#perhaps i'll remember it now that I've written it down

[darchildre]

Tonight's Rathbone Holmes film is The Woman in Green, which has the distinction of being the only Rathbone Holmes movie I've previously seen.

I literally remember one single thing about it, which is that Moriarty is played by the dude who was the Dr Knox character in The Body Snatcher. He's shown up in two previously Holmes films, I've looked up his name both times (because I quite liked him in The Body Snatcher), and the poor dude's name refuses to stick in my mind.

Hilariously, I can't ever remember his character's name in The Body Snatcher either.

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 1

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Summary: The Atreides daughter is sent off to Giedi Prime to marry the Harkonnen heir in an attempt to quell the feuding Great Houses. The bride, however, must prove her grit and earn the respect of her new family if she is to survive her new life. Perhaps she will find that she had more Harkonnen in her than she thought.

TW: none (for now)

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (just not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, cannon what cannon

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Please bear with me, it has been ages since I've written anything and this is my first ever work of fanfiction. I've never written in the second person before so if you catch any mistakes, especially in verb tenses, please let me know. English is not my first language. Also, this might start out a bit slow but I promise things will pick up soon.

The smell of grass and the crashing waves of Caladan brought you comfort as you stood before the starship that had been rented from the Spacing Guild.

Your brother had insisted on accompanying you to Giedi Prime, but a round trip would have been unnecessarily expensive, even with the vast wealth of your Great House. Besides, it would be foolish to deliver the heir of House Atreides to the home world of their sworn enemies. It was bad enough they had to send you there.

"Give them hell," Paul teased as he hugged you goodbye.

You laughed, but you knew his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He had faith in your strength and ferocity, but he had much less faith in the hospitality of the Harkonnens.

"I'll miss you," you pull away and try to give him a reassuring smile but you, yourself, are not so certain of your fate.

You made your way to your mother, next in line to bid you farewell.

"Remember your training." Lady Jessica held your face and planted a tender kiss on your forehead. She had already given you all the advice she could.

You take her hands in yours and kiss them. "I will," you tell her solemnly.

You finally make it to your father, whose eyes are already welling with tears.

"My darling princess," his voice cracks as he lays a hand on your cheek. The Duke may seem a stoic man to most, but those who truly knew him knew he had a big heart.

Perhaps it is because you are one of those people that you finally feel that weight in your chest that you've been dreading since the signing of your marriage pact. It will be a truly long time before you would see your family again. If you could ever see them at all.

The Duke waves at an attendant who approaches with a silver tray. Leto takes the dagger resting on it and places it in your hands. "To remind you that you will always be an Atreides, that you will always be my daughter."

You let your tears fall as you hold the gift close to your chest.

"Don't cry now," your father pulls you into a hug, hoping to hide his own tears, "or I might never let you go."

You let a laugh slip through the sobs. You knew it was already decided and it is your duty to fulfill. The Sisterhood and the Emperor himself endorsed the match. Nothing could change it now.

The harsh light of Giedi Prime's black sun assaulted your eyes as you made your way down the starship's gangplank. The stark, high-contrast black and white made everything a pain to look at. You were thankful for the veils of your travelling gowns for providing you at least some shade.

You were greeted by House Harkonnen's steward, Jaromir Naggul, and swiftly led into the imposing, Brutalist fortress of their stronghold. You were almost happy to escape the infrared outside.

"Your belongings are being sent to your new quarters as we speak," Jaromir, a lanky but stately man, informs you. "You may change out of your traveling clothes and rest there. The Baron will receive you in the throne room in the afternoon."

You note his accent and the mild contempt in his voice, as if you were an inconvenience.

"This is Iassa," he gestures to one of the servants that had been following you through the halls. "She is your assigned slave. Should you need anything, you may tell her."

The word almost knocks the breath out of you.

You eyes turn to Iassa in her pale gray robes and you give her a polite nod. She hastily curtsies in return.

You knew the Harkonnens and even the Emperor kept slaves, but you suppose it never occurred to you that you would be charged with one yourself.

"Of course," Jaromir continues, "any of the servants in the fortress will be at your command, but Iassa will be in waiting for you in particular."

"Of course," you reply coldly.

"You will be staying in the guest wing for now," Jaromir says as he shows you the door to your quarters. "Of course, until your wedding. When you will then be moved to the na-Baron's apartments."

"...of course," you repeat, grateful again for your veils that they hide your dread.

You are silent as Iassa helps you into a black gown for your audience with the baron. It is the fashionable color in the Harkonnen home world. Although there were many other 'fashionable' traits on Giedi Prime, this was the only one you felt comfortable adopting right now. The complete lack of hair in every individual you had seen was certainly unsettling, but you sensed it would be rude to speak about it.

"What is the na-Baron like?" you ask.

Iassa pauses her fastening of your dress, she swallows. "He is a fearsome warrior, my lady," she keeps her gaze averted, "handsome and popular with the people."

Her voice was shaky but she seemed genuine. You only wonder if those words hold the same implications here as they do back home.

You look over to Iassa as she fetches your shoes. It's not difficult to see that she fears you. You cannot help but feel that that is all there is. You are still an off-worlder. An Atreides no less. She harbors no respect for you.

You take care to style your hair in the fashions of Caladan, fastening a falcon-like pin at the back of your head. The symbol of your house. Perhaps it is a risky choice, to be seen as defiant by the baron should he notice, but you could already feel the black sun beginning to drain the life out of you. The thrill of quiet defiance would have to sustain you for now.

Jaromir returns in time to fetch you and you are led to the throne room.

The baron's grotesque floating body looms over you and his subjects. You had never met any of the Harkonnens before but you were sure that was him.

"Welcome to your new home, Lady Atreides," the Baron utters your last name with thinly veiled loathing. "Let me present my nephew, Feyd-Rautha."

A tall muscular young man steps forward. Stately and regal as a Harkonnen could be, he looks over you with condescending eyes.

He certainly looked like a warrior, and you could see how the people of Giedi Prime could find him handsome, but you find yourself wanting to spit in his face.

"Forgive me for not greeting you when you landed, my lady," the na-Baron bows to you. His gravelly voice sends a chill down your spine, "I was preoccupied at the time. I trust you have settled well?"

You curtsy in turn, "I'm sure my lord had important duties to attend to. I am grateful for your hospitality. My rooms are very comfortable."

"Do not find them too comfortable young lady," the Baron calls from afloat his chair, "your wedding celebrations are to begin and you will be sharing rooms with my nephew before long."

Feyd-Rautha smirks at this and you are almost willing to cast decorum aside to slap it off his face.

"Tomorrow, your groom will take part in the arena to demonstrate his prowess as a worthy husband and leader, as per the traditions of our house," the Baron announces. "I'm sure you will make a point to attend."

"I would not miss it, dear Baron."

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

[luveline]

hey! would you mind writing sirius black x reader (ole flame or something) when they meet for the first time since azkaban at a meeting for the order? thank you and happy holidays!

thank u for requesting, hope this is OK! ♡

—you and sirius both get to go home eventually, 2.2k. fem

You were still kids when Sirius… went away. You thought he hurt James and Lily, and it didn't matter that you loved him because he was evil and cruel and he hurt the people he loved most in the world, and then you were outposted thousands of miles eastward, your life a shadow. 

Remus sent you letters. You always answered, even when it hurt, but his last was too much to believe. You told yourself that someone forged his handwriting through a curse or some new gimmick, and then a second arrived with a smaller envelope hidden inside. 

No name written on it. No Dear anything to begin. 

Things are different to what you've been told. Please come home, it said. This penmanship was shaken like a hand out of practice, but something felt familiar in the curves and dots. 

If Remus’ letter (and the second smaller one too) were in fact telling the truth, it means you did something awful, and so, for a while, you don't go. 

Please, the next letter says, again enclosed within a larger explanation from Remus, I'm sorry. I just want to see you again. 

Getting home isn't as simple as he might think. You have to picture the destination very clearly to disapparate, and you have no sustained recollection anymore of the places you used to go. You remember silly things, slices of memories; the four of them laughing in a big green field, the sweet smell of hair oil to your left; the beige walls of a rented flat where you'd lay in bed for hours, sometimes days at a time, before things got too terrible to sleep; a string-lit garden that last summer, hands of poker on a glass table. These places aren't real anymore. You can't go back to them. 

Upon your request, Molly forwards you an address and a secret code. 

Trains, buses, trains again. A long walk through a cold street. Some secret this or that. You arrive in the night and a frowning face ushers you in, past a painting sealed away and up the creaking stairs. You spend hours sitting on the end of a bed coated in dust waiting for the sun to rise, your back stiff with nerves. You could slip out before anyone else knows you're here, it's not as if Moody would give you away. But why did you come, if you were going to run straight back to your outpost? 

You don't want Sirius’ betrayal to be true, of course. It took your breath away imagining what it would mean if he hadn't done what you thought. If it's all lies (as it seems to be), if he's innocent as he and Remus claim, it means you turned your back on him and left him to suffer, and he's still asking you to come home. 

A few people stir for breakfast. Molly, who's voice you remember, and some younger sounding ones that may be her children, or perhaps the newer Order recruits. Then comes Remus’ voice. He sounds different. Less Welsh, more tired. Homely anyways as he passes your door with someone beside him. 

“...any day now,” he's saying, “try not to worry.” 

“I do worry. I've worried about it every day for years.” 

You freeze up. 

The stairs creak, Remus’ voice moving further away. “She doesn't need worrying.” 

Sirius must stay at the top of the stairs for a moment. He sounds close. “I wouldn't know what she needs.” 

“Come have some breakfast.” 

“I'll write her again.” 

“After breakfast.” 

“What if she doesn't come?” 

“After breakfast,” Remus insists. “She can ignore you once we've had toast.” 

“I forgot how funny you are,” Sirius mutters. 

Hearing his voice fills you with doubt. He sounds nothing like he used to, no easy confidence to be heard, just fatigue. 

You look down at your hands. Hearing his voice has a new emotion sprouting, too. When you first learned what had happened to your friends, you felt anger like a knife everywhere you went. How could he do that to them? How could he do it to you, be that person, ruin everything you'd loved and made together? But later, when anger faded and grief ached, you'd missed the Sirius you loved. Shamefully, in longing pangs, you'd toss and turn to dreams where things were different. 

Now there's a chance he might still be that person, and you're hiding from him in his own house. 

“There's someone here,” Molly says as you leave your room, her voice nearly too quiet to hear from the kitchen. “Moody's told me this morning.” 

“What?” Arthur asks. 

“Who?” a younger voice says. 

A small intermission of quiet. “Well, I don't know,” Molly says eventually, though she must have guessed it was you from the letter you sent. “But I'll need another loaf of bread. You'd better go, boys.” 

“Mum,” one whines. 

“Come on now.” 

The stairs whimper as you descend, the bannister sticky with old gloss under your hand. Paisley wallpaper and drapes catch your eye as you pass the overflowing shoe rack. There must be more people here than you'd thought. The coat stand is similarly overloaded. 

You can see into the kitchen as soon as you take the last step down. Molly stands wringing a dish cloth between her hands, two teenage boys at the kitchen table. Remus stands near her right with a cup of tea, and when he sees you, he genuinely smiles. 

“Oh, good,” he says, the scar that bisects his lip pulling as he takes a sip of tea. 

The teenagers turn to see you. “Bread, boys! Arthur, you can go with them," Molly says.

Arthur doesn't complain. You falter in the hallway, quiet as the trio of Weasley's leave the kitchen in their slippers to take a quiet exit from the front door. They smile politely as they go, but the boys whisper as the door shuts behind them. You wonder if they have an inkling of who you are, and then you wonder what you might say now they're gone. 

Molly remains, inquisitive to know that you need privacy but also the security of her company. She was always smart like that.

“Come in, then,” Remus says. 

“I–” You clear your throat. “I'm not sure I should.” 

A startle of silverware against china. 

Remus gives you one of his looks. It has tears threatening to well. Why didn't I fight to see him more? you think. Suddenly years have passed and he's changed, but his reassuring glances remain. It's like he's saying everything is fine, why wouldn't everything be fine? Chin up, dove.

Sirius appears in the doorway. Dark circles beneath grey eyes, his cheeks gaunt with hunger rather than the sleek sharpness he once possessed. He's still pretty, if wounded. It's as though you've found an old photo of him that's been smudged with age. He's stepped out of one of your moulding albums to haunt you. 

“Angel,” he breathes, his hand clasped low on the doorway, “you're here.” 

You look past him to Molly and Remus. There isn't a reality nor dimension where they'd let him stay here if they didn't believe his innocence. Remus explained it all in the letter and still you worried if he might have gotten it wrong, and simply believed what he wanted to believe, but it's not possible. Remus loved James so much, he would've killed Sirius himself if he really thought Sirius was the secret keeper who betrayed them. 

So. It's a relief to be home. 

You stare at him. “You look tired,” you say quietly. 

“I'm fine. I am.” 

He seems alright, considering. You'd even say he was handsome with his hair pushed away from his face, a dark shadow of stubble around his mouth, but he looks exhausted.  

You're expecting him to say what you'd say. How could you ever think I'd do it? 

Sirius was prone to similar bouts of pride, or righteousness, justice, whatever you want to call it, but he doesn't bother with that now. He looks at you as though you're the only person on earth, gaze narrowed but eyes wide, pain between his brows as he asks, “What's wrong?” 

Your hand finches up to your cheek to wipe the sudden tear away. “I thought I'd never see you again.” Your Sirius. 

“Don't be upset,” he pleads. 

“How can I not be? I left you all alone for so long.” 

He laughs roughly. “Sweetheart, what were you supposed to do?” 

“Not just give up.” 

“You thought it was me. That's the only thing you could've done. Either of you,” he says, gesturing backward with his hand. “It was hard… to know who to trust, at the end. It's not your fault.” 

You really were only kids together, not half as in love as James and Lily, but that doesn't mean you weren't mad for each other. He looked after you. You would've had a life, you think. 

“You were just gone,” you say, looking down at the floor between you, eyes tracing lines of wood grain. “Everyone. There was nobody left. And I just let you go.” 

“Do you want to come here?” he asks. You lift your head. His hand is barely in front of him, fingers open, palm up. 

It's like taking a stranger's hand for the first few seconds. You keep them low between you both, unfamiliar to each other. But, you find, as his fingers wrap around yours in that selfish way they used to do, squeezing rather than intertwining to make all of them fit, he remembers you.

You step a little closer, your arm to his chest, and look up at him through your lashes. It would melt him like a candle near a furnace, this look. He'd be smug or seething about something and you'd sidle in to stand between his shoes, unsure of what to say but determined to be there for him. It's the same now.  

“What's wrong?” he asks under his breath. 

“I left you all alone,” you repeat. 

“It wasn't your choice, okay?” He smooths his free hand from your elbow to your upper arm. 

Molly says something to Remus. He chuckles and says something in return. Happier to admit it if it's only for Sirius’ ears, you say, “I'm really sorry, Sirius. I miss you every day.” 

“I miss you too,” he says. 

You push your arms around his waist and hide your face in his chest, feeling for the lines of who he used to be, the dip of his spine in his back or the soft cotton of one of his old t-shirts. You regret hugging him at all, until he puts his arm behind your head, a shaky breath released against your crown. 

I'm scared, he'd said. But I don't want you to be scared, okay? Barely twenty, he smelled of the sticky red powder on the end of matches after a night doing things he couldn't tell you about. You could tell him you loved him, and he you, but you weren't to discuss Order business. We'll be okay. 

But Lily–

Everyone's going to be fine. I promise. 

“You promised,” you say to yourself. Too quiet for him to hear, but he does. 

“I promised you so many things I'm not sure what one you mean,” he says with a disappointed laugh. 

You pull away, taking his face into two hands. “How do you feel?” you ask, ignoring the tremble working up from your wrists. 

“What?” His eyes are dark. 

“How are you? Did they– I mean, are you okay? Are you sick?” 

“Remus has patched me up. And Cordelia, the medwitch, you know her?” 

“I don't know anyone. I've been away.” 

He nods sadly. “Yeah. Well, you look the same.” 

“I don't.” 

“You do! You look the same,” —he almost sounds happy, his lips curling into a smile— “sweetheart. Sweetheart–” He closes his eyes. 

You push his hair behind his ears. “You don't look the same,” you confess, “you have wrinkles, right… here.” You touch the corners of his eyes. 

“You're still beautiful.” 

“Mm. You can't even see me.” 

“I don't need to see you. I knew you would be.” 

You rise up to kiss his cheek gently. “It's like you're back, like– like, I always felt like you were gone. And now you're home again. You are home, aren't you?” 

He covers your hand with one of his. “You're here, so–” 

You laugh together nervously. “Yeah, I'm here.” 

“I have stuff to do to make it right.” 

“Then we'll do it.” 

“Okay,” he says. He swallows a breath, and wraps you in a surprisingly tight hug. “Did you read my letters?” 

I don't want anything from you. Just to see you're okay. 

“I read them. I'm okay. Don't I look okay?” 

“You look perfect. Just like the last time I saw you,” he says. It startles you how suddenly he sounds like he did when you were young, his flirting drawl, voice velveteen. 

“Not like that,” you laugh. 

He pulls you as close as you can be, rough now, his arms solid around you. “I missed that,” he says, rubbing your back. “I forgot how you sound when you laugh.” 

You've led very different lives. “I didn't forget yours.” 

“You wouldn't. You love having things to hold against me.” 

You stroke his hair. “Maybe a little.” 

[dinsbeskar]

And In The Darkness Bind Them (Sauron/F!Reader)

A series of vignettes (smutty and angsty) chronicling S2 Rings of Power

Sequel to Homecoming // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Beautiful Things by Benson Boone, Replay by Lady Gaga, Hands of Gold by Peter Hollens (kudos to @missjadesfics for this one)

Warnings: 18+ only!! Little bit of fluff, mostly smut and angst! Sometimes together!! P in V sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, possessiveness/toxic relationship, overstimulation, public sex/exhibitionism, dom!Sauron (I know smh, what am I doing??), carry-fucking (y'all I am cooking here, like he is basically a god so no matter how light or heavy you are, he can definitely pick you up and fuck you stupid okay), cumplay (idk how to describe it any other way), praise/condescending/degradation (it's a wild ride lmao), so much angst, very (!!) dubious consent towards the end (sorry, Sauron really leaning into his villain era now)

A/N: Reader is mad in love with our boy in this one but uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh well good luck guys idk

rather than a bunch of actual chapters, I've written a few vignettes for S2 Rings of Power (maybe I'll go back and expand on them later), starting near the start where Sauron is more Annatar, finishing at the end where he is ... very much himself. Some of the smut gets very dark, please take note of the tags!!

Word Count: 7.8k!! Wildly out of hand

The morning after Annatar climbs into your bed, you are momentarily confused to see long golden hair on the pillow next to you. Then you remember that Halbrand is no more.

“Good morning, love.” He props himself up on one arm, disentangling himself from your embrace.

You cannot help but stare at him a moment; this ethereal creature in front of you cannot be yours.

“Is it really you?” You ask him, eyes sparkling and fingers trailing over his high cheekbones, his broad firm chest, his sculpted lips.

“Always, darling.” He pulls you close, kissing your forehead.

He always smells the same, like salt and iron, smoke and musk. If your souls were to no longer recognise each other, you swear you could follow your nose to find him.

“You left so suddenly, I didn’t get to say goodbye.” You murmur into his chest, fingers entwined in his golden hair.

“I’m sorry, love, circumstances arose, I had matters to take care of, but I’m here now.”

He had set his plans in motion in Mordor, and waited for Galadriel to leave Eregion. He had a feeling that she would have told no-one there who he really was, her ego bruised and pride bleeding. He only had to wait for you to let him in. And with a little pleading, you had managed to convince Celebrimbor to open his gates.

“We should talk, properly, about what happened, the last time we saw each other. At Forodwaith.” You stutter and trip over your words, nervous to bring up the subject, but it has weighed heavily on your mind.

He sighs, running his fingers up and down your arm, unhurried and unphased.

Of course you had been angry with him when you’d found out about his plans to become Morgoth’s successor, and you stood by that anger. But knowing you had left him to die, to mourn the loss of your husband for centuries, your mind screamed at you to make it right, whatever you had to say.

“Some of the things I said were…unkind-”

“Cruel.” He interjects with a smirk; you purse your lips playfully and continue.

“But so were your deeds, and I have forgiven you. Mostly. So perhaps you should do me the same courtesy,” you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger as you prop yourself up to search his gaze, “since we are… what are we again? Oh yes…”

You lean in and whisper in his ear, “Bound in flesh and soul.”

His smile this time is dangerous, threatening, promising.

“And to think, if I were not so ravenous in my lust for you-” he grasps your wrists, pins them to the headboard with one hand and wraps his other arm around you, nose in your hair as he breathes in deeply.

“-I might have spared myself this torment.” He grins into your neck as you try to catch his lips with yours. “Not that I would have it any other way.”

He bends his neck and kisses you softly, releasing you just enough to throw your arms around his neck, through his silky golden hair, pulling him closer.

The dread that had dogged you for centuries is gone. There is no such thing as chance, and he is sure that you were supposed to leave him, whatever the reason, to save you from the same evil fate he suffered. After a millennium as primordial ooze, he can’t bring himself to care, only grateful to have you in his arms again.

~

Celebrimbor had been rather taken aback when Annatar had walked into his forge with you on his arm. You had been a close friend for many years, having visited his city many times, even reinforced the defences with the ancient magic you’d learned from your lost kin. He knew you were married but had never met your lord husband; no one could have guessed he was an emissary of the Valar.

Indeed you were surprised by his cover story too, but dismissed it as your husband wanting to make the best impression as you introduced him to the world.

“Do they really need to know?” He had asked you one night, holding you close as the rest of the world slept.

“What do you mean, love? Oh, that you’re mine? Yes, absolutely, they must. If I don’t stake my claim now, all of Eregion’s eligible maidens will be vying for your hand, and I cannot possibly entertain a rival for your affections.” Your tone is light, your words spoken in jest, but he sees in you the same dark possessive streak that runs so deeply within him, and his heart can’t help but reach out for yours, dark tendrils of his power wrapping around you.

“How could I look at another soul the way I look at you? You are the other half of me, the reason my heart still beats. No one compares to my wife, and I would reduce anyone who argued otherwise to dust.”

You laugh a little, burying your face in his side, but he needs you to know just how serious he is, cupping and lifting your chin to hold your gaze.

“My love, if the sun were too bright or the moon offensive to your eyes or the stars were to outshine your radiance, I would tear it all down for you. Everything I do is for the love of you.” He means it, in his own way, and you know it, a thrill shooting through you, ending in butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

It amazes you that even after the eons you’ve loved each other, you still feel the same flutters of excitement you did when you first set eyes on him in that golden glade, millenia ago.

The trials you have endured only sweeten the moments of contentment, making you all the more grateful to hold each other.

~

He has a job to do, a forge to supervise, and rings to create. But with you in his arms and a gentle breeze cooling you both in the burgeoning warmth of spring, he could be persuaded to stay abed a little longer.

“Stay with me today.” You murmur into his chest, unwilling to let him go.

It’s as if you could hear his thoughts as he could hear yours.

He chuckles fondly, stroking your hair, considering the vaguest possibility of letting Celebrimbor work unattended for today. Surely one day couldn’t hurt?

“I have to oversee the rings, my love, their progress is precious in every sense of the word,” he says as he traces your arm, rubbing slow circles into your skin with his thumb.

You grumble with indignation, nestling closer to his side as if to keep him there with the sheer magnetism of your presence. He squeezes your arm softly before resting his chin on the top of your head.

“One day with my husband. Is that too much to ask?” Your tone is still a little petulant, but he can’t help but smile fondly at your yearning for him; after all, it is returned a hundredfold.

“Your husband is an emissary of the Valar, he has… important duties, what are you doing?”

You give him a mischievous smile, running your foot up and down his leg, hand reaching between his thighs.

“I am simply showing my husband what he is missing when he attends to these important duties, more important than keeping his wife satisfied, apparently.” Your smile grows wider as his eyes grow dark, pupils blowing wide as your hand finds its prize, his cock already half hard simply from lying next to you all morning, breathing you in.

“Are you implying I do not keep you satisfied, my lady? Oh, that simply will not do…” he growls, rolling you over and caging you beneath his iron frame.

You look up at him through your lashes, your breath hitching as arousal pools in your core and drips down your thighs.

The dark glint in his eye only intensifies as he catches the scent of you, needy for his touch, as he dips his fingers between your thighs, delicately tracing your entrance as you shiver beneath him.

His hard length juts against your hip as he greedily swallows your moans, not sated until he has wrung every note of pleasure from you. His tongue doesn’t need to fight for dominance in your mouth; he already has it, and you let him take whatever he needs from you.

His thrusts are lazy, languid, now that his plans for the day no longer involve leaving your bed, meaning to take his sweet time with you.

His index and middle fingers circle your entrance, dipping in and out, thrusting deeper each time until he is knuckle-deep inside you. He hooks his fingers in a come hither motion, watching your face soften through hooded eyes as he strokes the sweetest spot inside you. Your body shakes under his ministrations as you clench around his fingers, seemingly unwilling to let him part from you in any way, shape, or form.

He kisses the tip of your nose before drawing back to take you in, spread out underneath him, hair across the pillow, lips parted and panting, eyes glassy with pleasure. He’d never tire of this sight.

When he first saw you, Sauron never thought he would end up here, with you so willingly his. His to hold close and torment with his loving words, torture with his lingering touch, to soothe with the lies that drip so easily from his tongue.

He covets you even when he has you pressed to him skin to skin, craves you even when he can’t breathe for his tongue inside you, wants to wrap himself around you when he can feel your soul entwined with his.

You are his, and today of all days, it is overwhelming him completely.

“So good for me, opening under my touch, I know what you need, darling, I have you, just let go.” He murmurs in your ear, aching for your release as much as his own; after all, they are the same thing.

He lowers himself to press his body against yours, needing to feel every inch of you against him, cunt clenching around his fingers as you give him your pleasure. You whine and pant against his neck as he refuses to give you a moment’s respite, stroking your inner walls, grinding his palm against your clit.

You shake through your orgasm, riding out your high on his fingers which relentlessly wring out every drop of pleasure from your body, until you’re breathless, pleasantly warm and tingly all over, and totally exhausted.

“So beautiful, my darling wife, wrung out and ruined for me. Is there a single thought in that pretty mind?” He can’t help but gaze at you fondly, slicked with sweat and writhing under his fingers.

Until this moment, he has had no thought of his own pleasure. Now he feels his cock ache to be inside you, and he rolls his hips against yours, sliding his cock between your thighs and rutting against your soft skin, his precum and your wetness soaking your thighs, easing his way. With every roll of his hips his cock grinds against your clit, rubbing against your lips, making you want him inside you where he belongs.

He throws his head back with a gasp, his golden hair falling over his shoulder, as the morning sun illuminates him from behind. You wonder, how could this ethereal being be yours? Giving into his carnal desires and binding himself to a mortal form for the love of you. It is too much to ponder, and you pull him down to your lips, desperate to taste him once more.

As you pull him down, he adjusts himself, teasing you with the promise of filling you up. He chuckles in your ear when you moan at the feeling of him thrusting deep inside you, his bare skin sliding against yours, as he makes himself at home between your thighs.

He slides his hand between you, his index and middle fingers parted to frame your clit as he rubs your cunt, occasionally tracing the swollen nub that begs for his attention. The whimpers that escape your lips only urge him to tease you further, forcing you to arch into his touch, chasing any semblance of release.

Your hips ache as you thrust to meet his hand, fighting the rolling of his hips as he takes what he wants from you. His cock driving into your wet heat, his hand between you teasing and caressing your clit, his forehead against yours as he holds himself over you with his free hand.

Before long, he feels his orgasm approach, too soon, but perhaps not for you, as you beg him to let you come, and how could he deny you when you plead so sweetly?

Not that he could ever deny any request made from your lips.

He pulls you close, torso to torso, and kisses you hard, a hungry clash of lips and tongues and teeth that leaves you both breathless, greedily swallowing your moans as if they were all he needed to survive.

It feels like a revelation every time, and this occasion is no different. When you both finally come down from the pleasurable peak he'd dragged you to, you still feel like you're floating, clinging to him just to stay grounded.

As you both lie there in your cozy bed, panting and nestling close, his large frame fitting around you so completely, he smoothes back flyaway tendrils of your hair from your face and regards you with a strange look, something akin to fondness but more hungry, more desperate, more obsessive.

As your breathing slows and you return to the mortal plain, you look up at him and smile.

“So. About today. I could show you the city? You haven’t seen beyond the forge, my love, and while it is no Gondolin, it has its charms, we’ve built something beautiful here. I want you to see it.” Your eyes sparkle at the idea of showing Sauron around your city, and he cannot help but give in, even as he wants to stay here with you as long as possible.

“Then I must let our friend know he shall have to do the work of the Valar himself today.” He chuckles, brushing his nose against yours.

~

Hand in hand with your husband, you cannot help but feel at peace as you stroll through the streets of Eregion.

Musicians fill the air with song, lively market stalls line the streets, and children run and play amongst the revellers.

Your fellow Elves are still a little in awe of him, the crowds parting as you make your way through the city.

“Do you never tire of this?” You ask, a blush creeping up your neck, gesturing at the people nodding and bowing and staring as he walks past with you.

His derisive snort should tell you everything you need to know as he smirks, casting a glance at you, squeezing your hand to soothe your discomfort. You were so used to serving the people of Eregion, that this sudden change in treatment was unsettling. You appreciated thanks for your work, but anything beyond that was too much; this nigh-worship was almost unbearable.

Sauron, however, was flourishing.

“It is what we deserve, my love, to be revered. We are more than them, after all.” He has always enjoyed your attentions, your worship, but he cannot deny that this satisfies his need to rule in a way that your love alone cannot touch.

“You might be, love, but I am merely one of them. So it feels strange…” You trail off as you regard him closely, noticing just how at ease he seems to be.

“Let’s go back.” You fight the growing dread in the pit of your stomach, wishing that you had just stayed in bed with him instead.

“Are you quite alright, love?” He turns to you, searching your gaze, only now noticing your concern.

“Yes, fine, darling, I just,” you search for an excuse, any excuse, “I’m just tired. Perhaps a lie down will do the trick, if you would join me?”

A flicker of irritation crosses his face; he might as well have gone to the forge today, if you were going to cut short your trip into the city.

“I might see how Lord Celebrimbor is coming along with the rings, and let you rest.” He gives you a smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and your stomach flips.

“Of course, love, I’ll see you later then.”

He presses a kiss to your knuckles before disappearing into the crowd, a strange sense of trepidation filling you as he leaves.

You know him well enough, unfortunately, that you can immediately sense when he is up to something; an itching in the back of your mind and a dull ache in your heart. Nefarious or not, you have to know what it is.

~

You peer through the door, ajar enough to see your husband in his leather apron sitting at Celebrimbor’s work bench, the forge otherwise empty. He is hard at work, his back to the door, and you can't tell what is consuming all of his attention. Most of his attention.

"Love, why do you linger at the door?" He asks, raising his head and smirking, before turning and leaning with an arm over the back of the chair, beckoning you to him.

You smile hesitantly, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of your dress as you open the door and cross the room.

He pats his thigh, taking your hand and guiding you to sit in his lap as you wrap your arms around his neck. Leaning forward to nuzzle his nose in your neck, he soaks you up, breathing in your scent and relishing the feeling of you so close. Your anxiety melts, the knots in your stomach untying themselves.

"Are you feeling better, love?" He murmurs, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Yes, much." It is not a lie; simply being with him in his natural habitat soothes your nerves.

He hums in acknowledgement, nose still at your throat, the deep vibration rippling through you.

"I hate to worry about you, darling," he remarks as he brushes his fingers through your hair.

"You'll never have to." You reply softly, drawing back to meet his gaze, so intense, so focused on taking you in.

He smiles wide, his eyes creasing just how you love, a genuine expression that has become more and more rare as his stay in Eregion has gone on. It warms your heart and makes you reach for him once more, planting your lips on his, Sauron making an undignified "hmph" in surprised response.

He could stay there forever in your arms, kissing you softly and languidly, letting himself melt into you. But the reason for his visit to the forge today sits on the bench behind you both, and he cannot forget it.

"I have a gift for you." He pulls away to reach for something on the bench behind you.

“A gift, my love? You are gift enough, I need nothing from you.” You laugh, heat flushing your cheeks as your husband takes your hand.

“How can I call myself the Lord of Gifts if I cannot even gift my wife a small trinket for her devotion?” He teases you fondly, his broad smile reaching his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners in the way that makes you want to kiss every crease and wrinkle from his face just to make them multiply a hundredfold.

“Close your eyes, love,” he tells you, still holding your hand with his other hand behind his back.

You do so with a dramatic sigh, grinning and rolling your eyes.

You feel him slip something cool and smooth onto your finger, and you feel a rush of his power through you that you have not felt in such a long time. You can feel it course through your veins, the towering inferno that is your husband’s will, his might and determination in one tiny object.

“Open.” He commands you, his excitement unmistakable.

A slim golden band graces your finger, radiating your husband’s power. There is something about it, something that makes you never want to take it off.

“Do you like it? Say something,” he laughs nervously, eager to hear your thoughts.

“It is… quite something, my love. Beautiful.” You can’t stop staring at it, the plain golden ring catching the light and throwing off an inner radiance that captivates you.

His face lights up, a wide smile brightening his handsome features as he takes your hand in his once more.

“I wanted to forge us something worthy of our bond. Something to strengthen us, to fortify what we have. To bind us together.” He looks into your eyes hopefully, yearning for the eternal life together that you’ve been denied thus far.

“It is… precious, my love. And if it works, you shall never be rid of me.” You clasp his hand in yours, resting your forehead on his, breathing him in.

“I shall forge one of my own, but yours was more pressing. They shall be a pair when I am done.”

You cannot help but smile fondly at him; thinking of you before himself.

“Thank you, love, I shall never take it off.”

You raise your hand to admire his handiwork, always in such awe of his talents, and notice him eyeing you hungrily.

"Are you quite alright, darling?" You tease him, as he leans over you, a large hand tracing your neck, pushing your hair back over your shoulder.

“I need you,” he murmurs, kissing your neck as he presses you against Celebrimbor’s workbench.

“Not here, love, let’s go home,” you try to push him off, laughing but the thought of being discovered like this in the forge, where anyone could find you, sends a shiver down your spine and your stomach unexpectedly flutters.

“No. Right here.” He runs his hands over your curves, ravenous for what only you can provide him. “Right now. I have to have you.”

He rucks up your skirts, lifting you by your hips onto the bench behind you, baring you to his lustful gaze, and to anyone else who could walk in.

“Is the door locked at least?” You ask him, your stomach still tying itself in knots.

“Of course, love, do you think I want anyone bearing witness to the mere sight of you like this? You are mine, and mine alone.” He growls, deep in his chest, as he grips your thighs, digging into the soft flesh with his fingernails, leaving red crescent marks to mark you as his.

He can’t resist the sight of your wet cunt, has to taste you, flexing his tongue to delve into your entrance as he plays with your swollen clit. He pulls you closer, throwing your legs over his shoulders, gripping your ass to keep your cunt against his face.

You can’t help but roll your hips, begging him for more, riding his face, taking full advantage of the fact that with his regained strength, Sauron doesn’t actually need to breathe.

His iron grip keeps you pinned against him as you arch your back and moan breathily for anyone who might be passing to hear.

He senses your orgasm approaching, and thrusts two long deft fingers inside your cunt, stroking your walls as he laps at your clit. Your body quakes as you give yourself to him, your peak crashing over you with no respite, Sauron drawing every ounce of pleasure he can from your aching cunt with a delicious gleam in his eye.

Finally he gives you some kind of reprieve, drawing back to admire his handiwork.

He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, smirking as he pulls himself up to meet your lips. You can taste yourself on him as he kisses you hard, teeth dragging on your bottom lip, hands kneading greedily at your thighs.

"Are you ready for me, love? Always ready for me, aren't you, always so good..." he gasps in your ear as he slams his cock inside you in one solid thrust, rolling his hips and relishing in the feeling of you, tight and hot around him.

He thinks he hears footsteps on the stairs. He slows his pace just a fraction to listen, not that you seem to notice.

The door swings open a little, but whoever it is does not immediately enter, startled by the noises coming from inside the forge.

Thankfully your back is to the door, and one glare from Sauron sends the smith at the door running back down the stairs, leaving the door ajar. He rolls his eyes and smirks against your lips, crashing his lips into yours with renewed vigour, bucking his hips and slamming his cock deep inside you.

The thought of the world having borne witness to the love you share, it sends him wild and obliterates any sane thought from his mind, the only notion in his head to ravage you senseless.

"So good for me, such a good girl," he murmurs as he takes you in your exhausted glory, your limbs shaking and your cunt quivering.

He leans down to take your nipple in his mouth, mouthing at your tender flesh before nipping with his sharp teeth, a loud moan escaping your throat.

Working his way up to your neck, he lavishes your bare skin with his tongue, sucking hard on the sensitive skin of your throat, making sure to leave a bruise no one will miss.

You whimper as he slips his cock from inside you, marvelling at the state of you, dripping with his cum.

"Always so appreciative, aren't you darling? Always so giving, so grateful to receive whatever I give you. And you've given me everything-"

He picks you up, your arms clinging to his neck as you instinctively wrap your legs around his hips.

"-but you can give me so much more."

He slams his cock inside you again, letting gravity do its work as you're stretched to your limit, moaning as he angles his hips just right so you see stars on every thrust.

"Oh, darling, is that too much?" He mocks you fondly before swallowing your whines, stealing the breath from your lungs in his need, no, greed for you.

With you balanced in his large hands, his muscles flexing with every thrust, he bounces you on his cock like you weigh nothing, as if you were merely a plaything for him to use and spoil and defile. His, and his alone.

He can't get enough of you, of the sight of you ruined and writhing at his touch, desperate for more even as he wrings another orgasm from your overstimulated cunt.

His own peak crashes into him like a wave on the shore, pulsing inside you as your walls clench around him.

"I love you, I love you, love you, love you..." he gasps over and over into your neck, shuddering against you as he leans you back against Celebrimbor’s work bench.

You can do nothing but kiss him, words beyond you, your tongue capable of nothing but kissing your husband.

"So good for me, beautiful girl, so good..." he murmurs softly into your neck as his cock twitches inside you, his seed dripping down your inner thighs.

When your legs stop shaking, he lets you stand, still leaning on him. He combs through your hair with his fingers, tucking it behind your ears. Then he glances down at the mess he's left between your legs and smirks.

"Leave it."

You raise an eyebrow at him, already reaching to clean yourself up before you leave the forge.

"I'll be home soon. I'll do it myself."

You finally realise what he's saying and squirm at the idea of trying to walk home in the state you're in. Defiled in all the ways that count. But the glint in his eye warns you not to argue.

True to his word, he arrives home not long after you, so you don't wait too long for his tongue to clean up the mess he made.

~

There are warning signs. You missed most, if not all of them. Or wilfully ignored them.

But when the siege horns blare, in your heart of hearts, you know it is Sauron’s doing.

The first place you think to find him is the forge, but instead you find Celebrimbor hunched over his bench, painstakingly at work.

"My lord? Do you not hear the horns? We need to leave!" You try to take his arm to hoist him to his feet, but he shudders and throws you off.

He catches you off balance and you stumble, throwing an arm out to steady yourself.

To your surprise, a large warm hand takes yours and keeps you upright.

"I told you not to come here, love." Sauron remarks, his tone eerily neutral, as if you haven't just stumbled into a nightmare.

"I was... I was looking for you." You mutter, still watching Celebrimbor, concerned for his state of mind as he rambles about mice and candles.

"I told you to stay at home where you'd be safe. Was that simple instruction so beyond you?"

Your head snaps toward him as the sharp knife of his words pierces you between the ribs.

A flurry of questions and indignant remarks fills your head but you merely stare at him, mouth agape, as he disregards you, stepping to the bench to inspect his precious rings.

"How much longer?" His impatience has always been dangerous, but it is in this moment you realise just how so.

"Soon... just the final touches, they are nearly complete." Celebrimbor flinches as Sauron places the ring back on the bench and takes his shoulder in hand.

"Do you hear that? I kept the storm at bay but you chose to peel back the curtain. Your city is falling, but the sooner you deliver the rings, the more of your city you save. Do not fail them."

He takes your hand and leads you out of sight, pushing you up against a wall. His large hand wraps around your neck with such ease, it startles you, and you can do nothing but whimper against him.

"I told you not to come here." He whispers in your ear, hot breath tickling your neck.

"I'm sorry-" you gasp as his thumb constricts a little around your throat, "Needed to know you were safe."

He loosens his grip and smiles fondly at you, though not quite letting it reach his eyes, as your hearts pound in unison.

"Oh darling. Aren't you just perfect?" Then he kisses you hard, before turning you around, pressing your face against the cold hard stone.

Your stomach drops as you realise what he's planning. Surely not, not as the city crumbles around you and the Lord of Eregion sits mere feet away?

"Love, no, not now-"

He enters you with a practised touch, knowing exactly how he has to please you to ease his way in. Your body betrays you as he fucks you without mercy, taking his pleasure from your needy moans and wanton gasps as you succumb to the feeling of him drilling into you from behind.

This is new, as usually he delights in studying your face for every microexpression, taking you in as he ravages you. Now it is solely about what he can take from you, the only thought in his head to come as quickly as inhumanly possible.

It leaves you breathless and panting, and when he peaks, you find yourself grinding into him to try and find some kind of release too.

He chuckles in your ear, thrusting his hand between your thighs.

"What's that, love? Weren't you saying no? Do you want me to let you come? Oh you do? You're lucky that your pleasure is mine, or I might not be so giving..."

His words fade to nothing as your ears ring with siege horns and explosions and the mind-bending sensation of orgasming around Sauron’s cock, even as you know what his plans have wrought.

~

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” you murmur over and over, holding the Lord of Eregion in your lap, trying to heal his wounds well enough that he can finish his work.

The wounds inflicted by the man you call husband in a moment of cruel impatience.

“Amarië, I need him to work, the rings-”

“-will be finished when he can stand. A moment’s peace, for pity’s sake.” You interrupt your husband, turning to look at him to find no pity in his eyes, only jealous rage.

“Let me work, so he can work. This is your doing after all, you should know it will take time.”

Your tone wounds him, the acid in your words corroding his black heart, but he cannot let himself pause in the pursuit of his goal, not when the rings for Men are within such tantalisingly close reach.

The melody you sing over Celebrimbor to knit his flesh eventually soothes his pain and stems the bleeding enough that soon he is sat at his workbench, still wincing, but for your sake, presses on with finishing the rings.

“Watch him, I’ll be back shortly.” Never has Sauron spoken so abruptly with you, and after everything you’ve witnessed today, you’re loath to let him leave with no rebuke.

“After everything He did to you, you would inflict the same torture on someone who has only shown you kindness?”

He glares down at you, only the tiniest furrow of his brow giving anything away about his current train of thought.

"It is… necessary. If he had done what I’d asked, I wouldn’t have been forced to-"

"Absolutely not. Do not do this. Do not blame him for what you have done. That is exactly what Morgoth did to you, what I nursed you through, so don’t try that with me." You’ve never been stern with him before so you’re not sure how he will take it, and frankly neither is he.

“This is not you!”

“But it is me.” He leans in to whisper in your ear. “You just haven’t been paying attention.”

Your stomach drops as he smirks, stalking down the stairs. He looks back up at you a moment.

“Do not let him leave.” His tone cuts you like a knife, and when the door swings closed, you crumble to the floor, head in your arms.

~

"How long have you known?" Galadriel can barely look at you as your tears blind you.

It takes you a long time to answer.

"Too long. I thought he had changed! At first I thought him dead, then he came back so different, I wanted-"

"You wanted your husband." She looks you in the eye, and once again, you feel a wave of nausea overwhelm you.

“It is a twisted, evil fate, that I would take back in a heartbeat, but there is no earthly force that can break us apart. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Your voice breaks and Galadriel cannot help but embrace you; she knows how heavy the bond between couples is, and knows that to try to undo it is a fool’s errand.

“I just want to come home.” You sob into her shoulder, heart breaking for her that she must be the one to comfort you, after all your husband has done to hurt her and her family, and what he has done to your city.

"Are you with me?" She asks, hands on your shoulders as you pull away.

You don't even have to think. Your broken heart speaks for you.

"Whatever it takes."

~

You find him on a cliff's edge, surrounded by orcs that bow and simper as you pass.

"I knew you'd come." He greets you, though he doesn't turn from looking down over the cliff, as if his eye is trained on something no mortal being could see.

"Predictable as always." You quip, but your anger bleeds through and the edge in your voice finally makes him face you.

"You're upset-"

"Oh, really?" You interrupt him with a snort.

"I tried to save Eregion, but Adar-"

"Oh no, don't do that, we both know that was your plan all along. You have always played the long game, don't doubt your abilities now, dear husband."

He smirks, stepping closer, taking your hands in his.

“Tell me the truth, please, just for once.” Your anger and your grief battle for dominance, and even now he feels a tiny pang of guilt.

“You have always known my purpose, my love-”

You interrupt him with your fists, so angry with him now that words fail you. He holds your wrists calmly, impassively, speaking over your outburst as if it had not happened, as if you were merely taking tea on your balcony.

“You have always known that Middle Earth is sick, that it needs healing, and who better than I to do so? I alone have the power and the will to remake this land, and you, my Queen, you will help me fix this broken world.” He is so sincere, smiling down at you as if it is already decided.

You try to pull away, shaking your head and fighting his every movement to keep you in his arms.

“I will not. I cannot, Mairon, I won’t.” You catch yourself and gasp. “Even now, even now I call you by the name you do not deserve.”

The tic in his jaw is back, and he inclines his head slightly, daring you to continue, warning you not to.

“Do you want to hear me say it? The name my kin gave you eons ago? The name you swore was dead and buried, along with your designs to rule the world?”

“You make it sound so inelegant, ‘rule the world’, is it my fault that the peoples of Middle Earth need uniting under a strong leader, one who will bring them the order and balance they so desire?” He is still using that calm, condescending tone that drives you mad, that once soothed you but now feels like fingernails under your skin.

“Is it balance if it is by force? You cannot trick them into acceptance, Mairon.” You know that to reason with him is folly, but you have to try, against all odds, to make him see reason in his madness.

“You want to be worshipped as a god.” You whisper, unable to believe this is the man you married, that you loved. Love. Love, still, as you rail against the feeling, hopeless to break it.

“And you, my goddess. It is as it should be, the right way of things, the people need order, and we can give it to them. You and I.” He traces your face softly, making you shiver. “Only us.”

You fight to break free of his embrace, hands on his chest, but you’re damned if he will let you go, his grip like the iron crown he wishes to place on your head.

"There is no 'us’. Not anymore. There can be no "us", for as long as you are unrepentant, I cannot bear to look upon you." The words taste acrid in your mouth, betraying every feeling still plaguing you deep in your soul.

His face twists, biting back every poisonous word he wishes to fling at you.

"You want to heal Middle Earth? How can one so broken know anything of healing?"

Despite your venom, and the wrenching in your souls, he tenderly holds your chin, upturning your face to him; even now you know exactly who he is, his radiance blinds you. Every heartbeat, every slow exhale, it all seems to stop, as you study his face for what you hope is the last time.

“What makes it worse, what really hurts,” your voice is unsteady, betraying the maelstrom in your heart, “is that in another life, another time, we could have been really happy.” The dam breaks and you cannot help but let a hot tear fall, willing the rest to remain unshed until you are alone.

“Weren’t we?” He seems genuinely confused, crushed even, voice thick with all the things he wants to say, all the things he knows would break you.

The hard expression you’ve worked so hard to maintain cracks; yes, you were, you were so blissfully happy, in those golden days where it was just the two of you, no war, no suffering, just two lovers meeting.

“Do not make me say it,” you choke out, tears now falling freely; gods, you had been so happy, and you wish with all your might to be taken back to those days in your lover’s arms, all tender kisses and warm embraces.

Even in your absolute sorrow, he cannot help but claim you one last time, pressing his lips to yours like you are his last meal on this mortal plain. Unwilling in spirit, but your body melts into him, desperate to forget for just a second before you turn your back on him forever. You can feel the ebb and flow of your souls crackling and churning around you, becoming palpable in the very air you breathe.

You break away first, hesitant to allow this moment to end. But it must.

“Do not go where I cannot follow.” He murmurs into the hollow of your throat, as he grips your hair and pulls your head back. With a heavy sigh you press your lips to his forehead, and back away, his fingers trailing yours as you part.

“You can follow, any time you wish.” Your voice breaks, as does your heart, clean in two, as you turn your back and leave him on that accursed precipice.

The golden ring on your finger seems almost to pulsate with heat; indeed you had quite forgotten it was there. You raise your hand to inspect it, tiny engraved letters filling the band that you had never seen before.

You could feel Sauron’s power in the ring, its binding magic pulling your heart back to the comfort of his embrace.

“Read it.” His voice behind you is hard but pleading, wrenching your heart.

The script on the ring burns red like coals on the fire as you hold it up, trying to make out what he engraved there.

Two Rings to bind what Evil tried to rend,

Two Rings for a King and Queen, their bond none can transcend,

Two Rings to rule them all, a power with no end

A tiny part of you is touched that he poured so much of himself into a ring meant to soften Morgoth’s curse upon the pair of you. The rest of you is incensed that he would use your love to satisfy his craving for power.

“You simply cannot resist, can you?” Your voice shakes with anger as you turn back to face him, his face falling as he realises that perhaps you would not be so easily won.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he shakes his head as if he hasn’t an inkling what might have upset you.

“You know very well. A ring to bind me to you? Very well, you told me what it was when you gave it to me. But a ring to bring you the power you crave? To bind all the other rings of power to you, to dominate the free peoples of Middle Earth with a trinket? I cannot be a part of it!”

You stop for a moment, pausing in the realisation that your husband has not yet, to your knowledge, forged his own ring. Perhaps there is hope.

“I cannot be a part of it. But I will take it with me.” You say, holding up your hand. “For safekeeping.”

He does not argue. Instead he smirks and tells you, “I’d have it no other way.”

Perhaps you should be concerned, but surely it would do more harm in his hands than yours.

“You don’t want this.” For the first time in millennia, his voice shakes as he calls after you.

You turn on your heel and search his face for any sign at all that he might still come with you.

“You don’t know my heart.” It tastes a lie as it leaves your lips, but it’s the only retort you have.

With a soft smile, knowing and terrible, he replies, “Darling, I am your heart.”

The space where your heart used to be twists and shatters, leaving you breathless.

“Then you know how much this hurts. Please, don’t make it worse.” With that, you take your leave, refusing to turn around without him at your back, abandoning him to his chosen fate.

“Amarië,” you hear him softly behind you, as you refuse to look back.

“Amarië, do not foresake me!” It is an interesting choice of words, considering Morgoth’s curse that dooms you both to the other’s absence, and the irony is not lost on you.

“Do not let Him take you from me again!”

You stop in your tracks, turning on your heel.

“This is not His doing, my love.” You hold fast as he stalks towards you, trembling slightly as you take in your husband in all his fury.

He towers above you, taking your face in his hands.

“It is yours.” You whisper, your strength waning as he lowers himself to claim you in a crushing kiss, hands wrapping tightly around your neck and waist.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but kiss him back with abandon, feel his hands digging into your sides, the pain in your heart-

“Give up this madness. Come with me. Please, you said once you’d do anything for the love of me. So come with me.” You plead with him, grasping his hands tightly as if it were possible to change his mind simply by imbuing his flesh with your will.

After what feels like the longest pause of your life, Sauron gazing into your eyes with an inscrutable expression, he rests his forehead to yours.

“I must heal Middle Earth. And I will do it with or without you.” His voice breaks, like your heart.

You pull away and nod, refusing to look at him.

“Then know this is not your master’s doing, it is entirely your own.”

You turn and start walking, in desperate hope your people will forgive you, will take you in now you have nowhere else to turn.

He screams your name until he is hoarse, but he does not follow. He can always find you; time and space are no obstacles to the likes of your bond.

But that does not fill the hole in his arms where the world used to be, the space meant for you.

[jsmelodies]

I'd Go Back to the Winter

Five years ago, Elain Archeron loved Lucien Vanserra. Supposedly. She can’t remember a single second of it. And the only way to bring it back is to relive it all.

@laxibbeb It's me, your Secret Santa for the @acotargiftexchange!

It has been so, so lovely getting to know you over the past couple of months. I'll admit that I was nervous about trying my hand at Elucien, but I've enjoyed our talks so much and getting to be creative with this!

I really stepped out of my comfort zone with this one. I do usually stay in canon verse, but not typically in this way. I played around with it a lot here - and I had so much fun doing it!

You said you liked fanfics that were a little Out There, so I really hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it💕

Read here on ao3

Chapter 1

The figure slid into Lucien’s booth just as he finished the last dregs of ale. The long, dark cloak billowed with the movement of footsteps across the creaking floorboards.

The tavern air was humid and sticky, and the fabric of his jacket clung to his chest with sweat. But it was better than the air outside, with a wind so cold it might freeze off the extremities on his face. 

And although Lucien had never had a problem staying warm, this was no night for anyone to be outside.

The tavern was one of Velaris’ worst. Perhaps one that his mate’s sister might have frequented, back when she did such things. Maybe that was why she picked it, taking the first seedy tavern that popped into her head.

It didn’t matter to him.

Truth be told, this was one of the last places he wanted to be. Being in this damned city was bad enough, without the invitation that he couldn’t refuse. 

Meet me. Written in that perfect, delicate handwriting that was the result of years of forced practice, of tutoring until she looped her letters and dotted her i’s just so. A trained courtier she could certainly be, if she ever wished it. With her pleasant smiles that could bring a man to his knees, she was suited for it. 

She lit up a room, bringing it to life. In all ways that mattered.

Her bedroom in the human lands had been anything but dull. Much to her sister’s dismay, she had ivy growing on the walls, even in the wintertime, filling the room with a lush green that drew his eyes from the drab landscape of the human realm. There were potted plants, flowers that reached for the scarce sunlight that set way too quickly. Never enough time, never enough light.

But under her thumb, they thrived. They were vibrant, an explosion of color as they sat on her windowsill. 

Persevering. Enduring. Making the most out of what was sparsely given.

Elain Archeron was meant to be in the sunlight. She was light. And even in the mortal lands, it had been clear as day.

The tavern surrounded her in shadow. The cloak she wore covered everything, concealing her identity from all who would dare to look. So utterly dramatic, his mate.

“Elain. Lovely to see you.”

She forced a smile that had become common between them as of late. “Lucien.”

Her hands grabbed the sides of the hood to bring it down around her neck. The tips of her ears poked out from her hair, golden and set in near perfect curls on her back. When she was human, the pattern had been different—still beautiful, but in soft waves that he could run his fingers through.

Now, though, he was almost scared to touch, in fear of ruining their perfection. If she even let him get that far.

She’d been pretty before the war, devastatingly so. Even then, he’d known that he wasn’t enough for her. Elain Archeron was a woman that kings went to war over, and somehow, she’d fallen into his arms instead: a landless emissary with next to nothing to offer. 

But her, as high fae? He had to admit that she’d always been meant to be this way. Even if she disagreed, and hated him for thinking so. He hated himself for thinking it, too.

Her eyes widened as she took in the scene around her. The drunk males leered at them from the bartop, and her nose scrunched at the scent that made its way into her nose. She was out of place here, with the pristine dress that he was sure she wore under her cloak, and the clink of gold that he could hear on her wrists. 

“This seems like the last place a lady such as yourself would want to meet,” he said. “I do admit, I am quite surprised you suggested it.”

“No one will bother us here,” she explained. 

When the barkeep looked their way, Lucien raised his hand in silent request for his glass to be refilled. Elain, however, shook her head when the male’s attention shifted to her, declining what he offered.

“Ah, yes. You wouldn’t want your family seeing us together, would you? It would send the wrong idea.”

She gave him a cruel smile. Well, as cruel as someone like Elain could manage. “Exactly.”

He leaned forward so his weight rested on his elbows, just as his next mug of ale arrived. He let it sit there, his attention focused entirely elsewhere.

The female across from him was much, much more important.

Some things never changed, he supposed. Her tells were the same as they always had been. Still not entirely used to her fae body, he assumed she didn’t know that he could hear it, the slight shake of her leg beneath the table.

Easy enough to hide, from wandering eyes. Indistinguishable enough that she wouldn’t have been chastised for it.

But he could hear it. Faintly. Steadily. The scratch of her heel along the wood of the bar seat, moving up and down as she stared.

Elain Archeron, for all intents and purposes, was nervous.

“I was wondering when you would eventually want to see me again,” he commented, at last picking up the ale that was waiting for him.

That little fire in her eyes sparked. The one that warmed the brown, full of indignation that had once been trained into submission. He’d brought it out of her, stoking it to life once. And he’d loved every second of it.

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because the mating bond pulls at you, doesn’t it? Just like it does for me?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “That’s presumptuous of you.”

But she gave him that look she always did when she knew she was backed into a corner. So he said, “It pulls and pulls, and at some point, you wonder what you’re missing.”

She didn’t deny him. Call him an arrogant prick all she wanted, but he was right, wasn’t he?

“Well, what is it? You want to give it another go? You want to break the bond? What do you want?”

He didn’t see her next words coming. “I want to remember how it happened.”

The question blanketed over the air between them. It thickened the room like smoke, to the point that he could hardly think, or breathe.

She wanted to know. About them, and how he’d broken her heart. Which, given how they ended up in this predicament, he wasn’t overly convinced to do.

“No.”

“No?”

“Last I remembered, you were begging to forget me.” Lucien offered her a smile, but he knew without looking at it that it didn’t meet his eyes. “I’d be a terrible mate if I took that back, wouldn’t I?”

“But I’m asking you to.” She blinked in that way of hers that showed off her long eyelashes, slow and intentional. It was how she got what she wanted, he’d learned. “It would make a wonderful Solstice present.”

“I was thinking of a nice necklace instead. Perhaps to match the earrings you never wear.”

“Charming.” She leaned back in the seat, crossing her arms across her chest. “I do think I would prefer this, though.”

Delightful. This was exactly how he wanted to spend the holidays: dragging a female that hated him across Prythian.

It was what that damned witch had told him to do if he ever wanted to reverse it. He’d tracked her all the way to the edges of Oorid, to the place right before the wetland consumed the ground entirely. The small cottage had been built upon the squishy mud, stabilized by some ancient magic that he felt twisting around his bones.

It went quickly. They had struck a bargain. 

There was no other payment he could offer to a witch that fed on memories, so he’d offered one of his most precious ones, in exchange for the piece of her magic he desired.

The magic that Elain had pleaded for.

And with that magic, came very clear instructions. For Elain to remember any of it, she had to experience it all again: every twist and turn, every moment of joy and heartbreak.

It was painful for him to think about, even five years later. What would it be like for it all to be fresh in her mind again?

“You want to know the story, then?” he asked. “You want to relive it? You want to hate me even more than you already do?” He couldn’t stop his lip from raising in a slight sneer. “Tell me this, Elain. What will you do when you learn? Because I could handle it once, your hatred. But I don’t think I’m inclined to be on the receiving end of that anger again.”

She held his stare for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine. I promise I will have a reaction that is perfectly acceptable.”

“I’m sorry if I don’t trust your promises.” The words came out more harshly than he intended. 

She let the words linger.

Her eyes blazed through the space, perfect and defiant and everything he was supposed to love. “I don’t think I hate you anymore.”

The words cut through him, unrelenting as they tore through his heart. Five years ago, he craved to hear those words. 

He knew the truth of it—that there was a fine line between love and hate. And that Elain Archeron loved him such that she’d lost herself in it, that with that final blow, it was so easy for it to switch. To cross that line into loathing, until she couldn’t even bear to be in the same room as him.

“I loved you. Didn’t I?” she asked.

He took a sip, and set his glass down on the table. “You did.”

Her lips set into a line, and she straightened in her seat. “I want to know why.” When he didn’t respond, she said a touch softer, “I’m ready to know why.”

Maybe five years was enough to lessen the hurt of it. It was that thought that sparked hope in his chest, that this might be enough to get them talking again. He wouldn’t go quite so far as to hope for her forgiveness. No, that wouldn’t come for a long while.

Maybe, though, they could take that first step.

He looked over her, his decision made. “Pack a bag, Elain. This is going to take a while.”

***

She met him in the morning. She slipped out of the river house before anyone was awake to notice her leave, placing a single note on the main table excusing her absence for the next week.

A garden on the other side of Velaris, was what she said. With enough detail to bore Feyre and Nesta to death, so that they would leave it alone.

No one would investigate. She’d never given them a reason to.

She’d never been to his apartment, yet she knew where it was. That golden thread in her chest knew where to find him, leading her through the labyrinth of Velaris’ streets until she arrived at a building in the heart of the business district, tall and made from red bricks from the mountain range that surrounded the city.

She didn’t understand it. She didn’t think she ever would. How sometimes it felt like he was wrapped around her heart, coiled around it tightly in a tapestry of golden light.

How she could feel his essence through it—something she felt like she was supposed to miss, without knowing why.

How was she supposed to miss someone she didn’t remember? 

She missed the laugh that she couldn’t place. The steady breathing that she was sure appeared when he was in a deep sleep, passed out beside her, even if it never formed fully in her mind’s depth.

Sometimes when she saw the glint in his hair, or when the sun hit the russet brown of his eye, she felt a pang in her chest. There was the urge to take those long strands through her fingers, and cup his face with her palm.

Sometimes, she swore she felt the faintest of touches. His lips against her own, the ghost of his hand along her waist. Her hip.

She could hear the soft rasp of his whisper, air pressing against the shell of her ear. Could see the slightest dimple from his smile.

Like she had known once what it had meant to be loved; cherished. 

It always slipped from her mind like smoke. And, quite honestly, she didn’t know how she was able to miss it. But she knew that she did, even though she couldn’t name any of it.

Just as dawn broke, she knocked firmly on his apartment door. It was towards the back of the hallway on the second floor, and he answered within mere seconds.

The two of them exchanged brief greetings, awkward and strained as she avoided his eyes. He took her bag from her, slinging it over his shoulder with a graceful movement. She fought to keep her jaw shut, watching the firm lines of muscle flex under his pressed jacket. She’d always found him handsome, even in those early days after the Cauldron, when she hated him and didn’t know why. All she knew then was that she’d begged him to take it away—and he had.

Elain took his hand, and then he brought them through that void in between space. They landed in the middle of the woods, the mortal woods, and the nearly rotted leaves poked out through the snow.

Before them stood a cottage, one that was all too familiar.

For years, she’d lived here. Suffered through harsh winters. Prayed that a single vegetable would grow in that garden, in the hopes that they might be fed.

She hated this cottage.

Memories slammed through her, of trying to stop Feyre and Nesta from ripping each other’s throats out. She’d played mediator for far too long in that house, taking the middle of the bed when her sisters could barely stand to look at each other, even in the height of summer when all she could feel was her sisters’ body heat melting onto her.

The cottage hadn’t fared well, it seemed. The roof had finally caved in, and vines covered the chipped wooden walls.

No one could possibly live here now. She didn’t even know how they lived here all those years ago. Looking at it now, it was pathetic. Certainly not fit for a family of four. If anything, it was fit for a family of squirrels.

“What are we doing here?” she asked.

Sympathy filled his expression, as if he knew the toll that all those years in poverty had taken. Maybe they’d talked about it at great length, before it happened.

Did she share everything with him? All her insecurities, all her doubts? Her dreams of leaving this place behind, and exploring what the world had to offer?

She didn’t know. But Lucien looked at her like he knew her, like his soul was familiar with hers. And she hated it, hated how some part of her reached out and grabbed some invisible hand. How he seemed to reach back, sliding a comforting thumb over the center of her palm.

Even as her hands laid limply at her sides. That phantom touch terrified her, and she knew it was the bond. Knew it was her trying to find comfort, and him trying to provide it.

It was part of why she stayed away from him for so long. The mating bond was a sixth sense, one that she had gone nearly a quarter of a century without. Using it felt unnatural; different from anything she had ever known.

His eyes dropped to her hands for just a moment, before he cleared his throat. “We will not stay here incredibly long, I assure you. As I recall, you were not fond of this place.” He offered her a hesitant smile, and said, “All stories have a beginning, though, and ours starts here.”

***

A snowflake fell to the ground as Lucien approached the cottage in the woods.

He adjusted his sleeves, shivering in the wind that seeped in through his jacket and chilled his Autumn blood. He’d forgotten how cold the mortal lands could be this time of year. With Spring always remaining a constant, lovely temperature, he supposed he’d become a bit spoiled. And he hadn’t done a route through here in ages.

Had Andras been cold when he died? 

He imagined the blood of his friend staining the snow a bright red. He imagined a mortal huntress bringing him down with a single ash arrow, and skinning the pelt right off of him. He shuddered at the thought, and forced it from his mind.

He’d never met these humans, but he hated them already. No matter that they hadn’t been the ones to fire the arrow. It was irrational, he knew. For they were the reason his friend had died. His death had been toasted at their dinner table, while they ate and clinked their glasses.

Andras had to die. He knew that. But Andras had been his friend, and they spent most of their evenings playing cards by the crackling fire.

The human had killed his friend, and Tamlin was already acting like a lovesick fool. Offering a damned estate to mortals who he didn’t owe a single copper to. A house that wasn’t about to collapse in on itself would have worked just fine, if you asked him.

Looking at the cabin in front of him, he noted that it was rather pathetic. A thin stream of smoke escaped from a hole in the roof, and he knew just from looking at it that the fire below couldn’t possibly be warming the entire cabin.

Tamlin had done a number on this place. The door was barely on its hinges, as if somebody had made a poor attempt of putting it back into place.

There was a garden in the front, barren from the winter, with only a few lifeless shrubs to indicate that anything had ever grown here in the first place. And the rest of it was drab, more so than he expected, and he had to force his sympathy deep down in his chest where it belonged.

He’d do his job, play his part, and then he could get damn well out of here.

He raised his hands to the door, making sure to knock lightly enough so the door wouldn’t fall right off.

At first, he thought no one would answer. Perhaps without Feyre here, the family had frozen in the cold. He hoped that wasn’t the case, for the sole reason that it might complicate matters. Feyre would be far less cooperative if she learned that her human family no longer breathed, and…

As the thought formed in his mind, he realized how terrible it sounded.

To his relief, though, Then there was a shuffling across the floor, starting from the other side of the cabin, it sounded like, and the door was pulled back just a hair.

Even though Tamlin glamoured him before he left, this woman seemed to stare at where his mask should be, at where his now round ears would normally point into tips.

So, this was the family that the human girl had talked about. He tried to keep his unimpressed look contained as the woman opened the door wider, a sneer already forming on her face.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Miss Archeron?” he asked.

She was silent for a moment. “What is it to you?”

“Your father’s ships. They’ve landed at the docks.”

Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. It would have been entirely so, if he had been untrained to pick up on such things.

But despite how well-constructed this woman’s mask was, he could pick apart the apprehension, and the disbelief.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“You can call me Lucien,” he said, giving a polite dip of his head. “As I said, the ships arrived just this morning. We couldn’t quite believe it, after all these years.”

She blinked, long and slow. “I won’t fall for your tricks.” She stepped back from the doorway just enough so she could bring the door forward. She said with a snarl, “I would advise you to leave.”

He shoved his foot into the space between the door and the wall, holding back his wince when the woman didn’t hesitate in her movement. It dug into his foot with a searing pain, and the force that this mortal woman put into her blow almost made him wince.

Still, though, he forced his face to be pleasant. “And what makes you think it is a lie?” It rolled smoothly off of his tongue, meant to put the woman at ease.

It didn’t work. Instead, her gaze narrowed on him, ladled with suspicion.

“Nesta, let the man inside,” came a soft lilt from behind her.

Nesta, he assumed, held the door in a death grip, not budging even after the other woman had told her otherwise. Until that woman came to the doorway herself, to see the commotion with her own eyes.

Her own beautiful, deep brown eyes.

Poverty could only hide so much. Even in her simple dress, and the meals she clearly lacked, she was ethereal anyways—a goddess that had somehow taken a human form, who deigned to look at the stranger upon her doorstep with warmth.

He sketched a bow, and murmured, “I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure, lady…?”

The corners of her lips lifted as she blushed. “Elain.”

[tealvenetianmask]

new to the fandom, hello. i've seen a few posts on your blog about blitz's bad spelling being rooted in dyslexia, however i've noticed that all imps seem to have bad spelling, all the way back to flashbacks of the circus.

one could argue i suppose that spellings seen at the circus are written by his dad, and that dyslexia runs in the family. but i think the consistent imp misspellings are intended as another indication of how lower class imps are - that they are uneducated, perhaps not allowed to receive education, and thus don't know *how* to spell.

Welcome. I disagree, and I think you expected that.

I'll start with the claim you based everything on.

"I've noticed that all imps seem to have bad spelling, all the way back to flashbacks of the circus."

Now, I really dug. And I could only find one example of something spelled incorrectly in any of the circus flashbacks. This is from "Oops."

Okay. Someone spelled fireworks comically wrong. My bet is Cash (whatever the cause), and idk... we haven't seen a pattern. Just the one example. Maybe he's dyslexic too. Maybe he's poorly educated (more on that later). But that would all be more in the headcanon realm for me.

Other things are spelled correctly at the circus.

The only other non-Blitz example of an imp being unable to spell something is Striker in "Mastermind" struggling to spell/say grimoire. But who can blame him? I struggle to spell grimoire, and I'm a human with a masters degree.

Beyond that, Fizzarolli, Millie, and Moxxie (you know . . . all the secondary imp characters) are shown spelling things correctly.

Fizz uses shorthand and repeats letters for emphasis here and there, but all of the words that he fully spells out are spelled correctly. There's nothing that can really be called a spelling mistake here.

The same can be said about Millie's texts in "Seeing Stars." She uses shorthand, but it seems intentional. You can compare her spelling to Blitz's directly here. "Mackin" in this context just doesn't have a slangy/shorthand explanation in the same way. Neither does "were" for "where." This is because spelling is automatic for Millie, but it isn't for Blitz. He's using phonetic(ish) guesses.

We also have Moxxie writing down a report that Blitz dictates in "Mission: Antarctica."

The guy can spell perfectly.

But-- honestly? You only have to be familiar with Moxxie as a character to know that his spelling would be flawless . . . For example, look at how he calls Blitz out for his spelling and grammar in "Spring Broken."

Blitz is the ONLY character with a recurring pattern of poor spelling. And if the writers didn't want us to make something of it, they wouldn't keep showing it to us in almost every episode. Now his spelling isn't always bad (he does alright in his apology notes and then in his reports in the shorts- IF Moxxie isn't still writing for him). And I wrote a piece of meta here that explains why I think it might show a form of self-accommodation that's super common for people with learning disabilities.

Now. I'd like to talk about imps and education briefly. Yes, imps are marginalized by their society, often poor, and expected to work for higher demons. But I don't think they have it much worse in terms of education and daily life than say . . . marginalized people in today's real life societies. Their roles are more rigid, yes, but they do hold a range of jobs and participate fully in demon life in multiple rings of Hell.

Are imps on average less well educated than demons higher on Hell's hierarchy? Yes, I'm sure. But remember, Blitz tells us he dropped out of a college, and for that he'd have to be . . . you know, allowed to start at one. And we see imps being very competent consistently. I haven't seen anything that suggests that they're not allowed to be educated (though they're pretty clearly not allowed to access magical artifacts), so I suspect that most imps receive a basic education.

Now do some marginalized people in real life end up illiterate (completely or in part) either because their education is horribly disrupted or inadequate or because they have a learning disability that isn't properly addressed? YES. Do some people with dyslexia still struggle to spell in daily life even if they're well educated and absolutely literate? Also yes.

Imps have a range of experiences in a society that is complex (even if it's in the process of being fleshed out) and reflects our own in many ways.

Blitz is dyslexic. Thanks for reading.

[startanewdream]

Prompt: "Are we going to talk about it?" "I'd rather not".

That's me, finally writing something for @jilytoberfest!

*****

A door bumps somewhere in the castle — it could be on the North Tower or right next to them, she cannot tell — and Lily breaks apart. She takes a moment to reorient herself: Lily Evans, that's her name; she is a witch, currently in her last year in a magic school — an excellent student, Head Girl and all; her lips are burning; James Potter is in front of her — and, oh, she just kissed the guy that's been popping up in all her dreams lately.

The guy, incidentally, who has just bent over to pick up her scattered books and is now offering them back without meeting her eyes.

"Ah—"

She accepts the books, staring down at the covers as if they are written in a foreign language. Did she forget how to read?

"Er—" Perhaps she also forgot how to speak. God, she is a mess, right? And all because...

Her lips tingle. She can still feel the taste of his mouth — the hot cinnamon tea he enjoys every morning, with a drop of lemon —, can recall the movements of his tongue. It had been perfect, the way no other kiss had ever felt; no one else had the added bonus of making her heart soar, all of her claiming for more��

She's nearly reaching him, adamant on kissing him again, when he turns around.

"I'll get the Potions books," he says, continuing a conversation that Lily has no memory of, and vanishing out of sight.

She watches the place where he was, urging him to appear, and when James doesn't, her glance falls to the books. Transfiguration books. Right. This sparks something.

They were talking about a joint assignment that would get them extra credit in two classes that they didn't need any extra points but they both enjoyed. They were picking the books they would use, and as always happened when Transfiguration was involved, James was sparking: his eyes shone as he compared authors and discussed theories; hands unable to stand still as he would pass the books to Lily, running up through his hair not out of nervousness, but excitement; and sunshine came through one of the high windows of the library as if the sun wanted to greet him, and Lily had thought... Actually, she hadn't. The books had fallen from her hands as she threw her arms around his neck and proceeded to kiss him as if her life depend on it.

And James had answered with an intensity that didn't match the way he was now walking back to her, shoulders slumped and avoiding her eyes.

"There's a place for us there," he says, pointing to the middle of the library, where all the other students were. Public place.

Lily blinks. "We've just kissed."

"Yeah." His fingers itch, but he cannot move his hand with all the books he's holding. "I've noticed it."

Her lips tingle even now. She wonders if they are as raw as she feels.

When James just looks as if he will walk past her, something snaps inside Lily.

"Are we going to talk about it?"

"I'd rather not."

She purses her lips for a moment; it doesn't help with the tingle.

"Oh, right." Her voice sounds off. "Just forget it."

"I'm trying, I mean—" He looks around before lowering his voice. "I am sorry, okay? I shouldn't have grabbed you and—"

"What are you talking about?"

James shakes his head, looking guilty. "See, that's why I didn't want to discuss this—if we can just move past, please, Evans—"

"Are you insane? You didn't grab me, I was the one who pulled you!"

He blinks. Twice.

"No?"

"Yes."

"But I made you drop the books."

"No, I did. Rather rude of me." She stares at him. James looks nothing but confused. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Not really, I was talking and then we were—you know—and, to be honest, a hippogriff might invade the library and start tap dancing and I wouldn't notice anything but you." Her heart jumps, especially because James sounds only earnest. He tilts his head like an owl. "Did you really kiss me?"

"And I thought you had noticed it."

"I mean, did you really mean to kiss me?"

"I didn't plan it," she mumbles, which may be only half-truth. Somewhere in her dreams, there had been elaborate plans of how to snog him — her last one involved the locker room, hot steam from the pipes, a black dog she had seen around, and a singing coral. "But I'm not regretting it. I've wanted to do it for some time." She bites her lip. "And you?"

"Hmm." There's a smile at the corner of his lips. "I need you to return those books you're holding." He nudges his own pile of books. "I'll do the same, be back in a few."

"James?"

"The new librarian has been giving detention to people who don't return the books," is all he says, vanishing again.

She is sure he lost his mind, but she returns the books all the same. In what seems seconds, James is back, all grinning now.

"All done," he announces proudly.

"Why the urgency?"

"I really cannot afford a detention right now."

"James Potter actually doing an effort to avoid detention?"

"What can I say, Evans? You bring the best in me." He offers his hand. "Shall we?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere, really, but I was thinking about someplace bright." He waves his hand and Lily takes it. James' hand is as warm as his lips. "I was hoping to notice every detail this second time."

"Oh." Her cheeks flush, but Lily doesn't mind. "I might jump on you again."

"Thanks for the warning." He beams. "I've been waiting for you to do it for quite some time now."

No more lost time, Lily thinks, with a feeling this might be her last coherent thought for some time now.

[anoddlystoatishhyena]

Just Like Glass

CW: slight body horror (disfigurement/amputation)

(This is also quite a long post, so bear that in mind)

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Notes: THIS IS MY FIRST WRITTEN THING EVER I HAVE NO EXPERIENCE WITH WRITING - This is somewhat based of Land Of The Lustrous/Houseki No Kuni because I have been SO hyperfixated on that, and also inspired by this image that I have found on Pinterest:

If you know who originally made this picture please let me know Ok back to the fanfic-

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It'd been a while since Glass Joe would get to fight against another boxer, having been injured pretty badly in his previous fight against Bald Bull. The Turkish boxer had managed to do quite a number on him, so much so that the Frenchman's personal doctor was worried some damage would be more permanent than the usual brain damage or broken ribs. Luckily, Great Tiger offered to help, to speed up the healing process if it meant Glass Joe could get another turn in the ring faster. How kind of him. Now Glass Joe's in high spirits, not just because he's not in pain from his former injuries. The Administrator has just informed him that his next fight is only tomorrow, and it's against Disco Kid of all boxers. The happy-go-lucky boxer from Brooklyn is the only other fighter with a negative win-to-loss ratio, so Glass Joe was hoping he'd be able to snag another win from this next fight. It won't fix the ninety-nine losses, but he figured he had to start small to work his way up.

"I'm telling you, mon vieux, I'll be able to improve my win to loss ratio eventually!" The Frenchman exclaimed, explaining his plan to Von Kaiser as the two walk down the hall. "I may never make it a positive one, of course, but it'll be better than just one!"

Von Kaiser could visibly see the pep in Glass Joe's step, as he stomps next to him in his usual stiff and tense walk. "...I must say, Mein Freund, I admire your dedication. You've been doing this for... how long now?" "Hmm... around twenty years, if I'm not mistaken." "Really now?" Von Kaiser paused, his eyes narrowing for a moment as he attempted to do the maths in his head. "...I've been here around twenty-two years. I will admit, I'm surprised time has flown by so quickly." "It really is a wonder, non?" The Frenchman remarked, as the two finally make it to the WVBA's lobby. "Perhaps we can reminisce over a lovely coffee and croissant from the local café? My treat, mon amour!" This is met with a stern sigh and weary chuckle from the German boxer, Von Kaiser moving one of his hands out from behind his back to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You always find a way to twist my hand into taking you to that café, don't you?" He scoffs, though his tone is more of a joke than an actual show of annoyance. "...Fine. Let's go."

Luckily, the weather is perfect for a small walk to the cafe - The sun is bright, the clouds adorn the sky in many odd shapes, and there isn't a drop of rain in sight. The two older boxers walk out of the lobby to the WVBA, Von Kaiser reaching for the stairs' railing and holding onto it with one hand tightly. "Remember to actually use the handrails, Joe." He speaks up sternly, glancing back at the Frenchman as he begins to descend the concrete stairs. "I don't want you undoing the work Great Tiger has done to heal you." "Oui, oui, I know..." Came the dejected reply, as Glass Joe reaches for the handrail and begins using it to get down the stairs as well. "...It feels like you tell me to use the handrails every time- wuh-woah!" Of course, Joe being clumsy ol' Joe, he somehow manages to lose his footing, missing a step and grabbing onto the handrail to catch himself. The sharp sound of glass breaking cuts through the air, stunning Von Kaiser into silence for a moment. Glass Joe can see Von Kaiser tense up from the sudden noise, the German boxer's grip on the handrail nearly denting the metal pole as Von Kaiser attempts to calm himself down. Once he recovers enough to begin breathing normally again, he sighs with a disgruntled scoff as he glances back at Glass Joe. "D-Did you somehow manage to break your little compact mirror again?" "...Non, it wouldn't have been that loud.. Maybe Aran broke one of the windows back inside." "But the noise came from here." "...You're right, maybe-" Glass Joe begins to talk, but the second he stops looking around for the source of the noise, and looks down at his foot, the one that missed the step, he goes silent. His foot has somehow shattered into pieces, the translucent, glass-like shards reflecting the sunlight as they lay on the stairs. The impact has reduced Glass Joe's right foot to nothing but a jagged stump, the two men staring down in horror at the gemstone-like shards now scattered across the ground. "M-Mon dieu.." "..Oh mein gott."

[spookmemepls]

☠ ― 𝐴𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑊𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑 (𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟿) 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠. (𝑆𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟿 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝐴𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑊𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑.)

"You've got another half-hour to practice."

"Relax... drink a strong cup of herbal tea."

"Everything has a purpose... even here."

"I'm stuck! I'm stuck...!"

"I can't do it. I can't sing."

"There's nothing to be afraid of; I shall be with you."

"I'm sure you'll make us all very proud."

"Oh, what am I going to do, ___...?"

"I'll go back later when it's all over."

"Oh dear, I'll be so late!"

"That's strange..."

"Now that I'm in, how do I get out?"

"If only I were smaller..."

"That wasn't there before..."

"I wonder if it's alright to drink/eat?"

"Oh ___ will be absolutely savage if I keep her/him/them/etc. waiting!"

"Are you crying?"

"Well, fortunately I speak "crying" and "sobbing" fluently."

"Yesterday everything was so normal... now look at me."

"H-how did you know my name?"

"I've a very important lecture to deliver, and everyone will be there!"

"What's your name, if it isn't a rude question?"

"Oh, you're wet...!"

"Get on with it!"

"I don't like the sound of it."

"The best thing to get someone dry would be... a caucus-race!"

"What's a caucus-race?"

"An extraordinary display of skill, determination, and sheer stupidity!"

"No man calls me deformed unless he's certified!"

"Who's going to give the prizes?"

"I think it's time we were all in bed with a cup of hot chocolate."

"What have you lost?"

"What are YOU doing here?!"

"I'm trying to get into the beautiful garden."

"They're treating me like I'm their housemaid!"

"Some of these things must be priceless... or even more expensive."

"I think I'll keep these, they may come in handy later."

"I might have coward's legs but the rest of me's brave as a lion!"

"I'm too rich! I can't afford to die!"

"Why won't anyone help me? I can't do it by myself!"

"We must burn down the house!"

"No one will think of looking for me there."

"I used to read fairy tales; I never thought I would end up in the middle of one."

"There ought to be a book written about me."

"Explain yourself, or you will find yourself on a charge."

"I don't think you should talk to me like that."

"You mustn't be afraid. That's worse than not remembering."

"Meanwhile, I'm going to sit here until tomorrow. Or the next day perhaps, or even for a whole week."

"It's no use talking to you!"

"PEPPERRRR! MOOOORE PEPPERRRRR!!!!"

"I best get you out of here; they're SURE to kill you!"

"You shouldn't make personal remarks, it's very rude."

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

"Kindly leave the stage by the red door. There's a fifty-foot drop on the other side!"

"Disgraceful! You'll hear from my solicitor in the morning!"

"This is the most stupid tea party I've ever been to."

"At last. The perfect place to hide."

"Children have no respect for their betters these days..."

"I won't let you be beheaded."

"Do you play croquet?"

"I don't like it here. They're too fond of beheading people."

"Old age is not for weaklings."

"Beau-tiful soup, beau-tiful soup! Soup of the evening!"

"You see, I carry my bag upside down so my sandwiches don't get wet when it rains."

"You keep falling off your horse!"

"How can you keep talking when you're like this?"

"Now I must leave you. I've still dragons to slay, young ladies to rescue."

"You look worried. You're too young to worry."

"Just be brave... and always get back on your horse."

"Can you tell me how to get out of the forest?"

"It's your own fault, ___. You're too easy."

"I stand before you full of remorse and malnutrition!"

"I've all the money I need for the rest of my life... provided I die by 1 AM tomorrow morning."

"...Then you don't need us/me anymore."

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Chapter 19

Chapter 18

Thank you @passthechloroform for providing the video for this chapter!

♡———♡

The people of Tanzanite, the Land of Illusions and Divination, dream deeply.

Waking or sleeping, they experience a never-ending blissful dream under the protection of the brightly shining moon.

Azel: The full moon will be here soon.

Deep within the solitary castle in the desert—in a mystical space strongly imbued with ancient sanctity, the modern Living God gazes at the moon.

Azel: The history of Tanzanite began with the moon.

Azel: At the end of a journey seeking a homeland, your ancestors began to dream a sweet dream in a wasteland where all was dead.

Azel: But dreams always end.

The mystical eyes, holding the stars floating in the night sky, return to the earth.

The twelve figures bathed in moonlight uniformly fix their eyes on God.

Azel: Once upon a time, every country on this continent had a God.

Azel: The god of voyages, the god of fertility, the god of ore, the god of discipline, the god of war, the god of art...

Azel: People built various prosperities under the protection of all kinds of gods and created civilizations.

Azel: But as time passed, gods became ancient tales.

Azel: And "existing gods" like me disappeared from every country.

Azel: Many countries have already proven that people can live on their own without relying on gods.

Bathed in moonlight, the God confronting the twelve figures smiles faintly.

Azel: It's time for you to wake up too.

Azel: As the last Living God, I will give you eternal mercy.

Azel: With your own hands, as pioneers of the coming era, please...

Azel: Kill me.

-

Emma: Ha... ha...

I jump up in bed, gasping for air.

My pounding heartbeat chases away the drowsiness, and I instantly regain consciousness.

Emma: Prince Azel...!

Azel: What is it?

(!?)

Azel is sitting by the window, quietly reading a book.

He turns the page without looking at me, his appearance unchanged.

Azel: You woke up late, unusually for you.

Azel: You were moaning in your sleep. Did you have a bad dream?

(...That...)

(Was it... a dream?)

(...No, it wasn't. Get a hold of yourself, Emma.)

I clearly remember the scene in the forbidden left corridor, and the vast space I found at its end.

Emma: I can't believe it.

Azel: You can't believe it?

Emma: Last night.

Azel: Enis's story?

Emma: The events that happened after that.

Azel: You were exhausted and immediately collapsed into bed and fell asleep, didn't you?

Emma: Don't think you can fool me by pretending not to know.

Emma: When I woke up in the middle of the night, you weren't there, so I searched the whole temple and entered the left corridor...

Emma: Then there was a space I had never seen before, and you were dressed differently than usual--

Emma: You were...

Azel: I was?

(...He probably drugged me with a sleeping potion.)

(Through a kiss...)

Emma: ...!

At that time, I was so desperate to resist that I only felt anger, but now that I've calmed down and thought about it, my face is getting as hot as the scorching desert.

(I wish this part was a dream... but I remember everything...)

The vivid sensation of his lips, the feeling of our tongues touching, the more I remember, the more my heart races, and I cover my face with my hands.

Perhaps because he found it strange that I suddenly stopped talking, Azel looks up from his book and—laughs mockingly.

Azel: Ah... so it wasn't a nightmare, but a shameful dream?

Azel: To think you would defile me in your dream.

(Wh-what...)

Emma: After taking my first time...

Azel: ...Was it your first time?

Emma: What?

Azel: No, I was just surprised by the shamelessness of your dream.

Azel: Please wait a moment. I'll calculate the compensation amount now.

Azel stands up, pulls out a piece of paper from the chest, and places it on the table.

He scribbles something and hands me an invoice with an exorbitant amount written on it.

(Another invoice!? How many is this now?)

My knees almost give way at the sight of the increased invoice.

(A nightmare...)

Emma: No, that's not what I meant!

I toss the invoice into the air and lightly slap the table.

Emma: I won't let you pretend it didn't happen.

Azel: ...Sigh. Then I want to ask...

Azel: Did you walk around this... well, historical building in that negligee?

(Huh...)

When he points it out, I look down and see that my clothes, which I should have changed into when running around the temple, have somehow changed back into my negligee.

Emma: I didn't walk around in this outfit...

Emma: You could have just changed me after I fainted.

Azel: Me?

Emma: Yes, you...

Emma: ...Did you... change me!?

(Ah... a nightmare...)

Azel: There's no way I would do such a troublesome thing.

Azel frowns as if to say it's absurd.

I don't know whether to be relieved or suspicious.

(Calm down, Emma. Just because of my clothes, I can't say for sure that last night was a dream.)

Emma: If you're so confident, let's go to the left corridor together now.

Emma: If it really was a dream, it would be strange for me to know what the corridor looks like, right?

Azel: By all means, as long as you pay the entrance fee.

Azel: It's better than continuing this pointless argument.

(...What's with this composure?)

-

Emma: ...No way...

After changing, the left corridor I visited with Azel had completely changed.

Rubble is piled up as if blocking the way, and parts of the corridor have collapsed.

It's a disastrous scene, as if the 1000-year-old ruins have decayed and been left as they are, with no space for a person to enter.

The corridor is so dilapidated that I don't think it's possible to reach the other side.

Azel: I told you before not to go there because it's collapsed, didn't I?

Azel: I don't go in there either. I don't want to die.

Emma: But I really saw it...!

(Even though I remember it so clearly...)

(Did Azel fake it? But there's no way he could have prepared this mountain of rubble alone...)

(...Was it really a dream?)

(I'm starting to lose confidence.)

As if to confirm, I take a step forward, and just as I'm about to touch the rubble, Azel holds me by the waist.

Azel: Are you stupid? You'll get hurt.

Emma: ...I'm sorry.

(It certainly seems impossible to go any further.)

As I stand there dumbfounded, unable to believe the scene in front of me, Azel pinches my cheek as usual.

Azel: That's enough. I'm done indulging your dream verification.

Azel: I asked you to clean today. And please make those fried things too.

Azel pushes me back towards the entrance, and I stand in front of the space where the cleaning tools are stored.

(If it's a dream, then it's a dream.)

(I've only wished for things that would be better if they were dreams anyway.)

(But what I can't compromise on is--)

I turn around and grab Azel's clothes to stop him.

Azel: What is it now?

Emma: You won't die... right?

Emma: ...The "God-Killing Plan"...

Emma: Was that my dream?

Azel: ...

In that space that disappeared like a dream, I definitely saw it.

The words "God-Killing" written in Azel's own handwriting.

Azel: Dreams are a mirror that reflects the subconscious.

Azel: You, don't tell me...

Azel shakes off my hand and looks into my face.

Azel: You're thinking of killing me to pay off your debt all at once, or something like that--

Emma: That's absurd!

Azel: ...!

I headbutt him with all my might, and perhaps because it was unexpected even for God, he groans without dodging.

Azel: You... you've done it now, haven't you?

Emma: I'm sorry. But there are things you should and shouldn't say.

Azel: It's not something to get so worked up about.

Emma: No, I won't forgive you even if it's a joke.

Emma: ...There's no way I would want you to die.

Azel: ...

Emma: If you say that again, I won't make dinner ever again!

Azel: I'm sorry, I was wrong. I sincerely apologize, Goddess Emma.

Emma: It's fine as long as you understand.

While rubbing his forehead, Azel suddenly chuckles.

I was expecting to be scolded or asked for compensation, so this reaction is unexpected.

Azel: Dreams are easily influenced by reality.

Azel: You probably fabricated it in your head after hearing about the prophecy of the end.

Emma: ...Is that so?

Azel: Even if this "God-Killing Plan" or whatever existed, do you think I would overlook it?

Azel: There are certainly some people in this world who want to die, but at least I've never wanted to die.

Azel: Even if there's a prophecy from the first Living God, I still have things I want to do while I'm alive.

Azel: Are you satisfied now?

(He doesn't seem to be lying.)

My unconscious sigh is tinged with relief.

Emma: I'm satisfied. ...Thank you for indulging me.

Azel: You're welcome. It's just adding another item to the invoice, so don't worry about it.

(Ah, I'm being charged after all.)

Azel: However... I feel a chill for some reason today.

Emma: Don't tell me you've caught a cold?

Azel: No. It's just that I feel like someone with murderous intent is approaching me.

Emma: !?

I hurriedly grab the lantern and look around, but there's no sign of anyone nearby.

Emma: What should we do if it's an assassin or something?

Azel: We won't do anything, but what are you planning to do with the lantern?

Emma: Fight, of course. I learned basic swordsmanship when I was Belle.

Azel: ...What's going on with Rhodolite's Belle education?

His exasperated sigh is drowned out by the sound of footsteps treading on the ruins.

(Someone really is coming.)

Having just heard an ominous prediction, I grip the lantern and stay alert.

However, I involuntarily lower the lantern and stare at the person who appears from beyond the shimmering heat haze.

Azel: I thought it was about time you came back...

Azel: It's been a while, Akatsuki.

Akatsuki: Yes.

(I was worried because you haven't contacted me at all, but I'm glad you're safe...!)

(...But...)

Emma: Welcome back, Owner.

Emma: By the way, um... why is your sword drawn?

The sword that Owner always carries is unsheathed, and the scorching sunlight makes the blade gleam.

Perhaps sensing danger, Azel blatantly hides behind me.

Akatsuki: I saw your letter.

Akatsuki: "I won't hesitate to kill God."

(Th-that's strange.)

Emma: I should have only written that I'm going to live here and work as a priestess...

Akatsuki: I can't imagine you wanting to be a priestess.

Akatsuki: So you're being forced to stay here under some kind of threat from God.

Akatsuki: Am I wrong?

(Sharp...)

Akatsuki: This is my first time cutting down a God.

Azel: Miss Emma, please protect me with that lantern.

Emma: Don't be ridiculous!?

Akatsuki: Explain yourself.

Azel: Miss Emma, I entrust my life to you.

(If he finds out the truth... knowing my overprotective Owner, he might actually cut him down.)

(I should have read the "Beginner's Guide to Fraud" in Azel's room.)

-

To calm Owner down for now, I brew some "Zell tea" in the kitchen and offer him some simple bread I had prepared for Azel in case he got hungry.

After that, I managed to get him to sheathe his sword by telling him a bunch of lies.

Akatsuki: So you're saying you're helping God?

Emma: Yes. Prince Azel seemed to be troubled being surrounded by women, so I couldn't just leave him alone...

Emma: I offered my services out of goodwill. And being in the temple is the most convenient for that.

(Actually, I was just threatened with my debt...)

If the truth is revealed, Azel's life will be ruined before the prophecy of the end comes to pass.

Emma: This temple is spacious and comfortable to live in. Prince Azel even prepared a guest room for me...

Emma: It's so perfect that my Tanzanite life has become even more enjoyable. Hahaha...haha...

(...I can't say there's no room even if my mouth is torn apart.)

Azel: My, Miss Emma is truly a kind woman.

Azel: I knew she was the Belle of Rhodolite, but I didn't know she was such a good-natured--no, a beautiful person at heart.

Azel: Akatsuki's concern is valid, but please rest assured.

Azel: As a merciful God, I am the greatest saint in the world.

Azel: I would never deceive or lay a hand on Miss Emma.

Akatsuki: ...

(...He has some nerve saying that...)

Azel: By the way, have you obtained the document you were looking for?

(He completely changed the subject.)

The owner still seemed unconvinced, but quietly bowed to Azel's question.

And from his luggage, he took out not a book, but a board-like object wrapped in cloth.

The owner carefully opened the cloth, and a gasp of admiration leaked out at its contents.

Emma: This is...

Azel: A document left by an ancient civilization...a clay tablet.

(I've never seen one before.)

The clay tablet is densely covered in letters, but I can't read them at all.

Azel: Akatsuki is a book merchant, but he is also well-versed in archaeology, so he has an eye for these kinds of things.

Emma: Is that so?

Akatsuki: Archaeology is a hobby.

(No wonder his shop had so many rare books of historical value.)

(...But it was always empty because they were too fanatical.)

Azel also peered at the clay tablet with interest and lightly brushed the dirt off with his finger.

Azel: This...the content written here is mythology. And it's probably quite close to the truth.

Akatsuki: Can you decipher it?

Azel: Of course, it's in the ancient Tanzanite language.

(As expected of a God...or rather, it's just that Azel is very knowledgeable.)

Azel: Shall I decipher it? As a thank you for Miss Emma taking care of me.

Akatsuki: That's a different story.

Azel: Now, now, I do feel bad for borrowing Miss Emma without Akatsuki's permission.

Azel: Please let me do anything I can.

Akatsuki: ...The victim is Emma.

Azel: Of course, I intend to thank Miss Emma as well.

Azel: God exists to grant the wishes of all people.

Azel: If you have any requests, please don't hesitate to tell me.

(In that case, I'd like you to erase all my debt.)

I can't say it openly in front of the owner, so I smile vaguely.

Azel: Please give me a few days to decipher it.

Azel: And then...

Suddenly, Azel's expression changed.

Azel: Akatsuki, I recommend leaving Tanzanite before the full moon arrives.

.

.

.

Chapter 19 Premium Story

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[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Aching Heart left there in The Cold ♡

Character of your choice x reader, (ex. Leon Kennedy, Jason Todd, Link, Ghost, etc)

A/N:...I don't know what came over me. This is probably the most heart-wrenching thing I've ever written. You can blame (or thank) Blackbriar for that. I recommend the songs 'You're Haunting me', 'Bloody Footprints in the Snow', or 'The Séance' by the aforementioned culprit, if you really want to get into the story! I'd love to know which character you imagined while reading this, let me know <3

~Fi ❄️

Warnings: GORE, graphic depictions of dead animals, ANGST, this hurt to write but also I love it, hurt no comfort, AU but idk what this is tbh, I'll buy you tissues <3

Word count: 2.2k

Please don't copy my work! I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

@pinkalmondcake @vampkennedy you wanted snow, but I don't think this what you meant.......

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The cold nipped at your fingertips as you slowly gained back your consciousness. You were absolutely freezing. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, having a hard time adjusting to the blinding white that enveloped you.

With a groan, you slowly managed to sit upright and take in your surroundings. You were sitting in the middle of a snowy forest. The thick blanket of flakes was covering the trees, making their branches sag. There was nothing but trees and snow, no matter where you looked. No end in sight, not a clearing or perhaps a wooden cabin. There was absolutely nothing except your cold, shivering self that still rested in the middle of these endless woods with rosy cheeks.

You held onto a nearby log to heave yourself off the freezing ground. Your legs were shaky and unreliable and your thick wool clothes that were once to keep you warm were now completely soaked and doing nothing to keep the cold and humidity out.

Gentle flakes were floating down upon you, catching on your hair and blanketing you in the same manner as they once had the plants. There was almost like a fog hanging close to the ground, dipping the scenery in an eerie atmosphere. It was dead silent. Not one little noise from the various animals that you knew lived here, not a creak of the tree branches who should be giving out under the weight of the snow. Not a breeze, let alone another human.

Your heart ached at the sight. What happened? You remember these woods, but not like this. They were always prosper, full of life. The flowers would bloom and the trees would carry bright leaves on their crowns. Birds and insects would harmonize to make a beautiful symphony that had your soul blossoming in your chest. The squirrels and hares that lingered around the plush forest floor were gone, no fawns and does were in sight. It was... dull. But at the same time so incredibly peaceful.

Not a single sound except your soft breaths. You could feel your muscles relax, yet there was a tightening feeling in your chest that you couldn't seem to shake.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Before you could even realize it, your feet were carrying you down what you remembered was a path, leaving the imprint of your body in the snow behind. The more you walked, the more the atmosphere changed. It was still quiet and white, but it became tense. Incredibly so. Like a string that was about to snap.

You could make out a faint pink glow across the snowy ground in the distance. Hope bubbled up in your chest. There had to be something there, right? Something that could explain all of this.

Without a second thought you bunched up snow in your palms and tried to wash the ruby on your hands away. With teary eyes you harshly scrubbed at your skin, hoping, praying that you would get the blood off. Thankfully, you did, and your fingertips were now red from the cold and not from blood.

Your breaths became shorter as you subconsciously sped up your pace to make it to that eerie glow. Before you could get far, though, you stepped on something with an echoing crunch. You stopped in your tracks and took a step back, wanting to see what was under the imprint of your boot. Kneeling down, you began digging, exposing deep crimson tainted snow.

Blood. It was now staining your hands. With panicked and labored breaths, you dug your fingers deeper, unveiling what looked like a bone. It was now in pieces from you stepping on it. You stumbled back as much as you could as you were still kneeling, your hands leaving red traces in the snow.

As soon was your hands were clean, you gathered up your many wool skirts and ran. As fast you could, dragging your boots through the snow. You were getting closer and closer to the pink glow. Now, it felt like you shouldn't be running towards it, but you couldn't go back to the horror you had found. You didn't want to go back.

Something caught your eye. Small, dark spots in the pure snow. You slowed your pace, intrigued by the tracks. Fear shot through you when you realized they were red. It was blood. Again. Your eyes were glued to what seemed drops of blood. They got bigger and bigger as you went on, turning into puddles. There were deep traces in the snow behind them, like something or someone was dragged across the snow.

You were too focused on the stained snow, tears cascading down your rosy cheeks at the absolute horrors before you that you tripped over something, falling forward into the cold. You were able to catch yourself with your hands, letting out a grunt at the impact. You recovered quickly, turning around to see what exactly it was that you stumbled over.

The scream that ripped through you echoed through the forest. Before you laid the carcass of a deer. Bloodied and ripped open. Deep gashes adorned the animals body. You could see some blood dripping from where it's ribcage had been cracked open, sinking into the snow. It was fresh. A recent kill. By what? Or who? Your heart broke for the poor animal.

You pulled your damp shawl tighter around your shoulders, continuing onwards. Nothing could've prepared you for what you saw next. A trail of slaughtered animals. All kinds, big and small, predator or prey. It seemed like whoever did this didn't discriminate. Their bodies were torn open, insides spilling onto the snow. Ribs were poking out, spines were exposed, and tufts of fur and feathers littered the ground. You felt sick to your stomach. A massacre, pools of blood tainting the snow.

The once curious and innocent eyes now drained of all life, staring back at you empty and dull.

"What happened to you..?" You whispered shakily, having the urge to reach out to it.

But there was nothing you could do anymore, not much at least. You muttered a quick prayer under your breath, gently stroking down the deer's face, hoping that at least its soul would be granted some peace.

Snow, something so beautiful and pure was now stained with the spilled blood of innocent creatures. You kept your gaze to the ground in front of you, silently weeping over all of these poor animals. You swallowed the bile that rose in your throat, its burn like acid.

When you eventually did raise your head, you saw someone. A man who had buried his sword into the chest of a wolf, twisting it and cracking its bones. He pulled the sword free and it dragged in the snow as he walked, leaving crimson streaks. His back was to you, thank the gods, but he just slowly went on.

You were frozen in place, your breath stopping in your throat as your heart beat faster. You couldn't move, you couldn't breath, you could only stand there, helplessly, wondering why he would do such a thing. Despite your brain screaming and yelling at you to turn back, your feet moved in his direction, following the bloody footprints he had left.

You tried your best to keep your eyes off the slaughtered creatures, focusing on his haunting silhouette instead. He came to a halt, letting go of his weapon which landed in the snow with a thud. He fell to his knees soon after, his shoulders sagging as his head fell forward. Sobs and cries racked through his body, making his form shake. You had the instinct to hold him, keep him close to your chest.

But he was a stranger, was he not? Cautiously, you stepped closer, hoping to not alert him of your presence. The hem of your skirt was now also stained with blood, leaving faint marks as it gently brushed against the surface of the snow. There was something so familiar about him, but the more you tried to think what it was, the hazier your mind got.

His cries were tugging at your heart uncomfortably, but you didn't know why. It was only when he cried out your name in pure agony that something in your mind clicked.

It was your lover.

The man you loved so deeply and fully that it hurt. The one you wanted to spend your entire life with. The one that you were devoted to so wholly. Without thinking, you breathlessly called out his name, making him freeze as a sob got caught in his throat.

His head whipped around, eyes wide and red, the tear streaks on his cheeks looking like they were beginning to crystallize from the bitter cold.

"My love.. is that really you?" He breathed out, fully turning towards you, still on his knees.

You could see the shock, the relief, and the excruciating pain in his eyes.

One arm was tightly wound around your waist while the other was gently stroking your damp hair. His face was buried in the crook of your neck as he continued his wailing cries. You could feel his hot tears running down your neck, despite it all, they felt freezing, sending shivers up your spine. Your hands found his cheeks and you softly pried his head from your neck.

"Yes... why wouldn't it be..?"

You brows were furrowed in concern.

Why wouldn't it be you? What, in the Gods' name, was going on? Another sob tore through his chest as he reached out for your hands and pulled you down against his chest.

"I-I.. I thought I'd lost you.." he sighed, leaning into your touch. He looked so incredibly tired. Exhausted, really.

"What's the matter, my darling?" Your voice soothed all of his aches and ailments.

The gentleness it held was something he'd never experienced before. Until you. The tears spilled from his beautiful eyes still, even as he forced a wobbly smile onto his lips.

A soft, understanding smile settled on your face, though the furrow of your brows didn't waver.

"You'll never lose me. I'll always find my way back to you. No matter what." The words pumped blood back into his cold heart. He sighed in relief, you could almost feel the heavy weight on his chest falling away for yourself. His eyes fell shut as he basked in the warming feeling of your touch, the pads of your thumbs stroking over his tear stained cheeks.

When no response came and the warmth left his cheeks, he opened his eyes. Nothing. Absolutely nothing in front of him but the forest and the gruesome scene he had left behind. His blood froze in his veins. No. He searched for any indication of your presence. Footprints, kicked up snow or maybe a lingering warmth on his face. Nothing.

"I love you. With my whole being and soul do I love you. I'd carve out my heart if you'd ask me too."

The confession made its way off his tongue with such ease, it had to be nothing but the truth.

Had he gone mad and it was all a delusion? Or were you really here and someone took you away again? He couldn't tell. He only felt his heart shatter into a million shards again. He would scream for you until his throat was sore and his voice would give out. He had managed to lose you, the love of his life, twice in one lifetime.

"No... No, no, no, no!" His heart-wrenching yell managed to shake the trees, dusting everything in a fresh layer of white.

"Not again..." he sobbed, steadying myself with hid hands as he grasped at the snow where he was sure you had been. Trying to hold onto you desperately. He wailed and wept, clutching at his heart.

His hands balled into fists as an overwhelming rage took over him. He would make them pay. He would hunt down the abominations that had cost him his love, and he would rain hellfire down upon them until they felt even a sliver of the pain that he had.

Picking himself up with a grunt and a scowl on his face, he reached for his sword. He tightly gripped the blood-soaked weapon and turned around to go down the path from wence he came. His gaze was stone cold as he walked past the field of death and destruction he had left.

He left his aching heart there in the cold, hoping you'd come back one day to keep it safe for him. But for now, he buried it deep in the snow where you were, vowing he would never feel that kind of agony again.

What he didn't know, however, was that you were always with him. Your ghastly pale and transparent hands were always reached out towards him or placed right above his heart.It pained you just as much when your touch would phase through him, the cruel reality twisting your heart.

So you went back to wander aimlessly around these endless woods, waiting for him to join you inevitably. You picked up his discarded heart and held it close to your chest, promising to give it back to him when the time came.

For now, you'd gently remind him of your presence with little breezes fanning over his cheeks, almost like a kiss and pleasant dreams, hoping to stitch up the gaping hole left in his chest.

You'd be together again. You'd wait eons for him because he would always return to you, just as you would to him.

Not even the thin veil of death could keep your souls apart.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

... *hands you a box of tissues and offers a hug* I'm sorry :(

[0v3rcast]

Gnaw (5)

You drift in infinity, if only for a moment, in a place devoid of feeling. There is no heat or cold, no light or darkness, no life, no death. There is an overwhelming absence.

Hello, my maker, Says a voice into your ear.

Warm hands tug at your sleeve and turn you in place.

You make eye contact with a woman in perhaps her early twenties, wearing a simple black dress. She's somehow standing on the nothingness as if it's solid ground.

She gives you a smile.

I wish we'd have had any other way to meet. You a corpse, myself a stranger.

I am Nil. The Abyss Made Manifest. The first of your children. I'm sure you have no recollection of me from the... simulation of Teyvat. Genshin Impact, I believe they called it?

You nod, not quite sure what to say.

...or even if you can say anything, because this place probably doesn't have a way for your voice to travel.

She smiles, giving you a strangely abashed look.

Sorry. I'm not used to guests. Or anyone other than my children, the Abyssals. If I'd known you'd be coming, I'd have made you a chair or something.

You shrug. At this point, you'll settle for her not trying to maim you.

Which, in hindsight, is kind of pathetic to settle for.

She offers a hand. You take it, and she pulls you close for a brief hug before somehow sitting you down on a solid plane of nothingness, your legs dangling off the edge like you're both sitting on a pier.

I can't give you much help from here, and your body is much too feeble to sustain abyssal energies, but I've been putting you back together every time you die.

I know it hurts, and I know you probably don't want to be here if all it means is being miserable, but...

They know not what they do. To them, you're someone wearing their creator's face. And that's not a valid excuse for murder, but they're blind to the truth.

You don't understand. It's probably written all over your face, based on the sad, sympathetic look she gives you.

There's another you. Sort of. An unstable clone. Some alchemist made them when Khaenri'ah existed. They had been attempting to summon you and bind your soul to an immortal body so you could guide Teyvat as you did before. They managed to only summon a copy of your essence.

The elements and Celestia annihilated Khaenri'ah for playing with forces they had no right to control, and I devoured most of the survivors for supporting someone that was trying to pull you away from your rest.

You have many questions. And no way to ask them. She catches on.

Oh! Also, you can just talk in your head and I'll hear it. It's not quite telepathy, but you and I are closer than the elements are to you, since I was the first.

You ask why the people of Teyvat didn't kill them, or why the elements couldn't.

You didn't want us interfering with the world so directly. That's why you gave my siblings the ability to grant Visions and the Gnosis. So they could still shape the world and watch over the souls they cared for.

You didn't want them to rule Teyvat, or to terrorize it, so you set some limitations on them.

Let's just say vaporizing an entire civilization was the kind of thing that caused backlash, massively draining them. They've spent all the time since then regaining their strength.

As for the mortals, they were just happy to have who they thought was you back.

You ask what the past you was like.

I can't tell you that. You'll remember on your own time.

You tell her that's not helpful, and also kind of a dick move to get your hopes up like that. She giggles.

This you is much more feisty. I like that.

You ask for any advice she can give you, because you're pretty lost and more or less without a clue right now. She perks up a little.

You'll make some friends in Liyue. I promise. Not everyone on Teyvat is hostile.

She looks away awkwardly.

Just, um. Most of them. Sorry. And I can't tell you who.

You sigh. At least there's a chance for someone to not immediately murder you.

Our time is up for now. I'm sorry. The waking world calls for you.

You tell her that the two of you will meet again and give her a wink. She laughs.

(Her warm, bright laughter follows you up to the world above.)

You wake with a terrible pain in the neck, and a golden band around your throat where you were decapitated.

You're more than a bit pissed about having your head chopped off because of someone else that's wearing your face.

A shitty copy at that.

You hope you'll meet one of those friends you were promised soon, because right now there's very little attachment to Teyvat as a whole.

(You meet your new friend not even three minutes later when she trips over your prone form and drops all her herbs.)

You awkwardly stare at Qiqi, who stares back at you with a mildly perplexed look.

"You... are not familiar," she says, tilting her head slightly as if she was a curious puppy. "But you seem nice."

"I'd hope I seem nice. You're the first person to not immediately try and kill me." You say, defensively.

You think she looks concerned, but reading her face is... well, difficult. Since she's an undead and all.

She offers a hand to you, and with her help, you get back on your feet.

"Thanks, Qiqi," you say, and then immediately have an 'oh shit' because she hasn't even fucking introduced herself.

"Have we met?" She asks.

"Nope. You're just famous where I'm from," you hastily explain. "Lots of people like you and want to be your friend."

She seems to consider it, but about halfway through she forgets and stops caring.

"Do you want me to help you pick up your herbs?" You offer.

She nods.

Qiqi delicately retrieves the various plants that were in her basket, and you point out any she misses.

"Are you from Liyue?"

"No, I'm just passing through."

"...ah."

You have a sudden alarm ringing in the back of your head and hit the grass, grabbing Qiqi and yanking her down with you.

You give her a small smile. She smiles back and then seems surprised she can. Then her smile widens slightly as she smiles for the sake of smiling, too.

"I like you," she says simply, with all the confidence of a child zombie. "Would you like to be friends?"

"I'd like that." You say genuinely. "I don't have a lot of those here."

"Then we're friends," Qiqi says with all seriousness before pulling out a notebook. "I will write your name down so I always remember you are my friend."

An arrow covered in icy mist whizzes just barely over your head and explodes several yards away, freezing a large circle of grass.

"Fuck!" You hiss, looking up to see Ganyu in the distance.

The look on her face is nothing short of barely concealed hatred. Her face is nearly expressionless, but there's open aggression and hostility in her eyes.

If looks could kill, you'd be a smoking crater.

"Go, Qiqi," you urge gently, nudging the jiangshi in the back.

She may be a zombie child, but she is no fool, very clearly understanding what's about to occur.

She quickly makes herself scarce.

As soon as she's out of the way, your gift spins to life, and your hands crackle with arcs of electro.

Ganyu lets another arrow fly.

You launch towards her, the world slowing to a crawl as you accelerate, her arrow sluggishly spiraling by you.

Right as you're about to be in range with a weapon, she... disengages.

Leaving behind a fucking ice lotus.

A wash of pure cold carves into you, sapping your body heat and leaving you winded.

You manage to roll away from the lotus, but her next arrow gouges into your thigh. You cry out in pain, indigo blood oozing down your leg and staining your pants.

You slam into her shoulder-first with the aid of your gift, the two of you crashing into the dirt and grass with a brutal force that leaves Ganyu wheezing.

Her hands come up to grab your throat, her grip like iron and tighter than a vice.

You briefly claw at her wrists, but the edges of your vision are beginning to darken.

You reach out, grab a horn, and yank.

Snap.

Ganyu wails. Her hands instantly move from your throat as she scrambles back, clutching the bleeding stump of her left horn in one hand. She isn't even paying attention to you anymore, lost in the agony.

You gasp for breath, taking in deep lungfuls of air.

Ganyu doesn't move to re-engage. She seems to be having difficulty staying conscious.

When she stands, her legs are shaking, and her attempt to move in your direction ends with her toppling over.

It's likely her horns have nerves, given their nearness to her human brain, and who knows what kind of function they serve? Do they help her sense which way is upright or help her orientate her body?

Whatever the case, she's down by half and now struggling to keep her balance.

You pretend to throw the horn at her as a distraction tactic, and she scrambles for it, not quite realizing you never let it go.

You flee, the arrow still in your leg and sending bolts of searing agony through you, the Quilin horn clutched tight in your hand.

(You fall asleep beneath a tree, which begins to grow rapidly due to the blood oozing from your now-healed wounds. An Archon approaches your unconscious form.)

When you wake, it's to jeering. You're... on a boat near the Guyun Stone Forest. There's a crowd watching you from the docks and shorelines, spitting insults and calling for your death sentence to be hastened. You can only faintly hear them.

Your limbs are bound in heavy chain and weighted with dense iron locks.

Zhongli glares at you like you're nothing more than a particularly vile insect.

Ganyu keeps fidgeting with the band of gold holding her horn in place now. She seems unsteady on her feet, especially on this boat. She watches you with something between hostility and fear.

Ningguang snarls at you for a moment with raw hatred when you make eye contact, but she swiftly schools her expression into an icy glare.

Keqing doesn't bother to look at you.

Zhongli must not like the look you give them because he steps forward and backhands you so hard you pull something in your neck and lose a tooth.

How dare they do this to you?

Your lip is busted and throbbing with pain. You, in a fit of spite, spit your blood onto his boot.

You're swiftly tossed into the sea and immediately begin to drown.

Before the darkness can claim you, several stone spears pierce your torso and limbs and make you sink to the seafloor as if the stone was lead instead.

You are so very cold.

(The sea goes as still and flat as a sheet of glass.)

Your eyes open in the lightless depths of the ocean.

Before you lies an ancient, imprisoned serpent - Osial, the Overlord of the Vortex.

You lay next to one of his heads. A single massive eye is trained on you.

"...my creator?" He asks, hesitant. "Why - no, how - are you down here?"

"Morax."

His eyes narrow in anger. "Wretched lizard. Had I my freedom, I would skin him alive and offer his carcass as tribute to you."

You breathe out a sigh through the gills you didn't have before.

"I wouldn't stop you at this point." You murmur bitterly.

(You and Osial lay there in the darkness of the sea together, side by side, prisoners of the same Archon.)

((Taglist:

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415 @reversearrowhead @call-me-shroom @evqnescents @valeriele3 @mochicurls21

[impactedfates]

Helo helo hi I've been uuuh reading your HSR stuff and I lov all of them!! Aozjebeusnsjs

Aneeway!! Feel free to discard this request if it makes you uncomfortable in any way

Dan Heng + Vidyadhara! Sibling! Reader [purely platonic] where he just got news that another Vidyadhara is now like, being released from the shackling prison [Idk if you can even be released from there] and Reader is basically suffering the consequences from the isolation for so many rebirths and all that stuff [lets say he's been Dan Heng's sibling for all rebirths so it hurts more.. But hurt/comfort hshsb]

I'm sorry if the request is too specific because I haven't really been seeing like platonic sibling stuff with characters

I hope you have a great day!! Remember to hydrate and eat if you haven't already!! Stay safe!! o(>∀<*)o

A/N: Hello hello!! I've only written 1 HSR thing so far (by the time I got this, I hadn't posted the previous Blade fic), but I'm glad to see you seemingly like it! I'm a bit confused on the premise/prompt you've given me but I tried my best to try and write it anyways, hopefully this is somewhat what you asked for, and apologies if it's not o(TヘTo) And don't worry, I'll remember to hydrate, eat and stay safe! Make sure you do as well now :)

W.C: 919

Warnings: Hints of torture/abuse but not actually said (if I missed any pls say!!)

Extra: Dan Heng is in his Vidyadhara form + Reader is his younger sibling + The Shackling Prison description may not be accurate honestly.

The chains around your wrists still strained you. They still hurt. You didn’t even know why you were there, well, you couldn’t remember why you were there. Every reincarnation, you would find yourself being taken away and into the Shaking Prison. Quickly chained up and suffering the consequences of a guy you can’t seem to remember, but all you knew was that he was your brother and his name was Dan Feng?...Or did he go by a different name now?

Whatever the case, you started growing resentful of him, although you couldn’t remember. You knew that you were paying the price for what he did, and you’d be stuck in the loop of getting reincarnated and spending you 700 years in the Shackling Prison.

.

.

.

Dan Heng stood idly in Scalegorge Waterscape looking at the parted seas. Breathing in and out the tranquil air…until a yell alerted him, he turned around and saw the current High Elder, Bailu running to him with her maids in tow.

“Dan Heng!!”

“Bailu? Is something wrong?”

He asked, turning around fully and crouching down to be on level with the smaller Vidyadhara. She took a bit to catch her breath, the maid with her smiling apologetically at him. She stood up straight and began speaking, although rather quickly.

“There’s a Vidyadhara who recently got permission to leave the Shackling Prison because now you got your banishment lifted, people thought it was fair if they got released too and they’re asking me to meet and release them as well as help them settle back in b-because I’m the High Elder but I can’t…can you do it?”

Dan Heng blinked a bit, he understood what she was saying but he was rather confused. A Vidyadhara released because he was able to walk around the Loufu freely? Although perhaps the maid didn’t realise this was the case as she tried to explain what Bailu said in simpler terms.

“Bailu wanted to ask if you could take her place at releasing and showing this Vidyadhara around to get them settled in. The Loufu has changed a bit ever since they well…were sent to the Shackling Prison”

She explained, Dan Heng slowly stood up and considered it before nodding. It wouldn’t hurt right? Just to help them settle back in and then he can go back on the express.

.

.

.

Footsteps can be heard echoing the halls, your head darted to the door as your eyes narrowed. Feeding time won’t be till much later, you knew that due to how long you stayed in the prison. It was practically muscle memory at that point. But what entered wasn’t a cloud knight but…another Vidyadhara?

“...So…you’re [Name]”

He called out softly, walking towards you slowly. Your eyes widen a bit, you recognize him. You’ve seen his pictures a few times when people tried to jog your memory of who your brother was. You quickly tried launching for him, you were mad. He had made you suffer for so long and yet he acted so calm?

He didn’t flinch at all or move back. It wasn’t as if you were able to actually get to him anyways. You were still in chains and could only go so far.

“[Name]…”

He slowly started, it seems he was told about the situation in more detail.

“Go away Dan Feng, you did this to me! Y-you…why do I have to suffer because of your mistakes…why did I have to suffer your punishment”

Tears welled up in your eyes, as the chains slowly shook alongside your body. You sniffed a bit.

“N-now look…I-I’m crying…I shouldn’t b-be crying…I-it’s been so long s-since this started…I-I should be used t-to this by n-now…right?”

Your lips quiver, looking away from him. 

“You have every right to cry…it’s just you showing emotions…it’s healthy to cry…so…please, don’t hold it in”

Your eyes slowly wandered to the taller Vidyadhara man. Before giving in to his words and letting the tears fall.

“D-Dan Feng…y-you’re such a scoundrel…I-I”

“I’m not Dan Feng…I’m just…a reincarnation of him…maybe that does make me him but…I won’t let my past leak into my future…please…call me Dan Heng…I want to fix the mistakes of my previous incarnation”

He speaks, slowly walking over and sitting next to you. Your eyes followed his figure slowly. You stayed silent, Dan Heng took this chance to continue a bit.

“I understand it’ll be hard to forgive me…even if I may not remember what happened…I just know you’re suffering due to the actions Dan Feng made…and because…we’re apparently siblings”

“Is…that why I’ve always been placed here…?”

“Correct…according to Jing Yuan who gave me more details…we’re related…in every reincarnation we face, no matter how many times we do so…we’re always siblings”

He paused for a bit, letting the silence set in before standing up, you heard the jangle of keys and the straining feeling of your wrists gone. You quickly stood up, nearly tripping over.

“I…thank you”

You nod a bit, slowly looking up at him. You were confused, the stories you were told, the things you heard about Dan Feng…and yet when he stood in front of you and how he spoke, how he acted, didn’t stay true to what you heard.

Then again, according to him, he isn’t Dan Feng, but Dan Heng…

“You know…’Dan Heng’…that isn’t far off of Dan Feng…like a letter off”

“Ha…yeah I notice that”

He nods, silence overtakes the two of you again before he extends his hand out to you.

“Come on…I’ll get you an Immortals Delight”

Hopefully I managed to make a good-ish hurt/comfort thing! 😥 Thank you for the request!! There’s currently 3 more in the line that I’ll be working on the coming days :) Feel free to leave more requests!!

[jessaerys]

your fav mello/near fics??? thank yeww (also love your drawings!)

oohh this reminds me i should pick up my ff.net archival reclist project up again...

it is of note that it's been a looooong while since i've combed the archives and there's a couple of common tropes i don't usually read due to personal taste, so i'm sure there's a lot of good fic i'm unaware of and/or forgetting about! this has totally renewed my interest in making a comprehensive personal reclist >:) perhaps i'll come back and edit this post every now and then.

i owe comments to nearly everyone mentioned here i am SO sorry. it's a lost skill that i am working on developing again. at the very least i've got everyone in one place so i can go down the list this year. i encourage everyone reading from this reclist to leave a comment too!

i wrote "off the top of my head" but this got VERY long so under the readmore it goes

obligatory classics

• the famous @tierfal 's sidetracked (2010) and full of surprises (2009). rated e and m respectively. these are like the allegorical little black dress in the wardrobe of the platonic ideal of the mellonear oneshot. seem to be pretty well known across the ship fandom • stripped (2009) by blueberryash/@tka-trashfire on tumblr. explicit. i haven't read this in a while but i remember it capturing the delicate gossamer tension of the ship in a way that was sooo bittersweet and nostalgic. • to speak of rules and privilege (2008) also by blueberryash/@tka-trashfire, gen, a manifesto on tenderness, soooooooooo soft, changed the game, near being afraid of thunderstorms was immediately adopted into personal canon. big time influence for the way i write near and mello's pre-canon relationship re: big brother, little brother. • an understanding (2008) by blueberryash/@tka-trashfire, rated T, short and sweet, razor sharp prose, the aesthetics of the little piece live rent free in my head. • dual(2011) by ramasi, @ramasi here i believe. rated m. historians say this might be one of the first examples of mellonear choking kink ever recorded,

RARE finds

(please tell me if you enjoy any of these, i want to feel like an explorer that's brought back treasures from far away lands)

•scarification (2012) by gacrux11 on fanfiction.net, rated m, big time dead dove do not eat. sorry this one leans early 2010s era grimdark melodrama but i love it sjkdfkjfd. not enough dead dove fics about the boys if u ask me. • salt in the wound (2007) •tempus fugit (2007), and • white out (2006) by vaudevillain king on fanfiction. net. a beloved rare find. all of them are rather grimdark edgy products of their era, but some of the best the era had to offer. they make me so nostalgic for my teenagehood on fanfiction.net. i get the impression these might've been written even before death note was finished? • birthday smut (2009) by kleine_aster on livejournal. explicit. this one is SO funny to me because it is both really, really good, very in character, but unfortunately it suffers from almost satirical misogyny that afflicted fujoshis back in the day. near literally is like oh that bitch... like. he would not fucking think that but i can edit quickly in my brain as i read. bisexual mello rights! otherwise really sexy imo. i might be writing something that's kind of in conversation with this fic.

contemporary favorites:

• you've heard about it before and you will hear about it again: the archer ensnared (2023) by jabbernatty, rated e. a jessaerys obligatory syllabus read, the fic that made me go fulltime yaoi disease. i owe so much to jabbernatty they are my white whale my friend my enemy the writer i've psychically imprinted on from the beginning. honestly too scared to even leave a comment given the jessarys archer ensnared lore. may one day may contact and pray i don't come across as insane • postmortem (2023) by the_hemlock true gen, a favorite of ALL time. it's only tangentially mn really, it is 99% about near trying to piece together the mystery of lawlight post-canon, but the characterization and prose are some of if not the best i've ever come across. reads like it could be a piece of canon material. if you only read one fic on this list i'd pick postmortem. • it's friday i'm in love by neallo/@neallo rated m. possibly my all time fave in the neallo cinematic universe. something about the after-hours longing and the standing in the kitchen by the refrigerator lights, as the poets say. i love when stories feel like you're cutting out a window to peer into a larger universe that is just out of reach. perfectly captures what it is like to have a maddening crush • i want to hold you (hostage)(2023) by neallo/@neallo rated e. thee defining fic of this current modern mellonear era. manages to walk the line of kinky/sexy/sweet/fluffy all at once. plot twist of the century in the last chapter. near is properly as bananas insane as mello is in this fic, which is the marker of a good mellonear dynamic. really everything by morgan neallo is a safe bet for a great read • there's nothing i want but you (2023) by neallo/@neallo rated t. wammy's era mellonear obsessiveness that is soooo teenagery and yet a portent of just how codependent they might one day get. cute and ominous. • armageddon/kill game (2024) by bolide/@bolide-archive came out of nowhere a couple of months ago and ascended to the top of the game like a dark horse. rated m, chess au. one of my favorite interior mello narrations and one of the most similar to my own interpretation. such naturally talented prose. i rotate lines from this in my head all the time. still in progress but i have faith that it will be completed :') • how to burn down the sacred loom (2023) by dornishviper/@vriskarlmarx a contemporary CLASSIC. the less you know going in the better. beautiful prose, beautiful structure. they don't make fic like this anymore • the house always wins (2023) by mer_curia/@vivi-scera. screaming with my mouth closed. holds a special place in my heart given that it is my posting that convinced vi to give the ship a try, and i was rewarded with a fic that is so catered to my tastes i honestly had to read it through my fingers. SO good, the manifesto on wammyscest, so rather controversial. heed the warnings. • moonlight (2023) by tsukinousagi/@quicktimeeventfull rated t. an austere, cold little glimpse into a vampire au. it's giving let the right one in. so melancholic. one of the saddest near examinations out there. •proximity tells (2018) by abysmallypresent, rated m. truly lives up to death note's second-by-second minutia while managing to keep up the tension the entire time. great characterization. •silhouettes (2015) by bad blood/eroticcodependence, @wxmmyshouse on tumblr. unrated, post-canon compliant. made me CRY! elegantly short and simple, bittersweet and so so wistful. •arsonist's lullabye (2023) by tzviaariella/@tzviaariella. rated t. this one has a heart-wrenching air of realism to it that exists outside the chaotic universe of death note, one of those examinations of picking up the pieces after the titans have all gone away. very bittersweet.

honorary mentions

• let's die somewhere prettier (2020) by firesafinething also one of my absolute favorites, unfortunately it is discontinued and it is likely it will never be completed. sad! the premise seemed SO promising. in my mind i file it right next to postmortem mentioned above. the exploration of the tragedy of 27 year old near we could have had in a better timeline. one day i will leave a comment so good maybe it will bring back the fic from the land of the dead • august underground by me & @firebuggg rated e, in progress. >:) (shamless self promo)

[hms-no-fun]

a little late asking you a question but do you have some favourite books to share? and why they are your favourite? like such as how did they influence your way of thinking, your relationship with art, your way of writing, &c.

i've gotten a few asks about books/writing that influenced me and this is the most open-ended one, so, congratulations on winning that lottery anon.

the book that most recently affected me is The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin. it's about a representative from an intergalactic alliance of worlds embedding within and learning about the culture of a previously uncontacted civilization, to try to get them to join. but really, it's about observing the sociological particulars of a human culture where everyone is functionally intersex, and sort of swap male/female gender roles during the time period when they're (for lack of the term actually used in the book that i can't remember) "in heat". it's an astonishing work of science fiction that is every bit as good as its reputation suggests. i had a hard time getting into the first 20-30 pages, but once it really digs into the particulars of "shifgrethor" (this culture's all-important sense of decorum and near-invisible communication that the protagonist struggles to understand til the end) i was hooked. i love fictional social systems. i'm a homestuck, i can't help it. there's a profound materialism in how Le Guin observes this culture into being that unlocked something in me. i'll be thinking about the journey across the ice for the rest of my life.

i was also very inspired by This Is How You Lose The Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone, perhaps the most pure distillation of the feminine desire to hatefuck your rival into an ascendant beacon of cosmic revolution yet put to the page. much of how they write about time travel has made it into godfeels, not to mention the wildly extravagant and brief but numerous visions of absolutely batshit speculative alt-history tableau. i mean, the way they talk about Atlantis as this sort of annoying constant of the timeline, sometimes real and sometimes fake depending on the strand, definitely casts a shadow over the metaphysics explored in Chapter 8.

the other book i always recommend alongside Time War, because i read them at the same time while i was in the middle of production on Chapter 8 in 2021, is There Is No Antimemetics Division by qntm. anyone who's read it or knows about it can immediately spot the gargantuan influences it's had on Silverbark's narrative in Chapter 8 and especially in Double Album. if you're not aware, Antimemetics Division is a standalone SCP novel about a branch of the Foundation dedicated to studying & intercepting the phenomenon of antimemes, ideas & entities that defy our ability to remember them in various ways. think The Silence in Matt Smith's second season of Doctor Who, or the Void Fish in the Balance arc of The Adventure Zone. i'm not an SCP person at all, i think i've read maybe half a dozen other SCP entries, so i'm not totally full of it when i say this book stands very tall on its own two legs. i very much intend to take a closer look at it in detail down the road because i think, whether intentional or not, the main "villain" of Antimemetics Division operates as a very handy analogue for the socio/psycho-logical effects of the profit motive on individuals & on society at large. also: Marion Wheeler is so fucking good. i did not know she existed when i came up with Silverbark but you bet your ass it's an influence now.

a non-fiction book that's had an outsized influence on me is Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig. i always feel self conscious about bringing this one up because it sounds like a self-help book or some kind of Chicken Soup for the Soul ass grifter textbook. that absolutely could not be farther from reality. ZAMM was written in the 60s and it's a semi-autobiographical philosophy of metaphysics text by a professor of rhetoric who some years ago underwent electroshock therapy after a destructive manic phase. it follows Pirsig on a motorcycle trip across the American west with his son and some college friends, as he tries to uncover the ideas that drove his past self (who he characterizes as a different person that he calls Phaedrus) off the wall. those ideas concern the nature of "quality" and how we perceive it. as in, why should we Know that a good painting is "good" within seconds of examining it, in the same manner that we know a stove is hot almost before we've even touched it? he digs deep into how we conceptualize the split between objectivity and subjectivity, and posits that understanding Quality requires a substantial re-evaluation of our base assumptions about human perception. of course there's SO much more to it than that, it's a beautiful and strange book that succeeds in part because its philosophy is deeply couched within the metaphor of a road trip, making it a lot more accessible than an otherwise straightforward metaphysics text. i read it in an honor's philosophy class full of incurious Christians at age 22, and that was absolutely the perfect time for it.

another non-fiction entry would be Acceptable Men by communist labor agitator Noel Ignatiev. it's a memoir about his time working at Gary Steel Works in the 70s, at the time the largest steel works factory in the world. it relates in very simple terms how racism sabotaged the USAmerican labor movement through anecdotes from his workplace. it's important, i think, for those of us dreaming of & pushing for a more equitable world to stare long and hard at struggles past and not lose their most valuable lessons in our desire to simply have it be true that unions are good. they are good but they're not everything, and in fact they're just as capable of systemic dysfunction and capitulation to capitalist white supremacy as any other organization of human beings.

what else? i started reading The Traitor Baru Cormorant and much enjoyed its early pages, but holy shit that's one long book in a series of long books. people are telling me to read Exordia so i might give that a shot. i've got Gretchen Felker-Martin's Manhunt as well as May Leitz's Girlflesh on my desk, just waiting for the day i'm psychologically prepared to be ravaged by transfem body horror. i keep picking away at China Mieville's October, i'm sure one of these days i'll just sit down and power through it. of course i recommend everyone check out Lenin's State and Revolution, great book from the original poster, absolutely still relevant more than a hundred years later. and much easier to read than you might expect! no one ever talks about how entertaining he is as a writer, unless you hang out with communists in which case you're probably sick of us never shutting up about it.

i hope there's some good stuff in there, and not too much that i've written about before. i really need to make myself read more, but then again who doesn't?

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Hi, since GMM has many Thai BL series, just wondering, do you have favorites from them? If you do, do you have 10 you like most so far?

Hello. Gmmtv does have A LOT of bl's. So as much as they've been disappointing me lately, they have produced some of my favourite thai bl's. So, in no particular order.

A Tale of Thousand Stars

Probably my most rewatched thai bl. It's one of my comfort watches. I love EarthMix as a ship, and will watch anything they do. As I'm writing this I'm remembering that they'll be in Ossan's Love Thailand later this year and I'm both excited and scared in equal measure. Please don't fuck it up.

Theory of Love

Such an incredible show. It's friends to lovers done well, and it's very underrated imo and it's written better than a lot of shows that have since graced our screens. I've also rewatched this one way too many times. Last time was last year so it'll be time in for a rewatch soon. Perhaps when things calm down a bit.

Bad Buddy

I'm sure with a quick look through the tag you'll find about 53654 reasons why this show is on this list. It's great. Very much one of my first recommendations if someone asks for thai bl.

Moonlight Chicken

This show is stunning. I really cannot say that enough. The cinematography is well above what we are used to from gmmtv or even most of thai bls in general. I really enjoyed all the different relationships and the way it portrait family.

Cherry Magic Thailand

I love this story. From the manga to the anime, I love them all. So I was nervous about this one. I love TayNew so that was definitely a point in its favor even before it started. And they delivered. This was such a clever adaptation, with the right changes and a great choice of cast. And Karan is perfection.

Cooking Crush

Another underrated show with OffGun. Here's a show that I wish more people had watched. It's so good. Like both couples communicate, can you believe? No silly misunderstandings because they actually talk to each other? Amazing. And now I wanna rewatch it. This is why I can't make these lists. Cause then I wanna watch them all again. But really, this show is a gem, and the side couple has some incredible moments as well.

And since we're talking about OffGun I'll end this by saying that right now there's a gmmtv show with them and it's amazing so far.

The Trainee had its sixth episode today and with only four left I'm cautiously optimistic about it. So if you need something to watch that's airing now, this is definitely my choice from gmmtv.

Thank you for dropping by and have a wonderful week. Tomorrow is monday again, how did that happen?💜