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illyrianbitch · 6 months ago

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An Education in Malice — Part Four

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ heavy making out and wandering hands, lots of bickering, sexual tension, threats, name calling, torture and wound descriptions, abuse, two emotionally dysregulated cunts tbh

Word Count: 7.7k

←Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The air between you and Azriel had taken on a peculiar tension lately, some overwhelming, suffocating force that made you feel entirely too nervous for your comfort.

Neither of you could ever pinpoint who made the first move— or rather, neither of you were willing to admit who did— but somehow, like clockwork, your dress was hiked up, his leathers were undone, and he was rutting into you from behind. It was always the same: a possessive grip on your waist, in your hair, or on your breasts, breath hot against your ear as he whispered words that only fueled the fire between you, responses to whatever comments you had made to rile him up.

It had become a distraction, this strange dynamic you created, that even Renard's interrogations had taken a backseat in lieu of it. It was proving increasingly difficult to get work done between fighting or fucking.

The chamber was a dismal pit, darkness swallowing any hint of light that dared to enter. Moisture clung to the walls like a thick veil– the dirty, fetid atmosphere was tainted with the unmistakable stench of blood and other bodily fluids. You wrinkled your nose in disgust.

Azriel approached Renard, head cocking slightly to the side as his shadows danced around him— seemingly curious, excited almost. A twisted sense of satisfaction grew within you at the sight of Renard's pitiful state—starving, bloody, bruised, and desperate.

Perhaps you should have felt some semblance of remorse or pity; even with how cruel Renard was, a compassionate soul should still feel a sense of guilt, a sense of sickness. But as you searched your body for it, as you attempted to muster it up, you came up empty handed. Instead, a rush of power surged through you. It felt like karma– well deserved karma.

You glanced at Azriel. There seemed to be a mirrored expression of satisfaction on his face, an unphased coolness to the situation before him. Even his shadows seemed at home, falling into familiar, rehearsed positions as he moved. Deep down, something within you rested at the realization that he felt no remorse, either.

“Is your plan to just stare at him until he confesses his secrets?”

Azriel could already anticipate the scowl on your face from the tone of your voice alone. He slowly turned his head to toss an unamused glare your way, hazel eyes momentarily scanning your figure.

For the first time since this arrangement had begun, you were clad in something different, a departure from the usual dresses that adorned your form. The ensemble was a blend of regality and practicality, more akin to the attire of a warrior than a courtly lady— fitted pants and a tailored tunic, fabric adorned with subtle embellishments of autumn. It seemed as if Azriel wasn’t used to the sight yet— or he was entirely repulsed. You weren’t sure which, but you didn’t quite care, either.

When his eyes met yours again, you gave him an impatient eyebrow raise, nodding towards Renard’s limp body. “Are you done checking me out yet?”

Azriel’s stare remained on you for a few more moments before he followed your line of sight back to the male before him.

“Maybe if I didn’t have an incessant pest over my shoulder, I would be more successful.”

You stepped closer to him, a faint smell of night-chilled mist and cedar reaching your nose. “Maybe if you were actually good at anything besides harboring a grudge, you would’ve already been successful.”

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t so much as toss a glance your way as he responded, “Being a hypocrite isn’t a look fit for a lady.”

You let out an angry breath.

Too much time had passed with Renard missing. Soon enough, your father was bound to get suspicious— and Eris was bound to get worried as well. There wasn’t any doubt that Renard didn’t know much, not only because your father was a paranoid ruler, but because he failed to plan ahead more often than not. You didn’t need much information. All you needed was an idea of what Beron was planning, some inkling. Once you knew that, you could easily prevent it and ensure he didn’t gain any more power— ensure that Eris was set up to successfully overthrow him.

But Azriel seemed to be taking his time, attempting to get other information about your court that could prove useful for the Night Court.

“I think we’ve already established I’m past that title.”

Azriel looked at you. “Clearly.”

An all-too familiar simmering prickled at your skin and you clenched your jaw, matching the intensity of his glare with one of your own.

Renard let out a weak chuckle, blood staining his teeth as he lifted his chin.

“Listening to you two bicker is almost worse than the actual torture. You’re like a married couple. It’s pathetic.”

Azriel’s head snapped towards the male and a growl rumbled through the room. “Watch your mouth.”

But Renard only sneered, turning his bloodshot eyes to Azriel. “Big bad Shadowsinger, always lurking in the dark. Afraid to face your own inadequacies in the light, boy?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, tendrils of shadows now swirling around him, agitated, buzzing with a need to move. Renard offered a sickly, bloodied grin as he observed their movement. “No wonder you hide behind those shadows—they're the only things that can stand being around you.”

There was a pause as Azriel’s gaze grew predatory. And then a small, involuntary sound left your lips.

It surprised you as much as it did Azriel, who turned to look at you with a furrowed brow and growing scowl. Your eyes widened a fraction at the sound, and within seconds, you let out a laugh.

The softness of it felt sinful, felt completely and utterly wrong— and something rippled throughout Azriel’s body at it, dug its way deep down into him until his wings felt slightly limp. From around his arms, his shadows slowed, coming to a curious, awe-filled stop. They began whispering, but he paid no attention. He pushed the foreign sensations away, his surroundings registering in his mind as he scowled.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

You shook your head, another laugh escaping your lips at his face, contorted in frustration— in an irritated confusion of being so caught off guard. His wings flared out, twitching slightly in response to the repeated sound. “Nothing,” you said, “Your life just may be more pathetic than I thought if you’re getting psychoanalyzed by the male you’re torturing.”

Azriel’s irritation deepened as a grin grew on your face. “Shut up.”

A weak scoff drew your attention back to the bound male next to you.

“You shouldn’t be laughing, princess.” Renard’s eyes gleamed with malice as he shifted his gaze to you. “Pretending to be tough, but the only reason you’re here is because you’re too weak to do anything on your own. Everyone knows Beron’s little girl is just a pathetic, needy bitch.”

The laughter died in your throat almost instantly, jaw clenching as your amusement quickly faded into a red haze of annoyance. A flame flickered at your fingertips.

“Careful,” you warned. You moved to take a step towards Renard, but Azriel’s hand shot out instantly, stopping you with a firm grasp around your arm.

You glanced down at where his hand met your body before pulling yourself away with a scowl. “Can you just do your job so we can kill him already?”

Your voice had a bitter, agitated edge to it now, a drawl that sounded more whiny than it did threatening. Azriel folded his arms, a gleam in his eyes as he responded with a mocking, “Why? Did he hit a nerve?”

You growled, watching as the edges of his lips turned up slightly— just enough for you to notice, just enough for that hint of an arrogant smirk to bother you.

“I think I preferred when you stayed quiet and sulked in your shadows.”

Azriel continued to stare at you, the ghost of a smirk still plastered on his face. A sense of annoyance prickled at your skin, mixed with something that tasted nauseatingly like embarrassment. Faintly, you felt the rush of heat threatening to spread to your cheeks.

You clenched your jaw harder, gaze flickering from Azriel’s amused face to Renard’s bruised, snickering one. You landed back on Azriel with a sneer.

“Wipe that stupid look off your face before I do it for you.”

Azriel watched in amusement as you stormed off, disappearing with another huff of annoyance and a vulgar gesture over your shoulder.

Renard turned to him with a vile grin. “I have to ask. What’s she like, Shadowsinger? We’ve all wanted to fuck her. I bet she’s just as desperate in bed as she is—”

Azriel's expression darkened instantly, shadows swirling violently around him as he flared his wings out, poised and deadly. He held Renard by the throat, grip unyielding, siphons glowing angrily. His voice was deadly calm as he muttered, "I warned you to watch your mouth."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Only a couple hours had passed when Azriel found you again in the Spring Court, standing in the small house he’d grown strangely accustomed to.

“You're here.”

You glanced over your shoulder, a sarcastic smile tugged at your lips. "Great detective skills on your part. Think you could use those with Renard?"

Unphased, Azriel rolled his eyes, the motion barely perceptible but unmistakable to someone who had spent as much time with him as you had. He moved with silent grace until he was standing right behind you, shadows hovering over his shoulders.

"What's all this?"

His tone was flat as he took in the various items you had strewn across the table.

You shrugged, not bothering to turn around. "I brought some things so I wouldn’t need to keep going back and forth."

You could feel his presence behind you, the warmth of his body caressing over your skin as he leaned closer. Azriel's gaze landed on a leather-bound notebook among your belongings.

"What's the notebook for?"

You stared at it for a moment, gingerly picking it up in your hands. There was a smirk on your lips as you turned to face him, face seemingly innocent and sweet.

"All my private thoughts and hopes and dreams. At night, I sit with it and write in cursive letters, 'I hope the shadowsinger shuts the fuck up and stops being nosy.'"

Your voice started light, teasing, but as you finished the sentence, your expression hardened into a glare. Azriel seemed anything but amused, and a muscle feathered in his cheek. He gave no verbal response, opting to keep his gaze trained on you until you let out a huff of annoyance.

He’d collected certain observations of you over the past few weeks.

You rolled your eyes in almost every conversation he held with you. You smelled like a crackling fire and forest pine branch, something so similar to fresh fall air. He’d seen you sneer more than he’d ever seen you smile— which was once, today, as Renard commented on his shadows and apparent self-loathing. But most of all, you hated prolonged eye-contact. It made you angry, frustrated— flustered even. Azriel wouldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt every time he watched your jaw clench, watched the tinge of pink appear on the apple of your cheeks.

“What?” You snapped, glaring at him through your lashes.

“Any particular reason you're more insufferable than usual?”

An eye roll. “Bite me.”

“Hmm.” A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Do you want me to?”

Your mouth parted for a fleeting second. And then you scowled, nose scrunching at the movement. “I brought this to keep track of everything I find out about my father and Koschei.” You shoved the journal into Azriel’s chest with a little more force than necessary.

Azriel frowned, catching it effortlessly. His shadows flowed to his fingers, gliding across the cover as he flipped it open. He glanced at you through his lashes, a single brow arching in question. “This is empty.”

“Point proven,” you shot back, “Go back to Renard and find something useful. We’re running out of time.”

He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders back, and narrowed his eyes at you. “I wasn’t aware we were on a deadline.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek. Another sigh of annoyance left your lips. "Beron is bound to realize that Renard isn't on some drunken bender anymore. He's going to come looking. I don't want there to be anything for him to find."

Azriel's lips quirked in a small, humorless smile. "I think I'm capable of hiding a trail or two."

"Are you sure about that?" You narrowed your eyes. "Because you barely seem able to get Renard to do anything besides read you like a boring, sad, self-loathing book."

Azriel let out a scoff, glancing to the side as he threw the journal back onto the table behind you. You clenched your jaw at the movement, at the sound of the thud it created as it fell onto the wood.

"Your insults are getting weaker, princess. Maybe you should take some lessons from him."

"Shut up," you snapped, the words coming out more petulant than you'd intended.

He crossed his arms across his chest. Your eyes fell to his hands, to the siphons that beamed with color in front of you. His shadows followed the movement, gliding down his forearms and around his wrists.

“What would happen if Beron found out you were sneaking around? That you were holding Renard?”

His voice drew your attention back to his face, where his eyes were narrowed in on you in a deep, curious, almost unsure gaze.

Your answer was swift, no hesitation. “He would kill me.”

Azriel wasn’t quite sure why his body reacted the way it did, why he felt himself flinch, why his wings seemed to twitch in discomfort. Whatever the reason, you noticed the reaction immediately, noting how his brows seemed to furrow ever-so-slightly—- a motion nearly minuscule for the normal eye, but you were talented at picking up these things. Years of blending in gave you such abilities— and weeks around Azriel made it easier to read his tells.

There was a feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t make out yet, but it was heavy and made you antsy. You broke eye contact, dropping your eyes to the ground as you absentmindedly kicked your shoe at some tracked-in dirt.

“Don’t act so surprised,” you said nonchalantly, “My father has no ties to me beyond the unfortunate blood in my veins. I’m a bitch to be bred by the highest bidder.”

Something tightened in your chest as you paused for a moment. You blinked away the images that were flowing in through the corners of your mind. “I’m not worth any extra hassle.”

A silence followed. Your gaze was still on the ground, still on your black boots and the floor beneath you. A faint motion caught your eye and you watched as a tendril of Azriel’s shadow drifted to the ground— cascading down his ankle before it fell to the ground, stopping at your feet.

“I’d say,” Azriel murmured.

His words ran through you like a cold chill.

Azriel watched as something dark and fleeting passed through your eyes. You stood up straight, dropping your hands to grip the edges of the table as you leaned the small of your back against it. The faint smell of something burnt lingered in the air.

You tilted your head at him, gaze flickering between his eyes. And then a mocking, sly grin pulled at the edges of your lips. It felt unnatural. “Says the man who fucks me in the forest like a starved beast.”

Azriel’s hands slowly dropped from his chest. He took a step forward. A sense of tension crackled in the shared air, and you felt it within your stomach— a small flicker of fire.

“You let me.”

You shrugged. Heated pooled in your veins. “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

Azriel’s lips curled into a smirk, and his hand reached out to trace up your arm. You tightened your grip on the edge of the table as the touch traveled through your skin. “It doesn’t bother you that it’s me?”

There was something inherently dangerous about the way he spoke, about the taunting, accusatory tone his words now dripped with. He traced the movement of his hand with his eyes, continuing a path up your arm.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

His eyes flickered up to yours. You took a deep breath.

“Truthfully?” He leaned in closer. “I loathe it.”

His movements momentarily stilled, but you felt his shadows continue the path he’d started, felt as they slowly snaked up your arms.

“Yet you keep coming back.”

His eyes darkened, and then he let out a soft, cool hum. “A good fuck is a good fuck.”

By now, you were inches apart, the space between you a thin, taut with a suffocating tension that made it hard for you to breathe. His shadows slithered around you, caressing your skin so delicately you could’ve sworn it mimicked a lover's touch— their darkness wrapping around your neck, weaving themselves through strands of your hair.

You bit your lip, and Azriel's hand moved to your mouth, the pad of his thumb slowly pulling your bottom lip down. "You said you don’t care about Koschei,” he murmured, “That you just want to help your family.”

He released your lip, thumb resting on your skin as he held your chin in his hand. He titled your head to his line of sight. “But Eris doesn’t know about Renard.”

"No, he does not.”

Your voice was quieter now, a low, soft tone that made Azriel almost groan in response. The feeling went straight through his body, coiling in his stomach and making his cock twitch.

"Would he disagree with the methods?"

Azriel’s lips were inches from yours, the space between you practically nonexistent.

You frowned at the question, feeling your chest tighten as his mouth hovered near yours. Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the table turned iron, feeling the chipped wood beneath your fingertips.

"He would disagree with me interfering so boldly with my father.”

"Because it would get you killed," Azriel stated.

"Yes.”

His nose brushed against yours, and he met your gaze as his hand moved to wrap around the base of your neck.

"You’re willing to continue this even if it risks your life?"

You felt strangely exposed, naked in a way that you’d never felt before— not even when your clothes had been torn off and he was deep inside you, hands roaming your naked skin with a scorching touch and a ravenous mouth. This felt intimate. You didn’t like it.

You traced the features of his face, his gaze still laser-focused on you, intense and wanting. He had a few freckles across his cheeks that you’d never noticed, and the flecks of green in his eyes were overshadowed by his dilated pupils. You took a deep breath, finding the courage to meet his heavy gaze once more.

"Wouldn’t you do something similar?"

Azriel paused. A sense of conflict passed through his eyes as he pulled back slightly, just enough to scan your face entirely.

"No," he finally said. He hesitated for a moment. "I’d do the exact same thing."

There was a beat of silence. You stared at one another, breaths turning heavy, ragged. Your heart thundered beneath your ribs. Before you could come to your senses, you closed the distance between you, wrapping your hands around his neck to pull him into you. Azriel responded eagerly, mouth slotting over yours with a natural, practiced ease.

His hands fell from your neck, tracing down your waist until his palms gripped your hips, pulling your body further into his own. You let out a sound of pleasure at the feeling, at how his hands explored you, how the heat of his body seared against yours. You melted into his touch.

Azriel’s lips trailed along your jawline, and with a guttural groan, he suddenly spun you around, pulling you back against him with a possessive force, his arousal pressing hard into your beck.

The sudden change in position only fueled the haze in your mind and you placed your hands over his, following as he roamed over your curves. You threaded your fingers through his, roughly guiding his palm up your chest, moving to cup it over your breast.

His lips nipped at your ear from behind.

"This change in wardrobe is interesting," he murmured, voice husky and rough with a delicious sense of desire.

You tilted your head slightly, reveling in the feeling of his breath against your skin. "Don't like it?"

He chuckled lowly, his hands cupping your breast roughly. “Don't particularly favor how difficult it seems to take off."

The sensation of his touch sent a rush of heat coursing through you. Every inch of you burned with need— an all-consuming, humiliating need.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned into his touch, head falling back onto his shoulders as his lips found the skin beneath your ear.

You raised a hand to tangle your fingers into Azriel’s hair, your eyes opening once more as his touch grew hungrier, rougher.

The view of the table slowly came into focus. Your gaze fell to the notebook, its empty pages seemed to mock you with their blankness, and you blinked as a sense of sanity washed through you like a cold tide.

With a jolt, you pushed yourself away from Azriel, prying his hands off your body as you broke the heated embrace.

Azriel blinked, shadows rushing back to him as if startled by the sudden pull away. His hair was tousled, lips still tingling from the kiss.

"What is it?" he asked, breathing heavy.

You took a moment to compose yourself, patting down your disheveled hair with quick hands. "I’m bored. This isn’t doing it for me," you lied. You swallowed as Azriel’s stared at you with a furrowed brow. "Just go work on Renard."

You left no room for him to respond. Within the blink of an eye, you had disappeared from Azriel’s sight.

His hands ran through his hair, attempting to shake off the lingering effects of the moment with you. The air still felt suffocating, still smelled of you and the sweet, addicting scent of your arousal. He scowled to himself.

His shadows slowly moved down his frame, falling to the ground and gliding across the floors. His eyes fell down to their movement, watching as they wrapped around a foot of the table, as they made their way up to the tabletop.

He squinted at where they landed, reaching a finger out to the area that they traced. There, etched into the wood, was a faint outline of a burnt handprint— a perfect replica of your palm.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Even with the familiar scene of pine and earth, returning home to the Forest House– to your court— never brought you a sense of comfort. But today, with the heat of your blush still spreading through your cheeks, you welcomed the quiet, empty halls.

The soft patter of paws drew your attention as Laney approached with her head lowered. A small smile grew on your lips as she nudged you with her wet nose, but quickly the smile dropped as a small whine escaped her.

Kneeling down, you gently ran your fingers across her coat. "What's wrong, girl?"

She only nudged your hand once more and turned, leading you deeper into the house.

A sense of foreboding settled over you as you followed her through the corridors. Your steps quickened when you spotted Flint lying outside Eris’s room. The dread in your chest grew heavier. Eris had a special connection to Flint. There were only a few situations in which he’d refuse the company.

Your face fell as you pushed the door to Eris’s room, heart clenched at the sight before you.

Eris sat on a small, velvet bench at the end of his bed, his head snapping back to the sound of his door opening. His expression quickly softened when he met your eyes, and you watched as his shoulders slumped. “It’s just you.”

You gave him a small nod as he turned back around, your gaze falling to the blood-soaked shirt he wore, the crimson color spreading throughout the thin fabric. Flint and Laney pushed past you, paws pattering on the ground as they entered the room. A heavy feeling settled in your chest, something entirely dark and queasy.

Eris grumbled as Flint neared him. “Shit. Y/N, close the godsdamn door.”

“I-” You snapped out of your daze, quickly closing the door before rushing over to him, gently pushing the hounds aside. “I’m sorry.”

You sat down next to him. “They just want to help you,” you said quietly.

Eris sighed, a deep, weary sound. “I know. I just—”

Your eyes wandered to the hounds who had settled down nearby. Such regal, cunning, smart creatures. You’d never think them caring enough to sense such pain, yet here they were, eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the situation. Flint let out a small whimper, laying his head on his paws.

You looked back at Eris, slumped with his head in his hands, spine curved in a manner that made his wounds pour deeper into his shirt. A similar thought made its way through your mind. Your brother, regal and intelligent, a male who carried so much, who bore his father’s wrath time and time again– a male with a warm heart somewhere deep within the anger he radiated. The heavy feeling in your chest grew, began to fester into something fighting between fury, loathing, and suffocating sadness.

“What happened?”

Eris didn’t lift his head, voice muffled by his hands. “He found me talking to my men. It wasn’t anything. Wasn’t about Koschei, wasn’t even about him.”

There was an exhaustion in his voice that dripped with every word.

“He was feeling particularly upset today,” Eris finished as he lifted his shirt, revealing the full extent of the damage. The lashes were deep, and you could see the dark, almost blackened edges where your father’s special concoction had seeped into the wounds. Eris bit back a groan, jaw clenched tightly.

That heavy feeling in your chest turned hot, burning— all consuming. So many things ran through your mind, overwhelming, crushing floods of emotions drowning your senses.

You registered the anger first, the empty, crushing pressure of it, a feeling you’d grown too familiar with. Anger at your father, at the situation you were all trapped in, at the sheer unfairness of it all.

And then it was guilt. Dark, suffocating, guilt. Renard missing had probably put your father on edge. Not only had you lied about it, kept it a secret, but you hadn’t been there when Eris needed you most. Instead, you’d been entangled with Azriel, a male who had no respect for you, for your family, who would so willingly watch your brother suffer. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There was nothing you could say, nothing that would make this situation okay, that would take away Eris’s pain– that would prevent it from happening all over again. You swallowed.

“Eris-”

He lifted his head and turned to you a resigned expression, eyes slightly wide with desperation. "I’m going to call it all off. We can’t meet with them now, not for a while.”

You didn’t need to ask for clarification, you already knew who he was talking about, what alliance he was referring to. You shook your head. “No, we need-”

"It’s too dangerous," he interrupted, voice urgent and pleading. "He’s watching everyone more closely now. If he finds out you're involved, I don't know what he'll do."

You shook your head faster, a hard sense of determination flaring in your chest. "We can’t, I can't. I need to figure something out. I need to help you."

Eris sat up straighter, grimacing at the motion as he reached out, his hand finding a firm but gentle on your wrist. "You need to stay safe, Y/N. Please. Nothing else matters."

You looked at him, brows furrowed and throat tight. Your strong, protective brother now reduced to pleading with you. You took a deep, ragged breath. “It all matters. I need to help you, okay? I need to make sure you have the upper hand."

Eris just shook his head, shook it so firmly and desperately that you could’ve sworn he was a teenager again, hand on yours as he scolded you for breaking something.

"Please," he repeated, his voice breaking. “Just listen to me."

A wave of helplessness washed over you, and now you felt small again, felt as if you’d shrunk in place. Your mind traveled back, throwing you into memories where you’d hide away from your father, fearing his disappointed hand, desperate for approval but receiving only pain. The same feeling bubbled in your chest.

You swallowed hard. "I can't just stand by and do nothing."

Eris's eyes softened. "You want to help me? Stay safe.”

You frowned, biting the inside of your cheek. The words you wanted to say caught in your throat. You couldn’t promise him that. You couldn’t lie. So instead, you turned your attention to his back, to the angry wounds that marred his skin.

"Here, let me help you," you murmured. He gave you a long look, then nodded, slowly moving his body to expose more of his back to you.

You moved your hand to his back. Heat surged through you, flickering at your fingertips. Your hands shook, trembled as you attempted to focus. You tried to channel it, to control that divine fire within you, but the energy was wild and unsteady. A self-loathing bite gnawed at you.

"I can't—" you whispered, the words laced with frustration.

Renard’s's taunting voice echoed in your mind. Too weak to do anything on your own.

Eris turned to look at you again, calm words breaking through the rising storm you felt inside your chest. "It's okay,” he said, “I can do it."

"I'm sorry.”

He shook his head at you, a small smile gracing his features. “There's nothing to be sorry for.”

There was something about the fact that he was able to smile, that he pulled such a gesture out for you, that made the bitter loathing inside of you spread even faster.

"Just stay with me?” Eris asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Of course.”

With one hand, he held yours, and the other twisted over his back. You watched as his own hands began to heat up, glowing with a controlled, steady flame.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

All you felt was anger. All you saw was red.

Memories flashed in your mind, one after another. Eris’s bloodied wounds and the far-off look in his eyes, your mother hid away from the world and the echoes of her crying, being forced to clean the floors of your brother’s blood, your paralyzing inadequacies. It all twisted inside you, each image wrapping itself around your ribs, wounding itself tight enough to make you struggle to breathe.

You weren’t sure how you got here, but the smell of blood in the air tasted sweet on your tongue. Renard lay slumped in the metal chair. Despite his appearance, a mocking grin spread across his split lips as you entered.

“Come back for more, have you?”

The sight of him, significantly more battered than the last time you’d seen him, brought a welcomed sense of satisfaction. At your sides, you clenched your fists until they were white.

“I’m done playing,” you said, your voice a low, dangerous growl. “Tell me what you know.”

Renard’s grin widened, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I'm trembling in fear,” he mocked, “What's a dolled-up whore like you going to do?”

Something inside you snapped.

With a snarl, you lunged forward, hands slamming down onto the metal chair. All the anger, all the pain, everything you’d been holding back, surged through you. The metal beneath your palms began to heat up, the sensation almost soothing in its intensity— cathartic, even.

Renard’s eyes widened. “I already told you both, fuck, I already gave you all I know!” he shouted, painful groans leaving his mouth as the hot metal below him began to bite at his exposed skin. “We don’t know anything.”

“You’re a liar!”

In the back of your mind, you grasped at your resolve, grasped at the strength you needed to keep your desperation hidden— all attempts proved futile. You grabbed Renard’s neck, fingers digging into his flesh as a simmering heat radiated down your arm. “Tell me what you know!”

Renard’s screams filled the room, his body writhing in agony. “I don’t—” he choked out, voice hoarse with pain. You stared at your hand, stared at the flicker of flames that began had to grow, watched as they moved to Renard’s skin–

But before the flames could fully spread, black smoke enveloped your wrist, wrapping around it with a smothering, extinguishing touch.

Not smoke—shadows.

A hand grabbed you next, pulling you back with a rough hand.

You pulled against the familiar grip. “Let me go, you foul-bred animal!”

Azriel’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You struggled against him, but his hold was firm.

Within a blink, you were winnowed to an open area in the forest, the sudden transition leaving your senses reeling. A cool breeze brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You blinked. And then you pushed Azriel off, staggering back with the force of the motion. Your heart pounded with residual fury, a trickling sense of adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

“What do you not understand about 'let me go'?” you spat, “Is there something in those bat genetics of yours that makes you lose brain functioning at random intervals?”

Azriel’s didn’t budge. “Do not go back there.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Shadowsinger. I think it’s time I handle this on my own.”

“Handle it?” he echoed, his shadows curled at his fists. “You were about to burn him alive, losing control like some child throwing a tantrum.”

The color drained from your face. “And you’re the expert voice on self-control?” The taste of resentment lingered on your tongue, sour and sickly familiar. “Where was this energy when you slaughtered and tortured my brother’s men? When they were being controlled, when they knew nothing?”

Azriel’s wings twitched almost imperceptibly. Your voice fell slightly to a tone lower, more raw.

“Was what I was doing truly that bad, or do you only care that it’s me doing it?”

There was a beat. Azriel looked away before finding your eyes again. He shook his head, a small scowl on his face. “What are you implying?”

Something inside you shifted as you stared at him, every detail seemingly magnified, as if your emotions had sharpened your perception at last. You’d noticed this intensity around him, wrote it off as the thrill of an adversary. But you realized now, as Azriel stood before you, that he was something else entirely: a stark embodiment of everything you loathed, everything you sought to avoid, and everything you secretly craved.

He wielded cruelty with impunity, praised for his ruthlessness, while his family basked in the warmth of love and freedom, despite their own moral shortcomings. And now he stood before you, a bastard-born nobody who had stumbled into luck, blind to anything beyond his own skewed perceptions.

There was a defiant, knowing glint in your eyes, as if something had been confirmed— as if that you'd found the answer to some question you’d asked for centuries.

“You are so desperately searching for some confirmation that I am as horrible as you’ve made me out to be.”

Azriel's eyes narrowed slightly. His demeanor remained outwardly composed, a practiced facade of stoicism and indifference, but the glow of his siphons gave him away.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You raised an eyebrow, fists slowly unfurling at your sides. Your breath was more even now.

“I understand more than you think. You’ve been waiting for me to slip, to prove that I’m just like—”

“Beron.”

You paused, slighting flinching at how much contempt was fit into one word.

Eris. You were going to say Eris. Not Beron. Not your father.

A flash of hurt crossed your face and something in Azriel’s chest tightened. His shadows fell into a frozen wreath around his arms.

“Right,” you scoffed, moving to brush past him. “Then I better do a good job and prove you right.”

Azriel stopped you with a casual sidestep, wings flaring out to block your path further. “Do not go back there.”

“I will do whatever the hell I please,” you hissed, meeting his gaze defiantly. There was a burning hatred in your eyes that he’d never felt before, something more foul and rotten than what had been there before.

Azriel’s jaw clenched even further as he let out an angry breath. The strength of your gaze alone triggered his hand to instinctively wander to the dagger on his hip, to the cool steel of Truth-Teller. His shadows curled around his fingers, threading through them as if calling him back to reality. He blinked, and then pulled his hand away, flexing it as he looked at you once more.

“Why?”

Azriel's voice was probing, his gaze searching— scanning your face with a scrutiny that made you itch.

“Why what?” you snapped back, your tone sharper than you intended, the itch spreading, making you want to pace or scream, anything to shake off his intense stare, to rid yourself of the tightening in your chest.

“You’re desperate. This wasn’t as thought out as you tend to be.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, feeling the sound scrape against your throat. "Because you know me so well?" The words felt like ash on your tongue, a bitter taste lingering in your mouth.

“Yes,” he stated simply, his eyes piercing into yours still. “We’re allies. Explain yourself.”

"I was just trying to pick up your slack and get information." The lie rolled off your tongue naturally.

But Azriel wasn’t buying it. "No, that’s not it," he countered, "We’re working for the same side. There is no reason for you to go off like this."

You gritted your teeth, the pressure making your jaw ache. “We are not working for the same side.”

“We have an alliance.”

His calm demeanor only fueled your frustration. Your hands fell into a familiar position at your side, curled into tight fists, your nails biting into your palms.

“Your alliance with Eris is to support him when he takes over the throne. But when it comes to Koschei, there is no doubt in my mind you’re willing to undermine your allies to get rid of his threat. And in doing so, you’ll endanger me and my family.”

Your voice was rising, the words spilling out in a rush of pent-up emotion. “ I want to— I need to know everything before any moves are made. My brother needs an edge to stay ahead, and he sure as hell isn’t going to get it if he’s playing by the rules and having to defend his every move because of this stupid agreement.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening to near black. “Eris wouldn’t need to defend himself if he wasn’t a vile snake.”

Rage boiled through you, its fiery grip yanking onto your stomach and your chest.The intensity of it casted a hazy glow, distorting your vision with its searing heat.

“I am fed up with your little group thinking that we need to beg for your forgiveness. Tell me, does it get cold on all of that moral high ground? Does the high horse ever get uncomfortable?”

You stepped closer to him, pushing against his chest with your finger, the contact sending a jolt up your arm. Azriel's hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly.

"Perhaps Eris feels the need to beg for forgiveness because of the acts he’s committed.”

“And what has he done? Besides refusing to give in to every whim?”

You tried to yank your hand free, but his grip held firm. Your pulse pounded in your temples, a steady, throbbing beat. You felt that familiar prickling feeling grow across your skin, a simmering fire creeping up your arm.

“He left Morrigan in those woods to die.”

He dropped your hand, the action almost dismissive, as if he couldn’t bear to touch you anymore. You pulled it back into you and took a step back, shaking your head. Of course. The thought echoed in your mind, bringing a bitter realization that settled like a stone in your stomach.

“It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?”

Azriel’s expression hardened, centuries of a grudge etched into every line of his face. His shadows danced around him, dark tendrils coiling and writhing like live fire across his body. You felt it radiating off him in waves— a palpable hatred that made your skin prickle. It was a feeling so intense you wondered how he had managed to lessen it before, how he could bear to be inside you, even with you turned away.

“My brother didn’t put that nail in her. He didn’t touch her at all.”

Azriel’s eyes were hard as steel. “He left her there. Naked, scared, and dying.”

“He gave Morrigan mercy in the only way he knew how.”

“You call that mercy?”

“Yes! Eris was just as much of a child as Morrigan was.”

Every word felt rancid now, burned like bile in your throat, fueled by a protectiveness born from years of standing by your brother's side. You stepped closer to Azriel, not bothering to hold back the flames that now licked at your skin. His shadows coiled around his arms, formed an almost protective barrier around his clenched fists.

“Do you know what my father would have done had Eris touched her, helped her at all? He didn’t take lightly to the disrespect and humiliation she passed. He would have made a public show and slaughtered her. Just as he later did with Jesminda.”

Azriel stayed quiet, stayed eerily still as he watched you. You didn’t expect a response. A new emotion curled itself into your gut, something much heavier than anger, than rage. You thought about Eris, thought about the lashes on his back, thought about how he used to stay awake at night to wander the halls, listening outside of your parent’s chambers in case your mother needed help. You thought about how he’d helped you bury Jesminda, how he’d kept a figurine of Lucien’s to give to you.

No matter what he did, or what you did for him, he would never be free— not truly. Not from his past and the assumptions people have made of him. He would always be cruel. And you, in association, would always be evil. Vile. It was in your family's nature. You felt foolish for thinking otherwise, for not learning how to take your rage and make it something useful, forge it into a weapon, train it like a beast to eat the remaining shreds of your empathy.

Eris deserved better. He was better than Rhysand. He was better than the male that stood before you.

"But none of this matters to you," you continued, your voice tinged with bitterness and resignation. "Even if it's the truth.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. You didn’t need further confirmation that your words held true. He would never accept a version of that night besides his own, because a version that included the truth would force him to see Eris as something other than a wicked, evil male. As long as your brother was worse than Azriel, as long as there was someone worse than him, he’d never have to face the fact that he wasn’t as good of a male as he claimed to be.

"You make excuses for your brother, but where are yours?" Azriel finally spoke. "You've done cruel things. You've hurt people. Killed people." His gaze flickered to your fists wreathed in flames. "Burned them alive," he added.

The fire at your arms grew in response to his words. You cocked your head. And then you ignored him. "You threatened my life. At that High Lord’s meeting— you lost control, put my brother in a chokehold, and threatened my life."

Azriel's nostrils flared and his siphons began to shine with a dangerous, angry glow.

"I dare you to live up to your word, Shadowsinger," you challenged, taking a slow step towards him. "I'm here. I've been here.” His eyes traced your every movement.

“And yet, you've just fucked me."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a mix of anger and shame that he quickly masked behind a veil of indifference. But you saw it, felt it, reveled in it.

"You're weak, Azriel," you said, voice low and calm. "A slave to your anger, to your impulses, to your High Lord. You have always been weak."

He blinked at the sound of his name falling from your lips, a wave of uncertainty washing through his face. But his eyes stayed on you, still burning, still angry. They simmered hotter now, heavier with a new strain of contempt.

Your breath escaped in a half-hearted chuckle. "It's a pity," you said, shaking your head slightly. Your flame dwindled to a faint firefly glow. "To see such a pretty face marred by blind devotion."

With one final glance, you turned on your heel and winnowed away. You didn’t see Azriel again for two more weeks.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

←Part Three

guys.... the next part is one of my favorites tehehehe cause its mainly just azriels perspective and where his mind is at. PLUS this is where those content warnings start to get lighter :DDDD

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin @serrendiipty

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader angst #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar x reader #malice series

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weirdplutoprince · 10 months ago

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Trauma in Solo leveling

Always haunted by what could have been of Solo Leveling if the narrative acknowledged the inherent trauma vision that guides most of Jin-Woo's actions through the series instead of glorifying him for that.

Like, it is pretty clear to me from the start that a lot of his obsession with self reliance and his increasingly cynical views of the world ("The weak are destined to be betrayed") are a direct response to the double dungeon incident, and in more ways than we initially realize.

I think it's particularly obvious in the way he is paralled with Lee Joohee; while they're both shown to be traumatized from their encounter, Joohee is supposedly 'worse off' than him. She has noticeable flashbacks to that episode and withdraws from life and work in an attempt to avoid possible triggers - becoming paralysed when she fails to do so. And because, while also afraid, Jin-Woo is instead making a point to return to dungeons we are very clearly meant to think that he is moving on when she is not. ...Except that he isn't.

Because, you see, along with withdrawing, the reenactment of a traumatic event is also a very common response to trauma. And so is the risky behaviour that might come with it. And what does Jin-Woo does as soon as he's able to leave the hospital again? Immediately throw himself into dungeons, alone, with a clear disregard for personal safety and an extreme need to both prove himself and give meaning to his near death experience before.

Not only does he goes right back into the very same place his trauma took place, but he seems to subconsciously be trying to recreate said event in a way that gives him control of the situation. This time, he wasn't abandoned to die alone in a dungeon: he did it himself, willingly. He placed himself in that position. And later on, when he risks himself with shady parties he expects to betray him, he seems almost content; once again putting himself in risk by creating a scenario where he is 'abandoned' and 'betrayed' but where he can come off on top. He is desperate to both have his belief confirmed that someone perceived as a weak hunter like he is will always be betrayed, always be left behind, and to fight that supposed fate. To prove that he has 'fixed' this aspect of himself and will thus not fall victim to that consequences of that abandoment again. In fact, he is so detatched from the current scene that he deliberately ignores the fact Yoo Jinho challenges those believes by protecting Jin-Woo, whom he believes to be an E rank at that point.

And were this any other story, all his development from then on would prove the faults of this mindset. The dangers of self reliance, of cutting yourself off from any support network, from depriving himself of any sort of meaningful trust or vulnerability with others. But instead, we're meant to respect the fact he is increasingly isolated from everyone else. That he becomes cold, emotionally withdrawn and paranoid (his refusal to join any of the existing guilds always felt to me like his need for control taken to extreme, plus the fact he could not deal with how exposed he felt working with others again). And I think that's really sad.

It would have been really interesting to have a story that is willing to challenge the notion that he is better off alone, and that trust in others is ultimately unecessary. And that would acknowledged the strength necessary to allow himself to trust and be vulnerable after everything - and the importance of surrounding himself with people he loves and knows will protect him too. Sad 😔

#falando #long post #analysis #manga posting #solo posting #solo leveling #sung jin woo #every day i think of the version of solo leveling that exists in my head #analise

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venussaidso · 11 months ago

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Saturn Dominant Themes — 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟗

In my research, I was delighted to find the magic which resides in the nakshatra Anuradha. Unfortunately, I haven't yet understood Vishakha so I cannot speak on the spiritual journey of Anuradha coming from Vishakha. But there is something about Anuradha that is so powerful that it stands on its own.

This nakshatra literally has the power of transformation (8H) through imagination (mostly occultism but I will be touching a lot on fantasy in this post). It is symbolized by the lotus, a flower that is able to grow in dirty waters as long as there is stillness. This is interesting as I often associate this water sign with a muddy pond-- which would signify Scorpio's ability to navigate through the murky or unseen aspects of life.

In Anuradha, Scorpio uses imagination as a tool to explore themes of humanity or challenge societal norms. Reality can be so harsh for Anuradha that it often escapes to pure fantasies, if not the occult, where they can actually take lessons from other worlds and transform for the better. Here, the still waters represent the real world for Anuradha; reality can be so oppressive and unchanging, and yet the lotus still grows despite its powerlessness over the waters. Their real power is learned from other realms. Here it is imagination that develops the resilience of Anuradha, this resilience and their newfound power signifying Saturn which is the lord that rules over this nakshatra.

The best film to first mention is "Pan's Labyrinth", which is written and directed by Guillermo del Toro who is Anuradha Moon. There is also a book version which was written by him and co-written by Cornelia Funke who is also Anuradha Moon.

The story follows a little girl who lives in the harsh realities of post-war Spain in 1944. She travels with her pregnant mother to go live with a sadistic, psychopathic military officer -- that happens to be her stepfather -- in an extremely isolated area (8H/signs of coming danger).

The little girl discovers a mysterious labyrinth near this remote area, and she meets a mythological creature who reveals to her that she is the reincarnation of the Princess of the Underworld. This faun-like creature then gives her three life-risking tasks to prove herself as the rightful ruler of the Underworld.

A little similar to Alice In Wonderland, as she navigates this magical, fantasy realm in which she encounters many other mythical creatures. Her reality outside remains the same. She still lives under the authority of her evil stepfather who becomes increasingly violent and overbearing. Yet, despite her unchanging reality, the tasks that she was assigned to in the labyrinth prove to be a metaphor of her strength, resilience, and her transformation which helps her face the harsher real world while still retaining her innocence/imagination and morality.

The oppressive figure in her life is something of a prominent theme for Saturn nakshatras so it is interesting how it plays into Anuradha; and how the tasks she was assigned to in this mystical world push her beyond her comfort zone which is Saturn simply refining her through difficulties and the 8H putting her in extremely dangerous situations.

Despite this story being the epitome of Anuradha, I still have some more examples.

The movie "Bridge to Terabithia"; which is about an artistically-driven boy who befriends a girl who is known for her creativity & imagination (played by Anna Sophia Robb who has Rahu in Anuradha). This movie is based on the book with the same name written by Anuradha Moon Katherine Paterson who literally explores the themes of resilience built from imagination to overcome harsh reality.

The two friends team up in creating an imaginary kingdom called Terabithia just in the woods near where they live. This kingdom becomes a place they escape to when they go through extreme difficulties that they as kids are powerless in. They use their imaginations to overcome challenges and build their confidence through.

And, "The Chronicles of Narnia" which was written by C.S. Lewis who was Anuradha Sun.

The story follows the Pevensie siblings during the harsh and challenging reality of World War II. They lived in London but have moved to the countryside due to the bombing raids which have affected their homes. Very interesting how this story also sets in around the times of war where there is loss of all comfort and security -- much like Pan's Labyrinth. Both very 8H themed.

Also, Pevensie siblings are almost all Saturn-ruled nakshatra moons.

And Lucy Pevensie, who is played by Anuradha Moon Georgina Helen Henley, is actually the one who first discovered the world Narnia through the wardrobe (another gateway similar to the labyrinth in the Pan's Labyrinth).

C.S Lewis explored many universal moral and ethical concepts by using Narnia as a sort of playground to take the Pevensie siblings through a journey of self-discovery, redemption, and transformations with many dilemmas they have to face which further builds virtuous character/resilience. They come out all the more wiser and better as people from their journey in Narnia -- and this leads to their eventual crowning as kings and queens of Narnia which further signifies the rewards reaped from Saturn from the total refinement and transformations.

And Aslan, who was voiced by Anuradha Moon Liam Neeson, is an agent of transformation and great influence on each characters' path to growth/redemption.

He encourages virtues such as courage, strength, kindness and sacrifice. His character is very pure, and he even acts as a father figure especially to the youngest sibling, Lucy, who is also Anuradha Moon.

Very interesting how Aslan literally is an important role in the natural order of Narnia as his presence seems to be closely tied with the changing of the seasons and the restoration of harmony in the world of Narnia. This literally bears a resemblance to Lord Mitra's role in maintaining cosmic order and harmony in the universe. Very similarly to Mitra, Aslan embodies virtues like justice and nobility. This character is the embodiment of the retained purity of one's soul in a world full of the push-&-pull of good and evil forces.

Now onto Alice in Wonderland, which was written by Lewis Carroll who was a double Anuradha.

Now, Alice does not seem to come from any hardships at all. She is simply portrayed as a curious little girl whose character still grows in Wonderland. The story shows how she struggles with her identity and fitting in in Wonderland, as this world challenges everything she thought she knew. I did establish that Anuradha seems to use fantasy as a canvas to challenge norms, logic and point to the absurdity of societal norms. These themes are leaning in Ketu territories, and it can validate Scorpio being co-ruled by Ketu as perceptions of reality and the fluidity of truth is often highlighted throughout the story. Especially through the characters Chesire Cat and the Mad Hatter.

A little off topic, but very interesting that Chesire Cat was voiced by Swati Sun Jim Cummings in the 1951 film version and the 2010 version was voiced by Magha Sun&ASC Stephen Fry which is literally just a darker version of the character. This character is very nodal influenced as it understands the madness in Wonderland, shamelessly embracing the absurd nature of the world which may or may not be illusory. (Also, Mad Hatter -- in the 1951 film -- was voiced by Swati Sun Ed Wynn AND Johnny Depp played a darker version of the Mad Hatter in the 2010 film and he has his Ketu conjunct his Moon).

Anyways, Lewis Carroll actually uses the Mad Hatter to shed light on the societal issues of that era. Anuradha utilizing fiction and imagination as a tool to explore Nodal themes would make sense as they have an understanding that the world doesn't really change (but that doesn't stop one from transformation/education). Anuradha is supposed to reject societal norms, but natives can feel really stifled by their reality and even by themselves sometimes.

But this nakshatra literally can unlock the power of bringing imagination to life, which is shown in an obviously exaggerated way in the book "Inkheart" written by Anuradha Moon Cornelia Funke. And the movie based on that was actually directed by Anuradha Sun Iain Softley. This story is about a man, named Silvertongue, who has the ability to bring fictional characters to life from simply just reading a book aloud.

Very interesting that 'Silvertongue' is portrayed by a Jyestha Sun -- Mercury being a function in him speaking things to life.

Now, Anuradha is a Saturn nakshatra which obviously means that the other nakshatras ruled by the same lord will trine it and pick up on very similar themes. So just gonna throw some examples out there.

Like the film "Jumanji" (1995) which starred Pushya Sun Robin Williams who plays a character that got sucked into the world of a mysterious board game since he was a kid. He's brought back to the real world when he's his adult self (Anuradha/Saturn theme of growing and learning survival in another realm) -- but his release comes with the cost of the creatures from the board game being brought into the real-world to wreak havoc. The movie is just a bit similar to Inkheart, in the element of two different worlds colliding; as in Inkheart, the character Silvertongue brings a fictional villain into the real world which leads to a series of dangerous events.

The film "Jumanji" is directed by Joe Johnston who has Rahu in Uttara Bhadrapada and the movie is based on a children's book with the same name written by Uttara Bhadrapada Moon Chris Van Allsburg.

The animated film "Caroline" is written and directed by Anuradha Sun Henry Selick, based on the book with the same name which is written by Pushya Moon author Neil Gaiman.

This story follows a young girl, voiced by Pushya Moon Dakota Fanning, who finds a secret hidden door in the new home she just moved in with her parents. This doorway leads to a parallel world where her 'Other mother' and 'Other father' seem so loving towards her as compared to her real parents who neglect her and are always so busy.

Her 'Other parents' are so attentive to her every desire but as Caroline explores this very twisted reality, she discovers just how sinister 'Other mother' is and the world that was once so perfect to her was actually designed as a trap to keep her there (4H themes). Despite this film having the Anuradha outline of the native finding a doorway to another world, this trope of the evil mother is literally Pushya-coded. Actually, I'll quickly touch on this as this is what I got so far regarding Pushya:

In the film "Tangled", Rapunzel -- voiced by Pushya Moon Mandy Moore -- has been continuously manipulated and exploited by her mother figure, Gothel, who has designed the tower, with which they lived in, as a way to trap Rapunzel in so that she never leaves her side, so that she'll continue exploiting her for the rest of her life. Very obvious that these are Cancer/4H themes mixed together with Saturn -- making the mother the oppressive figure in this Saturnian's life.

I find it interesting that Pushya Sun Gypsy Rose literally identified herself with Rapunzel, having even once said that "Tangled" is her favourite movie. It makes so much sense with what her mother put her through, she literally is Rapunzel in the real world if you think about it.

There is a movie already out that's based on her life events, and she is of course played by a Pushya Sun actress Joey King, in the film "The Act".

Anyways back to Saturn nakshatras being otherwordly; the author of "The Shadowhunters" books is Pushya Sun Cassandra Clare.

There are two media adaptions of her books, and it is fitting that they both star Saturn nakshatra women playing the same character, 'Clary'. At the start of the story, Clary is able to perceive creatures, symbols and buildings invisible to the regular human's eye. She is then involuntarily pulled into a whole new world she didn't think possible, and her character grows from there as she befriends different beings.

In the series version, Anuradha Sun&Moon Katherine McNamara portrays Clary. And the film version, Uttara Bhadrapada Sun Lily Collins plays Clary.

Clary, in the beginning of the story, being able to perceive what any other human couldn't pick up on and being played by both an Anuradha and an Uttara Bhadrapada makes a lot of sense. Anuradha is the truth seeker and Uttara Bhadrapada's deity contains the truths of the world. In the film "The Golden Compass", a young girl discovers a fascinating device, called Golden Compass, which can reveal the truth and answer to any question asked of it.

Any truth she seeks, the answer is always so close. The truth will be easily perceivable to a gifted Saturn nakshatra. The movie of this film is directed by Anuradha Sun Chris Weitz.

Now, my last example. The film "The Neverending Story" is directed by a Ketu in Uttara Bhadrapada native Wolfgang Petersen. The story follows a boy who becomes immersed with a fantasy storybook.

This boy faces hardships in his reality; not only is he bullied at school but he's also experiencing the grief from the loss of his mother. In this film there is no secret doorway that leads to an otherworldly adventure, but the boy becomes deeply engrossed in the fantasy book. He finds himself deeply connecting with the fictional characters, and especially with the events in the book to such an extent that his own life starts to literally intertwine with the storybook.

His life begins to not only reflect but also impact the events occurring in the book. The line between his real life and the story literally becomes blurred. This being a theme in Anuradha which emphasizes the bridge of humanity between other worlds and our "real" world.

Anuradha builds a bridge between extremes that most people don't care to consider in their personal lives. Being under Saturn makes it feel impossible to physically overcome hardships and it is in this nakshatra that there is a theme of finding solace in imagination, but also building oneself from imagination as reality/circumstances can make it impossible to grow. This is a profound lesson from all Saturn nakshatras, but this is the main theme for Anuradha being ruled by the 8H. It is the 8H that makes us go within and explore our own realms and face the shadows of our subconscious mind to come out transformed & elevated -- thus rising above circumstances we were once powerless in. In Anuradha, innocence and purity is retained despite how destructive the 8H/Saturn and the reality it creates is. Again, going right back to the lotus growing in the still, muddy waters.

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doumadono · 1 year ago

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My sincerest congratulations on your milestone, hon! 🎉🥳 I want to request "Realizing they’re falling in love" with Dabi, Hawks, Shoto and Bakugo, if possible in headcanons format

BNHA boys realizing they’re in love - headcanons

A/N: thank you oh so much, love! Your support means the world to me ♥

MASTERLIST

Dabi

Dabi's realization that he's falling in love is marked by an internal struggle. He's fiercely independent and has always believed that emotions are a weakness, so acknowledging his feelings is a battle against his own principles.

His attraction is laced with a sense of danger and forbidden allure. Dabi finds himself drawn to your unwavering determination and willingness to stand by his side, even as he remains shrouded in mystery.

As Dabi falls deeper, his rough demeanor occasionally melts away, revealing a more tender side. He may let his guard down when you're alone, sharing stories from his past or allowing a genuine smile to grace his lips, only for it to vanish as quickly as it came.

He often finds himself lost in thought, pondering whether he deserves happiness or if his actions have forever condemned him to a life of darkness.

He starts paying more attention to the details of your interactions, almost obsessively analyzing every word and gesture. Dabi's internal struggle manifests in his occasional distance, as he battles his own inner demons.

While uncertainties may still linger, he's come to realize that the depth of his emotions is a strength, and that love perhaps has the power to reshape not only his destiny, but also his perception of himself.

Hawks

Hawks' realization that he's falling in love comes with a mix of surprise and intrigue. He's used to navigating complex situations, but matters of the heart have always been a bit of a blind spot for him.

His attraction to you is accompanied by a desire to make you smile. Hawks becomes increasingly attuned to your moods and goes out of his way to provide comfort and support, often resorting to his sense of humor to lighten the mood.

He finds himself seeking out your company not only during downtime but also in the midst of his hero duties. Hawks secretly enjoys your conversations and becomes a master at multitasking, balancing his work and his growing affection.

Hawks' love is built on mutual respect and a shared sense of purpose. He's attracted to your determination and your unwavering belief in the importance of heroism, and he finds himself more drawn to you as you work together to make the world a better place.

Despite his easygoing facade, Hawks experiences moments of vulnerability when he's alone with his thoughts. He questions whether he's capable of reciprocating your feelings and worries about the impact his dangerous lifestyle might have on your potential relationship.

Hawks' journey towards embracing his feelings becomes an integral part of his character development. He learns that vulnerability doesn't equate to weakness and that opening his heart might be his most courageous act yet. As he navigates this new territory, Hawks finds himself on a path of self-discovery, growth, and a deeper understanding of what it truly means to be a hero.

Shoto

Shoto's realization that he's falling in love is marked by a quiet and introspective process. He's used to keeping his emotions in check, so acknowledging his feelings takes time and careful contemplation.

His attraction is rooted in a deep admiration for your strength and kindness. Shoto finds himself drawn to your unwavering support, especially during moments when he grapples with his past and the complexities of his family.

He might leave a carefully selected book on your desk or prepare a warm cup of tea after a particularly challenging day, using his own experiences to empathize with your struggles.

He becomes more open about his own emotions as he navigates his feelings for you. Shoto shares his thoughts about his parents and siblings, his struggles with his dual Quirks, and his dreams for the future, creating a deeper level of understanding between you.

Shoto's love is quiet but steadfast. He's willing to stand by your side through thick and thin, offering his unwavering support and stability even as he continues to grapple with his own inner conflicts.

He finds solace in the simple act of holding your hand or sharing a comfortable silence, allowing your presence to be a source of healing and reassurance.

Bakugo

Bakugo's realization that he's falling in love is met with intense frustration. He's not one to easily acknowledge his emotions, and the idea of being vulnerable in this way infuriates him.

His attraction is laced with a mix of admiration and exasperation. Bakugo finds himself drawn to your ability to stand your ground against him, even as he struggles to come to terms with his own feelings.

Bakugo's expressing his affection through action rather than words. He might go out of his way to train with you, pushing both of you to your limits, or subtly lend you a hand when you least expect it.

He starts showing a more protective side, even if he tries to hide it behind his explosive temper. Bakugo's concern for your safety becomes evident when he's more willing to work as a team and takes extra precautions during battles.

Bakugo's love is fiery and intense. He becomes fiercely loyal and is willing to face any challenge head-on to ensure your happiness and well-being.

Despite his gruff exterior, Bakugo experiences moments of inner turmoil. He's torn between his pride and his growing feelings, leading to inner monologues where he wrestles with his own vulnerability. "Damn it, fucking shit, why does this have to happen? Stupid emotions! I don't have time for this crap!"

Bakugo's gradually letting his guard down in your presence. He might crack a rare smile or engage in playful banter, allowing glimpses of his more genuine self to shine through.

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raayllum · 4 months ago

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What do you think is the narrative, thematic and symbolic relevance of Claudia's amputation and prosthesis?

There's a few, I think, both in how the actual amputation happened, and then how the show handles things with her actual prosthetic.

The amputation:

Claudia is drinking and using a spell that uses her own blood. In arc 2, she increasingly takes on more animalistic forms with her dark magic (snake spell, wings, the tentacles). This mirrors how she's increasingly cannibalizing herself and treating herself as spell parts, as well as themes of fragmentation ("How are we going to move it?" "In pieces" / "We're all that's left of our family, and I'm not going to let anything break us apart" / "Our family was shattered forever"). She may not realize that's what she's doing with herself - dark magic is an extension of herself and her power - but that is what she's doing, hence having a 'dark magic leg' cut off but with real lasting consequences.

There's also the element of Rayla and her brutality that comes into play. Rayla nearly lost a hand in trying to save Zym and usher in peace, which is why she got to - narratively and literally - keep it. Meanwhile Claudia is going down an increasingly dark path, so she loses it, just as her assault on Ibis led her to injure her leg with her dark magic flask. That's not to say becoming disabled is a narrative punishment, but it does showcase how she's putting herself in 1) increasingly dangerous situations for 2) increasingly dangerous people and 3) always by herself. This is contrasted by how the trio wins because they have each other VS Terry (+ Claudia's support system) being regulated to the shore.

Rayla in arc 2 is walking her usual razor's edge of on the one hand being increasingly open and empathetic / letting her compassion shine through - which is a good thing - while being hands down more violent than she was in arc 1. She left to hunt down Viren and recognized it'd gotten twisted into revenge, much like her first mission, and gave this one up without a dragon's egg to change her; she held Terry hostage (although whether she would've hurt him is unknown, but the threat was there!), abandons the drake when Soren doesn't, and cuts off Claudia's leg, etc. We even see this with her actually agreeing to kill Callum if he's possessed again (6x03). All this is, I think, there to create room for the possession plot line to take centre stage in S7 as her own 'dark path' as an assassin will be challenged and likely, finally, put entirely to rest. (Arc 2 opening with her failing to kill a high mage and it's a bad thing vs closing with her failing/refusing to kill a high mage and it's a good thing, probably?) And Claudia represents like the middle road of Viren and Callum in some ways, just as Callum is a middle road between Viren and Claudia -- but meta for another day maybe

On a plot level: it's much harder for Claudia to stop and keep up with Viren if she can't fully walk, and it represents how she's continually sacrificed herself and her body for her family's survival (which dark magic is deeply interested in the idea of "bodies as sites of trauma" but again, meta for another day maybe / adjacent metas in my 'dark magic' tag).

As for her prosthetic:

Claudia has always used magic as a crutch, specifically dark magic. She doesn't have to deal with the big scary feelings permanent consequences or 'brokenness' can bring if she can fix it with dark magic. She can "cure" Soren and bring her dad back from the dead, and she expresses confusion or mistrust when those experiences of being paralyzed or dead undoubtedly affect them and change them, especially when it changes in ways that take them away from her. Because if they're not okay, or not here, then she's not okay. Her using her corrupted Sunforge staff, which at this point just represents dark magic in her life tbh, as a literal crutch is what she's been doing emotionally for a while now, which is also why she takes it with her when she leaves Terry. (The fact that it, much like Claudia, is a corrupted light is just the symbolic cherry on top.)

This isn't too dissimilar in terms of framing of how Callum uses magic as a crutch to distract from / avoid his emotions in S4, and how he drops the staff in order to pick up Rayla's sword to embrace those feelings and embrace her. And why Claudia has a moment of likewise dropping her staff to embrace Terry as well; even if he isn't as critical of dark magic as he arguably could/should be, he is still one of Claudia's guiding lights and wants what's best for her.

The prosthetic, then, represents learning to lean on Terry rather than dark magic (which Terry saving her in 6x04 and her staving off dark magic use also reflects) again, quite literally in 6x03. The prosthetic is the literal creation and metaphorical embodiment of Terry's love and faith for her and his connection to nature/primal magic, all things she sorely needs in her life.

TLDR:

The fact that paths and "every step forward is a choice" and "Daddy look I'm following in your footstep" are continually emphasized, I think Claudia losing a leg made a lot of sense symbolically. I think her prosthetic is also very strong symbolically if very straightforward. S6 honestly gave a lot of signals that she's going to be redeemed and this was one of the biggest to me; I'd expect that prosthetic as a symbol of Terry's love for her will either maintain that hope, or help bring it home (making her remember him if they diverge paths or something) and that we'd only be in a big trouble if it got burned to a crisp tbh

#tdp claudia #raydia #thanks for asking #requests #analysis series #analysis #s6 #arc 2 #inamindfarfaraway #tdp #the dragon prince #tdp meta #claudia

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nahoney22 · 1 year ago

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Hey! Congratulations on 4k followers bestie! I’m going to slide in a Captain Rex request if you don’t mind. Perhaps a steamy & smutty, forbidden love trope with a female Jedi? 😈 I just know you could work some magic! Many thanks of you choose to do this 💖

Hush, Don’t Tell the General***

Captain Rex X F!JediReader

word count: 2k

The tensions were thick after todays mission and you and Rex had to be alone together one way or another.

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Minors will be blocked if i see you interact. Explicit sexual content, explicit language, female reader, established secret relationship, forbidden love, p in v, slightly rough sex, semi-public sex, wall sex, creampie, fingering, dirty talk, praises, fluff but also a little bit of angst if you squint. Pre Order 66.

"Another smooth operation, Anakin," Obi-Wan remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. It was a tone you had grown accustomed to after the countless missions combating the separatist forces that you had been doing with Obi-Wan and Anakin. And given the situation, Obi-Wan's displeasure was quite understandable.

As a Jedi yourself, you’re typically calm and collected as well as precise in your tactics but Anakin was… something else.

The odds had turned grim and a sinking feeling made you wonder if you'd ever even see another day. However, a particular Captain of the 501st, ensured you escaped with minor injuries. Maybe a few bumps and bruises but nothing too severe.

Anakin, ever the defiant one, retorted, "It's not like I anticipated their reinforcements, Master." He paused, rolling his eyes, "But, let's admit it, it was fun ."

"’Fun’ is hardly the word I'd choose," you said, shaking off some dust from your attire.

Anakin smirked, "Well, the mission was a success. Besides, you had Rex and you were out of that building in the nick of time."

As Rex moved closer, you cast him a sidelong glance. "Barely in time to avoid becoming ash," you pointed out.

Rex meets your gaze and something shifts in Rex's expression. Was that anger? Annoyance? Whatever it was, you were certain it wasn’t directed at you.

"Excuse me," you say eventually, pulling away from the intense gaze of the Clone as well as the incessant bickering of General Kenobi and his Padawan, "I need some fresh air."

Rex's watchful eyes follow you, and you offer a fleeting glance back with a hint of a smile before you're enveloped by the cooling evening.

Wandering the perimeter of the Jedi temple that evening, your mind is seemingly in the clouds as the setting sun paints long shadows on the ground.

But then, you sense a presence. You slip into a hidden alcove and wait. The unmistakable sound of footsteps soon follows.

"You always seem to know where to find me, Captain," you remark without turning, arms folded cockily over your chest upon hearing Rex draw nearer.

"It's all about instincts, General. You told me that."

In a seamless move, his arms encircle you, pulling you close, the warmth of his breath ghosting over the nape of your neck. "Today was... challenging," he murmurs, lips ever so gently brushing against your warm skin that sends ripples of pleasure through you.

"I sense you’re troubled, Captain," you observe, sinking into his embrace as his hold on you becomes more pronounced. "What's on your mind?"

"Today was a close call. Too close. Skywalker's tactics have grown increasingly unpredictable since Ahsoka left," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. As you meet his gaze, your hand gently cradles his face. “I could’ve killed him by putting you in danger like that.”

Seeing Rex angry was a rarity but like he said, today was a close call. His scowl was sharp but as you gently touch him, you see his resolve settle.

"I'm still here thanks to you," you reassure with a soft smile. "Though I can't deny that I've felt a disturbance in the Force around Anakin."

Rex peers deeply into your eyes, searching for answers. "Is this something he's shared with you or just a Jedi intuition?"

"Anakin and I aren't close in that way; he doesn't share his personal struggles with me." You take a step back, leaning against the cool wall, eyes drawn to the now moonlit sky. "However, I trust in General Kenobi's guidance. Training a Padawan is a complex task."

"Seems you've got a somewhat good read on him," he states before you feel the familiar warmth of Rex's body as he leans in. His eyes lock onto yours. "I just wish Skywalker would think twice before jumping headfirst into danger. Putting you in danger.”

"You're concerned about him," you observe, lifting your hand to trace the line of his jaw.

“He’s my General. And… a good friend.” He sighs but then smiles softly upon feeling the delicacy of your fingers tracing along his jaw. “But I don’t want to talk about that right now, I want to talk about my Jedi.”

"Is that so?" Your voice dances with amusement, heart quickening as he draws you in tighter, heat radiating from the closeness. "What do you want to know?"

"How do you go days without our secret moments?" he asks, voice husky with emotion, fingers cradling you just so as he flushes his body against yours. “How can you cope without me being inside you for so long?”

Time had blurred; days, maybe a week or two since your last stolen moment. But for Rex, the longing was evident. As a Jedi however, detachment was part of your teachings, yet Rex was your exception, your beautiful secret. A relationship shadowed in secrecy, known to none, and hopefully, it would remain that way.

You shudder at his words, a heat already panging in your core. He towers over you, his armor making him look larger than he was but not far off.

It’s dominant and striking but so welcoming when his lips descend upon yours after so long, throwing your head back against the wall the force of his kiss.

His hands bite into your hips and you reciprocate by sinking your teeth into his lower lip, a groan deep in his throat. “Naughty girl,” he groans playfully before he pulls away and physically rips apart your Jedi robes, exposing your skin to the cool air.

“Rex!” You squeak in surprise. When you first got together you were pleasantly surprised at his dominating role in the bedroom but to see him so riled up, and in a somewhat public space, was quite unusual yet very exciting. How long had he been missing you?

“I need to have you, I need you so much.” He moves his lips down your neck, kissing over your now exposed collarbones and just over your breasts, cupping them with his hands that had you mewling into his embrace.

“What if someone sees us?”

“I don’t care.” He grumbles, exposing your left breast from under your bra and you let out the faintest whine as his lips latch to youth nipple, sucking delicately.

You cock your leg up, his arm instinctively wrapping under your thigh and keeping it hoisted as he pushes more into you, his length aching behind his codpiece. You held the back of his head, fingers caressing his blonde buzz cut as he flicked your stiffened bud with his tongue before soon, his hand invited its way into your panties.

“Gods, you’re wet,” he almost shivers at the sensation of your juices between your folds, his index and forefinger collecting your slick before he pulls out and you watch in utmost awe as he takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks the taste off, “I’ve missed your pussy.”

“Is that so?” You grin, bringing his lips to yours, tasting yourself on his lips and then wrestling your tongue with his. As if to say ‘and I’ve missed your cock’, your hands move towards his codpiece, letting it clatter to the floor before pulling his warm, twitching cock free.

This time he does shudder. The touch of your hand causes him to groan and naturally start to rut into your grasp as you begin stroking rhythmically at his cock. All the while he tugged at your panties, bunching them up to the side and grabbing your thigh again and bringing you near. “Do you want me to fuck you? Here? Right now?”

You couldn’t deny that there was a risk in all this, being caught would be the end of both of your lives as a Jedi and as a Clone Captain but as he pawed at your pussy again, your pussy throbbed in attic patios and he was too good to resist. You nod eagerly, whimpering as he doesn’t hesitate to push his tip against your entrance as you move your hips forward. “Yes,” you gasp, “yes, fuck me Captain.”

When Rex raised your leg just an inch higher, he slammed his hips forward, plunging his cock into your slippery core; drawing a strangled gasp from the pair of you.

“Oh fuck!” He grunts, his cock adjusting to your walls before he begins to pummel you against the wall, feeling your body react to every thrust he gave.

“Rex,” you whimper his name almost pathetically, hands holding onto his shoulders for dear life as his thrusts become intoxicating, making you sob so loud in pleasure that it covers the sound of his thighs and balls slapping lewdly against your exposed skin.

One thrust in particular had you moaning out loud that one hand came up and moved to bury your head into his neck, tutting at you teasingly, “Hush now my beautiful Jedi, we don’t want to draw any attention to us do we?” But he doesn’t help himself as his hand drops from your thigh to play softly at your clit, while the roll of his hips remain sharp and precise with every word.

“It’s s-so good,” you pant, teeth nipping at the skin of his neck, beautifully scented with a little tinge of sweat.

“And you’re taking me so well, aren’t you?” He cooes, “you sound so precious when you’re needy.”

Your head rolled back, stars starting to blur your vision and not just from the night sky. His fingers worked relentlessly at your clit as he fucks you and you wanted to quip that he was the needy one but you didn’t want to risk an intense reaction that has people come looking. “I’m not g-gonna last any longer Rex, please let me cum.”

“You want to cum, darling? You want to come on your Captain’s cock?” He chuckles darkly, his own movements staggering as he breathes through shaken breaths. “Are you going to let me fill you up?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes! Please cum in me.”

“Always so polite.” He grins, grunting as his high begins to hit. “I’m going to fill you with so much cum that you won’t need me for another week. C’mon, lift your leg a little - that’s right - good girl.” He murmured beautifully, pushing his cock in and out of your pussy lazily.

He could feel your body tensing, knowing that your orgasm wasn’t far. Nor for him either. Your body felt like it was on fire, the need and desire from him after just a few weeks of not being able to touch another was unbearable. And as he asks you if you’re ready to cum, you nodded obediently and he upped the momentum of his fingers between your legs.

Suddenly, the coil in you snapped and you went limp under him, Rex catching you quickly as you buried your face into his neck, muffling your wanton screams of delight. He groaned, low and guttural as he summoned a final slam of his cock into your core once more, coming undone to the feeling of his cock buried deep in you as your juices dripped down his length.

“I love you,” he says tenderly, “I love you so much.”

Rex's confession, whispered with an earnestness that sends shivers down your spine, tugs at your heart. "I love you too," you breathe out, pulling him into a gentle, lingering kiss. Every moment with him was precious, and every goodbye, a horrible heartache.

After a few tender moments, you both recognize the danger of lingering. The reality of your situation quickly comes crashing back. Straightening your attire and composing yourselves, the weight of the galaxy settles back onto your shoulders.

"We'll find our moment again soon," Rex promises, his voice thick with emotion, matching the emotions in your eyes.

"Stay safe, Captain" you murmur, gently letting go of him.

“And you, General.”

Although the war seemed unending and your secret rendezvous scarce, deep down you held onto hope. Hope that one day the galaxy would be at peace, and you and Rex could be free to be together.

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894

#Captain Rex #Captain Rex x reader #Rex x reader #Captain rex x you #nahoney22 writes #clone wars one shots #clone one shots

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vir-tanadahl · 10 days ago

Text

The Herald and the Wolf

Summary: AU. After Felassan fails to secure the eluvian password, Solas summons him to Haven to assist in addressing the rising threat of Corypheus. When the situation takes a dire turn, Felassan accompanies Solas in joining the Inquisition. It isn’t long before Felassan recognizes that Marel Lavellan holds the key to saving this world—and possibly to altering Solas’s own plans. Find on Ao3!

The Fade shimmered around them, ethereal wisps of green and gold dancing in the air as Solas's piercing violet eyes bore into Felassan. The elf's jaw clenched, his lean frame rigid with barely contained fury. "You failed me, Felassan," Solas spat, his voice low and dangerous. "The eluvian password was within our reach, and yet you allowed it to slip through your fingers." Felassan lifted an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a sardonic smile. "Ah, yes, the infamous password to unleash your grand design. But tell me, old friend—have you ever paused to consider that this world might not be as disposable as you’ve convinced yourself?"

Solas's nostrils flared, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "This world is but a shadow of what it once was. Our people deserve to reclaim their birthright—their magic, their immortality. How can you not see the significance of this?"

"Oh, I see it," Felassan replied, his tone light but his violet eyes sharp. "I see a man so fixated on the past that he's blind to the present." He gestured around them, at the swirling mists of the Fade. "This world, flawed as it is, holds its own worth, Solas. Can you truly justify casting it all aside?"

Solas took a step forward, his voice dropping to a hiss. "I am prepared to do whatever is required to restore our people to their former glory. Your failure risks unraveling everything we have strived to achieve." Felassan's mind raced, weighing his words carefully. He had long served Solas, but doubts had been gnawing at him, growing stronger with each passing day. The world Solas envisioned seemed increasingly hollow, a fantasy built on the ruins of a vibrant, if flawed, reality.

"And what of the people who inhabit this world?" Felassan challenged, his usual playful demeanor giving way to genuine concern. "Their lives, their stories, their loves and losses—are they all meaningless to you? Tell me, Solas, is your perfect world truly worth erasing theirs?"

Solas's eyes flashed dangerously. "You forget yourself, Felassan. Our duty is to our people—to the true elves. This world is a mistake, a tragedy born of my own folly. It falls to me to set it right."

Felassan felt the weight of millennia pressing down on him, the burden of secrets and half-truths. He sighed, running a hand through his chestnut hair. "Perhaps, old friend. But tell me—on this path to correct the mistakes of the past, have you stopped to wonder if you’re about to commit a far greater one?" The tension between them crackled like lightning, two immovable forces locked in a battle of wills. Solas's grand design hung in the balance, and Felassan found himself teetering on the edge of a precipice, unsure if he could follow his friend into the abyss that awaited.

Solas's piercing violet eyes softened, a flicker of uncertainty passing across his angular features. He turned away, gazing into the swirling mists of the Fade. "Your doubts are not without merit, Felassan," Solas conceded, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. "But we cannot waver now. The road ahead is perilous, and I need your strength beside me."

Felassan raised an eyebrow, a ghost of his usual smirk playing on his lips. "Oh? And here I thought you were about to turn me into a rather dashing statue." Solas released a tired chuckle, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Your wit remains as sharp as ever, I see. But no, my friend—I have a far more pressing task in mind for you. The Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes—you must meet me in a village called Haven. Corypheus seeks to unlock my orb, and once he does, we must be ready to reclaim it."

Felassan's violet eyes widened. "Corypheus? The ancient magistrate? Fenedhis, Solas, what have you done?"

"What was necessary," Solas said, his tone grim. "Now go. Time is against us, and the fate of our people rests on what comes next." As Felassan vanished from the Fade, Solas's words echoed in his thoughts, a warning of the impending turmoil.

* * *

Marel's eyes snapped open, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Pain lanced through her left hand, a searing agony that threatened to consume her. She struggled to focus, to make sense of her surroundings. "Where...?" she croaked, her throat raw and parched.

The heavy wooden door slammed open, jarring Marel from her thoughts. Two women strode in, their faces etched with suspicion and barely contained anger. The taller one, clad in Seeker armor, circled Marel like a predator stalking its prey. Her voice rumbled like thunder, thick with a heavy Nevarran accent that dripped with suspicion and accusation. "Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now," she demanded, her eyes narrowing in mistrust as she clenched her fists at her sides

Marel's heart raced, but she kept her face impassive. "I don't understand. What's happening?" she asked, trying to hide the fear in her voice. The other woman, hooded and cloaked in shadow, stepped forward. Her voice, low and deliberate, sliced through the tension like a blade. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.” She paused, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air, "Except for you.”

Leliana. The name came unasked to Marel's mind, though she couldn't recall how she knew it. "That's not possible," Marel said, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her chest. "I would never—"

"Explain this," Cassandra demanded, her voice sharp as steel. She seized Marel's hand, her grip firm and unrelenting. The moment their skin touched, the strange mark burned to life, flaring with an otherworldly green light. It pulsed and flickered, casting eerie shadows across their faces, as if the light itself responded to her challenge.

Marel winced, pulling her hand back. "I... I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Cassandra's voice cut through the room, sharp and rising with frustration. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as her fingers curled into fists at her sides. The tension radiating from her was palpable, her dwindling patience crackling in the air like a storm about to break. "I don’t know what that is or how it got there," Marel said firmly, her voice steady despite the turmoil beneath. She knew she was innocent—of that, she was certain. But how could she convince them? How could she make them see the truth?

Leliana’s voice sliced through the charged silence, cool and sharp as a blade. "You're lying," she said, her calm tone laced with an edge of certainty. Her piercing gaze locked onto her target, unflinching, as if daring them to deny it. Marel held her ground, her green eyes steady and unwavering as they locked onto the other woman's. "I'm not," she said, her voice firm despite the tension in the air. "I have no idea what's going on." The raw honesty in her tone matched the defiance in her gaze, unflinching even under scrutiny.

"I can't believe it," she murmured, more to herself than her interrogators. "All those people... dead?" Something in her tone must have reached Leilana, for the her stance softened slightly. "Do you remember what happened? How this began?"

Marel closed her eyes, her brow furrowing as she searched the fragments of her memory. "I remember running," she said slowly, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Her hands tightened in her chains as the images flickered in her mind. "There were... things chasing me. And then..." Her breath hitched. "A woman. I think." Her words trailed off, the memory slipping away like sand through her fingers.

"A woman?" Leliana's interest was piqued. Marel opened her mouth to say more, but Cassandra stepped forward, cutting her off with a commanding tone. "Go to the forward camp, Leliana," she ordered, her gaze flicking briefly to the spymaster before returning to Marel. "I will take her to the rift." There was no room for debate in her words, her presence sharp and unyielding, like a blade poised to strike.

As Cassandra led her out, Marel’s fingers twitched, brushing against the hum of magic thrumming beneath her skin. It was familiar, steady—like a heartbeat grounding her in the chaos. But beneath that comforting pulse, something deeper stirred, ancient and vast, like a whisper from a time long forgotten. The sensation sent a shiver through her, both unnerving and intriguing. Whatever caused the mark on her palm, it was old magic.

* * *

The air crackled with arcane energy as Marel stumbled forward, her marked hand pulsing in rhythm with the writhing rift before her. Suddenly, a crossbow bolt whizzed past her ear, followed by a throaty laugh.

"Ha! Got you, you ugly bastard!"

Marel spun around to face a stocky dwarf who was in the midst of reloading a formidable crossbow. Flanking him were two agile elves, one with a solemn expression and the other with an almost playful twinkle in his striking violet eyes. Felassan grinned and called out, "Solas, on your left!" His movements were fluid and almost playful as he sidestepped the demon’s swipe, twirling his staff with an effortless flourish to knock its claws aside. "Come on now, try to keep up!" he teased, a spark of amusement in his voice despite the chaos.

The bald elf—Solas—responded with a graceful pivot, encasing the demon in ice. "Thank you, Felassan. Though I might value fewer remarks and more spells."

Marel's fingers were restless, eager to jump into the fray; however, uncertainty restrained her. These unfamiliar individuals seamlessly coordinated their movements. Felassan caught her eye, grinning as he dispatched another demon. “Well, aren’t you a sight?” He flirted, “Care to join the fray, or should I keep the party going on my own?" His light-heartedness was jarring against the chaos.

"It seems we have very different ideas of what makes a party," Marel said dryly, stepping forward with deliberate grace. She raised her staff, its faint glow illuminating the chaos around them. Solas moved beside her, his steady presence grounding her in the storm’s midst. "Your mark," Solas said, his voice low and urgent as his gaze flicked to her glowing hand. "It may be the key to closing the rift." Marel’s grip tightened on her staff, her brow furrowing. "How can you be sure?"

"I am not," he admitted, his tone steady even as he raised a shimmering barrier to deflect a demon’s claws. The air crackled with tension as his sharp eyes locked on hers. "But we must try. Allow me."

Before she could respond, Solas stepped forward, his hand encircling hers with surprising firmness. He guided her marked hand toward the pulsing rift, its chaotic light casting jagged shadows across his determined expression. A searing pain shot up Marel’s arm, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips. Yet beneath the agony, a surge of raw, unrelenting power rushed through her veins, wild and untamed. Her knees threatened to buckle, but Solas’s grip remained steady, grounding her as the mark blazed with a brilliance that seemed to defy the rift’s overwhelming force.

‘Is this what it feels like to touch the Fade itself?’ The thought swept through Marel’s mind, a whirlwind of awe and terror. The raw power coursing through her mark was unlike anything she had ever known—wild, infinite, and almost alive. It was as though the very fabric of the Fade pressed against her soul, overwhelming and wonder. The rift surged before them, its jagged edges pulsing erratically, expanding and contracting like a living, breathing entity on the verge of breaking free. Its light spilled across the battlefield in blinding waves, and for a heart-stopping moment, Marel felt the crushing weight of its pull. The air itself seemed to tremble, thick with the promise of chaos.

A flicker of panic gripped her chest. Then came the crack—a sharp, deafening sound that split the air, reverberating in her bones. The rift convulsed violently, its pulsating energy twisting inward before stabilizing into a jagged tear. The relentless stream of demons halted, their forms dissolving into nothingness as silence fell, oppressive and final. Marel stumbled, her chest heaving, the mark dimming on her hand as the otherworldly power slipped away, leaving only the ghost of its presence behind.

Solas released her hand with deliberate care, his shoulders easing as a wave of relief softened his sharp features. For a moment, his usual composure faltered, and a faint smile flickered across his lips. "It seems my theory was correct," he said, his voice quieter now, almost admiring. Marel flexed her fingers, the mark still thrumming with an otherworldly energy that sent shivers up her arm. Her brow furrowed as she turned her hand over, the faint glow still pulsing beneath her skin. "What did you do?" she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion and curiosity.

"I did nothing," Solas replied, his gaze unwavering, the intensity in his eyes making her breath catch. "The credit is yours. The mark—it resonates with you alone. You wielded its power." His tone was calm, yet there was something beneath it—a flicker of admiration, perhaps, or respect for what she had just accomplished. Cassandra stepped forward, her brows furrowed in thought, “Meaning it could also close the breach itself?” She asked.

Solas turned to face Cassandra. “Possibly,” he replied before turning back to Marel. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he remarked. The dwarf with the intricate crossbow adds, “Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever,” His tone is both serious and playful as he introduced himself. “Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong,” he said with a wink directed at Cassandra.

Marel stared at the dwarf. “Are you with the chantry or…?” she asks hesitantly. Solas chuckled, “Was that a serious question?” he asked. Varric shrugged casually, tugging at the cuff of his jacket as though discussing the weather instead of his predicament. “Technically, I’m a prisoner, just like you,” he said, his tone light but edged with a wry humor.

Cassandra crossed her arms, her frown deepening. “I brought you here to recount a story for the Divine. Clearly, that plan no longer holds.” Varric’s grin widened, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “And yet, here I am,” he said, gesturing broadly as though to emphasize his presence. “Lucky for you, too, considering… well, current events.” His voice carried an unmistakable hint of smugness, as though even imprisonment hadn’t diminished his knack for being indispensable.

Marel watched their exchange in silence, her gaze thoughtful but guarded. Finally, she offered a small nod and said, “It’s good to meet you, Varric.”

Solas, standing just beside her, folded his arms with a faint smirk. “You may find reason to reconsider that sentiment… in time.”

Varric let out a low chuckle, leaning casually on his crossbow. “Aww, don’t be like that, Chuckles. I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends by the time we’re done with this valley.” His grin widened as he tilted his head toward Marel.

“My name is Solas,” he said, his voice calm and measured as he stepped forward, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. “If there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live,” His tone carried a faint undercurrent of curiosity, as though already appraising the significance of her survival. Varric raised a hand, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”

Marel’s eyes shifted from Varric to Solas, her expression calm but searching. She tilted her head slightly, her curiosity evident as she met his steady gaze. “You seem to know a great deal about it all,” she remarked, her voice soft but laced with quiet intrigue. Cassandra’s tone was clipped as she addressed Marel. “Like you, Solas and his companion are apostates.”

Solas responded with a nonchalant shrug, his demeanor calm but unyielding. “Technically, Cassandra, all mages are apostates now,” he said, his words carrying an air of inevitability. His gaze turned toward the breach, its chaotic energy casting harsh shadows across his sharp features. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any circle mage.” He shifted his focus back to the group, his voice steady but grave. “I came to offer what help I can. If the breach is not closed, it will consume us all. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

Felassan leaned on his staff, a playful glint in his violet eyes. “Felassan,” he said with a lazy smile, inclining his head just enough to seem polite. “Witty observer, occasional meddler, and—lucky for you—an expert at surviving all manner of unpleasantness.” He glanced at Marel, one brow lifting. “I have to say, you’re handling this whole ‘catastrophic disaster’ thing remarkably well. First time, or are you a veteran of world-ending chaos?” He paused, his smirk widening as his gaze flicked to Solas. “And before you ask—no, I’m not with the Chantry either. Too many rules.”

“I am Marel.” Marel’s lips curved into a faint, wry smile at Felassan’s remark. "First time, actually. But at this rate, I might end up an expert before too long."

Felassan’s smirk widened, his violet eyes glinting with amusement. “Ah, a quick learner. Good—Thedas could always use another expert in impending doom. Though, fair warning, the job comes with long hours and questionable company.” Cassandra made a disgusted noise. "This is hardly the time for jests," she said, her hand tightening on the hilt of her sword. "We must reach the forward camp quickly."

The group trudged through the snow-covered valley, their footsteps crunching with each step. Solas broke the silence by initiating conversation. "You are Dalish, yet clearly away from the rest of your clan," Solas observed, his violet eyes studying her intently. "Did they send you here?" The question caught Marel off-guard. She hesitated, memories of her clan—of home—flooding her mind. "No," she replied softly. A lie. "I came of my own accord. To observe the Conclave, to understand what was happening in the world beyond our that could impact the People."

‘And now I'm at the center of it all’, she thought, a wave of loneliness threatening to overwhelm her. Marel took a deep breath, steadying herself. The weight of recent events pressed upon her, but curiosity sparked in her eyes as she regarded Solas. "What do you know of the Dalish?" she asked, her voice a mixture of challenge and genuine interest.

Solas's expression shifted, a flicker of something—regret or possibly frustration—passing over his features before settling into a mask of polite neutrality. "I have wandered many roads in my time," he replied, his tone measured, "and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion." As he spoke, Marel found herself studying the apostate elf more closely. His posture, the way he held himself apart—it spoke of years of solitary travel. She wondered what encounters he might have had with her people, what stories lay behind his carefully chosen words. Your people, not our. ‘There's more he isn't saying’, she thought, noting the slight tension in his jaw. “What do you mean by ‘crossed paths,’ then?” Marel pressed, her tone quiet but insistent, her sharp gaze fixed on Solas as they walked.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable but tinged with a faint bitterness. “I mean,” he began evenly, “that I offered to share knowledge, only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstition.” His voice carried a measured calm, but a flicker of disdain crossed his face. His words hung in the air, a subtle edge of frustration underlying his otherwise composed demeanor. Felassan shook his head with a dramatic sigh, glancing at Marel. “What he means to say is, people tend to overreact when faced with someone who uses ‘sharing knowledge’ as a conversational icebreaker. A tragic flaw of his, really.” he remarked, glancing at Solas with a faint smirk.

Marel’s expression remained calm, but her green eyes sharpened with quiet intensity, as if peeling back the layers of his words. “Sharing knowledge is meant to build trust, not provoke conflict,” she said, her tone steady yet probing. “So what was different this time?”

Solas opened his mouth to respond, but Felassan cut in with a chuckle. "Oh, I'm sure our wandering friend here has tales aplenty. But perhaps we should save the cultural exchange for when we're not standing in the shadow of impending doom, hmm?"

Varric cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the group. His eyes darted between Solas and Marel, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Can't you elves just play nice for once?" he quipped, his tone light but tinged with exasperation. Marel felt a flush creep up her neck, suddenly aware of how the conversation must have sounded to outsiders. "You’re right," she said, her posture straightening with resolve. "We should keep moving." Her green eyes met Solas’s, steady and thoughtful. "But later, if you’re willing, I’d like to hear more about your travels."

"Oh, Varric," Felassan drawled, his violet eyes sparkling with barely contained amusement. "Where is the fun? Centuries of cultural confusion make for the best stories—and even better awkward silences at the table." He cast Marel a conspiratorial wink, the corners of her lips twitching despite the weight of the moment. ‘How does he manage to diffuse tension so effortlessly?’ Marel wondered, studying Felassan's relaxed posture. His relaxed posture stood in stark contrast to the tension thick in the air, as if the looming threat of the Breach above them was little more than a passing inconvenience.

Solas, for his part, looked less than amused. His brow furrowed slightly as he regarded Felassan, a silent exchange passing between them that Marel couldn't quite decipher. She felt a pang of curiosity about their relationship, sensing layers of history and unspoken words beneath the surface. “Perhaps,” Marel interjected, her tone cutting through the tension like a blade, “we could save the cultural debates for when we’re not standing in the middle of a demon-infested ruin?” She lifted her marked hand, the green energy rippling faintly along her fingers, its pulse eerily not synchronized with her heartbeat, but someone else’s. Her gaze shifted between the others, calm but firm, a silent reminder of the more immediate threat surrounding them.

* * *

The air was thick with the hum of magic, the pulsing green rift tearing into the world like a festering wound as they enter the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Marel stood at its edge, her staff gripped tightly in one hand, the mark on her other hand burning faintly as if responding to the nearness of the rift. The energy was familiar, almost intimate, as though it recognized her. A shiver ran down her spine. Solas stepped closer, his voice soft but pointed. “This is where it began. You feel the echoes of it, don’t you?”

Marel nodded, her eyes fixed on the rift. The closer she got, the clearer the world around her seemed to shift. The present blurred with something… else.

“Someone help me,” a voice called out, “You must stop him.”

Cassandra’s breath hitched, her eyes widening as if struck by a sudden revelation. “That voice…” she gasped, her words laced with both awe and disbelief. “It’s Divine Justinia!”

Felassan, lounging a few paces behind, straightened slightly, his lighthearted tone cutting through the tension. “Echoes, memories, ancient magic—always so dramatic, aren’t they?”

Marel glanced over at him, her demeanor calm yet cautious. "I hope you're not taking this lightly," she said with a hint of concern in her voice. Felassan tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Lightly? Never. I simply find that a well-timed joke makes impending doom so much more bearable." His violet eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was a flicker of something deeper beneath his playful tone. Without hesitation, she stepped closer to the rift. The others—Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and Felassan—watched, wary but unwilling to interfere. Her own voice echoed in the ruins of the temple: “What’s going on here?” The mark on her hand flared to life as she reached out, the green light pulling her into its depths.

Cassandra gasped, “That was your voice! Most-holy called out to you, but…”

The Fade surged around Marel, not the vibrant realm of dreams she knew, but a fractured, chaotic reflection of the world. A woman, robed in white and gold, bound in shimmering chains of light, knelt before an imposing male figure shrouded in shadow. The woman—Divine Justinia V—lifted her head, her gaze piercing through the haze.

“Run while you can! Warn them!” the Divine called to her. The imposing male figure shrouded in shadow spoke, “We have an intruder. Slay the elf.” The vision fades with a blast of power.

Cassandra turned towards her, voice sharp with urgency. "You were there! Who was the attacker? And what about the Divine? Is she...? Was the vision we saw real? What does it mean?"

“I don’t know—I don’t remember!” Marel said, her voice steady but laced with frustration, as if trying to grasp at something just out of reach. Solas spoke, his tone deliberate and reflective. "What we witnessed may well have been a memory, preserved within the Fade—a fragment of events from when the Breach first tore through this place. The Fade's presence here is unmistakable, seeping into the world around us."

Felassan, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, his usual grin replaced by a rare seriousness. “If it’s a memory, why doesn’t she remember it? The mark on her hand ties her to all this, doesn’t it?”

"Or it was taken from her," Solas replied, his gaze narrowing as it fixed on the rift. "This rift is not sealed, merely closed... for now. With the mark, I believe it can be reopened and then properly sealed—safely. However, doing so will almost certainly draw attention from the other side."

Cassandra nods and signals to the soldiers around them, her voice calm but urgent. "That means demons. Stand ready!"

The rift loomed ahead, its luminous aura flickering and distorting the air around it. Marel Lavellan stood at the front, her marked hand pulsing with a fiery glow as she neared the rift. Its powerful magic seemed to call out to her, in sync with the rhythm of her heartbeat. Determined, she extended her marked hand towards the rift and the light intensified, blinding and intense. The ground beneath them rumbled, and a deafening roar echoed from within the rift. A massive figure began to emerge—a hulking Pride demon wreathed in green fire, its form twisted and grotesque. Its prideful eyes gleamed as it surveyed the group.

As the mark on her arm flared with pain, Marel stumbled backwards and the demon advanced towards her. "Get your weapons ready!" Cassandra commanded, lifting her shield and charging forward without hesitation. The fight commenced. Cassandra blocked a swipe of the demon’s massive claws, the force of the blow driving her to one knee. “Marel, we can’t hold this thing forever!” she called out, swinging her sword to deflect another strike. Varric let out a low whistle as he fired bolts at the demon’s exposed side.

Solas raised his staff, a blast of ice struck the demon��s flaming arm, causing it to recoil with a howl. Felassan darted around the battlefield with surprising grace, flinging bursts of magic at the demon’s head. “Keep its attention off her!” he yelled, pointing toward Marel. “She’s the one who can end this.”

Marel’s heart pounded as she staggered closer to the rift, the mark on her hand blazing painfully bright. The closer she got, the more the rift seemed to pull at her, as though trying to consume her entirely. “Focus, Marel,” Felassan called, his usual teasing tone replaced with rare urgency. “It’s you or the demon—decide quickly.” The mark connected with the rift, sending a blast of green energy rippling outward. The Pride demon roared in pain, momentarily stunned as the rift’s power turned against it.

“Now!” Cassandra shouted, driving her blade into the demon’s leg. Solas and Felassan unleashed coordinated bursts of magic, striking at the demon’s weakened form. Varric’s bolts embedded themselves in its chest, one after another. Marel poured everything she had into the mark, her vision narrowing as the rift began to respond. The demon howled again, its form flickering like a flame in a storm. It lashed out wildly, sending Cassandra sprawling and nearly catching Varric with its claws.

“It’s weakening!” Solas called. “Hold it off a little longer!”

Marel gritted her teeth, stepping closer to the rift despite the searing pain in her arm. She could feel the power pulling at her, but she refused to let go. “Just… a little more!” The Pride demon made one final lunge toward her, its claws outstretched. Felassan intercepted with a blast of energy that sent it reeling. “Now!” he yelled. Marel let out a cry as she channeled the mark's power into the rift. The energy exploded outward, enveloping the Pride demon and pulling it back into the tear. The rift trembled violently, its glow intensifying before imploding with a deafening snap. Marel's sight dimmed as she channeled the last of her energy into the mark, her body quaking under the intense surge of power. The final burst of magic closed the portal, pulling the Pride demon into oblivion, but it drained her completely. And then, everything went dark.

* * *

As they made their way through the gates, a sense of heavy burden enveloped the group. The looming threat of the Breach weighed heavily on their minds, serving as a constant reminder of the chaos that awaited them. Felassan's attention was drawn to Cassandra carrying the unconscious body of Marel, her marked hand clenching tightly without her even realizing it. Felassan came to a realization: she was the key. Not only in sealing the rifts, but in altering the course of everything. Even for Solas.

"We face an uncertain path," Solas said softly, his eyes on the distant horizon. "But with determination and wisdom, we may yet prevail."

Felassan snorted. "Always the optimist, aren't you?" But his tone lacked its usual bite. Instead, he found himself studying Marel, noting the steel in her spine, the quiet resolve in her eyes. ‘Perhaps’, he thought, ‘there's hope for us all yet.’

#solas #solavellan #solas x lavellan #solas x female lavellan #solas x oc #solas dragon age #dragon age #solas x inquisitor #solavellan hell #vir writes #dragon age solas #solasmance #solasmancer #Fen’harel #dread wolf #felassan #dragon age inquisition #i got it done today #enjoy

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lia1512 · 1 year ago

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Elijah Mikaelson x wife reader

Flirtatious Damon Salvatore

---

Mystic Falls had always been a town steeped in secrets, from its deep-rooted vampire history to the enigmatic creatures that roamed its dark woods. But among these mysteries, there was one that had endured for centuries—a love story that transcended time and supernatural boundaries.

Elijah Mikaelson, the noble and stoic Original vampire, had been married to you, his beloved wife, since the days when you were both mere mortals. Your love had endured the test of time, from your human days to your transition into immortality. Through every trial and tribulation, you and Elijah stood by each other's side.

It was a crisp autumn evening in Mystic Falls, and you found yourself at the Mystic Grill, a place that had become a familiar haunt over the years. You sat at a corner booth, nursing a glass of wine and awaiting the arrival of your husband. Despite the passing centuries, he still possessed an uncanny ability to keep you waiting.

As you gazed out the window, lost in thought, you couldn't help but reflect on the nature of your relationship. The eternal bond you shared with Elijah was both a blessing and a curse. While your love had remained constant and unwavering, there were moments when the weight of immortality pressed upon you, reminding you of the sacrifices you had made.

Lost in contemplation, you failed to notice the arrival of a charismatic stranger who had just entered the Mystic Grill. Damon Salvatore, with his dark charm and devil-may-care attitude, had a knack for drawing attention wherever he went. He sauntered up to the bar, casting a glance in your direction.

You, however, remained oblivious to Damon's advances, your thoughts consumed by the past and the future. The memories of your human life, your marriage to Elijah, and the sacrifices you had made to be with him played like a vivid movie reel in your mind.

Just as you were about to order another glass of wine, a smooth voice interrupted your reverie. "Excuse me, miss. You seem a bit lonely over here. Mind if I join you?"

Startled, you turned to see Damon Salvatore standing beside your booth, a playful smirk on his face. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he extended an invitation.

You offered a polite smile. "Actually, I'm waiting for someone."

Damon leaned in closer, his charming grin never wavering. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but he seems to be running late. Mind if I keep you company until he arrives?"

Before you could respond, the scent of a familiar cologne reached your senses, and a tall figure approached your table. It was Elijah, impeccably dressed as always, his piercing blue eyes locked onto you. He had arrived, but he didn't intervene immediately.

Damon, still unaware of who your husband was, continued his playful banter. "Looks like your date has finally shown up."

Elijah, ever the picture of restraint, chose not to reveal his identity. He merely nodded politely at Damon, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt a mixture of emotions—relief at seeing your husband and curiosity about how he would handle the situation.

As the evening wore on, you engaged in polite conversation with both Damon and Elijah. Damon's flirting grew bolder by the minute, but your loyalty to your husband remained unshaken. You knew the depths of Elijah's love, and you trusted him implicitly.

However, as the night progressed, Damon's advances became increasingly intrusive. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against your hand as he made a comment about your beauty. You withdrew your hand instinctively, but Damon's audacity only seemed to grow.

Elijah, who had been observing the exchange with a quiet intensity, finally reached his breaking point. His usually composed demeanor faltered, and his jaw clenched. The centuries of restraint that he had practiced were now challenged by Damon's impudence.

"Damon," Elijah's voice was low and filled with a dangerous edge, "I believe it's time for you to leave."

Damon, who had been enjoying the game of cat and mouse, finally noticed the shift in Elijah's demeanor. He looked from you to your husband, his cocky grin fading slightly. "Who are you to tell me what to do?"

Elijah's blue eyes bore into Damon's with an intensity that sent a shiver down the vampire's spine. "I suggest you depart before I decide to remind you."

It was the underlying threat in Elijah's words that finally convinced Damon to back down. With a grudging nod, he pushed himself away from the table and walked away, casting one last, resentful glance in your direction.

As soon as Damon was out of earshot, Elijah turned his full attention to you. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his with a gentleness that belied his earlier anger. "My love," he said, his voice filled with regret, "I apologize for my tardiness and for allowing this situation to unfold."

You squeezed his hand, your love and understanding evident in your gaze. "Elijah, you need not apologize. I trust you implicitly, and I knew you would handle it in your own way."

A small, grateful smile graced Elijah's lips as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles. "Thank you for your unwavering trust, my dear."

The incident with Damon Salvatore had served as a reminder of the complexities of your immortal life. While you and Elijah had endured countless challenges together, it was moments like these that reinforced the strength of your bond. In the face of temptation and adversity, your love remained unbreakable, a beacon of hope in the eternal night.

As the night continued, you and Elijah enjoyed a quiet dinner together, the warmth of your love eclipsing any lingering shadows. In Mystic Falls, where darkness often reigned, your love story was a testament to the enduring power of love, and it would continue to shine brightly through the ages, a guiding light in the eternal night.

#elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson one shot #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #damon salvatore #flirtatious #the originals #originals #the vampire diaries

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engeorged · 3 months ago

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Awakening VII

The final story in my awakening series. Feel free to repost or share if you enjoyed them!

The After Game Party

Greg was no stranger to the wild antics of his rugby team. Every week, the guys would come up with new, often ridiculous challenges that tested their limits and their sense of humour. But lately, the dares had been getting increasingly outrageous, and tonight was no exception.

The team had gathered at their favourite pub and the drinking began. As the pints flowed the challenges began. They involved everything from running through the pub naked to sticking a banana up your ass, As the night progressed, the stunts became more extreme, and the atmosphere was charged with laughter and camaraderie. One guy was even required to drop his bollocks into another player's mouth which caused the biggest cheer of the evening.

When it came time for the final challenge, it was clear that the team was looking to push the envelope even further. The challenge was a drinking contest, and Greg, known for his competitive spirit, dove in headfirst. Unfortunately for him, he lost to Dean ‘the tank’ Mitchell.

With cheers and laughter, the team captain unveiled a large hose and a container of beer. They were prepared to administer what they called the “grand prize” for the losing contestant. Greg’s face turned a mix of excitement and trepidation as he realised what was about to happen.

“Alright, Greg,” one of the guys said with a grin, “time for your special challenge!”

Greg was game, even though he was starting to feel a bit apprehensive. Dropping his trousers, the hose was gently inserted into his furry arse, and the beer began to flow. As it filled him, Greg’s belly started to inflate, turning into a round, bloated balloon. The team was all invited to pour what was left of their pints into the funnel. The more beer that went in, the more his belly expanded comically, eliciting cheers and laughter from his friends.

Despite his initial embarrassment, Greg couldn’t help but laugh along with his friends. The absurdity of the situation and the camaraderie made the whole experience less daunting. His teammates’ good-natured ribbing and the sheer fun of it all turned what could have been a mortifying moment into a highlight of the night.

Later the next day, after the hangover had wound down, Greg found himself alone in the shower, reflecting on the previous night's events. The memory of his belly, swollen and distended from the beer, lingered in his mind. He thought about how full and round it had gotten, and surprisingly, he found himself appreciating it.

As the warm water washed over him, Greg felt a strange sense of satisfaction. He ran his hands over his muscular belly, recalling the comical, almost balloon-like appearance it had taken on. It was a moment of vulnerability mixed with self-discovery, and he realised that he didn’t mind how it had looked at all. In fact, he found something oddly enjoyable about the experience.

Feeling adventurous, Greg’s eyes turned to the detachable shower head, his mind whirling with the possibilities. After adjusting the flow to a gentle stream, he carefully inserted it into his hole. He began to increase the water pressure, pushing his limits to see how much he could take. The sensation was different but intriguing, and as his belly began to swell again, he marvelled at how the experience felt both slightly dangerous and exciting.

Greg continued to explore the limits of the sensation, feeling the water fill him up and expand his belly, jumping out of the shower to let the water out into the toilet. The whole experience started with simple curiosity, but it began, to his surprise, to turn him on. He found himself fascinated by the new sensations and the way his body responded.

After filling himself one final time, leaving the hose running until he couldn’t take any more, Greg stepped out of the shower and stood in front of the bathroom mirror, admiring the sight before him. His normally flat stomach was now swollen and firm, with a pronounced roundness that he had never seen before. The light layer of fur on his belly seemed to accentuate its fullness, giving it an oddly appealing look.

He couldn’t resist the urge to play with it a bit, gently pressing and rubbing his hands over the taut surface. The sensation of his fingers moving over his bloated, furry belly was surprisingly enjoyable, and he found himself captivated by how different his body looked. The reflection in the mirror showed a side of him he had never considered before, and he found himself thinking, perhaps for the first time, that it looked… good.

As he stood there, admiring the new shape of his belly, Greg felt a mix of satisfaction and curiosity. The night had been full of unexpected moments, but this one, in the quiet of his bathroom, felt the most profound. He liked how his belly looked, and the thought of it filled him with strange, newfound possibilities.

Check out the rest of my stories here

#gainer fiction #belly expansion #gay gainer #male gaining #stuffing #belly fiction #gainer stories #gainer story #stuffing art #gainer awakening #inflation fiction #male belly inflation

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sotwk · 11 months ago

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Got any headcanon about Thranduils relationship with his assistant, Feren?

OhMySqueeeee! I ADORE FEREN. Love or hate The Hobbit Trilogy, he is one of the best created-for-film characters to come out of those movies. He is its Lindir equivalent!

Feren will gradually develop into an important supporting character in the SotWK AU. I've even created an additional OC to be his twin sister; her name is Celuwen and she will also be an important side character in the series. (Both make guest appearances in my recent Young Legolas fic, "Greenleaf's Tree".)

For now, here are the key points I have regarding Feren's character history and his relationship with Thranduil and his family:

SotWK Canon Spotlight: Feren, Captain of the Mirkwood Kingsguard

Feren is a full-blooded Silvan elf, born and raised in the southern regions of Greenwood the Great in Third Age 142. (Exactly 100 years older than Legolas and Tauriel.)

His father is a woodcutter and his mother a hunter--both esteemed professions in the realm.

His bookish twin sister Celuwen became a royal scribe at the remarkably young age of 90. Feren followed her into the employ of King Thranduil as a palace guard.

After just a few years, Feren was given a position in the royal escort.

Feren serves Thranduil's family for his entire career, becoming close friends with the princes, especially Gelir and Legolas. (see his banter with them in the fic, "Unnecessary Guardian")

Thranduil was constantly impressed by Feren's loyalty, courage, and trustworthiness. He appointed Feren as the youngest member of his Kingsguard in Third Age 672.

When Dol Guldur rose around Third Age 1000 and the southern parts of the realm grew increasingly infested by the Necromancer's dark creatures, Feren was dismayed by the devastation wrought upon his birthland.

He requested placement in the spiderhunters, a newly-formed company of specialized soldiers led by Prince Gelir. This was a demotion for him into a less prestigious and more dangerous job, but it put him where he wanted to be--at the frontline of Mirkwood's defenses.

But eventually, over a thousand years later, Feren found his way back into the direct service of the Elvenking. Thranduil chose him specifically for the leadership position of Captain of the Kingsguard. This is very different from the "captain" position Tauriel seems to have in the films. The Kingsguard rides alongside Thranduil in battle or any dangerous situation, and their sole task is to keep the King safe--a tremendous challenge and responsibility!

While Feren is in essence a high-ranking bodyguard and right hand of sorts to Thranduil, he is not an assistant. The "assistant" role is more accurately fulfilled by Celuwen, Feren's sister. By TA 555, she has become the royal family's secretary, a job she holds longer than any Elf in the realm (but that's another story for later).

Thranduil comes to depend on these twins greatly, especially after the loss of his sons and wife. They grow as dear to him as family, as they have always been utterly devoted to their King and ever refused to leave his service.

Even Queen Maereth has jokingly/lovingly referred to Feren and Celuwen as "the twin children we never had". (Twins run in her family.)

Thank you for the Ask, Anon! I hope more people will join me in the Feren Fan Club! I hope to put out more material for him soon! Such a sweetie!

For more Thranduil/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

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