#Unbreakable Oaths

[scvlly]

shaking ur hand as someone playing a big lesbian paladin and romancing shadowheart and also having broken my oath

It’s us!!

[keplercryptids]

i don't "date" and i don't "chill" and i don't "hang out." i make pacts. i swear oaths. i forge unbreakable bonds. this makes me a cool breezy person to take on road trips et cetera

[sinsirellaxx]

Toxic!Slytherin boys and them actually falling in love with the reader? Like the Slytherin boys don’t just want to have control over the reader, they want to have a future together after they realize their true yet toxic love for the reader.

I just love the idea of these hurt toxic boys tryna be better.

Toxic Slytherin boys – When they actually fall in love with you

Warning: Kinda toxic yet not so toxic boys

Mattheo …

… chokes on his saliva when he realizes. He’d been having weird dreams – more like nightmares – of losing you and the relief that washes over him whenever he finally manages to wake up makes his heart skip a beat.

… would try to shrug it off and push it to the back of his mind until he couldn’t anymore. You growing more confident and making new friends felt like a bucket of ice cold water emptied on his head: he loved you and he couldn’t risk losing you.

… had to take a different approach with you, because with time you noticed the very subtle changes in him and started resisting his controlling nature.

… for the first time ever, grew insecure in your relationship: The more he fell in love with you, the brighter you shone.

… would be clingy – but not in the “You can’t go out wearing that skirt” kind of clingy, but the “let’s cuddle in bed all night, love.” Kind of clingy.

… found himself dreaming of your future life together – he suddenly wanted to have kids. But only with you.

… would put in so much effort: He’d take you out on romantic dates, buy you things that he thinks you might like, hold hands with you all the time and press the back of your hand to his lips before letting go of you, whenever you had to part ways.

… can’t go a day without hearing your voice.

… would even stop skipping classes and stop drinking if that ever bothered you.

… is afraid that you might get involved in his Death Eater business and will do anything to protect you from it – even if it meant locking you up some place far away.

“I just can’t imagine a day without you by my side.”

Theodore …

… is shocked. Flabbergasted. Stunned. At a loss for words.

… had thought he wouldn’t be able to love another woman after losing his mother. He didn’t expect he’d ever be ready to be vulnerable again. But there you stood, with that beautiful smile and those bright eyes.

… doesn’t know when it happened – it was probably, when you made pistachio cannoli in the school kitchens and presented them to him proudly. He had returned your sheepish smile with his eyes blinking dumbly at you as he tried to understand the situation. “You made them for me?”

… was head over heels for you after that day. You’d have him wrapped around your pinky – whatever you want, you’ll get.

… would be even more protective of you and glare at everyone talking to you – even his own friends weren’t spared.

… asks you to cook with him – to cook and bake for him. He’d watch you in the kitchen with heart-eyes – his mind wandering off to places.

… would plan to propose to you as fast as possible. There is no way he’d lose you.

“Amore, I know we are young. But I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Lorenzo …

… notices the little changes in his own behavior: he hugs you a little longer and a little tighter whenever you embrace him. He’ll squeeze your hand tight, whenever you’re holding hands. He’ll always wrap his arms around you protectively, whenever you are close enough.

… is scared at first – which resorts to him being even more controlling and overbearing. He’ll even consider a Blood Oath or the Unbreakable Vow to bind you to him for eternity – but when he watches you sleep on his chest at night, with a peaceful look on your face, he inwardly kicks himself for his stupidity.

… will be more patient – more respectful with you. He constantly has to remind himself that love is not about control and owning but about trust and respect.

… struggles at first. But when you take notice of the effort he puts into your relationship – into loving you – you let your guards down completely. You truly feel comfortable around him.

“I’d do anything for you, princess.”

Draco …

… struggles with the onslaught of emotions and distances himself from you.

… would be scared to show you his true feelings – but he’s also scared of pushing you away with his past behavior.

… would grow quiet and carefully think about what to do next – about how to approach you. He’d stop playing around with you.

… gives me the vibes that he’d immediately start planning your future in secret – if he is really sure about you, he’d probably confide in his mother.

… would be a complete gentleman: would buy you flowers, write you letters, spend quality time with you and really listen to what you have to say.

… he’d be much more selfless with you – what you want is more important to him than his own selfish needs.

“What have you done to me, princess?”

Blaise …

… pulls you into a soft kiss the moment he realizes. He’ll wrap his arms around you and hug you to his chest. He needed to feel you close – to know you’re there and not just a dream. Because this boy is scared you’ll disappear into thin air.

… wants nothing more than spend time with you. He’ll almost always text you first. Will initiate soft touches and innocent kisses.

… will be so soft for you.

… would claim he couldn’t sleep without you, just to watch you fall asleep in his arms. Knowing that you’ll be there in the morning when he wakes up – safe and sound.

… is still overly controlling – but just because he is afraid to lose you.

… won’t have any problems with showing his vulnerability.

“I’m scared of losing you, love. Please stay the night.”

Tom …

… is angry. Angry with you. Angry with himself. Angry with his stupid heart.

… would feel guilt settle deep in his stomach whenever he was mean to you, which bothered him because now he had to think twice about it before saying anything.

… can’t stand the thought of you spending time with other people.

… is even more jealous and protective than before – because now he actually cares.

… thinks of the Unbreakable vow as well but will actually pull through and manage to make you consent to it. He couldn’t risk losing you.

“I’ll always protect you. You are mine forever.”

[realitybitesyouknowit]

Summary: Salazar Slytherin bound Earth, Air, Fire and Water to himself and through him to his descendants. Now that Voldemort has been resurrected he shall assume his inheritance. But who are his elementals?

Warning: Slash (male/male), Sex Scenes, Violence, Gore, Character Deaths, Manipulative Dumbledore… You've been warned.

Pairing: Voldemort/Harry Potter

This one reminds me of another I can't remember not so much the dracken hybrids as they were all children of Voldy's followers. I believe Harry was a fire elemental that time rathe than Earth. On another note as fascinating as I find this story it is incomplete you have been warned. Also we never got around to anything to sexual more like possessive hugging and petting in dreams. Also the gore and violence levels were pretty neutral as Chapter 20 leaves off with the warning of War about to take place.

Spoiler tags as they are more to help me remember when I go hunting for things.

[crystalflygeo]

Mark of an Archon ft. Venti / Zhongli / Ei / Focalors / Nahida / Neuvillette + gn!reader

cw/tags: Mostly suggestive but nsfw in some parts (mostly Zhongli, Neuvillette) marking, kissing.

notes: Alright so... this is different from anything I've written before but I got inspired by the concept of the elemental symbols used as marks by the Archons to denote those important to them. Just short fluffy little dabbles I guess, first time writing everyone except the dragon men heh. I tried REALLY HARD to keep this gender neutral and be inclusive in descriptions but regardless, reader bottoms lmao. Hope y'all like it. (Y'all will NEVER guess where did I get the inspiration for all the marks' placements hehe) Edit: Y'all I have never played obey me WHEEZE the marks placement actually comes from a very old magical girl anime I loved as a kid XDDDD (except geo, it was on the belly button but-//hit)

It is said that the Archons place a mark on the body of their loved ones. A symbol of protection, perhaps of “ownership”, imbued with their elemental energy. Legends has it that they remain mostly invisible to the naked eye, glowing brightly only when the Archon in question touches it, but leaving behind a distinctive trace able to be identified with elemental sight.

However, none of this has been proven at all, and remains mostly as a fantastic tale, just a rumor…

Or is it?

-Barbatos

Venti’s mark rests between your shoulder blades, the small Anemo sigil emulating tiny wings in the most appropriate of places. It makes him fond of calling you his “angel”, though, you know it cannot compare to his own real wings... it makes your heart flutter nonetheless.

It remains mostly covered, and yet without fail, Venti’s hand would always gently rest on it before his hand slides over to your shoulder or waist. At this point the touch soothes you and you’ve come to expect it every time you enter Angel’s share and bright Aqua eyes land on you.

In the dark of night, those precious moments of closeness and passion among the bedsheets, Venti’s nimble fingers, calloused by the Lyre and the bow alike, trail along your spine and stop at the mark, before he leans in and places a kiss on it.

For the God of Freedom to brand someone like this… it would seem as a contradiction, but you know it to be his blessing, his vow to you and your love. As his lips go up to your shoulder and his hands slide down to your waist, sneaking between your legs, he closes his eyes and hums a soft tune.

-Morax

The Geo mark is found on a rather unusual place, and to tell the truth, it even embarrassed you a little at first. The golden diamond placed just below your navel, partially hidden by the line of your underwear. When asked about it, Zhongli simply murmured something about dragon mating, fertility or virility… his cheeks dusted red.

You admit though, that once you get used to it, you do find yourself idly tracing it from time to time. Sometimes it seems to glow softly, or feel warm, perhaps responding to the Archon when he thumbs gently at it, contrasting and comparing with his own blackened arms, etched with veins of gold. Amber eyes staring up at you with love and desire as he places a kiss on it making you shiver.

Zhongli constantly wants to mark you more, in all sorts of ways. Drape you in silks and cover you in gemstones and gold. Leave bite marks along your skin. Douse you in his scent. It appeases his draconic instincts. But nothing compares to that little geo sigil, a personal indisputable claim, tattooed on your skin.

In a way, the mark could be taken as the God of Contracts’ signature and an unbreakable oath to you, his mate. It makes the dragon purr as he rolls his hips into yours, sinking deep inside you and making you whine as his palm presses against it.

-Beelzebul

Right at the center of your collarbone, like a pendant held by an invisible necklace, that is where the Electro mark was placed by Ei. Sometimes it’s a real shame it can’t be seen normally by humans, it would make for a pretty nice tattoo…

It’s not like the Electro sigil is rare to see anyway, quite the contrary, a rather popular choice and common sight all over Inazuma with deep cultural and religious meanings alike honoring Her Excellency. But one look from a youkai or one of the mikos at Narukami shrine and you know this is different.

Ei could act aloof and have a hard time expressing or understanding feelings, but the way she looks at you as she straddles you… dark violet hair cascading down her back and sides, hands roaming your chest and settling at your shoulders. She pins you there under her intense purple gaze and then bends forward to kiss at the sigil before moving to your lips.

The Goddess of Eternity considers her choices deeply and rarely ever goes back on her word or breaks a promise, and that is what she bestows upon you with her mark, a promise. Of love, of respect, of loyalty. Who would’ve thought the Electro Archon could be so… passionate?

-Focalors

You couldn’t believe just where Lady Furina had placed a pretty, blue, Hydro symbol on your skin. When asked about it she’d just giggled and said everything had a reason when it came to divine marks such as these… then proceeded to not explain at all. But seriously, your inner thigh?!

You could only sigh but smile softly at her antics as she laid across the couch, head rested in your lap, taking a nap by using your thighs as pillow, or demanding to be fed more sweets and sputtering indignantly when you poke at her nose or cheek instead, blushing.

She often drives you insane, paying special attention to the hydro marking with kisses and nibbles when you need her lips to go just a little more to the side… but oh, how she enjoyed teasing and riling you up. Mismatched blue eyes blinking coyly under thick eyelashes.

This is Lady Furina’s pledge to you, her word of honor as the Goddess of Justice, to love and cherish you no matter what. For despite her innocent act, she is guilty of having fallen for you.

-Bonus: Buer (Platonic)

Many people underestimate and doubt Nahida. A grave sin, in your opinion. When she places her mark of Dendro softly in your forehead, you feel nothing but pride, willing to follow and defend her and her teachings, for it is an honor to be her acolyte.

You see her wisdom in her actions, in the contemplating looks at her beloved city and people, in the way she always tries to solve problems and learn from difficulties, in her kindness, gentleness and little smiles. You see her love in the way she helps the elderly and soothes the children, in the candied ajilenakh nuts she shares with everyone, in the sparkle of her unique green eyes.

Like any other Archon, her nation and all its inhabitants are like her children. Despite her preferred appearance, the way she holds your hand as she guides you along and brushes at your hair gently with comforting words and praise feel more akin to a mother.  

Just as you trust her, she trusts you, that is the covenant her sigil represents. And in the eyes of the Goddess of Wisdom, one day you’ll reach the sky and stars above.

-Bonus II: Hydro Dragon Sovereign

You stare at the sigil in the palm of your hand. An ancient symbol of power, no doubt, but with a meaning long since lost to time and shrouded in mystery. Yet, its significance is crystal clear to you: “I am yours as you are mine.”

The way the Iudex would always, without fail, hold your hand gently and kiss your palm instead of the back of it as it was traditional would no doubt confuse some people, but it makes your heart skip a beat. This special connection, the knowing look from those gorgeous lavender eyes and the hidden smile pressed against your skin…

Your back arches with a moan as Neuvillette ruts softly into you, slow and reverent, peppering kisses and nuzzling at your neck. His hand takes a hold of yours, fingers intertwining and you shiver as the marking in your palm seems to react. Your grip his hand tighter, canting your hips as well and surrounding him with your legs, asking for more, more, more-

It’s unknown if one day his kind will return to power, just as it’s impossible to predict the flow of the elements and the energy in leylines or just what the future will bring. But for Neuvillette, having you by his side feels like the most refreshing spring water and makes life that much sweeter.

[sprout-fics]

More Sith 141 x Jedi Reader because I can't get the idea out of my head

Tags: F! Reader, Dubcon/noncon, Darkfic, Manipulation, Abduction, Spanking, Predator/Prey, Primal play, Hunt/takedown, Aftercare, Orgy, General filth

The first time they spot you, it's at the periphery of your master's body, their hand reaching out to you in one last attempt to keep you safe from the four sith that stalk forward from the shadows, their red sabers activated and humming bright with vicious intent. Your master's smoking corpse oozes blood that pools just shy of your feet, and you clutch your own lightsaber, fallen to the floor, trembling and shaking from head to toe and trying to remember the code that you'd sworn yourself to.

There is no death, there is the force.

It's the sith with the broad stature and the beard that steps forward first, yellow eyes raking over your shivering form and wide eyes with a slight tilt of his head, a grin that doesn't feel as dangerous as it does hungry.

You try to fight them, try to get to your feet and fend them off in a desperate bid for survival, escape, but when you stand and hold your lightsaber the leader merely stretches a hand towards you-

and everything goes dark.

There's four of them, you learn when you awaken in their stronghold. Two masters- each with an apprentice, and all four in a dyad of their own making, which will soon include you.

Your talent is wasted with the Jedi, they murmur as their hands roam your body, and even as you try to escape an invisible hand keeps you prone, open to their touch. They coo in your ear about how pretty you are, how soft and sweet- discussing you above your head as if you're hardly there. They talk about keeping you, lovely thing that you are, and putting your potential to better use.

You try to protest, to writhe and escape, but the only thing that falls from your mouth is moans, gasps, whimpers. Price, their leader, holds you on his lap, forces your legs up with a unbreakable grip so his fellow sith can marvel at your soft folds. He coos praises in your ear even as you try to squirm under their stares and petting hands, and when Soap gets down on his knees to eat you out sloppy and almost mean, he watches with delight as your toes curl and you try to fight the whimper in your throat.

This is merely a taste of the pleasures of the dark side, he tells you. A mere sampling of what's the come. The Jedi would never allow you to be defiled like this, and they'd be wrong for it, allowing such a pretty little cunt to go to waste.

They take turns, each of them reaching to grope a breast, to twist a nipple, to curl their fingers inside of you- and with each orgasm you feel your mind fray a little further, and the oath of the Jedi become a little further out of reach. You try to struggle, but all you get in return for your effort is a low, growled warning in your ear, a sharp slap to the back of your thighs that has you squeak- which is only answered by mocking laughter. You're drooling against Price's shoulder by the end of it, eyes glossy and thoughts empty except for the low, warm pulse below your belly.

and Price is right. It's only a taste of what's to come.

They spend hours with you, purring in your ear about the temptations of the dark side. Price takes a touch that in any other life would have felt like a master- guiding, stern, but soft at the edges with praise when you need it. You quickly learn that any effort to disobey him, to fight your way out, any use of the force towards your captors results in him taking you over his knee, restraining you with the force, without even having to touch you so both hands are free to bring his palms down on your bare ass. You're always so exhausted by the end that you don't fight when he has you curl up on his lap and whisper praise in your ear of "Took it so well, darling. Just needed a little reminder of where you belong, hmm? Our precious little Jedi."

The times you are allowed to fight is only with Soap, and you dread every time he takes you to the mats and allows you one of the practice sabers. Never real ones. God forbid you hurt yourself, he tells you. You can see the energy brimming inside of him, bouncing on his heels, grinning wild, golden eyes gleaming. Yet you know how it ends, each and every time- with you, defeated, pinned under him as he paws at your clothes, whining, shucking your pants down to your knees and mounting your winded, prone form until his cum dribbles between your trembling thighs. All while grunting in your ear "Bet ye wanted to lose, huh? That's why you're so wet fer me. Want it that bad? Oh, poor wee hen."

Ghost isn't much better. In some ways he's worse. Where Soap is over energetic, too excited in a way that leaves you tender and sore for days after, Ghost is mean.

The first time he takes you outside the stronghold, on the surface of some desolate planet, and releases you, you think it might be your only chance of freedom. Instead he tells you you're simply going for a run, and when he says you're done, no matter where you are, he'll come find you.

So you run. As fast as you can, trying to memorize the labyrinth of stone and forest around you on whatever lonely planet you're on that feels steeped in the dark side. You run until your feet bleed in the vain hope you can find some way off this place, back home to the temple, praying you can outrun the sith who hold you captive.

Yet each and every time it always ends the same, with Ghost appearing from the shadows, stalking towards you as a massive shadow that makes your legs give out due to your fear. He silences your scream despite the fact there's no one to hear it, revels in the chase, the hunt, in the way it heightens his bloodlust enough for him to take you there in the open, balls slapping against your clit and huge frame keeping you pinned under him as he takes the prize of his pursuit.

Gaz's touch is softer than the others, more patient. He's less touchy than the others, still insistent on bathing you after a sparring match or run outside, bundling you in a towel despite your protests and giving you a kiss on the nose. It's endearing, in a cruel and twisted way, that he's so gentle with you, hardly touches you like the others. Rather, Gaz apologizes for the others treatment of you, and that compassionate smile of his lulls you into a false sense of security, held in his arms in his bed where he strokes your spine.

You try to appeal to him, to voice your protests of being kept here like...like some pet, some prize for them. Despite the fact that you're taken care of, clean and fed and kept safe, you know you don't belong here. You tell him you are a Jedi, soon to be a Jedi knight, that you're supposed to help others and keep the galaxy at peace.

You think he listens to you, but Gaz has a way with words that manages to twist your own into something they're not. he tells you they are doing good, keeping peace. Just without so many unnecessary restrictions. Every objection you voice he offers a primed rebuttal to, twists your words around you with a silver tongue until you're confused, desperate, unsure of the code you swore yourself to. He coos at your brimming tears, holds you close and pets you as you sniffle with uncertainty into his shoulder. You cling to him more so than the others, not realizing that, out of them all, Gaz is by far the most dangerous, waiting for the moment you finally shatter and beg for him first, before anyone else.

You realize his ploy far too late, because when you do break, when you beg him to touch you, he isn't alone. The four of them share you, stuffing your holes and mouth and drowning you in pleasure, in the torrid, horrifying taste of the dark side that grows within you with ever orgasmic crest, every whimpering mewl and plea that falls from your lips. Price tilts your chin up towards him, your mouth open and tongue out, remnants of his release dribbling down your chin just as he watches your eyes flicker a stunning, beautiful gold.

[evermoreismychild]

jegulus: engaged

wolfstar: eloped

rosekiller: blood oath

dorlene: unbreakable vow

marylily: *15 years together* …wait did i ever ask you out?

[grlpartdoll]

Azriel is quiet, yes, but not for the reasons people might think. It's not something he does to be mysterious — or to frighten others. Sure. It works well for that, too. But.. Truth is, he has been quiet all his life ; perhaps a symptom of always being belittled when he tried to speak up for himself, be that by his step brothers, his stepdad, or by Rhysand himself.

Azriel has never really had the luxury of having his own opinion. His life has been — for better or for worse — a binary code, 0, 1, a black and white painting, and an immense quantity of yes' and no's.

Since living with the shadows, he's had his step brothers to fear, and then when he goes into the camps, he has Cassian and Rhysand to fear — to watch his mouth around.

But of course, as the story is told, things change, and then before he knows it, he's following his new brothers into battle because even beneath it all, ignoring the fact that he has suspicions that he does not exactly belong within their troops, they're brothers, damnit, and he will walk through fire for them.

And then they grow up, and the war ends. He becomes Rhysand's father's spy, and he goes into that job without any beliefs of his own, his life built around trying to survive his abuse and then the Illyrian camps.

And when he and Cassian and Rhysand finally become old enough, and Rhysand takes the throne, well, at that point he's got an unbreakable devotion to the night court and the citizens within it, and to his brothers, too — beaten into him, caking under his nails like blood, running through his veins like some type of venom to which no one has the cure to.

But even then, when things begin to settle, and everyone finds their place in the Inner circle, he doesn't really know himself, doesn't know where his place truly is. Sure, he's devoted to something, and likes these people enough to forget himself, but. Who is he, really? What does he want? Where does he belong?

Which is why — when he meets you, something wild and free and immovable in your own beliefs and person, he can't help but find refuge there ; in your wild, unkempt person, in your loudness, your clinginess, your unashamedly huge heart.

You're a freshly born… something. The girl born from the Mother, they call you. You're created from the necessity of there being balance again in Prythian during Amarantha ; sent by the Mother to hunt the falsely crowned High Queen of Prythian, and then kill her.

For your service, after you've killed Amarantha and redistributed the power around to their respective High Lords, everyone takes an oath to protect and shelter you whenever you need it.

You spend years between Courts, refining your skills, your powers, enlisting the help of all the helpful High Lords and their Ladies. Rhysand and Feyre, after a few years and the war finally passing, both deem it safe enough and decide to introduce you to their inner circle. You're introduced to them as the person who saved Prythian, as the girl who freed Feyre and Rhysand from under the mountain.

You fall in love with Velaris, and you take a liking to the members of the inner circle. But you become closer friends with Azriel than anyone else you had ever met before.

You, from some kind of instinct or because of the unspoken link you share with Azriel, know he is lost. You are, perhaps, the first to see it.

It's easy to follow and do the same, you suppose. To copy you, devote himself to something new, something other.

But you don't want him to take you as just another thing to protect. To lose himself in. You don't want him to follow in your footsteps just because he has a personal debt unpaid to you for saving his family members, you don't want him to be to you what he is to Rhysand.

So at first, you reject him. And he takes it as well as a man like him takes any sort of rejection. He withdraws easily like a tortoise into its shell, and for a great many days, is unavailable emotionally as well as physically. You don't see him, don't hear from him.

Eventually, Feyre falls pregnant, and you're the one, with your powers, to save her and the two males along with it. Rhysand gifts you lands of your own for it. Drapes you with the honours of being their Saviour one more time.

So you go to that place — to your new home in the wild, unowned lands beside the prison — your paradisiacal islands, and begin building a life for yourself. You make your own home, on the highest cliff you can find. Rhysand provides you with workers and builders, and eventually, a tiny town begins to bloom in the islands. It's slow living, like water lapping at the shore, every member of your tiny budding city lives happily, feasting on their hunts, and on the plentiful fruits of their plantations.

Azriel comes around often by means of checking on you for Rhysand. And you accept it, even though it is a lie. Eventually, your friendship rebuilds again, though. And you know that there is no shifting point, no sudden change — but it sure feels like it, when one day you are standing miles apart, and the other, you're in his arms, letting him sway you to the sound of the waves.

The progression is slow, but as you coax him out, with a bit of rough love and a handful of gentle praise, you begin to see the little things.

His armour loosens by the day. Sometimes, when he comes to see you, meeting on the beach down the mountain where your home resides atop of, he wears only warm weather clothes. His truth teller is left behind, and he lets himself be free of what it means to be the ShadowSinger, while enhancing what it means to be HIM.

And one day you catch him drawing. He'd told you once that a lot of the things in his head often begged to get out, to find a way to be put down and kept down and out of him. You suggested drawing. And he'd huffed at first, shaking his head and murmuring about how his hands would never being able to draw up those things. Good or bad.

You'd smiled gently and shrugged ; telling him that practice made perfect — that you hadn't become good at what you do in a day, either.

The first drawing he finishes is a portrait of Velaris. As though it is something he is trying to purge from his soul — the hold this city has on him. He tries to give it to you, but you refuse. You tell him that this is a part of him and no one else should be allowed to own these drawings. That this is him, on paper, all these little sketches, and that he was the only, sole owner of them.

So he begins to put them up in the room you keep for him in your humble home atop the mountain peak. You take your time keeping them in extra good condition, and as you lay down on the sofa while he sketches you, he asks you why you spent so much of your days in his room, cleaning and removing dust, making sure everything was kept safe and remained beautiful.

And you reply that if they were precious to him, then that meant they deserved to be cherished. And it takes a moment for him to register that — sure, the inner circle loved — loves — him, in their own way, but he'd never been loved the way he needed it. Had never been so seen by someone. Rhysand saw him as his most trusted weapon, but never as the lover he could become. Rhysand did not see Azriel ever being a good lover to any of the women in his inner circle. He never saw him being good — whole — enough for it.

Cassian saw him as his brother in arms, he saw him as a man he could trust with his life when it came down to violence. But when it came to gentleness, Cassian did not. He did not blame him for it.

And Feyre, the woman he considered a sister, only saw him as the protector of her family. She had always been closer to Cassian, from them starving so young, and then finding a family of their own, they could relate. Azriel could not relate to her that way, and she knew it, too, which kept him an arm’s length from the true her.

And Mor — Mor saw him only when she felt it convenient for her.

But you. You cleaned those pieces of paper where horrors he’d seen with his own two eyes were depicted and did not flinch. You saw those happy moments, and did not ignore them, either. You did not pick and choose which sides of him you wanted. You appreciated him wholly like no one ever had.

Progress after that day only doubles.

He begins to stand up for himself. Says no to the missions he knows will only break him inside a little more when he is just starting to stitch up all his broken pieces.

He draws. And sings. At first, he sings only alone, in the vulnerability of his own room, for himself. It's a way to get his feelings out — again. But then one day you take him to the bar in Velaris during one of your stays there, and he decides to sing for you. He'd done it for himself first — because it made him happy, but now, he wanted to show you, too, that to the bottom of his soul, he was starting to find himself.

And when you cry as the song ends, he gathers you in his arms and rocks you until you can breathe steady again.

After that night, many things change.

He's away from you more, but when he is around, he's the happiest you've ever seen him be — as though a weight has finally been lifted off of his shoulders. He stays no longer than a day at a time, and each time he comes back, he brings you a new story to tell — a new discovery he's made about himself.

A year later, you're in your garden, knees in the dirt, knuckles deep in the roots of an orange tree when you hear the familiar flap of his wings in the distance. He lands outside the tiny fence you keep around the garden to limit wild bunnies munching on your fruits. He has a bag on his shoulder, no heavier than a few shirts and pants. No armour in sight. He smiles, tired and worn out, but no less free, and no less in love, and you don't question it. You only raise yourself to your naked feet and step towards him. He cups your face, and you smile, nuzzling in it, that warm, scarred hand.

“Welcome home.” You say, soft and gentle but as firm as you can make it.

He presses his forehead to yours, dips down, and kisses you.

The next morning, you wake up with sunshine lapping at your bare skin like waves, your opened french doors letting in salty sea air into the room, shifting the curtains forward and back. Your body is draped over Azriel’s, who holds you loosely at the waist, his face serene with his eyes closed and eyebrows softly curved upwards.

You trace the small smile on his lips with your longest finger. His lashes flutter, and his hazel eyes find yours. He massages your naked waist as he comes to, blinking a few times, bringing you in closer.

He touches you with reverence, with so much love it's dizzying. “I resigned from my place as Shadow Singer of the night court. I trained Nuala and Cerridwen to take my place.” He announces after a few kisses that steal the air from you.

You don't say anything because you know that at this point in time, he doesn't need your approval, or your point of view on it. He'd done this for himself, and you were beyond proud of him for choosing himself above his prior court for once.

After that day, Azriel finds himself a place in your own little world. In that community you're growing in the mountains. He doesn't leave for Velaris anymore, and when you're called in, he will join you only rarely. Not in an attempt to forget — but because he does not feel the need to. He sees Rhysand and Cassian every month, and Feyre comes up with Nesta and Gwyn and Emerie and Elain sometimes to see you, maybe once every two months, to have a girls night of sorts.

And eventually, years down the line, your little community continues to flourish. You work hard to build a safe heaven for the people that trust you — that up and left their own courts to find you. Some people from the night court, others from spring, and a grand majority from other islands faraway.

Your home builds itself so beautifully over time, that the other courts agree to count your Island as the last court of Prythian — as a sign of respect, and some kind of political grant you don't truly understand.

You don't delude yourself into thinking you're any sort of High Lady, but as you see Azriel helping your citizens with their farms, deep brown skin tanned and slick with sweat instead of blood, playing with the kids with that beautiful, beaming smile on his face, shadows dispersing to trick and make toddlers and youngsters alike giggle, helping fix homes up after rather rough storms hit your village, you think that he'd make a perfect High Lord.

[skyeventide]

does the Oath of Feanor work as a magical compulsion, or does it have magical properties, and are its consequences real?

yes, because the magic of Arda is also based on words of power, and it would be dissatisfying and limiting to assume that somehow that power doesn't work in this specific instance. no, because even if Feanor is the one speaking, not even his power could bend the fate of elves to that extent. yes, because the fate of any one people can be bent, delayed, or weirdly modified until an oath is fulfilled; in LOTR, the ghosts of the path of the dead prove it. no, because Manwe and Varda would not feel bound to enforce an oath of death with them as witnesses, and it goes against the rules of oathing. yes, because the enforcer is Eru, they just stand as witnesses and do not have the power to release the swearers as Eru would. no, because we don't even know if Eru accepted that oath. yes, because if the oath was invalid from the start, it would be beyond callous of Manwe and Varda not to inform the swearers and allow the consequences of the oath to happen. no, because a magical compulsion would remove or to an extent at least lessen responsibility of actions taken in its pursuit. yes, because the author of the story acknowledges a certain "will" of the oath by making it wake or sleep with active verbs. no, because even swearing without additional magic on top can feel like a compulsion to do things or to keep going that otherwise would not exist or not be felt by a given swearer. yes, because no matter what the everlasting darkness is or does, it can be real independently from any other prior compulsion to act; in other words, there may not be a magical property to the oath, but its called consequences for the swearers are very real. no, because there's several slightly different versions of the oath across the texts, and it's impossible to do a literal, word for word reading of its lines if it's possible to recite it slightly differently at a given time. yes, because the only valid version is the original pronounced by Feanor in Tirion, you can't wiggle out of that one. no, because who's to say that was recorded correctly, it's far too poetic for a sudden decision. yes, because who's to say that Feanor couldn't whip out all that via improvisation, I bet he could. yes, because other characters beyond the sons of Feanor treat the oath as something absolutely serious and real, and that includes Finrod in speaking to Andreth, when he says that Eru's name is not called upon even in jest, as well as Melian, when pointing out the strong forces awakened by involving that power. no, because neither of them can talk to Eru anyway. yes, because it's narratively more satisfying to imagine characters morally struggle against something that is eventually unbreakable and unavoidable like in any good tragedy. no, because it's narratively more satisfying to imagine characters do it to themselves and compromise with who they are out of family loyalty. yes, because the curse of Mandos actively turns it against the swearers into a betraying force, a consequence that wouldn't otherwise be a given, that is, nothing says that everything they start well would have finished badly and that the oath would have led them to defeat, and if it weren't magical before Mandos' addition, it is now. no, because Amrod's death in a draft would prove it breakable through his (admittedly only guessed) desire to turn back. yes, because he still died in the process, aka the everlasting darkness claimed him for being an oathbreaker. no, because how is it possible that it's simultaneously unbreakable and broken. yes, because the fate of arda and that of elves is inscribed within the eternal paradox of everything being predicted and everything being free will, and that will never be solved, neither regarding the fate of the elves nor the oath of Feanor. no, because the oath is a narrative device. yes, because the oath is a narrative device. three hundred more lines.

hope this helps. hope it doesn't. your pick.

[mitfloya]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

pairings. Xavier x gn!reader

wc. 1K

synopsis. Xavier's unwavering obsession with you transcends the boundaries of time and space. No matter how vast the universe may be, he is determined to find you in every lifetime. With an unyielding determination, he is willing to traverse the furthest reaches, even to the edge of the universe, just to ensure that you are by his side. Any who dare to come between you will be swiftly dealt with, for in Xavier's eyes, you are destined to be together and he will stop at nothing to protect that bond.

warnings. The following content contains elements of obsessive behavior, yandere thoughts, stalking, possessive behavior, and may include poorly written narratives. Reader is referred to as 'you'. Proceed with caution, as this writing may be unsettling or uncomfortable for some individuals.

a/n. In the next week I'll be planning to make my first fic and it will be a yandere themed and planning a big project on my AO3 acc later, also I'm currently busy with making c.ai hsr angsty bots and fluff themed LaDS bots. Be sure to check my fic or bots later! Grab some snacks and I hope you enjoy reading this hc ♡

♡ Please reblog and comment on this post are much, much appreciated ♡

Don't be fooled by his unassuming appearance, for you never know what lies behind that innocent and sunshine-filled face of his.

If you thought Zayne was the hardest to read, then you're wrong.

At first glance, he appears like any regular civilian, hiding his true nature behind a carefully constructed facade. He avoids discussing his background, creating an air of mystery around him.

As time passes and you both continue to cross paths, Xavier's presence in your life becomes more than just coincidence. The moments spent together, the shared laughter, and the mutual support Xavier effortlessly establishes a friendship that feels natural and authentic.

As the bond between you strengthens, Xavier's presence becomes a source of comfort and solace. His unwavering dedication to your well-being is evident in the small gestures of kindness, the thoughtful words, and the unwavering support he provides.

The nicest guy you’ve ever met, he is always there to lend a helping hand, whether it's assisting you with your own challenges or guiding you through difficult situations. His genuine care and concern for your well-being are evident in every interaction, as he goes above and beyond to ensure your happiness and safety.

So how can you ever suspect anything weird when he spends his time reading and sleeping all the time? While he may possess formidable fighting skills and experience, his gentle nature and soothing presence overshadow any doubts that may arise.

Xavier's aura alone brings you comfort, lulling you into a sense of security that makes it nearly impossible to question his motives.

Even if he is physically out of reach, Xavier constantly assures you that he is by your side.

He makes it clear that all you need to do is call for him, and he will come to you, no matter the distance or the obstacles. It is as if he has sworn an unbreakable oath to be your loyal knight, ready to protect and support you at all costs.

In Xavier's eyes, you are the center of his universe, the one person who holds the key to his heart. He sees himself as your guardian, ready to sacrifice anything and everything to ensure your well-being.

Thus why falling for him was easy.

Too easy that you didn’t realize you have fallen into the depths of his twisted love.

Xavier possesses an uncanny ability to blend into society seamlessly, making it nearly impossible for others to suspect his true nature.

From the moment you first encountered Xavier, there was a cosmic force that bound you together, like star-crossed lovers fated to meet repeatedly. Even amidst chaos and unfortunate circumstances, Xavier always finds his way to your side, just as he promised long ago.

It was not cosmic force or fate, it was all his doings.

Death may be your constant companion, but Xavier is your eternal lover. No entity, not even a deity, can come between the inseparable bond that exists between you. Death is merely a phase, he will find you in another life.

From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he knew that you were meant to be his. He firmly believes that your destinies are entwined, that you were never meant for anyone else, and he will go to great lengths to ensure that no one else lays claim to your heart.

To Xavier, you are the sole focus of his existence. Xavier's devotion knows no boundaries, as he is willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to ensure your safety and happiness.

Why do you think he goes extra lengths to provide you with everything? Because he loves you.

Was it a coincidence that he was your neighbor? Of course not!

Every action he takes, every sacrifice he makes, is fueled by a love that surpasses all reason.

He meticulously plans your encounters, orchestrating seemingly random meetings to further deepen the illusion of coincidence.

He has a network of informants and spies who provide him with information about you. He has carefully cultivated relationships with people in your life, gaining their trust and loyalty. These individuals unknowingly feed him information, allowing him to stay one step closer to you at all times.

He lives in the shadows, unseen and unnoticed, but his presence is always felt. He knows your routines, your habits, your deepest fears and desires. His knowledge of you is intimate, as if he has studied every minute detail of your existence.

Would he sacrifice himself for you to continue to live? Without hesitation. To Xavier, your life is the ultimate prize, and he would gladly lay down his own to ensure your survival.

Xavier's perception of the world is warped by his obsession, blurring the lines between what is real and what he desires to be real. He sees you as his possession, his soulmate, his reason for existence.

Time and fate will always be his obstacle as they’re conspiring against his absurd ideas. However, he refuses to be content with mere obsessions or imaginations; he wants you and him to become a reality.

In the early stages, even before being in a relationship, Xavier exhibits subtle signs of jealousy. His protective nature, while initially endearing, can become suffocating as the relationship progresses.

Once you are officially together, his jealousy becomes more pronounced and dangerous, leading to harm or even death for those who dare to steal you away.

No need to check on the news headline. Lifeless bodies scattered like fallen leaves, has become all too common, it’s the cause of wanderer has been ramping up lately, angel.

It was partially not the cause of wanderers.

Even in the face of your defiance, you are acutely aware of the futility of your resistance. He will abduct you, whisking you away to a distant planet, far beyond the reach of prying eyes from the world.

In this alternate reality, you are left with no choice but to accept your fate. The notion of escape becomes nothing more than a distant dream.

The stars become witnesses to your eternal entwining, as the universe itself seems to acknowledge the dark and twisted love that binds you both.

© 2024 mitfloya — all rights reserved. kindly refrain from altering, translating, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

[foone]

Many people don't understand the difference between a paladin and an inquisitor. I mean, they're both religious warrior guys, right? What's the difference?

I mean, a lot? It's their whole motive and origin story, really.

A paladin is someone who has dedicated their life to a quest, to an oath, and they have done this out of a sense of religious devotion. They have said to their god that they believe this cause is righteous and holy and they will put their life and soul on the line for it, and their god has agreed with them, and given them boons and powers and protection in service of that mission. Paladins are deeply religious people, but you'll never see them praying: for them, their worship is in every swing of the sword, in every innocent protected, in every wrong righted. Their prayer is devotion to their cause.

Inquisitors... Are different. They didn't devote themselves to a cause so strongly it feels like dogma. They didn't take an unbreakable oath to stay on the one path for the rest of their days. They're someone who, at the end of their rope, prayed to the one thing they could still believe in and asked their god to give them a weapon that could destroy everything wrong in the world.

At their lowest moment when everything but their faith had been shattered, they used the last of their strength to ask for something, anything, to renew their purpose in this world. With nothing left to lose, they cried out to the heavens... In response, the clouds parted and glorious light shone down and God handed them a pistol.

A paladin is devoted to a cause, when can be everything from "the lich much be destroyed" to "the city's orphans need protection and food and shelter". Inquisitors are instead people who cried out "beloved god, the world is horrible and broken and full of sin!" and their god said "You're right. Take this sword and go kill the problem."

At the end of the day, a paladin is someone who is defined by an absolutely willingness to do whatever it takes to follow their oath.

An inquisitor is instead someone who has only one singular solution to every problem in the world, and it's kept very sharp.

[sadnymi]

The Tortured Poets Department: {Slytherin boys version} A Headcanon.

[Mattheo Riddle-Theodore Nott-Lorenzo Berkshire-Blaise Zabini-Draco Malfoy

The Department: These five delinquents may not be penning sonnets, but they cause enough drama to fill a Shakespearean tragedy. They're the rebels, and champions of chaos at Hogwarts.

The Name:  name, bestowed upon them by Professor Abraxas Rookwood, a man as obsessed with forbidden muggle literature as he was with the Dark Arts, was a cruel irony. Rookwood, with his melancholic readings of Byron and Shelley, saw their broodiness reflected in these young Slytherins, They became the Tortured Poets, their "poetry" scrawled not with ink, but with blood and fear.

The Rules (Unbreakable):

Loyalty is Our Blood Oath: Mess with one of them, you mess with all of them. This unwavering loyalty is their foundation.Betrayal is a fate worse than expulsion. A single transgression could result in a "disappearance," a fate worse than Azkaban.

Secrets are sacred currency: What's shared in the dimly lit corners of the Department stays there. Unless it involves a particularly juicy Ministry scandal, then all bets are off (courtesy of Blaise Zabini's insatiable gossip appetite).

Darkness is a double-edged sword: They embraced their darkness, honing it into a weapon against those who deserved it - revel in darkness too long, and it devours you whole.

Art over Arson: Destruction wasn't the goal. The Department aimed to leave their mark with a touch of twisted artistry.A perfectly sculpted ice sculpture of a screaming victim, a whispered poem etched on a sleeping rival's forehead, a haunting melody tinged with despair echoing through the halls.

No Scars: The mark of a Tortured Poet was discretion. Leaving physical evidence was a rookie mistake. The true artist left only a shattered spirit.

No Outsiders: The Department is a closed casket. New members are hand-picked, tested, and broken before being deemed worthy.

Never Love, Only Possess: Love is a weakness, a vulnerability they cannot afford. Possession, domination – these are the true expressions of power. ( a rule they all broke )

The Members:

- Mattheo "The Mastermind" Riddle:

The brains behind the operation. Heir to a dark legacy, Mattheo possessed a chilling charisma that masked a calculating mind. He wielded curses with grace, his voice a silken threat, capable of weaving hypnotic lies or unleashing venomous truths. Mattheo is cunning and calculating, always two steps ahead with a plan so outlandish it just might work. He's the one who assigns roles and ensures their targets get a taste of their own medicine (or worse).He embodies the darkness, a shadow that chills even the bravest hearts.

Theodore "The Artist" Nott:

With a talent for manipulating shadows, Theo could create phantoms that danced on the walls, whispering secrets and igniting paranoia. brewed potions that twisted emotions and conjured illusions that blurred the lines between reality and nightmare. His signature move: A shroud of darkness that swallowed the victim, leaving them alone with their inner demons. He was also The department's strategist. His mind, as sharp as a serpent's fang, weaved intricate webs of psychological manipulation.He took a perverse pleasure in dissecting his victims, unraveling their secrets with a chilling detachment.

Lorenzo "The Charmer" Berkshire:

The Charmer. Lorenzo's weapon of choice is not a wand, but his silver tongue. He can disarm with a smile and deceive with a single word. Information is his currency, secrets his trophies. He is the Department's siren, luring the unsuspecting into a web of lies. tongue that could weave illusions as real as dreams. His victims, lulled into a false sense of security, often found themselves entangled in compromising situations or facing fabricated scandals.

Blaise "The Blackmailer" Zabini:

Blaise has a knack for finding dirt on everyone and isn't afraid to use it to his advantage .He's the one who gathers intel and makes sure no one double-crosses the Tortured Poets. He was the Shadow Dancer. Elusive and acrobatic, Blaise was the Department's phantom. He could infiltrate even the most secure locations, leaving behind unsettling calling cards – a misplaced object, a cryptic message scrawled on a dusty window pane.

Draco "The Distraction" Malfoy:

Draco was the prodigy, a master of forbidden spells before he even reached adulthood. His talent fueled a quiet arrogance, but his loyalty to the group was undeniable. He was their muscle, the unleashed storm of magic when subtlety failed.He saw emotions as a map, effortlessly navigating the labyrinthine corridors of fear and hope.

◣━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◢

The Tortured Poets Department existed in the shadows of Hogwarts, a clandestine group teetering on the edge of sanity. They were not poets, but dark artists, sculpting fear and pain into a twisted form of power, a chilling testament to the allure and danger that lurks in the human heart.

◣━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◢

[animentality]

it's super gay of gortash to stop his own fucking coronation just to beg the dark urge to rule with him and make an unbreakable oath of fealty to one another until the end of time, like DUDE, you are SURROUNDED by people, they are all WATCHING you make a lovesick fool out of yourself.

Actually has no dignity, eurgh, can't believe him. He should've turned his coronation into a full goddamn wedding.

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere love letter from Zeus and Poseidon to a pregnant reader pls? (Maybe Zeus's reader is worried of Hera's wrath on her)

Zeus

My love,

My love for you transcends any limits, it is an overwhelming passion that consumes me completely. Seeing the life blossom within you brings me an indescribable ecstasy, but it also ignites an uncontrollable fire within me.

At this time in our lives, my determination to protect you and our baby is unwavering and unbreakable. I solemnly swear that I will face any obstacle, any adversity, and any threat she may throw at us.

With each passing day, my mind is haunted by the shadow she casts over us. Her jealousy and anger are known to all, and the love I feel for you only increases my anxiety. Every thought of possible threats she might pose to you and our child's safety torments me in an overwhelming way.

My beloved, I would do anything to keep you and our precious baby safe, even if it means eliminating any threat that dares to get in our way.

May this letter testify to the profound oath I make to you and to the life that burgeons within you. My beloved, trust me, for I am willing to brave heaven and earth to protect what is ours.

May this letter testify to the profound oath I make to you and to the life that burgeons within you. My beloved, trust me that I am willing to stand up to the titans and Gaia herself to protect what is mine.

With a heart that's yours entirely,

Zeus.

Poseidon

My beloved,

Every wave that kisses the shore carries with it the echo of my passion for you, a passion that has blossomed into an unwavering devotion that knows no bounds. Knowing that a new being, fruit of our ardent love, is growing inside you awakens an indescribable joy and, at the same time, a concern that threatens to consume my reason.

From the moment you came into my life, my heart was engulfed by an overwhelming wave of love and protection for you. The news that you are carrying our child fills my being with uncontrollable ecstasy and worry.

However, allow me to express my growing concern about the safety of you two. Wild imagination haunts me with visions of dangers that could threaten your life and that of our baby. The fear that even the treacherous waters might conspire against you consumes my mind.

I swear by the seas I rule, my beloved, that I will shape the seas into impassable shields to protect you from any evil that dares approach. No tumultuous currents or raging storm will dare even touch your delicate skin. Our connection runs as deep as the very depths of the oceans I rule, and my love with you is more powerful than the pull of the tides.

May this letter testify to the intensity of my commitment, my beloved. Be mine and mine alone, that I may protect and adore you forever.

Take care, my queen of the deep, and know that my devotion to you and our child is fiercer than the storm itself.

With possession and fervor,

Poseidon.

[chosos-mascara]

gojo's bride

𝙨𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙜𝙤𝙟𝙤 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 - as part of the ryomen clan, your life revolves around organised crime. when your father tells you you're destined to marry naoya zen'in, you're left with little choice but to run.

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - mafia au, violence, arranged marriage, guns, killing/shooting in one scene, you're on the run, bounty hunter toji, marriage

side characters: suguru, sukuna and toji

5.4k words

Throughout childhood, an image of marriage is painted by your family. A contract between soulmates; a display of love to a person. Notes of a traditional wedding decorated with chairs of close friends and relatives, smiles wide and eyes glassy. Or, maybe you were better suited to a romantic elopement followed by a getaway, littered with intimate moments before announcing yourself a wife. In the end, the outcome is the same, one drilled into you by your parents since a young age. Perhaps while innocent, you had indulged within the images of a princess-like gown and florals winding around an ornate staircase - though with age and your growing understanding of your father's business values, you'd understood this wasn't a day to look forward to. 

When those in your clan would mention a prospective husband, someone your father would pick by hand, your heart would race excitedly, hands grasping over your chest as you swooned in adoration. There had been a semblance of what you'd pictured your future husband to look like, though that had since dwindled. When hitting twenty, reality setting in that this was another thing you would not experience normally, you tried to push the idea away. To your family, you were a pawn, and your marriage would be nothing other than an advantage to them; because when born as a woman within the world of Japanese illegitimate business, there were more hurdles than most. Your life had been seemingly filled with one sacrifice after another, and marriage was looking to be the largest one yet. 

Which is why, a courthouse wedding planned only twelve hours prior hadn't been what you'd envisioned. Despite the loss of formality and tradition there had still been anxiousness bubbling within the pit of your stomach, hands clammy as you took hold of the man you'd barely known while reciting an unbreakable oath. Instead of a dress, you'd been in cargos and a long sleeved top, though Gojo had displayed a little more care over the ordeal - a crisp blue shirt and slacks, black lenses over his eyes an a Rolex on his wrist. He slid the ring over your finger, delivering vows that had meant very little to either of you, and you'd repeated the action moments later, heart racing when the officiant had announced that you were now bound by law. Geto and Sukuna signed the certificate, and the four of you left to return to the shitty apartment you'd been hiding within for the past week. A weight had been lifted, but a new one had only taken its place. 

"Now, the reason we're gathered here is due to an important announcement within the family." Your father spoke, lips curving upward into a smile as his eyes darted to your own. It had been obvious when your parents had requested your presence for dinner there had been an ulterior motive, with yourself being left alone unless there had been news, or you'd been in need of discipline. It had usually been the latter, with being in your twenties and having a powerful father while being rebellious to his rules, there had been frequent fall-outs. Though within the moment his cold stare met yours, you'd understood exactly what he'd been about to say. 

"I've picked a partner for my daughter, finally." Through his thin smile, jagged teeth had shown. "Next week, she'll become a Zen'in, and our clan will reap the benefits of being united with one of the top three." For such a disgusting statement, he spoke with confidence, watching through beady eyes as the chatter of close and distant family members erupted, though mostly from excitement.  "What?" The quiet protest fell between conversations of others, any further objections died on your tongue. He looked down at you, a vacant stare before continuing. Your gaze fluttered to your mother to ask for a semblance of empathy, yet you were met with the same ruthless eyes. 

"Naoya Zen'in, my future son in law, will aid in managing business, merging with his father's company." The name had rang alarm bells through your already cascading mind, oblivion on the horizon. Naoya, a bigger misogynist than any man within your clan, a person referred to as scum by anyone with half a brain. 

There had been an uncomfortable cough opposite you, your panicked gaze meeting the dark eyes of your cousin. He's raised a brow, placing serviette beside plate as his head tilted toward large wooden doors - the only exit from the dining hall. You took a moment to think, mouth agape and heart racing, before standing. A large push through your daze of emotion had been all it had taken to activate the flight response, leaving your seat to run toward your room.

Once your head had hit pillow, tears flooded through your eyes, face plush to soft sheets in order to drown out the sobs raking over your body. The Zen'ins had been one of three leading clans within the mafia, alongside Kamo and Gojo. Three lineages known to be the dirtiest of all, though due to honor had been treated as if royalty. You'd heard Sukuna speak of Naoya in passing, and his disgust with the man he'd only met in passing.

"Hey," Sukuna's voice filled the air between muffled cries, body shaking and breaths heavy as you'd turned to face the figure walking through the room. Shifting, you sat with your back against the headboard, a pillow in your lap as the mattress dipped to allow space to your only friend. "I'm so sorry-" Sukuna began, bringing a hand to his face and sighing. "This is bad."

The weight of the situation before you had grown heavier when your cousin had admitted his own alarm. Sukuna feared no one, and had taught you to follow him on the same path of callousness; jobs executed with little remorse or care. Your partnership had resembled siblings to outsiders in the sense that you'd been family no one would cross, even if Ryomen had been a relatively new name within this world. With the company founded by your grandfather, there had been just enough time to spread word of the name, though when comparing feats to that of Gojo or Kamo, Ryomen had appeared ant-sized. 

"I can't," You stuttered over words between labored breaths, a harsh squeeze over the pillow clutched within your grip, pressing into your stomach. "Sukuna, I really can't do this."  Brown eyes scanned over you once more, concern riddled within the pupils, down turned eyebrows creating a crease at his forehead. He hadn't seen you like this before; distraught, scared. Since childhood, the pair of you had pushed emotion from your psyche, swearing vow to be honest only with the other. Each of you had promised to be the only person to trust in the harsh world you'd been brought into. In adulthood, you'd met with him significantly less, and Sukuna had built a name for himself as the Ryomen with the dirtiest hands. Yet, the vow would not be broken.

"There's a place downtown," Sukuna's voice had been hushed, a sigh from his lips before continuing. "Tonight, we'll leave. You can stay until I find a way to get you out of this mess." The statements he'd spoken had been frantic as he'd tried to make sense of the visions in his head - if he would've simply been born with more intelligence, perhaps he'd have been better aid when you'd needed him most. 

"What's that going to do?" You laughed through helpless sobs, rolling eyes at the promise he'd made - though with trembling lips and fingernails scratching anxiously over the skin of your arm, your body had demonstrated the true terror within you.  "Dad's not going to cancel a deal halfway through, not with the Zen'ins." Reiterating your point, you tried to push him away from an ill-planed escape, however much you'd needed him to give his all.  "We'll figure this out, okay?" Tattooed fingers smoothed through his hair, dullness within his gaze as he watched over your deflated form.

It had been midnight when you'd left. With only a backpack for belongings, you'd stuffed it to the best of your ability before slipping through the bedroom window, prayers whispered as you'd absconded the building. Hopefully, your family would notice your disappearance after you'd left their surveillance lines. 

Sukuna had waited a block away, engine running as he'd awaited your presence in the passenger side. It hadn't taken much pleading before Suguru had agreed to house you, only having to hear the Zen'in name before allowing you to seek refuge, though he couldn't deny his concerns of being found even while in a safe house. After holding his breath while waiting for you, you'd finally emerged, slumping against the passenger seat. Sukuna had now been in control of your fate, shifting into drive. 

The journey hadn't been long, reaching the building within a half hour, though concern riddling your mind upon entry. A run down apartment block, ivy curving into single-pane windows to grow along the white-washed brick inside, cracked tiles beneath your feet left unwashed and elevator jolting upon movement. Your travels had been led mostly in silence, each remaining expressionless despite the mental hellfire you were wading through. 

Stopping at a wooden door, a brass 206 nailed into the middle of the wood, Sukuna had only had to knock once before it had opened. Stomach dropping, you stepped back, frantically looking to your cousin to voice your shock and betrayal when seeing the blue eyes behind the door. It hadn't made sense why Sukuna had brought you to a Gojo hideout - one of the leading clans alongside the Zen'ins. 

"Don't worry." The familiar brown eyes met your own, stern countenance and monotone voice as he'd placed a hand over your shoulder, a light push forward. "Satoru isn't like his family."  After Sukuna's reassurance, the Gojo had opened the door wider, stepping to the side to accommodate both you and your cousin as you passed through. The apartment's interior hadn't reflected the halls outside, being well decorated and clean. Following Sukuna through to the kitchen, you watched as he seated himself at the table, inked hand reaching to his pocket to fish out a carton of straights, pulling one from the pack and setting it to his lips. The amber of his lighter emerged after only one flick of the steel, lighting the end of the cigarette and taking a drag. 

"This is Gojo Satoru." Sukuna broke the silence, gesturing toward the white haired male you'd met with moments prior. The smoke drifting upward from the end of his cigarette wafted as he waved his hand, stopping as a painted nail pointed behind you. "That's Geto Suguru." Turning, you were met with a new face, though a name you'd recognised. 

Both males introduced had been tall, differing builds yet similar black ink etched into their skin. Satoru had been lanky, yet his height and demeanour gave an aura you hadn't often experienced, one of importance. Gojo's limbs had been decorated, though the most notable artwork had been the clan mark of Gojo: an eye on the right side of the neck. An immediate sign of strength for those who understood its meaning. Geto had been much broader, manner radiating from physical build rather than an intense aura. His physical strength had been clear. 

"Goes without saying that you can't leave the apartment." Sukuna's words had been low, eyes fixed to you with an intimidating stare. The heartfelt and honest personality he'd shared with you had switched when in the presence of others, Sukuna instead watching through an emotionless gaze as you reacted to his words. The instruction had been one that had your brow furrowing and arms crossing, though Geto had interrupted before you'd had the chance to counter.  "Naoya Zen'in is dangerous." Geto leaned back on a countertop, both hands supporting his weight as he continued. "Not because he's strong - it's because he's weak. People follow him only through fear." Geto shifted, eyes straying to the floor before meeting yours once more. "Naoya doesn't kill - he tortures, molests, creates hell for those who don't give him his way. Even then, he's too cowardly to do anything with his own hands." Suguru's statements had your blood running cold, a lump forming within your throat. 

"If he finds you, it's over." Sukuna continued from his friend, another puff of smoke passing his lips. He leaned back, usual stoic expression saddening you after the anomaly of sympathy he'd displayed earlier that evening.  "It's not just your life on the line right now; if they know we're involved, there's consequences-" One thing you'd despised throughout your life had been being treated as if a child, awfully long explanations from those who'd considered themselves smarter than you; almost always describing words of common sense.  "I know." Quick to interject, you'd stopped Geto's lecture, straightening yourself. "I'll stay here." You met your cousin's eyes as he stood from the chair, opening the window situated behind the sink to throw the smoked-cigarette through, closing it once discarded. 

Sukuna had departed shortly after, cautious as not to raise suspicion. Between his few visits, you would be on no-contact, careful not to expose your whereabouts to your own family, or any clan allied with them. After twenty hours, your parents had reported you missing, stomach churning when details of a bounty had been explained in grueling detail by Gojo. He'd sat through an uncomfortable conversation within his own clan's meeting, reciting the disdain from the Zen'ins when the topic of Ryomen had been brought up in passing. 

It had been three days before Sukuna had visited once more, tense body radiating nothing other than intense stress. He'd attempted to appear un-phased by the events surrounding you, but when seeing the tired eyes and hunched back, you'd understood he'd been suffering. He'd slumped down in the kitchen chair once again, lighting up a cigarette before beginning to formulate words. The actions had mirrored that of your first evening in confinement, a feeling of deja-vu as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. 

"They're getting restless." He spoke, deep voice much rougher due to lack of sleep and an increase in his smoking habit. Gojo sighed, taking a seat beside him. You fiddled with your thumbs above the table, helpless to the strains both you and your cousin had faced. "Sukuna." Speaking his name had caused his eyes to flicker up and land to your expression. "I don't think there's anything we can do." His stop-off at the apartment had been limited, agreeing between the four of you that his visits should not exceed ten minutes. His departure had grown closer with every passing second, but a conclusion had yet to be found. 

"We'll find something." His reassurance had fallen to your deaf ears, instead of bringing comfort, his statement had instead made you feel as if your concerns were brushed off. He'd began to slip away, leaving yourself seated at the table, still helpless to the world surrounding you. There was nothing you could do in the small apartment, even if you'd wanted to aid in finding a loophole, or a solution. 

The following morning had marked four days missing, in which you'd grown increasingly depressive and bored. The new roommates you'd gained had often left for jobs and abandoned you to your own devices - which had been daytime television and chores. Being on the run had meant you were unable to use a phone or computer, and being alone most of the time had eradicated the chance of passing time through conversation or games. 

On the odd occasion only one of the males had been home, there had been one you'd preferred to the other. Gojo's presence had felt much greater than Geto's (even if he'd been more annoying). Gojo had at least made attempts at conversations. When overcoming the sense of pity Gojo had displayed toward you, he'd been pleasant to talk with, speaking of shared interests such as movies and music. Gojo had been passionate, often becoming excitable when remembering certain scenes or moments within his favourite media - though he could become equally as shut-off. There was a darkness within Gojo you knew he'd held close, and when childlike wonder had worn off, there was a very different person beneath. 

Geto had been mostly silent, though you could feel the heavy judgement through his body language. His gaze had been heavy on your skin, eyes narrowing with each movement and shoulders tense. It had been clear Geto did not trust you, and had more reluctance toward befriending you than Gojo had. 

Bringing a damp garment to hang over metal pole, you threaded fabric through the bars of the indoor clothes-horse, hanging them to dry. Much of your time spent in the apartment when both men had been home had been within the kitchen, mostly as not to burden the others with your presence. Though as you grabbed another shirt to dry, you'd noticed a tall figure at the door. 

"Are you doing laundry?" Gojo questioned, shoulder pressed up to the frame as he watched your movements. You nodded, returning back to the task at hand. "My bag was small so I've run out of clean clothes." Exhaling, you drooped the cotton over, straightening out a few creases. He smirked, finally pushing himself from the wood to waltz toward the cupboard, pulling a bag of sweets from a shelf and tearing it open. Placing a hard-boiled candy between his lips, he gestured the bag toward you.  "Want one?" The query had been muffled and accompanied by a few clicks of the sweet against his teeth. You shook your head, a small smile as if to thank him before he'd shrugged and brought the bag back toward his chest. 

Instead of leaving, Gojo had seated himself at the table, the perfect view to the chore you'd been partaking within. His eyes had burned into you, yet you'd attempted to continue as usual, facing away from the blue eyes to push cotton over wire. But after hanging another garment, you sighed, head over shoulder to lock your gaze once more. 

"Am I entertaining you?" He hadn't replied until you'd finished, your body turned to face him fully, eyes locked onto yours as he shrugged, a crack of the candy between his molars.  "Never done it." He commented nonchalantly, picking another sweet from the bag. The rustling lasted a few seconds before he was back to eating, a dramatic exhale from his nose.  "That's cause you were a trust-fund baby." Walking toward him, your bare feet tapped against the tiled floor as you brought an arm upward, fingers outstretched and sight locked onto the bag within his hand. Just before you'd been able to dive a hand into the plastic, he moved it to the side, leaving your fingertips bare. 

"Feisty for someone who's living in my apartment." He commented, blue eyes narrowing as he watched you roll your eyes yet admit defeat through your gestures, instead flopping down on the chair beside him. You sat in silence for a few moments, eyes wondering to the window above the sink - the only window within the apartment that hadn't been covered by curtains and allowed some semblance of light to cascade through. Although you'd appreciated this, there had still been some annoyance to the reminder of the outside world, and how you'd been unable to step foot within it. 

The fifth day, you'd finally brought yourself the courage to ask. 

At the table during breakfast, the opportunity had arisen in which you had both men seated with you, coffee situated before each body.  "Can you bring me shopping today?" The request would likely be denied, a faint memory of Geto's obvious distrust and worry that you'd be seen and captured if stepping foot outside. But, you'd hoped that being on the outskirts of Tokyo, you were unlikely to be recognized, and with both men beside you, you'd be well-protected. Perhaps the idea had been completely idiotic, and when met with Geto's stern expression and furrowed brow, you'd understood the likelihood had been slim to none. 

"Well," Gojo had began first as expected, the less stern presence easing your anxiety. "We're meeting Sukuna first-"  "She's not coming." Geto had been quick to shoot the idea down before Gojo had allowed a semblance of hope to form. He stood, bending over the table to gather the plates from breakfast. As he leaned across, his shirt had lifted upward, revealing a handgun against his stomach that he'd had tucked into his trousers. You hadn't allowed your sight to linger too long on the weapon, though it had crossed your mind when pleading with him. "I'll keep my hood up, please Geto-san." You bowed your head, squeezing eyes closed while trying desperately to find an excuse. Swallowing back your pride, you continued. "I need tampons." 

You hadn't looked up until you were sure Geto's expression would have softened, though when returning your gaze upward, he'd been visibly taken aback, eyes wide and lips parted.  "Whaddya say Geto-san?" Gojo's added emphasis on the term had caused you to outwardly cringe, a reminder of one of the lower moments in your life.  "Be quick." Short and spiteful, yet the words you'd wanted to hear most. You'd fought to hide the growing grin across your face, undeniably shocked by the permission you'd been granted. Gojo laughed at the display, hand languidly laying itself upon your shoulder before giving you a light shove. "Get your coat, sweetheart." 

When approaching the pink haired Ryomen, you'd expected a foul expression, rant, or some form of physical punishment - yet instead he'd remained still, face unreadable. He'd been leaning against broken brick, cigarette in hand, pushing himself from the back-wall of some run-down establishment to stand upright. Seeing him like this had feared you more - Sukuna wasn't one to be lax over broken rules. There would be a significant reason he hadn't reacted to your presence. 

"She insisted-" Geto had began his defensive speech, though had stopped when Sukuna had raised a hand with the shake of his head. Holding the half smoked cigarette had been bloodied fingers, cuts decorating pale knuckles. "Probably better she's here for this." The words had your chest tightening, drop within your stomach when your gaze lingered over the wounded hand, being left to imagine the face that had been on the other side of his fist. "They've got a bounty on you. Saying we owe them money - the Zen'in's own you now." 

There hadn't been long to process his statement as he'd taken a step forward, another drag of his cigarette through stiff lips. "They've got Toji on her." 

Although you hadn't understood the weight of this comment, you could feel the men beside you tense, a quick glance toward Geto telling you all you'd needed to know. His skin had paled, and eyes widened. 

"Are you armed?" The question had added mass to your shoulders, a realization that your freedom had been coming to a close. Toji would have to be bad for all three men within your vicinity to be uncomfortable.

"Sukuna, we can't-" Eyes watering, you'd traced over the handgun tucked within your waistband, metal cooling trembling fingertips. "You can't do anything. This is it." 

Sukuna shook his head defensively, quick to begin a bitter reply and deter you from a path of righteousness. Though, the pop of a gunshot had taken stage before he'd had a chance to stutter more than a syllable, hands flying toward belt. Your fingers wrapped around the grip of the weapon you hadn't intended to use as you searched the alleyway for a body, adrenaline fueling your faster reaction time. Two men had stood at the entrance, the taller of the two aiming his own pistol in your direction. As he took steps toward you, the sunlight had hit his face, revealing a tilted smile, lips kissed by a thick scar. 

"Hands up, pretty girl." His voice had been rugged and deep, teeth bearing as he'd awaited your movement. You'd hesitated before raising both hands, persuaded only when his friend had taken a step forward, shotgun between his hands aimed toward Geto, who had been stood closest to the alley's entrance. 

"Toji. She's not armed." Sukuna's monotone voice didn't waver as he'd glanced at his allies. He'd hoped his lie would pass - you could sense his tension if the other's hadn't. "Ryomen. This your cousin?" Toji exhaled in amusement. "Been looking for her. Healthy bounty on your head, kid." His laughter had been entwined with malice, blood running cold as you'd met with green eyes. 

"You hate the Zen'ins. What changed?" Sukuna had asked, though had been shut down through Toji's quickfire response.  "Money's money. Hand her over, 'n we'll let you live." He'd used his left hand to usher you toward him, jagged smile increasing the panic you'd felt frozen by. 

Sukuna had withdrawn his own weapon, and Toji's expression soured at his movement. 

It had been a split second decision. 

You pulled your pistol from your jacket, aiming toward Toji's chest and pulling trigger. His eyes had widened in shock as he'd stumbled backward, wounded. It hadn't been fatal, though enough to stun him as your barrel aimed toward his partner.  His body had fallen backward much faster than Toji's had, a clear display of you accuracy. Before the black haired half had time to react, you'd ran, left hand instinctively grabbing hold of Sukuna's wrist. 

Only when Sukuna had slumped against the kitchen table, drops of blood dripping over the aged wood, had realized he'd been wounded. Your eyes set over the bullet hole in his bicep, a crimson patch darkening his jacket sleeve. 

"You were shot?" Your concern had been evident as the question had came to fruition through a concerned shout. He'd smiled in amusement, a gentle shake of head and pained laugh through chest.  "When you shoot someone who's aiming a gun, they'll pull the trigger." There was a tightness in his voice as Gojo had pulled his arm through the final layer of clothing, revealing the injury over skin. Geto had already placed a few items over the kitchen table, latex gloves stretched over hands after pushing his sleeves back, inspecting the wound. 

"Satoru, tourniquet." With Geto's voice quiet, Gojo disappeared for a brief few moments before re-emerging with a tie in hand, wrapping it over Sukuna's upper arm and pulling it tightly. "You're lucky that Zen'in had started to stumble before he shot, or you would've had Sukuna killed." 

"Zen'in?"  "He doesn't like the name, goes by Fushiguro. But, he's a Zen'in." Gojo explained while taking a seat at the table. Sukuna had leaved forward, wincing as a needle threaded through the wound.  "And, you're lucky there was an exit wound." Geto had added to the statement. "Though, your quick thinking likely saved one of us - so thanks, I guess." It had been obvious that the gratitude had pained him to say, though you'd accepted it anyway. 

"Do you think they'll find me soon?" You questioned, picking at the hem of your shirt as Geto finished the stitching. The fact you had little control over the outcome of both you life and your allies lives had irked you, a heaviness residing in your chest.  "It's likely they're already narrowing it down - Toji will tell them what he knows if they offer him enough money."  "You should just give me over, Sukuna. Get the money." A half joke, an attempt to lighten the mood. Though, when the tired, annoyed eyes had met your own, you'd realized the words had only hurt him more than intended. 

"What if you returned home with a husband?" Getou's abrupt inquiry had caught you off guard, but you considered the scenario nonetheless, fighting the urge to question why he'd asked, instead manifesting an educated answer.

"My father would have him killed." You spoke with a sourness, eyes remaining to cling to the floor. His attempts at a solution mirrored thoughts you'd had over the past week, though no fix had been found. The only options you'd had were to remain in hiding, or to accept your future as a Zen'in, benefiting everyone other than yourself. 

"What if you married someone they couldn't kill?" His suggestion left you dumbfounded, a muddled flurry of stutters as you'd exhibited your confusion to his ask. "Good luck finding someone powerful and willing to marry me." 

A person the Zen'ins couldn't touch would be a rarity within this world. Now your name had been made known to them, your place as a pawn in the Ryomen and the Zen'in's game, there had been an impossible chance of escape. You were raised purely for the benefit of your clan.

"I know someone." Geto's comment pulled you from your thoughts, another bought of self-deprecating laughter and rolling eyes shot toward him. There had been a glimmer of hope within your mind, yet you wouldn't display it to the men before you, instead residing back into refusal to protect your own ego. If you'd taken his words as banter, you would suffer less pain than to cling onto the premise of false-hope. 

"Satoru." Geto stated, gesturing to the pale, white haired and blue eyed friend beside him. Gojo's reaction had reflected your own; bewilderment. The brunette glanced between the two of you as you'd remained in mutual silence, awaiting his explanation.  "Satoru, think about it." Your eyes met Gojo's briefly before he'd returned his attention to his friend. "You'll be in her position soon - the strongest of you family and heir of Six Eyes; do you think your father will die before you give him a grandson to continue the business?" His theory had weight to it, but you brushed him off, watching Gojo's expression change from confusion to thought. "Geto, come on-" You began, voice gaining his attention. 

"I'll do it." Gojo spoke through upturned lips, both gazes returning to settle over his face. "I couldn't turn down the opportunity to mess with affairs that weren't mine to begin with - and fucking with my family is an added bonus." His playful grin paired with the prospect of being legally bound to him had sent heat through your body, mouth ajar while you'd lost yourself within the vision of a wedding day between yourself and Gojo Satoru.

"Gojo, this is serious." You began, narrowing your expression when looking into his own. "This is your future on the line." You took a sharp breath inward. "Not to mention, marrying me would mean having children down the line-" The rant had started, and Gojo had allowed a playful smirk to etch over his features.  "I'd be happy to fu-" His interruption was much to your distaste, the unwanted suggestion causing your stomach to churn.  "Use your brain for a minute and think about this as an adult!" The sudden outburst caused his eyes to widen before relaxing, mouth still curved upward as he leaned into the back of his chair.  "I've already decided, sweetheart. We'll go to the registry office tomorrow - Suguru and Sukuna can be our witnesses."

For a marriage planned with less than a day prior, it had been executed with ease. The four of you had been brought into a small room, a registrar stood to your left as you'd taken Gojo's hands within your own. As he'd held your fingers between his, a cheap ring Sukuna had sourced from a nearby jewelers slid over your finger, you'd swallowed back your anxieties and listened as he'd recited his vows. 

You'd repeated the action, his calloused hands maintaining the gentle contact between your own as you had spoken much more timidly than he had. Though you'd done so with some reluctance, you had looked into his eyes as you'd repeated after the registrar, a fluttering in chest. Even if this wasn't real, nor was it love, there was some form of excitement within your fear. Though, you wouldn't tell a soul. 

After only ten minutes, you'd left bound by law' a much larger meaning within your families than to yourselves. From this day forward, you were to be labelled as a Gojo. You had expected that crippling weight to ease as you held the wedding certificate in your palm, yet somehow, it had just changed into a new anxiety. 

You had gone against your parent's wishes, as had Satoru, and for that, you knew there would be a cost. 

reblogs and comments help creators more than just liking <3

a/n: after posting the teaser for this in MARCH, i have finally finished it!! i hope you enjoyed :,) i'm putting tags below, i'm so sorry if you forgot about this and are confused by the notif !!

tags: @ritsatoru @tomiokas-lunchbox @outrofenty @cherryblossiren @thisbicc @obitohno

[anna-dreamer]

Finwean generational trauma is so real. I imagine, after Maglor and Maedhros kidnapped the twins, there was a clear and brutal understanding that that was not them giving those children a good life; but also, also, with Maglor and Maedhros being prone to the Oath, with their lives and souls tainted and fractured by bloodshed and murder and violence and loss and despair, they'd think there was no chance in the void for them to make something good out of it. Not with the Oath, not with the Doom, not with the way their father was. Their grandfather, due to whatever eldritch horror haunted his childhood in Endorë, felt that he had to have as many children as possible, so that his family would not fail and he wouldn't be left alone and scared in the dark. As a result, their father, abandoned and traumatised and angry, felt that he had to have as many children as possible, so that he would never be abandoned again, alone and scared in the dark. And he made sure of that. He had seven children, and he tied them up with an unbreakable Oath that would sooner destroy all of them than let them give up on him. So many hurts in this family were attempted to be healed with the use of children. And now here are Maglor and Maedhros. Alone and scared in the dark. True, there are two little boys on their hands, yet they have already wronged these boys so deeply. If there is a small chance of salvation or even redemption through them, Maglor and Maedhros would not take it. Besides, it would not work anyway. Refusing to repeat the old pattern is a first step in the right direction, and on itself it wouldn't be enough, but...

But then Eärendil appears in the sky. This is Elrond and Elros' father up there - and at the same time there is Fëanor too, because it's the silmaril that shines, the unobtainable, unreachable, illusory silmaril, like a father Maglor and Maedhros still desperately long for. Oh, but he will not come back. He is as far away as any star in the sky. The twins can't have their father back, and neither can the last two Fëanorians.

And then it hits Maglor. True, his brother and him are Doomed. True, there is probably no happy ending for them two. But it doesn't have to be this way for Elrond and Elros. With whatever strength and will to live and hope that he has left, he will try to do better by them. Maedhros would try to argue, but Maglor would tell him, They did not have Fëanor for a father! And they will not.

He can only hope that his genuine love and care he will give to the twins is just enough for them to turn out better than Maglor and Maedhros did. Maglor and Maedhros took them in. Now they are responsible. They will try. If redemption comes, it's not through acquiring someone to love you, but through loving them as sincerely and selflessly as your broken heart can. And if redemption doesn't come at all, so be it. It was not about redemption anyway. The second step, to consciously break the chain, is made.

Alas, it does not work as well on Maedhros. He doesn't feel this bittersweet bliss. He has fallen too deep into despair. And as soon as Elrond and Elros are gone, it becomes not enough for Maglor to heal either. He has just enough hope left to argue with his brother whether or not to go for silmarils. But all those last years spent alone with Maedhros sucked a lot out of Maglor, and nothing is left, apart from the feverish devotion, Nelyo knows better, Nelyo always knew better, like a dark shadow of Father always knows better, we will follow him and we will die for him if needed... No matter that Maedhros is not in his right mind. Neither was Fëanor. Their father's Oath is intertwined with their love for each other, and it binds them together ever stronger. Maglor would not leave Maedhros. But Maedhros loves his brother too. He might have not been healed by a star, but he is still Nelyo. The big brother. And while he could not break any vicious circles with his life, but with his death, for his last surviving brother, he would try.

It was not enough for Maedhros or Maglor. But it was enough for Elrond and Elros. With them, Finwean generational trauma was healed. The chain was broken. And i firmly believe that, despite their own trauma, both ultimately had healthy and happy families.

And if Maglor is still out there, Elrond will find him. He will finish what Maglor - his father - has started.