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cinewhore · 10 months

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The Wrath of a Mother

Pairing: Thomas "Tommy" Shelby x fem!reader word count: 3k warnings: violence, heavy angst, kidnappings, blood, gore, guns, fighting. summary: Thomas Shelby discovers his wife's past. A/N: more peaky blinders brain rot for you all. not much else to say. no beta cause I say so! Enjoy. Credits to the gif artist.

The chaotic melody of jazz was cut off by the sound of screams.

Tommy didn’t like jazz which is why you waited for him to leave before putting the record on. It had been a tiresome day, dealing with the children, being the lady of the house. You sent the majority of the staff away, with the exception of a few maids to help with your children. The girls were young and foolish, always giggling behind their hands.

You pay the shouts no mind, until they grow louder, the high pitched squeals of the girls being intertwined with the yelling of men.

Suddenly, a shot rings out. You instantly cut the record, dashing into the children’s room. Oliver wakes up with ease while Alice fusses. You hated disrupting them but had no choice, telling them they were going to have a special sleepover in the guest room.

“Now, mommy is going to go and grab some snacks. I’m going to lock the door, to keep the pesky monsters away! Mommy or daddy will come back to get you, ok?”

Your oldest nods, the best big brother to his sister. You press a quick kiss to both their heads, not daring to look back at them before shutting the door.

The world seemed to slow down after that. You weren’t aware of how much time had passed, couldn’t ignore the ringing in your ears, the exhilaration of shock and adrenaline coursing through your bloodstream.

It was enough to blind a man.

Someone was hollering your name but you couldn’t make out whose voice it belonged to.

Hands abruptly clasp your shoulders and you shriek, twisting your body in a way to fend off whoever dared to attack you next. You try to ram the knife into the arm of your assailant but another pair of hands snatch your weapon away, leaving you defenseless.

Tommy crawls on his knees in front of you, grasping the side of your face tightly. You squirm and squirm but stop as he shakes you.

“It’s alright! It’s me! It’s just me!” He could tell that you were trying to comprehend what was happening and that your body was moving on its own accord, still engaged in fight or flight mode.

“Arthur, let her go.”

The oldest brother shoots Tommy a look. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Arthur drops his hold on you and you sag forward, arms wobbling against the wooden floors, hands drenched with blood.

“It’s alright, love. You’re ok, it's finished now.”

It was over. You had won, however, the thin veil between this life and the old one had been hastily torn down.

“Where are the children, hm?”

You shake your head, his words unclear to you.

“Our children, where are they?! Alice and Oliver, where are they?”

You raise a weakened arm and point towards the end of the corridor. “Guest room closet…I locked it-”

“Michael, go check!” Thomas shouts. His cousin takes off without another word.

It was all too much. The noise, the lights, the commotion. Pushing yourself up on your knees, you combat Tommy and the grip he held on you, dead set on getting into a place where you could shut it all out.

You stumble down the hallway and the flight of stairs, only tripping a few times before making it out the front door. You make it just past the hedges and collapse, stomach churning while you vomit.

Arthur was close by, tentative of his approach. He didn’t want to scare you off further. He advances steadily, arms outstretched to show that he meant no harm.

“It's ok, love. It’s just, Arthur. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

You nod, wiping at your mouth. “There were so many-"

“Yeah. Yeah, there were. You fought them all.”

“I didn’t- didn’t mean to kill anyone-”

You let Arthur close enough so that he could hold your hands, uncaring of the blood smeared across yours.

“Listen to me, eh? You’re gonna have the shakes. Your hands are gonna feel like they’re made of fucking lead. S’all normal. I just need you to breathe cause it looks like you’re gonna faint.”

You mimic Arthur as he breathes in and out, slowing down your beating heart. You surge forward and hug your brother in law, catching him by surprise. He panics for a moment before hugging you back, rocking the two of you.

“You did good, sister. You did good.”

You didn’t speak about it for two weeks.

You knew that he wanted an explanation, you felt it every time the two of you were in the same room. There was a lingering stare he would give you that he gave to each of his enemies. It was menacing, calculating and ominous. You knew the longer it took for you to offer up clarification for your actions, the more he began to suspect that you were placed in his house, in his bed, based off of an ulterior motive. If that were the case, you would’ve killed him by now but Tommy was no fool nor was he new to this type of life. He knew when people played with their food before eating and he refused to be swallowed by you.

His lovely, little wife.

It was a pleasant Sunday morning. You figured after breakfast you’d take the children into the gardens, perhaps have them splash around in the pond to tire them out before lunch. Tommy’s side of the bed was empty and cold by the time you woke up, which didn’t surprise you.

The lack of boisterous noise coming from the children is what tipped you off.

You remain calm as your lady’s maid helps you dress for the day, swapping out your gowns for a nice riding outfit.

“Lily, where are the children?” you query the young girl.

“Mr. Shelby arranged for them to spend the day with Ada, madam. She collected them this morning.”

You rock your jaw, vexation settling into your features. He secluded you, tapered off the one distraction you wouldn’t be able to use against him.

“Thank you, Lily. Where is Mr. Shelby?”

“He’s awaiting you in the dining hall for breakfast.”

Nodding, you finish your last little bit of preparations before seeking out your husband.

Thomas was a sight to behold. He sat in the chair facing away from the window, the morning glow casting a hazy aura around him. He held the newspaper in front of him with rigidness, eyes covered with his spectacles, long eyelashes gracing his cheeks whenever he looked down or blinked.

You don’t bother clearing your throat, knowing your husband was programmed with an innate capability of being able to detect when he was no longer alone. He huffs out an exhale, flipping the pages of the paper.

Frances pulls your seat out for you and you thank her, watching as she pours you a cup of coffee.

“Shall I crack your egg for you?”

You shake your head. “No, thank you. I actually find that I don’t have much of an appetite this morning.”

“Shall I ask the cook to prepare something different for you? Perhaps you’d like some fresh fruit? We just received some apples.” Frances tries again.

You give a sympathetic smile to the older woman, always grateful for her thoughtfulness and warmth. “I’ll just have some water.”

Frances pours you a hefty glass, bowing slightly as she exits the room.

You take a quaint sip from the glass as Tommy folds the paper, tucking it underneath his plate.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry? The toast was quite delicious.”

“You sent the children away without telling me.” You place the glass carefully on the table, using the condensation to wet your neck.

“I am their father, I can make decisions about where they go.” Tommy hums, rolling his neck to finally get a look at you. Even on low hours of sleep and no makeup, you were a natural beauty. You fixed your hair up in a way that he especially liked, the pins keeping it held firmly in an ornate fashion.

“You don’t send my children anywhere without me knowing about it.” You bite back coolly.

“Well,” He claps his hands together. “I figured we could use a day to ourselves. Frances has made us a nice picnic near the edge of the garden, our horses have been saddled and for the ultimate surprise, we’ll be shooting pheasants for dinner.”

You force out a grin, swallowing down the lump that was squirming its way up your throat. “What a perfect day.”

The picnic was gorgeous and you hated the way you tore into your food after skipping breakfast. Tommy made little conversation and you obliged him for the time being, willing yourself not to disassociate.

He was setting you up. While you remained neutral about the usage of guns and their place in the house, you always refused to shoot one if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Tommy had given you one for protection and you kept it locked in a box, stored in the back of your wardrobe. The last thing you wanted was for the kids to find it.

Maurice, a stablehand, was already stationed near the edge of the forestline, a trap full of pheasants at his disposal. Tommy hands you a shotgun and the both of you prepare them for the task. He’s the first one to shoot and achieves a few hits, your duo of foxhounds sprinting to capture them.

You check over your gun once more, ensuring that it wouldn’t backfire and injure your shoulder.

“I’ll take four.” You tell Maruice and he gawks at you before straightening his posture.

“Are you sure, ma’am?”

Raising a single eyebrow was enough to get the young man to hush, nodding his head that he understood. “Be quick when handing me the other gun.”

“On your signal.”

You raise your weapon upwards, relaxing in your stance and emitting a low release of breath.

“Pull.”

The flapping of wings alerts your senses. Watching them disperse into the sky, you aim your gun a few paces ahead, striking two birds instantly. Rapidly swapping out guns, you anchor yourself a bit before plucking off the remaining two. The dogs are happy as they trot to gather the rest of the birds.

Maurice seeks to hide his amusement but fails. “Great fucking shot, Mrs. Shelby!”

“Thank you, Maurice. Hang two of them for dinner, please.”

You don’t say another word as you set off for the stream nearby, Tommy close behind.

You strip off your shoes and socks, placing your slightly blistered feet into the running waters. Tommy takes a seat beside you, lighting a cigarette.

“Are we going to talk or keep playing the silent game?”

“You’re the one who makes speeches.”

Tommy chuckles. “You’re a great shot.”

“I know.”

“I just want to understand how a woman such as yourself swore of guns but managed to take on six armed men with the precision and execution of someone who enlisted.”

You snap your head over. “What, so you think I’m a spy now, huh? Is that it? A Soviet spy sent to crush Thomas Shelby and his empire from within? Give me a fucking break.”

“I’m not picking a fight with you-”

“But you are! That’s what this is, isn’t it? A fight that has gone on for far too long.”

Tommy goes silent, like he always does. At this point the both of you realize that you were no longer referring to the conversation at hand but what was left unsaid in between the lines. You let yourself wallow in the anger for just a few more moments before exhaling deeply.

Absent-mindedly, you pick at the tiny blades of grass, ripping and ripping until they scatter out of your hands like confetti.

“I was framed,” you start. Tommy perks up at the sound, lighting a cigarette. He attempts to pass it to you but you refuse it. “I was young, barely a teen. An orphan.”

“The New Prospects Orphanage in the Netherlands.” Tommy comments and you nod your head.

“On Wednesdays, we would take walks around the city so we could be shown what proper ladies were like. There was a girl, Claire, who would sometimes sneak in our group and walk with us. We were friends. The older girls were vile and teased her. Pushed her down a flight of stairs. She cracked her skull.”

You stop at the mention of your old friend, rushed memories of that fateful day speeding through your mind at the speed of light. You remember the blood slowly leaking out from behind her head, staining the white hair bow she wore.

“I reached out to try and grab her, if anything we would’ve fallen together but she slipped right through my grasp. I was blamed and whilst they were discussing what to do with the police, I took off.”

You look at Tommy, who was already eyeing you with precision. “I apparently made some very bad fucking enemies that day.”

He began putting pieces together mentally, filling in the gaps of his research. From what he had gathered, you were at an orphanage until you were twelve, moved to the States until you were eighteen before making your way back to London. You remained lowkey, worked jobs mostly as a secretary and lived a bland existence until he met you a few years after being back from France.

You steal his cigarette, sucking on the stick like it was the last one on earth.

“Claire came from a notable family within the Netherlands. Her brother wouldn’t stop until he saw my head on a stick. They sent people after me.”

Tommy sticks his tongue out to wet his lips briefly. “Eli Delbeke.”

“Eli Delbeke.” you repeat.

He was one of the six bodies Tommy discovered after the carnage. He knew who you were, the woman you tried to hide behind. He hunted you until he cornered you in your own house, threatened to feed your children to his dogs. Eli had sent nearly every thug, gangsta, and man for hire after you. You managed to defeat them all.

You didn't like how easy it was for you to snap someones neck, hated the way blood circled the drain during a shower.

“He knew you were going to be alone.” Tommy concludes. “He knew about the rally.”

“As far as I’m concerned, there shouldn’t be any more of them alive. I survived the onslaught. And you want to know what lesson he could’ve learned?”

You put out the cigarette beside you, coughing. “Grief isn’t good for business.”

It happened so fast that you didn’t have time to blink. The foundation was in full swing at its grand opening, members of high society swarming all around you. You wouldn’t lie and say you were thrilled to be there but this was Tommy’s moment and as his wife, you had to play your part.

Photographs were taken and you smiled politely, Alice in your arms and Oliver hiding behind your leg. The boy was utterly shy and you hated placing him in situations like this. Balancing Alice on your hip, you shoot an apologetic look at Tommy and the others, awaiting a photo op.

You brush back Oliver’s hair, trying to coax him forward. “Come on, Oli. It’s ok! We’ll smile very quickly for a photo and then we can go wait outside for daddy.”

Tommy grows impatient and grabs Oliver, taking him by surprise. He begins to sob and thrashes around in Tommy’s hold.

“Shelby family, look this way!” The photographer instructs and you all oblige. The flash goes off and the crowd around begins to disperse. A woman in a maid outfit reaches for Oliver and Tommy hands him off willingly, eager to get away from the clamoring of chatty women. You were busy adjusting Alice’s dress, setting her back down on the ground.

You look around for Oliver, noticing you couldn’t hear his cries anymore.

“Oliver?” you call out to no avail. “Oli?”

Clutching Alice’s hand, you ask around the room if anyone has seen a little boy. All people shake their heads, your panic grows more by the minute.

Polly senses your agitation. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“It’s Oliver. We just took a photo, I sat Alice down but when I looked up, he was gone.”

Polly gives you a look you know too well and your face drops. “Oh, Poll-”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.”

Polly alerts other members of the family, sending them in different directions. She then escorts you out into a more secluded area of the building.

Ada and John join you, all with forlorn expressions.

“Nobody has seen ‘em.” John reports, Ada backing his claim. She places a protective hand on your back, guiding you to sit on a bench.

“Let me hold her.” she says calmly and you reluctantly let go of Alice.

Arthur and Tommy march up to the family, fists balled and faces set like stones.

“He was seen being taken in a car by some woman.” Arthur shares, eyes downcast. You stand up abruptly, stepping a few paces away from everyone else. Breathing becomes a difficult task and you clutch at your chest.

The familiar sensation of rage and anguish sneaks upon you, digging its sharp claws deep into the fiber of your being.

Tommy folds himself over you in an endeavor to console you. “This is all my fault. I will fix it. Don’t you fucking worry, I will fix this. Those fucking Italian bastards will not get away with this. It’s going to be ok, I promise.”

You cock your head to look at your husband, the only thing visible from beneath your hat was your red brimmed eyes. A lone tear escapes and you refuse to let any others do the same.

It was if you were possessed by the devil himself.

You straighten yourself up, sniffling quietly. “Ada, give me my child.”

Ada does as she is told and if you were being more observant, you might say that Ada feared you in that moment.

You were going to see to it that whoever took your child would die by your hands.

They weren’t going to fear you as Tommy’s wife nor as a Shelby but as a fucking mother.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #Thomas shelby x fem!reader #Thomas Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x fem!reader #fic: The Wrath of a Mother

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gwaedhannen · 3 months

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[Excerpt 12 from Sorrow Beyond Words: Collected Testimony of the War of Wrath, 4th Edition; edited by Elrond Peredhel.]

Editor's Note: The following is a partial listing of various graffiti and artefacts within the thrall quarters reported by the cleansers of Angband. The documentation was done at the command of Prince Ingwion, and a copy of the final report given to King Gil-Galad before the Prince returned to Valinor. The full report also contains medical examination information for every captive and corpse recovered, and is several thousand pages long.

[Sindarin Tengwar text, located in barrack 1443]: “Lenlim died here, and she did not forget the sun.”

A doll made of heavily-stained cloth and leather, in the form of an Eruchîn. Object shows heavy wear, and one arm is nearly torn off from the torso. Located in a refuse pit.

[Sindarin Tengwar text, located in barrack 933]: “They will offer you better food if you’re pregnant. Refuse.”

[Black Speech Tengwar text. Located in a mineshaft]: “snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga snaga“

Several bones from a foot, wrapped in cloth. Bite marks make age estimation impossible. Located in barrack 23.

[Sindarin Tengwar text, located in barrack 521]: “Feirdal is a snitch. Don’t trust him.”

[Sindarin Cirth text, located in barrack 521, on the opposite wall]: “Faranel is a hollow. Don’t trust her.”

[Taliska Tengwar text, located in a connecting tunnel]: “I told my son what rain is today. He doesn’t believe it exists.”

[Sindarin Cirth text, located in a mineshaft near a cave-in]: “[undecipherable] was here. Remember me.”

The handle of a rock hammer, with the head entirely worn off. Located in a dead-end tunnel. The rock wall at the end of the tunnel is heavily scratched and contains numerous broken fingernails and teeth.

[Sindarin Tengwar text, located in barrack 287]: “I came back. There is nothing beyond these stones for us.”

[Sindarin Tengwar text in three different hands, located in barrack 1242]:

"When I get to Mandos I am punching him in the face." "I’m aiming for the crotch instead." "We're not going to Mandos. Stay alive."

[Quenya Tengwar text, located in a latrine]: “The signs are compromised. Only believe your ears.”

[Taliska Tengwar text, located in barrack 932]: “They will offer you better food if you’re pregnant. Take the deal.”

#silmarillion #tolkien #silm fic #angband #war of wrath #war of wrath: sorrow beyond words

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kabutoden · 4 months

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bug trolls… i am interested in kankri vantas. if that isn’t too much trouble. your buggy guys are so silly and interesting and i am a fan

here is kankri and his baby brother…. they don’t get along!! i wish they did though id love to see these two go on an adventure together where they look out each other. since kankri is a beforus troll and a vegan, his shell is pretty thin because he’s not getting enough iron. on the other hand, karkat’s shell is heavier then it should be due to stress. thanks for the RQ!! im soooo glad ppl like my sillies :D

#kankris picking up karkat because karkat said fuck you im going to come over there and cram my scythe down your ignorance shaft #kankri said no you arnt. you’re not going to do that. im not letting you do that.#karkat vantas #kankri vantas #homestuck #trolls #buggy trolls #want to see these 2 depending on each other to survive in alternia. i think it would be very hard for them to do #but i think they could grow and develop in interesting ways if they got to be brothers who fight #enrichment in the isopod tank #redbloods #these two are natural drama that’s engaging story!! ive never really read a fic i liked that rlly got into their companionship as brothers #like there’s quite a few abt dirk and dave as brothers #most fics that have both of them focus more on their bonds with the sufferer #if anyone has a recommendation I’d love to hear it #give them crabdad no sufferer make them struggle in this cruel world. highly protective kankri grumpy wrathful karkat #they can’t stand each other but also rely on each other. redblood moment #given that isopods are comparatively social and good natured to many of the other troll buggy species I’ve picked out #that’s what I’m SAYIN #^silly #ok bye

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infernal-lamb · 13 days

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Hey, I've seen your drawings from Neves. They are brilliant. I like her a lot, and are you writing fanfic about her?

Ahh thank you!!! That's really flattering fkljgfjf....It's always a pleasant surprise that people like Neves :'-) (and I love when I get an excuse to post my doodles of her and the Lamb lol)

I am in the works of trying to write a cotl fanfic abt this specific au (I call it The Apostate & The Martyr in my head lol), but writing doesn't come as easily as drawing to me SIGH. I've actually written quite a bit, but the problem is putting all these random excerpts together to make something coherent LOL. But yes, the fic is intended to be the story of The Lamb and Neves' friendship amidst the brutality and terror of the Lands of the Old Faith, how to deal with the consequences of their choices, and the mutual alienation they experience in their positions....as silly as that sounds lol. It's very self-indulgent! I just liked the concept of the "Outsider" POV, so to speak, being subjected to the sort of normalized violence that exists in cotl. Though, I might end up just making comics if I can't pan out this fanfic well enough!

#cult of the lamb #cult of the lamb fanart #cotl lamb #cotl oc #cotl au #my art #literally one person knows whats actually going on with these two outside of me LOL HGDLGDJK #but i eventually hope to actually progress with fic / comics about them and their dynamic #theyre like the madonna and child to me. if the madonna and child were a depressive + reckless human and a Lamb crushed under the weight of #their megalomania and desire to gain freedom by any means necessary #Neves is just like i love you little lamb youre soooo cute youre my calling my duty and i have to keep you safe from the Wrath of Nature #and the Lamb is like aww thats so sweet ! i AM the wrath of nature ! i love you too thanks for giving me an unattainable goal !!#the lamb also just likes to sit in fresh laundry. as a treat #alright now i'm off to deal with requests and messages and asks and such!! sorry i am so busy sob

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tanoraqui · 3 months

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Teen and Up Audiences | Graphic [but often poetic and/or supernatural!] Depictions of Violence | Gen

Words: 8,619 | Chapters: 1/1

Relationships: Finarfin & Galadriel, Finarfin & Maedhros

Characters: Finarfin, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Galadriel, Anairë, Maedhros, Eönwë, Maglor, Celebrimbor, Celeborn, Amarië, Irimë |Lalwen

Additional Tags: War of Wrath, I tagged everyone but really it's about Finarfin, kingship, and personal and collective vengeance/justice/trying to kill an unkillable dark god

“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” Lalwen complained in greeting. “Two brothers I have already lost, blindly charging that place. Must you add a third to my tally?”

“Maybe,” Finarfin said bluntly. It was still gentler than the truth on his tongue: It’s my turn.

(Or: in which Finarfin is, after all, the third son in the fairy tale.)

I worry that I’ve hyped this up too much by having it as a WIP for so long, but Here it is at last: Finarfin’s due shot at 1v1-ing Morgoth (more or less), a cornerstone of my personal elaborate tapestry of Arda headcanons! (I regularly forget that the sword isn’t a canonical legendary weapon.)

#the silmarillion #finarfin #arafinwe #galadriel #maedhros #war of wrath #morgoth #melkor #eonwe #anaire #lalwen #maglor #amarie #celeborn #celebrimbor #fanfiction #my fic

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helpallthenamesaretakenblog · 25 days

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do you guys think that wrath of the triple goddess is going to be different from chalice of the gods in the sense that there's going to be actual character conflicts?

percy is already pressured to go through with hecate's demand to take care of her mansion and pets. and hecate specifically told them to not taste her potions. from what we know, grover drinks a strawberry potion and messes it up anyway. no manipulation, no spell casting, just temptation.

but is this going to genuinely affect percy and annabeth? will there be some fight between them and grover for messing up their future because he just wanted a taste of a potion? or will rick be a coward and just write it off as 'its okay, grover, we all make mistakes'

we know these three books are going to be quick easy writes for rick as fan service but does wotg have potential to be interesting in terms of writing the changed and potentially fragile relationship between our celestial trio with different consequences in their story, consequences which are now personal?

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writer-and-thrasher · 6 months

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The Dichotomy of a Prick

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Ted Lasso (TV) Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Series: The Dichotomy of La Locker Room Characters: Colin Hughes, Isaac McAdoo, Jamie Tartt, Roy Kent, Sam Obisanya, Moe Bumbercatch, Declan Cockburn, Jan Maas, Ted Lasso, Coach Beard, Leslie Higgins, Thierry Zoreaux, Keeley Jones (mentioned), Sasha Kukoč Additional Tags: Missing Scene, Character Study, Canon Compliant, Episode: s03e09 La Locker Room Aux Folles (Ted Lasso), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Sorta, Less in This One, Homophobia, Coming Out, Bisexual Jamie Tartt, Gay Colin Hughes, LGBTQ Themes, Friendship, Team as Family, Jamie: I've Connected the Two Dots, The Story: You Didn't Connect Shit, AFC Richmond Players are Himbos (Ted Lasso), The Author is a Lesbian Your Honor, Not Roy/Jamie, But you Cannot Convince Me that Jamie Didn't Have a Crush on Roy as a Teen, I See the Poster, I Know the Truth

Summary:

It don't take a genius to work out that Isaac's fumin’ or that Colin is some type of upset. But Isaac seemed fine last night after he talked to the lad. Maybe he's just mad that Colin didn't come, but didn’t wanna ruin the fun last night by sayin’ anythin’? And Colin's upset he couldn't make it? His eyes light up as he roots around in his locker for a can of Lynx; he's bloody brilliant! He should get one of those prizes for people who solve world hunger and shit. ____________ Or, Jamie knows exactly what's going on between Colin and Isaac. Swear down.

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I'm so excited to share this with everyone! I've been working on it really hard these past few weeks, and I'm really proud of it! Shoutout to anyone who's given me some help (or just a boost), this community means so much to me, so thank you.

#ted lasso #fanfic #jamie tartt #colin hughes #isaac mcadoo #sam obisanya #roy kent #wrath fic #wrath #ted lasso fanfic #lgbt #coming out

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that-angry-noldo · 3 months

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The second you take your weapon into your hands, they begin to whisper: this will not be easy for you, noldoran; it is unfair that you go forth unwarned; you must understand there are no luxuries or comforts, in the land you're going to.

You do not understand: you know these things already. You know before you are only hardships and losses, only blood and death. Still they look at you with pity, and still they whisper behind your back: the Valar are cruel, to place the king in such a predicament; the Valar should have made the sailor lead the army.

When you step to the shores of Beleriand, the whispers begin to stir anew. The western king is all silk and gold, they scoff, his hands knew not work in the lifetime. What help is this—what use do we have of a spoiled noble?

He knows not how to sleep on nothing but rocks beneath him; he knows not how to bear cold and darkness. He knows not how to eat stale bread. He knows not hunger or thirst. Knows not how to set his own armour.

You think of time long ago, of time of darkness and cold. You think of counting the resources left and knowing, with horror, that it will not be enough even for the handful of people still left with you. You think of waking up in darkness and seeing no light but the pristine shine of lamps for entire day. You think of working yourself to the ground in forges, think of forgoing sleep and drink in favour to do more.

You say nothing.

As the day of first battle grows nearer, the whisper change. He knew not taste of blood; he knows not how to kill, knows not how to outsmart the foe. He will die, surely; will grow too terrified to fight; will cover in the last lines.

You do falter, at the first battle, if only for a second: for a second you forget there are cracks in the armour that you trained to aim at. You take the opportunity the next second, though. The flesh is surprisingly soft to cut through. Surprisingly wet.

Your armour is splayed with blood when the fight is done; you stand at the hill and take reports, hear the number of the dead. Your face is still calm; still polite.

Some look at you with surprise. Some with suspicion. You do not see; you only think you cannot throw up, not now.

You do not. You clean your sword, and straighten your back, and begin giving orders for burying the dead.

#silm fic #silmarillion #finarfin #war of wrath #araposting #is this anything! idk

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wrathofrats · 3 months

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hi hi hello could you please expand on aether's complicated feelings about dew's elemental transition? (im so hooked on your lore hdv3bdkcg)

Hi omg I’ve been meaning to write a longer official piece about this, so thank you for the excuse for something like that! I’m so happy you’re enjoying my lore side of stuff omg it makes me so giddy???

Basically going through aethers internal monologue of what he feels following the events. Reminder he is going through very heavy guilt and his feelings are a lot more dramatized than what actually happened

No one blames him, only he blames himself

Warnings for angst, guilt, mild self destructive behaviors

For the lore I’m talking about or more context please see #wraths ghost lore (not super necessary, just know aether did dews transition)

He remembers how the magic burned through his fingers.

The way he could see it creep through dews veins as he bled it in through his arms. He remembers the panicked look he gave omega who kept dewdrop subdued on the table as he screamed.

The thoughts don’t go away, haven’t left him in months. The sight of dews face twisted in pain stains the back of his eyes when he sleeps and he can’t look at him without seeing the wounds that have long since healed. It’s his handiwork at the end of the day. The scars over dew's gills are his doing, the burning flare ups dew gets in his joints are his fault. The breakdowns dew has over his new element can only be blamed on aether and he doesn’t think he will ever feel right with himself again over it.

Dews told him it’s not his fault more times than he can count. The now fire ghoul can feel the shame and pity that aether stares at him with.

“I wanted this aeth” dew rubs his hand over aethers shoulder “it had to be done”

“I know” aether leans into the touch.

But he doesn’t

The blood on his hands doesn’t seem to dry. No amount of reassurance that he had to do it takes the guilt away.

There are people out there that have to put down sick dogs, and aether wonders if the blood on their hands disappears when they clock out. Aether wonders if maybe that’s his fate too. If his job was something akin to putting down a sick dog. If he’s intervened in a divine destiny and he’s only created some half put together Frankenstein of his own friend.

He wonders if he’s only simply prolonged the inevitable.

And even if he did save dew he wonders if it was fair to have the responsibility put on himself. A god of force and not of willingness.

The sight of dew sometimes is too much to handle. Not because of any physical shock, he still looks like his dew, but the knowledge of the pain makes aethers stomach crawl up his throat. Dew would’ve been better off without him, he’s sure of it considering how he only seems to hurt him. The thought reassures itself more and more as the time passes. Dews' desperate attempts to wrangle his friend from the depths of guilt only make him feel worse. This shouldn’t be his job. Not after what he’s been through.

Aether retreats. Closes himself off more and more from those who wish to support him most. The genuine belief that he’s harmed someone is truly more than he can bear to handle, let alone to constantly see the fruits of his labor tell him how much he loves him.

His door stays locked most days. His relationships slip from his fingers in his own self wallowing. A recluse of his own fault but

Is there a more fitting fate for him?

#this hurt to write #when I can I wanna do a longer series on this #some kind of chaptered fic maybe?#if there’s interest?#who knows #I have so many projects LMAO #but I hope you all enjoy #the band ghost #ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #fanfic #wrath writes #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #wrath’s ghost lore

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ecccentrick · 10 months

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Just a mdzs fan thing where I have to pretend Jiang Cheng was possessed by a demon or ghost to be that good of a shidi/person/leader/uncle to be able to read a majority of fanfics in the fandom.

#mdzs #anti jiang cheng #i guess since i just want to see him character #this fandom has an issue with ooc in general #canon jiang cheng #id honestly like a fic where a vengeful ghost possesses jc and is like damn bitch you live like this???#and people are weirded out that jc is generally nicer etc #bc even a vengeful ghost can have manners to those who arent the subject of their wrath

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gwaedhannen · 5 months

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[Excerpt from Sorrow Beyond Words: Collected Testimony of the War of Wrath, 4th Edition; ed. Elrond Peredhel. Archive of Cîw Annúminas, inaugural collection]

“Simply reaching Menegroth was a struggle. Doriath had become a twisting nightmare of overgrowth and rot and mists, as Morgoth’s power warred with the remains of the Girdle and our old songs. Ai, our home, our haven! I know the name of every holly in Region, before the exile. We found deadfalls surrounded by dozens of animals who’d lain down beside the trees and rotted before they died. Blind moose more antler than flesh staggered towards us even after a dozen arrows. Vines covered in dripping thorns reached for our eyes. The cherry trees were overladen with fruits that smelled like gangrene. Deildhod stumbled into a nest of maddened vipers, and only escaped because their tails were all tangled together into a festering mass and could hardly move. We never saw or heard a single bird. I’m amazed we lost no one in that whole push through Region. No, I speak a lie. I know how we passed through with nothing worse than scrapes. Elrond was with us, and the ghost of Melian’s love still recognized her kin.

“Esgalduin had nearly been dammed by one of Hírilorn’s fallen boles, but the bridge still held. We crossed and reached the ruined gates, wrought twice and broken twice. Within there was only darkness to be seen; we knew not what manner of horrors Morgoth had sent to infest the city, but Ingwion was unwilling to leave them at the rear of his forces as he moved north, if it could be helped. Celeborn stood at Elrond’s right and myself at his left. Far less an honor guard than the heir of Elu Thingol and Melian Besain deserved. Yet in those dark days it was all the honor we could muster. King Dior Eluchíl had known thirty-six summers when he was unrighteously slain. Queen Elwing Nimaew thirty-five when despair took her to the sea. Lord Elrond Peredhel beheld the city of Elu for the first and only time in his twenty-ninth summer.

“Elrond stood before his inheritance and Sang. He sang a lament, for the lost endless years of joy and peace, for deep halls lit by birdsong and echoing with wisdom, for the Forsaken People who awoke the forest and earth with many voices, for the works of beauty never to be seen again on this side of the sea. He sang a promise, that the glory of Menegroth will be remembered in the songs of Middle-Earth for as long as its children endure. He sang thanks, for the protection the halls granted us until it could shelter us no more. As his song at last ceased, I thought I heard nightingales answering him.

“Stars shone on his brow, and his hair glistened as the vault of night, and the memories of our once-eternal bliss in the woods of Thingol’s realm under Elbereth’s gifts arose in my mind. Let Oropher dream of a deep hall for his own; let Celeborn reign where he will at his wife’s side! I knew in my heart, as the echo of nightingale songs faded, that there was no lord or king I would ever stand beside save Elrond Elwingion.

“The living stone in which our kingdom once thrived knew his voice, and at long last laid down its burden and passed. The darkness over Menegroth was lifted, and we went forth into its corpse, and no beast or orc could stand before us. I do not sing of what we found and left behind when we cast down the bridge and gave leave for the river to flood the caves. It is not worth remembering.”

#silmarillion #the silmarillion #tolkien #silm fic #elrond #doriath #menegroth #war of wrath #my OCs #war of wrath: sorrow beyond words #stormwritten #the Second Kinslaying occurred on this day in FA 506 #you can observe the day of remembrance by burning a Son of Feanor in effigy #in remembrance I'm writing Sindarin Elrond because I've seen too much Feanorian Elrond recently #the narrator is a former senior Marchwarden who escaped the Kinslaying and brought refugees over the mountains to Celeborn and Galadriel #she'll never forgive herself for not being at Sirion for the Third Kinslaying #she becomes one of Elrond's chief counselors and one of the heads of Rivendell's forces along with Glorfindel #she and Glorfindel were definitely at each other's throats for years until Elrond yelled at them to chill #they may have hatefucked #sorry Erestor #she either dies when Celebrían is captured #or leads the search for Celebrían and sails west with her #in either case she'll never forgive herself for failing #“Nimaew” = “white/pale bird” I think #a name given to Elwing after her leap #she doesn't know about it yet

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