#Steel Grating Market

[velarisdusk]

Breathe Out Your Sorrows

Day 28: Captivity | Azriel x Reader word count: 10k author's note: WHEW. this turned into so much more than i intended but i couldn’t stop writing, i loved this dark, sick azriel. LOVED him. this is part 2 to Breathe In the Quiet, my kinktober day 24 fic! you could prob still read this standalone and be fine though :) warning! there are a lot of really fucked up elements in this one. dub-con, knives, blood (this is not cute knifeplay with tiny cuts, this is an actual dangerous situation), manipulation, uhhh i think those are all the really bad ones ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

The first thing you felt was the cold. Icy, biting, and unrelenting. It seeped into your skin, clawing at your bones, making you shiver uncontrollably. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, lids heavy with exhaustion, and a wave of disorientation hit you like a crashing tide.

You weren’t in the market anymore.

Gone were the warm lights of Velaris, the bustle of the streets, the illusion of safety. Instead, damp stone surrounded you. The faintest glow from a torch flickered in the corner, casting dancing shadows against the rough, uneven walls of the dungeon. The air was thick with the scent of blood and decay, an overwhelming mixture of damp earth and something far more sinister.

Along the walls hung a collection of vicious instruments, as though they were nothing more than decoration—razor-sharp blades, iron clamps, whips with barbed ends, each more sinister than the last. A wooden rack stood in one corner, its handles worn smooth from countless struggles, while a table along the back wall was littered with tools designed for nothing short of pure agony. But the floor was disturbingly clean. No blood, no stains. An unsettling realization, as if the horrors here were scrubbed away with precision, leaving behind only the lingering sense of suffering and dread. 

A dull throb pulsed in your skull, each beat growing more insistent. You reached up to soothe the ache, but as you raised your arm, a sharp, cold sting bir into your wrists, yanking it back. Thick iron shackles clamped tight around your wrists and ankles, bolted to the floor, ensured there would be no escape. Despite the restraints, you still managed to touch the side of your head, feeling a warm, sticky wetness beneath your fingers. You pulled your hand away and peered down at it in the dim torchlight.

Blood.

Panic flared instantly, flooding your veins with adrenaline. Your breathing hitched as you tugged desperately at the restraints, the metallic clink of chains echoing through the chamber. The iron was heavy, and with every frantic jerk, they only tightened around your limbs, the cold steel bruising your skin.

Your heart thundered in your chest as your gaze darted around the room, frantic for any sign of an exit, any hope of escape. But there was none. No windows, no door. Only a narrow grate, no wider than your hand, carved into the stone for the thin wisps of smoke curling from the torch. The walls loomed around you, oppressive and unyielding. And then you felt it—the familiar, suffocating weight of being watched.

His presence curled through the room, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t see him yet, but you knew. You knew Azriel was there, lurking just beyond the shadows, watching you struggle.

“Finally awake, little one?”

The voice slithered through the room, smooth and ominous. You froze, your blood running cold as his figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the dim light. Azriel stood there, tall and imposing, his wings partially unfurled behind him, casting long, ominous shadows across the dungeon floor.

He looked like a nightmare come to life. His dark hair was tousled, framing a face that was both beautiful and terrifying in its intensity. He wore a tailored suit, every line of it sharp, perfect. But it was his eyes—those cold, predatory eyes—that pinned you in place. The same eyes that had hunted you, stalked you through the streets of Velaris.

The same eyes that had caught you.

“You look so… delicate like this,” he murmured, his voice a low purr as he stepped closer, the clack of his boots against the stone floor deafening in the otherwise silent room. His shadows curled around him like living creatures, some slipping across the floor to circle you.

You swallowed hard, fear clawing at your throat, but you forced yourself to speak. “Why… why are you doing this?”

Azriel tilted his head, a slow, calculating smile curling on his lips as he crouched in front of you, his face mere inches from yours. His breath ghosted against your skin, sending a wave of cold dread washing over you. “Why?” he echoed, amusement flickering in his dark gaze. “Because I can. Because you’re mine.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you recoiled, trying to hurry back, but the short chains held you in the center of the room, your wrists aching as you strained against them. Azriel’s smile widened, a dark, twisted satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he watched you struggle.

“I’ve been watching you,” he whispered, his voice a silken caress that felt like poison dripping into your veins. “For so long. Waiting. And now…” He reached out, his fingers tracing a slow line down the side of your face. “Now you’re right where you belong.”

You flinched at his touch, cold against your skin, but there was nowhere to go. No escape. You were trapped. Helpless.

Azriel’s hand moved from your face to your throat, his fingers curling around it, not tight enough to choke but just enough to remind you how small you were compared to him, how weak. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke again, his voice dark and wicked. “You feel it, don’t you? That fear? That delicious, sweet terror that’s running through your veins right now?” Your breath hitched, and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block him out.

“Look at me!” he bellowed, his voice sharp and dangerous as the hand clenched with terrifying force. 

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes, meeting his gaze, and what you saw made your stomach churn. His eyes were filled with hunger—a deep, insatiable hunger, like a panther poised to pounce on and devour a naive, unsuspecting doe. He was enjoying this. Enjoying your fear, your helplessness.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. “I can feel your heartbeat,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “It’s racing. You’re terrified, aren’t you?”

You swallowed hard but didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The fear had lodged itself in your throat, choking you, paralyzing you.

Azriel’s lips curled into a wicked grin at your silence, and he let out a low, dark chuckle. “Good,” he whispered, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure as he pulled away to look you in the eyes. “I like it when you’re scared.”

His hand finally left your throat, and you let out a shaky breath, but it was short-lived. 

Azriel stood from his crouched position and circled you slowly, his shadows crawling over your skin, sliding up your arms, wrapping around your legs—until one slipped beneath your dress. You jolted, hands flying to press the fabric between your legs. This only made him chuckle as his shadows merely circled your limbs tighter. His voice was hushed, a dark whisper, like he was savoring this moment, drawing it out just to watch you squirm. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he began, his eyes darkening with a hunger that made your skin crawl. “How many nights I watched you. How many times I imagined this exact moment. You, helpless. Mine.”

He stopped a few paces away from you, his gaze never leaving yours as he rested a hand in his pocket. “I was patient. So patient. Waiting, watching, until the time was right. Gods, you’d always smile at everyone, walk the streets so innocently, so ignorantly. You didn’t have a clue what was going on around you,” his subsequent laugh echoed with something chilling and unhinged. “So many times I’ve had to kill them. Those males who thought they could have you. Creeping toward you in the shadows—my shadows—thinking you were alone. They had no idea I was watching. None of them ever saw me coming.” 

Your blood ran cold. No… that couldn’t be true. You would’ve known, right? But you realized with a sickening twist in your gut that there had been moments—those unsettling, unexplained feelings, eyes on your back…

“I was always so close—taking care of you. And you never had any idea.” 

His fingers brushed against something in his pocket, and your heart pounded in your chest as you watched him toy with it. “I could’ve taken you anytime. But where’s the fun in that? I wanted you to feel it, to understand your helplessness against someone like me.” His lips curled into a dark smile as he pulled his hand out—slowly, methodically— and held up a necklace. “Now you’ll know. Now, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”

He dangled the necklace from a single finger, and a wave of nausea rolled through you when you recognized it. It was the one you’d admired at the market—only now, the gemstones adorning the pendant had been replaced with ones of the deepest blue. 

“You were looking at this, weren’t you?” he murmured, lifting the dainty chain slightly to let the light catch on the dark stones. “I went back and bought it for you. Thought I’d make it… better.”

Your stomach twisted as you stared at the necklace, the weight of his obsession sinking in. This wasn’t a gift. This was a symbol of control disguised as one—a mark of ownership.

Azriel’s fingers brushed over the pendant as he knelt before you and fastened the thin chain around your neck, his touch lingering a little too long, a little too intimately. “It suits you,” he whispered, satisfied. “Like it was always meant to be yours.” 

His gaze lingered, dark and possessive, and it was painfully clear—he wasn’t just talking about the necklace. The way his eyes gleamed with triumph told you everything. He believed you were meant to be his.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Azriel seemed to sense your defiance, and his smile turned sharp, dangerous. “Oh, sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice a low purr that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “Do you really think you can fight me? Resist me?”

He reached for your chin, tilting your head up to force you to meet his gaze. “I could break you so easily,” he whispered, his voice soft, almost tender, but the malice behind it was unmistakable. “You’d shatter like glass in my hands, and you’d love every second of it.”

His thumb brushed over your lower lip, and you couldn’t conceal the trembling breath that followed. “You feel that, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice a silken caress that taunted you, that sent a wave of heat pooling in your stomach. “You’re finally beginning to understand just how fragile you are. How the weight of your fate rests in my hands.”

You bit your lip, refusing to respond, refusing to give him what he wanted. But Azriel wasn’t deterred.

“If you submit,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, “I might be kind. I can make you feel things you’ve never felt before. The good kind,” he added with a smirk, the warmth not quite reaching his eyes.

You shook your head, a soft whimper escaping your lips, and Azriel’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. “Ah,” he said with wonder. 

He stood, his shadowy wings unfurling slightly behind him as he towered over you, his presence suffocating. “Don’t worry,” he purred, his voice laced with cruelty. “We have all the time in the world for you to learn your place.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, his words pressing down like a heavy stone. The room seemed to close in around you, the thick shadows at the edges of the chamber whispering as if they were alive.

“Fuck you,” you spat, your voice hoarse but defiant, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. 

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, dark amusement flickering behind them. “Oh, you still have some fight left in you?” His lips curled into a dangerous smile, his hand moving with deliberate slowness, a wordless assertion of his dominance. “I expected this. I want you to submit. I want you to be my well-behaved little angel. But breaking you is when I get my real fun.” 

With a subtle tilt of his head, the shackles clicked open, replaced by his shadows that coiled around you like a vice. They lifted you effortlessly to your feet and pressed you against the cold stone wall, stretching your limbs taut against its unforgiving surface. You squirmed in an attempt to break free, to pull away from the wall, but their icy grip held firm, biting into your skin with a chilling intensity.  

“You think you can resist me?” His voice was like velvet, smooth and dark. “Do you think defiance will protect you from what’s coming?”

Your lips parted, a snarl forming, but Azriel was faster. In an instant, he was inches from your face, his hand shooting out to grip your jaw with a bruising hold, forcing your gaze to lock with his. The intensity in his eyes sent your heart racing, a sickening mixture of fear and something else you refused to acknowledge settling deep in your gut.

“I know what you want,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath between you, yet it wrapped around your senses like a noose. "I can feel it—the fear, the rage, the way your body responds to me, even when your mind screams at you to fight." His thumb pressed against your lower lip, forcing it to part as his grip tightened. "Tell me... do you hate me for making you feel this way?"

Your breath hitched, the words catching in your throat. You wanted to scream at him, curse him for the torment, for the twisted thrill that pulsed through your veins despite yourself. But he gave you no time to respond before he released your jaw, his hand sliding down your throat to the delicate chain resting there.

“Your silence speaks volumes,” he continued, his voice thick with condescension as his fingers ghosted over your collarbone, trailing the elegant fabric of your dress that clung to your form. “But I’m going to get you to say it, one way or another.”

He stepped back, his wings casting dark shadows across the room as he moved with an unsettling grace. The tension built, thick and suffocating, as his hands came to rest on the waistband of his leathers. His gaze never left yours, a cruel spark igniting in the depths of his eyes as he undid the ties with deliberate slowness.

"I could break you," he murmured, his voice deceptively soft. "It wouldn’t take much. Some pain, just a touch of pleasure." You felt the burn of humiliation bloom on your cheeks, your pulse hammering wildly in your ears as you caught sight of the sizeable bulge forming beneath his pants. "I could have you begging in no time. Soon enough, you’ll forget what it felt like to resist."

You clenched your jaw, fighting the panic that rose in your chest. You wanted to scream at him, to lash out, but your body betrayed you. A shiver sparked at your core, unwelcome and traitorous, tangled with the terror gripping your heart.

Azriel noticed. Of course, he noticed.

"See?" His voice was a dark purr, and he took a step closer, his body nearly flush with yours. "I don’t even have to touch you to get this reaction. You can hate me all you want, but your body… your body already knows who it belongs to."

“Fuck… you,” you managed to bite out, the tremor in your voice betraying the very defiance you clung to.

Azriel’s hands shot out, grabbing the fabric of your dress and tearing it effortlessly, the soft material falling away like paper. A sharp gasp escaped you as the cold air hit your bare skin, and you instinctively pulled back, only for the frigid wall behind you to meet your skin, as cold and unyielding as the look in his eyes.

“Oh, I think that’s exactly what you want,” he growled, his hand tracing the curve of your waist, the lightness of his touch mocking the brutality he’d just shown. “But I’m not going to make it that easy for you, angel.”

His shadows slithered across your exposed skin, cool and teasing, as they wound around your thighs and waist, keeping you completely at his mercy. With a fluid motion, Azriel shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it aside. You couldn’t focus on how he managed it, what with the wings; all that mattered was how good he looked, the crisp white dress shirt clinging to his muscular frame. As he rolled up the sleeves, revealing his forearms, your breath hitched. The taut skin, adorned with swirling tattoos, made your pulse race, a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding you.  Azriel leaned in, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear as his voice turned dark, a silken whisper tainted with cruelty.

“You’re going to beg for it,” he murmured. “And when you do, I’ll decide whether or not you’ve earned it.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the stubborn fire in your eyes flickering back to life despite the overwhelming fear gripping you. “I’ll never beg,” you hissed through clenched teeth, glaring at him with all the fury you could muster. “Not for you. Not for anything.”

Azriel’s smirk widened, amusement dancing in his gaze. He straightened, his enormous wings flaring behind him as he studied you with a predatory glint, as though your refusal was nothing more than a trivial obstacle he intended to crush.

“Oh, angel…” He purred. The shadows around him thickened, swirling like smoke, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop, a chill creeping up your spine. Azriel stepped back, his fingers flexing at his sides before one hand slowly reached for the hilt on his thigh. “You’ll be begging,” he continued, his tone colder now, devoid of any false gentleness. His hand curled around the handle of a sleek, dark blade, glinting ominously in the low light as he pulled it free. “You will. You’ll beg me to fuck you if only to end the torment I’m about to put you through.”

Your heart stopped at the sight of the blade, its edge sharp enough to gleam even in the dim dungeon light. You fought to maintain your composure, but the icy grip of dread was tightening around your throat. 

Azriel twirled the dagger in his hand with ease, the weapon seeming to pulse with the same lethal energy as its wielder. His eyes sparkled with sadistic delight as he held the blade, admired it. “This,” he said, his voice a whisper of silk and steel, “is Truth-Teller. Her name suits her well. She has a reputation for exposing secrets—cutting through lies to reveal what lies beneath.”

He stepped closer, the dagger’s dark metal almost shimmering with a life of its own. You swallowed hard. 

“Still so sure of yourself?” he mocked, his voice dripping with condescension. “Still think you won’t break, angel?” He stopped just ahead of you, the tip of Truth-Teller coming to rest under your chin, tilting your head up with a featherlight touch that belied the threat behind it.

“I’ve broken countless souls—people stronger, more stubborn than you.” His smile was cruel, the sharp edge of his sadism glinting in his gaze. “You’ll be no different.”

Your breath came in shallow gasps, your pulse roaring in your ears as the cold steel kissed the skin beneath your jaw. You wanted to fight back, to scream, but the primal instinct of survival kept you frozen in place.

Azriel leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Where should I start?”

And without warning, he pressed the blade against the side of your neck, just enough to let the edge bite into your skin. A sharp, stinging pain flared as the first drop of blood trickled down your throat. You gasped, your body tensing, but Azriel’s shadows held you fast, refusing to let you move even as the blade moved lower, tracing a slow path along your collarbone. 

“You’ll never beg, hm?” he mused aloud. Your mind raced, a storm of panic and adrenaline flooding your senses as the blade dipped lower, grazing the delicate skin of your chest. The shadows around your wrists tightened yet again, your fingers tingling with numbness.

“Azriel—” you gasped, your voice trembling with fear and rage, but he only smiled. 

“As much as I love the sound of my name on your tongue… Beg,” he demanded, the word sharp and cold as the blade’s edge.

“I won’t,” you spat, even as the tears burned at the corners of your eyes. “I won’t give you the satisfaction, you sick bastard.”

His gaze intensified, a storm of fury and sadistic pleasure swirling within their depths. “You will.”

Azriel held your gaze as he slid the dagger’s handle between his teeth in a chilling display of confidence. The blade glinted ominously as he leaned closer. With a swift movement, he reached for the delicate fabric of your bra. The sound of tearing echoed in the dim space, sharp and final, as he pulled it apart. You gasped, shock and humiliation flooding your senses as you watched it fall to the ground. His hands moved down to your underwear, and with the same brutal efficiency, he tore it away—leaving your dignity in shreds along with it.

The chill of the air against your most sensitive skin only heightened the horror of the situation, but Azriel wasn’t done. He grabbed the dagger and stepped back slightly, his wings creating a dark silhouette behind him as he admired you with a twisted sense of satisfaction. 

“Still so stubborn.” He traced the blade across your abdomen now, a thin red line left in its wake. “A shame, really. All this pride, and no one here to see it stripped away.” He pressed the tip of the dagger into your side, just enough to draw blood, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your throat.

“There it is,” Azriel groaned, his tone full of sick pleasure. “I love the pretty little sounds you make.” Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your mind spinning as he pulled the dagger away, your blood staining its dark edge. Vision blurring with tears, the fear and pain radiating through you overwhelmed your senses. You fought against the sob that threatened to escape, biting your lip until you tasted blood, but Azriel was relentless. 

He stood flush against you now, his dark wings curling protectively around the both of you, creating an intimate cocoon as he raised the blade once more. 

"You can stop this," he whispered, his tone almost gentle as if he were offering you salvation. "All you have to do is beg me. Say it. Tell me what I want to hear."

Your body trembled, every fiber of your being screaming at you to give in, to make the pain stop before it got worse. But even as your eyes stung, even as your heart raced with terror, you clenched your jaw, forcing the words past your lips.

“Go… to hell.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed. “Oh, angel,” he purred, his hand caressing your cheek in mock affection. “I really wish you hadn’t said that.”

In an instant, he thrust Truth-Teller into your thigh, the pain exploding through you like a lightning strike. A choked scream tore from your lips as the cold steel pierced your flesh, a searing heat radiating from the wound. The shock sent your vision spiraling, the world around you dimming as you fought against the pain that clawed at your senses. Glancing down, you saw the dagger embedded shallowly, crimson oozing from the wound and trickling down your leg. You desperately hoped it hadn’t struck anything vital; he likely wouldn’t want to kill you—not yet. Dragging this out seemed far more his style. When he pulled the dagger out, more blood trickled down your leg, the warmth mixing with the sharp agony and flooding your body with a dizzying rush.

Azriel watched you with a dark satisfaction, his gaze never leaving yours as you writhed against the restraints, your body trembling. He leaned in closer, the dagger still gleaming with your blood.

“There it is,” he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for.”

The agony radiated through you, a white-hot flame that ignited every nerve ending. You gasped for breath, trying to steady yourself against the sharp edge of the pain, but Azriel’s presence only deepened the ache. You gritted your teeth, refusing to show any further weakness. But as the pain began to ebb, something else took hold—an unsettling awareness of him, the predatory gleam in his eyes igniting a twisted sense of anticipation.

With a twisted smile, he pressed the blade lightly against your lips, enjoying the way you instinctively recoiled. “Let’s make this a bit more personal, shall we?” he taunted. “Open up for me.”

You hesitated, but the cruel glint in his eyes forced your mouth open. He wiped the blade clean on your tongue, dragging it along the moist surface before pulling it away, leaving you to taste the metallic sting of your own blood. 

“Look at you,” he purred, his voice thick with amusement as his hand slid between your thighs, close but not quite touching. “Trying so hard to resist me. But I bet you’re dripping for me already. If I checked right now, you’d just soak my fingers, wouldn’t you?” His thumb grazed the sensitive skin near your core, and your hips jerked involuntarily, a choked sound escaping your throat before you could stop it, and Azriel’s dark laugh sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

“Oh, don’t be ashamed,” he taunted, pressing his thumb against your clit now, circling slowly, torturously. “You can’t help it. You want this—you want me. As much as you hate it, your body knows what it wants.”

You couldn’t help the desperate whimper that escaped your lips, the humiliation of it sending a flush of heat through your cheeks. You hated him for this, for kidnapping you, for torturing you, for stabbing you; for turning your own body against you, for making you want him even when every fiber of your being screamed that this was wrong.

But that was the worst part—you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want the game to end.

Azriel’s lips ghosted over your throat, his shadows slithering their way up your arms and legs, wrapping around you like a dark caress. “I told you,” he purred, his voice as smooth as silk, “I’ll break you. And when I do, you’ll thank me for it.”

His hand slipped lower, and you couldn’t stop the gasp that tore from your throat as he finally plunged his fingers deep inside you with cruel precision. You arched against him, the pleasure overwhelming, but he wasn’t gentle. His pace was brutal and relentless, and you were caught between the pain and the pleasure, your body trembling as you fought against the wave crashing over you.

“Azriel—” His name slipped from your lips before you could stop it, and you saw the dark gleam of victory in his golden eyes as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear.

“That’s it, angel,” he whispered, histone one of dark satisfaction. “Say my name. Let me hear you beg for more.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him that satisfaction again. But he only laughed, the sound dark and twisted, as he pulled his fingers away just as you grew accustomed to them.

“You ignoring me now?” he growled, gripping your chin to force your gaze back to him. The scent of your arousal lingered on his fingers and ebbed through the room.

A twisted grin crept onto his lips, and you could see the darkness swirling in his eyes. “You want me to get a bigger knife?” he taunted, letting the question linger in the air, heavy and menacing.

“No, no, no!” The words escaped your lips in a frantic rush, panic flooding your veins. “Please, Azriel, don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he interrupted, his tone dripping with mockery. “Don’t give you what you deserve? You think I’m being too cruel? You asked for this, angel. You put yourself in my hands.”

“I didn’t put myself anywhere!” you screamed, your voice breaking under the weight of your rage and fear and pain. “You stole me away! This isn’t my choice, it’s yours!”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, his grin vanishing as something colder, sharper settled over his expression. His grip on your chin tightened. “Choice?” he echoed, voice soft but filled with venom. “You think you’d choose anything different if you knew what was good for you?”

He leaned closer, his gaze holding yours captive, his breath brushing your cheek. “You’ve belonged to me far longer than you realize, angel. There’s no choice in that—no escape.” His fingers traced along your jaw, deceptively gentle, before he wiped his slick fingers clean across your lips and cheeks, smearing it on your skin. 

“Keep telling yourself this isn’t what you want,” he murmured, turning away from you, the hint of a challenge in his voice. “I’ll go all the way back to Velaris for a few days, take care of some things. It should give you some time to think things over. How’s that sound?”

All the way back to Velaris. The words echoed in your mind, sinking like stones in your stomach. He’d brought you far enough that he was confident that not a soul would come looking. The High Lord couldn’t have sent for this. He couldn’t know. What would he say if he did? What would he do if he realized that one of his most trusted had taken a civilian, had hidden her away in some forsaken cell beyond reach, beyond hope? All for what—so he could use and abuse you? 

“A little quiet now, hm? What’s wrong, angel?” he called over his shoulder, his tone almost casual as he fastened his pants back up. 

“...Don’t go…” The words slipped from your lips, barely more than a whisper, fragile and small. You didn’t want him to leave you here alone, hurt and bleeding. The thought of being abandoned in this cold, dark place twisted your insides with fear. What if he didn’t come back? What if you were left to suffer without food or water, trapped in silence with your pain?

Azriel paused mid-step, a smirk playing at his lips as he turned to face you, his eyes glinting with delight. “What was that?” His voice was low and smooth, wrapping around you like a shroud.

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. “...Don’t go,” the plea escaped you, trembling with desperation. 

His smile widened, satisfaction radiating from him as he stepped closer, invading your space. “Oh? A sudden change of heart…” His tone dripped with mockery, and he leaned in, his gaze piercing. “You want me to stay? You’d rather have me keep hurting you than be alone?”

You held your breath, heart racing as you struggled to take your mind off the wound in your thigh. “I—I just…” You couldn’t find the words, your mind a whirlpool of fear and longing. 

“You’re helpless without me,” he continued. “Lost, just a little thing waiting for someone to take care of you. Who else would keep you company, hm? Who else would make sure you’re protected and safe?”

“I don’t want you to hurt me anymore,” you choked out against your dry throat, desperation coating each word. “You’ve made your point. Just don’t leave me here. I can’t… I can’t be alone like this.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow, a predatory grin spreading across his face. “Are you sure? You sure you don’t need me to hurt you some more to knock some sense into you?” He casually placed his hand back on the hilt of his dagger, a glint of menace in his eyes.

Your heart plummeted, a heavy stone of dread sinking into your chest as you registered his movement. Panic surged through your veins like wildfire, igniting every nerve ending. You thrashed against the restraints, your breath quickening, pulling against the shadows as you fought for release. “No, no! Please, don’t do it!” The words came out as a desperate wail, raw and fractured, tears streaming down your cheeks as you grappled with the overwhelming fear of what was to come. “I can’t—please! I’ll do anything! Just don’t hurt me again!”

He stepped closer, cradling your face with his hand, his thumb brushing away your tears with a disarming tenderness that twisted your insides. “Easy now, angel. Calm down. It’s alright,” he murmured, his voice a soft lullaby laced with a dark undercurrent that made your heart race in terror and confusion. “You’re safe with me.”

As he spoke, his warmth enveloped you, a strange comfort that made your breathing steady, even as dread coiled in your stomach. You fought against the whirlwind of emotions, struggling to process the truth of his words.

“Now, if you don’t want me to hurt you,” he said, his tone honeyed, “you’ll have to tell me what you do want.”

You hesitated, a lump of shame and fear forming in your throat. “I want… to be left alone. I want you to let me go.”

He shook his head slowly, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “I know you’re lying. The smell of your arousal has been thick in this room since you woke up.” His gaze bore into yours, challenging you to deny the truth.

“Tell me again, what do you want?” he pressed, his tone deceptively sweet.

You swallowed hard, the truth clawing its way to the surface, a torrent of shame and desperate longing. “I want you to touch me.”

His grip on your jaw tightened, rough and possessive, holding you in place as he leaned in closer. “Now, that’s not how you ask for things, is it?”

“Please…” The word fell from your lips, fragile and yearning, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the monster before you.

“Try again,” he urged, eyes dark with hunger, his anticipation palpable in the air between you.

“Please,” you repeated, your voice trembling. “I want you to touch me. I need you to touch me.”

With each plea, the desperation clawed at your insides. Maybe if you just told him what he wanted to hear… “I want your hands on my skin,” you gasped, shame mingling with need. “I want you to make me feel good—please, Azriel.”

“Please, I need you,” you cried, your voice cracking. “I want to feel you inside of me, I want you to make me feel good. I want you to use me, to claim me.”

“Make me yours,” you begged, each word spilling out in a desperate rush of heat as you struggled against the shadows binding your arms away from him. “I want to feel you, every inch of you. Please, just touch me, fill me up… I want to be yours, completely.”

A heavy silence enveloped you, the air thick with tension as he stared at you, his expression unreadable. Time stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity, and your heart raced, dread and anticipation swirling within you. Just when you thought you might break under his gaze, he spoke, his voice laced with wonder.

“I knew you’d come around,” he said, a dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “I always knew you were a smart girl.”

With that, his hands descended, fingers brushing against your skin with deliberate slowness, teasing the edges of your vulnerability. He traced the outline of your breasts, his touch both electrifying and infuriating, each caress igniting a fire within you. You arched your back instinctively, desperate for more, but he only chuckled, enjoying the game.

“Tell me, angel,” he murmured, his voice low and sultry, “how do you want to feel? What do you want me to do?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, trapped by the heat coursing through you.

A flicker of impatience crossed his face, and in an instant, his hand connected with your cunt, a sharp slap that sent shockwaves of pain and pleasure through you. “Answer me,” he demanded, voice sharp and commanding.

“Please, Azriel!” you gasped, urgency flooding your voice. “I want you to touch me, to make me feel everything.”

“Good girl,” he praised, his fingers now exploring, slipping between your thighs, brushing against your slick folds. His touch was both gentle and ruthless, a dance of pleasure that made your heart pound. He took his time, reveling in the way your body responded to him, the way you quivered under his touch.

His fingers played with your clit, circling and teasing, drawing out soft whimpers from your lips. “Feel that? This is what you wanted all along.” He watched you intently, his gaze drinking in every reaction, every twitch of your body.

“Now tell me again,” he coaxed, pressing deeper, his fingers sinking into you, “what do you want?”

Your voice failed you as a loud, throaty moan pushed past your lips instead.

“Beautiful, but not quite what I’m looking for,” he said, his tone mocking as he delivered another sharp slap to your sensitive heat, making you cry out. “I need to hear you say it. What do you want, my angel?”

“I want to feel you inside me!” you sobbed, the words spilling out in a rush. “Please, Azriel, I want you to fuck me!”

“There you go,” he murmured, a smile more beautiful than eerie spreading across his face—the first like it that you’d seen from him. His fingers curled inside you, coaxing and pushing you closer to the edge. His other hand wrapped around the back of your neck, holding you steady as your foreheads met, neither of you looking away from the other for a moment. The intensity of his gaze anchored you, making every pulse of sensation feel more profound, more consuming. 

He pumped his fingers into you with a brutal urgency, each thrust deep and unyielding. The force of his movements sent shockwaves through your body, the slick sound of his fingers pumping into you filled the air, drowning out your whimpers and gasps as he worked you. 

Azriel added a third finger, the sensation igniting a fire in your core that was impossible to ignore. His fingertips pressed against that sensitive spot deep inside, hitting it with punishing precision that made you gasp and writhe. 

“Look at you,” he growled, voice thick with satisfaction as he watched your face contort between pleasure and pain. “So eager for it, so ready to fall apart for me.” He quickened the pace, fingers jackhammering in and out of you, but it was his words that pushed you over the edge. A wave of heat surged through you, igniting every nerve ending with a ferocity that eclipsed the sharp ache in your leg. Your body clenched around his fingers, a pulsing rhythm that felt primal and consuming.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and sardonic as he watched you come down from your high. “Oh, sweet girl,” he tutted, amusement in his eyes.  “You’ll learn not to cum without my permission, don’t worry. I’ll be here to train you, we’ll have plenty of time to go over all my rules.”

His words washed over you like a distant echo, the remnants of your climax still vibrating through your body. All you could think about was how you wanted—needed—to touch him, to feel him against your skin. You squirmed against the shadows, desperation clawing at you as you met his gaze, wide and pleading. “Please… can I touch you?”

He leaned in with a predatory glint in his eyes. “Oh, you want to touch me, do you?” The way he said it was almost a taunt, and your heart raced at the thought of being freed from your restraints.

“Yes! Please, I need to feel you.” Your voice was thick with desperation, the aching longing for him driving every word. “Just let me… I promise I’ll be good.”

He regarded you for a long moment, the air between you thick with tension. Finally, he leaned back slightly, fingers still curled around the back of your neck, and considered your request. “If I let you, you have to promise to follow my lead, to obey. One step out of line and it’s right back–”

You nodded fervently, heat filling you once more at the idea of being able to touch him. “I promise! I’ll do whatever you say.”

His gaze locked onto yours, the predatory glint in his eyes making your heart race as he weighed your request. The silence stretched between you, heavy with anticipation. Finally, he made his decision, a smirk ghosting over his lips. With a flick of his wrist, the shadows binding you retreated, and you let out a shaky breath, relief flooding your senses. But before you could fully regain your balance, he caught you, his strength effortlessly cradling you against him as your injured leg buckled beneath you.

“Easy there,” he murmured, his voice mellow. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the table against the far wall. The shadows surged around him, sweeping aside the array of wicked instruments scattered across its surface, clearing the space just for you. With a gentle yet firm motion, he laid you down, the coolness of the surface contrasting sharply against the heat radiating from your skin.

He climbed over you, his body a delicious weight, as he closed the distance between you. The first brush of his lips against yours ignited a wildfire of sensations, overwhelming you in a rush of heat and longing. He kissed you with a hunger that felt almost desperate, devouring you with a need that matched your own. His mouth moved against yours, slow at first, savoring the taste of your lips.

“You’re so sweet,” he murmured against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “I can still taste you.”

From when he wiped his fingers over your mouth earlier, you realized. With that, he pulled away and off the table, his dark eyes glimmering with satisfaction. Azriel pulled you closer to the edge of the table, wrapping your legs around his head with a possessive grip.

He wasted no time, his mouth on you like a starved male. His tongue flicked and danced, eager to taste you, and you gasped at the sudden rush of sensation. The warmth of his mouth enveloped you, sending ripples of pleasure coursing through your core. He licked with fervor, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he pulled you closer, encouraging you to let go, to surrender completely to the ecstasy he was offering.

Every flick of his tongue, every hungry suck sent your mind spiraling, drowning in a sea of pleasure and need. The world around you faded, leaving only the intense sensations as he feasted on you, the sound of your pleasure echoing off the cold stone walls.

“Azriel…” you gasped, the name escaping your lips like a prayer, urging him on as you pressed your body closer to him, craving more, needing more. His name continued to fall from your lips like a desperate plea, each syllable laced with urgency as he continued his relentless assault. You could feel the tension coiling tighter within you, the overwhelming pleasure almost blinding. His mouth worked with an insatiable hunger, devouring you with every flick and thrust of his tongue.

The sensations were electrifying, the way he alternated between teasing and consuming you. He knew exactly how to draw out your pleasure, his tongue dancing against you with skillful precision, making you writhe beneath him. You could hardly focus on anything else, each pull and lick sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body, muffling the pain from your stab wound into a dull throb.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly against your skin. “So responsive. So eager for more.” His breath was hot against you, the sound of his satisfaction fueling your desire even further.

“Please,” you begged, your voice full of desperation and need. “I can’t… I can’t hold on much longer.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rich with satisfaction, and the vibration sent shivers coursing through you. “Good. I want you to let go.” His words ignited a fire deep within you, pushing you closer to the precipice.

Just as the tension peaked, the sensation reached a fever pitch, he pulled back slightly, leaving you teetering on the brink. “What’s wrong? Can’t you take it?” His eyes sparkled with wicked delight, and his face glistened with your arousal.

“Azriel! Don’t stop—please, just don’t stop!” You thrashed against the table, the need clawing at you, the ache for release nearly unbearable.

He smirked, the dark glimmer in his eyes promising more. “That’s better. But you know the rules now. You have to ask nicely.”

“Please, please… I need to cum,” you whimpered, your hands threading through his hair, desperate for his touch. “I want to feel you make me cum. I need you, Azriel. Please, can I cum?”

His fingers gripped your thighs even tighter, pressing down just enough to keep you from squirming. “Such a good girl,” he cooed, and with a wicked grin, he dove back in, his mouth devouring you once more. The combination of his roughness and your desperate need for release was intoxicating, and you felt the pressure build within you again, faster this time, more intense.

As he continued his relentless ministrations, the world around you faded into a blur. You could feel the walls closing in, the sensation of the table beneath you fading into insignificance as you focused solely on him, on the way his mouth worked against you, pulling you back to that dizzying height of pleasure.

Then, without warning, he pulled away again, leaving you gasping and trembling, the edge tantalizingly out of reach. “Not yet,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching upward as he watched you writhe in frustration.

“Why are you doing this?” you cried, the frustration mingling with need, desperate tears prickling at your eyes.

“Because, angel,” he replied languidly, “you need to learn patience. And how to ask for what you want.”

Your heart raced, every fiber of your being screaming for release as you met his gaze, desperation clawing at your insides. You could feel the weight of his dark satisfaction pressing down on you, but beneath that, there was a flicker of hope. Maybe if you asked just right…

“Azriel…” you breathed, your voice soft and trembling. “Please… I want to feel you inside me. I need to cum so badly. I’ll be so good for you, I promise.” You let the sweetness of your tone wrap around your words, pouring all your need into that one plea. “Just let me cum, please. I need to feel that pleasure with you. I want you, all of you.”

He paused, his expression shifting as he seemed to consider your request. The intensity of his gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world outside faded into oblivion. “Such a sweet little thing,” he mused, and the praise sent a thrill of excitement coursing through you.

“Please,” you whispered again, your voice barely more than a breath. “Let me cum. I promise I’ll be good.”

The moment hung heavy in the air, charged with unspoken promises and desires. Then, with a slow, deliberate smile, he nodded. “I know what you’re doing, angel, using your words so sweetly like that. But I think you’ve earned it.”

With a swift, fluid motion, he buried his mouth against you once more, his tongue working with renewed intensity as he coaxed your pleasure to the forefront. The tension built rapidly, spiraling out of control as your body instinctively moved against him, chasing that elusive high.

“Yes! Just like that!” you gasped, every nerve ending alight as he pushed you closer to the edge, his fingers burying themselves into you with a fervor that left you breathless. The world narrowed down to the sensation of him, of the way he moved and the heat building within you.

And then, with a sharp, electrifying pull, the dam broke. Pleasure washed over you in a wild, chaotic wave, crashing against your senses as you cried out his name. Your body shuddered, the culmination of all your need flooding through you, eclipsing everything else until there was nothing but the sweet release and the aching satisfaction that followed.

As the last ripples of your orgasm faded, you were left breathless and trembling, the heat still coursing through your veins. But Azriel wasn’t finished. He pulled back, a wicked smile curling at his lips, his gaze dark and hungry as he climbed over you, positioning himself between your legs.

“Now that you’re warmed up,” he said, his voice thick with desire, “let’s see how well you can take me.”

As the last ripples of your orgasm faded, you were left breathless and trembling, the heat still coursing through your veins. But Azriel wasn’t finished. He leaned back, a wicked smile curling at his lips, his gaze dark and hungry as he slowly began to undress.

First, he kicked off his shoes, the soft thud echoing in the silence. You couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him as he moved, the muscles in his legs shifting beneath the fabric of his pants. He took care in unbuttoning his dress shirt, each click of the buttons amplifying the anticipation thrumming in the air.

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes widening as you took in the sight of him. His chest was sculpted, muscles taut and defined, each movement revealing the intricate patterns of tattoos that snaked over his shoulders and down his arms. The sharp angles of his physique made you ache with want, your gaze lingering on the way the light danced across his skin.

As he peeled away the shirt and tossed it aside, he moved to his pants, unzipping them with a languid grace. The fabric slipped down his hips, revealing the strong contours of his thighs. You felt your pulse quicken, heart racing as your eyes finally landed on the impressive sight of him, bare and completely unrestrained. His sheer size stole your breath, a wave of longing washing over you as you imagined how he would fill you.

You felt a rush of excitement and fear as he climbed over you and aligned himself, the heat radiating between your bodies igniting your skin.

With a low growl, Azriel pressed forward, pushing the tip of himself into you, already stretching you more than you were used to. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, pleasure mixing with discomfort as your body struggled to accommodate him. He pulled back slightly, teasing you, as if savoring the tension.

“Easy now,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, “you’ll get used to it.” With each slow push, he sank deeper, relentless and rough, forcing you to adjust to his size, leaving you gasping and craving more. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of ecstasy and pain as he filled you, inch by agonizing inch.

Finally, with a deep, powerful thrust, he bottomed out, burying himself fully inside you. The stretch was almost unbearable, a burning sensation that made you feel both full and utterly consumed. Your body clenched around him instinctively, desperate to accommodate the fullness he brought.

“Look at you,” he breathed, voice low and thick with satisfaction, “taking me like a good girl.” His hips rolled, pressing deeper, and you moaned involuntarily, the mixture of pleasure and pain making your head spin. “I knew you’d love this,” he continued, eyes glinting with a wicked delight. “You were made for me, weren’t you?”

As he began to thrust, each movement was deliberate, the rhythm punishing. “You feel so good wrapped around me,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips, anchoring you in place. He punctuated his words with another deep thrust, your body responding to his dominance, the sensation igniting a fire deep within you. “Now tell me how much you love it,” he demanded, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned closer, his voice dripping with authority. “Say it, angel. Tell me you’re mine.”

As he filled you completely, your body began to adjust, each thrust pushing you further into a haze of pleasure. You met his gaze, the defiance in your eyes having burnt out long ago. “I���m—I’m yours,” you replied breathlessly. 

Azriel thrust harder, forcing a moan from you. “You’ll learn to love this, to love being mine.” His voice dripped with arrogance, and you hated how much you wanted to agree. “See how easy this is? Just give in and let me take care of you.”

With each thrust, he buried himself deeper, filling you to the hilt, and your body began to instinctively arch against him, craving every rough, delicious inch. “You feel that?” he taunted, his voice thick with pleasure. “You were made for me, for this. You’ll come to crave it, just as I do.”

“Azriel…” you gasped, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding your body. He pulled back, almost all the way out, just to plunge back in, the force of him making your breath hitch.

Azriel's voice dropped to a low growl as he continued to thrust into you, each movement powerful and precise. “You’re going to learn what it means to truly belong to someone, to be mine,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “Every inch of you will be devoted to me, and I’ll teach you how to crave my touch.”

“Please,” you breathed, desperate for more.

He chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through you. “You’ll see, angel. From now on, every moment of your life will revolve around my needs and desires. You’ll wake up thinking of me, and when you’re not with me, you’ll ache for me.” He thrust deeper, punctuating his words with each deliberate movement. “You’ll be begging for my attention, begging for me to touch you, and you’ll learn to love every second of it.”

You could feel the heat pooling within you, the way his words curled around your mind, mixing with the sensations he was drawing out of you. “But what if I don’t?” you challenged, your voice trembling with a mix of defiance and need.

His smirk widened, eyes gleaming with a predatory intensity. “Oh, you will. If you don’t learn to beg for what you want, I'll make sure you experience pain in ways you can’t imagine. Trust me,” he added, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your ear, “if you refuse to submit, I’ll make you wish you had. It won’t take long for you to want to please me.”

Your eyes widened at the thought, but you couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through you at his words. “I do want to please you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, filled with an eagerness you couldn’t hide.

“Good girl,” he praised, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “But first, you need to say it. Say you want me to take care of you.”

“I want you to take care of me,” you murmured after a beat, the confession spilling from your lips as your body responded eagerly to his dominance.

“Now thank me for saving you. Thank me for rescuing you from that sad, miserable life you were living,” he said, his breath hot against your skin as he continued to thrust into you, his hair tousled and damp, clinging to his forehead with sweat.

You swallowed hard, the words heavy on your tongue. “Thank you for saving me, Azriel. Thank you for making my life worth living.” 

“See? It’s not so hard to submit, is it?” he taunted, thrusting deeper once more, making you curse as he filled you completely. “You’re going to love every moment, and I’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to.” He looped a finger around the necklace he bought you, eyeing you as though you were a prized possession.

He continued to thrust into you, each movement rhythmic and relentless, his hands gripping your hips, holding you firmly in place. “You’ll learn to follow my rules, to understand your place,” he said, his voice a seductive murmur. “And in return, I’ll give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. All you have to do is let go.”

“Let go,” you echoed, the words hanging between you, filled with promise and danger.

“That’s right,” he urged, pulling your legs over his shoulders in a mating press as his thrusts grew more powerful. His gaze locked onto yours, daring you to surrender completely. “Let go, angel. Give yourself to me. Show me how much you crave this.”

Your body trembled with a surge of need as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “I need you, Azriel,” you whispered, your voice raw with desire. You rocked your hips up to meet his thrusts, matching his rhythm, desperate to take him deeper. Your nails dug into his shoulders, urging him on. “Fill me, Azriel. Make me yours. I want to feel you everywhere,” you begged, the intensity of your words surprising you.

You kissed him fiercely, your lips crashing against his, tasting the salt of his sweat. Your tongue darted out, meeting his, and you moaned into his mouth, the vibrations traveling through both of you. Your legs tightened around his waist, holding him in place as you moved together, the friction building into an unbearable heat. “I’m yours,” you panted, your voice breaking with the weight of your admission. “Only yours.”

His eyes darkened with satisfaction, and he growled in approval, his movements growing even more demanding. “That’s it, angel. Show me how much you need this. Show me how much you need me,” he commanded, his voice thick with lust.

Your head fell back against the table as you surrendered completely, giving yourself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through you. “I need you, Azriel. I need you so much,” you cried out, your body shuddering as you reached your peak, every nerve ending on fire.

As you came apart beneath him, you clung to him desperately. He continued to thrust, his pace relentless and punishing. “I’m going to make this pretty pussy mine,” he growled, his voice low and feral. “Gonna pound you whenever I want, and you’re going to fucking beg me not to stop.”

Your breath hitched at his words, the raw dominance in his tone sending shivers down your spine. “Please, Azriel,” you whimpered, your body arching into him.

He smirked, his eyes blazing with possessive fire. “You’re going to learn to love every second of it, to crave it,” he said, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his control slipping. “Every second of the day. You’ll be begging for my attention, begging for me to fuck you, and I’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

With one final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his release hitting hard as he groaned your name. “You’re mine,” he whispered against your lips, his breath hot and ragged. “Always.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@starlightazriel @nvdax @halo-hanging @paleidiot @kismet27

@mellowmusings @gracielacie @d3ad-ins1de @loviseamms @inkedinshadows

@natasha153 @deathdoordoctor @spacebananabud @secretsicanthideanymore @edance2000

@lorosette @alykatv @honethatty12 @hellabizzy @serena-capella

@acoazlove @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @scorpioriesling @hannzoaks @confusedsezure

@elenapri0502 @anneas11 @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @anarchiii

@randomgurl2326 @scarsandallaz @julesvanslutta @90angiex @fourthwing4ever

[thesiltverses]

The Silt Verses RPG has just launched from the acclaimed designers of Brindlewood Bay and The Between!

Investigate stray angels, strange haunts, and murderous cults in a world of gods and sacrifice as a disciple of the Saint Electric, Trawler-man, Watcher in the Wings, Cairn Maiden, Pox Martyr, or the Waxen Scrivener.

Delve into backwoods towns, floating markets where sacred relics are bought and sold, bustling clinics where medical 'miracles' come at a hideous cost - and even a towering skyscraper of conjoined steel, glass, and flesh.

You can purchase a copy over on DriveThruRPG, or at the Silt Verses or The Gauntlet Patreon, netting you the rulebook, 8 Assignments, 6 Faith Sheets, 8 Journey Sheets, and more.

This game really is a labour of love from a small team of innovative indie RPG creators, and already a genuine work of art (so we'd be incredibly grateful for your help in playing, giving feedback, and spreading the word far and wide) - we think it's an absolutely fantastic achievement, and we know The Gauntlet are only going to keep building and improving on the game from here.

You can find out more by joining The Gauntlet Discord.

[maple-seed]

Thrown - Chapter 40: Foolish Mortal

Summary: You make a terrible mistake.

Word Count: 4,036

Author's Notes: :)

Thrown Masterlist Loki Masterlist

It was a routine market day. You took a moment to laugh to yourself that this was now what you considered to be routine. You woke up early and a god showed up on your doorstep to help you with your chores. Completely routine. He was sitting beside you now as Breidr pulled the wagon to town. Loki had his arm stretched across the back of the seat. He had been doing that lately. You would never breathe a word about that, and hoped he couldn't hear how your heart beat skipped every time.

And it did happen every time. It was ridiculous. A part of you wanted to say that you really should have gotten this under control by now. The rest of you knew it was a losing battle. You did your best to keep it from being obvious (you hoped), but your feelings were there and they weren't budging. If anything, they had grown stronger. Especially recently. You weren't sure how you would have made it through these past weeks without him. He had been there without you even needing to ask. You glanced over at him as he was admiring the scenery, and felt incredibly grateful that this was now your normal.

When you arrive at the market the two of you go to work without discussion. Loki knew how to set up the booth by now, though he was never above making a suggestion for improvement. You would roll your eyes and remind him that you have been doing this for years and he would insist that your business had increased dramatically with his input.

Khadija and Hani arrived. You told Hani about the time you tamed a lion (a mixed success, naturally). She asked to see Loki's magic and he knelt to show her something in his hands. This was your favorite part of the day. The magic was wonderful, of course, but what you really loved was watching his face. It was so open and earnest when he shared his talent with this eager audience. You loved the way they huddled together, like two conspirators. A small white bird flew away from them and you watched his smile spread in response to Hani's laughter. She bounded away back to her mother, Loki looked up and caught you staring. He often did. You tried not to react immediately, hoping that you wouldn't be given away. The way he kept his eyes on you as he stood, his face still soft, made your stomach flip. Once you felt it wouldn't be suspicious, you turned away to sort the cash box.

"Did you enjoy the show?" You could hear the smirk he was wearing as he leaned back against the counter. "I've seen better." You steeled yourself to look at him, then returned the smirk. He only chuckled.

The market was open and the day continued with your new normal. An alien prince sweet-talked customers into buying your dishes. He ate a sandwich you made for him. The two of you shared a packet of candied nuts.

After lunch you spotted a familiar face approaching your booth, Fredrik Larsen, an ever-friendly middle-aged man. You smiled as he reached the counter. "Hello, Mr. Larsen. How are you doing today?" He grimaced. "I have been better, I'm afraid. I'm here to redeem myself." You raised your eyebrows. "Oh?" "Yes." He was looking over the items in front of him. "This morning at breakfast, fool that I am, I manage to knock over Anja's favorite vase." He looked up at you over his glasses. "One of yours, you know it? It was blue, with speckles?" You slowly nodded while trying to recall. "Yes, I think I remember." "Well, it is no more." He sighed. "She forgives me, of course, but I would like to bring home a replacement." "And maybe some flowers to go in it?" You grinned. He chuckled and tapped his nose. "Clever girl. Precisely."

You helped him select a vase that was judged to be similar enough to the one that was broken and began wrapping it, with a little extra padding just in case. He peered at you over his glasses again with a wry smile. "Terna, aren't you married yet?" You laughed. "No sir, not me." He heaved a disappointed sigh. "I'll never understand the men in this town." He pointed a finger at you. "But someone has stolen your heart, surely?" You laughed again, shaking your head. "No, not yet." From the corner of your eye you saw Loki's head snap in your direction. "Ah, well," he idly scratched his jaw with a shrug, "the men in this town... you may be better off." "That's how I see it." You gave him a wink as you handed over the vase. "Give my love to Anja. I hope the rest of your day goes well." "It's much improved already." He smiled and waved as he left.

You turned around to see Loki watching you with his arms crossed, wearing a slightly amused expression. There was a glint in his eye that worried you. You couldn't help but feel it's the sort of look a fox might give a cornered rabbit. "What?" He narrowed his eyes, but his smile remained. "You lied to that man." You frowned. "No I didn't. I do hope his day goes well." He rolled his eyes. "Not that. Before." There was a pause while you tried to recall the conversation you just had. "You told him no one had stolen your heart." Ice ran through your veins, your eyes wide. "What? No. That's not...." He grinned. "Oh, darling, surely you aren't going to attempt a second lie to cover the first?" "I-" You started, then stopped. It was too late. There was no way to salvage this now. You pressed your lips together and turned away from him, busying yourself by straightening items on the counter. "Forget about it." He laughed, and you heard him cross behind you to stand by your side. "Come now, we're friends, aren't we? Why would you keep this from me?" "I don't want to talk about it." You turned away from him again. He moved to your other side. "You must tell me who it is." "No." You said flatly. "Very well."

He turned around and called out to the booth next door. "Khadija! Who is Terna in love with?" You frantically spun around and clapped your hand over his mouth. "Loki!" You felt him grinning beneath your palm. For her part, Khadija laughed and gave a smile that was a little too knowing for your comfort. "I can't say that I know." Hani was beside herself with giggles. Loki removed your hand and turned, looking at other stalls. "Hmm. Who else might we ask?" "No!" You hissed, tugging his arm. "Stop!" "Darling, I'm just trying to get to the bottom of this. I do love a mystery." You sighed in frustration. "Come on. Not here at the market. You're going to start rumors about me." His eyebrows raised. "Oh, so the topic is open for discussion elsewhere?" You winced. There was no choice but to step into the grave you had dug. "Yes. Fine. Just no more talk here with half the town around." "You have my word." His smile was victorious. You settled into defeat.

A weight rested in your chest as you went about your business. How could you have been so careless? You were so conscientious when you were talking to Loki. You were very aware of topics to avoid and you were sure to word things around the truth. The failing, of course, was that you hadn't been talking to Loki. You cringed, replaying the moment again in your mind. It was so obvious in hindsight. You should have paid more attention. You should have responded differently when Loki brought it up. A hundred solutions came to mind now.

Nevermind it. It's over now. Nothing to be done. You glanced at Loki, he was helping someone choose a mug. You didn't want to lose this. How would you get by without him now? Maybe, maybe he wouldn't leave. Maybe he would just mercilessly mock you for it. Maybe it would even be fun for him. You could deal with that. Something in you doubted that's how this would play out. You had a little time, at least. You knew he would keep his word, he wouldn't bring it up again at the market. Maybe if you were lucky he wouldn't mention it again today. But he wouldn't forget it. He would ask about it soon. You tried to carry on and enjoy the time with him that you had, but a dark cloud settled over your heart and hung there for the rest of the day.

****

No good could come of it, this he knew. Still, he had to know who it was. Something inside him drove incessantly forward after the idea. Outwardly, he performed as he would on any other day at the market. He laughed with you and helped as needed. Inwardly, he was tied in knots. Who had stolen your heart? Did he know them? Were they worthy of your attention? Almost certainly not. It was hard to imagine a mortal that could be. Then again, it might not be a mortal at all. You were thoroughly embedded in the community of New Asgard, any number of Æsir might have caught your eye. None immediately came to mind as someone you mentioned more than others, which led him back to the local humans. His mind drifted to the man behind the counter at the cafe. You never mentioned him either, but he stood out in Loki's mind as someone with clear intentions toward you.

He wondered how this had slipped past him. How could such a significant part of your life have gone unnoticed? There should have been some clue. Perhaps there had been. Perhaps he only saw what he wanted to.

As promised, he did not prod you any further at the market. After the lie and its revelation you weren't quite yourself, which brought him to another train of thought. Why wouldn't you tell him who it was? Was it something you were ashamed of? Was it someone you felt he wouldn't approve? And if you were to name this person, what then? What would change? He certainly couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't announce his feelings and ask you to forget yours. He couldn't take that away from you. You deserved this sort of happiness, and he wished it for you. Knowing who it was wouldn't change anything. Perhaps he just needed a target at which to direct his envy.

An alarming thought occurred to him: perhaps you wouldn't tell him who it was because you were aware of his feelings, and feared he would retaliate against your lover. This put a lump in his throat and he prayed to the Norns that it wasn't the case. The only thing he could currently imagine as worse than someone else holding your heart is the thought that you knew he wanted to hold it instead. Humiliation atop devastation. Perhaps your assumption of his reaction wouldn't be wrong. He found it difficult to imagine himself being friendly with the one who owned your affections. It was petty, he knew, but he doubted he could change that part of himself.

He briefly cursed himself for not telling you sooner how he felt. Perhaps all of this misery could have been avoided. He soon shook the thought away. It likely wouldn't have changed anything. This had progressed to the point where the truth was that this person had stolen your heart. This likely began long before he had even recognized the stirrings of his own feelings. Perhaps before he even met you. It was better he hadn't said anything. There was a chance he could keep your friendship, try to be happy for you.

Still, he needed to know who it was.

**

The wagon was well outside of town, trundling along the road to your home. Loki had his arm stretched across the back of the seat and his feet were propped on the dashboard. For all appearances he was casually relaxed, though his insides were wound tight. You appeared similarly calm, if slightly glum.

He examined his fingers and kept his tone light. "So, about this thief of your heart..." You groaned and slumped forward. "Loki, can't you let it go? Is it really that important?" "I can think of few things more important." He stated plainly. "I would think a god would have more serious things to worry about than mortals' love lives." He smirked. "I respect your ploy but it won't work." He gestured to the open landscape. "We're no longer at the market. Tell me who it is." You shook your head. "No, thank you." "Is it that boy at the cafe?" You looked at him quizzically. "Who?" "At the cafe, the boy behind the counter." Your brow creased with thought. "Johan?" "I suppose that could be his name." You laughed. "Why would it be him?" "He is clearly carrying a torch for you." You chuckled again. "I think you're mistaken." "I am certain I'm not." You shook your head. "It's not Johan."

It was true. Loki felt a sense of relief but still frowned. That had been his most likely suspect. "Lukas, then? From the woodworking stall?" "It's not Lukas." He thought for a moment, then feigned a scandalized gasp. "It's not Khadija, is it? She's married!" You rolled your eyes. "You know it's not Khadija." He shrugged. "Infidelity seemed a likely reason why you might be so guarded about the subject." "I just don't see how it's any of your business." He narrowed his eyes. "That was a lie." You huffed and hunched forward in your seat. "Very well. Next candidate...."

As the horse drew the wagon onward Loki offered the name of every human he could think of, each met with an honest denial from you. He had exhausted his list of mortals just as the farm came into view, and had named most of the Æsir as well by the time he had helped you unharness Breidr.

"Perhaps Sven?" He stroked Breidr's neck, leaning forward to speak to the horse. "What say you? Sven is a handsome enough fellow, isn't he?" The horse seemed entirely disinterested in the conversation, plodding forward into the field to graze. Loki followed you as you carried the equipment into the stable. "Is it Thor?" "Yes, it's Thor." You said flatly as you stepped into the tack room.

He knew it was a lie, of course, but that didn't stop his stomach from dropping like a stone when he heard it. The thought that you were in love with his golden brother was more than he could bear. It wasn't true. Of course it wasn't true. He recovered quickly enough, painting on a smile by the time you exited the stable. "Hah. I know that even you couldn't have such poor taste." "Well I wouldn't be the first mortal to succumb to his charms, right?" "The poor girl wasn't well in the head, I'm sure." "I heard she was really smart. Didn't she-" He held up a finger. "You are trying to change the subject." You frowned and stomped across the grass to your cottage. "Could it be the Valkyrie?" "Do you think she'd have me?" You swooned wistfully as you stepped through your back door. "Ah, so I've found it." He closed the door with an air of triumph. You rolled your eyes. "It's not Val. Why are you pushing this so hard?" "Why does anyone seek an answer that eludes them? Why do your people probe the distant stars or the depths of the ocean?" "I'm not a galaxy or an ocean." You mumbled. You were shifting items around in the kitchen now, Loki couldn't determine why. "You are no less full of wonder." He said quietly, leaning forward on your table. He worried the frayed corner of a towel, and spoke louder as he addressed you. "I still don't understand why you wish to conceal this from me." "Because you don't need to know!" You muttered. He returned his attention to the towel, pulling a thread free from its neighbors. "Darling, this is getting a bit ridiculous. I would say you know me quite well by now. You know that I will get to the bottom of this. Why not end this frustration and simply tell me now? I will find the answer eventually."

He looked up at you and was taken aback. You had your arms braced on the counter, your head hung. Your eyes were closed and your face was tight. You looked miserable. Guilt washed over him. He straightened and started to tell you to forget the entire mess when your voice interrupted.

"It's you."

Loki froze. "What?"

"It's you, okay?" You lifted your head but didn't look at him. "I've got feelings for you that are more than friendly and I'm sorry and it doesn't matter. It's stupid and I've known it's stupid and it really doesn't have to change anything." Your eyes looked anywhere but his direction, wringing your hands. "But I understand if you're uncomfortable and you don't want to be friends anymore. I just... I was trying to keep it to myself. And I can keep it to myself. It doesn't have to mean anything." You closed your eyes and took a breath. "And I know, I know this is the part where you call me a 'foolish mortal' or something and make fun of me. And that's fine, really. I just... don't want anything to change."

Your rambling finally came to a stop, you were still and quiet. You looked small, with your arms folded over yourself, staring at your countertop. Loki stood and stared as his mind caught up with your words. It was him. The answer he would never have dared to hope for. The most impossible answer. Your heart belonged to him.

A weightlessness filled him, and he breathed a laugh. Loki saw you wince, but it was no matter. Finally, this was a hurt that he could heal. He crossed the room to you and you tried to shrink away from him but he caught you, bringing his hands up to cup your face. His eyes were soft as you looked up at him at last.

He smiled a gentle smile and spoke with every tenderness. "Foolish mortal."

He waited as your expression eventually shifted from confusion to realization, then he finally brought his lips to yours. The urgency in your response, the way he felt your fists tangle in his shirt, removed any remnant of uncertainty and he pulled you closer into him. He couldn't be sure how much time had passed before he finally broke away from you. He didn't go far--he couldn't, you still clutched his shirt--and simply hovered close with his arms around you.

You took a moment to compose yourself before looking up at him. "I don't understand." "Really? I thought I had made myself clear. Allow me to try again..." With a smirk, he leaned in to kiss you again. You laughed and pushed him back. "No! I mean, me? I'm... I'm just...." He tutted, trailing a finger along your jaw. "Oh, my little bird. You are never just anything." "I'm human." "I can forgive that." He cut off your laugh with another kiss, and relished the feeling of your arms finding their way around his neck. You pulled yourself closer this time, and Loki wondered if he could ever be compelled to draw himself away from this. Perhaps he wouldn't have to. Your eager touch, your quiet breaths, these might be enough to sustain him for eternity. He was willing to try, but wasn't given the opportunity. You pulled back with a sigh, and lay your head against his shoulder while your hands snaked around his waist.

"This isn't a trick, right?" He might have been hurt, had it not been clear you weren't serious. He smiled. "Certainly not." "This is... a lot." He rested his head against yours. "It has been a taxing day." You scoffed. "Yeah, for me. I've been given the third degree." "How do you think it was for me? I was turning over every stone and coming up with nothing." You chuckled, then. "You ran through two towns' worth of people and never guessed yourself." "Oh, I would never have assumed I was worthy of your affections." You looked up at him, incredulous. "And Johan was?" He shook his head. "No, of course not, but the boy clearly has an interest. I thought it might be requited." "You're imagining things." "I will prove it." He pointed to the door. "Let us go down the cafe right now." You rolled your eyes. "No. I am hungry, though."

Rather than sit at the table, you brought the dishes to the couch and the two of you sat close while you ate. As soon as dinner was set aside his arms were around you again, he didn't see the sense in waiting. He had kept himself waiting so long already. You responded by maneuvering yourself until your legs were draped across his lap. What pleased him the most, perhaps, was how little felt different. Your hands found his and conversation carried on as it typically did. Everything had changed, certainly, but when he held you it felt like the most natural thing in the world. As if the two of you had done this every night for all your lives.

"Did you ever think I knew?" You looked up at him curiously. "Only today, for the most part. Though there were a few other occasions when I considered the way you avoided the topic of romance, and thought you might be doing so to spare my feelings." You nodded. "That week when you stopped talking to me, I was sure you had figured it out." Loki grimaced. "Yes, that was... a misguided attempt at quelling my own feelings." You did not look impressed. "That was stupid." "I did say it was misguided." "No, it was stupid." He chuckled. "I will concede the point."

You jumped when he suddenly gasped and gripped you tightly. "I've only just realized...." "What!?" He was smirking now. "The day we met." You narrowed your eyes. "Yes...?" "It's no wonder you were so flustered." You groaned. "Loki." "You must have been so overwhelmed, struck as you were by your desire for me." He held you firmly in his lap as you began squirming to get away. You muttered through gritted teeth. "You are the most irritating-" He was thrilled by your efforts to escape, grinning. "Poor little mortal. It's a wonder you stood upright in my presence. Your constitution is truly commendable." "I take it all back!" You were now wriggling and clawing for purchase on the couch. "I don't love you at all!" Loki stilled, his hands still holding you in place. You didn't seem to notice and continued your fruitless struggle. "Did you say you love me?" "No! Weren't you listening? I said-" He reached out to turn your face in his direction, when you saw his expression you stopped. Your faux-scowl gave way to a soft smile. You brought your hands up to cradle his face. "I thought we had covered this." He pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes. "Not in so many words."

He sat with you like this for some time, heads bent together and speaking softly. A conversation of quiet promises and whispered devotions. The night grew late, and then later still. Both of you found that you didn't feel like parting, so it was decided that you wouldn't. Loki settled into your bed and you joined him, curling close against his side. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and as he began to drift off to sleep his mind wandered back to that first peaceful dream he had of you, all those months ago.

It did not compare.

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Thrown Tag List If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list please leave a comment or send me a message/ask.

@mischief2sarawr, @imalovernotahater, @norestfortheshelbywicked, @purplekitten30, @ozymdias, @pdraxxi, @goblingirlsarah, @maple-seed-reads, @chantsdemarins, @n3rdybirdee, @marvel-love24, @lokiprompts, @ladymischief11, @gigglingtiggerv2, @lilmilkbun, @huntress-artemiss, @ellooo0ooo, @femme1fatale, @clairewinchester14, @glitterylokislut, @psychospore, @ladyloki3, @skinij3fx, @iamlokisgloriouspurpose, @lunarnights95, @callxmexnadine, @lilibet261, @valeave, @f2mhg2lt2rta, @fruit-caught-on-camera, @ladymischief11, @paetonnn, @confusedpanda-777, @honeyrydernot, @sarcastic-siren, @wolfsmom1, @lokisgoodgirl, @cakesandtom, @unlucky-number-13, @rinnwylde, @javagirl328, @josiedoesdoodles, @rose7420, @ultrasnakesona, @vickie5446, @superficialdomina, @ireallyneedtherapy, @weirdowoody, @hotmesshobbit, @buttercupcookies-blog, @km-ffluv, @mrsbarnes32557038, @tallseaweed, @leothecat97, @soulpiercing

[gxr25256]

Mercy in the Shadows - Sixshot x reader

🌵 If there are any mistakes, please forgive me.

--------------------------------

The black market of Cybertron sprawled beneath the grimy spires of an abandoned industrial sector, where the remnants of war and conquest had been shoved aside to decay in shadows. Towering structures—relics of past battles and conquests—cast long, harsh shadows over crowded rows of stalls where vendors hawked anything with a price. Stolen weapons, forbidden tech, scraps of Cybertronian armor, and unfortunate captives from distant planets—all of it littered the scene in a chaotic mixture of neon and rust. Each item was a trophy, a whisper of violence from a hundred other worlds, and Sixshot drifted through it with a growing, gnawing sense of restlessness.

Megatron’s unexpected day off grated against his nature; idleness felt like rust forming on his circuits. A day without purpose felt like a day stripped of his essence. That's insulting. But the boredom had brought him here, among his fellow Phase Sixers. They were scattered across the market, each drifting toward different distractions like predators prowling in the dusk.

Overlord prowled through the stalls with his usual swagger, laughing off merchants' terrified glances with mock kindness that barely hid his violent intent. Sixshot had long ago come to understand Overlord’s twisted relish for bloodshed, a brutality that went beyond any sense of duty. There was something grotesque, almost obscene, about his joy in suffering, a sentiment that made Sixshot uneasy.

Black Shadow, on the other hand, drifted between stalls with a smooth confidence, a face that alternated between detached boredom and intrigue. Occasionally, he exchanged a few sly words with some of the merchants or put his arm around some of his deceptions colleagues and appear very friendly. But Sixshot knew better—he saw through the charade. Black Shadow wasn't here out of camaraderie. No, the only reason he is here: profit. Energizing his private stockpile was his real objective. Sixshot knew as soon as black shadow got a good enough price, he’d betray them without a second thought.

Putting thoughts about his colleague aside, sixshot adjusted his posture. He leaned back against a wall of rough, rusted steel, arms crossed, optics skimming the market with a disinterested glare. His gaze skimmed over the vendors and buyers, creatures of every shape and size, each chattering in grating voices over who or what might be worth a trade. The entire place was a crowded mess, littered with broken artifacts and miserable captives. Some were quiet, others despairing, a few shouting or growling in languages he didn’t bother to understand.

But then, his optics landed on "you."

It took him a second to recognize the figure—a tiny form crammed behind the energy bars of a cage, looking so out of place it was almost laughable. Among the clanking, bulkier species of aliens, among all the caged beasts and prisoners from dozens of battlefronts, you stood out: fragile, trembling, skin pale under the harsh Cybertronian lights.

A human.

The human's fear was almost palpable. Your breathing was quick, shallow, and you clung to the far side of the cage as if hoping it would dissolve into an escape. Your wide eyes darted around the market in search of something, anything, to save you from the towering titans that prowled the area. That look was one Sixshot knew well.

He couldn’t resist the pull of curiosity. What do you feel when you know your existence is utterly insignificant in a universe ruled by giants? he mused. Something about their terror was... different from what he usually saw. Battle gave him excitement, yes, but this? This was a glimpse into the helplessness he so rarely encountered.

He pushed off the wall, striding slowly toward your cage, his optics studying every detail. Your small form clung to the bars, eyes darting wildly around the market, your breath coming in quick, shallow gulps. From the trembling in your limbs, to the way you pressed yourself against the back of the cage, every fiber of your being screamed of fear, like an animal that knew it was cornered and hopelessly outmatched.

There was no bravery in you, no defiance, no hidden strength waiting to be unveiled. And yet…your fear was different from what he normally saw in battle. There was a desperation in it, a rawness that he rarely encountered. The beings he faced on the battlefield had a hardened kind of fear, a last-stand defiance, as though they had already accepted their fate before they ever laid optics on him. They were soldiers, warriors resigned to the end. You were none of those things. You were terrified in a way he hadn’t seen since his earliest days of combat, when his first foes had still been innocent enough to believe that fighting back would save them.

He leaned closer, his optics boring down on you, watching with an intensity that made the cage rattle as his presence loomed. You flinched violently, clutching the bars of the cage as though willing yourself to vanish. Your eyes met his briefly, wide and pleading, then darted away, too afraid to hold his gaze. The look on your face—it stirred something deep within him, a flicker of recognition that was more instinct than memory.

This was prey. True prey. The kind that knew only terror, the kind that understood its helplessness in the face of absolute power.

He was aware of your every movement: the small tremors running through you, the quiver of your lip as you fought to stay silent, the shallow rise and fall of your chest as you struggled to control your breath. He could practically feel your pulse racing from where he stood, a tiny, frantic heartbeat in the face of a predator that could crush you with a single motion.

Something cold and calculating sparked in Sixshot’s optics as he observed you, an old, he hadn’t felt in cycles. It wasn’t the thrill of conquest, nor the satisfaction of a worthy opponent. It was simply a glimpse into something so small and insignificant that it gave him a reminder of what he truly was: a weapon, a machine of total annihilation, one that even other Decepticons viewed with unease. His power had made him a pariah, feared and isolated even among the monsters he called allies.

Yet, he respected the strong. He valued those who fought back, who met him on the battlefield with fire in their optics. This human was none of those things. But there was still something about them, something attractive.

An annoyed sigh came from him, like a roll of thunder. “Pathetic,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. But he didn’t move away. He stayed there, towering over the cage, optics fixed on you like a scientist inspecting a specimen.

The vendor, noticing Sixshot’s interest, sidled over eagerly, his voice a grating whine. “Quite a rare find, isn’t it? A rarity from that little backwater planet, Earth." The merchant gave a smug chuckle. “Not much of a fighter, but they cower in the most entertaining ways.”

The words barely registered to Sixshot. He continued to observe you, noting every subtle tremor, every desperate shift of your eyes. He saw the way your fingers gripped each other tightly, knuckles turning white under the strain, your breathing growing shallow as you tried to make yourself smaller, less visible.

“Interested?” the trader ventured, clearly hoping for a transaction.

Sixshot’s optics narrowed. “What would I do with something so fragile?” he replied, his tone dismissive, though his gaze hadn’t shifted.

The merchant chuckled, mistaking Sixshot's interest as mere curiosity . “A toy, perhaps. Or a pet to keep your quarters interesting. Some find it amusing, having one of these creatures cowering in the corner, watching you with those little eyes. It can be… satisfying.”

The idea of taking you as a “pet” was laughable to him. Amusing? No, that wasn’t it. He had no need for amusement. His life was not about leisure or indulgence—it was about the thrill of worthy combat, the satisfaction of watching an opponent meet their end with dignity or terror. You didn’t fit into that world; you were not a warrior, nor an enemy, nor anything remotely close to a combatant. And yet, your fear called to him.

It would be so easy to snuff out that fear. One flick of his finger could silence you, end your miserable terror in an instant. It would be a mercy—a quick death, a release from the agony of knowing you were powerless.

And yet, he didn’t.

“Do you understand what you are?” he asked quietly, his voice a deep, rumbling growl that filled the space around you. The question seemed almost rhetorical, but he was genuinely curious. What went on in a mind that knew it was nothing more than prey? A creature so weak it couldn’t even defend itself, forced to rely on hope or mercy—neither of which existed here.

Your head lifted, just barely, and you managed a timid nod, your eyes wide and glazed with tears. He could see the struggle in your face, the way you fought to keep some shred of composure in the face of absolute terror.

"Then you understand this is where you die," he continued, almost conversationally, as if discussing the weather. His tone held no malice, no cruelty; it was a simple statement of fact.

Your lips parted, a faint tremble to your voice. "Please…" The word slipped out, barely audible, a plea that you knew was pointless yet voiced out of desperation.

With a dismissive huff, he straightened, turning away from the cage, folding his arms and giving you a final, unreadable look. “I’ll take this one,” he said simply to the merchant, his voice devoid of any emotion but finality.

The merchant’s face brightened with greed. “A fine choice! You’ll enjoy having a creature so… malleable. They’re delightful to break.”

Sixshot didn’t respond. He didn’t take you because he wanted a pet. He didn’t take you becausehe found any joy in your terror. But perhaps, in his own way, he was giving you a purpose. A purpose in his world—a chance to exist, however briefly. Or it would simply be a way for him to kill time.

Whatever it is, then for you, it would be the beginning of a nightmare from which there was no escape.

--------------------------------

[cal-writes]

some more scraps of that pirate hunter au i got with nami and zoro, just felt like sharing some more friendship vibes

Nami decides that she hates guns. The sound is grating, the smoke they produce stinks, they are ugly and too expensive. It has nothing to do with her having to dig a bullet out of Zoro’s arm. 

“I can do it myself.” He says, too calmly, considering she’s about to stick her fingers into his skin along a carving knife she took from a market stall earlier today before everything went to shit. She chalks it up to the blood loss. There is so much, running down Zoro’s arm and coating it in red. 

“Shut up.” She says, sweat pouring in her eyes. Her fingers shake, they never shake. “Do you want some alcohol?” She asks, her mind racing trying to remember her rudimentary medical knowledge, she should disinfect the wound. But should she do it before or after? Both? Does it matter when a dirty bullet has already lodged itself in Zoro’s flesh? 

“Do you?” He asks and his amused tone makes her hit him over the head. 

“This is going to hurt.” She wills her hands to still, tries to pretend it's just a lock she’s picking. Steadies her breathing. Ignores her wish for pliers. 

“I can do it myself.” Zoro offers again, softer and for a moment she feels panic seize her throat, thinking he’s on the brink of passing out but when she looks at his face, he’s looking back. His demon eyes kind and understanding. 

Nami takes a shaky breath and steels herself. “My hands are already dirty. Might as well finish it now.” She reminds herself to be decisive, swallows against the bile rising in her gut and digs her finger into Zoro’s flesh. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even react and she is grateful, unsure if she could do this if she also had to comfort him. It takes entirely too long to get a hold of the warped metal. In the end she has to open the wound further to even get a grip on it. By the time she has it between her fingers, she feels faint herself. 

Zoro merely exhales, tension leaving his shoulders. He moves his arm, making blood well forth like a spring fountain and Nami drops the bullet to the ground as she scrambles to press a cloth against it. The closest thing she has is the jacket she discarded earlier to keep the blood off her sleeves. 

By the time she realizes that she ruined the garment it's too late to save it and groans. “Tonight is the worst.” She whines, just a little. 

“I’ll pay you back.” He says. It’s as close to a thank you as he’s ever gotten. 

Nami sniffs. “With interest.” Before she stitches him closed.

[rex-meshla]

Steel Meets Silk

PAIRING | ARC Commander Colt x F!OC (Anastasia Husk) WORD COUNT | 1.9k PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 TAGLIST | @cw80831

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Chapter 3: Mapped Destinies

I couldn't remember the last time I felt this drained. The investors had been all business, their smiles polished, but there was an underlying tension in the room. It wasn't just about the market anymore; something else lingered in the air—something I couldn't quite name. Maybe it was the war, maybe the way they kept eyeing Colt like they were trying to figure him out. Or maybe it was just the pressure of being thrown into this world without any real preparation.

Colt hadn't said much since we left the investors' office, and I was grateful for the silence. The stress from the presentation, the strained conversations with my father's partners, and the sense of unease all combined to leave me feeling like I was unraveling. As we approached my estate, the sleek gates opened with a soft whoosh, and the transport slowed to a stop.

I stepped out, turning to see Colt trailing behind. As I moved up the steps toward the front door, I glanced back at him.

"Where are you staying, by the way?" I asked, breaking the quiet.

"I'll be staying in the guest quarters next door," he said, his voice steady. "I'm close enough to respond if needed, but it also gives you space to adjust to the situation."

I nodded, feeling reassured by the arrangement. Having him close enough to step in if needed brought some comfort, but his constant presence was still something I wasn’t quite used to. Everything had changed, and it was happening so fast.

I reached for the door handle but paused, turning back to him. "You want to come inside for dinner?"

His gaze flickered toward the door, then back to me. 

"I'm fine just standing guard, ma'am," Colt said with a slight tilt of his head. Then, after a beat, he added, "But I'll join you."

"Make yourself at home," I said, stepping inside, already thinking of the bottle of wine waiting in the kitchen.

I poured myself a glass, watching the deep red liquid swirl in the crystal. The familiar scent of wine wrapped around me, a comforting escape in the midst of everything. I lifted it to my lips but hesitated, glancing over at Colt. "Want one?" I asked, holding the glass out.

He shook his head. "I'm on duty, ma'am. I'll pass."

I shrugged, lifting my glass with a faint smile. "Suit yourself," I said.

I took a sip, letting the warmth of the alcohol ease some of the tension in my chest, and glanced back at him again. "I've been meaning to ask you something," I began, choosing my words carefully. "How do you know so much about that war-related technology? During the meeting, you sounded... almost like one of my father's associates."

He didn't flinch. Didn't even look surprised by the question. Instead, he held my gaze, his brown eyes steady. "I've been trained on more than just combat," he said quietly. "There's a lot I've had to learn along the way. Strategy, technology... things that go beyond just fighting."

I blinked, caught off guard by his answer. "So... you're not just some soldier," I murmured, more to myself than him. "You've really worked with people like my father?"

He nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. "It's part of my training." he said quietly. "They don't want us to be just weapons. Some of us are trained to blend into situations, to understand things that... go beyond the battlefield."

"Like business?" I asked, a hint of disbelief in my voice.

“Yes. Like business,” he replied with a faint smile, the first I’d seen from him. A crack in his steely exterior.

"I've spent years working alongside engineers, strategists, even diplomats," he continued. "Protecting you isn't just about being a guard. It's about understanding everything that could affect your safety. That means knowing a lot more than just how to fire a blaster."

I fell silent, processing his words. Until now, he'd been a soldier to me, a guard assigned to watch over me. But hearing him talk about strategy and business... he was so much more than I'd expected. He had knowledge, depth, experience.

It felt strange, though. Knowing he had all of this expertise, and yet here he was, standing in my home like any other hired guard. I caught myself looking at him, trying to reconcile these two sides of him.

"Why don't you... do something else, then?" I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity. I leaned against the counter, studying him, the question lingering in my mind.

His eyes met mine, and I saw something close to... resignation? "I was bred for the war," he said, his voice softer but still firm. "It's what I was made for. What happens to me... it's never really been my choice."

His words hit me harder than I expected. This wasn't just about him. It was about all the clones, all the soldiers who had been created for a single purpose—war. It was so... limiting. His reality, a predetermined path, mirrored my own in some strange way.

I couldn't help but think about my own life, how it had been mapped out for me long before I could remember. I was expected to step into my father's shoes, to take over the business, to uphold the family legacy. There was no real choice, no freedom to veer off the path laid before me. I had always assumed I had control, but now it felt like I was in the same boat as him—trapped by the expectations of others, even if mine were wrapped in silk and comfort.

I took another sip of wine, the sharp tannins grounding me as I looked at him, really looked at him. His life had never been his own, but neither had mine. 

The thought lingered as the silence stretched between us. For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of us, caught in lives shaped by choices neither of us truly made.

Colt's eyes dropped briefly to the floor before meeting mine again, an unspoken understanding hanging in the air. He held my gaze, but there was a slight shift in his posture, like he'd sensed the weight of what I was feeling.

I wondered how much of what I felt was mirrored in his own mind, though he never would have said it.

Then, just as I was beginning to process this strange connection, the sound of my comm link broke the stillness.

The display flickered, and I recognized the name of one of my father's partners, Theo Kalden.

"Excuse me," I muttered, my voice laced with frustration as I reached for the comm.

Colt straightened instinctively, his hand resting lightly on his blaster.

I pressed the button. "Kalden," I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.

"Anastasia, I need you to come to the office immediately. There's been a development," Theo's voice crackled through the comm.

"Is everything alright?" I asked, a hint of urgency creeping into my voice.

"It's not good. We need to discuss some new intel regarding the war. You need to be here. Now."

The line went dead before I could respond.

I looked up at Colt, frustration rising in my chest. "I guess dinner will have to wait," I muttered, setting my glass down with a sigh.

Colt gave a short nod. He didn't ask if I needed protection. It was understood. He was to follow me wherever I went, no questions, no hesitation.

I let out a breath, the weight of the situation settled in once again. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have you with me.”

Without another word, Colt moved to follow me out of the door, his presence as solid and imposing as always.

As the transport sped toward the office, I couldn’t help but reflect on what Colt had said earlier. The war was no longer just a distant thing. It was already here. It wasn’t just on the battlefield—it was in our homes, in our businesses, and it was going to change everything.

The office loomed ahead, its modern glass façade gleaming under the dimming sky. As the transport slowed to a stop, a shiver ran down my spine.

We stepped out, Colt a few paces behind me, always a shadow, always vigilant. My heart raced a little faster with each step toward the entrance. Whatever Theo had to say, I knew it was going to be a turning point.

Inside, the lights were bright, almost too harsh, and Kalden was waiting by the conference table, his expression tense. He didn't greet me as I entered,

"Anastasia," he said, his voice low. "Sit down. We need to talk."

I took a seat, crossing my arms as I studied him. Something was off tonight. Kalden was usually calm, collected—the one who always had a plan.

"What's going on, Theo?" I asked, trying to keep my tone even. "You said it wasn't good."

He leaned forward, his eyes flicking briefly to Colt before returning to me. "There's been new intel about the Separatists' movements. We've confirmed that they're targeting key infrastructure on a few allied planets. Your father's business, our business, could be directly affected. Not just in the market, but in our actual operations."

My stomach twisted. “What do you mean, exactly?”

Kalden's gaze hardened. "We're talking sabotage, Anastasia. Major disruptions. If we don't act quickly, it could send shockwaves through the market. Your father's partnerships could be at risk. We're moving fast to secure the assets, but we need to be proactive."

Instinctively, I turned to Colt, as if he could offer clarity. But his face was unreadable, his usual walls firmly in place.

Kalden continued, "We're also looking into whether someone within our network is feeding intel to the Separatists. The leaks are happening from inside, and I have a feeling that it might be closer to home than we think."

His words felt like a punch to the gut. A traitor, within my father’s circle? The idea was unthinkable, but I knew Kalden didn’t make baseless accusations.

I sat back, trying to absorb it all. The war wasn’t just a threat to distant planets anymore—it was infiltrating our very business.

"So, what's the plan?" I asked.

"The war is no longer just something happening elsewhere. It's already here, and it's impacting us in ways we can't afford to ignore. We need to control the narrative, Anastasia. You're the face of the business now. You'll need to step up in a way you never have before. How we are perceived will be just as important as what we actually do."

His instructions were clear. I wasn’t just to follow my father’s lead. I was to actively manage how the world saw the Husk Corporation’s role in the war. Kalden emphasized the power of perception; how much could be controlled through the right words, the right image, the right spin on the truth.

At first, I thought he was exaggerating. But as he spoke, I realized he was drawing from experience. Kalden, for all his sharpness, knew the media and how to twist facts to protect interests and ensure survival.

“You’re going to be the one out there,” Kalden said, his gaze sharp. “Grant interviews. Give statements. Position the company as a leader. Make sure the public sees Husk Industries as not just surviving but thriving and helping during this crisis. We need to project both power and benevolence.”

Benevolence. The word stuck with me, souring the air around me. It sounded so... staged. Like a marketing campaign rather than a true effort to help. But Kalden was right about one thing; the narrative would be everything. If we didn’t present ourselves as essential, then others would step in, with far less care for our reputation.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You can read the next chapter here and find my masterlist here x

[blindmagdalena]

Hiya!! I wrote you some fluff, sorry! Tldr the protag (I just used “they”) meets homelander while he’s on patrol and saves his really shitty day with a hug. I’m obsessed with compound v babies that never developed marketable powers, so they’re a little tougher and stronger than most but otherwise nothing special. I think if I continued this they’d only meet again when he was depowered and totally friendless. Anyway, hope you like it! Lots of love, first timer 💕

-

Homelander’s jaw clenches through that big smile of his, uncaring if a slight malice coils in the centre of his eye. He looks straight into the camera, and feels a muscle under his lower lash twitch as the flash goes off. In broad fucking daylight.

It only stings for a second and he knows it, but the dull ache lately thudding in his ears is suddenly a full roar. He blinks hard and no one sees the flash of red in his corneas. The phone shoved in his face meanders away with the idiot attached to it unharmed, and he gives a bland goodbye. Barely time for a breath before someone else wants Homelander’s attention.

They’re next, tall enough to look him in the eye and waiting at the edge of polite distance for his invitation. He isn’t rushed at, which makes a change for patrol meets.

“Auto-flash is your friend,” they offer to the guy leaving, but he’s too absorbed in his selfie to hear. They shrug like they tried. “Asshole,” they grumble, now more to Homelander as they approach. “Want a hug?”

He doesn’t. But he has the presence of mind to unclench his fists at his sides. At least they asked, this many people in and requests usually become demands. The expectant shout of his name starts to grate.

His hesitation gives them pause, and their smile turns to momentary embarrassment at having overstepped. “If you’re not big on that, I totally—“

“You can’t take it back, now,” he tries not to sound like he wants to show them his teeth. “C’mon, bring it in.” And manages, it seems, when he holds his arms out.

They close the gap, folding their arms around his sides. Letting their hands rest on his shoulder blades, before one of them gently pats the centre of his back. Their chest to his chest, the sound of their heart briefly surrounding him before it quiets. Like they’ve been reassured of something they were afraid of.

Their sigh doesn’t stab at his eardrums, they hug him like this is something they’ve been meaning to do for a long time. And their embrace’s earnest, affectionate pressure makes his uninterested grip around their waist very suddenly tighten.

Homelander presses them against him without a thought, arms like steel bars digging into their back. He waits for a different sound. The hitched breath and scream of pain to really make this day hell. But their ribs don’t bend. Their spine doesn’t fold.

Their voice is a whisper, easy on sensitive ears. A little breathless, but fond, “You saved me once.”

No verbal thanks accompanies the statement, only their warm hand moving a slow circle at the centre of his back. Then, their grip eases. His arms fall back to his sides without needing to be scolded, as if suddenly awake to the encroaching crowd. To what he could have done.

Homelander stares at their still-smiling face. He didn’t fuck it up. They’re fine.

His control on his expression lapses only briefly, but he stares at them with glassy blue eyes. Brow slightly furrowed. He’s trying to recognize them, and he can’t.

Then that face is gone, back to a veneer-grin. They give a little wave, unbothered with being forgotten in a way he doesn’t understand.

They don’t make him lie. And then they’re gone, the whole exchange barely half a minute. His chest feels heavier, then lighter. Homelander draws himself up to his full height, ready for the next in line.

DEAREST.... i love this!!!!! aaahhh, the way he was caught off guard by the sincerity of the interaction, and the lack of expectation for performance or a front, the CONSENT of it all... please, you have such a way with words!

i loved him being so disarmed he just. squeezed. almost like a reversion to that moment as a child, snapping his caretakers spine, only to come back to reality and see that they were fine. that gave me chills! i'd love to see more from you, wow. thanks so much for writing this and sending it my way! 🖤

[kitchenisking]

Fifth Night of Chunnuka

Seires Fic Rec Part 12

Pony by alisvolatpropiis - (If I Played You My Favorite Song) - (Rating: Mature, Words: 1,573, sterek)

“Thank you, you’ve been a great crowd,” he purrs, reaching a tattooed hand up to adjust the microphone. “I’m going to finish with something a little different.” He laughs quietly to himself and rolls his broad, black v-neck-clad shoulders like he’s steeling himself, the first time all night he’s seemed nervous. “This is, uh, another cover, and I’ve never actually performed it…ever. But I feel like tonight’s the perfect night for it.” He laughs again and takes a deep breath. “So yeah, please continue to be kind, folks.” The crowd cheers and the singer – Derek Hale – gives this little sly smile as he fiddles with the strings of his guitar for a second, those unbelievable eyes flashing over to where Stiles has been sitting all night. 

...

In which acoustic musician Derek Hale seduces Stiles with a modern R&B classic.

It's a Sparkly, Glittery Fairy by Anonymous - ( Who Can Take the Sunshine ) - ( Rating: G, Words: 4,154, sterek)

Derek and his five year old daughter meet Fairy Stiles at the market.

Stupid Derek by the_diggler - ( Stupid Derek) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,921, sterek)

Stiles should’ve known better. Stupid werewolves with their stupid werewolf hearing. He should’ve known better than to moan Derek’s name, no matter how quietly. But stupid Derek, with his stupid face, and beard, and abs… And okay, Stiles should’ve known better than to leave his bedroom window open while getting off. Because yeah, stupid Derek with his stupid lurking ways...

You Rock Hard, I Rock Steady by MereLoup - (Home At The Edge Of The World) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6,422, sterek)

With nowhere to go and no monsters du jour to fight, Derek and Stiles get to take their time and enjoy one another in the most delicious of ways.

i'll be your dream by EvanesDust - ( truly madly deeply) - (Rating: G, Words: 2,022, sterek)

After years of pining, Stiles was surprised to find out that his crush on Derek wasn't so unrequited.

Take a bite out of life by Nival_Vixen  - (Incubus and Werewolf) - (Rating: Mature, Words: 3,274, sterek)

Stiles gets infected by vampire blood. According to a really old Russian text, he could become a blood-sucking monster like Bram Stoker's Dracula, an incubus-like blood-sucker who needs blood and sex to survive, or he could literally drain people's souls.

The hour of truth is approaching, as is the full moon. As such, Derek's the only one available to be stuck on Stiles-sitting duty, and is the only one there when Stiles finds out exactly what new piece he's becoming on the chessboard.

Permission To Mate? by ohhitsanna - (Just Let Me Court You!) - (Rating: T, Words: 2,593, sterek)

Stiles wants to ask Derek's Alpha if he can Mate Derek. Since Derek wouldn't let Stiles court him, he figures it's only fair that he ask his Alpha the traditional way.

The Smell of Bacon in the Morning by Jerakeen - (Scent of a Stiles) - (Rating: T, Words: 428, sterek)

"You smell like bacon."

Death of Morality by Brokenwords - ( The Virtue of Corruption Verse ) - (Rating: Mature, Words: 1,538, sterek)

The seats were hard vinyl connected to metal poles and harsh grating. Two years ago Stiles would have never imagined himself in this situation, but two years ago his father had still been alive and the things that went bump in the night belonged only in his nightmares. Now it was almost laughable, the guard up front, the cuffs on his wrists, the sway to and fro of the armoured prison transport chugging through the morning mist.

First and Last and Always by sffan - (First and Last and Always) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 12,789, sterek)

Derek is Stiles' first everything. A story about the progression of their relationship from first kiss to graduation.

[call-sign-shark]

Make Them Pay

Notes: Blurb Peaky x Hunger Games, no proofreading. A little something before posting chapter 1.

72nd Hunger Games - Tribute Parade.

“They didn’t dress you up like a tree! I can’t fucking believe it.” Johanna Mason’s high pitched voice echoes throughout the backstage, each word carried by what seems to be an eternal aggressiveness, “Congratulations, you’re the only anomaly in forty years of traduction. How does it feel?”

“Fantastic. I’m so honored I could bash my head against the wall.” The teenager replies, a deadly combination of frost and sarcasm radiating off every word that fell from her fleshy lips. An anomaly she is, and not only fashionably speaking. She’s so unnerving that even the hot-headed mentor turns silent and squints, observing her more attentively as she tries to decipher the impassible expression of her new tribute. It’s vain — she won’t let anything show but her obvious hatred for anyone who crosses her path.

“And break the magnificent antlers our stylist made for you?”Johanna finally breaks the disturbing silence, “No way. You should be grateful I insisted for another outfit that the tree thing. Take a step back.” She orders with a quick gesture from her hand, her mouth pouting. The young girl obliges: she backs up and open her arms in a silent way of telling her mentor ‘Are you happy? Can you get the fuck away from me now?’

They dressed her like a Wendigo. Most of her revealing outfit has tribal inspiration, with an asymmetrical and torn wrap skirt, vertiginously high platform boots to give her slender frame as well as a tall and emaciated aspect, and a kind of crop top so short it looks more like a strapless chest band than anything else. All white for a ghostly and ethereal look. But what renders the outfit formidable though are the blood-red war paint and scripture all over pale skin which give the shocking impression that she had smeared herself with blood for the former, or carved the odd tribal symbols in her flesh for the latter. These, and obviously the masterpiece of the whole look: The antlers. Actual and gargantuan deer antlers adorned with gold chains and feathers. As for the jewels, the stylist also went for gold: gold hair clips to decorate the braids in her long natural snow-white hair and gold armbands. They even asked for most of her visible teeth to be sharpened like pointy fangs.

For the Capitol, it has a marketing purpose. Sponsors are first attracted by strong visuals and a solid narrative. For the mentors and the other tributes, it has a psychological factor: it inspires fear. For Johanna, it is an accurate echo of the girl’s soul and might multiply her chance of winning. At least she hopes so because, as surprising as it is for someone who had learned to be heartless, she is starting to like this creepy lass.

“So, am I pretty?” Heaven asks in an attempt to show a bit of gratitude to her mentor — It seems important to Johanna, who does her best to render this nightmare a bit more bearable.

“No, you’re not.”

Heaven blinks, surprise flashing quickly on her face and breaking her coldness for a few seconds.

“You’re terrifying.” Johanna grinned. Somewhere in the public, a lanky man with steel-blue eyes and a moustache, whiskey glass near his thin lips, also thinks she’s terrifying but in the most seductive way he ever thought. “Heaven?”

“Hm?”

“Make them pay.”

She doesn’t want her tribute to be pretty.

She wants her to give them all nightmares.

“I Will.”

Tagging: @justrainandcoffee @peakyswritings @emotionalcadaver @evita-shelby @lunarubra

[whisky-soul]

Starting the Mando season 3 press thread with this. Future articles and interviews will be added to this post. 😊

The Mandalorian Season 3 'Opens Up The World of Mandalore And The Mandalorians', Says Pedro Pascal - Empire

Pedro Pascal 'Can't See Shit In Mandalorian Armour' - Empire

The Mandalorian Season 3 Official Clip - Youtube

Real Steel - Season 3 Feature - Empire

Season 3 Stills - Empire

Baby Steps: An Oral History of Grogu - Empire

Theirs is the Way: Jon Favreau and Dave Filoni Interview - Empire

Father and Son: The Mandalorian Season 3 Feature - SFX Magazine

Pedro Pascal Talks Being Called the ‘Daddy’ of the Internet - Good Morning Britain

Pedro Pascal Is Creeped Out When Fans Ask Him to Use ‘Mandalorian’ Voice on Children: ‘It Sounds Inappropriate’ - Variety

Pedro Pascal Plays “Is It The Way?” - MTV News

Pedro Pascal Reacts To Becoming "Internet Daddy" - The Graham Norton Show

Pedro Pascal Forgot He Was Cast In The Last Of Us - The Graham Norton Show

Pedro Pascal Swerves A Kiss From Dame Helen Mirren - The Graham Norton Show

Pedro Pascal on The Mandalorian S3, a scene-stealing Grogu & knowing how much the world loves him - Joe.ie

Jon Favreau Is Watching The Last Of Us Too: ‘Pedro Pascal’s Really Cornered The Market On This Protective Father Archetype’ - Empire

The Mandalorian's Pedro Pascal teases an 'epic' season 3 - Digital Spy

Pedro Pascal über Mandalorian und andere rollen - Brisant (VPN may be required)

***NEW FEB 28th***

Mandalorian Season 3: Star Wars' Pedro Pascal Answers Kid Questions - BBC Newsround

Pedro Pascal plays The Reverse Words game - The Chris Moyles Show

Pedro Pascal has fully embraced all things ‘daddy.’ - Entertainment Tonight

‘The Mandalorian’: Pedro Pascal on Din Djarin & Grogu’s Relationship in SEASON 3 - Extra TV

Pedro Pascal RESPONDS To Being Dubbed The 'Internet's Daddy' - Access Hollywood

Pedro Pascal Talks Possible Boba Fett And Ahsoka Crossovers In The Mandalorian Season 3 - Cinema Blend

Pedro Pascal no cierra la puerta a nada con 'The Mandalorian': "Me encantaría ver una película" - Sensacine

Zoe Ball Meets Pedro Pascal - The Zoe Ball Breakfast Show

Pedro Pascal Remembers Working w/ Sarah Michelle On ‘Buffy The Vampire Slayer’ - Access Hollywood

Pedro Pascal on ´The Mandalorian’ Season 3, Grogu nicknames, and More - Entertainment Tonight

Pedro Pascal "The Mandalorian" - FabTV

See Pedro Pascal Get Nostalgic Over 'Buffy' Memories With ‘Incredibly Kind’ Sarah Michelle Gellar - Entertainment Tonight

Pedro Pascal on Season 3 - GamesRadar

**NEW March 1***

Pedro Pascal & Jon Favreau Compare American and Chilean Snacks - LADBible

‘The Mandalorian’: Pedro Pascal Wants to Go from ‘DADDY Din’ to ‘BABY D’ - ExtraTV

Pedro Pascal Talks The Mandalorian Season 3 & How It's Surprising What the Surprises Are - Collider

Pedro Pascal Praised By Sarah Paulson For Becoming 'Enormous' Star In 2016 Interview - Access Hollywood

How Pedro Pascal Feels About A Big Part Of ‘The Mandalorian’ Arc Taking Place In ‘Boba Fett' - CinemaBlend

“The Mandalorian” star Pedro Pascal teases what fans can expect from season 3. - Associated Press

Pedro Pascal is grateful for The Last Of Us and The Mandalorian - Irish Mirror

'The Mandalorian' Lead Pedro Pascal On What To Expect From Season 3 - NDTV

Pedro Pascal on Season 3 - Despierta América

FAJN RADIO I Marthy Duffek & The Mandolorian interview w/ Pedro Pascal - Fajn Radio

The Mandalorian: Season 3 | Launch Event - Pedro Pascal, Katie Sackhoff - VRAI Magazine

Pedro on KissFM UK Part 1

Pedro on KissFM UK Part 2

Pedro Pascal Looks Back At His Early Acting Days On 'Buffy' - ET Canada

Pedro Pascal on being 'faceless' in the Mandalorian suit - ABC News Australia

Pedro Pascal, 'Mandalorian' castmates promise more fun, drama, surprises, Grogu in season 3 - ABC 7

**NEW March 2nd**

Pedro Pascal On Being The Internet's Daddy - Capital FM

Pedro Pascal Explains Rehearsal Behind Hilarious SNL Table Sketch - E News

Pedro Pascal jokes about ‘The Mandalorian’ outlasting ‘The Simpson’s’ - Yahoo Entertainment

Pedro Pascal Meets Young Fans at The Mandalorian Season 3 Premiere - jenmarkham

***NEW March 3rd***

Pedro Pascal talks 'Mandalorian' Season 3, 'Last of Us' comparisons and 'Saturday Night Live' - Yahoo Entertainment

The Mandalorian Season 3 Launch Event - Star Wars

"I like my own burps!" Pedro Pascal on playing The Mandalorian and meeting "The Ultimate Daddy" - BBC Radio 1

The Sudden Fashion-Daddy Arrival of Pedro Pascal - GQ

Ciné Télé Revue Interview

Radio Corazón

***NEW March 7th***

One on One Interview with Pedro Pascal for 'The Mandalorian' - MJ Felipe

Melanie Lynskey calls Pedro Pascal a 'dreamboat' - Etalk (this has nothing to do with Mando; I just like it)

Pedro Pascal on Mandalorian S3, Melanie Lynskey, Tem Morrison and Taika - NewsHub

***NEW March 9th***

Pedro Pascal Cries From His Head While Eating Spicy Wings - Hot Ones

***NEW March 18th***

Pedro on the Dagobah Dispatch Podcast - EW

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

(Honmei)

“Hello, Rook. Remember the last time I sent you chocolates? I probably should have specified what intent—… no, I was too embarrassed,” she sighed, looking at the ground. “Before I regret it, here.” She haphazardly shoved a sleek white box with a tricoloured ribbon of blue, yellow, and red in front of Rook. Inside, were snowflake shaped dark chocolate covered wafers with a white chocolate drizzle.

“Happy Valentines. I like— *ahem* love you. I don’t know if Valentines Day in Twisted Wonderland is the same as Earth, but I included my confession this time to be safe.”

There were two Valentine interactions for Rook back in 2021; one was romantic and the other was platonic. I’m not sure if you’re referring to the second one? Or was it an interaction I didn’t respond to...? ... Maybe you’re just setting up the scene and I’m overthinking what you mean by “the last time I sent you chocolates” 🤡 ndvdjwbsk Regardless, I had to improvise a bit since I wasn’t sure about that part of the prompt!

In the west, Valentine's Day is mainly marketed as a time for romance on both ends, but this blog event is based on the Japanese interpretation of the holiday; in Japan, men receive gifts indicating various feelings, not always romantic, on Feb 14th, and can return the favor to women on March 14th/White Day. Actually, Christmas is considered the more romantic (and most!) holiday in Japan!

Sweet on You.

"How could I ever forget? There is never a moment when you are far from my mind.”

He threw his head back and laughed. It was like music to your ears, and as resonant as a gale cutting through a spring meadow.

“I believe you had sent a parcel of assorted truffles last Valentine’s—by carrier dove, so as to catch me on an excursion! Dark, milk, white, and even the elusive pink blush of ruby chocolate... I was grateful to receive such a kind token of your companionship.”

As usual, Rook smiled as he spoke, happily reminiscing. Each detail of the memory was laid out like a gemstone in a well-maintained collection. He was careful to not overstep, to assume and blurt out the intent behind the gift.

After all, he wanted you to come to him of your own accord.

Haloed by hair that shone like threads of spun gold, he may have been considered angelic if not for the shadow that the wide brim of his hat casted upon him. Honied words fell so naturally from his lips—you often had to remind yourself that these were the traps he laid to trip you up. And in the end, you had been ensnared in a net of his love, fallen prey to his wiles.

You could deny it no longer.

Steeling your courage, you shoved a beribboned box at him.

"Wafer cookies in a snowflake shape?" Rook raised his brows. "Fufu, you know my interests well. Such intricate, delicate morsels! They're too beautiful to eat--but I must, lest they crumble and decay with the passage of time. Another year, and you continue to spoil me with these chocolatey shows of affection."

You cleared your throat and clarified. Your insides rattled once you had ushered the truth out into the world, your limbs like jelly.

"Joyeuse Saint Valentin to you as well." Rook's smile widened, now so broad that his cheeks threatened to tear. "To confess one's truest feelings is an act of great strength and courage. Once it has been uttered, it cannot be taken back. For that, I commend your earnest! Does it not feel liberating to expel the butterflies that had been collecting in your stomach?"

Taking one of your hands in his, your fingers linked together, skin set on fire.

"Allow me to reciprocate those feelings: Je t'aime. Whether in Twisted Wonderland or in a world beyond, you will always be the one that holds my heart."

Rook's tender lips graced the back of your hand with a kiss. It was as soft as freshly fallen snow, but passionate like a long-burning flame--and as true as the blue that painted the sky overhead.

[robo-writing]

hi hiiiii can I request a fic of clive x petite f!reader that's super timid anxious n shy, and overly sheltered and innocent to the point she acts childish and ppl sometimes mistake her for a kid? can't wield a dagger to save her life, would curl into a ball and cry if shit got bad, and the hideaway peeps would likely think of her as a load to carry but never admit it out loud bc they're good ppl

I see all these clive x reader fics where the reader is super confident, flirty, and a real bad bitch with a blade/magic/smth generally cool and like,, props to y'all sexy girlbosses out there but I've got no shame in saying I've got bad social anxiety and would realistically have a panic attack and go into shock upon seeing one (1) corpse. I need more rep for my softer damsel in distress girlies 🌸✨💞💫🌼

Oh I love this, we need rep for the damsels just as much as the femme fatales! (This anon also requested this be written for a plus sized reader!)

When Cid told you about his plans you freely offered your services. Sure you couldn’t fight, but you could very well act as moral support!

A resistance is only as good as its soldiers, and without basic necessities there was no hope of survival. Food, water, clothes, if you weren’t at the hideaway you were at the market restocking for supplies.

Even if you couldn’t fight you had a nose for a good deal, even Lady Charon was impressed by the haul you’d bring back at times

And you were such a sweetheart, always volunteering your time in order to maintain the hideaway

Perhaps it’s that loving nature that drew Clive to you in the first place.

You were no dominant, no soldier, hells you couldn’t even witness the sight of blood without being nauseous

But you made up for that in spades; your kindness, your willingness to help those in need

You may not risk your limbs against steel, but being a part of Cid’s grand plan meant that you were risking your life

And for that, Clive is more than grateful to have you by his side

Whether you believe it or not, you were risking your life just as much as anyone else here

You remind him that there is good in the world worth fighting for

Still, there is a small part of you that feels lesser for being unable to join in the action

You’re surrounded by talented fighters—Gav, Cid, Jill—the list goes on

Especially when it came to Jill, when stood side by side the two of you couldn’t be more opposites

A brave young woman who fought her way from slavery, dominant of Shiva, adept with a rapier

And then there was you, shy, timid, the sharpest thing you’ve ever held being a kitchen knife

But in those days of self-doubt Clive is there to ease the pain

Holding you close, fingers pressed into the plushness of your thighs, he helps you to free yourself of those nasty thoughts, he helps you to forget

And for that, you’re grateful to him.

You scrutinize yourself in the mirror, twisting and turning to see every angle of yourself, that nagging voice in your head pointing out every flaw in your reflection. It picks at all your insecurities with pinpoint accuracy.

Too weak, too big. A burden on everyone here.

The voice is silenced when you feel the familiar comfort of his hands around your torso, slowly swaying you in his hold with his head in the crook of your neck.

“You’re doing it again darling.”

You take the time to enjoy the peace he brings you before replying, eyes closed in bliss. “Doing what, Clive?”

A gentle kiss to your neck, he then turns you around to see you in all your glory. His hands find rest on your hips, as if the soft skin was made for his touch.

“You doubt yourself far too much for my liking,” he whispers. “I can see it on your face.”

You don’t have the heart to deny it, so instead you bury your face into his chest, nearly purring in content when he reaches up to stroke your hair.

“You are perfect just the way you are,” he says. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you of that.”

[sam-glade]

Gifts of Fate - WIP Intro

(Original fiction, Days of Dusk book 1)

The Witcher x Fullmetal Alchemist

Pitch: The hero was chosen by the villain to become might incarnate. With all due respect, he'd like to decline.

Genre: NA hard fantasy

Word count: 107k

Status: Querying.

Lissan's Sword materialises in the nick of time, to save his and two children's lives. He accepts that the law requires him to enlist with the Army and leave his home behind. He refuses to be treated as a test subject by an officer gone rogue, who puts a blood-thirsty demon in his mind, which threatens to kill everyone around him with his own hands. Outmatched and outnumbered, he is desperate for help.

Two unlikely friends – the Prince Successor and the resident prodigy who clawed his way up the Army's ranks – work with Lissan to dismantle the conspiracy and free him from the demonic influence. They face opposition both from the Army's generals who are unwilling to accept that there is a traitor among them, and from the traitor himself, who has no qualms about forcing people to believe in his lies with the power of his Sword.

While the demon is vying for control over Lissan's powers, body, and mind, the traitor strives to usurp the Sun King's throne.

Features:

⚔️ Found family ⚔️ Cool Swords - with self-indulgent superpowered HEMA fight scenes ⚔️ Platonic relationships ⚔️ Elemental powers ⚔️ Inner demon/enemy within ⚔️ Secondary world

Content Warnings (CW) for recurring elements:

Character death, gore, body horror, weaponised gaslighting

I will post specific CWs with each snippet.

Character Intros

Lissan || Gullin || Ianim || Varré

Setting

The Sunblessed Realm is inspired by Slavic folklore and Central and Eastern Europe in the 18th century. When people live for as long as they have the will to and the reality is measurably affected by their beliefs, the developments in sciences take a different turn.

Info dump list (to be updated):

Map || Magic system || Fashion || Architecture

Taglist for Days of Dusk (please message me to +/-): @acertainmoshke @another-white-hole @poetinprose

First chapter below the cut

CW: description of injury

“Lissan?” Marrik tugged on the cuff of Lissan’s sleeve. His voice struggled to pierce through the buzz of the market crowd.

Lissan tore his eyes off of the steel barrels of clouds that rolled sluggishly overhead, and pressed the laden basket to his hip before it started slipping. He looked down at the child with an inviting smile.

Adya jogged towards them, holding her goatskin jacket tight where the button had popped on the way to the market. In her other hand, she had a half-eaten apple that Lissan had bought her when she’d complained about being hungry. She stopped next to Marrik, bit into the apple, and caught his hand, as their mother told her to do. They were the neighbour’s kids, but they tagged along with Lissan to the Triash market often enough. Ella, their mother, had never said it, but he had an inkling that she was grateful to have them out of her hair.

“I wanna go back,” Marrik announced a little louder with a stomp of his foot. He was thirteen, with the top of his head barely reaching Lissan’s ribs, and Adya was half a head taller. Their faces were round, their hair still long, woven into silky, almost black braids that swept down their backs, and their clothes were plain tunics and thick stockings that children tended to wear.

Lissan’s smile grew. It was a good excuse to leave now, hoping to get home before it rained.

“All right, let’s tell my Dad, and then we’ll be off.”

They nodded eagerly and followed him like ducklings.

Dad was sitting on a bench outside the pub, the closest one to the heart of the market. Someone had put an oiled wooden flagon in his hand — probably the first one for the day. He was listening more than talking, while his two companions…

“I’m tellin’ ya,” Ilyan slurred. “Freeloaders, all of them. Nothin’ but a drain for our taxes.”

He was a son of one of the apple growers from Beetletun, in his prime at just over a hundred years old, and too outspoken for his own good. Lissan sighed and glanced around, checking that there wasn’t anyone angling to approach Dad. There didn’t seem to be; Dad conducted most of his business in the evenings at the pub, and it looked like he’d bartered all of this week’s wood carvings already.

The other companion — Zhinna, was that her name? — clapped Ilyan on the shoulder.

“Right you are. We’d be better off without the Army. There aren’t enough monsters for them to kill, not nowadays.”

Lissan bit his lip. While he agreed with her complaints, Dad was about to—

“Lissan! There you are. Did you see Nalda with the white ribbons in her hair?”

He needed a moment to remember. He’d definitely run into Nalda earlier in the morning, but did she have…?

“Yeah, I saw her, but we didn’t have time to chat,” he said. By Dad’s standards, the change of topic was exceptionally smooth. “I’m taking the kids home. I’ll pick you up at sundown?”

Dad grunted dismissively and took a swig from the flagon.

“Don’t worry about him.” Zhinna’s tone turned more serious. “I’ll see to it that he gets home all right.”

It was one fewer thing to worry about.

“Thank you!” he called over his shoulder. “We’re off.”

#

The downpour started when they were half way to Beetletun. Lissan walked with his head held low, blinking away rivulets that ran from his temples. His hood and jacket had soaked through in minutes, and water had gathered in his boots and sloshed with every step, no longer cold.

The children ran ahead of him for a bit, then turned back. They jumped through puddles and moved incessantly; Lissan supposed it kept them warm. He watched them for a bit longer, until the basket started slipping from his numbed fingers. He shifted the grip on the handle, begging the Elements that the oilcloth was going to keep the contents dry enough.

Adya’s shout interrupted his musings. She ran to him, dragging her little brother, all mirth gone from their faces, their eyes open wide. She pointed over the stover fields to the right of the causeway, and Lissan followed her trembling arm.

The skies were torn open.

Darkness stood out against the clouds as if someone slashed them with a knife, then pried open with cruel fingers. Lissan squinted at it through the rain, batting away unbidden thoughts of fables told to children to get them to behave. He motioned for Marrik and Adya to get behind him. Maybe he should tell them to run instead, while stood there, rooted to the spot.

This was wrong. Ruptures belonged in the legends, together with the Sun King and the Winged Riders. The spawn of Primeval Darkness no longer prowled the Earth; the Army was meant to ensure that. The Swords weren’t supposed to let this happen. But there was no Sword there, no legendary figure, only Lissan and the two terrified children.

Marrik screamed when something started moving inside the rupture, black against black. He choked on the scream as the head of a grotesque monster emerged. Its body followed, round hooves clawing at the edge of the opening. It fell to the ground from a height that would have easily killed a person, and picked itself back up as if it was nothing. Even at a distance of over fifty paces, it looked enormous.

A bull, Lissan thought, his heart pounding, his breath quick and shallow. It was twisted, and corrupted, and repulsively wrong, but its shape and features, and the way it stomped its legs, still resembled an irate bull. Lissan wanted to laugh at how the comparison made a normal bull into a creature as docile as a newborn kitten. The sound that escaped him was more of a whimper. He clamped his jaw shut.

The monster’s head was held low, two horns — each the size of Lissan’s arm — pointed at him as they curved to be in line with its jaw. The mountain that was its body was covered in black, hairless hide, with muscles bunching underneath it like slithering slugs and leeches. Its hump rose to well over twice Lissan’s height.

The children sobbed behind him, but he didn’t dare to look away from the demon. He didn’t dare to blink. He hoped that it would lose interest if they stayed still. A Dark One, that’s what the monsters were called in tales he’d considered no longer true. It shook its head and took a step in their direction.

He set the basket at the side of the road with slow, minimal movements. Now that he wasn’t holding anything, his hands shook. He squeezed his eyes, desperate to clear his head and force the dread to subside. What can one person do against such monstrosity?

He felt a small tug on the hem of his jacket. Adya gripped it, holding Marrik close to her with her other arm. Lissan gently removed her hand.

“I’m going to distract it.” He heard his voice falter, but he continued despite it; “When I shout ‘run’, you run home and don’t look back. Got it?”

He saw her nodding out of the corner of his eye. He nudged them towards their home and skidded off the causeway, onto the fields, slipping on mud and soggy shrubs, and ignoring all instincts screaming at him to save himself. He walked sideways in the direction they came from, away from the children. The demon’s eyes —  four of them — followed him.

Lissan yelled, throwing his arms in the air and waving madly, a wordless, primal scream, into which he poured all of his terror.

The Dark One charged.

“RUN!”

The demon’s head twitched, but it stayed focused on Lissan. Good. Now what?

He couldn’t outrun it, he realised with a sinking feeling. The black mass was gaining more speed that he’d imagined was possible. He inched left, so that the monster was going directly at the causeway. As it lowered its head to swipe up with its horns, Lissan dived to the side.

The demon rammed its bulk into the causeway, crushing the sodden shrubs and bushes. It needed a couple of heartbeats to locate Lissan again. He didn’t think he could repeat this trick, but at least he was back on his feet, and the Dark One’s charge was broken.

It stomped its hoof, leaving a deep imprint in the squelchy ground. It was too heavy to lose its footing, as much as Lissan prayed for a smile of Fate right about now. Or a Sword. Where was the Army when they were for once needed?

He stopped thinking when the monster charged. It didn’t have enough distance to gain speed, but it felt even more inevitable this way. Lissan leapt to the side again, grasping for what else he could do. He wrestled a young bull once, at a village fair, showing off for a guy. It was a miracle that he didn’t end up with a broken bone back then. He wanted to laugh in mad desperation at the thought of trying to catch this demon by the horns. 

It closed the distance and tossed its head sideways. Lissan slipped on the mud. The horns hit his side, throwing him a few yards into the fields. He rolled onto his back, but the demon was on him before he even attempted to stand up, its reeking breath enveloping him. He wasn’t sure if he screamed — the rush of blood in his ears drowned all sounds. Warmth spread over his groin and thighs. In that moment of distraction the monster stomped its hoof on his calf, crushing his muscles. Lissan yelped; his vision blurred with pain.

The horns speared the ground above his shoulders, one of them an inch away from his head — he hit his ear on it as he tossed. In the first reflex his hands flew to the horns, trying to push them away, but everything was slick with rain. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs. He ended up pressing his back into the ground as the enormous teeth chomped closer and closer to his face, while the horns were driven further into the soil.

He raised his right arm to shield himself, aware of the futility of the gesture. He begged the Fate, the Elements, the All-Mother, any deity that would listen, for something — anything — more substantial.

He didn’t want to die. He refused to. He couldn’t die. He had to make sure that Marrik and Adya made it home, that the groceries were kept dry enough in his basket, that his father got back home later in the evening.

The monster didn’t care.

Lissan moved his arm out of the way of the teeth in the nick of time and pounded on its snout. Its jaw hit him in the chest and knocked the wind out of him. He gasped for air and hit it again, which only irritated the demon more.

He couldn’t keep it up. How long until the monster simply powered through his blows? How long until his strength ran out? Was he even—

No. He refused to give up; he couldn’t, not until he knew the children made it home safe. He reached for the horns to the sides of his head and pushed himself down, under the mouth, then rolled to the side. He was too slow. The demon yanked the horns out of the ground, catapulting clumps of soil, and clipped him with a tip of one on the shoulder. Lissan rolled further, disoriented, losing coordination. Mud got into his mouth, and he choked on it, his vision going dark. The demon reared and he dragged his legs out of the way of the hooves in the nick of time. The horns came down — he couldn’t tell if one of them speared his bicep or just his sleeve, but he couldn��t move his left arm, and couldn’t get away from the teeth that were so much closer than before.

Please. He choked on his tears.

He raised his right arm across his face. His left tightened into a useless fist, and pain jolted through his arm.

Please, give me something to fight with.

He was going to first lose the arm, then his life.

I want to fight.

The Sword appeared in his clenched right hand out of thin air. His fingers were pushed apart to wrap around a comfortable grip. Its weight dragged his arm further across his body as the tip fell to the ground to his left.

The monster opened its jaw. Lissan slashed up and across, in a wide arc. He ground his teeth, pouring every last bit of his strength into this one attack. His last chance to live. The blade was driven deeper into the demon’s head than he’d anticipated, and black ichor spilled from the wound. Lissan rolled, ducking his head under the monster’s jaw. He heard the liquid sizzle on the ground behind him, moments before the body of the Dark One burst apart, covering him in oily black ash. The demon was dead.

He lived.

The Dark One was dead, and he survived.

He fell on his back and his arm dropped across his chest, his hand still clenching the Sword. He looked up at the weeping clouds, and let the rain wash the demon’s remains from his face. Eventually, he convinced himself that the Dark One was truly gone.

He could have laid there for hours, cold and still. Alive. Exhausted, hurt, but alive. He twitched his hand to pump the air and whoop in triumph, and the Sword weighed it down. Fuck.

It wasn’t that heavy, he supposed, four pounds at most. It was lighter than some axes he’d used, and it had a more comfortable heft to it. He lifted it and took a closer look. The grip was long enough to fit his two hands, and at its end was a detailed wolf’s head the size of a large walnut — a nice counterbalance to the blade. On the other side of his quivering hand was a simple cross-guard, followed by a straight double-edged blade, as wide as his three fingers at its base, tapering towards the tip. It was longer than he’d imagined the Swords from the tales. It also seemed antiquated — city guards in Siltwood carried curved, single-edged sabres, as he recalled. Not that he had much interest in weaponry.

Lissan looked down its length one last time, muttering another curse, closed his eyes, and drifted towards nothingness.

[mjjune]

⭐ share a snippet where a character is the best at something

💙share a snippet where a character falls out of love a little

Ok below is a one snippet from twtr, and one from avof2 !!! enjoy!

⭐ enjoy avery being casually badass as usual from twtr

They laugh, until they see The Queen emerging from the side of the training grounds. The men regain composure and straighten up, and the man with the sloppy stance nods to Avery. “There’s no way, though, really. This bow must be botched.” “It’s top-tier shadow steel imported from the north, then designed by the military’s own smith. How could it be botched?” Wallis shakes his head. Avery approaches, holding out his hand. The soldier hands it to him and he tests out the weight and examines the craftsmanship. Long, shimmering in the sunlight as it should, with the little seal from the northern markets on the lower tip, guaranteeing the steel’s grade and legality. He pulls one of the arrows from the soldier’s quiver, who steps out of the way. With his mother’s form, he pulls back, aims, and releases. The arrow whizzes through the air and pierces the target, dead center. He hands the bow back to the soldier. “It’s fine.”

💙 this is the closest thing i could think of! enjoy painful avof book 2 mild spoilers

He leans in a little closer, so she can smell his metallic yet sweet lavender scent, and whispers, “Do you want me to fix it?” Her heart skips a beat, and she meets his eyes. “I’m not Auri anymore.” Lara lets the memories wash over her from when she spent her time traveling with a very different version of Danny. In that life, they would’ve done anything for each other—run away, thieve, kill. “I would still do it.” Her chest aches, wishing she could summon the feelings she used to have. But she is a different person, and so is he. Yet he is still willing to submerge himself in violence and death to break her chains, just for the memory of what they used to have. She shakes her head, grateful that he is not touching her, for the gentleness of his hands would break her. “No, it is my fight. I will find a way out myself.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

TWTR & AVOF COMBINED TAGLISTS: (message or comment below to be +/-)

@aether-wasteland-s @annetilney @aritany @artbyeloquent @bebewrites @ceph-the-ghost-writer @cljordan-imperium @dogmomwrites @dustylovelyrun @elijahrichardwrites @eventideintrigue @faithfire @flowerprose @forthesanityofstorytellers @garthcelyn @ghafasinej @helioscenic @isabellebissonrouthier @jamieanovels @jezifster @knosium @lexiklecksi @little-mouse-gardens @malimaywrite @marrowwife @mr-writes @macabremoons @perasperaadastrawriting @phantomnations @thyroidhormones @tracle0 @vacantgodling @verba-writing @void-botanist @vollzz @vsnotresponding @wildswrites @wip-nook

[worldstore]

Mueller Pro-Series 10-in-1, 8 Blade Vegetable Chopper, Onion Mincer, Cutter, Dicer, Egg Slicer with Container, French Fry Cutter Potatoe Slicer, Home Essentials & Kitchen Gadgets, Salad Chopper

https://amzn.to/3Up5jdH

The Original Pro Chopper Refined Since 2013 - Another well marketed lower quality white/black model claims to be the original. More restaurants use Mueller than all the others combined because of our quality.. Effortlessly chop, slice, and dice your ingredients with ease using our tough as nails chopper. It's simple to use, set up, and clean, saving you time and energy during meal preparation. Become a kitchen pro with this must-have kitchen tool.

8 Awesome Blades For the Price of 4 - Three different sized chopper blades and 5 interchangeable blades for slicing, julienne, grating & shredding offer the functionality of multiple kitchen tools in just one, highly versatile, kitchen gadget. The high-quality stainless-steel blades will create perfectly chopped onions, tomatoes, and peppers for salsa, or shred an entire cabbage for coleslaw in no time.

Unmatched Quality - Free-up countertop space with the Food Container. Use the Food Holder while cutting small vegetables and fruits. This prevents food from slipping while slicing it. It also makes it clean, safe, and easy to work with. No more hassles of washing and wiping. Dismantle it and just put it in dishwasher. Cleans easily in minutes with the complementary scrubbing fork. Its compact size allows you to store it almost anywhere.

Make Incredible Meals in Half the Time – Busy lifestyles make us fall into the fast-food trap. It can take a lot of time and effort to dice, chop and slice the ingredients of a desired dish. Do not despair. Our multi-functional tool makes this process less time-consuming making it easier to add vegetables to your meals. That being said, you’re less likely to reach for unhealthy options. From now on, enjoy having more time

#Krishna #amazon

#amazon_price

#american #USA #England

#new_York

#FR

#CA

#America

[beantothemax]

“I need someone to stay in the inn with Trousseau. His condition is still unstable, and I fear what he may try to do if left alone.” 

Castti had announced that at dinner that night in the tavern, everyone pausing their meal to look at her. 

She seemed tired, even beyond her normal. She also seemed pale, terribly so. Everyone supposed being exposed to his poison twice would leave some side effects, even if the remnants of it had been melted away by the antidote. 

"I can watch him tonight,” Hikari offered. He had since finished his meal, and was now sipping gingerly on a cup of coffee. He wasn’t quite used to the bitter taste, and had poured a copious amount of cream and sugar in at Thronè’s and Partitio’s suggestion. 

Temenos gave him an odd look, and Osvald’s face twitched, but no one else gave any sign of reluctance at Hikari’s offer. Castti smiled, nodding. 

“He’s in the room with the blue ribbon on the door handle. Knock twice before you enter, so he knows you’re with me. He’s... still a tad jumpy.” 

Which was how Hikari, Prince of Ku, found himself standing in front of a door with a blue ribbon on the handle, nervous as the seven hells to even knock. 

Finally, though, he steeled himself and raised his fist to the door. Once, twice, and then silence. 

A face appeared in the doorway. His red eyes were even redder from blood, his pupils mere pinpricks even in the light of the corridor. 

“Are you with the Chief?” The man asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. Hikari nodded. 

“I am. My name is Hikari. You can trust me- I come unarmed,” he said, and the door opened enough for Trousseau’s full figure to stand there. 

He looked terrible. He was sickly pale, thin as a twig, and looked as though he was on death’s doorstep, ready to walk through at any time. 

“...Why have you come?” Trousseau asked, and Hikari offered a smile, holding up Agnea’s basket. It was filled with fresh fruits from the market, as well as some baked goods gifted to them by grateful villagers. 

“I have a gift,” Hikari said, and Trousseau fell silent, staring fixedly on the basket. It was a bit unnerving, the sudden stillness, but Hikari planted his feet. He wouldn’t be going anywhere unless Trousseau himself turned him away. 

Thankfully, that didn’t happen. Trousseau stepped aside, allowing Hikari to enter. 

The room was dim, and smelled of herbs. He recognised a few, rosemary and sage. He also recognised the scent of sleepweed and grape leaf, though they were fainter. 

“I apologise for the smell. I was merely-” 

“They’re healing herbs, are they not?” Hikari asked, then became acutely aware of how he just cut the aopothcary off. 

Trousseau didn’t seem to mind (or if he did, he said nothing of it), as he nodded. “Yes. Rosemary and sage help with breathing. Sleepweed and grape leaf are rather self-explanatory, I believe.” 

Hikari said nothing else, simply content to set the basket down on the table, and observe Trousseau as he sank into a chair and took a pastry from the basket. 

“How many days has it been since you’ve last eaten, Trousseau?” Hikari dared to ask, and Trousseau remained silent, pondering and chewing. 

“...Two days ago, I believe.” 

“Two days-!? How has Castti allowed you to go so long without food?” Hikari asked, shocked. Trousseau gave a weak smile. 

“I lie to her. In truth, I do not think myself worthy of being saved. Our dear, sweet Chief thinks differently, however. As evidenced by your presence.” 

Hikari had foolishly thought, a moment ago, that Trousseau would not surprise him anymore. Once again, he was wrong. 

“Oh, yes. I know Chief sent you. She fears I may put a knife or such in my breast, and sent you to keep me from doing as such. Chief may be foolish to allow me to live, but she is not foolish in knowing how to keep me alive.” 

The calmness of Trousseau’s voice as he spoke sent a chill down Hikari’s back. 

“Trousseau... Why do you think yourself deserving of death?” He asked, and Trousseau laughed bitterly. 

“Have you no recollection of what happened two days ago? Did the Chief not tell you the tragedy of Healeaks? I killed them, Prince Hikari, every last one of them in Healeaks, and I would have done the same to Timberain had I not been stopped by Chief. I deserve more than death, but instead I’m being treated like another one of Chief’s patients.” 

Hikari frowned, chest tight. No one deserved death, not even the most vile of men. Especially not a man who seemed to be choking on his regret. 

“Do you regret what you’ve done? Have you any sorrow for the ones whose lives were lost?” 

Trousseau went still, then nodded. 

“I wish I could give my life for theirs. I have no life left to live, and they did. Sally, Temm... Eir’s Apothecaries. Andy, Randy, Elma... Malaya. All dead because of me. Why should I be allowed to live while they roll in their graves?” 

Hikari placed a hand over Trousseau’s. 

“Your regret is proof enough that you do not deserve death. If you were truly the monster you fear you are, you would not feel regret. You would take joy in their deaths.” 

Trousseau winced as though in pain. “I once did. I thought I was saving them.” 

“But you have changed. Monsters do not change, Trousseau. You are good, I swear it.” 

Trousseau fell silent, and soon Hikari found that he had fallen asleep. 

Hauling him into bed, draping a blanket over him, and extinguishing the lantern, Hikari sighed. 

“Sleep well, Trousseau.” 

waugh…. they… if I think about them too much I immediately explode

let the boy have a little fucking treat!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he deserves it!!!!!!!!

MAVVIE YOU CANT START ON THE REGRET STUFF AGAIN I WILL DIE IMMEDIATLY

VARIOUS NOISES OF DISDAIN