23yof Minors stay off my page, mature stuff, not for your eyes. I cross-post EVERYWHERE. Tumblr gets early, but no edits. AO3 is sometimes more adulty; gets more updates. Wattpad gets most edits. Images on W & T are different.
"You ask too much," you insisted as you walked across the forest floor.
The Lady Galadriel stood on a pedestal in the center of a clearing. Branches reached high over her head and the moon shone at her back. "I ask only as much as I require." Her feet remained still while yours paced the floor. Her eyes glittered like stars and tracked your movement.
You stammered out some sounds that sounded like the beginning of a sentence that you couldn't quite get out. "Tha- That's preposterous. You can't- How do you require my life?" With your dramatics, the dress you wore dragged the ground and the sleeves flailed with your gestures. The silver fabric glittered like stars and left a trail behind you as you paced. The gown was originally Galadriel's, made obvious by the sleeves that fell beyond your fingertips despite the adjustments. The layers of fabric seemed too much for you due to the height difference between yourself and the she-elf, but it let you be barefoot and not feel embarrassed. Nothing harmful littered the forest floor, and Galadriel enjoyed lifting you up and carrying you around. It also didn't quite look the same on you as it did on her. Galadriel was a star and she shined from within. The dress looked elegant but lackluster on you. You just liked that it reminded you of her. It smelled like her, held some of the warmth she gave off naturally.
For a moment, the elf let the ages she had lived through appear on her face and you could see the pain in her eyes, the losses more numerable than years that have been counted. She had just made a request that you should have seen coming, but you had relied too much on her acceptance of the inevitable. She was Galadriel, the Lady of Light, ring-bearer, and greater than any mortal known. You were a mortal. You had come to Galadriel by injury, enduring her interrogation and piercing knowledge with wit and sarcasm. While her underlings and husband had been offended, Galadriel had smiled and instructed you be taken to the healers. Somehow, you had stayed, invited and accepted. Despite the vastness that came with her age and reputation, Galadriel had a soft and witty side she showed you. You opened up to each other in mundane ways that became bigger than they ought to be. Weeks became years and you loved one another, sharing intimacies that were both complicated and innate. But you looked older than you did when you first arrived. Of course you did. You had barely noticed but it startled Galadriel one morning and you'd seen it weighing on her for some time now. It seemed she had reached a conclusion that she shared with you a few moments ago. A bond deeper than the one you both already shared. A ritual that would merge your energies, your lives, and keep you from aging any further. It was too much, particularly for having just learned about it. "It is already mine, is it not?" You turned away from her, but there she was, blocking your path. Those radiant hands cupped your face, fingernails burrowing into your hair line. "Heart, soul, life. You promised those to me. Forever. I am offering forever."
You shook your head, tried to look down, away, tried to pull away. She let you but you felt her attention follow your movements. "I did," you confessed solemnly. You thought hard. "I know I did."
Bare feet peaked from the hem of her glowing white dress as she crossed to you once more, like a wave that refused to abandon the shore. She stopped in front of you but didn't speak or touch you. She was simply there, like an idol statue, accepting grief and offerings.
"Forever is a long time," you whispered.
"It is."
"You're already-" You didn't want to risk upsetting your lover though she was not sensitive about her age. You looked up with red-rimmed eyes and grief in your body language. She knew you worried how the smallest things could affect your relationship. Despite her many reassurances that she did not share her heart so easily, you thought she would end what you shared or banish you and disappear and you would be alone. "But men are not built for-" You went to looking back at your feet.
Porcelain hands reached out and lifted your chin. You met eyes that could guide a ship home. "I wish to have you by my side for eternity. You will unburden my days, and I will not allow the unending to consume you." However serious the topic, Galadriel wore hope on her face. "And you... are not a man."
You wanted forever with your best friend who you loved, but you had enough problems in your short time on this earth. Could you survive an eternity, so to speak? Even with Galadriel by your side, nothing was certain. She knew that better than most. But imagine the sights you would see, the experiences, the sunrises and sunsets, the animals, the lives you'd touch. You met Galadriel's gaze because you did not currently have a choice. "I need to think about it," you admitted.
A gentle smile donned the Lady of Lothlorien. She moved closer still, enveloping you in her smell, her alluring energy, and pushing hair from your face. She let herself be led back into the motion and brushed all the way through your curls. "My girl. You worry so much, you would have accepted our courtesy if you hadn't been affected by that illness." Her hand moved to the back of your head and cradled it closer to her. "And when you finally were healed, you worried you were taking from others. Your nearly overthought yourself back outside of our borders." She brought her knuckles down your forehead, cheek, and neck. Then she returned her hand to your forehead and began again. "I do not want to risk you refusing a beautiful gift for fear."
Both of your temples were slowly filled with a light, spinning sensation. A stinging ache rested behind your eyes. You frowned in confusion and looked up at your taller lover but the exertion on your eyes caused you to tear up. You squeezed your eyes tight, rubbing your tears away with your sleeve- her sleeve. You rubbed your forehead and she trailed her fingertips behind yours, leaving sparkles in place of confusion. Your arms must have had mellyrn hanging from each from how heavy they were. One hand was limp at your side and the other hung between your Lady and yourself. They brought your shoulders down into a slump and you leaned against her.
Galadriel's hand traveled down your head and back again, scratching tenderly at your neck. She spoke in the melodious language of her elves, seemingly singing to you.
The dizziness intensified and you swayed where you sat. You went to rub your face but couldn't get your hands high enough nor your face low enough. Your chin slumped against your chest and hers, hearing and thinking turned fuzzy. It felt like you were ill and helpless, the world moving through tar and time working backwards, and a high-pitched whine echoed around the clearing. As fingers crawled under your knees, you realized it was you. The ground fell away and you were laying almost entirely on top of or in the arms of Galadriel. She held you close, fingers tangling in your curls by your temple to scratch. You felt rather than heard the soothing sound made against your hair. That hand gathered one of yours, holding it to her chest. You felt quick puttering under your fingertips, and your eyes fell shut, the feeling of relief sending your head spinning even faster. A solid warmth settled on your chest and your eyes fluttered open enough to see it was only her hand.
She shushed into your hair then returned to her singing. Your awareness seemed to expand and focus at the same time. Like you had more opportunities and continued as you were. You felt a slight burn under her hand and winced, turning your face away from her. She only held you closer, so you buried your face in the swan neck offered. She seemed to be speaking to you but all senses were tunneled into a single jarring experience. In a single moment, the overwhelming influx of sensation gave way to a heightened access to something much bigger than you. Your eyes rolled back in your head and you went limp in her grap. Before the last of your awareness disappeared, you heard Galadriel speak in your language, "Rest now. And be born."
*
When the world came back, everything was different. On the surface, you could see nothing was different. You were in the same bed you and Galadriel shared, in the same talan you always stayed in. But given a few moments, you could see better details in the walls within your talan, in the leaves growing all around you, in the features of your lover's face. You could hear her breath and the wind blowing high above the mellyrn. Everything was more intense yet less dire. You looked up at the Lady Galadriel who still kept you in her arms. "My love?" you questioned gently. Nothing was inherently wrong, but the lack of normal was disarming. You pushed yourself to sit up and noticed the ease that accompanied it. Usually there was a strain in your arms and the occasional ache when you changed positions.
Not supporting you, Galadriel let her arms trickle around you and out of the way like a stream disrupted by a rock. She maintained physical contact while allowing you to adjust. The silence was more telling, you knew she was waiting more than observing. She was not choosing silence to ignore or irritate, but because she had the time to wait. Her entire gaze rested on you in its entirety. Her hands held your arms in a hold you now knew was secure but not firm. You could break free if you so chose. Every second seemed to pass in a thousand and the air stayed still, but not stale.
You looked around the room, spotting engravings and the art of nature you had missed before. Moving your legs, you felt the gossamer that the dress was made of. Before, it weighed an average amount for clothing. You pulled the sleeve and even the seams were like water droplets running down your arm. "What... have you done?" you asked in bewilderment. You looked at the hands that pulled the sleeve and tracked the skin that used to be marred by freckles, wrinkles, and hangnails. Mere hours ago, there were lines on your palm.
Galadriel let her hand rest on your wrist, joining your line of sight. "You are no less than you were."
The vagueness of her response made angry tears flood your eyes. You looked at her with a fury she had not been on the receiving end of. "What then."
She regarded you with a carefulness that you half-recognized. "I could not lose you." That was still not an answer. You did not speak for fear of your rage spewing loose. You held your tongue for longer than you expected; the urgency you'd experienced your entire life was gone. Like you had nothing but time. "Not even in 50 years," she declared. There was no option for argument in her voice, the decision of Ages in a single sentence.
You pulled further away from her, out of her hands, and turned around. "What. Have you. Done?" you demanded with a trembling voice. A tear tickled its way down your face. You raised your chin in defiance to the pity on your love's face. Your feet touched the ground to give you the superior footing, pun not intended.
"You will not age." If she thought that was enough, she was sorely mistaken. She tilted her head. "You will remain as you are, as long as you are."
"Galadriel!" you scolded.
"Your soul has been bound to mine, my love. I ensured you will remain with me for as long as I shall live." She remained on your shared bed, looking exquisite and relaxed.
Your mind could not grasp the confession. "You... you're proud?"
Crystal blues pierced your very soul and the Lady laid back on the bed. "A problem for the future has been solved. Neither of us need fear our separation, by mortality nor morality. You are mine." It was plain, with no room for confusion. If anything, she seemed content.
You stared at her in complete bewilderment. You didn't understand how you could love someone who would disregard your wishes so easily. More than that, she seemed to have intended to do this the entire time. From your argument last night to the ritual itself, she knew her intentions contradicted your desires. "Why.... How could you...? Knowing that I did not want it." You looked at your hands again, so changed yet still so unchanged. But it was those hands that chose Galadriel, that grasped for her when you were scared or uncertain, that held tight to the bonds you'd selected, that pushed away everyone else. You'd made the wrong choice. "You cannot make these decisions about my life." You looked back up at her, something cracking open in your chest and releasing a flood.
Galadriel eased from the bed to stand before you. "It is my life as well. It is our life now. My darling, you wished to delay to create some reason why we should not be together forever. I say now that I will love you until the sun burns out. Until all the memories of the stars have gone." She held the side of your face and you couldn't help nuzzle her palm. Even the feeling of her skin on yours was heavenly. You never thought her touch could improve in any way, but this heightened sense of touch made her even more intoxicating, all the way down to her scent.
"Humans are not meant to live for as long as elves," you argued into her flesh. "We have no conception of the repercussions."
Galadriel eased her hands around your waist, slowly encompassing you in inevitability. "Yes, but I will be with you. I will not allow anyone to take you from me, not yourself, not time, and certainly not death."
Hello! I was wandering if you write Smut for The Devil wears Parada because…
“She probably should have led with, she now had the impulse to fuck you into the mattress once you were able. Legally, she needed you in another department before your menstrual ended. For that night, she wasn’t letting you leave her room.”
-Miranda Menstrual cycle fic
WHAT THATS SO HOT LIKE HUH????
PLEASE ELABORATE ON THIS, MATTER OF FACT IF YOU DO WRITE SMUT PLEASE CONTINUE ON THIS SENTENCE LIKE A FIC WHERE MIRANDA ACTUALLY DOES WHAT SHE WANTED TO DO????
(preferably after all of this happened so set as a part two)
ANYWAYS THANK YOU<333
is this weird?
I hope I did not disappoint
Almost an exact week later, you sauntered through the halls of Runway as a new woman. You had opened your apartment door every morning of your pain to random packages elegantly wrapped. The first had been the most savory chocolates that you tasted for hours. Was that how the rich stayed so skinny? Magic chocolate? The second was a warming blanket that smelled like lavender. You had cozied up underneath it every night and the aching in your stomach eased the slightest bit. The next surprise had been a lacey top with sheer in all the right places. Blushing, you had put that away in the closet. The fourth day, the pain was finally easing and you had unwrapped what you were sure was a book but turned out to be a book of policies and procedures for a photography position. It was still within Runway and you would still see Miranda semi-frequently, but would no longer work directly under her. You had gone in to work to find everyone cowering from you, trying to stay in your good graces. Your every afternoon was interrupted by the woman who had given you so many gifts, taking you to lunch. The most expensive, extravagant meals paired with wine that made you forget your troubles, and the most scathingly witty company that made you laugh and feel protected at the same time. How could you not be enchanted by the fashion dragon?
So, at the end of the work day, when you walked out of the building to Roy by the town car, holding a paper with your name on it, you chuckled and obliged. You took the paper with a mocking, “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you, Roy?”
The polite man ducked his head, holding the rim of his hat. “Miranda’s idea.” He opened the door for you.
You looked at him with eyes reserved for Miranda, already feeling warm. “She is a genius,” you mumbled while getting in. Alone in the backseat for the first time, you felt uncertainty bubble up. You fiddled with your fingertips, a bad habit Miranda didn’t usually allow enough free time for, and looked around the plush leather. It seemed you were looking at everything for the first time. Things were different when you were around Miranda. She had control of everything so nothing was not by design. Nothing was unexpected or unsolvable. Everything was planned, within her power. She ensured it. Just the thought brought a bolt of heat through you and you pinched your sleeve.
When the town car pulled up in front of Miranda’s town house, the heat hadn’t gone anywhere. In fact, in the solitude of the back seat, left to your own thoughts, it had bubbled and boiled up into a volcano, spewing dangerous feelings. You got out of the car, and the New York weather didn’t seem to touch you. You were still an inferno and your feet moved on their own. You met Miranda at the entrance to her home. She was already standing there, in the threshold. Roy drove off without another word.
Miranda Priesley held her hands out to your face, wrist adorned with a chunky bangle that was off-set by the layered necklace. One hand immediately slid behind your neck and the other dropped to your neckline, fisting your shirt. She pulled you up into her townhome and held tight to your scalp. You shut the door behind you the same way you always did, on autopilot, as she precisely claimed your mouth. She started gentle, lips grazing yours. She knew you were burning up, she must. And if you weren’t, she would ensure you were soon. Her perfect white teeth took your upper lip and peeled it away to slide her tongue against your teeth. You let your hands slide into her equally perfect white hair and scratched at her head, one hand sliding down to scratch at her neck. One of her hands fell to the small of your back, dragging you against her. You moaned and she slid into your mouth with throaty chuckle. She reached down under your skirt and pulled your underwear down to land between your stilettos. Your next moan was higher pitched and Miranda had hardly done anything, swallowing your sounds.
The cold on your wet cunt gave you goosebumps everywhere else. Miranda dragged her blunt nails across them, fascinated by the white lines that followed and darkened into pink. She grabbed your arm where she had just grazed you. She was being rough now.
You whined again, tightening your grip in her hair. “Miranda!” you panted out, the first word shared since your arrival.
She released your arm and gently trailed her hand down to the elbow, watching her masterpiece darken into a purple. Her ice blue eyes found you, and you saw the passion that drove Runway, that would never let it be less that perfect. That would never let you be less than perfect. She grabbed your hair and turned away like she were merely holding a leash. The thought of either made your wetness spread. She walked upstairs, not yanking, not cruel, but expecting perfection. As ever, she knew you would follow through with her desires and whims and she simply walked up the steps to her desired floor.
You trailed along, struggling to find the balance between being close but not too close and not falling behind. As always, Miranda’s expectations seemed sky high. You let go of her because the jostling from her taking the steps just made it worse. If you fell behind, she was remorseless. She did not slow for you, for anyone. She would not debase herself. But you could not step on the same stair as the Ice Queen, for she held your hair around her fingers, in a fist that she held a distance from herself. She was still above you. Everything made you want her more. You lagged behind, occasionally falling too far behind and yanking yourself on her steely grip. It stung your scalp and drowned your tongue in a pool of your own saliva. You tripped on the last stair, overeager, and caught yourself on her waist. You met her gaze, accepting the sting to see the color changes in her irises. She suddenly decided this hold was not what she desired anymore and pulled you forward, easing your scalp with her fingertips. You slid your fingers higher up her waist, tickling almost in your exploration. You found the clasp and begged with your eyes.
Miranda leaned back against the wall beside her bedroom. Her mussed hair pushed higher on the wallpaper. She did not answer with words but when did she ever. One nod, two nods, pursed lips, and the infamous smile. What the Ice Dragon held was not a smile but a villainous smirk. The smugness of God in the body of a devastating fashionista. You loosened her shirt and attacked her pale flesh before she could prevent it. If she dared slow the descent of your kisses, you would truly die. Your fingers dug in, leaving scratches of your own. You slid behind her, exploring what you had stared at for years from behind notepads and hidden in the trail of masses that followed her. You followed her all the way to the car, though. You had had time and angles a million girls would kill for. And now… touches. You were going mad and could do precious little about it. Your fingers sunk in harder. This could be it. This could be the last time the infamous Dragon Lady let you touch her. She was mercurial and you could be tossed out at a moment’s notice. You unzipped her skirt and she let you, let it fall, even shimmied for it and you nipped whatever moved and soothed the pain with your tongue and a suction of your own making. The black pencil skirt fell to the ground and your hair was seized once more. You were dragged to your feet and pushed inside the bedroom, scalp stinging delectably. You had never seen Miranda’s bed, never been so far upstairs. It was large, larger than a king surely, decorated precisely with elegant designs.
You didn’t have time to investigate further before you were pushed down upon it. Your hands were seized and pulled so far you pushed your face into the bedding to bend up with her.
“Good,” was all she said. You were shaking on the mattress for the woman that bound your hands behind your back. The soft fabric was delightful against your bare back and a brief distraction from the cold metal traveling up your back and the snipping sound.
“Hey!” you protested.
Miranda took your hair again and yanked you back to face up, to face her. “This shirt is atrocious. I will buy you a dozen more and personally make you my own personal fashion show.”
You flushed. That meant… literally everything coming from her. To even say, to imply, commit? to …. Oh, God.
She kissed you again. “Think less. Worry less. I want you.” She bit your jaw, shoulder, and the blades on your back, licking up the spine in a figure eight. The worry did float away on a breeze. All that mattered was her and now. She played mindlessly (as if) with your slick while cutting the rest of your sleeves, blowing on the exposed flesh to create more goosebumps. She licked those same spots and blew again, silently amused to herself as you shivered.
She found your tender little nub and you jumped at how cold her hands were. You forgot. You forgot everything under her touch, pressing your own face into the bedding, grabbing the bedding, whining into the mattress. “Oh, my.” The words were lost among the stuffing. Despite the lackthereof, you wriggled like you had ants in your pants. It was as if you were trying to escape as simultaneously get closer. In a sudden burst of energy, you hooked your leg around hers and twisted. Suddenly, you were on top and Miranda’s icy blues went wide with shock. Perhaps this was the hottest visual of your life, Miranda not in control. Bending over, you delivered a chaste kiss to her waist before sliding her pants off. You scratched down her thighs, earning a hiss and a pinch at your Achilles. You bit her hip, sucked at her thigh, and slid your fingertip under her La Perla. Under and over, scratching and toying, you didn’t progress to where she wanted you to until she had the polka dots she abhorred. Then you just tore the light, lacey cloth. Now Miranda made the same sound you did when she pinched you.
You wished you were making the sounds into each others’ mouths. Leaning all the way over, you licked down her slit, finding the slick she had made just for you. She didn’t taste like steak or pinot grigio or shaven snow. You had imagined this in depth. You flicked and rippled, like a dog rolling around in mud, soaking your tongue in her. You dragged back up slowly, swirling and doing whatever else came to your mind in that moment.
You felt her tense beneath you. “Yes…” she hissed. “Move at a glacial- pace.” A soft sigh left her bare lips.
“Does it thrill you?” you teased into her. She was a bit too busy to meet your remark with one of her own. A shiver went up her spine that shook the whole bed. Slow as an iceberg, you lick and nipped, making zipzags, the alphabet, your name, her name, you rendered Miranda Priesley speechless. It was only when you slid your fingers in and curled that she responded viscerally. She brought her hand down on your backside and the fabric of your skirt spread your own slick around. You paused and hummed into her before she pulled you up by the back of your shirt. You followed her silent command, unsure of if you had done something wrong or had hurt her. Facing the Editor and Chief of Runway, you felt her wetness spread between your faces and she smooshed them together. The two of you fell into her cloud mattress together and she got one up on you then you got one up on her. It was a wrestling match that had already hit the ground, shoulders pending. You were both slowly stripped and each slotted one leg between the others’. Both moaning at each other, pressing all flesh together. You bit her shoulder, she scratched your back. One of you rocked, the other jerked. One went limp, the other one tensed.
Miranda got out of the bed, leaving you a panting and concerned mess. She reached into her bed, because of course the bed frame had a drawer, and pulled out. Oh. Black leather straps that looped around hips, a padded base with a rubber ring, and a silver rod hanging from it. “Stay,” she ordered before turning from the room. She returned with the accessory secured tightly to her hips and you had to swallow the new drool pooling in your mouth. Coming to stand at the foot of her bed, Miranda slowly curled immaculate fingers around your ankles and pulled suddenly to bring you to her. You couldn’t help but gasp. It seemed nothing was close enough as she had you raised up onto your elbows, leaning backwards. She kissed you hard, grabbing your thigh and lifting it. You leaned back again with a muffled giggle. She explored your slick with her fingers and lined her fake cock up. She went back to rubbing your clit, helping herself along.
You never imagined yourself getting fucked by Miranda Priesley. The real thing was better than anything your puny imagination could invent. Your toes curled and the world seemed to fall away. In the face of the Devil in Prada, you came. She rolled her hips a little as she fucked into you and grabbed your hands, holding tightly to keep you on the mattress. You realized some part of the toy must have been stimulating herself as well. Miranda grunted in your ear. You were raw, sensitive, and twitching, eyes rolling back in your head. “Yes, Miranda,” you whispered.
She rammed into you a little harder. “Say it.” She was growling, but there was a desperation in the way she held your hands.
You arched your back and the change sent a new wave of stars rattling through you. “Yes, Miranda, please.”
Her head fell against your back, rocking into you in a way that made you want to beg her to stop. She repeated a motion that made you squeal into the soaked bedding. “Ah, yes…. Beg,” she ordered.
You whined. She was still telling you what to do. “Please,” you repeated. Your neck went limp for a moment, eyes rolling once more. You clenched and thanked whoever that this one was small. You turned your head so she could hear you. “Please, Miranda. Can’t you come? Please? Miranda, yes, Miranda. Yes, Miranda. You’re the Editor and Chief of Runway magazine. No one can do what you do. You out-smarted Irv, that French bitch, and got your best friend an even better promotion. And you can’t even come? How fucking pathetic are you? Give your high and mighty, prissy cunt, the whipping it has been begging for,” you ordered. “Or I will.”
And she scratched those blunt nails down your front, over both breasts making you hiss. She moaned deeper and more… everything than you could ever imagine. You loved her. You stared at her as she claimed what she wanted, staying still because you couldn’t feel it. She used whatever she needed and you loved it. You hoped she’d just let you do it again. And again. She rolled sideways to cup your face, staring with an expression you couldn’t identify on her. “That’s… not all.”
To start 30% of tumblr users don’t own their own car, which already eliminates quite a lot of potential truck havingness you see.
Then among the car havers, the most common kind is a 20 year old sedan that was purchased for $2,400 and will be driven until the rims weather into sediment and become a new kind of sedan sedimentary rock called a sedanimentary rock. The second most common kind of car is a Subaru purchased by two lesbians who are no longer in a relationship but remain good enough friends still to be effective car co-parents.
Now this does leave an amount of truck havers. About 0.5-1% according to science. But importantly when you ask them about the truck the answer is “yeah my job is to pull stuck bulls out of the mud on the farm” and then they pull away and you get to see all the muddy bulls in the back of their truck, which is a real treat.
PSA to fic readers, it is so hard to freak a fic writer out with your comments. we are just as crazy about the fic as you are.
tell me you love it. tell me it made you slam your laptop shut. tell me you brought it up at your college lecture about kink. key smash in all caps. quote the passage that made you think. i promise, we’ll love it.
we spend hours thinking about it, writing it, editing it. there is no such thing as over enthusiasm when you’re talking about our fics to us. we are sooooo weird about them, i assure you. you are just matching my freak. the freak bar is already set so high. feel no anxiety about enjoying something and letting the creator know.
It was such a little thing that cursed you so. A dagger most refined, embroidered with a near gold, curved unnaturally, it glittered temptingly. The moment it caught your eye, you were enraptured. You hadn’t thought to question why something so valuable was abandoned in the woods. You had simply picked it up and a shadow misted over you. Suddenly, you were no longer in the forest. You didn’t know where you were but it was cold and dark, sticky things were crawling up your arms and something was biting your ankles and toes. You felt a sickness in your stomach, reaching up and down simultaneously.
From miles away, the light felt the darkness.
Bare feet moved through flora and shrubbery, shuffling it aside as a woman aglow from within stepped forward. The woman was an elf, a Lady of Light, piercing the dark prison engulfing your body.
You had begun to burn from the inside. You suddenly realized you were on the forest floor, and the hand next to the blade had black veins. You tried to focus on the instrument of evil, not to defend yourself, but to warn the incoming elf or get it away from her. The world faded away and time seemed to loosen. Your veins must have carried the flames of Mount Doom. The elf’s ethereal face came into focus, her blond hair falling in elegant waves. She touched your arm, with the darkened veins, and it pulsed. Too far gone, all you could manage was a whimper. Your arm jerked on its own, reaching up toward the light to consume it with the dark. Your arms locked together. You weren’t even holding her, but where she had held you, she didn’t seem to be able to let go. You gasped again, the light from her hand burning your arm even worse.
“Calm yourself,” the elf whispered. She must have felt the heat from your shared contact.
Your muscles obeyed the stranger before considering your thoughts on the matter. The pain lingered but your bones were too weak to even attempt escaping it.
The elf’s free hand grabbed the accursed blade, and you were showered in her golden hair as she turned to fetch it. She held you in one hand and it in another. She was suddenly seized by something, going rigid in front of you. She seemed to rock and her eyes rolled back, the black veins from your arm roaming into her veins up there.
A tide unlike anything you experienced began pulling from your heart and down to the arm joining the two of you. It was not the pain as before, no that was being drawn from you like a wave, gradual but complete. Undeniable. Your head spun from the sensation, seemingly following it. Your eyes also rolled and your whole body went more lax. The hand on your arm tightened, fingers digging in.
Above you, the wind whipped fiercely. Galadriel, Lady of Light, bowed under the strength. This darkness was old. It was not so easily returned to a case it did not wish to be in. This was a darkness from the First Age, its age and power rivalling her own. It traveled through Galadriel like a sickness, but she was stronger than you. Rather than collapse under its weight, she gritted her teeth and seized it all, forcing the darkness through her core and into the blade. Lightning struck and thunder cracked, Middle Earth seemingly rebelling against her actions. Something in the distance roared, like a beast, no longer thunder.
The lightning ceased on the outside and began jolting within you and without. The darkness clawed at your heart and soul as it was ripped from you. Leaving scars in places unseen, a mark to remind you what you escaped. You dropped down one more time, everything going black.
Your savior, however, was not finished with her task and struggled against the will as old as her. She clamped down on her power, forcing the darkness into the artifact. Despite being an immortal being, seemingly unflappable, sweat poured down her neck and back. Tears welled up in her eyes from the effort, muscles tensing and rippling, and she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. A sort of dizziness came over her and she fell next to you, the blade gripped tightly in her hand. You were blurry through her wet eyes, but enchanting. To have had the strength not to be immediately taken over or killed by the darkness in her hand, you must have had incredible will. She could feel the mortality drifting off of you in waves, your so limited energy settling to keep from fading. The blonde forced herself to sit once more, pulling you to sit up by your shoulders. Leaning you against her, the century old elf gathered you up and rose to her feet. She turned toward her forest and slowly entreated back through the familiar trees. By simply being back in her Land, Galadriel’s energy began to feel replenished. You did not have that same luxury, but her power would not allow you to leave your body or this world. You had… something, and she would not stop trying until she deciphered everything about you. She did not notice that she had yet to release the dagger from her grip, that she had not cut off the darkness she had disposed of. Something lingered. The Lady of Light paused at the realization. Then she continued.
