#| thread | mind the thorns

[luminousrider]

Mind the Thorns

As the Ethereal Ball is only a little ways away, students and staff are doing their best to prepare via dancing lessons, outfit shopping, and event planning. This year a vendor arrives in town with a wagon full of flowers from all over the world in full bloom. They're quite the romantic though, so luckily for you, they're even offering corsage and boutonniere lessons. gift your crush, significant other, sworn enemy, or whoever it may be a lovely floral arrangement that you hand-picked and handmade! They won't judge if it looks ugly, but.. maybe the person next to you is better at arranging.

Altena stands gaping at the sheer amount of flowers in the vendor's wagon. They have blooms in every color, size, and shape imaginable. Thracia's princess has never seen so many in one place. She loves her homeland with all of her heart but flowers growing in its infertile soil are rare.

They're breathtakingly beautiful.

The vendor notices her staring and offers to let her make use of any of their supplies should she want to make an arrangement. It's a kind offer to be sure but she is quite intimidated by the prospect. What if she messes up and wastes the flowers? Her hands aren't used to such delicate tasks and she knows flowers to be a rare resource.

But she lets herself be led to a nearby table with even more flowers and plenty of crafting supplies. To her surprise, Scathach is there as well. She offers a small smile as she sits across from him.

"Oh, I didn't realize you liked flowers, Scathach." Ug what a weird thing to say. "I mean, um, are you making something too?"

@sharpscion

[clarafell]

@lielove has made a contract.          —         ★

Homura has only read the finest books from Inazuma, safely tucked away within the Zapolyarny Palace in Snezhnaya. Her snow-covered home was the only place she has come to ever know for centuries after she awakened from her slumber all those many years ago. To long to hear the ringing chime of permission from Her Majesty's lips never occurred to her, not in the beginning. She didn't ever think to leave her gilded home when she first woke up. The Tsaritsa's collection of books and art kept Homura quite happy, so she did not have any longing to see the rest of Teyvat. Being fed on detailed stories by the people she was allowed to meet also kept her content, though she always preferred hearing stories from Cryo Archon herself.

So much time had passed until she began to grow restless, almost as if something wasn't happy with this winter wonderland and all its dreamy luxury. The transition from being a sheltered secret to being free to choose her path wasn't hard. Well, that's a lie. The Tsaritsa and the rest of her closest subjects didn't fight against her when she finally expressed the urge to leave the palace walls. She isn't sure what made Her Majesty so willing to let her go, but she hopes the important training she has endured is the reason for her wise approval.

She had to jump through so many different stages until the more curious Harbingers were satisfied with their... studies on her. The repulsive Dottore, always wearing that smug grin, had to be the most curious person she has met in the palace walls. He hailed from a region of wisdom, but she strongly disagreed with his methods of obtaining his results. She always wanted to be free of him and his never-ending attempt to unravel every little inch of her secrets— As an outsider from another world, she must look like a very rare treat for him to dissect.

Homura couldn't place blame on him, though. She also wished to know more about herself, not just about her missing memories and aching heart, but... She suspected The Doctor didn't want to stop just there. Solving every mystery wouldn't quell his thirst, though she wished it did make him lose interest in her. She worried, mostly whenever she was left alone in the same room as him, over whether he would long to see how far a mysterious Descender can be pushed over the edge. Every time she thought about him and his whereabouts in the palace always, no matter what, sparked this strange feeling of déjà vu...

She had no memories, certainly no friends from her real home, so it's only natural she wished to know more about herself. So much is missing in her life, including the reason why she came to this world. She knows the story of her discovery because of what others tell her, such as how she fell from the sky until she landed in a frozen body of water. She appeared as a shooting star, inflicting onlookers with unwanted feelings. Homura wished she could remember all of this herself, but she didn't awake until one whole century later. She enjoyed the company of Her Majesty very much, but being incomplete in an already unfamiliar world helped push her towards wanting to travel until she finds more answers about herself.

Homura's price for freedom, not that she necessarily thought of it as a bad thing, is that she still must serve the will of the Tsaritsa. She wasn't one of the Harbingers, certainly not anytime soon, but... She still desired to help the Tsaritsa. Her heart rang out to the Tsaritsa, though she didn't understand why in the beginning. To bring the old world to an end is the Tsaritsa's wish, always wrapped up in layers upon layers of reasons for such a strong dream... Homura thinks she has also, like the Cyro Archon herself, desired to break down the old world to build something better. She doesn't know why, but she still sympathizes with such a familiar quest.

Homura's mission in Inazuma is very simple: She must continue her quest in forming contracts with anyone during the Vision Hunt Decree. To spread her creation, soul gems, across every corner of Teyvat has become a goal for her. It felt like the most natural thing for her to do.

The Tsaritsa smiled down upon her as soon as she formed her very first contract in the throne room, producing the very first soul gem in this world. Homura remembers it quite dearly since Her Royal Highness softly told her they were more alike than she knew. She bestowed people with powerful visions, touching the heart of the powerless. Homura always did feel a twinge of guilt and pride whenever she remembered that moment... How could someone as broken and lost as her be compared to someone so majestic?

As someone without a vision nor a delusion, she can freely walk the streets without fear. She has shakily grown accustom to traveling by herself, though she still often gets very lost. The only reassurance that keeps her taking more steps is how the Fatui, no matter what their rank is, populate the isolated region. She may not have the proud title of Harbinger, but she still serves under the Fatui as long as the Tsaritsa still continues her glittering reign.

To occasionally spot the Fatui on the streets in the crowded Inazuma City helped her uneasiness, but the sight of all the blooming cherry blossoms filled her body with... sorrow. No, it didn't feel quite as heavy as sorrow— Her core is being invaded by nostalgia, coated in both bitterness and sweetness. But how? How can she feel nostalgia for the sight of the beautiful cherry blossoms when she has never seen such pink blossoms before?

Homura's aimless walking brings her to a stop, unable to ignore the growing feeling inside her. It felt silly how such delicate-looking petals could conjure something so dormant, but she couldn't control what or who she triggers something from her past. As much as she longs to blend into the background, Homura's mourning dress gives her away. Not only that, but her ruffled dress did not match the Inazuma fashion. Dressed all in black only made her feel more exposed, though the bright ray of sunshine also conspired against her and her unnaturally pale skin.

Forcing herself to take a deep breath, Homura lingers in her spot.

She knows she is wasting precious time, but she needed to not overwhelm herself. She hated to admit it, but she often needed long bursts of time to recovery from being hit with too much sensory details. Now, it seems, is one of those moments... So much for her mission and duties. They will have to wait.

The sweet melody of what sounds like a street performer reaches her ears. It sounded more like a slowed down song, almost like a lullaby, which seemed like an odd choice of music to share on such a busy day. It didn't matter what the song was since it coaxed her to wander until Homura stumbles upon a young woman, surrounded by curious little children and an overwhelmed mother with what appears to be her newborn baby. It didn't too long for Homura to realize this long-haired street performer is singing to soothe the baby, perhaps even the mother. It's a generous deed, especially since the mother looked so overwhelmed with those bags under her weary eyes.

❝ This song... Where have I heard this song before? ❞  Homura didn't realize any soft-spoken words left her lips until it was too late for her to take them back. She must look more like a ghost than a woman of flesh and blood to everyone around her, but she doesn't care anymore about her appearance or her tired feet. Her words are not directed towards anyone, especially not the source of the song.

[sweemmy]

⋆｡ﾟIn their love, they bloom like a dark rose, its thorns only striking those who try to escape. ﾟ｡⋆

— Vi, Caitlyn, Sevika, and Jinx.

VI.

Vi would do anything to protect you, but her obsession consumes her, driving her to see threats in every corner, even where none exist. In her mind, danger lurks in the shadows, always watching, and you are the only one who can escape this threat... even if it isn’t real.

Her irritable nature compels her to act impulsively, before her mind has the chance to halt the torrent of emotions. She doesn’t hesitate to confront anyone, even if they are just a stranger who has approached you out of curiosity, convincing herself that anyone who crosses your path is a danger, no matter how harmless they seem.

Vi clings to her justification, arguing that her control is merely an expression of love, that everything she does is for your own good. But beneath those words lies a dark echo, as if she cannot fathom a world where you don’t need her, where her influence is not vital to your survival.

Her gestures of affection, far from being tender, are invasive and violent. Her hugs, excessive and tight, feel as if she could crush you. The words she whispers in your ear, filled with intensity, steal the air between you, with a fervor bordering on obsession, as if she’s marking you, immortalizing you in her world, only for herself.

Though her exterior is one of hardness, beneath that mask beats a deep fear: the fear of losing you. She knows that without you, her world would crumble, empty, incomplete. “If you don’t want me near, just tell me… but don’t expect me to stand idly by while someone tries to take away the only thing that gives my life meaning.”

CAITLYN.

Caitlyn becomes ensnared in her own whirlwind of thoughts, convinced that her obsessive love is the only thing capable of offering you the care you deserve. She sees herself as the only one who can truly understand and protect you, regardless of the boundaries she must cross to keep you by her side.

With a sharp, calculating mind, Caitlyn weaves invisible threads around your life, orchestrating every detail so subtly that you're barely aware of her control. From the people you allow into your circle to the places you step foot in, everything is meticulously designed to keep you under her sway.

Using her charm, Caitlyn spins a web of carefully chosen words, manipulating your perception with a smile that conceals the darkness lurking inside her. She has no qualms about distorting the truth, lying, and creating parallel realities, all to ensure you remain bound to her, oblivious to the trap you've fallen into.

Her control over you goes beyond the physical; Caitlyn becomes an emotional necessity, feeding your dependency with gestures that seem loving but are, in reality, invisible chains. She makes you feel as though you cannot breathe without her presence, turning herself into an irreplaceable part of your life, a constant shadow you cannot escape.

Anyone who dares to get close is seen as an immediate threat, and Caitlyn doesn’t need to resort to open violence. Her deadliest weapon is her influence, capable of destroying slowly, without anyone suspecting a thing. "Why waste time with them, darling? I’ll handle everything. It’s much better if you follow my suggestions; I promise everything will be fine."

SEVIKA.

Sevika sees you as hers—like a treasure no one else deserves to touch. Her obsession is a dangerous blend of control and overbearing protection. Should anyone dare to put you in harm's way, she will become the shadow that eliminates any threat, without remorse and with brutal precision.

Any intruder who gets too close will be stopped by her mere presence. The intensity of her gaze and the unyielding strength of her stance instill terror in even the bravest hearts. She needs no words: her silence is a warning, and her actions, the verdict.

Believing the world is a deadly trap for you, she begins to build a cage of isolation. Every argument she makes is wrapped in false sweetness: "It’s for your own good, trust me," while the chains of her obsession tighten a little more with each passing day.

Flowers and sweet words are not her style, but her actions speak louder than anything. The moment she senses you��re in danger, she will unleash an inhuman fury, showing just how far she’s willing to go to protect you.

Her emotions are a storm hidden beneath a mask of cold serenity. Every action is calculated, every decision made with precision. "I don’t need to shout to show you how much I love you. You see it in what I do, don't you?" she murmurs, her voice calm yet carrying a weight that leaves no doubt about the intensity of her devotion.

JINX.

Jinx would always watch you with eyes filled with obsession, as if you were her precious toy, meant only for her. Her love is no simple feeling: it’s a wild, unpredictable whirlwind, packed with emotional explosions and flashes of madness. She cannot stand anyone else getting your attention, and her “jokes” toward those who dare to come close often end in a macabre, lethal spectacle of destruction.

Within her chaos lies a desperate search for stability, and you are her anchor, but always on her terms. Trying to pull away or challenge her twisted world only triggers a collapse in her mind and a violent need to reaffirm her control over you.

Her love manifests in disturbingly creative forms: bombs adorned with hearts, explosive devices bearing your name, or "trophies" taken from those she deems rivals. Each one is a sickening declaration of how deep and dangerous her affection runs.

Her greatest fear is abandonment, trapped in the loneliness that haunts her. If she senses even the slightest hint that you might leave, she’ll do the unthinkable to make sure you stay by her side. It doesn’t matter if she has to chain you—literally or figuratively; in her mind, the end always justifies the means.

Jinx won’t hesitate to destroy—even herself—to keep you close. Her desperation drives her to dark extremes, hurting others or putting her own body at risk. “Do you see this? I did it for you. Now you can’t deny how much I care. You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

[m0chaminx]

Coriolanus Snow | Roses Grow Thorns

*•.¸♡Request: Pls pls pls do a part 2 too the snow x reader fix it was so amazing and I want more of them 🙏🙏🙏🙏‼️‼️🩷

*•.¸♡Prompts: none

*•.¸♡Warnings: Coriolanus, Cori isn't insane (ish), Snow is slight ooc, jealousy, hurt comfort, fluff ending

*•.¸♡Paring: Coriolanus Snow x F!reader

*•.¸♡Summary: Coriolanus learns his favourite flower grows thorns

Or

You confront Coriolanus about his relationship with Lucy Gray

*•.¸♡Words: 2k

Part 1

People danced, swaying with their partners in a circle as you stood on stage, strumming your guitar and singing to the crowd. Lucy had just finished the first half of her set, so you took the stage to fill the silence. Coriolanus sat with Sejanus at a table across the room, large glasses of some sort of liquor. Coriolanus looked up at you and smiled.

If you like your coffee hot

Let me be your coffee pot

You call the shots, babe

I just wanna be yours

Your voice trailed off slightly as Lucy raced to Coriolanus and Sejanus, throwing her arm around his shoulder and leaning between them. You shook your head and continued to play, trying to ignore Lucy Gray practically hanging from Coriolanus’s arm.

Jealousy, an unwelcome guest, clawed at the edges of your heart, leaving an ache in your chest. No words had been exchanged, and no actions had passed between you two. It overtook the corners of your mind, urging you to believe that Lucy Gray should sense the unspoken connection threading its way between you and Coriolanus.

Each shared trip to the lake, every stolen moment when Coriolanus chose to spend his fleeting free hours with you — these fragments of time saved in your mind like photos in an old book. Yet, as you observed Lucy Gray standing there, a vision of radiant smiles and hushed confidences exchanged with Coriolanus, a wave of emotion surged. It was as if the world momentarily lost its colour, and the whispers of uncertainty left an indelible mark on your heart.

You clenched your hand, trying to ease the shaking in your hands.

Secrets I have held in my heart

Are harder to hide than I thought

Maybe I just wanna be yours

Every night for the past week following that evening, Coriolanus Snow would tap gently on the glass of your window. You would turn your head and he would smile, the same bright smile that made your stomach flip and fill with butterflies. You crept across the wood floors and opened the window, looking down at the blue-eyed boy. “Are you busy?”

You would simply laugh at him. You grabbed your coat and slipped out the window, Coriolanus gripping your waist to help you down properly. He would smile, slip a scarf under the window to close it without locking it and you would slip away unnoticed, descending into the velvety embrace of the night.

In those quiet moments, Coriolanus would slip your hand in his own, his warm hand covering yours as he laced your fingers together. He guided you through the dense labyrinth of woods, you knew these woods better than he did but through the nights as he led you to the lake, you questioned if you ever knew them at all. 

The Mokingjays sang into the night as if calling to the small fireflies to light the way. “I brought matches,” Cori said, looking back at you. He tugged on your hand bringing you closer and you couldn't help but think about Lucy Gray running her hand along his shoulders. “We can light a fire. Maybe catch some fish.” You nodded and Coriolanus smiled.

You reached the lake and Coriolanus set his bag down, quickly gathering everything to start a fire. You walked to the edge of the water, your mind running faster than you could even start to comprehend. “Think we’ll catch anything?” He asked, stopping to look up at you.

You looked back over the water, looking at the fish no bigger than your palm swimming just above the sea floor. You shook your head, keeping your eyes on the moonlight dancing on the waves of the water. “Nothing big enough to eat,” You said. Coriolanus nodded and turned back to the fire.

Once the fire was made you sat on the ground beside him, leaving enough space so your shoulders didn’t touch. You both sat in silence, Coriolanus’s knee bouncing softly. 

The flames danced and flickered, the golden glow flickering in Coriolanus’s blue eyes, you settled onto the ground beside him. You shifted slightly, making sure your shoulders didn't touch. The silence stretched between you, Coriolanus's fingers drumming against a stick he held in nervousness.

Coriolanus's knee bounced softly, mirroring the unsteady rhythm of both your hearts. The mere inches that separated you felt like an unbridgeable chasm, as long and confusing as his thoughts. “Did I do something?” His voice cut through the silence like a knife and you turned towards him, your eyebrows furrowed. “You seem distracted. You’re not talking like you usually do. You’re sitting far away.” You bit your lip and shrugged softly. “What’s wrong?”

“What did I sing tonight?” You turned to face Coriolanus. “Tonight. I sang, I wore the red dress so everyone could see the white rose you gave me. But what did I sing?” Coriolanus stammered. “You don’t spare a second glance at me during our shows, you talk to Sejanus when I do perform and you let Lucy Gray hang off your arm like she was yours.”

He spoke your name softly, trying to shuffle closer but you stood quickly. “Don’t do that Cori,” You pleaded. “I’m gonna go home, I’ll see you later.” You turned on your heel. Making your way back through the woods.

Coriolanus sighed, dropping his head into his hands as you walked from his view.

The next morning you stared at the ceiling, stretched out on your small bed. You twisted a small rose between your fingers, the thrones pricking your skin occasionally. The knock at the window made you jump. You turned your head to look at Coriolanus standing on the other side, smiling ever so slightly. You sighed and set the rose aside before walking to the window and pulling it open. “Corio-”

“Don’t talk,” he said quickly. “Don’t say anything, just follow me.” 

“Cori-”

“What did I just say?”

A frustrated huff escaped you as you forcefully closed the window, shutting out the annoying sounds of crickets. Pulling the blinds closed with a swift motion covering Coriolanus’s face, but you caught his smile dropping. You donned your jacket and stepped out the front door, stopping in front of Coriolanus just as you turned the corner. He extended his hand, a warm smile playing on his lips. Suppressing the annoyance that still simmered beneath the surface, you offered a muted response, "Just lead the way," your words carrying a hint of resignation.

Coriolanus nodded and started to lead you through the woods, the sun still yet to rise properly. “You sang I Wanna Be Yours,” Coriolanus muttered. “No, I didn't ask Lucy Gray. You wrote it after you met your old girlfriend but you haven't sung it since. That’s why it was so important to you. And why you wanted me to remember it.”

You hummed and tried to hide your smile. “So you were paying attention.”

Coriolanus spoke, low and earnest, his gaze fixed on you. "I always pay attention," he assured, a sincerity etched into his words. The weight of his gaze, coupled with the firmness in his tone, sought to reassure you. "And nothing is happening between Lucy Gray and me. She was helping me with something," he explained, his words carrying the weight of truth and an unspoken plea for understanding.

“Which is?”

Coryo smiled, “Keep following me.”

You followed Coriolanus, walking in silence until the sun rose completely. He stopped at a rock wall, a small dirt trail winding around it. He reached out, slipping his hand into yours and leading you down the track. “Roses don’t grow in 12, the ground is too hard,” Coriolanus started. “Lucy Gray told me just beyond the rock wall there is ground soft enough to grow flowers. Sejanus used his father's money to get some seed and…” Coriolanus stepped aside as you reached the bottom of the track.

You smiled, Coriolanus’s hand slipping from yours as you stepped further into the growing rose field. Dozens of rose bushes had started to grow, small red and white flowers sporting. Small raindrops covered the flowers, the sun reflecting off of them like diamonds. You crouched, smiling as you ran your hand along the rose petals. 

A soft smile played on your lips, and Coriolanus's hand tenderly released yours as you ventured deeper into the growing rose field. Rows of rose bushes, adorned with tiny red and white blossoms, unfold before you, blossoming like a garden from the Capitol. Small raindrops adorned the delicate petals, capturing the sunlight in a dance that shined like diamonds. Your heart swelled. You glanced back at Coriolanus who shared the same smile.

You carefully crouched down, your smile growing as you traced the velvet texture of the rose petals with your fingertips, each delicate touch slow and careful as if the rose would fall apart. Coriolanus smiled as he watched you, his stomach filling with butterflies as he waited for you to speak. 

"Wait..." The urgency in your voice sliced through the air as you stood, swiftly pivoting to face Coriolanus. His smile disappeared, replaced by a stark seriousness mirrored in your eyes. Your heart fell to your stomach as your voice shook, "You said Sejanus got the seeds from his father. If the Peacemakers find out, they'll take you away." The gravity of your words hung heavily in the charged atmosphere. “Cori, they’ll take you to the hanging tree-”

“They won’t,” Coriolanus said quickly. He stepped forward holding your face in his hands, his thumb tracing the lines of your cheekbones. “No one is going to take me away. No one is taking you. Or Sejanus, or Lucy Gray.” You raised your hand, settling it on top of his. “This place is ours, yours and mine. No one is going to take that.”

Yours and mine.

You smiled, laughing softly as you looked up at Coriolanus, his blue eyes meeting yours. “You got me roses?” You asked.

“You said you liked the Capitol flowers more,” Coriolanus remembered. “I can’t exactly take you to the Capitol, so I thought I’d bring the best part of the Capitol here.”

“Besides yourself.”

A warm smile graced his features as he leaned in, closing the distance until his forehead gently met yours. "Do people in the Capitol kiss differently than the districts?" His inquiry, spoken in a hushed tone, carried a hint of curiosity and a touch of playfulness.

“I think…” you leaned up slightly, bumping your nose against his, “you should find out.”

The brush of his fingertips against your jawline, tracing a delicate path along your skin, igniting a shiver that danced down your spine. As he cradled your face, your breath hitched in anticipation, your eyes staring at his chapped pink lips. Drawing you closer, the final shared breath seemed to linger, suspended in the charged atmosphere, before he sealed the connection with a kiss that felt like a spark that lit a fire. Your heart echoed the rhythm of the thousands of times you had dreamed of this moment and your hands instinctively wound around the back of his neck, the embrace pulling him closer.

Your stomach twirled, filling with butterflies as one of Coryo’s hands moved to wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer. He pulled away, his breath coming out in small pants, your breath in sync with his. You opened your eyes, looking up at his half-closed eyes tracing over every part of your face. “I love you, Coriolanus Snow.”

He whispered it back.

ﾟ°☆Page navigation

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico wakes up to gagging and a soft glow coming from the bathroom.

His first thought is, bizarrely, that Hazel’s home. But her bunk is still empty, and her shoes aren’t by the door, and she didn’t wake him when she came in. She always wakes him when she comes in, even if it’s four thirty in the damn morning, because nothing makes her cackle quite like Nico choking back curses and tweaking under her smothering pillow.

“Shit,” comes a small voice from the bathroom, followed by more retching. “Shitshitshit, no —”

Nico bolts for the door.

“Hi,” Will says, or tries to. His scarred knuckles clench with every gag, wrapped too tightly around the rim of porcelain to tremble like the rest of him.

Something about the wobbly smile he keeps trying to form in between gags. Something about the sweat that has drenched his t-shirt, something about the deep circles under his eyes, something about his spot in the bed completely cold, wrinkled.

Something is not adding up.

“You’re not sick,” Nico murmurs, pressing the back of his hand to Will’s forehead. Will mutters something about bliss, leaning into Nico’s hand; he smiles again, but it is strained, and at odds with the glassy look in his eyes. The sharp, rapid breaths.

“Just don’t — feel good.”

Every word is punctuated by a big, heaving gasp, like he’s trying to breathe through heavy cotton. On a hunch, Nico slides his hands down Will’s face, brushing the goosebumps on his neck, the irritated, pulsing tendons, and rest flat against his chest, over his heart.

His heart that is pounding, so quickly it is actually challenging to recognise as a beat rather than a buzz.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Nico says quietly.

Will shrugs. He gags again, but clamps his mouth shut before it goes anywhere, breathing deeply and carefully through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. His heart pounds faster, and the rapid movement of his chest grows shallow, but he manages to choke back his bile, swallow down whatever nausea is plaguing him.

“I’m — fine.” His laboured breathing is the loudest sound in the cabin. In the camp. “I’m handling it.”

Nico watches him. Watches him clench his jaw and squeeze his eyes shut and make a noise like he is being betrayed, like he is being sold for thirty silver by his own body, his own mind; watches him flex his muscles rigid and hold himself still like he can stop the nails and thorns from coming. He thinks of wide smiles and far away eyes and mental health pamphlets and cheerful slogans on infirmary walls.

“I think one of those things are true.”

“I don’t need —”

Whatever he doesn’t need is forgotten, because he is heaving again, only this time his body finds something to dredge up, even if that something is stomach acid and he cries as it burns its way up his throat, and in between heaving he wheezes, horrible whistling gasping noises, and his hair plasters to his forehead, and his body slumps into Nico’s hold and jerks away from him like rocky waves against a lakefront.

“How long have you been here?”

Will just shrugs again, and he cries, and he says “Leave, please,” and Nico wraps an arm tighter around his waist, and presses a kiss to his sweaty temple, lingering, holding, tasting salt from Will and from his tears both, and squeezing his eyes shut, and holding back the anger. Gritting his teeth and softening his hold, deliberately, resting his fingers delicately on the dip of Will’s hip, the raised pink of the stretch marks along his ribs.

“I hate it when you run from me,” he murmurs, and Will sobs again.

“I can’t breathe,” he says, and Nico squeezes and promises he can. “I’m dying. I’m dying, I’m gonna —”

“I’m here, Will.” He doesn’t say you’re not dying. He doesn’t say you’re fine, because this is the longest they’ve sat together in five days, because it is the the quiet middle of June, because yesterday Kayla spent half her shift screaming at Will to get out and ignoring him when he shouted back. Because the bandage around Will’s wrist has been worn to threads, because Lee’s hoodie has not been washed in weeks, because there is a newcomer named Michael and Will cannot even look at him. Because it has been bad. “I’m here.”

It is as much a reminder as it is a plea as it is a reprimand as it is a fruitless nothing, because when Nico struggles he gets angry, when Nico struggles he gets mean and biting and violent, but when Will struggles he wants the world to kill him. And for all that Nico is halfway to the grave he has clawed and chewed and fought his way to survival. And when Will scratches at the skin around his ears and screams into his hands and opens the chapped over scars on his lips his palms his fingers, Nico can only hold him, Nico can only gently pry his nails from his flesh and tell himself that one day they will get to the point where Nico wakes up. Where Will wakes him up, where he burrows into the place between his arms and his chest and hides in someone else for once. Where he trusts someone outside of himself enough to bare his back.

“I’m here,” he whispers again, and he presses his lips to Will’s hair and holds him as he sobs, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

[rooksamoris]

💞 — 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐄.

💞 — in which you teach malleus a new phrase and he grows somber about your inevitable death.

💞 — malleus draconia x reader

💞 — warnings: hurt/comfort type fic. some descriptions of gore to emphasize heartache. reader does catch a cold. malleus is sad </3 mentions of death and mortality/fragility.

💞 — 1.2k words. various arab groups tell their loved ones 'taqburouni' meaning 'may you bury me' affectionately. i thought of malleus when i heard it again recently, since he very well would be stuck burying his loved ones. eid mubarak my lovelies!!

Taq-bu-rou-ni.

Malleus’s brows knitted in a bit of interest as he replayed your word in his mind, splitting each of the syllables to pronounce it the way you did. It was a foreign word, and for someone who knew bygone languages, this was a word he had not heard. You said it with a look of affection in your eyes. It was your way of being romantic, well, with the way you drawled the final vowel, that much was obvious.

“And what does that mean?” he asked, his bright green eyes following the shape of your silhouette as you walked. Those slitted pupils of his dilated. 

“Taqburouni? Ah, it means ‘may you bury me,’” you said, innocently. The words spilled from your lips like sugared blades, so sweet yet so painful. It clung to his skin and when he tried to pull away, it tore his skin.

He paused his walking for a moment, stopping you with him. Those words reminded him that he could spend a century dwelling on that term, while you could not even spare a minute. 

Taqburouni.

That phrase you had taught Malleus planted itself into his lungs and wrapped around his esophagus. He knew you meant it affectionately. It was your way of wishing him a long life, one long enough that he would get the chance to bury you. You had known all sorts of romantic sayings that bordered on being eerie and strange. The vines you were growing wrapped around his lungs and sunk their thorns into them greedily, causing sweet blood to splatter onto his ribcage.

He knew he would get the chance to bury you. His child of man was too frail to live as long as he.

His pause caused you some worry and you squeezed his hand, pulling it closer to you so that his knuckles hovered near your chest, “It’s weird, isn’t it?” you joked, your brows furrowed in concern, “It’s an affectionate way of wishing that someone you love has a long life… I get if it’s not your thing—I just—I—”

Malleus silenced you by placing his free hand on your head. He let it slide over your hair and behind your head. His long fingers threaded their way through some of the strands as he gripped the back of your head. They were like stubborn blossoms in a valley of wilting roses, desperate to keep you close and alive, “It is lovely, a fine way of showing affection,” he told you. 

The future king decided against telling you just how uncomfortable that term made him. It infiltrated his body like a strong virus, poisoning his body and eating away at his flesh from the inside. Just like the vines that you planted in his lungs, tearing him apart beneath the layer of flesh, muscle, and bone.

A smile came to your face at his reassurance and you kissed his knuckles, “I’m glad you think so, Malleus,” you told him. 

Taqburouni. He found it anything but lovely. Malleus understood the purpose of such a term, and he knew you were just being lovelorn, but Sevens. Each vowel was like a threat, each one getting closer to him losing you. Taq—and you were cut, bu—you were sick, rou—bedridden, ni—and suddenly he was back in the Briar Valley, standing before another tombstone. To him, it was purely unromantic. 

It was violent and it was cruel.

You shivered due to the cold breeze and his gaze hardened, “Let us return you to the dorm, beastie. You’ll freeze if you’re out any longer,” he said, taking his uniform blazer off to drape over your shoulders. This body of yours was so delicate. Too delicate.

“Oh, Malleus… but you’ll get cold,”

He laughed, “I think you forget who you’re speaking to,” he said, his eyes watching your body tense up slightly. That delicious blush covered your cheeks and he was tempted to freeze time right here. Surely there was a spell for that, that way he could keep you forever and your words, your plea that he buries you, would never come true.

Bashfully, you averted your gaze and kept walking beside him. Oh, how he wanted to pounce.

Days later, that poisonous word was still on his mind. 

It came up in particular when you caught a cold. The illness had been traveling around the school, your favorite duo from Heartslabyul had gotten it, but not nearly as bad as you. People had been coughing in class, sniffling as they walked through the halls—Malleus blamed himself for worsening it due to all the nights he dragged you away on romantic walks where he showed you the secrets of the campus.

Now he was sitting at your bedside in Ramshackle dorm. It was not nearly as dilapidated as it used to be. You had cleaned up a lot, bleaching whatever you could to kill sickness, and it still managed to sneak in. There were cracks in the windows… it probably made the nights even colder for you.

One of these beams could fall and kill you.

“Taqburouni.”

The blasted word repeated itself in his mind as he watched you squirm in your bed. Your breathing was shallow, you were sweating—he could end you with a raise of his finger, “Too fragile. Like a bird’s eggshell. All it would take is to push you out of a nest and then…” His brows furrowed as the back of his hand trailed down the side of your sickly face.

Your skin looked much less vibrant in this state.

This moment and thousands of others would pass him like a dream. One day he would bury you and then take the throne. Your bought of romance would end up being a dream. He would wake up with a crown on his head, black robes draping every inch of him, and the flickering memories you made here.

His fingers trailed down to your throat for a moment and he tapped the dainty skin with his sharp nails. Just the tiniest bit of pressure and you would bleed. Not even the strongest swords would break through his scales.

“Malleus,” you muttered, breathlessly as you tried to open your eyes. The light was too bright so all you could do was blearily squint at him before shutting your eyes again, “I feel so weak…”

“You look it too,”

“Huh?”

He stared at your face for a moment, taking in the way your eyes drifted back shut. Your brows knitted softly, and it made him want to kiss that space between your eyes, “Rest,” he whispered, his hand turning to cup your face. A bit of his magic traveled from the tips of his fingers to your skin, forcing you to inhale a green mist that would temporarily put you to sleep.

Malleus felt the urge to keep you in this state of sleep for one hundred years. Instead, he settled for leaning in and kissing your forehead, “May you bury me,” he whispered. He promised to find a way to keep you alive with him for good. He would find a way to keep everyone and everything he loved alive with him till he breathed his last flame.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Lewis Masterlist

Series/Multichapters

Longer than I care to admit p.1 / p.2 / p.3

“I have loved you for longer than I care to admit. I have not stopped loving you, even when I said I didn’t. Even when hating you was all I wanted.”

It comes with the territory p.1 / p.2 / p.3

“This… this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But no love is worth losing my sanity over. Not even ours.”

An Invisible String Theory Story p.1 / p.2 / p.3

"I’ve always felt that string pulling me closer to something. But never, not even in my most beautiful dreams, had I imagined that it was to bind us together."

It was bound to come out p.1 / p.2

"Do I look like I'm joking? This is not a joke! My father has seen a video of us... the one video that couldn’t leave my phone!"

Not just a pretty face p.1 / p.2 / p.3 / bonus

"because even this… even this agonizing dance is better than not having you at all."

Maybe in another life - p.1 / p.2 / p.3

"A what-if that will forever linger in the quiet corners of my mind."

She’s here and she’s ours - p.1 / p.2 / p.3 / p.4 / p.5 / p.6 / p.7 / p.8

You couldn’t really tell if he was telling you or himself that. "How you feeling dad?" "Amazed, hopeful, scared... in love"

Get me out of here p.1 / p.2

“Why are you defending him?” “Because we need to think this through, babe. Toto’s not one of us anymore, you saw it.”

Your future was Ferrari - p.1 / p.2

Surely, it meant nothing for Lewis and you would probably never see him again. Your future was at Ferrari, somewhere he would never step foot in. Or would he?!

Specials (collection of drabbles)

Ways to say “I love you” p.1 / p.2 / p.3(NSFW)

All these little things p.1 / p.2

Small firsts p.1

Firsts - NSFW p.1 / p.2

Ways they show they love each other p.1 / p.2

One-Shots

Angst

It had to be enough - "I’m so fucking tired of fighting, of trying to prove that I still belong here." "I can’t keep watching you tear yourself apart like this. It’s killing me, Lewis."

Home is wherever you are - "You shouldn't have come" "Had to"

An impossible dream - "Don't you ever wonder what could have been?"

I didn't get scared. I'm always scared - “Do you even understand what it’s like for me? To love someone who lives every day like it might be their last?”

Not now, not ever - "You don't have to go through this alone, you know"

I'll come find you - “I’m scared… of how things have been, of how things are going to be.”

If these wings could fly - “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like Sunday. It’s been so long and everyone’s worked so hard for that”

And just like the sun, we will rise - “I can’t promise to have all the answers, but please let me in”

Fluffs

What it means - “Since I was five, since I first saw Ayrton race on TV. He was my absolute hero, and I didn’t know much about the world back then, didn’t know what I could be, but seeing him… it made me believe.

Lucky you're hot - The kind of kiss that would’ve been cute—if it weren’t for the fact that I was very much on camera, in a professional setting, with a dozen or so people watching.

A smile like that -"And he’s out there, posting photos like it’s some romantic movie."

A bit mushy - How Lewis and his wife do in a couple's Interview.

Happy you're home - "And trust me, he adores you. He just doesn't know how to express it."

Later it is - “But that safety pin right there is holding on for dear life.” “I only care about what you think.” “Flatterer.”

Of thorns and blooms - "It's meant to be worn by someone who sees the world differently, who tells stories with every thread"

He always rises - "Like I knew I'd given it my all, every lap, every strategy meeting. And finally, finally, it’s paying off. It feels… good. It feels so damn good."

R for Roscoe, C for Coco - "You went through all this trouble just for Father's Day with Roscoe?"

Boy from Stevenage - "you don't need to win over that entire room tonight. You just need to make that brave boy from Stevenage proud."

Whispered fairytale - "The point is in the surprise. The joy of meeting them, whoever they are, for the very first time."

A thousand times over - "Since I still don’t believe it’s true… would you marry me, again?"

It sounds silly - "I'm a grown woman who’s achieved success in life, yet… I find myself comparing to those other women."

NSFW (+18 only)

White Fireproof - “I’m only pointing out the obvious. The 2019 ones were iconic. These? Meh.” “I don’t remember much from that race. But those ten minutes? Burned into my memory forever.”

Can't check out -“Where’s the cutthroat guy who would have had me pinned to the wall by now?"

Utterly gone -“But for the record, I also owe you.”

Very First -“I want this. I want you. And I’m not saying that lightly.”

Salty -"Told you” she whispered, her thumb brushing against his bottom lip. "It’s salty."

Damn him -“I believe you’ve got two things that are mine” “My hair tie you took with you this morning. And you babe, you're mine.”

Give yourself some credit - “I’m gonna give you five minutes to mourn that shit qualy” “You think you can handle me, pretty girl?”

What those arms can do - "Let's focus on you for now, love. And what these arms can do to you."

Warm enough - "Did you know there were no doors in this place?" "I might have known. Thought it could be romantic"

It's not just a win - The 104 special - "I just...I needed this. I needed to win. To prove to myself that I still can."

Improvised Compensation - "My plans definitely involve you" he continued, "but they can be done anywhere"

As good as chocolate - "That's a new way to claim your share"

I'm yours, only yours - Vegas special - “You really thought she was any match for you?”

It always points South - “Your compass tattoo, huh?”

My Venus - MET special - "I can actually feel your eyes searing holes in my dress, Lewis."

I want South - "Hello, miss explorer”

You only need to ask - "Seems like someone's forgotten how we got here in the first place"

It's Mrs. Hamilton - “Mark me, show me who I belong to”

The things we do for fashion - "Like what you see?" "More than you'll ever know."

Show me you care - “I’m asking you to, show me how much you want this, because I know you do”

My mark - “I’m not one to leave things unfinished”

NSFW alphabet

Senna!Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Thank you for everything - "It doesn't matter how long it's been" "Grief doesn't have a deadline."

Under an Ipê tree - “He would’ve liked you I think… would’ve hated to race you, for sure."

Drabbles

Do not under any circumstance plagarize, edit, repurpose, or repost any of my original work. this includes all of my works.

copyright © 2024 pickingupmymercedes all right reserved.

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: torture, beating, SA (attempted), gore, captivity, depression, hopelessness, serious angst

word count: 8.7k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho @tele86 @tiredsleepyhead @celestialgilb @theflowerswillbloom @fuckingsimp4azriel @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @salvatoresister1 @imperfect0angel @stvrdustalexx

Image owned by Velocity Visual Media.

********************

Chapter 18

Azriel POV

The news came in the dead of night, a whisper carried by one of Rhysand's remaining spies.

It was faint—a lead so weak and unlikely that Azriel's heart clenched as he listened.

"Hybern's remnants," the spy reported, their voice breathless and shaking. "A cluster of them in the far corner of Spring Court. They've gone unchecked... it's been left to ruin."

The words barely registered after that. Spring Court. A lawless pocket where Tamlin had let the land grow wild, forgotten, as he wallowed in his grief over Feyre.

Azriel's hands shook as he stood in Rhysand's office, the bond in his chest flickering, faint but alive.

"Azriel," Rhysand said quietly, his voice tight but steady. "Cassian will go with you. If she's there-"

"If she's there, I'll bring her home," Azriel cut in, his voice hoarse, unyielding.

Cassian clapped a hand on Azriel's shoulder as they left, his expression uncharacteristically grim. "We'll get her back, brother. One way or another."

******

Azriel POV

The landscape of Spring Court was overgrown and desolate as they flew low over the rolling hills and tangled forests. The wild magic that had been allowed to seep through Tamlin's neglected borders was suffocating, choking the land in weeds and thorns.

Azriel's shadows shot ahead, slithering into the ruins of what looked like an abandoned estate -the-once-beautiful manor half-collapsed, overtaken by vines and decay. From above, it looked like nothing. Just another ruin. But then his shadows whispered.

Voices. Movement below.

Azriel's wings flared as he descended, his breath coming quicker as the shadows painted a picture in his mind—a stone cellar buried beneath the remnants of the house, faint light flickering from cracks in the ground. His shadows hissed urgently.

It was her.

His mate.

His love.

His heart stopped. The bond trembled faintly in his chest, as if answering the call.

She's here.

"Cassian," Azriel said, his voice sharp as he landed silently near the entrance. "There's a cellar beneath this ruin. She's there. I can feel her."

Cassian nodded, drawing his blade as they approached. "Lead the way."

******

Ariel POV

Azriel didn't waste a second. His shadows darted forward, locating a hidden door half-buried under dirt and weeds. With one sharp tug, Azriel ripped the rotted wood free, revealing a narrow set of stone steps descending into darkness. The air that wafted up was heavy with dampness and rot-and something else.

Fear.

Azriel's chest burned as he moved first, his steps silent as a shadow. Cassian followed close behind, a looming figure of fury.

The dungeon was a labyrinth of shadows and despair, the air thick with the stench of damp stone and old blood. Azriel moved through the darkness like a predator, his steps silent, his shadows curling and writhing around him, eager for the kill. He had fought in countless battles, infiltrated fortresses, and eliminated targets with precision that earned him his deadly reputation, but this—this was different.

This was personal.

Each heartbeat thundered in his ears, a pounding rhythm of rage and desperation as he followed the faint tether of the bond between him and Y/n. It was faint but steady, guiding him deeper into the bowels of the dungeon. The bond, that invisible thread that tied them together, throbbed with her pain and fear, each pulse like a dagger in his chest.

When he heard the first muffled scream echo through the stone walls, his rage sharpened into something cold and lethal. His shadows surged ahead, spilling into the corridors like smoke, scouting and searching for her. The first guard didn’t even see him coming.

Azriel’s blade was swift and silent, cutting through the male’s throat before he could so much as draw breath to shout. The blood sprayed against the damp stone, and Azriel stepped over the body without a second glance. Another guard rounded the corner, his eyes widening in alarm at the sight of the Shadowsinger and the General emerging from the gloom.

Cassian didn’t give him a chance to react. His blade struck home, embedding itself in the male’s chest. The guard crumpled with a choked gasp, his lifeless body hitting the ground with a dull thud. Cassian retrieved the blade as Azriel pressed on, his shadows flickering around him like an extension of his fury, every step bringing him closer to her.

The next room was guarded by three soldiers. They were laughing, their voices echoing in the oppressive silence of the dungeon. Azriel and Cassian didn’t bother with stealth this time. They wanted them to see them. They wanted them to feel the terror of what was coming for them.

The first male barely had time to register the shadow-cloaked figure before Azriel’s blade severed his windpipe.

The second lunged at Cassian, but he sidestepped with ease, his wings flaring slightly as he drove his dagger into the soldier’s side.

The third tried to flee, but Azriel’s shadows coiled around his legs, dragging him to the ground.

He let the shadows crush the male’s windpipe, his rage flaring at the thought of how these men had likely harmed her.

He didn’t stop to clean his blades.

He didn’t stop to think. The bond pulled him forward, and he followed it, his focus narrowing to a single point.

His mate.

The hallway was narrow and dim, lit by weak torches flickering against the stone. Voices echoed from the far end-low, guttural voices that made Azriel's blood turn to ice.

"You'll behave this time, won't you?" one of the voices sneered, followed by the unmistakable sound of shuffling movement.

Azriel stopped breathing.

"No." A whimper. A voice he'd know anywhere.

Y/n.

Something broke inside him.

He moved faster, his shadows lashing out, extinguishing the torches as he became one with the darkness.

Cassian's heavy boots followed, but Azriel barely heard them. The bond in his chest burned brighter now, pulsing in time with his fury.

At the end of the hall, he reached the heavy iron door at the end of the corridor, the scent of her blood hitting him like a physical blow. His shadows pushed against the crack in the door, revealing flickers of the scene within.

And there she was.

But what he saw made his blood turn to ice.

Inside the dim, torch-lit cell, she was slumped against the far wall, her battered wings spread limply behind her. Her black hair a tangled curtain around her face. Her wrists were bound, her once-tanned skin now pale. Her tunic was torn, her body streaked with blood and bruises, her face gaunt and hollow.

And standing over her, a Hybern soldier sneered, his hands fumbling at the waistband of his armor, trying to drop his pants as he pinned her with his weight. She struggled weakly, her eyes wide with terror as she turned her head away from him.

"You're too stubborn for your own good," the soldier spat, tugging harder. "But I'll break you yet."

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible, broken. "No..."

Azriel saw red.

The door crashed open as he stormed inside, his shadows exploding into the room like a violent storm. The soldier turned, startled, his sneer falling away Azriel's cold, deadly fury filled the space.

Azriel was on him, slamming him into the far wall with such force that the stone cracked. His blade was in his hand, pressing against the male's throat, his hazel eyes burning with a wrath that could've torn apart the world.

"Did you touch her?" Azriel snarled, his voice barely human. 

"Did you touch her?"

The soldier choked, his face turning purple as Azriel's grip tightened. "Please-no-"

Azriel didn't hesitate, his blade flashing as it buried itself in the male's neck.

Blood sprayed, hot and crimson, splattering Azriel's hands and face as he yanked the blade free. The soldier gurgled, his hands clawing at his throat as he staggered backward. Azriel didn't stop. He drove the dagger into the male's chest, twisting it with a snarl before ripping it free. The soldier crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

Azriel stood over the body for a heartbeat, his chest heaving, his shadows still lashing out in fury.

Cassian burst in behind him, taking out another soldier who had been guarding the entrance, but Azriel didn't care.

Didn't see.

His gaze snapped to her.

She hadn't moved from where she was slumped against the wall, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Her torn tunic barely covered her arms, exposing the jagged scars they have carved into her. Her once-vibrant blue eyes were dull, unfocused, as if the fight had been drained from her.

Her eyes glazed as she stared up at him.

"Angel," he whispered, his voice breaking.

She blinked slowly, as if unsure whether he was real. "Azriel?" she rasped, her voice hoarse and weak.

He crossed the room in three strides, falling to his knees before her. His hands shook as he reached for her face. "It's me," he breathed. "It's me, Angel."

The nickname slipped out, unbidden but true, as he knelt beside her, his hands trembling as he cupped her face. Her skin was cold, too cold, and her body was far too light as he lifted her into his arms.

Her blue eyes searched his face, and something broke in them-something shattered and raw.

"You came," she whispered, tears spilling down her bruised cheeks.

Azriel's throat tightened painfully, his chest aching as he pressed his forehead against hers. "I told you I would come for you," he choked out, his voice rough. "I'm so sorry, Angel. I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner."

Her head lolled against his chest, her breathing shallow but steady as he carried her out of the cell.

Cassian appeared at his side, his face grim as he looked her over. "We need to get her out of here, Az."

Azriel nodded, his wings flaring as he adjusted her carefully in his arms. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice breaking as he pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “You’re safe now. I’m taking you home.”

As he carried her from the darkness of that hell, his shadows whispering around them like a shield, Azriel swore that no one would ever lay a hand on her again.

He didn’t stop to think about the bodies he left in his wake, didn’t stop to consider the path of carnage he had carved through the dungeon.

All that mattered was her.

As they emerged into the night air, her wings stirred faintly, and she let out a soft, broken sob. “You came for me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I thought… I thought you wouldn’t.”

Azriel’s throat tightened, his wings flaring as he launched them into the sky. “I will always come for you,” he said fiercely, his voice shaking with emotion. “No matter what. You’re mine, Angel. My mate. And I will never let anyone hurt you again.”

Her fingers curled weakly against his chest, and she closed her eyes, the tension in her body easing slightly as she succumbed to exhaustion. Azriel held her tighter, his shadows swirling protectively around them as they flew. He didn’t let himself feel relief—not yet. Not until she was safe, until she was healed.

And as the wind whipped past them, he made a silent vow: he would hunt down every last one of Hybern’s men who had dared to touch her, and he would make them pay for every drop of blood they had spilled.

She was his mate.

She was his everything. 

And he would destroy anyone who dared to take her from him again.

******

Azriel POV

The skies above Velaris were a deep, twilight blue, the stars beginning to peek through the fading sunlight as Azriel descended toward the River House. His wings burned from the long flight, his body aching from the battle in Hybern’s dungeon, but none of that mattered. Not with his mate in his arms, her frail, trembling form cradled against his chest.

Her breathing was shallow, her head resting limply on his shoulder as the city lights of Velaris came into view. Azriel’s shadows swirled around them, curling protectively, as though they, too, understood how fragile she was, how precious she was.

The River House doors burst open before he even touched the ground. Rhysand stood on the threshold, his expression uncharacteristically unguarded, panic and desperation etched into his sharp features. Feyre was beside him, her hand clutching her mate’s arm, her own face pale and drawn with worry.

Azriel and Cassian landed heavily, their boots crunching on the gravel path as their wings folded behind him. Y/n stirred faintly in Azriel’s arms, her blue eyes fluttering open for the briefest moment before closing again, her exhaustion overwhelming her.

“Y/n,” Rhysand breathed, his voice breaking as he stepped forward. His violet eyes scanned her battered form, the cuts, bruises, and torn clothing stark against her pale, blood-streaked skin.

The High Lord of Night, always composed, looked ready to shatter.

“She’s alive,” Azriel said hoarsely, his hazel eyes locking onto Rhysand’s. “But she’s barely holding on. She needs healers—immediately.”

Rhysand nodded sharply, turning to Feyre. “Send for Madja. Now,” he ordered, his voice steady but strained. Feyre didn’t hesitate, winnowing away in a flash of night.

Rhysand stepped closer, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out, brushing Y/n’s dark hair from her face. “My fierce little sister,” he murmured, his voice filled with an aching tenderness.

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of her brother’s voice, unfocused at first but slowly sharpening as recognition set in. “Rhys…” she whispered, her voice so soft and weak it was barely audible.

Rhysand knelt beside her, his hand cupping her cheek gently. “I’m here,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re safe now. Azriel brought you home.”

Tears filled her blue eyes, a single drop slipping down her bruised cheek as her lips trembled. “I thought…” Her voice broke, and she turned her head slightly, pressing her face against Azriel’s chest as a quiet sob escaped her.

Azriel’s grip on her tightened, his shadows swirling protectively as he murmured, “You’re safe, Angel. You’re home.”

Rhysand’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze flicking to Azriel. “Take her inside,” he said quietly, though his tone left no room for argument. “We’ll get her the help she needs.”

Azriel nodded, carrying Y/n through the open doors. The warmth of the River House enveloped them, the soft light and familiar scents offering a stark contrast to the cold, damp darkness of the dungeon they had escaped.

Feyre reappeared moments later, her face pale but determined. “Madja is on her way,” she said quickly, her eyes darting to Y/n’s frail form. “She’ll be here soon.”

Azriel followed Rhysand’s lead into a sitting room where a couch had been prepared with blankets and pillows. He lowered her onto the cushions with infinite care, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the blankets around her. Her eyes fluttered open again, her gaze locking onto his.

“Stay,” she cried, her voice panicked, barely audible as her hand reached out weakly to grab his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Azriel said firmly, sitting beside her and taking her hand in his. His shadows curled protectively around her, refusing to leave her side.

Rhysand knelt beside the couch again, his violet eyes scanning his little sister’s face as though committing every detail to memory. “You’re safe now,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tears brimming in his eyes. “I promise, no one will ever hurt you again.”

Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, her tears spilled freely, and Rhysand leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “You’re home, Y/n,” he murmured. “You’re with family.”

Moments later, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Madja entered, her calm, no-nonsense demeanor filling the room with quiet authority. She carried a bag of supplies, her sharp eyes assessing Y/n immediately.

“Let me see her,” Madja said, her tone brisk but kind as she moved to the couch.

Azriel hesitated, his hand tightening around Y/n’s, but Rhysand placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“She’s in the best hands, brother” Rhysand said quietly. “Let her work.”

Azriel reluctantly released Y/n’s hand, standing and stepped back to give Madja space. His shadows, however, remained close, their dark tendrils curling protectively around her like a barrier.

******

Azriel POV

Madja worked quickly, her hands glowing faintly with magic as she began healing Y/n’s wounds. She cleaned and dressed the cuts and bruises, her expression tightening as she examined the one scar that would not heal.

When she was finished and Y/n was asleep, she covered her with a blanket and called Rhysand and Azriel over.

“She will heal,” Madja said softly, her voice filled with sorrow as she glanced up at Azriel, “but she has a wound that will never fade. They used faebane to ensure it would scar permanently.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his wings twitching slightly as fury flickered in his hazel eyes. “Will she recover?” he asked, his voice low and raw.

“She’s strong,” Madja replied, her tone reassuring. “Her body will heal in time. But the scars on her heart and mind… those will take longer.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze dropping to her pale face as she slept. “I’ll be here,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “For as long as it takes, I’ll be here.”

As Madja continued to gather her supplies, Y/n stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open to find Azriel standing nearby.

“Azriel,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He was at her side in an instant, taking her hand in his again. “I’m here, Angel,” he said softly, his hazel eyes shining with quiet determination. “I’m not leaving.”

Rhysand stood behind him, his violet eyes filled with gratitude and sorrow as he watched the scene before him. “We’ll take care of her,” he said quietly to Feyre, his voice thick with emotion. “No matter what it takes, we’ll help her heal.”

And as she finally slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep, surrounded by warmth, safety, and the people who loved her, Azriel silently vowed to himself that he would never let anyone hurt her again.

She was home now.

******

Y/n POV

The days in Velaris passed slowly for me as I began the long and painful process of healing. The warmth of the city and the constant presence of those who cared for me were a stark contrast to the cold, unrelenting darkness of the dungeon I had left behind. But the scars of my captivity—both physical and emotional—were not so easily erased.

In the weeks of healing that followed, my physical injuries knit themselves back together under the skill of the Night Court’s best healers.

They applied ointments to burns, repaired small fractures to delicate bone. My wings, bruised and torn, regained some strength and I learned to walk again without doubling over from spasms. The external wounds improved with astonishing speed, their progress a balm to those who watched over me.

But there was no quick remedy for the way I flinched at a sudden laugh, how I jumped when someone touched me unexpectedly, or how the mere clink of metal against metal could send me spiraling into panic.

My torturers had taught me a cruel lesson about vulnerability and trust. Now, even among allies who would rather die than harm me, I never fully relaxed. I kept an eye on every exit, and I seldom allowed anyone to stand behind me, except Azriel. The sound of nighttime revelry drifting up from the city only reminded me that once, laughter had accompanied my screams.

I spent my mornings in the gardens of the River House, surrounded by the soothing hum of nature. The scent of blooming flowers mingled with the soft rustle of leaves, the Sidra sparkling in the distance. Feyre often joined me, offering quiet companionship, sketching while I sat in the sun. Some days, they talked, Feyre sharing stories of her own healing journey, gently encouraging me to take each step at her own pace. Other days, silence reigned, and Feyre simply sat beside me, a quiet pillar of support.

Nothing was simple. Even sunlight, once a symbol of hope, felt too bright at times, forcing me to recall the interrogation room where a single lamp had thrown cruel shadows across my captors’ faces. When kindness was offered, part of me questioned it, waiting for the sting of betrayal.

Good food tasted off at first, because my body expected spoiled scraps.

Warm baths and fragrant soaps made me weep silently, recalling how I’d once been denied even the most basic comforts. Mor was patient with me and silently helped me wash my hair as she tried to avoid looking at the scar on my stomach.

Rhysand, ever-watchful, made it a point to check on me every day. He didn’t press me to speak but always asked how I was feeling, his violet eyes filled with unwavering patience and love. “You don’t have to be okay all at once,” he had told me one afternoon, his voice steady. “Healing isn’t linear, little sister. Take all the time you need.”

But it was Azriel who was my constant presence. He was always nearby, his shadows a quiet comfort even when he wasn’t in the room. He would sit with me on the nights I couldn’t sleep, his voice low and soothing as he told her stories of Velaris or described the stars above.

I found myself leaning on him more than I had expected, his presence becoming a source of comfort I hadn’t realized I needed. Azriel never pushed me to talk about what had happened in the dungeon, but he always listened when I chose to share. Slowly, piece by piece, I began to tell him the horrors I had endured, my voice trembling but steady as I laid her pain bare.

He never flinched, never looked at me with pity. Instead, his hazel eyes burned with quiet rage and unshakable devotion. “You survived,” he told me one evening as we sat together by the fire. “You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”

The physical healing was easier to measure. Madja visited me regularly, using her magic to mend the worst of the injuries. The cuts and bruises faded with time, my strength slowly returning under Madja’s careful guidance. my wings, battered and bruised, began to heal as well, though I winced each time I stretched them. Azriel often helped me with the exercises Madja prescribed, his touch gentle as he supported my movements.

“Just a little more,” he would encourage softly, his hand steady against my back. “You’re doing great.”

But it was the scar on my stomach that weighed on me the most. It was a permanent reminder of what I had endured, a scar that would never fully fade. Some days, I couldn’t bear to look at it, the shame and anger bubbling up until it felt like I might drown in it.

Humiliated. 

Mutilated. 

And something I wasn’t sure I could ever share with Azriel.

The bond between Azriel and I thrummed faintly, a quiet presence I didn’t yet fully understand but had come to rely on. He never mentioned it, never pressured me to acknowledge it, but it was there, steady and unyielding, a silent reminder that I wasn’t alone.

And when the nightmares came, as they often did, he was there in an instant.

******

Y/n POV

My room was dark and cold when the nightmare began. It crept in like smoke, curling into the edges of my subconscious, twisting my dreams into something monstrous and cruel.

The dungeon came first—the damp, suffocating walls, the stench of mold and blood. Chains rattled in the shadows, and I was there again, bound and broken, my wings torn and useless. I could feel the cold stone beneath my knees, the sharp sting of my captors’ laughter as they loomed over me, faceless but terrifying all the same.

“Not so strong now,” one hissed, their voice a distorted echo. “No one is coming for you. He left you. He chose her.”

My head snapped up, my vision blurring through tears, and there he was—Azriel. Standing in the distance, cloaked in shadows, his hazel eyes fixed on me with an expression that carved me open.

“Azriel,” I choked out, struggling against the chains, against the weight pressing me down. “Please… please.”

But he turned away. He turned and walked into the dark, his back fading until there was nothing left of him.

“No,” I sobbed, my voice hoarse and broken. “Don’t leave me!”

The walls of the dungeon began to close in, the shadows thickening, the chains biting into my skin. My wings trembled under the pressure of unseen hands, pulling at them, tearing them apart. Pain radiated through my chest as the whispers grew louder.

“Left you.”

“Forgot you.”

“Not enough.”

“Azriel!” I screamed, the word ripped from me as darkness consumed me whole.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel shot upright in bed, his breath caught in his throat as the sound reached him—distant and broken, but unmistakable.

Her voice.

“Angel,” he breathed, already shoving back the covers.

The shadows swirling around him were frantic, echoing the same panic that thrummed through his chest. He was halfway down the hall before he realized he’d moved, his bare feet pounding against the cold floor. He didn’t care who he woke—didn’t care that the rest of the House was sleeping.

He heard her again as he neared her door—a broken sob, a whispered plea. “Azriel… don’t leave me.”

He didn’t knock. He didn’t hesitate. Azriel pushed the door open and slipped inside, the sight before him freezing him in place for a heartbeat.

She was tangled in the sheets, her face pale, her body trembling violently as she murmured incomprehensibly, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her wings, battered and healing, fluttered weakly against the mattress as though trying to escape the invisible torment.

The bond flared faintly in his chest, an instinct as old as time pulling him forward. “Angel,” he said softly, striding to the bed.

She gasped, her body jolting awake, but her blue eyes were unfocused, wild, searching for something that wasn’t there. “Azriel?” she whispered, her voice small, broken.

“I’m here,” he said, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. 

He reached for her without thinking, cupping her face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears streaking her cheeks. “It’s me. It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe.”

Her hands shot up suddenly, clutching at his wrists like a lifeline. She blinked up at him, her chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “You’re here,” she said, as if still trying to convince herself.

“I’m here,” he repeated, softer this time. His wings folded close to his back as he leaned forward, kissing her forehead. “You’re safe. I promise.”

His shadows curled around her like a protective shroud, their tendrils brushing her skin as if trying to soothe her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly, his voice low and steady, though it wavered slightly with worry.

She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper as she replied, “It’s always the same. The dungeon. The pain. Their voices…telling me you chose her. You left me. I wasn’t enough…” Her words faltered, and she shuddered, closing her eyes, her wings curling closer to her back. “Then you appear and I’m calling out for you, but you turn and walk away. I can’t escape it. Even here.”

The ache in her voice made something inside Azriel snap. He shifted closer, his arms wrapped tightly around her trembling form. The aftermath of her nightmare still clung to the air like a heavy fog. Her sobs had quieted, but the hitch in her breathing told him the fear hadn’t entirely left. He cradled her as though she were the most fragile thing in the world, his hand stroking gently along the curve of her back, careful of her wings.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m here, Angel. I’ve got you.”

She shifted slightly in his embrace, pressing her face further into his chest. “I thought—” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head. “I thought you were gone.”

His heart clenched at the brokenness in her tone. “I’ll never leave you,” he said fiercely, pulling her closer. “Not again. Not ever.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the quiet punctuated only by the sound of her uneven breaths. Azriel felt the weight of her against him, the bond between them faint but ever-present, and he knew he couldn’t keep this inside any longer.

“Angel” he began softly, his voice almost hesitant, “I need to tell you something.”

She didn’t pull away, but she tensed slightly in his arms, her head lifting just enough for her tired, blue eyes to meet his. “What is it?” she whispered, her voice wary.

Azriel swallowed, his throat tight. “I didn’t choose Elain,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I know it might have seemed like I did. I know I hurt you—” His voice broke, and he shook his head, his hazel eyes shining with something raw. “But I didn’t choose her.”

Her brows knit together, confusion and lingering hurt flickering across her face. “Then why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you—?”

“Because I was a coward,” he admitted, his voice heavy with guilt. “Because I thought I didn’t deserve you. Because I thought if I pushed you away, you would find someone who deserved you. Someone better than me.” He cupped her face then, his thumb brushing away the tear that slid down her cheek. “But I was wrong. So wrong.”

Her lips parted slightly, her eyes searching his, as though trying to piece together what he was saying. “Azriel…”

“I choose you,” he said, his voice steady now, his gaze unwavering. “I’ve always chosen you, Angel. Even when I tried to fight it, even when I tried to push you away, it was always you.”

Her breath hitched, and another tear slipped down her cheek. “Why now?” she whispered. “Why tell me this now?”

“Because I can’t bear to see you like this,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Because I can’t bear the thought of losing you again, of you thinking I don’t care, that you don’t matter to me.” He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as he whispered, “You are my everything, Y/n. You’re my mate. My choice. Always.”

Her hands lifted hesitantly, gripping his arms as he still cupped her face, as though anchoring herself to him. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said gently. 

Slowly, he moved his thumb to wipe away the tears that continued to fall, his touch featherlight yet firm, grounding. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, his hazel eyes searching hers. “They can’t hurt you anymore, Angel. I won’t let them.”

She exhaled shakily, the warmth of his palms against her skin was a balm to the storm raging within her. “I know,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But the nightmares… they don’t stop. And when they come, I can’t—” Her voice broke, a sob escaping her lips.

Azriel wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. Her trembling body fit perfectly against his, and his wings shifted slightly to cocoon her, creating a sanctuary of warmth and protection. One hand rested on her back, his fingers splayed gently between her wings, while the other moved to cradle the back of her head, his touch tender yet firm.

“You don’t have to face them alone,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. His lips lingered there, the gesture filled with the love he no longer wanted to hide. “I’m here.”

Her sobs quieted as she melted into his embrace. “Will you stay with me? ” she asked softly, her voice muffled against his chest.

“Of course,” he replied instantly, his arms tightening around her. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

“No,” she said quickly, pulling back just enough to look at him, her blue eyes glistening with tears. “Not just tonight. Every night. Please, Azriel. The nightmares… they’re worse when you’re not here.”

His heart clenched, the weight of her words crashing over him.

She needed him.

She wanted him—not as a fleeting comfort, but as a constant presence.

He shifted back and brought his hands to her face, cradling it gently.

“Angel,” he said softly, his voice trembling as he leaned closer. “Are you sure?”

Her breath hitched, and she nodded. “You’re the only one who makes them go away,” she whispered. “When you’re here, I feel… safe.”

His throat tightened as he stared at her, his hazel eyes searching hers for any trace of doubt. But all he saw was trust, raw and fragile but unwavering. He exhaled shakily, his hands sliding to her shoulders before pulling her into him again, this time with a desperation he couldn’t hide.

“Will you hold me?” she asked, her voice so small, so fragile it nearly undid him. “Please.”

Azriel didn’t answer—he just moved. He slid onto the bed beside her, drawing her trembling form gently against his chest. She  curled into him instantly, her face buried against his neck, her arm wrapping his waist. His arms wrapped around her, one hand softly brushing along her back, careful of her wings.

“I won’t leave,” he whispered into her hair, his voice low and steady. “I’m  right here.”

Her body began to relax, the trembling easing as he held her. 

Azriel pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his heart thundering in his chest as he felt the way she settled into him—like she fit perfectly there.

The bond pulsed faintly, the tether between them strengthening, solidifying in a way that made his throat tighten.

Her breathing evened out after a while, soft and steady against his chest. Azriel didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare break this fragile peace as he held her closer, his thumb brushing over the edge of her wings, gentle and reverent.

And as the stars outside the window flickered faintly in the night sky, Azriel closed his eyes, pressing another kiss to her hair as he whispered, “I’ve got you, Angel” ”

And as she drifted to sleep in his arms, safe and warm, Azriel pressed another kiss to her hair. .

******

Azriel POV

As her breathing began to slow, the tremors that had wracked her body gradually subsiding, Azriel tightened his hold on her. Her head rested against his chest, her soft hair brushing his jaw, her wings draped against the bed like a fragile shield she no longer needed to lift. His own wings curled protectively around them both, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

Her small arm was still wrapped around his waist, even in her sleep, as though afraid he might slip away if she let go. The sight of her like this—so vulnerable, yet finally at peace—sent a deep ache through his chest.

He brushed his lips against her hair, lingering there for a moment as her scent filled his senses, grounding him. He couldn’t stop his hand from moving, from gently tracing the curve of her shoulder, then the ridge of her wing where it met her back. His touch was light, reverent, as though she might shatter beneath it.

He couldn’t stop the images that flashed through his mind—her broken, terrified, calling out for him. And for a moment, the guilt was so sharp, he couldn’t breathe.

He had nearly lost her. The reality of it was crushing, a weight he felt in every beat of his heart. If he had been just a moment too late, if he hadn’t found her that night, she wouldn’t be here now, nestled in his arms, safe and alive. The thought of a world without her was a void he couldn’t comprehend. 

She was everything to him. 

His light in the darkness. 

His reason to keep fighting.

His wings curled tighter around them, his shadows flickering with renewed determination. He glanced at the scar on her arm, barely visible in the dim light, and his jaw tightened. The people who had hurt her, would never escape him. He would hunt them to the ends of the earth if he had to.

“No one will ever hurt you again,” he murmured, his voice low but laced with quiet fury. “I’ll kill anyone who tries. Anyone who even thinks of laying a hand on you.”

The possessiveness in his tone was undeniable, but it wasn’t just about vengeance. It was about her. About the bond that thrummed softly between them, unbreakable. She was his—his mate, his heart, his soul. And nothing, no one, would ever take her from him again.

His hand slid to her face, his thumb brushing gently over her cheekbone as though to reassure himself that she was real, that she was here. “You’re mine, Angel,” he said softly, his voice trembling with the depth of his emotion. “You’ve always been mine. And I’ll protect you with everything I have. Always.”

He hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding back until tonight. For months, he had forced himself to keep his distance, push her away because he didn’t think he deserved her. But now, as she slept in his arms, the faint pull of the mating bond thrumming between them, he let himself feel everything.

The anger—at Hybern’s men, at himself, at the world for letting her endure so much. The guilt—sharp and unrelenting, a constant reminder that he hadn’t been there to protect her when she needed him most. But above all else, there was love.

A love so fierce, so consuming, it made his chest tighten and his throat burn. He had never felt anything like it before, this deep, unyielding need to protect her, to care for her, to be the anchor she could cling to no matter what storm she faced. She wasn’t just his mate—she was his everything. The thought of losing her, of her slipping away from him, was unbearable.

He glanced down at her, his hazel eyes softening as he took in the way her lashes rested against her cheeks, the faint parting of her lips as she exhaled slowly. Even now, after everything she had been through, there was a quiet strength in her, a resilience that humbled him.

She had asked him to stay, and he would. He  would spend every night holding her, every day reminding her of her worth, every moment proving to her that she was not alone.

As she shifted slightly in her sleep, her arm loosening its grip around his waist, but still resting against his chest, he let out a shaky breath. His shadows softened, their once restless movements now gentle and protective as they curled around her.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice cracking with the weight of it. “More than anything, more than myself. You’re my everything, Angel. Forever.”

Forever. The word settled in his chest like a promise, as unyielding as the bond that tied them together. He kissed her again, his lips lingering against her forehead as he closed his eyes, letting the steady sound of her breathing soothe the storm inside him.

She sighed softly in her sleep, her body relaxing further against him, as though even unconscious she could feel the safety of his presence. The bond between them hummed faintly, a quiet promise that tethered them together, unbreakable.

Azriel rested his cheek against her hair, closing his eyes as he let the sound of her breathing calm his racing thoughts. He didn’t know what the future held for them, but he did know one thing with absolute certainty: he would never stop loving her, never stop fighting for her. 

And as she slept peacefully in his arms, he made a silent vow to himself—and to her.

Whatever it took, he would help her heal. He would be her light in the darkness, her anchor in the storm.

He would be whatever she needed. 

Because she wasn’t just his mate.

She was his home. 

******

Y/n POV

This was the cost of what being rescued too late had done. It had given me life back, yes, but handed it over in pieces I had to painstakingly reassemble. I was learning, slowly, that though the harm could not be undone, it need not define me entirely.

 In the safe quiet of Velaris’s gardens, I confronted old fears. Step by halting step, I ventured into busy markets, forcing myself to endure the proximity of strangers. I relearned how to laugh, tentatively, at small, gentle jokes. I experimented with trust, allowing a friend’s arm to linger a second longer, trying not to recoil. I discovered that some nights were quieter than others, and with Azriel staying with me every night, I could sleep.

In essence, I carried two timelines now: the one before Hybern’s men took me, and the one after. 

The difference between them weighed on my soul. Before, I had imagined cruelty but not known its depths. After, I understood the darkness that could exist behind a friendly face, the way suffering could become a sport. That knowledge weighed heavily on my  heart.

But within me scars lay a seed of resilience, too. Surviving that place, enduring their games and punishments, had proven that I possessed a well of strength deeper than I’d guessed. In time, I might draw from it, forging a new sense of self that incorporated these scars rather than being defined by them. I might learn to move without flinching,to love without fear. It would take immeasurable patience—from myself and from those around me—but the possibility remained.

For now, I did what I could: breathed the fresh Velaris air, soaked my aching muscles in warm baths, listened to music that reminded me not all voices cackled with cruelty.

Each day was a battle won quietly, without witnesses or fanfare. Each night survived in Azriel’s arms without screaming was a small victory. If I could endure torture, I could endure healing. If they had failed to break me completely in that cell, then I could rebuild myself outside it.

And that was what being rescued too late had done to me: it had etched trauma into my bones, taught me fear and suspicion, but it had not stolen my will to live, to heal, to grow beyond the pain. It had only made my scars into battle lines, reminders that I was still here, still fighting for myself. And in that truth, I would find the courage to keep going.

I just needed to find that girl from Summer Court again.

The one still there, just hiding until it felt safe to come out.

******

Y/n POV

I stood on the balcony of the House of Wind, my gaze fixed on the endless horizon where the mountains met the sky. The wind tugged at my long black hair, catching on the tips of my feathers as my wings flexed faintly behind me. I didn’t move, didn’t blink, as if staring long enough would reveal the answers I so desperately sought.

I wasn’t the same person who had danced with joy in the Summer Court, my magic weaving playful shapes out of water, laughter spilling from my lips as though it were endless. That girl felt like a ghost now, a shadow lingering in the farthest corners of my mind.

But I wasn’t entirely the broken woman who had been dragged from Hybern’s dungeons either, though the scars they left behind—both visible and unseen—still weighed heavily on me.

I was caught somewhere between the two, and it was tearing me apart.

Azriel was patient. Always patient. He never pressed me to speak about what I was feeling, never brought up the bond that hummed faintly between us, like a lifeline I wasn’t sure I deserved. He had been my constant, my anchor, through it all. He held me when I slept to keep the nightmares away, brushed my tears away with such gentleness it made me ache, and whispered quiet reassurances that I wasn’t sure I could believe.

But I hadn’t told him I loved him, except for whispering the words as he flew away from the battlefield. 

The words he never heard.

Because how could I? How could I love him fully, completely, when I barely recognized the person I was anymore? When I didn’t know how to reconcile the carefree girl I had been with the haunted woman I had become?

“Angel.”

His voice was soft, a gentle murmur that broke through my spiraling thoughts. I turned to see him standing a few paces away, his hazel eyes searching mine, his expression unreadable but warm.

“I thought I’d find you out here,” he said, stepping closer, his wings folding neatly behind him. He didn’t touch me—he never did unless I reached for him first—but his presence alone was grounding.

“I needed air,” I murmured, turning my gaze back to the horizon.

Azriel nodded, standing silently beside me. He didn’t speak, didn’t pry, but I could feel his concern, the unspoken question lingering between them.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said after a long moment, my  voice quiet but steady. “About who I was before. And who I am now.”

His brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, letting me continue.

“I don’t know how to reconcile the two,” I admitted, my hands gripping the balcony railing. “I feel like… like I’m not either of them. Like I’m someone else entirely, but I don’t know who that is.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, but still, he didn’t interrupt.

“I think…” I swallowed hard, my wings twitching as if in agitation. “I think I need to go back. To the Summer Court. To try to piece it all together. I need to figure out who I am—who I’m supposed to be now.”

Azriel’s expression tightened, just for a moment, before he schooled it into his usual calm. “If that’s what you need, I won’t stop you.”

My chest ached at the quiet resolve in his voice, the way he offered me the freedom to go even if it pained him. I turned to face him fully, my eyes locking on his.

“I don’t know how to be what you need,” I confessed, my voice breaking. “I don’t even know how to be what I need.”

Azriel stepped closer, his hand lifting as if to reach for me before he stopped himself. “You don’t have to be anything but yourself, Angel,” he said softly. “Whatever that looks like, whoever you decide to be—I’ll still be here.”

My breath caught at the raw sincerity in his tone, at the way his eyes shone with quiet, unshakable love.

“You’ve been through hell,” he continued, his voice steady. “You’ve had everything taken from you, torn apart, and yet you’re still standing. That’s enough, Angel. You’re enough.”

Tears pricked my eyes, and she blinked them away, her throat tightening as she nodded. “I have to do this,” I whispered. “For myself.”

“I know,” Azriel said, his gaze unwavering. “And I’ll be here when you’re ready. Always.”

The bond between them pulsed faintly, a quiet reassurance that I wasn’t entirely alone. But even as I felt it, as I saw the love in his eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words I knew he needed to hear.

Not yet.

Instead, I reached out, my hand brushing against his. He caught it gently, his fingers warm against mine as he held my hand for a brief moment before letting go.

And as I turned back to the horizon,my heart heavy but resolute, I made a silent vow to myself. To find the balance between who I was and who I could become.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel stood beside her, his gaze fixed on the horizon for a moment before he spoke, his voice low and raw. “Angel,” he began, the weight of his words heavy in the stillness between them. “I know this is something you need to do for yourself. I won’t stop you. But… I need you to know something first.”

She turned her head slightly, her ocean-blue eyes meeting his hazel ones, and the pain etched into his face made her heart twist.

“I know I played a part in this,” he said, his voice trembling just enough to betray the guilt simmering beneath. “By pushing you away. By making you think I didn’t care. By making you believe, even for a second, that you didn’t matter to me.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure how to process the sheer remorse pouring out of him.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, his wings twitching behind him. “I thought I was protecting you,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Protecting you from me—from what I thought I couldn’t give you. But all I did was hurt you. And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

The bond between them pulsed faintly, as if echoing the depth of his emotions. Y/n’s chest ached, the raw honesty in his confession cutting through the walls she’d built around her heart.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he continued, stepping closer but still keeping a careful distance. “You didn’t deserve any of it. And I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t enough—because you are, Angel. You’ve always been enough.”

Her breath hitched, and she looked down at the balcony railing, unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t know if I can believe that yet,” she whispered.

“I understand,” Azriel said softly, his voice steady despite the torment she could see in his eyes. “But I’ll keep telling you, as many times as it takes, until you do.”

Her tears spilled over, silent and unstoppable, and she bit her lip to keep her emotions in check. “You make it sound so simple,” she murmured. “But it’s not. I don’t even know who I am anymore, Azriel. I can’t give you something I don’t even have.”

“I know,” he said, his tone full of quiet patience. “And I’ll wait. However long it takes, I’ll wait for you. You need to figure out who you are, and I won’t stand in the way of that.”

She turned to him fully then, her voice trembling as she asked, “And if I don’t come back the same person? If I’m someone you don’t want anymore?”

Azriel’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, gently brushing a strand of her hair away from her face. “That won’t happen,” he said firmly. “I’ve seen you at your strongest, and I’ve seen you at your lowest. It doesn’t matter who you become, Angel. I will always want you.”

The sincerity in his voice, the unwavering love in his gaze, broke something in her. She pressed her lips together, her emotions choking her words.

Azriel reached for her hand, holding it gently between his. “I just want you to know,” he said quietly, “that wherever you go, whatever you decide, you’ll always have me. I’ll be here when you’re ready. And even if you never forgive me for pushing you away… I’ll never forgive myself.”

Her tears spilled over again, and this time, she didn’t try to stop them. She squeezed his hand, her voice barely a whisper as she said, “Thank you.”

Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, as if resisting the urge to wrap around her, to shield her from the storm raging inside her. “Always,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles.

[dollwrites]

ᴍɪsғɪᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴘᴀᴍᴇʟᴀ ɪsʟᴇʏ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!robin!reader, established relationship, predicament bondage ( plants ), blood mention ( mind the thorns ), improper use of Pam’s powers and plants in general, it’s kinda dub con, suggested age gap, praise kink, maybe a very small amount of sex pollen if you squint. all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ act six [ object stimulation ]

“Well, well, a little birdie got caught in my trap.”

vines slither up your legs, coiling like serpents around your thighs and squeezing tight. Pam’s voice sounds like it’s all around you, but you know better than that. she’s just a pro at playing up the villain bit. “Ivy,” you break out into a subtle smile even saying her name, but attempt to hold it at bay by nibbling on your lower lip. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Isn’t that what you said last night? And the time before that?” Pamela’s voice only grows softer as she gets closer, practically materializing out of the darkest shadow at your back, until slender fingers drum against your shoulders, and glossy lips smack against the shell of your ear. “Oh, and the time before that?”

“Heroes make mistakes,” you remind her, but you’re happy it’s her causing chaos in Gotham and not that looney tune Joker. “I have just made… a lot of mistakes this week.”

and you wanted to make another. just one more, terrible decision before Batman ruined all your fun.

“Pamela—“ you reach for her, wanting to run your fingers through her fiery curls or caress her face long enough to guide those tantalizing, glossy lips to your own, but more vines got in the way. snapping around your arms, they pin them tight to your sides, looping several times around your midriff. this is when you notice the thorns, angry and red, nipping at the spandex of your uniform around your belly, tearing several, minuscule holes in the threading and pressing into your soft skin beneath. “Ivy.” you say, more firm this time. the fabric that clings to your thighs like a second skin is also being torn at by her dubious, thorned ‘babies’ as she called them. “Now’s not the time for your little games. Batman is—“

“Shh, sh, shh,” Pam cuts you off, allowing her hands to careen over your shoulders and down your front, caressing your chest as her lips tickle the column of your neck with tender kisses. you moan out loud when she teases a particularly special spot that she already knew was there, and her svelte, razor sharp nails slip beneath your neckline, severing quintessential threads that hold your top in place. the seams snap with a soft sound, and part to expose your cleavage. “I know Bruce is probably scouring the rooftops of Gotham right now, searching for you, little bird. But you and I can still have our fun before he finds you.” both of her willowy hands envelop your breasts through your top, running her thumbs along the shape of your budding nipples, and you moan, your resolve slipping, as you allow your head to fall back, simply enjoying the attention. “There you go, my little pet. Such a good girl for me.”

but you can’t ignore the thorny vines that are vice-tight, digging into your arms, waist, and legs. shredding the integrity of your outfit. “Time to call off your babies, Ivy.” you tell her in a mew, but they only seem to tighten their grip at that, twisting against you. some of the sharp edges find your skin beneath the costume and liquid rubies bead up from you at the contact points. you let out a sharp hiss at the sensation of so many cuts at once, and tilt your head back further to look up at her, demanding to be released.

but Pamela is simpering wickedly at you as she peeks up from your neck— the visage of a heroine, usually so strong, reduced to a damsel in distress. “Mm, nn-nn.” she denies you simply, “I think I’ll have my fun with you all tangled up this time.” as she speaks, the two tips of the vines incapacitating your legs meet in between your thighs, their bulbous buds stiff and oozing a nectar-like substance as they begin to rub against you. it was sticky and warm, but not unpleasant, the smell of a honey-arousal cocktail wafts in the atmosphere the longer they tease your sensitive cunny through your suit. you were almost worried the two, determined little buds would rip a hole in the crotch of it with all their furious, hard scrubbing, and you would have a difficult time explaining to your mentor why your private parts were exposed. the injuries from the thorns you could probably explain away without raising much suspicion. however, the edges of these buds were slick enough to lubricate the fabric ( and you, of course, taking care of the interior the more they pleasured you ), so the majority of the integrity of the suit tonight remained in tact.

your gloved hands ball into fists at your sides, but you can’t deny it feels good. the flowerlets seemed to be ribbed in all the right places, writhing in tandem to toy with your cunt— pushing the spandex around until your nerherlips slot around them, and they can worm their way, instinctively, to the more sensitive parts, like your throbbing, little button that swells further. “Ah, uh—!”

one of the sprouts blossoms, the flower mimicking the shape of a small mouth, and latches itself in place with several, microscopic teeth-like thorns impaling through your suit. the seal creates a suction against your clit hard enough to make your eyes cross and your knees buckle. it felt like Pamela’s mouth when she ate your pussy, the way it sucked hard on your nerve-bundle. that’s how you knew she was in complete control, aware of the sensations that bring you the most pleasure and channeling them into these, little minions. the bubbling in your belly, a brewing orgasm, flares at the sudden ferocity, and your mouth hangs open, half in shock and half to simply allow your needy moans to flow freely. “P—Pam, oh, god, this feels… Good!! Don’t stop…!!”

your pleading nature elicits a giggle from the vixen fondling your breasts, further overloading you with pleasure, and she traces her name along your throat with her tongue, as if claiming Batman’s young, pretty sidekick for herself. “You’re always so sensitive, so responsive. Taking whatever I give you, doing so well.” she croons softly, her thumbs and forefingers pinching at your pert nipples to intensify the pleasure her plants are giving you. the still-closed floret has taken to prodding against your hole as it clenches, helplessly, behind the flimsy defense of your suit, teasing you with fantasies of tearing its way through and impaling you. right now, you were intoxicated by the pleasure ( or perhaps, that sweet-scented sap that seemed to envelop you in a warm, tingling sensation ), and you wanted nothing more than that to happen. but Ivy knew there wasn’t time to ravage you, not like you both wanted. “My pretty, little bird. My favorite.” she emphasizes the word favorite, by allowing one hand to flee to your jaw, grasping it, and turning it to capture your lips in a steamy kiss.

you can’t help yourself. you’re teetering on the edge of orgasm, and all this praise is only throwing gasoline on an already-raging fire. so you kiss her back, as fervently and hungrily as you can manage. your tongue tangling with hers in a dangerous dance as her suffocating kiss muffles the higher octaves you reach when your orgasm hits you like a sack of bricks.

you come undone, your hips bucking back and forth, riding the waves of intense pleasure because you can do little else, your fists balled so tight that your knuckles hurt, and you whimper when Pamela sinks her teeth into your lower lip, tugging on it. your eyelids flutter when you release, and then, without so much more as a second to torture you further, the vines retreat. Pam breaks the kiss, kicking her lips, smirking with her arms crossed as she steps back.

without the vines’ support, you are more than a little wobbly on your feet. you manage to stay standing, only barely, and pant, chancing a glance down at your suit. the chest is ripped open, exposing more cleavage than normal, it’s riddled with small, puncture holes, and the aromatic slime mixed with your own release creates a thick, damp patch in the crotch. Explaining this to Batman might be a little harder than you anticipated, but you would figure it out. your eyes flicker over to her, watching the vines retreat into the darkness behind her, and she only stands at the edge of escape. she looks stunning, irresistible, and in your post-orgasmic state, still riding the high, you want to grab her and insist on a round two. bury your face between her thighs and drink her in. but you couldn’t, and you both knew that. not yet, at least. “Don’t look so sad, baby.” Pamela speaks first, reading your pouty expression, and she reaches out to caress your cheek and trace your jaw with the very tip of her nail, smiling fondly. “We’ll see each other again soon. You just have to find some time to sneak around Bruce. Keep him distracted a little longer, and then I will really and truly ravage you.”

your heart thumps harder at the idea. you’ve been at the mercy of Poison Ivy and her insatiable appetite more than once, but it’s always a place you want to be. “Yeah, just stay out of his way in the meantime, okay?” you plead with her, tilting your head to kiss her fingers, mumbling softly, “It’s a pain in the ass to sneak into your cell at Arkham.”

[spideyhexx]

Billy knew he didn't actually hate you, but it was the only front he'd been able to put up.

Ever since you joined his gang, you've been a thorn in his side. Your constant teasing and that sickeningly sweet smile that played on your lips every time his jaw clenched at your words would send him into a spiral. It's like you always knew the right way to thread words together to make him mad.

He admits to himself he's taken with you. He sees your beauty and understands the intrigue that other men express with ease towards you, but there's just a coil inside him that tightens with anger whenever words fall out of your pretty mouth.

Billy felt poisoned by you. You occupy every part of his mind. He isn't even sure how he's supposed to do his job when he's only thinking about your voice. Or the way you called him out for staring while you sipped on your drink. Or when he saw you come out of your tent, buttoning your shirt up and you just had to comment on his blush.

This morning would be like any other. Everyone is scattered, eating their breakfast. Billy leans up against a post and does the same.

"Mr. Bonney, I recall being promised an extra piece of bread," he hears you from behind him and you swoop in, taking his already half-eaten piece of bread from him. "I reckon that was Jesse, not me," his eyes pierce daggers into you, but it somehow never phased you. At least on the outside.

On the inside, you wanted to melt from his gaze but you're smarter than that. You knew how to keep yourself composed, so all Billy saw was a calm expression and a smile as you ate what was left of his bread.

He'd roll his eyes so hard, you'd think he wanted you to hear it. He stalks off towards a small group of his men who've gathered around to talk. You trail behind him, watching his arm flex as he reaches for his hat and puts it on his head, adjusting it only slightly before leaving it. You always like his hat and the way his little brown curls would peek out in tufts from it. The attraction you had for him was overwhelming at times but the power you felt when you got him so pissed off was enough to fuel your aching feelings for him.

A wild thought enters your mind as he comes to a halt, you a few paces behind him. Annoying him was the epitome of fun for you and why not start the day off strong? Without another thought, you sneak up behind him and yank his hat off of his head, backing away quickly as he turns on instinct, his hand at his gun. He relaxes when he notices it's just you.

"Give me that back," he snaps as the other boys whistle in amusement.

They were all used to your antics by now and loved it when you challenged Billy. You seemed to be the only person to really get under his skin so it was for their amusement too.

A taunt plays at the tip of your tongue like venom. "You gonna catch me?" You tighten your grip on his hat, a smile still on your lips as his mouth opens to say something, but nothing comes out.

Billy's mind is racing. He's still tired and he only got to eat half of his food cause of you and now you have his hat of all things. All he feels like he can do at that moment is let out a little chuckle, shaking his head.

He begins to walk towards you and you both circle one another as all attention is focused on the two of you. "We both know I can run faster than you, sweetheart," Billy tries. He tries so hard to not come off as irritated as he is but it's so obvious. You loved that about him.

His brow is knitted and his lips purse in frustration when you shake your head. "You think so little of me, Bonney."

The two of you circle one another for a bit. You want to just run but you're waiting to see his first move. Billy on the other hand doesn't think you would even run. He knows he can very easily get a few steps closer and grab his hat from you. He's trying to study your face like he wants to read your thoughts, but he just can't. You're too good, too concealed.

"You too scared, Bonney?" A few of the men around you snicker at that and you feel your smile turn into more of a smirk as Billy's face emits more anger. He swallows hard, nose flaring as he watches you like prey. But then again, maybe he's the prey. He takes two steps to move forward and you tsk before turning heel and dashing away.

"Fuck!" He curses as the men laugh and he takes off after you. Billy had to admit that you were faster than he thought, but he still caught up enough to try and reach out his hands to grab you. You spin out of his grasp, his fingers barely grazing your waist before you run off again.

You don't miss the way he lets out a groan and you so badly wish you could turn around and see the look on his face, but you book it. The land is vast where you are, so much room and you take that advantage.

When you're a decent distance away, you stop, "you're pretty slow, Bonney!" You watch him heave it as he keeps running after you and you decide to slow your pace as you continue. Maybe he's had enough. And maybe you wanna see his handsome face up close again.

The lake comes into view as you run and Billy nears closer to you. It's like the adrenaline kicked in for him full-time as you feel your own heart pounding, just waiting to feel him catch you.

When Billy gets close enough to grab you, and he does. His hands grip onto your waist hard and he's tugging you close to him as you let out a shriek. The force of this, however, with both of you running and the hold he's got on you makes him lose his footing. He falls onto the ground, bringing you down with him.

He takes most of the fall and you land on top of him, his grasp on you so fucking tight. Despite the wind being knocked out of him for a moment, Billy's made aware of how your ass is now pressing right against his crotch and it takes every nerve in his body to not just buck his hips up against you to continue the sensation that's rocketing throughout his body in that instant. He knows he's digging his fingers tight on your hips and it gives his clouded mind all the more reason to grind against you, but he doesn't. His grip loosens.

He tries to sit up after a moment and that's when he realizes you're...laughing? Laughing so hard as you roll off of him onto your back next to him in the grass.

You both pant from exhaustion and you place Billy's hat on his chest, patting it before continuing in your fit of laughter. He looks at you with his brow raised. Billy's never had such conflicting emotions course through him before, but he knew he loved the sight of you laughing this hard. And that it was him and only him.

He really did his best to keep his lips from quirking up into a smile, but you were already looking at him. "oh don't hide it, Mr. Bonney, you loved that," you get out as you continue to laugh and that's when Billy noticed you were crying from it.

And all Billy could do, despite whatever had been holding him back, was smile and laugh along.

He drops his head into the grass as you sit up and wipe at your eyes. Billy can't take his eyes off of you. The morning sun hits you perfectly and he's even seen you laugh like this. For this one moment, any anger you've caused him dissipates, and he's left only with some sort of happiness.

You finally look back at him and notice the slight flush on his cheeks as he stares up at you. You try to return your breathing to normal as you glance at his hat, but then you see something else.

"Are you hard right now?" Billy lifts his head up, moving his hat from his chest, and sees his arousal from the situation had been more than he might've expected and he looks at you as you try to hold in your laughter.

"Sweetheart, don't-" but you're already cackling and Billy accepts his defeat in the matter, watching you with a squint in his eyes due to the sun and a smile on his lips.

let's chat about billy, here :)

[squiddy-god]

ghost valentines day

Skskwkejejejebe of course!! He's very bad at feelings but he's a sweetheart and he's trying. 

Simon Riley was not built for this, he was built for the harsh reality of war, not for this. He starred in the mirror turning left and right to make Sure he'd gotten all of his dirty blond facial hair shaved. No longer the scruffy patchy mess formed by scars. A little trickle of red seeped from a small knick- formed when he had gotten to caught up with the idea that he was going on a date with you. He chuckled at the word “date” when he had accepted your little proposal he doubted you knew how much he'd been waiting for it. 

“Just a little outing- nothing special just to get the discounts and festivities” you blurted out, trying to make it sound like anything but a date. “Alright luv. Get you at noon?” The response was gruff and disbelieving, but you didn't know how Simon had called it a date, because in his mind it was absolutely a date. He saw the way you snuck little glances at him, it was hard not to when he was almost always watching you. Eyes glued to you with nothing but a sort of puppy love. 

He knew you didn't expect much, just a small walk and dinner, But he had other plans for the day. He sighed as he applied the bandaid to the stinging cut and stepped back to thread his belt through the loops of his black slacks. “Ain't built for this ‘ol boy” but none the less he tucked in the black compression shirt and grabbed the roses off the table. Nevers alright he nearly forgot his jacket and house keys. 

Leather jacket, dozen rose, skull print half balaclava pulled up to rest on the bridge of his slightly crooked nose, and off on his way. Simon looked out of place walking through the streets of his seedy neighborhood with a bouquet of roses, and even more out of place in your neighborhood as he walked quickly up the stairs to your apartment. 

11:55 and he curses himself for not getting something like a stuffed bear for you. He turns on his heels about to leave for that purpose when your door opens to reveal your half ready form. White pants and red button down suiting you so splendidly. Simon feels his heart met at the sight of you. “Simon? That you? A bit early I'm not quite ready-” your cut off by the roses he all but shoves into your arms. “Got you flowers lovie” he's thankful for the mask covering his red cheeks but curses how the tips of his ears undoubtedly turn red at your excited smile. “Never really got flowers- thank you” and he scoffs at that badly concealed disbelief “I'd get you flowers every day” it's a mumble as you set the flowers on the table, Taking out two roses and clipping them shorter before cutting off the thorns. Giggling to yourself you put one rose into the right Breast pocket of Simon's leather jacket, and the other tucked into the small pocket of your button down. Simon stiffened doing everything (and failing) to not look at you. “Fancy some tea? The caffe I'm taking you too has ice cream to” he loves the way you light up. “So you're taking me out” his brain short circuits “it's a date” and you swoon, shy smile gracing your lips as you look down. 

Simon fumbles his way through the date, on the walk to the small cafe his beautiful brown eyes practically burn into your hand. “You can hold my hand if you want, ya know” you tease, brushing your fingers against his. He latches on like a dog to a bone, his sturdy rough hand pressed against yours, fingers Intertwining in a death grip. Firm but not painful. “Tch- don't wanna hold your hand” he needs to, that much is evident by how he doesn't let go, broad shoulders bumping into yours and moving a little closer. 

When you finally arrived to the cafe Simon pulls your chair out for you, pushes it in and waits for you to tell him what you want. Cammomile and a milkshake, he's so eager to get it he hit his knee on the table  when he hops up from his seat, nearly gives the barista a heart attack when he orders. Two little heart shaped tea bags, and a thick milkshake with those heart straws for two. He looks ridiculous bringing the items over but it's worth it for the smile you give him. Watching him make his tea you realize hes a liear as Simon adds suger and a bit of cream to his tea. He won't tell you it's because he secretly hopes you'll ask for a sip. And you do, offering him a sip of your tea in return. “Sweet… never would have guessed” you laugh as you taste the sweet drink. “thought you drink it with salt and vinegar.” He laughed with a heavy layer of sarcasm. “Just feeling festive” 

It was definitely a sight such a pair, Simons mask pulled down to share the milkshake with you, listening as you talked about whatever came to mind, he was severely lacking in the conversasion department aside from bad puns and dark jokes- that and he was nervous that the next words out of his mouth would be something sappy. 

By the end of the date you were giddy, a small red bear in your arms that Simon had insisted on getting you. “I had a lot of fun today- even if it wasn't a date” and he looks at you like you have three heads. “Was a date luv. First one” his Answer is absolute, as if he knows there will be more. “Take you on as many as you want” before you know it his hands around you waist and holding your other hand as you walk back to your apartment. 

He definitely wouldn't tell you his search history of how to preserve flowers, or how he kept that rose never getting rid of it. 

1k words

[just-cofffee]

A hollow formed in her stomach at the sight of it, there, so celestial, as if it had come straight out of a fairy tale, made of smooth silk like a caress and adorned with delicate lace. It was a dress, but not just any dress—it was the dress of her dreams.

With trembling hands and a lump in her throat, she approached to lightly stroke it, fearing to soil or ruin it. The bodice of the dress was delicately embroidered with silver threads forming intricate floral patterns, each flower adorned with tiny pearls that shimmered with every movement. The skirt, wide and billowing, cascaded in layers of tulle that moved like gentle waves with each step, creating an ethereal silhouette.

The sensation of silk against her skin sent an electric current through her body. Every adjustment, every fastening, was like a whisper enveloping her in a sensation of ecstasy. It was as if the dress had been made especially for her. Every pearl, every silver thread, seemed to be there, placed by and for her, sending her a message between the lines. Or perhaps she was losing her mind.

It was lilac, like the hair of the dress's creator, her best friend.

Spinning around in front of the fitting room mirror like a little girl in her first princess dress, Takashi watched the woman of his life, his muse, his endless source of inspiration. He didn't have the privilege of calling her "mine," perhaps out of cowardice, fear of rejection, or worse yet, the terror of losing her forever. He settled for calling her "best friend," though that nickname felt like a necklace of thorns tormenting him day after day

[fantasyinallforms]

Let's talk about this scene. It's one of the most popular, and the writers and actors knew exactly what they were doing when they filmed it. This is going to be a LONG, long post because I will be breaking down and analyzing looks as well as dialog. Don't worry, I will add in a cut! Let's start with the look on Bilbo's face. Specifically, I've slowed the GIF down so you can get a good look at his face.

Bilbo stated quite clearly to Gandalf the night before this that he was not afraid of Thorin, but he is not so naive as to think that he will stay in Thorin's good graces after this. Hitched breath, sluggish movement, rapid blinking, and a look of dread on his face. This is a funeral march for whatever future might have been brewing over the course of the journey.

Thorin, by comparison, is almost slow to comprehend. There is doubt about what he is hearing written all over his features. He shakes his head and says "you" like he expected to turn around and see someone else standing there using Bilbo's voice. What I really want to get at is the conversation right after. Because it's always struck me that Thorin and Bilbo are not having the same conversation with each other.

"I took it as my fourteenth share," followed immediately by "You would steal from me?"

Now, it's, of course, important to note that Thorin is at peak dragon sickness at the moment and not in his right mind. That said, Bilbo stealing something from him was truly the last thing he could have possibly imagined happening. He suspected his kin less than a day ago but never Bilbo. I've said this in a previous deep dive, but the way that the dragon sickness reconciled Thorin's love for Bilbo and the gold was to place them in the same category. You don't expect what is entirely yours to be capable of theft. We're going to skip ahead slightly in the next GIF.

Ok, so this is where we start to see the conversation diverge. Bilbo says, "Steal from you? No, no. I'm a burglar, but I like to think I'm an honest one." Clearly trying to articulate to Thorin and the entire company that he didn't do this as a betrayal or out of greed. Thorin's response is chilling and very telling.

In the first GIF, I have no subtitles because I want you to look at his face, not what he's saying. This is the laughter and smile of a madman who just had the last thread tethering him from true madness cut. He descends very quickly from here.

Now, "You have no claim over me" is a very strong statement. In his mind, the gold is his and bound to him in every way. Bilbo, after this, is desperate. His words are desperate, and his expression is desperate. But what's more heartbreaking is the look in Thorn's eyes. Like the real Thorin is trapped behind those pretty blues, helpless to do anything.

Then, finally, after all of this, we have the full snap. The final break.

"Throw him from the ramparts."

This single line gives us probably the most heartbreaking look in the entire movie. To me, even more so than Thorin's death. This is the true "end" the final break. Bilbo's head was bent low. He was willing to take the vitriol the hate. He understood where it was coming from and was prepared for it. But those 5 words ended everything. Thorin is gone, and Bilbo knows that now.

We haven't seen true fear in Bilbo. Not once. The closest we got was when he was about to charge an orc but even that was not fear alone. There was determination and resolve that colored his expression.

That last hollow look in Bilbo's eyes is properly terrified yet if I had to name this GIF I wouldn't name it terror I would name it

Loss.

[amaranthineghost]

DOUBT SEEPS INTO ME AND I CAN’T GET IT TO STOP (BUT YOU CAN) ( charles leclerc. )

charles leclerc x reader

uncertainty plagues her mind, and self-sabotage looms over her shoulder, as if its whispering in her ear to tell her it’s a bad idea. he still manages to be the voice on top of all her doubts at the end of the day.

authors note: literally wrote this because this is how i felt while i waited for the days to pass so i could ask the guy i like for his number. mf got me feeling in love and shit, listening to mitski and lana del rey, writing fucking poems. liking a guy is the best and worst thing ever. gonna work on other things soon tho!

THE THOUGHT OF LOVE twisted her stomach into knots. even the mere thought of simply asking a guy for his number made her body churn with anxiety and the looming feeling of rejection held over her head.

relationships never lasted for her because she wouldn’t let them, the idea of getting too attached and the possibility of it shattering her heart was too great to risk it. she would watch from afar, stalk his socials, but never had the guts to approach him, or even look his way.

all throughout high school, she dreamed of a relationship that others around her had, but she lacked everything they didn’t. social skills were never her things, and confidence was something she always lacked. she just wanted to be a teenage girl in love, and she wouldn’t get that. she wasn’t sure she ever would.

she felt as though she was unloveable. even though it was so easy for her to give love, it was far harder to accept it. if anything, it was impossible for her to even imagine doing so. her trust was a thin thread that always seemed to snap. no matter how many times she tried to re-tie it, it always came back undone.

it wasn’t like she never liked any guys, boy she did, but the chase factor was a part of every single one. she never had guys come to her, and she would never go to a guy. still, she chased and chased, yet she never caught up. she worried she never would.

she worried she would never experience the thrill of being in a relationship, all because that thrill was shrouded with anxiety, uncertainty and distrust, though the distrust mostly lied within herself. deeply rooted in her brain was the idea that she wasn’t capable of ever accepting she could be loved, that someone would ever be so patient, understanding, and wanting.

she wanted it so bad, yet she felt like this. it felt stupid, she felt stupid. she felt like a walking contradiction because she couldn’t make up her mind. her heart wanted one thing, and her mind shut it out. a defense mechanism that she felt could never disable, that tinkering with it would only worsen the intensity. deep breaths only temporarily stopped the nausea that plagued her stomach, but only giving the man, the one she so desperately craved to be with, up would change how she felt.

she was a hopeless romantic at heart, but at mind, she was never going to let love in. as much as she held out her accepting arms, vines adorned with thorns grew through her veins, lacing her fingertips with sharp edges to cut back anyone who would try to get close.

the week leading up to finally getting his number went by so painfully slow; she had built herself up too high in those days. she worried she would come crumbling down before she even managed the chance of getting close. from afar she watched, glances exchanged and she gushed to her friends, but she could never be so sure that they were meant for her. after all, she was just an employee for ferrari, he was an athlete in the sport.

her friends were unsure if the brunette was the right fit for the girl, if he was even attainable at all. he was known for being a red flag among fans, he literally drives for a team based around the color red. she didn’t care, she was convinced he was right for her, but still she was scared she wasn’t his type. she knew he wasn’t taken, his entire private life, which was never even private to begin with, was broadcasted across the internet. if he had found someone new, she would know, and for now he hadn’t.

oh, she desperately wanted to be a wag. who wouldn’t? her job made it complicated though, she worked under the team, she didn’t have authority anywhere, she was a nobody. she never knew how she managed to catch his striking gaze to begin with.

she thought she would’ve looked like an idiot, an awkward, nervous girl in front of the charles leclerc, prince of ferrari. she felt like one, maybe she was, but the way he looked down at the shorter girl gave her the courage she needed to mutter the words she had thought about saying everyday for the past week.

“uh—could i get your number?” she barely managed out, she was nervous, it was evident in her tone and the way her voice was up an octave. his brunette hair and green eyes were enchanting, she had fantasized about him for that week. she even went as far as making a playlist to listen to to occupy her time, laying around when she wasn’t at her job. she had never been this lovesick for a guy in her entire life until she first laid eyes on him.

the sick feeling in her stomach became all too familiar, she hated it at first, but now she began to feel comfort in the sickness, and began to miss it over the weekend. the mopey love feeling of hopelessness while listening to lana del rey, or mitski. the fantasization of how the scenario would play out in her favor etched itself into her brain.

the moment of silence was harsh, she could feel the rejection coming. she braced herself for it, holding her breath.

he looked down at her with those damn eyes, a certain gleam in the light reflection over his pupils, part of her knew his response before he did. a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he pursed his lips to hide the smile forcing its way on his face.

he couldn’t deny the pretty girl in front of him, he could tell she dolled herself up for this, for him. he wouldn’t let her efforts go to waste, but that wasn’t the sole reason he didn’t reject her. her confidence sparked something inside of him.

he had plenty of girls who threw themselves at him, buying him drinks, or whatever they could to get their hands on him and themselves in his bed. she was different, a breath of fresh air in the fog. her awkward nervousness was endearing. he hadn’t meant to leave her hanging so long, but he admired her.

his smile brightened, looking down at the phone she clutched so tightly, her skin began turning white. “of course, darling.”

she certainly hadn’t expected to hear the words and yet she did. she was so unprepared, scrambling through her phone. should she write it in her notes app? should she go ahead and shoot him a text? what should she send? should she send a ‘hi’ text? should she send him an imessage game? the music she had listened to throughout the week hadn’t prepared her for this.

his brow raised at her, his arms crossed in front of him as he watched her panic slightly. he was so patient, waiting for her cue that she was ready to take his number and save it in her phone. he recited the string of numbers to her and she smiled internally. she was so giddy inside, yet she couldn’t show it. she couldn’t show how much this excited her, but she would talk her friend’s ear off at her actions because for once she had done something to take a step forward towards a relationship she wanted.

“thank you!” she squeaked out, mentally facepalming—she sounded a little too grateful for something as simple as his phone number. she couldn’t wait to run far away and into the corner of her work office, hiding behind her job position.

he smiled as she scurried off, looking at his phone as it lit up at the movement. he knew to expect the text from the girl later, not now though, because he could feel the nervousness radiating from her body.

later that night, he had received the very text he had been waiting to see. an unsaved number with a blank contact photo he knew was her without reading the contents of the message. his stomach fluttered at the words in the texts, and the following imessage game, 8 ball. it was oh, so endearing to him.

the text contained a simple ‘hiii’ and a simple reminder that she was the girl who asked for his number—as if he had been handing his number out to other people. he texted back, it was simple enough because he didn’t want to scare her off, but he also didn’t want her to overwhelm with worry that he just wasn’t interested in her. he was.

simple texts throughout the day, telling each other what they’re doing, company lunches whenever they had time. flying her out to watch his races, inviting her to his driver's room to watch the race from there because the possibility of their relationship becoming a reality was just a secret for now. the entire process he was just so understanding, it baffled her. he was gentle, like a dog laying their head in your lap, so blissful and light. days he would lay across a couch with his head in her lap as he let her mess with the strands of his dark, brunette hair. she commented on different, potential haircuts his mother could give him and he chuckled at the ridiculous ones she suggested.

something so simple showed her the trust he gave her, the trust he was slowly earning.

slowly, they hung out more. instead of spending his time in clubs after podiums, he spent time with her in his drivers room, or a restaurant about to close—he would leave a hefty tip for the inconvenience.

eventually, she would appear in his garage, watching with a headset on her ears, simply posing as a ferrari employee holding more importance than she really did—except to charles, she held all the importance in the world.

she never knew how he didn’t get pricked by the thorns adorning her body, how not a scratch tainted his even skin, not a drop of blood.

maybe it was because he knew that behind the thorns that laced her body, waiting was a rose. a reward so sacred and so fragile. to be shielded from the world in his very arms was her trust, her love, her mind, her thoughts, her everything.

in his arms, she felt everything she longed for; security, openness, trust, loyalty. he showed her what her heart was worth.

—

taglist (found here): @decafmickey @slut4lrh @kaa12 @taylorslovesswifties13 @sbella13 @nhlfs @beskardroids @hiireadstuff @lorenica @delululeclerc @c-losur3 @casperlikej @thearchieves @soamericn

proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[stelladess]

Pretty hyped for the new event that got announced. Thorns is a character I have always liked but he has so little story content unfortunately, so getting more is nice. Also the pirate vibe to the event is good, I am also fond of "sandships" as a concept, plus you can see Elysium and Weedy down there on the deck.

Making Thorns the Lodestar an alchemist is a perfect choice, it is gonna be interesting to see how they handle his gameplay though. Tin Man is already a strong character often worth using over many of the strong 6 stars in the game, and now we get a 6 star of his subclass. So Thorns is either gonna have to be really really strong or a minor enough upgrade that resource management wise it will not be worth going for him over Tin Man. I expect the first to be the case, but that he is broken more in a Ines type way and less a Logos or Wis´adel type way.

Arts fighter modules is the modules I have waited the most for, mostly for Guardmiya. So that is very exciting too. Image contains the creepy rhombuses and also Theresa style thread so I think this might be kind of a mind blowing module story:

And since Guardmiya´s talent is pretty great even fairly minor buffs to it would be pretty big of a deal. So I think this might be a pretty great module overall, especially with how surprisingly big the buffs on Medicmiya´s module were.

Also I just really really love the design for Thorns new look:

The black and white and alchemy things almost gives me an Ex Astris vibe (Thorns designer also did the character designs for that game) which I am really into. It seems he might have done something to his right arm too? Curious to see where this leads.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Ruler of the Abyss.

Kneel to the Thorn Fairy, who shall make manifest one’s dreams—the wishes made by the heart.

He promises happy endings for all. Woe to those who doubt and defy his vision.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Alone.

He has always been alone.

But alone he is no longer—not when he is in his castle, surrounded by hordes of his people. He will never be alone again. No one will, all thanks to his efforts.

Never, never, never.

Malleus easily traverses the thorn-crusted lounge, floating across them like a specter. The bodies of school staff and fellow students lie limp in chairs and couches. Eyes closed, chests rising and falling rhythmically.

As he passes, he runs a hand along their scalps. Brushing their hair, patting their heads. Tender touches wishing them well.

Here is a king's domain, and here are his subjects. He, the dragon guarding his trove of invaluable treasures.

Malleus turns to face his captive audience, arms spread out toward them. “Today is something of a special occasion: Night Raven College’s Founding. I do believe this warrants a celebration—and, of course, all are invited to the festivities.”

A wave of magic washes over the room. Conical party hats manifest on each person's head, decorations appearing from thin air. Banners drape across the walls, streamers spill from black-clothed tables laden with food, and balloons tuck into the corners, safe from the needle-like thorns.

He projects applause, stunned oohs and aahs. Here, he is not a monster, but fellow man.

"Hmm, we're still missing something." Malleus strokes his chin, deep in thought. He snaps his fingers. "Ah, that's it! Music. It's not a proper party without any music."

With the wave of his hand, he summons a series of floating instruments. Bass, cello, viola, violin, harp, each bathed in an eerie green glow. They start playing by themselves, as if being handled by skillful, invisible hands.

Soft orchestral song fills the venue.

The guests rise, puppeted by the strings of his magic. Thorns on the floor retreat, allowing his peers to spill over onto the area repurposed for dance. Heads loll over--Malleus frowns and fixes them.

"There we are."

A glittering assemblage.

He smoothly conducts the bodies into neat pairs.

A waltz, he thinks, is ideal. It is also one of the few forms of dance he is familiar with. A waltz it shall be.

Palms link, fingers intertwine. Hands upon shoulders and upon backs. And then they are set to the hypnotic swing of the music, slow and sweet and intoxicating, like a steady drip of honey into one's mouth.

Malleus threads past the avid dancers and to the one person that has not been matched. The little bat who had almost flown away, far out of his grasp.

"Lilia," Malleus breathes raptly, "look at how happy everyone is. No one was left out. No one was forgotten. No one has to be alone anymore."

With this gift... my blessing... I've protected their smiles.

The duty of any Draconia.

He's proud--elated--but Lilia, alas, does not share the sentiment. Instead, the ancient fae wears a placid expression, eyes sewn shut. The same as all the other guests.

Malleus chuckles. No one hears it but himself.

"How exciting your dream must be. Action and adventure, at the best of your strength... I'm afraid this humble gathering cannot compare."

He’s sure Lilia would agree with him, were he awake.

“Never mind that," Malleus says, dispelling the thought. No more what ifs, only there ares. "Would you care for food? You'll need to keep your energy up for the celebration--it just may last all night."

He beckons with a finger, and a platter with a large cake hovers over. It is an extravagant seven layers, each a different flavor. Details are piped on in buttercream icing, invoking the image of each dormitory. A chocolate raven, wings open and prepared for flight, crowns the dessert.

A cake knife slides into Lilia's hand. His fingers slowly closer around the handle. With Malleus's guidance, he cuts into the topmost layer--Diasomnia--of the cake.

Something thick, red, and sticky leaks from the insides. The knife is coated as it is pulled back, freeing a slice. The violet crumb is fine, the frosting neon green with a dark chocolate drip.

Devilishly decadent.

"Come, you must try this," Malleus insists, stabbing a fork into the cake. He stuffs the bite into Lilia's mouth--but it doesn't stay, just rolls out and lands with a squishy splat on the ground.

Malleus eagerly waits for Lilia to beam at him, to praise him for its deliciousness.

It never comes.

Malleus laughs as though Lilia has responded as he imagines him to. He's drunk with delirium.

The strings abruptly screech, the dancers ceasing in their revelry.

He lets the unfinished slice fall. The plate shatters, reflecting one hundred Malleuses, one hundred Lilias. So many realities, and yet this is the one he has been dealt.

He guides the corners of Lilia's mouth upward, forcing a smile.

"Happy Night Raven College Founding Day," Malleus whispers, "and may you all have the sweetest of slumbers."

To his guests, to Lilia, to himself. And to the world that will soon be joining them in this delightful, never-ending dream.

Raising a hand, he unleashes fireworks from his palm. They explode in wild shapes and colors, emitting warmth and dazzling lights. The display is beautiful but fleeting--long shadows running along the walls before they blip out of existence and return to the darkness.

Every dream is like a firework, he surmises. A fiery flower frozen in time at the height of its bloom. They shall never wither nor fade.

Malleus reclines into his seat--a spiked and scaled throne, mounted high above the party venue. A lone king, untouchable.

Seated upon a mountain of lies, he looks out at his twisted kingdom. It’s a scene of his own creation, props lovingly places and toys carefully posed, acting out situations in his head.

The average school day at Night Raven College: students bickering, teachers watching over them. They see him, smile and wave. Talk with him, invite him.

Stay with him.

A loop playing, forever and ever.

Malleus sighs contentedly.

This is his happily ever after—from now until the end of eternity.