StrawberryJam1313

Utúlie’n aurë. A cold breeze cuts across frozen hills. Cloaked beneath the trees, Armed with metal teeth His army waits, Seething with silent fury. Hundreds of thousands Elves and Men Long suffered, plagued by fear, Of the Dark Power of the World. But no longer. They are arrayed In splendid mail and sharpened swords, Hidden in leaves, Battle-ready. Second force, his cousins’ might That would catch Morgoth’s army Between hammer and anvil Between metal and flame Leaving nought but death. The day has come. Black clouds billow across the plains As though creatures of nightmares Prepare for a feast. Roars and shri

The darkness is a mirror In a world of endless tunnels, So smooth beneath his fingers and So hollow: a cavern where there might have been, A long forgotten realm ago, Something. No movement and no noise, the stifling Silence of the world; Solitude darker than death Presses in upon his soul That seeks to break out, but is fenced in by Control. Darkness and blindness, what are they But a prison upon his being? A world that’s growing while he shrinks But always there are constraints, restraints, Driving him slowly but surely Insane. Is it a prison made for him Or a prison made by him? A prison in his heart that renders him As helple

Il y a un elfe noir Qui aime seulement le soir Il s’appelle Berg’inyon Il est très mignon Oui, vraiment, je crois!

Artemis Entreri was woken up one fine spring morning by an undignified yell of the only other occupant in their comfortable inn suite. He considered simply rolling over and going back to sleep, except that said occupant chose that moment to burst into his room—never mind how he had managed to disable all the magical and physical traps around the door in record time—and gasp: “Artemis, my hat is missing.” Entreri showed no visible sign that he had heard the statement. Lying facing the wall and, by extension having his back to this unwelcome wakeup call, he exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. “Artemis, my hat is

The spiders come down on the south tonight, with their webs and sticky strings. My kingdom of Greenwood endures, and it looks like I'm still king. The stars are shining and Midsummers’ feast’s tonight. Couldn't escape from me, Valar knows they tried. Just lock them in, don’t set them free. Be the good king you always have to be. Conceal, just seal, don't let them go. Well, now they know! Let them rot, let them rot! Can't be nice to dwarves anymore. Let them rot, let them rot! Turn away and lock the doors. I don't care if they die down there. Let the feast go on. This kingdom will endure anyway. It's funny how in good time

Hi! I've decided to open writing commissions for some extra cash for university. I'm part of the group TheThreeMuses (https://www.deviantart.com/thethreemuses) so please check us out :) In the meantime, I have copy+pasted our information here in case anyone finds this/can't be bothered checking the group/other reasons I can't think of. So this means you can commission straight from here :) by commenting or noting me, whichever is easier for you. Guidelines - I have the right to refuse any commissions without explanation. - I retain all rights to my own writing - I will not write what I am uncomfortable with, no matter the price. - You are free to repost your commissioned work,

I first met you after school with a group of friends. The shop had just opened, the mixture of white and pale blue providing a startling yet surprisingly peaceful contrast to the everyday lifestyle of blinding lights and noises. Nobody knew what the shop was called. Nobody knew what was inside. It was only identified by the giant letter L. I wondered what L stood for as I walked past the first time. I found myself peeking between the closed curtains as I walked past the second time. On the third time, I pushed open the door, hearing the faint bell ringing overhead. A massive shop greeted me, stocked to the brim with shelves upon shelves of

The train was crowded. Even when Elior closed his eyes, he could smell it. The sweat and tears, pressing in around him. He could taste the salt, the restlessness, the hopelessness. But still the people flooded in. He was pressed into a corner. Wood against soft cloth, torn and tattered. Then it was wood against his skin, against his face, the sweat of human beings pressed together, the stench of unwashed bodies. Elior felt himself pressed further in towards the corner, felt his face and skull being crushed by sheer weight. Frightened whispers spread throughout the carriage. “...never going to move...” “...keep on piling..

The first time Tyelkormo laid eyes on the newest member of his large extended family, he knew that the boy was trouble. It wasn’t that he looked like a bad person – no, quite the contrary. Findaráto looked too good. He had one of those perpetual sickening smiles, no temper to speak of, and overbearing kindness enough to make any self-respecting Noldorin prince gag. But worst of all, Findaráto’s absolute worst quality, was his hair. It was bright enough to outdim Laurelin, smoother than the best quality velvet, gently cascading in waves down his back. It was like a river of molten gold sprouting from his head,