Stranger Things
todays bird
One Nice Bug Per Day
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
dirt enthusiast
No title available
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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Andulka
Cosimo Galluzzi
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
roma★
tannertan36
cherry valley forever
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Origami Around
izzy's playlists!
★
NASA
YOU ARE THE REASON
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Japan
seen from Egypt
seen from Denmark
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
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seen from Philippines
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@epiphany-zzz
The fact that Emerie is the first female Carynthian of Illyrian descent while having her wings clipped, owns a shop that is frowned upon, is most likely gay, LIVES IN ILLYRIA and people want to give an Illyrian plot to someone else?
Hell naw.
The Emerie erasure really gets to me sometimes cause there is a good story to be told there but with EMERIE not AZRIEL.
#MemeMonday but make it Elriel🌸🦇
Back with another Meme Monday! Be sure to check out our Instagram for the full collection. 💕
“𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒎.”
⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆
Azriel didn’t hesitate to face certain death to save Elain. And Elain—gagged, chained, and wrists burning with violet steel—still devoured the sight of him, as if she couldn’t quite believe he’d come for her.
This scene exemplifies the pull between these two, and how well they work in harmony. Even bound, Elain still fought alongside Azriel, slamming her foot into the hound’s face until it released him, keeping both Azriel and the innocent Briar alive. Azriel’s focus never wavered: get her out, get her to safety, no matter what it cost him.
Two souls moving in tandem, even through chaos. Light and dark. Strength and quiet ferocity. Theirs is a partnership born from trust, sacrifice, and a bond deeper than words.
Endlessly thankful to @northyme for capturing this heart-stopping Elriel moment so beautifully! Every update took our breath away, culminating in this stunning piece.
.𖥔 ݁ art by @northyme
.𖥔 ݁ commissioned by @elainsvisions and me
.𖥔 ݁ please do not repost without permission
Insta | X
Not to be a bitch but I just can’t believe how often we have to argue about reading comprehension and media literacy over one of the most obvious fucking ship set-ups I’ve ever seen. Sarah follows patterns, across all her series, yes, but especially in ACOTAR. If you can’t easily recognize what she’s done with the set-up of Elain and Azriel’s story, (OVER THE COURSE OF FOUR ((five if you wanna mention the cauldron reveal in hofas)) BOOKS IN 9 YEARS) I really don’t need you coming to me or my friends bitching about how you’re more right than us because of your PhD in English Literature. That’s a you problem girl, not ours.
Ink & Arco - Chapter 10 (Elriel ff)
Heyy!
Updated, as promised! If you want to truly feel the tension of this chapter, I highly recommend reading it while listening to "El Tango de Roxanne". That’s exactly what I did while writing it, the music will make every word pulse with life!
Chapter 10
Preview
She will drive you mad.
Elain played like a woman on the verge of ruin.
The pub dim and feral, heavy with the musk of damp wood and stale smoke, the air syrupy with spilled ale and the scrape of chairs against worn floorboards. Beyond the cracked windowpanes, the city exhaled fog, curling against the glass like ghosts.
Feyre had told her to play whatever she liked, no one would care as long as the music held. And so she stood beneath a reluctant spotlight, brittle and gold, her instrument poised like a blade at her throat. Somewhere in the din, someone yelled for another round, but the sound dimmed beneath the opening bars of the tango, slinking from Elain's violin like a whispered dare.
She was dressed in red. Not the coy blush of spring petals, but the deep, carnal red of overripe fruit split open on the tongue, of velvet drapes drawn tight against the night. Silk clung to her ribs and spilled over her hips, the hem pooling at her ankles like spilled wine, darkening where the dust of the floor caught it. Her hair had come undone, fallen in curling strands that stuck to the hollow of her throat, to the pulse fluttering there like a caught sparrow.
The tango unfurled slowly at first, low and deliberate, notes pulled from the strings as though coaxed from beneath the floorboards. Sul ponticello, her bow drawn close to the bridge, teasing that thin, metallic edge, a sound both fragile and serrated. There is seduction in the syncopation, the sharp off-beats snapping like distant gunfire. Staccato, biting. Rubato, languid and swollen with restraint.
The hours she had spent pressing fingertip to string had worn the flesh thin. And yet tonight, as the tempo surged, as the melody twisted into something sharp and consuming, the skin split. Quietly. Almost politely. A bead of blood, then another, welling at the seam where fingertip met steel. It dripped in time with the music. A rhythm of its own.
The bow flew, hair fraying at the edges, catching in the amber glow. Spiccato, then legato, then a feral, urgent glissando, sliding from note to note like the hand of a forbidden lover slipping beneath silk sheets. Glissando slid into pizzicato, her wrist flicking, precise, and the tango began to writhe, alive, a serpent coiling around her ankles, pulling her deeper into the swell of it. The audience had forgotten to drink, to murmur, to move.
And when at last the final note was wrung from the strings, drawn out until it frayed into silence, Elain didn’t bow. She stood motionless, the violin still pressed to her jaw, the blood on her fingertips drying like rust against the varnish. Her chest rose and fell as though she had run a great distance, as though something in her had just returned from wherever the music had taken it.
In red, she looked less like a girl and more like something grown from the dark earth itself. A rose in full, ruinous bloom. Soft, yes. But edged with thorns sharp enough to break the skin.
A woman.
End of preview
You can read the entire chapter on AO3!
Your updates are the highlight of my week!! Any chance you’ll drop a teaser for Ink & Arco to hold us over till Sunday? 👀💗
Hi there!
The amount of love this story has received is absolutely amazing! Thank you so much for spending your precious time on it. Here’s a little teaser to hold you over until the update drops later tonight!
“Again,” Nuala repeated. Clipped. Precise. Unarguable.
Elain nodded, though her stomach twisted into a knot. Her fingers crawled up the ebony fingerboard, trembling, slick despite the rosin-dusted air. She drew in a breath, set her bow-
Too fast. Too harsh. The rhythm faltered. She heard it implode on itself, felt the way the melody collapsed like a building with rotten foundations.
“Stop,” Nuala’s voice was calm, maddeningly calm.
Elain froze, bow suspended midair. “I can do it,” she bit out, more to herself than to her best friend. Why can’t I, why can’t I. Why, why, why.
Nuala lifted a brow. “Then do it. In time, in tune.”
Heat surged up Elain’s neck, burning her veins. She wanted to fling the old traitor across the room, to shatter it into splinters, to hear the snap of maple and gut as satisfying as bone breaking. Instead, she started again. Downbow. Upbow. For four bars, it almost felt alive, until her left hand locked on a shift, a semitone short, a missed half-step like a knife to the ear.
Nuala clicked her tongue softly. “Your intonation—“
“I know!” Her voice cracked. She pressed her thumb into the violin’s neck hard enough until it throbbed. Her breath came too quick, useless. “I know, alright? Just…again.”
Nuala watched her for a moment, silent, then nodded. “Fine. Top.”
They began again, the opening rhythm snapping like whips, a merciless gunfire. Elain pushed through, eyes stinging, each note a battle, a fight against her own fracturing focus. Her body ached from the hours of practice that came before this, her shoulders screamed, her spine felt aflame. The hours, days, weighed on her, each sleepless night pressing down on her arm, but she refused to yield.
Deceived. Deceived. Deceived. Deceived.
He deceived her. Everyone deceived her.
“Focus,” Nuala snapped,
Snap.
A sickening crack as the horsehair tore loose and the wood splintered in her grip. An ugly halt, she panicked and then froze, staring at the limp white hair dangling from the frog, heart hammering in her throat. Her fingers couldn’t unclench from the ruined stick.
Catharsis - Chapter 9 (Elriel ff)
Hi!
It’s hard to believe it’s been seven months since the last update of this story! I’ve missed writing them, and I’ve missed sharing their journey with you.
I’m excited to explore their path forward, to dive into their grief, their struggles, and the steps toward healing.
@elrieldreamer, this one's for you <3
C/W:
This story contains themes of grief, infant loss, postpartum trauma, depression, and intense emotional distress.
Chapter 9
Preview
The door creaked open. A soft knock preceded it, hesitant, almost ashamed. Azriel stood there, barely recognisable. His hair hung in greasy strands over his hollowed face, his shoulders slumped as though the weight of his guilt had finally broken him. He looked at her from the doorway, his expression blank but his eyes brimming with something too unbearable, not human.
“Elain,” he said softly, her name heavy on his tongue.
She didn’t turn. She stood by the window, arms wrapped loosely around herself, staring at the rain that streamed down the glass in endless, mournful streaks, blurring the world beyond into smears of grey.
Azriel stepped inside, and his gaze swept over the room. Their room. The basinet stood empty, a monument to everything they had lost. Tiny clothes were strewn across the floor, patterned dresses and soft pink onesies that would never be worn, socks small enough to fit in his palm. A reminder of the life they had prepared for. The air still smelled faintly of detergent and baby powder, but the scent had curdled somehow, stale, wrong.
“Elain,” he tried again, voice hoarse, an ache heavy in his chest. But she didn’t turn, didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge him.
He sighed, the sound catching in his throat as he glanced around the room. His glazed eyes moved across the room, taking in the wreckage of what was supposed to be their sanctuary. The place where they would watch their daughter grow, fill the walls with her laughter, the air with her love. Laugh, cry, crawl, live.
In his hand was a black trash bag, bulging with the weight of things he couldn’t bear to look at anymore. Inside were the piece’s of Ivy’s almost-life, the little hat she’d worn in the hospital, a blanket still faintly carrying her scent, stuffed animals that had never been hugged, dreams that had never had the chance to root. His grip tightened on it.
Murder. He was the murderer.
His heart pounded painfully in his chest, each beat whispering, I can’t do this. I. Can’t. Do. This.
“Elain,” he tried once more, and this time his voice cracked entirely, splintering into something that wasn’t quite a word anymore.
Slowly, it drew her attention.
She turned her head, just enough for her gaze to meet his. Her eyes were deadened, ringed in purple shadows, the whites bloodshot. And in them, he saw what terrified him most: not anger, not hatred, but emptiness. She looked at him as though he were a stranger.
Her gaze dropped to the bag in his hand, and for the first time in weeks, sound tore from her throat, a small, broken sound, like glass shattering underfoot.
“No.”
“We can’t keep this,” he said, his voice trembling. “We can’t keep pretending—”
Her voice cut through the air, sharp and venomous. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He froze, startled by the sudden sound of her, so unfamiliar and jagged. He found her eyes fixed on him now, hollow but burning, their usual softness replaced with something raw and terrifying.
“No,” she said, her voice shaking. “No, no, no. You’re not throwing them away.”
“Elain—”
“You’re not throwing them away!” she screamed, her voice cracking, breaking. She lunged toward him, her hands clawing at the bag, desperate to rip it from his grasp.
“Stop!” he shouted, yanking the bag away. But she didn’t stop. She kept fighting, her movements frantic, her sobs tearing through the air like a wounded animal’s cry.
“Give it back!” she begged, desperately. Her fingers gripped the edge of the bag, but he held it tighter, his knuckles white.
“Elain, stop—”
“Give it back!” she shrieked, her tears streaking her face. Her knees buckled, and he instinctively reached out to catch her, but she shoved him away, her nails scratching his arm as she fought him like a woman possessed.
And then he snapped.
“She’s gone!” he roared, his voice booming and savage, the words spilling out like venom. “She’s dead, Elain! Dead!”
The words hung in the air like a noose, and Elain froze, her breath hitching in her throat. She staggered back, her hand flying to her chest as if she could physically hold her heart together. Her lips trembled, but no sound came.
Azriel’s chest heaved, his face twisted with anger and pain. He didn’t mean it, not like this, but the words were out, irreversible, unforgivable.
“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice shaking, raw. “Don’t take her away from me again.”
Oh. God.
End of preview
You can read the entire chapter on AO3!
Tarot + Chocolate | Chapter 19
Chapter 19: The Beach
Summary: Azriel, Elain, the princess, and the knight (and Benji) all take a walk on the beach.
CW: None :)
All of your comments on the last chapter KILLED ME. Man I was crying laughing. Thank you 😭 Work is really stressful at the moment and I really needed that. Now please don't hate me 🙃
Also, I know the plot is moving extreeeeemely slowly right now (both literally because I'm writing slowly and literarily). But bare with me-the stakes are going to be upped soon. We have to get through some training and emotional revelations first whilst in Scotland.
Preview:
The colors of the world were coming back to Elain around her. She became aware of the blue of the sea and the sun in the sky. She became aware of the sound of waves and bird calls up above. And then Elain became aware that she was not on the ground, but being held in Azriel's arms, and that shadows and vines encircled her arms and tangled in her hair. He was standing with his feet in the water again, holding her over the rolling waves.
“Elain?” came Azriel’s cool, steady voice. As her vision came back to her in splintered images, it was all she could do to throw her arms around his neck and bury her face into his chest. He squeezed her more tightly against him. She was vaguely aware that shadows and vines were circling her arms and intertwined with each other, holding her as he did.
She felt an overwhelming mixture of emotions. She felt the lingering deep, heart-achingly eternal love she felt for Azriel in that past life. She felt a tragic sense of loss that she didn’t share that closeness with him in this present life. And she felt that same foreboding something that she always felt after one of her visions of the knight and princess.
Her Sight was aggravated, pummeling her from the inside-out, telling her to let go of Azriel, to run as far away as she could, that tragedy was coming to her in that life and in this one. But she didn’t want to listen to it. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and kiss him in this sea, too. She was so confused, and so lost, and so scared, and so longing.
Continue on Ao3
can we get another snippet of Sibyl's Stones to tide us over?
Anon- I owe you and everyone a huge apology.
I got my stupid little heart broken, and now I'm out here in a Marianne and Connell situation. Big yikes. And super TMI.
So I've been very critical of SS. Writing is one of those strange outlets where in private, is therapeutic, but sharing your work with the world requires a critical eye.
But- I hate to keep you all waiting. As always, my inbox is open for questions about the series!
///
The Summoning
The call began as a hum.
At first, the faint sound reminded her of another world. If she still bore rounded ears, the drawl would have entirely escaped her notice. But, by fate’s cruel design, her ears heard more than she ever cared to listen, her eyes saw more than she ever cared to understand.
The call summoned something more sinister than hope, more deadly than desire.
Older than bones, wiser than souls, more powerful than the Mother herself.
Like honeyed wine, she tasted the sweet release only a witch could summon, and she gave herself over to the wickedness crawling down her throat and filling her depthless belly.
Moon and stars be dammed, she yearned to drink the whole night sky.
Could her fingertips rot into roots? Could her burning heart rival the Sun? Could her voice flood the world, to let the Earth begin anew?
An old tongue grew from groans and gasps gleefully eating the ether. Weaving around each other, she had some strange sense she was flying, for her body was weightless and her feet knew more than her mind ever could.
Daughters of mine, adored and divine
Someone cried for love. Another for revenge. One for forgiveness, another for grace. And then their prayers ceased, and their pleas became commands.
They became the Gods they summoned.
She became love.
She became revenge.
She became forgiveness.
She became power.
Her feet guided her through an ancient dance and the power flowed through her veins; Elain summoned her curse.
“Mother! Mother!” she screamed like a delirious child, “You cursed me to be just like you!”
A sharp, cold voice pierced the cobweb thin veil. Even spirit side, she was sad to know she had come to know such a thing as her home.
“Then, break the curse, Elain.”
“Mother?” she whimpered, “Mother, why did you hate us so?”
“Elain… oh my pretty Elain…”
“Elain! Run!"
Emerie's shouts pierced through the mania of magic, and then she was there again, feeling the frigid wind weaving between the standing stones
“Run! Go! The males are coming!”
///
Girl… I have SUCH a hangover from Inc & Arco 😩 wheeeeeen is more coming? 🙏
Oh, hi! 🤭
The best kind of hangover tbh 😏 Next chapter will be up by Sunday, promiseee!
Y’all seriously keep me motivated! I love reading your comments, they always make me feel so happy and privileged to be part of such an amazing community!
I’ll try to share a lil something…
Are you ready for it??? ❤️🔥👀
Quality Time
Theres just something about a love where they want to just be with each other no matter what they are doing. I’ve always felt one of elain and Azriel’s love languages is quality time along with gift giving. Couldn’t be a more perfect pairing.
The pair of swans symbolize elriels life long love story.
Close ups ⬇️
“𝙊𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣. 𝙃𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙮 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙛 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙤𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨.”
Elain and Azriel may not have a mating bond between them, but they’re still drawn to each other in an unexplainable way. I cannot wait to see the heated moments this connection leads them into. We will likely see them trying to resist their connection for a while, but ultimately, the pull is too strong to ignore.
In this commission, the rain is interrupting a moment where Elain and Azriel are once again caught up in each other. Thanks so much to rockieartt for creating this for me! You are soo talented and I’m so grateful I had the chance to work with you 💙
Art by rockieartt and commissioned by me.
Characters belong to Sarah J. Maas
Please do not repost without permission. Likes and reblogs are appreciated!
I never want to know what it feels like to not stan The Holy Trinity
Credit to: Asayris, Giannyfili, Neur0toxin/evaroseart, snowarox
Azriel and Elain Archeron, as Ares and Aphrodite
«In Greek mythology, Aphrodite, goddess of love, was forced by Zeus to marry Hephaestus, an arranged marriage she never desired. Despite this forced union, she maintained a secret relationship with Ares, god of war, with whom she shared an intense and lasting connection. Their union symbolized the contrast between passion and conflict.
Although their bond began as a clandestine romance and was marked by public ridicule, when it was discovered by the other gods after being a trap devised by Hephaestus, many stories portray them as one of the closest couples in mythology, remaining together even after the humiliations and consequences of their forbidden love.»
Well, finally, we have Elain and Azriel in their Greek myths AU? This is the third part to finally complete this trilogy of fanarts created in 2024.
I think the reason I chose them as Ares and Aphrodite is pretty obvious, haha.
And I had to add the dose of Elriel angst that I love so much (sorry).
I'll upload some more recent fanarts from other fandoms, but I don't know when.
Rhys, after being held captive for decades, is able to see the stars again thanks to Feyre
Azriel, who was deprived of sunlight when he was a child, comparing Elain to the sun at dawn
. ♡
Ink & Arco - Chapter 9 (Elriel ff)
It's been a long time cominnn
I’ve missed you all!
This chapter took me longer than I’d hoped, travel has a way of stealing away free time... Thank you, truly, for your patience and for sticking with me! Can't wait to read your thoughts!!!
Chapter 9
Preview
Inevitable. Insane. Pain.
More pain.
It throbbed behind her ribs, bruised and bruised, settled into her bones fiercely, pain, pain, pain, more pain. Blue, lost, forgotten. She bit her lip and tasted crimson, metal and acid mingling in her mouth.
3:07 a.m. Sad, was this sadness she was feeling? Could a feeling be this strong? She stood outside the door like she’d done something wrong, ready to get scolded, ready to be changed. Maybe. Maybe she was wrong. Her phone had died an hour ago, or maybe it hadn’t, maybe she just stopped looking. Broken. Her heels had long since come off, useless now, dangling from her fingers like proof she had tried, for a little while, to be something polished, something other than insane. Something pretty, something tempting. She hadn’t cried. She should’ve. More pain. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Instead silence walked her way, it wrapped around her, the way his voice wrapped around hers.
The door clicked open with a reluctant groan, Nesta emerged from behind, barefoot and bleary-eyed, breathtaking even in her grey satin pyjamas, a perfect braid and eyes squinting, her gaze sharpening as she blinked at the figure standing in the hallway. Elain watched her sister come into focus, and she hated how composed she looked, how grounded, how intact.
There was this colour on her face, did she ever get sad or just angry?
“Elain?”
She stood there, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her hair in knots, tangled and windblown, her dress creased and stained, a small tear near the hem, a burning sensation on her ribs. The other hand clutching her phone, white knuckled and terrified.
Wrong, everything was so wrong lately.
She offered a sheepish smile, too brittle to be convincing. “I…um, I was in the neighbourhood.”
Fragile, absurd, the little white lie floated, it reached the ceiling and then vanished. She wanted to laugh at herself, at the stupidity of it all. Raw skin, thinking too much, unhealthily, walking and thinking, a sudden scream, a confession of pain.
Yeah, Nesta didn’t buy that. She said nothing at first, just looked. Sudden clarity, her cold eyes narrowed slightly, not trusting her, seeking the truth behind her glazed eyes. Elain cleared her throat, eyes darting to the floor, trying to cling to the script she’d rehearsed on the way over. “I was out with…Nuala. We had a couple of drinks. I… I…I think I’m a bit tipsy.”
It wasn’t that far from the truth, nothing really mattered. She let the lies hang there, unfinished, suspended, kept inside a vault. Maybe the cage would disappear if she didn’t touch it. Maybe if she didn’t say the rest out loud it would remain a bitter hallucination.
Nesta glanced at her phone’s screen, didn’t react before lifting her gaze again. Shame. Behind her, the apartment was unlit, still, shadows that remained unmoved by her arrival. Not the shadows that had drained the colour from her face. Gulp.
“You’re freezing,” Nesta hissed, low but not unkindly. Not warmth, but she did care. Yes, she always did and Elain clung to it like oxygen.
When Nesta stepped aside, she walked in too quickly, her body still stuck in flight. She brushed a curl behind her ear because it gave her something to do, something that she could fix, something she could be. The scent inside the apartment hit her immediately, pine, parchment, time. Christmas Tree Farm, her mind whispered. A ghost. Their father loved that scent. Distant, diseased and somehow everywhere. Pain swirled grief. More pain.
Nesta shut the door, the click of it closing made something in her flinch. Insane,
“You were with Nuala,” she said again, but softer this time. Almost daring Elain to lie twice.
Elain nodded, her pale face toward the window now, away from her sister’s eyes. “Yeah. Just us.”
It meant nothing. Empty syllables meant to hold up a collapsing structure. Lies. More lies.
“Right.” Nesta looked at her and still, didn’t push. Mistake. Big mistake. She saw the mascara clinging desperately to her lashes, the eyeliner smudged from fingers rubbed too hard, the cracked skin on Elain’s hands from scratching and scratching, digging and clawing, and it was evident that something didn’t add up.
The torn dress. The lies. The silence.
And Elain knew she saw it. Knew that her older sister was already fitting the clues together like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t asked to receive.
But Nesta would always be Nesta. She wouldn’t say anything. She went to the kitchen instead and poured a glass of water. When she returned, she placed it into her hands, her fingers curled around it, so unsteady, so unsure.
Suddenly, the quiet of it all was deafening. Because Elain Archeron wanted to say it. All of it. Every word laced with pain, every flickering, fever-dream fragment of herself. She wanted to say how it happened, how she lost the only key to the cage she swore not to open, the one she built and then shut with fear and resolve, the one that kept her up at night, the one that brought so much pain. More pain.
Mistake.
Thought she buried that softer part of her so deep no one could reach it again.
Her fault.
She’d dared and let it happen. She had dared to think maybe she could be both held and safe, that maybe she could let her guard down without consequence, no more pain, no more pain. No. More. Pain.
No.
Wrong. She was wrong.
End of Preview
You can read the entire chapter on AO3!
