“There is nothing else we can do. In Valinor we are no longer welcome,” you shrugged your arms, however the old scar nearby your heart burnt at the mention of your home where, deep down, you longed to come back.

But not without Mairon.

“They wanted to give us a chance,” your husband reminded you in a whisper.

“And you really think they would allow us back in on the same terms? Don’t be foolish,” you snorted. “We would forever be outcasts amongst them and they would never trust us. And we would have to bow our heads for the rest of our lives – bow them lower than others to remain in their good graces. I’d rather be known as our master’s shadow and forever wear the stain of being his property once than to bow down in front of anyone ever again!” You drawled out through gritted teeth with determination and Mairon met your gaze, a little taken aback by your outburst. “You are the only one I can bow my head to.”

“You do not have to bow your head to anyone, my love,” he assured you.

At that very moment you were interrupted by a filthy human working for Adar and the Orcs – he was the worst amongst all of these creatures because he was doing all these things not because he had to or out of his nature but simply because he wanted to remain in their good favours no matter what.

He laughed with contempt at the sight of you and your husband and by the stink alone you recognised that he was carrying food for you.

“Am I interrupting’ somethin’, lovebirds?” He asked, to which you and your husband said nothing. “Come on, Your Majesties,” he teased. “Not even kings and queens can go without food,” he reminded you and he had lots of reasons to because you both had been refusing to eat for days now.

He crouched down next to you, probably too scared to tease your husband or perhaps you were more pleasant for his eye. Either way, you wanted to make him regret that.

You did not enjoy being perceived as weaker than your husband only because you were a woman. One thing you had to admit about your master – he had never treated you any different because of your gender. The pain, the torture, the punishments, the responsibilities – you had been gifted the very same ones as any other.

“Why doesn’t he want to open up?” Waldreg whispered into your ear as you kept staring at your husband only, ignoring him completely. “Mayhaps he doesn’t care about you so much, does he? Mayhaps it doesn’t bother him to see you in pain, Your Majesty.”

You clenched your jaw at his words. He had absolutely no idea how much Mairon cared. How much he had been caring for centuries now. How many times he had taken your master’s anger on himself to protect you.

“Mayhaps he told you what he knew, huh?” Waldreg continued. “I’m sure he did. You tell old Waldreg everything you know about Sauron and Lókë…”

Suddenly, you turned your head around to hiss at him, letting out a sound the very same as any real serpent would. Waldreg got startled and jumped back before stumbling down and falling as you chuckled with contempt.

“Pain must be something you enjoy!” He exclaimed at you and threw the food on the floor as two Orcs hurried to his side to help him stand up.

“Oh, mayhaps I do,” you mocked the word he had been teasing you with before and you gained a kick in the face in return from one of the Orcs. Blood filled your mouth as you laughed and the warg next to you began to snarl.

“After Lord Father releases us, I’m going to kill you,” your husband told Waldreg when you were spitting the blood out of your mouth.

“Adar doesn’t even remember you two are here,” Waldreg laughed.

But you knew it was not true – you would never forget the look in Adar’s eyes at the sight of your scar. You were sure he was intrigued by you and your husband and you even had that unsettling feeling that he simply… knew who you truly were.

The Orc, still standing above you, raised his hand to strike another blow and you tensed your muscles, preparing your flesh to endure it.

“I’ll take it,” Mairon interrupted him. “Leave her, I’ll take it,” he pleaded. “She is my wife and I am responsible for her big mouth and her stunts,” he insisted.

Tears filled your eyes at that because he had begged your master the same way once after the battle you had lost – she is my wife and I am responsible for her failure. I’ll take the punishment, leave her, I beg of you.

The Orc looked at Waldreg, a little confused. But Waldreg shrugged his arms in return because it did not matter to him which one of you would be beaten – he simply enjoyed the act. Therefore, the Orc only growled at you before he approached your husband to beat him instead.

What you did not sense in all that mess was the fact Adar was standing nearby and overhearing the last few sentences, which had reminded him of the twisted couple he had known in time long gone now, yet still fresh in his memory.

Your flesh was of a human, therefore it regenerated quicker when asleep. So, some nights you and your husband allowed yourselves to drift off to the land of dreams. You had done that on the previous evening but you quickly regretted that choice because the dream you had was far from pleasant.

It was not a dream, really. It was more of a memory that you found yourself inside of once more – the long and endless road you had crawled with a bleeding wound in your chest, only to find your husband’s dead body abandoned in the fortress in the puddle of his thick, black blood.

You had sobbed and taken his cold hand into yours as you had laid upon his still chest, burying your face in the red fabric of his robe, stained with his blood now, still sensing his weak presence somewhere around the fortress but it had been ungraspable, therefore hugging his dead flesh had been all you could do. You had brushed his ginger hair one last time with a sad smile and had fallen asleep there, on top of him, sobbing and defeated. Alone.

When you opened your eyes, though, you were back to reality. And there was Adar standing above you, staring intensely. You furrowed your brows at him but he did not say anything and crouched down to remove the collar from your neck and set your hands free from the shackles before standing up again without a word. He walked over you to stand above Mairon now, waiting for him to wake up as well.

You sat up lazily, wondering what would happen now and your husband woke up as well not long after you. 

“I was in your place once,” Adar said as you watched, intrigued. Mairon was still laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling. “In the eldest of the Elder Days,” Adar continued. “Thirteen of us were chosen to be blessed of Morgoth’s hand with the promise of power,” he crouched down to be closer to your husband’s face.

You looked up to exchange a confused look with Waldreg and one of the Orcs standing by the door to the hut. That small string of connection between the three of you in that moment was nearly funny if the situation was not so serious.

“A new birth. I was led up to a dark and nameless peak. Chained and left with nobody to keep me company except for a vicious serpent coming to visit me sometimes,” Adar confessed and the pain in his voice was raw and authentic.

You saw something glistening in the dim light and, to your surprise, that was your husband’s tear streaming down his cheek. You understood why – the first Uruks had not been the only ones that Morgoth had been torturing. Despite being enemies with Adar, you had a strong connection with him through the suffering you all had endured back in the day from the hands of the one you all had been calling your master.

“And after what seemed endless thirst and hunger…” Adar continued his story. “I saw them. His servants’ faces. Sauron’s face… It was beautiful. And Lókë’s, too, for she followed him everywhere. Her eyes… Those were the very same eyes as of the serpent that had been keeping me company in those endless days and I realised she had been the one to join me in my misery. And until this day I do not know if it was her mercy, her sympathy or her wicked passion for witnessing somebody else’s pain.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat, stopping yourself with every fibre of your being from telling him that it had been sympathy – it had been nothing but pure sympathy and what had been his repayment? Betrayal.

Although some part of you understood his reasons, too. It had all been for his children. Perhaps one day you would understand this kind of love as well but it would require you to forever bind yourself to your physical form and you were not sure if it was a sacrifice you would ever be ready to make.

“Lókë wiped the dirt, sweat and blood off of my face. Sauron offered me wine, red as a blood moon,” Adar went on with his story. “He offered me wine and on that dark and nameless peak, I drank it. I drank it all.”

You saw your husband glancing at you with his teary eyes and now your own eyes were wet, too, after being reminded of that day.

“Your wife is no longer in chains. Your people have been set free,” Adar announced. “Now, tell me what you know of Sauron and Lókë,” he demanded and your husband moved his head up slightly as his blood-covered lips curved into a smile.

“Sauron has returned in a new form and his lover forged herself a new flesh as well,” your husband revealed. “I am not yet sure what shape they have taken.”

“Then of what use are you to me?” Adar asked, angrily, while standing up.

“I have something you don’t,” your husband teased him. “The trust of the Elves. Release me, release my wife,” he continued, “and we’ll go to them and I’ll seek Sauron out, so you can marshal your legions to destroy him.”

Long silence occurred, in which you assumed Adar was overthinking the proposition.

“We want the same thing you do, Lord Father,” you whispered, your voice nothing but a shaky breath. Adar turned around to look at you intensely and you pretended to startle a little. “We want Middle-earth to be free of evil.”

It was no lie – you wanted nothing else. You wanted this world to be a good and happy place. Healed.

Adar took a deep breath in and eventually nodded at Waldreg, who walked up to Mairon hesitantly.

“Do you vow allegiance to Adar, Lord Father of the Uruks?” He asked, giving you a quick glance before looking back at your husband.

You waited for Mairon’s decision first and you could see how much it costed him to say that word even though it was only a game you two were playing.

“Yes,” he said.

“Yes,” you followed.

“Then kneel,” Waldreg ordered. “Both of you,” he turned his head around to look at you.

You moved yourself up on trembling legs, pretending to be moved and scared. Your husband was still in shackles, therefore he struggled to get onto his knees and it pained you to watch him so humiliated. You approached him to help him but Adar extended his hand to stop you from any further movement. You froze and waited for your husband to get on his knees first before you would join him.

And when he was on his knees, you felt Waldreg hitting your back and making you fall down upon yours as well even though it was unnecessary because you planned on doing that anyway. You looked up at him with hatred.

“Now, swear it,” he ordered.

It was all a play-pretend, you had to remind yourself. Being on your knees in front of a man who had betrayed you once was so humiliating, though, that you wanted to cry for real. And something about Adar’s proud and intense gaze was telling you he truly knew who you were.

“I vow–” your husband began.

“With your head at my feet,” Adar interrupted him and you looked up at him with anger before you began to follow his order before your husband even moved, still taken aback by such a request.

“Not you,” Adar stopped you. “Him.”

You swallowed thickly and exchanged a look with your husband before he eventually gave in and laid his face on the ground in front of Adar’s boots.

“I vow to serve the Lord of Mordor,” your husband whispered. To the end of my days… and his,” he finished.

Adar laid his eyes on you now, still kneeling as your thighs trembled slightly.

“I vow to serve the Lord of Mordor,” you bowed your head, humbly. “Till death removes me from the responsibility,” you added.

Adar nodded and walked away. Waldreg freed your husband from his collar and his shackles although he did not look happy about it. When Mairon was finally free, you cupped his face and leaned in to press your forehead to his before kissing him briefly with a big smile to be able to hold him again.

You were given one black horse you had to share but you did not mind it at all as you hopped on it to sit behind your husband and wrap your arms around his waist before pressing your cheek to his shoulder blade.

Very slowly he was leading the horse out of the camp and when you were on the hill above it, you heard a scream of pain from the distance. Your husband stopped the horse as you both chuckled because it was the scream of Waldreg being eaten by the warg left behind in the hut. The one you had tamed during your stay there and now you had your revenge on the filthy human.

And soon, on all of them.

“You know,” you mumbled out.

“Hm?”

“I quite enjoy our adventures as Halbrand and Maira,” you admitted and squeezed your husband tighter.

“We have been tortured for weeks now, my love,” he pointed out with a laugh.

“I know but apart from that… There is a certain charm to it,” you explained.

“Yes, I am aware,” he admitted with a head nod and ordered the horse to move again. “However, we have a work to finish in Eregion.”

“Do you have a new name already?” You asked him, teasingly.

“Annatar, Lord of Gifts,” your husband answered. “You?”

“Fëanár,” you revealed and waited for his response. “The patron saint of the fire… to spark a brand new inspiration within Lord Celebrimbor’s forge,” you explained your choice.

“Soul of fire,” your husband hummed to himself. “Bold one. I like it,” he admitted and you smiled to yourself, hugging him tighter, proud of yourself.

Proud and happy to be with him. Wherever the road would take you two.

MASTERLIST

[triflesandparsnips]

So I understand that there are Good Omens show fans who have never read Good Omens the book, and that makes me deeply sad because--

Like, there's so much depth to the story being told about humans and humanity and the choice between good and evil -- and how that's actually a false dichotomy whoooops -- WHILE ALSO not really being about Aziraphale and Crowley at all (who are, imo, basically there as embodiments of "Impressive Failures" for the purposes of Theme and also Plot).

BUT IF you want to know why I've shipped them since the book-- here's the moment it happened for wee teenage me:

Wednesday (before the end of the world)

So it's Warlock's birthday party. And there are all these children and security guards and also an angel doing magic tricks while a demon is disguised as a caterer. This bit is basically the same as the show, so hooray.

But as wee me understood the characters up to this point, they were still basically enemies who had been in the field together for way too long and knew each other's moves well enough for the same tempting/thwarting of one another to become kind of boring and repetitive and generally pointless-- particularly once they realized that they could, for instance, just live their (separate!) lives watching humans being weird (Crowley) and seeking various sensory stuff (Aziraphale) while doing the least work necessary to keep their respective bosses off their backs.

The Arrangement was borne not out of hiding a friendship or anything, but instead the realization that sometimes covering for one another would just... cut down on their total overall workload. They were, at best, employees of two different, competitive companies-- though in same kind of department, doing the same kind of work-- who discovered they liked to have lunch at the same deli and that their jobs were sometimes distressingly more similar than either was comfortable with.

SO ANYWAY. BACK TO THAT WEDNESDAY. They're not covering for one another with this whole Antichrist thing-- they're now actively collaborating, and they've acknowledged (mostly) that it's not to cut down on their individual workloads, but rather to preserve their identical-- but not shared (not yet)-- goals of Getting To Continue The Lives On Earth They've Grown To Enjoy.

But like-- still not friends. Not really.

Until Aziraphale fucks up a bit, Warlock accidentally gets hold of a security guard's weapon and starts waving it around, and:

Then someone threw some jelly at Warlock. The boy squeaked, and pulled the trigger of the gun. It was a Magnum .32, CIA issue, gray, mean, heavy, capable of blowing a man away at thirty paces, and leaving nothing more than a red mist, a ghastly mess, and a certain amount of paperwork. Aziraphale blinked. A thin stream of water squirted from the nozzle and soaked Crowley, who had been looking out the window, trying to see if there was a huge black dog in the garden. Aziraphale looked embarrassed. Then a cream cake hit him in the face.

My teenage brain exploded at this moment.

BECAUSE: there is no reason for Aziraphale to do that.

Work-wise: If he got shot, Crowley would get discorporated, but not die-- and anyway, it would happen in such a way that both of them could explain it away easily to their respective sides (and possibly even be commended for it!).

Collaboration-wise: If Crowley had been watching Aziraphale, and if he'd seen Aziraphale have the chance to change the gun but not do it-- then yeah, probably that would've been annoying enough to have warranted some chilly conversations once he came back topside, and therefore, Aziraphale choosing to save Crowley could've been a reasonable, logical choice to keep their working relationship on an even keel until they'd sorted out this Doomsday thing.

But Crowley was looking the other way.

Work-wise, it doesn't make sense-- and secret-collaboration-wise, it doesn't make sense-- and so it is, overall, really weird that Aziraphale saved him.

But his automatic reaction-- in a blink-- is to stop Crowley from getting shot. And he knows it's weird-- he feels embarrassed that his sudden, unthinking reaction is to save his "enemy".

And the final bit is just a couple paragraphs later:

With a gesture, Aziraphale turned the rest of the guns into water pistols as well, and walked out.

SO LOOK: He changed only the pistol about to shoot Crowley. His automatic reaction had nothing to do with saving a party full of humans, many of them children-- nothing to do with Heaven or Hell-- nothing to do with preserving the coworker he needs to stop Armageddon--

It was all to do with saving Crowley. Who may be the enemy, but he's Aziraphale's enemy. And another part of his life on Earth that he's doing all of this just to preserve.

Which may also be, for the first time, the moment he lets himself realize how important Crowley in particular is to him.

...and so anyway, that's how I started shipping these two immortal idiots, and one of many reasons why everyone should read the book.

[jd-loves-fiction]

Did I say 2 reqs, I meant 3. This is gonna be a more specific one

You already know. Boothill, Gallagher, Blade, Aventurine and Ratio meeting reader of another universe and this reader almost the complete opposite of the one from their world with a different story and different circumstances.

(For more context HSR universe reader is more child-like, reckless, clearly teen aged, seeking parental validation a lot, Impulsive and just over all immature as expected from a kid.

Meanwhile this other universe reader is the same age but they are a lot more responsible, mature, basically parents the people around them, grumpy but caring (basically if you mixed Blade and Ratio personality-wise))

🌑it never eeeenndsss!! 😭(havin the time of my life) ALSO CAN YOU TELL I HAVE FAVORITES :D (maybe i should write a character study thing with Ratio too.... i like him a lot more than i realized)

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

Eerie as hell, very freaked out

Like, who is this child and why do they look like you??

Obviously likes your normal self better, OBVIOUSLY

This is just weird :( you should be acting like a kid, because that's what you are, not... whatever this is

Unsettled through every enteraction with this other version of yourself, always a little distant - just can't get used to the change

Once its all over, he let's you get away with a lot more than usual (which was already a lot) and scolds you a lot less

✦ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 ✦

Feels a strange sort of longing - this is what you could've been like

He sees it as the version of you, you should've turned into if you'd have a relatively pain-free life

If makes him ache in a way he hasn't been able to process yet

Lingers a lot on the possibilities - would you have never met him like this? Would that have been better for you?

Slips into self-deprication alarmingly quickly

Once it's over, he turns very introspective for a few days after

Before returning to his quiet, grumpy self, only change being he tries to make your life a little easier in all the subtle ways he can

✦ 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 ✦

Definitely see the Dr. Ratio things and it freaks him out a little

He has to deal with one doctor, and now there's two?? (affectionate)

Isn't entirely pleased with the change - you're a lot less like him this was and he doesn't like it

Aven likes being able to relate to you and connect to you though your similarities (even if most of the things you have in common are undoubtedly negative)

Your similarities also help him lead you away from the worst stuff he's experienced walking the same path as you - like this though? He can't lead you, he doesn't know how and therefore feels as if he can't protect you

Spoils you like hell once the situation is solved, buying you anything you want and encouraging your childishness and recklessness - definitely not healthy, but he likes you better when you're similar

Totally has nothing to do with him seeing his younger self in you and wanting to vicariously heal himself through healing you oh my god this man needs so much therapy

✦ 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✦

Appreciates the help? but is conflicted about the whole thing

Sure, you're being a lot more helpful than usual (or this version of you is, rather) and more well behaved on top of that, and he appreciates that BUT it's weird

It's just weird - you're a kid. You're supposed to act like him, you don't need to be good and helpful for him to enjoy having you around

Subtly urges this other version of yourself to relax a little and let loose, more so just to see if they would - they don't. He's quite surprised by it

He though they would when given the chance, that this serious version of yourself was just acting this way becasue they had to and would revert to your normal way of acting when given the chance

The thought that the you he knows isn't necessarily the you, you were meant to be is troubling

The following days, he has a troubled look in his eye but brushes you off when you try to pry

✦ 𝐃𝐫. 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 ✦

It's like looking into a mirror...... he's not a fan

Not in a self-centered 'I'm the only one who can act like that' kind of way, more so in 'why the hell is a kid acting like this' kind of way

Despite what some people would have you believe, Dr. Ratio is actually incrediby caring - he's just on the spectrum (that part is headcanon but tale as old as time)

His life's mission is to spread his knowledge to everyone isntead of monopolising it like the Genius Society is doing

So in a way, it's good to see you follow some of his lessons and act like he sometimes suggests you do

But it feels so damn wrong it just doesn't sit right with him

He wants you to grow to appreciate his lessons when the time is right and you're grown enough to understand them yourself

This just feels like you skipped that teenage rebellion stage that he feels is important to go through

Plus, the slight chip on his shoulder he still carries from being rejected by the Genius Society tells him, the world doesn't need more Ratio's (🥺)

Strangely encourages your misbehavior in the days to come, turns a blind eye to your troublemaking and lightens up on the lessons

The whole ordeal has him appreciating the teenage part of development more than before

AHEM - Valentine event here ;)