#why don't we and y/n

[kasagia]

Skin and bones

Pairing: Halbrand/Annatar/We know who x fem!elf! reader Summary: Ever since Galadriel revealed Halbrand's true identity, you've been having some very strange dreams… dreams that aren't the innocent figments of your imagination you thought they were. Warning: I HAVEN'T WATCHED THE RINGS OF POWER. All my knowledge is based on fanfics, short scenes posted on yt and uncle google. I just couldn't get this guy out of my mind... And I don't regret anything. Inspired by: David Kushner - "Skin and bones" Halbrand's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

"Y/N…" A cold shiver runs down your spine as you feel HIS hot, quiet, velvety whisper in your ear. You keep your eyes tightly closed, not wanting to see what image your mind, tired from today's meetings, has put before you this time.

For days now, your imagination had been tormenting you with strange dreams. Dreams in which you were haunted by him.

Halbrand.

You avoided speaking his true name. Somehow, the face of the one you should have hated with all your heart did not match the face of the one who had spent so many weeks by your and Galadriel's side.

And it scared you immensely. So much so that you weren't sure you could pretend to the light elf that you were haunted by the shadows of your past.

Galardiel once told you that to know true light, one must touch the darkness. But what do you do when that darkness becomes more attractive than light? What do you do to resist that magnetism? How do you enjoy the glow of pure light on your skin again when you still have spots of darkness on you in the shape of HIS fingerprints?

"Y/N." Another whisper, another brush of warm air against your cool skin, this time on your neck. Goosebumps rise up your spine, your hand shakes uncontrollably, trying to desperatly grasp something you can't see. "Let go. Just let go. I'm waiting here for you. With open arms, mime írima kal (my lovely light)."

The feathery touch of HIS lips against your earlobe sends a shiver through your body. Even though you are in complete darkness, you are perfectly aware that he is near, that his presence is right next to you.

Physically you could be miles away from each other but spiritually... spiritually he has made sure that he will haunt you every night.

"You miss me. You miss the feeling of power I gave you. The darkness you could hide in, when you were too tired of playing the hero no one appreciates as they should. Just as I miss your light. Your laugh. Your mind. Your lips. Your body..." His lips move with each sentence down your cheek and to your neck, leaving a gentle kiss as if he was appreciating your skin and paid tribute to it.

He was right. You missed this. Him. He was addictive. And like any addiction, you should cut yourself off before it goes too far... but hasn't it gone too far already?

"Do you think you can hide from me? That any elven friend of yours could disrupt my vision of you? That I would stop watching you at night in the darkness of your chambers, waiting for the moment when you finally realize that the cold you feel is caused by my lack of physical presence with you? Tell me, my beautiful, stubborn elf, when will you realize that the warmth you long for is found in my darkness and not in the light of your golden sunlight?"

You gasp as HE suddenly grabs you by the neck and uses his fingertips to force you to turn your head towards him. His mouth attacks yours with a huge force of possessiveness, anger, frustration, lust, as if he were going to conquer you by using only his soft lips and a silver-tongue trained over the centuries he spend on seducing others to his will.

And you promised yourself that you wouldn't be the next victim of his games and manipulation.

That's why you let him kiss you. Not because you enjoy it and miss the feeling of his lips on yours. You tangle your hands in his hair, shivering as you feel the cold metal of his spiked crown against the pads of your fingers.

You managed to let his guard down, letting his tongue tangle with yours in a familiar, passionate dance you used to indulge in when you knew him not as a Dark Lord but as a mere blacksmith. An electric jolt runs through you, stealing all the air from your lungs and making your mind cloud with lust—but not strong enough to make you completely forget about your plan.

Before he can realise it, you bite his lower lip and push him away from you. You summon all your power that he hasn't timed in your sleep and push him out of your unconscious mind. You can hear his loud growl of rage and the clang of his metal armour against the rocks as you fall into nothingness.

A loud thud echoes through the room you and Galadriel have rented as you fall from the small bed onto the wooden floor. You groan, propping yourself up on your elbows and cursing under your breath as you wake up from yet another dream HE has taken over.

"Another one? Which one is it this week? Third?" You sigh at the question from the elf sitting on the bed across the small tavern room. You nod reluctantly and stand up, dusting off the dust and dirt from the floor.

"I'm not counting. I lost count about a two months ago anyway." You mumble, ignoring the fact that these dreams started much earlier. You turn your back to her, hiding the blush that blooms on your cheeks as you remember how… naughty your dreams were.

Before you realized that your… night visions weren't just yours, you and he… were doing all sorts of things. Most of them weren't really things you could speak about out loud. And as much as you're ashamed of them, you have to admit they were the best nights of sleep you've had since… you found out the truth about him.

"I keep wondering how he creates this connection with you? It's a bridge that shouldn't be created without… the willingness of both sides."

“It’s Sauron.” You reply, making sure to pronounce his name with just the right amount of disgust in your voice. "He has powers that allow him to break the rules. You know that."

"Still… they shouldn't be that strong."

"Are you suggesting something, Galadriel? Do you think I would really seek him out willingly? He has deceived us. He has deceived you and me. He wants to destroy Middle-earth, do you think I would willingly seek contact with him for any other purpose than to finally kill him?"

Your accusatory tone comes out a little stronger than you intended. You wrap your arms around yourself and take a few calming breaths, trying to calm the anger boiling inside you.

"I trust you. If I trust anyone, it's you, Y/N. I'm not your enemy here." She responds calmly and walks over to you. She cups your cheeks in her hands and rests her forehead against yours.

"I am highly aware." You respond and place your hands on the sides of her neck. "I'm just... tired. That's all." You sigh and rest your chin on her shoulder, snuggling into her.

You hold each other like that until she gently pulls away from you. She grabs your hands and looks you in the eyes.

"We all are. War is coming. Darkness is descending upon more of our lands. But together we will prevail. Sun and moon. We must work together if we are about to defeat him and Morgoth." Galadriel spoke, tightening her grip on your hands.

"I know." You mumble and shake your head. You remove your hands from her grip and turn to face the window, watching the sun slowly rise. “Which doesn’t mean he won’t see it coming. Because he will. We have to move faster, think five step ahead than he does if we want the light to break through his army of darkness.” You say not turning to face her since you're too afraid of what she'll find in your eyes. Galadriel sighs but doesn't try to catch your attention anymore.

"I guess we won't get any more sleep tonight. Get ready. I'll go find Erlond." She looks at you a little longer, her gaze burning on your back, but you stubbornly stare out at the valleys lit by the glow of the sun breaking through the morning mist, not yet feeling ready to face what is outside.

You breathe a sigh of relief as the door closes behind her. You turn one of the rings forged by HIM, which you have placed on your necklace, in your hands, quietly wondering if you should really do what you were about to do. But since he's decided to play dirty against you for weeks... you might as well start returning his little blows, too.

You close your eyes and place the ring on your finger. You hold your breath as the familiar surge of power makes your blood pump a little harder and your eyes sharpen to your surroundings. The outlines of the valleys in the distance become much clearer, and you can almost smell the forest that lies miles away.

You know he can sense where you are if you let him. So you take a little risk and remove the protective shield that keeps you away from him. And Sauron bursts through your slightly ajar door as if into a rabbit hole.

"If you're out there somewhere… if you can hear me… know that you've given me enough darkness to rip your black heart from your chest without blinking, mime melin cotumo."

Maybe calling him your dear enemy wasn't the best thing to end your threat, but the only thing that could leave your lips when you addressed him were such nicknames. Never the names you knew him by. Especially the name under which he hid when you so naively gave him part of your heart.

"Are you, Y/N?"

His whispered question echoes through the empty room. You immediately throw him out and slam the door on his ghostly presence, blocking his vision of you again. You want to celebrate this small victory over him, showing him that you are still in control, but you both know it's just an illusion. An illusion you're desperately trying to fall for. Unfortunately, you guess you're not as good at them as he is.

"I don't like him." You say to Galadriel, eyeing Annatar carefully.

You held little Celebrían in your arms and watched as Celeborn, Celebrimbor, and Annatar chatted in the distance, enjoying the party Celebrimbor had thrown for your arrival.

"He is… quiet around us. But that doesn't mean we have to be hostile towards him right away. We can't be overly suspicious." Galadriel says and takes her daughter from you, who begins to cry quietly. You sigh, looking at the child in her arms.

"In these times we can be as suspicious as we want, Galadriel. Middle-earth is even more divided; we elves do not have such a solid, strong united front. If Sauron decides to attack with his orcs, they will crush us one by one. We must act, not be stuck in pointless parties."

"Parties are also part of diplomacy. I'm off to melt the hearts of the ladies of other lands with this sweet little bundle. Try not to spit venom at others. We need allies, as you well noticed." And with that, she leaves you to drown your bitter thoughts in a glass of wine completely alone.

You snort, not paying attention to what's going on around you. The ring that hangs around your neck under your clothes burns your skin mercilessly as you try with all your might to push away the memories of the nap you took after arriving.

Warm, black furs clung to you as you slept soundly in your soft bed. In the background, you could hear the crackling of the fire burning in the fireplace. You were tucked into warm pillows and blankets, the tip of your nose exposed to the cool air outside, being the only thing that was bothering you from resting in your bed.

After a while it turned out that it wasn't just one thing that was supposed to bother you.

You gasp as a strong arm suddenly wraps around your waist. The blankets are lifted, and the cool air assaults your skin, sending goosebumps up your spine. A moment later, you feel yourself pressed against someone's bare, muscular chest.

"Is my queen comfortable enough?" He whispers teasingly in your ear and nuzzles your temple, tightening his grip on you as you try to squirm out of his arms. But he doesn't give you that chance.

He grabs both of your wrists and presses them to your chest as he straddles you. Black fur clings to his back, the only covering he's wearing.

"Do you intend to defile me in your dreams when in reality you cannot lay even the smallest fingertip upon me? You grow more pathetic with the passing centuries." You growl at him angrily, kicking beneath him and trying to break free from his grip.

"You will beg for my touch. I will make your cries heard throughout all the Middle-Earth." He murmurs a promise against your lips and leans down, capturing your lips in an aggressive, passionate kiss that sets every fiber of your being on fire.

The surroundings around you change rapidly. Suddenly, you are completely alone in a black and gold throne room. The only source of light is the rays reflected off a golden throne engraved with a sun.

You glance around frantically, searching for him and a weapon you could use against him. You take a few steps back, heading unconsciously toward the two thrones on the dais. You gasp as your foot touches the tiled mechanism beneath you.

The throne room begins to change, darkness giving way to light, the black marble turning white. But the entire chamber, instead of being divided in half by two colours, blends into grey. The golden throne turns white, and the black as night one becomes a lighter shade of black, almost greige. You turn your face to the landscape outside the window and gasp at what you see.

All of Middle-earth. Divided, but still... a coherent whole. Each of the lands was arranged so as to separate races that got in each other's way, where conflict could arise. The lands of the Orcs were in a barren wasteland, where life could not have arisen anyway, but they made their kingdom on it. All separated from each other by walls of mountains so high that even from the height where the palace was located, it was difficult to see the top of their mountains and the paths of the passes.

You shiver as the heavy, cool metal of the crown settles against your temples. He quickly grabs your shoulders and digs his fingers into you. He holds you against him, forcing you to stare at the land before you, a land you barely recognise anymore.

"We could have that. All of that. I would place a crown on your head, make them all bow to you. Make them bow to us. I would heal Middle-earth of strife and war, make them all live in harmony in their own worlds."

"Would you confine them within the boundaries of their lands? What if they run out of space? Would you move mountains? Would you remake the world? You won't fix them this way; you can't avoid wars and bloodshed. Who do you think you are to decide how the world is suspposed to look like?" You ask him angrily, turning in his arms.

You bravely hold Halbrand’s watchful gaze as he analyses your words carefully, probably thinking of ways to make you join his side, ways to make you see his case in a completely different light.

And you hope you'll have the self-control to reject every single one of them - every little tempting suggestion of the future he wants to show you.

"Amil! (Mommy!)" The joyful cry of a child and the dull thud of tiny feet hitting the floor later are the only warning you get before something small pounces on your legs.

You stubbornly don't look down, but into the eyes of the man in front of you, because you know that once your eyes land on the little projection of a child he wants to show you, you'll be haunted for the rest of your life by the image of what you could have had with him.

“You won't even look at our son, Y/N?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at you, daring you to show him how much you don’t care or care about the future he has to offer you.

So you gather all the strength you have inside you and lean down to take the little boy into your arms. He mumbles something, playing with the necklace around your neck.

The boy has his dark hair. And your eyes. And he's too damn cute for you to ever forget the vision he shows you, that he created to torture you forever.

"How long would it take you to instill your dark, poisonous thoughts in him?" You ask with a trembling voice, giving him a look full of pain and dismay.

"I've told you many times, mime melin hon. With you by my side I would have no darkness within me." He mumbles and reaches up to stroke your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I will make you mine. Even if it was the last thing I would do. With or without your consent, I will bind you to me and make you who you were always meant to be: My queen."

You shiver as he places a tender kiss on your forehead. You hold back a broken sob as the weight of the baby on your hip begins to fade and his touch becomes just a hazy memory as you wake from this beautiful and terrifying dream.

“Can you do me the great honour of dancing with you, my lady?” You shiver when you suddenly hear someone's voice next to you. You turn around and barely keep a grimace from forming on your face when the platinum hair of the hated elf catches your eye.

"Lord Annatar. I thought you weren't dancing tonight?" You say in a forced, pleasant tone of voice and nod towards the elf whose invitation to dance he declined. He becomes embarrassed at this and clears his throat awkwardly.

"I simply have been saving my first dance in the hope that my lady of the sun would consent to grace me with it." You present him with your practiced smile, internally cursing him for being so thoughtful with his choice of words. Refusing him would be like spitting in his face - something Galadriel would clearly disapprove of.

"How could I be so cruel in this situation and refuse you, Lord of Gifts?" You tease him flirtatiously, seeing an opportunity in his obvious little affection, and offer him your hand.

You tremble as an electric shiver suddenly runs through you. The strange reaction to his closeness makes your brain buzz with thoughts. Especially when the ring hidden under the material of your dress begins to heat up.

"I may be… but right now I feel like I've received the greatest gift from you, my lady." He says, placing a soft kiss on the top of your hand. He confidently leads you onto the dance floor and pulls you close, wrapping his arm around your waist and being a little too close than was required for this particular dance.

His closeness overwhelms you. Not in a positive way. He seems suspiciously too familiar. Your body doesn't react to him as to a stranger; on the contrary, you immerse yourself in his touch as if it were familiar, comforting. You sense that something is wrong, but you can't say what yet.

"Do you like the rings we've been forging lately? Galadriel probably won't be too keen on his... idea."

"Because he follows in Sauron's footsteps. Perhaps we can dissuade him from this path. Together." You see his jaw tense slightly at your words. His grip on you tightens a little and he seems... flustered.

You narrow your eyes at him slightly, trying to understand his reaction, as well as why with every little touch he makes the ring on your chest burns like it's on fire.

"I truly believe we would be a great unit, úrin-o i world." You tremble when he calls you the sun of the world just as you tremble when he places his hands on your hips and lifts you.

He's in no hurry to put you down. It's as if he was deliberately prolonging this moment, and you let yourself be caught in the hypnotized state that his eyes bring you to.

For a moment, nothing exists except the two of you. It's just you and him. The dancing couples swirling around you momentarily become a blur.

You gasp when, for a moment, instead of Annatar's face, you see Halbrand. His mesmerising blue eyes pierce through you, making it all you can do to lean closer to him.

Your vision ends the moment one of the couples crashes into you. You land awkwardly on Annatar's chest, only his arms keeping you from falling. The couple apologizes and he just nods, pulling the two of you to the sidelines to a more secluded place.

You sigh, staring at him, your breathing heavy, not from the exertion of the dance, but from what you saw when you danced with him. Or rather, who.

"What are you?" You ask suspiciously, but he raises a surprised eyebrow at you, as if your sudden hostility was unfounded.

"You know who I am. Don't you, my Lady of the Sun?" You swallow hard at his question, but before you can answer him, Galadriel steps between you and him. A very angry and irritated Galadriel.

"He is of an unsound mind. How can he ignore what is so obvious? No one who follows the path that Sauron trod can call himself anything but his ally. I am leaving first thing in the morning. We cannot waste time while he is somewhere nearby, preparing an army against us."

"Perhaps you are giving him too much thought, my lady?" Annatar makes a sarcastic remark, but Galadriel ignores him and walks furiously away from the two of you, not even waiting for her husband, who has just reached the three of you.

"Galadriel..." You call out to her but she ignores you. "Galadriel!" Celeborn nods apologetically and follows the elf with the child in his arms. You stand in shock in the middle of the room and stare at the leaving elves.

"I don't blame them. You know what they're talking about... and about who they're talking." Annatar says, nodding at Celebrimbor. He stands alone in the corner, looking around nervously. "It would be best if you followed your lady." He advises you like a nasty snake that coils around your leg and whispers unwanted things in your ear.

You flinch and turn so you can fully look at him. He liked to play games. So he'll get one from you. You won't leave this palace without a promise from Celebrimbor to join you in case... if HE tries to attack.

Galadriel wanted to resort to desperate measures—she wanted to warn Adar that Sauron lived and wanted to use orcs in his plan to change Middle-earth. If you were to choose allies, you would rather heal the mind of an elf in whom you saw even a shred of light.

"I am my own lady. I do not have to follow anyone. Besides, I think you could use some help here, dear Annatar." You reply with a sweet smile. You see his jaw tense a little at your words. He clearly didn't want you around - that's why you had to stay here and see what the Lord of Gifts - the supposed envoy of the Valar was really doing in Eregion.

"Hm... that would be an honour to have you as our guest, my lady."

He says, smiling mysteriously at you. A shiver runs down your spine, and you already know that this won't be as much fun for you as it will be for him.

As if on cue, you drift off into blissful, dark unconsciousness.

"Fighting by your side… I felt like I could hold onto that feeling. Bind it in my very being."

"I felt it to." You mumble, staring at Halbrand's slightly bruised and scratched face.

You often had dreams like that. Flashbacks of past events. Sometimes they were real, and sometimes he was just playing with you in dreamland again, reenacting past events and laughing in your face, mocking you as you relived the same thing.

So I guess nothing has changed… if, knowing who I am, you still kiss me with such burning passion, my sunshine.

Cheap line. You managed to punch him for it many times. But that only seems to make him more cocky. So you stopped and instead looked for some way to get out of these dreams.

But now, as he leaned down and kissed you as sweetly as he had before... you could do nothing but moan and grab his hair in your fist as you pressed yourself against him, hating every bit of armour that covered your bodies and was separating you from him.

"The Valar must have spent aeons crafting those raspberry-sweet lips." He mumbles against your lips and cups your cheek in his hand. He pushes you back gently, your back pressing against the tree trunk you were sitting on.

You pretend you didn't notice that that little comment never came out of his mouth back then, and you take advantage of his moment of distraction. You take out your dagger and press it to his neck, pushing him away from you.

He needs a moment to process what happened. He chuckles raggedly and shakes his head slightly—just enough so that your blade doesn't even scratch his skin.

"What gave me away?"

"Sweet lips?" You mock him, pinning him against the rough tree trunk.

"I tried to be romantic with you, my beloved nemesis. Almost the same as that Lord of Gifts of yours, wasn't it?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at you. The cocky smirk doesn't leave his face even as you straddle him with the blade at his neck. You want to pierce all of his arteries, but his comment about Annatara catches your attention more than the murderous urge he's inspired in you.

"Jealous?"

"Intrigued. Do you like him?" He corrects you and asks a question that makes you want to laugh. As if there was anyone else besides him who could hold your attention for longer…

"Are you afraid that it will take your place as the worst, most venomous snake I have ever encountered?"

"Oh please… we both know that's not the only thing I'm best at. I remember one night perfectly, when…" You press the metal of the blade to his neck and draw blood from him. A black stream runs down his skin, soaking into the tree trunk, which instantly rots. "I understand. You want to be the one to dominate today?"

You snort in frustration at him and push yourself away from him. You take a few steps away from him and watch him closely as he slowly stands up and catches up with you.

"Only if you let me plunge my blade into your black, cold heart."

"Only if you acknowledge the fact that it beats only for you." He whispers and gently cups your cheek with his hand. You tremble, unable to move away from him or make any movement except to stare at him. Anger and something else—a feeling you're terrified to admit to—boil inside you like crazy. And that's all because of him.

"As if you could love anyone but yourself." You answer shakily as he leans toward you. He kisses you again, more gently, more tenderly.

He lifts your chin with two fingers, demanding full access to your mouth, as if the way he kisses you is to prove to you that he is capable of love—that he is capable of giving himself over to a mad passion that he cannot control, as if you were truly his lady.

And it is out of fear that he will manage to squeeze out of you that little challenge that he so desires that you reach for the dagger you had abandoned earlier and brutally plunge it into your heart, bypassing the plates of your armor.

You gasp, tearing yourself out of the dream he has entangled you in, but only to find yourself in a real nightmare.

You look around in panic as you see only orcs above you. The dead body of a dark elf is being torn apart by them, as if they were performing some kind of ritual over the dead. They are talking to each other in the black language, clearly too distracted to pay much attention to you.

You reach out for their abandoned weapon beside you, but you can't move much. You groan as a foot steps on your wrist, hard enough to pin your hand in place but gentle enough not to break or crush your bone.

You lift your head and bite your lip, drawing blood when you see who is standing over you.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, my sweet nemesis." Annatar says and nods to the two orcs closest to you. They walk over and hold you by the arms, lifting you to your feet.

"Sauron." You snap at him furiously, putting as much venom and hatred as you can into saying his real name.

"Hello, darling. Many years, centuries even, but it still seems like one day, right?" He mockingly responds to your seething fury. You watch him closely and freeze when you see that he holds not only his crown in his hand but Galadriel's ring as well.

He had two of the three forged for the elves. The last one... hung around your neck. And he could have taken it anytime he wanted. But he would have to pry it off your dead body if he really wanted it.

"You were more handsome as a brunette." You spit insults at him, trying to stay as calm as you can as he begins to walk forward. The orcs lead you right next to him.

"I can transform back into Halbrand just for you. Would you prefer that, my lady?" You press your lips together in a thin line, about to answer him, but he's already using his powers, and before you can do anything, Halbrand appears before your eyes.

You turn your gaze away from him and try to focus on the burning desire to draw some blood that the orcs' touch on you inspires as they lead you toward what looks like a camp.

"I'd rather have you rotted in Mordor."

"Ahh… such ugly words on such a joyous day? After all, you don't get married every day, do you?" He asks casually, too excited for your liking; if the orcs weren't forcing you towards the large tent, you would have stopped dead in your tracks and stared at the back of his head in complete shock.

"Married?" You repeat his words stupidly. The orcs hand you to him after you enter the large tent and quickly flee at their lord's beck and call. Halbrand... Sauron sets his crown down at the foot of the makeshift bed and turns to regard you, a huge, cocky grin on his face that you once found sexy. In the current situation, it only irritated you more.

"I promised you I would make you a queen. My queen. I have a crown, an army, and land. The only thing that is missing is you by my side—exactly as the Valar planned." He’s been explaining this to you for the umpteenth time, as if you were a carefree child to whom he had to explain something in a simple, banal way. You clench your fists and take one deep, calming breath.

"I'd rather die."

"No, you don't. Don't blaspheme like that. We both know that's what you want. I'm only doing you a favour by taking away your free will, giving you the illusion that I'm forcing you to do this against your will, so you don't have to feel guilty about acting on your heart's desires." He answers confidently, stubbornly, in a tone you knew—a tone he had used a thousand times when negotiating with kings, queens, and nobles.

Back then, when you thought he was just a man, you were charmed by his chearism, his self-confidence, and his unwavering actions. Now you saw how dangerous that was.

"You don't know my heart's desires." You whisper as he stops in front of you. But he doesn't move to touch you, does nothing but stand there and watch you.

You want to curse him for turning back into Halbrand and for showing you this illusion. It was much easier for you to reject Annatar than him... ironic, since it was Halbrand that betrayed you more than any other being.

"Another lie. I think you've gotten a lot better at it than I have in my absence, my dear sunshine."

You snort when he calls you that. The moment you open your mouth to answer, he leans in and steals your kiss and your breath. He pulls you to him by the material of your dress and perfectly ignores any thumps in your chest you give him. You jerk against his grip, bite his lip, and do everything to pull away from him. But he doesn't let go. Not until you're gasping for air and your lips are swollen, your clothes and hair a mess just like all of you.

"You know... I am not surprised you lied to me all this time. I mean... living for so long can trick your mind. You probably don't know your true self anymore, do you? When was the last time someone called you by your true name? Not with insult or fear, but with affection, maybe even sympathy?"

"Why? Want to change that, I úrin -o mime coiv- (the sun of my life)?" He asks, slowly pulling away from you. You ignore your instincts to follow his touch and stand frozen in place as he walks over to his abandoned crown.

"Are you just going to rule them? In the hopes that they won't kill you again? That I won't convince them to do so?"

"Fear is a powerful ally. And something tells me you'd rather have me alive than dead." He answers calmly and places his crown on your head. You frown as the cool metal settles on your temple.

You let him play with you for a moment and treat you like a doll he can do anything to. You waited for the perfect moment to attack, to throw him off balance. You wouldn't give in to him without a fight. Not when you still had at least a shred of strength to resist the darkness calling out to you.

"Not as powerful ally as love." Your response makes him more thoughtful. He stares at you, contemplating the sight of you in his crown, as if trying to forever engrave the image in his mind… to bind it to his very being.

"Indeed. But you either have one of them." He nods and runs his fingertips over your exposed shoulder. You shiver as he grazes the metal of your necklace.

"And what did you want? From me?" You see him soften noticeably at your question. Something like affection… maybe even tenderness or love appears in his eyes as he moves his hand to your neck, cupping it gently.

"You know my heart's desire, Y/N. Just as I know yours." He mumbles your name barely audible and leans in closer to you. You shiver as his bearded cheek brushes against yours, his soft lips caressing your earlobe as he whispers: "I don't have to say it out loud for you to know it."

"No… you don't have to." You respond and cup his cheek in your hand. He freezes at the sudden display of affection from you and involuntarily buries his face in your palm, closing his eyes. You lean down and press a small kiss to his cheek. He sighs tiredly, as if he had travelled a truly polynomial distance, and allows himself to melt in your touch. "Because I'd rather cut your tongue out than listen to another lie from you."

Before he can react, you're already reaching for his dagger. You press it to his neck, but he shakes off your little seduction and pushes you away from him roughly. You fall with the yak onto the mattress behind you, the crown falling off your head with a clatter to the floor as you stare at him intently, both of you aiming your blades at each other.

"In some races dagger is considered as one of the love's language." She mocks you, wiping the black blood off his neck with her free hand. He licks it off—a demonstration at which you hold your breath for a moment. Bloody bastard.

"I always preferred to consider it death's language." You respond and lunge at him again. He blocks your blade with his own and grabs your arm. You hiss at the hard, painful swipe of his fingers against your skin as he leans toward you, giving you one of his long, enigmatic, dark stares.

"You know what the difference is between me and them, Y/N? They fear you, what you can do, the power you wield with such grace, like it's nothing. But I'm willing to burn in the light of your sun if it means having you by my side."

"Rather, if it means gaining that power for yourself." You growl and kick him. He falls on his back in surprise at your strength, which you take advantage of and run forward—straight to the exit of the tent.

You run through the camp and quickly take the ring from your neck. You put it on your finger and, using the power it gives you, cast illusions on yourself, becoming invisible to the orcs. You hear Halb... Sauron's shouts behind you, ordering the orcs to find you and bring you alive to him. He himself gives chase through the forest. And you have to admit that he is not so far from you.

You run as long as your legs give you strength. You stop in some clearing with a small stream. You try to find a safe hiding place, hide, and wait out the mad pursuit. And just when you think you've made it, he emerges from behind the trees.

"Y/N! I know you are here! I can feel you! I will always..." He pauses, his voice shaking, and you realise this is the second time you've seen him so... vulnerable and open. It's a dangerous reaction from him. Either it's real... or he's using it as a card in his game to win yet another game he's playing with you. "I would make you a queen. In a heartbeat. You don't have to do anything. Just come with me."

And you really wish it were that simple. But you don't know if you could look at yourself in the mirror if you just so blatantly betrayed them and everything you know for… him and his lies. As beautiful and tempting as they were.

"Queen of slaves like you!" You scream, comming out from your hidding place and attack him.

"Yes! I am a slave! I am a slave to you, Y/N. At least I have the courage to admit it to myself and to you. And you, my queen?" He says each sentence every time your blades strike each other with a metallic clang.

"Don't forget about Mogoth, my king." You mock him and hit him more and more aggressively, each of your blows a precise attack on him.

"You're going to bind to me. Willingly or not, and I will relish every moment of it." He growls and finally knocks the blade out of your hand, and he grabs your wrists, twisting your arms behind you and pressing your back against his chest, the blade at your neck gently teasing your skin, as do his lips against your temple. "Let go. Just let go. I know you are tired. Let me help you. Let me carry for you all your worries and the hatred of the Middle-earth. Let me make you my queen. Heal this world with me."

"Only if you will made ma a crown from your skin and bones." You gasp, fighting his grip, trying to twist from the iron grip his arms have on you, but it's not as easy as it might seem. He pins you to the ground, straddling you, and stares at you, breathing heavily.

"I will wrap you in them, if that's what I need to keep you at my side!"

His cry echoes through the empty clearing. For a moment, you stare at each other, not making a move. The sound of the stream around you is the only other song playing in accompaniment to your heavy heartbeat, which you can hear in the deafening emptiness that surrounds you. The world stops. Again, when you're close to him.

"I did not desire power as much as I desire you. You hurt me more than Morgoth ever did; you poison me more than the darkness. I think of you every morning, afternoon, and night. You are like a poison that I cannot draw from myself. You are the light that blinds me, that destroys me, but I cling to it like a child in the dark. Even though the darkness has been a much longer and more loyal companion to me than you." He mumbles, pressing wild kisses to your face.

You moan as his lips and rough beard abuse your neck worse than the blade he had brought to you moments ago, which he had driven into the ground beside you. You had nothing. No weapon to attack him with, to protect yourself from his sweet lips and the burning touch that stirred desires so shameful and so familiar in you.

"A pathological liar." You gasp as he hastily undoes your dress. But you do nothing to stop him. You can't anymore.

You feel exhausted, both mentally and physically, all the running away from him, all the fighting with him. Maybe you really were a lost cause; maybe you were always meant to blend with his darkness and try to balance it with your light. You don't know that. What you do know is that he feels too good against you for you to fight him any longer.

"Both of us. But I'm the only one here who doesn't deceive myself."

"I'd rather deceive myself than allow myself to think that I could desire someone like you." And it's awful that as you say that, you reach for him and help to undress him.

You were only proving that you really were a terrible liar and hypocrite. But how long could you hold back from touching the darkness that called out to you so sweetly?

"We both know this is much more than simple lust." He whispers, stroking your hair tenderly and pressing his lips to your forehead. His hands roam your exposed body, caressing every little part of you. And if you concentrate hard enough, you can forget for a moment who he really is—you can only see Halbrand and not HIM. "Tell me… what's it like to want to simultaneously pierce me with a sword, burn me at the stake, and cherish me in the privacy of your chambers, my dear sun?"

"Maddening." You whisper shakily, admitting what you feel.

A single tear rolls down your cheek—a tear that he quickly licks from you. He groans at the sweet-salty feeling of your tears and holds you tightly with his one arm as the other slowly begins to toy with your most sensitive place, preparing you for complete failure and defeat.

All you can feel is blissful pleasure as the darkness is touching you.

And just when he is about to bring you great pleasure, when he is about to unite the two of you as one after so long, he stops completely. You fidget, toss, and turn, seeking renewed contact with him that he does not grant you.

"I'll come for you. In one form or another. I'll make you my queen, whether you want me to or not. I may be a fraud, Y/N, but I don't have the strength to deceive myself. You'll understand when you will be my age. And I'll wait for that. I will wait for you to realise that I am the only one who sees you, accepts you, and adores you as you truly are. All you have to do is call for me." You almost cry in frustration as he pulls away from you, leaving only a ghostly touch on your skin as he continues to hold your wrists. "The sun is also having an eclipse, Y/N. I am your eclipse. And you will beg me to give you my darkness."

He places one last kiss on your forehead and then disappears. You sigh, looking around you, and realise with a shiver that he was never really there.

He tricked you. He connected with you through the ring you still wore on your finger and entered your mind as another illusion. You cry, your hand shakily pressed to your mouth as you try to keep from making any sound for fear that he and the orcs might still be nearby and sense you.

You bite your fingers as a pitiful cry wants to escape your lips; it starts as your mouth forms a cry of his name, but at the last moment you stop yourself. You grit your teeth and stand up from the ground. You dust off your dress and look around you.

The rising sun illuminates your face, but you no longer feel the familiar warmth spreading throughout your body as you greet the morning light. You feel emptyness. A festering, burning emptiness. And the visible touch of HIS lips on your neck...

Sauron may have defeated you in your dreams and mind, but when it came to duels, when you faced each other in your own skin and bones, he lost. In the crucial moments, when he was about to make you his, you managed to slip away from him. You only fear how long you will be able to do so.

Especially since he has robbed you of all joy in the light and awakened a lust for the darkness you have touched with him...

And as you stared at the rising sun, you already knew that there would be no salvation for you, nothing that would make you forget about the electric thrill you felt every time you embraced the darkness with him.

Halbrand, Sauron, Annatar, whatever form he took, you were drawn to him. And you could either die, try to fight it, or accept it and try to save the little bit of light that was left in both of you. You didn't believe that after all the darkness he'd poured into you, he wouldn't get an ounce of your light from you in exchange. And if that tormented him as much as his darkness tormented you... then you felt at least a little less pathetic for falling in love with the Dark Lord of the Rings.

[nanaxwii]

8 letters.... - Lee Jeno

Pairing: Jeno x reader

Synopsis: Why do all good stories come to an end? Why don't we try to make it work? It just takes 8 letters to fix it all, or does it...? Well in this case.......read more

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1.3k

Why do I pull you close and then ask you for space.....!?

3 years ago Jeno met this one girl, Y/n, the kindest soul he has ever met. They started as colleagues but soon it escalated to an ever so beautiful relationship. She knows him the best, she's seen him in his worst times, seen him hurt but never judged him for anything. It was the scariest feeling for Jeno. His past never bothered her. It was scary, scary to the point that he'd distance himself from her. But it wasn't a problem for Y/n. She knows him better than anyone, even better than Jeno himself does.

Jeno's been trying to meet up with you to talk about how he feels about you and your relationship for quite some time now. But every time he thinks of talking to you, it scares him, maybe you'll leave him like the last one did. Finally, he mustered up enough courage to ask you to meet.

Jeno: Hey

Y/n: Hello!! what's up

Jeno: Can we meet?

Y/n: Suree :) lmk where

Jeno: dw about that I'll pick you up at around 7

Y/n: okie I'll be ready :D

Jeno's nervousness increased as the time approached 7. He left his apartment and drove up to Y/n's place to pick her up. She was already waiting at her door for Jeno to arrive. Jeno was mesmerized when he saw her. She looks pretty, she always does, he thought. Upon seeing Jeno, Y/n walked down the pavement and got into the car, greeted him, "Heyy"

''Hi", Jeno responded with a faint smile. "You look pretty'', he said.

The small comment made your heart flutter. You muttered a small thank you. He started the engine of the car and drove it to your destination. The ride was silent, which in a way was comforting to you and probably to Jeno too.

'La Mercerie', the sign read. After about 15 minutes you reached the restaurant, the restaurant where you had your first date with him. Jeno had booked a table for yourselves. From your seat, you had a great view of the city, the city that never sleeps.

You placed your order and were waiting for it to arrive. In the meantime, both Jeno and you caught up on each other's days, about how your boss was giving both of you a hard time. While you were chatting, the food arrived.

You had noticed how Jeno was being awkward and avoiding eye contact with you. He seemed nervous, nervous as if he had something on his mind that was bothering him. It concerned you because you've never seen him like this. It was the complete opposite of his usual self.

"Jeno?", "Hmm?", "Are you okay?" It took a few seconds for him to reply, "Yes, why'd you ask?" You decided not to press on it. "Oh no, it's nothing," you replied. But what you didn't know was that he was indeed not okay.

After your meal, Jeno paid for it and you left the restaurant. On your way out Jeno asked, ''Hey, do you want to go to the park near the lake? There's a fireworks display by the lake". Jeno knew you loved watching fireworks, "Sure", you answered.

It was a 5-minute walk to the park. The lake was clearly visible from there. There were a few food stalls by the lake. Jeno ran up to one of those to get you an ice cream; cookies & cream, your favourite flavour. Both of you sat on a bench to enjoy the ice cream and the beautiful, calm night.

"The show is about to start, let's go," he said, taking your hand in his and walking towards the lake. The air was cold by the lake. The lake felt serene, adorned with the reflection of the beautiful skyline. It was very peaceful.

The fireworks display started soon after. The fireworks rocketed up into the sky, the burning light turning the dark night bright, or maybe even turning some clouded hearts clear.

"Isn't it pretty!", you whisper, "Very", Jeno answers while looking at you. He was mesmerized by how the sparkling fireworks shone in your already shiny eyes. It made you look even prettier, prettier than you already were.

"Y/n, I need to get something off my chest". The soft, cold breeze made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You turned your attention to him. Those pretty eyes, staring into yours, it seemed like they had a lot to say.

"You know how we've been together for almost 3 years now. I want to thank you for sticking by my side in all my good and bad days. Thank you for not judging me for my past. Thank you for always helping me overcome my fears."

For some reason, his words made you feel jittery inside.

"My past relationship ended on a bad note, which made me unable to trust and depend on someone easily."

He was slightly shaking, maybe it was the wind or maybe the nervousness. You took his large hands in your petite ones and squeezed them in an attempt to calm him.

"Y/n, I'm really sorry for always pulling you close when I'm in need and then pushing you away. I'm sorry for not treating you well like you should be. I don't feel like I deserve you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry"

You pulled Jeno into a hug. You reassured him, saying, "You treat me so we'll Jeno, you too were there for me when I needed comfort, when I needed someone to hold on to, when I needed you. I understand that you need space sometimes, everyone does. You shouldn't think of yourself that way. It's normal for you to require time to trust someone after how your last relationship ended. I'm fine to be by your side when you need me and I'm fine with giving you space that you need.'' Jeno felt tears wet his flushed cheeks.

The fireworks show ended a long time ago, you didn't even notice, nor did Jeno. He wiped his tears off and took your hands in his. He pulled you closer, looked into your now moist eyes and said, " You know, when your hands are in mine, it's like I'm whole again. Maybe it's a sign for me to speak what's on my mind."

You looked into his eyes which seemed to have calmed down a little. "I've said those words before, but it always felt like a lie. It felt like I was lying to myself and also to you. You deserve to hear those words a thousand times. I don't know why but it was always so hard for me to say those words. It's just 8 letters but why is it so hard to say. I ask that to myself every night and fall asleep without finding an answer. But maybe today I found the answer.''

He stared into your curious eyes. "Y/n, maybe through this journey of me pulling and pushing you away, I might have found the answer to my question." You felt tears threatening to spill.

"I love you", he said, "And this time for real. I've realised how important you are to me. Thank you for always being with me, by my side." You pulled him into a hug, nuzzling into his neck and mumbling an I love you back.

Suddenly it started raining. Like always, it didn't bother you, and this time it didn't bother Jeno too. Both lost in your own world, in the warmth of each other's arms.

Maybe speaking your heart out, maybe saying those 8 letters sincerely does fix things, maybe it does make people stronger, maybe it does make the bonds last longer. Maybe the 8 letters do pull people close.

-The end

note: thank you for reading. Idk how this turned out. I tried to write a fic for the first time. Lmk if there's a typo or such ;) and thank you @winwintea for helping me through \^o^/

[xitsensunmoon]

I was reading a post studying vampires and now I'm laughing my ass off imagining if THIS happened in that comic where bthtf Moon bites Y/N

[And here's the og post if you want to check it out: https://www.tumblr.com/arsanatomica/647490907247116288/a-few-years-ago-i-went-to-an-anatomy-conference ]

SOBBING NOOO he just gave them a little nibble😭😭

But honestly this is so interesting!! Maybe I will be even able to use some of this information hehe

[naffeclipse]

Found a tiktok that reminded me of your cryptid sightings fic: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPR33ppTJ/

Also hearing this audio made me think of a cryptid hunter who is very loud spoken and easygoing but is always wanting to throw hands with a cryptid no matter the type.

(Don't worry they are good at their job but you can't say they wouldn't be banishing evils without throwing a few swears at them as they go)

(Their motto is "if they swing first you swing twice as hard!")

You know what? This would be great for a Y/N that meets Cryptid!Monty. They have no idea what cryptids are (bonus points: Y/N doesn't believe in cryptids) but they're 100% willing to throw down despite being vastly outmatched. Monty thinks it's amusing but he's not going to let you fight the cryptid that regularly rips humans apart (even though he thinks it would be cool to see you go at it). He'll take care of it, then you can see how cool he looks!

[pastelaspirations]

So, u h.

H O W. HOW, I ASK. ALL I DO IS POST ART ONCE IN A BLUE MOON AND MAKE REALLY CURSED REBLOGS. LIKE, I'M SO VERY GLAD YOU'RE HERE, BUT I CAN'T UNDERSTAND HOW OR WHY YOU'RE HERE-

I also like. Make really angsty, ungodly long fanfics that I do absolutely nothing to promote on this dumpster fire of a blog, but that's besides the point- ANYWAY. HAVE SOME REALLY SKETCHY DOODLES THAT I DID TO THANK YA MAD LADS ;_;

Thank ya, thank ya, you absolute mad lads. I will uh... continue to do what I do. Thank you for joining the ride, even though it's less of a ride and more that I found an abandoned theme park ride and decided to ride it as a prolonged death wish and you inexplicably strapped yourself in next to me with the moldy seatbelt-

[shiraishi--kanade]

A lot can be said about companies' attitudes towards fanart vs fanfiction but I'm willing to bet the reason why copyright lawsuits seem to often overlook one and not the other is because art is a good way to attach new audience (=profit) and fanfic isn't. You are significantly more likely to see a cool fanart and go check out the source material because of it than to see, and read, through a whole fanfic (which requires much more time, effort, and frankly, attention span) and check out the source material after. How often do you see "I don't even go there but I like this" type of feedback on fanfic vs fanart? Huge copyright holders turn a blind eye to fanart more because they benefit from it.

[evermoresversion]

dating corbyn besson would include.

TW: Suggestive content.

First of all, his love languages are physical touch, words of affirmation and quality time.

He always asks you to paint his nails or if you do your own on acrylics he will want the same design in gelish.

He always wants to combine everything with you.

Whether it's clothes, nail art, accessories, whatever.

Lots of gifts, whether they are small details or letters that he make by hand.

There was one time when he wrote you a little poem on a napkin when you were on a date night.

When he writes songs you are the first one he shows them to.

Loves you too much.

He dedicates songs to you.

Anything, gift or whatever you give him, he keeps in a box that he has in his apartment.

When you no longer want to walk, he carries you on his back.

He lets you dye his hair.

He definitely uses your boobs as his personal pillow after a long day.

He adores, no, he loves you stroking his hair when you're both about to sleep.

You accompany him with the boys to record in the studio.

You are Daniel's best friend.

Him making pranks to you and you getting upset because of it.

When someone in an interview mentions you, he immediately start smiling.

Him being a great simp for you.

The boys teasing him about it.

All the parts that he plays in love songs and he has to write, he does it with you in mind.

Faithful believer that both are made for each other and will never end.

He is capable of telling you that he is pregnant if you ever think about breaking up with him.

With his antics you never get bored.

He always insists that both of you should sleep together.

Or he also insists that you should shower together to "save water".

Which brings us to shower sex if you accept his proposal.

But if you don't accept, he'll pout and cling to you like a flea and look at you with pleading eyes for you to accept.

When the two of you are together in a crowded place, he keeps you next to him or within his line of sight so he doesn't lose you.

He lets you do your makeup or skincare routine on him.

He steals food from your plate.

He would adopt a puppy to be your son.

Night talks about what your future together would be like.

He is excited to talk about what your ideal wedding of both would be like.

He always tries to get you to accompany him on all his tours.

But when you can't or you have something to do, you always receive him at the airport.

After each concert you wait for him backstage, when he sees you he hugs you strongly grateful for having you in his life to share his achievements.

Lots of kisses on the forehead.

Quickies between rehearsals or sound check.

The boys know what you do when you both disappear together.

The fans adore you and accept you as their boy's girl.

Beautiful edits of both on TikTok.

Your social media of both are full of your relationship.

Ashley, his sister, adores you.

And also all his family.

Whenever they have a family reunion or travel, his mother asks Corbyn to invite you.

Ashley having a fanpage about your relationship with her brother.

And she has also proclaimed herself as the president of the fan club of your relationship.

Him acting like a little kid around you.

You are definitely the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

Make your requests.

[emdotcom]

Y/n will really eat a meal of just bread & milk & go, "Ah, what a satisfying meal"

[aparticularbandit]

We Were Never Friends With Darkness And Would, In Fact, Prefer It Leave Us Alone: Chapter One

Summary: The problem with running from your problems before they become problems is that they don't just disappear. They're still there when you return, and as it so happens, sometimes they've gotten bigger than you can handle (if you could even handle them before).

Or: Kyoko makes good on what she told Yui and runs away before Yui can be used against her by the Victims' Relief Committee. But running away and remaking herself and hiding doesn't fix anything, and coming back later to a class full of people who might want to be friends with her only makes things worse.

Especially when one of those friends might just happen to think that she's kind of cute.

For DR Rarepair Week 2024 Day Five: Gift Giving/Peace, hosted by @dr-rarepair-week-blog.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: T.

AO3

next chapter

Kyoko runs.

If asked, she’ll never say that’s what she did.  It’s a tactical action.  When in a fight with a stronger enemy, sometimes it is best to pull back and regroup.

Never mind that Kyoko and Yui have been constantly and consistently winning each of their battles, never mind that right now things seem to be in a bit of a stalemate, never mind that if Yui does fall to their temptations then they can reach Kyoko no matter where she goes throughout the world—

Kyoko runs, and Kyoko determines to never open a single black envelope sent her way, and Kyoko uses her detective skills to hide herself as completely as she can because she would rather run and hide and disappear into the vast darkness of the world than confront the possibility of Yui’s hands being stained.

(Her very identity screams against this.  She’s on a case.  Even if she’s not being paid for it, she’s still tracking down the Victims’ Relief Committee with Yui.  That is the thing that she is doing.  No matter who dies, no matter who gets sacrificed, no matter what happens – this is what she is doing, and it’s shooting her rank in the DSC higher and higher, which means that Hope’s Peak has to notice her, that her dad its headmaster has to acknowledge her existence – but she will literally throw all of that away if it means….)

((It’s harder to run from Yui.  She tells herself that it’s necessary.  She refuses to say it’s because she doesn’t trust her onee-sama.))

Kyoko runs, and she runs, and she doesn’t look back.

~

That black envelope never comes.

Kyoko fulfills cases under another name, stealing from the ideas that Lico laid before her (What’s in a name?  If she leaves behind Kirigiri, then what is she?  Still the same, still the same, still the same), and sends those in months later to the DSC.  Her rank grows, but they cannot know where she is or where she is going, and so her original plan, at least in part, is still fulfilled.

Hope’s Peak still scouts her under that other name because they are better at finding wayward children to fill their coffins than the DSC is (or maybe the Victims’ Relief Committee always could find her and gave up the moment she ran; she doesn’t know what their plans for her were, and so she cannot say, can only guess, and the ache of that hole beats harsh in her chest every now and again, if she allows herself to think on it, which she doesn’t) – and Hope’s Peak still invites her because even under all of her disguises, her dad its headmaster still recognizes her (it makes her sick, he makes her sick, she makes herself sick) – and she hesitates before accepting.

It’s been years.

If Yui was going to do anything, she would have done it already, and either she did and the Victims’ Relief Committee never tried to break Kyoko’s heart by forcing her to return and confront her fall or she didn’t and the time away, maybe, saved her.

Yui’s an adult now.  She’s likely in college somewhere.  If she’s smart, she’s somewhere far, far away.  Somewhere safe.

(Kyoko knows better.  Yui would throw herself away to save someone else – anyone else – not because she thinks so lowly of herself, but because that’s her duty as a detective.  Not to find the truth, like Kyoko does, but to save people.

Yui would make a good Super Sentai or magical girl – the hero of the story.  She has so much hope and so much guilt and—

(The Victims’ Relief Committee tempted people of a variety of ages.  They could still tempt Yui as an adult.  But if she’s survived this long without giving in, then Kyoko likes to believe she will survive just a little while longer.))

Kyoko hesitates, and Kyoko accepts, and Kyoko puts herself in a place where the Victims’ Relief Committee could find her again, if they wanted.

(Kyoko runs her fingers along the black ribbons she’s never stopped wearing and wonders if she’s just giving in.)

~

At school, they call her Hibiki Haruko.

The name is as fake as Junko Enoshima’s smile (or Sayaka Maizono’s – both Ultimates chosen for their ability to fake a personality to the population on a large scale – or even Celeste’s entire everything – because from her name to her accent to her hair to her supposed heritage, everything about that girl is fake), but outside of their headmaster (and perhaps his scout), no one seems to know.  She’s learned, in her time away, to be gentle with people, to put on an air that makes her seem both trustworthy and forgettable, and she knows – she knows – that a few of them catch her out (Junko, again, who seems carefully curated to catch out those who don’t want to be caught, with those piercing eyes that cut right through her; but Sakura, too, who notes when she doesn’t go on donut runs with Hina, who tells her that if she ever needs anything (even if that means protection or a bodyguard) to just ask, and Mukuro, who looks at her like she’s someone familiar, like she’s seen her before, even if it isn’t Kyoko that she’s seen).  Sometimes Makoto gives her a curious look, sometimes it seems like he’s going to ask her a question, but either he gives up or he forgets before he asks.

The thing about running away once is that Kyoko – Hibiki – keeps running.

If they could use Yui, then they could use any of her classmates, provided she gets close enough to them.  It doesn’t matter that, in the end, they hadn’t used Yui, just like it doesn’t matter that there’s no proof that they would use one of her classmates. It’s that they could, and once she believed that enough to flee the literal country, that belief was never really going to die.

Sure, it’s lonely when the rest of her classmates pair up – or group up – and she’s left on the outside of the fish tank, one hand pressed against the glass, as she looks in on the rest of them.

But it’s safer.

For her them.

~

Junko drunkenly kisses her exactly once.

“Hibiki,” she’d slurs, “you’re so….”  Her voice trails off, and she falls forward until her forehead rests on Kyoko’s shoulder.  “So cute.”

Kyoko stays still, straight, as though that will do anything.  “Junko, you’re drunk.”  (But she can’t smell the alcohol, so maybe Junko is only pretending.  If she is, she’s doing a very good job of it.)

“No, I’m not.”  Junko brushes her nose along Kyoko’s neck, which makes it a lot harder to stand still, but she does it anyway.  “I’m just—”  She chokes back a sob. “You’re so pretty.  You’re like a ghost.”

How did Junko even get alcohol anyway?

(One of the upper classmen is literally the Ultimate Yakuza, and one of their own classmates is old enough to drink, and Kyoko’s asking how Junko got drunk.  She’d been talking about a huge party she wanted to go to earlier.  That was probably it.  Kyoko never goes to their parties.  At least, not for long enough to be more than an appearance just so that no one questions why she never goes – they can’t say she never goes when they’ve seen her there, even if only briefly.)

“You should…you should let me dress you up, Hibiki-chan,” Junko purrs soft in her ear.  “Celeste thinks she’s so pretty, but put you in deep violets, and you’d…you’d be….”

Kyoko flinches.

“No, no, no, no, I’m not gonna hurt you.”  Junko wraps an arm around Kyoko’s waist and burrows her head into Kyoko’s collarbone.  “I’d never hurt you—”

“I didn’t say you would.”

But Junko pulls back just enough to search Kyoko’s face with those bloodshot eyes.  “You’re scared of me?”

“No­—”

“You’re scared of all of us.”  Junko’s eyes narrow, and she sways a bit, even though she sounds more sure of herself when she speaks.  “You don’t need to be,” she whines, drawing that last word out as her face grows redder.

Kyoko sighs.  “I already told you, I’m not.”

Junko takes Kyoko’s face in both of her hands, the tips of her deep red nails sharp against her skin, and she pulls Kyoko closer to her.  “Did I tell you you’re pretty?  Because you’re sooooooo pretty, Hibiki-chan.”

“Junko.  You’re drunk.  You need to go—”

Then Junko kisses her.

It is sloppy and uncomfortable (and doesn’t taste of alcohol, which means Junko’s definitely pretending) and then, suddenly, it isn’t, and it doesn’t matter because Junko should not be kissing her, no one should be kissing her, they will see—

Kyoko pushes her away, ignores the pain in Junko’s face (and even more ignores the whining “Hibiki-chaaaaaaan!” behind her), and runs away.

It’s an instinct.  A necessity.

And it doesn’t matter.

The next morning, Junko is gone, and a black envelope waits in Kyoko’s mailbox.

(At least they addressed it to Hibiki Haruko and not to Kyoko Kirigiri, but at this point, does it really even matter?)

~

Kyoko wonders, idly, what will happen if she never opens the envelope.

Technically, if she doesn’t open it, that’s just putting off the starting time.  It isn’t, strictly speaking, choosing not to play.  That would be opening the envelope and then choosing not to chase the trail.  If she never opens it, then maybe….

(She knows that isn’t how this works, but she wants to pretend.  She wants to pretend for as long as she can.)

Kyoko shoves the envelope into the inside pocket of her tailored jacket, glances at the single bullet mark scar in the center of her hand, and sets off to find the nearest detective agency.

~

In a world where she didn’t run, maybe Kyoko would have ended up working at Samidare Detective Agency.  Perhaps if she had, it wouldn’t look nearly as empty as it does now.  She can imagine more than the single desk in the back of the office, more than the single filing cabinet, more than an old desktop (not even a laptop, but a desktop so thick that she’s honestly surprised it still runs), more than an office that seems so pristine and dustless that it’s clear its single occupant rarely gets any cases at all – or, if she does, certainly doesn’t take any money from her clients to upgrade any of the rundown furniture scattered here and there.  The chairs don’t match.  The bookshelves don’t match, and they’ve barely got a book or two on them.

In that world, Kyoko imagines three desks: hers, Yui’s, and Licorne’s.  (Lico would be here, she’s sure of it.  He would travel back from wherever he’d landed to be part of their little family again, regardless of whether she wanted him there or not.)  Lico’s, of course, would be just as pristine as Yui’s now is, not because he didn’t get any cases but because he didn’t need anything to figure them out.  Yui’s would be covered with papers, the computer would be significantly better, and there would be multiple filing cabinets here, there, and everywhere.

Kyoko cannot imagine what her own desk would look like.  Her brain fails her there.

In this world, Samidare Detective Agency is as it is now.  Empty.  Unadorned.  Hidden in a little spot in an alley where there’s probably just as much crime outside as there is brought in here to be solved.  Kyoko has just enough time to run a finger along Yui’s desk and note the picture before the bell at the front door jingles.

“I thought I locked it.  Hope no one tried to steal the computer—”

“No one’s going to steal that thing, Yui onee-sama.  They’d lose money on it.”

“Well, it’s all I could aff...ord.”  Yui pauses with her right shoe half off, her fingers still curved into it, her other hand pressed to the wall to hold herself steady, and glances up.  She hesitates, the wheels in her head turning, whirring, and finally, she says, “Kyoko?”

Kyoko’s gaze drops.  “I’m sorry for worrying you, onee-sama,” she murmurs, tucking strands of her hair back behind one ear, “but yes.  It’s me.”  She sucks her lower lip between her teeth.  “And I….”  When she glances up, when she meets Yui’s eyes, her heart pounds hopelessly.  “I need your help.”

At her words, Yui softens.  She drops her shoe to the floor with a soft tap and eases, almost.  “Alright,” she says, hiding the smile that threatens to break across her face like the first glimmer of sunlight through a storm cloud.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

[themagical1sa]

"i like you and i blame you for making me feel this way" he said

i still think about it

[jinhyun]

the way i don't realise local artists frequent the bar i work at until someone else recognizes them

[forgive-the-sea]

i think somewhere along the line (in my experience) after 2020 reader fan fic became less about enjoying a story and more about inserting ourselves into stories and idk how to feel about that

[oh-meow-swirls]

logically i know that if they do anything for the 10th anniversary in america it'll just be merch n like, MAYBE a translation of the switch port for 1 at most. but also localizing 4 would be pog-

[inavagrant-a]

Fighting with the IR/S over money you could have sworn you paid them a month ago is the most stressful fucking thing I have ever done in my life.

[barrowsteeth]

*

[concrete-the-cat]

"Look, I'm not one to believe in the supernatural, dude," said the agent, sitting you down in a chair. She'd been pretty chill the entire ride to the undisclosed base; giving you some gum and striking up casual conversation despite how serious her job was.

"N-Neither am I," you stammer, obviously frightened by this turn of events. "What gives?"

"But, ah, it's just..."

She trails off for a moment, as in disbelief at what she was going to say. After a few months, she picks back up, putting down some (really sick, you note) sunglasses.

"You were born near Bordeaux, yes?"

"I- I suppose?" you say, not really sure why your French heritage has anything to do with this. You were pretty sure the DNA said Libya, anyways.

"1999?"

"That's right..."

She sighs, sitting down in the chair opposite you and producing a book, flipping it to a certain page.

"... Right. Along with about another 20 coincidences, you happen to fit every description of a few different Nostradamus prophecies."

"What? Of- what's- what am I supposed to be?"

You're starting to worry now; wasn't that guy literally the 16th century version of a doomposter or something?

"... dude, according to him, you are totally the Third Antichrist."

She gives you a sheepish grin; and seems to almost be amused by it. That or she just thinks it's sorta cool.

You, however, are horrified.

"What?"

"Look, you're going to be accommodated here, just until, ah, July of next year, since that's a few months after your reign of terror and war is supposed to begin."

She seems sympathetic... or, you know, as much as a government agent could be.

"We'll get your belongings, inform necessary family members, you're not going to be treated harshly..."

She lays a comforting hand on your shoulder, smiling again in the Cool Way you thought only TV show characters could. Wasn't the CIA or FBI or TSA or whoever supposed to be jerks??

"Point is we just wanna monitor you and make sure you're not a threat. Ya don't seem like one, but it's just our job, okay? I can lead you to where you'll be staying. It's like a slightly monotone Hilton. Don't worry about'a thing."

She gets up, and offers you a hand to help; and she escorts you to your room - which apart from the grey walls (she would later say you could hang pictures up), was in fact, very nice.

Totally nothing would go wrong here, and you did plan for a devilishly nice vacation sometime soon anyways...

@second-senseofsonder i have a feeling you will want to comment on this

You tried an online ancestral DNA test just for fun. To your surprise, just after an hour, the FBI broke into your house and arrested you.