#that dream inspired by lord of the rings as it was the year when like the second movie came out as it was the one i first watched

[barefoot-joker]

Destined for Heaven, Stolen by the Devil~ Yandere!Lucifer X Reader

Hey, guys and welcome to another Lucifer story. I'm sorry I write for him a lot. I just find to him be a very relatable character and I love him so much! Anyway, this fic deals with heavy Christianity themes, so I did my best to research. If something is wrong, please tell me and I'll do my best to fix it. I was very inspired by the song 'The Plagues' from "The Prince of Egypt". As always, I hope you enjoy and have a great day/night!

Words: 2899

Warnings: Heavy Christianity Themes/Beliefs, Swearing, Christianity Mocking, Slight Possessive Tendencies, Reader's Aunt likes crystals, Reader Dies, Kidnapping?

I sighed as my mother pulled a light blue cardigan over my shoulders. She dusted off my dress and fixed my hair so that I looked presentable. Today was Sunday so that meant we had to go to church. I wasn’t too fond of going and I would have rather been playing in the backyard as a twelve year old does. However, my mom made it her duty to take me and make me a good Christian girl. “Why do we have to go, mom? It’s soooo boring!”

I stuck out my tongue at her. She gently pushed it back in. “You know I want our family to have a good relationship with the Lord. It’s our Christian duty. Besides, going to church is in your blood. After all-”

“Yeah, yeah. God told you that I was destined to be a wife for Adam. How can you believe that? It came to you in a dream.”

“Y/n M/n L/n! You do not question God’s ways! You know better! Now come on, we don’t want to be late.”

Dragging me by the hand, she ushered me into the family Cadillac and sped off. I sighed heavily. There were so many things I’d rather be doing than go to church. I could be with my friends, heck I could be at my cool Aunt’s house. “Hey, mom?”

“Yes, dear?”

“When are we going to visit Aunt Hailey? When she called you said we’d be seeing her soon.”

“I only said that to get her off my back. You know how I feel about her.”

I grunted and crossed my arms. Aunt Hailey was seen as the black sheep in the family all because she was wealthy. A lot of our relatives (my mother included) thought she sold her soul to the Devil in order to be immensely rich and refused to interact with her. I, however, thought she was so cool. When she used to come over she’d regale to me hundreds of stories about her travels around the world. She even showed me her cool crystal collection when we went over to her house a few times. “Now don’t be like that. It’s not ladylike.”

I grunted again and slid down in the tan leather seat. A few minutes later the car was parked in the church parking lot and I was being dragged inside. Sometimes I wish I had siblings so I wasn’t the only one to feel mom’s wrath. She seated us near the front and handed me the heavy white Bible from the pew. I robotically turned to the page with the Lord’s prayer and stood when Pastor Bob entered. We began reciting the Lord’s prayer and sang a hymn before we sat. I didn’t pay much attention as our Priest told us his sermon for the day but I didn’t dare to look around the room. I had to look the part after all. Fidgety, I played with my ring finger. Glancing down, I took in the birthmark that oddly looked like an apple. I remember it showing up after I stayed at Aunt Hailey’s house one day. I never told my mother about it though. I was often reminded of the tale of Eve and the apple and I don’t know what she would do if ever saw the fruit insignia. After the sermon and another hymn, it was time for communion. We all stood in line and when it was my turn I took the small Ritz cracker and ate it. I coughed lightly and then took a sip from the golden chalice. My mom and I returned to our seats and when everyone was done, we recited the Lord’s prayer one final time. Thank goodness it was over. 

As we walked out, I was forced to shake hands with our elderly Pastor. “How is my favorite little disciple doing today?”

I cringed at that. Ever since my mother told the church of her insane dream I was treated like some goddess. “Good.”

“That’s great to hear. I look forward to our weekly blessing.”

“Of course, Pastor Bob,” my mom butted in, “we wouldn’t miss it.”

He smiled and bid us both ado. We walked back to the car and drove home. As we passed by houses in our neighborhood, I looked longingly at the kids playing. Besides church, Sunday was dedicated to my education of becoming a housewife so when I did die and go to Heaven I was prepared. Parking the car, we went inside. I slipped off my Mary Janes and put them by the door. The rest of the day was spent cleaning, doing embroidery work and cooking. Just as I was getting ready for bed, the phone rang. I went into the kitchen and picked up the landline. “Hello?”

“Is my dear Y/n there?”

“This is her.”

“It’s your Aunt Hailey.”

“Auntie! Hi! How are you?”

She chuckled. “I am good, my darling. And you? Surviving another day in that stuffy house?”

I giggled at her commentary. “I’ve been okay. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering when you can come over. I was talking with a friend the other day and he would like to meet you properly. I believe he saw you at my house when you were five.”

“I’d love to come over! Let me ask mom real quick.”

I walked into the living room and pressed the phone to my chest. “Hey, mom. Aunt Hailey’s on the phone. She wants to know when I can come over.”

She looked up from her book and glared at the phone. “You know my answer.”

“Come on, mom! It’ll just be for a day!”

“I don’t know.”

“Please! I promise when I get back I’ll focus on my wifely duties! Please!”

I gave her puppy dog eyes and slightly whimpered. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Alright. You can go tomorrow, but I expect you to stay true to your promise. You know how God would feel if you went back on your word.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I lifted the phone up to my ear and quickly ran into the kitchen. “She said I can come tomorrow.”

“Wonderful! I’ll see you then, my dear.”

“Bye, Auntie!”

“Goodbye for now, darling.”

I ended the call and put the phone back on the receiver. I returned to the living room where mom and I did our nightly prayer. When we finished, she gave my forehead a kiss and sent me to bed. 

The next morning I dressed in a plaid dress shirt, brown capri pants and black oxfords. I bounced in the passenger seat giddily as my mother parked the car in my Aunt’s gravel driveway. “Now remember to behave. I don’t need any calls about your disobedience.”

“I’ll be good, I will.”

“That’s my girl. And you have your cross necklace?”

“Yes, mom. Can I go now?”

She kissed my forehead and I got out of the car. “Be safe! Call me if something happens and I’ll be back around dinner to pick you up!”

“Okay mom, bye!”

I waved and she drove off. I turned towards my relative’s mansion and walked up the stone steps. I grabbed the handle from the golden lion’s head and gave three loud knocks on the large oak door. The door opened to reveal Timothy, my Hailey’s middle aged butler. “Ah Miss Y/n, we were expecting you. Please come in.”

He stood to the side and allowed me inside. Closing the door, he led me across the marble floor to one of the drawing rooms near the back. I could hear muffled voices talking as we entered, Timothy clearing his throat. “Your niece is here, madam.”

“Thank you, Timothy. That will be all.”

He bowed and exited the room. My Auntie smiled and gestured for me to come over. I ran to her and gave her a big hug. Her navy silk and lace dress clung to me. “It’s so good to see you, darling! I’ve missed you so!”

“I’ve missed you too!”

I pulled away and she motioned to the gold and floral print armchair next to her. I sat and looked at her guest on the chaise lounge. He seemed quite the esteemed gentleman. He had slicked back blonde hair, pale skin and red eyes. I found them quite odd but didn’t judge. Mother said it was bad to judge based upon appearances. He wore a white suit with a red dress shirt, a black tie with black flower detailing, black leather gloves and shiny black dress shoes. He was on the shorter side as well. “Y/n, I’d like you to meet my friend Luci. He’s the one to thank for my wealth.”

The man stood and bowed to me. He took my hand and kissed my apple birthmark. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my little apple. Your Aunt has told me so much about you.”

“It’s good to meet you too, sir.”

“So polite. Your mother is raising you right.”

“Except for the amount of gospel she puts in my poor baby’s head. I swear all because of her fucking dream, she’s gone total Bible thumper.”

Luci titled his head to the side. “Oh you’ll have to tell me over tea. Speaking of which, I think Timothy has finished setting up the garden for us.”

“Splendid!”

We all stood and the blonde offered me his arm. I gladly took it and we walked outside to Hailey’s marble floored porch. A metal table sat in the middle overlooking her large flower garden, a lacy white tablecloth set on top. Luci pulled out my chair and after I sat, pushed it in. He sat next to me and began pouring tea for all of us. Today Timothy had picked out the clear glass kettle so we could see the yellow liquid inside and the pastel teacups. I thanked Auntie’s friend when he poured into my cup and marveled at the small pink flower floating. “I see we’re having chrysanthemum tea. You know it’s your Auntie’s favorite.”

I giggled and picked up my cup. Blowing a little, I took a sip and smiled at the sweet taste. “So you were talking about Y/n’s mother?”

“Ah yes. She’s always been a Christian woman, believing in the power above. Then one night she had a dream, a vision she calls it, that Y/n is to be the third wife of the first man Adam. Ever since then she’s been obsessively devoted and is dragging my poor niece with her.”

“I see.”

Luci seemed to become stiff at the mention of Heaven and God. Perhaps it was a touchy subject?

“So God came to her and said this, hm?”

“Sure as shit supposedly.”

The three of us sipped our tea in silence. “So has school been going, my dear?”

“Good, Auntie. We learned how to do cursive in English the other day so now I can write my name all fancy!”

“That’s great, darling. Anything else?”

“I’ve been feeling kind of left out lately.”

Both adults turned to me in curiosity. “How so?”

“Well none of the other kids my age are really learning wifely duties, at least not as much as me. When I want to go outside and play mom forces me to do my skills.”

“Wifely duties? Pray do tell,” Luci cocked an eyebrow.

“I learned how to clean the house from top to bottom, cook all three meals, sew, embroider, and do laundry. Basically anything my mom deems necessary to please this angelic husband of mine.”

“I can assure you it will come in handy. Especially with how much of pigish brute he is.”

“How do you know?”

“I just got that impression when I’ve read his passages in the Bible, sweetie.”

“Oh.”

“If you had a real man I can be sure you wouldn’t need those skills, darling,” Auntie piped up, sipping her tea.

“A real man? Like who?”

“Like Luci for example!”

I turned to the blonde and he smiled. His eyes glinted with what looked like adoration. He gently grabbed my hand and held it, his hands quite warm through his gloves. He brought it to his lips and kissed the back of my hand. “It’s true. If you were my wife you wouldn’t want for nothing. Every day would be spent in marital bliss.”

“Sounds gross!”

He chuckled and kissed my hand again. “When you’re older you’ll come to love it.”

‘If you say so.”

“I know so.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent listening to Luci’s tales from his travels while drinking our tea. They were quite intriguing and full of adventure. The people he met, the places he went were all so fascinating. It soon became dinner time and true to her word my mom sat in the driveway. Luci walked me to the door and gave a little bow. “It was a pleasure to chat with you, Y/n. I have a feeling we will see each other more in the future.”

“I hope so. You’re so cool, Luci!”

He smirked and patted my head. “Farewell, little lady.”

“Goodbye, Luci!”

I gave him a quick hug before running to the car.

Sure enough as I grew up I ran into the short blonde more often than not. From trips to the grocery store to when I was allowed at Aunt Hailey’s house, we would bump into each other. We’d always exchange a few words and always those red eyes sparkled bright around me. 

That was eleven years ago. Now I lay in a hospital bed, feeling like I was on the brink of death. A few years after meeting Luci I had gotten terribly ill. I was feverish, pale and felt nauseous. My mother was worried and took me to the clinic. I was just diagnosed with the flu. I took my medicine and stayed in bed as best as possible but the final straw was when I fainted in the backyard while gardening. Since then, I had been in and out of hospital with different doctors viewing me like prize cattle. I was poked, prodded and dug at only to be told no one had a clue as to why I was sick. It was like it had just fallen upon me. My mother became even more obsessive in her Christian ways. I was blessed every weekend and prayed upon every day to try and heal my mysterious illness. I was forced to drink holy water at every opportunity and had to wear my cross necklace with two rosaries. 

Currently, I was coughing so hard I felt like I dislocated my lungs. My mother sat next to me holding my hand, a rosary wrapping around us. As I continued to cough she pushed some hair out of my face. “You’re going to be alright, honey. Just stay strong.”

After my coughing fit, I laid back and tried to catch my breath. “I feel like I’m dying.”

Her hand tightened around mine and I could feel her body shake with sobs. “Maybe this is God’s way of letting us know Adam needs you. As much as I’d hate to see my baby go, you’d finally fulfill your purpose.”

“Mom, please. Not now.”

“I’m sorry.”

A knock at the door made us both look over. There in the entryway stood Luci, his white hat with the dark red band hanging tightly in his hands. “Come in.”

He stepped forward and gave a small smile. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“Y/n! Language!”

“Sorry.”

He chuckled and came to my side, putting a hand on my shoulder. “May I have a moment alone, please?”

My mom looked at me and I gave a curt nod. She sighed and stood. “I’ll go get something to eat. I’ll be back later, honey.”

She gave my forehead a kiss and walked out, shutting the door behind her. Luci took her place in the chair next to my bed. “What can I do for you, handsome?”

“I wanted to come see you. Hailey told me how you were faring and I knew I needed to come immediately.”

“I appreciate that. Especially since I feel like this may be the last time you see me.”

“Nonsense. We will always find each other, even in death.”

He brought his hand up and caressed my cheek. I smiled and then began coughing. I turned away and hacked into my arm, only turning back when I was done. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

His hand wrapped around mine and squoze tightly. “You know, I could end your suffering right now.”

“Yeah right.”

“I’m not lying to you, my dear. One small kiss and you’d go peacefully.”

“Luci-”

“And then we can be together forever. Adam, not even Heaven will keep you from me.”

“What are you talking about?” “Just kiss me.”

What could go wrong? I was already suffering so much.

“...Alright.”

He leaned forward and connected our lips. He tasted sweet like caramel apples and I just melted. My soul felt like it was being sucked out of my body and when he pulled away I couldn’t breathe. “You’re mine, little apple. Forever and always.”

He caressed my hand and my eyes closed.

The beeping of the heart monitor slowed and then faded to silence all together.

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part II

Find Part I here :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge, huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who literally deserves all the credit and whose post inspired me to start writing this. I could not stop thinking about this head canon, and it was so kind of you to let me try and make a story from it :)

Tag List: @anishake

Part III >>

Elain was running. Fallen twigs snapped under her weight, leaving shallow cuts on the soles of her bare feet. She held tightly onto her skirts, gold like morning sunlight, a beacon in the darkness of the forest. Elain’s knuckles were white around the fabric, jewelled rings flashing ruby red on each of her fingers. Gnarled branches reached out all around her, scratching her face, getting caught in the loose curls of her hair. Elain heard a lone wolf howling in the distance, but she couldn’t see the moon. 

Where was the moon? 

“Elain?” 

The sound of Feyre’s voice shook Elain from her wandering thoughts with a jolt. The tone of her sister’s question suggested that it had not been the first time she’d had to say her name. 

“Mhm,” Elain hummed in response, straightening out the thin fabric of her light blue skirts as she shifted in her cushioned seat. 

All morning, her mind kept returning to the dream that had woken her so suddenly. Elain could hardly consider it a nightmare, her mind had conjured much more frightening images in recent years, but there was something about the dream that had unsettled her. 

Feyre placed a gentle, tattooed hand on Elain’s shoulder. She furrowed her brows, concerned. “Are you alright?” 

Elain tore her gaze away from the dancing flames of the fireplace, tucking a strand of hair behind her arched ear. The gesture still managed to make her feel uncomfortable in her own skin, the shape of her ear still unfamiliar to her despite the time that had passed. 

Elain swallowed the discomfort, pushed it aside along with the thoughts of her dream. Cassian and Rhysand had paused in the middle of their conversation, and she wondered if they were waiting for her response. 

Elain flashed her younger sister a smile, knowing it looked genuine. “Why wouldn’t I be?”  

Concern still lingered in Feyre’s eyes, her mouth curling down at the corners. She looked like she had more to say, but the door to the suite opened, capturing not just her attention, but Elain’s as well.    

When Rhysand had asked Elain that morning to take part in a meeting at the Hewn City, it had been unexpected, but welcome. Elain would have been content to watch over Nyx, as she usually did when the Night Court had business to attend to, but Elain had wanted to keep busy.

Usually, spending her spare time gardening was enough to keep Elain’s mind occupied. Being out in the warm sunlight, the gentle wind a comforting caress as Elain tended to the lovely flowers, it always brought her a sense of peace.    

Lately, though, despite her best efforts, Elain had been feeling…anxious. 

A strange feeling would come to her suddenly, close to panic, and she would choke on her nerves. It was almost an impression of her own emotions  – hers, but not entirely. Like lightning, the feeling would overwhelm her briefly, and as quickly as it had come, it would disappear. 

Elain had assumed the panic was related to her abilities as a seer, that the ancient power was once again rearing its ugly head, but as Azriel walked into the room with another man following close behind, Elain was overcome with the realisation that she had forgotten about Lucien. 

Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court. 

Elain tried her best not to think about him, his name alone was enough to make her bitter. She could still recall every word he had ever said to her, and yet Elain wanted nothing to do with him. Her mate. 

Elain had thought Lucien was Autumn personified, when she had met him, learned more about him. He was all the golds and reds she had associated with the season, until Elain had seen Lucien’s eldest brother for the first time during the Winter Solstice and her opinion had changed entirely. 

Eris Vanserra was lovely in the same way that broken glass was, and he looked every bit like the faeries she had heard about when she lived on the other side of the wall. Blood-red hair, eyes like golden coins, his skin was pale as bone. He looked dangerous, deadly, a striking opposite to Lucien despite their similarities. How fitting, Elain had thought, that Autumn was the season of death, and Eris was its prince. 

If Eris was here, and she had been brought to this meeting, then Elain could declare with certainty that Lucien would be at the centre of the discussion. The sound of her own heartbeat was thunderous in her ears as Elain tried to convince herself she didn’t care what happened to Lucien. She barely knew him, after all. 

When Eris’s assessing gaze fell on her, Elain made a point to look elsewhere. She watched as the door closed shut on a phantom wind, and she wondered if it was Feyre’s or Rhysand’s magic that had done so.  

Azriel walked silently past Eris to stand at Rhysand’s side, his shadows scattering to the room’s dark corners. The suite was large, beautiful, but Elain felt like the grey walls were closing in around her, a cell. Elain placed her hands in her lap, her posture like that of royals. 

“I won’t waste your time, or mine, with pleasantries,” Eris clipped. “We all know why I’ve come to your wretched city.” 

Elain kept her face blank, revealing nothing, but she noticed Cassian’s frown, the only hint he too had been unaware of the reason behind their meeting. Eris’s observant eyes caught the movement and he raised his auburn brows. 

Before the heir could comment on it, Rhysand spoke. “Lucien is in Autumn.”  

Elain knew very little about the court, but she could guess from the expression on her family’s faces that this could mean nothing good. 

“Not very smart, sending him to Spring.” Eris said, and Feyre winced. Elain wondered if Feyre blamed herself for whatever situation Lucien was currently in. “I think the only reason my father hasn’t killed him yet is because he still holds the title of the Night Court’s emissary.” 

“I wasn’t under the impression Beron cared for such things,” Azriel mumbled. 

Embers fell from the tips of Eris’s fingers as he smiled, mocking. “And risk angering the most powerful High Lord in history?”

Azriel glared at Eris, shadows at his shoulders. Eris winked in response, taunting. 

“What can we do for him, Eris?” Rhysand asked, drawing his attention once more. 

“You?” Eris frowned,  “probably nothing.” He faced Elain with flames in his amber eyes. She had to make an effort not to shrink into her seat. “I had asked to meet with Lady Elain.” 

Of course Eris would want to speak with her, Elain thought. A million questions flashed through her mind, but Rhysand’s voice cut through the room like a knife, stopping her before she could ask any of them. 

“And I had told you, Eris, that would not be possible without the rest of my court present.” At his angry words, Elain bristled.  

Eris ignored the High Lord of Night, his focus solely on Elain. “I sent word to your sister days ago, my father has Lucien thrown in the dungeons and he cares very little for my brother’s well-being.” Elain bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood, but Eris had more to say. “My father wants Lucien dead, but his connection to the High Lady of Night is keeping him alive, at least for now.” 

Elain was sure Eris would have continued, but she was feeling resentful. Like an indignant child throwing a tantrum, Elain snapped. “You knew?” She kept her voice measured, but the tone was accusatory as she directed her words at Feyre. “You knew, and didn’t think to tell me?” 

Feyre had the decency to look ashamed, but she said nothing. 

Eris clicked his tongue. “And here I thought you were the one sentencing Lucien to a cruel death.” 

“What do you mean?” Elain demanded, her patience wearing thin with him as well. She could barely recognise herself, her emotions wild like the flames of a forest fire. Elain stood from her seat, the wooden legs of the chair scratching the black marble of the floor. She clenched her hands in fists at her sides. 

Eris watched Elain, reading her reaction. “I forget that you are new to this life, new to our laws and our ways.” His eyes skipped to Feyre for a moment before coming back to Elain. “As Lucien’s mate, you could demand an audience with the High Lord of Autumn, and request his return to Night.”  

Elain was not given a chance to share her thoughts as everyone in the room began to speak over one another. She paid no attention to their words, too concerned with what Eris had claimed. 

It should not have mattered to her, what Lucien’s fate would be. If Eris was right, and Lucien died at the High Lord of Autumn’s hands, she would not have to worry about having the mate she had never wanted. Instead of the relief she would have assumed to feel at the thought, she could only feel an overwhelming sense of dread. 

I’ll do it. 

The words rang clear in her head, the toll of a bell. When everyone turned to face her, Elain realised that she had spoken out loud. 

Elain looked to Eris, voice firm. “I’ll go to Autumn.”

[gabessquishytum]

Inspired by an episode of The O.C. (throwback lol), Hob and Dream get together young (late high school or early college) and they both think the other has a lot of sexual experience- but surprise, they’re both virgins! So it’s two awkward virgins trying to pretend they know what they’re doing because they think the other person will judge them/think less of them if they knew about their lack of experience. 

Just… Idiot4Idiot ft. awkward times and (eventual) communication so they can figure things out together 🥺💕

-🦇

Awwww this is so cute. I'm imagining jock!Hob who's a rugby boy, but one of the nicer ones - he's friendly with most of the kids in school. Since he hit puberty girls and guys alike went mad about him, and the rumour mill says that he's pretty much banged the entire hockey team AND some of the other rugby boys. On the other hand, Dream is an artsy/drama kid who is super goth and mysterious (if any 17 year old can be mysterious). People say that he's a total slut because he's always sneaking out to raves and skipping school. He's been seen hanging out with his sister's college friends, and everyone assumes he's totally soooo experienced.

But no. They're both total virgins. And when Hob’s parents go away for the weekend, they both panic. Obviously it's an ideal opportunity to have uninterrupted sex. But they're both nervous and each think that they'll have to impress the other with sexy skills that they don't have!

It's totally awkward. Dream goes over to Hob’s house (they've agreed to have a Lord of the Rings marathon) and he's so jittery, he can barely sit still. Hob mistakes this for like... extreme horniness? And totally panics. Neither of them can make eye contact as they sit at opposite ends of the sofa. Eventually Hob bites the bullet and mumbles something like "i could suck your dick if you want?" - despite the fact that he knows he's going to mess it up. And Dream turns bright red in the face. He's not sure he could even get an erection now. But is he allowed to say no?

Thank god, their pizza delivery arrives right then and there, and they both jump up to go to the door. Thank fuck for pizza, right?

Things go better after that. They eat, they start up the movie, and have a proper cuddle under a blanket. It's much more like what they both wanted. Eventually they both fall asleep all snuggled up on the sofa...

...and both wake up feeling very horny. They're rubbing on each other, both of them blushing and giggling a little bit. They start making out sloppily and it's not long before they've both made a mess of their underwear. In the post-coital bliss, they even find the strength to both admit to being completely inexperienced. And they end up laughing about their mutual silliness.

They spend the rest of the weekend kissing, cuddling, and indulging in a little bit of groping and fondling through clothes. A few more mutual orgasms are had. Little steps - there's no rush. They intend to be together for a very long time. It's going to be a privilege for both of them to explore and enjoy each other as they learn and grow.

[twhos-fests]

Gothic Fantasy Fest 2024: Day 8 Reveals

Today's GFF highlights are focused on the submissions we received where the gothic prompt was the author's choice. Mind the tags & Happy Reading! 🦇

Ghosted by @i-cry-daily-over-fanfics

"The air felt heavier, almost oppressive, with an unfamiliar scent..."

Warnings: Ghost!Harry | Memory Loss | Voyeurism |

Rating: Explicit

Character(s)/Ship(s): Drarry

Word Count: 17,419 words

Summary: Seven years after the war, Draco has made a life for himself, living in a nice cottage and running a small potion shop in Diagon Alley. Everything is well and good until a very confused ghostly figure of Harry Potter shows up at home. With no explanation for Potter's ghostly state, Draco is forced to go to Grimmauld Place only to be trapped. He begins to dig for some answers but things take a dark turn and he isn't sure if he wants to know the truth anymore.

Someone is stealing you at night by @jinrosemoon

"Nothing good could come...of whispers only she hears, of a voice calling out her name..."

Warnings: AU | Possession | Unforgivable Curses |

Rating: Mature

Character(s)/Ship(s): Pansy Parkinson/Tom Riddle

Word Count: 1,532 words

Summary: Whispers invade Pansy’s dreams. The whispers are unintelligible at first, inconsequential and meaningless, until one evening it is her given name that rings with clarity - Pansy.

The Beast of Belfry Hollow by @noxxytocin

"Sebastian had found him - buried beneath rubble and ruin, weak and weeping, his lungs flooded with smoke..."

Warnings: Muggle AU | 17th-18th Century AU | Body Horror |

Rating: Explicit

Character(s)/Ship(s): Sebinis (Sebastian Sallow/Ominis Gaunt)

Word Count: 2,181 words

Summary: Ominis Gaunt, blind since birth and scorned by his village, lives in the shadows of both tragedy and cruelty in Belfry Hollow. His only comfort—Sebastian Sallow, the friend who saved him from a deadly fire years ago. But when a blood-red harvest moon rises and a vicious werewolf begins terrorizing the village, Ominis and Sebastian are thrust into a nightmare.

Ascension of Hell by @submissivebookmark-motherofchaos

"The fog coalesced around them, the bare brnches, their spindly-like fingers bowing down low..."

Warnings: Dead Dove | Dark Magic | Dark!Theo | Morally Grey!Hermione |

Rating: Explicit

Character(s)/Ship(s): Theomione & Tomione

Word Count: 1,157 words

Summary:

Theo Nott noticed Hermione Granger the moment she got sorted into Slytherin. She was a Muggleborn in the pit of snakes. He becomes obsessed and possessive of her throughout the years. When his father, The Dark Lord, returns, he tells him about Hermione and convinces him she is worth collecting.

This is told throughout the years and how Theo's obsession only increases, especially when her true identity comes to light.

This is a game of cat and mouse. Theo has his eyes set on Hermione, and will never let her go.

Complete fest information under the cut!

Fest Disclaimer

Due to the darker subject material of the prompts, please mind every tag of the submissions you choose to read and engage with from our fest. Some fanworks include triggering and taboo content. So, take care of yourself, honor your limits, and enter at your own risk.

Fest Information

Gothic Fantasy Fest is a Harry Potter fanworks fest dedicated to and centered around our love for the gothic horror genre!

The inspiration to host this fest came out of our desire to see more fanworks in the fandom where the darkness within us all is celebrated, embraced, and reveled in.

This fest is hosted by The Writing Heirs of Slytherin Discord Server.

Important Links

AO3 Collection

Official Fest Spotify Playlist

Official Fest Mood Board

Discord Server

[writerscafehub]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀: 𝐕𝐢𝐜

@sunflowersteves || @sunflowerstevesmain

From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

3.5 bc I read an old fic the other day and I’ve improved soooooo much but there’s always room for improvement!

2. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works? I feel like I’m really good at requests.

Sometimes I think it’s hard to imagine what someone is asking for, but as a daydreamer I feel like I can visualize it so well. 

3. Are there any writers that inspire you?

Famous authors include Toni Morrison, Stephen King (minus the cocaine💀), and Neil Gaiman. In the server, literally everyone inspires me all the time and is so so supportive. Some mutuals that I so aspire to write like are @moonlightprose, @fushic0re, @darkficsyouneveraskfor, @fluffyprettykitty

4. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

I would have to say first time (a carmen berzatto x reader) or broken hearts (eddie munson x reader). I think I really capture Carmen and Eddie’s characterization, especially how they would act in a relationship. Also, for sure my best angst. 

5. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write and which do you find most difficult to write?

I’m a hyperfixation girly so the easiest are ones that I’m currently obsessed with (joel, miguel o’hara, etc.) and the most difficult are the ones that I still love but have fallen off the obsession wagon (Steve Rogers, geralt, din djarin, etc.) 

6. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

Smut bc I’m a hoe ✨ also it’s been a year and joel miller wont leave my mind, so 

7. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about!

This has literally been on my WIP for over a year, but it has to be a notting hill AU with Sam wilson. I’ve been excited to write that for ages. 

8. First fandom you ever wrote for?

Marvel. I wrote a spider girl fic when I was in middle school lmao

9. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)? jealousy fics and protective fics,,, yum 

10. A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

Prolly the divorce trope bc I get so mad at characters. 

11. Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

It was a request but eddie munson x reader with a guitar head in the coochie and it was great.

12. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

I love poly fics! Love Stucky x reader and steddie x reader are my fav. they’re just so good. 

13. Do you listen to anything while you write?

I usually have to listen to classical or lofi beats bc I’ll get distracted soooo easily. 

14. One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

One shots 

15. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

As a certified day dreamer, absolutely. Any longer fic I’ve written, I literally day dream how it’s gonna play out. I did that a lot with ain’t no sunshine (joel miller x reader). 

16. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

I am so bad at angst and I would love to write action/violent fics but I always feel like I can’t describe it for the life of me. 

17. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

Someone commented that they turned my notifications on so that they could see when I posted the fic and that made me giggle and kick my feet. 

18. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

It’s currently a work in progress, but it’s a period smut fic. It’s not necessarily out of my comfort zone but more of I’ve never written a fic like that before. It’s for Miguel. I’m so ready 👀

19. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

tooth-rotting fluff 

20. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

I do not ❤️ 

21. If you could enter the universe of any one of your fics, which would it be and why?

I would die in literally every sci-fi or fantasy world that I love (star wars, game of thrones, lord of the rings, the last of us, attack on titan, etc.) so I’m gonna have to pick marvel. I’d have a fighting chance. 

22. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

tbh the hardest part for me is starting. Introductions tear me down every time rip. Sometimes, I just start in the middle because it’s so much easier. 

23. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

You pause, just for a moment. You could feel the adrenaline kick into your system, and a numbing pain flushed out your senses. The blood felt warm and sticky—prompting the sleepiness to feel calming, and it urged you forward into its safe surroundings. But then you felt it. Panic. Panic rose in your neck as you looked around for someone. Your hand darted out to try and find them, but your mind was starting to become blank from the fuzzy warmth of pain. Joel. You needed Joel. 

24. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

Ok listen, I wanna write so bad. The last fic I wrote was in March and I’m feeling that writing withdraw. My brain needs to get into hyperdrive so my fingers can type all day long. I have so many fics planned

[fire-of-the-sun]

Whenever I think about Noctis and Luna's reunion in the afterlife and what it may have been like, I can't help but think about Aragorn and Arwen's reunion at the end of Return of the King. Not only due to the similarities of the scenes themselves (two lovers meeting each other again after a long time apart), but the similarities in the characters too that makes it feel so right to me as, whenever I think about interactions between older Noctis and Luna, I can't help but think about Aragorn and Arwen and the nature of their interactions - the palpable love, respect and purity that permeates their scenes together.

Luna possesses a similar demeanor of dignified grace, strength, beauty and kindness as Arwen as she too passionately serves her people and helps guide and encourage Noctis, whom she holds unwavering faith in. She also shares the desire to simply be with the man she loves even if only for a while and, if she could, choose a normal life with him.

I can also see Noctis (specifically older Noctis) as Aragorn given their shared struggles and doubts with embracing their mantle of kingship, fulfilling their destinies and, after the time skip, adopting a similar air of regality and quiet strength. (Also, the long dark hair and beard don't hurt this comparison either.)

Anyway, back to the scenario: I like to imagine that when Noctis awakens in the afterlife, he does so in a sylleblossom field just like his previous vision with Luna, only this time he's his adult self and instead of being cold and grey, it's more beautiful than he could ever dream it. He stands to find Luna there waiting for him with a smile, as beautiful and radiant as the day she passed. The last time he saw her in this place, it was a farewell but now it was a welcome, beckoning him into an eternity where they'll never be apart again.

Noctis walks up to her in silent awe as she does for him as well - perhaps a call back to their moment not long prior where they reached out to each other but were unable to touch. But this time, she's really there, now just inches away, as real as he is.

Their eyes never leave each other's, hopeful smiles and tears of happiness mingled together at the magnitude of this moment. How long have they waited for this? Slowly, carefully, Noctis extends a hand to stroke her cheek, as if to be certain she's really there, having waited to touch her for so long. It's slow, achingly tender, reverential...

Luna smiles warmly, the tears of joy in her eyes glittering like stars as they both lean in for a kiss. Finally. It's soft but passionate, full of the weight of 22 years of longing and the overwhelming bliss of sharing a moment they've only dreamed of for so long.

They break apart to embrace, taking advantage of this blessed proximity to relish every touch, unable to let go of each other now that they're finally in each other's arms. Where before they were only granted a handful of moments together, now nothing can tear them apart. Untouched by pain or sorrow, they finally get to begin an eternity of joy, peace and wedded bliss they were denied in life.

(Also, in keeping with The Lord the Rings inspiration here, I could see a version where Noctis is so overcome with euphoria he dives in for a kiss like Aragorn did, lifting Luna up and eliciting an equally passionate response from her because who wouldn't love to see that?)

And perhaps, all the while, Regis and the rest of their parents and passed loved ones watch nearby, pleased with them finally being reunited and finding happiness together at last, waiting to welcome Noctis in turn.

Of course, there's always the afterlife reunion at the end of Titanic that's fun to consider, too...

[burningvelvet]

on percy shelley & human connection & coping through art

to set the mood of this post i must say i'm writing it really quickly on my phone over a bowl of pasta with bread & broccoli & some orange flavored sparkling water & im still dressed in my outdoor wintery clothes (all black, knee boots, wool, silver chains & rings, although i mostly prefer gold jewelry).

so anyway today i've been kind of sad over ppl not replying to my texts & my usual reaction is to say "ok, guess i'll kms, wah wah, cry cry" but this sort of passively cynical joking schtick has gotten old & i would rather occupy myself some other way instead of moping about failed connections or the difficulty of initiating contact with anyone or the struggles of modern socialization as a whole.

instead, i will read the works of percy shelley tonight, and think about how he struggled with all of this over 200 yrs ago. of how hard he struggled to make leigh hunt and lord byron collaborate with him on their journal the liberal, and how he struggled all his life to build a positive community even in spite of years of bullying, ostracization, and family strife - he often felt like giving up, and like human connection was impossible, but he never gave in to apathy and instead he continuously curated his ideal life by seeking out other like-minded people, even when he occasionally embarrassed himself in public or when others were decidely averse to him or lukewarm in their reception. john keats didn't entirely take to him when they met and some of keats' friends straight-up disliked percy for being weird, but percy (though scarcely knowing him) loved keats as a brother-poet nonetheless, was generous to him, wrote one of his masterpieces in his favor, and died with a copy of his poems in his pocket.

percy always reached out to others and was a loyal friend even when others disrespected him or ignored him or just simply didnt love him as much as he did them. his letters to lord byron show how reverent he was to his friend, and how his affection was never returned in quite the same gusto, but, while still trying to keep his self-respect, percy quelled his frustrations and continued his correspondence with byron regardless. percy acted as the mediator between byron and claire even when his stress was so high it weighed heavily on his health. he actively tried to choose to be positive even when the people around him were negative or miserable. like most writers back then, he sent his writing to his idols, and sought mentorship from people he admired, like william godwin and leigh hunt, and he continued to respect them even when they took advantage of him financially (moreso in godwin's case).

anyway what i mean to say is that whenever im feeling lonely or rejected or alienated or socially stupid or am just second-guessing my role in society or whatever whatever whatever, i cling to creativity/art/literature/etc. even harder than i regularly do, because thats what it exists for.

i knew a therapist (not one i saw as a patient, but someone i knew through mutual interests in media/the arts) who said that a certain musical performance we both loved probably saved way more lives than any single therapist ever has. - the performance in question was david bowie's tokyo 1990 live recording of rock n roll suicide, an anti-suicide song (its available on youtube, go watch it lol, he performs it with so much conviction).

any way even though at the end of his life shelley sometimes felt like he was failing to achieve his dream of building a utopian art commune - he actually did succeed in introducing several people to each other in ways that changed peoples lives. his friends jane williams and thomas jefferson hogg got married only through his mutual friendship. whole literary societies have been started in his honor - to this day there are conferences & whatnot that meet annually - his life & writing continues to inspire people and bring them comfort - & he would be extremely proud of that - any artist would. the main goal of any famous dead writer is basically to become the imaginary friend of their future readers & he accomplished that - even though all the time he was wracked with doubt/depression/suicidality/illness/chronic pain, etc. - as a political/philosophical radical, he realized that having hope is one of the most influential & radical things one can do - & i'm glad that, even though this is a person who died over 200 yrs ago, there is at least one person who really resonates with me - even though we're from different centuries, different continents, different sexes, etc. - it's helpful to have positive influences to look up to, especially when they've also struggled in similar ways as you. and although shelley was pretty privileged (rich englishman) he really did struggle a lot mentally & physically - his life was a chaotic mess - and he wasn't perfect at all - but i think he's still inspirational for my previously mentioned reasons - his ceaseless hope. the last poem he was working on was titled the triumph of life, even though he wrote it during a deep depression. the last poem he published in his lifetime was hellas, which he hoped would raise money for the cause of greek war of independence. from the poem:

"Life may change, but it may fly not;

Hope may vanish, but can die not;

Truth be veiled, but still it burneth;

Love repulsed, — but it returneth!"

[90shaladriel]

Writing Interview Tag Game

Thanks for tagging me @klynnvakarian !

About Me:

When did you start writing?

In my 30s I definitely made an attempt to write a "novel" and did some world building and a few pages of writing and it didn't go anywhere. Then Late 2022 after Rings of Power season 1 just joining the Haladriel fandom I read so much fic that I thought maybe I could do some as well. Got some encouragement from other haladriel writers (crucial for me)

Are there different genres or themes you enjoy reading other than the ones you write?

I love history and science non-fiction. I mostly am writing in the fantasy fan-fiction space, but I do like sci-fi as my first love.

Is there an author you want to emulate, or are compared to often?

I either consciously or unconsciously imagine I am writing in the voice that Frank Herbert used in the Dune series. Maybe mixed with some George RR Martin and a tinge of Tolkien.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

Vast majority of my writing was on an iPad lying in my bed before sleep when no one needs my attention.

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

I usually write a chapter per month so it's just random thoughts or reminders while reading other fics which inspire me to write a snippet here or there when I have the energy.

The other big muse I've found in recent months was actually listening to or reading Tolkien books: "The Silmarillion", "Beren and Luthien" and "Fall of Gondolin" the beautiful prose and the rich lore just sparks new ideas I want to try to play off of or emulate in my own fics.

Are there any reoccurring themes in your writing? If so do they surprise you?

I always like stories of characters that are beaten down, up against the world, maybe a little unappreciated, but not giving up. Even if they cannot win they try their best and work hard. A lot of sadness too. I don't express much of that sadness IRL so that is a bit surprising.

Characters:

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character?

Tough call - probably the Lady of Light, Galadriel based on the ROP - characterization

Which of your characters would you be friends with in real life?

Hmm, I'm not sure if I would be best friends but I think I would get along with Ereddâz, my Orc OC from A Lord and his Builder.

I think Galadriel would ignore me and Sauron would send me to his dungeons to be a thrall.

Which characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Melkor from my First Fire in the Void fic

Do you notice any reoccurring themes/traits in your characters?

I touched on it above, I think I like writing characters that believe they are doing the right thing. I do not like writing characters that are specifically and intentionally bad. Even my villains have plausible motivations or perspectives to justify their actions.

How do you picture your characters?

Most of my writing is currently around the Rings of Power cast and that style.

I am dabbling with non-ROP fics, like First Fire in the Void and there I pictured Mairon based on a lot of fanart that basically draws him like a pretty woman with long red hair lol.

My Writing:

What’s your reason for writing?

A creative outlet. For years and years I would day dream my own stories, going back to when I was a kid, I was also a pretty decent DnD DM making up my own campaigns. I've often had dreams of telling stories by creating video games (I am a software dev professionally) but I usually get stuck on the actual technology side of creating a game and can never get to the creative side. By writing fic, I was able to just get my ideas out there without being held back by the lack of skills in other areas (game dev, art, making a story interactive and still make sense)

Is there any specific comment or type of comment from readers that you find particularly motivating?

Ive gotten a few amazing comments that say this is their favorite fic and I can't believe it since I just write one of many thousands of fics so I feel honored, and for my WIPs a little pressured, to produce more at that level.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I want to write stories other people like, I do think about how can I make a story original in a way no one else does? What's a premise no one else has or could be done differently?

But really I am mostly writing stories that I like?

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I think putting my characters through emotionally charged or traumatic events where they have realistic responses or reactions that I or I think readers might relate to emotionally.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I read other writing and it feels so polished and natural. I often feel like I am "emulating good writing" rather than being a good writer myself. I like my stories and plots but I am not always impressed by the words on the page after writing them. Sometimes I just give up during editing and just post and people seem to like it enough.

When you write are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, do you write purely for yourself, or is it a mix of both?

AS I was saying I do think about the readers and I'm surely influenced by what I see in the community and what people respond to but every single idea is a kind of "wouldn't this be cool" idea I have myself first and then I judge how much I think other people would also find it to be cool or enjoyable. That part I sometimes guess at or things resonate with others that I didn't expect

No pressure tags!

@eowyn7023 @demonscantgothere @cliffdivingsblog @pursuitseternal @theriverwild

[princesssarisa]

The next series of Donkeyskin tales from Heidi Ann Heiner's Cinderella Tales from Around the World come from Central and Southeastern Europe: the Czech Republic, Romania, Austria, Croatia, and Serbia.

*In a recurring theme in variants from this part of the world, the heroine was born with a golden star on her forehead, which her mother also has. (Or, in the Austrian tale of Besom-Cast, Brush-Cast, Comb-Cast, it's a golden cross.) After her mother dies, her father refuses to remarry unless he finds a bride with the same mark on her forehead, and when he finds that no one has it except his daughter, he resolves to marry her. A few versions have the variant more common in other countries of "no one but the princess can wear her mother's ring," but the star on the forehead is more common. In one Croatian version, the heroine gives birth to twins in the end, a boy and a girl, and her daughter has a golden star too.

*First on the list is a Czech tale from the collection of Božena Němcová (she of Three Wishes for Cinderella fame): The Princess with the Gold Star on Her Brow, which inspired the 1959 Czech film The Princess with the Golden Star.

**As Heiner points out in a brief introduction to this tale, the 1959 film removes the incest theme, and instead adds a villainous king from another kingdom who wants to marry Princess Lada. But in Němcová's original tale, it's her father who wants to marry her.

**The attempted incest seems faintly more plausible in this version than in others, because Lada's father didn't raise her. Her mother died in childbirth, and like the grandfather in Tattercoats, her father refused ever to look at her. But after many years of traveling the world, searching for a new bride but finding no one who looks enough like his late wife, the king comes home and meets his now-grown daughter for the first time. He sees that she looks just like her mother, and has a golden star on her forehead just like her mother did, so he resolves to marry her.

**Lada requests gowns like the sun, like the moon, and made of gold-crested wrens' feathers, and then, at the advice of her mother's spirit in a dream, she runs away disguised in a mouse skin cloak. From then on, we have the standard story beats: she works as a scullery maid at the prince's castle, attends three balls, is given a ring by the prince, and when the prince falls ill with love for her, she slips the ring into his cup of medicine. Now suspecting her identity, the prince recovers, secretly spies on her, and sees the star on her forehead when she takes her headscarf off to wash her face. In the end, she also reunites with her father, who repents because his wife's spirit rebuked him in a dream, and she forgives him.

*The Romanian variant, The Emperor's Daughter in the Pig Stall, gives the princess gowns of silver, gold, and diamonds, and a coat of louse skin. Her father suspects that she'll try to run away, so he ties one end of a string to her hand and holds the other. But she secretly ties the string to a goat's horn instead. When the emperor pulls the string to summon her, he finds the goat instead, and the princess's nurse (who's in on the plan) convinces him that God has turned his daughter into a goat as punishment for his wicked desire.

*As usual, not all versions include an incestuous father. In one Austrian version, the princess's parents abuse her while favoring her sisters, which drives her to run away. In another, she's just a poor orphan in search of a home, who meets a mysterious green hunter in the woods who shows her a magic oak tree that contains beautiful gowns and gold coins.

*In some of these versions, the heroine's father is a count instead of a king or emperor, while in others, her eventual husband is a count or a lord instead of a prince or king.

*The popular running gag of the prince throwing objects at the disguised heroine, and her alluding to them in her finery, is sometimes included, sometimes omitted. Most notably it's included in a literary Austrian version, Besom-Cast, Brush-Cast, Comb-Cast, where it gives the tale its very name.

**This version also has the unusual detail of giving the heroine, Adelaide, a faithful manservant, Gotthold, who joins her when she runs away, pretending to be her uncle, and settles in a small house near the castle, where he secretly stores her gowns.

*The themes of the three gowns are typically "sun, moon, and stars" or "silk, silver, and gold," though in one Austrian version, they're simply a blue gown, a red gown, and a white gown. She sometimes hides them in nutshells, sometimes in a secret place outside the castle, and sometimes she wears all three of them all the time, with her louse or mouse skin coat over them. (How uncomfortable!)

*Like so many Italian Cinderellas, the Austrian versions have the heroine throw gold coins to distract the prince's servants when she leaves the balls or the church. Austria's shared border with Italy probably led to this common detail.

**One Serbian version, The Devil's Dresses, reads very much like an Italian version as a whole, with the devil helping the father acquire the fantastical clothes his daughter demands, and the heroine disguising herself with a full-body wooden suit. I assume this is explained by Serbia's fairly close proximity to Italy.

*As in so many countries, the prince or young lord typically gives the heroine a ring the third time they meet in her finery. Then, when no one can find her afterwards and he falls ill with longing for her, the heroine sends him broth, milk, or a fried cake, and slips the ring into it. Then he sends for her and she appears wearing one of her gowns, revealing the whole truth.

*One Serbian tale, How an Emperor's Daughter was Turned into a Lamb, is especially odd. To escape from marrying her father, the princess commits suicide, but her father has an enchantress bring her back to life. Then she cuts off her hands to dissuade her father, but he has the enchantress restore them. Finally, she finds a way to turn herself into a lamb, and the spell is unbreakable. So she lives as her father's pet lamb for the rest of her life.

Coming up next: Donkeyskin tales from the Middle East and South Africa.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @adarkrainbow, @themousefromfantasyland

[fragiledewdrop]

TOLKIEN, MYTH AND THE EARLY 20TH CENTURY

A week ago I wrote a post about my excitement in discovering just how much Tolkien took inspiration from Anglo-Saxon poetry.

I was so lost in my little over-emotional bubble that I was genuinely a little surprised when a few people expressed their disappointment in discovering that "The Lord of The Rings" wasn't wholly original. It makes sense, though, so I thought I'd address it.

These are @fortunes-haven ' s tags:

@sataidelenn already wrote an interesting reply, but I'd like to approach the question from a different point of view. Why? Because the first thing I thought about when reading this comment was how I myself have grumbled under my breath about having to wade through someone's "personal mythology smoothie", only I wasn't reading Tolkien. I was reading T. S. Eliot.

Now, I want to preface this by making it clear that I am well aware Tolkien is by no means a modernist. He did, however, write LOTR in England in the late 30s. He was part of the same culture, the same society, and above all the same historical context that produced "The Waste Land" and "Ulysses", and I think we should take that into account when we discuss his work.

Because by the time Tolkien published LOTR, Joyce and Eliot and Yeats had already discussed and applied the mythic method. Was Tolkien aware of their debates? Did he read and appreciate their books? I have no clue. It would take some research to find out, research I currently (unfortunately) don’t have time for. But I do not think it a stretch to suggest that Tolkien might have been moved by the same need that drove other writers to look back at myth, although in very different ways.

Why did Joyce and Eliot feel compelled to return to the narrative roots of mankind? Why did Yeats devote so much time to Celtic lore? Why did Tolkien write a new epic and base it on the Saxon world?

The answer is the same: because they lived at the start of a century that posed more questions than ever, but provided no answers; a century when time and the human mind and the very structure of matter had ceased to be solid, defined, a foundation to rely on; a century torn apart by brutal, inhumane, sensless war.

When you can't find answers in the present and the future is so uncertain it's laughable, you look to the past. Because the thing is, we can talk about "personal mythology" all we want, but myths are never personal. They are universal. They are tied to a specific cultural context, certainly, but they exemplify emotions, truths and tragedies that are common (or supposed to be common) to all humankind, beyond space and time. Myths are supposed to be eternal.

They are also a very effective shorthand to communicate rather complex concepts.

I can write five pages telling my girlfriend that she makes me feel safe, that she is something I've longed for and fought to gain, something I've dreamed about but that I'm scared I'll lose. I could, and I probably wouldn’t be able to convey exactly what I mean.

Or I could say "She is my Ithaca" and you would get it, wouldn’t you?

There are whole books that try to explain the symbolism behind "The Green Knight", but Eliot can offhandedly mention a chapel and he has basically evoked the whole original poem plus the centuries of scolarship that followed.

Tolkien could have had his characters recite long monologues about how they feel like their world has been lost. Instead, he has one of them sing a song by the campfire. An 8th century song, about a warrior in exile. He achieves in a couple of lines what could have taken him a whole book to convey, and he does it in a way that goes straight to the heart, even if we don't know exactly why.

And that's the thing: not all of us spend years researching myths and old poetry. Certainly we don't do it when reading LOTR for the first time, especially if that's when we are 13 or 10 or 8 years old. But we get it anyway. We know myths, especially Western myths, one way or another, as if through cultural osmosis. We understand myths from other cultures too- we may need a bit of context, but we do- and often we find that the bones of the stories are similar, across oceans and centuries.

That means that using myths as the building blocks of your story is an amazingly effective way to cut to the quick, to get to the core of what the narrative is aiming at.

I have seen so many people talk about the feeling they get when reading LOTR, or even just thinking about it: that nostalgia? That bittersweet hurt? That longing for something bright and lost, for a star or a jewel or a land beyond the sea? That, right there. That is what Tolkien achieves by telling stories inside stories, by having his words have a meaning and weight that we would associate with a bard or a preacher, not a fantasy writer. And, as I have discovered recently, it's almost exactly the same feeling you get when reading Saxon poetry.

It's almost as if he chose it on purpose, isn’t it?

That's not all, though.

As both people tagged above(and many others, myself included) have already written, Tolkien doesn’t just use myths as building blocks. He alters them.

Yes, Frodo's hero's journey is not typical. Yes, there are a lot of similarities between the last part of LOTR and the Odissey, but they are not quite the same.

That's because Frodo is not, and can't be, Ulysses. He isn’t a warrior crowned with glory and cunning who reconquers his home and that leaves it because a god has promised him peace if he does. He is a mutilated soldier coming home from the trenches, only to find that he no longer belongs in the home he has bled for.

Frodo is a new hero, for a new age (just like Ulysses was a new hero for a new age, which I rather think is one of the reasons Joyce chose him as the model for his novel. The Odissey was already subversive in and of itself. "An odd duck", as @sataidelenn put it.)

We have to understand just how traumatic WWI was. It's a shift, a break so immense that it changed society, politics, culture, family structures, the idea of hero and even of manhood. The Western World was not the same after 1918. Of course art changed too.

Would Tolkien have written LOTR had he not fought in that war? Probably. But it would have been a very, very different book. The way it deals with war, technology, trauma, peace and friendship-all the things we love about it- are direct fruits of that conflict. I think the way myth fits into it is, too.

I can understand being disappointed that not everything in Lotr is wholly new, wholly Tolkien's invention. It didn’t even occur to be to be, though, because I am used of thinking of it in these terms.

All the myths he uses- from Kullervo to Ulysses to Beowolf to medieval fairy tales- are means to tell a new story. They come back to life, and while we perceive how timeless they are, they end up telling us something that is rooted in time. A new English epic, yes, but very clearly an epic of England between two world wars. A 20th century heroic tale which offers a desperate, brave hope for the future. How can we not love it?

And look, I might joke about personal mythology smoothies to myself all the time, but the reason I keep reading and studying Eliot and Joyce and Yeats is that they do have something new to say, something amazing. You can take them or leave them, love them or hate them, but "unoriginal" is not an adjective you can, in good conscience, apply to their work.

I think, in a weird way, Tolkien is the same.

"In manipulating a continuous parallel between contemporaneity and antiquity, Mr. Joyce is pursuing a method which others must pursue after him. They will not be imitators, any more than the scientist who uses the discoveries of an Einstein in pursuing his own, independent, further investigations. It is simply a way of controlling, of ordering, of giving shape and significance to the immense panorama of futility and anarchy which is contemporary history. It is a method already adumbrated by Mr. Yeats, and of the need for which I believe that Mr. Yeats to have been first contemporary to be conscious. Psychology (such as it is, and whether our reaction to it be comic or serious), ethnology, and The Golden Bough have concurred to make possible what was impossible even a few years ago. Instead of narrative method, we may now use the mythic method. It is, I seriously believe, a step toward making the modern world possible for art." –T.S. Eliot, from Ulysses, Order, and Myth (1923)

[cilil]

⊱ Author's Note: To commemorate the destruction of the One Ring on March 25th TA 3019, I dug up and finished an old WIP from last year. Huge thanks to @sirsamuel for providing the idea that inspired me to write this.

... 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎

"I want you to return this ring to the one Melkor exchanged it with."  Olórin glanced at the ring, hesitant to take it.  "I will do my best. Though I will have to ask... who is it that I am looking for?" "Do you remember a Maia named Mairon?"

⊱ Pairing: Angbang | Melkor/Mairon (past)

⊱ Characters: Olórin | Gandalf, Irmo | Lórien, Nienna, Mairon | Sauron, Melkor | Morgoth (mentioned), Aulë (mentioned), Manwë (mentioned), Eönwë (mentioned)

⊱ Synopsis: After Melkor was banished from Eä, Nienna asked Olórin to return his ring to Mairon. Many years later, Olórin remembers how another ring became Mairon's undoing and ponders the meaning of it.

⊱ Featuring: Olórin's POV, memories, married Angbang, tragic romance, angst & feels, hurt & comfort, a bit of philosophy and flower symbolism

⊱ Warnings: Mentions of death, background character death, grief/mourning

⊱ Long oneshot (~4k)

Also available on AO3

The gardens were quiet save for the distant chirping of crickets and gentle tinkling of wind chimes. Moths and fireflies were fluttering and buzzing around Lórellin as if they were watching over the two Ainur who lingered by the lake in silence. 

Olórin was sitting at its edge, staring at the water in deep thought, and next to him was Irmo, his form slightly hunched over and his head lowered. He had fallen asleep a while ago, as he was prone to do when he stayed in one place for too long, and the Maia patiently waited for his lord to awaken again so they could continue their conversation. 

He hadn't seen the beauty of Lórien in almost an entire age, Olórin thought as he beheld his surroundings, nor had he gotten much rest during his mission in Middle-earth. Upon his return to Valinor, he had been welcomed with warmth, praise and admiration from his fellow Ainur and had done his best to care for his mortal friends in particular, making sure they were comfortable and received the healing they needed. It was only now that he finally found some peace and quiet in the gardens he had missed so dearly and reminisced about everything that had happened. 

A movement next to him caught his attention and he turned his head to see Irmo straightening his back with a big yawn, sleep clouding his purple eyes until they finally focused on the Maia facing him. 

"My apologies, Olórin, I didn't mean to fall asleep in the middle of our conversation. Did I miss something?" 

Olórin couldn't help smiling a little. He had missed Irmo's company during his stay in Middle-earth, though at least the Vala had occasionally sent his moths to check on him and assist him. 

"Don't worry, my lord. I haven't said anything in a while." 

Irmo seemed relieved and gracefully stretched his limbs, causing a bit of colourful, glittery dream dust to fall from his hair and robes. It twinkled on the ground like a galaxy of miniature stars before it vanished from existence as quickly as it had appeared. 

"Very well. Will you tell me now what is on your mind? Or would you prefer to sit here in silence?" he asked. 

Olórin was taken aback by the question. "I... I am not sure what you speak of." 

"It seems to me that some grief and uncertainty is lingering upon your fëa."

Irmo lifted his hand and reached between his locks, their colour currently a soft pale rose and cream. A couple of flowers were growing on his head, much to the delight of his little moth friends, and his fingers kept searching until he finally plucked a white chrysanthemum out of his hair and presented it to his Maiarin companion. 

Memories flashed in front of Olórin's inner eye as beheld its dainty petals, but it was one in particular that made its way to his consciousness, one that he had often pondered for the last few millennia. 

"There is something," he began, brows furrowing slightly as he focused on piecing the whole story back together in his mind; some of his memories as a Maia were still fuzzy after being hidden for so long. 

"I... I don't know how I should feel about it, my lord."

"Well," Irmo said, now fully awake and attentive, "you could tell me about it, if you like, and perhaps we may find an answer to that question together."

Olórin nodded and gingerly took the flower to hold in his hands. It was nice to have something to look at and ground him while memories of the past flitted through his restless fëa, something engulfed in the calm and soothing aura of the Vala whose domain was his home. And he knew Irmo would never judge him for his thoughts and feelings, he would listen and help him understand. 

Without further pretext, he began. 

"I suppose it began when Lady Nienna asked me for a favour many years ago..." 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Olórin found Nienna on the western shores of Aman, a few miles away from her Halls. Her fána stood completely still as she gazed at Ekkaia deep in thought, ignoring the cold waves lapping at her naked feet and the wind tugging at her veil. 

"My lady," Olórin greeted her in a quiet voice so he wouldn't disturb her musings and bowed his head. 

"You wished to speak with me?" 

Nienna turned her head to look at him, fresh tears glistening on her cheeks, and he could sense the Valië's grief weighing down on her fëa even more so than usual. He didn't need to ask why, he knew she was mourning Melkor's death and banishment from Eä. To her, he was a fallen brother, not an enemy to be destroyed, and no amount of rejoicing and reassurance from her fellow Valar would change her mind. 

"Yes," Nienna answered, her voice as gentle as ever and she motioned for him to come closer. 

"I have faith in you that you will be able to understand." 

Olórin didn't know what she was referring to, but he gladly accommodated her request and moved to stand with her, listening to the soothing sound of the sea and following her gaze to the Door of Night in the distance. 

"He is gone, isn't he?" he asked. While the entirety of Valinor was aware of what had happened, no one besides the Valar had been allowed to witness them carrying out their judgement. 

"He is," Nienna confirmed after a small pause. "Though I don't know how long he has been." 

Olórin gave her a puzzled glance. Without averting her eyes from the Door of Night, she explained, "Melkor hasn't been himself for quite a while. Perhaps you heard of his madness. However, I know he is still there, not only lost in the emptiness of the Void, but also the darkness of his own heart. I wish I could have given him peace, both for the sake of this world and his own, but..."

She shook her head, causing a few more tears to fall and flow down her cheeks like shimmering, liquid pearls. 

Olórin contemplated her words for a while until he noticed Nienna gracefully lifting her hand. Upon catching his attention, she held out her palm to show him what she had been carrying, a beautiful golden ring with an obsidian gem, held in place by finely crafted, intricate patterns depicting a dragon and a wolf. 

"This ring belonged to Melkor," she explained. "I felt like it was important to him, so I took it after his hröa was slain. I didn't want them to ask Aulë to destroy it."

"Does Lord Manwë not want it? He is his brother after all," Olórin asked shyly. He didn't want to sound like he was questioning the Valië's judgement, yet he couldn't help voicing his concern. 

"Perhaps," was Nienna's cryptic answer. Her eyes were now fixated on the ring and the weight of her gaze made him wonder what she knew about the significance of this trinket. "However, I feel like there is another Ainu this ring should be returned to instead."

"And who might that be, my lady?" 

Nienna smiled wistfully. "You see, my dear, Melkor was never one to reveal his secrets, not even to Manwë or me. He would never admit that there was someone who meant a lot to him. But there was... dreams and desires are Irmo's domain, and he discovered there was indeed someone very dear to Melkor." 

"You... you mean this ring is..." 

"His wedding ring, yes." 

Seeing Olórin's disbelief, she continued, "When Melkor was imprisoned in the Halls of Mandos for three ages, Irmo was tasked with watching over him alongside Námo. He later told me that a certain Ainu would show up in Melkor's dreams quite often, and he would often whisper his name. We agreed that we would keep his secret."

Olórin nodded pensively. 

"My lady, I am honoured that you trust me with this information, but I wonder–"

"Because I have a favour to ask of you." 

Nienna tore her gaze away from the ring in her palm to look at the Maia. 

"I want you to return this ring to the one Melkor exchanged it with." 

Olórin glanced at the ring, hesitant to take it. 

"I will do my best. Though I will have to ask... who is it that I am looking for?" 

"Do you remember a Maia named Mairon?" 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Olórin paused briefly to gather his thoughts. Even after so many years and everything that had happened since his fateful conversation with Nienna, the things she had revealed to him felt almost surreal. 

Irmo tilted his head to the side, appearing to see right through him. 

"Did my sister's words surprise you, Olórin? That these two, considered to be the greatest agents of evil upon Arda, could still love one another?" 

"Admittedly, yes. Though, of course I know none of us were born evil." 

"Indeed. Our Father gave us the ability to love, and without it, we might not have come here to shape and guard our beloved Arda. It drives most, if not all of us, but in different ways." 

Irmo was silent for a moment, allowing both Olórin and himself to contemplate his words, then spoke up again. 

"But no more of that for now. Please forgive my interruption and continue."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It had taken some time until Olórin was able to sense another Maia's presence in Middle-earth, and even longer to confirm it was indeed the one he was looking for. Unfortunately for him, he soon realised that Mairon was avoiding him, seemingly unwilling to be in the presence of one of his peers. 

He couldn't blame him. If Irmo and Nienna weren't mistaken–and he certainly had faith in their judgement–Mairon had become the second Ainu to lose their spouse, and Olórin remembered Melian's grief all too well. He felt a pang of guilt for chasing after him like this, but it couldn't be helped; and maybe the gesture of returning the ring to him could provide some closure at least. 

Nienna had warned him that Mairon would likely assume he was pursuing him after he had fled from Eönwë. Many were still clamouring for him to be captured and punished like his master–no, his husband, Olórin reminded himself–despite the herald firmly stating that he wouldn't hunt him down nor send someone else to do it, as he had no orders to do so. Such things were far from Olórin's mind as well; he was coming at Nienna's behest, wishing only to help and to heal, his fëa aching with pity for the fallen Maia. 

At last Mairon decided to face him in a secluded valley on the outskirts of what had once been Beleriand, now sunken below the ocean never to be seen again. His fána still bore the injuries of battle and his eyes shone fiercely as he was visibly angered by the arrival of another Maia. Unbridled rage and pain were bleeding from his fëa, nearly causing Olórin to recoil from his presence; he couldn't claim to have known Mairon well before his fall, but he had never seen him or any other Maia like this before. 

"To whom or what do I owe the pleasure of being chased by a lesser spirit such as yourself?" Mairon said in lieu of a greeting. His normally melodious voice sounded like the sharp hiss of a wounded animal. 

Olórin's fána shifted, now assuming an elvish appearance to replace the bird shape he had worn before. 

"Greetings, Mairon." 

It would be wise to ignore the insult, he decided, knowing full well why the other Maia was lashing out. He couldn't find it within himself to be angry with someone whose spirit was in such a pitiful state, plagued by hurt and confusion. 

"I am not here to attack or pursue you. I merely wish to give you something, then I will be on my way," Olórin said, raising his hands in what he hoped would be understood as a soothing gesture. 

Mairon's eyes were burning with hostility and distrust, but he stayed where he was, glaring at the other Maia. "And what would that be?"

"Something that belonged to Melkor." 

"You would dare touch something that was his?!" Mairon snapped, fiery sparks flying from his hair as his rage threatened to boil over. 

"Lady Nienna said you should have it," Olórin said as calmly as he could, though he felt his hand trembling as his fingers closed around the ring he had been carrying. He dreaded what would inevitably come next–not for his own sake, but for Mairon's.  

Taking a deep breath, he held out his hand and presented the ring to him. Mairon froze as soon as he saw it, unable to move for several seconds that felt like an eternity, then picked it up with surprising gentleness, reverently and lovingly. Olórin spotted an identical ring on his finger, confirming what Irmo had told Nienna. 

"No..."

Mairon's voice was now reduced to a broken whisper, and he stared at the ring in disbelief. To Olórin, it seemed as though could see his heart shattering into countless pieces, releasing waves upon waves of pure anguish that shook his fëa to the core. 

"I am so sorry," he said, though he knew the Maia wasn't listening to him. 

"I... I don't feel... him... anymore..."

Mairon fell to his knees, clutching the ring and holding it up to his chest, the weight of realisation too much to bear. His entire fána was trembling like a flame being suffocated, flickering weakly before its light was extinguished. 

"Melkor... no... no..." 

He hid his face in his hands and started shaking his head rapidly. 

"NO!" 

At this moment it seemed to Olórin that something inside him broke and he could only watch any tears the other Maia might have shed evaporating as rivers of fire started to spill from his eyes and mouth, engulfing his fána in flames. Mairon threw his head back and a piercing cry of anguish shook the entire valley, rocks falling from the hills as the very earth under their feet was shaken by his grief. Never before had Olórin heard such agony and despair in the voice of an Ainu, his own fëa quivering within his fána, and he prayed to Eru he would never have to hear such a cry again, begging for something or someone to soothe Mairon's pain. 

A tongue of flame flared up towards the heavens from where the fire spirit knelt, as if it was desperately calling out to his beloved, reaching for him even though he knew he wouldn't answer. All Olórin could do was hide behind a few nearby rocks and shield himself from the torrents of flame spilling from Mairon's wounded fëa as uncontrollable sobs caused his fána to shake and tremble like a leaf in the eye of a fiery storm. 

He didn't know how long it took until Mairon's voice gave out and he collapsed with a faint whimper, still holding on to Melkor's ring like his life depended on it. Cautious, Olórin emerged from his hiding place and approached the fallen Maia. His mission was complete, he could simply assume the shape of a bird and fly home to Valinor, yet he felt like he couldn't leave one of his kind behind like this. 

"Go away," Mairon hissed upon noticing him coming closer once again, his voice hoarse and cracking under the strain.  

"I have nothing to say to you." 

"You need help, Mairon. While Eönwë was right when he said that none of us Maiar have the power to forgive you, I promise that Lady Nienna will protect you if you come home with me. And Lord Aulë as well. He loved you, and he has never given up on you. There are people who wish to help you heal and redeem yourself." 

Olórin was certain he had seen Mairon hesitate for a moment, but then he let out a bitter laugh. 

"I would rather die than serve those who have taken my king and husband away from me and murdered him," he said through gritted teeth, his eyes alight with defiance as he looked up at the other Maia. 

"And the Valar don't love us, Olórin. You can choose not to believe me, but one day you will see."

Olórin regarded him quietly, contemplating his words. While he believed Mairon was wrong, he knew this was not the time to argue with him. 

"I take it you will not come with me," he said and bowed his head. "So be it then."

"I already told you to leave me alone."

"And I will. But never forget that you don't have to walk the same path as Melkor did."

With that, Olórin allowed his fána to shift back into an avian shape and spread his wings. 

"Farewell, Mairon."  

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Perhaps it was foolish of me to even ask," Olórin mused, caressing the white chrysanthemum's petals. The memory of Mairon's grief shook him to the core, even after all this time. 

"How so?"

Another flower was slowly growing amidst Irmo's locks while he eyed the Maia with mild curiosity. 

"Well... he ran away from Eönwë and he lost his husband... to us." 

"Yet he did hesitate, even if it was just for a small moment." 

"Mayhaps." Olórin searched his memories one more time, wondering if there were any clues he had missed. "It seemed that way to me back then, though in retrospect I wonder if he merely deceived me, just like he did to Eönwë."

Irmo shook his head. "You are a student of my dearest sister, you know offering mercy and compassion is never foolish, even if the chances of success are low. Mairon may have been able to save himself if he had accepted your offer... but do not blame yourself, Olórin. You did everything you could and you were very kind to him and many others. I know your darling little friends learned a lot from you; they are quite lovely, are they not?" 

Olórin smiled. It hadn't escaped his notice that many among the Ainur were quite taken with his companions from Middle-earth, particularly the Hobbits–Irmo had been more than happy to share his best pipe weed with them. It was sad that their time together would be but a fleeting moment compared to the eternity of the Undying Lands. 

"But I believe this tale has not yet come to an end, has it?" Irmo gently interrupted his thoughts. 

"Indeed." Olórin's eyes focused on the flower in his hands again to collect his thoughts, then he continued. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The piercing scream that had torn through stone and metal, flesh and spirit alike echoed within Olórin's very being long after the dark tower fell and the remnant of Mairon's spirit rose one last time, only to be blown away by the wind. He had returned to Mordor to make sure nothing remained of the evil that had plagued Middle-earth for the last few ages and was standing on a jagged rock, leaning on his staff and beholding the ruins of the dark lord's domain, when he suddenly sensed another presence. 

It was brief, fleeting and nigh imperceptible with the dulled senses of his hröa, yet for a moment it seemed to him as though the mighty figure of Aulë was standing amidst the mountains and looking at the remnants of his lost Maia's kingdom before he vanished once more, and a deep, heavy sigh shook the ground underneath Olórin's feet. 

He was fairly certain that his senses hadn't deceived him, but he didn't call out to the Vala; had Aulë wished to speak with him, he would have done so and not concealed himself. 

It must be a strange feeling for him, being proud of his children but also saddened by his former student's demise, Olórin thought, then sat down to ponder the events that had transpired.

Losing one's spouse, losing part of one's fëa. These were things he couldn't even begin to imagine, and he had sensed the sheer agony tearing through Mairon both times. A cruel fate for a Maia, even for one who had committed so many crimes and terrible acts; yet it was Eru's will that this should be his ultimate fate, so the Children may be free of the great evil that had haunted them for ages, a shadow of his long lost master. 

Olórin wondered, as he had wondered many times before, if Mairon had done all of this out of love for Melkor. If he had tried to rebuild the kingdom they had lost in the War of Wrath and prepare for his return, knowing that the Dark Vala could never be fully destroyed as long as his power remained within Eä like blood flowing through its veins. 

Yet every time he contemplated these thoughts, he remembered the teachings of Manwë, that love was good and pure and paved the road to redemption for oneself as well as for others. Never before had Olórin doubted the words of the Elder King, wisest among the Ainur and closest to Ilúvatar, but now he couldn't help wondering–if it was as he said, how could love have driven Mairon to commit such atrocities and refuse mercy and compassion from his peers? How could love have caused such pain and destruction? 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"And now you would like to know if Manwë is wrong or not," Irmo gently finished the Maia's unspoken thought. 

Olórin's expression was slightly sheepish as he gazed up at him, and he shifted uncomfortably. "I wouldn't presume to question his judgement like that, but–"

Irmo shook his head, unperturbed by the Maia's doubtful mien. 

"Manwë may be wise, but he knows there are things he doesn't understand and that he may err in his judgement; nor would he blame you for asking questions."

"What is your answer then, Lord Irmo?" Olórin asked, turning to face the Vala so his undivided attention rested on him. 

"What Manwë says... it is certainly not wrong. For love is so powerful that it was the one thing that made Melkor snap out of his madness in the final moments of the war and save someone other than himself."

The new flower on Irmo's head had fully grown in the meantime, and he presented it to Olórin: A beautiful red rose, rich in colour and seemingly glowing from the inside. 

"Yet love is not exclusively a force of good and healing. It too may be twisted into something evil and destructive, as you have seen. There is... very little in this world that is as simple as being good or evil." 

He gingerly rearranged his locks and the other flowers so the rose rested in their midst. 

"Manwë, however, is free of evil. He doesn't understand Mairon's desire for revenge or his need to spread his pain to others."

A brief silence ensued, until Olórin nodded slowly. "I see." 

Irmo smiled and pulled him into a hug. "It is quite alright to be sad and grieve for a while if you feel the need to, but again, please don't blame yourself. Mairon's decisions were his own to make until the very end and neither you, nor Eönwë, nor Eru himself could take that away from him. You did what you could."

The white chrysanthemum on the Maia's lap suddenly dissolved into tiny white butterflies that flew around the two Ainur and Olórin felt as if a knot inside of him had been untangled, allowing his thoughts and emotions to flow freely again. 

"I think I understand now. Thank you, my lord."

A lingering sense of sadness remained, yet it was all clear now. It would take a while until he had made sense of everything he saw in Middle-earth, but he knew he was not alone and Irmo and Nienna were there to listen to him when he was ready to open up and heal. 

If you enjoyed, please consider liking and reblogging!♡

taglist: @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @asianbutnotjapanese @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @floraroselaughter @i-did-not-mean-to @singleteapot

my masterlist | tag list form

[smilebackwards]

fic writer meme

thanks to @vinelark for the tag!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? ~155. Approximate count because some are podfics of my work back when it was the convention to make the writer also an author. And I have some stuff posted in an anonymous collection which I don't think get counted in works despite counting into other stats.

2. What's your total Ao3 word count? 487,897. I will hopefully be cracking half a million this year!

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently Batman, Star Wars, Foundation, Shadowhunters, Lord of the Rings, whatever random thing catches my attention.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Double Blind [Daredevil/MCU] Exit Strategy [Batman] Surveillance [Batman] Extension [Batman] Victory Braid [Lord of the Rings]

5. Do you respond to comments? Very sporadically. Mostly for comments where there was something specific I wanted to respond to or comments from someone who prompted/inspired the fic. I feel a bit bad that I don't because I love all comments but it's a lot of energy for me that I could instead be putting into more writing.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably Everything I Build (Is Breaking Down).

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I'm a sucker for a happy ending so there's a lot to choose from! Maybe Rearrange.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not a lot, but people have left some truly unhinged stuff on Exit Strategy. I delete/block where needed.

9. Do you write smut? I'm not good at it. There might be like 3 sentences and a fade to black.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you have written? I write a lot of fusion AUs but not many crossovers. There's probably some weird ones in my older stuff!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Full reposting, not that I know of. I did find that someone basically rewrote one of my fics, with extremely specific details, and that didn't feel great.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes, many of my fics have been translated :)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? A lot of my fics are based on prompts so kind of collaborative in that way, but the actual words on the page writing bit is pretty solitary for me.

14. What's your all time favorite ship? X-Wing. Iconic.

15. What is a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Still pained by my Les Mis Olympics AU WIP.

16. What are your writing strengths? I think I do a fun mix of humor and angst in my writing. Maybe word selection, I am obsessed with finding the best word with the most appropriate connotations. And perseverance, I will finish fics years later.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Extreme slowness. All vibes, no plot. Cannot write fic longer than 15k.

18. Thoughts of writing dialogue in another language in fics? I think generally I prefer to write in English and dialogue tag that someone said something in a different language. Occasionally I do the italics to indicate or don't do italics but use Google Translate which inevitably goes poorly. This reminds me that someone sent me a translation fix comment and I need to go see if I can find that.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Yeah, it was probably Harry Potter. I recently found an old spiral notebook where like 14 year old me wrote in colored markers and it is the worst thing ever, I should burn it, but on the other hand it reminds me that I'm kind of proud that I've kept at writing so long and improved.

20. Favorite fic you have written? I think Misson Report. I have an enduring love for Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and I like the cadence of it.

tagging @dreaming-marchling, @andrea-lyn, and anyone else who might be interested!

[kismetharbor]

Kismet Harbor's 168th Founder's Festival

In the year 1856, against the backdrop of the Oregon Trail’s final stretches and the promise of prosperity in the West, Alexander Chapman, a pioneering soul with dreams as vast as the Pacific itself, laid the foundation stones of what would become Kismet Harbor. Drawn to the rugged beauty of the Oregon coast and inspired by the potential of its untamed lands, Chapman envisioned a haven where dreams could take root and ambitions could flourish. To honor our beloved founder, it is yet again time for our annual Founder's Festival. Come on by with your family, friends and beloved ones and have fun at our 168th Founder's Festival, officially ringing in the new season.

For your entertainment, our board and city council have come up with the following things to do at this year's festival:

Novice bakers are encouraged to put their own baking creations on display for our lovely judges to taste and proclaim a winner.

Vivian Lockwood and Peter Salzburg, our lord and lady Kismet Harbor from last year's festival will be passing on their crowns to this years new lord and lady. At the opening of our festival, the coronation will take place. We invite everyone to toast to them with a cup of sparkling apple cider.

Join us for mini games such as apple bobbing, a hay obstacle course, egg and spoon race, and archery.

Test your battle of wits in a Shakespearean showoff. Battle your opponents with old English insults and become the master of wits.

The famous 'chase the chicken' game has returned. Chase the chicken down the main road of Kismet Harbor and win fresh produce from our local farms (Disclaimer, no actual chickens are being harmed in this game. Volunteers that fit in our chicken outfits are welcomed!)

Stroll about our shopping streets for stands filled with food, trinkets and fashion items. Enjoy the newest fall fashion and food items such as pumpkin spice and apple cider.

As always there will be a speech by Mayor Clairmont to regale the story of Alexander Chapman.

Children up to the age of sixteen can enjoy their fairy hunt in a closed off section of the hiking trails. When having found a small wooden elf, return this to the entrance of the hiking trails for a free ticket to the use at either Aquatica, Danger Zone or Galaxy Cinemas. Minors under the age of eight need to be escorted by an adult.

Our hayrides will lead you through town from Hawthorne Hideaway to our downtown area.

Once more, we have a charity walk/run of five, ten and twenty miles. For every five miles finished, HCP Holding will donate a hundred dollars to Best Care Animal Hospital.

Below the cut is the OOC information needed for the event:

The event will start September 20th, at 12:00pm (noon, EST), starters can be posted on the dashboard.

The event will run through October 4th at 12:00am (midnight, EST), however no new starters should be posted after September 30th for the sake of being able to wrap up threads in a timely manner. Try to have it wrapped up by the 11th to keep the dash clean. Event starters should be tagged with kismetharbor.event002.

Every year, the Founder's festival will be declaring a new 'Lord' and 'Lady' of Kismet Harbor that will partake in the organization for events and help hosting it for the next whole year. Every mun is allowed to participate for the reaping with a maximum of two characters (whichever gender; Non Binary characters will have to specify if they would like to be reaped for Lord or Lady.). Two will be reaped by the wheel and will not be chosen by popular vote. Please send in the characters you wish to participate with. You can do this until September 19th at 11:59 PM. The winners will be reaped at the start of the event. Please submit through IM.

The mini games shall be held in Hawthorne Hideaway, reachable either by foot or by the use of a hayride wagon. The stands, foodcourts, the mayor's speech at the Chapman statue and the crowning of the new Lord and Lady will be held Downtown.

For the baking competition it is not required to sent in pictures. Just the name and description of what will be entered and the character name is enough. Again, the winners shall be chosen by the wheel and not by popular vote. Please send this through IM.

Feel free to have your characters volunteers to host the activities or rides.

Participation in the event is required and you will have to have at least one event thread per character.

[willtheweaver]

Writeblr interview

Thanks for the tag @thecomfywriter

Let’s get into it then:

Short stories, novels, or poems?

Reading or writing? Both? Well in that case, the answer is all three.

What genre do you prefer reading?

Fantasy (both high and low), mythology, poetry. and gothic literature.

What genera do you prefer writing?

Hard to say as I’ve dabbled in fantasy (high and low) science fiction, dystopia,horror, and poetry.

Are you a planner or write-as-I-go kind of person?

I have a rough outline as to what should happen. From there, I let the narrative go where it wants to go.

What music do you listen to when writing?

Man, I have an eclectic taste in music. I could be listening to anything from classical, to 60’s rock, outlaw country, to folk songs and sea shanties like.

Fave books/movies?

Love The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, Dracula, Labyrinth, The Dark Crystal, and Star Wars.

Any current WIPs?

Right now I’m focused on A Feather in the Forest

If someone were to make a cartoon out of you, what would your standard outfit be?

My standard outfit would be hair loose, a bucket hat, dark jacket, t-shirt, dark sweat pants, and black shoes…which is exactly what I wear in real life much of the year.

Create a character description of yourself

He looks like a twenty something male with long hair and glasses, but inside is an endless pit that bubbles and boils with information. All around is a dynamo processing, shaping ,molding, creating, and destroying; a microcosm of the universe.

Outwardly, he presents a calm, unflappable attitude, always wanting to engage with others. But don’t try your luck. Fiercely loyal, he can and will defend those that he befriends.

Do you like incorporating actual people you know into your writing?

I cannot say. I mainly get inspiration from my mind, I may subconsciously base some of my characters on people I know, but it can be hard to tell.

Are you kill-happy with your characters?

No one is safe. If they die, they die.

Coffee or tea while writing?

Tea.

Slow or fast writer?

Overall pace tends to be slow. When inspiration/motivation strikes, I can get words on the page quite fast.

Where/who/what do you draw inspiration from?

I have quite an active mind. Inspiration comes to me out of the blue, sometimes even in dreams. What I read and watch can also bring focus if I have trouble finding a direction.

If you were put in a fantasy world, what would you be?

Either a scholar, innkeeper, or an adventurer.

Most fav book cliche?

Found family, redemption arc (genuine), friends to lovers, mentor and student dynamic, friends being there and giving a helping hand.

Least fav book cliche?

Toxic lead that everyone is supposed to like, mismatched/ forced relationship, again, because one of them is the MC, over reliance on plot armor deus ex machina.

Fave scene to write?

Anything that sticks.

Most productive time of day for writing?

Any time that I can get words out. Can be midnight, daybreak, or anytime in between.

Reason for writing?

There is so much I want to share. If someone out there smiles because they like what I put out, then I feel accomplished.

Tagging @pluppsauthor @phoenixradiant @agirlandherquill @thatuselesshuman @moltenwrites

@nczaversnick @the-letterbox-archives @lavender-gloom @ominous-feychild @sableglass

@glasshouses-and-stones @finickyfelix and open tag

[liminalpsych]

Development of Arthur - Geoffrey of Monmouth

1138 - Historia regum Britanniae and 1150 - Vita Merlini, by Geoffrey of Monmouth

Physical appearance

In battle, wore "a golden helmet with the carved likeness of a dragon upon the crest"

Carried the shield Pridwen, "which had the image of blessed Mary, Mother of God, painted upon it, keeping him always mindful of her"

Wielded Caliburn, "greatest of swords, which had been made in the isle of Avalon"

In his right hand during battle, carried the spear known as Ron, "long and broad and keen in warfare"

Personality

At 15 years old, described as "a youth of outstanding virtue and largesse. His innate goodness made him exhibit such grace that he was beloved by all the people". Possessed "both great courage and generosity".

"Such an outstanding man that no one could match him in virtue" according to Merlin

Takes counsel from advisors and vassals, listens to them, takes their advice into consideration.

Willing to engage in mercy if asked sufficiently, but more inclined to mercilessness as a default, and swift to punish treachery. E.g.: let the surrendering Saxons go back to Germany, then hanged all the Saxon hostages when the Saxons turned back around and attacked the Briton countryside. E.g.: had made the decision to let none of the Picts and Scots live, but the bishops and clergy of those lands approached him and begged for mercy, such that "pity finally moved him to tears".

Fierce fighter and battle-leader, even at a young age, often even rushing into the front lines to inspire and rally the troops and successfully killing… lots of men. (470, in one of his first campaigns.)

Loyal and protective of his vassals.

Rejoiced at being universally feared after his conquests, and desired to "submit all Europe to his rule", so he conquered Norway, Denmark, and Gaul (over the course of a 9-year campaign). Eventually also fought and defeated the forces of Rome (though didn't get to conquer all of Rome due to Mordred interrupting by taking over Britain).

Unhesitant to accept single combat, and would even seek out challenges (for example, fighting two different giants in single combat and winning). "For King Arthur possessed such strength and courage that he scoffed at bringing the entire army against such monsters. He wanted to impress his men by vanquishing the creature himself" and so would do stuff like get Bedivere and Kay to steal away with him so he can fight a giant in single combat

Eloquent and well-spoken, able to give speeches "bedecked with a truly Ciceronian eloquence".

Intelligent and well-educated.

Had a portentous dream (about a dragon and bear fighting), not very good at interpreting it though.

Reasonably devout Christian.

Family

Wife: Guinevere, "from a noble Roman family", who had been brought up in the household of Duke Cador of Cornwall and "surpassed all the other women of the isle in beauty."

Mother: Igerna, married to Gorlois the duke of Cornwall when Arthur was conceived. Her "beauty surpassed that of all the other women of Britain".

Father: Uther Pendragon, who was disguised as Gorlois when Arthur was conceived, then later married Igerna after Gorlois' death. Poisoned to death by the Saxons after defeating them. Buried in Stonehenge (the "Ring of Giants") next to his brother Aurelius.

Sister: Anna, "whose sons and grandsons will later rule the kingdom of Britain" per Merlin's prophecy. Married Loth of Lothian, lord of Leis, "a most experienced soldier, wise and mature".

Another sister? Possibly a half-sister from Igerna and Gorlois? Unclear and unnamed, but married Budicus the king of the Armorican Britons over in what's now part of France.

Nephew: Hoel, king of the Armorican Britons. Arthur and Hoel were very fond of one another, "united by love and a common blood", and Hoel was a strong ally. Arthur dropped everything to rally to his rescue when he was ill and besieged, and they showed affection to each other more than Arthur is described as doing with anyone else in Geoffrey's narrative. (I get the sense based on the timeline and interactions that they're of similar ages, but I don't have evidence of that.)

Nephew: Gawain, son of Loth of Lothian and Arthur's sister Anna.

Nephew: Mordred, son of Loth of Lothian and Arthur's sister Anna.

Brother-in-law: Loth of Lothian, Earl of Lothian and King of Norway

Paternal uncle: Constans, eldest brother of Uther, prior king of Britain before Vortigern and Vortimer, former monk, puppet of Vortigern, deceased before Arthur's birth.

Paternal uncle: Aurelius Ambrosius, older brother of Uther, prior king of Britain after Vortigern and before Uther, deceased before Arthur's birth.

Grandfather: Constantine, king of Britain before Constans, deceased before Arthur's birth

Grandmother: Unnamed woman from a noble family "who Guithelin had personally raised"

Timeline

Arthur's birth prophesied by Merlin to Uther, along with the birth of his sister Anna.

Conceived at Tintagel Castle in Cornwall when Uther lay with Igerna while disguised by Merlin as her husband Gorlois, who he was at war with at the time (because he wanted Igerna).

Uther and Igerna marry shortly thereafter, as Gorlois died in battle while Uther and Igerna were conceiving Arthur. They "lived together as equals bound by mutual affection".

Arthur's sister Anna is born to Uther and Igerna.

Uther becomes ill and places Loth of Lothian in charge of the armies to fight the invading Saxons. Uther is carried in a litter to command the battle when Loth is unable to command the Britons successfully, manages to mostly succeed until the Saxons assassinate him by poisoning a spring.

The leaders of the various provinces of Britain ask Archbishop Dubricius of Caerleon to crown 15-year-old Arthur as king.

Arthur "upheld the ancient custom" of gift-giving to soldiers who joined him until he ran began to run out of gifts, so then he attacked the Saxons to distribute their riches among his men.

Drove out the Saxons, then also the Picts, Scots, and Irish from Britain (the Britain of the time, which is now Wales and some of England).

Rebuilt the churches that the Saxons had destroyed.

Married Guinevere.

Subdued Ireland and Iceland, and then the kings of Gotland and Orkney surrendered to him before they could get invaded.

12 years of peace, during which Arthur invited "all the bravest men from the farflung reaches of his domain to join his household," and cultivated "such refinement in his court so that people far and wide sought to emulate it," and "every young nobleman was tempted to hang himself unless he could dress or bear arms like the knights of King Arthur's court".

Possibly around this time is when Arthur fights the giant Retho atop Mount Aravius, when Retho challenges him to single combat to add to Retho's kingly beard collection? (Retho was collecting beards of kings to make a fur coat.) Timeline is unclear here.

Conquers Norway and Denmark. Establishes Loth as king.

Spends 9 years conquering Gaul, holds court at Paris, gives Neudtria (Normandy) to Bedivere and gives the province of Anjou to Kay.

Big fancy feast/tournament/celebration at Caerlon, is ceremoniously bestowed the royal crown. Rome sends a delegation to threaten Britain, tell Arthur to come to Rome in August, and that Britain still owes Rome tribute. The Britons are outraged, Arthur tells Rome they should give Britain tribute instead.

Rome advances towards Britain. Arthur leaves Britain under custodianship of Mordred and Guinevere and invades Rome.

Arthur sneaks off with Bedivere and Kay to fight and kill an unnamed giant in single combat while waiting in Gaul for the rest of his armies to arrive.

The Britons defeat the Roman forces somewhere between Paris and Rome. Arthur winters in the Allobroges, continuing to conquer the area, and wants to cross the mountains to invade Rome when summer comes.

Arthur receives word that Mordred has "proven himself to be a tyrant and a traitor", seized the throne of Britain, and "now took his wicked pleasure with Guinevere, who had broken her marriage vows".

Arthur returns to Britain and wages war against Mordred, who's allied with the Scots, Picts, Irish, and Saxons. Guinevere joins the nuns at a church in Caerleon when hearing of Arthur's arrival and victories.

~542 C.E.: Battle of Camlann. Mordred is killed Arthur is carried off by Merlin, Barinthus, and maybe others to Avalon to be healed by Morgen. Constantine, son of Duke Cador of Cornwall, becomes king.

Other notes

"The Boar of Cornwall" in Merlin's prophecies refers to Arthur.

Most described court events were at Tintagel or Caerleon.

Merlin does not show up in Arthur's story after his conception. In "The Life of Merlin", Merlin implies that he helped bring Arthur's body to Avalon as well.

[faebhaal]

The party has, needless to say, come to a premature close.

The beautiful tiles of the ballroom are stained with sanguine, probably never to be scrubbed completely away. She herself is covered in just as much viscera as the floor she's currently kneeling on.

The sigil of the murder God, her father, has been drawn, and with a tender reverence repeats the usual offeratory prayer required for their sacrifices. “Bhaal awaits thee. Bhaal embraces thee. None escape Bhaal.” Her eyes stay trained on the symbol waiting for confirmation, for approval from her father. When the insignia flashes, relief washes over her.

The high of euphoria courses through her veins even now, leaving her skin flushed, heart thumping and wings a flutter.

Ithaca stands up to get a better view. A smirk crosses her lips as she admires her handiwork. Of course the other members helped bring her vision to life, yet it was just that: hers.

The woman searches through the body parts that lay scattered about like mixed matched puzzle pieces. An arm here, a torso there. And -ah! There it is.

Ithaca snatches up what she was looking for; the head of Lord Daniel LaBreaux. The expression on his face is the same one he held when his eyes met her across the dance floor. Recognition had turned to panic as she danced with his eldest son right before death claimed them all. Infact this lush gathering had been to celebrate the boy's twenty second birthday. At least that's what her sources had told her. The look of horror the lord had fixed her when she dropped her disguise was priceless but not as much as what followed. In the blink of eye, Ithaca had slit the lordling's throat which served as a signal to her crew.

A snap, the whizzling and whirling of razor wire did the rest. Like butter it sliced through the snooty nobles. And the few that didn't suffer an instant fatality? A simple fix with a blade. Otherwise it all went according to plan. And she can't wait to smugly brag about it to the Primates that had tried to argue with her plot. 'It won't work,' they had said. But who's laughing now?

Not Lord LaBreaux. Not the mortal that thought he could escape her father's grasp. Previously the worm of a man had made several tithes to Bhaal's church. And sure, it bought him some time. However, rumor goes that he had grown too restless, too scared and was looking into seeking protection from a devilish patron. That wouldn't do, oh no!

So he had to pay. And all the others that paid along with him would serve as a lesson and a warning.

“Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal.” A light kiss is placed upon his cheek before his cranium in unceremoniously dropped back onto the gore covered floor with a wet splat. That is, after she's plucked a couple of teeth from his jaw.

Ithaca motions to everyone to wrap it all up. The others gather themselves and any belongings and start taking their leave. She takes one last satisfied look around, eyes lingering on her god's symbol then making her own exit.

Nary a person in attendance had been left of alive. None except for the youngest of the lord's brood; a child of twelve years that had been feeling ill enough to be excluded from the festivities. The fey's purple ringed eyes meet the peeking, fearful gaze from upon the stairs. The child freezes, yet runs away when Ithaca offers up a shark-like smile and wave. Some would argue the choice to leave the whelp alive is a mistake. But someone needs to live to tell the tale --- to spread the magnificent horror of Bhaal. And who knows? Perhaps this will inspire a new follower.

Either way there will be no more sweet dreams in this abode. Only nightmares, which can be just as delicious.

Blood and carnage are licked from her fingers, the taste savored as if she had just enjoyed the sweetest cake. The rush in her veins has cooled, leaving her with a feeling of peaceful bliss equivalent to laying in a field of flowers on a warm, sunny day.

One of her assassins offers her a ride, going as far as to even assist her onto the steed. Arms wrap around the torso, head lays against their back. The hunger has been sated, leaving her wishing to sleep now. If nothing goes awry, they could be back home within a day.

Home. The word always brings solace to her heart. For as demanding as her father might be, at least he favors her. He has never abandoned her in all her years. He gives her power. He gives her purpose.

Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal.