#or alert the king there's plague here

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. ❞

KINKTOBER WEEK TWO.

⤿ pairing(s): halbrand!sauron x fem!human!reader.

⤿ word count: 4.6K.

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), porn without plot, mild manipulation (it’s sauron), risk of getting caught, possessiveness, sex in a public location, fingering (fem!rec), heavy kissing, hair-pulling, scratching, begging, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink if you squint, sex on a table.

⤿ note: first time writing for sauron, please be gentle! mr. tolkien, so sorry for all of the despicable things I’m gonna be writing about your characters. ❤️ thank you all for reading! reblogs & comments are appreciated!

A salt-tinged breeze stirred through the forges, a welcome gust of relief amidst the heat that sought to blaze his flesh asunder.

In the silence of dusk, Halbrand found his solace with hammer and anvil, over that of indulgence of drink at some tavern.

Númenor proved to be the respite he desperately needed, running from a shadowed past. He worked tirelessly, through lengthy days and well into the night, his mind a tumultuous tempest.

The King of the Southlands — the ruler of nothing.

It was a mantle that wholly disinterested him, and despite his numerous protests to Galadriel regarding his supposed heritage, the she-elf refused to let it stay dead and buried. He was better off here, crafting works of art — blades, armor, jewelry.

There was nothing for him now, only threads of a plan that seemed to fall by the wayside. It was easy to disappear here, to fade away into the backdrop of the oceanside kingdom, allow himself to place all his efforts on smithing.

The roaring embers of the forge sizzled as he placed the partially-finished blade inside, molding metal to his skilled hand. There was no greater joy than that of creation — making something out of nothing, a tool to be used.

Halbrand’s gaze momentarily flickered toward the roll of parchment sitting along one of the many craftsmen’s tables.

You were an envoy of Númenor, the brood of a lesser House of Men, in-service to the Guild. It was you that had uncovered records of the Southlander line and brought it to Galadriel’s attention — a clever creature, you were.

In what handful of interactions he’d had with you, you were studious and well-mannered, far too intelligent for your station. You toiled in-service to lesser beings, when your potential extended far beyond their reach.

The scroll contained the very bloodline you had presumed he hailed from, as if you were dangling the proof for all to see. He cared little for it, preoccupied with the task at-hand.

If it were his choice, he preferred to stay in Númenor, learn their customs and assimilate into their culture. Galadriel’s stubbornness had the potential to win out if he weren’t careful, and Halbrand was not the subservient sort.

In the star-riddled dusk, Halbrand decided to break in his crafting, stepping toward a basin of water, letting the cool liquid wash away the perspiration dotting his brow.

It was better at twilight, offering a solace that one might not fully understand. He rarely slept, and when he did, he was often plagued by dreams of constant rage. Halbrand let the forge simmer down, opting to work on the still-hot sword.

A gentle tap of knuckles against the door did not alert him as much as you thought it would. He stood with his back to you, brows furrowed together in concentration. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He questioned.

Greeted by the stifling, ember-fueled heat of the forge, you stood in the doorway, having abandoned your Guild regalia. “Good eve,” You mustered a smile, hands twisting together. “You are a stranger to rest, it seems.”

“As are you,” Halbrand’s steely gaze flickered from the blade to you, letting the hammer swing down upon forming steel. “Is it safe for you to be wandering about at nightfall?”

His sharp inquiry brought you pause, fingers idly toying with the fabric of your dress. Númenor was perfectly safe — safer than most kingdoms of Men. “Should it not be safe?” Countering his remark, you observed the rack of newly-crafted swords.

Halbrand did not offer an answer right away, turning the blade over, striking it again with his hammer as sparks flew. “There is no such thing as true safety, my Lady. There will always be something stirring in the shadows.”

You nearly laughed at his fearmongering — he sounded akin to an old maiden, weaving her intricate tales of fright to dissuade children from wrongdoing. “That is a rather dour sentiment. Are you often paranoid?” Your tone tapered off into one of mild amusement.

A sardonic scoff escaped him, lips quirking up only slightly, yet he did not seem offended by your retort. “Merely concerned with preservation — my own, first and foremost.” He replied.

He knew why you were here, even if it was an unspoken thing that you continued to dance around. You had come as a messenger on behalf of Galadriel, to make a valiant attempt of convincing him to return to Middle-Earth.

“The Guild is impressed by your craft,” Shifting the topic, you brushed your fingers over the horse-shaped pommel, the color of ivory. “Not that I should be divulging that information.” You mused.

Perplexed, Halbrand wordlessly observed you, cerulean hues studying the creases of your dress, a shade of mauve that only seemed to enhance your beauty. There was something forlorn simmering within him, feelings not often brought to the surface.

“Is that so? It seems that they’ve finally come to their senses,” He jested, earning a pointed look from you. “It took a beating to do so.” Halbrand placed the unfinished blade beside the dying embers of the forge.

There was still mild bruising around his nose and mouth, heated transgressions that earned him the ire of Númenor. He seemed unperturbed, seizing a rag from the edge of an anvil.

“That could’ve been avoided,” You murmured, tracing a digit around the ivory head of a horse before stepping away. “You are fortunate that they did not toss you into the seas for your rancor.”

“That would be rather unfortunate, being tossed back into the ocean when I had worked tirelessly to claw my way out of it.” He quipped, moving about the forge as he hung up his tools.

A soft sigh escaped you as you shook your head, peering outside towards the night skies. “If you wish to stay in Númenor, you must cease drawing attention to yourself.”

Halbrand chuckled, the sound devoid of any mirth. It was a steely sound, more sardonic than genuine. He wiped away at the soot and grime of the forge, leaning back against the sturdy table.

“Is this amusing to you, being tossed into a cell and brawling with the locals?” The sharp bite of your inquiry could’ve been mistaken for the edge of a knife. “You are above that.”

“And if I am not?” He was equally as sharp, that of a longsword, tarnished and worn yet still able to cut with ease. Halbrand’s countenance seemed unmistakably soured by your comment.

Taken aback, you turned to face him fully, canting your head to one side. It was not mock frustration that you found in his features — it was true. “What do you mean?”

“You continue to place me upon some pedestal,” Halbrand scoffed, peering elsewhere, gazing at the hot coals of the forge. “What if I am not what you think me to be? What if I am simply a Man with not a drop of nobility to his name?”

With a furrowed brow, you folded your hands together, studying his visage. He seemed frustrated yet forlorn, as if he were remembering something — lamenting, perhaps. “Then you are a Man.”

In the time that you had gotten to know Halbrand, standing alongside Captain Elendil on the ship back to Númenor, he was something of an enigma. Charming and charismatic with a great love of disobedience, but he possessed a veiled depth.

Galadriel seemed far more preoccupied with returning to Middle-Earth and hunting Sauron, making Halbrand a ruler over considering his feelings. If he wanted to stay in Númenor, craft a new existence — you did not blame him.

“And if I am not the man that you believe I am?” Halbrand pressed, as if seeking a certain answer from you. Some sliver of his being wanted someone to tell him that they cared little about his past, what he used to be.

“Whatever you are insinuating, I care little for it. Your past does not make you — only what you do from this moment forward,” You replied, mustering a gentle smile. “You are Halbrand — that is enough for me.”

If the She-elf had it her way, she would drag him back to Middle-Earth, writhing and screaming. In his own web of schemes, it was what was necessary — but time was infinite.

There was a peculiar gleam within your eyes, one that possessed a warmth and understanding that he was vastly unaccustomed to. “Hm,” He sighed, turning the cloth over within his hand. “Thank you.”

A brief laugh tore past your lips, one that seemed to bring the tension to a momentary heel. “What, for dissuading you against further scorn by the local populace?” You mused.

Halbrand happened to chuckle at that, a warm sound that made residence within your stomach, butterflies following suit. “For understanding, for your kindness,” He replied, his tone softening. “Not many possess your tenderness.”

Growing silent, you nodded, attempting to mask the brief glimmer of surprise that fluttered across your features. You were often regarded as level-headed and sage, yet soft when it mattered most.

“I do not wish to see you thrown in a cell again, or exiled from the Guild when you clearly possess a wealth of talent,” Your motives transcended that — part of you liked Halbrand. “I would do the same for anyone in your position.”

“Would you?” Halbrand’s inquiry, whilst outwardly inquisitive, seemed tinged with something unfamiliar — something amorous. Your nerves became set ablaze, skin uncomfortably warm.

As you swallowed the growing lump within your throat, Halbrand straightened, copper-hued locks framing his rugged face. He was handsome — statuesque, clearly carved with the frame of a warrior and a smith.

“Yes,” Hoarse and pitched with the sudden swell of nervousness, you idly toyed with the sleeves of your dress. “If you are to stay in Númenor, I would hope that you only continue to thrive with your craft.”

This craft was of little interest — Halbrand knew what he wanted, starting with you. Malleable like the finest metal, as beautiful as a glittering opal socketed into that of a signet.

“Is that what you want, for me to stay in Númenor?” Seas help you — this was madness. Halbrand’s poignant question made you wonder what exactly was about to happen, gooseflesh icing your spine, prompting you to shiver.

“What I want matters little,” There was a noticeable lack of conviction within your tone, as if you were convincing yourself of that very fact. “You are free to choose your destiny.”

You were fighting against the urge, the untoward craving that began to settle within your bones. It wasn’t proper nor appropriate of you to even consider wanting Halbrand, a man whose fate seemed far more important than your own.

To ask him to stay in Númenor, abandon the Southlands — you did not have the heart. It was born of greed and desire, wanting to keep him close to your chest.

“It matters to me,” Halbrand murmured, brows creasing together as he glowered down upon you, close enough to touch. “What do you want?” The malignant force deep within him begged to bring you into his stead.

Whatever perceived darkness hungered within you, it also screamed within him, with a shadow far more powerful than your own. Greed was unbecoming of you — you were meant to serve the people of Númenor, never yourself.

Whereas Galadriel possessed a fierce heart and unending thirst for vengeance, you longed to be free — no longer under the thumb of lesser Men, to lead and to be revered.

To be loved, to be coveted.

“Do not leave,” A plea, beseeching him to stay in Númenor, to stoke whatever flame was stirring between the both of you. The intensity of his longing stare nearly made you collapse. “Stay here, in Númenor.”

A hitch formed within your throat as his calloused fingertips graced your arm, tracing over the sea of mauve gossamer that clung to your form. Halbrand took your silence as something contemplative, afraid to make your true feelings known.

Again, he pressed closer, looming above you, caging you in against the table. You could feel his heat, smell the coal and metal, taste the fantasy that swirled within your mind’s eye.

Roughened digits caressed across your throat, over your slender neck, your collarbone. His touch was like that of a fire, a burn so wonderful that you would beg for it if you had to.

“Halbrand,” Barely above a whisper, your tone seemed strained, as if fighting against all of your baser urges. A peculiar heat raked its way across your flesh before settling within the pit of your belly. “I shouldn’t.”

“Do you think that you are the only one who possesses desire?” His wanton confession made your knees buckle, lips parting just enough for a soft gasp to escape you. “When my eyes found you upon that ship, I wanted — more than I have for some time.”

Words turned to ash upon your tongue, dying then and there within your throat. There was a fire within Halbrand’s eyes, one that sought to burn you, too. You felt the small of your back dig into the table, warmth licking across your spine.

Each breath felt labored, a dizzying sensation taking hold of you, as if this were more dream than reality. Yet, Halbrand remained close to you, chest-to-chest, digits finding the swell of your hip through the sea of violet fabric.

Instead of vocalizing your festering worry, you rocked up upon your toes, pressing your lips against his own. It was disarmingly gentle, a sheepish kiss that did not waste a second in becoming heated and charged.

He reciprocated with a blinding intensity, arm hitching around your waist, calloused palm spreading out against your back. Halbrand lifted you closer, his kiss inherently greedy and covetous, as if you belonged only to him.

His mouth swirled with wildfire, tasting of smoke and a hint of Númenorian stout, stubble scratching against your soft skin. Your hands found their purchase against his chest, able to feel the taut muscle beneath.

Hardened was a good way to describe him — rugged like the uneven ridges of tanned leather, swathed in heat. He cupped your jaw with his hand, reveling in the sensation of your flesh, akin to a plane of silk.

The state of dishevelment he was in mattered little to you — the soot upon his tanned flesh, the specks of dirt, garb somewhat tattered. You could not recall the last time you had yearned for someone so terribly that it ripped your heart into two.

Each clash of your lips evoked a pang of excitement that struck at your stomach, exhilaration pumping through your veins. Halbrand was a vigorous kisser — passionate and swift, stealing the air from your very lungs.

His palm slowly caressed from the small of your back toward your derrière, strong digits melding themselves into your clothed flesh. A hitch formed within your throat, anticipation mounting as the tension began to cloud the room.

Your digits possessed a mind of their own, climbing towards the nape of his neck, threading themselves through his bronze tresses. Halbrand kissed you again — softer this time, yet not without his domineering edge.

Lips bled into one another with an outpouring of want, a long-repressed sentiment caged within both hearts. Halbrand wanted many things — yet, what he did not expect was to crawl after you like some starving beast.

Every sensible thought seemed mulled, draped in this haze that clouded your mind. As you slowly recoiled from the kiss, you keened into the rough embrace of his palm, his digits cupping your cheek.

As much as you longed to continue, the locale seemed impractical, if not somewhat reckless. If someone were to catch you, you would never hear the end of it. Even then, you did not want to let fear drive you this way.

“Must I profess my desire once more?” Halbrand murmured, warm breath fanning across your visage, tinged with smoke. There was something tantalizing and enigmatic about him, swirling with some edge of mystique.

“I wouldn’t protest,” You whispered, which earned you the beginnings of a smile. He swept your tresses aside, bearing your neck to him as he bent in to kiss the soft flesh there. “Halbrand.” A low whine escaped you.

Stubble prickled and bit at your neck, yet you reveled in it, clutching at his shoulder as he pressed heated kisses to your throat. He was not hesitant in the slightest, letting you writhe and moan, plead for him to continue.

It was then that he began to gather your dress with one hand, firmly gripping at the mauve fabric as he inched it upward. Exhilaration struck at you again, the buzz of excitement, a thrill that you hadn’t experienced before.

There was not an inkling of hesitation from you, with little sign of stopping his advances. As he guided the gossamer along your legs, one palm snaked forth, calloused digits embracing your thigh, as smooth as silk.

He held little recollection of the last time he had touched something so delicate, as if you were some splendid jewel to be cradled, coveted. Halbrand kissed his way toward the curve of your jaw, searching your visage for a reaction.

As he parted your legs with his frame alone, your breath hitched, an audible noise that he found to be delicious. You were akin to some startled rabbit, ensnared within the jaws of a predator disguised as a friend.

Whatever smallclothes you wore beneath were of little consequence, giving way to that of his possessive embrace. Your hand flew back to grip the edge of the table, nails digging into splintered wood as he sought the heat between your legs.

Anticipation swelled within you, teetering on the edge of unraveling as you felt his digits ghost across your aching cunt. It was feather-light, intended to torment you — and torment it did.

“Halbrand,” A desperate gasp tore past your lips, needing him in a way that you hadn’t desired anyone else before. “Please, please touch me.” Your breathy pleas did not go unheard as he planted a kiss against your neck.

“Is that what you want?” A sultry purr rumbled from the depths of his chest, tone adopting a rather promiscuous resonance. He watched you nod several times over, fingers pushing past your petals as he touched your core.

A hand held onto his bicep for stability, the other haplessly fisting at the wood behind you. A moan emanated from you, desperate for anything he would give you.

Much to his delight, he found that you were shamelessly wet between your thighs, a nectar that refused to cease. “You are beautiful like this.” He murmured, fingers toying with your slit, eliciting another strangled moan from your lips.

Halbrand’s forehead brushed against yours, hawkish gaze absorbing the look of pleasure upon your face. He began to find a steady rhythm, worn digits sliding along the length of your cunt, letting you hold onto him as much as you pleased.

Any scrap of friction you received drove you mad, desperation climbing to new heights as your hips rocked forward into his hand. His stare became half-lidded, drinking you in with unabashed greed, longing to consume you.

Sighs of wanton passion drifted from you in droves, legs parted as he pressed his thumb to the pearl of your cunt. It was easy to evoke a reaction from you, the constant writhing, gasps and whines, the look of complete and utter bliss.

In sluggish circles, he caressed your clit, causing you to twitch again. “Halbrand,” A moan tore past your lips again, his name becoming a melody from your mouth, to be sung over and over again. “Do not stop, I beg you!”

“As you wish.” Halbrand’s voice raked hot embers over your body, reaching a salacious octave that turned your insides to molten liquid. He continued to touch your nethers, two digits sweeping toward your entrance.

An impenetrable heat swallowed your body whole, skin feeling damp with perspiration, somewhat in-part of the forge’s dissipating warmth. He continued to circle your clit, fingers lightly prodding at your cunt in an attempt to seek entry.

Rough lips fell to your neck again, gowns having slacked enough to give way to your shoulder and collarbone. You clawed at his bicep, rolling your hips again as you rocked yourself upon his digits, much to his delight.

With a brusque tug upon the collar of his tunic, your lips clamored for his, longing to feel his mouth. His kiss left you breathless, teeth scraping against your lower lip, bringing you to heel.

Heat pooled between your legs, coalescing upon Halbrand’s fingers as he teased your core, thumb working around the pearl of your cunt. A soft gasp tore through your throat, a moan escaping you into the passion of your kiss.

Again, your hips rolled into his hand, craving him in a way that resembled that of an animal; carnal, ravenous. A fire danced within his eyes, one that seemed to reflect the sentiments that festered within you.

“Give yourself to me.” Halbrand sighed, timbre trembling against the underside of your jaw before he looked upon you, unraveling from his touch. Need stirred within him, coupled with the swell of possessiveness.

He searched your countenance for any hint of hesitation, flicking his thumb across your clit once more. “Please.” You pleaded, waves of bliss rolling across your body, bringing with it a feverish heat that made you want him all the more.

Halbrand heeded your breathy plea, reaching for the leather ties of his trousers, wanting nothing more than you be inside of you. His cock twitched with amorous intent, muscles coiled, prepared to grab you.

His hand recoiled, leaving you with an aching emptiness that caused your cunt to clench pathetically around nothing. A hitch formed within your throat, words turning to ash as he lifted you onto the table.

Calloused, careworn palms kneaded into your haunches, grasping at your pliant flesh in fistfuls as he pressed his lips to your exposed shoulder. Rucking your gown up to your hips, Halbrand appraised you with a thinly-veiled lust.

There was no flesh as soft as yours, untouched — belonging to him. Anticipation churned within the pit of your stomach, lips agape as he unraveled the front of his breeches, freeing himself from its confines.

Flushed with a rush of ecstasy, Halbrand dragged you closer, hands traveling to cup your hips. He guided his length to your cunt, letting the tip of his cock linger there until he pushed forward.

“Halbrand!” You moaned, hand reaching to grasp at the nape of his neck, nails raking across his coppery tresses. The other seized his bicep, digging inward as he slowly rocked into you.

Nearly chest-to-chest, there was little room for discomfort, letting lust and urgency guide his hand. He huffed, steadying his ironclad hold upon your hips, fingers pressing hard enough to leave behind bruises.

His pace was agonizingly sluggish at first, drawing out each thrust in an effort to let you grow accustomed. Hot sighs of passion fluttered between the both of you, lips brushing over one another as he rolled his hips forward.

There was something exhilarating about coupling with you, the warmth of being alive, savoring the guise of mortality. Halbrand could see the attachment brewing within your stare, the glint of affection intermingled with desire.

The still-burning coals of the forge provided enough illumination for him to see you bathed in fire — and you were breathtaking.

Your heart pounded within your ribcage, so powerful that you thought it might burst through. His stubble scratched against your cheek, providing a pleasant burn that let you know that this was reality. “Move,” You moaned. “Please.”

Inclined to obey, Halbrand let his yearning for you show, as plain as a summer’s day. He began to thrust into you, hunching in and over, stabilizing himself with one palm flat atop the table.

The other squeezed incessantly at your hips, cock rocking in and out of you at a steady pace, yet the fervor was steadily increasing. Your head spun, clouded by lust as your paramour ravished you in the way that you deserved.

His countenance echoed your sentiments, shadowed with the haze of lust, a carnality that clawed at your very soul. You let your forehead press to his, brows screwed together in a state of bliss, grasping at his tresses.

Halbrand grunted, the low noise rippling through his chest as he held your thigh, digits clamping down to keep you firmly in-place. His cock throbbed with an ache of urgency, hips snapping forward as he filled you completely.

A moan erupted from your lips yet again, nails forming crimson crescents against his bicep, occasionally lurching forward to meet his thrusts halfway. His pace became somewhat erratic as he coaxed you to lay back.

Your back hit the wooden surface of the table, the uncomfortable bite of it all softened by parts of your dress. Halbrand hunched in over you like a wolf towering above prey, palm flat beside your head.

The groan of sturdy wood beneath your entangled bodies resonated throughout the forge, the heat beginning to dissipate. The warmth between breath and body kept you feeling feverish, and you hitched one leg around his hips.

It evoked another growl from his lips as the smith pounded away at you, keeping a firm and steady pace. Halbrand was rougher than some, but never enough to cause you discomfort or harm. He was invigorated, driven to madness by the sight of you.

He kissed you again, feeling your desperation through joined lips alone, your hand grasping at his toned forearm. Arousal mounted within you, as thick as honey oozing between your thighs.

Passion bled into need, the two tangling together into some fervent amalgamation. It showed in his movements, continuing to thrust into you, feeling your cunt clench around him. You were made for him, with a heart that he found as malleable as metal.

The arch of your back signaled that your release was swiftly approaching, keening into his embrace instead as you moaned. You did little to temper your volume, mouth agape, head rolled back — you were the picture of grace, now tarnished.

His name escaped your tongue like a wayward prayer, over and over again until it was the only word you knew. As his cock hit you again, sending shockwaves throughout your body, you came undone.

Your leg squeezed at his hips, feeling his own resolve crumble at the sight of you, disheveled because of his doing. Halbrand let out a sonorous groan, body nearly blanketed over yours as his cock slapped into you again.

The warmth you provided was enough to make him stay sheathed within you, spilling himself inside of you without thinking. It only served to fuel his possessiveness, as dangerous as a growing wildfire.

Rocking himself inside of you once more, you let out a strangled whine. Through labored pants, you slowly regained composure, feeling his hot breath fan out across your visage.

Halbrand pulled himself out of you, leaving behind the visceral remnants of your lewd exploits, the sheen of it coating the inside of your thighs. He noticed your sheepish expression as you corrected your garments.

“There isn’t anywhere you can go that I would not follow.” He uttered, fingertips tucking strands of hair behind your ear. As you moved from the table, the smith reached for something within the pocket of his trousers.

“Halbrand,” You began, knowing that asking him to stay in Númenor was not fair — to either of you. Perhaps you could enjoy what comfort he brought, for the time being. “I shouldn’t ask it of you.”

“No matter what destiny entails, know that you belong to me.” There was something strangely dark within his tone, disguised as affection — you were oblivious to it. He placed something into your joined hands.

Touched by such a sentimental gesture, you flourished in the aftermath of your coupling, feeling his rough lips press against the curve of your jaw. You shivered, feeling the weight of a trinket within your palm.

Your lips sought his, the kiss lingering, enough for you to feel it burn within your very soul. There was nothing that could describe whatever it was you felt for him, felt with him.

“What is it?” You inquired, warmth raking along your spine, faces brushing against one another. Halbrand lingered pensively, a smile tugging at either corner of his mouth.

“Consider it a gift.”

[teapartyprincess4two]

—

Teaser

pairing: Queen!reader x King!Matt

classification: slight angst

warnings: none

NEXT

—

Crashing waves are heard from the Eclipsum shore, a fog forming as the water slaps against the muddy sand. The sun is setting, slowly disappearing past the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful shade of purple. Matt sits alone, the old wooden dock beneath him groaning as he sways one leg back and forth in the water. His other leg is propped up, a lazy arm resting there to serve as a pillow for his head. His long hair settles just under his eyes, shielding his vision enough so that he only sees the black ocean that pushes and pulls around him. Matt’s mind is plagued with stress and worry, the only reason he’s even here is to escape the reality that awaits him back at the castle. This is meant to be his happy place, it is his happy place, yet he’s anything but.

The sudden sound of trotting hooves rings in his ears, alerting him of someone’s unexpected arrival and breaking him from his thoughts. “Matt?” a tentative voice asks, pulling on the horses’ reign hard enough for it to stop. There are only two people in this entire kingdom who refer to him by his this, everyone else opting for far more formal titles.

Reluctantly, Matt averts his eyes from the ocean, looking up to see none other than his youngest brother, Chris. The moon has replaced the sun’s place in the sky, the soft luminescence reflecting on the suit of armor that adorns Chris’s body. The white stallion Chris sits on adds to his strong, knightly demeanor, and if Matt didn’t know any better, he might’ve let himself get intimidated by the long sword that hangs on the armor’s sheath.

Matt doesn’t have to reply, or ask what Chris is here for, he already knows. Using one hand, he pushes himself off the wooden dock, a low grunt following as he dusts off dirt and debris. His attire completely juxtaposes Chris’s, a flowy, long sleeve white top flapping in the wind as he walks over to his brother. Matt places a gentle hand on the stark white stallion that stands before him, caressing its face before finally providing Chris with his full attention.

“Get on. I’ll take you back,” Chris instructs, a strong chin pointing to the rear end of the horse. Matt mulls it over, deciding whether or not to accept the invitation, before deciding that he’d rather prolong the process, “No it’s okay, thank you. I think I’ll walk.”

Chris shrugs his shoulders, steering the mare back into the forest before whipping the leather rope so that the horse picks up a steady pace. Matt watches as Chris disappears behind the treeline the further the horse trudges into the forest.

Slowly, Matt begins the long walk back to the castle, each footstep being met with the bioluminescence of the ground beneath his feet. A soft sigh escapes his lips as he takes one last look behind him, a faint, faraway kingdom coming into view.

For a second he wonders what it would be like to live there instead, but shrugs the thought off as the fog that rises from the ocean completely engulfs the view.

—

A warm tropical breeze shakes the palm trees that line the Solara shore, seagulls laughing as they circle the sky in search of an area to perch on. The sun is setting, a deep orange color colliding against the previously blue sky. You stand on the balcony of your bedroom, watching the seashells glisten under the white foam of the waves. Your palms hold a firm grip on the elegant marble balustrade, giving you the leverage necessary to peer over the edge. Small children giggle as they play on the warm beach sand, earning a small, sad smile from you. Usually a day like this would bring you nothing but happiness, but as you watch the children chase each other, you can’t help but be overwhelmed with a deep sadness.

The sound of your heavy bedroom door creaking open catches you off guard, your hands pulling away from the balustrade and clutching your chest. “Ma’am?” a soft, careful voice asks. Immediately you recognize it as Martina, your handmaid. You know she won’t enter without permission, so you take a deep breath to gather yourself before replying, “Come in, Martina.” Her hands nervously fidget with a white apron so old that it’s yellowed over the years.

“They’re waiting for you downstairs, Ma’am,” Martina whispers, avoiding eye contact at all costs. Although she’s only the messenger, she’s scared because she’s delivering news that she knows you don’t want to hear. Another breathy exhale escapes your lips, clammy hands smoothing down the front of your ruffly dress. She notices your unease, and in an attempt to help you stall, proposes an idea, “Would you like me to help you change into a new dress, Ma’am?”

You steal one last glance out the balcony, but the sun has completely set, and the sky is so dark that there’s no use. “Yes. That would be fine, Martina. Thank you,” you reply, shaky hands beginning to undo the lace of your dress. Another strong, warm breeze pushing past you, blowing your hair in front of your face. Instead of providing you with a comforting feeling, it feels like a slap to the face, reminding you that you’re quickly nearing reality.

Martina’s hands expertly weave the lace out of its constraints, and for a second you find yourself wondering what it would be like to be her instead. You dwell on the thought until Martina is instructing you to lift your arms, pulling the dress over your head.

Pitch black briefly surrounds you as the fabric swallows you whole, you wish you could stay there forever.

—

MASTERLIST, SERIES MASTERLIST

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03 @k-l-a-w-s @hearts4chris @maryx2xx @biggesthat3r @herxyzblog @getosuckers @mega-katya44 @tillies33ssss @fratbrochrisgf

[signoferoda]

BRAVING THE SHADOW- HS

Summary- Harry’s son has night terrors and is in need of a child’s psychiatrist

The nightmares wouldn’t stop. They were on a constant repeat, night after night, plaguing Indis mind. Clowns with jagged teeth and glowing eyes chased him through darkened forests, their menacing laughs echoing in his ears. The ground beneath his feet felt like quicksand, threatening to swallow him whole with each step he took. He could run as fast as he could, but they still caught up to him.

In his dreams, the six year old was always alone. He would call out for his parents or his older brothers, but his voice would get lost in the void, unheard and unanswered. Fear gripped his heart, leaving him helpless in the face of his nightmares. The terror was so palpable that even when he woke, he could still feel his heart racing as if he actually had ran.

Every night was the same, the patterns repeating themselves, leaving Indi exhausted and afraid to close his eyes. He would lie in bed, wide awake, dreading the moment when sleep would claim him once more and plunge him into the depths of his subconscious fears. He tried to stay awake, to fight against the pull of sleep, but eventually, exhaustion would overcome him, and he would drift into fitful slumber.

From early on, Indi had decided that there was no escape from the horrors that awaited him in the darkness of his mind. It was as if his own mind had become a prison, trapping him in a never-ending cycle of fear and despair where each nightmare would take on new forms and shapes, each more terrifying than the last.

During a particularly scary night, Indi's night terrors worsened, tightening their hold on him with each passing moment. He jolted awake with a terrified cry, tears running down his face, frightened to spend another moment alone in his bedroom, the nightlight Harry put up his room doing nothing to help him.

Softly, Indi padded down the hallway, his small feet barely making a sound on the cold floor, his heart still pounding in his chest. He tried his best to be quiet, not wanting to disturb his older brothers who slept peacefully in their respective rooms. Once he reached the doorway of his parents' room, he paused, gathering his courage before gently pushing the wooden door open.

Inside, Harry and Y/N slept soundly, the only light in their room being the bright red numbers of their alarm clock. Indi approached the king sized bed, his bottom lip trembling as he hesitated for a moment before climbing in beside them. He tried his best to be quiet, not wanting to disturb his pregnant mother, whose rest was precious and very much needed. Indi was a worrier but also a nurturing soul. He knew y/n was having trouble getting enough sleep, the pregnancy being particularly hard on her.

Harry stirred awake, blinking away sleep as he felt the bed shift. His heart melted at the sight of his son, his tear-streaked face seeking comfort with him.

"Indi, buddy, what's wrong?" Harry whispered, his voice a comforting murmur in the stillness of the night.

Indi sniffled softly, trying to stifle his sobs as he climbed over Harry to nestle himself between his parents, seeking solace in the warmth of their embrace.

Y/N, stirred next, her maternal instincts instantly on high alert. She turned to see Indi nestled between her and Harry, his small form trembling with fear.

"What's the matter, lovebug?" she whispered, reaching out to stroke his hair gently. Although the other boys had their dads hair, Indi was all y/n. It made her smile as he seeked her comfort.

"I had a bad dream," Indi whispered, his voice barely audible.

Y/N wrapped her arms around Indi, pulling him close to her swollen belly so that he could feel the steady rhythm of the baby's movements beneath his touch, a comforting presence in the darkness of the night.

"It's okay, bug. You're safe now," she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "We're here."

Harry squeezed Indi's small hand reassuringly, his heart aching at the thought of his son experiencing such fear. "We won't let anything happen to you, Indi. We promise."

With each soothing touch and whispered reassurance, the grip of fear began to loosen its hold on Indi's heart. He knew he would always find comfort in his parents arms so he let go, willing to fight his demons as he drifted off to sleep again. He made a silent vow to himself to be brave, not just for his sake, but for the sake of his soon-to-arrive baby sister. He knew he had to be big and strong for her.

A few days later, Harry and Y/N noticed that Indi's anxiety seemed to linger, dimming his usual playful spirit. Concerned for their son's well-being, they decided to seek professional help and make an appointment with a child psychiatrist.

As the morning of the appointment arrived, Harry and Y/N took on the delicate task of preparing Indi for his visit to the doctor. With tender hands and comforting words, they gently guided him through the morning routine, knowing the significance of the day ahead. Seated around the breakfast table, a hushed atmosphere enveloped the room, punctuated only by the clink of utensils. In a silent glance, Harry and Y/N affirmed their unwavering dedication to stand by Indi through his healing journey.

“Boys, why don’t you two go grab your school stuff whilst we talk to your brother” y/n began, smiling as Theo and Blake nodded and headed off to their rooms to grab their school bags. She nodded at Harry.

"Hey buddy," Harry began, his voice gentle, "Today we're going to visit a special doctor who knows a lot about helping kids feel better when they're feeling worried or scared."

Y/N reached out, placing a comforting hand on Indi's smaller hand. "It's perfectly normal to feel a little nervous, but we want you to know that we're right here beside you, okay? You're not alone in this."

Indi looked up at them, his eyes wide with uncertainty. "But what if the doctor doesn't understand?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry smiled reassuringly. "That's why we're going with you, champ. We'll all talk together, and the doctor will listen carefully to everything you have to say. She’s here to help, just like we are."

Y/N nodded in agreement. "And remember, lovebug, it's okay to share how you're feeling. This doctor is really good at figuring out how to make things better, but she need to know what's going on first."

Indi hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly, a small glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. "Okay," he said softly, "I'll try."

Harry squeezed Indi's hand, his heart swelling with pride. "That's my brave boy," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "We'll get through this together, I promise."

As they entered the psychiatrist's office, Indi clung to his parents' hands, his anxiety heavy in the air. The waiting room was filled with colourful toys and books, but Indi seemed too preoccupied with his thoughts to pay them any attention.

Harry and Y/N sat beside him, offering quiet words of encouragement and support.

"Indi, lovie, it's going to be okay," Y/N whispered, her hand resting gently on his knee.

Harry squeezed Indi's shoulder reassuringly. "You're doing great, little man. We're all here for you."

Indi nodded, his eyes stayed fixated on the door across the room. Every creak of the floorboards made his heart race, anticipation and anxiety warring within him.

Finally, the door opened, and a warm smile greeted them. "Indi?" Dr. Fox called, her voice soft and inviting.

Indi took a deep breath and rose to his feet, his parents following close behind. He stepped into the office, his heart pounding in his chest as he settled into the chair opposite Dr. Fox’s desk, his feet swinging.

"Hello, Indi," Dr. Fox said warmly. "It's nice to meet you. How are you feeling today?"

Indi shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes fixed on the floor. "Okay, I guess," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

"Can you tell me a little bit about what's been bothering you lately?" Dr Fox asked.

Indi shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I keep having bad dreams," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Clowns and stuff."

Dr. Fox nodded understandingly. "It sounds like those dreams have been really scary for you. Can you tell me more about them?" Indi hesitated for a moment, looking towards his dad.

“I know it can be scary opening up. But remember that this is a safe space, Dr fox wants to help you buddy.” Harry spoke softly, ruffling his hair.

Dr. Fox nodded “you can take your time”

Indi nodded for a moment before slowly opening up about his nightmares. He described the monsters and clowns that haunted his sleep, the fear that gripped his heart, and the sense of helplessness that lingered long after he woke.Harry and Y/N listened intently, their hearts breaking at the thought of their son struggling with such overwhelming emotions.

As Indi spoke, Dr. Fox listened attentively, offering words of reassurance and validation. She asked gentle questions, guiding him through his emotions and helping him to make sense of his experiences.

"You're a very brave boy for sharing your feelings with us, Indi," Dr. Fox said, her voice filled with warmth and admiration. "It takes a lot of courage to talk about things that scare us." Indi nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Together, they discussed coping strategies and techniques to help Indi manage his anxiety, from deep breathing exercises to creating a calming bedtime routine.

"Sometimes, when we feel scared or anxious, our bodies forget to breathe," Dr. Fox explained. "Taking slow, deep breaths can help calm your mind and relax your body."

Indi nodded, his curiosity piqued. "Like this?" he asked, mimicking the slow inhales and exhales Dr. Fox demonstrated.

"That's perfect, Indi," Dr. Fox said with a smile. "You can practice this whenever you start to feel scared or overwhelmed. Your daddy and mummy can help” the couple nodded, reassuring Indi that they would help in any way they can.

They also talked about creating a bedtime routine that would help Indi feel safe and relaxed before going to sleep.

"Having a consistent routine can signal to your brain that it's time to wind down and relax," Dr. Fox explained. "You could try things like reading a book, taking a warm bath, or listening to calming music."

Indi nodded eagerly, already thinking about which of his dads songs he’d listen to before bed. “Daddy, I want to listen to Fine Line tonight” he exclaimed to his dad, excited to try these thing that would hopefully stop his night terrors.

“I’ll play it for yah, don’t worry bud” Harry smiled. With each new strategy, Harry could see that Indi felt a little more empowered, a little more capable of facing his fears.

By the end of the appointment, Indi seemed a little lighter, a small spark of hope flickering in his eyes. Dr. Fox commended him for his courage in sharing his feelings and reminded him that he was not alone in his struggles.

Leaving the psychiatrist's office, Harry, Y/N, and Indi strolled hand in hand, their worries lightened by the promise of professional guidance.

"Thank you for being so brave today, Indi," Y/N said, squeezing her son's hand affectionately."We're going to get through this together."

[azrielwingspan]

RED SERPENT (Mob!Bucky x f!reader)

MASTERLIST

Chapter 3- Backstabbers

Summary: King and Queen of New York. The one who knows how to play the game, survives.

Warnings: Violence, mature content, sexual themes, foul language.

Disclaimer: I do not condone any of the actions written in this story.

"Shipment diverted. There's been no attack though. We made sure there was a leak about the cargo. Yet, no one showed up." Sam said at the briefing that morning.

Bucky listened, deep in thought. You could practically see the cogs in his brain working, trying to figure out a solution to this problem.

"But.." Sam continued on "I have a suspicion."

Here we go.

"Go on." Bucky said gruffly.

Clearing his throat, Sam seemed to gather his thoughts before speaking up "I think he's always one step ahead of us not due to lack of intelligence or skill on our part but rather due to...access to information."

You almost smiled at his very careful choice of words. It would be a direct hit to Bucky's ego if he had said it out straight. After all, Bucky handpicked the inner circle who knew mostly everything about the workings of his business. Well...everyone except you. You had been handpicked by his father. His last decision before he had passed away. A damn well good one at that or you thought so at least.

You could sense the change in Bucky's demeanor almost immediately. Silence plagued the room for the next five minutes and neither you nor Sam dared say anything. Your husbands anger could be quite explosive at times. Best to let him be.

After what seemed like ages, he finally spoke up. "Shut down cargo operations. I don't care how much money we lose. I'll take care of the mole."

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

The bass boomed through the speakers making you aware of your own heartbeat. You were at one of the clubs that your family owned called Mordoe. Nodding to the bouncer stationed near the private rooms, you walked through the doorway, your silver satin dress reflected on the black marble floor. The short train swept the floor as you made your way upstairs to one of the private rooms where the meeting was to be held.

Bucky had summoned the inner circle for a quick meeting. You knew what it was really for though. He had been on edge the entire day, jaw clenched, fingers twitching at his side. It had been a bigger hit to his pride than you had expected. How could James Bucky Barnes not realize he trusted a fucking snitch. You almost smirked to yourself as you reached the meeting room.

Here's the start to a long bloody night.

The bodyguard outside the room opened the door, his face a blank canvas. Stepping into the room, your eyes darted around taking in the six figures present in the dimly lit room perfused with the smell of whisky and smoke.

Steve was the first one to meet your eyes, his head dropping into a small nod. "Hello, Rogers."

He gave a familiar smile. "Looking radiant as always, Y/N. How have you been?"

"Better I suppose. Ready for tonight?"

"Do I have another choice?"

The both of you looked towards where your husband was seated. He had his head bent and was talking to Sam, a cig dangling between his fingers. Almost like your gaze had alerted him, he lifted his head and looked right at you.

Handsome bastard.

There were days when his face took your breath away, made you stumble upon your thoughts and give you wild satisfaction that the man in front of you was yours.

His intense gaze pierced into yours for a few moments before looking away again. Tonight was going to be a blood bath fucking hell. Steve realized it as well and let out a deep sigh.

"Tonight..." the room dropped into pin drop silence as Buckys' voice cut through. He spoke and everyone listened, always. "Tonight...I want to introduce to everyone a new member."

You tried to keep the shock and confusion off of your face. This was out of the blue. He wouldn't just add someone to his inner circle, especially when he knew there was an active mole.

"Some of you may know him. He's decided to join hands with me for a...short period of time. He'll he here in a few minutes but I wanted to tell you all that no fucking violence tonight. Got it?"

The fuck is happening?

He went back to his whisky and cig. Confusion swirled through your mind but you kept the rush of thoughts at bay. Walking towards him, you sat down on the table facing him. Sam walked away, his face etched in confusion as well.

"James..." Bucky took a sip of his whisky as he looked at you, face giving nothing away.

"What are you upto?"

"Didn't you listen to a word I said earlier, doll?"

"Don't you think it's too dangerous to bring someone in? Especially someone we don't know?"

"Oh believe me..." a hint of mania lit up his eyes as he spoke. "You know him, alright."

Your heart thudded in your chest as your intuition kicked in. This was bad. He had figured something out. Not the entire plan but a piece of it at least. Did he already know that it was you? Was he trying to get you to confess?

"Have a seat. It's going to be an interesting night."

You dropped into the seat next to him, face impassive. Your mind was flitting through all the possible scenarios. One wrong move and you could end up dead. You might be his wife but that didn't excuse you from the consequences of being disloyal.

His hand came to rest on your thigh and you tried to stay relaxed. Anxiety was coursing through your veins, the clock ticking towards a certain doom.

"Everything alright?" he whispered in your ear, his voice sinister. Or was that a figment of your imagination?

Turning to look at him, eyes colliding, you gave him a small smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Lies.

His eyes danced with unrestrained humor as he kept his gaze on yours.

"Just making sure." he said dropping a kiss on your shoulder. It would have been intimate if it weren't for the smirk stuck on his face.

This fucking mother---

The door opened.

Your breath caught in your throat, heart thudding painfully against your chest. It's all gone to shit. Everything you'd planned and prepared. Everything you'd worked so hard for. Gone to shit.

Alexander Pierce entered the room a smug smile on his face as he looked around at the astounded faces in the room. It was quite comical really. Steve looked at everyone else to make sure that they were seeing the same thing.

But the most concerning issue of all was the way your husband was looking at you. You could feel his gaze drilling into the side of your face noting every minute reaction.

"What are you doing?" you ask him voice lowered.

"You look quite...flushed from this angle."

He stood up suddenly, his voice cutting through the shock encompassing the room.

"Alexander. Good to have you here."

Speak for yourself, dickhead.

"Mr.Barnes, never thought I'd see this day." They shook hands as everyone watched on with guarded expressions.

"Let me get straight to the point. I know all of you are used to seeing him work for the other side. However, tonight onwards, Alexander Pierce is our man. He has been reporting to me for the past few weeks and will continue to do so. Thanks to him, we've been able to capture the fool who attacked our warehouses. He's proven his loyalty to me and will be rewarded accordingly."

What.the.actual.fuck.

He had played you. He played you so well, you fell right into the trap that your loving husband had set.

No one spoke for a minute. You bet this never happened even in their wildest dreams.

Bucky went on. "Now onto another little problem. There's a snitch among us. One of you in this room has forgotten where your loyalty lies. It's quite unfortunate really but the consequences must be paid. Our new friend here." he says gesturing to Pierce. "will help us exterminate the pest. Saves me money and time. I really hoped it wasn't from the five of you but...here we are."

Your hand clenched into a fist. The bastard had openly declared that he didn't trust his own wife. Anxiety was replaced with anger. He was stripping you of your dignity as well.

"That will be all. Enjoy your evening." Alexander and him went off to a side to talk quietly as you remained stuck to your seat. Steve was the first to approach you.

"Did you know?" he asked still looking a bit dazed.

"How the fuck would I know? Do you think I would have let this happen?" you spoke through clenched teeth, eyes trained on your husband and his new pet.

"Just asking, sorry. Do you think he's losing his mind?"

Your head snapped towards Steve's eyes blazing. "These...circumstances might be new, Rogers but the next time you talk about my husband that way...Pierce will be the least of your problems."

His eyes flashed with alarm as he raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry..I'm still a little alarmed. We've been hunting him down for as long as i can remember. suddenly, he just appears? I'm just worried that he has a bigger plan that's playing out.

You pondered on his thoughts for a minute. It was true. Pierce had hard to catch unless he wanted to be. Where and how did this partnership with Bucky start?

"You're right...but Pierce is nothing compared to James. If anything, I'm worried about James not telling us something. There's something much much bigger happening and we're blind to it...for now."

Sam approached the both of you and leaned in to speak in a low tone. "Up until now, I thought I knew everything...I guess not."

You rubbed your temple as a headache started to set in. "I'll speak to him. See if I can get an idea of where his head is at right now."

Sam shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"What?" you asked, an underlying edge of annoyance tinging your voice.

"No offense to you ma'am but...he did make it sound like you.." he trailed off but enough was said.

A tinge of red blossomed on your cheeks. "Well...that is there I suppose. A couple of nights on the couch should set him right."

Steve stifled a snort. The array of emotions going around sent your head spinning. You had to sort this out and fast.

"Mrs.Barnes" a voice spoke from behind Steve and Sam. Alexander Pierce stepped into view, a knowing smirk on his face. "Pleasure meeting you...again."

Fuck.

Chapter 4

TAGLIST:

@ordelixx @mrsnikstan @scott-loki-barnes @marvel-wifey-86 @tenderly-hopeful-collection

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Embers are beginning to simmer, and smoke is rising. Something is on its way.... Hehe, here is another chapter my loves. I will be posting (attempting) almost daily now with updates as I am keen to finish this series with you all! <3

Chapter 96: Whispers 

Aemond had left not too long after his offering of the blade to you.

You had taken it, with shaky hands and held it in your own as Aemond watched. He seemed on guard, as though he half expected for you to plunge the blade inside him. 

But you didn’t. 

And instead, the smallest of sobs had fallen from your lips, and you had whispered a small 'thank you' to him, before throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss goodbye. 

You could not use it on Aegon, not unless you wished for your own death, but it was an option. Something you didn’t have much of in a time like this, and it was something that eased parts of your fears and worries. 

For to have a weapon of protection is far better than to not. 

It was clear that Aemond had the blade forged especially for you. Something that he had gotten made before this moment, something he had the foresight to do.

Something he had clearly thought on for nights, to acquire Valyrian steel, rare as it was, to create the design, and have it ready before his departure, something he clearly sensed was coming.

Something he had warned you about in his study.

Rebellions in Riverrun.

The hilt was small enough for your hand to hold, and not too heavy, the perfect balance within your palm. It was obvious, if not glaringly so, that Aemond had put a lot of thought into giving you this, but what truly gave it away was the two dragons and their stones. 

Black and Green.

Kasta se Zōbrie.

You had watched Aemond leave, and tucked the blade between the space of the mattress and headboard as he turned his back, hiding it somewhere just within reach so that you could easily grab it, conspicuously if needed, if you happened to find yourself with the King again.

For the next two days, you locked yourself away in your chambers to hide, asking your two maids to stay with you, having them sleep on the chaise and armchair in the chambers. 

You barely slept, and when you did, you were plagued with nightmares of your eldest uncles return.

The slightest sound in the chambers alerted you to a presence that was not there, heart racing and eyes wide. You were sure your heart would eventually give out with the way it was constantly stuttering in your chest. And so you slept with your hand beneath the pillow, fingertips grazing the hilt of the blade.

When the fifth day had come and gone, you had started to feel yourself become undone. 

Everything caused anxiety. The sound of laughter outside. Birds that breezed past your windows. The soft hum of Flea Bottom below. It was all fear inducing.

The waiting of the unknown was most tortuous. The threat of danger constantly lingered in your periphery, and even in your restless sleep, you were on guard, ready to fight or run.

And at times, exhausted amongst your sheets, nerves frayed and taut, skin around your fingers picked raw, you wished the King would get it over and done with. To end the anticipation of his cruelty, the constant on edge.

To get his cruelty and be done with it. To reap what he had sowed, so that your heart could at leasts settle and know it was over. Know that it was done.

But it wasn't.

And a part of you felt as though he was doing this on purpose, as he had the last time.

The nervousness caused so much strain on your mind, so much worry, that you had begun to see the familiar faces of loved ones in your periphery again, but when you would turn your head to see the mop of brown hair or the head of silver, they would be gone. 

It was as if they too were lurking in the shadows with the King. 

Plotting.

Waiting.

The maids were fraught on what to do, and had insisted upon you exiting the chambers, begging you to leave the room and get some time in the sun and fresh air. 

"It will help you, Princess."

"It will ease your worries."

"The Maester would have told you to walk. Speak with the Gods. Be by the water."

And so after the fifth day, you had agreed with them, making your way down to the Gardens.

But you did not stay still.

You kept on your feet at a steady pace, never straying in one spot for too long lest you be found, doing laps of he Gardens that made no sense at all. Cutting corners, running across beds of flowers or ducking between branches.

You were lost in a daze as you kept the pace, mind tired from lack of sleep, and thats when you found yourself at the entrance of the Dragon Pit.

And who else would be there, but the Master of Whispers himself. 

“Princess.” Larys Strong greeted you, hand placed firmly on the top of his cane. 

“Larys.” You greeted in return, tone clipped.

The Strong man tilted his head, taking in your appearance, “It has been a while since any of the Lords have seen you. Are you well?”

“Yes.”

His eyes roamed your body in thought, before they settled back on your face, brown eyes boring into yours. 

“You need not grieve alone, Princess. Lady Alicent worries after you.”

You snorted, patience as brittle as your nerves, “Does she? She has not come to my chambers to seek after me once.”

“The Dowager Queen has many duties she must attend to.”

“I’m sure. It would be strenuous work to usurp the Iron Throne.”

Larys stepped forward, his cane clunking down onto the stone below, the sound echoing down the stairs to the Dragon Pit. 

“I have yet to offer my fullest condolences to you and the child you lost.”

You breathed in through your nose heavily.

Larys tilted his head again, and it reminded you of a dog, “And the Maester too.”

You swallowed, memories of the blood soaking the throne room flashing in your mind. Cries. Pain. Blood, so much blood. The smell of copper filling your nose.

The pain.

You stayed silent, not rising to his bait and continued to stare at the man, hands curled into tight fists at your side.

“Although, there is not just condolences I can offer to you.” He mused, looking up at the archway he stood beneath, short nose begging to be pushed further into his skull by your fist, “There are congratulations in order.”

It was your time to tilt your head, “Speak plainly, Lord Strong. Alicent may entertain your false intellectual musings, but they ring hollow to my ears.”

A small smirk pulled at his lips, “A congratulations to your disposal of the witch. I did not think that you had the means to do so, but clearly the Maester had been a wolf amongst the sheep all along.”

“A dragon devours sheep.”

“And wolves too.” He added, “The King saw to that. Or, I should say, you saw to that.”

Your teeth ground together, nails digging into the skin of your palm as you tried to steady your anger.

Larys stepped towards you again, voice quieter this time, as both of his hands came atop his cane, “Thank you.” He began, “For when you told me I was missing something, I spent many nights to think on it.”

Your breathing became laboured and heavy, face heating up in anger and dismay at your own foolishness. 

“I was in bed when it came to me. Such a small, little thing. I almost missed it completely. Who else had you been in contact with but the Maester? Who had such close relations. Had been in the Keep far longer than others. Long enough to have a relationship with your mother, or dare I say, your father.”

You sneered at the man in front of you, “A reminder, Larys. That though you are a sheep in wolves clothing, you are sheep and wolf nonetheless.” You spun on your heel, moving to storm away from him and the Dragon Pit to return to your chambers.

The clunk of the cane followed behind you, and soon the whisper of his voice filled the air.

“The clever wolf has no opinion on the sheep, or dragons. He simply thrives where he can. And if the dragon can provide more than the sheep, then perhaps he can wear its scales.”

You stopped mid step, and spun one last time to face him, “A clever wolf is as smart as the sheep, should he go asking for treats of the dragon and climbing into its jaws expecting to not feel teeth.” You chest heaved, “If you are offering favours in turn for mine, I would have to tell you that I would trust Aegon more than I could ever trust you. I am more inclined to devour you than entertain your clever jibes. A Master of Whispers cannot whisper without his tongue." You threatened.

Larys stared at you for one moment. 

Then two.

And then, the older man bowed his head, keeping his eyes upon you with one brow raised, and left you to stew in the confusion of the interaction. 

Wolves and sheep and dragons. 

You did not care for his riddles and clever word play.

All you knew, was that you were deep in the vipers nest and surrounded.

-

Several days turned into a dozen, and you had still not seen Aegon.

But this did little for your nerves, for you knew he was planning something. Waiting for the perfect time. And so when you ventured down to the Gardens that morning, it had not come to you as a surprise that he would be there. 

And there he was, seated atop your pillows, looking out at the water as the light from the sun glinted on the crown atop his head. 

You blinked as you looked at him, feet rooted in the spot. His silver waves turned as he looked at you with a smile, patting the spot beside him.

“I’m glad I have finally caught you, slippery little thing you are. Come. Sit.” Pearly white teeth gleaming at you predatorily. 

You slowly made you way over, carefully schooling your features to not show the fear that leapt into your throat. You sat yourself where Helaena once had, and it felt like an eerie piece of familiarity, as though you were seeing him through her eyes.

“It has been hard to find you, as of late. You seem busy in the Red Keep with no title to keep you preoccupied. You are no Master of Law or even Mistress of Whispers.”

“Was it hard to find me because I seemed busy, or because I lacked a certain want to be found.” 

Aegon laughed heartily, “Sharp tongue as ever. I would expect no less.” He shifted on the pillows, leaning an arm on the wall beside him as he looked at you, chin in his palm, “And how goes my favourite niece?”

“I am your only niece you speak with, and it is not by choice.”

“And that is what makes you so special.” He grinned.

A slimy feeling crawled over you skin.

“As well as I can be considering the circumstances.” You said flatly, answering his question.

Aegon frowned sadly at you, “But of course. It would have been hard to lose the babe so suddenly. I only hope that my brother has been kind to you.”

You stayed silent as you looked into his violet eyes which danced with mischief.

“Tell me, have you tried for another?”

Heat rose in your cheeks, “Another?”

“Yes.” The King nodded as though you were a child, “Helaena lost a babe once, the stress of the pregnancy weighed too heavily on her body. It is to be expected with some women. I remember the Maester telling Helaena that after giving birth is when women are most fertile.”

Oh.

Aegon grinned at your silence, “Well, whilst my brother is gone, perhaps I could help you along.”

Panic wound its way through your limbs, hands curling into fists at your side.

Aegon sighed, looking up and out at the water, “Not for a lack of trying on my part. It seems that mother and Otto have been purposefully keeping me preoccupied to keep me away from you. But they can’t keep their eyes on me all the time.”

His silver waves bounced around his face as he turned to look at you sharply, sitting forward, “I’m going to fuck a son inside of you.”

Revulsion curled up inside of you. Leaning forward, you sneered at him, “I killed your precious little bastard that grew inside of me. The Maester’s parting gift.” You spat, standing abruptly you towered over the man, whose smile had dropped from his face, “Touch me again, and I will claw your eyes out and cut off your cock.”

You breathed heavily as you looked down at him, and he up at you. 

Aegon did not speak again as you stalked away, making your way back to your chambers in a hasty retreat.

You spent the rest of your day sat on the bed, hand beneath the pillow, hilt of the blade just in reach. 

And when dinner had been brought to you, and you ate with the maids watching and were readied for bed again, requesting they sleep in the chambers with you, your fingers were once again under the pillow, ready to grab the blade.

Aegon did not make an appearance.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

[wheredafandomat]

The curse of your love

Asgardian! Loki X Female Asgardian! Reader

18+ | contains smut, angst?

Being one of, if not the most powerful witch in the realm as well as a high esteemed member of the kings guards trusted to protect the realm spiritually, you were part of the covert operation to detain Loki Laufeyson who was also prince of Asgard, although you referred to him using a different moniker. This meant that you had to report back to Odin at least four times a week with your findings. You stood, head down in the throne room as Odin spoke.

“We must be on high alert if Loki really does plan on overthrowing me and ruling this realm.” He said sternly.

“If I detect any use of his power I’ll be sure to inform you.” You declared.

“Good” Odin nodded “slowly but surely he’s reeking havoc on the nines and must be stopped before he causes catastrophic damage.”

“Yes sire” You agreed “anything else?”

“No, you are dismissed.” He gestured for you to leave. You bowed curtly before making your exit and heading back towards your room in the palace. Like the monarchs themselves, you lived in the palace alongside the other royal guards all specialising in their own field of protection. On your journey back to your room, you bumped into Thor who was the older prince of Asgard and Lokis brother. He walked alongside you silently, glancing at you before he cleared his throat.

“So you haven’t heard from my brother at all?” He questioned, the query taking you by surprise.

“I haven’t.” You agreed.

“And you are sure?”

“You think me a liar Thor?” You paused, looking up at him.

“I think you are loyal, but to whom is the question.” He answered.

“Are you accusing me of something?” You asked, brows knitting as he stood in front of you, eyes running over your face.

“Not yet.”

“Well then move out of my way whilst I continue my search for your bother.”

Thors gaze narrowed as he looked you over again as if searching for a lie, a deceit in your words before his face relaxed and he smiled, standing to the side and gesturing for you to pass. Your room was just further down the hallway so once you were certain his eyes were no longer on you, you sprinted the rest of the way, pushing your door open and slamming it closed before resting your back against the wall and releasing a breath.

“You can come out now.” You called. “You’re here, I can sense it.”

A few moments later, Loki made himself visible, your eyes landing on him standing in the middle of your room. He looked rough, rougher than last time but still handsome nonetheless.

“If Odin knew you were here he’d—”

“Have me executed, I know.” Loki finished, stepping towards you, his hand finding your cheek as he stood in front of you, a smile playing on his lips. “My inamorata.”

“Loki do not.” You dismissed, slapping his hand away.

“Am I not allowed to touch you?” He questioned, his hand moving back to your cheek “am I not allowed to caress the skin of the cheek I’ve spent countless nights kissing? To ghost my hands over the body I’ve spent centuries worshipping?” He continued, hands moving to run up your arms, down your back and over your sides as you turned your head, facing away from him. “Am I not allowed to press my lips to those that have pleasured me endlessly? The lips that have screamed a multitude of I love yous all directed at me?” He finished, his finger finding your chin as he turned your head back towards him, your eyes meeting for the first time since his arrival. For a moment you saw the confliction, the torment as his crazed gaze bore into yours before he leant in, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. You sighed into the kiss, willing your body to not melt against his as he broke the kiss. “Am I not allowed to love you?” He asked, pulling you flush against him as you inhaled his familiar scent with a shaky breath.

“Your love is a curse.” You murmured against him.

“Well then consider yourself cursed, plagued with my love for you.” He answered, speaking into your ear before he kissed you again. He stepped backwards, holding your hand as he pulled you back with him before he sat at the edge of your bed. Your hands were in his as you stood, looking down at him as he looked up at you. You tried to keep your breathing even, ignoring the fact that he was eye level with your centre. “If my love is a curse then y/n, my love, you are doomed—” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around the small of your back, pulling you closer. You almost fell on top of him, steadying yourself with your hands on his shoulders. Your breath hitched as he kissed your hipbone over your dress before hiking it upwards and pressing his lips to your bare thighs. “—because I love you more than life itself.” He spoke, raising one of your legs and bringing it next to him, your knee bending as his kisses met your inner thigh.

“Not more than power, the realms, c—control.” You stuttered, contradicting him as his mouth met your cunt. He licked ardently at your clit before pausing and glancing up at you.

“Darling, I have control.” He stated, clicking his fingers before your dress disappeared leaving you completely naked. Grinning, Loki lowered himself against the bed, pulling you with him until you were straddling his face. Your thighs were either side of Lokis head as his tongue circled your clit. You rolled your hips against his face, moaning as you gripped the headboard. He wrapped his lips around your bundle of nerves, sucking gently as your moans increased.

“W-well then w-what are you trying to prove?” You managed to grit out, your peak fast approaching. Ignoring you, Lokis hands gripped your thighs firmly as he continued sucking your clit. You saw stars, head lulling backwards as you came, coating Lokis face in your arousal. He continued to tease you until the moment passed and you rolled off of him and onto the bed. Licking his lips, Loki turned to face you.

“It’s my birthright y/n, to be king.” He stated.

“And you’ll stop at nothing to fulfil this supposed birthright I assume, even if it means destroying Asgard in your wake. Hurting me?” You grimaced.

“Inamorata” Loki began, stroking your cheek “I would never hurt you.”

“I want to believe you Loki.” You replied causing Lokis jaw to clench. Didn’t you believe him? “But I dread your ambition may overthrow your rationality more than it already has.”

“I’d never hurt you.” He reaffirmed.

“But you’ll hurt this realm? Everyone that I love?”

“This place will be littered with flames that burn brighter than Nidavellir but y/n, my love, I will never hurt you.” He confirmed as a tear rolled down your cheek.

“I will stop you Loki” you sniffled “I have to stop you.”

“Then stop me.” He uttered, kissing you again before making his way above you. The kiss was messy, both of you desperate to be closer as Loki used his seidir to rid himself of his garments. You hummed contently feeling his skin against yours again, the thrum of his heartbeat. More tears fell down your cheeks knowing that this was all temporary. Loki kissed them, he kissed every tear away as he lined himself up with your entrance. “I love you.” He spoke against your lips as he pushed inside of you, more declarations of love following with every thrust. Those three words he whispered into the crook of your neck rang like poison to your ears. He made love to you, such sweet love. He held you against him as he came, coating you both in a layer of intimacy that you wished you could stay in, bask in but alas, this couldn’t last long.

Once he was spent, he began pushing hair away from your forehead as he looked into your eyes. You could feel him softening inside of you as you looked up at him.

“Now, as certain as I am that I’d never hurt you, I can’t say the same for you when it comes to me and darling, I’ve got a mission to complete.” He interrupted the quiet moment leaving you confused.

“Loki?”

“Until next time my cursed one, when Asgard will be in ruins, engulfed by flames as you take your place as my queen.” He smiled.

“L-loki?”

“Sweet dreams.” He wished, kissing your forehead before everything faded into darkness.

A/N: this was one of them ones I’m literally writing as my eyes fall asleep because I neeeed to get it out 🤣 goodnight my sexy aliens 💚💚

Tags:

@lokisninerealms @lokiprompts @mischief2sarawr @lulubelle814 @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @eyesbluelikethetitanic @vickie5446 @mcufan72 @fictive-sl0th @peaches1958 @lokilvrr @evelyn-kingsley @strangelockd @xorpsbane @lovingchoices14

[astro-naut9]

context: astro and bryan relationship

SO!!! GUYS GUYS GUYS!!!

i got lazy drawing astro's body so you get a floating eye instead. ALRIGHT, so HERE IT GOES BUD

as we know, or not, Astro is (one of) the God(s) in the Multiverse. He is sometimes known in Astrylis as the "All-Seeing" or the "Guardian Of Astrums" (Astrums are what people living in Astrylis are called). So, he's a god, right? He's this VEERYY overpowered being, allowed to do whatever he wants, be it good or bad, it doesn't matter.

Spoiler Alert: HE'S AN ASSHOLE

And Bryan is this 38 year old guy who's living in a cottage in the woods. He actually works as a lumberjack and living in the woods just makes his job easier. He uhh graduated college pretty early cuz he's smart n all but didn't really pursue it much and just earned a degree in mechanical engineering.

SO, here come's Astro, bored off his ass one day and decided to stalk people. He followed everyone who seem to capture his interest buuut it doesnt last long and he moves to another person. BUT THEN.THENTHEN THEN HE SEES THIS GUY.

he's like 30 the time Astro meets him

Bryan, just casually pullin up his truck and going in a store for uh wood or something, and then Astro got curious and he followed him to his cottage.

He then saw Bryan working on some mechanical stuff, whatever it was. Bryan's got a lot of machines and science shit in his basement and some blueprints for machines to make his life easier and Astro's like 'Wow this guy is smart' and then it goes on for days just basically looking at him and then one time he visited him in his dreams and was like

'yo ur interesting wanna work w me'

nn bryan was like 'GOD??!??! no'

so then astro was like 'but this is gonna make astrylis more advanced i mean u could probs use ur machines to help society right /gen'

BUT BRYAN IS LITERALLY THIS SELFISH PRICK SO HE'S LIKE 'no??? i dont wanna help society now go bugger off' cuz he wont swear

then Astro thought bro was interesting (FOR ABSOLUTELY ALMOST NO REASON???) so then he disguised himself as human and started conversations with him n then those convos began to be flirty (cuz astro would keep on mentioning bryan's interest and bryan's like wow someone interested in my interest like ok wow) BUT LIKE THE THING IS

BRYAN DOESN'T KNOW THE HUMAN IS ASTRO BECAUSE ASTRO DIDNT USE HIS PURPLE COLORED FORM!!! ASTRO LOOKED LIKE ANY OTHER GUY EVER and Bryan being the bisexual king himself he just went w the flow and SLOOWWLLYYY fell in love w him but didnt mention it

also Astro was in BIIIIG denial cuz like, he's a god, no love for mortals!!!

and Bryan hates Astro but not Human Astro so their dynamic is pretty funny to think about thats whjy they plague me

and then w Astro's denial, he began terrorizing Bryan's dreams aka just annoying him really and then sometimes makes himself visible to Bryan and Bryan only and fucks w him a lot like metnioning their interactions w human astro and bryan's like 'howd u know that'

like do u get what i mean

[hathorneheiress]

Grayson Hawthorne sikfics pt 5

Xander's POV

I tried not to show how worried I was when Nash told me about Grayson passing out and having a very high fever. I was relieved to hear that it was just from over working and he should be fine in a few days.

I had slept in, so that's why I got the news late. Max, Avery's best friend, and I stayed up late facetiming. She was still at collage and I was stuck at home.

She told me all about how collage was and I told her how life at Hawthorne House was doing.

As soon as I had heard the news, I was on his way to my brother's bedroom. Jameson must have left because no one was there except Grayson's sleeping form.

I sighed in relief as I watched the silent figure. Gray was sill very hot, but seemed to be okay.

I settled down beside him in a chair. Taking the wash cloth that was soaking in a cold bason of water, I wiped the burning forehead.

Staring blankly ahead, I remembered all the times I would come into Grayson's room at night to sleep with him.

I was plagued with awful nightmares as a child and I hated being alone in a big dark room by myself. Sometimes I went to Nash, but he snores really loud, so I would never get any sleep.

Jameson moved to much in his sleep, and he also talked to much. I just wanted someone who would listen but also give me comfort and security.

Gray did both.

He would grumble when I would show up at 2 in the morning, but he never kicked me out. He would throw back the covers and I would jump in. I was usually asleep within twenty minutes, and I would stay asleep till the morning.After a while I would stop waking him up and just crawl into the king sized bed. My brother's deep breathing was sometimes soothing to listen to as I tried to fall back asleep.

It wasn't loud like Jameson or a snore like Nash. It was a quiet, deep breath that repeated itself.

I don't know how long I was sitting there for before a thrashing sound alerted me back to the present.

Gray was moving back and forth in agitation. Though moving around like crazy, he was still asleep

I checked his fever to find it had skyrocketed at an alarming pace. What had been a low grade fever of 101 was now 104.7

I tried not lose myself as I quickly called Nash. He answered right away

"What do you need little brother." His thick Texan accent flowed through the phone.

"You need to get up to Grayson's room! His fever is dangerously high and he's starting to go into a delarium."

Nash hung up the phone and was in the room with me in no time. He took one look at the situation and then sprang into action. "Go get Jameson and call the doctor again." He ordered. "I will stay here and try to do what I can."

I sprinted to go get my other brother, all the while praying Grayson would be alright.

Tagging @lovelylima @reminiscentreader

[therhythmafterthesummer]

The Beginning of the End (M) ~Bang Chan

Pairing: Dokkaebi!Chan x Dragon!F.Reader Themes: Fantasy AU | Royalty AU | Established Relationship | Star-crossed Lovers | Smut | bit Angsty i’d say, all things considered… Warnings: written in Chan’s POV, mentions of war, graphic depictions of intercourse (smut warnings under the cut), they’re in love your honour... Word Count: ~2k | AO3 Summary: Whenever Chan held you in his arms again after spending long periods of time apart, he couldn’t help but feel selfish–and even a bit foolishly hopeful. [A sort of pt. 2 to Purple Flame].

Author’s Note: love me a fictional man that’s absolutely whipped for their significant other… they’re always the most fun to write. i’ve been in my feels for this couple these days… so here this is.

Due to all the abovementioned warnings, this story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors please do not interact.

Smut Warnings: unprotected penetration [piv], creampie (these two are using some form of unspecified birthcontrol, considering they’ve been fucking for years and she’s not pregnant. be careful irl tho)

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

Chan had never truly been a heavy sleeper. The tiniest of noises, changes in temperature, or changes in lighting would often wake him up, any of those were usually the cause on easy nights. On harder nights, he’d wake up in a cold sweat, plagued by the screams in his head, by the nightmares that would recount time and time again all those horrors and all that suffering he’d had to endure the past six years.

Tonight, as he woke up with the tiny ticks of a clock, he realised three things.

One, that even if the moon was shining extra bright, the sky was still dark out.

Two, that he wasn’t in his room.

And three, that there was warmth at his back, that there was another person next to him.

His mind was clear enough to recognise his surroundings perfectly, just as it was to know who that person sleeping next to him was–especially so as memories from before he fell asleep flooded his mind as soon as he regained consciousness, memories of you. Of you, alive, and safe. Of you, warm, and soft. Of you, nude, and needy for his touch…

Stretching his legs a bit, the tiniest of groans left his mouth, quiet enough he hoped it wouldn’t wake you up. He shuffled in his place under the covers, finally turning around to come face to face with your sleeping form, taking his time to admire the sight of your bare back, now exposed as the duvet pooled around your waist, his eyes tracing the assortment of scars on your back and the ink you’ve gotten over the years.

You.

His little dragon that filled his heart with nothing but love and admiration. There was nothing Chan wanted more in this world right now than to finally get to live his life with you, without having to hide, without having to pretend, without having to be on high alert every day in case the enemy made a move, or on high alert to avoid the Dragon Queen or the Goblin King from discovering your little–more like huge…–secret.

Chan shuffled closer, sneaking his arm between your own so he could lay his hand on your chest, hooking his index finger under the silver chain that hung from your neck, the chain you wore religiously every day at all times, the chain that held the ring Chan himself had forged with his own blue fire. The ring of goblin obsidian that represented that promise he’d made to you all those years ago. The ring he wished you could wear on your finger, publicly, proudly, safely…

Pressing himself to your back, his whole body moulded to yours, essentially making you his warm little spoon, and he couldn’t help himself from taking in a deep breath, revelling in the scent of your shampoo filling his senses, that shampoo he himself had lathered into your hair right before you fell asleep. You stirred a bit, not fully awake yet, but you shuffled to further press yourself against him, mindlessly taking his hand in yours and clutching it tightly against your chest, and Chan’s heart soared with the gesture.

With a deep sigh, he came face to face with reality again.

He shouldn’t be here.

He should’ve left last night after he made sure you were safe and sound, but every time he got to reunite with you again after spending long periods of time in the field, it was simply getting harder and harder to part from you–to part from your care, to part from your love, to part from your warmth…

Chan had spent his entire life giving himself to others, as Crown Prince, as his father’s son, as the War Leader of the Goblin Children… He’d dedicated his life to others, never asking for anything in return. The only thing he ever wanted was to be with you, to share his love with you, and the fact that that, as his only wish, was essentially unattainable in the current circumstances of his life, had him seething more times than he would like to admit.

He’d missed you so much this past month that having you here right now in his arms almost felt like a dream. So much so, Chan really couldn’t help himself when he started to press soft, tender kisses on the exposed skin of your shoulder, selfishly letting himself enjoy the warmth of your skin against his lips.

“Mmm…” You leaned into his touch, your hold on his hand tightening as you pressed further against him. “You’re still here…”

Your voice was groggy, heavy with sleep, but it made him smile regardless, it reminded him that you were also here, with him. “I’m still here… Can’t find it in me to leave just yet”.

“Mm… Don’t want you to”, was all you mumbled back to him, bringing his hand close to your mouth and planting a soft kiss on the back of it. “Missed you…”

Chan knew you missed him. Not only because you had repeated those words to him time and time again when you met last night, just as his cock buried deep within your cunt, just as you hugged him close to you, murmuring those words on his skin just as he did the same, but also because he just knew you had missed him. Because you always did. “Missed you, too… So much”.

“Mm…”

You were silent for a while, just as Chan kept sporadically pressing kisses on your bare skin, just as he relished the soft caress of your thumb on his palm as you held his hand close to you. He’d stretch these moments as much as he could, etching them into his memory for him to latch onto when he had to go back to his crude reality.

“I love you, Chris. My dearest Goblin Child…” your voice was barely a whisper, but everything around you two was so quiet, so peaceful, there was no way Chan could’ve missed it. 

His heart swelled, full of love, full of you, and his hold around you tightened. “I love you, too. My sweet little dragon…”

“Can’t wait for the day I get to call you my husband… For the day I no longer have to hide all this love I have for you in my heart…” Chan couldn’t help but smile against your skin. At times like these, when it was dark and quiet, when it almost felt like time wasn’t passing, you’d always let your feelings free, always professed your love completely unfiltered, always making him blush as if he hadn’t heard you say these things to him time and time again throughout the past six years.

“In my heart, you’re already my wife, darling”, Chan couldn’t help but chuckle, oddly amused by the entire exchange. He meant it, though. You were the sole owner of his heart, of his affections, you’d been for a long time now, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Mm… Your wife…”

Chan loved to spend these moments of silence with you. They were comfortable, peaceful. But sometimes, after a while of that silence, he’d developed this habit of bringing you both back to reality, of reminding yourselves why you were dealing with the situation that you were, and he knew you hated it, but he could never stop himself.

“Today’s the big day, love…”

You took in a deep breath as soon as the words left his mouth, but you didn’t say anything. After a while, your hold on his hand relented, and you turned around, coming face to face with him, and by the Ancient Goblins if you weren’t the most beautiful sight… Just looking at you like this, even with only the moonlight filtering through the drapes to barely illuminate your features, had his heart fluttering.

“Indeed it is”, one of your hands came to cup his cheek, and Chan couldn’t stop himself from bringing his own to lay on top of yours, to hold your wrist in his hand as you softly traced circles on his skin. 

Chan looked at you for a while, just taking in your features, taking in the face of the person he loved most in this world, and eventually, he couldn’t help but profess his love once again. “Love you…”

“Love you, too…” was all you said before your lips were on his, pressing soft, loving pecks that had his cheeks heating up and his heart thumping a bit faster in his chest.

With his hand moving away from yours to instead hold your waist briefly, only to finally sneak to the small of your back, pulling you flush to him, those seemingly innocent pecks quickly evolved into deep, hungry kisses that had Chan’s head spinning with how fast blood started to rush to his crotch as he kissed you just as hungry and eager and needy as you did.

Before he knew it, he was already on top of you, slotted between your legs, and easing himself within your tempting heat, right where he belonged, right where he wished he could stay for days on end. You held onto him tightly, kissing him slowly, but deeply, just as Chan kept that slow rhythm of his hips, making sure to enjoy as much of you as he could for as long as he could.

“Promise me, Chris…” You mumbled against his cheek as your legs wrapped around him, as your ankles interlocked to keep him as close to you as you could and your fingers threaded in his hair, tugging the strands gently. “Promise me you…” Your words came out slowly, slightly broken between soft moans as Chan fucked into you just how he knew you wanted him to, just how he wanted to. “You’ll try to be safe… That you’ll… try your best to live…”

“Promise…” Chan murmured, snapping his hips a bit faster, moving one of his hands to grip your thigh, eliciting quiet noises from your lips with the motion. “Want to live for you. Want to… spend the rest of my days with you, my love…”

With a slight tilt to his hips, Chan started to hit that exact area within your walls that had you throwing your head back in bliss, that had you struggling to keep yourself quiet, and your reactions had him struggling to keep himself quiet and steady. “Promise me, too, my dearest Dragon Child… That you’ll… you’ll live…”

“Promise… For you, Chris, my love, I… want to live”.

“Mm… My precious little dragon… Love you. In this life… and the next…”

Chan propped himself up a bit, just enough for you to sneak your dominant hand between your bodies, looking him right in the eyes as you started to draw circles on your clit. “In this life… and the next… My sweet Goblin Prince… My love… My life…”

With one final whimper, biting your lip to hold back on all those delicious sounds that would be too loud for the time of day, Chan felt your walls clenching with your release, the feeling, coupled with the words that came out of your mouth, had him snapping his hips harder, faster, chasing his own pleasure. And when he finally came, pumping you full of him, full of his seed, full of his love, he did so as he continued to profess his love to you with his lips pressed to your cheek, ‘I love you… I love you… Love you…’

Today was the day.

Today was the day the Firelands were going to finally strike Lyen directly. 

Today was the day that would decide your fates. 

Today was the day to end the war.

Chan was a realist, he never dwelled in false hopes, he was aware of how dangerous today’s task would be, how possibly fatal it could be for both of you. But right now, as he held you tightly in his arms, still buried as deep within you as he could, feeling himself going soft and his own release slowly trickling out from where your bodies connected, he could only hold onto that possibly delusional hope. He let himself believe for a moment that it would all be alright, that you’d both live, that you’d both finally get that future together that you so desperately needed, that you so rightfully deserved.

Tagging: @raspbinniecreme @staaa96 @oiminho @dundullresident @honey-lemon-goose @carefully325 If you want to be removed from the list just PM me. If you want to be added fill in this form~

© therhythmafterthesummer 2022-2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

Constructive feedback (or even keysmashes, really) is always welcome :)

[witchertorsten]

@afshinxeldar location: Nornwatch Keep notes: The Last Night ( this one is gonna hurt )

Plague was running rampant through the Keep, if the blight did not kill them then hunger and starvation would surely follow. Together with the legion they'd set a course through Hrimthur's Wastelands. The treacherous snow concealed fjords that could swallow a nation, every step needed to be counted and measured and every preparation would be made. When not running drills for the men, women, and children who were made to fight, Torsten kept watch outside the chambers of the ranting High King, or culling the ghouls that cropped up in the night.

For Afshin, Torsten's sword stood at the ready. Drawn to attention and pointed towards certainty, the prince had asked for a tutor and the witcher saw to it that his lessons drove home. He owed it to the prince to not handle him lightly, or with care, Afshin's own request aside, were Orhan alert enough to comment he would all but demand that Torsten take this as seriously as if he were any other recruit. He abstained from exercising the same level of harshness that he'd been subjected to in the Watch: Afshin's body would not be transmuting any poisons, nor would he be roused at dawn to carry buckets of water up frozen staircases.

Battered recruits, starved and thin like rods, bent to unruly limits and snapped back with course strength. When Torsten looked back at all he feared, he only saw himself. Their world was pillaged behind them and Afshin's people were falling one by one, but in time they would move on from this place they only needed to survive a little longer. If they flew too soon then their fate would be sealed, but if they waited too long then the Aetherians would find rot where the Iskarans had once been.

Swords abandoned, Torsten grappled with Afshin until he brought the prince down and pressed him into the cold stone of his chamber floor. The Keep was unforgiving, but here at least there would be no prying eyes to watch as the prince was bested over and over again. Folded and bent, Torsten pressed his forearm against Afshin's throat as he kept his lord down. He breathed into the narrow space between them, forehead bent against the other's as his heart steadily pumped in his chest: Torsten asked, "Does my Prince yet yield?"

[iinkonde]

Sedilaka

Translations • Makube chosi, makudede ubumnyama kuvele ukukhanya. = Every said on the shrine, let it manifest into everything we say and ask for. May Light prevail and darkness be abolished.

Camagu = Ancestral greetings equivalent to amen

Amathongo = Ancestors

Endumbeni = Rondavel house for the ancestors

Words • 2113

Taglist • @ziayamikaelson @sweetsummerhaze @nzia-writes @greek-freak101 @iinkonde

0.01

Trudging across the forest in attempt to get to the group of tiny figures playing around a small fire. Nearing the children, they start to sidle away or melt into the air. Only one figure remains, a child facing the fire .Slowling circling around the child, who continues to stare on at the bristling fire. Hands busy grinding something onto a big rock near their feet. Peering under the hood it’s eyes are blank,a far away look etched onto their features; features that are familiar… it’s the face… those eye-

Ramonda woke up with a startle. Laboured breathing as she gripped the bed sheets to level herself in reality.

Filled with adrenaline she makes work of getting out of her king size bed. Stumbling to the bathroom, her fingers find the switch as soon as she enters the room. The light is blinding but she doesn’t care.

Quickly making her way to the sink, flicking the tap open she falls over the basin immediately splashing the cold water on her face.

Absentmindedly reaching for a towel, dragging it down painfully slow. Wanting to delay having to look up into the big mirror in front of her. Afraid she’ll be transported back into the dream, transported back to those eyes. Ones she hadn’t seen in over two decades.

Raising her eyes to the mirror, she takes note of the bags under her eyes. The gray in her eyebrows. Exhaustion written all over her face. Her silk headwrap probably well on its way out of the palace now. Those things never seem to stay wrapped around her head. Her frizzy braids starring back at her. Pointing out of their original place.

She lets out a huff and shuffles out of the en-suite. Grabbing the gown laying on the ottoman.

Patting her bed for her scarf right on the edge of the bed the purple fabric lay. Snatching it she hastily wrapped it around her head, didn’t matter the presentation.

“Griot, the door.” Ramonda spoke to the AI

The door clicked open, she straightened her posture and stepped out. A few royal guards patrolling the hallway stopped to greet her. Yoliswa in particular quickly walked to her side.

“Queen Mother, are you in need of assistance?.” She hurried out.

“Take me to Ramatla. Alert the General tell her we have a long journey ahead” The Queen responded in a hushed tone.

She didn’t want for this to reach the ears of Shuri or anybody else before she understands what exactly this is, whatever these dream that’ve plagued her for a few weeks now mean

This one though, it left chills along her spine. The hairs on her neck were left sticking out she was nervous. Anxious for what awaits her.

Yoliswa quickly presses one kimoyo bead sending a signal to Okoye.

Ramonda turned and made her way to the exit of the palace. Yoliswa made a quick sign for the rest of the gaurds to stay behind.

"My Queen, are we walking there?"

Ramonda just turned and looked her in the eyes. That was a answer enough. Yoliswa nods at that and takes strides alongside her majesty.

¥

Venturing out at midnight was a repeating occurrence for the queen. For the year and half the palace has felt suffocating for her. She felt like the walls would close in on her. It felt so different and cold being here.

The two people she came into this kingdom for were both gone. She hadn’t had enough time to process the loss of her husband and she was losing her son a few years later too.

And she so quickly had to be strong for her daughter and her nation.

She doesn’t remember having a moment to just settle in her loss and feel the magnitude of the pain that she felt. The gaping hole in her heart too much to bear. So she’d explore Wakanda and all she had to offer all over again.

Just to keep her mind occupied because she was sure if she left it slip, she’d fall and never get back up.

The second set of footsteps behind her broke her out of her reverie. Okoye had joined them as soon as she received the message. Ramonda could sense the perplexity in the way the walk.

She was grateful both of them had followed her without question. Ramonda wasn’t sure she even had the answer. All she knew was she had to relay this to Ramatla. Hoping he could talk with the answer, beg them for clarity if need be.

Because for the life of her, Ramonda couldn’t wrap what she saw around her head. So many scenarios ran rampant in her head and none of them made much sense.

The journey to the seer didn’t take long. In the short distance they could see a figure by the rondavel.

Yoliswa quickly stepped in front of her to open the gate for them to enter. Okoye silently closed the gate behind her.

“Daughter of Lumumba, we were awaiting your arrival”. Ramatla stepped into the light.

Ramonda’s body went rigid for a minute. Blood drained from her head. This changed things. If they were waiting for her it means this was bound to happen. It was no coincidence.

All the of them work to remove their shoes. You can’t enter the ancestral house with shoes on.

Ramatla moves aside to let them enter eNdumbeni. He watched Ramonda sit near the mirror. Shaking his head chuckling as he noticed the anomaly of her action.

“Kawutsho Mntwan’ezinyanya uboneni?” Slight humour in his voice.

The two Dora’s couldn’t be more confused. They truly didn’t know what to make of this. Although there was a whimsical attitude in the way the great seer spoke to them, the atmosphere was tense. Seriousness filled the air.

As soon as those words left Ramatla’s mouth, Ramonda was transported back to her dream. And all the other visions she’d seen were all flowing and ebbing around her like picture’s swirling in the wind.

Okoye could see that her queen was in a trance, she crawled towards her. Sitting behind to support her neck. Ramonda’s body limp in her hold.

Ramatla motioned for Yoliswa to turn the mirror toward Ramonda.

He kneeled near them, incense burning slowly in his hold. He swayed it around himself first before doing the same to Ramonda.

Breathing it in harshly she let out a series of coughs. Her eyes opened slightly. A tear accompanying her focusing vision. Ramatla’s hand tilted her head slightly upwards. That triggered something.

Suddenly there was water coming out of Ramonda’s mouth.

To say Okoye and Yoliswa were horrified would be an understatement. Okoye was petrified, she couldn’t lose the queen. Not over something like this, this was unexplainable. Nobody would believe her. Ramonda couldn’t die, not in her arms. Certainly not so soon after they lost their Black Panther.

“Do something! Why are you just sitting here, can’t you see she’s choking?” Okoye cried out.

Ramatla just raised his hand to silence her. And motioned to a semi conscious Ramonda

Her eyes snap open., She’s covered in a cold sweat and water, salt water, shaking, heart pounding, looking around the room suspicious and paranoid that the water may have followed her.

"The water. It’s coming. I can smell it, it enveloped me and all of you-" Ramonda let out, frantically trying to sit up. She turned to Ramatla, the hint of humour from before long gone. Panic swirled in his eyes.

"The screams, people being swallowed by the ocean. My people”. Ramonda settles into whoever’s behind. She’s so tired, so exhausted.

“My Queen, the only thing that was shown to me was your pending visit. I was told to point you to that mirror. Our ancestors didn’t want any messages to come through me. Only that I provide you with means to an answer that’s been waiting for you for weeks now”. Ramatla provided sounding just as down as he felt.

Yoliswa who had been kneeling near the mirror throughout the episode, looked at Ramatla for an instruction. He blinked in response. Yoliswa shuffled closer to Ramonda.

“Queen Mother, are you comfortable with your soldiers being here. They also might be able to see what you see in this mirror?”.

Ramonda nodded quickly.

She didn’t have a choice and waiting for the counsel to decide whether or not her visions are things to consider emergent was not something she wanted to pursue.

Ramatla sings a few chants. He lights his incense again. They can’t necessarily hear the words he saying. His hushed tone and the way his words tumble out his mouth proves it difficult to follow his line of sentences.

“-ingathi ningam’mpendula. Makube chosi, makudede ubumnyama kuvele ukukhanya.”

He stands up and makes his way to the Djembe. On his way back he scopes a white powder substance. Wearing the drum diagonally around his body he starts to thump it slowly at first.

Walking circles around him, the rhythm picks up and the volume increases.He stops… only to blow the powder into the mirror.

The strange powder and increase danced in front of their eyes. The frequencies were high. When the smoke cleared, Ramonda’s eyes caught movement in the mirror.

The reflection of her environment slowly morphed into a motion image of free fields. Like a movie was projected on the mirror.

¥

The field’s started to seem familiar. It was like she was walking through them. A hut came into view. A very familiar hut. One she remembers playing in as a kid. One she remembers having sleepovers at as a teenager. One she remembers sneaking into as a young adult.

Remembers running up that hill to inform you she’d cracked the code. That she’d heard the elders whispering about a powerful hidden nation. One that she knew she’d be able to penetrate, because she’d said she was smart enough to do that one time.

She was. She did get into the nation. Had met a young boy in the woods. The woods that she’d later find out are some sort of hologram.

The hut was right in front of her now. It was like Mama Noziza would walk right out, with a glass of water ready for Ramonda to drink because somehow she always knew that she ran and never walked when she came up there.

Noziza would just tilt her head back and Ranonda would barrage past her to get to you. It was almost always the case. Ramonda’s mother had mentioned it was the same story with you too. They’d laugh about it over a cold glass of sugar water.

The wooden door opened. Nostalgia punched her right in the gut. She can’t remember the last time she’d seen this scenery. More than 20 years the voice in the back of her head whispers. Ramonda could cry, she wants to scream really.

The broken window on the left brings in the most light. She remembers it breaking. A bunch of your friends were playing with a DIY dodgeball made with plastic and filled with wet newspapers. Your cousin had tied it so tight you had to develop skills to dodge it because it was painful. The stinging sensation forever etched into her brain.

You, tired of losing threw it so hard it went just a little higher than you wanted it and it pierced through your window. Everyone scattered. Including Ramonda, who just as she rounded the Rondavel to try and slide down the small hill, was snatched from behind by Noziza.

Tears gather at the memories, they cloud her vision. Snuffling she wipes them away to carry on the journey her ancestors are taking her on.

As she fixes her gaze back into the vision. She notices the room is empty. Void of the small pieces of furniture it once held. It zones in again. She can now make out a small figure in the middle of the hut.

Kneeled down facing forward. It feels like déjà vu. The same instance as her dream earlier.

This time the figure turns around, still on the floor. One knee tucked into their chest. Hands still grinding into a big rock. This time though Ramonda sees a pile of leaves and branches surrounding the small figure.

It looks up… and Ramonda let’s out a chocked sob.

“No”. She lets out. “No”.

The mirror clears instantly. No sign of it ever being a projector or whatever the heck that was. Ramonda wants to get up and leave. But she knows she can’t. Her body’s too weak to carry her all the way back to the palace.

“Kumkanikazi, ngobani ababantu?”

¥

[imakemywings]

A Pilgrim in the Woods

Fandom: Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit/The Silmarillion

Characters: Gandalf, Thranduil, Thranduil’s wife (Niwe)

Summary: Gandalf first encounters the Elves of Mirkwood forest. 

Quick ref sheet on Thranduil's wife here if you're interested. 

AO3 (w/ author’s notes) | Pillowfort

_____________________________________________________

           It was often the custom of the Woodland King to go wandering among the trees, listening to the whisper of their branches and drawing peace and respite from the embrace of the forest. The damp softness of the soil against the bare soles of his feet, the drip of rainwater off the branches onto his head, the smell of the flowers and the leaf mold—all were a kind of cleansing of the stress of leading a kingdom, and the senses of the forest, given time, crowded out the circular thoughts that at times plagued his mind.

           While he enjoyed to wander so with others, he preferred to have time still to walk alone, for the solitude was refreshing and cleared his mind, and it pleased him to have conversations shared with none but the creatures of Yavanna that populated this forest which had grown into his home.

           It was abroad under the dark canopy of the woods when he first encountered the wizard.

           It was not immediately apparent that he was a wizard; in fact, little about him was immediately apparent, except that he had taken some interest in the Greenwood.

           Being intimately familiar with the magics of the woods, Thranduil was aware when he felt something that was not at home there. (Since he had taken up his father’s crown, he felt his relationship with the forest had changed; there was more intimacy, for lack of a better word, as if the magics of the woods pulsed in time with his own heartbeat. He wondered if it had been so for Oropher. He wondered if it had been so for Thingol. He wished he had asked, but he had not know the question then.) He paused, contemplating the nature of this intrusion—he was inclined, now, to believe such things were likely to be hostile—when the voice first addressed him.

           “It is not many a king to wander alone through the woods so early in the morning.”

           The Elvenking stiffened at once, his good eye darting about (accompanied by the sightless left), his sharp ears seeking to pinpoint the source of the voice. The effort was unnecessary—a figure removed from the shadows, resolving into what appeared to be an aged Man. He was dressed in drab gray garb, the point of his broad-brimmed blue hat bowed and deflated. Keen, alert blue eyes watched the king from a deeply lined face, bristling with thin hair about the chin. He did not carry himself in the manner of a trespassing Man now faced unexpectedly with the king of the realm; his posture was relaxed, even indolent, as though he had expected to find Thranduil there.

           “It is not many a Man who ventures so deeply into my woods off the road,” Thranduil returned, cool green eyes narrowed against the newcomer. There was a blasé little smile on the old Man’s lips and he leaned lightly against staff as gnarled as his face. There was something not quite right about him, as though Thranduil were looking into a warped reflection in the face of a pond.

           “Yes…the forest has grown more dangerous of late, hasn’t it?” the Man said, the smile faltering. He tilted his head to the side, as if to emphasize there was no one with Thranduil either.

           “I extend myself to protect her as much as I can,” Thranduil said slowly, placing a hand against a tree trunk; the moss squished wetly beneath his fingers. He could not decide if this conversation was better ended or not—not without more information. He was reluctant to leave this stranger to wander in his realm. “I trust her to return the favor.” The Man merely smiled again. He did not respond to Thranduil’s expectant, even impatient stare.

           “Most who travel this way seek my leave to do it,” he said pointedly.

           “Most,” agreed the being amiably. “I am not most, however.” He gave Thranduil a look as if they were sharing some secret, which Thranduil ought to know. This also irritated the king.

           “There have been others who were not ‘most,’ either,” he said. “The bones of many of those have been food for the trees.” The being looked only amused, as if Thranduil were an Elfling challenging an elder to a fight.

           “You were a subject of Melian,” he remarked, and at once Thranduil’s back was rigid as an oak. Mortals barely knew the name of his long-vanished home, let alone the history of those who had ruled it, or whom among the ever-dwindling population of the Greenwood had once danced under tree there.

           “Someone who wore my name once was,” he replied, his toes curling into the dirt, reaching his fae out into the nearby plants, slowing his breathing to draw into sync with the trees.

           “Not unusual, I understand, for such things to feel as if they belonged to the life of another,” the being said, nodding slowly, yet without the stiffness of limited movement that came with the aging of mortal bodies.

           “Who are you?” Thranduil asked at last, with no more patience for dancing around each other.

           “You might call me Mithrandir,” said the being. “Others of your kind have done so. I have come from the West.”

           The Elvenking’s lip curled without thought. Very little that had come out of the West had served a great good for him or his kin.

           “Perhaps you should like to return West,” he said.

           “In time,” Mithrandir said, and Thranduil gathered he was not enormously pleased to be spoken to with such dismissiveness. “But there is something in the woods that troubles you now, isn’t there?”

           Thranduil was not one accustomed to being easily read and he did not care for having his thoughts and feelings laid out by another in the slightest, any more than he might enjoyed being flayed alive. It was difficult not to take an immediate dislike to this being which wandered into his home and spoke to him of his own past and the contents of his own heart.

           The leaves overhead rustled in agitation.

           “You need no word of mine on that account,” Thranduil said, a chill frosting over his words. “Travel to Amon Lanc, the house of the throne of my father, if it pleases you to explore. It is better known as Dol Guldur of late. But haven’t you heard? The lord of Mordor is dead.”

           Mithrandir regarded him thoughtfully and Thranduil misliked it immensely.

           “So is the belief in other Elven realms,” he said.

           “Do you disagree?”

           “I cannot say as I have an opinion one way or the other,” Mithrandir answered, looking up into the branches of the trees, crisscrossing so thickly over the forest floor the sky was invisible. “I have been only a short time in this country. I would not be so hasty to base my own belief solely on the views of others.”

           “Did someone send you?” Thranduil asked.

           “Must someone have sent me? May I not come merely of my own accord?” replied old Mithrandir. “I had heard that here in the woods lay one of the last of the Elven realms of Middle-earth. I came to see for myself.”

           Thranduil responded with an arch look. Traveling off the roads without the knowledge of the Elves who lived there seemed an odd way to seek them out. Furthermore, most in Middle-earth were not looking to make tourist visits to the Woodland Realm. That was more a draw of Imladris.

           “It seems guests are not overly welcome here,” added Mithrandir with a pointedness that made the Elvenking bristle, though he relaxed his grip on the surrounding plants, his heartbeat returning to its usual pace.

           “Anyone may take pause with guests who skulk in the shadows and guard their intentions,” he said, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. They were perfectly welcoming to guests who were invited.

           “A rather suspicious sort aren’t you, Thranduil Oropherion?” said the being with an arched brow, arousing that suspicion further still. “I bear no ill towards you nor your people, nor the forest either.” He glanced around the surrounding wood and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his saggy mouth. “It is a fine piece of work, isn’t it? No, I would do no harm here.”

           Who was this Man who knew things no Man should know?

           “A long life in Middle-earth begets caution,” said the Elvenking, with a life’s effort at not sounding testy. “Or rather, the other way around.”

           “Mm…” Mithrandir gave a thoughtful, rumbling hum which did not seem to be a noise of disagreement. Just as Thranduil was about to speak again, he went on: “I hope to learn more about the people of Middle-earth. I may render some assistance, if it should be helpful to them. I do consider myself in possession of a rather helpful set of skills. But applicable here? That remains to be seen.”

           “What sort of assistance?”

           “That too, remains to be seen,” said Mithrandir. “For now I travel. There is a great deal to explore.”

           “A great deal less than there once was,” said Thranduil. “But much else remains.” He studied the aged face of the being, pondering what it meant, his arrival from the West and the sparse details he was willing to provide. He did not feel any malevolence here—he had no sense that Mithrandir deceived him. But he was also not willing to trust his own senses without more proof. “I cannot say I am comforted, if what you say is true,” he said at last.

           “Is it not a comfort to be not alone?” asked Mithrandir.

           “If I believed it, perhaps,” Thranduil answered. “But more a comfort to think I should not need the assistance.”

           Mithrandir adjusted his weight against his staff and looked over the Elvenking, again appraising.

           “The future of Middle-earth concerns everyone,” he said. “I shall travel to Amon Lanc and see what you have seen. When I return, we may speak more on this matter.”

           Thranduil, until then immediately ready to dismiss this figment of a far-off land he had never seen and for which he had no care, hesitated.

           “There are not many I would propose make such a visit,” he said reluctantly. “There is danger there, more than in the rest of the forest. It is a place of ill feeling. It is likely best if you stay at a distance.” There was, after all, a reason the Elves of the Greenwood had abandoned their old hilltop capitol.

           “And here I thought you did not care for my safety,” said Mithrandir, sounding, if anything, amused.

           “I should not care to send any to an unnecessary death,” said the Elvenking with a frown. “Certainly not for the crime of disturbing my walk.” Mithrandir gave his slow nod.

           “I see. Perhaps you and I would disagree on that,” he said and chuckled to himself. “But now! I have tasks at hand, and you have your walk. We will meet again. Take care of yourself.” With the shambling gait of the old Man he appeared to be, Mithrandir shuffled off into the trees, and Thranduil had the sense he ought to call out, to lead this being who seemed so feeble out of the woods, or at least back onto a cleared road, but he held back, and then Mithrandir was gone.

           Meet again? he wondered.

           On that day, his walk filled his mind only with more questions and concerns.

***

           It was not overlong, by Elven standards, that Mithrandir came again, and this time, made his way to the palace proper. It had not been his intention to intrude on celebrations of the Wood-elves, but it was quickly apparent he had come at a particularly raucous time. Still, it had been a long journey not without its perils (and in the heat of summer nonetheless), and he hoped still to speak with the Elvenking again, and with the queen as well, to gather more information about the area. The Wood-elves with whom he had visited already had told him much that the tight-lipped Elvenking had not, but one in his position tended to have a holistic view Mithrandir considered a useful augmentation of his present knowledge. Furthermore, the trust of more realms of Middle-earth could only help his efforts. So he forded on through the shouting and drinking and merrymaking.

When he finally managed to grab one of the cavorting Elves to inquire about the Elvenking, he was led into the underground halls and quickly lost his guide in the joyous throng. Determining to seek out the king himself, Mithrandir pressed deeper into the palace, and was at length rewarded with the wine-flushed countenance of Thranduil Oropherion, barefoot, a heavy crown of flowers askew on his head.

           “Mithrandir!” he exclaimed, apparently more willing to welcome his undesired guest with a few cups down his throat. “What timing! You must join us!” He grabbed a goblet of wine from a passing tray and thrust it into Mithrandir’s hands.

           “I seem to have come at a…well, I did not expect so much activity.” He nearly had to shout, despite Thranduil standing right in front of him.

           “We are celebrating!” the Elvenking announced, as if there was a need for clarification on that front. He attempted to offer Mithrandir another cup of wine, realized he had given him one already, and passed the second off on someone else. “I have a child!” Thranduil’s typically remote, impassive face split into a look of rapture that illuminated his mien such that the years of the world fell away from his shoulders and he moved and spoke as one of the spritely, carefree creatures whom the other races of the world saw in Elvenkind.

           As he said this, the Elves nearby who heard erupted into fresh cheers, shouting their good wishes for the prince of the Greenwood up to the carven ceilings. Some acquaintance of the Elvenking’s appeared, slung an arm around his shoulders, and planted a kiss on his cheek, making Thranduil laugh. They exchanged words in what sounded like some archaic form of Sindarin, which if Mithrandir had to guess, was the old Doriathrin dialect, and the newcomer pressed a honeycake into Thranduil’s hand. (Later, he knew that it had been, and also that it was exceedingly rare to hear that speech from the king’s mouth.)

           Mithrandir was pulled apart from his quarry by the crowd, and subsumed into the festivities. King Thranduil and Queen Niwë spared no expense for the month-long celebration that followed the long-awaited birth of their first child. After the first few days during which she rested, the queen appeared among the crowd as well, accepting the well-wishes of the people and dispensing with gifts of her own left and right. Both of the new parents were aglow with joy, not even surpassed by the elation of their people when the newborn prince was presented to the revelers. It had been, Mithrandir gathered, quite a long time since a baby had been born in the Greenwood. Mithrandir himself, though unprepared with a gift for the babe, entertained the Elves with a few magic tricks which they seemed to find more enrapturing the more wine they had consumed.

           He had meant to speak with Thranduil and Niwë about the condition of the wood, but he found he could not impose on this unrestrained joy (and furthermore, it was rather difficult to track them down or maintain their attention for more than a few moments at a time in all the ruckus). Rather, he ended up staying two weeks into the party, enjoying some of the finest music in Middle-earth, before managing to extract himself, with one benefit at least: the king and queen had invited him to visit again.

***

           The infant prince had blossomed into a plump-cheeked toddler when Mithrandir paid his next visit to Greenwood—or Mirkwood, as some had taken to calling it. The information about the child he gathered only by word-of-mouth (everyone who had seen the new prince was quite eager to talk of it; Elves seemed to rather lose their heads about children)—while he had hoped to see Legolas himself, simply out of an interest in the everyday lives of the peoples of Middle-earth, it did not happen. The Elves, perhaps owing to the fact that they reproduced so infrequently, were more protective of their young than any species Mithrandir had yet encountered and even though he was the invited guest of the king and queen, they had no intention of allowing him to see the baby. It was disappointing, but not unreasonable—he was still a stranger, and not an Elf.

           The king and queen met him in a small, open-air garden. It was not theirs—no garden anywhere in Mirkwood belonged to anyone—but no one disturbed them there while he was present. They reclined in the grass under the spotted light filtering through the towering trees and seemed to speak in that way of familiar Elves, through silent looks and flickers of the eye, turning their attention to him only when he had drawn within conversational distance. The queen gestured for Mithrandir to sit, and they served him a bitter, bracing black tea at the low table established for his visit.

           “Thranduil tells me he found you in the woods,” said Queen Niwë, her bracelets rattling as she rearranged herself, folding her legs while Thranduil poured the tea. A pair of fat bees circled idly around the queen’s head.

           “I should say rather that I found him, for he was not looking for me!” Mithrandir said. “I happened across him traveling through your realm some time ago. Not a terribly gregarious fellow, is he?”

           “He says you claim to be of the West,” she said.

           “I do.”

           “I have never met one such as yourself.” Her dark eyes flickered studiously over his face; she bore a measure of Thranduil’s tendency to distrust, but the natural curiosity of the Elves was stirred in her over the unknown.

           “You would not have,” Mithrandir said. “Unless I mistake you.” Niwë looked at Thranduil, who returned her gaze with an expression that seemed to hold some measure of see, didn’t I tell you? “You are of the Silvan Elves, aren’t you?” Mithrandir said.

           “I am,” the queen replied cautiously, inclining her head. Again, she exchanged a look with Thranduil. The sunlight gleamed off her sleek black hair and the gold-accented wooden jewelry at her ears and her throat. She wore her hair in simple braids, while the king’s pale gold locks were pinned back from his face with delicately carved bone clasps, accentuated with tender young fern leaves.

           “And you did not see Beleriand?”

           “I did not. Although Thranduil has told me much of it,” she said, glancing to her husband, who this time, was busy allowing a spindly-legged spider to crawl out of the grass onto his fingers. He turned his hand over, watching its progress. “But why have you come now?” she asked. “Why now, and not before?”

           “My coming was not deemed necessary before,” he said.

           “Not necessary!” The shift in the queen’s tone was abrupt. Her eyes flashed and her brown cheeks flushed. “Not necessary!” Thranduil turned to her, placing the spider gently back in the grass, and they shared a long look before the queen glanced away, exhaling slowly.

           “We trust you are familiar with the War of the Last Alliance,” said Thranduil.

           “Indeed I am,” said Mithrandir. “I did not arrive in total ignorance,” he added with some annoyance.

           “Then you understand that what you see here now…” He glanced around them, “…is but a fraction of what Greenwood was before the war. So you see, for us, it was quite necessary to have aid—and yet it came not. Not for us.” Mithrandir had been warned that the hands-off attitude of the Valar in centuries past might make the current inhabitants of Middle-earth wary of intervention now, even resentful that it had not come earlier. Still, it was difficult to have one’s own good intentions misbelieved. He recalled that Mirkwood’s last king, Thranduil’s sire Oropher, had perished on the battlefield during that war, after a four thousand-year reign of the Woodland Realm.

           “Why now, and not before?” Niwë demanded again.

           “The events of the last Age showed that it was necessary, I believe,” Mithrandir said. “The damage done to Middle-earth was…considerable. It is the hope of the West it should not come to this again.”

           “And you will stop it?” she asked.

           “I will try to aid you however I can, should it be necessary,” he said carefully. If indeed there remained evil in Middle-earth, it was not Mithrandir’s freedom to wield his powers unrestrained. Yet he could offer aid to the peoples of Middle-earth in their fight, and this he would do to the fullest extent possible. He had only just begun to explore this world, but he had seen much beauty in it, beyond even what he expected, and the thought of its destruction now grieved him beyond an abstract sense of loss.

           “Clearly it will be, if someone has seen fit to send you,” said the Elvenqueen, still ruffled. “Have you come alone?”

           “I have not,” said Mithrandir. “There were four others who came before me. Have you seen them?”

           “Not to our knowledge,” Thranduil replied.

           “Few strangers come here,” Niwë added. Neither of them seemed to view this as a problem.

           They allowed the conversation to lapse, giving Mithrandir a chance to sip at his unsweetened tea. (As all three were immortal, none felt any sense of rush regarding the progression of a conversation.) Few breezes reached so deep into the woods, but in the still air one could ear the sounds of birds and small animals, and of running water in the distance. The forest felt calm that day, unlike the vibrant energy Mithrandir had felt on his last visit. He watched an ant scout pass over his foot and disappear under the low table.

           “I have something for the prince,” he announced after some minutes. “Just a little gift…” Another quick exchange between the king and queen. Mithrandir withdrew from his bag a set of marvelously detailed carved woodland creatures, and a few Elves. Thranduil, a hobbyist carver himself, reached at once for them with fascination, turning over a smooth wooden deer with a full rack, little splits in its hooves, and texture on the underside of the tail.

           “As if he needs more gifts,” sighed Niwë, but she leaned over to her husband to examine the toy as well. She glanced up at Mithrandir. “A kind gesture, all the same.” Mithrandir gave them a blithe smile and Thranduil set the deer back on the table.

           “You wish something from us,” Thranduil said.

           “Friendship, little more,” said Mithrandir.    

           “You are a Maia of Avon,” Thranduil said. Mithrandir said nothing. “For what would you need our friendship? We have gone below notice for quite some time.”

           “As I have explained, my arrival means to be the end of that,” said Mithrandir. “But I cannot aid people whose needs I do not know; nor can I determine how best to formulate that aid if I know nothing of the customs and practices of the land.” A frankly suspicious look between the rulers.

           “You mean for us to explain Elves to you?” said Niwë.

           “In a sense,” said Mithrandir. “You, and the others. Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond, Lord Círdan. You are the only Elves now called king and queen in Middle-earth.”

           “A Maia came amongst the Eldar in the past,” said Niwë. “He called himself a friend of Elves and explained how his knowledge and his abilities could benefit Elvenkind. He was fair and spoke fairer, and this land has been bleeding from his poison ever since.”

           “I am not Gorthaur,” said Mithrandir with a flash of anger not directed precisely at the Elves in front of him. “Surely you can feel that much!” They seemed to draw nearer to each other, wariness suffusing their manner, and Mithrandir reminded himself that they were both old for their kind—old enough to have seen death and bloodshed enough for many, many lifetimes. The birds seemed quieter, more distant.

           “There was another,” Mithrandir said, his eyes flicking to Thranduil. “A Maia who called herself a friend of the Elves, who protected you for many centuries and grew your realm fair and prosperous.”

           “And then she left us,” said Thranduil. “And many died for it.” And that wound still stung, five thousand years later. As Lady Nienna had warned him—the memory of the Elves was their great joy, and their great sorrow, for neither faded with time in their hearts.

           “I will build no girdles for you here,” said Mithrandir. He did not have the power to do it even if he wished. Melian had done ill, he thought, to make the Doriathrim so reliant on her for safety. It was no kindness to them once she was gone and her protection with her. “So you need not worry it will ever fall. But I may offer you such wisdom as I have, which you will doubtlessly find useful.” Thranduil glanced at Niwë from the corners of his eyes, a skeptical gesture Mithrandir did not greatly appreciate.

           “I chose to pay a visit to Dol Guldur,” he announced. That got the king’s attention. “There is indeed some ill there, though I am not prepared to say what at this time.”

           “Then what will you do?” Niwë asked.

           “I will continue to gather information,” said Mithrandir. “Which is not, as you might think, nothing,” he said sharply to the two Elves, sensing their coming response. Neither of them showed a flicker of expression. “One should not be hasty with such things.” He set down his tea cup. “I mean to help you,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster. “I do. But you must give me time. If something is indeed amiss, it will be dealt with in the best way possible.”

           If Elrond Eärendilion had written, as Mithrandir had hoped he would after departing Imladris, Thranduil and Niwë would have his judgement to back up their own opinions, which would hopefully make them more inclined to listen.

           “If you would help us,” said Thranduil slowly, “what is it you require of us?”

           “For now, nothing,” he said. “My time here is still new. I will travel and explore. Allow me to visit you again.” The pair looked at each other and then the queen once more inclined her head. Mithrandir nudged his empty teacup forward with a pointed look until Thranduil leaned over to refill it. “Ah, there.” Pleased, he took it back. “No sugar, is there? I understand it is not the custom of the Elves to permit a stranger to see a child, but I hear from your people the prince is doing quite well…”

           This brought an irrepressible lightness to both their expressions and Mithrandir could feel the pride humming in them, dizzy with delight about their only child. They both demurred almost coquettishly, declining to offer any information, but did not contradict anything he had been told and relayed to them.

           “We will pass on your gift,” Niwë promised graciously.

           The rest of the visit passed without any further discussion of “business” and Mithrandir felt useful progress had been made. The Elves were not a forthcoming people, here nor in Lothlorien, nor in the Havens, nor Imladris, though Elrond was perhaps the most forthright of them—possibly owing to his mortal blood. Wariness remained in both the king and queen—Mithrandir could sense their tension between desire for his aid and reluctance to trust a powerful stranger.

           The business of Dol Guldur disturbed him. He was not yet ready to put a name to it—though he feared it could be one of Sauron’s Nazgul sustaining itself autonomously—but he could feel the way the mire there was spreading its foul energy through the rest of the forest. It was small wonder the Wood-elves were beginning to feel on edge. Their retreat to the underground palace was the move of a people bracing themselves for a fight.

           Well, he thought as he made his unhurried way out of the forest, hopefully it would not come to that.

[poisonborz]

Driving around random places in Germany, like, the smallest who-cares towns and villages, reveals its massive history and how these region was so important and culturally richest in Europe. But tall highs mean deep lows sometimes I guess. We stopped at Deggendorf recently on our autobahn trip for the night - normally we choose some scenic city and also look around, but weather was bad - so anyway here's that sob of a town, some tiny old town center, but otherwise a 30k population dustbin. When quickly walking around - really nice and busy market with lotsa social life on weekdays as well which I always admire here - as the only attraction is the standard german unit of one medieval town hall and one old church, both rather nice and somewhat reconstructed since the town was mostly leveled during WWII (also a standard german unit of history).

Kind of sad to see murals from the 50s on a 14th century church, in place of probably much grander artworks.

But there is a small tablet hanging on the side.

"In 1383 the jews of Deggendorf were killed…the legend that emerged to justify this crime...is false…the slander perpetuated over centuries not only distorted the memory of Jews in the Middle Ages but also harmed the reputation of their descendants into the recent past."

Ehm, ok why? It's internet search and dismayment time! Ahm, how wonderful, this was the place of one of the best covered up vile pogroms in late medieval times in the area! Story time.

So it happened in 1337 that a large fire broke out, consuming most of the town. Reconstruction was hard, and the needed money came primarily from lenders/bankers, who, by medieval tradition (more like a necessity, as lending was a sin) were the Jewish people. Besides only being able to practise a few crafts to earn a living, these families already had to pay protection money to the king for free practising of their religion ("Reichssteuer"), and were a closed community. Now the whole town was indebted to them.

In the summer of 1338, a plague of locusts destroyed the harvest. Meanwhile, it was thought, the jews of the town lived a good life from their interests. On the eve of September 30, a day before the usual day of next payments, they thought of a good solution: townsfolk surrounded the jewish quarter and looted and murdered everyone in it. And… nothing happened.

Probably to suppress revolt in an unstable time, Duke Heinrich XIV of Bayern pardoned every participant, and signed a decree allowing "finders keepers" on the belongings and houses (meanwhile divided among themselves) of the massacred. In addition, "the bonds, mortgage deeds, and other documents held by the Jews, or what they should have otherwise repaid to them, shall be completely annulled". To not much surprise, this move resulted in further pogroms and killings in the whole region. However macabre, all that is was still a rather common occurrence in western Europe. What happened in later times makes it stand out.

Killing folks - even if "godless pagans" just because you owed them money, getting off for free, and then living in their houses is not such a cool story to tell to your children. Decades after the massacre a new narrative started to emerge. Folk songs and stories started to appear telling another version of the story: the Jews of Deggendorf hatched an evil plan and stole the Sacrilege from the church, trying to smelt it into coins. The Sacrilege cries and bleeds, child Jesus and Virgin Mary appear, alerting the townsfolk, who rush to rescue but a fight and fire breaks out. But the Sacrilege miraculously survives and hovers in the sky (:DD) descending on a monk who immediately becomes a miracle healer, promptly building a temple in the city to safekeep it.

This is the legend of "Deggendorfer Gnad" (Grace/Miracle of Deggendorf). In the following decades, 17 huge oil paintings were made and hung in the church to tell the story in vivid images for every visitor. Pamphlets were printed and distributed, songs being sung, and trinkets sold. The legend of the miracle spread far and wide, and soon Deggendorf became the largest pilgrimage site of the area.

Then there were the "Gnademarkt" market days hosting merchants selling textiles, household items, candles. In 1737 they recorded 140 thousand visitors. The church building and its decorations expanded heavily, featuring now a baroque tower and an expanded altar with vivid sculptures of Jewish figures using their hammers to smash the Sepulture.

As soon as the 18th century Enlightenment, notable politicians and writers lashed out against the festivities and the pilgrimage as being antisemitic, which voices grew louder in the next century. If you expect the story to end with "after the Nazi regime and WWII this festivity also ceased to exist" then, well, no, Deggendorf welcomed tens of thousands of pilgrims throughout the 20th century. The bishops of these decades defended the tradition that it's "part of the Bayern folklore" and harmless, "it doesn't glorify the murder" and "no amount of articles and pamphlets will stop it". To ease up the situation a bit, the church changed the festive theme a bit from miracles "the sins of the pasts, in medieval times to the 20th century" In 1968 bishop Rudolf Graber changed the plan to create a professorship in Judaic Studies in the newly formed University of Regensburg. Instead, he created one in Dogmatic Theology - the position taken by a certain Joseph Ratzinger, if the name rings a bell. This didn't stop researchers to study this story more fully, although with less funding thereon. Church historian Manfred Eder's dissertation in 1992 was the first work that comprehensively revealed the historical background.

Only in the aftermath of this study did the festivities stop for good the next year.

[dark-dreams-anthology]

Dark Dreams Anthology (DDA)

Dark Dreams Anthology is our biggest project. It englobes our own world, which will be shared in books, manga, illustrations and more in the future. Now, un Tumblr is being shared a smallest part of it through our blog Born of Blood (@blood--king). Still this project had to grow up a lot, and we will love of course to keep ourselves sharing it with you all! But, as creators we empathize a lot with people’s passion that’s why we want to bring you an opportunity to grow up as a community of artist of all kind with…

➤ DDA-Events!

Every fandom has its characteristic, but all of them had in their own measure have dedicated people which are always wanting to show their passion for what they love the most. Franchises are alive for years because of people, of that passion and all the creativity spread selflessly. Original characters, fanfics, theories, all of those are plagued of a dedication hard to ignore. Last year we had been working in a little project in which we called specific people who were interested in share a little bit more of their own world around their fandom under an idea, just to try out. Even if Summer Vibes was little, it was a success, and more important than that, they had a lot of fun. We are ambitious, and we want to share the happiness to explore worlds, fandoms and bring out new ideas and stories, illustrations, mangas, headcanons and anything we can come up with! We will love to, eventually, create every year events directed to those who want to explore their characters and lores under crazy ideas!

So that’s what Dark Dreams Anthology is intending for: create a little corner, a refuge for share with those that loves the same you do. Our intentions? Simple: we are opening a place to share and have fun without any interest than that. You are free to join or to run away, we won’t chase you, but our doors will be always open if you want to share.

Dark Dreams Anthology Events (DDA-Events) is a project for dynamics directed now on Tumblr, and maybe in the future we will made this bigger moving this to other platforms. But one step at once! We will share here a few ideas about how it will work.

Once an idea is proposed you will have a week to inscribe yourself. Sometimes events demand some previous details, but don’t worry. Our DM’s is always open to discuss if you are not sure or if you have doubts!

In this inscription week, those who sign up will receive details and frames needed in the event, so we recommend you to be alert to our updates! Those who don’t get inscribed won’t be included in the Masterpost.

Once everything is settled you will have a month to end up your works, still it will flow in dependance of the people, if all participants end up early, publications will be done sooner than expected! All works will be included in a Masterpost, in which we will give credits to their creators.

Each project will have templates according to what we will be asking for, it could be a frame for an illustration or a story for example. All projects should be framed in the template identified by our logo (the feather you will see down this explanation) but we won’t take your works under our name, all the participants will be always owners of their creations and we will give the deserved credits to them. What means that you can always publish it in your social media without asking us for permission. If it’s an illustration, for example, it will remain intact. The logo will be part of the template only as a symbol to remark collaboration as a courtesy. It will be a way to connect us as a community of artists of all kind and for more people to meet and identify this project.

➤ Events.

Summer Vibes (2022).

Once Upon Dreams and Nightmares (July 2023).

[ragingstillness]

Shadow and Bone spoilers - random thoughts from my notes (e3)

Alina's new red outfit is really cute.

The mausoleum the crows are hiding out in is shaped like a ship. Why? No explanation? Ok just for drama then.

Can the show just leave Inej alone, she gets hurt every time.

Oof floating on a barge of waterlogged dead plague victims is quite the trauma.

Quoted directly from my notes here: "Haha he [Aleksander] moved her [Baghra] to a little cage. He's gotta know that's useless."

I'm genuinely quite confused what side of the fold they are on when they enter on the Hummingbird and what the purpose of being in the fold is. Is it a genuine attempt to tear it down or are they just trying to cross through it? (Callback to a thought I've had before, has anyone tried flying over the fold? Tunneling apparently didn't work but would flying? They seemed to enter at the top of the fold anyway.)

Speaking of which, why would Nikolai be willing to take the King's money when Alina just promised it to him randomly? This makes sense for Sturmhond but Nikolai knows he's Sturmhond and doesn't separate his identities that much so surely he knows the king is sick and that as prince Nikolai doesn't even need his father's money. So what was his reasoning for being willing to risk his crew to take Alina to Os Alta? Or into the fold?

Nice to finally get a good look at the Volcra. They're ugly, but at least we can see them now.

Wow the soldiers got to the site quickly. Isn't the fold like miles and miles long splitting the whole country in half? And the show keeps consistently forgetting that the fold is pretty much the only way to get messages quickly from one side to another so Nikolai couldn't have alerted them beforehand. Hell of a coincidence. And continuing this, how did Nikolai manage to assign the Spinning Wheel as a sanctuary for Grisha without getting a message across? How does news make it from any country to country?

Genuinely quite disappointed that the king is just sick not dead. Seriously, why isn't he dead? There's literally no point, plot-wise, to keeping him alive.

Why is Aleksander acting like he thinks Alina is dead? Did he not notice that she seemed to have decent control over her light before the Volcra went at him? He has pretty much no reason to even imply that he thinks she's dead. It's a very weird line.

What "enemies' is Aleksander concealing him and his Grisha from? Yes we can assume but given the many threats I'd love to know who he's specifically referencing.

Yay Nadia, more gorgeous lesbians plz.

Zoya "not finding her family." Does that mean she found their bodies? Does that mean she just never found them among the survivors? I'm confused by this line.

"Because I know how it feels to lose someone you love" - full offense Alina, fucking who? You didn't lose Mal, you didn't love any of your cartographer buddies and their deaths were your fault, your parents died before you were old enough to remember. You've lost literally no one.

Haha bet y'all [the writers] thought I'd miss that Zoya winked at Alina when talking about Mal during the fight in the first season and now she's winking at Alina while talking about Alina.

[kariachi]

Sat here, Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles thoughts. Lo, what I think happened, specifically, to Fai and Yuui's homeland.

Likely there were already plagues and famines starting up by the time they were born, this isn't the sort of thing that just springs up at full disaster levels. Likely already had some issues going with crops that lead to people heading into the cities for work leading to higher population and a better shot at plague

I honestly would not be surprised if the construction of the torture pit played a part. It doesn't seem especially new, but construction on that scale and presumably without magic would take a lot of support infrastructure, including food production. This place is pretty fucking clearly a very cold region, likely lacking methods of natural soil revitalization like volcanic asshfalls or regular floods. These guys had likely already worked their soil to its near limit, and there's only so much manure you can spread and still plant the next spring. Especially with a short growing season as they most likely had

So we've got some baby plagues going and some baby famines going and then we get baby twin princes and immediately the scapegoat alert goes off

The famines get worse because the soil is fucked, everybody goes to the cities which causes the plagues to get worse, younger king catches plague and dies, everybody blames the children because hey look somebody to blame

Queen kills herself out of shame of having brought this horror onto the land, shockingly this does not fix anything, but it does make for the final straw before the remaining king goes "yep, gotta throw the children in the torture pit, only way to fix this is to make them suffer and/or not twins and neither of them will kill the other so, we're going full Powered By Forsaken Children"

Shockingly, leaving children to suffer from cold, hunger, and thirst that cannot kill them in near total isolation also does not fix anything

Oh I don't doubt they told themselves it had. Plague and famine tend to cycle. The soil goes off, people stop using it, it gets to recover a bit, people realize it's kinda fertile again and start farming more, ending the famine for a bit before ruining the soil again. To go with this all the deaths from the plagues historically drove people out of the cities, lowering the rate of infection, and lowered populations, which helped with the famine issue as well, and so the plagues would chill out for a while. (Fun Fact- this is part of why stories involving plague in a psuedo-historical context tend to hit poorly, the cycle of loss and recovery is often left out)

The first recovery period hit and people are so happy, then the next plague and famine cycle hit and they were so sad

Old King sees plague and famine hitting again and, having already been the sort of superstitious asshole to order small children to murder each other or stay in the torture pit forever, sees this and decides that clearly the children are not suffering enough

Clearly we need to start throwing the corpses of those lost into the torture pit where they'll sit there forever as a reminder of just how horrible these children are for bringing this onto the land and not being willing to fix it

So as the cycle goes on more and more of the dead are being tossed into the pit. Not having the corpses around likely helps prevent spread, but it doesn't stop it, and with each cycle more and more get tossed in.

But then a new problem starts to arise. Faith in the monarchy is rather a bit shaken by this point. Not only did the monarchy produce a pair of cursed children that have started all this, and not only is the monarchy not fixing it, but now they're just tossing grandma and uncle Sven and little Timmy into the torture pit and nobody wants that. Who wants to have to point at the torture pit and go 'there's where my grandma lies, eternally unrotting at the bottom of a pile of corpses'?

Dissent begins to spread amongst the populace

Old King, being again a superstitious fuckwit, sees this and decides that it's all those damnable twins again, not only bringing death onto the land but dissent over the throne. How dare. Clearly this requires more corpses.

And so we kick off a whole new cycle- wherein the king demands corpses for the torture pit and the people aren't happy about it which the king takes sign the torture pit needs more corpses, eventually running out of plague ones and having to have shit custom made

Of course this isn't something people are going to just roll over for, but this is from what little we see presumably the most powerful not-Fai-and-Yuui magic user in the country, and if the twins are anything to go by he's probably no slouch, so for a while fear keeps the people in line.

Which of course only makes the 'we can't have with this fucker' even worse, which of course makes his need for corpses to torment the children so their curse 180s into a blessing even worse

"Achi this seems unfathomable" Tell me the fuckers at Salem, if the first hanging had come a week before locusts descended on the crops, wouldn't have immediately doubled down on the witchcraft accusations. Superstition and jackshittery are powerful things

And so it carries on like that until Old King starts getting proper rebellions and soldiers unwilling to continue this mess and just starts killing everybody himself

Until eventually, either because they managed to flee the country or because they couldn't, he runs out of people to murder for the pit.

He looks around. He sees that his country is now barren of human life. There is nobody left. Nothing left.

Those damn twins

And so he throws himself into the pit, still cursing them as he goes for having brought the collapse of their country

And then, because they weren't suffering enough, Reed showed up and fucked things over for the last remaining populace of the region