#dusk and cobalt

[duskandcobalt]

Ice Cream

Azriel takes Elain to a movie and gets a bit of a show.

Content warnings: suggestive language, sexual imagery but no actual sex (yet)

2.1k words

Read on AO3

…

This was a colossal mistake.

Azriel had no idea how he had ended up here, sitting in a half empty cinema that had somehow become his own personal torture chamber within the span of twenty minutes - all because of the girl at his side and a goddamn ice cream cone.

He’d been the one to suggest this, thinking nothing of it when he’d ever so innocently asked Elain to go see the movie that’d she’d mentioned wanting to check out a couple weeks ago during one of their stolen chats in her sister’s kitchen.

It wasn’t that they were trying to keep anything a secret - it was just that his feelings for Elain had caught him so off guard and he knew Feyre would ask a million questions about where he was taking her sister and why. It also didn’t help that Rhys was ridiculously overprotective of his sister-in-law… and that he’d explicitly told Azriel to stay away - that Elain was freshly out of a year long on and off again relationship and was emotionally vulnerable and under no circumstances was Azriel to finally try anything.

Why Rhys had any say over what he or Elain did, he didn’t know, but Azriel hadn’t been in the mood to discuss it any further when the topic came up after last year’s Christmas party where Rhys had spotted a very tipsy Elain sitting just a little too close to a slightly less tipsy Azriel and laughing a little too hard at everything his famously quiet friend whispered into her ear as everyone watched Nyx open presents.

He’d resisted for six months now - resigning himself to seeing her once every couple of weeks when he came to pay his godson a visit.

At first, he really tried his best to not interact with her outside of the niceties - a hello and goodbye, or maybe a quiet “how have you been?” while she transferred Nyx into his arms. But as the weeks and months went by - after Feyre all but confirmed that things between Elain and her ex were actually over for good - Azriel couldn’t help but seek her out, finding excuses to follow her into the kitchen after dinner or trail her around the garden as the weather warmed up, when he’d strategically show up ten or fifteen minutes before he knew Rhys usually walked in the front door.

Elain, by some miracle, seemed happy enough to go along with whatever had seemed to have bloomed between them after that Christmas party. Over the months, she’d opened up to him slowly - subtle glances and shy smiles had turned into unabashed laughter and actual conversations over baked goods that she claimed she’d made for Nyx but always seemed to be made fresh on the days she knew he’d be coming over for a visit.

Whether or not he was reading too much into their interactions was always a question burning at the back of his mind. He supposed that they could truly be considered friends by now but there were hints there of something else, he was sure of it. He just didn’t know if she felt the same. In any case, the way she had blushed and the eagerness with which she’d accepted his invite to this movie certainly reassured him that she returned at least a little bit of the level of affection he felt towards her.

When he thought about how this night would go, he’d expected a couple lingering touches - had prepared for a brush of their hands, maybe even a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night if they got really carried away.

He’d prepared for popcorn and a quiet night watching a heartfelt indie film with the girl he’d been silently pining over ever since they’d met at a group dinner when Feyre and Rhys had first started dating three years ago.

What Azriel hadn’t planned for is the ice cream that Elain had ordered, a wide smile on her face as she claimed “Why bother even coming to the cinema if you don’t get popcorn and ice cream?”

Azriel bought the ice cream for her, of course, happy to oblige her in whatever way he possibly could. He’d buy her the cinema itself if she so much as hinted that she had an interest in it.

He just hadn’t realised that by buying her this ice cream, he was signing himself up for the most torturous half an hour of his life because for all the scenarios he had thought of for tonight - what he hadn’t anticipated was the way Elain would slowly, slowly, devour that ice cream - all the while oblivious to the turmoil she was putting him through.

It had started out fine - her fingers wrapped around the cone as she worked at getting through the chocolate coating to the ice cream underneath but it had all gone to hell quickly after that first layer was gone.

He tried to keep his eyes on the screen, tried to focus on the film they’d come all this way to see, but at the first drag of her tongue across the top of the cone, Azriel was a lost cause.

There was no chance in hell that anything that could possibly be happening on screen was more interesting than what he could see out of the corner of his eye. He knew he should pay attention, knew she’d want to talk about the movie afterwards, knew he should have at least a little bit of an idea of what this movie was even about.

But he couldn’t take his eyes off of her, cursing himself for feeling like a teenage boy with fresh hormones.

Had ice cream cones always been so… phallic?

Elain never took her eyes off the screen for more than a second, all her interest focused on the film, as her mouth - those divine lips and tongue - worked that cone in ways Azriel had only dreamt of her working him in the latest hours of the night.

The way she re-adjusted her grip on the cone, the subtle tilt of her head as she ran her tongue all the way around the damn thing - forever ensuring that the top of the cone remained as smooth and round as when she had freshly pulled it out of the packet - the way she pressed her lips to the part where the ice cream met the cone to catch any drops, as if she was pressing kisses to it. He was convinced that whatever entity ruled over them had come up with this as a punishment for whatever he had done wrong in this life or a past one.

Somehow, the pain she was putting him through only increased as the amount of ice cream sitting on top of the cone got smaller. If watching her lick the ice cream wasn’t enough, Azriel was now subjected to watch as she wrapped her mouth around the whole thing - cheeks hollowing out before she pulled back with a pop.

Over and over again.

He was on fire, almost light headed at the sight - this had probably only been going on for about fifteen minutes but it felt like an eternity. His skin felt tight, his hands flexing and unflexing in the darkness - just itching to give in to three years worth of restraint - to reach over and touch her, to grab her hair and pull her to him, to get a taste of the ice cream on her lips.

He took a deep breath, subtly adjusting in his seat in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure that was currently pressing against the seam of his jeans - and to clear out the images that were currently clouding his ability to even fucking think clearly right now.

Visions of Elain kneeling in front of him. Her brown eyes hazy with lust as she took him first in her hand and then into her mouth, those pretty lips wrapped around him the way they’d wrapped around the cone. He imagined getting on his knees for her, sliding up the skirt she was wearing until he could see all of her, taste all of her. The last thought - of her completely naked on his bed, legs around his waist as her body arched up against his, his name like a prayer on her lips - whispered, sighed, screamed - over and over and over again as he filled her completely - had him adjusting the placement of the bucket of popcorn in his lap in a desperate attempt to cover the effect she was having on him.

His torture was almost over - the cone almost gone. She’d finally finished all of the actual ice cream and was tipping her head back to get every last bit when a trickle of melted ice cream dripped out of the cone and onto her chin before quickly sliding off her chin and dropping down to her chest, a line of white traveling right down to the top of her top where it finally stopped right in between the swell of her breasts, the light from the screen making it glisten like his own personal beacon.

The gods must really fucking have it out for him tonight.

He watched as Elain grimaced, setting down the bottom part of the cone on the tray next to her before she took her thumb and carefully gathered the ice cream from her cleavage, coming up and swiping her chin before she brought her thumb to her lips to suck it clean.

“Fuck” Azriel groaned, breaking the silence he’d been fighting to keep for however long she’d been eating that ice cream.

For the first time since the movie had started, Elain looked his way - eyebrows furrowed as she turned towards him, pad of her thumb still half in her mouth as she had the audacity to whisper to him.

“You okay?”

Azriel forced himself to look away from her mouth, to look into her eyes as he desperately searched his useless mind for something, anything to say.

“Fine.” He swallowed, one hand coming up to press against the side of his neck. “Sore neck.”

His eyes once again were pulled to her mouth as the corners of her lips turned down slightly and before he knew what was happening, her hand was replacing his - the thumb that was just in her mouth stroking the side of his “sore” neck.

Her action’s must’ve caught her off guard as well because she made to pull away as something surged between them at the intimacy of her touch.

“Sorry,” she whispered. He swore he could see a blush on her cheeks. “I don’t know why I…”

“It’s okay.” His hand covered hers, giving her a small smile and adjusting his grip so he could slot his fingers through hers, bringing their joined hands up so he could press his lips to the back of her hand before lowering their hands back down to the armrest between them.

He loosened his grip just slightly, giving her the chance to move her hand out of his grip if she wanted to. He waited - two breaths - but she didn’t move, her fingers only squeezing his once before relaxing again, the warmth from her palm flowing into the heat of his own.

His heart swelled, his body so full of emotions that all revolved around her that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to make sense of them. It was foreign to him. This wasn’t just lust, not just a passing infatuation. This was far past just a want to have her body against his, to be inside her. It was more of an intrinsic desire- the absolute need to know her - mind, body, and soul.

Rhys be damned.

Azriel decided then that she’d be worth it, worth the vulnerability it would take to pursue her. To get to know her. To allow her to get to know him. He’d spent three years fighting it but the past few months had slowly broken him down and he thought that if he didn’t at least try - the “what if?” would kill him years from now.

They could be good together, couldn’t they? He could let down all the walls he’d spent years building up, couldn’t he? To let someone in? To let her in?

“Azriel?” Elain’s soft voice broke him out of his racing thoughts as her hand slipped from his, leaving him with a feeling of emptiness that threatened to knock the air out of him.

“Hm?” He turned to her again, searching her face for any signs of uncomfort. For any sign of regret. For any reason at all to put a pin in his own feelings.

She just smiled softly, her face blindingly beautiful even in a dark cinema.

“Can I have some popcorn?”

[simplegenius042]

OC/s as Greek Deitiey/s, Flower Aesthetics and "How Does My OC's Story End?" Quiz

Tagged by @raresbaby and @josephseedismyfather

Tagging Tagging @voidika @icecutioner @inafieldofdaisies @socially-awkward-skeleton @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @direwombat @strangefable @strafethesesinners @rhettsabbott @josephslittledeputy @imogenkol @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @aceghosts @turbo-virgins @shellibisshe @deputy-morgan-malone @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @sleepyconfusedpotato @titiagls @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink and @thesingularityseries + anyone else who wants to join. Taglist here.

Three OCs for each one of these, all coming from The UnTitledverse, The Silver Chronicles, Life, Despair & Monsters, An Old Ballad Of Chance And Ember Hearts and A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore. You can find the Quiz Here. Continue below the cut:

For the "OCs as Deities" I included OCs from The UnTitledverse, The Silver Chronicles and An Old Ballad Of Chance And Ember Hearts. Rule and stuff below:

bold = applies, italics = somewhat applies, strike = does not apply

ARCHIBALD THANATOS (THE UNTITLEDVERSE [THE OMNISCIENT RULE SAGA])

EROS: • scornful jealousy • pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub (less so than his brother, Osmund Thanatos) • has a tattoo they regret (and he was born with it) • sex & love therapist for their friends (less so than his niece, Willow Thanatos) • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-coloured glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie• milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous •

HECATE: • prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy (he's the current Head Patriarch in the House of Thanatos, he hates this shit) • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings •

PAN: • enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles (as one of the few Old God Houses left, by process of circumstantial elimination he is, but he doesn't necessarily enjoy being involved in the politics itself) • loves being around campfire • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry •

NEMESIS: • angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony (key to being an (Old) God of Death) • looks like an angel but isn’t • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words •

HYPNOS: • very calm demeanor • easily overwhelmed • relaxing is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • carries drugs with them • has a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions (appropriate for the current God of Death) • not good at memory based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes •

IRIS: • life’s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers •feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura • always traveling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person •

PHILLIP (THE SILVER CHRONICLES AU [FAR CRY 5, FAR CRY NEW DAWN])

EROS: • scornful jealousy • pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub • has a tattoo they regret • sex & love therapist for their friends • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-coloured glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie• milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous •

HECATE: • prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown (more than the Voice does at least) • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings •

PAN: • enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles • loves being around campfire • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry •

NEMESIS: • angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony • looks like an angel but isn’t (he's a New God but yeah Phillip isn't as all-knowing and selfless as he should be) • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance (but ignores the fact he's ignorant himself) • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words •

HYPNOS: • very calm demeanor • easily overwhelmed • relaxing is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • carries drugs with them • has a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions (appropriate for a New God) • not good at memory based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes •

IRIS: • life’s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers •feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura • always traveling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person (in the wrong way possible)•

DISCORD, THE MAD KIN OF CARNAGE (AN OLD BALLAD OF CHANCE AND EMBER HEARTS TRILOGY)

EROS: • scornful jealousy • pink • presents a certain decorum • heavy air in a nightclub • has a tattoo they regret • sex & love therapist for their friends • juvenescent • uses enchantments • aloof • wears rose-coloured glasses • velvet, latex, & lingerie• milk baths with champagne bubbles • impetuous in love • intense eye contact is a sport • kinky • soft lips • wears stacked rings • sets fashion trends • graceful movements • marble floors • heavy perfume or cologne • deeply emotional • born glamorous •

HECATE: • prefers canine companions • wears symbolic jewelry • can see spirits • melting wax • uses hexes • feels most comfortable at night • smell of cinnamon • moonlight • red wine • understands poisons & herbs • collects bones or feathers • partakes in rituals • black • fog at night • is aware of their shadow self • embraces the unknown • enjoys collecting secrets • approves of necromancy • meditates • has prophetic dreams • lace • knowing too many secrets • fishnet stockings •

PAN: • enjoys poetry & prose • wool • smell of decaying leaves in autumn • prefers to be barefoot • tends to overindulge • easily excitable • thriving in social circles • loves being around campfire • antlers • dirt paths • the sound of wind chimes • penchant for sticky fingers • pine trees • stamina for days • falls in lust • vagabond • physically stronger than given credit for • foxglove • welcomes luxury • non-confrontational • charming words • talking to animals • nature for jewelry •

NEMESIS: • angry • protective of their values • balance & harmony • looks like an angel but isn’t • more perceptive than people realize • snow capped mountains • grey • wears leather • silver jewelry • likes snakes • can’t stand ignorance • believes in retribution • analytical of own emotions • well read • marble columns • has very rigid morals • bruised knuckles • humorous under the sarcasm • clean workspace • everything in moderation • cold morning air • resting glare face • fluent in curse words •

HYPNOS: • very calm demeanor • easily overwhelmed • relaxing is their vice • transactional friendships • has a soft voice • head in the clouds • carries drugs with them • has a sibling they’re close with • drawn to winged animals • lavender • has plush furniture/blankets • starry eyed • horrible money management • gives amazing hugs (these hugs kill) • dreaming big as a full time job • wears comfy or loose clothes • existential questions • not good at memory based skills • fairy lights • can’t sleep somewhere unfamiliar • crystalline chandeliers • dislikes bright sun • fluttering eyelashes •

IRIS: • life’s a technicolor spectrum • has a lot to say • beaming smiles • always has candy with them • flirting by accident • walking to the beat of their own drum • gossamer curtains • has a surprising amount of connections • blushes very easily • confident laughter • uses a staff • fresh fruit slices • decorated handwritten letters • a social chameleon • blood made of honey • treating people with kindness • sentimental heart • vases full of wildflowers •feels fulfilled when helping others • has a healing aura (quite the opposite actually) • always traveling • stained glass windows • just trying to be a good person •

For OCs as Flower Aesthetics I chose OCs from The Silver Chronicles, Life, Despair & Monsters and A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore. Rules and stuff below:

Rules: bold what applies to your oc. italics if somewhat applies.

MERCY OMAR-SEED (THE SILVER CHRONICLES [FAR CRY NEW DAWN] ❀ Daisy: Wears their heart on their sleeve. Soft voice. Minimalistic clothing. Laying in a field of tall grass. Walking barefoot. Puts other people’s happiness above their own.

✿ Bellflower: Very consistent friend. Happy face with sad eyes. Careful touches. Hiding a blush. Light giggles. Makes friends easily. Knows how to make you smile.

❀ Bleeding Heart: Hopeless romantic. Still laughs at dirty jokes (tries to hide it). Believes they can change the world. Caring looks. Dyed hair. Kisses on the cheek.

❀ Protea: Proud. Big gestures. African heritage. Blushes easily. Tries to look tough but is really just a big softie. Content where they are. Doesn’t love easily, but always deeply (nah loves easily and very deeply).

✿ Moonflower: Knowing smiles. Doesn’t open up easily (just like her mothers). Late night. Tired eyes. Soft skin. Not as innocent as they seem (having Azriel as an older sister doesn't really give a chance for this). Loose clothing.

✿ Sunflower: Big smiles. Always looking for the positive (desperately, especially for Silva). Lots of friends. Warm afternoons. Basking in the sun. Stares off into space a lot. Sitting in comfortable silence.

❀ Dandelion: Wishing for the impossible. Shooting stars. Light breezes through their hair. White clothing. Whispered secrets. Far off looks. Kind eyes.

RICO (LIFE, DESPAIR & MONSTERS)

❀ Daisy: Wears their heart on their sleeve. Soft voice. Minimalistic clothing. Laying in a field of tall grass. Walking barefoot.Puts other people’s happiness above their own.

✿ Bellflower: Very consistent friend (Johnny got lucky). Happy face with sad eyes. Careful touches. Hiding a blush. Light giggles. Makes friends easily. Knows how to make you smile.

❀ Bleeding Heart: Hopeless romantic. Still laughs at dirty jokes. Believes they can change the world. Caring looks. Dyed hair. Kisses on the cheek.

❀ Protea: Proud. Big gestures. African heritage. Blushes easily. Tries to look tough but is really just a big softie. Content where they are (who the fuck wants to be in Night City?). Doesn’t love easily, but always deeply (V and Sydney are his favorites and misses Johnny).

✿ Moonflower: Knowing smiles. Doesn’t open up easily. Late night. Tired eyes. Soft skin. Not as innocent as they seem. Loose clothing.

✿ Sunflower: Big smiles. Always looking for the positive. Lots of friends. Warm afternoons. Basking in the sun. Stares off into space a lot. Sitting in comfortable silence.

❀ Dandelion: Wishing for the impossible. Shooting stars. Light breezes through their hair. White clothing. Whispered secrets. Far off looks. Kind eyes.

FINIDY MONA (A RADIOACTIVE CALAMITY OF LOVE, BOMBS & GORE [FALLOUT 2])

❀ Daisy: Wears their heart on their sleeve. Soft voice. Minimalistic clothing. Laying in a field of tall grass. Walking barefoot.Puts other people’s happiness above their own.

✿ Bellflower: Very consistent friend. Happy face with sad eyes. Careful touches. Hiding a blush. Light giggles. Makes friends easily. Knows how to make you smile.

❀ Bleeding Heart: Hopeless romantic. Still laughs at dirty jokes. Believes they can change the world. Caring looks. Dyed hair. Kisses on the cheek.

❀ Protea: Proud. Big gestures. African heritage. Blushes easily. Tries to look tough but is really just a big softie. Content where they are. Doesn’t love easily, but always deeply.

✿ Moonflower: Knowing smiles. Doesn’t open up easily. Late night. Tired eyes. Soft skin. Not as innocent as they seem. Loose clothing.

✿ Sunflower: Big smiles. Always looking for the positive. Lots of friends. Warm afternoons. Basking in the sun. Stares off into space a lot. Sitting in comfortable silence.

❀ Dandelion: Wishing for the impossible. Shooting stars. Light breezes through their hair. White clothing. Whispered secrets. Far off looks. Kind eyes.

Here are results for the "How does your OCs story end?" Quiz for OCs from The UnTitledverse, The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters. Results below:

JOAQUIN COBALT (THE UNTITLEDVERSE)

In The Perfect Storm and The Omniscient Rule sagas, sure (and even then those aren't at the end of his story), but other than those Joaquin's story doesn't end with betrayal, rather on a lighter note.

SILVA OMAR (THE SILVER CHRONICLES [FAR CRY 5, FAR CRY NEW DAWN])

No. After everything Silva goes through, that'd be too cruel. I've got plenty of other characters for that. Closest thing this relates to Silva is "questions unanswered" and "desires unfulfilled"; Silva doesn't get satisfying answers after the Collapse and the tragedies she experienced prior, and she mourns the normalcy she only got to live for such a sparse time before tragedy, the Apostles, Eden's Gate, the Congregation and the Collapse denied her that chance. But she does get a rather good ending, a happiness she deserves.

HAOYU ANABUKI (LIFE, DESPAIR & MONSTERS)

Haoyu's fate in the last installment of Life, Despair & Monsters is left ambiguous and up for interpretation and never answered, just like everyone else who remained with them. However, Haoyu is not left alone in the dire situation they had no choice but to run in to, nor do they plead or cry, just accept whatever result comes next (though begrudgingly given Haoyu does just want to live).

[shelandsorcery]

🤘

fyi these night scenes are all being painted from ref from Filip Mroz on Unsplash, and they're being painted large - on 12x16" watercolour paper.

[magnhild]

it's that time of month (it has been three months since i last did this), time to post various renewal sketches

feat. cobalt and lily for bi visibility day, team blcd based on a 'draw the squad' prompt, and the twins <3

[simplegenius042]

In The UnTitledverse, Joaquin Cobalt struggles with his senses of identity, purpose and his entire being in the world and the Multiverse. He was reincarnated by accident and complete chance, plagued by constant deja vu, or worse, night terrors of memories of his previous incarnation and had to grow up way too fast as he was shouldered with a responsibility that he can't even shake off easily, as he has no home to go back to, no family except the people he's found himself with and no way of finding answers unless he endures the pressure and perseveres into those responsibilities he's been unfairly shouldered.

In The Silver Chronicles, Silva Omar is a junior deputy of the Hope County Sheriff's Department, and she struggles with overcoming her past and present trauma, her fear & guilt of loss, her capacity to be compassionate & yet violent, and her own acceptance of herself, at least in Silva's Hope. In the sequel, Old Dusk, Silva struggles with, what she perceives to be, her own failure to protect her community and the grief for a normalcy she wanted so badly but didn't get enough time to live in. There's also her own ability to forgive herself for her present and past failures.

In Life, Despair & Monsters, Haoyu Anabuki struggles with some personal issues; their selfishness which overpowers their ability to be selfless, familial connection with Monika and even fear of abandonment and death. There's also their passiveness which makes them run from their problems more than finding a solution for them.

Tell me, what’s something your OC struggles with?

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: On Colour

Describing Colour in your Poetry and Stories

BLACK Shadow Black, Dusk, Midnight, Blackbird, Blackberry, Ebony, Black Honey, Darkness, Jet Black, Ink Black, Soot, Onyx, Licorice, Ivory Black, Pitch, Char, Gloom, Outer Space, Creosote Black, Melanite, Goth Black, Gunpowder

BLUE Blueberry, Sapphire Blue Metallic, Tiffany Blue (Pantone 1837), Cobalt Blue, Denim, Aquamarine, Turquoise, Sky Blue, Topaz, Ultramarine Blue, Azure, Cerulean, Oxford Blue, Periwinkle, Electric Blue, Baby Boy Blue, Pthalo Blue, Robin's Egg Blue, Persian Blue, Marino Blue, Prussian Blue

GREEN Leafy Green, Olive, Moss Green, Jade, Lime, Sour Apple Green, Emerald Green, Mint, Kiwi Green, Phthalo Green, Praying Mantis Green, Viridian, Greenback, Shamrock, Sap Green, Chartreuse, Sea Green, Pistachio, Teal, Bamboo, Sea Salt, Celadon Green, Celery, Asparagus Green, Fern Green, Neon Green, Jungle Green, Pear Green

ORANGE Pumpkin, Burnt Orange, Carrot, Sunset Orange, Tangerine, Persimmon, Salamander, Tennessee Orange (Pantone 151), Jack-o'-lantern Orange, Florida Orange, Summer Squash, Pale Daffodil, Smashed Pumpkin, Saffron, Autumn Orange, Macaroni and Cheese, Cadmium Orange

PINK Pink Flamingo, Neon Pink, Bubblegum Pink, Salmon, Peach, Fuscia, Cotton Candy Pink, Rose, Carnation, Thulian, Apricot, Atomic Pink, Barbie Pink, Hot Pink, Amaranth, Flushed, Glitter Pink

PURPLE Lavender, Purple Haze, Grape, Eggplant Purple, Plum, Violet, Orchid, Psychedelic Purple, Amethyst, Lilac, Boysenberry, Mulberry, Wisteria, Bruised Plum, Indigo, Mauve

RED Blood Red, Copper, Maroon, Strawberry, Watermelon Red, Crimson, Candy Apple Red, Tomato, Brick Red, Scarlet, Cardinal Red, Cherry, Ruby Red, Coral, Sunburn, Hot Lava, Cadmium Red, Auburn, Blush, Alizarin Crimson, Fire Engine Red, Raspberry, Vermillion, Lipstick, Burgundy, Magenta, English Vermilion, Mahogany

WHITE Dirty White, Albino, Chalk, Alabaster, Cotton, Titanium White, Vanilla, Bone White Egg Shell, Marshmallow, Ivory, Pearl White, Almond, Champagne, Blond, Cream, Milky White, Corn Silk, Bleach, Navajo White, Ghost White, Light, Cloud White

YELLOW Canary Yellow, Lemon, Banana, Egg Yolk Yellow, Mellow Yellow, Chanterelle, Mustard Yellow, Corn, Goldenrod, Amber, Pineapple, Metallic Gold, Cadmium Yellow, Wheat, Tuscan Sun, Butter, School Bus Yellow, Yellow Ochre, Citron, Dandelion

BROWN Mud Brown, Beaver, Caramel, Rust, Macaroon, Toasty Brown, Coffee, Sandy Tan, Cocoa, Honey, Chocolate, Burnt Sienna, Mocha, Seashell, Antique Brass, Bronze, Brown Sugar, Chestnut Brown, Taupe, Burnt Umber, Khaki, Dark Sienna, Light Chocolate, Sepia

GRAY Stone Gray, Ash, Metallic Silver, Platinum, Smoke, Concrete Gray, Mercury, Steel Gray, Mist, Titanium, Charcoal, Slate, Sterling Silver, Tungsten, Old Coin Gray, Iron Gray, Chrome, Magnesium, Overcast

MIXED Candy Cane (red and white), Zebra (black and white), Chameleon (many different colours), Ladybug (black and red), Wildfire (yellow, orange and red), Tiger (orange, black and white), Yellow Jacket (black and yellow), Christmas Lights (red, white and green), Rainbow (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet), Black Pepper (black and gray), Leopard (spotted gold and black), Creamsicle (orange and white), Candy Corn (orange and white), Iceberg (a bluish gray), Marbled

COLOURS: Symbolisms, Associations & Psychological Effects

Black. Especially in Gothic literature from the West, a black colour choice often represents death, evil, grief, and depression. Associated with fear, the unknown and often has a negative connotation. Black clothes can make you look thinner. A black background severely diminishes the readability of most type. Often the go to colour for funerals and grieving. It symbolizes stability and power, which gives a sense of authority. Thus, the black colour often represents professionalism and expertise.

Blue. Has positive and negative connotations in colour psychology. Some writers may use blue to represent serenity and tranquility, instilling a scene with a calming effect. Blue can also signify sadness, melancholy, or isolation. People who find someone very loyal and faithful are often called "true blue". Blue is often considered to be more masculine which is why it is often the colour of choice when choosing a suit. Lighter blues are associated with tranquility, softness and healing. Darker blues are associated with power, knowledge and seriousness. Blue is actually shown to suppress appetites a bit. The colour blue symbolizes wisdom and hope. It’s the colour of peace and confidence. Blue has been shown to reduce blood pressure and pulse rate. It fosters serenity and a sense of belonging.

Green. The colour green often symbolizes rebirth, growth, peace, jealousy, and greed. Green colours may also represent spring and renewal. It is a colour that is very easy on the eyes. Dark green is often associated with ambition. Green suggests stability, safety and hope. At the same time, it may denote a lack of experience in a particular field. Green symbolizes peace, growth, and nature. It is the colour of success, promoting healing and tranquility.

Orange. The colour orange often represents energy, excitement, joy, and creativity. Since orange is the colour of fire, it may also symbolize heat. Since orange is not as aggressive as red, it can actually stimulate brain activity. It is very useful to catch someone's attention, which is why it's used a lot to advertise food and toys.

Pink. The colour pink symbolizes love, kindness, femininity, innocence, and playfulness. Certain shades of pink can limit aggression. Pink may be associated with unconditional love and caring.

Purple. Often associated with royalty, the colour purple symbolizes bravery, spirituality, and luxury. Light purple usually brings up romantic or nostalgic feelings; while a darker shade can make you feel gloomy or sad.

Red. The colour red symbolizes some of the most powerful human emotions, like passionate love or lust. On the other side of the spectrum, this warm colour is also the colour of blood, often symbolizing anger, danger, and violence. It stimulates the appetite. Red is an emotionally intense colour associated with energy, danger, anger, passion and determination. The symbolic meaning associated with the colour red is passion, excitement, and love. It’s the colour of urgency, power, and desire. Red is said to boost hunger and is believed to inspire confidence and excitement. This colour has also been found to increase blood pressure and heart rate.

White. This primary colour traditionally symbolizes innocence, peace, and cleanliness. In Western cultures, the colour white also represents purity and virginity, while it symbolizes mourning in some East Asian cultures. Usually has positive connotations when used and thought of as safe. Associated a lot with healing, simplicity and sterility, which is why it's used in hospitals and healing centers as much as it is. The symbolic meaning of the colour white is truth and sometimes even indifference. It encourages feelings of safety and cleanliness. Clean, white clothes and linens show sterility since stains are easily visible. That’s why doctors and nurses frequently wear white lab coats and scrubs.

Yellow. Writers may use the colour yellow to symbolize creativity, happiness, optimism, and warmth—think of a yellow ray of sunlight poking out from a dark cloud. A common negative connotation of the color yellow is cowardice, popularized by the phrase “yellow-bellied.” Warming effect which stimulates body and mind. Gold is associated with the highest of luxury. When bright yellow is used with black it's one of the easiest colour combinations to see from long distances; when uses with lighter colours it's not so easy to see. Yellow ribbons are worn as a symbol of hope and used quite often to welcome home loved ones. Yellow is the colour of warmth, kindness, and happiness. It’s often associated with optimism and well-being and promotes energy.

Brown. This warm, earthy brown colour may symbolize dependability, comfort, and a sense of being grounded. Brown is also a neutral colour, and writers may use it to represent dullness and predictability. Brown is a colour that is related to very grounded traits such as simplicity, practicality, common sense and hard work. Can also be associated with those that are frugal and not too flashy.

Gray. Lighter grays are often thought of as more feminine while darker grays more masculine. Gray is considered by many to be a neutral colour; the perfect balance between light and dark / good and evil. Pop up the lighter grays and add a little shine to it, and thought immediately turns to silver, which correlates to wealth.

Sources & related articles: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them!

[elrielffs]

Just musing today on the phrase antis love to use from Cassian about how Elain doesn't fit into the NC and that's why she needs to leave and can't be Azriel.

I won't go into detail about Elain was purposefully looking bad and the misogynistic take of taking Cassian's word over Elain's that she does belong in that court or even Nesta's that Elain is happy and glowing and had made friends and a life there.

Let's also take into Azriel's pov. I believe we are told that Azriel is also close in power to Rhysand and that Rhysand says there's something in Azriel he's never been able to tame.

Or that Azriel himself tells Feyre that he still doesn't know where he belongs after 500+ years.

I think...this means they will both end up at the Dusk Court. In HOFAS we get a pretty good detail of plant or earth magic fae reacting to Avallen being dead and without life and when it's restored, it's restored with greenery, plants, flowers etc. Life.

And we know Dusk Court is the Avallen equivalent in Prythian.

Going with the theory that Elain will have powers opposite of Nesta's death...her power will be life, either through some magical abilities we don't know yet, could be related to her Seer powers, or through her gardening.

SJM calls Elain a dreamer and you can say that Elain is softer around the edges but no less fierce that Feyre and Nesta. Maybe she doesn't belong in the Court of Nightmares...but she does belong in the Night Court, a court that Feyre and Rhysand say is the Court of Dreams.

Azriel who is almost as strong as Rhysand, doesn't heel to him, isn't tamable, who doesn't know where he belongs after 500+ years and Elain, who is a dreamer, a life giver, the softer side of the Night Court...Azriel representing Death while Elain Life, the two always interlinked. Azriel being associated with Cobalt blue and Elain with Pink...swirling into an amethyst...the colors of Dusk, light and dark, their bodies a blend of the two. Dusk.

Why wouldn't they take over Dusk Court? It's the beginning of night, when night starts to come to life but is not at it's darkest (CoN where Cassian says Elain is having the life sucked out of her is metaphorically the darkest place in the IC).

Would they be a High Lady/Lord? I don't know, maybe it would just be another part of the NC but I definitely feel like Dusk is for Elain and Azriel, a place for them together in the NC to call home.

EDIT: Also...3 sisters...3 mountains...3 stars...Feyre got UTM, Nesta Ramiel, Elain's mountain is literally where Dusk Court is located.

[elrielsgarden]

Elain's Outfits Through the ACOTAR Series

Elain Archeron's outfits, specifically the colors of her dresses, is a subject well discussed across the fandom. However, this post provides a summary of the colors she has worn so far and the potential foreshadowing they provide.

It should be noted that the clothing that both Feyre and Nesta choose to wear is significant; Elain's are no less important.

In A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre does not note the color of Elain's outfits. However, we see several moments in A Court of Mist and Fury.

Elain wears a silk cobalt dress when meeting the Bat Boys.

She dons a pale pink and blue dress for one of the later meetings with the human queens.

A Court of Wings and Ruins contains five mentions.

Pale pink is worn by Elain in a moment Feyre sees her sitting, staring out the window.

Elain layers a silk shawl of palest blue over her nightgown.

Elain wears dusty pink as Feyre notices her at breakfast.

A dark blue cloak is found discarded on the ground when Elain is lured by the Cauldron.

Elain wears leather pants and a thigh-length blue surcoat trimmed with white fur during the final battle with Hybern. This is what she's wearing when she kills Hybern.

In A Court of Frost and Starlight Elain wears:

A rose pink gown while cooking for a family dinner

An apron over a dusty pink gown

An amethyst gown for Solstice

A pale blue cloak for gardening (gift from Feyre, not worn)

A Court of Silver Flames notes that Elain wears:

A lilac gown when Nesta sees her in the library

An amethyst velvet gown for Solstice #2

Cobalt, pale blue, pale pink, dusty rose, rose pink, amethyst, & lilac

Elain's clothing colors seem to highlight her softer, more gentle nature. They are also colors we associate with Elain's flower garden.

It is important to note that Elain wears the same color as Azriel's siphons the first time they meet. This is a tiny detail, but it adds to their romance that begins in those scenes. And of course Elain + Azriel = Elriel.

Additionally, these colors (cobalt, pale pink, pale blue, dusty pink, rose pink, amethyst, lilac) are quite literally those of dusk. And paired with Azriel's cobalt siphons and his dark shadows, the idea of dusk SJM presents is so incredibly apparent.

Not only do the colors Elain chooses to wear show her character and hint in another way toward Elriel, we see a nudge toward a plot regarding the dusk court.

[e-vay]

Savor Every Second - A Sonamy “First Time” One-Shot

[A/N: Yes, the title means what you think it means! Rated T. This fic is also available on AO3 if you prefer to read it there.]

[Additional note: I listened to "Sleep Well” - d4vd while writing this]

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

“Chaos Emeralds coming your way,” Super Sonic stated into the communicator on his wrist. He used two fingers to salute to his friends flying nearby in the biplane. He balled his hands into fists and braced his arms across his chest before throwing them outwards, expelling the seven Chaos Emeralds from him and into the dusk.

“I’ve tracked their trajectories!” Tails shouted excitedly. The plane made a tactical turn and headed in a pointed direction. “Great work, Sonic! Knuckles and I will work on collecting them. You take it easy and we’ll regroup tomorrow to go over…”

Sonic yanked his communicator off him and tossed it to the ground below, not able to focus on the fox’s instructions. As he slowly drifted to the ground, his fur fading from a vibrant glowing gold to its regular cobalt shade, his attention was entirely on the pink hedgehog in the distance running towards him. Her grin stretched from both corners of her muzzle and tears were welling up in her eyes.

Amy waved one arm in the air to signal the hedgehog slowly descending from the setting sky. She laughed incredulously and blinked away her tears. She knew better than to doubt her team (and especially the hero she had been calling “boyfriend” for the last several months), but this adventure was an especially close call. There was sure to be a huge celebration with the gang after they met back up for debriefing, but at the moment all she wanted was to wrap Sonic in her arms and revel in the fact they managed to survive this most recent campaign.

As the distance closed between the two, Amy couldn’t help but notice Sonic’s eyes darken once they locked with hers. That intense gaze made her weak in the knees and she had to slow her gate to keep herself from tripping. The second his feet touched the ground, he sprinted to her at full speed and swept her up in his arms, pressing his lips into hers. She kissed him back with equal passion, thrilled to be in his embrace. Their lips communicated without the use of words: I love you. Thank Chaos you’re alive. Thank Chaos you’re mine.

Sonic never made his concern apparent whenever they were waging war with whatever latest enemy crossed their path, but this time was too close for comfort. Sure they’d had near-death-experiences before (an occupational hazard), but not since he and Amy had officially started their romantic relationship. What if they didn’t make it this time? What if he couldn’t tell her he loved her once more, couldn’t hear her contagious laughter again, breathe in her scent, taste her… He steeled himself during battle to make sure that wouldn’t happen, but it did put everything into perspective for him. 

He needed to savor every second with her.

Sonic slid a hand up Amy’s back and clutched the nape of her neck, soliciting a dreamy sigh from his mate. He used the opportunity to open his mouth to hers as well, deepening the kiss. With careful coordination, he dropped to his knees and leaned forward, resting Amy on her back but not leaving any space between them while doing so. She mindlessly hooked her legs over his hips to bring him even closer. Her fingers laced their way into his quills and the sensual tugging made his fur stand on end. 

He finally broke the kiss just to smother his lips down her muzzle, under her chin and into the crook of her neck. The feel of his mouth against her and his hot panting made Amy tremble beneath him. The two had spent the last several months kissing and even enjoyed some not-so-innocent “exploration” here and there, but she was certain she’d never get used to this. His touch caused her to swelter and radiate so much heat that she was convinced she’d burn him. She let out a sharp gasp and writhed under him when he sucked on a particularly tender spot near her clavicle. Amy loved that he not only discovered that secret weakness of hers; he exploited it often. “Sonic,” she exhaled longingly.

The hoarse sound of his name on her breath sent pounding waves of electricity throughout his entire being. He wanted to hear more of it, in varying pitches and volumes.  

As his lips made their way back up to meet hers, his hands snaked down her delicate frame. Her form baffled and mesmerized him. She was so strong with such firm, toned muscles and yet some areas of her body were so splendidly soft and malleable in his hands. He traced her sides, her waist, her hips, finally gripping hungrily onto her thighs that were so tightly wrapped around him. They could feel the pummeling of each other’s heartbeats with how tightly their chests were pressed together, but it still wasn’t close enough. He needed to be a part of her.

“I love you,” Sonic moaned breathlessly into Amy’s mouth. Releasing his grasp from her thighs, he placed his hands on either side of her face and directed her to look up at him. His eyes roved over her as he hoped he could communicate this next part as urgently as he felt it. 

“I need you.”

It was as much a statement of fact as it was a desperate, ravenous plea. 

Amy’s breath hitched. This was finally it: the threshold they had danced dangerously close to but hadn’t yet crossed. The yearning fire broiling in her lower torso was so intense that only two words were able to escape her quivering lips.

“Have me.”

The split-second she gave her permission, Sonic bit the tip of his fingers and quickly yanked off his gloves before using his bare hands to rip open her dress.

♥ ♥ ♥

Amy’s eyes fluttered open from her slumber and for a moment she couldn’t recall where she was. She blinked until her eyes adjusted to the darkness and it was revealed she was in her bedroom. She raised her arms above her head for a full-body stretch, but a tender ache in her lower half stopped her short.

It wasn’t a dream. She combed her mess of quills from her face and laughed in disbelief.

What had started out there on the forest floor continued back here at her home. Her cheeks grew warm as she recollected everything that transpired. But with so many rounds that went on for Chaos-knows how many hours, some of the details got a little hazy. That was okay. She had plenty of mental snapshots to enjoy: his vivid green eyes boring into hers, their tangled forms writhing in the moonlight, the delicious harmony of their moans, his… dedication.

Amy decided she’d better snap herself out of it before she got too riled up again and awoke Sonic. Sonic…

She turned over in bed and couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment to see it empty. “Oh well,” she thought. Even before they were dating, an agreement was made that the aloof blue hedgehog could come and go from her place as he pleased. It was in his nature to be nomadic. Still, it would have been nice to have woken up beside him after the evening’s festivities…

From the corner of her eye, she spotted a figure gingerly tiptoeing in the doorframe. The shadow froze in place as soon as she looked over.

“Whoops, did I wake you?” Sonic whispered, a glass of water in his hand. Amy sat up in bed, thrilled to learn that he hadn’t left just yet. “Not at all,” she replied. “Have you been up long?”

“Nuh-uh,” he replied at his regular volume before taking several long gulps of water. He walked over and plopped down on the edge of the bed. “I was out like a light, but…” Sonic looked over his shoulder at her, a cheeky grin plastered across his face and his voice had a feigned bewilderment to it. “I’m so parched for some reason. ’Wonder why…” the corners of his mouth stayed curled in a smile as he finished the last sip from his glass.

“How quickly you forget,” Amy teased. He set the cup on a nearby nightstand before suddenly tackling the pink hedgehog, rolling and tumbling the pair to the complete other side of the bed and tangling up in the sheets. He planted himself on his back so Amy lay on top of him. “How dare you,” he sneered but only in jest. 

She pecked his lips as a form of playful apology. “How do you still have so much energy?!” 

“Crazy, right?” He closed his eyes and smirked matter-of-factly. “I’m aboutta tell Knux he can keep his Chaos Emeralds. I just need my ‘Amy fix’ to go Super Sonic.” He punctuated the sentence with a goofy shimmy. 

Amy buried her face into his chest to stifle her laughter and hide her blush. “Stoooop,” she pleaded bashfully, but she did delight in the implication that she had such a strong impact on him. 

The two sighed in unison, grateful to be alive and overjoyed to be in each other’s arms. Sonic stroked her tangled quills, silently admiring how ridiculous her hair had gotten from their activity. The slow rhythm of their breathing started lulling each other back to sleep. 

“I love you, Sonic,” she whispered drowsily into the sweat-matted fur of his chest. 

“I love you, Ames,” he mumbled before dozing off once again. 

[bright-side20]

Azriel /Shadowsinger;Starborn

I wanted to write about why I believe Az has a secret starborn lineage ever since Hofas was released, so here it is:

Acomaf : “Like the daemati,” Rhys said to me, “shadowsingers are rare—coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things others can’t.”

Rhys compared Daemati to the shadowsingers because they're both rare.

Hofas: My story begins before I was born." The female's voice was heavy-weary. Tired and sad. "During a time I know of only from my mother's stories, my father's memories." She lifted a finger to the space between her brows. "Both of them showed me once, mind-to-mind. So I shall show you."

Thea and Fionn were Daemati, so it's a power of the Dusk Court people.

Hosab: Night haired Helena, from whose golden skin poured starlight and shadows Hofas : My mother eventually trusted only Helena and myself to seek the truth. She knew we could be of great use to her, because we bore the shadows as well as starlight. We spent a month hidden in the enemy's stronghold, no more than shadows ourselves. By the time we returned to our mother, we'd learned the truth.

Helena and Silene both possessed the power of shadows, they worked as spies because of it. Light and shadows are the power of the Dusk.

Conclusion :Both Daemati and Shadowsingers are Dusk Court people's powers, and they are rare in Prythian because most of them left for Midgard.

Acofas: Though the cobalt Siphons were proof that his Illyrian heritage ran true, even the rich lore of that warrior-people, my warrior-people, did not have an explanation for where the shadowsinger gifts came from. They certainly weren’t connected to the Siphons, to the raw killing power most Illyrians possessed and channeled through the stones to keep from destroying everything in its path. Azriel nodded his agreement, his shadows twining around him. Most of the camp women had ducked into their homes when he’d appeared. A rare visit from the shadowsinger. Both myth and terror. Az looked just as displeased to be here, but he’d come when I asked.

The Illyrians have absolutely no idea where Azriel's power came from. It's not related to their own magic, and he's even somewhat of a myth to them. I think if his power came from a special Illyrian lineage like Enalius, they would know, given their attachment to their culture and history.

*Shadows nature and abilities :

I'll start with Bryce comparing Azriel's shadows to Cormac's shadows:

Hofas:

Azriel, without Rhysand to translate, watched in silence. Bryce could have sworn shadows wreathed him, like Ruhn's, yet... wilder. The way Cormac's had been.

And then Az admitting that it's a magical power:

The shadows are made of magic, just very condensed.

Hosab,Cormac :

“You can teleport,” Bryce said, voice low..... Well, that explained how he’d shown up at Ruhn’s house party.... Once he’d had them, he’d simply walked right out of a shadow in the doorway.

“Where did you inherit the ability from?” Cormac squared his shoulders, every inch the proud prince as he said, “It was once a gift of the Starborn."

And then back to Hosab, Cormac says that his ability to winnow is because he's Starborn. We also know that Azriel can winnow through shadows, which could be attributed to his secret Fae lineage.

_Also There are similarities between Cormac's father, the twins' power, and Az's power :

Hofas: Shadows whispered over Morven's broad shoulders, trailing off his scaled armor. "He was a defiant boy. I thought I'd beaten it out of him long ago." Acomaf: It was an effort not to stare at Azriel as he watched them head up the steep street, arm in arm and bickering with every step. The shadows gathered around his shoulders, like they were indeed whispering to him, shielding him, perhaps.

The shadows talk to Morven just like they talk to Azriel.

Hofas: The twins opted to live. A shield of shadows slammed against the reaching spears of lightning. It was all Bryce needed to see before she burst into motion.

Acowar : “Enough, Azriel,” Rhys ordered. Perhaps those shadows that now slid and eddied around the shadowsinger hid him from the wrath of the binding magic. The others made no move to interfere, as if wondering the same.

The Twins' shadows were able to shield them from Hunt's Lightning just like the shadows shielded Azriel in the High Lords meeting, and nobody understood how it was possible.

*Last but not least :

About the troves :

Nesta stiffened. “If they’re all enchanting you to forget, how is it that Azriel was able to remember and bear the information here?” “Perhaps once you learn of it, recognize it, the spell is broken,” Amren said

Azriel was the one who brought the information about the troves . I think it could simply be because he's Starborn, so he has the ability to still remember them.

And of course, the last thing is him being able to wield the Starsword:

The male now held the Starsword at the ready, Truth-Teller gripped in his other hand.He must have had some sort of Starborn blood in him, then-a distant ancestor, maybe. Or maybe his possession of the knife somehow allowed him to also bear the Starsword.

After Hunt's daddies issues, I know that she could make Az somehow special, Illyrian-made, but I think this makes more sense and is more interesting: we know that his father is an Illyrian lord, but we don't know anything about his mother. Perhaps she could be a half-breed, he would still look like a full Illyrian but with a special power from his Fae lineage.

[making-your-fave-in-fr]

Can you make Subject Delta from Bioshock?

I made Subject Delta from Bioshock in Flight Rising!

M Bogsneak (Glowing Light eyes) Olive/Stitched | Murk/Foam | Stonewash/Basic

Cobalt Steam Mask, Deepwater Fins, Stoneshatter Drill, Electrician's Power Pack, Silver Steampunk Wing Armor, Silver Steampunk Wings, Silver Steampunk Vest, Silver Steampunk Gloves, Silver Steampunk Spats, Silver Steampunk Tail Bauble, Black Lab Coat, Classy Pants, Glamorous Scarlet Spats, Powered Implants, Dusk Rogue Tail Binding

[chunkypossum]

Wings and Steel

Day 5 of @erisweekofficial || War

2k words || READ ON AO3 || AZRIS Implied

Out of a rip in the world, Eris appeared atop our knoll, clad head to toe in silver armor, a red cape spilling from his shoulders. Rhys snarled a warning, too far gone in his power to bother controlling himself.  Eris just rested a hand on the pommel of his fine sword and said, “We thought you might need some help.”

… If a set of cobalt gemstones seemed to gleam a little brighter at his entrance, well… Eris would pretend not to notice. 

Thank you again @pippsmcgee for checking my shit and making sure I am coherent. You are a light and one of the only people I trust with my stuff!

Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train :

@talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot @fell-in-luvs @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi @yanny-77 @areyoudreaminof @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @ninthcircleofprythian @matrixsss @going-through-shit @c-starstuff-man0 @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @krowiathemythologynerd @cauldronblssd @hieragalbatorixdottir @yourlazykitkat @hellolordling @climbthemountain2020 @lilah-asteria  @shadowsandlint @acourtofbatboydreams @theeternalstruggle @christeareads @molcat07 @mistandmemories @neciebee @dusk-muse @chairofchaos @amalhe-kofee (it won’t let me tag in you my dear, but proof I tried and will keep trying)

[loosesodamarble]

The Beginning of an Enchanting Evening

My introductory post to @/lyranova's Halloween Ball event at @blackclover-emc!

My post/ocs are open for interaction!

Summary: A select group of House Faust's members make their way to the Halloween masquerade. Pairing(s): Josele x Nacht, Josele x Morgen Josele's dress | Nacht's suit | Morgen's suit Dawn's dress | Dusk's suit | Albert's suit | Varg's suit | Valerian's suit | Vivian's dress Word count: 647

..........

“Are you sure you all will be fine at home?”

Josele stood at the threshold of House Faust’s front entrance. She wore a floor-length ball gown with a cobalt blue bodice and a skirt that started the same hue and faded to a baby blue. A large bow at the waist and fabric flowers decorated the gown, and glitter made Josele shine like a star.

Despite being ready to attend that evening’s event, Josele hesitated to leave her home and her children who wouldn’t be in attendance.

Standing in the doorframe was Josele’s eldest daughter, Sterling. The redhead giggled and held her mother’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry about us, Mother,” Sterling answered. “Us kids drew lots so it’s not like we can be bitter about not going.”

“You’re sure?” Josele pressed, her brows furrowed.

“Very sure.” Sterling leaned back and shouted into the house. “Now don’t keep Father, Uncle, and the others waiting, Mother!” She turned Josele around and pushed her towards the cluster of family waiting for the lady of the house.

“Right then! Okay!” Josele yelped as awkwardly stumbled forward from her daughter’s push. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Take care of each other while we’re away.”

“Like we’d do anything else,” answered Sterling with a lazy wave of her hand.

With that, Sterling closed the door to House Faust and Josele went to where the rest of her family was waiting in the shade of trees. Nacht and Morgen greeted her with their usual loving smiles, plus a kiss on the hand from Nacht and a peck on the cheek from Morgen. Dawn excitedly bounced on the balls of her feet. Dusk fidgeted with the coat of his suit but there was still a small, eager grin on his face. Albert and Varg were whispering to each other, something about who will woo their beloved better. Valerian popped his knuckles, as if he was preparing for a fight and not a party. And Vivian stared at her mother, quiet and unreadable in her expression.

“Sorry for the hold up, everyone.”

“It’s perfectly alright, dear,” Morgen assured her. “Besides, we’re guaranteed to make it on time. Right?” He looked to Nacht, Dusk, and Varg.

Nacht sighed, “You’re lucky I like you, otherwise I’d be mad at you for treating me like Finral.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Morgen patted Nacht on the shoulder. “Thank you, the three of you, for helping us travel to the ball.”

“Now what are we waiting for?” Dawn exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air. She threw an arm around Dusk’s shoulders. “Let’s get going!”

With Nacht and Dusk’s Shadow Magic and Varg’s Eclipse Magic, the members of House Faust sank into the shadows before rising from them in front of Clover’s grand. Valerian and Varg quickly dashed away to be the first to enter. Dawn yelled “C’mon!” while she grabbed Dusk and Albert’s wrists to drag them along. And Vivian turned to her parents and uncle.

“It appears that us youths shall be taking the lead.”

“Not that you need us to guide you in,” Josele answered. She took a moment to adjust the ribbon in Vivian’s hair before letting her go. “We’ll see you all inside.”

“Have fun, Vivi,” Nacht said.

Vivian nodded then walked towards the palace entrance.

The three seniors of House Faust took a moment to themselves to make any final touch ups to their outfits. Nacht straightened the cuffs of his dress shirt and adjusted his cravat. Morgen shook down the cloak he wore with his suit. And Josele smoothed out the large ribbon that draped down the side of her gown. Both men offered their arm to the woman they loved, to which Josele decided to take Nacht’s arm. However, she did take a second to give Morgen a kiss and whisper, “You get my first dance though, okay?”

And thus began an enchanted evening.

[simplegenius042]

'Which of the 16 Main Archetypes is my OC?', 'Assigning a Bullshit Aesthetic to my OC' and 'Would my OC actually be a Good Parent?' Quizzes

Tagged by @raresvtm and @strafethesesinners

Tagging @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @icecutioner @socially-awkward-skeleton @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @direwombat @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @imogenkol @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @aceghosts @turbo-virgins @shellibisshe @deputy-morgan-malone @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @sleepyconfusedpotato @titiagls @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries and @nightwingshero + anyone else who wants to join. Taglist here.

Three OCs from various series for each of the three quizzes. 16 Main Archetype Quiz Here, Bullshit Aesthetic Quiz Here and Good Parent Quiz Here. Results below the cut:

Here's the 16 Archetypes quiz results for OCs from The UnTitledverse, The Silver Chronicles and Life, Despair & Monsters. Results below:

JOAQUIN COBALT (THE UNTITLEDVERSE)

I don't think the Sidekick fits Joaquin's archetype, but he likely wishes he was. Though in his own self-perception, he's trying to compensate his accidental existence by trying to be something significant, despite the fact he doesn't believe he's much of anything than an accidental miracle.

SILVA OMAR (THE SILVER CHRONICLES (FAR CRY 5, FAR CRY NEW DAWN)

Regret isn't the only thing Silva is filled with... trauma is a close second. However, ultimately I agree (mostly) with this archetype, unless I do a bit more research on Archetypes that is. But this result is pretty solid.

HAOYU ANABUKI (LIFE, DESPAIR & MONSTERS)

I think this mostly applies to Haoyu way down later at the completion of their arc, though before all that they're a selfish little twerp.

Bullshit OC Aesthetic Quiz results for OCs from An Old Ballad Of Chance And Ember Hearts, A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore and lastly The UnTitledverse.

DISCORD, THE MAD KIN OF CARNAGE (AN OLD BALLAD OF CHANCE AND EMBER HEARTS TRILOGY)

I don't think this fits Discord at all. He is literally a walking wasteland, everything around him reverts to its most basic form (which is eventually nothing). He is as close as to the embodiment of the end as possible, but as well as a abhorrent denial rebirth. He just destroys things, lets it wither away horrifically. He's more close to the dirt than he is to flesh.

ELRAND BRANDT (A RADIOACTIVE CALAMITY OF LOVE, BOMBS & GORE (FALLOUT (1997))

I don't think Twilight is an aesthetic for Elrand. However, due to living in a post apocalyptic world, I think it would smell a bit like old burns. I don't know just my take on it.

MARU (THE UNTITLEDVERSE)

Being an Illusion Spirit, I think this aesthetic fits Maru very well. She is after all dead and does work for the Wicked, which are mostly made up of dead and evil spirits.

Lastly is the "Is Your OC a Good Parent Quiz" which dear god, I hope everyone from The Silver Chronicles gets a good result.

SILVA OMAR (THE SILVER CHRONICLES [FAR CRY 5, FAR CRY NEW DAWN])

Silva is definitely a good parent... I'd argue a great one even! Though she can be a bit overprotective but that's not abnormal considering all she's been through. She fought Paul and the Apostles of Zachariah to get back Persephone (even if that ended in tragedy), and went rogue to fight for a peace between Eden's Gate and the Resistance after given some perspective from Azriel. That's not even to mention everything she does for Azriel (and Mercy) when the Congregation of Adam's Guard arrive in Silva's Hope and the Highwaymen in Old Dusk.

PAUL YELLOWJACK (THE SILVER CHRONICLES [FAR CRY NEW DAWN])

In her adolescence he was. Paul was what Silva needed at the time; someone supportive, understanding, and loving. He raised her into the morally strong woman she is today. However, that's not to say his darker aspects which he develops more late in life weren't present. The thing about Paul, while raising Silva, was that he was sometimes overbearing, possessive/co-dependent and had a fear that she'd abandon him, something that worsens after he finds out she's alive (years after the Tumultite Massacre and answering "The Call" and founding the Apostles of Zachariah), and since he lost his morals over the years and had Zachariah of all entities as his guidance, he's not above breaking Silva down for her "betterment"... though he does realize he goes too far after murdering Persephone in retaliation of Silva dismantling the Apostle's operations and killing his fellow heralds. Even after his resurrection/reincarnation, he still cares for her, but is too trapped in his self-loathing to break away from his dark path.

KAMSKI NEON, THE GOOD DOCTOR (THE SILVER CHRONICLES (FAR CRY 5)]

I'd say Kamski's kind of a good parent, just an overprotective helicopter parent is all. I also believe that he's the kind of parent who'd be like "my opinion is correct and everyone else is wrong so you best listen to me". Irene, his blood daughter, likely never questioned this, but after her death and the Tumultite Massacre, when he reunites with Silva, they're basically the only family they have left, so Kamski pretty much pushes this harder onto Silva which is something they have to work through... as well as the pressure and the responsibility he burdens her with too. There's also the fact of trust, since Kamski goes behind Silva's back more often than not when they disagree on something and lies to her about it. So yeah, it's very "so-so" with me. He's good parent with good intentions however he does do some drastic shit since he thinks he knows best plus his "us vs them" attitude with him and Silva as the "us" and literally everyone else as the "them".

FATHER ADAM OMAR (THE SILVER CHRONICLES [FAR CRY 5])

"Bad Parent" and "Too Harsh" is an understatement when it comes to Adam; he's an absolute irredeemable evil hypocritical piece of shit who abuses and murders his children. Silva and Elsa were just the most recent pair out of who knows (me, I know) how many, and the longest surviving too. Adam's a dictator who uses his status as a Prophet to oppress others and is extremely bigoted and xenophobic to the point he doesn't bat an eye when causing a massacre of his slave labour... or when invading Montana. Fuck this guy, I can't wait to write his death.

[princessimotep]

Tienes Mi Corazón - Chapter 1

Dusk fought the evening sun which prickled through the pearly white clouds hanging over Valentine. The sky once golden now fading into a cobalt haze. Evenings like these were found truly beautiful by Javier whom was riding through the town with Arthur after completing a mission there. It had been a long day for the pair of them, having started the mission in the early hours of that morning and only now able to finally return back to camp.

“Remind me, Arthur, next time we get a lead off Uncle, he comes with us.” The Mexican rolled his shoulders back, crunching them to relieve some tension. “He could have helped us back there.”

“It certainly wouldn’t have taken as long as it did.”

“Sí… Well, it’s done with now. Just gotta make it back to camp in one piece.”

“We will.” With a click of his tongue, Javier brought Boaz from a canter to a gallop to hasten the pace.

“We should get off the road. We don’t want anyone to follow us back.” Arthur nodded his head, grunting in agreement. The raven-head looked to the left, seeing a formation of dense trees. “Through the trees here, Arthur.” Their horses steered clear from the road leading out of Valentine and disappeared through the woods. The duo had hoped this would be enough to lose a possible trail of lawmen who might quickly discover what chaos they had caused back there. Javier had thought it best to be safe than sorry, and Arthur agreed with the notion.

Once the pair was deep enough into the trees, they halted their horses. They listened round, waiting for any sign of pursuit. A couple silent minutes go by, then a thundering of hooves could be heard from the road where they once were. Lawmen. Roughly five of them, yelling to each other how the criminals couldn’t have gone far. Silent the duo remained until the sounds finally vanished. Javier chuckled, placing his hand on top of his bowl hat. “See, partner? It always works out.”

“Barely.” Arthur grumbled, now at last able to relax back on his horse. Javier chuckled once more.

“Ahh, where is your sense of fun, amigo?” However, the laughter quickly stopped due to the sound of a piercing scream which echoed hauntingly through the woods. Both men, eyes wide, tried to look to the direction in which it came from. “It sounded like a woman.”

Next, a gunshot.

Crows shot up into the sky, cawing; signalling to where it came from. Javier’s eyebrows furrowed together, Boaz knocking his head back in reaction. “It sounds like she’s in trouble. Ride with me, Arthur!”

“Javier, wait!” Arthur exclaimed just before his partner could take off. “We have already gotten into trouble today. We should probably stay low.” Javier frowned.

“You know what Dutch says. We shoot fellers as need shooting. We save people as need saving and feed them as need feeding. That’s our way, Arthur.” The older cowboy sighed at what Javier said. He knew it was the right thing to do. He knew regardless of how he felt about the situation, Javier would still ride towards the danger and at the very least, he did not want his friend to get hurt. That’s just how Javier was, loyal with a heart of gold.

“You’re right. Come on then.” Kicking at the stirrups, the two men charged towards the location. More screams followed suit along with three more gunshots. As horrible as it sounded, the screaming somewhat soothed the young Mexican, for it meant the woman was still alive; which meant she could still be saved. Not even the sting of the branches whipping against his face was enough to slow him down. A few minutes of riding brought them to a small cabin which pooled down into a dip amidst the woods, the trees hanging over like a cloak of impending death. The windows were golden, illuminated by the warm lamp within. Outside, a few horses with lassos attached to their saddles. More menacingly, shadows whipped past the windows at short intervals, along with the sounds of broken glass and audible struggles.

“Gotcha now, girlie!” A man said from within the cabin. Followed by the sound of another.

“Found ya at last! You’re coming back with us.” The other growled. It became very evident that there seemed to be a whole group of men inside. Alone. With just one woman. Arthur and Javier dismounted their horses and took cover behind the trees. The younger outlaw pulled out his binoculars to look through the cabin window. He gritted his teeth at what he saw.

“O’Driscolls.” Arthur looked to Javier, soaking in the information.

“Colm in there?”

“No. But there seems to be a whole lot of them.”

“And the girl?” Javier scanned over to the next window to see if he could find her. There, he saw her.

Brown, wavy hair which cascaded down past her shoulders with darker eyes to match. She looked frightened – understandably. Yet Javier saw something more; a flicker of fearlessness which made her stand her ground. She stood tall against them, holding a knife, high in her hand. Her chest rising and falling with each shaking breath she took. Never once did she look away from them. Despite the odds of all these men who were slowly stepping towards her, stalking her like prey, she never once took a step back. It was as if she did not want to give them the satisfaction of her begging for them to leave her alone. She denied them their disgusting appetite for evil. Defied their want for her to give up. To Javier she was… mesmerising to watch.

“Javier!” Arthur hissed, making Javier snap out of it. “The girl? Is she alright?” Javier cleared his throat, putting away his binoculars. “Sí. She’s putting up a fight. It’ll buy us time to get to her.” A gunshot pierced through the men’s ears which caused them to duck in retaliation. “Mierda! Arthur. How should we handle this?”

“I’ll draw them out.” Arthur unravelled his Bolt Action Rifle which was resting against his back previously. In turn, Javier pulled out his Double-Action Revolver. “As soon as there’s a gap, you run down and get her.”

“Alright, Arthur.” The older cowboy prepared his shot, aiming it through the window and looking through the scope to identify the individual who was closest to the woman. A couple seconds passed…

BANG.

A clean shot through the man’s head made him drop like a rock to the floor. Within milliseconds, the O’Driscolls ran through the door, opening fire on the pair. “It’s the Van Der Lindes!” One of them yelled, signalling for the others to come out of hiding, fortifying their defences.

“Shit!” Arthur cursed. “There’s more of them!” The rattle of Javier’s revolver rang through Arthur’s ears.

“I’ve got you, Arthur!” Bullets flew past their faces and over their heads, causing Arthur’s hat to fly off. Equally, the gunfire returned to the O’Driscolls and one by one, they fell to the ground, lifeless. Blood splattered across the grass and trees, almost instantly making this once tranquil woodland a battlefield.

“Javier! Go!” Without need for another word, the dark-haired man raced down the hill towards the cabin, firing his revolver at the enemy gang as he went. Originally, he had scoped out only about six of them, yet there seemed to be over twenty men here. They had the place almost fully surrounded. And for one woman? Javier shook the thoughts from his mind and kicked open the door without hesitation. He shot his revolver through a man’s skull who seemed like he was about to tie the woman up. The O’Driscoll fell to the floor, never to stand again. The woman’s breath hitched in her throat from being startled by the sudden death. She was now on the floor, her back against the wall and knees close to her chest. Her breathing was deep, rapid and sharp; as if she had been holding her breath under water this entire time. She dared not look up, worried it may be another O’Driscoll boy who had more evil ideas on what he wanted to do with her.

“Señorita!” Hands clasped round her shoulders, causing the woman to gasp. She jolted her head back to look up. “Señorita!” Her dark eyes met with Javier’s. Her blood went from cold to warm being under his gaze. “Are you okay?” His voice was soothing to her ears. His eyes were so… captivating. They held her gaze for longer than she had liked. “I’ll get you out of here, okay?” Before she could even respond, the sound of heavy footsteps came from behind Javier. A gun hit him around the back of his head, causing Javier to grunt and fall to the floor beside the woman. Her lips parted in shock, another shaky breath leaving her mouth at the sight before her. This stranger whom she had just met; whom was willing to save her from this, was now on the ground almost unconscious with blood trickling from his head. Groaning in pain, Javier looked to the O’Driscoll who laughed at him.

“Mister Escuella… I have waited a long time to do that to you.”

“Puta madre…” Javier’s eyes were tightly shut, internally trying to fight the pain from his head. He couldn’t help but moan as he turned onto his back to face the O’Driscoll. “You like preying on women do you?” Javier spat at the man leering over him. As a result, Javier had a boot come down hard on his hand which was trying to reach for his revolver. “Ah!”

“Oh, we’re gonna have fun with her, don’t you worry.” The O’Driscoll pressed his boot down harder on Javier’s hand. “We’re lucky to have a leader like Colm. He doesn’t mind sharing his prizes.” Something clicked in Javier’s hand causing him to yell out in distress. He held onto the man’s boot, trying to pull it off but due to the blow to his head, he was unable to push through on his advance. “Once I’ve killed you and we have finished what we want to do with her, then we will be on our way to collect-” The O’Driscoll sucked in air sharply, his eyes wider than a deer face to face with a barrel of a gun belonging to a hunter. Javier was able to at last free his hand from under the man’s boot and look through his black hair to see what had transpired. There, the woman stood with her knife embedded in the O’Driscoll’s ribcage. Coughing up blood, it was evident she had punctured his lung. She seemed shocked by what she had just done, yet an overwhelming feeling came over her. She couldn’t fight the urge to utterly destroy this man. When he fell to the ground, she screamed at the top of her lungs and straddled him with her knife held by both her hands above her head. Without any more hesitation, she forced down the blade into his mouth, then his eyes, his cheeks and finally his forehead. Pure survival instinct had distorted her brain into doing this. She had to make sure this man was dead, that he would not come back to haunt her or hurt anyone else for that matter. He had been the most revolting one to her and after hearing what he had to said to the man who had rescued her, she could not hold back any longer. She could not let the member of the Van Der Lin gang die on behalf of her. She would not be able to live with such guilt. Blood patches were now painted across her face, sitting solid like war paint. Dull eyes looked down at the dead man before her. Her breathing had slowed but it was still deep and heavy. The woman appeared to be in a trance.

“Señorita… Señorita…” The voice was quiet like it was coming from the back of her mind. A tanned hand came to her cheek. She rose back from the pits of hell to reality. Her eyes met with Javier’s. “Are you okay?” Her eyes softened.

“Christ, what’s happened in here? Javier?” The woman jumped to her feet, having picked back up her bloodied blade and pointing it at the cowboy who just walked in. Javier raised his hand across from her chest.

“No no no. He’s a friend! They all dead, Arthur?”

“Yes… they won’t be bothering us for some time.” Sheer relief took over the girl and she fell to her knees, dropping her knife once more. Tears formed in her eyes and she sobbed quietly. Knowing that perhaps she wanted a moment alone, Arthur walked over to Javier to try and help him up. “You rescue her okay?” The Mexican chuckled through his pain.

“Actually, she rescued me.” He then hissed after being brought to his feet, his hand pressed firmly against the area which was bleeding. “Hijo de perra… He got me good.” (“Son of a bitch”)

“Come on, let’s get you back to camp.”

“No, you go on. I’m going to stay with her, make sure she’s okay.”

“Javier…” The shorter male looked at his friend, shooting him a look which told a thousand words. Arthur sighed and raised his hands in truce. “Fine. Just don’t linger around for too long. Law’s bound to show soon.”

“I got it.” Javier placed his hat back on his head, wincing at the material pressing against the wound. But he felt more obliged to help the girl than himself. Once they were finally left alone, Javier knelt beside her. Her head was hanging low and she sat on the backs of her ankles, knees on the wooden floor. Her shoulders were rising and falling in rhythm to her faint cries. The male found his heart twinging at the sight, a knot building up in his chest which he could not explain. All he knew was that he did not want to see her like this. “Are you going to be alright?” He saw her tears wet the fabric of her white skirt. Her white blouse was also damp but covered in O’Driscoll blood. Her sobs could not be stopped. “Hey...” With his index and middle finger, he moved a few strands of her hand away from her tear-stained face and tucked them behind her ear. “Don’t cry. It’ll be alright, Señorita.” Choking on the lump in her throat, she still could not find any words to say to him. The night could have turned out disastrous for not just her, but for her rescuer who was doing an act of kindness. In one last effort to get her to speak, Javier put his curled index finger underneath her chin to make her look at him. “Hey.” Just like before, the woman felt calm looking into his cocoa eyes. He had a gentleness that she had not seen from a man before. It intrigued her greatly. He wanted to ask her once more if she was going to be okay, but after what she had experienced tonight and seeing her teary eyes, he knew what the answer would be; whether she would say it or not. “I’ll tell you what.” Javier stood up, pressing his hand back to his hat where blood began to print onto his hand. “I think you should come with me.” She blinked in confusion. “It’s clearly unsafe out here and who knows… more O’Driscolls might show up.” He walked towards the door, his back facing her. Part of her wanted to jump up and follow him but she dared not to. Her mysterious situation that she did not wish to share held her back. All the while, Javier turned around and gave her a smile, raising his eyebrow. “I think I might need the protection.”

A shy smile formed from her lips and a little gasp of laughter escaped. She wiped away her tears, rubbing the tips of her fingers over eyes to help wake herself up. When Javier saw her smile, even though it was little, he smiled wider – proud his charm had an effect on her. He opened the door, leaving it ajar for her and whistled for Boaz. As he awaited his steed, he straightened out his red and tan poncho. By the time he holstered his revolver, Boaz had returned to him and thus he mounted up steadily, not wanting to go dizzy from his head injury. It was the sound of faint footsteps which made him turn his head back to the cabin. She stood in the doorway, the glow of light behind her making her look almost Biblical and angelic to him. The woman looked up at him, looking so unsure on what to do. “Señorita.” He held out his hand to her. “Take my hand.”

Without question, she stepped over to her rescuer and placed her small hand onto his; in one swift motion he pulled her up behind him. Her arms wrapped around Javier’s body; her hands rested on his chest. Javier couldn’t help but grin subtly at this. He whispered back to her after he felt her cheek press against his back. “Hold on, Querida.” Boaz then bolted forth following the signal from his rider. The woman’s fingers pressed a little more firmly into Javier’s chest, not wanting to fall off. Cantering through the woods, the raven-head called over his shoulder to the woman he was giving safe passage to. “My name is Javier.”

“Miriam.” He sighed quietly in content upon hearing the sound of her voice.

“Miriam… ese es un hermoso nombre.” She nuzzled into his poncho, the softness of the material comforting her like a warm blanket. She hummed at what he said, not understanding a word of Spanish. He looked over his shoulder at her. “I said that’s a beautiful name.” Tiredly she blinked, her lashes batting against her cheeks.

“Thank you…” She whispered. Not only for the compliment but for what he had done for her that night. Too exhausted to continue the conversation, Miriam found herself lulling off into a light sleep.

For the first time in a long time, she felt… protected. And it was thanks to the man whom she tightly embraced on that quiet ride below the starry sky. Javier Escuella.

[theteasetwrites]

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 10: Straight Through My Heart

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: war, violence, scary situation, blood and gore, death ❧ Word Count: 9.5k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In this Chapter: Alexandria and the Hilltop's forces besiege the Sanctuary, with three objectives: save the princess, kill Negan, and burn the place to the ground.

❧ A/N: I am so sorry I wasn't able to keep up with the schedule for this chapter, but I have been quite busy with school, work, and life, and this chapter was pretty hard to write because it was so action-heavy, and I am not very good at writing action scenes! So I wanted to make sure I was taking my time and not rushing through it. I really hope you guys like the second to last chapter, and thank you to everyone who waited patiently the last few weeks. I hope it was worth the wait. <3

The sky was stained violet in the twilight that married day to night. It was that strange time of transition, wherein the sun had set beyond the distant hills, leaving only a soft halo of light behind, while the moon still had yet to claim her dominion. 

And it was quiet, that uneasy kind of quiet. The kind that did not settle, but hung in the air with a heaviness, threatening at any moment to implode. 

But the silence in the Sanctuary provided you with the solitude you needed to do all that you knew was left to do: pray.

You could not pray to God, though, for the last time you had, you knew he hadn’t even bothered to hear you. Perhaps you were a sinner. Well, you knew you were. Everyone was a sinner, and you were no exception. In fact, you had more to answer for than most—you’d lied to your own father, lain with a man to whom you weren’t married, and, worst of all, you’d tried to kill someone. 

So why should you pray to God, who would surely not listen anyway? 

But you still believed in Heaven. You still believed that Daryl was in Heaven, even if he, too, had been a sinner. You had to believe he was there, where he walked amongst angels in perpetual bliss. So, you prayed not to God, but to him. 

Your weak knees wobbled on the cool, rough stone underneath you. A faint stream of the last light from the dusk outside crept in through the tiny crack in the old stone wall. You focused on that crack of light, its dying shimmer reminiscent of the sparkle in his eyes of cobalt blue. Just the thought of him, how you’d never see him again, brought forth the tears.

“Daryl,” you said quietly, squeezing your eyes tight as you sniffled. Lowering your head, you clasped your cold hands together, and held them below your chin, just like a prayer. “I do not know if you can hear me…” 

Another sniffle as you shook your head, as if embarrassed by how pitiful you must’ve looked—on your knees in a dark, cold dungeon, wearing only a dirt-stained chemise and a pair of once beautiful pinsons on your aching feet. You’d never felt more ugly than now, not only because you felt filthy, cold, and thin, but because you felt as though all your poise and dignity had been stripped from you, until you were bare. Though you weren’t naked, it very nearly felt like you were.

The lump in your throat could not be held back much longer. With a blubbering burst of tears, you sobbed against your hands, still clasped together in prayer. 

“Oh, my love… I—I do not know what to do.” The only comfort you had was in that last little sliver of blue, that crack in the wall. It was darkening now, almost black as night settled in. You still kept your gaze locked on it, that little bit of hope. “I have tried to be strong… I tried to k-kill that bastard, Negan. I did it because I do not want to feel like a prisoner ever again, but… now look where that got me.”

Your cry almost melted into a laugh at your own failure, but even that could not distract you from the grim situation you found yourself in. In fact, as you sat in momentary silence, with only the constant drip… drip… drip of a nearby drain to entertain you, you could only think of him. 

Though you knew in your heart of hearts that you could not be to blame for his death, you still felt as though you were the catalyst, the cause of your own woe, and the death of the love that you had just barely begun to feel. 

“Most of all… I miss you terribly, and I have not known such pain as this in so many years, to think of how you must have suffered, how you…” You swallowed back a strained gasp, shuddering to think of what had happened to him. “I never wanted you to die for me, Daryl. Never. I only wanted… I just wanted to be free. You set me free, and you did not have to. You did it because you were a good man. You are a good man. You always will be to me. I will always love you.”

Releasing a deep breath that shook you to your fragile core, you wiped your tears with the dirty sleeve of your gown. The pressure made the sensitive bruise around your eye sting. As silence settled in again, you thought of one more thing to say, one more utterance to release into the cool night air, surely never to be heard by anyone but the rats and the maggots that plagued this disgusting prison. Still, if there was a chance that your love could hear you, from wherever he was, you were going to be sure that it would mean something.

“My love,” you spoke again, “I am frightened… and I have often felt alone, before you, but now… I fear there is nothing left, that all that’s left for me is loneliness. All I’d need to believe otherwise is—well, it is silly, but… some kind of sign. Something to show me that there is still hope. If you could, would you show me something? Anything? Please, my sweet knight.”

But there was nothing. Only silence. You shook your head, feeling your tears welling up within you again. After all, what were you expecting? A beam of light, a prophetic vision, an epiphany? “Fool,” you muttered. “He cannot hear you… No one can.” 

As you began to rise to your feet, a sudden rumble echoed from somewhere outside the walls. It seemed distant, and quite faint. It was not a common sound you’d grown accustomed to over the past twenty-four hours you’d been locked away, but it was familiar. It reminded you of the cannon fire from that night, when the Saviors attacked Alexandria.

It couldn’t have been that, though. The cannon fire was much louder, and had shaken the—

Boom! 

You were sent back to the ground, not on your knees but on your side. The ground shook underneath you, while another round of explosions assaulted your ears. Reaching up to cover them, your eyes shot open when you realized. 

“We’re under attack!” a distant voice cried out.

When the shaking subsided, you heard racing footsteps from the floor above you, swords being unsheathed and men shouting at each other, barking orders and arguing in panicked hollers. There were no windows in that dungeon, but there was that sliver—that crack in the stone wall. You lifted yourself in a hurry to cross the cell, closing one eye to look through the jagged fissure. 

All you could make out for several moments was opaque blackness. The night had swallowed what was left of day in the time that had passed, but in the distance, coming over a gentle slope, was a sight you could not believe.

First, you saw the flames, the torches that some of the men carried as they rode on horseback. Much further in the distance, you could make out the silhouette of the bombards mounted on carriages, some being loaded by men in full suits of armor, others being pushed forward, making their assault on the keep. 

They’d already made it past the castle walls, it seemed, as the battlements were all but destroyed, with flames swallowing the remaining rubble. It was too dark to make out their alliance, but you knew it could not be Alexandria. The kingdom was too weak for such a siege, and you’d never seen such bombards before. No, this must have been some foreign faction… Perhaps they even could have been just as evil as Negan and the Saviors. 

You could not allow yourself to have hope of being rescued, but you had asked for a sign. Any sign. Though you were hoping for something more metaphorical, you supposed this would do.

As the armored Friesian’s hooves galloped over a fallen Savior’s writhing body, the knight raised his sword with one hand, and, in one swift motion, sliced the head of another’s clean off before rounding the corner of the keep. 

Through his armet, with only two thin oculariums allowing him to see, he could just make out the great entrance, raised high by a flight of imposing stone steps looking over the besieged castle grounds. The armored Prince Jesus and Duke Richard followed closely behind, each upon their own steeds and slaying every Savior that came barreling towards them. 

“We must go on foot now!” Jesus shouted over the warfare, men-at-arms all around them, some roaring battlecries, others wailing in agony as they writhed in the bloodied earth, Saviors and Alexandrians and Hilltop soldiers alike. “Onward to the keep! That is where your princess will be, and Negan.”

The three men dismounted before their horses ran off, over the debris from the fallen walls and towards the safety of the woods. Sir Daryl watched them as long as he could see them, before they dissolved into the smoky darkness of the night. 

Making their assault on the keep, the three fought through the crowd, knocking men from their horses to rid them of their helms before driving their blades through their faces without too much remorse. These men were all different degrees of evil, but they were all on the same spectrum. They all stole, tortured, killed, raped… There could be no remorse for the Saviors, who had shown no such remorse before.

With each step the knight and his companions get closer, climbing the steep hill towards the entrance to the keep, the other soldiers of Alexandria and Hilltop followed, preparing to assault the keep—Negan’s home. 

They were fueled by vengeance, rage at the ravaging of their homes and the murders of their loved ones. In the distance, Daryl could hear the king shouting above the chaos. “Surround them!” he said, wielding his own sword as he fought amongst the common men. “Push on! To the keep!”

But the mass of soldiers was too thick for the battering ram to get through without conflict, and that door was not going to open by itself. More likely than not, there were Saviors on the other side of that door—likely Negan’s most skilled, trusted guards. 

Seeing this, the king turned to whistle the signal. 

The beast was released from her chains, then, and with a roar, Shiva bounded towards the skirmish, her strong paws pushing the Saviors out of the way before she dug her claws into them, her teeth cutting through the steel of the armor to puncture their flesh. A few Alexandrians and Hilltop fighters were knocked over in the event, but the tiger kept the Saviors down long enough for twelve of the king’s men to run up the steps to the keep as they carried a long, heavy wood beam with the steel head of a ram on its end. 

The knight, the duke, and the prince stood by, their swords held high in preparation to fight the Saviors on the other side. 

The men with the battering ram heaved several times, each time making the door splinter until finally the ram broke through, destroying the door as the men plowed through, dropping the beam to lift their blades and fight.

Daryl went first in afterwards, with Jesus and Richard following behind. Sure enough, the place was crawling with Saviors, armored and wearing the black and red colors of House Smith.

The knight was faced with a particularly skilled Savior, who advanced towards him in a diagonal lunge, his sword swinging with intent to attack the weakest point—the underarm.

But Daryl was quick, parrying for a moment, only to regain his stability and counter the Savior’s next strike with his own. 

Though he had the perfect moment to slash at the briefly exposed skin between his helm and his gorget, instead he seized the opportunity to tackle the man with such force that his weapon clattered to the floor as he pushed him into a hidden alcove beneath the stone staircase, where the Savior fought for freedom from the knight’s attack, but Daryl was using all his strength to keep the man pressed against the wall.

He sheathed his own sword to reach for the misericorde strapped to his leather belt. With the dagger in one hand, he used the other to yank open the visor of the man’s helm, exposing two wide, frightened deep brown eyes. 

The knight was young, probably only just promoted from a squire, but Daryl did not have time to care. He’d already killed plenty of young men tonight, and one more wouldn’t make him any less damned. 

He lifted the blade to the Savior’s left eye, its narrow tip poised to puncture the young knight’s pupil as though it were the center of a target. In the confined space of his helm, he breathed heavily, the heat of his anger and adrenaline burning fumes in the back of his throat as he spoke three simple words, his voice louder than even he had anticipated, but he had no time to repeat himself: “Where’s the princess?”

“I—I know of no princess.”

A low, muffled growl escaped Daryl’s lips. He pressed his chest harder against that of the Savior, his grip on the dagger becoming at once firm and shaky as irrational rage overcame him. It was as though he was looking Negan in the eye right now. Though, this Savior had a kindness in his eyes, one distinctly different from the evil of Sir Negan’s serpentine stare. Still, there was deceit behind those eyes. Years of interrogating prisoners of war had trained him well, despite the psychological toll it had taken on him. At least he could tell when a man was lying. 

“Wrong answer,” he replied through lips tightly drawn into a snarl. He did not need to harm the knight beyond the suffocating weight he inflicted onto the young man’s chest, he only had to narrow his eyes in a freezing stare. “Wanna try again?”

The young knight swallowed hard as his defense began to crumble, though he still feigned ignorance. “Sh-she is here.”

Daryl huffed as he inched his dagger closer, the tip grazing the Savior’s eyelashes as they fluttered in nervous movements. The knight never did have much patience, and now, with your life and the lives of his men at stake, he couldn’t care less about the chivalry which was supposed to dictate his every action and every word, even in battle. In fact, he’d never been chivalrous enough to care about that before. When it came to war, every man was a savage, and Daryl was no exception. 

“You’ve got about five seconds to tell me where she is ‘fore you lose your damn eye.”

“No, please!” The Savior caved easily, and it was clear that, despite the fact that Negan trusted him enough to be one of his personal guards, he was not particularly loyal. Not if he surrendered that easily. From Daryl’s knowledge of war, a truly loyal soldier would lose his eye and maybe a few other body parts before giving in. “Last I heard she was locked away in the dungeon. Negan gave orders to put her in there just last night. I haven’t heard anything since, that’s all I know. I swear!”

For a good several moments, Daryl did not remove his blade, his lips snarling at the Savior as he processed his words, and contemplated whether or not to kill him. 

He wanted to. No Savior left alive, he repeated in his head like a mantra, but he wasn’t going to be the one to kill him. Something told him not to. Perhaps it was that last bit of gallantry, or perhaps he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

“What’s your name?” he asked the young man, words which he’d never thought he’d ask of an enemy. The man seemed confused by his question, so he jolted him against the wall and demanded again, “What’s your name?”

“Alden.”

“Alden… This place is gonna burn to the ground. If you value your life, you’d leave now and never look back.”

The Savior nodded, his eyes softening as Daryl removed his weight and the knife from his face. As Daryl turned to begin his search for you, Alden said one more thing. “Wait!”

The knight turned, half-expecting the man to turn on him, just as a precaution. 

But he did not attack him. He only held out a large iron key, dangling from the ring in his hand. “You’ll need this.”

You paced back and forth the length of the cell, wringing your hands nervously before you tried again, though you were sure either no one could hear you, or no one cared.

But you had to try, even if every cell in your body was against it. Death seemed inevitable, and perhaps you truly had nothing more to live for, if the world was as dark and cold as it seemed, but you believed that fortune held you in its favor, somehow. The attack was a sign. A sign from Daryl. That’s what you had to believe. There was no time to stand idly by, you had to act. And the only way to act, in your current position, was to shake those bars that held you in your cell, and to scream at the top of your lungs.

“Hey!” you cried out, your voice drowned out by the sounds of warfare outside and above you. “Hey! What is happening?! Let me out!”

As they neared the dungeon, racing down the winding steps that took them underground, the four men plowed through more Saviors, the ones tasked with guarding the dungeon. Despite being nowhere to be seen, Negan must’ve sent extra defenses to protect the subterranean corridors. 

With the help of Jesus and Alden, the duke and the knight tunneled their way through the maze, each corner they turned revealing a new foe, until they found themselves nearing a great iron gate, beyond which Daryl swore he could hear your voice. The fear and confusion pierced his heart like a thorn, though the familiarity in your voice was like the sweetest rose. 

“This way!” cried Alden. “Hurry!”

The four men raced towards the gate, with Alden hurriedly turning the key in the lock. Daryl did not hesitate, throwing the door open with a great echo of the squeaking of hinges. He stepped in quickly, and the other three men followed, though Daryl pushed them back. 

“Stay out here,” he said. “Keep watch. If anyone followed us—”

“Go,” said the duke. “But hurry.”

For the first time in several hours, you heard the creaking of the opening door, the footsteps that echoed through the dark, winding halls of the dungeon. Though you could not see who they belonged to, you had more fear in your heart than hope. 

All you could see beyond the bars of your cell and at the end of the hall was that same glow of that same fire of that same sconce that provided the only light you had in this God forsaken place. As you stepped back, terrified of the slow, heavy footsteps growing increasingly loud, the shadow of the figure played against the stone floor, flickering with the light. 

Surely, you were to die tonight, whether by the hands of a Savior or one of the intruders. You could not see any other way for this to end, though you had wished so much for Daryl’s sign to be true. 

“Please,” was all you could muster, your voice shaky and delicate, close to shattering like thin, weak glass. 

He followed your voice, his vision obscured by his helm that he had forgotten to remove in the haste to locate you. When he turned the corner, finally laying eyes on you, his heart could not bear to waste another moment—he moved as fast as he could in his heavy steel armor, which you could not recognize at all.

It was not the armor of Alexandria, nor of the Saviors. No, it was the Hilltop’s armor, but you’d never seen it in your life. 

All you could see was an unfamiliar man in unfamiliar armor hurriedly jimmying the key in the lock of your cell door, while you cowered in the dusty dark corner, frightened. With nowhere left to go, you sank to the floor in defeat, hugging your knees to your chest for some semblance of comfort. 

“I—I am not one of them,” you stuttered. “Please.”

But the knight did not respond, himself too overwhelmed with emotion to speak. He stood before you now, frozen for a moment, until he kneeled to face you at your level. Between those thin, rectangular windows built into the cold shiny steel of his helmet, you could see a sparkle of cobalt blue, like the reflection of the sunlight that danced upon gentle waves of the sea on a bright summer’s day. For a split second, you swore you recognized that glimmer, the way it made your stomach do somersaults and your chest swell up with air when you’d forget to breathe properly.

Only now, you were sure it was fear that made your body react that way, not the eyes of your lover, so you thought. 

It could not be… And yet, he moved like him, he was built like him, he even very nearly smelled like him—a warm, woody musk. Perhaps it was only your mind playing tricks on you, though, or just wishful thinking.

“Wh-what do you want?” The words were so strangled by the tightness in your barren throat that he could hardly hear you, his helm dulling his senses. “Who are you?”

Just then, Daryl realized how negligent he had been in his stupor. He was still wearing that helmet, and you could not see him for who he was. He could speak, but he feared he’d just cry, and what kind of knight in shining armor would weep before his beloved lady?

You watched with bated breath as the knight lowered his head, his gauntleted hands rising up to either side of his helm. It took some effort to pull the thing off, with it the linen padding and chain mail that protected his head. Left behind was only a curtain of long, shoulder-length hair, chestnut in hue, with subtle streaks of sun-kissed brown and ashy flaxen laced throughout. 

His head still hung, you could not quite make out his face, as it was shrouded in sinuous ripples of hair that so much reminded you of Daryl, but you could not let your mind wander into irrational fantasies of seeing him again, though it was tempting to do so.

With a drag of his hand, he pushed back the hair that hung over his forehead, then lifted his gaze to meet yours, his face blotched with blackish-gray ash and gunpowder from the cannon fire that he’d fought through to get to you. 

But it was not dark enough to disguise him, his features clear as day. Gentle, deep-set eyes of blue shone brighter now without the obscurity of his helm. A short, rounded nose of button shape sat above a pair of panting lips. They were not plump, nor exceptionally thin—there was a softness to them. Around those lips, a smattering of a thin layer of facial hairs, which faded into high cheekbones, defined just enough to bring shape to the otherwise soft curves of his face.

The part of him that made you shudder, though, was the long, reddish scar that split above and below his left eye. You’d traced that scar over in your mind a thousand times, recreated it to perfection whenever the image of your knight’s visage lulled you to sleep in the comfort of your warm feather bed. 

Could it be some cruel trick, some strange sorcery, some facsimile that you’d conjured up in your troubled mind? Or perhaps, and most mercifully, you were dead, too, and this image was an angel sent to carry you into Heaven… Though you knew you were not bound for such a place. No, he was real. You could feel it.

But you could not believe it, not until you touched him, reaching out to hold his ashy cheeks in both of your hands as you leaned closer to him, feeling the heat of his body which you once thought was cold and lifeless. Yet here he was, alive, his heart beating fiercely, as though it yearned to tear itself from his chest and his armor and bury itself next to yours, where it belonged. 

“Daryl?”

When he spoke your name, you could not keep yourself from him much longer, your head dizzy with shock and your heart fragile with the sudden break away from grief and utter despair. Your body melted into his arms, your cheek held firm against the cool hard steel of his pauldron as your tears began to puddle on the surface. 

There were no words between you for a while, only the sound of your gentle cries against his shoulder, and the heavy breaths he panted out as his lips gently grazed your neck, one hand supporting your back while the other tangled in your hair. 

But you could not keep yourself from lifting your head up from his shoulder, letting your eyes dart frantically all over his face. Despite your tears, your lips curled into a smile, with something between a laugh and a cry escaping between sighs. 

He could not handle the separation, though. His eyes squeezed shut, he leaned forward to touch your forehead with his, then the tips of your noses were stuck together like glue, your lips tickling each other’s in featherlight grazes as your breathing synced and your heartbeats seemed to create a harmony from their natural rhythms. Of course, you could not hear it, but you both felt it, deep in your souls. 

“I thought you were…” Hesitation to even speak of the possibility of his death stopped you from continuing, your voice instead softening into a teary sigh, the breath of which he felt on his trembling lips. 

Just the sound of your voice had him in pieces, crumbling like a dried leaf in the palm of your hand, the hand which he held in his, his grip firm but so gentle. And in his arms, you were trembling, cold and tired and hanging onto him as though he was an apparition that could dissolve at any moment, and after everything you had seen, you feared that could be true.

“Are you real?” you whispered, still surrounded by him and his corporeal presence. “Am I dreaming, or are you really my knight, my Daryl?”

“I am real… I am your knight, and I am gonna get you out of here.” Now, he pulled away, the reality of the situation setting in, but his gaze was set on the purple swelling of skin around your right eye. Though you tried to lower your head, as if to hide it from him, he lifted your chin up with his armored hand. Tears trickled down your cheeks, squeezed out as you closed your eyes. 

A burning rage took him over then, that puffy, bruised flesh striking him like lightning that set him ablaze. As he examined you, you swore you saw his top lip twitch into a snarl. The anger was not at you, of course, but at the mark of your assault, and the hand which had committed it.

“He did this?” he asked. “He hurt you?” You had not known such intensity in his voice, or such a menacing fire of fury behind his eyes. Underlying it all, though, was concern. Concern for you. His soothing touch as he stroked up and down your arms proved that. “Did he touch you?”

Though a part of you wanted to lie, to forget about Negan and everything you’d gone through, you could not lie to him, not your love. 

“H-he… Yes.”

You did not have to say more. 

“I’ll kill him. Right now. Son of a bitch is a dead man.” He’d stood to his feet now, with you still clinging to him, and his hands still holding onto your arms as you shook your head. You could not risk losing him again. You’d already gone through the pain of losing him once, and now that you knew that pain, you could never go through it again. 

“No, my love. He is not worth risking your life, not again.”

Of course, he knew you were right—your safety was more important than his desire to kill Negan, and right now, in the catacombs of the Sanctuary, you were anything but safe. His priority now was getting you as far away from Negan and the Saviors as possible, and just hope to God that whoever found Negan killed him slowly, because that’s what he deserved for laying a hand on you.

At the very least, he’d see that you’d never be hurt again so long as he could help it. Pulling his dagger from his belt, he held it by the blade to offer you the handle. “Take this,” he said. You took the misericorde with a shaky, tired hand. 

Before you could speak, the duke’s voice called out: “Let’s go!” he cried. “Now!”

There was no time to even consider it. Daryl took your hand, leaving behind his helm in a hurry to lead you out of the dungeon. You were greeted by the three other men, two of which you had never seen before, one of whom was dressed in Savior armor.

But before you could even ask, the Savior led the way down the cavernous tunnels below the Sanctuary, where footsteps and screams and sounds of cannon fire echoed through the old, winding passageways.

“There’s an escape route through here!” said Sir Alden, pointing further down the underground tunnel, leading into darkness. “It opens into the woods!”

The Saviors, though, were following not far behind, a squadron of them rounding the corner to see the prince, the duke, the knight, the traitor, and the princess, all momentarily frozen to face the dilemma: either stay and fight them off, or keep running until you reached the other side. Either way, they would have to fight at some point. 

One strong hand pushing you back behind him, the knight withdrew his sword, as did the other men, standing firm against the Saviors, but Prince Jesus had another plan.

“Go,” he said. “We’ll keep them busy, you get the princess to safety.”

Daryl hesitated, looking between you and the prince, whose sword was about to strike one of oncoming attackers. “Go!” he called out, still feeling the knight’s presence. It was not honorable to leave an ally to battle alone, but then, it was even more dishonorable to put a princess in danger. 

With only a few more moments’ hesitation, the knight took your hand, spinning you around to pull you further down the tunnel, into darkness.

There was hardly a flash of light to guide you, but somewhere in the distance, a sliver of bright moonlight crept underneath the iron door that surely led out into the woods outside, far from the cannon fire and bloodshed. 

At length, you reached the exit, the knight only letting go of your hand to lift the bar that kept the door sealed from the outside, and to then break the link of the chain lock with the steel of his armor. When the door was thrown open, a gentle, cool breeze awakened you, into the relative peace of the quiet sylvan glade. 

You could only double over for a moment, panting heavily as Daryl closed the door behind you. When you felt his arms lifting you up, you stood upright, falling into his embrace. 

“We’ve got to keep movin’,” he panted, his armor weighing him down and forcing his breath to escape him more strongly. “Further we get the better… The horses aren’t far from here.”

Beyond the gentle slope of a hill, you could see the Sanctuary—plumes of gray smoke illuminating the crumbling parapets and the burning towers that once had stood tall and formidable. Even now, you could faintly hear the voice of your father, commanding the cannons to release more fire upon whatever rubble was left behind. The forces of Alexandria and the Hilltop did not retreat, not even now, but kept pushing, with the intent of killing every armored Savior man big enough to carry a sword. 

Frozen in fear, you were shaken by Daryl’s hands on your shoulders, his touch reminding you where you were, and that you were alive. Free. It was not unlike the feeling you had when you escaped through the tunnels that first time, stepping out into these same woods.

He spoke your name, drawing your attention to him. Wordlessly, you let him guide you, his arm wrapped around you as he practically held half your weight to move you with him. Somewhere in the darkness, you’d lost your slippers. Once you’d relished in the feeling of being barefoot in these woods, but now, your feet were tired, soar, and stinging with cuts from the sharp twigs that your soft soles dragged over. 

But his strength kept you upright, though gravity seemed to be working against you. Just for one moment you wished to stop, to catch your breath and to rest your poor, lacerated feet. “Daryl,” you said. “I—I must stop. Just for a moment.”

He felt your weight begin to sag as he nearly lost his grip on your waist, but he was quick to set you down upon a fallen log, coated with overgrown moss nearly soft enough to feel like some sort of cushion. It was a welcome relief as you struggled to stay sitting upright, despite your desire to lay down and sleep for an eternity or two. 

“Let me see,” said Daryl, lifting your foot by your heel to examine the sole. If you’d been more alert, you’d have been more embarrassed for him to see the state of your feet, bloodied and feeling as though they had been whittled down to the bone. “I will carry you… We can’t tarry long.”

“Just… just a moment, please.”

The pain in your voice carved a new fissure in his heart, your hand clinging to his shoulder, the other gripped tight around the knife at your side as you strained to control your tears. Though you screwed your eyes shut with the tension of your pain, the gentle feeling of his forehead against yours forced them to flutter open, his face a welcome relief from the agony that plagued your sore, tired body. 

It occurred to you again that he was alive, real, that this wasn’t some kind of strange dream. Or maybe it was. You could not tell, with the hazy glow around him as your tired eyes struggled to focus on his visage. “Daryl…”

All pain melted away for a moment as you lifted your hands to feel the warmth of his cheeks. You could feel his smile, both in the lift of his face and the depths of your soul, which you were sure now was tied unbreakably to his, for he was alive, and so were you. 

“I love you,” was all you could say, with so much more fervor and earnestness and purity than you had before, to anyone. You said it once more, this time through a weak laugh that made your voice tremble in delirious glee: “I love you.”

He did not need to reply in words—his soft, featherlight kiss conveyed more than words ever could. It was more coherent, more potent, more true. Your lips conformed to the gentle contours of his as you leaned forward, fully immersed in him and his love, his warmth embracing you like two strong arms of burning hearthfire. It was not an impassioned kiss, but one of comfort, reassurance, and the truest kind of love. 

As he pulled away, you ached to feel his lips once more, but his eyes entranced you. Even in just the light of the full moon, you could still see that crisp blue, enveloping you in his longing. 

“I never stopped thinking of you,” he said.

“Nor did I… Every second I was in that horrible place felt like the world ending all over again. All I wanted was to hear your voice again.” 

On his knees before you, he felt like a pilgrim at the altar of his Goddess, to whom he promised eternal worship and sacrifice—the only divinity he devoted himself to, the only saint worth sanctifying, the only idol he held to such exaltation that he would gladly be nailed to a cross in sacrifice for Her and Her alone. In the temple of your body, he felt your heartbeat against his chest, even beyond the plate of armor that separated him from you. At least, he swore he could. How he missed that feeling.

“I’m here now, princess… And I love you.”

For a while, the space between you seemed to be the entirety of the universe, the center of it all right where your chests met, where your hearts beat. In the bliss of the silent, cool night air, you smiled. “Oh, my sweet knight.”

But the peaceful darkness was broken by the harsh glow of a flame, creeping into your line of vision despite all your focus concentrated on the man before you. Behind him, a figure was silhouetted by the light, moving between the trees on the edge of the forest. 

It was a figure you knew well.

Tall, lean, almost slithering, but much too bold for that—he moved with more arrogance. It was more like a saunter, but with an unmistakable rage in his heavy, ominously slow step. 

Daryl felt the presence, shooting up from his knees to withdraw his sword, his body shielding you from whatever danger lurked. The minute he saw his face, that wide, chortling grin, a strange feeling overcame him. Though it was mostly abject fury, there was a hint of satisfaction, as though the perfect opportunity had befallen him. 

Bloodlust. He’d felt it before, but never like this. Never before did he have such a resolute desire to kill a man, and now the man was before him, he did not have to wish that he could’ve been able to kill Negan himself. He was right there, and just as he knew he would the minute that vile man set his filthy snake eyes on you, he was going to kill him. 

There was no question, no hesitation, no other option. Daryl would have his head for taking you from him, for hurting you, for even looking at you. 

In Negan’s hand was the lit torch from which the light had come. In the other, a sword. He was not heavily armored, only protected by a breastplate and loose chain mail draping over his arms, but the way he glowered at Daryl now, his smile becoming more devious and sinister by the second, you knew he was here to fight. 

With your knife behind your back, you stood to your feet, positioning yourself so you were nearly alongside Daryl, but he quickly moved in front of you, shielding you from the presence of Negan. 

But beyond his shoulder, you could still see the bitterness in his gaze as he approached, sauntering as he swung his sword by his legs. 

“Daryl, I presume?”

For the first time in his life, he made sure that his title was honored. “Sir Daryl.” 

Negan’s eyes widened in amusement and faux impress. “Pardon my inelegance… Sir Daryl, I believe you have taken something from me. Something that belongs to me.”

Behind your snarl was a momentary lapse of fear, only vanquished by smoldering anger and hatred. To think of any universe in which you belonged to that man was nothing short of abject horror. You only hoped that such a universe could never exist. Before you could think about it too long, Negan added another few words to his vile declarations. 

“And I want it back.”

The it in question was you, of course, and the insinuation that you were some kind of object to be passed around only fueled Daryl with more hatred than his heart could stand. Another word from that man might have been fatal to the both of them. 

“You’ll die first,” he said. 

Negan let out a hearty chuckle, underscored by a biting bitterness that cut through the knight’s armor, reminding him of the danger he was up against. Daryl might’ve been a good fighter, but surely Sir Negan was no amateur. He had been knighted once, after all, and he could not have made it to his position as a leader without some battle prowess. It was evident in the way he walked, his sword now held high in both hands, the torch he once carried thrown haphazardly to the dirt and illuminating the scene with the hellish glow of an orange flame. 

“Are you challenging me to a duel, knight?”

“No,” replied Daryl, swinging his sword upright with impressive swiftness and skill. “I won't duel a dishonorable knight… But I am going to kill you.”

As Negan held back another insufferable chuckle, you stood to your bare feet, one hand still holding the knife behind your back, the other upon the knight’s shoulder, as if to pull him away, but he was planted firmly. In fact, he nearly lunged towards the other man, if it weren’t for your touch. 

“Daryl, you do not have to fight him,” you said under your breath, your concern not for the other man, but for the wellbeing of Daryl. You had already believed him to be dead just an hour ago, and you did not possess the strength to face that reality again.  “He is weak now. The Sanctuary has fallen… He has nothing. He cannot take me again.”

But that was not good enough for him. 

Negan was ordered to be killed on sight, and there was no way in Hell he would let that man go with his head still intact. Not after what he had done. The evidence was on your face as he looked back at you, his sight beginning to practically blur with rage. No, it did not matter how powerless Negan was now. All that mattered was ridding the air of his filthy stench. 

“Princess,” Negan said, a bite to his teasing voice that made the bruised flesh around your eye sting. “When I kill your useless knight, you come with me.” There was a crazed desperation in his eyes, and a frantic adrenaline running through his veins until they bulged in his sweat-shined forehead. 

The powerlessness came rushing back, the feeling that you were nothing but property to be claimed by whichever powerful man came along and made his decree. But that would never happen again, not anymore.

You’d spent too long feeling trapped in a world that you had no control over, like a flimsy paper doll subject to the whims of a careless child. Though there was not much you could do now, there was the reassurance that you were ultimately in control of your own destiny—that you were free. 

And Daryl had freed you. Though you had the power in you all along, his love had changed you. It made you stronger, and now you stood in the face of that which threatened your destiny. With whatever power was within you, you would protect that destiny, and that destiny was him. 

“I’m gonna kill him,” Daryl said to you, his voice low and rumbling with the earthquake of fury that rose inside of him. There was nothing else to say, only a steady look cutting through the heavy air between you. With a nod, you clenched your jaw and straightened your back in an attempt to hold back the fear of losing him again, though above all, you had faith in him.

Only three words fell from your trembling, burning lips: “Yes, you will.”

At length, Daryl stepped forward, while Negan matched his movements to the knight opposite of him. As their swords swung up in unison, the tension between them was broken by their sharp blades cutting through to meet, the sharp, stinging sound of silver crossing silver ringing in your ears as you watched, eyes wide and unblinking for fear of one second changing everything.

There was no fear of going back to Negan now, only the fear of losing Daryl.

But he was a good swordsman—that much you knew. And as he advanced forward diagonally, he met Negan’s next swing with a front guard and a heavy step forward to push the lighter man back with his body weight, then striking again in an attempt to lacerate the exposed skin of his opponent’s neck. 

Negan was swift, though, fading backwards only to catch himself with the skill of a trained swordsman. He took a fierce lunge with his sword’s point aimed at the space between Daryl’s breastplate and his underarm, but Daryl blocked the attack with a short guard, his sword held with such force that it propelled Negan’s sword nearly out of his hands. 

Daryl’s movements were equally as swift now, his attack coming quickly as he lunged towards Negan with the offensive. He raised his sword high now, coming at the taller man with a window guard that poised his blade just above his own head, the point headed directly for Negan’s eye. 

If the strike had hit, you were sure you’d be sick to your stomach to see the steel penetrate his face, blood surely spewing in a geyser as the blade would tunnel through the brain and exit out the back of his head, but Negan was too cunning, once again. 

With a pivot, he swiveled himself to the right of Daryl, using his height to his advantage as he turned his sword at an angle, then used the pommel of his hilt to strike at the base of the back of Daryl’s neck, the pain of which elicited a grunt from the man who stumbled forwards. 

A fearful gasp escaped your lips, though only rage burned through you, causing you to grip harder on the handle of the dagger you still held behind your back, waiting only for the right moment to strike. You took to studying the man’s weak points—the spots at which his minimal armor allowed for easy access. His back was only draped in chain mail, which you knew to be weaker than steel plate. 

And the blade Daryl had given you was incredibly sharp, with its point small enough to penetrate through small crevices and weak spots in armor. If you could get through that chain mail, you might puncture his heart from the back… But he moved so fast, his feet conjuring a whirlwind of dust as he slid to and fro above the dirt ground. 

Though Daryl had caught himself before he could fall, he was winded by the hit to his neck. Negan only smiled, swaying his head in arrogant amusement as the knight returned his gaze with a glare. 

Had this been a true duel, Negan’s hit would have been unsanctioned, an unfair and unchivalrous move that would have had him disqualified. Daryl should have known, though, that a dishonored knight would not abide by any code, and that the only way he would be able to defeat Negan was to forgo any last shred of chivalry he could spare. 

A man of Negan’s ilk did not deserve such a privilege anyway.

“You see, my princess,” Negan called out over his shoulder to you, his eyes never leaving the huffing and puffing knight whose face grew more red and more strained with each second that Negan still breathed. As he spoke he swung his sword in haphazard circles through the air in front of him, a slight chuckle rumbling under his voice. “He’s pathetic, a waste of a good sword. How could your so-called knight keep you safe when he can’t even keep his balance?”

Daryl stood still, momentarily paralyzed by unspeakable anger as sweat soaked through his hair and trickled down the hot skin of his face. Heavy pants and an increasingly frantic heartbeat nearly drowned out the man’s loud, brash voice, but it cut through like a hot knife, scorching his burning skin as his words gouged a little deeper with each stinging utterance.

“Oh, but he could not even protect you when the Dead invaded your kingdom… He couldn’t protect you then, and he sure as hell can’t protect you now.”

The man turned towards you now, peeling his aways away from Daryl to saunter slowly in your direction. You stepped back, eyes wide and lips agape with quick pants. As fear overwhelmed you, you kept your hands behind your back, just waiting for him to get a little closer, though he never did. 

Daryl lunged towards him, taking advantage of Negan’s momentary lapse of attention to raise his sword and swing it down just as his opponent turned around. But Negan was quick, retreating with a backwards step and a block that pushed Daryl back too.

And Negan knew what he was doing—weakening Daryl with his words, drawing out his anger to render his technique sloppy and uncoordinated. So he continued, gesturing the tip of his sword towards the knight. 

“You know how this ends,” he said. “You know that I’m gonna win… Because people like me, we always win in this world. People who take what they want and get what they want.”

But none of those words meant anything to Daryl, who could not comprehend anything past the smug grin that split Negan’s face, and the boiling of his blood as he grew nearly faint with rage. 

Through heavy panting breaths, he spoke without even hearing his own voice: “I said… I’m the one who’s gonna kill you… And I am no liar.”

With a strong footing, he threw himself forward with a grunt so loud that it could have suited as a battlecry. His swing was fueled by pure hatred, to the point that he moved even faster than Negan could deflect this time. It made your heart jump in your chest, watching your knight seem to gain the upper hand again, his sword never relenting and his movements swift enough to dodge every stroke that came his way. 

Now, Negan was winded, his long legs seeming to almost shake underneath him as he struggled to keep his body guarded against Daryl’s blade. With a swift advance, calculated yet impassioned by another outburst of anger, he drew Negan’s attention with a false strike, his blade not following through with the swing directed towards his abdomen. 

Negan’s right shoulder was effectively exposed now, displayed for just a millisecond directly before Daryl’s eyes. Where his pauldron slipped, loosened by the movement, a sliver of aged leather was revealed between plates of shining black steel. In a split second, he made a hard strike, the edge of his blade slicing through the leather and gouging open the skin of his shoulder. 

Negan bellowed deeply, groaning in pain as he swung haphazardly while Daryl faded back, narrowly missing the edge of his blade. 

The cut was deep, digging through muscle and ligaments and nearly into bone. If Daryl had swung any harder, his arm might’ve been hanging on only by a thread of blood dripping flesh. 

But there was enough strength in his arm still to raise his sword again, barrelling towards Daryl as fast as his anger could carry him. Daryl deflected his strike with a front guard, but the second blow was strong enough to do the unthinkable.

Your eyes widened as a gasp escaped your lips, the edge of his sword cutting through the air as it flew a yard or two away from your knight’s outstretched hand. With nothing to block against Negan’s next move, Daryl was rendered defenseless.

“Daryl!”

The knight had fallen on his back, struggling to return to his feet just as Negan walked over him, planting his muddied boots on each of his wrists to keep him pinned down, despite his fingers flexing in desperation to reach the handle of the sword that lay just inches from reach. 

And your heart had dropped to your stomach again, your frantic mind scrambling to figure out what to do. There was that blade in your hands, and perhaps you could… No—not perhaps. 

There was no doubt in your mind now what you needed to do, the red cascade of blood beginning to pour over the silver steel of his greaves. Negan’s last swing had been strong enough to slice through the armor, into the flesh of Daryl’s thigh. Without his sword, and without the strength to free himself from underneath Negan’s feet, he could not defend himself against Negan. Even with the wound to his shoulder, he had the upper hand. The final upper hand. 

That fear showed itself again—that same confusion and uncertainty that overtook you and made you freeze when that herd closed around him, a feeling which you knew all too well. Now, he was not surrounded by the Dead, but something much more evil: a man whose selfishness and greed trumped any human decency he once might have had. 

But you would never feel powerless again. Not when you were in control, and that misericord in your trembling hands could put an end to the fear that had held you in its clutch for a decade. All this time, you thought freedom was in leaving the walls of Alexandria, but it was in something else, too. 

Freedom was in putting an end to that which kept you imprisoned in fear. 

As you moved forward, your aching, lacerated feet carried you slowly, silently towards the man whose back was turned to you. With your eyes narrowed on a ring of silver in the center of the chain mail draped over his back. Unblinking and barely breathing, you lifted the small blade, trapped in the clutch of your hand beneath your white knuckles. 

“You’re the one who’s gonna kill me, huh?” Negan’s head tilted slightly as he watched Daryl struggle to free himself, his face displaying the utter amusement that such a sight afforded him. “Now, I just don’t see that happening… You know, you really shouldn’t come to a duel without a sword.”

With a huff, the knight spat a glob of saliva at Negan. A futile exercise in defiance, but what else was he to do? 

“Now, because I am a merciful man,” he continued, the tip of his sword beginning to dig into the skin of Daryl’s neck, just enough to draw a bead of fresh blood onto the already bloodied edge, “I’ll let you make your peace with my princess, whom you so unceremoniously swept away from my castle.”

Without turning completely towards you, he called out your name. “My princess,” he said, “is there anything you’d like to say before I rid your knight of his weary head?”

For a moment, you feared he would turn to see you just inches from him, your knife poised to dig into his back, but just before you lunged forward, you answered him—with the only words you could think to say in response:

“I am not your princess.”

The closeness of your voice widened his eyes, and just before he turned, you’d felt the heaviness of the knife tunneling into his flesh, its sharp tip carving a path straight to his cold, evil heart. 

You swore you could even feel it beating, if it had ever beat at all. 

Negan stumbled backwards, taking you with him as your hands were still grasped tight around the handle of your dagger. 

And the weight was lifted from the knight’s wrists, as Negan’s grip on his own sword faltered and weakened. The blade fell from his hands, but in midair, the knight caught it by its hilt as he leaned up with all his strength.

In just a moment’s time, he swung.

The slice was clean, only a splash of hot blood stinging your cold cheek. Severed with ease, the head flew in midair only for a few moments, landing in the dirt not far from the knight’s fallen sword. 

Negan’s headless body sank to the floor, almost with an eerie consciousness, as though even his body insisted to stand his ground until the last possible moment. With only the distant crackling of the torch and the heavy breaths back and forth between you and him, the silence of the night swallowed the tension that had once lingered in the air. 

Now there was only relief, and whatever was left of the fear you had began to crumble away. 

~

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