#–––– ✧ the chains are broken but are you truly free

[ofcentvries]

[grace-winter]

🌺

In ihrer Hand hielt sie eine einzelne, zart duftende Pfingstrose. Sie lächelte leicht, als sie begann zu sprechen. "Pfingstrosen sind meine absoluten Lieblingsblumen," sagte Grace und strich sanft über die seidigen Blütenblätter. "Es gibt etwas Magisches an ihrer Schönheit und Eleganz. Sie erinnern mich an die Hoffnung und die Erneuerung, die nach den dunkelsten Zeiten kommen können." Grace dachte an die Blumenbeete ihrer Kindheit, die Gärten, die ihre Mutter mit so viel Liebe gepflegt hatte. "Meine Mutter liebte Pfingstrosen," fuhr sie fort, ihre Stimme wurde leiser, fast melancholisch. "Sie hat immer gesagt, dass sie ein Symbol für Wohlstand und Heilung sind. Sie haben eine Stärke und Widerstandsfähigkeit, die mich tief berührt. Auch wenn sie zart und zerbrechlich erscheinen, überstehen sie die rauesten Winter und blühen jedes Jahr aufs Neue in voller Pracht." "Ich denke, das ist es, was mich am meisten an ihnen fasziniert," sagte sie nachdenklich. "Sie sind eine Erinnerung daran, dass selbst nach den härtesten Zeiten etwas Wunderschönes entstehen kann. Sie symbolisieren für mich Hoffnung und Erneuerung." Grace lächelte und blickte zu Noé hinüber. "Ich hoffe, dass ich diese Liebe für Pfingstrosen auch an Noé weitergeben kann. Dass er versteht, wie wichtig es ist, nie die Hoffnung zu verlieren und dass immer etwas Gutes entstehen kann, egal wie schwierig das Leben auch sein mag."

[caelitus-a]

Jellal, do you secretly want to be on Sorcerer’s Weekly’s Boyfriend List?

Eyes looked at the stranger with a fixed gaze, a rather watered down milk tea held grasped in one hand. It felt awkward to be asked out of the blue questions by people he didn't know but at the same time it didn't come as a surprise to Jellal. Humans could be nosy, enjoyed gossip especially when it came to other somewhat well known people. It's better to be asked a somewhat innocent prying question then have to listen to the usual gossip or words said around him. Not that he cared to pay deep attention to either.

" Uhm. Not really. I don't take much stock in those kinds of things. "

Someone should of told the poor soul that once upon a time he technically was on that very same list. His past self had even once smirked all smug about it once so very long ago. Now though, he'd rather have some semblance of peace then be on a spotlight.

[meiieiri]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐚 [gojo satoru]

synopsis: you got married to gojo satoru at the edge of a frozen lake in summer.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

warnings/tags: heavy angst, a love that’s TOO LITTLE TOO LATE if one can even call that a tag, unrequited love (kinda).

Marriage is a golden ring on a chain whose beginning is a single glance between two unsuspecting souls that ends with eternity.

Twelve years. You’ve loved him through twelve springs. It’s bittersweet to think how a person could give another their youth for free. But then again, the only things that you truly keep are the things you give away. That’s just life, isn’t it? And besides, you take a step towards the blue peony littered aisle with a wistful smile on your face as you picture a certain arctic-haired man standing at the other end, when it comes to matters of the heart, keeping ledgers of the love you give and the love you receive is a futile effort.

You should probably put that in your vows later. But ah, what did it matter? Satoru’s probably just gonna wing it later, arguing that expressions of love should be light-hearted and candid much like the love you share.

“Y/N-chan~!” He steps in front of you, his tall form towering over you as he catches you by the student lounge’s vending machine. Shoko smirks behind you, pulling Suguru ahead of you to leave the two of you alone. She nudges you forward and you cast her a betrayed look to which she only replies with an innocent shrug. It’s common knowledge to everyone in Tokyo Jujutsu High how you feel about the Gojo clan’s illustrious little starlet.

Well, it was common knowledge to everyone except Satoru Gojo.

And you don’t know if you find that comforting or saddening.

Comforting that he wouldn’t find out about your feelings from someone else, though you’re still working up the courage to fess up, you wholeheartedly believe that this is something he should hear from you and you alone. Saddening that maybe the reason he’s been all blissfully ignorant of how your breath becomes shallow whenever he’s around you is he’s actually already aware of your feelings towards him and he’s only deflecting it.

“We’ll go ahead, Y/N,” Shoko says in a sing-song voice, taking your cursed tool from you. “Come see me if you have any injuries!”

“But if it’s a broken heart, she probably can’t fix it,” Suguru chimes in, winking at Satoru as if to say: ‘Go talk to her.’ before turning to follow his girlfriend.

A hush falls between you and Satoru, unspoken words swirling around the two of you like a symphony of longing. Both of you seem to be saying the same thing:

Should I tell her?

Should I tell him?

What would she say?

Would he leave?

If the truth is meant to set you free, then he is your jailer. Why is he content with never uttering those words aloud? Why are you so eager to stay in the hedge maze of your mind, seeking his shadow at every corner? This was a tiring game of hide and seek.

But Satoru is completely fine with letting it drag on if it meant he’d never risk losing you.

And you were fine with that too. You were fine being a prisoner to your truth as long as he was with you in this jail cell. You were fine.

Whatever fine means.

“Wanna go to the arcade?” Satoru looks at you with a shimmering bittersweet look in his eyes.

You smile and a breathy laugh falls from your lips causing his face to light up even more.

“That depends, you gonna let me win?”

“Never.”

“Y/N! There you are.”

You turn around to see an older Shoko, her youthful bob cut having outgrown its juvenile flare. She looks out of breath, she must have run around the venue looking for you and judging from the way she keeps glancing at her watch, and the exasperated look she was throwing your way at the sight of you still in your silk robe, you needed to get moving.

But your feet remain planted in the middle of the empty aisle, your gaze trained on the arch.

“You feeling okay?” Shoko asks, her hand finding yours in a tender display of solidarity. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know.”

You flash her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I know. Just…deep in thought.”

“Yeah.”

Weddings are always so beautiful, you think to yourself as Shoko steps back giving you some space as you contemplate the day ahead. Your fingers trace one of the satin linens adorning the trellises much like your heart traces the contours of a love too delicate to verbalize, too powerful to ignore. Your gaze dances over the elegant arrangements of blue, white and gray, the scent of grapefruit-quince adorning the air, mixing with the scent of peonies, jasmines and white musk.

Everything here speaks of the imminent union of two souls finding their way to each other. And how comforting it is to know that no matter where you wander, all paths inevitably lead to Satoru Gojo. And you have your drunk cartographer heart to thank for that.

“He loves you,” Shoko finally says, catching your wrist to bring you over to the gazebo to get touched up.

“…I know.”

You look back at the empty aisle, with all but one question in your mind.

What happens when simply knowing is no longer enough?

“Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again with my sunglasses off?”

You nearly choke on your yogurt drink when you see yet another stunningly familiar light blue sticky note on your desk. Satoru fucking Gojo is going to be the death of you one day. Your touch grazes over the hastily scribbled note, a small smile playing at your lips as you take out a white pad of sticky notes from your school bag. After collecting your thoughts, you decide to play along with his little game, your heart fluttering when you realize that this back and forth could actually be considered flirting.

“There’s no such thing as love at first sight. And sorry, pretty boys like you aren’t exactly my type.”

Satoru finds the white sticky note plastered on his stool in Jujutsu Tech’s science lab. Despite the playful jab in your reply, Satoru is hyperfixated on the fact that you just called him pretty. Did you really mean it? He bites the inside of his cheek being careful not to grin too much in fear of Suguru catching wind of what’s happening — the strongest sorcerer of this generation being caught off-guard by his little crush? Detestable!

“You think I’m pretty? ;) I knew it.”

Shoko looks at you funnily, you’re practically red as a tomato with how you’re fuming from the ears and sputtering about how ridiculous Satoru is being. “He’s just so…so…!”

“You really should work on finishing your sentences now~”

You are interrupted at the sight Satoru practically hopping down the steps leading to the training field with a convenience store bag tucked under his arm and you sigh exasperatedly, turning away as if he was a bug that’s hovering over your ear that you really shouldn’t be paying attention to. All of his six foot two form plops down next to you and you jump when he presses a cold ice cream bar to your cheek.

“You’re awfully generous today, Satoru,” you smirk, accepting and lifting the ice cream bar in silent gratitude, suppressing the blush creeping onto your cheeks.

Satoru blushes himself, his hand coming up to rub the back of his head as a comfortable silence falls between the two of you. Shit, say something, Satoru thinks to himself. Was he being too obvious? Did you somehow piece it together now that he has feelings for you?

In his internal dilemma, Satoru settles for undermining the deliberate gesture.

“I only needed two more stickers to get this really neat toy,” Satoru explains, reaching into the convenience store bag and pulling out his new tamagotchi. “Pretty worth it, I would say. The one I saw in Akihabara is being sold for 7500 yen, but that’s the angelgotch variety, so I kinda get the whole roadside robbery thing.”

Of course, he steered the conversation elsewhere. You’re not even surprised at this point that he’ll always only stay at the surface when he treads these long drawn out conversations with you, too afraid to say anything more — do anything more — than what was necessary as your friend.

Keyword: friend.

He had no obligation to you other than being your friend. And you don’t blame him. You’re not angry at him that he’s only willing to stay in shallow water with you, it’s just…

“Hey, I have to go, Yaga’s calling me.” Satoru casually interrupts your train of heartbroken thoughts, but you do not miss the unease in his voice, he almost sounds sorry that he has to bail again.

But you already send him off with a reluctant thumbs up. As you look at his retreating form, he stops for a bit at the stone tori gate, his head bowed in thought, you don’t know why you held your breath. He reaches into his pocket, but thinks better of it, and he paces two hesitant steps forward.

Then, he looks back to meet your eyes from afar.

And his heart clenches in a mixture of affection and exasperation when you are the first to blushingly look away.

The ten feet separating the two of you is very reminiscent of how you began: running in opposite directions to outdo the other in your competition to see who can act that they care less, placing more distance between your flustered hearts. Satoru gazes at you as if he’s seen the divine incarnated into a single beautiful being. He wipes a tear from his eye, sniffing momentarily, watching you gracefully float down the aisle with an equally smitten expression on your features.

Clutching the bouquet in your hands, you don’t break eye contact and everything seems to unfold like a motion picture before your very eyes, your and Satoru’s life together in vivid cinematography: your first dance later tonight, your first trip out of the country together for your honeymoon, your first time, your first year, your first child. Everything. You’ve imagined Satoru to be your first in everything. And as you make your way to the aisle, tears glistening in both your orbs, you stop to meet in the middle, the two of you standing on fate’s edge together.

He casts you a look, and you offer him a melancholic smile.

This was it.

…

…

…

…

The doors open and his bride arrives, and you move to the side, taking your place next to Shoko, painfully leaving the space you and Satoru briefly shared, a space that was never meant for you in the first place.

Which begs the question again: what happens when knowing is no longer enough?

Or is it…the two of you never knew at all how the other felt?

No, you and Shoko watch as Satoru stares at you from his peripheral, his heart fragmenting into irreparable pieces at each step his bride makes towards him.

Should I tell her?

Should I tell him?

What would she say?

Would he leave?

The answer is clear now. He wouldn’t have left. Things were just left unsaid, never admitted — the words that you longed to hear from one another never fell from your lips. Not once in the twelve years you secretly held him in your heart. And thus, fate then decreed that love is for the brave, and not for cowardly souls like you and Satoru Gojo.

And with whatever strength you have left, uncaring if this would cause you to look scandalous: a bridesmaid going after the groom, you mouth the words: “I love you.”

A pained smile appears on his lips, an allegory to the goofy grins he used to flash you when you two were young, and he nods, tears in his eyes.

This was twelve years too late. But it’s better than never.

“I knew it.”

[feilien]

Long Zhi's head was spinning. He hadn't been sure what exactly to expect when he'd walked in here, but he at least thought he'd had an idea. Clearly, he couldn't have been more wrong. Sure, there was an offer to join, just as he had assumed, but the reasons couldn't have been more different.

And if there has been any doubt about Isen referring to anything but his powers, those doubts had been violently smashed when there were very specific demands in regards to them.

Long Zhi wanted to ask how he knew, how he'd found out when there was no one else in the world who'd ever so much as suspected it. But, in the end, did it really matter? If Isen knew, so would others. So would Xiao Dan. And if Xiao Dan knew, he wouldn't allow Long Zhi the mercy of death once he got his hands on him. And he sure as hell wasn't going to make as gracious of an offer as Isen just had.

If he got his hands on his grandson–the grandson he had raised and trained to be a killing machine that needed nothing more but his own hands to be deadly–he would no doubt seek to exploit those abilities by any means necessary. And Long Zhi had a feeling he would no longer get to enjoy any of the limited freedom and privileges he had before, as the very heir to the clan. He assumed he'd be lucky to spend some time without chains.

Staring down at his hands, Long Zhi considered his options: accept the generous offer that seemed to allow far more freedom than he ever had in his previous life, or risk getting captured by his former clan. All it cost was his own morals and conscience.

Perhaps a small price to pay when considering the alternative.

"We have a deal." He took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't know how you know about my... Ability, but I know little about it myself. I can give you my word that I am capable of completing every job you may throw my way, but I can't guarantee you anything when it comes to that. I am a good study, but I don't know how far I can progress."

Lifting his head again, he looked up at Isen with as much resolve as he could muster. Not an easy thing to do when it felt as though the person sitting opposite of you was staring directly into your soul. Long Zhi had to suppress a shiver when meeting Isen's eyes. "I will hold up my end to the best of my ability, but that's a risk you'd have to be willing to take."

Isen said nothing, allowed Long Zhi to prattle on defending his former clan, his grandfather. And as the reality of his situation seemed to hit him, Long Zhi seemed less and less confident. Until a simple implication gave Isen the upper hand he'd been seeking. Satisfaction flashed across Isen's face, buried under his stoic expression much too quickly for Long Zhi to catch it.

His eyes were sharp as he watched the stubborn set the other's shoulders disappear. Gone was that false bravado with just a few words. Gone was the kind of arrogance that grated on Isen's nerves and in its place was something he could work with. A scared boy.

Finally, he sat back, keeping his hands on the desk. And then he spoke. "As obvious as this sounds, if you work for me, you work for me alone. Any work for another organization will be approved by me, or this deal is forfeit." His tone was matter-of-fact, leaving no room for discussion. "You may work for me provided you are physically and mentally capable of completing every job I assign you. For each job you complete, 25 percent of your earnings go to me. The rest is yours. I trust you'll have no issue keeping that to yourself."

Now Isen tilted his head, as though considering Long Zhi, as though he hadn't made up his mind long ago. "As for your ability, you'll agree to train with me often. You will make time for at least four days a week, every week. As you master your ability, we'll re-negotiate. Those are my terms."

His gaze remained vigilant, not foolish enough to think it would be so easy.

"So. Do we have a deal?"

[somereaderinblue]

Warrior!Penelope God Games

After writing Odysseus's Challenge, I was still on a creative high & decided to do this too. NOTE: The swaps between gods were taken from @too-much-flynnolium’s art.

[ARES]

Mother, God Queen, rarely do I ask for favours

Now, I'm kneeling on your floor

With hopes to save a friendship

With one who's a prisoner far from home

Penelope

[HERA]

Divine intervention, so that is your wish?

To untie apprehensions that were placed on that Greek?

You are braving such dangers for a girl full of shame

But if she's worth the risk of going under

Why not make it a game?

Convince each of them that she ought to be released

And I'll release her

[ARES]

Who's them?

[HERA]

Artemis! Hestia!

Dionysus! Athena!

Demeter! Or me

What do you say?

[ARTEMIS]

Sure.

[HESTIA]

Very well.

[DIONYSUS]

Hic!

[ATHENA]

Alright.

[DEMETER]

Interesting.

[ARES]

Bring it.

[ARTEMIS]

You all know I'm a fan of nature and all

So with so many sirens gone

I think Penny's in the wrong

[ARES]

They had planned to do their worst

All she did was reimburse them

Now they'll tread with caution first

To live another day and sing even more verse!

[ARTEMIS]

Good point, release her.

[HESTIA]

Trust is not wasted, it’s forged

Why should I give her my support?

She turned her back on her cohort

[ARES]

Did you forget they failed to listen?

She was betrayed and now imprisoned

But if you make the right decision

She can still have a future with those who miss her!

[HESTIA]

Fine, release her.

[DIONYSUS]

Your little high and mighty Penelope

Claims to love another, but keeps him chained to a broken heart

[ARES]

She was busy fighting

[DIONYSUS]

More like busy spiting the cyclops

Let her feel the pain that the others feel and rot

[ARES]

Wait!

You must reconsider this!

[ATHENA]

Really now, Ares, no new tricks?

[ARES]

Athena!

[ATHENA]

What kind of so-called fighter holds back her power

Just lets her friends get devoured?

She couldn’t fight Scylla, but didn’t even try to outwit her

Hides with naught but a sword to get the job done

Tries to handle things upfront

Dim-witted and weak like her son

[ARES]

Hold your tongue now, her son's my friend!

And tell that drunkard that all kinds of hurts can mend

You want more mind games? Then set her free

To get back to her homestead, she'll make everyone’s brains bleed!

[ATHENA & DIONYSUS]

Then release her.

[DEMETER]

So many talents, so many tales

Give me one good reason why yours should prevail

[ARES]

She's got the hands of a weaver!

[DEMETER]

Dig deeper

[ARES]

She's pretty skilled with words!

[DEMETER]

You can do better than that!

[ARES]

She's very sassy…?

[DEMETER]

Eh

[ARES]

Never once does she give up on her child.

[DEMETER]

Release her.

[ARES]

I’ve played your game and won! Release her.

[HERA]

You dare to defy me? To give me more shame?

No one beats me, no one wins my game!

Marriage, bring her through the wringer

Show her I'm the judgement call

The one who makes the final call!

.

.

.

.

[ATHENA]

Is he dead?

.

.

.

Penelope had told Ares that for mothers, childbirth in itself was a difficult battle and the parenthood that came after a race with no finish line in sight. Personally, Ares would’ve likened it to war. If family had truly been something as linear as a race then surely Hermes would be on their father’s throne by now.

She placed her spawn in his arms. Said spawn miraculously didn’t squirm or squall against his battle-hardened muscles and cold gauntlets. 

“His name is Telemachus.” Far from battle. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. Then again, considering how eerily squishy the infant was, perhaps the name was fitting.

Ares blinked as tiny fingers gripped his, the pudgy digits unable to full wrap around it. Yet, the grip was strong. No, it was simply alive. He’s bathed in blood so often that he’s forgotten even the tiniest of hearts can still beat.

“Telemachus.”  Penelope and Odysseus smiled. Smiled at him, smiled because of him. They were happy. He was happy.

.

.

.

[ARES]

Let her go…..please

Let her go……

[honeykaes]

lustful vices

stelleron-hunter!sunday x stelleron hunter!reader II 3.4k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no pronouns, angst, mention of blood, corruption kink, virginity loss, fingering, cunnilingus, mention of blood, minor character deaths, switch!reader, switch!sunday, unedited

synopsis: what would you do for one wish? would you sacrifice everything just to see a glimpse of it? that's a question you posed to the newcomer of the stelleron hunters, sunday. As he tries to adjust to his new life, you suggest some new vices he can indulge in to cope.

Water dripped from the corner of the dark room. Golden eyes burned into the concrete ground, widened in shock and pity. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, he was sure his gloved nails dug into the wooden chart he was chained to.

Teeth gnawed down on his chapped lips, worried at what the Heartstone woman just said and left him with

“You’re free now. Someone made a deal for you.”

Despite years of being pruned, clipped, and groomed to become the Oak Family Head, he knew no one in the Family had his back. His heart ached knowing the one person who would sacrifice something to see him alive.

“Robin…” he grunted, narrowing his eyes. What did she promise that woman?  He heard of that woman’s dealings with the Bonnajade Exchange. An eye for an eye—something Jade seemed to relish in.

Would Robin’s life be in danger now she was ensnared by that woman? She was forever tied to that snake. How could he put an end to this when he knew Jade would amusingly keep them separated until the days they perished? 

He had so much he wanted to say to his sister. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to yell at her on her decision to help outsiders. He wanted to cry in her arms and convince her to run away with him, so they can start a new life together.

As Sunday grunted, his eyes lurched up hearing noises from outside. Muffled shouting echoed from behind the door, and the sound of bullets firing to whomever were their victims. 

Could this be the Astral Express and that strange Galaxy Ranger? He fought a sardonic laugh. He tried to kill them; those people would leave him to rot just as his ”family” did.

But who is causing all this chaos? He wondered if one fray bullet managed to lodge itself in Jade’s head, truly freeing him and Jade from the new cage she had made them.

As it became silent, the door slowly opened revealing yourself. Your lips were formed in a smug smile, blood smearing across your face. A taller man narrowed his bloodred eyes as he stood by the doorway. You leaned over as Sunday tilted back, wanting distance between you two Your amused yet calculating eyes lapped up his pitiful expression.

“So this was the famous Sunday? How the angels have fallen,” you teased. Sunday grunted, eyebrows furrowing. As he opened his mouth, you pressed her finger to his lips.

“Relax there, birdie. I was just teasing. Besides, we’re here to get you out. The IPC is temporarily…decommissioned, giving you enough time to leave and come with us,” you chimed. 

The man in the doorway grunted, flinging blood that was on his broken sword.

“Seems you picked up Kafka’s bad habits with nicknames,” the man grumbled. Sunday scoffed, lips curling into a cruel smile. His golden eyes narrowed, bearing into your own.

“They already promised me my freedom. A soldier was on their way to uncuff me.”

You clicked your tongue, hand drifting to the soft feathers of the wing’s on Sunday’s head as he purged back. The wings puffed up in frustration as you chuckled again.

“Perhaps but is that truly freedom Sunday? Would you like to know the deal your dear sister made on your behalf?” you offered. Sunday tightened his jaw, looking to the ground.

It seemed like yet another group is trying to prospect him to become their tool. First the Oak Family, then the Astral Express crew, now the Stelleron Hunters? Why was everyone insisting on him becoming a pawn?

He was so sick of being controlled, yet the image of Robin burned in the back of his mind.

With a sigh he looked back up to her.

“What.”

Your grin widened.

“Your pretty dove promised to, well, never see you again. Fate worse than death when you two were so close through thick and thin,” you murmured, crossing your fingers. Sunday looked at you shocked.

“How is that even possible? How would Jade even-”

“That snake knows how to wrap around her prey. Trust me, she would make it where your sister won’t even gaze in your potential direction the rest of this lifetime,” you murmured, a more somber response than the condescending tone from earlier.

His head ached from stress as his gaze faltered away from yours, leg bouncing anxiously as he racked his thoughts with the revelation.

Making this deal, Robin was susceptible to that schemer. She’s right in the clutches of a venomous snake baring their fangs at a meek sparrow. He knew he was right to try and keep her safe, only for this to happen.

How can he fix this?

Sensing his dilemma, you leaned back, lifting your gun up and examining the weapon. Your gaze was much colder.

“You have two options now. Join the Stelleron Hunters and follow Elios’ script which will promise a reunion between the two of you…or live knowing you’re the reason why your sister is now a victim of the IPC.”

“....”

He hated this. He hated everyone. How much more did he need to sacrifice…

You crossed her arms as your colleague grunted.

“Well?”’

He’d let the world burn if it would make his sister smile.

“Fine…uncuff me.”

It had been two weeks since Sunday joined the Stelleron Hunters. He had joined them for a couple jobs, following Elios’ script to a T. Elios seemed to be pairing you and him together, but he had met the rest of the team. He recalled seeing Firefly on Penacony. 

He had learned the intimidating man in the room when he met you was Blade. He had met yet another condescending woman who also called him ‘Birdie’ and the teenager with a bad attitude who only seemed interested in hacking and gaming.

You and him resided in a bar in a hotel of whatever planet you had dragged him to for the script. Tomorrow you two will be off yet again, raising the price of his bounty bit by bit with every action he followed the the script.

Sunday sipped on his wine, feeling unamused as he placed it down. His gaze wandered to you with a bit of scorn and superiority he still felt despite not being the Oak Family Head anymore.

“...I still never would have imagined in my life I would team up with the Stelleron Hunters,” Sunday sighed. You chuckled, taking a sip of your cocktail. You leaned your cheek into your hand, soft skin pillowing against it.

“Well, I didn’t either. We all have our reasons for wanting to join, being a slave to whatever desire we are looking for,” you murmured, swirling your drink around. You eventually stop, stumping your fingers to the edge of the bar. 

“You want to see and save your sister. Firefly wants to live, Blade wants to die. Kafka wants to understand what loss and fear mean. All of us are slaves to destiny,” you responded. Sunday narrowed his eyes, it seems you withhold something important from your statement.

“And what do you want?” he asked. You snorted.

“Me? Well…I guess love,” you replied. Sunday’s eyebrows narrowed, scoffing. His eyes looked down before up again, checking your body language. Although it seems you were being serious, he didn’t believe a word.

“You? You’re joking?” he replied. You smiled and shrugged.

“My home planet was wartorn thanks to the IPC. I admit, it wasn’t necessarily as bad as Firefly’s situation but my life has been all about strategy, battles and blood since I turned 18 years old. My civilization decided to fight against the beacons of the Amber Lord….only to be wiped out,” you sighed.

“What I wish is just to go back to normalcy. Find love, settle down, find peace or whatever. Act like these 8 years didn’t exist,” you murmured. Your lips were still curved in a smile despite your somber tone. 

“What’s stopping you?” Sunday asked.

“The IPC. Got a pretty big hit on my head even prior to joining the Stelleron Hunters. I can never find peace until they’re dealt with,” you grunted, rolling your eyes. Sunday looked away from you, gazing at his reflection in the deep red color of his wine. You seemed so adapted to this despite being fairly new to the Stelleron Hunters yourself.

They all did. Although he was getting the job done, the mental toll of everything tugged on him.

“...How do you, manage all of this? I don’t get why you all sacrifice so much just to follow a script you have no idea will end,” he asked. You paused finishing your drink before swiveling your chair, so you were facing him.

“You’re doing the same, Sunday. We’re not that different at all despite you insisting we are,” you chimed, narrowing your eyes. You let out a chuckle, lightening up once more.

“Besides, all of us do little things to cope. Silverwolf for one spends way too much on video games. You should look at Kafka’s wardrobe. I swear she has every outfit combination she can, and she still purchases crap. Blade just consistently fights and spars swearing he will defeat whomever the fuck…” you grunted.

“And your vice…?”

A smirk crept onto your face. You leaned closer to Sunday as his eyes slightly widened in shock, feeling your finger tilt his chin up. 

“Teasing unsuspecting Holovians for a laugh.”

Sunday’s cheeks momentarily redden before he grunts, pushing you off. You laughed again.

“Geez, tough crowd. And I thought you were known for your upbeat personality,“ you sarcastically added.

“Be serious,” Sunday demanded.

“Fine, fine. Occasional I might go home with someone,” you admitted. Sunday’s eyes narrowed in understanding. You found comfort in sex. He never really understood what was so appealing about it, but at the same time he didn’t have much time to even focus on it to begin with.

“So lust is your vice despite you searching for love? Seems counterproductive,” he replied. Despite the insult, you grinned.

“Ah, ah, ah, Sunday. Don’t put on a high horse when Penacony was known for indulgence,” you added. “What was the saying again: whatever happens in Penacony, stays in Penacony, hm?”

Sunday momentarily clears his throat, rose dusting at his cheeks.

“That was for others, not myself. I helped people to a higher path,” he said. Your face morphed to disbelief.

“...Without indulging in any vices? Tsk, tsk, tsk. No wonder you’re so high strung,” you muttered.

Sunday narrowed his eyes. 

You lifted your hand and brushed past his feather like you did the day you two met. The wings  shuttered but didn’t puff out like the last time you tried it.

“...Well, would you like to try? Experience what you missed out years on,” you cooed, tapping his golden earring. You leaned in closer, placing your hand on his upper thigh.

“And find out just what was appealing to those hundreds of people who confessed to you,” you whispered in his ear, Sunday’s body shuttered, eyebrows furrowed.

“So you’re more like a tempress huh? Coax people to do whatever dirty thing they can. Is that your role here? As much as you proclaimed you're a fighter, the softness of your hands tells me everything I need to know about you.”

Your smirk grows at his observation.

“So how about it, birdie? Mark this new chapter abandoning all you know and let yourself experience life’s indulgences…” you cooed, blowing cool air into his ear. His hand grabbed your own. Just as you leaned back taking it as a sign of rejection—Sunday scoffed—gloved hand digging into your own.

Your gaze caught to the tent developing in his slacks.

“...Alright.”

Sunday sat on the bed, his throat felt dry. Why was he so nervous? 

His heart seemed to be wanting to lurch out of his chest..

As much as he denied it, he was curious about lust and sex. He recalled numerous confessions where people had admitted wavering their eyes from their “beloved” spouses, but he never truly understood why.

Meeting you, he’s beginning to start to.

His breath hitched—feeling you sit down on his lap—gently rotating your hips. Your core grinded against his bulge as nails dug into the silky hotel bed sheets. 

Your hands made their way to his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. With each pop of the button he could feel sweat beginning to cling onto his hair. His eardrums pounded as he gaze continued to flip to your expression, and to his slowly revealing bare chest.

Just as the final button was undone and you slowly pulled his top off. Your lips hovered next to his jugular, soft lips pressing down on the warm and tense skin. 

“You need to relax more. Are you sure you want this? We can stop now,” you suggested. Sunday shook his head, trying to snap him out of his timidness.

“No. I want this. I…need this,” Sunday admitted. He could feel the smile you made press against his nape.

“Oh, so the spoiled rich boy can tell the truth?” you cooed. Sunday rolled his eyes and was about to yell a retort only for his voice to hitch as your swipe swiped along his neck.

You guided his hands onto your chest. With hesitantly squeezed the mounds, as you chuckled.

“See, you’re doing good. Just follow your heart and instincts.”

You had eventually taken your shirt off, letting it fall to the ground with the other articles of clothing.Sunday rolled his thumb against your nipples, lips parted as he could feel them hardened against his touch.

With a quivering lip, Sunday leaned into the soft mouths pressing his lips to the plush breast. His tongue slowly darted out before skating around the perimeter of your nubs. 

As your hand reached down, cupping his cock, Sunday gasped, letting the nipple plop into his mouth. He sucked, eyebrows narrowed as you hand made way beneath his pants, pumping his cock.

His cock jolted. You could feel it pulsating at your touch. It seemed longer than you expected, with a bit of heaviness to it too. Just as your thumb grazed the tip, Sunday bit down on your tip of your nipple. You gasped and chuckled.

“Guessing you enjoyed that, huh?” 

Sunday lifted his mouth up, lips gleaming from his saliva.

“...Stop teasing me already and get to the point.”

“Ahhh you’re rushing the best part. I’m guessing you didn’t know foreplay typically makes things feel better for you,” you cooed. “But alas, I understand. You’re eagerness is showing former Oak Family Head.”

You shimmied Sunday's slacks and briefs off, as his cock plopped onto his lean and toned chest. It quivered, lolling to the side desperate for more of your attention. You had risen from your seat, taking your own pants off.

Sunday caught the strings of slick that connected the fabric of your underwear, thighs and cunt. He felt his mouth water, gulping slightly as he drank up your entire nude form.. His hand reached out and connected with your thigh. It wandered from up as he relished the touch of your soft skin, pillowy texture of your chest, to the district angles of your face.

This was lust incarnate, he knew it in his heart.

“Ready?”

You leaned on top of his lap, cunt hovering above his throbbing cock. You circled your click in preparation, slowly sliding it down.

Sunday swore he felt bells as soon as his tip connected with your velvety entrance. His hips intentionally bucked up, sliding himself deeper as you chuckled, finally gliding it down.

He sucked a breath in. wrapping your arms around you tight. His heart fluttered fighting the urge to plow inside. He could feel your tight cunt squeeze and coax him to slide deeper, if it was possible.

Just as you lifted your hips, about to ride him, Sunday’s grip on you got tighter, a loud groan reverberating throughout the room.

Thick ropes of warm cunt shot inside of you, as his hips meekly jolted up. His back arched, covering his moan of any further pathetic noises from escaping. His eyes slowly opened, feeling his high finally come down gazing at your slightly disappointed face.

He could feel himself softening inside of you.

“I-I…I don’t know what happened…” Sunday admitted. “I tried to control myself but”

You sighed but gave a supportive smile.

“I know. It’s your first time. I would have been surprised if you lasted longer to be honest. You never masturbated or have sex, right? This was bound to happen,” you murmured. You lifted yourself off of his cock, his eyes gazing at his cum leaking down your thighs.

“I won’t lie, I am a bit sad I won’t get my fill but there are other ways of that,” you murmured, laying beside him, looking up at the ceiling. The burn of arousal was beginning to shimmer between your thighs.

Sunday looked down, lapping up the view of your body.

“Like what?”

You grinned at the question, lulling your head to the side.

 “Curious still? Well, there’s different ways. Toys, but I didn’t pack any. And these guys,” you stated, wiggling your fingers.

“Show me.”

You hummed, letting your hands slide down the curves of your waist and thighs before settling at your cunt. Your finger slides along the slit a couple of times before you gaze a dramatic moan as Sunday tensed further, to your satisfaction.

Your thumb settled on your clit, beginning to rub circles. Sunday noted that was the same spot you did before getting on top of him.

“Doing this for a little while can get me to that euphoric feeling you just had. You can also slide your fingers in too, but the main focus should be right here.” you hummed. You continued, and closed your eyes, letting your other hand grip tightly on your breast.

Your hips began to grind down on your fingers, inching closer to your high.

“Wait! Let me do it!” Sunday grunted. You opened your eyes to see Sunday, moving your hands away. His long fingers followed the same movements, grazing your slit before letting his calloused thumb press tightly against your clit. His movements were slow but began to go faster as he felt more sure of himself.

You were squirming beneath him, and he couldn’t help smiling. It was so interesting, having him on top of you now. He liked it. He liked you under him, his touch being the ultimate desire of reaching euphoric highs.

He liked being in control.

His fingers sank into your cunt, drilling as his pace didn’t let up. He noted the way your nails harpoon against the bed sheets as his timidly once did. He noted the way your moans didn’t seem fake, they were as soft and pathetic as the ones he had made.

Your face leaned to the side, gaze half-lidded beguiling him further. 

He thought righteousness would save him. No, perhaps sin will instead.

After all, he can just ask for forgiveness later.

He leaned his head into your cunt, tongue beginning to swirl on the bundle of nerves as his fingers continued to plow against him. Your hands weaved their way into his silver hair, pulling him further into your core. He could taste your sweet arousal mixed with the saltiness of his cunt, an aroma that he knew would dream off once everything was settled in the early hours of the morning.

He felt your walls begin to clamp on his fingers, giving him a harder time plowing as quickly into you. Curling his fingers up, to try to slide deeper, he heard you gasp out his name loudly.

“There! Right there Sunday!” you shouted. He continued his ministrations there, watching your body spasm as his other hand connected with your thigh, spreading you out further.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cursed out, throwing your head back. Your hips lifted up as Sunday’s eyes widened. He felt you clamp onto his fingers as he slurped up the excess essence drooling out of you. Your whole body rocked, with whimpers and whines falling from your lips.

As your body plopped down, Sunday lifted his head up from your core and slid his fingers out. He tongue lapped up the remaining juices clinging onto him, watching your tired eyes open again. Your chest was heaving, drool managing the drip down a corner.

“I thought you were just a virgin…” you muttered breathlessly. A new found but familiar confidence fell over Sunday As he crawled on top of you. His cock lurched, hardened and pulsating, eager to try again as it nudged against your burning clit.

“I’m a fast learner.”

Perhaps he can adjust to becoming a Stelleron Hunter better than he originally thought.

[chuunai]

Dazai tightly holds you with the intention of never letting go. He’s haunted by unwanted thoughts that his savior—his reason for living—will end up with the others. The cycle of love and death has always been recurring throughout his existence, and there’s no reason why it won’t happen again with you. He knows he will crumble and die (literally) with your departure. It’s selfish to want to never let go. However it’s such an innate need that Dazai finds himself embracing you nonstop, just wanting one more.

Chuuya takes you in his arms delicately and with great carefulness. In his hold, you’re a baby bird. A fragile creature who could break with the slightest pressure applied by an inhuman body who wields a god inside. The very same hands that rub your back have easily taken dozens if not hundreds of lives. He couldn’t handle it if he accidentally hurt you in any way. At the same time, he feels like a protector. Nobody would ever dare harm you when he was around. If it came to it, Chuuya would gladly sacrifice himself for you.

Fyodor lays you in his lap as one would with a pet. Most of his hours are spent huddled in-front of his computer set-up making plans and cunning calculations. One hand is typing on the keys, and the other is scratching your head or stroking your arms. Over the centuries of existences he’s lived, he’s never truly loved anyone. He holds an affection for you, yes, but it’s more akin to the way an owner takes care of a kitten from the streets. Yet he never finds himself complaining about your love. Perhaps he could return it one day purely.

Nikolai practically suffocates you with his chest. Despite not having a lot of free time outside of terrorism and murders, he’s decently muscular with defined pecs. He’s quite aware of it too and abuses it whenever he picks you up and smothers you with affection—and man boobs—while tastefully asking if you want a tighter hug. Much to his beliefs, sometimes he does hold you too tight and listens to your shaky wheezes of breath. When the only chain holding him down is gone, he’ll truly be free. Nevertheless, you won’t be free from him (and his hugs).

Sigma hesitantly wraps his arms around you with inexperience. The warmth of another human was a new sensation unknown to him—he’s only ever been harshly striked across his body. He melts into a pile of gooey affection and nearly cries when enveloped in your embrace. Had the Sky Casino not been his purpose first, he would’ve been in your arms forever. Amnesia may rid him of whatever previous existence he had, but he has a new one with you.

Tags: @briarbabyxo, @little-miss-chaoss, @secretlyagoblin, @sinfulthoughtsposts, @starrs20, @twst-om-lover, @broken-spirit101

[headlinxr]

𝐜𝐡𝐱𝐬𝐞 ─── 𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐢

( ♱ ) I'LL FOLLOW YOU EVERY FUCKING DAY ⨾

SYNOPSIS  !   Ni-Ki knows little to nothing about you, but you mean the world to him. But you don't know this, and you never will because you chose someone else. And Ni-Ki can't live with knowing that.

GENRE. stalker, non idol!, au, obsession, reader has an established relationship, f!reader

WARNINGS. mention of blood, self harm.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Trust that I'll love you in a manner permanent that the skin over my birthmarks would flush in shame.

His room was dark, the light barely dared to enter. Ni-Ki felt trapped. The walls, like silent guardians, seemed to close in more and more, pressing on his chest with an unbearable weight. With each heartbeat, his heart resonated like a war drum, marking a battle rhythm that freed his inner self. He felt enveloped in a mantle of fresh mist, making each breath feel like a failed attempt to free himself from his invisible chains. In his mind, images of you danced like in a ballet, recalling everything about you, and the little he truly knew. With trembling hands, he searched for that object; a small leaf, cold and shiny, that promised him temporary relief. He stared at it, as if it were a mirror. When the steel touched his skin, it was as if the silence broke the mantle that covered him. The sensation was bittersweet, as if each cut were a grain of sand falling from an hourglass, marking the time slipping through his fingers.

Twilight finally seeped through the cracks in the room, tinting the atmosphere with a cold hue that accentuated the chill of the wooden wall against which he leaned. Without a shirt, his skin bristled at the touch of the rough surface, as if each splinter reminded him of the harshness of his life. With an impulsive gesture, he lifted his gaze, and what he found was a mosaic of memories clinging to the wood; thousands of photographs of you.

Each image was a glimpse of your essence: Captivating smiles, looks that bestowed joy, and moments frozen in time. But in each of those snapshots, there was an element that drove him crazy, a piercing reminder of his tireless devotion: Hee Seung. his heart contracted in an act of rebellion, as if a serpent coiled within him began to squeeze with ferocity. Rage erupted within him, igniting his mind with a torrent of distorted thoughts.

─Why... Him?─ He wondered, as his gaze lost itself in the abyss of jealousy that slowly devoured him. The obsession settled in his chest, a parasite that fed on his despair. Your image, an intruder in the world he imagined, became a ghost that haunted him, a constant echo reminding him of his own inability to be the center of his own universe.

The wall, now a canvas of his torments, seemed to mock him. Each photograph was a poisoned dart, a vivid representation of the happiness he longed for and yet slipped through his fingers like sand in an endless desert. The helplessness enveloped him like a dense fog, and his mind spun in circles, trapped in a labyrinth of dark thoughts.

With a deep sigh, a silent scream of frustration, he stepped away from the wall, leaving behind the gallery of broken dreams. He knew that his obsession was a mirage, a distorted reflection of a reality that refused to be his. However, the echo of his desire resonated within him, and although the coldness of the wood reminded him of his loneliness, the image of her continued to burn in his mind, inextinguishable and desperately beautiful. He set the blade aside, and with trembling but determined hands, he tore down one by one the photographs that adorned the walls, images that, at another time, evoked laughter and shared promises. Now, each portrait became a piercing reminder of what once was and what could never be. The fragments of paper fell to the ground like withered leaves, symbolizing the death of a love that had blossomed in the garden of his heart, only to wither before the cruel experience.

In his mind, a storm of emotions was unleashed, a whirlwind of anger and sadness that threatened to consume him completely. He wished, with an almost visceral intensity, to erase from the map of his existence those who had dared to stand between him and his deepest desire. Your life, a beacon that once illuminated his path, had now become a darkness that enveloped him, and in his mind, a revenge was brewing that seemed as seductive as it was lethal.

Remember that sunny day, and the air infused with the fresh scent of spring. Jake said you were his sister, an ethereal figure dancing between laughter and dreams, dazzling in your innocence. Your laughter was a melody that resonated in his chest, and every word you spoke became an enchanting whisper that hymned in his mind. So irrevocably patriotic that it would make the national anthem stutter.

He wanted to trust in the sudden emotion he felt every time he saw you, he would trust that you would place perfectly carved sea crusts in the palms of your hands after searching for them for hours. He felt like a child, his heart racing, but fate was capricious, and you chose the young and handsome boy, finding yourself trapped in those nets that had ensnared thousands of girls like you. That betrayal, subtle as poison, was the stigma that marked his soul.

As the photographs fell, the echo of your laughter transformed into a lament, a symphony of what could have been. The anger turned into a fire that consumed him, fueled by memories that could not be undone. You were more than just a simple girl; you were a symbol of everything he longed for and couldn't have. He longed to be the protagonist of a forbidden story with you, where he imagined touching your soft skin and feeling the heat of your body against his.

With each passing day, Ni-Ki wished to become bolder, trying to let desire guide him down paths he knew were dangerous. Each chance encounter turned into a game of tension-filled glances, where he allowed himself to dream of an accidental brush, a whisper in the ear that would never materialize. In his mind, the line between admiration and harassment blurred, and his obsession became a thousand-headed monster that devoured him from within. The routine had become a sacred ritual. With a fixed gaze, Ni-Ki ventured into the streets you usually roam. His heart beat at a frantic pace, pumping a cocktail of adrenaline and desire. The city transformed into a labyrinth of possibilities, a stage where destiny seemed to whisper his name in his ear.

Ni-Ki tried not to be discouraged; for him, the possession of your heart did not depend on reciprocity, but on the fervor of his devotion. In his mind, you were his, a star in his personal firmament, and even though there were others around you, your essence remained unchanging, destined to join his in some corner of the universe.

Each chance encounter, each smile he managed to catch, was a brick in the construction of his obsession. Ni-Ki became a master of the art of invisibility, a ghost slipping through the crowd, always at the right distance, always at the right moment. His life turned into a dance of shadows and lights, where his only purpose was to be a silent witness to the joy you radiate.

The chase, for him, was not a mere act of following; it was a form of veneration. The mere act of contemplating you, of absorbing your essence, filled him with an almost mystical ecstasy. In his mind, each day was a new chapter in an unfinished novel, a story where the protagonist pursues a love that, though distant, beats with intensity in his chest.

Who would you call if he took you? When your back is against the wall, who would you turn to? He wishes he were the first one you thought of. When you are running down the corridor, it will be him who cuts the path. You will hear the sirens, but they will never hear you.

You splash through the puddles on the road, he hates running in the rain. You turn around, and see that he's coming for you. There's no one there for you, so you mustn't fall. Because you are his to take. Only from him.

[dixons-sunshine]

Yielding Isn’t My Middle Name—Chapter Six | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl’s worry for you only grew as the rain fell down heavier and heavier. He would not stop fighting until he got you out of that well, no matter what stood in his way—not even a set of chains.

Warnings: Angst all around. Swearing, allusions to death and torture, blood, near death experiences. Just read with care.

Word count: 3k

A/N: Only one more chapter to go, and then the epilogue. Thank you all for sticking with this series for so long! You all are amazing.

Taglist: @dixons-girl89 @jupiter1700 @enlightndone @shadowcitrine @angelwings-crossbowstrings @holdmytesseract @secretsicanthideanymore @remuslittlesister @daryls-wife @crazyunsexycool

Crash!

Rumble!

Boom!

Whether those deafening sounds came from the harsh thunder or the gun shots of the intruders that had managed to push past Liam Davis’ defenses, Daryl did not know. What he did know, however, was that the rain had not let up even the slightest bit. If anything, it had gotten worse, immensely so, and the crossbow-wielding archer had no idea if the doors to the well you were being held captive in had been closed after his involuntary departure. And when Daryl had asked Lucas about it, he had not gotten the response he had hoped for.

“My wife. S’she gon’ be okay? S’someone gon’ close those doors? Answer me, goddammit!”

“Shut the fuck up! Can’t you see there are more pressing matters at hand than that little whore of yours? Now sit down and be fucking cooperative!”

That had been over an hour ago, and Daryl was nowhere closer to getting himself out of the shackles that bound him to the wall than he was all those weeks ago. He pulled, yanked, leaned all of his body weight forward in the hopes of pulling the chains from the wall, but to no avail. The chances of him getting free was slim, if not nonexistent.

Daryl was extremely worried, and on the verge of a panic attack. He knew for a fact that with the war that was raging on outside in the storm, nobody would care enough about you to ensure your safety. Hell, if they cared about you at all—which they had made abundantly clear they did not—they would not have thrown you down into that well in the first place. These people had proven themselves to be cold, heartless monsters, and if the opportunity presented itself, Daryl would love to watch them, as well as this godforsaken supposed safe zone, burn to the ground.

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he gritted his teeth together and leaned all of his body weight forward once more. “C’mon, Dixon,” he muttered to himself, his voice gruff and strained due to the harsh pressure he was using against his shackles. “C’mon, goddammit! Fuckin’ break! Break!”

The chains, ignorant to the archer’s command, did not break. All they did was make a ‘clink’ sound as Daryl leaned back against the wall, his expression one of defeat. Unwillingly, a lone tear trickled down Daryl’s cheek, his heart shattering at the knowledge that he was failing you. You were in danger and he could not save you. He was breaking the one promise he had sworn to himself he would never dare break; he would always protect you.

“So much for that,” Daryl grumbled to himself with a broken scoff, swallowing hardly to prevent himself from full-on sobbing. “Yer fuckin’ useless. Can’t even protect yer wife, not to mention yer unborn baby. Yer a goddamn failure.”

And Daryl truly believed that. He felt like an absolute failure at that moment. He failed his family, he failed his unborn child, and most of all, he failed you. You could be dead in that well and he would not be able to do anything. He was supposed to protect you! To ensure your safety! How could he fail at that? You were the most precious thing in his life, and he was failing you.

He was failing you. He was failing you. He was failing you.

The sound of keys jiggling caught his attention and prevented him from succumbing to the abyss that was his self deprecating thoughts. He looked up and attempted to see who was on the other side of his cell, but he could not. Despite only being midday, the harsh storm outside made his cell appear pitch black, so all he could see was a silhouette. And then another. And another. And then…

“Daryl!”

Daryl’s heart both sped up and stopped simultaneously. He had never once thought that he would be as happy to hear that voice like he was at that moment. The gruffness of the voice, mixed with the southern twang of the accent was one Daryl was all too familiar with.

“Rick.”

The door to Daryl’s prison flew open with a loud bang as soon as that name left his lips, soon accompanied by the sound of footsteps rushing into his cell. The beams of multiple flashlights fell upon his face, and the light made it possible for Daryl to make out the faces of his rescuers: Rick, Michonne, and Glenn.

“Daryl, oh my god,” Michonne gasped, her eyes trailing over the multiple injuries on her friend’s face.

“M’fine.” Daryl was not fine, not even in the slightest, but it was neither the time or place to fill them in on what ached and what did not. “Jus’ get me the hell outta these fuckin’ chains. I gotta get Y/N!”

Daryl did not even have to say that, because whilst he was still talking, Rick had already dove down and began breaking the shackles with the bolt cutters he had with him. However, he had gone in expecting to find two people he would need to unchain, but other than Daryl, the cell was otherwise empty. And Daryl’s words, the urgency in his voice when he said he needed to find you only further increased the brave leader’s worry.

Where were you?

“Daryl, where’s Y/N?” Rick inquired, helping his found brother up onto his feet.

Daryl looked at Rick, terror in his eyes. “Hopefully not where I think she is.” He wiped his hands on his tattered shirt. “Get a long rope and meet me at the wells. M’gon’ be at the one with the wooden doors.”

Before anyone could make any inquiries as to what he meant, Daryl pushed past them, taking off in a dead sprint out of the cell. He ran up the stairs of the basement, up into the living room—the location where it all went wrong—and out the front door. The rain fell down on him heavily as his bare feet made contact with the muddy ground below him, but he did not care. He only had one destination in mind, one goal in mind; he had to find you. He just prayed to whatever higher entity was listening that he was not too late.

The seemingly endless amount of wells soon came into the archer’s view. He sped up his pace, if that was even humanly possible, and begun heading straight for the one that stood out from the others—the one with the open doors. His suspicions had been right. The bastards had not even bothered to seal you away from the increasingly worsening weather.

The icy water droplets fell onto his body in a cold shower as he skidded to a halt in front of the well. He braced himself on the edge of the well and peered down, his ocean-coloured eyes zoning in on the sight below. At first, he could not see a thing, his vision obscured by the droplets that fell into his eyes due to the wind that blew them in his direction, but then he saw it. He saw you, floating at the bottom, the well already filled with water.

“Y/N!” Daryl called down. At first, he had feared his voice was drowned out by the storm, but when you looked up at him, he felt relieved.

“Daryl!” you called up to him, your voice tinged with absolute terror, making Daryl’s blood run impossibly cold. “Help me! Please! I can’t get out!”

Daryl heard his name being called, and he looked over his shoulder. He saw Carol in the distance, accompanied by Abraham and Rosita. He did not wait for them to catch up to him. He needed to help you.

Hoisting himself up onto the edge, he jumped down into deep hole, completely disregarding his own safety. His body soon collided with the chilling water below, and when he only narrowly grazed the bottom with his feet, he realized that the water was deeper than he had initially thought.

He resurfaced and took a deep breath, wiping his wet hair out of his face and looking around for you. When he spotted you, he swam over hurriedly, his heart pounding against his chest.

“Sweetheart, oh my god,” he panted breathlessly. He took your face in one of his hands, his thumb gently rubbing over your cold as ice cheek. “Yer okay. I gotcha. We’re gon’ get out, alright? Rick’s here and he’s gon’ bring a rope and we’re gettin’ out.”

“Daryl,” you began with a broken sob, “I can’t get out.”

The archer frowned at that. “What? Whatcha mean? ‘Course yer gon’—”

“I can’t,” you insisted through your tears. “I can’t free my legs.”

Daryl’s heart stopped at that. He removed his hand from your cheek and ducked down beneath the water. Although the water made it hard to see, he could make out the faint, unmistakable glint of chains that were similar to the ones that had kept him shackled in his cell. That knowledge made the archer’s heart drop to his stomach.

When he resurfaced again, Daryl looked at you, and he could see the terror on your face. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and reassure you that everything would be okay, but he could not do that. You needed to stay afloat, and Daryl needed to come up with a plan—fast.

“Daryl,” your broken whisper reached his ears, and it shattered his heart into pieces. “I don’t know what to do. I’m scared.”

If there was one thing about you that Daryl had initially been drawn to, it was your fearlessness. The reality of the world you were forced to live in had toughened you up from that scared, meek woman he had met at the quarry. You did not scare so easily, so hearing those words come from you made his body fill with dread.

“I know ya are, Sweetheart. But I’ll figure it out. I won’t leave ya here.”

Where the hell was Rick? He needed those goddamn bolt cutters! However, Daryl supposed he could not be mad at his found brother for taking so long. The discharge of multiple weapons had started again a few minutes ago, so it was clear that he was not taking his time just to be spiteful.

The water had risen immensely in the mere five minutes that the archer had been down there with you. The water surrounded your body almost entirely, save for your neck and face, although those too would soon be emerged under water if Daryl did not think fast.

You would drown if he did not do something.

Reemerging beneath the icy depths of the steadily rising water, Daryl swam over to the shackles that bounded your feet to the concrete below. Perhaps the water would played to his advantage and would have weakened the metal. Or maybe it would serve as some kind of lubricant that would help you slip free. He had to hope for the best.

Daryl began tugging at the chains, and similarly to his own ones he had sported earlier, they would not budge. Despite every pull, yank, and kick, the metal did not budge. That was a problem. That was a major problem.

His lungs burning and in desperate need for air, he swam up and resurfaced, taking a big breath. However, his breathing got choked off when he noticed just how quickly the well was filling up. The water was now up to your mouth, and you had to tilt your head back to prevent the water from entering your mouth.

“Shit!” Daryl cursed loudly. “Just hold on, sweet girl. Hold on. Yer gon’ be okay.”

Daryl knew his words were futile. The reassurance that he was throwing your way did not mean a thing. The chains would not budge, despite his best efforts. The water would soon engulf your entire being, and Daryl was powerless to stop it.

He was failing you. He was failing you. He was failing you.

You sent him a strained smile as the water begun filling up around your face. “I love you,” you told him softly. If you truly were about to die, you wanted the man in front of you to know that you loved him. That was what you wanted your last words to be. Not your admission of fear, not begging for Daryl to save you. You wanted to leave this world having let your amazing husband know that you loved him. That was how you wanted to go out.

Your mouth got submerged under water, soon followed by your nose, and all Daryl could do was watch. Watch as your entire body got submerged beneath the water. Watch as you closed your eyes as you begrudgingly accepted your harsh, undeserved fate. Watch as your life slipped away, and he was powerless to stop it.

Refusing to accept what was happening, Daryl ducked down beneath the water and once again attempted to free you from your chains. He tugged, he pulled, he kicked and bashed, but it did not work. He could not save you. You were drowning, and Daryl was forced to watch. There was nothing he could do at that moment.

Daryl could see the moment you lost consciousness. Despite being underwater, Daryl saw when your body went limp. In a last ditch effort, the archer swam over to you, grabbed your body and begun tugging you backwards with all the might he had. However, it was not enough. Nothing he did was enough. You were dying, and he could not prevent that from happening.

The need for air soon made itself known to Daryl, and it forced him to let go of your body and swim up to the surface. When he did, however, he heard his name being called. He looked up and strained his eyes, and he could see Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Abraham, Rosita, and Carol standing there.

There was still hope. “Rick, throw the bolt cutters, and prepare the rope!” he yelled up at the group as loudly as he could. Thankfully, it was loud enough, because the object soon came hurling down at him, splashing into the water.

Daryl wasted no time. He dove back down into the water and grabbed the sinking bolt cutters. He quickly swam over to the shackles and proceeded to try and cut them loose. It took a couple of tries, but thankfully, he managed to do it. Your body—now free from its confinement—drifted to the top, right where it needed to be.

Releasing the bolt cutters, Daryl hurriedly swam up and grabbed your body. He resurfaced with you in his arms, tugging your body up so that your head was above the water. Luckily, the rope that Daryl had requested was already thrown down and ready to be used, much to his great relief.

“Jus’ hold on a bit longer, Sweetheart. We’re almost there,” he mumbled to your unconscious body. With great effort, he swam you both over to the rope. He quickly tied the rope around both of your bodies and held you tightly in his embrace, trusting that there had to be enough manpower up there for them to be able to pull you both up in one go.

“Alright, pull us up!” he called up at the group.

The next few moments passed in a blur. Slowly, but surely, you and Daryl got pulled up from the well. Daryl kept whispering words of reassurance to your limp, possibly dead body, praying that you would be okay. He hoped that he was not too late.

You and Daryl got helped over the edge of the well by multiple people. Daryl looked up momentarily and could make out that there were a lot of people there, even some people in the community he did not know that well. However, his attention soon turned back to you.

Quickly removing the rope from your bodies, Daryl laid you down on the ground. He situated himself over you and pressed his hands against your chest, before beginning a steady rhythm of CPR. He could feel droplets trickle down his cheeks, and whether they were from the rain or from his tears, he did not know, nor did he care.

Ah, ah, ah, ah. Stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive, and repeat. That was the stupid motto you had drilled into his mind back when you were being taught to do those types of medical procedures by Hershel. He had offered to be your test dummy, and you had kept singing that particular line of that song over and over again. He had thought it was stupid back then, but now it was coming in handy. He just hoped it would work.

Daryl could vaguely hear panicked voices around him, followed by people darting towards the approaching threats and ridding them of their weapons and forcing them to the ground, but he paid them no mind. His only concern was saving you. However, it did not appear to be working. You were not spitting up any water and gasping for precious breath. You simply laid motionless, possibly dead.

“C’mon, Y/N. Wake up!” he muttered desperately. “Wake up, please!”

As a last resort, Daryl did the one thing he never in his life wanted to do to you; he began hitting you, against your chest, hard. He repeated it once, twice, three times, when it finally happened. It finally happened, much to Daryl’s immense relief.

You woke up abruptly, coughing up water. Daryl helped you lean forward and patted your back, helping you rid your lungs of the liquid in them. You inhaled shuddering breaths, falling back against Daryl’s chest and closing your eyes as your husband wrapped his arms around you.

“Daryl,” you whimpered out brokenly, seeking the comfort of the man you loved more than life itself.

Daryl pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, closing his eyes as tears trickled down his face. There were so many people around the both of you, but he did not care. He was just so glad that you were okay. Nothing else mattered.

“M’here, sweet girl. M’here,” he muttered into your hair that was drenched in water. “Yer okay. I gotcha. I promise I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ else happen to ya.”

And for the first time since setting foot onto the cursed grounds of the Sunny Meadows community, you truly felt safe, at home, in Daryl’s arms.

[lordofthescrolls]

Sweven (Adar x Elf reader)

Rating: Angst | Fluff

Summary: You did Sauron’s bidding because of a promise he made and when he was killed by Adar you were left with nothing… Or so you thought.

You didn’t know how long you had been kept in this prison, but you grew used to the dark, the lack of flames from torches you grew so accustomed to while living in the mountain. Now you were casted to the cold stones beneath Sauron’s chambers all because you had given him what you had promised… Power.

And you waited like any good servant would for his promise in return… One he did not give… Yet. You would constantly remind yourself. He will keep his promise, he will.

“My children told me there was one prisoner who refused to die.” A voice you have heard countless of times since you were taken, “Iston i nîf gîn.” He said. I know your face.

You knew his as well. You would admire him from a far as you both served Sauron in your own ways, never speaking to one another, but always there. You grew curious of the once elf now forged by darkness itself and created into a creature of the shadows.

It was his voice that intrigued you the most as it was the only thing you could truly hold onto here. A gruff and sad voice that you would hear in your dreams sometimes when the nights got too cold or the loneliness settled deep in your bones… Not that you would ever share that secret with anyone.

“I am an elf. Malnourishment does not kill me… You should be aware of that yourself… Elf.” You muttered quietly, your voice scratchy from the lack of use.

“Uruk.” He corrected you.

“Has… Sauron forgiven me?” You whispered brokenly as you blinked up at him, “I—” You coughed, “I did not mean to fail him. I swear. I didn’t have enough… I can try again. I can do better. Please tell him I can do better.” Your pleas were only met by silence and you watched him cautiously as he passed you a mug filled with water.

“Sauron is gone.” He replied, stepping back as he watched you gulf down the water in barely a second.

Your heart fell at his words, “He will come back for me then.” You murmured, shackled to the stone wall, “We have a deal.”

“Will he?” There was amusement in his voice, “It has been months since he had you chained down here.”

Months? Your throat felt dry again and you looked down at the now empty cup in your hands. Had it really been that long? “He could be continuing his plan.” You pressed wanting to believe that your wish will be fulfilled, “Him being gone doesn’t mean anything. He will return.”

“He could be...” He retorted, his gaze trailing over the tattered dress that you had been left in, “Or he could be dead.”

“He is not.” You seethed, your gaze snapping back to his.

“He is.” His grin was barely reckognizable but it was there.

“Your lies do not sway me.” You looked away from him, “Sauron isn’t dead. He can’t be, he is—”

“I killed him myself.” He proclaimed and he watched you lunge at him, the only thing stopping you was your chain.

“You…” Your breath caught in your throat as the first feeling that filled your chest was pure happiness. The joy that your master was finally gone and that you were free to do whatever you wished… To leave even, but then the loss settled in as you realized your wish would never be fulfilled. You would be left yearning for an eternity all because of a stupid elf.

“How could you.” You growled out as you slammed your fist into the ground, “Traitor!” You screamed at him, yelling profanities as he stood by and waited for you to calm down. You fell to your knees and began to weep not for your master, but for yourself. For the loss of a gift you so desperately wanted.

Adar crouched in front of you, looking down at you as if you were some wounded animal, “I have seen you in passing, always at his side. Never spoke a word, never showed emotion, always there… What did you do for him?”

“I healed him… Made him stronger…” You muttered broken as you recalled all those countless nights, brewing herbs in teas, using the magic you possessed to grow his power.

“And what did he offer you?” He asked gently as if trying to coax a wounded doe. That is what he deemed you were, a fragile doe left in a raging storm.

Your lips curled back as a grim expression took your face. Your tears falling freely as you cried in frustration and grief. You worked so very hard to please him and now here you were back to where you started… With nothing.

“I couldn’t…” Your throat tightened as you tried to speak through you cries, “I couldn’t have any… He promised he would fix me if I helped him… He promised and you took that from me!” Your anger grew as you lunged at him again, but he was quick and precise, always was with everything you have seen him do. He grabbed your wrist before you could fully swing at him and you felt yourself break in defeat as you sobbed.

“What did I take from you?” He asked again. His voice was low and gentle, his curiosity now growing.

“A family.” You replied barely above a whisper cursing the vacant womb you were blessed with since you were created, “All I wanted was a family.” Your voice broke.

He allowed you to pull your wrist free from his grasp and watched as you curled yourself into a ball, burying your face in your knees to hide your shame. Adar’s words seem to fail him in that moment as he looked at the broken elf maiden. He expected many answers to slip from your soft lips, but not that… Not when it was so close to the wish that he sought out for. The one that was granted when he was given his children. It was an answer that made him reach for your shackles and setting you free.

Your cries turned into sniffles as you felt the weight of the metal leave your ankles and you peaked up at him with hesitant curiosity.

“Are you hungry?” He asked in a gentle voice that was as rough as the stone you were used to sleeping against.

You didn’t answer with words, but a gentle nod of your head was all the confirmation he needed.

That was how you found yourself sitting at the stone table where Sauron used to dine. It was only on rare occasions that he would allow you to sit with him when he wanted to learn more about the slicers you created. You remember most nights however, you were left hungry because he was uninterested in your health. You were an elf, you only needed little to survive no matter how painful it was. Now the table was filled with orcs as they ate without fear of Sauron’s wrath.

“Why are you doing this?” You whispered sitting on Adar’s right as he sat at the head of the table. You had yet to touch your food and waited on his answer.

“He did not care for your wish as you thought he did. That is why he shackled you in such darkness after you provided no more use for him.” He explained as he took a sip of his wine.

“And you? Do you have use for me? Is that why I am up here?” You asked, accusing him of the same thing that Sauron had done.

“I am not him.” His reply was sharp as he stared at you, “I want nothing of you. You are free to leave now if you wish.”

You took in his words as you looked back to your plate. You could hear your stomach growl once the scent finally registered. You reached for the meat first and took a large bite as you contemplated on Adar’s words.

You were finally able to leave freely and that left excitement billowing in your chest, but it slowly fizzled away when you realized where would you even go? Who would want to take in a follower of Sauron? You thought and now your stomach filled with dread. They would kill you where you stood especially with the mark seared onto the back of your neck.

“Guren *glassui.”

It caught you off guard as you heard your mother language be spoken by the uruk sat across the table from you. It was clear he was speaking to you and everyone else continued with their conversation, everyone except for Adar who watched the interaction silently.

“You speak elvish? How?” You accused as your thoughts were scattered. It had been a long time since you were able to speak to anyone beside Sauron and even then it was only to agree to whatever he said. Your manners seem to evade you now as you pressed, “Thank you for what?” Was I being mocked? You weren’t sure.

This time the feast grew quiet as everyone listened in on your conversation. If uruk’s could blush you would see the poor uruk’s face turn bright red, “I asked Lord Adar to teach me your elvish words of thank you.”

Oh… Your gaze softened as you looked at him, “Why would you want to know my language?” You asked, but this time your tone was gentler.

“I was hurt badly… I would have died if not for your healing magic. That is why I thank you.” He explained, a shy expression overtaking his face.

“Ah…” Your voice trailed off in surprise.

You came to realize over the years you’ve been captive under Sauron’s hand that Uruk’s weren’t evil beings… Just forced to do bad things. This particular uruk, you vaguely remember helping one night while passing by the less then salvageable infirmary…

“You’re welcome.” You nodded towards the uruk, “I am glad that you survived. You did well. You all did well, truly.”

Your words seemed to brighten his and his siblings moods as the celebration continued in full. The dinning room and the rest of the mountain was filled with cheers as they celebrated their victory. Soon enough it was just you and Adar who were left at the table.

Your plate was wiped cleaned as you subtly looked for more food.

He noticed this and pushed his plate towards you, “Here.”

Your face heated up, “I couldn’t, that’s yours.”

“I’m not that hungry. Go ahead and eat before one of my children steal it from you.”

That was all you needed to hear before you were eating the rest of his meal, your stomach finally happy from being filled.

Adar watched you with mild humor and his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back in his seat, “Have you decided what you will do?”

You wiped your mouth with your sleeve after you drank your wine. You looked towards him a small frown on your lips, “I don’t think I can go anywhere… Not with who I am… What I’ve done… I have nothing left.” You looked at the table, “He took my old life from me.”

“But not your new one.” Adar responded and you waited for him to continue as you leaned back to stare up at the stone ceiling, “You have everything to look forward to and experience.”

“But where? Who would possibly take me in when I have a mark of evil on my neck.” You spoke in frustration.

“I would.”

It was barely a whisper, but it had you sitting up to face him fully, “What?”

“I would take you. As you are. Right now.” He repeated, clear and sure this time.

“Even if I offer nothing to you?” You muttered quietly.

Adar nodded and stood from his seat, “You wouldn’t need to do anything you don’t want to.” He looked down at you with a softness in his gaze, “You could stay with my children and I.” He looked away for a moment.

It was then that he held his hand out for you to take if you wanted too as he continued, “We are not welcome in that world, but when we find our home it can be your home too… If you wish.”

You stared at his outstretched hand for a moment with entirety of emotions swirling in your chest. Fear, gratitude, anxiety… Care… This was the most you felt in a very long time and it was him… The silent brooding elf… Uruk making you feel.

His hand felt warm as you took it, a redness brushing against your cheeks as he pulled you up to stand.

“Thank you.” You whispered quietly as you looked up at him, “For offering me a home.”

“Always.”

It was a year later when you were curled up under Adar’s arm and covered by furs that kept you both warm. You breathed in his scent and listened to his slowed heartbeat as you tried to fall asleep with him, but something felt different tonight. It was only when listening to the laughter of his children that you have grown attached to just outside of your shared tent that you realized in some twisted way Sauron had given you the dream you desired… You finally had a family.

[courtofblooming]

favorite elriel quotes ! 💭ྀིྀིྀ

art by: stephdaydreams & trxxvon_

“A faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers white-knuckled on that fork, but he kept silent” — acomaf

“Elain said to Azriel, perhaps the only two civilized ones here, “Can you truly fly? “Yes. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.” “That’s very beautiful,” she said — acomaf

“And I think Elain — Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” “I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together.” — acomaf

“Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms. He, too, wore his Illyrian armor, Elain’s golden-brown hair snagging in some of the black scales across his chest and shoulders.” — acowar

“He set her down gently on the foyer carpet, having carried her in through the front door. Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face. Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?” — acowar

“She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. The wings peeking over them. But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded — just once.” — acowar

“Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” — acowar

“Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them.” — acowar

“Already dressed for the Hewn City — the brutal, beautiful armor so at odds with the lovely garden. And my sister sitting within it. “Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” — acowar

“What if — I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden —“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?” — acowar

“Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” “I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand.” — acowar

“She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien. Elain was staring at the spymaster now — unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.” — acowar

“It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.” — acowar

“While shadows gathered around Azriel, Elain at his side, wide-eyed at the spymaster’s display.” — acowar

“But Azriel asked softly, “What about Elain?” “From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” — acowar

“Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.” — acowar

“I shifted my face back into my own, raising a hand to my lips as Azriel knelt before her.” “Azriel gently removed the gag from her mouth. “Are you hurt?” “She shook her head, devouring the sight of him as if not quite believing it. “You came for me.” The shadowsinger only inclined his head.” — acowar

“Azriel scooped up Elain, looping her bound arms around his neck. “Hold tight,” he ordered her, “and don’t make a sound.” — acowar

“The gray light of morning had broken over the world, mist clinging to our ankles as we headed into that camp, Azriel still cradling Elain to his chest.” — acowar

“Rhys lunged for Azriel, taking Elain from him and gently setting my sister down. Azriel rasped, swaying on his feet, “We need Helion to get these chains off her.” Yet Elain didn’t seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger’s cheek.” — acowar

“Azriel, still limping, merely nudged aside Cassian and extended another option. “This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.” “Elain’s eyes widened at the obsidian-hilted blade in Azriel’s scarred hand. The runes on the dark scabbard.” — acowar

“It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.” — acowar

“Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel had lent out that blade — Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.” — acowar

“Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.” “I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.” — acowar

“That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.” — acowar

“Don’t,” Elain said flatly, starting once more into a walk, veils of steam drifting past her shoulders from the roasted rosemary potatoes in her hands, as if they were Azriel’s shadows. “She won’t listen.” — acofas

“But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.” One moment, his hand was spearing toward the serving spoon. The next, it was stopped, Azriel’s scarred fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Wait,” Azriel said, nothing but command in his voice.” — acofas

“Elain swept in, apron gone and hair rebraided. “Please don’t wait on my account,” she said, taking the seat at the head of the table.” — acofas

“The shadowsinger was clad in a black jacket and pants similar to Rhysand’s — He still wore his Siphons atop either hand, and shadows trailed his footsteps, curling like swirled embers. Especially as he gently said to my sister, “Happy Solstice.” Elain turned from the snow falling in the darkness beyond and smiled slightly. “I’ve never participated in one of these.” — acofas

“The shadowsinger’s brows lifted, but his scarred hand extended to take the present. Elain turned from where she’d been speaking to Nesta. “Oh, that’s from me.” “I had Madja make it for me,” Elain explained. Azriel’s brows narrowed at the mention of the family’s preferred healer. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.” — acofas

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.” — acofas

“Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous. Cassian and Rhys joined him, the former grabbing the glass bottle from Azriel’s hand and examining it. “Brilliant,” Cassian said. — acofas

“Elain smiled again, ducking her head. Azriel mastered himself enough to say, “Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.” — acofas

“It was three by the time the others went to bed. Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight.” — acofas

“Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened.” — acosf

“Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain's face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.” — acosf

“Feyre said, “We won’t allow any harm to come to Elain. Rhys warded her this morning, and we have eyes on her at all times.” “Eyes can be blinded,” Nesta said. “Not the ones under my command,” Azriel said with soft menace.” — acosf

“Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.” — acosf

“Nesta met the shadowsinger's stare and he gave her a nod. Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain's breath caught slightly.” — acosf

“The faelights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat.” — acosf

“Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year — a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he'd slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.” — acosf

“Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days.” — acosf

“But tonight, here in the dark and quiet, with no one to see...He pulled the small velvet box from the shadows around him. Opened it for her.” — acosf

“The golden necklace seemed ordinary — its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty.” — acosf

“It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?" — acosf

“His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck.” — acosf

“He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered, and he took a long time fastening the clasp.” — acosf

“It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. Wrong - it was so wrong. He didn't care.” — acosf

“He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue” — acosf

“Elain bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce of Azriel's restraint to keep from putting his own teeth there.” "I should go," Elain said, but made no move to leave. “Yes," he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat.” — acosf

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. But Azriel just stroked her neck again.” — acosf

“Elain shuddered, drifting closer. So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things far beyond their scars.” — acosf

"Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.” — acosf

“Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut.” “Offer and permission.” — acosf

“Rhys's voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain's sweet mouth.”

“But he could have this. This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it.”

“He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers.” — acosf

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?"

"The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.” — acosf

the end.

[grace-winter]

[caelitus-a]

starter for @lucentaire

" If you had to eat one meal everyday for the rest of your life what would it be? "

Jellal mused to the other sitting near to him. An odd question perhaps out of the blue but to him it was more so of a conversation starter. Evergreen, one of the Fairy Tail mages & a close friend of Laxus's, wasn't someone he'd really ever had the chance to converse with before. It wasn't long that Jellal had been here at the Fairy Tail guild for his custodial period.

This time Gajeel had him but at Fairy Tail, unable to bring him to Era for this time around. It all honesty, Jellal preferred here then there when given a choice between the two. Not that he was given a choice for that matter.

" I do hope that wasn't too nonsensical. "

[writerdarlin]

𝘈𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 - loki laufeyson

A/N: This is one that's been in the drafts forever and I finally came around to finish it since I have this writer's spark at the moment so enjoy.

Summary: The mischief king reunites with the one being in his life who understood him growing up, the one being who loved him for him and all his flaws, and the one being he thought he would spend the rest of his centuries with. You. Now that you were in front of him, would he walk away like he did all those years ago or would he finally run into your arms? He could not decide or at least he did not have the option to when chaos started crashing all around.

Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

Warnings: Angst - Mentions of death and wounds.

The battle was relentless.

For a split second, your eyes met his across the chaos of the war-torn refugee ship, and in that brief moment, you saw something—a flicker of what used to be. Loki was barely holding on, his body betraying him with each staggered breath. He was trying to fight through the exhaustion, his mind still sharp, but you could see it. He was struggling. And so were you.

It had only been ten minutes since your last fight alongside him, his brother Thor, a Valkyrie, and a green, scrappy beast who had turned out to be a scientist from Midgard. That battle had been brutal enough, but now, this surprise assault from Thanos—the Titan who had once manipulated Loki for his own gain—was enough to shatter any hope of escape.

Loki. Your love. Or, perhaps, your ex-love.

The memories rushed in—your first meeting with Loki, when he had dared to challenge everything you knew, pulling you into his web of intrigue and chaos. You remembered the highs, the laughter, the times he’d made you feel like the world was yours to conquer. You remembered the trust, the intimacy. And you remembered the day everything fell apart. You had been the soldier. He had been the conqueror. When he betrayed Midgard, it was you who stood against him, the soldier bound by duty, not love.

You had watched from a distance as Heimdall updated you on Loki’s movements. You had witnessed the day he was dragged to Asgard’s prison by Thor, shackled and broken, just as he had broken you when he turned his back on everything—on you. That was the day he was lost to you.

Now, years later, you were standing on a burning, shattered ship—the last remnants of Asgard crumbling beneath your feet. The cries of the fallen filled the air, mingled with the sounds of explosions and metal ripping apart. You could hear the labored breaths of your comrades, Thor struggling against another Titan, his hammer swinging with the force of a god's fury. But all you could focus on was Loki.

There he was, barely standing, his once-glorious armor tarnished with grime, blood, and exhaustion. Loki Laufeyson, son of Odin, god of mischief. Even in this moment, with his body pushed to its limits, he wasn’t giving up. His resolve was still there, buried beneath the chaos and bloodshed. And you couldn’t help but wonder—what had really changed?

The last time you had seen him—truly seen him—he had been a broken man in chains, lost in his obsession with power, consumed by the need to prove himself. He had hurt you in ways you never thought possible. And yet… despite everything, you still loved him.

And even now, with everything falling apart, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him.

A shadow fell across him—a towering, familiar figure. Thanos. The very same Titan who had twisted Loki’s mind, used him as a pawn, made him believe that he was nothing but a tool for destruction. The same man who had exploited Loki’s deepest insecurities.

Loki’s eyes flickered with a familiar dread, his mind racing. You could see it—the desperation, the fear of being a pawn once again. The rage in your chest flared, too hot, too fast. Not again, you thought. Not again.

“No!” you shouted, pushing yourself free from the tangled wreckage of the ship, your legs shaking with the effort. You couldn’t make it to him in time. You knew that. And yet, something in you refused to accept it.

But then something happened.

Loki raised his hand. Not in surrender. Not in defeat.

But with cold, defiant power. His fingers twitched, the air around him crackling with magic, green light beginning to pulse like fire. You saw it—the shift. The genius that was always lurking behind his eyes, the trickster’s mind at work even as his body betrayed him. He was pulling himself back up.

The world seemed to freeze for just a heartbeat. Thanos, that towering figure of destruction, faltered. His twisted grin momentarily vanished as he realized what Loki was doing. But it was too late. Loki’s magic surged around him like a protective cocoon, lifting him from the debris, his form shimmering and shifting with the raw power only Loki could command.

Your breath caught in your throat as Loki’s green magic surrounded him like a shield, pulling him up from the ground despite the blood and bruises. He wasn’t going to let Thanos win. Not this time.

And then, in a flash of green light, Loki was gone.

You blinked. The next moment, he was standing in front of you, hands gripping your shoulders, pulling you close with an urgency that took your breath away. His face was inches from yours—bloodied, exhausted, but still alive. Still here. Still him.

“I wasn’t going to let him have you,” Loki rasped, his voice hoarse, thick with pain and something darker. “Not again.”

You stood frozen for a moment, heart racing in your chest, the world still crumbling around you. His eyes locked with yours, green and desperate, and you could feel the weight of everything—the years apart, the hurt, the old love, the old betrayal.

“What have you done?” Your voice broke through, but you couldn’t hide the anger that surged up inside you. Loki had saved you. Again.

“I saved you,” he said, voice thick, strained. There was a rawness there now, an unfamiliar vulnerability. “I’m not walking away this time.”

Before you could process his words, the ship groaned under the force of another blast, and debris started to fall. Loki’s magic flared again, and with a snap of his fingers, you both were thrown into the air, landing several yards away just as the ship’s destruction intensified.

The chaos resumed. The battle raged on. And yet, amidst it all, you found yourself once again standing beside him.

But there was no time for gratitude. No time to process the raw emotions that had surged between you. There was only time for anger.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” you shouted, shoving against his chest, your breath ragged. “You’re not my savior, Loki. I can take care of myself!”

Loki blinked, surprise flashing in his eyes. His hands dropped from your shoulders, but his gaze didn’t leave yours. He seemed to recoil slightly, as if your words had cut deeper than any blade.

“I—” He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. His throat tightened as if the apology he wanted to give was lodged somewhere deep inside him.

“You left me,” you hissed, your voice trembling with the force of everything you’d held in for so long. “You walked away. You broke me, Loki. And now you think you can just come back and save me like nothing happened?”

Your words hit him like a storm, the rawness of your pain sinking into the space between you. Loki stood there, for a moment, silent, his usual quick wit gone, replaced by a painful, heavy silence. He didn’t know how to respond.

“I didn’t—” His voice cracked. But before he could finish, another tremor shook the ship. The floor beneath your feet groaned, and debris started falling again.

The moment was lost.

But as Loki turned toward the battle, his back straightening, you realized something. Despite everything. Despite the hurt, the betrayal, the years that had passed, you were still standing beside him. And you realized—maybe, just maybe, he was finally ready to fight for you, too.

[calliesmemes]

DARKNESS HAUNTS YOUR NARRATIVE

UNSETTLING SENTENCE STARTERS FROM VARIOUS SOURCES THAT WILL SEND SHIVERS DOWN YOUR SPINE AND LEAVE AN OMINOUS FEELING LINGERING IN THE ROOM.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

“   I’m deep inside your mind. There is no escape for you. ”

“   You save everyone, but who saves you? ”

“   The power inside of me — it’s terrifying. ”

“   Power belongs to those who take it. ”

“   You’ll be the ruin of me, won’t you? ”

“   You weren’t meant to save the world — you were meant to destroy it. ”

“   You didn’t break me; you built me. All you did was make me ruthless. ”

“   You have no power over me. ”

“   I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me. ”

“   All the greatest loves end in violence. ”

“   I don’t think you’re truly mean. You have sad eyes. ”

“   In theory the prophecy could still come true. ”

“   One day, your empathy is going to get you killed. ”

“   We are masters of our own destiny. ”

“   Never trust a survivor until you find out what they did to survive. ”

“   The horror that you have seen is not who you are. ”

“   A little too much anger, too often or at the wrong time, can destroy more than you would ever imagine. ”

“   Your scars are not your shame; they are your story. ”

“   I will never turn my back on people who need me. ”

“   Isn’t it scary to be ready to die at such a young age? ”

“   Your mind is a weapon. Keep it loaded. ”

“   Are you hearing those voices again? ”

“   It scares me sometimes. The emptiness I see in your eyes. ”

“   You may not be interested in the war, but the war is interested in you. ”

“   Haven’t you taken enough from me? ”

“   You collect scars because you want proof that you are paying for whatever sins you have committed. ”

“   It is okay to be angry. It is never okay to be cruel. ”

“   I hope that what you did to me haunts you. ”

“   The price of freedom is high. It always has been. ”

“   When you talk, I can hear the revolution. ”

“   Do not pretend that you are some meek, pathetic little girl when I can see that vicious mind working behind your eyes. ”

“   Your new life will cost you your old one. ”

“   Watching someone you love suffer can teach you even more than suffering yourself can. ”

“   Some people are in your life to test you ”

“   Fear makes men more dangerous than magic ever could. ”

“   At what point do you think i'll become the wound itself and not simply the bearer? ”

“   We are made of all those who have built and broken us. ”

“   All power demands sacrifice and pain. ”

“   Some things buried deep need to stay that way. ”

“   You and I are going to change the world. ”

“   I wonder which will get you killed faster — your loyalty, or your stubbornness? ”

“   Something’s made your eyes go cold. ”

“   If I am not a weapon, then what am I? ”

“   Your chains are broken, but are you truly free? ”

“   You were alone before they left you. ”

“   You can love a monster, it can even love you back, but that doesn’t change its nature. ”

“   It’s awful not to be loved. It’s the worst thing in the world … it makes you mean, and violent, and cruel ”

“   We can simultaneously be both human and monster. ”

“   I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. ”

“   You laugh like a little girl and think like a martyr. ”

“   Grief taught me inhumane things. ”

“   You will always be a monster. There is no turning back from it. ”

“   I know there’s a villain, and I’m worried it’s me. ”

“   I can’t stand the bitter thing that I’ve become. ”

“   People will never bleed enough to fulfill your vision of justice. ”

“   What if I told you the truth about what happened that night? ”

“   Part of me died in order to survive. ”

“   We are cursed with a tendency for violence. ”

“   I speak in verses, prophecies, and curses. ”

“   I see no use quarrelling with fate. ”

“   Nobody smart plays fair. ”

“   Fine, make me your villain. ”

“   They should be terrified of me. ”

“   I gave you devotion, blood, and my life. ”

“   How disappointing, when people succumb to what is expected of them. ”

“   Perhaps that was why I had to endure pain — because true transformation can only happen in the crucible of suffering. ”

“   Morality, too, is a question of time. ”

“   Memories destroy us. ”

“   My entire life, I’ve been fighting a war. ”

“   Fair is foul, and foul is fair. ”

“   Are you becoming what you’ve always hated? ”

“   I have found it takes a lot of strength to endure myself. ”

“   Loving any of us is a death sentence, isn’t it? ”

“   You long to be bandaged before you have been cut. ”

“   I feel so lost among these entirely strange people. ”

“   Remembering is like an open wound. ”

“   The wounded recognize the wounded. ”

“   I am alone and am suffocating because I cannot give voice to my emotions. ”

“   I’ve lived through entire tragedies in silence. ”

“   The more you love, the more you suffer. ”

“   The crowd that applauds a ruler’s coronation is the same crowd that will applaud a tyrant’s beheading. People like a show. ”

“   You are a better knife than you are a person. ”

“   Life goes more smoothly without a heart. ”

“   People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar. ”

“   I’m nostalgic for the anger I once had. ”

“   The pain I didn’t tell you about has built a home inside of me. ”

“   My greatest regret was how much I believed in my own future. ”

“   All I ever do is grieve. ”

“   Do not mock a pain you haven’t endured. ”

“   I control the shadows. They do not control me. ”

“   Turn the pain into power. ”

“   Sometimes, we survive by forgetting. ”

“   I am now the most miserable man living. ”

“   To remain as I am is impossible; I must die or be better, it appears to me. ”

“   In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony. ”

“   I see in the near future a crisis approaching that unnerves me. ”

“   Memories do not always soften with time; some grow edges like knives. ”

“   Maybe everything that you thought was breaking you was actually leading you towards yourself. ”

“   Sometimes, not being in control is the most beautiful thing in the world. ”