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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 7 months

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Pretty like the wind

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a/n Part two! Writing was all I could think about today. Thank you for the love. It's been a hot minute since something brewed in my brain. 🤍✨

warnings: blood, violence, past trauma,

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Finding a way to focus had been hard the past couple of weeks. Azriel felt like a ghost who had pledged the sanctuary. He barely got out of his room, and if he did, he twirled around in the shadows. Watching. Hacking. It was an unsettling feeling at times. Feeling those golden eyes burning holes into your back. Listening in on your conversation. Yet every time you would turn towards where the phantom feeling of him lingered, you were met with nothing. A space where you had hoped to find him.

"Invite him to the communal. It sure must not feel nice to be left behind", Padme, the high priestess, casually said just the other night when you brought her all the paperwork you had sorted through. "He is free to come, P. He ain't a prisoner", you stated blankly. Focusing solely on the piles of papers as you arranged them. "You're being neglectful, my dear", those words made you look up as you frowned. "He is not my responsibility. I'm not assigned to him. I don't...", you stuttered on, crossing your arms around your chest defensively. "And yet... Our high lord had called for you specifically", she trialed off. A knowing, ancient smile painted her lips. You knitted your eyebrows as hard as you could, trying to look frustrated, but that only made the high priestess chuckle. You had wanted to find a strong enough counterargument for her statement, but your words failed you. So you bowed your head to her before walking away.

"Is he an ancient spirit?", Zofie, the young fea girl, asked as she looked up at you, making you crack a smile. Some of the kids have been more than observant. But then it was hard to miss a male of Azriel's size. And while grown women didn't spare him a second glance, the kids had grown curious. "That's an Illyrian soldier, Zo", Axel said, rolling his eyes at the younger girl. You questioned your choice the closer you got to the spymaster's room. He might very well not even be there. And even more so, he might have another outburst. And you had brought kids with you...

"Well, how would I know? I'm only little", Zofie stomped her little feet, making grabby hands at you. You shook your head at them. "Why don't you two ask him all of your questions yourself?", you suggested, right as the wooden door at the end of the hall came into view. You halted once more, but your lingering steps were outmatched by Axel, who had sprinted down the hall before you could even open your mouth.

Azriel had been trying to summon a bottle of whiskey for over an hour now. He was tired and frustrated with the lack of communication Rhys was willing to engage in. The only thing the high lord was willing to say was that Elain had gone with Lucien. She was in autumn. That had made the spymaster curse Rhys in all the languages he spoke. He was about to list all the reasons why that trip was not a good idea when Rhys shut him off completely.

Now he was sitting on the floor. Shoulders slumped. He looked ahead of himself. One of his shadows had flustered before moving towards the door, ripping at the handle. "I'm not going anywhere. So drop it", the spymaster had muttered. But the shadow didn't budge, nudging the metal tightly as a knock sounded, making Azriel look to the side. He was ready to ignore it. The last thing he needed was to deal with more nonsense, but then the thought struck him. What if it was you? What if this was his chance to get you to tell him how to get out of this place? If he caught you here, he would still have time to interrogate you spymaster style, and then...

Azriel grabbed the handle, spreading his wings behind him as he frowned. Yanking the door open. No one met his eyes. There was nothing there. Azriel was almost sure of it. Until a loud gasp filled his ears and something light hit the floor. "Axel", the sound made Azriel peer into the hallway. That's when he noticed you rushing towards him. That's when he noticed a tiny frame curled on the floor. Tiny leathery wings draped around the shaking body.

Azriel's wings sagged. He reached his hand out, but you were quick to stand in between them, your eyes wide as you stared at the spymaster. "Are you insane?", you said through gritted teeth, turning to look back at the trembling body. "Hey, Ax. It's all okay. No one will hurt you", Azriel watched as you carefully moved to brush your fingers through the boy's hair. A tiny, trembling hand reached out towards you. You took it without hesitation. The girl whom you had carried up to this point stood slightly to the side, her tiny palms pressed into her eyes. She was hiding. Scared because of... Azriel quickly shook his head. "I didn't mean...", you turned his way, his soft gaze replaced by a burning anger. "Who even opens a door like that?". Azriel was about to bite back when the boy looked up at him, muttering, "Wow..."

"Axel...", you questioned him, worry lacing your features as you watched him. "You're big... and your wings", the boy said, his eyes now fully on Azriel. You bit the inside of your cheek. Pulling Zofie closer to your embrace. The dark twirl swam towards the boy, and you were about to seize it with your magic until it ruffled Axel's hair softly, nuzzling against the boy's cheek, making him chuckle.

You swallowed thickly before turning back to Azriel and saying, "We came to invite you to the communal but...", to the sound of which both of the kids perked up. "We learned a new song", Axel said, "Zofie dances with the ribbons. Right, Zo?", He pulled at the girl's skirt, but she didn't lift her head from your shoulder. Something ached deep within Azriel. He craved fear. At this point, he was convinced that no one would ever learn to look at him any differently but watch kids shake at the sight of him... He had watched them for some time now. A part of why he had stuck to the shadows was because he didn't want to scare the younglings. He doubted seeing a big, bulky male—there were no other males here, as Azriel had noted—would make them feel safe.

"I'll come", Azriel said, thinking about reaching for the girl but choosing against it. She looked so small, clinging to you. He had made a child frightened. He had never... Azriel felt a small palm wrapping around his two fingers. "I'll show you the pool we have; well, it's not a pool, but... you'll see", Axel chirped, already dragging Azriel down the hall. You were about to protest. As it was, you had a long list of reasons why Azriel shouldn't come at all. He met your gaze. You watched him. Was he silently asking for your permission? You gave him a tight glare before nodding.

The kids were in their element, as always. Singing loudly as they danced together. Axel was up in the front lines, his eyes not leaving Azriel. Zofie had slipped off your lap midway through the third song and was happily twirling with her pink ribbon in hand. Azriel sat beside you. You could tell that he was uncomfortable. You doubted he watched the children much. You even doubted that he understood just how important it was for Axel that he was here. Azriel's eyes were scanning the place. Memorizing faces. You let out a sigh, and that seemed to have done the job because the spymaster lowered his gaze toward you.

"You know, you're an asshole", you said while plastering a smile on your face. Azriel huffed, "Says you", crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, I'm sorry, but out of the two of us...", you trailed off, shaking your head.

"You brought kids as backup", Azriel snarled once more. Now these words made you look right at him as you growled, "You wanted to break my neck". Azriel gave you a puzzled look. "Oh, don't look at me like ancient Mother Sun; you think I'm that stupid? You would have leaped at me once more", your words had come up more like an accusation than you would have liked. "For the record, I wasn't going to break your neck", Azriel muttered. Even more frustrated by your last statement now. "Oh, my apologies. Locking me up? Hanging me up from a ceiling? A bit more your style?", you rolled your eyes at him. Azriel gritted his teeth. You were getting on his nerves slowly, but then the fact that you thought he might break your neck... Oddly enough, he hated that. Azriel wanted to be far away from being a predator. He didn't want to inflict harm or fear. Slowly, he started to wonder about how much he still didn't know. Not just about this place, but himself. Another stab ripped past his chest, and Azriel let out a tight sigh. Clapping erupted around the room. Azriel joined in mindlessly, turning his head slightly your way and saying, "I'm so...", but he was met with an empty chair. Azriel's eyes darted around the room. He searched for the two kids as well but was met with a crowd of faces that didn't have any meaning to him. Azriel let out a frustrated growl, tightening his fists.

The candlelight was barely visible. Your eyes were burning from tiredness. You knew that you weren't going to get anything more done, but you refused to leave your study. It was the only place where you didn't feel him. And heaps of paperwork had managed to shove him out of your brain. It was bad enough that Axel talked about him until he eventually fell asleep. Padme, however, had given you a dissatisfied look. And you knew she was right, but you too had your reasons. You weren't a babysitter. There were no direct implications that it had to be you who monitored Azriel's behavior here. You knew that Rhys had eyes of his own here. He didn't need weekly reports. You blew out the last remaining candle. Not having enough energy to care about the scattered papers all over the table.

Rubbing your eyes, you moved towards the door. Opening them up with a spell. And you wished you hadn't the moment you did. A mortified scream left your lips. A hand clasped over your mouth. Flickers of your magic sparked, cracking the solid wall of darkness. "It's just me", you shoved your palms against Azriel's chest. "You're a sick bastard", you said, pointing an angry finger at the spymaster. To your surprise, he let out a low chuckle, making you huff. "How dare you laugh?", you moved to fix your dress. Trying to hide the tremble in your palms. "You're running away from me", Azriel stated calmly. You gave him a daring look and said, "I am not inclined to see you".

Azriel watched you. Even in the dim hallway, there was no way he could deny that there was something about you. The way you carried yourself You had proven your point that night in Azriel's room when you drew his consciousness away from him. He knew you had magic lurking deep within. But even that didn't seem like something that would call to him. "But you can answer some of my questions", he stated blankly. You shook your head in disbelief. "You did all of this so you could ask me a question? Under what rock have you been raised?", you stepped closer to him. Here. Here it was. That daring glare made something deep flick within Azriel.

"You'll have to forgive me. I was the one to wake up in a place I knew nothing of", he snarled back. Taking the last step towards you. Fully towering over your frame. Your head was now drawn up, so you could keep eye contact with him. "But I wasn't the one who went for a mated...", You cut yourself off. A bitter taste coating your mouth. The fire in your eyes died down. "Say it", Azriel muttered through gritted teeth. You watched him. You had no right to judge, and you didn't. "Everyone knows about it, don't they? You tried to make a fool out of me by dragging me to that circus today?", Now his words were drenched with venom. You had nudged a sleeping tiger. "That was not a circus. Communal is for children", your voice was small. Azriel let out a bitter laugh. "Is that what Rhys wanted? To humiliate me", there was pain so deep within him that even your bones ached.

"And you... you're here to orchestrate it", he snarled, stepping away from you. You suddenly felt so little. You had no intention of making Azriel feel like a fool. He shook his head one more time before he turned to step away. "Azriel...", you called out, stepping forward to grab his hand. Forgetting all boundaries. Losing control over your mental shields. The moment your hand touched his, all you managed was to take one more inhale before a ray of vision flashed right in front of you.

Azriel felt as if he was trapped in a never-ending nightmare. As flashes and flashes of what seemed to be memories glimmered through his mind, he saw the sanctuary. An elderly lady. Coldness and pain. Something that reminded him of the basement he had been locked in. Then there was Rhys. Illyrian camps. Angry males. A fire. Shouting females. Scattered wings. Blood. Shrieking children. He tried to move. He was unsure if it was real or just in his mind. But when he lifted his hands, bloody palms met him.

You yanked your hand back. Breathing heavily. Azriel was panting too. He blinked a couple of times. Eyes darting to your trembling frame. Your cheeks glisten with tears. Void grew deep within the spymaster's chest. Azriel moved to step closer, but you put out an arm in front of yourself. "I won't hurt you", his voice was the softest you had ever heard from him before. Yet you still shook your head, muttering a quiet, "I'm sorry".

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel imagine #azriel acotar x reader #azriel acotar x you #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel acotar #azriel acotar imagine #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger

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conazo · 2 months

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Valentino writing tips: language

I’m not an expert by any means, but I thought I might provide some insight into how I, personally, handle the nasty moth's dialogue.

Like all languages, Spanish is highly regional. We don’t really know Val’s actual background as a Sinner, so your guess is as good as mine. Given his VA is Puerto Rican, however, I write Valentino as someone who speaks Caribbean Spanish (like me!). The three Spanish-speaking countries/territories in the Caribbean are: Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, and Cuba. I'm not familiar with Cuban Spanish, so we'll focus on the first two for now.

Some of these are more specific to one place than the other, but I’m mushing them together for simplicity’s sake (don't come at me).

Fun quirks of Dominican and Puerto Rican Spanish:

A habit of shortening words, like “ven pa’ca” (“come here”) instead of “ven para acá.” We frequently eat the letters “r,” “s” or “d” toward or at the end of some words.

Pronouncing “r” as “l” in some words.

Pronouncing “t” as a soft sound between a “th” and a “d.” Although this voice has a Spanish (from Spain) cadence, you can hear the modified “t” sound in “Valentino” here.

Fun Dominican and Puerto Rican words and phrases:

“Coño” as a casual curse, typically used as an expression of frustration (like “fuck!”). My username is basically a really intense version of coño, and is a very Dominican phrase.

“Diablo,” which means “devil,” is also commonly used as an exclamation.

“Hijo de la gran puta,” a classic that roughly parallels "son of a bitch," but literally translates to “son of a great whore.”

“Papi” or “papi chulo” (“cute daddy”) as a term of affection. “Papito” is the diminutive version of this phrase.

On that note, you can add “ito” to the end of just about anything to make it a diminutive (cutesy/smaller version). “Chulo” means cute, for example. “Chulito” is the even more affectionate/smaller version of that.

“Dique,” which is used to express doubt. Vox might say, “I am not obsessed with Alastor!” Valentino might mutter “diiiique” in response. This is a Dominican thing.

“Wepa,” which is something usually shouted in excitement. This is a Puerto Rican thing.

“Vaina,” which kind of means “thing,” often with a negative connotation. So, Valentino might look at one of Velvette’s designs, find it hideous, and say, “que vaina más fea, oof” (“what an ugly thing, oof”).

“Fó,” which is sort of “ew” or “gross,” usually re: bad smells. You shout it.

“Mano,” short for “hermano” (“brother”). Used between friends.

“Dímelo” (“tell me”) as a greeting. Something that would be said when answering the phone, for example.

“Cojer” as a means of saying “to take,” like taking something from a table. This word has a very different context in other regions. In Mexico, for example, the verb “cojer” is vulgar and means “to fuck.”

“Ahorita,” which in my experience means “later.” In other regions, it can mean “right now” or “later” depending on context.

Commonly used phrases in Mexican Spanish.

You’ll want to avoid these if you’d like his dialogue to be consistently Caribbean-inspired:

“Pinche”

“Verga”

“Wey”

“No mames/no manches”

“Qué padre”

“Chingar”

Calling acquaintances “primo” or “jefe”

I mention this Spanish dialect specifically because it's the most common one in the world. And hey, Val could be canonically Mexican or Mexican in your headcanon! That's cool, too. I'm just providing insight for consistency's sake.

Other insight:

“Ay dios mío!” is a generally overused phrase, in my opinion, and not actually said IRL as frequently as TV makes it seem. Just my experience, though.

“Ay” or “uy” are good filler sounds. You hear Val shout it when Niffty snaps at him.

Valentino canonically squeaks like a moth when passionate!

His voice takes on an echo/growl when he’s particularly angry.

Mixing English and Spanish is tricky. Spanglish is not uncommon in PR, DR, and the US, but usually only when speaking with someone else who is fluent in both languages. Valentino seems plenty fluent in English; he uses lots of contractions, complex sentence structure, and slang. He doesn’t need to inject Spanish phrases in favor of English ones when conversing with another English speaker. He does do it sometimes for emphasis (“the devil’s princesa” or “this chiquita”).

As cliché as it is, defaulting to a Spanish phrase in moments of alarm, anger, frustration, or affection is also not uncommon if you grew up in a Spanish-speaking home. If someone surprises me, I shout “coño” by default, for example.

Valentino uses pet names when referring to others, like "amorcito" (“little love”) and "Angie" over voicemail.

Generally speaking, Val likes to stretch his vowels to be theatrical ("he mooooved!"). He sometimes eats the ends of English words, like “fuckin’” instead of “fucking.” He also sometimes rolls his “r” for English words, like in “ungrrrateful whore!”

Val's accent isn’t consistently strong, which could be a stylistic choice, or he could just be prone to a kind of unique code switching, for lack of a better term. My friends say I speak English with a Spanish accent when conversing with my family, for example (it’s not intentional).

Okay that’s it, bye!

#valentino #hazbin hotel #writing #staticmoth #voxval #Vox

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bakerstreethound · 1 year

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Worth More Than Gold

Relationship: Smaug x reader

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of fire, Smaug is a tad insecure

Summary: You never cared about the gold or treasures Under the Mountain. All you sought was some company and found the most unlikely of companions. Now, the dragon can’t bear to part with you despite his doubts.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 766

A/N: Listen, I was wanting to cuddle this dragon so...I may have selfishly wrote it because of that. Please don’t judge. I love this dragon so platonically and would love to have this bond with him any day...just think of the CUDDLES not to mention how protective he is. Also, @frostandflamesfanfic may have inspired me to do like two more follow up parts to this one. I hope you enjoy!

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They told you to stay away from the mountain, but what was left for you in that sphere of the world? There wasn’t much to say in the least. But, you were happier here than you ever were before. The company you craved was answered in the form of a glorious dragon, who you feared would turn you away, but the months spent in his company improved his mood slowly but surely and he felt himself growing softer towards you. You didn’t care for the riches around you, wanting him for his company. All he ever wanted was the gold but it worked out between you.

You find yourself yawning after you get back from the library, leaning against Smaug’s slumbering form, but he glances at you curiously studying the book in your hand.

His massive head cranes toward you, huffing at the book you hold out for him to inspect.

“Tell me a story.” His massive wing gently guides you closer to him, where you can get more comfortable and you settle down, opening up the ancient book carefully, allowing yourself to get lost in the pages, and soon you find your eyes unable to focus much longer, the book falling from your hands as you cuddle closer to Smaug. One of his massive wings drapes over you, pulling you closer.

He looks down at you from where you are curled against him, so small and fragile, huddled against him for warmth. He huffs to himself in annoyance, oddly feeling reassured by you next to him slumbering away, fighting off the occasional shiver.

His gaze sweeps the cavern, his narrow eyes catch only the shimmering gold littering his glorious cavern, before he curls his body around you more, burying his head under an assortment of jewelry goblets and armor.

You mumble something in your sleep and one of your hands reaches out to stroke his scales. A low rumble resounds, and you smile softly to yourself knowing he secretly is enjoying the simplicity of you being here with him.

“You are supposed to be asleep.” His low rumble resounds, yet he makes no effort to move, not even when you turn to stroke his wing, and a smile tugs at your lips.

“Is that a crime? My being awake, that is.”

“Thought humans required long naps for three months.”

“Your conception of humans is a long way off, but I wish I could hibernate that long,” you groan fighting off another yawn, the warmth of him a comfort. You fumble through to find your book, chuckling to yourself when you find it unsurprisingly buried under rare jewels anyone in Middle Earth would care to have.

Everything here costs a fortune beyond anything you could imagine and you can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. You were sleeping next to the pale silver delicate jewels of some Elvish noble with the most feared creature in Middle Earth of all time.

“I wasn’t wrong about you. You like it here for some reason. There’s nothing here beyond all the riches in Middle Earth others dream about and you’ve taken nothing.” He growls low, red fire glowing like an ember from within him.

You don’t move, don’t shudder at the display. You feel oddly at peace with this overgrown furnace.

“I don’t want any of these treasures. For a fearsome dragon, you can be oddly dense at times. I want to be with you. I’m here because believe it or not I actually enjoy your company.”

His massive head turns towards you, the sound of gold dripping from his glorious scales as he blinks, processing, snorting almost laughing at the notion. Who’d ever heard of such a thing? Is someone here because they like or tolerate him? He the monster dwarven children fear at night?

Carefully you reach out to him, stroking his nose not caring or fearing the sharp teeth could rip into your flesh, breaking you apart in an instant. If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it sooner, run you out of the cavern, or burned you to a crisp the moment you held a single golden coin of his in your hand. Safe to say, you were unimpressed by it, more interested in Smaug himself.

“If you are that dense, then I guess I could take my leave of this place…”

“NO” he roars, a ball of spinning fire bolts across the corridor, barely singing your hair. Your heart races, but not in fear.

“Stay…I want you to stay…stay…stay” the cavern echoes, enveloping you in the fiery flames.

******

@frostandflamesfanfic @novaracer27 @lilythemadqueen @starks-hero @feral-for-strange @azu21 @classickook @viper-official @ravencatart @aephereal @sherlocks-blanket

#Smaug #smaug the dragon #smaug x reader #the hobbit #gender neutral reader #benedict cumberbatch

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blackopals-world · 1 year

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Strangely Adorable

(???)Yuu and Fyodor Chernousky (parent-child relationship)

Notes:Yuu goes by he/she/it)

Once every millennium it's good to change things up and you never know what you'll find.

Oc: Fyodor Chernousky

@black-kuroba7

Retirement? Lilia? He has a lot of nerve.

Fyodor had been bored to tears since his coworker and drinking buddy left for Night Raven College. All the while he was languishing alone in Her Majesty. Imagine a royal tutor with no one to teach?

True he wasn't trapped but after educating many generations of royal fea he has gotten complacent. Malleus was the most recent in a long line of superior students he was trained.

"I think this is exactly what he needs. Making friends will help him gain confidence." Lilia said black then.

"You'll find that he's quite confident. It's the fault of others because they fear his power. They are simply too weak." Fyodor smirked proudly.

"Sure~ of course you'd say that. After all the only friends you have are already dead. Malleus needs experience with people who still have a pulse." Lilia teased before he jump into the air as a group of black skeletal arm reached from under him and grabbed at his legs to drag him into the black void.

" Well General, please remember that a fight between us will only end in tragedy." Fyodor dispelled the portal.

"Oh, Fyo~ always the charmer. Remember we are still on for drinks tonight." The bat blew a kiss before disappearing to escape his co-worker's wrath.

That damn bat. He always knew how to get under his skin. And now he wants to retire under the claim that "he doesn't have much time left". Like he's an old dog that feels the end coming. Fyodor was twice that bastard's age and was still kicking. Lilia was probably just trying to teach the boys a lesson. Right?

That son of a bitch! He was coming over there and getting a real answer.

Fyodor could pretend he didn't understand and it would certainly be understandable. Keep the stiff upper lip and pretend that he wasn't bored to tears of his current role but he enjoys teaching. But what's teaching without a student and with Malleus already finishing his education Fyodor wouldn't have another student until his highness had a child of his own. Which would be a while knowing how little Malleus knew of romance which Fyodor only had himself to blame.

Stepping on NRC grounds after all these years felt like going back in time. During the golden age when the 7 were just fresh face youths. There he was standing before the young future queen of fea and teaching her hexes worth learning. He remembered how proud he was of her when she created the sleeping curse and how angry he was when it was so easily dispelled by "true love's kiss." How anticlimactic can you get? And how dare that boy molest a girl in her sleep?

Fyodor shook his head, that was the past. He should focus on his mission. Find Lilia, check on the boys, and then curse Lilia for making him come here.

But visiting his old dorm couldn't hurt. I was built in his honor after all. He may have declined his placement among the 7 but he was still a founder of this institution. Phantasmasia was a glorious and spiritual place. The students were lively sorts and the ghosts made for good company and better servants.

Phantasmasia however no longer exists and in its place was a dilapidated building. The garden had withered into dead grass. The cemetery was in disarray and the spirits faded.

Fyodor pushed the creaking door open to examine further. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

"Master!" Three voices echoed from the below. "You've returned."

Fyodor remembered them, they were the ghosts he bound to this place to serve the students here.

"Master, have you returned to help us?" They asked shuttering.

"Help, yes. This place is clearly in need of it. To treat my dorm like this must mean the headmaster thinks I'm dead. Or at the very least gotten weak." Fyodor examined the sharp black talons that were his nails.

"No, that thing! That monster that lives here!" They said in an undead chorus "Crowley let it in and it's so creepy."

Fyodor quirked a brow, he was rather fond of creepy things. He followed the ghosts to a room upstairs were the thing was. He hoped it might be a new pet and wondered if he could train it to attack the fea general. That would be entertaining.

What he did find was...something. Clearly it was a person. Human? Fea? Phantom?

Whatever it was it was sleeping soundly in a dusty bed.

Upon closer inspection the person was cute. Like a little doll. Their hair was long and black with dark lips, and wispy eyelashes. He-she was sleeping with little care in the world. If a princely bastard came along he doubted that they would hesitate to kiss the sleeping child awake.

This poor child was left in a place like this.

At the thought passed the eyes of the child opened revealing soft ink black pools with shined like obsidian the sun. At least that's what Fyodor thought.

The child looked him with blank eyes before standing up and walking out the door.

"Hey wait!" He called following them as they turned a corner only for them to have disappeared.

Fyodor began trying to track down the young thing. He wanted to know what it was desperately. It was so strange and unsettling and-

"Interesting, like a china doll moving on its own," Fyodor said aloud as he watched it from a distance. The strange little child paid him no mind as they went about their day.

It walked to and from class with hauntingly fluid motions and recited answers in cryptic phrases.

"Time moves strangely, flowing slow and fast all at once, like molasses out of a shotgun. It however shouldn't be tapered with lest the chattering souls gather at the edge of time. " They answered.

"Thank you, Yuu. You're perspective of chronomancy is...enlightening." Trein said.

Fyodor found the answer to be insightful and funny as well as correct. Time travel is best left alone.

Yuu has quite popular too. They had friends and were on good terms with their classmates. But some students didn't like them.

Sure he was no stranger to a good ribbing or fight, it builds character but cowardly snickering is weak. Back in his day you'd duel over such a thing and settle the score. The strong are the only ones who have right to look down on others.

Fyodor laughed to himself. If that little cub heard him now. The true king of beasts was such an upstart as a student.

The teacher had forgotten all about his reason for coming to the school. Yuu was far too entertaining to leave alone.

Yuu wondered in the nearby woods next to Ramshackle as fog gathered at their heels, all the sounds of the forest were silenced in their wake.

"There is nothing more lonely than an action taken quietly on your own, and nothing more comforting than doing that same quiet action in parallel with fellow beings doing the same action, everyone alone next to each other." They said to know one in particular as they walked.

But it was heard by someone in particular and as Fyodor moved to continue following this time not in hiding. As they walked Yuu slowly slowed down to meet up with the fae stalker.

"No blood or iron, why do you shadow my steps like that of a familiar shadow? " Their voice buzzed like static on an old TV.

Fyodor thought for amount what Yuu meant before responding.

"Your right, we aren't related and I don't have any animosity toward you. But I am curious to know what Crowley has housed in my old dorm."

"Your dorm? I hear the hellish chorus below you lapping at your feet. Perhaps it is no surprise that you own such a place." Yuu responded.

" And you sound of nothing. You're steps are muted and everything around you is still. Could you even blow a gust of wind?" He challenged.

The blank expression on Yuu's face shifted to a small smile and little sparks of light like glitter shined in their eyes.

"Cute." Fyodor thought trying to keep a straight face.

This child was too interesting to let go but as all things do Fyodor had to end their exchange. He had business with the headmage. The first order had to be about the shameful upkeep of one of the dorms he was paid to manage, gross negligence of the health and safety of students, harboring a minor or presumed minor without proper documentation, and all the other boring stuff he'd have to go into. Crowley should lose his job honestly but who else is psycho enough to run this school?

Still being given back his dorm was a relief and taking a teaching job here certainly likened up things. To top it all off he has a new ward all to himself. This is if he can get Malleus to leave them alone for once. They are too young to be courting anyway.

And Lilia?

Ehh, who cares.

He can go off and play pretend student or something elsewhere. If he keeps pressuring his kids to flirt with his ward there would be hell to pay. Grandkids be damned.

#(???)!yuu #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu #twisted wonderland oc #Fyodor Chernousky #twst lilia #lilia twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia

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stickytrigger69 · 9 months

Note

Can i requst paltonic Optimus x sparkling reader lost his sparkling that was 6 years old in the war but he like endlessly dreams of them being alive intill his child says that he need to wake up or somthing like rachet or that waking him up when he realize it was all a dream he Technically has a breakdown (somthing like that if you want to write it just wanted to request somthing sad)

TFP Optimus Prime x Lost Sparklinng Reader

Optimus is the sire, and Elita 1 is the carrier to a sparkling reader

Reader is the child of Optimus Prime

Reader is gender neutral

There may or may not be a part two for this one as well 👀

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He is walking around, but he can't exactly recall knowing where he is, but it feels familiar. The sounds around him are especially familiar though. The little patter of small pedes trailing behind and jumping all around him. A small sparkling with soft features and a big smile. Their smooth plating forming points and ripples where their armor starts growing in over their protoform. The mere sight of the sparkling fills the Prime with serenity, a loving smile spreading across his face.

You're so little, so fragile compared to himself. He towers over you. How you adore him. "Will I be as big as you someday, sire?" You ask ecstatic.

He nods down at you before lifting you up. "You will grow with time, little one. But for now, focus on your fun. It won't last very long." Your servos on his shoulders. A low thrum from a distant explosion rumbles and shakes the ground beneath them. Optimus digs his heels into the ground before he spins around, only. He's empty-handed when he does. Where did you go? Panic rises in his throat. His sparkling, where is his sparkling?

"Sire!" You scream from somewhere far away. He runs towards your voice, but them he hears you shout from somewhere else. "Sire!" He turns. But soon he hears you from all around.

"Where are you?!" he cries, looking every which way. You're in danger, and you need him, but he can't find you. He looks around a bit more before he hears you behind him.

"Sire?" He looks over his shoulder. You're right there looking up at him. With a shaky sigh, he falls to his knees and pulls you close to his chassis. When he pulls away to look at you, you have a blank face. "It's time to wake up." Another distant explosion shakes the ground.

"What?" He's deeply confused.

Boom!

Another tremor in the ground shakes him a little more violently. "Wake up, Optimus." Your mouth moves, but Ratchet's voice comes out.

"What?" You're gone. It was a dream. The dark, cracked ceiling of the base just overhead.

"Optimus." Ratchet shakes him a little again. The prime looks to the side to see a concerned medic. "Are you alright?" His digits rub at his cheek to wipe the coolant away. Without a word, Optimus sits up and grabs onto Ratchet and just hugs him. More coolant streams down his face.

"How could I lose them? My own sparkling? What kind of sire am I to allow them to slip through my digits? I doomed them. Sentenced them to death because of this foolish war." Once again, he is tormented by your absence. Where did you go? Did someone kill you and bury you on Cybertron before he could find out? Did someone take you?

If someone had taken you, he could only hope that they did it to save you from your sires ill fate this war has yet to fulfill. He prays every day to Primus that you are cared for and loved. Shielded from the pain of reality. Ratchet has heard these questions before, heard his dear prime blame himself, and grieve over your loss. And every time he sounds more broken and pained than the last. He holds the prime in turn, arms tight around his shoulders as he cries silently into the red and white chassis of his friend.

"Optimus-" Ratchet starts only to be cut off by the large mech.

"What if someone took them? Do you think they're being taken care of? Do you think they might be being trained to fight?" His fears coming to the light. He doesn't want you to be taught how to fight. Doesn't want you to know how to wield a sword. Can't stand the thought of you being manipulated into fighting on someone's behalf, and the thought makes his grip tighten on the medic. "I miss them so much. They were the only peice of Elita I had left."

Ratchet feels a knot in his tanks at the thought of all that Optimus has lost. Everyone has lost someone or something to this war. But the loss Optimus has suffered, endured. It's a different kind that causes a specific kind of suffering. Elita was lost and avenged yes, but the sparkling was taken with none to blame. No traces or leads to their whereabouts. Even with his love avenged, there is a hole in his spark that will never be filled and has, in fact, grown larger with your disappearance.

The loss of a sparkling was common, a little too common for anybot's liking. But Ratchet met you, knew the kind little bot you were, and hoped to see you evolve. He misses you, too. You were so young and impressionable and curious with one goal in mind. To impress your sire and the others you looked up to. Optimus was already so proud of you, and when Ratchet found him standing on a pile of offlined Decpeticons, angry, scared, and sad, he knew something was wrong. And something has been wrong since.

He tries not to bond with the children, but he cares for them and wants to keep them safe. He just doesn't want to risk getting too close. Ratchet rubs his back affectionately as he cries into his neck. He's so frustrated. He misses you. He wonders what you're like now, if you look like him or Elita more. If you're still kind and curious. He wonders if you're mad at him.

He imagines that if he finds you, you will be angry. Kicking and screaming at him. Holding a sword to him while you glare into his optics. He can already see the hatred in your small optics and feel the loathing creeping from the crevices in your armor. But he misses you so much. He loves you so much that he would accept it. He would accept your hatred and allow you to strike him down like earth's lightning.

"I just," He squeezes harder, trying to hold back a hiccup, " I want to see them at least, see them in passing or feel them."

"I know." Ratchet whispers softly as he continues petting at his back.

"Their little pedes and servos. How their digits would hold onto the edges of my frame." His voice starts increasing in pitch. "How they would squeal when Ironhide chased them around. Always 'why this' and 'why that's, remember?" He's tired. Losing energy fast Ratchet notes.

"I remember. Lay down." And he does. He lays back with Ratchet still in his arms.

"Every time I look up at the stars of this planet, I feel like I can see them. They would be older, taller with better armor. Younger than Bumblebee but older still." His optics begin to flutter as he struggles to keep them open. "I have to protect Bumblebee. I couldn't protect my own sparkling, but I can try to keep Bee safe, can't I?"

"Shhhhh, you need to rest, Optimus." Ratchet coos. He thinks he might just rest with him. He's already here, and it doesn't seem Optimus will let him go anytime soon. The loss of this sparkling amongst many has proven to have taken a bigger toll on the two. The possibility of Optimus being able to pass his own primehood to his child, to pass down the responsibility of possibly bringing peace back to Cybertron, is gone with them.

As they lay there drifting into recharge together, a shuttle enters the earth's solar system. Primes message is being relayed through the ships audio system. A servo holds onto the accelerator tightly as the blue planet comes into view. The creased optic ridge of the pilot causes their optics to narrow and glow brightly.

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theelvenhaven · 9 months

Text

Wedding Night Nerves

Caranthir x Reader

2.1k words

Request: I'm do happy requests are open! I love your blog so much! I wanted to Caranthir, it's not really nsfw but whatever you're comfortable with. It's their first time, basically wedding night and Caranthir - despite in love with them - is still afraid of rejection beside of his skin. Reader coos and kisses and caresses his skin, letting him they love him. If you could thank you!

A/N: Hey anon I was happy to do this! Anything for Carnistir I love him so much. Hope this is what you were looking for it kind of goes into NSFW territory. But not too heavily.

Warnings: NSFWish

* * *

Everything had gone so smoothly.

The feast in which was held in yours and Carnistir’s honor, to celebrate the nuptials in which you two shared. The exchanging of rings, the festivities that came with it. You and Carnistir sharing in dances, and smiles and laughs. The whole family celebrating- both yours and his. It was a full wedding day teeming with cousins, siblings, aunts and uncles from both sides of the family.

Toasts had been made, even from the most unlikely of people such as Curufinwe and Tyelkormo who had nice things to add and welcoming you into the family. While Tyelkormo wasn’t one for speeches he managed to get it out coherently and without adding an inappropriate joke or two.

The celebration had gone on for a long time, yet by the time it came for it to end, you were ready to spend the night alone with your husband. And Carnistir was clearly feeling the same way, as you two were the first to depart from the wedding festivities. Being sent off in a hail of rose petals as you two left the great hall of the Feanorian home.

Now you were grateful when Carnistir shut the bedroom door and it was just the two of you alone finally. Both of you wearing a smile on your face and Carnistir’s face was rosier than it had been earlier. The realization settling in of what was to come next- the consummation of your marriage. One that would bind your fea together and you could be one with one another.

“I am glad today went so smoothly, I was surprised your brothers gave us the opportunity to have a calm and collected day.” You laughed out softly as you moved to slip your shoes off in the corner of the room. You heard Carnistir snort at your words as he mirrored your actions,

“Atar must’ve made a threat of some kind, though I could see how Tyelko was bursting at the seams at his speech to say something inappropriate about our wedding night.” Carnistir added with a little bit of snark, it wasn’t a secret to him when Tyelkormo was holding back. And to Carnistir he looked like he might implode on himself if he didn’t get the speech over with when he did. There would be lots of inappropriate commentary from him later.

You only laughed at his words, knowing there was truth to it after being with Carnistir for so long you knew his brothers well enough as well.

“Yes he did look a little… constipated during the speech.” You chuckled, as the two of you moved towards the bed, Carnistir being the first to sit down on it as you stood before him. He took the time to sit in silence for a moment and admire how beautiful you looked in your wedding attire.

How he looked forward getting to know you intimately, peeling away those decorative robes and layers of lace and silk. Pulling the flower crown off your hair and laying you back… Carnistir had dreamed of being able to have this moment with you, so when you came to move closer he spread his legs to let you stand fully in front of him.

“But enough about him… I want to focus more on you, meldanya.” You whispered to him, as you bent over pressing your forehead to his. Carnistir smiled softly to himself, before he angled his head up, letting his nose brush against yours and his lips coming to press against yours.

It was like all the other times he kissed you, it was sweet and slow… Though this time Carnistir started to put more passion behind his kisses. Passion that was pent up since the start of your courtship because he wanted to do things right with you, because you deserved it. He brought a hand to your waist and pulled you in closer and steadily he laid back, pulling you on top of him.

His tongue light licking your bottom lip and you hummed in response at the feel of it, feeling a fluttering in your stomach before you granted him entrance into your mouth. Carnistir had never tasted sweeter until now, and you moaned softly as his tongue met yours curling around it as you two kissed.

You felt a pulse of pleasure run through you as you felt Carnistir use his strength to shift you both more comfortably on the bed. You couldn’t wait to see how all that muscle and strength could be put to such good use. His lips never leaving yours, and his trousers becoming a bit tighter at the sound of your beautiful moan.

Carnistir wanted to hear more, desperately. He wondered about all the things he could do to you all night long that would make you moan like that, or make any other pretty sounds. At that he rolled you both over, his lips parting from yours to see your face flushed and your lips a little swollen.

“You look beautiful…” He murmured out before dipping his head down to come and kiss your jaw, his lips trailing down towards your neck. Leaving open mouthed kisses, lightly licking against your pulse, making you shudder as you tilted your head back to grant him more access. Your hands came to his shoulders, caressing towards his chest and coming to the buttons of his white tunic.

Desiring to feel his skin underneath your fingertips for a change, not wishing for clothes to inhibit more than what they were.

Carnistir was distracted as he kissed your neck, listening to your little gasps as he nipped at your throat. Your fingers fumbling some but undoing the first button, and then the next before Carnistir’s lips came back to meet yours, resting on his forearm. You spread your legs wider to accommodate, and felt his erection pressing against you.

Your hands continued at their task, trying not to get too distracted unbuttoning his tunic, when suddenly you felt Carnistir freeze in his kiss. His body tensing and a hand reflexively shot out to grab one of yours, making you in turn freeze too as you felt a shift.

He had no idea what came over him suddenly, until the idea of you seeing him shirtless came to mind… Let alone bare. Carnistir wanted to be one with you, but suddenly his nerves were sky high and he feared that once you saw him shirtless…. Saw the extent of his freckles and his redness… That you’d reject him.

That you would be disgusted by him and that you would want to go back on everything that happened here today.

“Carnistir?” You whispered out to him softly and he didn’t answer you, only climbing off of you rather quickly and turning his back to you. You began to panic, wondering if you had done something wrong. Did he think this was a mistake?

Oh Eru… You thought wondering if he wanted to go back on everything that had happened today and annul the marriage entirely. You felt tears spring to your eyes but you tried to quell them, because you didn’t know what was wrong. You were only making assumptions and you didn’t things to be irreparable until you had an answer from him.

“Carnistir what’s wrong?” You pressed again, and you heard him take a shaky sigh, watching him run a hand through his hair, before you noticed he was clutching his chest. Holding his tunic closed, he just knew you would reject him if you saw it… he didn’t know how on earth the marriage night could proceed now.

“I-I’m sorry.” Carnistir managed out, and he sounded almost bitter, but you knew well enough by now that it wasn’t aimed at you… Was he angry with himself? You wondered and it settled your nerves a little bit. You knew how he could be when he was waging war with himself,

“I can’t… I can’t…” He said softly, almost pained and this time you sat up, getting off the bed and approaching. There was more happening here than him rejecting you and you knew that now, hearing the self directed bitterness, the pain in his voice. This was about him, it wasn’t about you and now you felt better knowing he wasn’t rejecting you.

“Meldanya, what is the matter?” You asked as you moved to approach him, and slowly he turned to look at you, and you could see where his hands held his half open tunic shut. His silver eyes half meeting yours before they met the ground, his face was cherry red going all the way up to the tip of his ears.

Carnistir was quiet for a long moment, closing his eyes like he was pained to have to admit what was wrong with him and why he was…. Hesitant. Which was a mild way of putting his reaction.

“It is nothing you’ve done…” Carnistir whispered out to you, looking at you with knitted brows and a frown pulling at his lips before he looked away again. Hesitantly you approached him, letting your hand come out to touch his shoulder. You felt him tense underneath your touch again but you didn’t feel him pull away.

“Then what is it, meldanya. You can tell me, I am sure whatever it is we can work through it.” You assured him with a warm smile, hoping to help put him at ease and help him open up. You wanted your wedding night to be an enjoyable one for you both, but it was clear his nerves were getting the better of him.

He was quiet for a long moment, watching you as you came to stand in front of him. Your hands coming to his shoulders where you rubbed affectionately, hoping to soothe his nerves and help him relax under your touch. It seemed like it was working as his shoulders sagged some as he took a breath. Finally mustering up the courage to speak to you about what was on his mind.

“What if… you don’t like what you see?” Carnistir revealed to you and suddenly it all clicked. He nervous about you seeing his skin, that was why he had reacted the way that he had. You gave him a gentle smile,

“Of course I will like what I see, melda.” You answered him softly as you gently reached for the hand clutching his tunic tightly. Slowly as you moved to take his hand away, Carnistir complied, letting you pull his hand away and his half undone tunic began to fall open.

“If I didn’t love you, all of you, I would not have agreed to marry you, Carnistir.” You said to him in a soft voice, letting your eyes trail to his muscular chest and you could see red splotchy patches on his skin. But it didn’t detract from his beauty in the least bit, if anything you were eager to see more of his beautiful skin.

“May I?” You asked softly when your hand came down to the buttons of his tunic and there was a moment of silence between the two of you. Slowly he nodded his head, taking a deep breath especially as your fingers brushed against his skin as you began to undo the rest of the buttons.

You were quiet as the tunic began to fall open the rest of the way, exposing his more muscular physique, and you brought your hands to gently touch his abdomen. Feeling it flex at your cooler touch before you brought the other hand over, sliding it up his stomach, and towards his chest and too his shoulders.

“You can tell me to stop.” You assured him as you paused just at his shoulders, and when he said nothing, gently you pushed the tunic down his arms. There was a long moment of silence as you began to drink in the sight of his bare chest, splotched with red and freckles. And you couldn’t see how any of him wasn’t just absolutely perfect. You began to smile before you leaned forward to press a kiss to his clavicle and press yourself against him.

“You are beautiful melda.” You whispered softly against his skin, and Carnistir flushed at your words. Shivering at your caressing hands, but tongue tied on being able to say anything on the matter, overwhelmed that you found him to be beautiful despite his difference in skin.

You tilted your head up from your spot on his chest, your nose brushing against his and a smile playing on your lips, especially as you heard the shaky exhale of your husband.

“It’s only fair you see more of me too… Come, help me out of my clothes.” You whispered to him, your lips centimeters from his, barely brushing against soft ones.

It was all the motivation that Carnistir needed before he pressed his lips right into yours again, with unbridled passion, making you hum. You certainly couldn’t wait for what was to come.

* * *

Tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @celebrimbor-telperinquar @red-riding @miriel-estelwen @ta-ka-shi-ma @nerdysimpy @thegirlwithoutaname87 @anunexpectedsideblog @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @eternalabysss @noldorinpainter

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pinkthick · 5 months

Text

You’re okay

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Fem!Reader

Summary: His throat begged for relief as if scorched by an unseen fire. The burning sensation clawed at his senses, a relentless reminder of a desperate need that seemed perpetually out of reach. The elusive promise of a drink lingered just beyond his grasp, taunting him with its absence.

Warnings: Blood, Minor Character death

Credits for the art with Stephen lolojefie/jay on Tiktok.

In the dim haze of consciousness, Stephen Strange found himself suspended in a disorienting void. A throbbing ache enveloped every fiber of his being, a cruel symphony of pain that rendered him powerless. The mere thought of opening his eyes seemed an insurmountable task, as if the weight of the universe bore down upon his lids. His body, a canvas of agony, pulsated with an unrelenting torment. Each attempt to move was met with a searing reminder that something was profoundly wrong. The world around him felt like a blurry, chaotic whirlwind, and the mere notion of steadying himself slipped through the cracks of his fragmented awareness.

His throat begged for relief as if scorched by an unseen fire. The burning sensation clawed at his senses, a relentless reminder of a desperate need that seemed perpetually out of reach. The elusive promise of a drink lingered just beyond his grasp, taunting him with its absence. So so thirsty.

A tempest of anguish stormed through his mind, his head a battleground where every thought waged war against the others. The ache within intensified with each passing moment, a merciless crescendo that threatened to shatter the fragile remnants of his composure. A disconcerting vertigo gripped him, the world spinning in a disconcerting dance that left him suspended in a disoriented limbo. His attempts to move only deepened the sensation, as if the cold floor beneath him had become an unstable sea, threatening to capsize his already battered senses.

His neck, a tenuous link between consciousness and the void, throbbed with a relentless pulse. It felt as if it were melting away, dissolving into the chaos that surrounded him. The sensation of bones breaking echoed through his perception, each imaginary fracture adding to the cacophony of torment that consumed him. Amidst the symphony of pain, he questioned the nature of his own sounds—were they screams of despair or tears of anguish? The line between agony and expression blurred, lost in the tumultuous storm that raged within the confines of his battered body.

A new wave of torment surged through Stephen, a peculiar agony that seemed to originate from within his own mouth. His teeth, usually stalwart guardians of his resolve, now betrayed him with an intensity that bordered on the surreal. It felt as if new teeth were erupting from his gums, an excruciating transformation that defied all logical explanation.

In the midst of his cries, a desperate symphony of pain, he was almost certain he heard a haunting giggle—an unsettling sound that echoed through the darkness, as though mocking his suffering. The cryptic laughter added an eerie layer to his predicament, an unsettling presence that danced on the periphery of his awareness.

His attempts to move, to escape the relentless agony, were thwarted by an unseen force. Something, insidious and unyielding, held him in check. Every strained effort to break free only intensified the pain coursing through his body, as if the very fabric of reality conspired against him.

With a surge of determination, he managed to pry his eyes open briefly, revealing a darkened room that enveloped him in shadows. The feeble illumination hinted at the cold glint of some chains.

What..I..I was on a mission, right?

As Stephen forced his eyes to remain open, the dim light of the room gradually revealed obscured figures in the shadows. His vision, still clouded by the remnants of disorientation, struggled to bring the mysterious shapes into focus. The people in the room appeared as mere silhouettes, their features shrouded in a veil of uncertainty.

A disconcerting realization gripped him—his Cloak of Levitation, a constant companion in the arcane battles he faced, was conspicuously absent. The absence of the sentient garment left him vulnerable. Levi?

He didn’t feel okay. There was a hunger that had never experienced before and it gnawed at his insides.

And then..

A sudden, sharp pain jolted through Stephen's lower lip, drawing his attention to an unsettling discovery. In the dim light of the room, he felt an unusual protrusion—fangs, elongated and alien, had emerged where none had existed before. The realization struck him with a disorienting force, amplifying the dread that coiled in the pit of his stomach. As he explored the newfound appendages with his tongue, a metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth.

Confusion mingled with horror as he retraced the fragments of memory that now clawed at the edges of his consciousness. He recalled going on a mission..to eliminate some vampires. He couldn't believe that he had become the very thing he sought to eradicate.

“No," he muttered in disbelief, the word escaping through his bloodied lips.

The mocking laughter of a woman reverberated through the dimly lit room, a cruel echo that punctuated Stephen's grim realization. Her voice, dripping with amusement, sliced through the air as she observed his plight. "You know, I really thought you wouldn’t have made it, but look at you. A sorcerer turned vampire, we don’t get to see that often," she taunted, reveling in the incongruity of his transformed state.

Stephen's response was a hiss, an involuntary reaction fueled by a potent mix of defiance and the primal instincts that now coursed through his vampiric veins. The expletive, a defiant retort, betrayed the frustration and desperation that festered within him.

"Fuck you," he spat, the words laced with venom as he strained against the chains that bound him. The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth, a visceral reminder of the surreal reality he now faced. Unfazed by his outburst, the vampire woman continued her cruel commentary, addressing the unseen others in the room. "Look at him, a newborn vampire. Isn’t he just so cute?"

The condescension in her tone deepened Stephen's sense of helplessness. Each tug on the chains echoed his futile resistance, a symbolic struggle against the insidious fate that had befallen him.

The entrance of a human woman, tears streaming down her face, marked a chilling turn in the macabre tableau. Her anguish was palpable, a visceral counterpoint to the cruel amusement that danced in the eyes of the vampire woman who orchestrated this nightmarish scene.

As they positioned the sobbing woman almost within arm's reach of Stephen, an insidious scent wafted through the air, igniting an unholy hunger within him. His mouth watered involuntarily, and his eyes betrayed a feral transformation—deepening shades of crimson replacing the once-familiar hue.

Sharp Claws extended from his fingertips, catching him off guard. The realization that he now possessed such predatory appendages intensified the surreal horror that gripped his every sense. What had he become? The question reverberated through his newly altered consciousness.

His gaze fixated on the wounded human, a profound conflict raging within him. A sinister smile played on the vampire woman's lips as she observed his internal struggle. The scent of her blood was intoxicating, an irresistible lure that goaded the primal instincts now coursing through his vampiric veins.

A guttural growl escaped his throat, the struggle against his burgeoning hunger manifesting in the tense rise and fall of his chest. The internal battle played out on his features—a dance of torment, desire, and self-restraint.

The vampire woman, reveling in the macabre spectacle, posed a taunting question to Stephen. "Aren’t you hungry?"

The words hung in the air, a malevolent invitation that pierced through the cacophony of his internal turmoil. Stephen's breath quickened, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions churning within him. The pull of his vampiric instincts clashed with the vestiges of his human morality, and a desperate plea for restraint echoed in the recesses of his mind.

In the grip of his insatiable hunger, Stephen succumbed to the primal urges that now dictated his existence. With an explosive burst of strength, he shattered the chains that bound him to the wall, his predatory instincts propelling him forward.

He practically lunged at the weeping woman, driven by an overwhelming need for the crimson elixir that promised both sustenance and a dark euphoria. The taste of her blood, once a distant temptation, now coursed through him like a potent nectar, momentarily drowning the turmoil within.

The woman's anguished cries filled the room as Stephen, consumed by the ravenous frenzy, sank his fangs into her neck. Each swallow was a macabre communion with the darkness that enveloped him, an unholy ecstasy that eclipsed reason and morality.

"No! Please—I... It hurts so much. Please stop!" she pleaded in vain, her desperate pleas echoing through the chamber. Stephen, lost in the throes of his predatory trance, remained deaf to her cries as the life force drained from her.

It was only when the woman went limp against him that a dreadful realization crashed upon Stephen's consciousness.

The haze of bloodlust began to lift, revealing the haunting truth—he had just taken the life of someone innocent.

As he withdrew from the now lifeless form, horror etched across his features, he recoiled in shock. The woman's face was no longer obscured, and in the ghastly revelation, he beheld the face of his wife, Y/N. A profound wave of grief and remorse washed over him, his heart heavy with the weight of an unspeakable atrocity. He recoiled from the bloodstained reality before him, grappling with the monstrous act he had committed. Y/N's lifeless eyes stared back at him, accusing and haunting.

Stephen's anguished cries reverberated through the dim chamber, a heart-wrenching lament that echoed the depth of his despair. Clutching Y/N's lifeless form to his chest, tears streamed down his face, mingling with the blood that stained his hands.

"Y/N! I’m sorry; I’m so sorry darling. I didn’t—" he wailed, the sound of her name a tortured plea that hung heavy in the air. The weight of his grief, compounded by the monstrous act he had committed, bore down on him like an insurmountable burden.

Amidst his mourning, the cruel laughter of the other vampires resounded, a sinister chorus that intensified the throbbing ache in Stephen's head.

In the cold grip of the night, Stephen bolted upright in bed, his labored breaths betraying the remnants of the nightmare that had seized him. Disoriented and consumed by the lingering horrors, he found himself enveloped in the soft glow of Y/N's presence. Her eyes reflected concern as she observed the anguish etched across his tear-streaked face.

Y/N gently cupped his face in her hands, her touch a soothing balm against the spectral memories that haunted him. "Hey hey, Stephen. Breathe, come on," she murmured, her voice a tender reassurance that cut through the lingering echoes of his night terrors.

Stephen struggled to obey, his attempts to draw breath feeling stifled by the lingering shadows of the dream. His hands trembled as he desperately clung to Y/N, seeking solace in the tangible reality of her presence.

"Stephen, love, breathe. You're here, you're home," she urged, her voice a lifeline that pulled him from the abyss of his subconscious terrors. Her words, a gentle reminder of the sanctuary that surrounded him, began to coax him back to the realm of wakefulness.

But as Stephen's breaths steadied, a haunting revelation clawed its way to the surface. His voice, choked with remorse, cried out, "You were... I was the one that killed you. I—"

Y/N, recognizing the depth of Stephen's pain, brought his head to rest against her chest, offering the solace of her heartbeat as a grounding rhythm against the lingering echoes of the nightmare. Silently, he continued to weep, his tears a testament to the profound weight of the dreamscape that had ensnared him.

"I'm not dead, I'm okay. You’re okay. It was just a nightmare," Y/N reassured him, her voice a gentle melody that sought to dispel the haunting remnants of the dark visions that had tormented his sleep.

Pulling away from her chest, Stephen clung to Y/N, his arms wrapped around her in a desperate embrace that refused to let go.

His words, uttered with a mixture of relief and residual fear, broke the silence. "It wasn't a nightmare with Dormammu at least."

Y/N chuckled softly, her fingers gently tracing soothing patterns on his back. "You don't need to tell me if you don't want to," she offered.

A heavy silence lingered between them before Stephen found the courage to articulate the haunting images that clung to his consciousness. "I was back in that room, and it was exactly how it happened, except that the woman I killed was..."

Y/N, sensing the weight of his unspoken words, pressed a tender kiss to his lips, a gesture that spoke volumes of her understanding and unwavering support.

"You know it wasn't your fault," she whispered, her voice a soothing balm that sought to dispel the shadows of guilt that clouded his mind. Stephen scoffed, his self-reproach evident in the lines etched across his face. "It sure felt like it was mine."

Undeterred, Y/N continued to hold him, her arms a comforting embrace that refused to let go. In the quiet sanctuary they had carved out for themselves, she reaffirmed, "It wasn't your fault, Stephen. And you know that.”

He didn’t respond as he clung to her, the echoes of the past began to lose their grip, dissipating in the warmth of their shared embrace. Y/N's presence, a steadfast anchor, reminded Stephen that in the sanctuary of their love, the wounds of the past could heal. In that moment, they found solace in each other's arms, reaffirming that, despite the darkness that lingered in the recesses of memory, they were okay.

Notes: Not sure if I should have posted this, but there’s that. 🙃

Hope you enjoyed reading this.

#stephen strange #doctor stephen strange #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #doctor strange x you #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange supreme #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x you #doctor strange x female reader #doctor strange fluff #doctor strange angst #wong marvel #vampire au #vampires

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halsins-herbal-underpants · 15 days

Text

Give Me Nothing To Hold

(Give Them Everything To Take)

A Halsin sadfic fea. Dayan (my Tav)

Rating: Gen

Note the tags!

CW: subjugation, emotional trauma, Lolth-sworn drow slave society

approx. 6.5k words

Read on Ao3

Trapped together by fate and circumstance under the thumb of a cruel Drow Matriarch, Dayan tries to offer Halsin a moment of peace. But in the Underdark, peace is antithesis to control, and control must be maintained. At any cost.

If only Dayan hadn't tried to give Halsin something tangible to hold, then maybe the druid wouldn't have had the last real piece of himself taken away.

Just a bit of events of Halsin's time in Menzobarranzan, set in the semi-AU of my Tav playthrough. Dayan and Halsin belonged to the same House & knew one another through Halsin's time in the Underdark.

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Dayan wished he'd eaten that morning. Nerves were making his stomach rumble with angry bile, and the last thing he wanted was an errant gurgle raising the Matron's irritation more than it already was. The situation was tense enough, and Dayan didn't want to add to it. Especially considering the focus of her ire was entirely his fault in the first place.

The wood elf currently knelt in front of the great chair in the Matron's hosting chamber, his forehead touching the cold stone in the proper posture. His arms were stretched before him to show he held no weapon.

Dayan had to scoff at the idea. He didn't have clothes -- she wouldn't allow it when she was angry with him. The notion he could have secreted a poisoned dagger on his person was absurd.

But the Ilharess was paranoid, of course, though no more than any of her peers. Her paranoia had served her well and seen her through seven assassination attempts, three of which were from her own daughters. It was that same paranoia that arranged this tableau before them.

The elf that prostrated himself before the Matron was incredibly large for his race, his only clothing the floor-length mane of pretty auburn hair that spread over his body like a cloak. It was unbound, spilling messily over his shoulders, sporting not a single one of the elaborate braids it usually did.

Something about that made Dayan feel uneasy. That hair was always ornamented with braids, elaborate twisting designs often woven with jeweled charms. To be allowed before the Matron in her audience chamber with his hair loose and wild was discomforting. Dayan's jaw creaked from clenching it tighter and he held his breath in a jolt of fear, but then relaxed slowly. She hadn't heard him. Her attention was focused, sharp and unyielding, on the wood elf.

He'd entered the chamber before the Matron, walking slowly before the assembled servants with head bowed; one of the higher concubines led him to kneel in front of the dias by a silver chain hooked to a rune-carved collar around his neck. Dayan recognized the common pit-slave collar that inhibited magic. The wood elf was a shapechanger, Dayan knew. A druid, though he wasn't quite clear on what that meant.

It didn't matter though, whatever power the elf may have had -- the collar denoted his current status and that was to be kept from accessing even the most basic of magics. It was only removed at the Matron's whims. She would not be removing it now.

Around him, the Matron's servants and swords had gathered as usual, awaiting their House Mother’s orders. As soon as she’d entered, foreheads touched the floor, silent and swift. Dayan had tried to keep his eyes on the lone chained figure as he crouched; the huge elf dropped to his knees with surprising grace and joined the rest in supplication.

The only thing that belied his perceived calm was a trembling in his hands – the delicate chains that attached to his shackles softly clinked, and Dayan felt his stomach drop and body prickle in fear.

But by the time the Matron arrived at the front of the chamber and took her seat, the trembling had stopped and the chains that wound around both his wrists and ankles were still and silent as the grave. It was impressive, Dayan thought, before he had to bow his head fully and hide his face.

The wood elf's name was Halsin and it was Dayan's fault he was here.

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"So after everything I have given you, all the ways I have sought to please you, my parzdiamo...this is how you repay me?"

Her words were short and clipped, acidic enough to burn. Slowly and too casually, she reached into a fold of her dress, between her breasts, and withdrew a short silver knife and sheath. The sheath and handle were decorated in some way but difficult to see from a distance. She held it aloft in long, delicate, sharp-nailed fingers and tilted her head at the wood elf.

He was silent, did not so much as twitch, and she smiled without mirth. Proper behavior; even in her anger, she was pleased.

"Servants, you may rise," she said airly, her legs slowly uncrossing, then crossing again. The slit of her spider-silk dress slid apart and showed her sharp-heeled shoes, leather bindings crossing up shapely calves. Her gaze fell on Halsin.

"You, my bear -- you will lift your head, sit up and speak. But only those loyal to me may stand."

Halsin finally looked up, rose slowly to sit on his heels. His hair slipped over his shoulders, but couldn't fully hide the lines of his gorgeous body. Dayan knew if the Matron was not there, there would be intrigued, curious and bawdy whispers among the servants, same as there always was when the consort was allowed to wander the rest of the grounds. But for now, there were just wide-eyed looks and slight smirks hidden behind hands.

Something about the attention made Dayan want to curse at them all, grab a blanket and run over to wrap it around those broad shoulders. Grab--

--grab his hand and run--

"--a gift," came a low, soft voice that only trembled a little at the edges, and Dayan realized he had drifted into impossible daydreams once again. Halsin's expression was calm and stoic as stone, though open and unguarded. You could be nothing else, speaking to the Matron.

"It was a gift, Mistress. A gift, only. I swear to you I am still loyal, still--" He stopped and Dayan blinked to see that stoic face warm slightly.

"Yes...?" It wasn't a question, so much as a command, the drow woman's silver-painted lips spreading subtly at the corners into something Dayan wouldn't have called a smile.

"Still yours," Halsin breathed, ignoring the snickers that surrounded him from the drow lining the walls. "I swear to you by my heart -- the knife has no true blade, I cannot use it to hurt you, to hurt anyone. I kept it because it was a gift."

The Matron tilted her head to the side in thought. "Do you swear to me by your deft hands and pretty eyes?" she asked softly. Halsin didn't reply. She continued, her voice getting slightly louder at each sentence.

"Do you swear to me by your bones and blood? By your tongue and teeth? By the impressive cock that hangs between your legs?"

She didn't reprimand the quiet giggles that circled the chamber, but nor did she smirk herself. She just watched him with hooded eyes, her words less a jest and more a list of what the wood elf may lose if she found his answers wanting. Halsin's face was flushed darker now and he swallowed thickly.

"I swear it by everything I am."

"You are darthiir! " She spat, rising in one swift motion and Dayan wondered how the wood elf did not flinch at her thunderous anger. The Matron's moods were so mercurial; perhaps he had just grown used to outbursts.

"You are nothing that I do not make you."

She walked up to him and grabbed his chin, her nails digging into the soft flesh of his jaw as she pulled his face up and up, stretching his neck painfully so he could meet her dark red eyes.

"Do not lie to me, parzdiamo, I will not have it. If this knife is not as you claim, then I'll know was an assassin's trap and you an unwitting dupe. And I will not have a fool warm my bed." She let go of his jaw and unsheathed the knife.

Dayan let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The blade was dull and broken, rusted through in a way the handle was not. It would not cut hair, much less skin. The Matron peered at it and then gave a low chuckle.

"This is very old. And obviously from the surface. The craftsmanship is lacking, as all things are there. This blade has fallen to rust." She ran the blunt tip of it over her arm and snorted as it only cut a narrow, bloodless line that barely burned. "Useless. A poor gift indeed."

Halsin said nothing, but he seemed to relax -- though, only a little, because he was wise enough for that.

She turned back to him and touched his face once again, but this time her fingers were gentle on his cheek.

"Who gave this to you? You only need to speak their name and you will not be punished. But you must understand I cannot be disrespected in my own home. You accepted a gift behind my back. Not that you thought of it like that, I'm sure," she laughed softly and brushed fingers through the wood elf's bangs. To his credit, he didn't flinch.

"You just saw something shiny and pretty and wanted it, mmh? Silly thing," she teased, her laugh like sharp, glittering glass. Her finger grazed down his sweating forehead and tapped his nose. "If I'd known you craved shiny baubles and fripperies, darling child, I'd have long ago spoiled you rotten. Perhaps I still might. We'll go shopping soon, yes?" She held the knife between her fingers, her amused smile growing tight.

"Who gave this to you?"

Halsin took a deep breath. He tried to keep his expression calm and stoic as before, but it faltered right before he spoke, a flicker of true fear crossing his features briefly.

"...I do not know, Mistress. I -- I can't remember."

Dayan flinched but luckily the matron was not looking his way. If Halsin refused to tell her, then he would be punished severely and it would be all Dayan's fault. But if he told the truth, well. He'd still be punished, but less severely, at least. Perhaps he’d even get to keep all his limbs.

And Dayan would be sacrificed to the Spider Queen. Or fed to the temple arachnids. Or flayed alive and set on a pike as a warning to other servants. Or she might just slit his throat in the audience chamber, let him bleed out at her feet...

Dayan's hands couldn't stop shaking.

He gave the knife to Halsin because it had roses carved into the silver handle.

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Dayan approached the wood elf slowly during his meditation, in their Matron's garden. Slaves weren't usually permitted to sit in the gardens but the Matron made an exception for her favorite consort.

In truth Halsin hated being singled out like that; it made most of the other slaves avoid him, if not outright mock him for his perceived status. It was maddening to them, a male of the wood elf race garnering the adoration the Mistress and Master bestowed upon him.

If only they knew what form that admiration often took, they might have been more hesitant to condemn him.

They might, but Halsin knew in truth -- they would still hate him, just because they could. So he spent most of his free time alone.

Until lately, at least.

"Halsin?" the guardsman whispered quietly, making sure to approach the consort with a wide berth. Halsin startled easily when approached from the back, he'd learned. The wood elf looked up and his soft frown, the expression he normally wore when alone, disappeared entirely when he saw Dayan.

"Oh!" A smile, soft and warm, spread on that handsome face and Dayan felt his stomach flip. He couldn't help but feel a small jolt of pride at how much more at ease Halsin looked when he saw him approach, in these brief, furtive, stolen meetings.

He wanted to say 'happy' instead of just at ease, but he knew too many things about the wood elf's day-to-day to ever say that.

"Yes, my friend? What can I do for you?" Halsin asked, curiously.

"You can scoot over so I can sit," Dayan teased and Halsin laughed softly, moving over on the bench and allowing Dayan to plop down. They didn't have long -- the consort's next chaperone would be approaching soon. Dayan had made sure to memorize the schedule between shift changes well. So he didn't waste any time on pleasantries, as much as he craved hearing Halsin talk.

"Here, look at this," he said. "I've had this for a long time, but just realized you might be able to identify -- well, here."

He pulled a knife from his pocket and held it up. It was silver, with carved vines and leaves and flowers alongside the edge of the handle and wrapped around its base. The sheath was heavy leather and also carved with the same imagery. "Can you tell me what these are, surrounding the handle? I'm sure they're a type of surface plant but I've never seen one in the books I have. Tell me you know a lot about plants. Druids know plants, right?"

Halsin had to chuckle at that. "You could say that," he mused as he peered at the silver handle. Dayan held out the knife, intending for Halsin to take it to look closer, but the consort bent to bring it to his eyesight, but did not reach out to touch or take. He knew better. It was already risky enough talking to the drow guardsman.

"Those are roses," he said with a genuine smile as he gazed upon the beautifully carved petals. "A type of climbing vine -- here, see these lines denoting the vine wrapping around the base? And here, these are the leaves...this the thorns...the blooming roses are the nicest part, in my opinion." Halsin met Dayan's eyes, his brows raised in surprise.

"Where did you find such a thing? Depictions of surface flora are not at all common down here, unless stolen from above."

Dayan hummed in thought, and then shrugged. "Perhaps it is from the surface," he said. "I don't know, I took it off a corpse decades ago."

"A corpse!" Halsin gave a teasing laugh, bumping Dayan's shoulder with his own. "Of course, I don't know why I expected a different answer." After a beat, he met Dayan's eyes. "Stolen or not, old or not -- it is a weapon you're not allowed. You're playing dangerous games to bring it out this close to the manor, my friend."

Dayan nodded, smiling ruefully. Halsin was not wrong, he was playing with fire. Although it wasn't exactly like he thought...

Dayan grasped the handle over the carved roses and pulled it out of the sheath, holding it up for the consort to inspect the blade.

Halsin flinched and drew back involuntarily, even though he had once admitted he trusted Dayan more than his Mistress. But, well, learned lessons are hard to break; especially when they have been so painfully taught.

Dayan winced and lowered the knife. "I'm sorry," he whispered sincerely. Halsin relaxed, shaking his head with a chagrined look.

"No, no. You're fine. I apologize for my reaction."

Dayan didn't say anything, just pursed his lips briefly, his stomach hurting for some reason -- and then put his attention on the knife in his hand. The blade was rusted nearly through and broken at the tip. They could both see it was nearly as blunt as a butter knife.

"I made sure it wasn't dangerous before I decided to show you."

He remembered the look in Halsin's eyes as they traced the fine carving work of the swirling vines and plump leaves, and the pretty roses that looked to be lightly brushed with a shiny red paint. Almost entirely faded, but when it caught the low glowing light of a nearby sussar tree, it shimmered in a soft pink.

Halsin's gaze had turned almost as soft as he looked at it, and Dayan wondered if he was remembering the last roses he'd seen. It would have been a long time ago. They didn't grow in the Underdark.

He bit his bottom lip in hesitation as he re-sheathed the knife; and then in a bold, abrupt move he reached out for Halsin's hand as it hovered uncertainly around his chest, fingers lightly grasping the silken toga he'd been allowed to wear that day. Dayan slowly took it in his, waiting for the other to balk and yank it free, but the moment never came. Halsin just looked down at him with briefly wide eyes, his cheeks warming. He felt the larger elf's fingers twitch as if wanting to squeeze them around Dayan's own.

Dayan realized this was the first time they'd touched hands.

"I want you to have this," the drow said, placing the object in Halsin’s palm and wrapping his fingers around the knife handle. He saw the consort was about to protest, but he quickly interrupted. "Please. In truth, I kept it to give to someone...important to me," he murmured. "But then he..." He paused, looked away. "Well, he's not here anymore. But now I have you," he added, more brightly.

Dayan didn’t realize what that might have sounded like, rushing to get through his impromptu, embarrassing speech, but Halsin certainly did. The flush on his cheek spread to the tips of his ears and he dipped his head, his long graceful mane falling to hide his reddened face.

"A thing like this is wasted on me," Dayan continued in a rush, oblivious. "I've never even seen a picture of a rose. They're pretty, if this is accurate," he admitted. "But I can't appreciate them like someone who knows what they are can. Like you can."

Dayan looked down at the knife. "Roses don't exist down here, but -- here they do,” he tapped the handle with a finger. "Maybe this can be a comfort? I don't know. I hope it can be."

Halsin found it hard to respond. "Why would you...want to do this for me...?" he asked softly, more softly than he'd ever spoken to Dayan before. There was confusion in his voice, hoarse with unbidden emotion.

"I just -- you're not --" He paused and then had to let go of Halsin's hand. He couldn't look at him and say this at the same time. The wood elf squeezed the knife tight.

"You're not meant to be here," Dayan said softly. "I don't mean like slaves shouldn't be here." His eyes darted to the wood elf's face, then away. "I mean -- you aren't meant to be here, Halsin." He hurried on, embarrassed, sure he sounded like a madman.

"I don't know why I say it. It's just...something I feel." He was silent for a beat, then glanced around the garden and leaned closer to Halsin, voice barely a whisper and words quick, as if afraid of speaking what he wanted to aloud. "When I sleep--we drow don't often trance, you know," he said, though he suspected Halsin must have learned this by now. "It's more nightmares than memories. I try to just sleep, not meditate. But sometimes I still will...and sometimes when I do, I see Lady Silverhair between the nightmares. I think she told me."

Halsin's brow wrinkled and he opened his mouth to ask, but Dayan cut him off. He didn't have time to explain that particular curiosity right now.

"Memories are cherished things for your kin, right? I read that somewhere. They ground surface elves to your history, where you came from. But sometimes...memories are just pain, especially when you're--"

He paused, then murmured quietly. "Especially when they're all you have."

"They're not real roses," he continued, "but it's something tangible you can touch that reminds you they exist. Not just a memory of them. And sometimes that's nice to have, I think."

Dayan glanced up at the manor and blanched -- the replacement guard was just barely visible around the corner. He rose quickly, before Halsin could speak and quickly tucked the knife deep in a fold of his toga, where it couldn't be seen. He didn't dare look at Halsin's face, didn't dare meet those eyes or let his own drift over those lips he dreamed about. He paused before fleeing, only a second, and touched the wood elf's shoulder.

"You will see roses again, I swear it," he whispered. And then he ran.

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"...Someone pressed it into my tunic at one of your...parties, Mistress. I do not remember who."

There had been so many parties lately; the Matron's House had just conquered an enemy, razed the family's manor and everything inside to the ground. A conquest of a particularly fruitful land to the Lady's coffers. She'd been throwing lavish events to show her power and celebrate. Halsin had featured as a particularly sought-after entertainment at most of them.

"I wished to find them, to thank them, but they must have left before I could. And then I was...I was afraid to tell you," his words wavered, stammering a little to sell his fear, but not overmuch. "I just kept it, growing more and more afraid to reveal my deception. I shouldn't have, I know. Please forgive me, Mistress, please--"

"I know this pattern on the handle," she interrupted, fingertips tracing the flowering vines on the knife. Halsin blinked in confusion -- sometimes it was hard to follow his Mistress's mind. "These are roses, are they not? A beautiful blossom that is said to contain dangerous thorns beneath its petals. Some are believed to be as long as a man's hand."

She turned her face to him, looking down her elegant nose at her currently-favored consort. "Is that what you are, Halsin?”

He shivered. The Mistress so rarely used his name, it always made him uncomfortable to hear it on her tongue.

“A rose sent to me from afar, with thorns hiding just under your lovely petals? Perhaps one day you'll wrap your vines around my neck and run back to your accursed sun, mmh?"

"No! I swear it, Mistress. I am here because of your..." It was hard to get the words out; no matter how technically true they were, the meaning was drenched in painful irony.

"...Generosity and kindness, after all. I would never hurt you! And I do not want to be anywhere else," he said and inwardly winced at such a boldfaced lie. He shouldn't have said that, she wouldn't believe him. Nobody would.

"I am yours, only. Let me prove it to you, as you so often like," he added, his voice dropping, tone turning as sultry as flowing silk.

She only crooked one arched brow upward and he felt the back of his neck begin to sweat. He was saying all the wrong things, being all the wrong things. But all he could think about was Dayan's words, his eyes -- such a pretty violet shade, like gemstones, standing out starkly against all the crimson that stared at him daily. He couldn't betray him, he wouldn’t.

Halsin's mind whirled; in truth she knew his aching desire to return to the forest and flowers and sun. Sometimes she brought up the idea just to force him to deny the truth of his soul; sometimes she looked at him with sad eyes and stroked his hair and whispered apologies they both knew she didn't mean. She enjoyed soft words and hot tears on his cheeks -- perhaps the pity made her feel powerful.

Perhaps she just enjoyed watching him hurt.

"I..." He exhaled a long, hard breath and looked down at the floor. His knees were starting to ache, the chill seeping into his bones, despite his natural warmth. It couldn't ever keep the cold that radiated out of every stone away for long. "The roses do hold thorns, yes," he said miserably. "But it's only protection. My thorns were...worn away by your careful hands long ago, Mistress. I only wanted a memory of home. Just a small one."

It seemed his gamble had paid off; the Matron's eyes warmed and she slowly bent, a hand reaching to touch his face. To rub her thumb over the wetness in the dark hollows below his eyes. Halsin almost instinctively nuzzled into her hand -- she smiled, and he knew he had done well, he had made the right choice, said the right words. She approved of his weakness, at least for now.

"My sweetling, I wish there was a way I could make you understand that this is home, now. You only hurt yourself in your longing." He nodded, like a good boy, chastised so gently by her words.

"Lovely bear," his Mistress almost purred. "Perhaps I will have one of my surface raids procure an enchanted rose that cannot die and does not need the sun. I'll keep it in my bedchamber, mmh? And you can gaze upon the pretty thing whenever you wish."

The idea was abhorrent, of course, like everything else she ever offered him; but Halsin gave her a watery, weak smile.

"Perhaps," was all he said, and it turned his stomach to say that much. But the woman was satisfied and she nodded, giving his cheek a condescending pat and rising to her full height. She did so love to tower over him when she could. He hoped it signaled this farce was almost over.

But then she opened her mouth to speak again and he froze; he'd forgotten, he realized.

Her moods were so mercurial.

"However," she said, haughty, and Halsin felt his blood run cold. "If you do not or cannot tell me who gave this to you -- if your memory is so unreliable…" she trailed off, her eyes sharp – and Halsin knew he’d saved himself from nothing.

"Then you will still need to be punished, my dear." She sighed, folding her hands together.

"You know you cannot accept gifts from anyone but myself, without my permission. Nothing, without my permission!" She snapped. "You didn't tell anyone, and you kept this hidden. You made a choice. You know better."

Halsin had to keep his teeth from gritting, loathing how she so often spoke to him like a child. He might play into it to keep her wrath at bay, but he didn't like it. He fought not to glance over at Dayan, the drow's presence like a thorn in the back of his mind. It didn't matter, though. He wouldn't betray him; and he couldn't blame him. The gift had brought him happiness since that meeting, however fleeting.

"It is not a transgression that requires me to lose my favorite bear however," the Matron added and Halsin's face relaxed a little, though the tension remained in his shoulders. He did not look up at her, keeping his head lowered and his hands folded in his lap. He watched the chains from his shackles settle over his knees and shimmer in the low light. He felt his back bend unconsciously, as his body tried to fold in and make himself smaller.

He heard, rather than saw, the sound of a blade against leather, but dared not look up until she demanded it. But out of the periphery he spied her hand drop, and one of her wicked-looking daggers was gripped tightly in it. His face blanched but he kept himself from shaking, just barely.

The Matron lifted the dagger, sweeping the point of it across the room at her servant swords, eyes narrowing as she studied their faces. Most of them were looking at her, expressions either carefully blank, subtly wary, or eager.

Perhaps one of them, then -- eager was interesting, sometimes, but messy. Wary was often boring, so relieved to not be the victim they punished with more fervor than necessary. Dull and expected. Blank was efficient, at leas--

Wait. The Matron stopped, her eyes narrowing even more, as one face was very blatantly, and with some difficulty, avoiding her gaze.

Oh, cowardice. Cowardice was always fun.

"You!" she snapped, pointing at the anonymous drow guardsman. She didn't know his name, but who cares, really?

Dayan felt all the blood drain out of his face.

"Me?!" he said, his voice high and tight, and instantly knew that had been the wrong thing to say. He glanced at Halsin, seeing the wood elf's shoulders tighten at hearing his voice.

"Y-Yes, Matron," he added quickly and walked to her, trying to keep his hands from shaking. She held out the knife, and watched him stop and stare at it a moment before she sighed in irritation and gave it a shake.

"Are you simple, boy? Take it!" she hissed and Dayan quickly did as she asked, the blade feeling awkward and unfamiliar in his grasp. He knew it would be sharp though; sharp enough to ease through a throat with the lightest touch. But she'd said Halsin wasn't to be killed. Perhaps just cut? He didn't know if he could...

He saw the consort actually risk a look up, meeting Dayan's eyes. Halsin's were wide, but not in accusation, but empathy. He understood and was telling Dayan without words he needed to stop hesitating before he was gutted for insubordination. Dayan shifted his grip, trying to look calm and collected and nodded at her. He walked over to Halsin, trying to avoid looking into his eyes directly once he got close. The last thing he wanted is for the Matron to suspect there was any connection there.

His chest burned; like a hot iron brand pressed to the flesh...no, not that. He knew what that was like. This was so much worse.

But yet, he didn't let his hands shake.

Dayan stood next to the kneeling wood elf, careful not to step on the long ruddy-brown tresses pooled about his legs.

"Where shall I begin, Matron?" he asked, his voice wavering only a little bit.

Her deep ruby eyes roamed over Halsin's servile form. And then she smiled.

Dayan felt something squeeze his heart in its iron grip.

"His hair," she said simply. "Cut it off. All of it."

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

"What?!" Halsin's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "You can't!" The change was instantaneous -- where there had been a calm, restrained consort awaiting punishment without fear, now sat a frantic, terrified wood elf, already half to his feet. "Mistress, please, -- you can't, please!"

The Matron's eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed dangerously. She took a step towards Halsin. "Did you just speak against me, darthiir?!"

His hands went to clutch at her spider-silk skirt and she balked, unsure how to react for a moment, taken aback by Halsin's sudden panic. She gripped his wrists to pry his hands off her; the servants around them were rousing, confused and anxious, looking from one to another, wondering if they should step in.

"Please, don't do this my lady! I'll do anything! I'll take any punishment, hot irons, whipping. I'll entertain a thousand of your guests, I'll live with my head buried between your thighs, please!” Halsin’s voice was more afraid than Dayan had ever heard it, words stammering out, falling over each other as he begged without shame. “Oak father as my witness, I will do anything!!" His eyes were wide and white at the edges, like a wild animal about to bolt. He rose to full height and immediately half a dozen guards surged forward. He gripped her hands, tears in his eyes, ignoring or perhaps unseeing the drow moving towards him.

"Talthara, please," he half-sobbed, and the Matron's eyes widened. She slapped him then, hard, her nightstone ring cutting deep into his cheek.

"How dare you!" she spat. "You are not allowed to speak so familiarly with me in the audience chamber!Bind his arms!" She watched as her guardsmen pried Halsin's hands off her skirts, pinning him down while he howled in fear and rage, and bound his arms behind him with a heavy chain.

Dayan wasn't one of them. The dagger was no longer in his hand. He wanted to help, he wanted to jump on the others and tear them away from Halsin, take the dagger and stab it through the bitch's heart, grab the wood elf and run.

But where? There was only cold stone and unforgiving darkness. But he couldn't let this happen. He couldn't--

"What are you waiting for?" the Matron snapped and Dayan realized she was talking to him. She eyed the weapon on the ground. "I am in no mood for games, boy. Pick up the thrice-damned dagger and do it!

Dayan's daydreams evaporated into smoke and ash; if he tried to free the wood elf, do anything but what she demanded, Halsin would suffer for it. And it'd be more than this, it'd be so much worse. He'd already done so much to him with his stupid gift, he couldn't put the druid's very life in danger.

He picked up the dagger, but his hands were shaking so much. Halsin was roaring like a wild beast, and his eyes kept flashing gold. A shimmer flickered over his skin, like lightning, and every time the runes on his collar would glow, white hot. Dayan could smell the elf's skin burning beneath it.

After it seemed he was going to continue fighting to change to his bear form, the guards began to beat him with fists and feet, so he'd quieten. Dayan's hands twitched to grab his scimitars; his vision was blurred, edged in white. Something felt hot in his head, and warm wetness covered his cheeks.

He actually felt himself start to lurch forward, a hand moving to his weapon of its own accord, but a grip on his arm stopped him. One of his fellow house swords -- he gave Dayan a quick shake of the head. The drow gritted his teeth in grief and anger and turned back, but did not move again.

Betrayer. That's what he truly was. He'd caused this. He doubted Halsin would ever forgive him.

Halsin finally collapsed, bloodied but alive, and docile as a lamb as all the fight in him evaporated. He lay limply, sobbing softly to himself, and didn't look up when Dayan came closer. The drow raised the dagger, watching those powerful, broad shoulders shake, and then stepped back and dropped his hand to his side.

"...I can't," he whispered. The Matron stepped up to him and grabbed him by the hair -- she was at least half a head taller than him. She yanked his head back painfully.

"Say it again. I want to be sure I heard you correctly, jaluk," she snarled and Dayan gritted his teeth.

"My lady, look at him! He's in tears, I, I can't..." He swallowed, then set his jaw firmly. "I won't."

She didn't even take a moment of consideration. With more strength than he thought she would have, she shoved him into the waiting arms of two of his fellow guardsmen. They'd traded amusing stories just a night ago, he thought idly. But they grabbed him without hesitation, held him painfully tight, arms wrenched so far behind his back his shoulders creaked.

"Twenty lashes," she told them dispassionately. "Rub rock salt into the wounds. Then fifteen more. A cell afterwards."

Halsin didn't raise his head as Dayan was dragged from the chamber. He didn't raise it when the Matron straddled him, dagger in hand, one of her sharp stiletto heels spearing into his back as she bent down and grabbed his hair in a fist. "These men are all the damned same," she spat. "Weak and soft and pathetic."

The last thing Dayan heard before being pulled back into the dark, was a knife slicing cleanly through hair, undercut every so often with a ragged, broken sob.

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

When Halsin rose that morning, his hair tickled his heels. He ran to tell grandfather; he'd begun to grow it out because it delighted the old elf so. Reminded him of the olden days, he said, when he himself was a young elf in High Forest. It was somewhat old fashioned by the time Halsin was old enough to know how he wanted his hair, but he still liked it. He liked it the most when grandfather ran a wooden comb through the length and braided it for him while telling him the story of his life.

The day it tickled his heels had been the day his grandfather's body decided it was time to return to the earth. He'd cut a long, long strand from his head and his father wound it around grandfather's hands, clasped together on his chest. Halsin did the same for his father, when it was his turn to reside in High Forest; and then his mother, and brothers and sisters after.

He'd laughed when the girls had taken his hair in hand at the summer festival and twined it in elaborate braids for fun. They pulled him to them by the braids cheekily, one by one, and kissed him until he was breathless and they were breathless and their entwined bodies spilled to the woven mats below. Drunk on Winterfest wine that tasted sweet against his lips, he kissed the boy beneath him as he begged for the braid to be unbound; to let it pool over their bodies as they made love. Afterwards the boy smiled softly in the moonlight, blue eyes aglow, and nuzzled into the nest of Halsin’s hair before settling against his chest and counting their shared heartbeats.

Netashe would tease him from below his window, ask him to let the long tresses flow down like a princess in a storybook. They'd gather it up in clever fingers and kiss those waves until he was red-faced and stammering, and tease him more. They'd taken a lock of it bound in green ribbon with them when they left to see the world. It was what inspired him to make his own journey.

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

Halsin lay on the cold chamber floor, his voice lost to tears, his mind lost to the warm haze of memories

His neck felt cold, the goosebumps prickling along his bruised arms. They bade him rise, jabbed him with the butt of their spears when he didn't. He finally managed to drag himself to his feet, eyes cast away so he didn't have to see his kin, his history, his life cut from him and left on the floor for someone to sweep up and burn.

"What do I do with this?" someone asked as he was escorted from the room.

"Ugh, get rid of it. Ugly thing," someone else said. "Who keeps an old rusted knife, anyway?"

He was never going home. He knew that now. No one was coming for him, and now he'd been cut from the only thread to his life under the sun, as easily as if the Matron had cut his throat. A part of him wished she had.

He was going to stay hers, until she tired of him, or needed to use him for some advantage, and then he'd be sacrificed to their vile goddess. Enemies could come and kill him in the night, the collar keeping him from defending himself. Or one of the Matron's daughters would succeed and he'd be quietly gotten rid of -- sold to another House or offered to one of the lower city brothels, perhaps.

No matter what, he was going to die down here, away from the forest and the sun and Thaniel. All the colors of his world would be taken from him, one by one -- sunlight yellow and sky blue and rose red and violet eyes like gemstones.

There was nothing else left, now, but the memories. Intangible to the touch, unreachable and torturous. But they were all he had. Dayan had been wrong.

But Silvanus save him, Halsin so desperately wished he'd been right.

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

#bg3 fanfic #halsin silverbough #drow tav #halsin #halsin fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #lolth sworn drow #seldarine drow

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dayque · 4 months

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How will shadowhunters characters use social networks (taking in count the ones that I use in latinoamerica, probably is different in USA):

I think that #Tessa and #Jem try to keep them self up date, especially for #Mina, but didn't get why people think that is so funny.

#Clary: Use especially Instagram and pinterest for draw, also love procastinate on tik tok and send hundreds to Izzy and Simon.

#Jace: I think he would said that he prefers to focus on training, but secretly he spends hours watching police, war or action series and movies (while training, of course).

#Izzy: Have all the Social Media in the world, includind Wattpad and Lezhin.

#Simon: Use must of his time on Youtube and Spotify, but also watching the tik toks that Clary and Izzy send to him. Twitter is his version of the news.

#Alec: Hates social media but still have an account in everyone because of Izzy (he also have Lezhin), love watch series and movies so Magnus and him are update in all the moment series (I am SURE he watch Betty la fea and love it because of Rafael).

#Magnus: I think that although he thinks that are funny use mostly the ones that give him the freedom to write publicly, like Twitter. Still have an acount in everything for stay update

I haven't yet stopped to think about which social networks the #TDA characters would use, but I imagine that #Julian wouldn't use any (he would see everything through Emma's accounts, in case his brothers want to show him something), #Ty would be on Twitter and Tumblr and on many many Shercklomes fanfic pages, #Kit would use Tiktok and apps for chats mostly, #Dru imagine that Youtube and Streaming platforms, Cristina and #Emma would have many accounts and I want to think that Clary or Izzy will invite them to the geek world, #Diana probably thinks they're fun but uses them like a SEÑORA and #Tavvy in the books is too young for me to try to know.

(About #Mark and #Kieran I have no idea what to think because I'm still reading the trilogy, I'm on the last book)

Note: english is my second lenguage and is my first time written my ideas on it so please forgive the spelling errors

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 3 months

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Pretty like the sun

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n This is pretty like the wind series spin offs. This can be read as standalone all you need to know is that Azriel has two adoptive kids with OC - Zofie and Axel. Future stories related to them might include stories specifically decided to Azriel hence why I am taging it as Azriel story too. Don't come at me please. ✨

It’s been a hot minute so idk if any of you are still here with me🫣 we do have an Azriel pov here.

warning: nothing major, past trauma.

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Zofie’s pov:

She sat at the top of the steps for hours. Long given up on running towards the door with every scratch or creek that she heard. With her head resting against the railing, Zofie couldn’t help but let her mind consume her. Nit-picking at all of her choices. She had done the opposite of being a good daughter. And she too had promised to love Azriel forever, so what was shifting?

Her thoughts slithered towards Nyx, who had been claiming most of her mind now. She could see why Azriel wouldn’t want her with him. And maybe it wasn’t even him trying to protect her; maybe it was him trying to keep the high-fea bloodline clean. What did she have to do with the high lords? Nothing. She saw the high lord and lady from time to time, but she was way closer to Uncle Cassian.

Then her thoughts drifted to the fact that she didn’t know all that much about Nyx either. Zofie didn’t even know his other friends. How many were they? What if all he was doing was just being friendly? He could very well have a lover. A mate. Preppy parents in desperate need to marry off their children to form bonds between courts, Nyx’s voice ran in her ears. Of course, Rhys was no doubt looking for a match for his son. And what was she thinking? Letting herself dream that maybe one day…

The sound of the door clicking open made Zofie shoot up. Just with her lack of focus, the girl ended up hitting her head against the side of the railing. Whining in pain, Zofie quickly reached to press her palms against the aching spot, only to lose her footing as her ankle buckled and the center of gravity shifted. She managed to let out a yelp, but the hard fall never came. Instead, the endlessly soothing smell of night filled her senses.

"Zofie," her father’s worried voice made her look up quickly. “Look at me, hey, did you hit your head hard?" Azriel’s worried golden eyes tore through the last bits of her self-control. Without a second thought, Zofie scrambled to get closer. Hands messily tangling with Azriel’s leathers as she wrapped herself around him. “I’m so sorry," she whimpered, “So sorry." Azriel’s arms wrapped around Zofie’s frame with ease in an instant. “Breathe for me, Zofie; you will make yourself faint, baby girl." The calmness of his voice strangely unsettled her. He was supposed to be mad. Was supposed to be frustrated with her. Angry. “Why aren’t you upset? You should yell," Zofie muttered, pulling back, her black eyes filling up with tears. Azriel frowned for the first time since he walked through the door. “Have I ever raised my voice at you?" the spymaster questioned before sighing, “Well, besides earlier today, it wasn’t even at you. I wasn’t angry with you." He softly wiped the tears from beneath Zofie’s eyes. “I will never do it again. I will never see him, I promise”, she said, feeling her own body start to swirl with emotions flooding from all over the house. Fruition, confusion, pain, sadness, and dread. Gasping for air, Zofie looked back at Azriel, whose shadows quickly drowned out any distractions. Closing the two of them in the safety of cool darkness. “Breathe, little star," Azriel muttered against Zofie’s hair, “Remember how we do it?" His firm gaze met her frantically blinking eyes. One of the shadows settled at the back of her neck; the other two wrapped around her hands, cooling the main point of her anxious spell.

“You’re safe." Azriel slowly ran his hand up and down her back, trying to comfort her the best he could. “I can't," her pained breaths ripped at Azriel, but he knew that now any excess emotions had to be suppressed, “We’re in your safe bubble." With a fluster of his wings, Azriel wrapped them around the two of them. “Press your palms against me; let it out," and she would have, but suddenly it made her stomach twist. Because this man. Man who didn’t have to take her in. Would know that she had all of these thoughts. From hate. To frustration. All directed at him. All because she was being naive. “I can't," she said, pulling back and hitting her father’s leathery wings. “Of course you can; you’ll burn out otherwise," Azriel urged her, “Come on, baby." She knew that he was desperate for a reason. Zofie had sent herself into overdrive once, and it wasn’t pretty. She could barely stand for weeks. No speech. She could barely get food down. That had been the first time she had seen Azriel with a full stubble. He had refused to leave her, even for a minute. He had been there. Always been there looking out for her. Another painful cry slipped past her lips, and everything went black.

Azriel pov:

Azriel’s eyes lingered on Zofie’s limp body lying in bed. He had been fixing the throw covering Zofie for the past hour. One moment it seemed too high up, and so she no doubt had to be too warm, but then the other he feared that she wasn’t warm enough. Azriel knew there was no way to measure the impact of the outburst until morning. Till Zifie opened her eyes. And she would open her eyes because...

“You should get some sleep”, your soft voice made Azriel turn from the bed. Some of the tension eased. It always did when you were around. His beautiful mate. Mother of his children. “I’m not tired," he muttered, fingers lazily running up and down Zofie’s arm. "Azriel, you can’t fool me." The moment your hands touched Azriel’s shoulders, he instantly felt warmth seeping through his aching bones. “How are you doing?", Azriel knew what that question implied because he had a feeling that you were aware of where the roots of all of this were.

“How can she think that I don’t love her?", Azriel shook his head, “Had I seriously been so... shortsighted?” You cupped his face tenderly. “She knows, she’s simply confused. Emotions are running high…”, “That was days of amped-up frustration that I’ve caused, YN”, his tone was much higher, and the moment that hit Azriel, his hand instantly came to clasp his mouth.

“It’s okay. You’re okay," you gently reached for both of his hands, giving them a little squeeze. “She’s growing up, Azriel. Things are strange and new”, leaning in, pressing your forehead against his, “She was scared that your yellow was fading," you admitted. “My love for her hasn’t changed," Azriel muttered. “I know, love, but your heart is now making room for Novie, and I think insecurities are running high." Azriel glanced back at Zofie. He never looked at her differently. Never treated her like a dainty porcelain doll. Yes, he protected her. Was ready to go to war for her. Because he had always seen her as his. He understood what having inner demons meant. To this day, Azriel had days when battling them got way too much. Hence, he had always craved to protect them so much. That desire to chase any doubt away fueled him because they deserved better. They deserve to know life in vibrant colors, not dim grays and blacks.

Azriel’s eyes fell on Zofie again. The girl had shifted slightly, curling deeper into herself. “Will you be good up there alone tonight?" Azriel gazed up at his mate. The raw instinct beat at him to go up to his bedroom and guard the new mother of his child, to be devoted to tending to them only. But it wasn’t Zofie’s nor Axel’s fault that the same blood didn’t bond them all. And Azriel had promised to protect them like his own, so as hard as it was, now he knew that he had to step down on the primal instinct and put his first children into the equation too. You smiled lovingly up at him and said, “I won’t be alone. Your mother is here, and Axel should be coming home soon." Stepping forward, you let yourself snuggle into Azriel’s chest for a heartbeat. Pouring as much love and reassurance into the embrace as you could. Azriel’s lips lingered on your forehead. “If you need me..." he muttered, but you instantly shook your head. “Stay with her, Azriel. She needs you," and that was all it took for Azriel to nod. His shadows carefully blew out a handful of candles lighting up the room. Leaving a bare minimum of light that wouldn’t bother anyone’s slumber, and if by any chance Zofie was to wake up during the night, he didn’t want her to open her eyes to darkness. As carefully as he possibly could, Azriel scooped Zofie’s tiny frame into his arms before climbing into her bed. Out of shared instinct, the spymaster started to hum the melody he used to hum to the two kids when they were younger, and nights of settling down were harder. His scared fingers carefully brushed her ink-black hair away from her face. Lips turning upwards as he let her way more mature features sink in. Never had he thought that he would be wishing the time would go slower. But it also filled him with endless pride that he too had played a role in making sure this tiny girl would slowly grow into a strong-minded young woman. With a deep sigh, Azriel pressed a loving kiss onto Zofie’s forehead, making the girl snuggle deeper into her father’s chest. “I’ll always love you, little star. As overbearing as I can be, I will always love you the most because you taught me what it was like to be a father”, he muttered, settling in to watch over her for the night.

Nyx’s pov:

Nyx had been looking through the window of his mother’s gallery for the past couple of hours. He rubbed his chest at times when the feeling of anxiety threatened to choke him out. His mind was running so fast that there were moments when he lost hold of it. Thought after thought, angrily beating at his consciousness.

“Are you antsy about going back?", Feyre’s voice made him grip the window sill tighter. He had forgotten that his mother had even been here with him for a moment. "No," he said bluntly. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling if he was being honest. He haven't been able to keep up with any of the emotions for some time now. They all seemed so tangled up that he didn’t know where one started and the other ended. Or it was so chaotic that he was sure that he felt all of it at once, and the feeling sure wasn’t pretty. It was different with Zofie, though. For some reason, his inner chaos always subsided when she was close. It felt calmer. It was as if she was there, sorting through his mess for him.

“Really?", Feyre’s amused voice filled the room. Nyx loved his mother. She was an example of hope to him. Every time he lost faith in the future, he would look for her memory books, ones she had sat down with Rhys to write while she had been pregnant with him. Nyx just wished they would understand that now he wasn’t sure if his own story linked with his parents.

“It’s what we do as soldiers; we need to earn our rank," he answered sharply with an exhale. He didn’t want to fight with his mother. Nor did he want to make her upset. He just didn’t want to talk about anything regarding this court. “And if you didn’t give me a textbook answer?" Feyre dunked her brushes into the water, turning to face her sun. Nyx knew that while he could hide his inner battles from his father with anger. His mother was way harder to fool. Nyx simply shrugged, not knowing what exactly she was trying to get out of him.

“It’s okay to have things that you miss back home," her delicate hands inked with marriage vows cupped Nyx’s face as she gazed up at him. “You treat her well?" At those words, Nyx had gone ridged. “What?", he muttered, stepping away. “Do you treat Zofie well?", Feyre smiled at him. Nyx wasn’t surprised that she knew about their little adventure last night, but this seemed like a lot more of an intentional question. One that implied way more.

“Of course, I treat her well," Nyx grumbled with a frown. “What kind of question is that?" he asked, shaking his head in frustration. Why was everyone constantly assuming that he was out there, like some old creep following her around? It wasn’t intentional that their paths crossed so often. They just did...

“Do you love her?", That question had sent all the oxygen out of Nyx’s lungs. Making him gape at his mother as if she had grown a third eye on her forehead. “No, Mom, what even… We grew up together!", Nyx threw his arms up in the air in frustration, which suddenly washed over him. “And that’s supposed to be an issue?", Feyre simply smiled up at him. That kind of smile implied that she was up for a chance to change his mind. Nyx turned away, moving to glance out of the window once more. “Whatever. I’m not even going to entertain this conversation." His mother let out a knowing laugh, returning to her painting once more.

Nyx gazed out into the night. His eyes narrowed out on a figure that slipped out of the library’s back door. Leaning forward, he tried to identify the figure. He knew that whoever it was had to have a pass from his parents. “Is that…?", Nyx trilled off. It couldn’t be because they had separated and... “Axel? Yes”, Nyx gazed back at his mother, who hadn’t even lifted her eyes to look out the window. That fucking lying bastard. I’ll be heading home my ass. “Have you hired him to work in the library?", Nyx had frowned in confusion. But Feyre shook her head. “Gwyn is helping new girls settle into quarters. Axel kindly offered to carry boxes”, the high lady said as if there wasn’t anything else.

“Carry boxes, mhm." Nyx watched as Axel stopped in his tracks before waving up at someone. The princeling’s eyes followed the gesture, finding another figure, barely visible in the sixth-floor window, waving right back. Why was he always on the sidelines with everyone? Why hadn’t Axel said anything about this to him yet?

“He’s a sweetheart," his mother hummed in approval. “There was a girl who hadn’t left her room in over a week. Axel managed to coax her out in a day," no doubt a girl Nyx had seen slipping back into the library when he had bumped into Axel earlier on. “A charming young man," Feyre hummed, making Nyx shake his head. “I’ll give him your praise”, after a proper interrogation, of course.

Unfortunately, Axel’s adventures brought him little satisfaction. And quite honestly, Nyx had given up on trying to snoop around his best friend’s business. Because he knew Axel and knew that the deepest and most heartfelt conversation always struck out when they were up in camps. Nyx had been restless for the days to come. Hanging around all the places he and Zofie usually went to. He was waiting for an inkling of any deeper emotions that would drag him towards her.

They had gotten the call that tomorrow morning they would be going back. And he knew one thing—he couldn’t go back without seeing her one more time. The image of her teared up face had haunted Nyx ever since. He hated it when she cried. He hated it when she was upset. But it seemed as if she had just disappeared into thin air. Nyx had hoped to see her at dinner in the lake house last night, but Y/N had simply said that Zofie wasn’t feeling well. Had something happened afterward? Had her magic flared up once more? But twice in two days. That would be way too much. Or maybe she was just avoiding him?

Stomping through the high grass, Nyx let his mind consume him once more. He knew that Rhys had called a meeting that afternoon. Meaning that Azriel and Cassian were both in the office now. If he was lucky, the females would also be there, meaning that only Zofie’s grandma would be at the house. Nyx rounded the back of the house. He hadn’t made any plans. Hadn't thought of what he was going to say. He wasn’t even sure why he was so nervous to see her. They knew each other like the backs of their heads. Nyx’s movements halted when he reached the back garden, and his ears picked up on a light rustling.

But it took him a peek from behind the hedges to glimpse at the only source of light that he had for as long as he could remember. Zofie was humming quietly as she hung the wet clothes on the lining. Gently smoothing down the fabric. Hair messily done up. He frowned at the lack of warmer clothes on her body. The sun was way warmer today, but the yellow dress with a thick knit sweater still felt too little to keep her delicate frame warm.

She was hanging the last piece of baby clothes when Nyx stepped right behind her, making Zofie’s hands freeze in the air. Shoulders stiffening. "Zo...", Nyx didn’t even have enough time to finish calling out to her when she finally turned to face him. “What are you doing here?" A slight frown creased her brows. “I wanted to... We go back tomorrow”, he muttered under his breath, her slightly dismissive tone hurting him way more than he thought it would.

"Okay," Zofie muttered, turning to pick up the basket. “Okay? That’s all?", Nyx reached for her hand, but Zofie pulled it back instantly. "What…", Nyx breathed out, his heart racing in his chest. Making his throat feel tight. “Look me in the eyes," he demanded, way harsher than he intended, but this wasn’t them. She wasn’t cold with him. She…

"Go," Zofie said simply. “No, not until you tell me what’s going on," Nyx pushed. “It’s best if we don’t meet up for a bit," Zofie said, wrapping her arms around herself as the colder breeze picked up. Clouds covered up the rays of sun peaking out moments ago. Nyx instantly felt the urge to pull her closer and shield her from the icy wind. “Is Azriel...", “Don’t drag my father into this. You have no right to drag him into this and to speak for me," she said, pointing a warning finger at him. He knew that he had stepped on the line with his last interaction with his uncle, but... "Go, Nyx, have a safe trip," Zofie said, pushing the loose strands of her hair beneath her ears.

"Sunny," his words were barely a whisper, but she simply shook her head and said, “We are no longer children. It’s time we grow up." Zofie rested the basket on her hip. “My world and your world... they’re different," Zofie muttered, and Nyx swore he saw the way her lower lip quivered. “You fit perfectly in my world... You’re my best friend," Nyx called out to her as she turned to walk away, his feet carrying him straight to her without hesitation. His palms reached out to her, cupping her face, and a slight shiver ran through her at his touch. They were inches away. She was a breath away. Nyx’s purple eyes desperately searching for any clues as to why she was shutting him out. Zofie’s free hand pushed against Nyx’s chest as she pulled free of his embrace. “Have a safe trip," she muttered, her hesitant fingers reaching up to touch Nyx’s cheeks, but the moment he leaned into the touch, Zofie turned back, rushing towards the patio stairs. "Sunny," Nyx called out, but she was already at the door. So he stood there. He stood there until the sky started weeping alongside him. Taking to the skies with an angry cry.

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Taglist: @sirenpearldust @historygeekqueen @hnyclover @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @naturakaashi @stressed-reader @woodland-mist @goldenmagnolias @nocasdatsgay @lees-chaotic-brain

#acotar x reader #acotar x oc #acotar imagine #acotar x you #nyx acotar x reader #nyx acotar x oc #nyx acotar imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #azriel acotar imagine #azriel acotar x reader #azriel imagine

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thesithdiaries · 2 years

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One-Sided Love (part 3) (Criston Cole imagine)

Pairing: Criston Cole x female!reader

Warnings: spoilers for episode 7, i changed some things tho, Criston is delusional and takes it too far as always, he's a creep, angst, mentions of drugging, kidnapping and death, how can i mention warnings without spoiling what will happen tho

Part 1 ; Part 2

Lady Laena’s funeral had just finished. It was beautiful yet very sad.

The entire family was spread out on the balcony. Jon was talking to Daemon, possibly giving his condolences. Silas was with Baela and Rhaena. Aemmet clung to his mother, his head resting on her shoulder. They sat together, quite possibly talking about her pregnancy, since the boy kept softly touching the bump. The family had also found out about the tragic accident in Harrenhal. They were deeply saddened by it, especially Rhaen. He was very close to Harwin and looked up to him. He stood with Jace in a far corner, giving him the quiet comfort he desperately needed.

Criston stood next to Alicent, yet he was not paying any attention to her. All he could focus on was Y/N. His mind wandered to the night he went into her chambers. How beautiful and peaceful she looked made his heart flutter.

As the sun began to set, Jon and Y/N told their children to go to bed. They protested, saying it was too early to go to sleep but alas, they did what they were told. They went inside the castle after informing the King that they were retiring to bed.

Despite having the night's watch, Criston could not care less. He stood close to the kitchens, knowing Y/N would eventually walk by. He wanted to speak with her and it would finally happen that night. No more interruptions.

He finally saw her almost an hour later. “Lady Y/N, a word?”

She grimaced. “What do you need, Ser Criston?”

“I want to express how sorry I am for how I conducted myself during the wedding feast.”

“What fea-” Y/N raised her eyebrows, clearly remembering what feast he was speaking about. “It has been ten years, Ser Criston, it is very late to be having this conversation. And you should not be apologizing to me.”

He furrowed his brows. “Of course I needed to apologize to you, My Lady, your opinion is the only thing that matters to me.”

“Why do you care so deeply about what I think?” She finally asked, she had wondered for years.

Criston took in a deep breath, “because I lov-”

Y/N’s head snapped sharply to look behind her, she heard it. It was a scream. Without thinking about it, she dropped the teacup in her hand and ran to the source of the noise, being followed by an annoyed Criston. They noticed there were many people in the hall, including the King. Y/N rushed in, spotting Rhaen next to Jace and Luke. Criston made his way toward Viserys.

“Rhaen!” Y/N gasped, seeing he had a broken nose. The boy ran for his mother, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. “Who did this? Are you alright?”

“The princes were supposed to be abed, My King,” Ser Harrold informed him.

“Who had the watch?” Viserys asked.

“Young prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace,” Criston replied. He had the watch, but he was too focused on Y/N that he did not care to do his duty properly.

‘You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!” The King exclaimed.

Jon had run into the hall with Silas, looking disheveled. Rhaenyra and Daemon followed close behind. His heart dropped when he saw the state of his older son. “Rhaen! Y/N!”

The children were screaming over each other, throwing the blame around. “Enough... It should be my son telling the tale!” Alicent yelled.

“He called us bastards,” Jace whispered in confession. Jon and Y/N glanced at each other, fearing what was going to happen.

“Aemond... I will have the truth of what happened. Now. What else is there to hear?”

This went on for several minutes, the King questioning both Aemond and Aegon about those terrible claims. “This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!”

“That is insufficient. Aemond has been damaged, permanently, My King. "Goodwill" cannot make him whole,” Alicent informed him, clearly distraught by the entire situation.

“I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye.”

“There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her son's eyes in return.” The crowd in the hall started murmuring.

“My dear wife,” Viserys began, only to be interrupted.

“He's your son, Viserys. Your blood,” Alicent reminded him.

“Do not... allow your temper to guide your judgment.”

“If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston... bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.” Y/N felt Luke shuffling to get behind Lord Corlys. “He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son.”

“You will do no such thing,” Rhaenyra threatened him as she caught the knight’s shift to begin moving.

“To make it fair, I would also like the eye of Rhaen Arryn, who was also an accomplice in the maiming of my son.” Y/N gasped, grabbing onto her husband’s arm. Criston looked her way, not missing the expression of pure fear.

“Stay your hand,” Viserys told Criston as he noticed the hesitation.

“No, you are sworn to me!” Alicent exclaimed

Criston looked between them and Y/N. “As your protector, my Queen.”

“Alicent, this matter... is finished. Do you understand?” The King moved to address the crowd. “And let it be known: anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra's sons should have it removed.”

“Thank you, Father,” Rhaenyra said.

In a blink of an eye, Alicent took the blade King Viserys kept on his hip, rushing towards Luke and Rhaen. Y/N had her back turned, not realizing the Queen was right behind her. Criston felt his heart beating widely in his chest as he stood in front of Alicent, firmly grasping her wrist. “That is enough.”

Alicent stood there astonished but did not drop the blade. “You dare put your hands on the Queen? Instead of doing your duty, you go against it.”

“You will not hurt Lady Y/N,” Criston replied defiantly. “I do not care who you are.”

Rhaenyra was glancing at Y/N, who stood there surprised, holding onto her son. They saw how Alicent uselessly trashed around to release herself from Ser Criston’s grip. It all made sense to her now, all the questions he had asked for these past ten years, his subtle looks when something or someone mentioned her name. Alicent let out an annoyed yell, dropping the blade. Criston kicked it toward Ser Harrold and let her go.

They stared at each other, Criston looked determined to defend Y/N from anyone who would dare come close. “This proceeding is at an end,” Viserys hissed to Alicent, before departing to his chambers.

“Come, Rhaen. We need to do something about your nose,” Jon directed him and Silas toward the door.

Y/N stood baffled in the same spot, staring at Criston. He turned around to face her. No words were spoken between them, all was said with the proud look on his face and the clear confusion on hers.

The quiet morning was disturbed by the children's blood-curdling screams. The adults ran toward the noise, quickly finding themselves in the guest's quarters. Rhaenyra pushed open the door, only to find the three Arryn boys terrified. A loud gasp fell from her lips as she took in the scene before her.

Jon Arryn was on the bed, a dagger stuck to his heart.

The room looked as if it was ransacked, with various drawers and chests flipped over. Alicent rushed over to get the children away from there, last night's fight was only a distant memory at that moment.

“Where is Y/N?” Viserys asked.

“Nobody has seen her today, Your Grace,” Ser Harrold replied, searching around. He spotted a teacup on top of the table. He carefully smelled the remaining contents. “Milk of the poppy.”

Something clicked in Daemon’s mind. “Has anyone seen Ser Criston since last night?” They all shook their heads. The realization fell heavy on them.

“He took her.”

Y/N stirred in the bed, slowly waking up. Her head was pounding terribly. As she sat up and took in her surroundings, she noticed she was not in her quarters.

“Hello, my love.” Criston greeted her, walking in with a plate of food. He was the happiest man in the world. He finally got what he wanted.

It took years.

Firstly, he needed to get gold. For years, he stole from the crown, often disappearing during the nights in the Keep to go get some from the chests. They did notice that a considerable amount was missing yet nobody suspected him. Why would they? He was the Queen's sworn protector. Secondly, a way to get Y/N. He was going to do it that night but the youngest boy had walked in. Criston knew she loved to drink tea before bed, so he slipped milk of the poppy into her cup. A maid had left it on a table and Y/N was distracted, it was the perfect opportunity. And lastly, he had to get rid of the man that ruined his life: Jon Arryn. After he packed clothes and some things she might need, Criston did not hesitate to drive the dagger into his heart. He felt satisfied at that moment. After all those long years, it was finally done.

“Criston?” Y/N asked in confusion, getting up from the bed. “Where are we?”

“We are in Braavos, don't you remember?”

Her eyes widened. “That is impossible. We were just at Driftmark last night."

Criston chuckled, getting close to her. “Silly girl, that was almost a month ago.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. “A month?”

He smiled at her. “Don't worry about it, my love. All that matters is that we are finally together. Just you, me, and our babe.”

Taglist:

@my-dark-prince / @Daemonloversblog / @littlemoonash / @mypatrochilles / @beefbaby25 / @sweetybuzz2 / @Fin-never / @asexualaromosafezone / @nerdy4itall / @yelchinweasleylothbrok / @Juless_world / @thatgaytevinter / @kaitieskidmore1 / @chevelledahuman / @rozendiors / @claudiajacobs / @savagemickey03 / @multifandom-loser / @direluvr / @dandycandy75 / @bitchyglitterfox / @rumandtearsflowerisevil / @camschansenpai / @ilovoysters / @Larslaen / @m1tzifa1ry

#hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #criston cole imagine #criston cole x reader

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lucyfloyenworkshop · 1 year

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TWST Chapter 7 : Ruler of the Abyss - Trailer review & theories

[SPOILERS WARNING ! Even if I will be focused on Diasomnia Arc’s trailer, I will do some references to the Chapter 7 Main Story Part 1′s events.]

I can’t believe it... After two years, there we are. Chapter 7 : Ruler of the Abyss. It’s kinda an unreal and exicinting feeling. As Malleus fan, I was so long looking for his Dorm’s Arc and now it’s happening ^^ When I saw the trailer and after the Main Story Part 1, it’s was like dream come true... Even now, everytime I watch it, my heart don’t stop skip some beat who breathtaking and heartbreaking it is. I notice some details about Malleus (character and feature) and eventual plotlines.

youtube

1) Words, Dragons and Fea

Maleficent is a Fea. Dark Fea and so it’s for Malleus. But more than that he is a Dragon.

Until now the only gleans of Malleus’s draconique (aside of his horns, breath fire and his eyes), are show in the Halloween Event, “Scary Monsters“ where, Malleus is dressed as a Ryū Ghost and his dragon tail is visible. During the operation for chasing away the Magiccam Monsters, it’s cleary said that Malleus planned to scare the Magiccam on his true form, and during the “attack“, the roar of a gigantic, dragon-like beast and then Malleus’s voice. Since Chapter 7 is based on Sleeping Beauty, it’s sure than Malleus’s dragon form will finaly being fully releavel and I looking for it ^^

With the mentions that Malleus had hatch form a egg, there is very fews clue about Malleus draconic identity. It’s more his Fea-side that is put on the light, but one element make the bound and remind us Malleus’s nature, more than his Horns. His eyes.

“I look at him and... I saw my self”

That line form How to Train your Dragon about first confrontation/meeting between Hiccup and Toothless is releavant of one of the Dragon’s most intriguing, and fanstatic aspects, in both legend and fictions . Theirs eyes.

The word “dragon“ came from the ancient greek verb “ drakemai“ which means “looking with intense gaze“. In old tales and legends, meeting the gaze of Dragon, is something as perilous than confront the beast, like it’s the case for Fafnir or others legendary dragons around the world. And Dragons from modern fictions inherited of that aspect, such as Smaug, Toothless, Haku from Spirited Away etc...

Some will say that one of the greatests weapons of a dragon his ability of using language and mastering True Names (like Fea XD), but, for me, dragon’s eyes is the fascinating feature about theses creatures. They gazing through the distance. Piercing eyes that look right into a person heart/soul like a open book and reveal who truly is the person who cross their gaze. But also the very personality of the Dragon is refected from their owns eyes !

Dragon eyes that can having a kinda hypnotic powers and being used as weapons [final showdow beetween Tûrin Turumbar and Glamgrund (The Children of Hûrin)]. Its can be also a soul’s mirror. A mirror for the person by dearing or misfortune, who look in it. Butn an other hand, it’s only there where the dragon’s true heart, despite all his features, behavior that can be revealed. And Malleus is no exception to that.

In Diasomnia’s Trailer, there is at least five focus and close up on his eyes or his face.The others tailers had also to some eyes’s focus but never that much and in that kind of context. It’s true the Malleus’s eyes chartreuse lime green glow canhelp a bit but while his face stay so stern, his eyes tales more than he can told with words (like Malleus’s lines) or the animation.

In one minutes, we see a passive, calm and lone gaze to tense, fierce glance, passing by a distress/shocked look. I know that there could been a reference to the scene where Maleficent hypnozis Aurora, but I think it highlights Malleus’s character, and in particular his status in the Main story. Even he is one the very few characters to be presented so early in the Story and his presence is everywhere in the game and in the offical artwork. In every Event Story where he appears, he play a significant or major role and ore the Story goes on, more he take a place equal to Yuu or Ace, as Main Protagonist, even his personal Arc would be the last to be explorer. Twisted Wonderland writers had made here a wonderfull job in character narrative’s construction. They give us the time and the space for meeting and discover Malleus’s personality as some clues about his backstory. First by mysteries, as his characters’s is first presented and,a s Yuu we learn more about him and at the end, we care about him, without taking away his mysterious’s aura.

Idia once said that Malleus was the Final Boos’s type character. In tales and fictions Dragons are the greastest challenge that a Hero can have, whatever it’s about a evil dragon like Smaug or a belovent one like Therru or Haku. They aren’t creature of monster. They are beigns, characters. Why the confrontation with a Dragon with worthhaving despiste all the danger. It’s because Dragon represents our greastest fears, our douts... The person who success that meeting found new strengths in himself and return anew.

In fact meeting a Dragon is meeting your fate.

2) Broken Fate and Betray

The Spinning Wheel... Certainly one of the most famous Sleeping Beauty’s artfacts. When we saw it we associated immidiatly with Maleficent and Aurora’s tragic fate...

Fate. That is the word that entirely best definited that object.

Fate or Destiny is often represented a thread and in most European legends, Destiny is associated with the figure of Threader or most specicly a Tro of Weathers. The Scandinavieans Nores, the Moires , the three witches from MacBeth. A Trio of woman who weath human’s live, form birth to death. The Wheel of Fortune is also associate to theses myths. Even if it seems unfaire, it’s the Cycle of Life, it’s what make our existances worth living, that life is precious... And the most curious is that our modern word of Fea and Fairy is came form the latin word Fatum which means well “Fate“.

In Diasomina trailer, we can see the Spinning Wheel two times. The first time juste after seeing Malleus in the Dorm Lounge. The Spinning Wheel, glow of a bright green light and the ties seems being well. Like if, as Idia one day will be in charge of keeper unlock Phantoms, Malleus’s task was to take care of Time and Fate and of all the things and beings that roams in the Dark. But the second time we seen the artefact it’s when Silver wake up. Then the light from the Spinning Wheel’s is lited and the ties break. Just after that we see Malleus, alone in middle of a pool of dark ink (blot?) and seeing thorns surronding him. Like is the Cycle was broken...

I think like many, I was very happy to learn a bit more about Silver’s true origins. I mean, a human infant, found in the forest, in a kingdom where of the majority of its inhabitants are Fea. It’s quite curious and now with that ring. It’s prety obvious that Silver is form royalty and it is, again, a link to his Disney inspiration, Aurora.

But... since some times, it seem to me that Silver is to good to be true or to remain that kind person we know. Look Ortho. Yes there were clues, in the previous chapter, Event Stories or voices lines that he was made after Idia’s lost little brother, but what in world could forshadowing such a twist, that him will bring the core of the Underword ! I think we goes on a similar path with Silver.

I know that Silver is Light Magic User as Kalim or Rook. I will certainly stop to write it down, but for me one of the greates strength of Twisted Wonderland is to take characters form Disney’s classical movies and, after taking some inspirations for its, making original and genious charaters. For exemple Kalim shear with the Sultant some easy-going live-style, without taking about conscequences. But, twist Kalim beside his precious lighthearted can show courage and sens of justice in time of need and Rook is a masterclass of rewriting !

Yes Silver is a very insteresting twist form Aurora. But And sometimes we forget that Silver is also twisted from the Sword of Truth. The very weapon gived by the Fearies to Prince for defeat and slay Maleficent. If we look closely, all Silver outfits’s desgin had his magic-pen turn into a sword-wand at his belt. It’s could be a reference of his social statut, the Crown-Heir’scarekeeper and son’s of the great Kingdom’s Champion.

What does it mean ? Silver will kill Malleus ? I saw some theories about that Silver could be the one who Overbolted. Even if more probaly and certain that will be Malleusl, it give an idea that game tend to show us by little details that Silver can be dangerous and he is not that much Prince Charming and the fact that we had seen Lilia’s ancient weapon, a massive sword made in a rare metal and how the Main Story goes darker and darker... If Malleus’s Overbolt, Silver will decide to slay him for protect innocents ?

In the second Fairy Gala story, there were a line from Silver which bothered me a bit. He implided, if I record, despite their mischevelous feature, fairies are nice person. So what happen during Halloween when Lilia take his fun a bit too much by faking of being possessed and I don’t remember to have seen him being sorry... There is many kind of Fairies, and may be because Silver meet only the nice ones (or because they had respect/are afraid for Lilia and Malleus) and never a true dark fea, like Maleficent or a true Black Dragon. May be he will be dillusionned and the fact that he wake up is his awakeing form a beloven innocent/dream/illusion. He see with Rollo Flame as far fear can engended

And also with the mention of the Enchantress Mirror form Beauty of the Beast, and the fact that there is a Beast’s vibes on Malleus character, does it mean that will we have a confrontation of Silver as Gaston and Malleus as the Beast about what is better Yuu (Belle) ?

A lot of questions that I hope will be soon answered in the upcoming part.

3) Loneliness

As the precedent Dorms’s Trailers, we heard the main protagonist of the Arc, here Malleus, retaking some of the iconic lines of the Vilains on which they’re based on. There is here an echos to Maleficent’s quoted when she curse Aurora and in particular when her speech to Prince Phillip, emprisonned in ther fortress. “ A fairy tale come true”. It could being like we seen until Octovinelle’s trailer, just a “movie reference“. To show to the similarities beetween the Dorm Learders and the 7 Viliains... But it was until Scarabia’s trailer. Since this Chapter, the text hearded had some echoes to the Vilians, but became truly the voice of the characters and not just a “quoting“ the Queen of Heart, Scar or Ursula. It’s became, fully and geniously the voice of Jamil/Kamil, Vil, Idia/Ortho and now Malleus... and that so show the ton and issue of the Chapter (and by extention the core of the characters’s overbolt). Jamil/Kamil represent social status issue and the fact to never being greeted for our true valor. Vil it is all the pression of fame and art/movie/model industry and the prize for winning at all cost. Idia’s story is about the deny of grief and the lost of close relative.

One sure is certain about Malleus, it’s that loneliness is part of his life. Many time in Main Story and Events we had seen how much he get used to it and still live in it because both his tremendous and dark aura/powers and his social statut, with the trailer is became accurated.

When the trailer being, we see Malleus sitting on his throne in Diasomnia lounge, in the dark. A scene that echoe to malificent’s but his face is calm, peaceful with a sad and lonely gleam in his eyes. He stay in the shadows. Right after seen we see his bodyguards bow before their Prince and Dorm Leader but Malleus keep his eyes close even when Lilia’s show up behind him. He seems to keep his true feelings for himself and keep walking. He will continue his duties even for that guarding his heart (even if his inner emotions had some influence on the wheather).

It’s really seem that Malleus is a attentive Crown-Heir/Dorm Learder and that he care about his subjects/fellow students. He kown what his statut means, what is expected form him. What he can and can’t do. That his all behavior, even faking a porposal, can have concequences on his kingdom. But Malleus possesses a more mischievous, childish and curious side about the outside world. We see him running off on his own, escaping from his carekeeper watching and having a personal time. Alone, yes but not always wandering in ruins, but also visiting the town’s libaries and antic shops, or having a good times with a certain Child of Men, the only no- close relative person that doesn’t fear him and consider him as a person. As just Malleus.

It’s true that Lilia, Silver and Sebek are based on a character or an element from Sleeping Beauty (Lighting, Aurora/Sword of Truth, Flora) but look their hair color. Diasomnia’s had this family leifmotif between them. a group whose ties are very close and strong. Just like Aurora was with the ThreeFearies. Lilia is well know to be Malleus’s carekeeper since his hatching. Sebek and Silver are also called by this nomination. There is also each one look the other grow old, Lilia being the father figure for three boys. But as they grow, there relations change and even if them and Malleus are close, it is now a servant/master relationships. When Silver and Sebek speak about Malleus, it’s always as “Lord“ or “Young Master“. There is distance and nothing personal. Personal as knowing Malleus own dreams and emotions. Just like the Fairies belived that Rose will be glad to learn that she is the Princess. It’s true that Malleus could, said what he had on his heart, but as he said himself, he know loneliness even when he didn’t hatch. It’s Lilia and in particulary Yuu that helped him to open to the outside world.

To Others.

4) Thorns of Despair

I think of the trailer, this is the part who litteraly give me goosegumps and skip some heartbeat so much that it’s hadsome as animation but also for the story telling, and that break my heart.

That scene, of Malleus in middle of a large ink-blot surface (his unconsciousness), his face and eyes clearly show fear and distress, not being able to control the thorns that surronding and imprison him in a cage. The next scene is Malleus rising in black and lime green light, with a fierce gaze and smirk. That scene in plus to remember me the dream of Arren in Tales of Earthsea and some Ancient Magus’s Bride vides, that sequence is so heartbreaking.

First there is the thorns. In plus to be bond to Maleficent’s imagery, all plant with thorns are, according to folklore the Fea most beloved’s plants. Roses, Briar Rose, Blackthorn. For years, Malleus has maintained a private rose garden and he is very proud of it, a occupation that remind the original archetype of the Beast who also he is the keeper of a roses garden. Few times he ask if he can”t not summon some briars as extra decorations. To see its going against him it’s to hurtful and it’s seem that it’s that imprisonnement that provoc the transformation.

What doesn’t thorns means. In first hand, it could be, like the others Overbolt, the incarnations of all the bad, hurting dark feelings that Malleus keeped hidden so long for centuries inside him. May be so far inside his heart that he didn’t relealizehow powerful and dangerous, thoses burried feelings were.

But it’s seems to easy and an others interprestations fit better to Malleus. Since the end of Ignihyde Arc, Malleus relealize for the first time of his life that all life, the very very long one of the Fea have an end. For Fea, like Malleus, it’s an aspect of life, notion that is very hard handle, to understand trully. He is a Fea, a being that will live for centuries for hundreds of years. Death is rare among immortal and he never confronted to the fragility of existence until Ramshackle destruction in Chapter 6. And now Lilia is leaving after loosing his magic and is potentialy at the edge of his life and there is Yuu’s potential departure from Twisted Wonderland to his/her original world.

Who would not try to do something about to advoid losing someone dear ? Who ?

Since I discover Twisted Wonderland, Malleus’s character give me sometimes such Elias Rainworths vibes. Both are no-humans beign thank a Child of Men, looking to the Outside World and the humans, trying to understand it. The big differents it’s that if Malleus take by himself the iniatiative to learn more about humans (and his meeting with Yuu increase it), Elias began to wonder about humantity only after Chise’s arrival in his house. They are both have the imagery of thorns in theirs respectives features, tremendous powers and sometimes called “freak“ or “monsters“. Coincidence, when Elias goes to the Magic College’s Libary to get a forbidden spell for helping an diying Chise, a alchemist teacher compare him the Sleeping Beauty inside her castle surronded by thorns. In the Futhark Alphabet, the Rune Thurisaz is the Rune of the Thorn. Its symbolisme is chaos and power. In divination and magic, that rune is one of the hardess to use because it is more bond to no-humain beings and had two opposite effect: like a hall of thorns it is the perfect protection against agression but can hurt both the foe that the one inside. Elias as Malleus, inherited both of theses characterestics. In order to help some, and in particulary someone dear, they are able to to anything, even terrible things with dreafull consequences, even it’s came form a good intention.

According of what is foresharowing in Chapter 7 part 1, Malleus will may be try to put the entire campus into a kinda timeless dream world. Like this all the precious moments with Lilia, Yuu and others will be keeped save from Time. But he relealize too late that what is doing is wrong. By looking that sequence, we can see that the true victime of that “Speel“, is Malleus in himself. Even after years of knowing how must his power can be dangerous if he is loose his control on it, he never trully face it and ened to being literaly imprisonned, becoming helpless in face of such tremendous powers. Like suggested the scene where he brutaly open his eyes, he never suspected to having a such dark power in him, and hope to wake of that bad dream.

Riddle, Leona, Azul and even Jamil are kinda victimes too because when they overbolted it was because they had being pusched to the edge and all their , (but they a bit looking for it by doing things far to be “innocents“). Notice that after theses fourth trailers we stop to see the Overbolted form as the Main Story turning to a darker path.

At the end of the Pomefiore trailer, after rising up a stairs (a metaphor for the ascension to glory and fame), Vil facing like the Evil Queen a Mirror and there is that gorgeous Picture of Dorian Gray’s scene : Vil’s refection, still in Dorm Uniform as his real conterpart, don’t act as the real Vil and smirk as blot surronding him. Beauty can hide hidious soul/deeds. Idia is catched by the darkness and humanoid creepy forms aka the Phantoms of his past and his own regrets and grief.But even there is a change of rules in theses two trailers, all the six firsts Overbolted students accepted their transformations into a dark version of themself. Malleus don’t. He seems trully afraid and surprise of that darkness that surronding him and turn him into his opposite, a new Maleficent.

As I said at the beginning of this review, meeting a Dragon mean meeting our Fate and I think it’s exactly what is showed there. Even Malleus can be fierce and he is known for his temper which take the form of lighting storms, never he go into full Black Dragon. A pure incarnation of darkeness, power and destruction. One of the most fascinating about Malleus is that how far his personatily is form Maleficient’s. He is looking for the meeting of the Others, doesn’t treat humans as a “weak race“ unlike many of his kind (and one of his own relative). He is mischievous indeed, but he is also carring, benevolent and true. A Protector. He is so far from a Dark Lord and yet he had that dark power that can be a danger even for himself.

The Party will confront a dragon the most powerful being on earth so in a sens becoming like Champion in Old Tales and I will not surprise that Ace getting there his Unique Magic since with Yuu and Malleus, he is the most close of the Heros Archetype. He know what is right as he show many times by confronting Riddle, Eliza or Malleus himself during teh second Hallowen event. And Malleus understand his point of view and when we reseen both of them, it is for Malleus Bloomgear Birthday Story. Until that Event Story, all Ace’s interactions about Malleus was fullied with fear like when Yuu said out-loud Malleus’s nickname. But there, they are like friends, perhaps not close than Yuu and Malleus, but more than Carter (who was the only one who had the courage to talk Malleus at least as classmate). Why I talking about Ace, well, as Malleus (and Deuce and Grim), Ace is the first character with who Yuu deeply befriend. He is the last one of the main first years to don’t having discover his Unique Magic. Confront a Dragon, and in particulary a close friend of Yuu, is the ideal opportunity.

But there is more, because there is an other chalenger to the Dragon. Malleus himself. And it’s where I came with Arren’s Dream’s vibes. Between the two scenes from Tales of Earthsea and Diasomnia trailer, there is a connection. Malleus and Arren confront themself who take the form of a Shadow. When after embracing and facing his darkness side, like the others Dorm Leader, Malleus will had the power to became the great King that he is destined to be, because he would had confront his grestest foe, his own darkness.

It was a very long post but I really wanted to talk about that trailer and that dear dragon. I hope you enjoyed ^^

Have a nice day/evening !

#twst #twisted wonderland #diasomnia #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #sebek zigvolt #twst silver #twst chapter 7

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noirbriar · 2 months

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Fire & Stone AU: Bonds

The end of the Third Age, peace has come. Yet Glorfindel and Erestor find themselves in a bit of trouble with outdated customs.

In which elven high society, especially the line of Finwe, have rules and traditions to be followed for noble born elves. No exceptions.

An AU where the sons of Durin lived and Maglor resides now in Imladris some time before The Hobbit. OOC a high possibility, its all on me. Coughed out this random ficlet for fun and excuse for some family drama.

Things of note/warnings: none although maybe child acquisition? also, the writer's tolkien knowledge is rather rudimentary still so anything in here should just be taken as a pure AU. --- "Now this is a rare sight! A new age of peace and here you are, bested by an orc! My young commander, I see you have been slacking." Maglor strides in, his robes swishing quietly into the healing wing. "Don't antagonise the patient." Elrond prompts dryly from behind as he arranges his salves and bandages at the side to be cleared away by the other healers. "I would like to see you try to go up against a double ambush while trying to get the villagers to safety with a lean troop." Erestor grumbles from his spot in the bed, eyes closed, trying to focus in putting up his mental walls, blocking out the numb pain from his wretched shoulder from his mate. "A new age yet the foul damn creatures continue to be a pain in the ass."

"And I heard from Kili and Tauriel you picked up a gift along the way?" Maglor grins as he reaches out to pat the small lump buried into Erestor's better side. Only to be rewarded with a bite and a sharp cry as the old Feanorian quickly pulls his hand back to safety from the fiesty child on defensive.

A toddler who could barely walk really.

"And don't tease the elfling, Atya." Elrond admonishes softly though with a soft smile .The healer tries to brush away the messy silvery blond hair from the elfling's face, but pulls back when the child pulls away from his touch.The elfling resumes clutching onto Erestor like a baby squirrel.

"Unfortunately he seems to be an orphan long before the attack, being cared for by his fellow villagers all this while from what I heard. Still, the little one seems to have taken a great liking to his protector... I suppose its really a Feanorian trait to pick up little ones and be chosen by them." The Lord of Imladris slowly adds, his eyes alight with mischief much like his younger self.

Maglor chuckles under his breath at the statement with a shake of his head. Whereas the elfling simply stare at the father and son duo balefully, his eyes narrowed in a way that is reminiscence to a displeased Erestor. Before the little one huddles closer to the dark haired elf for comfort.

Erestor is quiet, as he lets the child do as he please, caressing the elfling's back before his eyes begain to droop, his body demanding for a healing sleep. Elrond leaves, leaving his adoptive father to watch over his old follower. Maglor then decides to sings a healing song for his old soldier that he have come to care for dearly. Its was too lovely a day to be without song anyway. and the weakened child could use some power from a Song after such an ordeal.

It was a while before the Singer notices Erestor trembling in his rest, almost in pain from what Elrond has deemed a normal wound.The elfling whimpers in worry. Maglor stops and sits on the bed instead to examine the clean bandages. Baffled, he puts his hand onto the younger elf's hand instead and tries to reach out with his weak fea to provide some comfort from the pain.

For a moment there is warmth, before something tingles, and pulls. Which causes Maglor jumps back in shock and the elfling to be startled in turn, before starting to cry. Its as if someone has dumped him into the Brunien before flinging his fea across the sea... So Maglor does the only reasonable thing in this situation- "ELROND!!" ---

Glorfindel is worried. Lately, he could hardly feel his mate through their young bond. (A bond! At long last, his beloved's fea melded with his own, singing ever so sweet. He have never felt so at peace and so complete with another heart beating with his own. ) As the escort of Celeborn, Galadriel and the Galadhrim to Imladris, the warrior had to be apart from his husband for a more than a few months, shortly after their bonding and their return from Gondor. It was a slow journey home, as he and his troops guided the elves awaiting to sail for the West to the last Homely House.

Last he heard before he left, there were news of stray orcs, stragglers along the borders. With all the administrative work delegated to others in the household and council, Erestor have taken upon himself to command some troops to check on the matter. Yet no messengers have come by with regards to any trouble and he felt no distress from Erestor, so there was some comfort in that. The Captain knows his husband is a master with his blades, the Chief Councillor skilled with his swords even after years of administrative work. However the lost of gentle nudges and touches from his mate is still concerning.

And if he had nudges Asfaloth a little faster upon spotting reaching the main bridge, no one was willing to call him out on it. What he had not expect was a pair of restless twins awaiting for their arrival at the end of it. "Greetings, Grandfather! Grandmother! We hope your journey has been smooth." Elladan greeted as Elrohir proceeded forward and they greeted their elders .Almost too formal, Glorfindel thought. "Elladan? Elrohir? I did not expect you both to greet us all the way out here. What trouble did you both get into this time?" Glorfindel grins at the twins.

"Ah ha! But its not us you should be worried about, dear Captain." Elrohir smirks while Elladan strides up and pats the Golden Elf wryly with a glint in his dark eyes.

"Its you."

-- In the twilight, Glorfindel grits his teeth as he is starting to be immensely annoyed that he is unable to at least find his husband first. Unable to even freshen up after days of travel, before he was whisked away by Elladan and Elrohir into the inner wings of the House. His bond with Erestor still quiet despite the proximity, even with the twins assuring that Erestor was in Imladris.

Following closely beside him, are the curious Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, both by the request of the twins' father.

"For support." Whatever that means. What greeted him at the large outdoor meeting chamber that Elrond favors, was the Lord of Imladris himself, sitting instead by the side seat of the long table. The head chair was empty. Further away, was unmistakably, though surprisingly, the second son of Feanor. As Maglor turns to greet the guests, Glorfindel sees clearly now. No longer dressed in his usual plain and unremarkable robes, but in elegant brocade and silk. Maglor's hair adorned with the style of old elves of a forgotten time with a beautifully crafted circlet adorned with small moonstones by a Master smith, marking his status as a noble.

Elladan and Elrohir gives a bow and steps slightly out by the corridor. Excusing themselves from this meeting. Something is wrong.

"My greetings, Laurefindil. You have finally returned. Now take a seat, I feel that we must have an urgent discussion." Maglor smiles and gestures to the seat on the opposite side of the table. Formal manners of court and Quenya. Not good. Glorfindel's warrior instincts are rising up.

"Galadriel, Celeborn, my greetings. As Glorfindel's cousin and family, please, pardon for a lack of hospitality but I'm afraid it must be done. Do take a seat as well beside your kin."

"What are you up to now, Maglor." Celeborn remarks flatly, trying to keep some basic civility with the Son of Feanor. plainly ignoring the use of Quenya entirely, and carefully leading his wife to her seat with Elrond guiding his in-laws.

Maglor does not grace with a reply but with a small smile, as he takes a seat at the head chair, hands clasps together before him. A warm air of quiet descends upon the noble born elves in the peaceful valley as time slows with only the sound of the waterfalls and music by the minstrels. A picture of serenity.

---

"So...what is the fuss for? Why is everyone crowding around the balconies and trees?" Kili asks as he observes the happenings around him, casually munching on an apple slice, and feeding Tauriel a slice as well.Being ever the doting husband.

The dwarven prince and his wife are perching precariously on a balcony railing with Thorin and Bilbo lounging nearby. The King Under The Mountain and his Consort both unbothered by the commotion.

They were simply enjoying the quiet afternoon with Bilbo's tea. Before dozens of curious denizens of the elven haven wandered into the public pavilion. From the maids to the council members, curious and eager about something.Their excitement and low murmurings like the rustling of the leaves.

And that something is happening right now.

---

Glorfindel's instincts are on high alert. But finally, impatience to reunite with his mate had won out. The Golden Lord chooses to strike on offensive.

"So, why have you called me here, Makalaure?" The Golden Lord of Gondolin begins. There was none of his usual humour.

"Long has it been since I must bear that name and even the responsibilities of a Lord. Though I care not but only for my family. My father and brothers no longer on these shores. Yet my sons and nephews were. I am ashamed to be a terrible Uncle and Father, unable to care for them until its too late." Maglor's voice wavers as he tries not to delve too deep into memories.

A careful strike has Glorfindel tensing up on defensive as he catches on to Maglor's words, but he remains silent. This is a problem.

"You were hurt and in sorrow, and you didn't know." Elrond reasons quietly, as he pats Maglor's shaking hands gently, as father and son share comfort in each other's presence for a moment.

"Alas, in this moment that I am able, I must do what is right, in place of my brother, or I shall not be able to face my younger brother and my family in the Void..."

Slowly, the old Lord turns back to Glorfindel, eyes alight. The last son of Feanor then demands-

"So tell me, Laurefindil. Did you think you can skip on tradition and wed my only nephew left without the proper procedure and rites worthy of the great-grandson of Finwe, grandson of Feanor? The son of Caranthir the Dark?"

The music goes silent, the air stills.

Celeborn and Galadriel sits higher at the revelation, with the Lord turning to his Lady in surprise and wonder. Only to receive a graceful shake of her head in silent reply by the great Lady of Lothlorien. So the two turn instead to the great Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, who is resisting the urge to show any reaction.

Well, shit.

---

Time froze before chaos breaks out in the Last Homely House. There were a range of emotions with gasps and confusion by the residents of Imladris, especially from the old Feanorians in the household.

A living descendant of Feanor? Son of Caranthir? Erestor? The youngest General under Maedhros and Maglor's command? Their Chief Councillor, the Tempest of Imladris? There were so many questions, one of the old followers had even begun to cry.

Kili looks around in confusion.

"Soooo context? Anyone?"

"Oh..oh dear." Tauriel murmurs quietly," I think I get it now and this isn't good." The elleth turns to her in-laws, "Also, Lord Maglor's circlet...did you both know about this?"

The elves all turn to the old King, who simply took his time to answer." As a friend and fellow uncle, it was the least I could do," and the dwarf takes a sip of his ale and left it as that.

"Why? I mean, is there like a problem here with Erestor being related to Maglor...or I dunno, something?" Kili continues, trying his best to wrap his head around this peculiar situation.

"Yes, and Lord Maglor is calling Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor's marriage into question as Erestor's elder. I believe he is displeased with the lack of a marriage contract in accordance to the Marriage Code."

He stares at Tauriel," We...Is this an elf thing? We didn't have that when we married?"

"I'm Silvan, dear. This only apply to the high born elves."

Kili blinks, and instead turns to Bilbo. Thorin sighs at his nephew pointedly and tiredly," Balin's going to flip if he hears this." His Hobbit chuckles at the younger dwarf's blank look before taking a moment to enlighten the younger dwarf.

"Its basically a procedure by both parties and their families.Before marriage and the binding of fea, nobles may undergo trials to prove the worthiness of their match. A terribly lengthy process."

"They are also assessed by their assets and wealth and status of 3 generations minimum. Before they dive deeper into binding agreements regarding their descendants, heirs, inheritance and the like. Down to even the minute details of scenarios like, what should happen if they fade or sail. Or if they reach Valinor should there be other lovers? Or any possible family feuds to address. Possibly even in unspeakable situations such as Separation, which what Men called a divorce. Something that dwarrow do not have as you all only have Ones. " Bilbo takes a quick puff of his pipe, "its a serious thing to the high born elves like those originally from the Valinor, and especially so to the line of Finwe."

There soon was some commotion down in the meeting hall where Maglor and Glorfindel's discussion were getting louder. The Son of Feanor has even gotten up from his chair to articulate something with a wide flair which the Golden Lord is trying to rebuke with obvious gestures. "Oh...It looks like the other party who is involved is here." Bilbo muses with an amused smile as he spots dark figure gliding by the corridors.

---

"-We have bonded with your's and Elrond's blessing have we not!?" Glorfindel tries to reason, the discussion now jumping back to Westron as he gets frustrated with the roundabout argument looping endlessly.

"That was without the knowledge that he is my blood kin! And how dare you keep this from us? Do you disrespect his roots?!" Maglor leans onto the table with both hands, unwilling to back down.

"We are almost in the Fourth Age, what use do we have any more of old redundant laws anyway?" Glorfindel shoots back, thinking back of all the tedious practices and rules from the Years of the Trees to his time in Gondolin, the stifling rules of nobility and how ridiculous it has gotten when he returned up till now.

"A Code that was implemented to protect the welfare of all involved! Remember the mess that involved my Grandfather and his wives! Even Elrond went through with the Code!"

Elrond hums in a detached sort of way as his eyes glazes over, not meeting his in-laws' eyes. He quickly pushes down the memories of the long and tedious marriage discussions and procedures before his marriage to Celebrian.

"Then I shall remind you of Thingol and Luthien and then look what that had nearly wrought as well!" Glorfindel snaps, his patience long gone.The Lord of the Golden Flower glowers back in fury, the balrog slayer’s eyes ablaze.

"Long has been our wish to be wed simply like any other eldar who are free from the bonds of duty and oaths that haunt us! We have beheld no other for several yeni till we felt we are free to live as we desire! Codes and Laws and Oaths all be damned!"

"My heart is Erestor's, as his is mine till the Remaking-Nay! Even after that! The only ones that matter in this relationship are myself and my mate! No other! May they be eldar or edain, maia or even the Valar themselves! I will not allow even you, Makalaure, to take away our joy simply for the sake of some out dated tradition! Our hearts are ours alone, is that not how it should be?!"

"OH! Then even if my nephew has your child? What then?!" the Son of Feanor waves with a flourish of his arm towards the entrance way. Glorfindel's mind grinds to a sudden halt as he then turns to Erestor who had arrived. Like a trickling dam, the warrior felt the connection to his mate burst forth and return with the lowering of Erestor's mental walls. A rush of warmth and fullness fill his fea before he felt his breath leave him in a rush. The yearning and love flowing down steadily while Glorfindel could only stare at his handsome mate striding in. The Chief Councillor ignoring the twin guards by the hall's entrance with a wave of his dark, loose robes in a flurry. His storm cloud, wild and fierce even with a tiny blond elfling in his arms, watching him with wide dark eyes...

Oh. Hold up.

"...What?"

---

A/N:Yeah I'll go yeet myself out now

#erestor #glorfindel #glorestor #tauriel #kili #bagginshield #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #maglor #elrond #ficlet #dont hurt me im soft #fire & stone au #lotr #silmarillion #the hobbit

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