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the-broken-truth · 6 months

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Al'akh Al'ashghar - Jamil Viper [Platonic Yandere] [Male Yuu][Part 1 of 3]

Summary: During a dinner at Scarabia Dorm, something goes terribly wrong as you suddenly become poisoned, leaving you in critical condition. Fortunately, Jamil steps up to the task of ensuring that you make a full recovery. However, something about Jamil's demeanor seems off, but you can't quite identify what it is from your position of being bedridden.

Notes:

Al'akh Al'ashghar means 'Little Brother' in Arabic; considering Jamil's Name means 'Handsome/Beautiful' in Arabic, I thought this would be fitting to use. (I don't speak Arabic - I used Google Translate)

This story will be told in the Second POV.

Jamil will refer to the reader as 'Yuu' - if you so choose, replace Yuu with your own name.

You are hereby invited to Scarabia Dorm for a Grand Feast hosted by the Dorm Warden, Kalim Al-Asim, as my personal guest. Please, arrive at 6:00 P.M. or earlier if possible. I am hoping you will attend & I am looking forward to seeing you, Prefect. ~ Signed, Jamil Viper - Scarabia's Vice Dorm Warden

It all started with that invitation.

An Invitation from the Vice Dorm Warden of Scarabia, Jamil Viper, for you to come to Scarabia for one of Kalim's Parties and join them for the Grand Feast that would come after the party; Jamil always made amazing food and Grim was insistent that the two of you attended the party so the chimera could stuff his face with the delicatable delicates from the Land of Scalding Sands.

You took time to actually make yourself presentable for the party, wearing a crimson dress shirt with black pants and completed with black shoes before you tended to your hair and brushed any dust or loose hair off your shirt before grabbing your fully charged phone and placed it on your pocket before Grim jumped on your shoulder and the two of you walked out of Ramshackle, making sure to lock the door behind you and placing the key inside of a fake rock before heading to the Hall of Mirrors before walking into Scarabia's Mirror, the fainted warmth of the setting sun hitting your face a bit harder than it was in your own territory.

"Prefect." A very familiar voice called out to you, causing you to turn your head in the direction of Scara'bias Dorm, seeing the Vice Dorm Warden walking over to you wearing Scarabia's Uniform with his hood over his head.

"Jamil-senpai, it's good to see you. Thank you for the invitation." You smiled at the Viper Dorm Warden as he looked at you up and down, taking in your visage before he remained silent for a while, "Senpai, is something wrong?"

"Scarabia's Colors look good on you, Prefect." Jamil said before he returned the smile - a rare sight that Jamil only showed you ever since you foiled his attempted coup of Scarabia and saved him from his Overblot Episode; ever since that day, he found himself attached to you.

He was comfortable being himself around you, and you didn't judge him nor blame him for his past mistakes. In fact, you helped him regain his reputation among the student body and also made sure he took time for self-care. There were times when you even looked after Kalim, realizing that Jamil was overworking himself and needed a break. He knew better than to argue with you, given your impressive record of defeating four Overblots despite being magicless.

"Thank you, Jamil-senpai; I thought it would be fitting to wear Scarabia Colors to a Scarabian Event." You smiled at him.

"Have you ever considered wearing those colors permanently?" Jamil asked.

"Huh?" You questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Surely you haven't forgotten about that conversation we had a few days ago, Yuu. Have you ever considered my offer?" Jamil asked with a raised eyebrow.

You recalled the conversation you had with Jamil during one of your late-night Mancala matches a few nights ago when you stayed over at Scarabia Dorm after a study session that lasted too long.

The night was young but the inhabitants of Scarabia Dorm were tucked away in their dorms, resting up for the sun to rise in a few hours for them to start their days over again; well, one inhabitant and a visitor were still wide away. Grim was sleeping on the softest pillow he could find in Scarabia's Lounge while The Vice Dorm Warden of Scarabia & Prefect of Ramshackle were sitting on soft pillows with the Mancala game before them; the two of them had completed their weekly study session but it got so late into the night & Grim ended up falling asleep. You didn't have the heart to wake up the sleeping chimera and Jamil offered you a room in Scarabia's Dorm - the same room you stayed in during Scarabia's 'Training Camp'. Ironic, isn't it?

"I'm honestly surprised that you decided to remain in Scarabia after our study session, Yuu." Jamil said while making his move on the game board.

"It's not that big of a deal - I'm mostly at Scarabia when I am not at Ramshackle, in class, or tending to Crowley's Tasks." You exhaled before making your move on the Mancala Board, "Honestly, Scarabia is almost like a 2nd Home to me."

"Second Home? Why not a 3rd Home?" Jamil asked.

"Home is where the heart is, Jamil. It's a place where you feel appreciated and loved. I never really felt 'loved' in my Original World. It was more like I was being tolerated and my efforts were never really appreciated. Ramshackle is the first place I consider home because it belongs to me and Grim. It's a place of my own where I can have my own peace. Scarabia, on the other hand, feels like 'coming home.' You, Kalim, and the other students of Scarabia are kind of like the family I never had but always wanted." You explained while waiting for Jamil to make a move, but he continued to gaze upon you with wide eyes.

"If that is truly how you feel... If coming to Scarabia Dorm is like coming home for you... Why don't you stay?" Jamil asked, causing you to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

'What do you mean??" You asked him.

"I wanted to talk to you about something important. Have you considered becoming an official member of Scarabia Dorm? Kalim and the other members have spoken about it and we would all love to have you here permanently. I have the paperwork ready for a Dorm Transfer, with Kalim's and Headmage Crowley's signatures. All it needs is yours. Please sign it and become a part of Scarabia Dorm. We would welcome you with open arms, Yuu." Jamil looked into your eyes with a smile on his face; his works were genuine.

You looked down at the Mancala Board - Jamil's Words echoing in your head.

"Jamil-senpai, we talked about this: If I was meant to be in Scarabia, the Dark Mirror would have placed me in Scarabia." You explained but that caused Jamil to frown.

"The Dark Mirror was unable to assign you to one of the seven Dorms because it detects magic, and you don't possess any magical abilities, Yuu. Had you been from Wonderland or possessed magical powers, the mirror would have placed you in Scarabia. However, your exceptional intelligence and performance in dealing with the Overblots, despite being from a different world, indicates that you would excel in the Sorcerer of the Sands' Domain. You are meant to be here with us, Yuu."Jamil held out his hand to you, "Come home to us, Al'akh Al'ashghar."

'Al'akh Al'ashghar? What does that...?' You thought before another voice called out to Jamil and you.

"Yuu! Grim! You guys made it here!" Kalim walked out of the dorm and waved over to the Prefect of Ramshackle, causing you to walk around Jamil and walk over to the Walking Ball of Sunshine of Scarabia and give him a hug. Kalim grabbed you by your hand and pulled you away from Jamil who just stood there for a while to be alone with his thoughts before a smile crept along his face as he turned and started walking towards the dorm building.

'I have a very important feast to create.'

Grim rested on your shoulder as everyone sat in the Lounge Room while waiting for Jamil to finish making the food for the feast; Kalim was telling them about how Jamil helped him with his studying and he was able to get a high grade on his most recent test thanks to the Vice Dorm Warden. You sat there while Grim was talking to Kalim about the food Jamil was making but your mind kept going back to what Jamil said before you came into the dorm - his words gave you one message but the tone of his voice, was as if it was hiding another message.

And that name he called you: Al'akh Al'ashghar

You opened your mouth to ask Kalim the meaning of that name, certain that it was found in the Land of Scalding Sands, but before the words could leave your lips - Jamil and several Scarabia Students walked into the Lounge Roo. with serving platters of food and drinks, but Jamil was carrying two smaller platters in his hands: one for Kalim and the other for you. Grim leaped off your head and joined the other Scarabia Students in their feasting while Jamil placed the personal platters in front of you and Kalim; Jamil smiled at you before placing a drink next to your food and another for Kalin - your couple was made of pure silver rather than the gold and it had your name engraved in the side.

"A Gift. For everything you have done for Scarabia." Jamil said before taking his seat next to Kalim to start eating his own food.

You looked at the dish Jamil set in front of you and picked up your spoon before starting to eat; it was divine in texture and taste, just like everything else Jamil made. You continued to eat before you felt your throat getting dry from the spices used in the meat reached to grab your silver cup and took a drink of the tea before swallowing it to soothe your throat; the relief soon came and you continued to eat.

*COUGH*

"Prefect, that is a rather violent cough. Are you okay?" Jamil asked as he look up from his meal with concern on his face.

"I'm fine. It's just some spices got caught in my throat and..." You were cut off by another round of violent coughing, you covered your mouth and removed it to get some air in your lungs when your air seemed to get thinner.

"PREFECT! YOUR HAND!" One of the Scarabia Students called out in panic, causing you to look at your hand and your eyes got wide with the same horror - Blood stained your palm and fingers.

Soon enough, your air supply was completely cut off; you grabbed your throat as you tried to breathe but nothing was going in and nothing was coming out - it was as if you were drowning as you threw yourself back and landed on the pillows behind you as you scratched at your throat.

"POISON! HE'S BEEN POISONED!"

"HOLD ON, I HAVE AN ANTIDOTE!"

Your vision was getting blurry but you could barely make out Jamil's face as he pulled a vial of amber liquid from somewhere on his person and held it to your lips.

"Come on, drink this for me, Al'akh Al'ashghar; I'm here for you. I'm going to help you. Drink for me." Jamil's voice seemed to echo but your body seemed to obey his plead without you thinking about it as your mouth opened and the liquid from the vial went down your throat and slowly opened the blocked passage, allowing the air to flow into your aching burning lungs.

However, the air to your brain was low and you were slowly losing consciousness, but you could make out the last words Jamil said before your world faded into darkness.

"I have you now, Al'akh Al'ashghar"

'What does... that mean?' You thought before you closed your eyes.

And then, you knew no more as you floated in the void of your subconsciousness.

[TO BE CONTINUED IN PART TWO]

#twisted wonderland #yandere jamil viper #platonic yandere #male yuu #scarabia

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strqyr · 11 months

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the crossover movies aren't canon but if they hint even slightly towards the characters arcs ruby and yang are going to go through in the future i'm going to be feasting for days.

like. from ruby's point of view, yang was the person who had full trust in her; she agreed to board this crazy ride because somehow, ruby always knew the right thing to do.

but then they got to atlas, and ruby started making more decisions, and yang started showing more doubts; about lying to ironwood, how things hadn't gone exactly how they planned, etc. this culminates in them going two separate ways: ruby working towards sending a message to the world via amity, and yang focusing on mantle.

during this separation, one thing stands out: "do you think... she thinks less of me... for not helping out with amity?" jaune, as a leader himself, thinks yang is talking about ruby bc the argument was between the two of them about what they should be doing—in other words, it's the most blatant example of yang doubting ruby's leadership, and the way ruby reacts to it speaks volumes.

in a sense, yang is taking ruby's presence as granted. that no matter what happens, ruby will be there, just as yang is there for her.

but that's not how it is anymore. and in the ever after, while ruby struggles with the pressure of leadership and her plans not working out, yang has to deal with the fact that she's no longer the person ruby feels comfortable to talk to about her problems, that she missed how bad things had actually gotten with ruby.

that she almost lost her sister.

which is a lot to grapple with, when yang once told raven that she only cared about making sure her sister is safe.

so, post-v9, if ruby seems more reckless, if she no longer makes any plans and instead goes with the flow like yang does, it makes sense: you don't have to deal with the pressure of your plans working out if you don't have a plan, and when her sister has been one of her most vocal doubters, acting like yang "let's do what we do best, charge blindly into danger!" xiao long fits the bill. what is yang going to do, criticize herself as well? pffft.

to yang, however, it raises alarm bells. what do you mean ruby is acting like her, when just recently she had rushed in to save ruby from neo, fell into the void and believed herself to be dead before her team found her? she almost lost ruby once by missing the warning signs, the possibility of it happening again is more real than ever and ruby acting reckless like yang with no plan to speak of certainly isn't helping.

they could very potentially jump to the complete opposite sides of the court in one fell swoop thanks to natural reactions to what they've been through so far and it's. juicy.

#rwby #ruby rose #yang xiao long

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slytherheign · 1 year

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WE WERE HAPPY | max verstappen

A BONUS PART OF BROKEN GLASS AND HONEY SERIES.

CAN ALSO BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT.

PAIRINGS: ex!max verstappen x fem!reader, slight daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

SUMMARY: max reminisces the past while still hoping there will be a future with you.

WARNINGS: breakup, allusions to a hidden relationship, feelings of hurt and regret. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: 16+]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: inspired by taylor swift’s song with the same title. i’m saying sorry in advance for hurting y’all lmao enjoy the first bonus part of the series!

DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO TO SERIES MASTERLIST or GO BACK TO THE STATION.

Judgement.

The very thing Max had to endure from his waking day to his resting night.

Society had this insatiable hunger for every detail of his life. It was as if he was living in a fishbowl, constantly under the microscope of public opinion. And while some people were fine handling the judgment and the unsolicited advice, he didn’t want to handle them.

Love, to him, was something pure, something tender that deserved to be nurtured in privacy and solitude. He wanted to protect its fragile beauty from the harsh winds of judgment that inevitably blew his way. There was something incredibly sacred about love when it was shielded from prying eyes. When it was allowed to blossom in the quiet corners of life, away from the constant scrutiny of the world. It felt like a precious secret, something that only you and he held dear, and that was what he wanted to protect.

He knew that for something to be protected, it needed a shield.

And that was what he did—a shield. He created one just for you.

He had seen just what would happen when relationships became public knowledge. Every moment was always dissected, analyzed, and twisted to fit the warped narratives society loved to create. Suddenly, the private joys would become a subject of gossip, and the heartfelt moments would be displayed as entertainment for the masses.

He refused to let his love life become another spectacle for the world to feast upon. He refused to subject you to the constant barrage of opinions and criticisms. It wasn't about being deceitful or hiding what you had with him. No, it was about preserving the peace he had found and ensuring that the love flourished away from the harsh glare of public scrutiny.

He was trying to protect his peace. But above all, he was trying to protect your peace.

He wanted the love you shared to be pure, unadulterated by outside influences, and unburdened by the expectations imposed upon him. He wanted it to be a sanctuary, a haven where he could truly be himself without the need to conform to societal norms.

So, he continued to keep your relationship hidden from the public eye, not out of shame, but out of a deep desire to protect the delicate balance you and him had created.

He believed in the happiness within the sanctuary he had built with you, away from the prying eyes of the outside world. Because, for him, that was where his peace and yours truly resided.

It was funny how his mind wandered back to the memories he held dear, even when those memories were filled with bittersweet reminders of what once was. He found himself revisiting the past, reliving moments when happiness was a constant companion, but now, it felt like a distant dream.

You were happy.

He used to secretly walk along the streets with you, back when the porch lights were shining bright and he would wear some ridiculous outfit that was far from his usual style just to keep people away from knowing who he was.

The world felt so much brighter with you. He missed the way your laughter would fill a room and all the things you did before he eventually had somewhere to be. He missed how your touch could heal the deepest wounds within his soul back when he still had all your nights.

And you were happy.

He missed the love you shared, the knowing glances, the silent understanding of each other's hearts.

He could recall a good while back, when he snuck into your apartment. You threw your arms around his neck back when he still deserved it.

You were happy.

Back when it was good, it was good.

No one could touch the way you both laughed in the dark, talking about your family business you were going to inherit someday.

And you were happy.

You used to watch the sun go down on the boats in the water with him. That was sort of how he felt right now. At least now he knew that going down with you was far better than feeling down without you.

But the worst thing of all, far worse than being without you, was seeing you with Daniel.

He hated the voices in his head telling him you were better with Daniel. But as much as he wanted to get away from them, they didn't give him choices because he also knew there was a truth in what those voices said. And that truth was what his tears were for.

'Cause you were happy.

But not with him.

There was a time when he had it all. Love wrapped around him like a warm embrace, filling his days with laughter and his heart with contentment. You were both so incredibly happy. He had found his soulmate, his partner in crime, and together you painted a beautiful picture of love.

You shared dreams, hopes, and aspirations. Your love was this incredible force, propelling each other forward, pushing both of you to become the best versions of yourselves. Every smile, every touch, every stolen moment seemed like a chapter from a fairytale.

But then, he made a terrible mistake. He let his fears and insecurities overwhelm him, clouding his judgment and poisoning his relationship with you. He pushed away the very person who had given him so much joy. He let his own demons sabotage the happiness you had built together.

He wondered if he should tell you what happened back in his home race week.

He was staying at his family home before the race weekend started. Sat on the couch with his family and his phone in his hand, he showed your face to his family.

They had asked him where you were but he could only shrug.

He finally introduced you to his family.

But only with pictures because you weren’t there.

Words could not describe what he felt when he saw you with Daniel. God knew how much he wanted to pull you away from him that moment but all he could do was freeze on his spot and look away.

That should've been him by your side.

But the truth was, he messed up. He let the fear of losing what he had due to public judgment consume him, and in doing so, he lost it all. The regret and guilt he was carrying weighed heavy on his heart, reminding him of what he had and what he foolishly let slip away.

All he needed now was a second chance.

And he swore to never lose you again.

You might be with Daniel now, but he wasn't giving up.

One thing was sure, he wasn't going down without a fight.

He wanted you to be the one he would marry someday.

And you would be happy.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx

FORMULA ONE TAGLIST: @dreamingofautopia @lpab @matildrry

are you team max or team daniel? vote here. also, message me or comment down below if you want to be added to my taglist! specify if you want to be added to my main (slytherheign) taglist where i’ll tag you in everything i publish in the future or just the formula one taglist.

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bichachonacho · 2 years

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All grown up

Part 2 of ‘When we were young’

warnings: angst ? Nothing major

a/n: I apologise to those who have been waiting for this update, thank you for being patient with me :)

The fan art divider below is not my work. I found it on pinterest but Idk who the artist is. If someone knows can you please lmk so I can give them credit <3

Anerya could feel the warmth of Kings Landings air brush against her skin, she hums in content as she takes in the familiar surroundings— realising she was finally home. After travelling for months on end around the seven kingdoms, she could finally rest knowing she didn’t have to return on the road for a while. She missed the warmth, her family and even the Red Keep— the halls she grew up in were practically calling for her as she stepped foot out of her carriage.

“You could’ve easily ridden on Dragonback here daughter, you would’ve arrived days ago” Rhaenyra smiles as she approaches her daughter, hand rubbing her swollen stomach as she holds her other arm open to welcome her.

“Where’s the joy in arriving on time?” She chuckles, sighing in content as she finally feels her mother’s embrace-- one she hasn’t felt in many moons. Anerya didn’t know whether to feel relieved or uneasy about being back in her first home, one she hasn’t stepped for in for nearly a decade.

“Your father is busy training with your uncles” Rhaenyra hums as she leads her daughter down the halls in the Red Keep, Aneyra’s eyes vacant as she observes her familiar surroundings. She hears her distant laughter as a child as Jace chased her down these halls, hiding behind walls and corners as they caused a ruckus in the lavish palace.

“Uncles? Didn’t think father would see them fit to train with him” She hums, tightness in her chest as she remembers her uncles— one in particular who broke her heart all those years ago. She was yet to see him but she already knew she didn’t want to, she’d rather avoid him than face him again.

“There will be a family feast tonight— you are expected to attend” Rhaenyra tuts, her eyes observing her daughter that seems to be lost in thought.

“I’ll be there. Why… do you doubt me?” Anerya chuckles— breaking from her thoughts. Rhaenyra gives her daughter a knowing look, one that Anerya knows is well deserved.

“Well you always fled on dragon back during our suppers back home” Her mother reflects on all those times Anerya would skip dinner to explore the cities near dragon stone.

“I was eager to explore. Besides, I wouldn’t dare miss another dinner, grandsire would not be pleased” She hums, making a mental note to visit her grandfather who was sickly, so much so he was bedridden.

Aneyra is left in her bedchamber to rest after her long journey, the first thing she does is throw off her shoes before collapsing into the neatly made bed. She sighs heavily, admiring the scent of freshly clean linen before she shuts her eyes. Her hand ghosts over the scar embedded on her cheek, she had grown used to it and it had faded over time — yet she couldn’t help but wonder what her face would look like unscathed.

If her uncle hadn’t maimed her all those years ago, would she have been more appealing to others, potential friends who wouldn’t dare look her way— afraid they’d catch flack for being associated with her. The scarred princess they’d whisper amongst themselves. This bothered her more so as a child, she could take the criticism now— although somewhat insecure, she would never show how much the scar affected her.

She decides to explore the Red Keep out of boredom, she had hours to spare before dinner and her brothers were occupied with their mother so she had no one to bother. She huffs as she leaves her room, hand tracing the walls as she walks through the hallways. She doesn’t realise how far she walks until she passes by the garden. The same one she and prince Aemond once stood beneath, the same one she tried to comfort him under and in return was scarred with the same fate as him.

She feels a lump grow in her throat at the memory, eyes gazing over the aged tree that still looked the same as it did all those years ago. She forces herself to pull her eyes away and continue her walk— afraid those memories would completely flood her if she didn’t.

Anerya unwillingly finds herself in the training court, the clashing of steel ringing in her ears as she rounds the corner— eyes landing on a group surrounded the two sparring. She doesn’t have to guess who is in the centre, she could see their silver hair from afar— their grunts filling the air as they spar. She joins the crowd— her breath hitching momentarily from the sight of her father and uncle.

Prince Aemond had changed drastically since the last she saw of him, long silver hair— tall and slim, the baby fat in his cheeks had burned away and had now left him with the face of a god. The eye patch that covers his scarred eye catches her attention, the sight of it causing her to wonder what was beneath. He was no longer the child she once left in the hallway— and she was no longer the child who walked away with a broken heart.

“Daughter, have you come to train? Show your uncle what real swordsmanship looks like?” Daemon teases when his eyes catch onto her presence, his words prompting Aemond to pull his attention away from him and look at the girl beside them.

Aemond could barely hide his surprise at the sight of you. You were practically unrecognisable, no longer the little girl who used to follow him around— you were a grown woman, longer hair, fuller breasts and taller— but not as tall as he. He feels himself grow unsteady at the mere sight of her, she was beautiful— the scar he left on her skin only making her more admirable to him. As selfish as it is, he liked the comfort of knowing they shared the same trauma.

“I’ll pass, father. I wouldn’t want to ruin such a lovely dress mother forced me to wear upon arrival” She hums, hands smoothing over the dark red material that covers her body.

“Your mother does have her way with words— even through notes sent by ravens” Daemon laughs, aware of his stubborn his wife could be on things as such.

“You enjoy the sport, dear niece?” Aemond questions her, taking the opportunity to speak with her after her father. They paused their sparring momentarily, much to the dismay of those surrounding them.

“I admire it, although I don’t enjoy the dire outcomes it brings— it’s entertaining” She says, hoping he would lose interest at her answer and leave her alone.

“Your father speaks of your skill in the sport— I would hope to spar you one day soon” Aemond suggests, the look in his eye practically begging her to agree to his request. His uncle had spoken very highly of his daughter’s swordsmanship, claiming she was trained by only the best in dragonstone— she could best any swordsman in Kings Landing, including the one eyed prince.

“It would be a foolish thing to hope for, I could take your other eye in a heartbeat— I show no mercy when sparring, dear uncle” She tuts, watching a coy smile grace Aemond’s features at her threatening words. They didn’t deter him away, instead it made the desire he feels for her burn even stronger. He admired her confidence.

“I have other ways to pass time before dinner, I shall leave you to train” She informs them, her words directed at her father but her eyes burning into Aemond’s. If Anerya had looked closely enough, she would catch the way the shared eye contact made his lip twitch, a lump growing in his throat at her aura.

She turns to leave, unaware that even as she walks away— prince Aemond’s eye doesn’t leave her until she’s completely out of sight. He was winded upon her brief visit— barely focusing as he continues to spar with his uncle. He didn’t care for the family feast tonight, in fact he would rather explore all of flea bottom than be forced to sit at the table— yet knowing she would be there caused excitement to grow in him. He would attend for her, eager to see her face and hear her voice once more before the day ends.

“Tell us of your journeys amongst the seven kingdoms, my beloved daughter” Anerya’s grandsire’s words pull her attention from the plate that sits in front of her — her food partially untouched as she plays with it beneath her cutlery. She had lost her appetite the moment she sat at the table, the intimidation she felt from her uncle’s gaze had deterred her from feeling any hunger.

“It was most gruelling but some sights are so beautiful you can only question how the gods sculpted such scenery” She says before reflecting upon some of the various sights she encountered on her journey.

“I wonder dear niece, if any of these said places turned to turmoil after your arrival. The scar on your face is quite hideous” Aegon’s snarky remark is said from across the table, a grin clear on his face as he teases her. Daemon moves to chastise his nephew, but he knows better— Anerya wouldn’t be pleased with her father if he had protected her as if she was a child. She didn’t need him to fight her battles, especially ones against Aegon.

“I’m surprised you’re here, uncle. I’ve heard through many that you spend your time drunk in brothels. I can’t say I expected anything less from you” Anerya’s words are dripping of sarcasm, her tone causing the smile to fall from his face— a sight that brings her satisfaction.

“Enough of the banter. You are both grown, only children bicker at the dinner table” Alicent chastises them both as she stands from her seat, Aneyra gives her an apologetic look before she bites her tongue and sits in silence.

“It is so precious having you all in the same room again— our beloved family we have not seen in many moons, we welcome you back and hope to grace you with warmth during your time here” Alicent raises her goblet, causing everyone to mimic her as she says her speech.

Anerya’s gaze trails around the room, realising just how much her family had changed over the years. The children were grown, Helaena bore some of her own and their parents had aged during the time that passed. She was sat here nearly a decade ago and she notes how different they all seemed.

“With that being said— we would be pleased to announce a decision that has been spoken between both parties. One that we had come to an agreement with and mutually agreed would be most beneficial for the bonding of our families” Alicent continues, stepping toward Aemond who sits— she places her hand on his shoulder before her gaze catches onto Anerya’s. She feels her heartbeat pounding in her throat at the sight, a dreaded feeling coiling in her stomach as she waits for the very words she expects to hear.

“Prince Aemond and Princess Anerya are to be betrothed and bound to marry before the weeks end”

—

a/n: apologies if this seemed rushed, I hope it was well paced :p

tags <3

@signyvenetia @percyjacksonspeen @thatssoslytherin @curlszx88 @kittiowolf210 @alwaysdaydreamingoffiction @schniiipsel @zgzgzh @marytvirgin @lugiastark @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @yuukiahim @fadingbelieverexpert

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x original character #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen smut #hotd fanfic

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pyrosomatic-metamorphosis · 6 months

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apocalypse au. cannibalism. corpses. Offscreen loss of loved ones

“Some leather armour,” Bad notes, tugging curiously at the straps of the corpse’s armour. “Euagh, almost broken, though.” The armour gets tossed to the side. “A granola bar? Okay, we’ll take that.”

Cellbit twitches at that. He wants to ask, “Do we have to?” but there’s several reasons why he doesn’t. Protesting a backup food supply is never a good idea, for one. It’s not worth it to risk starvation just because he’s worried that the backup food supply will become their primary. He tightens his hold on the bloody sword and insists again. It’s not worth it. Instead, he says, voice rasping, “There’s too many. It’s all going to rot.”

“You think so?” Bad looks up at him, then runs a critical eye over the little encampment. Ten bodies, some larger, but all fat deposits slimmed by lasting hunger. Bad licks at the blood left on his hand from looting the corpse, considering their haul thoughtfully. “I don’t think things rot that fast, Cellbit.”

He twitches again when Bad says his name. It wasn’t an admonishment- it was barely even an opinion Cellbit should validate, knowing how long it takes Bad to consider something rotten -but there is something yearning and grieving and desperate slinking between the muscle fibers of his heart that squirms to hear that disagreement. He’s shaking. He hasn’t stopped shaking. He wants to bite the edge of his sword hard enough that his teeth will crack into sharpened splinters. He wouldn’t need the sword, then. “I don’t- we should cook it,” he says. “Some.”

Bad snaps his fingers triumphantly, as though he’d remembered something. “Pre-digestion!” he exclaims so loudly that Cellbit flinches. No birds fly away- they’ve already been scared off. “Oh! You want to save some for later? Yeah, sure, we can do that. But we should eat what doesn’t fit in the car.” Cellbit doesn’t know how to explain that he can’t eat as much as much as Bad. Not even cooked. It fills him with- it’s not envy but it isn’t not envy, either. Some dissatisfaction.

Back in the— when he was small Cellbit had always assumed that it was Bad’s size that lead him to take the larger portion of their meals. It made sense, and he always got his fill so he was happy with it. Then, when he was grown, it was frustrating. Bad could eat an entire corpse in one sitting; Cell couldn’t even get through an entire leg. He’d realized then, gnawing at bone and just waiting to be done, that Bad couldn’t have possibly eaten an entire corpse. It was childish dreams made memory, morphed by the horror and the trauma and the things he didn’t think about. And now they’ve met up again, and these are their first corpses but Cellbit knows that despite their looting Bad’s share of the resources are always depleted, even when they come across a feast and- The clever part of him is wondering how much he’s really misremembered after all.

Bad seems oblivious to Cellbit’s thoughts. “We can smoke some of this and it’ll last you a bit longer,” he suggests thoughtfully, starting to dig through the corpse’s clothes again. “It might take us some extra time, but this place is safe enough that they set up camp, and we don’t know when we’ll get the chance again. Good idea. Do you want to carve the meat or set up the smoker?”

The thing in Cellbit’s heart writhes almost giddily at the praise. He thinks that he hates it. He misses when he could fool himself into thinking he deserved it. “The meat,” rasps its way out of his throat, proving him right.

Bad lights up. Cellbit can immediately tell that he’s up to something. “In that case- I have something for you that might make it… a little bit easier.”

“What is it?”

“Close your eyes!” The bleeding part of him wails at the thought of the vulnerability, but this is Bad. He’s only alive because of him. Fitting to die because of him, too. Cellbit closes his eyes and continues to shake. The back of his teeth are dry. There’s the sound of rustling as Bad does whatever, and then a triumphant, “Ta-da~!” Cellbit gratefully takes this as his cue to open his eyes again.

Badboyhalo is holding a knife.

Badboyhalo is holding a kitchen knife. Thumb and fingers pinching either side of the blade, handle out, an offering. It’s clean, except where Bad’s hands have stained it red.

Cellbit had been calm, before, the way you are when you’re doing what you were made for. Then he had been satisfied, and excited, and then jittery and bad and happy and satisfied and dreadful. Longing and hatred and benediction and fulfillment. The sight of the knife fades all of that out. When he grabs it, those feelings turn to static. Still there, still hunting him, but forced to back away in the face of its armed prey. The world smooths out a little and hurts a bit less.

Badboyhalo has given him a knife.

“Bad-“ he says, and doesn’t choke up about it.

Bad smiles at him. Bad beams at him. “I was waiting for a good time to give it to you. I know you’ve got your sword, but I remember you telling me that knives are your favourite. Is that still true?”

Overwhelmed, Cellbit nods a little. “Thank- thank you. Obrigado, Bad.”

“De nada!” Bad chirps, cheerful as anything. He pats Cellbit on the shoulder, gently, as his tone shifts. “The sky is still blue, Cellbit. Remember that.”

He wanders away before Cellbit can bring himself to mutter, “Mas às vezes está nublado.” But it’s just Cellbit now, and his knife, and the bodies, and no one living can hear him.

He’s already dropped the sword, he realizes abruptly, clinging to his knife with both hands. He needs to pick it up and clean it before the blood coagulates. There is meat in front of him, still warm and waiting to be processed. Still, he manages to pick up the sword and wipe it in the vicinity of cleanliness on the body’s clothes, his other hand still clinging to his knife. He cuts the clothes, and drops the sword to the side.

When the knife cuts flesh, he starts to grin again. The world turns into a loving red, and he gets to work.

Bad feels bad.

He doesn’t dwell on it. Guilt or grief- they both started with g. It’s probably even better, even, feeling guiltier than griefier! Take away the question of accountability entirely, hold control, do what he has to do. And he has to do this.

The log in Bad’s hands cracks. He giggles at it, then takes several quick breaths as tears rapidly pool in his eyes. He doesn’t wipe them, just carefully lays the log down into his makeshift fireplace.

Bad doesn’t like hurting his friends. It’s like a bad prank that leaves lasting damage; it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. But it’s not really all that bad, all things considered. Bad isn’t hurting him or putting him in more danger. If anything, Cellbit is safer with him. They’ve done this before- anything Cellbit can’t eat, Bad can, and they know Cellbit can eat Bad. It’s better. It’s what needs to be done.

There’s a loud lowing in the distance. Bad stills as he listens to it. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Cellbit still carving. They found someone else tonight. Bad feels some tension leak from between his shoulderblades. They’ll be fed and full, and slow in the morning. Cellbit and Bad will have more than enough time to get packed up after a rest.

Cellbit has someone left. Bad is giving him a gift, but he can’t give it yet. Bad knew exactly what he would do if it turned out his own loved ones were still around, and he knows what Cellbit would do, too.

If Cellbit knew that Roier was still alive, he’d leave.

#it has been a While since ive watched cellbit i reserve the right to be incorrect about characters 🙏#theres a lot goin on rn but as i said when in doubt write cannibalism #throwing these guys at each other in my big ol sandbox #anyway CANNIBALISM #APOCALYPSE #CODEPENDANCY!!#one of my fave things pre purg was when cellbit and bad had That Talk and i fuckin Yearn for a universe where they rp more together #one of my fave sandboxes to play in is also apocalypse aus #thus:#feel free to ask questions about this au idk how much if any more ill actually write #i have no name for it yet but it can be summed up as Two Fuckers Spiralling #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp cellbit #blood #cannibalism #this was fun tho its been a while since i just fucked around :]#fun fact i wrote this all in tumblr mobile drafts #eat the living au #shape words

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dead-dolphins · 30 days

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hi ro! i was curious is there any kind of fanfic you don’t like?

I’m not a big fan of discussing what I don’t like in fanfics because I really respect the time and effort that goes into creating them. It can be a lot of work, and I don’t want to come across as critical or dismissive of someone’s hard work. Instead, I think it’s more helpful to focus on what I enjoy in fanfics. This way, I can share what I love reading, and you’ll get a clearer picture of my tastes. Plus, I understand that fanfics are personal and created by fellow fans, so they don’t have to fit perfectly with my preferences. Everyone’s creative expression is valuable, and I appreciate all the different ways people bring their stories to life. ❤️❤️❤️

That being said, let me tell you the things I ABSOLUTELY LOVE AND ADORE in the fics I read:

A Little Plot: I really enjoy fanfics that have some kind of plot, even if it's just a small one. I’m someone who gravitates towards stories with a bit of structure, so you'll often find me drawn to fics that have more than just a snapshot of a moment.

Unexpected Twists: If you've been following me here, you probably know that one of my all-time favorite fics is Around the Corner by Ili Akkaman. I adore it because it starts with a classic rivals-to-lovers setup, but then my amazing mentor Ili throws in an incredible plot twist with a thrilling police storyline. So, if your fic promises one thing and then delivers something unexpected, I'll be there with popcorn, enjoying every moment!

Fluff and Cuteness: I’m a sucker for those sweet, tender moments between Eremika. I love seeing them completely wrapped up in each other and unable to keep their hands off one another. If you include adorable, domestic scenes of them living their best life together, you’ll have me absolutely squealing with delight. The canon was already pretty tough on them, so why not let them have some happiness?

Worldbuilding: For me, there’s nothing more captivating than worldbuilding. It’s a true testament to a writer’s incredible creativity. Crafting an entire world with its own rules and foundations is no small feat, and when I come across something like that, I’m genuinely in awe of the imagination behind it. It’s like a creative feast that leaves me amazed and inspired!

Consistency: I’m definitely a creature of habit, so I really appreciate consistency in stories. When a narrative stays true to its established world and rules, it’s a joy to read. My slight OCD tendencies mean I can get thrown off by unexpected changes, so a well-crafted, consistent story is something I’ll dive into and enjoy fully.

Character Development: This is absolutely my biggest passion! I adore seeing characters evolve and grow throughout a story. For me, it's like experiencing a journey of personal growth right alongside the characters, and I can't get enough of it. If a fic offers deep, meaningful character development, you can bet I'll be all over it. The more, the better—I’ll devour them eagerly! And bonus points if the character development is consistent and true to the story.❤️❤️❤️

Man in Love with Only One Woman, Woman in Love with Only One Man: In my country, we have a saying, "God, Country, and Family," which reflects a traditional and conservative view. I hope that doesn’t come across the wrong way! Basically, I really enjoy traditional romances where Eren is devoted solely to Mikasa, and Mikasa feels the same way about Eren. I find great satisfaction in fics where the love between the two characters is exclusive and unwavering (but I do like Eren having more experience than Mikasa tou)

Well, that's basically what I like! I hope this kind of answer your ask and just please, please, please, just a friendly reminder for next time: try asking about what you enjoy rather than what you don’t like. Remember, fics are created with a lot of time and effort, and everyone here is just exploring their own creativity. It’s more uplifting to focus on the positive aspects and celebrate what resonates with you!

#eremika #anon convo #fics #writing fics

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kingsanddragonsandgods · 11 months

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Criston C deserved better 😔

Ok, do me a favor, just for half a minute use your imagination and gender swap Criston and Rhaenyra, just for one moment think this is a Cristina and Rhaenor situation: he have this servant that is by his side nearly 24/7, she's there to cater for his needs, a companion, a protector, a ear to hear you when no one else will, she's attractive, kind and supportive because he changed her life, he had so much 'power' that he was able to change someone's whole life just with half a dozen words. now, one late night, out of the blue, because he needs validation after being rejected by his aunt, he decides that:oh, Cristina is pretty attractive, and I am feeling in the mood, I need proof that there is nothing wrong with me. So, ofc, he coerces Cristina to have sex with him, he acts playfully, locks the door, and because a girl never means 'no' when she's saying no, he starts to take her clothes off. Cristina resigns herself, what can she do?! She finds him kinda cute, she's grateful to him for changing his life, right?! So, why not?! So Cristina and Rhaenor have sex! Great! It was good enough that Rhaenor wants to keep this arrangement, even though after his father found out about the whole ordeal with his aunt, he's now demanding Rhaenor to marry someone else. It's a no brainer, he can marry some lady of his father's choice and continue to fuck Cristina on the side, this is the perfect solution, right?! After all he needs his pleasure and his joy. But Cristina is not feeling it, she feels ashamed for what they did, she broke her vows, she stained her honor, and that was all she had, there is no going back and erasing what happened, so there is another solution: Rhaenor is always complaining about the 'burden' of his inheritance, this is not something he truly desires, right?! So they could run away and marry, it would restore her honor, they would be free to see the world and live adventuresly, something Rhaenor always talks about. The thing is: when she talks to Rhaenor he just laughs it off, he was never serious when he complained, not truly, why would he leave his comfortable life, where he will one day be king, for her?! (In that moment Cristina feels completely worthless, she would never be good enough) But, oh, wait, Cristina can be his mistress, things don't need to change just because he's getting married, he's going to say sacred vows to his wife for the realm to see, but he doesn't truly mean it, he's allowed to 'continue to feast where he sees fit'.

Now, tell me this does not look bad. Honestly, why should it be okay for a woman to do something a man would be criticized for? Why is it okay for a woman to coerce someone in a power imbalanced relationship to have sex?

I honestly don't blame Criston for his deep aversion to Rhaenyra, that's his aggressor, the person that made him feel impotent and worthless, the reason for the stain in his honor. This kind of trauma can fuck up a person's mental health, and is worse when you spend years repressing until you snap.

#anti team black stan’s #team green #house of the dragon #pro team green #anti team black #anti rhaenyra stans #criston cole #honestly #criston cole deserved better

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dontbotherwiththepronunciation · 1 year

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Warning: Religion, God-critical (that term makes me feel like I'm writing meta that bashes a teen girl or pretends she is the villain), nihilism, explorations of suffering according to abrahamic faiths and particularly christianity, canon fucked upness in Aeron and Theon's stories. LONG POST.

I've been thinking about the Drowned God. I know people usually connect catholicism with the faith of the seven, which is fair especially when looking at it as an institution, and the faith of the Drowned God gets compared more often to Scandinavian/Norse mythology, more specifically to Valhalla as the afterlife (although I think the feasts given by Ægir and Ran in Skáldskaparmál would be even more fitting, but that's only me nitpicking), but the catholic catechism sees suffering as something that is both redemptive and also empowering and this reminds me of Aeron and Theon.

Christianity on itself believes that suffering, when united with the Passion of Jesus, atones for one's sins and thus allows entry into heaven. Catholicism specially sees suffering as an inherent part of the human condition brought upon by human sin against God.

“As long as [Adam] remained in the divine intimacy, man would not have to suffer or die.” - Catechism of the Catholic Church

But since Adam and Eve committed sin by eating the forbidden fruit (or as I like to see it in my I-view-very-important-religions-as-basically-high-fantasy interpretation, Eve chose agency & knowledge and cut the strings this divine puppeteer used to limit her with), suffering was casted upon them and all their descendants. And then, according to the incredibly specific official bible timeline from the Houston Christian University, 3974 years, six months, and ten days later (skdghsfbdhaaahahahahahah) Jesus was sent to earth to cause some havoc and basically tell everyone that the suffering, the struggle, the oppression and all the horrible things that happened to innocent people in our world would eventually have a payoff after death.

The more strict practitioners (ex. flagellants) used to (and some still do) find spiritual benefits when causing physical pain upon themselves. Corporal mortification was seen as an act that brought you closer to purity. Suffering made you ascend in the eyes of God. Suffering was encouraged. Suffering was noble.

Suffering was a promise of hope.

The promise of eternal life (and the eventual bodily resurrection) allowed people to believe that, as long as they placed their faith in Christ, the suffering would not be tied to a tragedy.

The phrase "God is Dead" first appears in Victor Hugo's Les Misérables but it became more popular through Nietzsche's The Gay Science (Insert SpongeBob hand gesture). A simplified summary of the themes explored in The Gay Science would basically be Nietzsche claiming that christianity invented an ideal inexistent utopia that is too farfetched from reality. He sees christianity as a common, anti-intellectual philosophy for simple minded people that enslaves its believers. But by seeing it as something inexistent and false, by "killing God", the illusion of divinity is lost and all the hope and consolation that came with it are gone too, leaving humanity in a state of tragedy; nihilism.

God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it? - The Gay Science

To some extent I feel like he is the reborn Eve in the narrative. By denying the superior force he feels he gains control over his own person, but is left in a world of pain at the burden of his existence being tied to mortality and purposelessness (oh, sweet paradox)

Nietzsche was a self-proclaimed nihilist although he didn't seem to want to be one. He saw nihilism as the result of the loss one felt at the realisation that life, and all the suffering in it, had no greater purpose. "God is Dead" was calling the readers into finding a way to cope with the situation.

And for anyone who started reading this because I mentioned the Drowned God, sorry it took so long to get here, but I relate all of this specifically to Aeron and Theon and their connections to religion. I believe in Theon's bind to the Old Gods and, as he is in ADWD, it seems he has come to vaguely believe in both of these faiths, although the Old Gods are more present in his story. Aeron though, is so reminiscent of this concept.

And I know that christianity is not the only religion tied to the faith of the Drowned God.

The Osiris myth is arguably the most important one in Egyptian mythology and I think the motif of "What is dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger" is just as if not even more present in that one.

In it, Set murders his brother Osiris. The reasons behind the murder vary depending on source, but one of them portrays it as revenge for Osiris having sex with Set's wife, Nephtys. Set usurps his brother's throne while Nephtys and Osiris' wife, Isis, search for his body, then mummify and revive him. Personally I don't consider it to be very similar to the myth of the Drowned God but it feels more resemblant to it than Jesus' very normal "came back without a scratch" resurrection. Osiris doesn't get that benefit. He comes back bruised and bandaged, with death being visible on him.

Christianity also has refrained from sacrificing their own but Quetzalcoatl and Tláloc, aztec deities, would demand human sacrifice through drowning during Etzalcualiztli (the sixth month of the aztec calendar) and Tláloc specifically promised an utopic afterlife to those who had water-involved deaths, but even more to those who willingly gave themselves to the water. Celts also practiced drowning sacrifices, but I know too little about them to be honest.

What I am trying to say is, if actively searching, one could alway find similitudes to other faiths, but because abrahamic faiths have been the ones that prevailed through time and the ones I've experienced most, I will focus on them.

Alright, Florence play "What the water gave me"

Drowning, baptisms and water imagery

I wonder what it would be like to be a Catholic, to dip your hand into the cold water and to believe in its holiness. - The Moth Diaries (Yes, I read the Moth Diaries, shut up! It is what if Carmilla and Twilight had a child.)

Christianity is kind of basic when it comes to water symbolism, but it's loyal to its theme.

There isn't a lot to speculate on water, it "washes yours sins away" but there is a common pattern in characters that belong to the Bible that is repeated over and over again and somehow Aeron embodies it pretty perfectly.

We are confronted with characters who have lived sinfully.

On the other hand, I do wonder what would be considered as "sinful" according to the Drowned God. Their religion is passed down orally and has no scriptures that I know of, so a set of rules can be more ambiguous depending on whoever is preaching. Lust, greed, wrath and pride, all considered official sins by christian doctrine, are encouraged by the faith of the Drowned God in the form of salt wives, raiding and their beliefs of ethnic superiority. The only sin I can think of that is specific to the them is that Ironborn shouldn't kill Ironborn, but even that is absolved when water is involved since drowning another Ironborn is alright and a death near the water is considered a good death.

We are born to suffer, that our sufferings might make us strong. - The Prophet, AFFC

Suffering is also encouraged, so I am assuming that any type of hedonism would be seen as sinful too (which would-be contradictory to what I stated above, but alright maybe GRRM was a little weaker when it came to world-building this time or maybe I am misunderstanding something. If so, please correct me, I genuinely am curious about these topics), if that is the case, then yeah Aeron was sinful and has reasons to look down on his former self.

Young I was, and vain, but the sea washed my follies and my vanities away. That man drowned, nephew. His lungs filled with seawater, and the fish ate the scales off his eyes. When I rose again, I saw clearly. - Theon I, ACOK

Immediately, something like scales fell from Saul’s eyes, and he could see again. He got up and was baptised, - Acts 9:18

Here is one of the many character allusions I think one can identify in Aeron. Saul of Tarsus, disputed Apostle, leads a violent life persecuting early christians until lightning strikes him during one of his travels and blinds him. For three days he starves and spends his time praying until Ananias of Damascus comes to his rescue and baptises him.

It's one of the less obvious ones, but I just like how they used the scales-blindness imagery and while this storm was one at land, not at sea, there is another biblical character who shares more similitudes with Aeron.

As a kid the book of Jonah was one of my favourites, so of course I love Aeron!

A prophet, an equal, but weak in his beliefs, too tentative when he should be nothing but certain in his faith! God tells him to go overthrow Nineveh (east) and, because these prophets never learn not to contradict the narrative, he tries fleeing to Jaffa (west). On the way there, the ship he is traveling on is barely holding on because God has sent a storm against them. The sailors blame Jonah, Jonah takes the blame and goes "alright, you know what? Just throw me over board and the storm will cease." The sailors refuse, but Jonah goes overboard anyway. He comes back to the surface three days later reborn in the water as as a new man, now fully convinced to follow his path as a prophet.

Depending on the translation there are a lot of similitudes between the texts. Even the imagery used for describing settings is alike. I know religious scriptures get a bad rep because of all the atrocities committed in their names (valid, very valid), but viewed simply as text, they have some truly beautiful prose and the Book of Jonah is so vivid and precious, and it is very reminiscent to some of Aeron's chapters.

From inside the fish Jonah prayed to the Lord his God. He said: “In my distress I called to the Lord, and he answered me. From deep in the realm of the dead I called for help,/out of the belly of Sheol I cried, and you listened to my cry./and you heard my voice. You hurled me into the depths, into the very heart of the seas, and the currents swirled about me; all your waves and breakers swept over me. I said, ‘I have been banished from your sight; yet I will look again toward your holy temple.’ The engulfing waters were at my throat, the deep surrounded me; seaweed was wrapped around my head. To the roots of the mountains I sank down; the earth beneath barred me in forever. But you, Lord my God, brought my life up from the pit. “When my life was ebbing away, I remembered you, Lord, and my prayer rose to you, to your holy temple. “Those who cling to worthless idols turn away from God’s love for them. But I, with shouts of grateful praise, will sacrifice to you. What I have vowed I will make good. I will say, ‘Salvation comes from the Lord.’” And the Lord commanded the fish, and it vomited Jonah onto dry land. - Jonah 2

The seaweed in his head, the belly of the beast (Silence/Sheol), the crashing of the waves, the engulfing waters.

I won't even really go into The Forsaken with the Jonah comparison, because to me the Forsaken is the most open "Jesus in the dessert" analogy, but I still find it compelling to imagine Jonah and Aeron, both inside the whale/ship desperately praying to their God. Only one of them finds salvation and it's not Aeron.

But asides from setting and aesthetic there are these:

The god took me deep beneath the waves and drowned the worthless thing I was. When he cast me forth again he gave me eyes to see, ears to hear, and a voice to spread his word, that I might be his prophet and teach his truth to those who have forgotten. - The Prophet, AFFC

Ears that hear and eyes that see— the Lord has made them both. - Proverbs 20:12

Otherwise that they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts, and turn and be healed. - Isaiah 6:10

They have mouths but cannot speak, eyes but cannot see. They have ears but cannot hear, nor is there breath in their mouths. - Psalm 135:16 & Psalm 115:5

There is a singer from my country, she wrote a song called "Thanks for life" and then killed herself three months later (Iconic behaviour). The song is still considered a "humanist hymn", which I think is morbidly hilarious. In the lyrics, she keeps thanking life for things that should be basic to life; for having eyes, ears, mouth and hands. I think there is something interesting in how these are all basic atributes most people are born with but these acts of gratefulness, at least in Aeron and Jonah's case are not made in bad faith. They are genuine and true.

The Drowned God gives every man a gift. - The Prophet AFFC

Are these seen as the God's gifts too? If so, are these acts of gratefulness supposed to make the believers humble and less ambitious? Or is it just that the God is a niggardly one? We know of Aeron having thought his gift was that he could piss longer and farther than most, and later on he recognises the power of his speech, his eloquence. Surprisingly, Aeron is never stripped of that gift once Euron captures him.

His eloquence is his strength, through it he preaches, leads religious rites, advices lords and convinces others to join the faith. And of course, he also baptises.

Baptisms, baptisms, baptising, cleaning the sins way, water as a metaphor for blood, birth, rebirth, John the Baptist!

This is where the storm -> near death experience -> spiritual reawakening pattern ends, but the similarities become more clear when we recognise both of them as heralds whose strength lies in their reputation and their oratory, something both Euron & Herod recognise and it is what keeps them from killing him (or in Herod's case at least for some time).

I have mentioned on my blog that I don't buy a lot into the Jesus-Theon comparisons and I will mention it again later but, since I am a hypocrite, I will take the Theon-Jesus bait and use it as a prop for my Aeron-John thing. As of now there are just two instances involving Theon that actually make me think of Jesus:

Psalms 22

His baptism

Jesus baptism marks his place as "messiah" but it also announces the beginning of his true calvary. By having the Holy Spirit descend on him after the water has cleansed him, he accepts his destiny as his father's (God) lamb to the slaughter. According to Matthew's Gospel it is even Jesus who has to beg John to baptise him, although John is initially reluctant. After the baptism Jesus departs to the dessert knowing of the suffering that awaits for him. This is not the case for Theon. Theon initially doesn't even want to be baptised. It's almost like he is subconsciously trying to escape what is to come after the baptism: the anguish.

Lifting the skin, his uncle pulled the cork and directed a thin stream of seawater down upon Theon's head. It drenched his hair and ran over his forehead into his eyes. Sheets washed down his cheeks, and a finger crept under his cloak and doublet and down his back, a cold rivulet along his spine. The salt made his eyes burn, until it was all he could do not to cry out. He could taste the ocean on his lips. "Let Theon your servant be born again from the sea, as you were," Aeron Greyjoy intoned. "Bless him with salt, bless him with stone, bless him with steel." - Theon I, ACOK

I love Theon's baptism by Aeron. It goes badly and it's tragicomical. It feels like a mockery of Jesus' baptism. A satirised Monty Python type of scene.

Here he comes, our cocksure young man who sees himself as the chosen one, holding a promise of paper while thinking there is an entire comet heralding his return, here he comes, our prodigal son, all "Don't need no advice! I got a plan! I know the direction, the lay on the land! [...] Nuh-nuh-nothing can break-nuh-noting can break me down!" only to get cold feet and be made to kneel in the mud, annoyed at the custom that would have actually anointed him, and then having to blink the tears away because it hurts him. @/shebsart has a really beautiful and intense but also comical depiction of the scene and I really love it.

It's also a little sad. It shows a disconnection from what should have been his culture and faith. The saltwater washed Aeron's follies away. Aeron embraces it, he drinks saltwater, bathes in saltwater and would probably not mind it on his eyes. The saltwater nurtures Aeron, but to Theon it only gives pain.

Ok now, to

Reek, Aeron, Job and Jeyne, Falia and Job's wife

(I think a reading of The Book of Job could also be applied to Lancel Lannister with Amerei Frey taking the role of Job's wife and Jaime Lannister acting as Job's friends, but I won't write about him and even Aeron will be in second place. @/nosaeanchorage wrote meta about the religious journeys Theon, Aeron and Lancel experience involving trauma responses which I found to be very interesting and well formed, so yeah I'd recommend reading it!)

The book of Job has a theme in its story. Can you guess it? It's further suffering!

(In a very deep voice: Where were you when I feel from grace? A frozen heart, an empty space)

So, Job is this guy living a rather fulfilling and morally righteous life; he is happy with his wife and children, has a few friends, is wealthy and healthy and, most importantly, he is God-fearing. Satan tells God that the only reason Job is loyal to him and serves him so dutifully, is because God has been good to him. God gets insecure and tells Satan "alright, let's see if you are right. Go torture him a little. You can take his riches, his children and his health in that order. You can take pretty much everything he values, but keep him alive!"

Job becomes a miserable wreck of a man.

It's not a favourite of mine, but it has a pretty good interval of "pathetic wet kitten blorbo" and "angry, scornful almost defiant in his resentment survivor" so I still enjoy it. And it also opens the question on whether "divine punishment" is really something inherently based on justice and goodness, it defies the way many religions tend to preach that bad things can only happen to bad people and, unlike the suffering promised by Christ, there is no redemption to be found through it. Job at some point gets healthy again and his riches are restored, but this was not a given. The suffering is pointless unless he finds a meaning to it.

This doesn't really sound a lot like Theon or Aeron. Both of them were deprived of well adjusted, happy lives since childhood, but Theon's behaviour towards Ramsay sometimes reminds me of Job's feelings for God, and Euron literally claims himself to be a God.

Ramsay is never directly compared by the text or any characters to a God (well maybe he himself does, but that's arguable), the closest we come to such is this:

“The gods are not done with me,” Theon answered, wondering if this could be the killer, the night walker who had stuffed Yellow Dick’s cock into his mouth and pushed Roger Ryswell’s groom off the battlements. Oddly, he was not afraid. He pulled the glove from his left hand. “Lord Ramsay is not done with me.” - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

But Theon's fear for him sometimes makes me think of one. He is so terrified of Ramsay and sees him as this unbeatable force, but keeps telling himself and others that whatever Ramsay has done, as nefarious as it is, is an act of mercy and goodness. I know there are different interpretations to that behaviour. Some readers tend to believe that he has successfully gaslighted himself, others see it as a remnant of his sardonic and sarcastic sense of humour. Personally, I imagine it's a mixture of both. There is enough textual evidence for me to believe he does not truly think Ramsay is justified in his actions, but I can imagine how he might try telling himself that no punishment goes undeserved as a way of coping, which is what he tells Jeyne too.

In the Book of Job, our poor little meow meow goes through different reactions as his torture starts, many of them resemble Theon's thoughts, never fully by text, but very much in spirit.

He would crush me with a storm and multiply my wounds for no reason. He would not let me catch my breath but would overwhelm me with misery. If it is a matter of strength, he is mighty! And if it is a matter of justice, who can challenge him? Even if I were innocent, my mouth would condemn me; if I were blameless, it would pronounce me guilty. - Job 9:17-20

How long will you torment me and crush me with words? Ten times now you have reproached me; shamelessly you attack me. If it is true that I have gone astray, my error remains my concern alone. If indeed you would exalt yourselves above me and use my humiliation against me, then know that God has wronged me and drawn his net around me. Though I cry, ‘Violence!’ I get no response; though I call for help, there is no justice. He has blocked my way so I cannot pass; he has shrouded my paths in darkness. He has stripped me of my honor and removed the crown from my head. He tears me down on every side till I am gone; he uproots my hope like a tree. His anger burns against me; he counts me among his enemies. His troops advance in force; they build a siege ramp against me and encamp around my tent. He has alienated my family from me; my acquaintances are completely estranged from me. My relatives have gone away; my closest friends have forgotten me. My guests and my female servants count me a foreigner; they look on me as on a stranger. I summon my servant, but he does not answer, though I beg him with my own mouth. My breath is offensive to my wife; I am loathsome to my own family. Even the little boys scorn me; when I appear, they ridicule me. All my intimate friends detest me; those I love have turned against me. I am nothing but skin and bones; I have escaped only by the skin of my teeth. - Job 19:1-20

That, the ambivalent conviction that they deserve to be punished, and the overall fear of their torturer's omnipotence are written similarly. Of course in Job's narrative the omnipotence is real, in Theon's it is only perceived, but so, so strongly.

And this is where Jeyne takes an interesting role.

Job's wife is a fun character and I admire her. To some extent she and Jeyne serve similar purposes in the story, since they defy Job and Theon's conviction of their fate being unescapable. Sadly, in Job and his wife's case, she is wrong because you can't defeat God and you can't escape him, but I still appreciate her condemnation of Job's passivity and God's supposed goodness. The text focuses on Job's pain but never on the collateral pain that reaches his wife. She might not have fallen sick, but since her living condition is tied to that of her husband she is affected by all this. She has lost her riches, her happiness, her children, and only because of God's whims, someone she begins to hate. She also begins to loathe Job and the way he keeps making excuses for God and justifying the tragedy that befalls them. So, she tells Job:

“Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!” - Job 2:9

(fucking metal, I love her, iconic behaviour)

The holy scriptures are not very compassionate to women who defy men or God, they get vilified and punished, but I applaud that bravery.

In Jeyne's case, her defying of Theon's conviction that Ramsay is unescapable is done much more gently and the relationship between them appears to be one of mutual compassion; Theon often tries to victim-blame her in the same way he blames himself but never seems to truly internalise that, Jeyne apparently doesn't hold his participation in her abuse against him and considers him her saviour. But still! Jeyne, as meek and scared as she is, is the one who by constantly asking for help, by acting undignified in her suffering and not simply taking it without question, manages to water this seed of doubt in Theon's mind, even if he himself isn't fully aware of that.

And it's kind of fun to think how, although Jeyne and Falia are narrative props with similar purposes, it's Jeyne and Aeron who take the place of Job's wife. Falia is Job, fully sure that Euron is merciful and will treat her with respect and care for their children, that Euron will not forsake her, while Aeron is immediately telling her to run for her life.

Maybe because, unlike Theon, his faith is already placed in a God.

Jesus Christ & The Forsaken (and Lodos and Theon)

(Need new song...Wow a yard SAIL!)

Lodos

I'm going to clear the issue with Lodos very fast, because he too seems to be like a wink at Jesus Christ. Lodos literally claims he is the Drowned God's Son, dies, then supposedly comes back from the dead some time later like "'sup", leads a rebellion against the current ruler of the Iron Islands and dies again this time with all his followers being persecuted and killed, so yeah, he seems like a satirised version of Jesus Christ but there is not a lot more to that.

Theon

I have seen people claiming connections between the two but never in a manner I could agree with, and I feel so stupid because I don't get it. People sometimes compared his and Robb's relationship to Jesus & Judas, which aside from the suicidal thoughts post "betrayal" doesn't seem very alike. The "betrayal" was done for different reasons, the reactions to the "betrayal" are different, and the guilt also comes from different places. By placing Theon as Judas we also sanctify Robb in a manner I find almost insulting since Robb condoned and approved of Theon's torture by the Boltons. If I'm going to compare Robb and Theon it will be more to God & Satan, but even there it's only a superficial similitude.

Now, Aeron, Aeron, my love, Aeron!

My God, my God, why have thou forsaken me? - Psalms 22:1

“Still praying, priest? Your god has forsaken you.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

Even the title feels like a reference. The trajectory of Aeron's belief during the chapter resembles the psalms too and, although I never believe in anything I think, their similitudes are what makes me hopeful about Aeron's fate; the idea that he is not truly forsaken.

As hinted above, the Psalms begin lamenting themselves over the anguish that God is seemingly not stoping, yet as they continue the psalmist becomes even more convinced of his God being a merciful one who will provide a cure for his afflictions, one whom the world should praise.

For he has not despised or scorned the suffering of the afflicted one; he has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help. From you comes the theme of my praise in the great assembly; before those who fear you I will fulfil my vows. The poor will eat and be satisfied; those who seek the LORD will praise him— may your hearts live forever! All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the LORD, and all the families of the nations will bow down before him, for dominion belongs to the LORD and he rules over the nations. All the rich of the earth will feast and worship; all who go down to the dust will kneel before him— those who cannot keep themselves alive. Posterity will serve him; future generations will be told about the Lord. They will proclaim his righteousness, declaring to a people yet unborn: He has done it! - Psalms 22:24-31

According to most interpretations, the psalmist himself is Jesus. This is the suffering of Christ and from Psalms 22:22-31 it is spoken by him after coming back from the dead. He encourages others, those who have witnessed his anguish, to believe. This is also what Aeron does once Falia is bound to the prow with him, he tells her of better times to come.

“Falia Flowers,” he called. “Have courage, girl! All this will be over soon, and we will feast together in the Drowned God’s watery halls.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

This also slightly mirrors Jesus and the Penitent Thief, who is crucified next to the Messiah and fears what is to come after death. He asks Jesus to not forget him.

Jesus answered him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” - Luke 23:43

It's so remarkable and moving to me how Aeron has always tried to protect Falia from Euron. He doesn't know her, if he were to have known her he would have probably looked at her with scorn, to some extent she has acted as an accomplice to Euron in his captivity, and yet...he promises this frivolous greenlander girl that the two of them will feast together...

The end of the chapter also carries christian imagery that seems to stem from Christ's crucifixion.

“Your Grace,” said Torwold Browntooth. “I have the priests. What do you want done with them?” “Bind them to the prows,” Euron commanded. “My brother on the Silence. Take one for yourself. Let them dice for the others, one to a ship. Let them feel the spray, the kiss of the Drowned God, wet and salty.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

When the soldiers crucified Jesus, they took his clothes, dividing them into four shares, one for each of them, with the undergarment remaining. This garment was seamless, woven in one piece from top to bottom. Let’s not tear it,” they said to one another. “Let’s decide by lot who will get it.” This happened that the scripture might be fulfilled that said, “They divided my clothes among them and cast lots for my garment.” So this is what the soldiers did. - John 19:23-24

They bound Aeron Damphair tight with strips of leather that would shrink when wet, clad only in his beard and breechclout. - The Forsaken, TWOW

The overall mental image summoned by that description is also rather similar to the typical depictions of Christ on the cross.

And even prior to The Forsaken, there are still some smaller, more superficial similitudes between the two.

Aeron lives sparingly, has no material possessions save for his waterskin and robe, he has a cult of followers devoted to him, and disregards governmental authority since he obeys to a higher power, one who encourages suffering in the same manner christianity does. Aeron fasts, goes swimming in cold water, drinks salt water, all this as a way to serve his God and become a living example of their teachings.

So yeah, in my opinion Aeron is the closest we have to an ASOIAF Jesus reference. It's not Theon, Theon's torture by Ramsay and the torture he imposes on himself afterward have no ideological purpose, it is pointless and unwilling. In my opinion, it's not Jon, it's not Beric, it surely isn't Robb, I hope it's not Dany (although I see a lot of abrahamic imagery in her (Moses + Lot's wife)), it's the Damphair. And I love that. I love how (according to the the author) one of the least sympathetic characters in this story has been somewhat equated to Jesus. A bold move, one that I've enjoyed a lot.

Anyway, in order to further develop this.

The Storm God, Euron and the Devil

Let's go!

I feel like Euron would appreciate this type of stuff he is flamboyant, weird and comical. If we ever get an ASOIAF musical I like to believe this could be inspiration for a duet between them.

Monotheism is a rare concept in ASOIAF.

The Many-Faced God could be the closest we have to a (explored in text) monotheistic religion, although it is monotheistic in the way Hinduism could be considered monotheistic: The belief in one supreme god whose qualities and forms are represented by a multitude of different deities, all which emanate from one alone.

Out of the religions that are explored in the books none of them are really monotheistic, although some of them demand for their worshippers to worship them and no other.

Most real-life monotheistic religions have a type of "anti" to their god, who is not a god themselves, but is a being superior to humankind meant to drive them to perdition. They function more as a tool for testing human's moral compass and will to follow the true God than a foe. The word "Satan" means "adversary", but this is in reference to his relationship to humans, not to God.

In Goethe's Faust, God and one of his devils, Mephistopheles, make a bet and Mephistopheles is fully devoted to winning that bet. He does everything in his power to prove human virtue isn't true and that corruption will always prevail. The story proves he has a point. Faust does some completely despicable and heinous stuff and is very immoral, and still Mephistopheles loses anyway because God decides to pardon Faust's misdeeds and allows him to enter Heaven. Mephistopheles never stood a chance. He was fighting the narrative and the writer of the narrative and he could only be defeated by them. He is only a minion of God who doesn't comprehend his position and believes he is capable of surpassing a creature who is above all.

This is pretty compliant with christianity's views on the devil.

Hoverer, it is not the case with beliefs like those of Aeron and Melisandre. They don't regard the Storm God and the Great Other as mere petty minions doing the Drowned God's or R'hllor's dirty work. They see them as threats and all other gods as their petty minions.

"There are no gods but R'hllor and the Other, whose name may not be said." - Victarion I, ADWD

"Your Drowned God is a demon, he is no more than a thrall of the Other, the dark god whose name must not be spoken." - Victarion I, ADWD

The Storm God is considered an enemy of the Drowned God, and although his labour is similar to that of the christian devil (driving men/sailors into their doom), he seems to be his own creature.

And still! When comparing Aeron's role to Jesus Christ in the Forsaken, I can't help but think of Euron, the Storm God, and Satan as one.

“Kneel, brother,” the Crow’s Eye commanded. “I am your king, I am your god. Worship me, and I will raise you up to be my priest.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

(Not gonna lie, I think it's very fun how out of all the Greyjoy's the one whose name is directly derived from "God" is actually Theon, but alright, whatever...)

We don't really know what triggered Aeron's religious awakening. With Theon, Ramsay and his time in Winterfell is the easiest answer, with Aeron it's a mystery and I don't dare to say religion was a coping mechanism for Euron's sexual abuse or Urri's death because, based on what we know, the more plausible options are that alcohol and sex were the coping mechanisms.

We only know he went down in a storm and washed up ashore. On itself that is enough to be traumatic, so I don't know how much we should speculate on it.

A smile played across Euron's blue lips. "I am the storm, my lord. The first storm, and the last. - The Reaver, AFFC

I don't even have a theory, I don't have any proof or a structured idea. This just seemed remarkable to me. The concept that Euron might be involved in whatever happened during that storm is tempting and fun, nothing more.

Now, if Aeron is playing the role of Jesus, with Falia as the penitent thief during the "crucification", then I think I can claim Euron is taking the role of Satan; especially during The Forsaken.

After an undetermined, but apparently long period of starvation and isolation, Euron finally comes to Aeron, dressed in black and red, and presents the equivalent to the Devil's three temptations.

Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.” Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.’ ” Then the devil took him to the holy city and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. “If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down. For it is written: “ ‘He will command his angels concerning you, and they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’ ” Jesus answered him, “It is also written: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’ ” Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor. “All this I will give you,” he said, “if you will kneel and worship me.” Jesus said to him, “Away from me, Satan! For it is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only.’ ” Then the devil left him, and angels came and attended him. - Matthew 4:1-11

“That’s it, priest. Gulp it down. The wine of the warlocks, sweeter than your seawater, with more truth in it than all the gods of earth.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

“Pray to me. Beg me to end your torment, and I will.” “Not even you would dare,” said the Damphair. “I am your brother. No man is more accursed than the kinslayer.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

“Kneel, brother,” the Crow’s Eye commanded. “I am your king, I am your god. Worship me, and I will raise you up to be my priest.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

I'm not going to pretend they are the same, with exception of the third one, but even the others have small resemblances; nourishment of some sort after starving + trying to get the other killed, although the later one reminds me more of an encounter between him and Victarion.

Euron turned to face him, his bruised blue lips curled in a half smile. "Perhaps we can fly. All of us. How will we ever know unless we leap from some tall tower?" - The Reaver, AFFC

The last temptation, is the most interesting to me, because Euron has already distorted Aeron's faith into being chosen as King. He played at the edge of legality and won! And yet now, during The Forsaken he is experiencing a sort of existential defeat. Aeron is not being rescued by any god, but he would rather die as a martyr or accept even more torture and suffering rather than serve him. It doesn't matter how much Euron tries to convince him that his God has abandoned him, that he is a greater force, like Jonah, Job and Jesus Aeron refuses to abandon his faith.

And I think this persistence is what will keep him alive.

I've always found it very fun and interesting that Euron never threatens to cut Aeron's tongue out.

When wondering why, the Theon-Ramsay answer would be that Euron likes to hear Aeron's pain, which makes sense given how Aeron is a more targeted victim of his compared to ex. Falia Flowers. But Euron very clearly intends to gain Aeron to his side. He knows of the power Aeron holds in his voice and speech, of his reputation as a holy and respected man among the Ironborn, and how much of a waste it would be to simply throw away that power. Remember Varys' "[Cersei] knows a tame wolf is of more use than a dead one"? An eloquent priest is of more use than a mute one.

But this also backfires on him because since Aeron's integrity can't be broken, he manages to keep defying him and even continues spreading the word of the Drowned God, even as he is in a situation of mortal peril.

And still, even if the end of The Forsaken is somewhat triumphal, I can't believe it.

Yes, he is strengthening his faith, this obviously is a victory over Euron, his persistence and loyalty, but how long will it last? Weirdly enough out of my five favourite POV characters, Aeron is the one whose death I'm convinced of the least (sadly), and whenever I try picturing him after managing to get away from the Silence I can't help but imagine there will be a change in his mindset and I don't know what form it will take.

“Even a priest may doubt. Even a prophet may know terror. Aeron Damphair reached within himself for his god and discovered only silence.” - The Drowned Man, AFFC

Maybe it is because the chances of getting to my 30s are very narrow, and in the mean time I am in physical and mental pain, that I find there is something very beautiful and empowering about showing that the horrors are not always meaningful, and that they are continuous. The horrors are trying to live before, during and after the horrors.

So anyway, the reason I brought up Nietzsche way earlier in this is because I don't think the suffering in characters like Aeron or Theon is of nihilistic nature and it baffles me when people pretend it is. This is not suffering for the sake of suffering because suffering is inevitable and pointless and blah blah blah blah misery porn blah blah blah trauma porn blah blah blah moral outrage blah blah blah. It is suffering, it is inevitable, it can be pointless, and it makes a huge point in the narrative and the characters lives! And it is important to me that we see characters go through these things; to see them lose, grieve and hate, to see them being imperfect examples of victimhood, even if their feelings on the matter will vary. Some might attach some personal value to their trauma and others won't and both should be allowed to exist in media without people pretending only one of those is valid.

Theon's suffering is something very rare and precious to me because it serves no greater purpose. It started before he even met Ramsay and hasn't known at end ever since. I don't consider it redemptive, it's not a justified karmic punishment either. It carries no ideology and it's not for the sake of others. There is no consolation for him or anyone else because of it. The blood will coagulate, dry and be washed away, the wounds will scar and heal, and he will gain weight and muscles back and none of his mental issues will be solved. The torture doesn't fix him.

And I think that his possible outlook on it will be very interesting to see in contrast with Aeron's and their respective religious journeys. Theon's religious awakening is different and still genuine. It is in servitude to another faith that would be looked down upon by Aeron, and whom even Theon himself denied back in ACOK, mockingly referring to them as trees.

"Tell me true, nephew. Do you pray to the wolf gods now?" Theon seldom prayed at all, but that was not something you confessed to a priest, even your father's own brother. "Ned Stark prayed to a tree. No, I care nothing for Stark's gods." "Good. Kneel." - Theon I, ACOK

And I can't imagine an Aeron who, after going through an event this world-shattering (being tied to the prow of a ship while living unspeakable horrors, being drugged by the person who sexually abused him as a child and has now confessed to killing their brothers, one of whom Aeron seemed fond of, being confronted with the victory of a self proclaimed god whom he despises, and starting to form his own connection with a former mean girl whom he would have spat on, now co-victim), would be as judgemental to his nephew's newly awoken beliefs, even if they differ, even if he keeps viewing his own calvary as something divine, even if to Theon the suffering will never be a positive.

With all this said, I will admit I long for some evolution in Aeron's faith as the story progresses. I am open to pretty much every ending, but I love the possibility of a rupture between him and the faith that has been sustaining him for so long. Perhaps not a full negation of his God, but some questioning of his religion. The unsettlement of the "God is Dead" sentiment crawling in the cracks of his doubt.

So, simply out of curiosity in case anyone actually managed to get here:

#speaking #asoiaf #aeron greyjoy #theon greyjoy #euron greyjoy #ramsay snow #falia flowers #jeyne poole #ok yeah fuck it I am posting it #I know nobody really cares about this stuff and sorry for clogging the tags but I had fun doing this and it's been on my drafts for #a month or so #christiangirlera #/sarcastic #whenever I see people complaining about [REDACTED] in Theon or Aeron's story I just think of that post complaining about lesbianism in rgu #“Oh I love this but this detail ruins it for me. It shouldn't have been there.”#and then that detail is one of the core themes in the premise that is fundamental for the development of the character #“mIsErY P0®n iS Vo¥eUr|sTiC”#well guess what? most fictive media is vo¥eur¡stic!

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halfdead-halfskeleton · 1 year

Text

Notes:

Lilia x You. Reader knows how to sew clothing(while author does not)

Based off Suitors suit vignette. Technically it's a continuation of the story, so make sure to read the vignette before this fic

A lot of background characters, but I'm not tagging all of them

A bit non-linear storytelling?

The suit was made of magic, meaning it will disappear after a certain amount of time. The fact that such a beautiful sight is not going to stay here for long made your heart ache. And yet, you continued to smile and tried your best to memorize every tiny detail of the tuxedo. You had a plan, after all.

"Feast your eyes while you still can!" said Lilia. The tuxedo Malleus created for him was just marvelous! You and Sebek competed in who's going to complement Lilia more while his face was shining with a smile. Your face did too, it even hurt a bit to smile so much.

The next couple of months casually went by in your room, as you hunched over your secret project. If only your school life wasn't so busy and sometimes downright chaotic, you might have finished it sooner... And if the cruel thing that is perfectionism wouldn't criticize your every move.

After a few not-so-successful, to put it lightly, attempts, you finally finished recreation the suit Malleus made for Lilia back when ghosts that invaded the school for a marriage ceremony left.

Your first attempt failed because you were so obsessed with the idea of recreating the outfit you forgot to take Lilia's measurements. While the final product turned out to be quite nice, it wouldn't fit Lilia at all. Also you didn't have some accessories the original outfit had, which you noticed only at the end.

And so, you began anew, but now without the fabric you intended to use. The end result turned out too different from the tuxedo you remembered. The shade of green? Too vibrant. The pattern on the ribbon? Wrong. The pants? Actually quite nice, but that's the only part of the outfit you liked. And after your sewing machine unexpectedly broke you lost all the crumbs of motivation there were left...

Thankfully, you became a good friends with some students at NRC. While you were earning money for a new sewing machine, Vil and Kalim searched for the fabric and accessories that matched Lilia's suitor suit. Vil didn't get to witness the tuxedo, so you and Kalim had to explain how it looked like. You even showed him all the sketches you made and the first attempt suit as an example.

"Wow, your skill is really shinning here!" Kalim carefully examined the suit from all angles together with Vil. "It's really unfortunate your sewing machine broke... Are you sure you don't want me to get you a new one? It's going to be way faster than working in Mostro Lounge for a whole month."

"That's right, but I'm already asking you for help, you know. It won't be so fair if you do everything for me!" you answered and looked at Vil, who's also visibly impressed by your skills.

"The stitching is quite nice, you clearly took your time to make it the best suit it could be. I'm glad to see you actually listened to the advice I gave you during previous projects. Alright, I'll lend you a hand as well. Just remember that my schedule is tight, so it will take a while to find everything you need."

"Thank you both so, so much!" As you said that, Kalim came closer to give you a big hug. He was super excited to see how it will turn out!

After mountains and mountains of work, you left out a sign. Not out of exhaustion or frustration, but out of relief. You did it. You DID it! Finally, even when it seemed like the whole universe itself didn't want you to complete the suit, you did it!

"Good job." A sudden pat on your back woke you up from all the thoughts. It was Vil who just entered the room. After a minute or so, Kalim came here too.

"Sorry for making you wait!" He panted and leaned on the closest wall. "Oh, I got so scared when I couldn't find the Albert chain I had to call Jamil and a couple of other Scarabia students for help. We found it! It's the same one I gave Lilia that night."

"Wait, if that's the same one... Is it really okay for me to take it? You could get something similar, but..."

"But? I thought you wanted to make 1:1 recreation. Why are you backing up now?" Vil asked with a frown on the face. You pulled him closer and whispered:

"Because it costs 10 million thaumarks!" Such shocking information left Vil speechless for a minute.

"Well, I thought the original one would suit him better! So here it is." As Kalim said that, he placed the Albert chain with a bat on the outfit. You looked at your creation, the exact copy of the tuxedo Malleus has created with magic. Even though some tears appeared on your eyes, your face radiated joy. You finally did it.

It was an after-school evening when you decide to gift Lilia the suit you've been working so hard on. As you roamed around Diasomnia dorm, something poked your back. Strangely, when you looked back there was nothing and no-one. So you turned your head forward and immediately got spooked by upside-down Lilia!

"Ehehe." He smiled mischievously, yet still helped you to get back up. "It's rare to see non-Diasomnia students here at such time. Could it be that you're looking for someone?" Lilia's eyes were set on the box you carried, it was wrapped nicely, like a birthday present.

When your heartbeat calmed down, you remembered the words you prepared in your head. "Yes, there is... But I'm not sure if they'll actually like the present I made. Could you take a look?"

"Oh? A skilled dressmaker like you wishes to hear my opinion? I would be more than glad to assist you." Your heart skipped a beat. Did someone tell him about your secret project? Who could that- oh, probably Kalim, since they're in the same club. And even if Kalim didn't tell it exactly to him, but Cater instead, Lilia would still find out. But maybe Lilia doesn't actually know and said it just because?.. You're kind of known for your great sewing skills. Or... "Let's do it in my room, I was right on my way there." You brushed off the haunting thoughts away and headed to Lilia's room, trying to calm down.

His face beamed with happiness when you let him unwrap the present. Although at first he wondered if it was really okay. "It would be rather troublesome to wrap it back up when you're going to gift it to that person."

"Don't worry, I won't have to do it." A surprised gasp echoed in the room. Lilia carefully picked up the tuxedo, examining every detail. He couldn't believe his eyes. "So, what do you think?"

After a minute of silence, he smiled. "I still remember this tuxedo. I'm really proud of Malleus for coming up with such an elaborate design. And I'm really proud of you for recreating it up to every single detail." As Lilia said that, his eyes began to tear up a bit. "That night I wore a tuxedo for the first time in my life. It's hard to believe I can re-experience that moment again."

"Do you wish to wear it right now?" While you did take Lilia's and some other students'(to make it less suspicious) measurements long time ago, anxiety kept telling you you might have made a mistake at some point.

"I'm eager to wear it!" You smiled unknowingly when Lilia's gentle laugh reached your ears. In a couple of minutes you re-entered the room to see him happily dancing in the suit you made. The moment he saw you he reached for your hand. "Would you mind to dance with me for a moment? Such a delightful gift deserves a special thank-you!"

Blush painted your cheeks red, and heart began to beat faster with joy and excitement. You happily accepted Lilia's offer, taking his hand in yours. And so, you danced around the room. At one point Lilia began to hum a sweet melody. You joined him, and you both hummed in unison while dancing across the room.

You knew this moment, no matter how joyous and bright, would end eventually. So you made sure to enjoy every last bit of it, engraving it in your memory for eternity. And so did he.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst fanfic #twst fanfiction #vil schoenheit #kalim al asim #lilia vanrouge #lilia twst #twst lilia #lilia x you #lilia x reader #twst ghost marriage #twst ghost bride #hdhs writing

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sabakos · 1 year

Note

hi sabaki. why does emily wilson's odyssey translation suck

Okay so, while Wilson's translation is very "readable" and praised as such, it suffers from poor prosody and frequently truncates the meaning of the Greek in the name of fitting the count of the meter.

This claims to be a verse translation in iambic pentameter, and it just isn't that - while the lines do have ten syllables, they rarely scan, and are barely ever even iambic.

A few representative examples chosen at random from some of my favorite parts of the original:

(Book I lines 344-348)

Sullen Telemachus said, “Mother, no, you must not criticize the loyal bard for singing as it pleases him to sing. Poets are not to blame for how things are; Zeus is; he gives to each as is his will.

(Book X, lines 465-473)

We did as she had said. Then every day for a whole year we feasted there on meat and sweet strong wine. But when the year was over, when months had waned and seasons turned, and each long day had passed its course, my loyal men called me and said, ‘Be guided by the gods. Now it is time to think of our own country, if you are fated to survive and reach your high-roofed house and your forefathers’ land.’

(Book XXIII, lines 232-240)

This made him want to cry. He held his love, his faithful wife, and wept. As welcome as the land to swimmers, when Poseidon wrecks their ship at sea and breaks it with great waves and driving winds; a few escape the sea and reach the shore, their skin all caked with brine. Grateful to be alive, they crawl to land. So glad she was to see her own dear husband, and her white arms would not let go his neck.

None of this is unreadable, and though I could go into the meaning of some of the lines and nitpick at some inaccuracies, I'm not sure my arguments would be convincing anyway, since Wilson is a classics professor and I'm not! But I hope these examples at least show that it's shoddy poetic work, and frequently veers into bathos and triviality even in these moments of heightened emotion.

Speaking of bathos, she also named the book divisions for some reason, which is just plain weird - they aren't even original to the text! Why bother? They vary from boring, such as "11 - The Dead" to baffling, such as "13 - Two Tricksters." I guess Athena is supposed to be a "trickster" also? Haha. There's much where we're supposed to appreciate Wilson's cleverness, which is... grating to say the least.

And on the subject of tricksters, despite this being held up as one of her great achievements, I don't think that "complicated" is a particularly good translation for "polytropos" - which is often rendered "many-turns." This is mostly a matter of bad English rather than bad Greek - the word "complicated" just simply does not communicate to me someone with many tricks up their sleeve! It's a bad epithet. I am in a relationship with my epic poem and it's complicated, etc.

There's also the manner of the narrative that Wilson sold to PR agencies about how, as the first woman translator, she essentially claims that all of the previous (male) translators had unconscious sexist biases, and that her translations are more correct. This largely requires swallowing the claim that as a woman she's somehow immune to subconscious biases, which I'm not willing to accept. Again, I could go into detail about how her "feminist" translations distort the meaning in the face of legitimate scholarly interpretation (such as Helen's "bitchface" etc.) but I suspect getting into the weeds of this wouldn't be value positive. But I hope that in 2023 moreso than 2017 more people are willing to raise an eyebrow at this ludicrous claim on principle.

#tagamemnon

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rosewaterandivy · 1 year

Text

Through Me Prequel - i. the hanged man

Summary: Steve may be slow on the draw, but hand to god, he's sure there's something ... off about you. Or, the three times Steve was a witness and the one time he wishes he wasn't.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, eventual Steddie x fem!reader in the series

WC: 5.2K

Warnings/Themes: cursing, criticism of religion (catholicism/xtiantiy mostly), religious themes, canon-typical violence, death, idolatry via smut, blasphemy, heretical notions, angst, occasional fluff (as a treat), Biblical & western literary canon and media references/allusions

A/N: This is the first of three prequels centering on the three main characters. If you're up on your tarot know-how, you can glean some info from the banner, etc. 👀 Special shout out to my beloved Jo (@jo-harrington) for looking this over way back when! If you haven't checked out As Above, So Below, wtf are you even doing with your life!?

Please do not interact if you aren't 18+.

Nota bene: Reblogging, commenting, and liking my work is always appreciated; reposting, however, is not. This (*) is a singal to check the footnote at the end!

Enjoy! 💜

Masterlist | Playlist | Currently Spinning:

"I don't care how many angels can fit on the head of a pin. It's enough to know that for some people they exist, and that they dance."

— Mary Oliver, "Angels"

Wednesday, November 9, 1983

You first meet Steve Harrington on a cold day in early November. A feast day, memorializing one basilica or another according to your latest missive— it was hard to keep track, much less whether it was one to be observed.

A shrill ring from the phone in the motel room, this side of too loud and unfortunately, it’s enough to rouse you.

“What?”

“We have some concerns regarding a small Midwestern town, Hawkins, Indiana.”

Blearily you sit up, “Yeah?”

“Just a drive-by should suffice.”

A sigh, “Got anything else for me?”

The voice paused, as if annoyed by your tone. “We’ll be in touch, as always.”

The sound of the dial tone did nothing to elevate your mood. While presently not on a mission, you bided your time by locating relics and artifacts for future use. Yesterday’s attempt turned out to be more burden than boon— not only was the pawnshop owner a shyster but a gun-for-hire. So, no relic to be had and you had to disarm the guy, what a waste.

Luckily, Hawkins was only four hours drive from Lebanon and sounded like a pretty easy day.

But no one bothered to tell you that a boy and teenage girl were missing.

Driving down main street, the town seemed fairly normal. But the gooseflesh running up your arms and legs told a different story. As did the telltale scent of bleach in the air, signaling the presence of some high-voltage electrical discharge— ozone.

Flipping on your police scanner, you were able to glean the address of a witness and potential suspect. Consulting the map on the passenger seat, you turn off the main drag and head toward the outskirts of town.

In the driveway, there are two vehicles, one black sedan and one maroon BMW. Parking in front of the house, you grab a pen and a notebook along with a badge. After checking your hair briefly in the side-view mirror, you pull on a trench coat and knot it at the waist.

Walking up the pavement, you note the police tape against the double-doors and tire treads from other vehicles. Based on the number, you’d have to guess a party of some kind was thrown the night before.

Three quick raps on the door.

“Police, open up!”

A harried, but well-kept woman opens the door. “Yes, can I help you?” She asks politely, with a slight tremor in her voice.

“Are you Mrs. Harrington?” She nods. “Very well ma’am. I’m Detective Constantine with Hawkins P.D. May I come inside?” You display your badge for her viewing.

Another voice sounds out from the house, perturbed. “Tell her to come back with a warrant.”

The woman’s eyes blow wide, hesitant to refuse her husband. Her mouth opens to explain.

You sigh, pocketing the badge and raise your voice. “Sir, considering that a girl went missing here on your property last night, I am well within my rights to search your home without a warrant.” You smile, trying your best to remain civil. “But I am more than happy to radio the Chief from my car to relay your sentiments.”

The sound of shuffling papers and a creak from an old office chair. The door opens wider, revealing a man, Mr. Harrington, bags under his eyes and tie loose around his neck.

“I assure you, that won’t be necessary,” He says with a tight-lipped smile and opens the door wider.

With a nod, you enter, notebook out and pen ready. Assessing the home, you take a few cursory notes. Walking from the foyer to the living room, through the dining room and out onto the patio you stop— a young man in a pool chair grabbing your attention.

He looks dazed, staring at the covered pool. Legs pulled to his chest and chin resting on the tops of his knees. Dressed in a teal sweatshirt, sweatpants and socks you wonder how he isn’t shivering from the cold.

In an attempt to gently alert him of your presence, you softly clear your throat. His head jerks upward quickly, panicked eyes locked on you. “It’s okay,” you say, sitting on a chair to his left. “I’m just here to ask you some questions.”

He nods slowly, eyes never leaving you. A dull buzzing rattling in his chest.

Briefly consulting your notes, you lick your lips. “It’s Steve, right?”

“Y-yeah, Steve Harrington.”

“Great!” You smile and nod. “I’m Detective Constantine. Can you tell me about the party last night?”

He nods gaze fixed on you, on the hazy glow that seems to encircle your head; he blinks and scrubs a hand down his face; the image gone. “It was just a small thing, me, Tommy Hagan, Carol Perkins, and Nancy Wheeler.”

“And the missing girl?”

“Right, Barb Holland. Nance invited her.”

“Nancy Wheeler, she’s your girlfriend?”

Another nod.

“Did you notice anything odd about Barb or anyone else last night?”

“No, not really. She didn’t, uh, seem to want to be here.” He frowns, brows furrowing, a slight tremor runs through him, from the cold or the shock, who’s to say?

“I think she cut her hand opening a beer, maybe?”

Jotting down a few more notes, you nod. “But didn’t make a call or say anything about making plans to leave?”

“No.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“Nance and I went inside, Barb stayed out by the pool. Didn’t hear anything from upstairs.”

Glancing up from your notes, you pause. Steve’s warmed up to you during the brief conversation, legs crossed in front of him instead of drawn to his chest. He looks tired, looks scared.

“Your room, I presume.”

He blushes at that, nods. Takes a tense breath in, inhaling the tangy scent and taste of newly forged metal - sharp and pure at the back of his throat.

“Can you point to where you last saw Barb?”

He does so, drawing your eyes to the far lip of the pool where the Harrington lot backs into the woods. There’s a tinge of ozone in the air, albeit fading, and a tang of copper. That’s to be expected from a cut on the hand, but the electrical discharge—

“There wasn’t a storm last night? Lightning or anything like that?”

Steve shakes his head, opens his mouth to say something when the sliding door opens.

“He wants a lawyer!” Mr. Harrington shouts, “Steve, I told you to request a lawyer before speaking with the cops.”

Steve rolls his eyes and turns back toward the house, “It’s fine, dad.”

Before Mr. Harrington can get his panties in a twist, you decide to take your leave. Standing, you pocket your notebook with one hand and place the pen behind your ear with the other. Extending a hand toward Steve, you smile.

“Thanks for your cooperation Steve.”

His hand clasps yours—warm and oddly familiar. “You’re welcome, I’m happy to help.”

Cocking your head, your eyes narrow to where your hand meets his. The feeling subsides, quelling any suspicions you may have had.

“Mr. Harrington.” You drop Steve’s hand and nod to his father, “The precinct will be in touch should there be any further questions. Your patience and cooperation are appreciated.”

And with a turn of your heel, you walk away.

A few hours later, there’s another knock at the door.

Steve answers it, waking from a nap on the couch. Eyes slowly opening, mouth like dried cotton.

The advil he’d swallowed earlier clearly did nothing to alleviate his headache, and the nap proved less than helpful.

At least the buzzing had died down. The newfound shortness of breath, however, had lingered.

He pulls the door open with a huff to reveal none other than Chief Hopper and his deputy.

“Afternoon, Steve,” he greets, eyes scanning the entryway. “Your parents home?”

Steve shakes his head, rubs the sleep from his eyes. “A detective already stopped by, earlier today.”

Hopper’s lips pull tight. “Huh.” He nods to the deputy and they leave to assess the scene, “Well, s’it alright if was take a look around here?”

He sighs, growing weary. “Yeah, sure.”

“Get some rest kid,” the Chief says and turns on his heel to go.

Steve shuts the door and drags himself upstairs. Falls face-first into bed with hopes to sleep off his headache and exhaustion.

Doesn’t hear the phone ring or Nancy leave a message.

In fact, he sleeps for three days. Specters of light dancing behind the darkness of his eyelids, and wakes with dried blood in his ears.

Sunday, January 1, 1984

He recognizes the buzzing first, the reverberation lodged somewhere behind his ribs. Knows the headache is likely to follow and shoves his sunglasses on, as if that could possibly help.

Steve’s idling in the parking lot of St. Mary’s waiting for Nancy while she attends Mass. Something about a feast for Mary or the circumcision of the Christ-child, he stopped listening and looped the curls of the telephone cord around his finger.

Parents already gone after the Christmas holiday, never staying longer than necessary.

He’d hemmed and hawed at all the right parts, while scanning through the paper for showtimes. Circled Scarface— as if she’d see that, Silkwood— a maybe, if he’s being honest, and finally Terms of Endearment— god help him.

And now, it was 30 minutes to showtime, and she was running late.

In the distance, he sees a bright flash of light. Hears the rattle and hum that follows.

Soon after, a black impala pulls into the parking lot. Correction, a smoking impala peels into the lot, sliding into a nearby parking spot expertly.

Well, that's new.

He watches as you exit the vehicle, slowly, casually, not with haste. Brushing the plumes of gray smoke aside flippantly, as if it wasn't cause for concern. A pair of sunglasses affixed to your face, frames and lenses dark resting on your nose and cheekbones.

A tiny lift of your crimson mouth is all it takes to send the blood rushing to his head. You nod in greeting to the congregants as they exit the church, as they shake hands with the priest and visit in the narthex.

You share a look with the priest, meaningful and urgent.

A tingling sensation as Nancy opens the door and slides into the passenger seat.

“Sorry about that.” She leans over to kiss him on the cheek, but Steve can’t stop staring at you.

Thank god for sunglasses.

“You okay?” Her voice is tinged with concern.

“Yeah, fine.” He says absently, shifting the car into gear, “Thought I was getting a headache but—”

“Another one?”

Steve sucks his teeth, he really doesn’t want to have this conversation again. “It’s not a big deal Nance.”

The tension in his neck and shoulders alleviated, a dull roar in his ears.

Pulling out of the parking lot, they pass where you’ve parked. His sunglasses slip minutely, just enough for him to glance at you over the bridge of them.

Catching his eye, you send a redolent wink in response.

“Do you know her?”

He clears his throat, letting the pedestrians pass by. “Uh, maybe?”

Nancy turns quickly, hazarding a glance, licks her lips while Steve clenches his jaw.

“Wow,” She breathes. “She’s—”

Steve speeds out of the parking lot like a bat outta hell. And Nancy never got to complete that thought.

Saturday, November 3, 1984

He doesn’t see you again that year, but Nancy does.

Saturday, June 29, 1985

The heat on this bus is oppressive. Offensive, even.

Even more so combined with the sweat 70-odd middle schoolers. The green ringer t-shirt with the unfortunate goldenrod yellow collar wasn’t helping things either. But, if you’d known all the particulars, you wouldn’t have taken the job.

Bagging hellspawn in the wilds of Wisconsin wasn’t worth dealing with a bunch of tweens who were hormonal and struggling to develop something called empathy.

They were mean in a scarily accurate and precise way.

“Okay twerps!” You raise a hand in the air, and count it off, “1, 2, 3, eyes on me!”

You lean against the back of the seat, facing the kids as their conversations drop to a murmur. Clipboard in hand, you flip through the brightly colored papers before addressing them once more.

“We’ll be coming to our final destination of Hawkins, in a few moments.” You pause to wipe your brow, “Couple of things to keep in mind: take only your stuff and no one else’s. Locate your adult person, parent or guardian, and then…”

You wait as the bus hisses to halt in front of the high school.

“Hey, sit back down Henderson, I’m not done yet.”

He grouses, crosses his arms and reluctantly sits.

“Right, so you find your adult and then check-out with me. Get it?”

“Got it!” They yell back and then it’s off to the races.

You brace yourself against the onslaught of tweens rushing toward the exit, clipboard clutched to your chest.

After the deluge, you scramble off the sticky plastic seat. “Thanks Larry!” You call to the bus driver and walk down the aisle, making sure no one left anything behind.

A radio crackles to life a few rows ahead of you.

“Dustin? Do you copy? Over.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab the hunk of plastic and thumb the call button. “Uh, roger that. Breaker one-nine. Henderson left his walkie on the bus. Over.”

Static and then.

“Shit.”

Shoving the behemoth in your back pocket, you step off of the bus, clipboard at the ready to check-out the campers.

Swamped with beleaguered kids and frazzled parents demanding medications and prescriptions, and mailing addresses and so forth, that you barley register the crackle and static from the walkie.

“Can you uh—” You wag a finger at an overly eager parent and pry the thing from your pocket. “What?”

“... Are you seriously mad right now?”

“Yes!” You sputter, rolling your eyes at the voice over the radio. “I’m kind of trying to do my job here.”

A laugh. “Funny, I thought you were a detective.”

You pale, a dull roar crashing through your ears. The voice is warm and melodic, slow like honey.

Handing off the clipboard to a junior counselor, you peer across the blacktop. And spy a figure leaning against the hood of a red car wearing black sunglasses. A smaller figure, jumping and waving at you in, of course, green and yellow.

“But then again.” The fuzz of static. “You were getting cozy with the padre, so maybe a change of pace. You a novitiate or just confessing?”

You refrain, with difficulty, from rolling your eyes.

“What’s it to you?”

Dustin whining when it clicks back on, “C’mon man.”

“Dinner.”

A scoff, “You wish.”

“Clearly.”

His response brings you pause, unusually forthright.

Lip pulled between your teeth, you leave him hanging for a minute and mentally sort through all the reasons why you shouldn’t.

Potential murderer - they never did find Barb Holland.

He apparently hangs out with Henderson—too many questions there to unpack there, but mainly: … why?

Already has a girlfriend, Nina… Nicole?

It would distract you from your work, but all work and no play makes you restless, and a little reckless. Speaking of which…

Pressing the call button down, you sigh. “Counter offer. I’ll allow you buy me a late lunch at the diner.”

You remember seeing a payphone somewhere around there and it’s public, so if it goes south you’ll have an easy out; you make plans to befriend the waitress, just in case.

The smugness radiates from his voice. “We have got to work on your negotiation skills.”

A crackle of static. You make a big show of turning the walkie’s dial off and shoving it back into your pocket before going back to work.

Following the directions he’d sent down with Dustin when he collected his precious walkie-talkie, you pull up to a place called Enzo’s.

Scanning the parking lot, your lips pull into a scowl when you see him.

Ah. There he is. You slam your door shut. That motherfucker.

Grinning like he’s the cat that caught the canary and goddamnit, being that attractive when smug shouldn’t be allowed.

“This isn’t what I agreed to.”

“Huh.” He cocks his head, “You don’t say.”

“What’re you playing at Harrington?”

He shrugs, hands shoved in the pockets of his too-tight jeans. You make the mistake of keeping his hands in your eyeline, looking down as you do so, and audibly gulp at the sight. Those jeans sure are tight, aren't they?

“My eyes are up here.”

You frown, and he laughs. Walks you into the restaurant— holds the door, and pulls out your chair, like a real gentleman.

A waiter quickly stops by, taking drink orders and rattling off the specials. You glace around the dining room, feeling out of place amongst the off-the-shoulder tops and high heels. Crossing your Converse-clad feet on top of one another, you stow them under the table and out of sight.

At least you weren’t wearing the ‘CAMP KNOW WHERE ‘85’ t-shirt and shorts any more.

Small miracles.

“Oh,” You say before the waiter, Kevin, goes to his next table, “Is there a payphone around here? I need to make a quick call.”

“You can use the bar phone,” He points to the bar by the hostess station. “Chris will be happy to help you.”

“Thanks!”

Steve eyes you as you stand up to leave, “Better be local distance or Enzo’ll be mad.”

“Bite me.”

He sips his drink. “Only if you ask nicely.”

With a roll of your eyes you leave him at the table perusing the menu.

Rapping your knuckles on the bar top, you smile as the bar tender approaches. “What can I get you?”

“Kevin said I could make a call from here?”

“Oh, sure.”

He leaves to get the phone and slides it in front of you before assisting another customer. You punch in the 618 area code followed by the all-too familiar number and listen as it trills.

Murray, of course, answers on the final ring.

Asshole.

“Behold!” He crows, “She brings me good tidings of great joy!”

“I hate you.”

He scoffs, “Yeah, yeah. What else is new?”

You turn back to look at Steve, he, annoyingly, waves. You reply in kind, waving your fingers before flipping him off.

“Not cursed? Bloodsick? Howling at the moon?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Still a messianic specter, sorry to report.”

“Sooooo.” You drawl, “This is your way of telling me you’ve got nothing.”

“Uh, huh.”

“And there’s no news.”

“Yep.”

You sigh, resting your forehead against the smooth lacquered wood of the bar. No jobs, no prospects, just great.

“Where are you staying? I’ll give you a ring when I get something interesting.”

You hum and stand back up. “Dunno Murray. Was kinda counting on a job to get me outta this town.”

Chris slides a drink down to you. Tequila, if you had to guess. Down the hatch it goes. You nod in thanks.

“Well, call me when you’re settled. Who knows, a slow summer might do you some good.”

“Ugh.”

You hang up the phone with a clatter and turn back to the table with a huff.

Under the evening sunlight scattered by a canopy of leaves and panes of glass, he rests his hand on your bare shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly.

Steve shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be as cavalier with his hospitality and his attention. Doesn’t know you from Adam and has already offered up the guest room.

He’s not normally this sloppy. But after things had gone sideways in ‘83 and then gone to shit in ‘84, Steve found himself slipping. Always looking over his shoulder, wondering when you’d blow back into town.

The detective turned nun turned camp counselor (Dustin swore you made the best s’mores) turned… well, whatever this was.

Not such a mystery anymore.

There is heat. There is the frame of his bed cracking. Carpet burns on his knees and back. Damp hairs on the nape of your neck. Bruises and bite marks and scratches all over him and strangely none on you, but not for lack of trying.

When he holds your torso against his, you grip him right back, and the pressure makes him feel like he could snap in half. It is wild and ferocious, tension sparking like a snarling animal ready to pounce.

He doesn’t call you darling or baby or sweetheart because those servile names feel so discourteous to what you actually are (and it’s only an inkling, but if he’s right—). He only pants and grunts and whispers fuck, fuck, fuck like a prayer.

“Don’t hold back on me now, Harrington.” You laugh, licking the sweat dripping down into your mouth. “You’ve always been honest. Go on, tell me what you want.”

He fists your hair from behind, pulls a growl from your throat, tangles his legs between yours as the two of you lie on your sides and goddamn it, he fucks you like he could die tonight. The sound of your ass slapping the smooth plane of his torso rings like a bell through the room. Your fist finds a handful of his hair and wrenches him away. You hold him down and crawl on top with a low chuckle.

“Tell me what you want.”

It’s futile to fight you. You are faster and stronger and beneath you, in the vastness of his own room, you could swallow him whole and he would let it happen.

“I want you.” Steve breathes, raspy and raw, grabbing your shoulders in an attempt to pull you down. You bat him away and lean back instead, propping up on your feet, knees apart, showing him the entirety of your body. Gorgeous. Marble smooth. Hard as granite, but flecked with gold and dappled light.

Steve’s breath hitches in his throat.

You look cold in the way a statue might, but in the center where you are hot and wet, he could devote himself to forever.

“I want you now.”

With a savage grin gracing the transcendent beauty of your face, you allow him this request. Steve Harrington, merely mortal, succumbs entirely to your touch. His body melts into yours, shudders with reverence for your power and gravity, and he feels like he could burst apart inside of you.

Your breath is all he can hear. Your sweat is all he can taste.

You are ethereal.

And he will worship you to the end of his days.

Thursday, October 31, 1985

The bells chime on the door of Family Video before he can say that they’re closed and yes, they’re also sold out of Ghostbusters and Beverly Hills Cop.

Robin had already clocked out, picked up by some friends from band for a Halloween party, so it was just Steve closing up.

Too distracted by counting the till to acknowledge the buzz in his chest, the tension melting from his body. A distinct lack of headaches for a few months now too.

“Steve.”

A soft drip on the floor, like a leaky faucet when he glances up.

And you’re stumbling on the carpet like it’s moving beneath your feet. You’re trying to give Steve a reassuring smile and only getting across a grimace.

From what he can tell, at least.

Because you are absolutely, positively covered, head to toe, in so much blood and viscera it’s no longer red but black, dripping off of you like sludge where it hadn’t already dried. The whites of your eyes and teeth are visible, and that is not an image he necessarily wanted to have of you.

Ever, really.

“I’m alright, Steve,” You attempt. Your teeth are chattering.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Steve replies, shutting the register drawer with a flick of his wrist and shoving the deposit in the safe.

“This, uh,” You glance down at your current state, frowning.

“Not yours?” He guesses, stepping out from behind the counter, paper towels in hand. “Well, I’d hate to see the other guy.”

You rasp a laugh that quickly devolves into a cough.

“Yeah,” You say once you’ve recovered, “Totally nailed him.”

He can see as you waggle your brows, underneath the layers of blood, dirt, and grime— dried blood pulling your skin taut as it moves. Steve sucks his teeth.

“I don’t even wanna know, do I?”

Delirium is definitely sinking in because you laugh, recalling the nail gun and the thunkthunkthunk of steel driving into flesh, muscle, and bone. The screams and wails, followed by the death-rattle. His hands are on his hips as if he disapproves, worry evident in his brow.

Being the liaison between humans and other beings (part-time, at least) means that the messenger should never have the urge to endanger a human or else it would totally compromise the position. And yet here you are, fantasizing about Harrington’s beautiful, well, everything.

Hazards of the job. Strictly speaking, the types of folk you deal with aren’t necessarily human. Technicalities, and all that.

“Okay champ,” He says, wiping at your face with a dampened towel. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then to bed.”

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from your throat. “I’m not human, therefore, I do not require sleep.”

“Sure,” Steve nods along with your yammering, paper towels coming away equal parts black and bloody. “Whatever you say.”

Steve never pegged you for a sleep-talker, or whatever the hell this was.

“JAIDA, DE BAB DE ILS, DLUGA UMADEA PAMBT STEVEN, OD TABAORI AQLO BRANSG NOTHOA STEVEN, DORPHAL TOX , ASOBAM ILS DLUGA IEHUSOZ.”*

Foreign language aside, he has no idea what is going on.

Bright shafts of white light emanate from your eyes, he can barely see your pupils anymore, in their place a gold band circling your temples adorned with rapidly blinking eyes, and he has to squint and shield himself with an arm from the illumination.

He backs away, slowly, so as not to startle you. But clearly your attention is drawn elsewhere, what with all the eyes and the—

The fuck?

The… hovering. Because you’re not seated on the bed anymore, the mattress doesn't even dip with the suggestion of weight. And there is a considerable distance between your crossed legs and the sheets.

He feels nauseous and dizzy. An ever-present buzz along his skin and thrumming from the inside out. Hears the beating of wings, the shuffling of feet.

Steve clamps his hand over his ears, hating the damp squelch of it, just hears his blood rushing and heart beating instead. Wills his eyes closed, turning away, impossibly, from your glorious display.

Takes deep breaths and counts to 100. Again. And again. And again.

The touch of your hand on his arm is so light, that it doesn't even register.

Steve comes to gradually, only to find you not covered with a halo of eyes and clearly abiding by the laws of gravity.

Did he hallucinate all of that?

“Steve,” You whisper, hand rocking against his shoulder. “Steve, wake up.”

Was it just a dream?

He grumbles, half-waking and bats your hand away. “‘M’up.”

“Yeah,” You laugh. “Okay, you’re up.”

A shake of your head as you sit back against the bedframe.

Steve stretches, skin skimming against the worn sheets and feels perfectly sated. Doesn’t recall falling asleep or how he got into bed though.

Remembers seeing you at work, he was closing… Your bright eyes and teeth… And not much else. Maybe something about blood, if he concentrates.

“So.”

You’re seated a careful distance away from him on the bed. Legs fallen lazily onto themselves, hands open and resting against your knees, like one of those yogis he’s seen around town.

“You gave me quite the fright there.”

“Could say the same to you,” He counters, voice raspy with sleep. “What was—”

“Meditating.” You’re quick to answer him.

He arches a quizzical brow. “Meditating. Really?”

Bottom lip pulled and worried between your teeth. “It’s a form of introspection. Communing with your higher states of consciousness.”

“Riiiight. We’ll call it meditating. For the sake of argument.”

“What, you don’t believe me?”

He shrugs, rolls his neck and shoulders. “I never said that.”

You squint, staring at him. Your hand comes up to grasp his jaw and slowly turn his head. Face remaining impassive, you cluck your tongue and rise from the bed.

“Stay there.”

The commands thrums through him.

Steve watches as you leave the room, heading across the hall to the guest bath. Hears the water running from the faucet, the wringing of a damp rag. Soft footfalls herald your return, plopping back on the bed and dabbing the washcloth against his jaw and ear.

A tap against his chin. “Other side please.”

You do the same to his opposite ear, humming to yourself under your breath. Thunder sounds in the distant night, a storm rolling through.

Deeming it a job well done, you toss the cloth into the hamper. White terrycloth tinged rosy red. A cool hand turns Steve this way and that, your eyes darting across your handiwork.

“How’s your head?” You ask, voice soft.

“Fine.” Shakes his head, in proof, rattles his brain around. “No complainants.”

“Mmm.” You hum. “No migraines or auras?”

“Not for a while now.” He clucks his tongue, “But I didn’t tell you about those.”

Ah. Now he’s caught you out.

Your mouth hangs open, gaping like a fish.

“Hey,” His hand settles over yours, warm and familiar. “It’s fine. You’re just … perceptive.”

A laugh, the rustling of wings somewhere. “Is that so?”

Steve pulls you toward him, the air punched from his lungs as your shoulder collides with his chest. You apologize profusely, rearing back and away from him.

He tugs you back into his embrace, both arms settling around you and falling effortlessly at your hips. Feels a pleasant glow at your temples, sponges a kiss there. Catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, your image seemingly replaced with iridescent reflections of light. A crown of fire round your head.

And is alarmingly at peace with it all.

Friday, November 1, 1985

The next morning you’d already left by the time he woke up.

A glass of water, a crumpled scrap of paper, and business card were on the bedside table. He picked up the water, gulping it down readily and scrambled for his glasses.

He grabbed the papers, the larger one seemingly covered in glitter, dust? Something golden getting all over his hands and sheets. Squinting because he never did get to wiping off his lenses, Steve read the business card first. Simple and to the point, nothing he didn’t already know.

The scrap of paper however, was beyond him.

Well, shit.

He dials Robin, figures if anyone could translate, it’d be her. Then calls the number listed on the card as he waits for her arrival.

An annoyed voice answers. “Ugh, this better be good, Harrington. I’m a busy man.”

“Yeah, who is this?”

“That’s not important.”

“What do you mean? How is that—” He sits up, cradling the phone between his shoulder and jaw.

“How did you get this number?”

“Uh, Constantine. How else?”

Whomever he’s speaking with roughly pulls the phone from their ear and mutters a litany of curses. Surprisingly few in English.

He takes a breath, waits for the conversation to resume.

“Okay, say I believe you Steve. How do you know Constantine?”

Steve arches a brow, devotes all of a few seconds to thought before saying, “Well, we’re uh, involved, I guess, and then she showed up to Hawkins dripping in blood last night.”

The next thing he hears is the sound of something smashing to the ground, quickly followed by a “Shit-cock dumbass motherfucking—” before the line drops dead.

*Highest God, of your dominion, give strong towers unto Steven, and govern your guard amidst Steven to look upon him, whom Thou givest mercy.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #constantine!au #reader insert #fic: through me #steve harrington smut #Spotify

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tar-thelien · 3 months

Text

Just finished it - anywayyy here is my Melkor x Nienna & Angbang fic I wrote on yesterday and today, I made it into a series as I want to explore it more in the future :)

Summary:

Mairon encounters Mbelekōre at a party, celebrating Mbelekōre return to Ilmarin following yet another of his exploits. They engage in a conversation about the concept of perfection, delving into its intricacies and philosophies while the Vala patiently anticipates the arrival of someone who holds a special place in his heart.

Words: 2799

Notes:

I tried to write Melkor as really selfish but still a simp around Neinna and I think I did it pretty well Also, Melkor is such a loser and I love it for him 😌 Translations at the end

Mairon strolled through the vibrant marble corridors of Ilmarin, his eyes scanning for a secluded chamber or even a balcony where he could retreat to gather his thoughts and distance himself from the bustling gathering. The exquisite hues of the marble walls reflected a kaleidoscope of colors, creating a mesmerizing environment around him as he sought solace from the festivities.

Mbelekore's return marked a significant event, prompting the celebration with a grand party. While he appreciated the joyous atmosphere of such gatherings and the opportunity to dress in finery, an opportunity he would never turn down, there were always other activities that captivated his interest to a higher degree. However, the return of Mbelekore, the mightiest among them all, it was only fitting to pay tribute to his stature and esteemed position within their community, he just wished Aȝūlēz could have taken another with him.

Mairon, while unfamiliar with the Vala, as he had never had the opportunity to be near him, had gathered knowledge about him through hearsay. Ilmarë once suggested that if there were a Vala known for joyous spirits and celebration, it would undoubtedly be Mbelekōre. Despite the chaos often trailing in his wake, Mbelekōre possessed a talent for injecting mirth into any gathering, eliciting smiles and laughter from those around him. His gatherings were said to outshine even the renowned Arǭmēz, though Mairon had never experienced them firsthand and thus refrained from offering personal judgment on the matter. But his Midu was the best, and now that Mairon had tasted it for the first time at this feast, he found himself inclined to believe the others - truly if a Vala could make better Midu than Arǭmēz, then he could make better feasts than Arǭmēz too.

It was at this feast, however, that Mairon saw Mbelekōre for the first time, although from a distance, hidden behind other Maiar.

As noted by Eönwë, who was known to never turn down the opportunity to criticize Mbelekōre, why would anyone seek the company of one who had strayed from Eru's ways? The question lingered in Mairon's mind: Why did Mbelekōre attract the attention of numerous Maiar? Why was the always someone constantly engaged with him? While Mairon suspected merely curiosity, his own curiosity was piqued, and during the early stages of the feast, he witnessed the spectacle himself. Mbelekōre stood out like a radiant white flame in his resplendent golden attire, evoking a desire in Mairon to approach and observe the robe closely to see how it was made and all the details he knew to be there. Seated in a relaxed manner, Mbelekōre conversed effortlessly with the assembled Maiar, as if he owned Taniquetil itself.

To make it short, Mairon had seen a glimpse of the Vala, and already decided he didn´t like him.

Why did all those Maiar find such an arrogant character intriguing? It's worth noting that Mbelekōre wasn't the sole arrogant Vala; in fact, the majority of them possessed that trait. However, unlike most Valar who primarily interacted amongst themselves, and themselves only, Mbelekōre appeared to exhibit a greater interest in the Maiar, more than that he showed to his own siblings.

Observing a smile on his lips as he suddenly noticed an ajar doorway that beckoned him into a dimly lit chamber he without hesitation hastened his pace and entered the dark empty room.

Upon entering he came across a couch placed directly across from a wide open window, and sitting on that couch was an enigmatic figure. The being didn´t sound off anything so Mairon had to use his mortal form to see them, as he could not hear who they were in their music, as non sounded from them. As he approached the mysterious person, a sense of curiosity mingled with a hint of apprehension, intensifying the anticipation of the impending revelation.

The being was attired in a snug black top that extended up to cover their necks and down towards their hands, paired with form fitting leggings as well as intricate white and gold embroidery shoes, reminiscent of tiny serpents almost appearing to devour the leather they were on. Their long white hair was styled into five thick, loosely woven braids fastened with golden clasps at the ends, making it look like the hair fastened into flowing gold at the end, framing a pallid, elongated face, painted with gold, accentuated by striking crimson eyes hurt looking into.

It was strange for any Ainur to be silent, as the power of silence was typically associated with Eru and certain beings from the Void such as Ungoliant, as per popular belief. He was unaware that one of these enigmatic entities had been extended an invitation - perhaps Mbelekōre had established a connection with one during his searching for the sacred flame.

He apologetically muttered, averting his gaze towards the floor while subtly ensuring he maintained a visual on the silhouette before him, "I apologize for my oversight, I had no knowledge of your presence," he softly spoke, as he made to leave the room.

The creature asked, "it seems quite noisy outside, don't you think?" turning to glance out the window once more, "you are welcome to remain here, as long as you do not disturb me. I have grown weary of all the fuss."

“All what?” Mairon asked the being as he walked close, not yet sitting.

"Them. They behave as though everything is fine as if all has changed for the better, and they persistently surround me, refusing to give me any peace. It is overwhelmingly noisy.”

"I eagerly await the presence of Melā Kherī," the being said without specifying who they were waiting on, "she assured me that she would join me shortly; she is currently engaged in a conversation with Vê, but she said she came only for me. In her presence, I always find solace and calm, and indeed, who does not? She is the only blessing of father that matters.”

Mairon observed the gold and white robes placed next to the figure, each adorned with exquisite gems and intricate embroidery featuring snakes and winged lizards. The robes lying on the couch prompted a realization within him. Oh.

"My sole purpose in being present here today is to once more hear her, for I miss her more than mine own brother. The grace and allure she possesses are truly remarkable, and she truly possesses the skill to state it through her mortal form as well," Mbelekōre spoke without shifting his gaze, "do we share a past encounter? You sound as if I should know you."

“I- I go by the name Mairon," he attempted to articulate with a composed tone, "holding the position of chief smith of Árātō Aȝūlēz.”

Mbelekōre chuckled softly before speaking, "indeed, my brother has acquainted me with your achievements, and he holds you in high regard, Maira."

“Mairon. If it pleases Árātō.”

This time Mbelekōre directed his intense gaze towards Mairon with a frown, a sight seldom experienced when observing Ainur in their earthly manifestations. Reflecting on this unprecedented display of emotions, it dawned on Mairon that perhaps it was a conscious act from Mbelekōre side, "how does my satisfaction relate to your preferred designation? I have the liberty to address you both as Mairon or Maira without hindrance. It does not make a difference for me."

“You are most gracious Árātō,” Mairon said with a bow.

“Belegúr.”

“Árātō?”

“Belegúr. That is what they shall call me. Father´s pets that is,” he said with a slight smile.

“I- I am confused Árātō,” Mairon said as he walked closer to the smiling Vala.

"The Minnónar! Many names they will bestow upon me, yet Melkóre and Belegúr resound most pleasingly to my ears. But let us keep such knowledge from Mānawenūz, for he will only make sure they change it, as a joke that is. Mine brother would give me the lamps, should I make such a request, think no foul of him, though he does spike my temper at times," he chuckled, reclining comfortably on the sofa, "tell me, Maia, have you not once harbored the desire to behold them? To witness a realm beyond the confines of your own or Aȝūlēz's forge? Or that of the magnificent gardens of Palúrien! Do you not yearn to gaze upon the fruits of our collaborative efforts?"

Mairon let out a disdainful hiss. Arrogant indeed. The irony of the Vala before him being dubbed the wisest was not lost on him as he praised the "wonders" of Arda, all the while engaging in actions that threatened its very existence. With a sneer, he remarked, "you appear to lack any appreciation for Arda yourself, Árātō.”

Belegúr appeared puzzled as he gazed, "what we have made? love it," he said. However, Mairon, in contrast, shook his head disapprovingly and remarked, "yet, you were the one who attempted to dismantle it, more than once."

Belegúr firmly declared, "No, I would never contemplate such actions. I simply undertook what was essential. Arda cannot be confined to just valleys and seas; she craves the presence of mountains and rivers," he paused before shifting his gaze nervously towards Mairon and asked, "do you seek solace in a world devoid of chaos and conflict? Would you truly enjoy a peaceful world?”

What question was this? Of course, he would! If Mbelekōre had just left them alone all would have been perfect and he would never have had to talk to Eönwë or Olórin, or many of the others. Ever. It would have saved him a lot of headage and time.

"Yes," he muttered, attempting to reassure himself, while envisioning a scenario where Arda existed without the meddling influence of Mbelekōre. In this alternate reality, the landscape would be adorned with lush Palúrien flora and the calm waters of Ullubōz would stretch endlessly. Despite one's location within this imagined world, the scenery would remain consistent – a harmonious display of natural beauty. In his mind's eye, he painted a portrait of perfection, envisioning a realm untouched by external disturbances.

Mbelekōre huffed at that, “tell me Mīrĭ: What defines perfection? I am eager to know - the term 'perfect' has crossed my ears frequently, yet its essence eludes me."

“Perfection is- Perfection is anything flawless. It is where everything is exactly right.”

Mbelekōre pondered, gazing out of his window again, "perfection isn't innate, is it? Maybe it's about striving to perfect something with our actions. Do you believe that everything around us is flawless?"

No. He did not think that. His thoughts diverged from that notion. Aȝūlēz would often turn a blind eye to imperfections in the tasks of other Maiar, becoming irate when Mairon attempted to correct them. On the other hand, Mānawenūz, excelled in no particular area, exhibiting a tendency towards sloppiness and dependence on his fellow Valar for resolutions. However, these sentiments were left unspoken.

“I believe,” Belegúr remarked, “that perfection lies in the exchanges that occur between individuals, where friendships are forged alongside rivalries. In a utopia where everything is flawless, the necessity of engaging with others diminishes, leading to a swift escalation of hatred and conflict born out of sheer boredom.”

“That would make you happy?” Mairon asked coldly.

“No. But it would be entertaining, I shall not lie about that, but no. I would like a perfect Arda too, but to have that you have to have chaos, to have a perfect Ëa everyone have to have a purpose, and no one has a purpose where there is no conflict,” Belegúr said with a shy look at something behind Mairon, “I would hate to see you without a purpose Melā, it would remove mine own I fear.”

"Ëa would not have been, if you had not been, Melā,” a soft voice murmured from behind, prompting Mairon to turn towards Núri who had appeared, clad in a white gown embellished with grey embroidery, accompanied by a brown cloak.

Surrounding her tear stained swollen eyes, the complexion displayed a rich dark brown hue that enveloped the black sclera and dark grey iris. Her cascading grey hair was intricately woven into a pair of modest braids that trailed down to her feet, gracefully framing her chest. A delicate silver circlet adorned with two earrings resembling glistening water droplets sat with opals elegantly held the edge of her hood in place.

With a measured pace, she approached Belegúr, extending her pale gray hand, notable for the additional weeping eye adorning its back. She tenderly brushed his white skin, her expression tinged with sadness. However, the true surprise came when she settled beside him, and he tiredly leaned into her touch, a faint smile gracing his features, revealing teeth akin to a feline’s. Their interaction unfolded in a quiet intimacy, as unspoken emotions played out between them. Despite the unconventional nature of their bond, a sense of mutual understanding and comfort seemed to envelop around them.

In a mesmerizing display, he melodiously sang the word "Melā," and the enchanting sound resonated beautifully, leaving Mairon utterly spellbound. The captivating melody sparked an intriguing thought within him – how would his own name be heard when carried by a voice that possessed that mesmerizing quality that could potentially rival even that of Eru's own.

"Melā, how beautiful you are, Ithīr," he tenderly leaned towards her, expressing his admiration and awe. Núri gracefully allowed him to rest his head in her lap, gazing up at her with adoration, as if she was the most precious being in existence, a sight the Mairon had never witnessed before between anyone. Perhaps it looked a bit like the looks shared between Aȝūlēz and Palúrien, though even the renowned bond between Mānawenūz and Baradā did not quite match the profound look exchanged between Belegúr and Núri he was witnessing.

"You, Melā, are a creation of unparalleled beauty, a sight that delights me, the most pleasing that has been ever created, for me and for Ëa both,” Belegúr declared with sincerity, as he lifted his own hand to caress her hair.

"Do not succumb to those thoughts at this moment, Melā," Núri replied with what sounded like a laugh, although strained as if her thoughts were filled with sorrows and worries, "will you not remain by my side for some time?"

"I shall stay to remain by your side for as long as possible, solely for you, and I shall return with tales and laughs for you to feast upon.”

"And you shall not allow the spark of fury to ignite within you upon its arrival?"

“I shall only take the light to give it to you should you ever ask Melā Kherī.”

“I only ask you not to hurt thyself, for that would course me greater sorrow than all else.”

“... you are beautiful in thy sorrow, but if it displeases you I shall control myself where father permits it.”

“I shall leave you know Árātō, you mentioned being tired and I would not wish to bother you, and Kherī,” Mairon said with a gentle descent to his knees, Mairon bowed his head respectfully before promptly rising and taking his leave from the presence of both Valar.

“I shall see you again Mīrĭ?” Belegúr asked, and if he sounded desperate, it was only in Mairon´s mind.

Mairon hastened back to the gathering hastily, choosing not to answer. He had been oblivious to the fact that Belegúr and Núri shared a romantic relationship. While he was aware of their strong bond, it was a surprise to him, just as it would be to anyone else who did not know. But maybe it wasn´t that big of a surprise, the more he thought about it.

Núri consistently spoke on his behalf, and he never caused any harm to her belongings; in fact, the situation was quite the contrary.

Mairon had received multiple reports from Olórin regarding Belegúr's whimsical actions of transforming her halls into gold, only for her to jestingly demand its restoration to its original state of grey stone, which Belegúr willingly obliged after a shared smile. It was said that Belegúr would adorn various locations with precious gems, strategically placing them where he anticipated her presence. It was rumored that, as per Olórin's reports, Belegúr had even converted her personal quarters within the halls into extravagant chambers of pure gold adorned with exquisite sapphires and opals and she had never asked him to change it for the joy it brought her. Allegedly, Belegúr had sought her approval for these lavish changes, presenting her with an abundance of jewelry as a gesture of liking whenever they met.

Perhaps they were destined to be together, it's possible that they were truly meant for each other. It wouldn't be uncommon among the Valar for marriages to occur later than that of Mānawenūz and Baradā after all.

---

Check it out on AO3 and leave me a comment if you liked it :)

Notes:

Melkor: I love Nienna, she is my lady love and she is the most beautiful creation of Eru ever - I would acutely stop destroying everything if she asked that of me bla bla bla also I´m so great bla bla bla Mairon: … I could make him worse. Melkoorrr she´s asking you not to destroy the laaammmppssss Melkor the Vala of chaos, alcohol (and cheese because rot), riches, and uncontrolled emotions :) I think Melkor can enchant his voice to sound however he wants - not all Ainur can do that, however - which is why I don´t describe his voice because it just depends on who he´s talking to and what he wants. - I do like to think here he sounds something between I Monster (note a band made out of Dean Honer & Jarrod Gosling) and Hozier, where Nienna sounds more like Mitski Melkor´s true (Valarian) name is never given by Tolkien - I have a lot of ideas about that - meaning that Melkor himself probably wanted to keep it a secret for some unknown reason and wanted others to use elvish names for him instead of his real one given by Eru, just like Mairon keeps a title as a name and we never get to hear his real one either. I really like Melkor and Aule´s relationship although nothing is said about it other than Aule didn´t want to fight Melkor out of fear of destroying Arda - makes me wonder why Melkor suddenly then decided to steal his Maiar when it should be in his interest to keep Aule of the mind to not fight him. Anyway, I am a firm believer that Melkor was Eru´s favorite and that Eru shared a glimpse of the future here and there with Melkor at least in the beginning, before he fell into madness. - I mean Eru really let him do whatever the hell he wanted with only a few verbal remarks, and those weren´t even rebukes to Melkor just advising that what he was doing maybe wasn´t the best idea. I know Tolkien didn´t use Primitive Elvish but I´m going to use it as a language cut between Valarian and Early Quenya, Early Quneya which I HC Eru gave to the Ainur saying that the Elvers would use it they did they also just completely remade it. Mairon = The Admirable: Quenya Ilmarin = Mansion of The High Airs: Quenya; Manwe and Varda´s mansion Mbelekōre = Might(y) Arising; Masculin Name: Primitive Elvish - a longer version of Melkō-r Arǭmēz = Oromë; Valarin Midu = Alcholo/Nector: Valarian Melā = Love: Primitive Elvish Kherī = Lady: Primitiv Elvish Vê = Death (early name for Namo): Early Quenya Árātō = Lord: Primitiv Elvish Aȝūlēz = Aule: Valarian Maira = Admirable/Excellent/Precious: Quenya Belegúr = He who arises in Might; Mighty Arising: Sindarin Melkóre = He who arises in Might; Mighty Arising: Quenya Minnónar = First borns/Elvers: Quenya Palúrien = Lady of the Wide Earth, Bosom of the Earth; Feminine Name: Early Quenya; Also the name of Friday (the day) Ullubōz = Ulmo: Valarian Mānawenūz = One (closest) in accord with Eru: Valarian Ëa = Everything/Be (existence?? Tolkien please explain your words better) Núri = To growl/Ask for mercy&/pity - coming for the word Nuru = growl/grumble (early name for Nienna): Early Quenya Ithīr = Light: Valarian Baradā = lofty/high with strength/size/majesty (early name for Varda): Primitiv Elvish - wasn´t sure to use that or the early Quenya name (Súlimi) but I think Baradā sounds better when thinking about it Mīrĭ = Precious thing: Primitive Elvish

#tolkien #silmarillion #jrr tolkien #melkor #morgoth #mairon #sauron #nienna #melkor x nienna #angbang

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