Arranged marriage au pov outsider thing please? :)
Ok so this one is kind of the opposite of listanwar au asdfghjkl, the backstory of it is sauron/maeglin arranged marriage and sauron catches feelings and becomes less evil because maeglin gets upset when sauron hurts people, and eventually the feelings are reciprocated
The actual fic is told from the perspective of an elf oc who's been brought from angband to work at tol-in-gaurhoth, ostensibly because the werewolves just keep eating people but actually because sauron makes escaping REALLY easy
However in order to not get killed by morgoth, sauron can't let anybody know he's not all that evil anymore, so he basically larps being evil by menacing his husband and making the orcs do theater tech (if he doesn't have morticia addams lighting he will be Upset)
However our pov character, hencír, does not know it's fake
A preview:
The lieutenant sat upon a throne, high above the place where the thralls huddled, but his gaze seemed to pierce them all. There was a subtle glow about him, his rich red robes shining and gold jewelry glinting, and a shaft of light (somehow, even in the night) fell upon his fiery eyes. But this was not the most striking thing about the scene.
Upon his lap sat an elf.
The elf was dressed beautifully, adorned in fine things much the way the lieutenant was, blindfolded with black silk dark as his hair, and conspicuously barefoot. The lieutenant ran a hand over the elf's neck where pale skin met a skillfully made golden torc decorated with the sigil of the Eye. Even from this distance she could see the elf's breath hitch at the touch to his throat.
I wish you a very, very happy birthday, my dearest Clara! This year’s gift is not quite as long as last year’s, but it is the longest thing I’ve written this year and also profoundly fluffy and we all know that too much sugar causes belly aches, so perhaps shorter is better in this case! Either way, I hope you enjoy your sweet morsel!
set aflame
Merlin’s magic is a horrible traitor and wants to see him dead.
Ever since that thing with Arthur started, his magic has been acting up.
The thing with Arthur is supposed to be a secret, which obviously means that everyone seems to know about it. At least Gaius’ eyebrows, Gwen’s loving, but awkward questions, and Morgana’s pointed comments that never fail to make Merlin blush furiously say as much. The only one who doesn’t seem to be in the know yet is Uther, and his magic is determined to change that too and get Merlin killed at the same time.
Arthur kissed Merlin for the first time five days ago and ever since every single candle in Merlin’s vicinity has suddenly burst into flame. When Arthur gets near him, the candles don’t just burst into flame, but start to hover just above their candlesticks. It’s a true miracle that no one has noticed anything yet! At least Merlin’s proficiency at dousing flames has much improved - should Kilgharrah ever decide to escape his prison by burning down the castle above him, Merlin will be well prepared.
Merlin has tried to figure out both the cause of this anomaly - A hex? A spell? A curse? - and any possible cure, but nothing had worked - not fennel harvested under the light of the last full moon, nor dandelions grown on a grave, nor even mint for a fresher breath. Well, that had gotten Arthur to notice and comment at least, but in response not just the candles in Arthur’s chambers had burst into flame, but also the fireplace, which one of the tapestries had almost fallen victim to.
Merlin is honestly at his wit’s end.
Ultimately it’s Arthur who saves him from an untimely death at the stake.
He takes Merlin along on an extended hunting trip, and when they are half a day's ride away from Camelot, he makes him set up their tent. Nowadays that does not just involve threats and insults (those still happen, but they're definitely more playful than heartfelt), but also teasing touches that make Merlin drop the firewood and promises of kisses that ignite said firewood before Merlin has even touched a match. He had his back towards Arthur, though, so hopefully he'll just think Merlin is being extra efficient today because of said promised kisses.
When he turns around, however, he does not get a kiss, nevermind multiple ones, but an exasperated look and a sighed out question:
“Are you trying to get yourself killed, Merlin?”
Merlin blinks and tries to make sense of that non sequitur.
“No?” he replies and earns an eye roll for his troubles. Admittedly, his answer did come out as more of a question than with reassuring firmness, but still!
Arthur sighs again and then drops down next to the merrily blazing fire. He pats the ground besides him and Merlin hesitantly settles down. Arthur's face is serious, so Merlin tries to push his latest fire related mishap out of his mind to concentrate on what Arthur has to say.
“I'm sorry, I wasn't going to say anything because it's your secret to tell and everything but this has got to stop before someone gets hurt, most likely you.”
“What secret are you talking about?” Merlin asks dumbly because with his feelings out in the open and enthusiastically returned, the only secret he has left is his magic and surely Arthur isn't talking about that!
“I'm talking about your magic!” Arthur says and Merlin's next breath goes down the wrong pipe. The ensuing coughing fit takes him out of commission entirely and doesn't even work to distract Arthur long enough for Merlin to come up with a suitable memory charm on the fly.
Instead he only waits until Merlin isn't wheezing quite so loudly anymore and then insists: “I'm serious, Merlin, we have to figure out what is wrong with your magic and how you can get it back under control again. I will not stand by and watch as my father burns you at the stake, but I don't much fancy overthrowing him just yet either.”
“You'd overthrow your father for me?” Merlin croaks and Arthur's gaze, which had been serious and steely turns soft.
“Merlin, there are very few things I wouldn't do for you, surely you know that by now.”
Not really, no. Merlin had been well aware that he'd stop at just about nothing if it meant Arthur's continued safety and well-being, but he hadn't really realised that it went both ways. Though thinking back, there might have been some hints. Still, though, overthrowing Uther?
Arthur seems to be reading his mind because he says:
“Do you know how often I defied my father before meeting you? Twice. Once because I did not want Morgana to stay with us, and once because I did not want her to leave again. I have lost count how often I've gone directly or indirectly against my father's wishes because of you. You've turned my life upside down in so many ways, Merlin, and I wouldn't have it any other way.”
There are no words which could encompass everything Merlin is feeling right now, so he settles on a nonverbal answer: a passionate kiss that knocks Arthur backwards into the grass. It's supposed to express Merlin's feelings for him, only it seems to express something else entirely for Arthur, because he pushes Merlin away.
“See? What are you doing right now?” he demands and Merlin sits up with a huff.
“If you can't tell by now, perhaps I should stop doing it entirely,” he retorts and only barely resists crossing his arms and pouting. Seriously, Arthur says those things to him and then has the audacity of acting shocked when Merlin kisses him. Perhaps they'd not been as much on the same page with the kissing and everything as Merlin had thought.
As if reading Merlin's mind (or probably just his facial expression) Arthur sits up as well and reaches for him, cupping his face gently and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.
“Not that, you dollophead,” he chides and flicks his eyes upwards pointedly. “That.”
Confused, Merlin tips his head back and jumps when a drop of wax threatens to fall directly on his nose. A candlestick is flickering merrily in the air above them, entirely uncaring that it has no reason to be there. Merlin has the insane urge to shoo it away like an annoying fly, but he manages to control himself just about. That’s one thing he can at least still control, even while his magic is staging a revolution.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with it!” he exclaims, frustration breaking out of him. “It’s been going mad for a week, but I’ve not been able to find a cure. If it’s a spell or curse I just have to hope it’s going to fade on its own soon.”
What he doesn’t say is that if his magic doesn’t return to normal, he’ll probably have to leave Camelot. It’s honestly a miracle that he hasn’t been found out yet. But leaving Arthur?
“When exactly did it start?” Arthur asks, oblivious to Merlin’s mental freak out. He looks as though he might have an idea, though what that could be Merlin has no clue.
Trying to put horror scenarios of being either burnt at the stake or doomed to a life without Arthur out of his mind, Merlin concentrates on Arthur’s question.
“I first noticed it after, well, after you kissed me,” he answers hesitantly, feeling his cheeks heat up.
Arthur hums thoughtfully and looks up again. When Merlin follows his gaze, he sees that the single candle is still flickering merrily in its candlestick, floating freely above them.
“Will you allow me to try something?” Arthur asks, neither his face nor his voice betraying what he might be thinking, and Merlin shrugs.
“Sure, if you think it might help.”
He doesn’t have much faith in that, but he does trust Arthur not to try anything horrid, so trying his idea won’t hurt at least.
In fact, Arthur’s idea is the greatest idea ever, because it involves more kisses, which had been criminally neglected so far. Arthur presses first one, two, three quick kisses to Merlin’s mouth, then, after his eyes flick upwards briefly towards the still burning candle, a more lingering touch follows, lips pressed against lips, Arthur’s hand curving around Merlin’s jaw, thumb stroking over Merlin’s cheekbone. Automatically, Merlin’s eyes slip shut and he leans into Arthur’s touch, wrapping his own arms around Arthur’s neck.
When Arthur’s tongue slips through his lips, colours explode in the darkness behind his eyelids.
Arthur’s gasp breaks their kiss and when Merlin’s eyes slowly slide open again, he sees that the air around them has exploded with colours, too.
“I think I have it now,” Arthur says, sounding slightly hoarse. “I’m the problem, Merlin.”
Merlin’s kiss-addled brain takes a moment to process that and then he opens his mouth to protest, because surely Arthur isn’t suggesting that his kisses are making Merlin’s magic act out against his will! And even if that were the case, what solution could there be? To stop kissing Arthur? Surely not!
But thankfully Arthur is way ahead of Merlin already.
“There’s nothing to it,” he says decisively. “We have to desensitize you to my kisses. Merlin, we will not go hunting tomorrow.”
And for the next three days, Arthur very diligently does his best to wring out every firework Merlin has within him by means of copious amounts of tongue. They almost set the forest aflame, but in the end, Merlin can at least touch Arthur innocently without candles appearing all around them and a quick press of the lips only sets them aflame every third time.
Any tongue has been banished to Arthur’s rooms though, they’ve decided.
you know how we say there’s That Scene you started this fic for and the rest is just plodding along until you get there? That Scene is, like, 80% of the excitement.
but that estimate is soggy, because there can be, like, 3 or more of That Scene(s). some of them show up while you’re actually writing. and if we wrote fic for That Scene(s), I mean, lbr, we’d just write the one scene and get away with one-shots.
the other “20%” of the excitement is unexpected stuff happening until you get to really fill in That Scene(s) with location details, character history. character history and developing relationships throughout the story arc? yes pls. a character cracking jokes is almost never something I’ve actually planned to write. sometimes a weird but loveable oc falls out of the cupboard.
(but also lbr most of that 20% right there is making your betas scream.)
*honourable mention goes to research, screaming at canon, and occasional artistic urges.
November: writing rituals
not... exactly? there are Things that just Happen, tho. like, say you have a prompt, or a really good idea attached to all of 5 words. you think, I can’t do anything with this right now, so you go about your business. a week or a month or a year or five years later you’re watching a movie or you’re reading a new fic and you think to yourself, hey, what about that idea, and now you’re theoretically getting somewhere.
I’m not getting anywhere until I sit down and write it out with a pen on paper at least once. I guess, you could call this part a ritual—because it has to be a nice (very specific, though not necessarily fancy) pen and a fancy journal that my friends gave me for New Years’ or Christmas. (I’ve only finished one of them, so I guess we’ll find out what notebooks I’ll be using when it’s not my friends’ gifts anymore.)
and it’s not like I don’t start typing until I’ve written shit down on paper, no, not at all. but it’s easier to figure out chapters with pen and paper in hand. also sometimes there’s some kinda weird witchy feedback going on because the pen or the paper seem to give me ideas idek man what works works and we don’t question it
Okay, but I do really appreciate how much love you have for the prequels? Especially TPM which I love and is vastly underappreciated imho.
💗 Thanks!
I used to do that Thing everyone does where you hedge and hem and haw and say things like “well they’re not perfect, and I can truly understand why everyone hates [whatever], BUT...” and then after years of this, I was just like, WHO THE HELL CARES?
Yes, it’s scandalously true: I enjoyed a movie! Maybe someone else didn’t! The world will find a way to carry on somehow! I just got so tired of having to qualify every single opinion I had about these films with some sort of preamble about how I was Well Aware of the Many Criticisms in order to be allowed to say I liked any part of them. I don’t care anymore if someone thinks my taste in something that does not really matter at all sucks.
Life is short, talking about these movies with other people who love them makes me happy, the end.
Additional Tags: Time Travel, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Drama, BAMF Leia Organa
Summary: Coruscant Bound.
This chapter was funded by the wonderful @loverofcake. If you would like to commission a fic, or a chapter of an ongoing work to rise it up my list of priorities, drop me a message! If you like what I do, I have a ko-fi here! Thank you so much, everyone! Enjoy the chapter!
What you mentioned about Luke always being aware of Obi-Wans presence on Tattoine, shielding him and surrounding him with warmth and comfort is pretty much exactly what I thought as well. Bearing that in mind, we know from FACPOV that Obi hand made ships for Luke and we also know psychometry is totally a thing in the GFFA. So, does Luke play with his ships when he is stressed/upset because he feels Obi's love and protective care for him when he is holding them?
Oooh! Lovely prompt! I presume you are referring to this.
Have something short and sweet, because man, you guys have given me some EXCELLENT prompts, some of which might take a little while, but this little bit just jumped out at me ;)
~~~
0BBY, Tatooine
“One more season”
The phase echoes over and over again in Luke’s head as he flops onto his bed. Every time. Every time he mentions leaving Uncle Owen has a reason to delay. He’s never getting off this rock!
He barely thinks before reaching for the model on the shelf. Running his fingers over the smooth wood, the finely crafted wings flowing smoothly into the engine turbines. Instantly he can feel some of his anger flow away.
The ships are something he has known for as long as he can remember. Each year, on his birthday, there’s a new one waiting - perfectly proportioned and looking like something straight out of the holomagazines he covets so carefully.
They are full of love.
In his younger years he assumed that they were a special gift from his Aunt and Uncle, the kind of present saved only for the most important occasions. But... no matter how he asked Aunt Beru would never tell him where they came from, who crafted them and how he could find them to thank them. Uncle Owen’s jaw would tighten every time, and at some point during his early teens Luke realised that there was no way his Uncle, who discouraged his interest in space flight, would commission such a thing.
Especially not when money was so tight.
That was perhaps the most perplexing part. The models were WOOD. Not flimsy plastic, reused metal or crude ceramic but wood - a scarce commodity on a desert world. Even without the clearly high level of craftsmanship, or the obvious care taken to mimic his latest interests, these were an impressive gift!
And they were Luke’s.
He smiles. Just handling them he can feel the warmth and determination flow through him.
One day, he’s going to fly. He knows it.
And once he comes back he’s going to track down his mysterious benefactor and thank them.
***
1 ABY, Tatooine
The ruins of the homestead look almost the same as the day he left. The smoke is long gone, but the harsh winds and scouring sands have barely touched the blackened remnants of the place he called home.
And yet it feels different.
He does not turn to look at the place he knows holds the final resting place of the couple who raised him as their own.
Luke doesn’t know what brought him here. He came back to this planet to find answers, to his past, to his future, but he finds himself dwelling on his current, lonely present.
He shakes his head in an effort to shake the thought. He has Han, and Wedge and the rest of his squadron. He has Leia, and honestly who ever thought a farmboy like him would one day be calling a princess friend? He’s not alone. And yet...
Something’s missing.
He has a suspicion he knows what.
In Ben’s cave, before the bounty hunter came, he had almost felt it. For a moment he was sure Ben would come around the corner to tell him to go home before Uncle Owen sent out search parties, but the moment faded and all he was left with was a box with his name on it and the sinking feeling of reality reasserting itself.
It’s all gone. His childhood is gone. Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru, Old Ben... They say you can never go back, but it still hurts to KNOW it in the depths of your bones.
He needs to go. The Rebellion needs him, and there’s nothing for him here.
Luke turns, but a brief tug from the Force draws his attention to something poking out of the sand to his left, half covered by the rubble from the house.
It’s a model.
The last one, he idly notes, the paint peeling, once graceful wings half charred, but it is definitely the ship he received that last birthday and for an instant he can hear Uncle Owen muttering that he was too old to be messing about with toys, and...
His knees touch the sand before he realises. With frantic movements he deftly sweeps the sand away and expose the fragile wood. Carefully he picks it up, pulling off one glove to gently run his fingertip over the fuselage.
Oh.
When he left this planet he was a novice, and had barely touched the power of the Force. Now, scarcely older yet infinitely wiser, he UNDERSTANDS.
Ben.
Ben had made them.
Ben had loved him.
And he can still feel his presence lingering in the wood touching his skin.
It is warm, comforting and if there is a hint of wetness on Luke’s cheek it is only because of the wind.
He stands, cradling the broken toy to his chest with one hand, the other patting the bag that contains the books and other objects Ben left for him.
He smiles.
No matter what the Empire throws at him, he’s going to make it. He knows it.
Me again! Did they sort your glasses yet or do I need to fight people for you? (It might be slightly difficult, what with the Atlantic ocean being in the way and everything but I'll think of some way I'm sure!!!)
Oh yeah, they did!! So while I appreciate the offer, there’s no need to use the Power Of the Internet!! to ruin an entire office’s reputation (I considered it on my own behalf ----- although thinking about it, I’m conflict avoidant, I could never)
Apparently 20/20 vision is a lot worse than how I remember it being (and I’m not the only one to think so, @/likealeafonthewind and @/sailorcrazypinklady agree with me). Specifically signs are the problem. I still see a lot of doubling where letters are concerned, which I had previously attributed to an poor prescription. I had spent about 10 years or so on a very outdated prescription, so the confusion is understandable, I think.
My right eye was about a quarter off, though! There was a definite improvement, so the doctor corrected it and ordered a new lens for me. The whole exam took less than five minutes, and they fit in the new lens about seven or so days later pretty quick. None of it cost me any money at all, which is a huge relief, since the most crushing part about it was having paid the $417 out of pocket for glasses that weren’t really cutting it.
I haven’t talked about it much, because I’m pretty embarrassed. After spending a month an a half having hysterics about it and freaking out, to have it solved with the minimum of fuss was a relief - but it made me feel really silly lmao! I mean, I was extremely polite and thankful to the office, so at least I didn’t embarrass myself publically, but I caused quite the kerfluffle here on my blog =w=;; a lot of people felt moved to the point of trying to calm me down or offer advice, which I deeply appreciated and was moved by at the time.
