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w3irdo666 · 4 months

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Hi! I wasn't sure if you were accepting requests at the moment

but can I get (romantic) Alastor x Lucifer's ex Seraphim Angel wife who he left plz?

S/o eventually left Heaven and still got to keep their wings and powers before it got taken. They meet him around the time he got to Hell and they hit it off

Anything else is up to you if you'd like

Oh, interesting idea!! I'll try my best, love youuu!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

The Drug In Me Is You

Alastor x Fem!reader x ex!Lucifer

Letter count:

Tags: slightly angst, sfw, slightly possesive behaviour, depression.

Notes: I hope i understood you right!!! Enjoy!!

Lucifer was a wonderful husband.. Constantly enveloped you in love. It seemed to you that you could not dream of anything more. Romantic dates, beautiful clothes, oh, you thought that you would drown in his care.... Which is what happened. Lucifer was undoubtedly magnificent a man...But not a great husband...When you got married, your joy knew no bounds...but...

A year later, you began to notice that he began to pay less attention to you. In the evening, he no longer went to you to cuddle in bed, but just turned his back to you and fell asleep.When you wanted to hug him, threw your hand away and answered annoyed, “Leave me alone.”

One day you were walking through a magnificent garden in paradise. The beauty of nature has always delighted you. Oh, these magnificent scarlet roses.. They look so fragile that it seems that if you touch them, they will fall into small pieces... Birds sang and flew in the sky .Everything was so wonderful, you even forgot about your husband for a while...But suddenly you heard someone’s voice. Your wings trembled slightly, not expecting that someone would be there. You came closer to the source of the sound and, hiding behind a tree, looked whose it was a voice...

Your heart skipped a beat and you felt tears running down your cheeks, like blades piercing your skin.Lucifer stood with another woman. His smile....he had not smiled as much as he smiled at this woman for a long time.You were hurt, terribly. He betrayed you. You were on the verge of hysterics. Turning around, you ran away, sobbing and wiping your tears with your hands.

Everything around you seemed so fake. These light clouds. Birds, flowers, plants. You flapped your three wings and quickly flew. Where? You didn’t know, but it certainly wasn’t where you were flying from.

..............................................................................................................

The next few days were a blur. You felt terrible, you suffered. Lucifer, betrayed you? You couldn’t accept it. When Lucifer was kicked out of Heaven because he got involved with a demon, you didn’t care anymore. You used to be a very joyful archangel. Everyone called you a ray of sunshine. But now... There were black bags under your eyes because of lack of sleep. Your eyes are red, tear-stained. Your condition was immediately noticed by other angels.

“Y/n, honey, are you okay....?” One day an archangel turned to you, concerned about your condition. But she was only met with a few rude words. This alerted her. Soon the angels began to avoid you. The archangels thought about making a decision about your expulsion. But before they could do anything, you expelled yourself. Having opened the portal, you descended into hell. “If I suffer here... It won’t be worse there..” You thought.

Unfortunately, you were wrong. A few days later, you sat curled up in a ball in some alley of hell. Your clothes were torn in some places, your wings were tattered, you felt emptier than an empty glass.Your tired eyes were closed. Your face was buried in your knees. You were so tired that you didn’t even have the strength to cry. Suddenly, you heard someone’s voice. It felt like someone was talking on the radio.

"What are you doing here, dear.With those...wings.Aren't you supposed to be in heaven?" His static voice sounded confident.

You raised your head slightly and opened your eyes. You saw a strange sinner in front of you... He was different from many of those you saw here. He was dressed in a beautiful fitted red suit, his black bow tie was beautifully attached to his shirt. He had a big smile on his face, showing his yellow, sharp teeth. His eyes were calm, but you could see a slight mockery in them.He had black gloves on his hands, and in one of his hands he held a red microphone on a stick.

"W...what do you want...?" You asked in a quiet, pitiful voice. You heard him laugh slightly.

"Ah, nothing important, dear, just curious what such.... creature..like you doing here?" He tilted his head to the side with slight -crack-.

"Who are you...?" You said weakly

"Ah, name's Alastor.Pleasure to meeting you! Quite a pleasure!" He bowed while saying this. You didn't say anything, only looked down at the ground. He continued watching you for few seconds then walked closer to you, standing in front of you.

Alastor couldn't help, but when he saw you, something woke up in him.He was in hell only few month, but still made reputation of dangerous cruel demon.But when he saw your poor, beautiful body, his heart skipped a beat. He felt a strange pull to protect you.

"Such an innocent soul..." he thought

............................................................................................................

You didn't know how it happened, but you find yourself in....his apartment...? With Alastor in front of you.There was a cup of tea in front of you. You looked at your reflection in the tea. You looked terrible. Shabby dirty hair, tired face...The demon continued to look at you, drinking his coffee. His smile never fell, you didn’t even care.

Your weak hand reached for the cup of tea. Fragile fingers clasped the handle of the tea, but your hands were too weak to lift the cup. Alastor noticed this and his eyes narrowed slightly. He put his cup on the saucer. Crossing his legs, he leaned back, watching you.

No matter how he tried to find pleasure in your suffering and raise the cup, he did not feel good. He felt sympathy for you, and a desire to protect. He slowly stood up and approached you.His beautiful long fingers took a cup of tea from your hand and brought the cup to your lips. Slightly surprised by such actions, you looked at the demon.

Opening your lips slightly, you started drinking tea with small sips.

After tea and some food (Alastor feed you too) Alastor showed you way to the bathroom, you needed it.You looked like complete mess.Alastor provided you with a towel, after which you went into the bathroom.When you came out of the bath, prepared clothes were waiting for you... Or rather, a shirt and pants...

When you were changing clothes, Alastor came into the room. He was amazed by your beauty. Your hair.. your smooth skin... Ah, those beautiful wings... He felt his pulse increase.His smile and eyes began to give off shades of warmth.

..............................................................................................................

You lived with Alastor for a long time.You became very close, you started to feel better. Every evening, over a cup of tea, he listened to your worries and sufferings... Usually he would have enjoyed this, but with you, he only felt the desire to calm you down. Every day spent with Alastor gave you more strength, and made you forget Lucifer.

In a hell full of lustful sinners and murderers, you have found comfort in a dangerous demon.No, he wasn't just a demon for you, Alastor, this soul..When he woke up in the evening because of your sobs in the next room, he would sigh and get up heading towards you. When he approaches you, he will lie down next to you and hug you. He hates touching.... But for you he will do anything.He would kill for a feeling of your wings wrap around him when you relax after telling him what bothering you.

When the angels officially kicked you out of heaven, you didn't care so much anymore.You cared only about one thing...only about one person...only about Alastor.

........................................................................................................

"Alastor, where are we?" You asked as you looked around.You were in some kind of garden. Although the flowers were not as luxurious as in heaven, life was visible in them... They looked so bewitching.Alastor coughed and turned away from you. You looked at him in surprise, not understanding his behavior.

"Alastor...?" You almost reached with your hand to his shoulder, but he quickly turned to you.

"Y/n.." Alastor began. His smile was on his face as usual, but you saw the uncertainty in his eyes when he turned to you with one black rose in his hand.You lowered your hand. Oh, how beautiful this rose was... Like an angel of death...

"yes..?"

"i....love you." He extended his hand with the rose towards you. His other hand was tightly gripping his microphone. Your cheeks turned slightly red due to the blush. You felt your heart beating faster and as if butterflies were fluttering in your stomach.He turned his head away, looking away.Without wasting a second, you grabbed his wrist with one hand and turned his face in your direction with the other. Alastor tensed at the contact, but when he felt your soft, plump lips on his, he almost melted.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the kiss. His arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him. You parted your lips slightly, allowing his tongue to penetrate. You let out a slight moan as your tongues intertwined.

After a few seconds, you pulled away each other. from each other and looked into each other's eyes. You smiled. Your cheeks were flushed with blush, but you were happy to think about it.

"I love you too."

Notes: I hope you liked it!!! Sorry that i didn't lost for a while (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠)

#hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor the radio demon #alastor #hazbin hotel x y/n #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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mothmothwoth · 9 months

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fanart of Pomme being exposed to the horrors with sketches of Chaya and Leo who are not doing so well either

idk who the hell put so much dirt on the eggs but like- they better be okay- I will cry

under the page break for Pomme close up and design notes bc I’m actually proud of something I drew for once :>

I saw a post that said the paint smeared on Pommes checks made it look like she was crying and that fucking clocked me so I had to put that there (it might not come across tho)

she also lost a shoe in the struggle, tore her stockings, got covered in dirt, and ripped her wings. In my mind her wings are like those fake toile fairy wings you get for like little kid costumes. Those wings have wire on the edges so that why the outside edge is saturated and the rip pattern is like that

I gave her APPLE POCKETS this is common for pomme designs but it just makes me really happy. ALSO her hair is in bubble braids bc they shape of each little bobble reminds me of an apple again so.

also Leonarda has earrings on for her design normally so in this tattered look her earring got torn off. Oh! And her hat has a tear in it along with being askew like her cubito. And when I think of Leo I think of her silly ass dog head so I gave her a bigger nose and smaller eyes to try and capture the joy I feel looking at that stupid dog (/pos) Also chayannes duck lost an eye :(

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rubra-wav · 3 months

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Butterfly demon reader pt. 2 - Wing care group hc/drabble-y

Cw: SFW, total fluff, gn!reader - in which Vaggie, Husk, and reader preen each other's wings

< Part 1

- In the beginning, Vaggie is hesitant to let you or Husk touch her wings. She just got them back, she doesn't want them to get harmed at all.

- However, not letting anyone help with upkeep would be leaving her wings even more vulnerable to damage. So she agrees to it eventually.

- The topic originally came up because Vaggie was concerned about your wings

- They are so delicate and prone to being damaged by so many things. If you even just brushed up against things accidentally and had too much of your scales come off it could be bad!

- Assuring her you had a lot and could replenish them after a certain amount of time didn't do much either.

- After the Angel's attacked the hotel, your wings were left tattered in places, and she had absolutely fretted over it. Helping you take care of them until they healed up.

- She was taken aback when you asked if you could help preen her own wings, but after some convincing let you.

- After she got over her initial hesitance and slight discomfort with having them touched, she couldn't lie that after so long, having delicate touches gently correcting her feathers and brushing them out felt incredible.

- That's how wing care group began.

- Every Monday at 8pm, you and Vaggie meet up for an hour (or more if it turns out that way) to help one-another clean and maintain one-another's wings.

- In these sessions you usually just talk about random stuff and gossip a bit.

- You make tea and snacks, and essentially just chill out together doing whatever.

- Sometimes other members of the hotel will join you two to do whatnot while you work on each other.

- One of these times is how you two rope Husk into it.

- You'd set up in the TV room (you usually met for it in your hotel room) because you saw a movie you thought Vaggie may have liked, and Husk was there watching you two go about stuff with disgust on his face from behind the bar.

- "Do you two have to do that shit here?" Husk asks with clear distaste.

- A remark he'd regret making because next thing he knows, you and Vaggie are picking him up by either arm guiding him into the seat of wing attentionTM and are sitting him down in it.

- He of course tries to get out of it, but you end up convincing him to stay miraculously.

- By the end of you two working to groom his wings, he's purring begrudgingly with the bitterest look on his face, trying to say he doesn't like it.

- You call his bullshit and he goes quiet with an even more sour look on his face.

- Despite 'not liking it', he ends up showing up next Monday again.

- He flips you off as you grin at him and say you were glad he was joining you two again.

- And that's how the three of you as your strange trio begin to weekly preen one-another. All the while getting in some great shit-talking and bitching sessions about stuff that's been going on in each of your lives.

- Other members of the hotel sometimes join in, but they don't ever get in as deep into the bond from it as you three share.

- Charlie often comes in to gawk and join in on your discussions, but usually doesn't consistently show as although she wants to be part of the stuff she sees this as really important bonding time just for the three of you (which is true)

- Angel sometimes comes in to the meetings while he's bored and wanting to bitch or asking Husk about the location of different booze in the bar.

- Pentious keeps trying to join you three saying you can help him with his tail and he'll help you with your wings, but it doesn't work as he isn't gentle enough with your wings the first time and ends up tearing one.

- The other two are extremely protective of you and your wings in particular, knowing first hand how easily they are harmed, so even with you saying it was fine with your wing slightly torn, the other two chuck him out.

- Niffty sometimes tries to crash the meeting to try get pieces of you, but the other two keep her from getting to you. You placate her with the excess feathers from the other two's wings and things your scales have brushed off onto. You don't tell the others about this.

- Alastor comes in to watch you all to make you uncomfortable even though he thinks it's gross.

- Especially Husk.

- You and Vaggie usually throw him out of there as soon as he randomly materialises in there without warning to be an asshole.

- It's an odd sight to see a fallen angel, an avian cat demon, and a butterfly demon preening each other, but the three of you become rather close due to it and you all would not have it any other way.

- You are all very protective of one-another after everything - especially Vaggie and Husk of you. If anything ever happens to you now, there's gonna be absolute hell to pay.

- You three all love the time you spend together every Monday night.

- Even if some people (Husk) would never admit it.

Rare fluff content from me 💀

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel husk x reader #hazbin hotel husk headcanons #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel vaggie x reader #vaggie x reader #vaggie headcanons #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel niffty #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel pentious #hazbin hotel headcanon

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throneofsmut · 5 months

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BOUND IN FLAMES - Part 7

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister- Reader

Description: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, death and trauma (I think that's it).

Author's Note: The wolf in this part ( you’ll know once you get to that part of fic ) is basically like the wolves from twilight for reference. Size wise at least. But still it’s a little bigger than that. He's also heavily inspired by Tairn from fourth wing. Him and reader's bond is similar to the bond Violet and Tairn have.

Word Court: 8.1k

****

Your tear stained cheek was pressed against your bent knee as you sat before the Yew Tree where the Summer Court Faerie was now buried. Fingers pulling and ripping the plush green spring grass beneath you.

Warm tears continued to wet your skin as you sat there and quietly said the prayer usually said when an Illyrian passed.

Voice cracking as you recited it, grateful that no one was around to hear the grief that was thick in your throat for a faerie you didn’t even know.

“Once soaring through skies with grace and might.

Now grounded and wounded in a fateful plight.

Though grounded they stand their soul takes flight.

Denying a flightless fate welcoming death's sweet embrace.

May the wings that once soared high carry their spirit to eternal skies.

So let us remember the fallen ones who will now become a star and be one with the night.

May they fly in the beautiful skies of immortal land of milk and honey.

Feel the wind beneath their wings.

The warm breeze a loving caress against skin.

As they lose themselves in the songs of the wind once again.”

Looking up at the stars, you searched the skies, as if you’d be able to see a whisper of the Summer Court faerie flying above you. Free from pain and suffering. Free from Amarantha. Letting out a deep sigh when you didn’t and stared at the grave at the base of the Yew Tree.

You sniffled and then let out a shuddering breath, “I am so sorry I was late. Maybe—maybe if I had gone Under the Mountain as soon as I got into Prythian, Amarantha would’ve been too focused on me to take your wings.”

Pulling out a small dagger from your pocket, cutting across your palm, letting your blood flow onto the earth. “Before I kill her or before she kills me… I’ll kill whoever she ordered to butcher you—your wings.” You swore.

Too drained to care to wrap your hand, you just sat there letting the darkness of the night comfort you. As it always did. But then you heard it: almost like a whisper, as if cloth were dragging over root and stone.

Nostrils flaring as you scented the air, without a doubt knowing who it was. The tall, thin veiled figure in dark tattered robes, came to sit next to you.

Then slowly, it turned to you, the dark veil draped over its bald head blowing in a phantom breeze. “Hello, Darkling.” Click, click went its fingers against each other, one for each word.

“Hello, old friend.”

The Suriel sniffed the air, once. Twice. “You’re bleeding.” Its fingers clicking again. You didn’t look at them, not even as its robes rustled as if it was looking for something.

Then you heard the sound of cloth tearing. A moment later it’s too long fingers gently gripped your hand—carefully—to not touch the cut on your palm. Then it wrapped the piece of their torn robe around your hand. Squeezing your fingers before putting your now bandaged hand back in your lap. “She knows you’re in Prythian. She’s hunting you.”

“I know.” You said quietly.

“The faeries she sends into these lands are hunting you, faeries like the naga,” It said, its voice was at once one and many, old and young, beautiful and grotesque. “Her ilk will continue to invade these lands on her orders. To find you.”

You felt the Suriel’s eyes on you as you looked down at your wrapped hand. Then at the Suriel. They had torn the cleanest part of their robe to bandage you. “Thank you,” you gave them a small smile, it was all you could muster at the moment and they nodded their head in understanding.

“You know you’re being hunted, so why are you still out here all alone.” Not a question, but a mere fact.

As if on cue the grass brush a couple yards in front of you rustled, the Suriel and you looked up and you smiled knowing who was there. Without looking away from the blue glowing eyes that were now set on you. “I’m not alone.”

The Suriel only chuckled, “No, you are not.”

Moment of silence passed before you spoke again, “You know if I knew you were coming I would’ve brought you a new cloak,” you glanced at the old tattered cloak they wore.

“Well, I didn’t have time to schedule an appointment, my lady.” They said sarcastically, earning a chuckle from you.

“Fair enough. Meet me here tomorrow night and I’ll bring you a new cloak.”

Their dark tattered robes rustled as they stood and placed a hand on your shoulder, “Thank you,” It’s fingers clicking in time with the words it spoke. Then they looked toward the grass brush again where those glowing blue eyes still watched you, “Get her back to the manor. It’s not safe out here.” They said to the owner of those blue glowing eyes, but all the Suriel got back was a low growl in response.

You don’t know how much time passed after the Suriel left, didn’t care, all that mattered were those blue eyes that stared back at you. Slowly you stood up from your spot in the grass and walked towards the grass brush. The same time you stood up, it did too, but it didn’t make a move. It was unnaturally still and silent. Until you spoke his name, “Raihn.” So quiet, it was barely a whisper but you know he heard you by the way his ears twitched.

Then it was walking out to meet you, slowly. Menacingly.

“Raihn. . . It’s me. It’s me, Y/n” you whispered, you didn’t know who could be out here. Listening. Watching. He stalked closer, the night shielding most of him, all you could see were his eyes. Until he was right in front of you. Illuminated by the moonlight you could finally see him. He was bigger than you remembered, then again that was 10 years ago. He had always been huge but now he was massive. His fur was pure white and he had to be at least 10 feet in length and over 6 feet tall from paw to shoulders.

“Raihn, it’s me. Please. Please, you have to remember me.” Your eyes filled with tears as you pleaded. He had to remember you, because you could never forget him.

Your mother told you that her mother used to tell her stories about a rare species of wolves that hailed from the north. From deep in the mountains of the Night Court. They only ever bonded with the Lords and Princes of Illyria, if they were loyal, cunning, brave and possessed the raw killing power.

The wolves used to fight beside them in battle and the more killing power the Illyrian possessed then the stronger the bond between them was. If the bond was strong enough they could channel power into each other and share it, but if one of them was killed in battle the other would fall too even if they were physically unharmed.

It had been centuries since the last wolf had bonded with an Illyrian. Until you. Since you could remember, Raihn had always been by your side until you had to disappear.

Your lips quivered as you spoke, voice cracking, “Raihn.” You slowly stuck your hand out so he could scent you. His snout twitched, once. Then twice. He looked back at you—assessing—then growled, so low, you felt the ground beneath you shake.

The massive wolf’s lips curled back as he bared his teeth inches away from your face. You know he’s confused because he can still scent your true scent beneath the blood spell your mother used on you. Which also changed your physical appearance. If only you could touch him—restoring the bond—then you could talk to him and he could talk to you.

You let out a sharp breath, knowing what you had to do. You tried to brace yourself for the pain you knew you were about to feel, it would only allow him to see you—the real you if only for a couple seconds. But still he would see you and then he’d remember who you are to him.

“Nochd.”

As soon as you uttered the word which meant reveal in the old language, your entire body felt as if it was being ripped apart yet it put back together. Your veins felt as if they were on fire by the coldest flames. Gasping for breath felt like you were drowning in scorching hot water, your lungs expanding and constricting. And your head felt like it was going to explode.

Then nothing.

It was nearly dawn when you felt something nudging your face and hand. You could barely hear the whimpers over the blood roaring through your ears. Your entire body felt heavy and sore as you lifted your hand and felt fur: soft and warm.

Raihn.

His head was still nudging your face. Turning to look at him, really look at him. He has deep scarred scratches on the right side of his face but he wasn’t blinded. And most of his right ear was gone, “You’re as beautiful as the day I last saw you.” He flinched hearing your voice, hoarse from the pain inflicted from the blood spell.

You’re hurt. Stop talking, he orders. His voice deep and gruff.

Letting out a hiss as you sit up. “Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

He growled in response. Don’t do that ever again. You almost died.

“Well, it’s your fault you didn’t recognize me. I had to show you it was me.” You tried to reason.

So it's my fault that you smell like you but don't look like you. How was I supposed to know? He argued.

You shrugged, “At least you know now.”

Yes, but you don't know how I felt all these years, not knowing if you would come back or if you were safe!

“I miss you too.” You chuckled softly.

Get on. He ordered.

You scoffed, “I can walk,” but made no move to stand.

I didn't ask. Now get on.

Raihn moved so he was laying next to you as close as he could without squishing you. All you had to do was hold onto the scruff of his neck and roll over to get on his back. You took in a deep breath and let it out once you were on his back. Cursing as he stood up, the movement jostling your sore body.

Don't be rude, he says. Looking over his shoulder at me before huffing. You're bleeding. Stop it.

It’s your turn to huff, “Don’t be rude,” you sit up a bit, wiping the blood coming from your nose. “Let’s just go back to the manor.”

****

The ride back to the Spring Court Manor was quiet but not uncomfortable. The both of you content with just being in each other’s presence.

None of the sentries stationed around the Manor said anything to you about the dry blood now stained underneath your nose. Or the massive wolf who was carrying your limp body inside. They only moved out of the way, letting you both pass.

As Raihn stalked into the alabaster manor and up the stairs to your room the servants let out shocked gasps. Some stood frozen in shock and when they didn’t move he growled, baring his teeth in warning. Swatting his foreleg lightly, “Hey, be nice.”

They're the ones that need to be nice. It's not polite to stare. He reasoned as he growled at another servant.

Once you finally got to your room he layed back down so you could get off and you slowly trudged to the ensuite bathroom. Quickly washing up and putting on a fresh night gown to sleep in. You didn’t bother looking in the mirror, already knowing your face was puffy from crying.

Walking back into the bedroom, going straight to the closet to pull out pillows and comforters. You laid them on the floor before the foot of the bed for Raihn to sleep on.

Making your way back to your bed and crawling under the covers, the wolf took that as his cue to lay down too. You fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow. The last thing you heard was Raihn’s voice, I missed you too.

No nightmares plagued you that night as you got the best sleep you had in over 10 years.

****

You awoke a little before noon to the sound of Raihn’s growl and Lucien’s voice.

“Mother’s tits!” Lucien whisper-yelled, his hands held up like he was trying to show Raihn he meant no harm.

Raihn only lowered his head and growled even louder, baring his teeth at the red haired male. Lucien’s throating bobbing as he remained still. “Relax, fox boy.”

Lucien didn’t look at you as he asked, “Does he bite?”

“Not me.” He didn’t have to look at you to know you were smirking.

“Y/n, please!”

You huffed, “Fine. Raihn stop scaring him.”

The large wolf turned his head slowly to face you, Is he a friend?

“Uh. . . no, not really.” You replied, answering his question.

Lucien's eyes flickered between Raihn and you, “No, what?”

“He asked if you were a friend.”

“And you said no!”

You shrugged, “You never asked me.”

Raihn stalked closer and Lucien began apologizing, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

Getting up from the bed to stand between them, hissing when you moved too fast. Raihn snapped his head at you, Get back in bed, he ordered.

Patting his side, “Stop fussing, I’m fine,” pushing him further back into the room to give Lucien some space. “What are you doing in here anyway, Lucien?”

“Tamlin wants to take Feyre on a ride, to show her something.”

“And,” you arched a brow at him, even though he was still looking at the wolf behind you.

He finally looked at you, his mouth opening and then closing, before opening again, “And… I want to take you.”

“All right.”

“All right?”

“Yeah, just let me change.” You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else as you pushed him out the door and got ready. Raihn huffing behind you.

****

By the time Raihn and you got to the front doors, Tamlin, Lucien and Feyre were already saddled on their horses.

Again no one said anything, Tamlin and Feyre were just gaping in shock and Lucien was just staring as Raihn lowered himself so you could get on his back. Once you were seated he began walking, Lucien’s horse keeping pace beside you.

Then Tamlin came up on your other side, “Is that a wolf?”

“Are we in the Spring Court?” You asked him, sarcasm dripping off of every word.

“Yes.” He answered.

“Then yes, Tamlin. This is a wolf.” Lucien snorted beside you as you patted Raihn’s neck. Tamlin glared at him and he pretended to cough.

“Is he your pet?” Raihn’s responding growl made the High Lord stiffen.

“No,” you laughed. “No, he’s not. Raihn and I are Ceangailte."

Tamlin’s face paled as he looked at Lucien but Lucien was looking at you. Then he whispered, “You’re bonded to each other?”

“Yes, Lucien, we are.”

Raihn let out a pleased noise and you smiled softly.

“What’d he say?” Lucien asked.

“I am his and he is mine, from now until the darkness claims us.”

****

When you all finally arrived at the place Tamlin wanted to show Feyre, it was an hour or two past noon. The light still thick and golden. It was a glen, a beautiful glen.

Lucien had already sat down on the blanket they brought and Tamlin had gone to where Feyre was a couple feet ahead.

“Y/n,” he patted the space on the blanket next him, “sit.”

You looked at him and then back at the trail beyond, “Uh, I think I’m gonna go for a walk. . . Thank you though.”

“I’ll go with you.” The male was already on his feet and next to you before you could say it wasn’t necessary. “Lead the way.”

“Raihn, stay.” He huffed in annoyance at your order but stayed put.

You and Lucien walked the trail for a bit before veering off in the opposite direction of the pool of starlight. You couldn’t look at it without being homesick for a home you’d never been to. The walk was quiet, the both of you content in just listening to the birds around you singing along with the trees and the sounds of their leaves rustling. But, Lucien broke the silence.

“Are you alright after last night?”

You looked at him, brows furrowed before shaking your head no. “Are you?”

He sighed, “No.”

You knew you shouldn’t ask but curiosity killed the cat and you were the cat. “Did she—did Amaratha do that to you?” You asked softly, gesturing to his scarred eye.

He visibly tensed, jaw clenched as he gave you a tight nod.

“I’m sorry.” And you meant it too. Making a silent promise to scar her face just like she’d scarred his.

He stopped walking and you turned to look at him. Lucien searched your face for any insincerity and when he found none he merely thanked you. Then continued to walk.

You both walked until you came across a beautiful bluish green colored lake with a dock. Lucien bent down to roll up his pants and take off his boots. “What are you doing?” You asked him.

“We are going to dip our toes in the water, sweetheart,” his lips settling into a playful smirk.

Lucien sat beside you on dock, his hands splayed behind him as the both of you kicked your feet gently through the water. You were so lost in your own thoughts while staring at the rippling water that you didn’t hear him calling to you.

“Y/n!” He whisper-yelled.

“What?”

His eyes were wide and the corners of his mouth were upturned as he gestured in front of you, across the narrow lake. Where dozens upon dozens of different animals were staring at you, but standing proud, front and center was the Ruler of the Forest.

But you knew the huge white stag with great antlers as the Lord of the North.

He stretched out one of his forelegs and bent the other, before bowing his head. His dark eyes never left yours as you bowed your head to him in return. Then he and the other animals followed and it was as if they were never there.

Lucien cleared his throat, getting your attention, “Listen, I don’t know who or what you are but. . . I know you’re different.” If he saw you tense he didn’t mention it. “You don’t have to tell me. Yet, because you’re different I’m gonna tell you something.” You finally looked at him and nodded for him to continue.

He let out a deep sigh before he began to speak again, “I’ve endured things that make times like last night. . . difficult. Not just the scar and the eye—though last night brought back memories of that, too.” You turned so you could face him better and he met your gaze. “I am the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court." You straightened. "The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is. . . cutthroat. Beautiful, but my brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court.”

Which was the reason your mother used a blood spell on you because you were already showing the physical markers of a High Lord's heir. And you were female so that made it even more rare.

“I never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so I spent my youth doing everything a High Lord's son probably shouldn't: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court." He paused for a moment, and you could almost feel the sorrow before he said, "I fell in love with a faerie whom my father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. I told him I didn't care that she wasn't one of the High Fae, that I was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that I was going to marry her and leave his court to my scheming brothers." He paused again. His jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to will away the tears pooling in his eyes, to no avail. "My father had her put down. Executed, in front of me, as two of my eldest brothers held me and made me watch."

Your own eyes had started to fill with tears and Lucien gave you a sad smile when the first one fell down your cheek.

“So. . . I left. Cursed my father, abandoned my title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without my title protecting me, my brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord's crown. Three of them came out to kill me; one came back."

"You. . . killed them?"

"I killed one," He said. "Tamlin killed the other, as they had crossed into his territory, he was High Lord and could do what he wanted with trespassers threatening the peace of his lands." A cold, brutal, honest statement. "He claimed me as his own—named me emissary, since I'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people, while he. . . can find it difficult. I’ve been here ever since."

"As emissary," you began, "have you ever had dealings with your father? Or your brothers?"

"Yes. My father has never apologized, and my brothers are too frightened of Tamlin to risk harming me. But I have never forgotten what they did to her, or what my brothers tried to do to me."

It didn't quite excuse everything Lucien had said and done to you and Feyre, but. . . you understood now. You could understand the walls and barriers he had no doubt constructed around himself. Your chest was too tight, to say anything to him. You knew it wouldn’t comfort him, so you did the only thing you could think of and hugged him. A couple seconds went by and you realized he might not hug you back but when you made to pull away, he gripped your tunic so tightly before he began sobbing into you.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that. You weren’t going to pull away until he did, he needed this. Needed to go through every emotion he’s kept bottled up. And you just rubbed his back and smoothed his long red hair back as he did.

The sun was near setting when Lucien finally pulled away from you and wiped his tear stained cheeks with the sleeve of his tunic. He gave you a sad smile, voice still tight from crying, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” your voice a gentle murmur.

“Gods, I haven’t cried like that in ages.” He said, letting out a chuckle.

“You have too every now and again, it’s good for the soul.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Raihn’s deep, gruff voice sounded in your head, Come back, we're leaving.

All right.

You stood up, putting your boots back on, “Let’s go, Raihn said we’re heading back.”

“All right.” Lucien sniffled before getting to his feet and putting his own boots back on.

****

Feyre seemed tired but surprisingly content from the few hours of swimming and eating and lounging in the glen, she eyed Lucien as you all rode back to the manor that afternoon. You were crossing a broad meadow of new spring grass when he caught her glancing at him for the tenth time, and you braced yourself as he fell back from Tamlin’s side.

The metal eye narrowed on her while the other remained wary, unimpressed. “Yes?”

That was enough to persuade you not to say anything about his past. You would hate pity, too. And he didn’t know you—not well enough to warrant anything but resentment if you brought it up, even if it weighed on you to know it, to grieve for him.

She waited until Tamlin was far enough ahead that even his High Fae hearing might not pick up on her words but you did. “I never got to thank you for your advice with the Suriel.”

Lucien tensed. “Oh?”

You looked at Tamlin beside you, the horse utterly unbothered by his mighty rider. “If you still want me dead,” she said, “you might have to try a bit harder.”

Lucien loosed a breath. “That’s not what I intended, I wouldn’t shed any tears,” he amended. I knew it was true and she probably did too. “But what happened to you—”

“I was joking,” Feyre chuckled.

“You can’t possibly forgive me that easily for sending you into danger.”

“No. And part of me would like nothing more than to wallop you for your lack of warning about the Suriel. But I understand: I’m a human who killed your friend, who now lives in your house, and you have to deal with me. I understand,” She repeated.

He was quiet for long enough that you thought he wouldn’t reply. Just as you were about to drop back, he spoke. “Tam told me that your first shot was to save the Suriel’s life. Not your own.”

“It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“I know far too many High Fae and lesser faeries who wouldn’t have seen it that way—or bothered.” You heard him reach for something at his side and tossed it to her. She had to fight to stay in the saddle as she fumbled for it—a jeweled hunting knife.

“I heard you scream, and I hesitated. Not long, but I hesitated before I came running. Even though Tam got there in time, I still broke my word in those seconds I waited.” He jerked his chin at the knife. “It’s yours. Don’t bury it in my back, please.”

You turned this time to look at him and he gave you a genuine smile and a nod of his head.

Your gaze flickered between the both of them, Feyre now inspecting the knife and him giving you a friendly smile—a silent question. So you smiled back and nodded your head in return, friends then.

****

You gave Raihn a reassuring smile, “I’ll be careful, I promise,” while you finished securing your ash daggers to your body.

I’ll go with you.

“No.”

You’ll be safer with me by your side, he argued.

You sighed, “I’m not saying you’re wrong but, I can’t exactly sneak out with a huge wolf next to me, can I?” His annoyed huff was answer enough as he laid down on the comforters and pillows you had set on the floor for him. Petting the soft fur atop his head, “Sleep, I’ll be back before you know it.”

You know I won’t sleep until you come back.

****

You made your way through the quiet empty halls of the manor, down the staircase and to the door leading towards the garden doors. The sentries were changing shifts and you knew Lucien was on patrol tonight so you took the opportunity, running towards the north-eastern part of the woods. The new cloak you promised the Suriel in hand as you made your way to meet them near the yew tree.

Their fingers clicked twice, “You came,” as they spoke .

“When have I not?” you asked, while offering them the cloak. Looking around as the leaves on the surrounding trees and bushes rustled. Ears straining to hear if something—someone was there.

The Suriel grabbed the cloak and cradled it to their chest, “Thank you, princess—“

“You don’t have to thank me and I’m not a princess. Not anymore.”

They bent down on a knee, “For the kindness you have always shown me,” bowing his head, “you will always be a princess to me.”

Placing a hand on their bony shoulder, “Thank you, old friend.” You heard leaves rustling again, nostrils flaring scenting the air, “Go, someone’s here.”

“Be safe. I do not know when I will see you again but, I have to tell you. You have to know.”

“Know what?” Your brows furrowed as you glanced around trying to see if someone was hiding the shadow covered trees.

“Your mate,” Those two words made you snap your gaze back to the Suriel. “Like you, has fire in their blood. You will find each other on Calanmai. You have always been meant to burn together.”

You felt paralyzed, “What,” you felt your heart pounding. “Who. . . I have a mate?” you said those last four words so quietly you didn’t think the Suriel heard you until they spoke again.

They chuckled, “Yes, darkling, you have a mate. The both of you bound in flames. Bound to each other. He is heir to Autumn and you are heir to Spring. Be safe, Princess, you are of age now and will be affected by Fire Night’s magic.” The Suriel bowed again, “Till we meet again, Princess,” and walked into the dark woods.

You don’t know how long you stood there in shock that you had a mate and in fear that Amarantha would find out and kill him.

You stuck to the shadows as always, making your way back to the manor, mind reeling with possibilities from the information the Suriel gave you before they left. Practically in a trance when Lucien stopped you, still sitting atop his beautiful mare, “Why are you out here so late?”

“I couldn’t sleep. So I came out for a walk.”

He smirked knowingly, “Want to try that again, Princess?”

“Is there a curfew I don’t know about? Am I not allowed to come and go when I want.” Fuck. He heard the Suriel address you as Princess. He was who you heard and scented. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Did he know his brother is your mate? Is he your mate? Fuck.

Lucien chuckled as he swung a powerful leg over his horse, dismounting the beautiful mare and stalking towards you, leaning down so you were face to face, “Who—what are you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrugged, keeping your face an unreadable mask.

He let out a laugh, which sounded more bitter than amused, “So I open up to you, essentially baring my heart and soul to you and you won’t even tell me your real name!”

You didn’t try to cover the hurt that flashed across your face, as you yelled, “I did tell you my name! Y/n is my name, I haven’t lied about that!”

“But you are lying!”

“No! I just. . . I just haven’t told you everything.”

“Why?” His narrowed eyes—one russet and one metal—searched your face.

Before you could give him an answer, Raihn’s powerful body was in between you as he gave Lucien a warning. A low growl to back off.

Lucien immediately stepped back, with his hands up showing Raihn he was unarmed. Your wolf growled once more, his lip curled back in a snarl. Did he harm you?

“No,” you mumbled.

No, what ? Raihn asked tightly.

“No, he didn’t hurt me.”

Tell him if he does, I will take his remaining eye and eviscerate him where he stands.

You furrowed your brows and couldn’t stop the burst of laughter from leaving your lips as you howled in laughter, “That’s a little dramatic but, no. I’m not telling him that.”

Tell him or I will take his remaining eye.

Your mouth opened but Lucien’s voice cut you off, “Tell me what?”

You looked at Lucien, then at Raihn, “I’m not telling him.”

Tell. Him. Now. The massive wolf order.

“Fine,” you huffed, rolling your eyes, “Raihn said that if you hurt me he will take your remaining eye and eviscerate you where you stand.” Turning to look at Raihn again, even though he was still focused on Lucien, “Happy?”

Not even close.

Lucien’s face turned a sickly pale, no doubt imagining the painful painting Raihn, painted for him. Without another word he turned and mounted his horse. Before he could set her into a walk you a poke, “I wish I could tell you but I can’t. I just can’t, I’m sorry.”

He only nodded his head once and then left.

****

Weeks passed, the days melting together.

The first couple weeks everyone was afraid of Raihn, especially Alis, since she’d just come into your room and he snapped at her. At least he’d been sorry but since then she was wary of him. Feyre got used to him—sort of, Tamlin and Lucien did too. The other servants just tried to avoid him.

Lucien never talked about the night you had argued and Tamlin never said anything about it either. So he must not have told him that he found you outside the manor in the middle of the night. Instead Lucien just pretended it had never happened, which somehow bothered you more.

Feyre and Tamlin had grown closer over time. Well that’s what she told you at least; gentle, soft kisses, and longing touches. He’d even gifted her art supplies and given her a space to paint. The smile she’d given you when she told you was pure happiness and you wanted her to stay like that—happy. All she wanted before was time and tools to paint and now she had them so, paint she did. She never wanted anyone to see them but she would let you and ask for your opinion on certain colors. Sometimes she dared to paint the High Lord, who rode at her side when they wandered his grounds on lazy days—the High Lord, whom she was happy to talk to or spend hours in comfortable silence with. While you spent your days with Lucien or the other sentries; patrolling and training.

Just like today, Lucien and you were getting ready to change shifts and were heading back towards the manor. You cleared the little wood, a spread of hills and knolls laid out ahead. In the distance, there were masked faeries atop many of them, building what seemed to be unlit fires. You halted, they were setting up for Fire Night.

He halted beside you, “They’re setting up bonfires—for Calanmai—Fire Night. It’s in two days,” he explained.

Fire Night. Your brows furrowed and you shook your head.

“It’s just a spring ceremony. We light bonfires, and the magic that we create helps regenerate the land for the year ahead.”

You clenched and unclenched your hands, “I know what it is.”

He rubbed his neck, “Oh. . . It’s just the way you said it, I thought you didn’t know what it was.”

“No, I just didn’t know it was in two days.” You shook your head again and gave Raihn the silent command to start walking again. Lucien did the same with his horse.

“You might see more faeries around than usual—faeries from this court, and from other territories, who are free to wander across the borders that night.”

You nodded your head before letting out a sharp breath, “I thought Amarantha had scared most of them away or trapped them Under the Mountain,” Glancing back at the unlit bonfires hoping that they wouldn’t be there. That maybe you were seeing things but they were still there.

“She has—but there will be a number of them. Just. . . stay away from them all. You’ll be safe in the house, but if you run into one before we light the fires at sundown in two days, ignore them.”

“I'm not staying in the house.”

It was his turn to halt this time, “Yes. You are.”

“No. I’m not.” You didn’t give him the chance to argue before telling Raihn mind to mind to get you into the house. Then to go wait in your room while you hid behind a massive pot in the garden.

You saw the moment Tamlin went rigid—it was quiet with that horrible stillness that usually meant one of Amarantha’s ilk was around. Tamlin bared his teeth at. . . Feyre. Fuck. “Stay hidden, and no matter what you overhear, don’t come out,” He ordered her.

Then he was gone.

She looked to either side of the gravel path, like some gawking idiot. You hoped she wouldn’t move because if she did she would fuck everything up. She had just ducked behind a hedge when you heard Tamlin and Lucien approaching. You silently swore and froze. Then Tamlin’s snarl rippled through the air on the other side of the hedge she was hiding behind.

“I know what day it is,” Tamlin said—but not to Lucien. To the Attor. Him and his brothers still plagued your dreams.

“Your continued behavior is garnering a lot of interest at court,” the Attor said, deep and sibilant. You shivered, despite the warmth of the day. “She has begun wondering—wondering why you haven’t given up yet. And why four Naga wound up dead not too long ago.”

“Tamlin’s not like the other fools,” Lucien snapped, his shoulders pushed back to raise himself to his full height, more warrior-like than you’d yet seen him.“If she expected bowed heads, then she’s more of an idiot than I thought.”

The Attor hissed, and your blood went cold at the noise. “Speak you so ill of she who holds your fate in her hands? With one word, she could destroy this pathetic estate. She wasn’t pleased when she heard of you dispatching your warriors.” The Attor now seemed turned toward Tamlin. “But, as nothing has come of it, she has chosen to ignore it.”

There was a deep-throated growl from the High Lord, but his words were calm as he said, “Tell her I’m getting sick of cleaning up the trash she dumps on my borders.”

The Attor chuckled, the sound like sand shifting. “She sets them loose as gifts—for you—and reminders of what will happen if she catches you trying to break the terms of—”

“He’s not,” Lucien snarled. “Now, get out. We have enough of your ilk swarming on the borders we don’t need you defiling our home, too. For that matter, stay the hell out of the cave. It’s not some common road for filth like you to travel through as they please.”

Tamlin loosed a growl of agreement.

The Attor laughed again, such a horrible, vicious sound. “Though you have a heart of stone, Tamlin,” it said, and Tamlin went rigid, “you certainly keep a host of fear inside it.” The Attor’s voice sank into a croon. “Don’t worry, High Lord.” It spat the title like a joke. “All will be right as rain soon enough.”

“Burn in Hell,” Lucien replied for Tamlin, and he laughed again before a flap of leathery wings boomed, a foul wind bit your face, and everything went silent.

They breathed deeply after another moment. You closed your eyes, needing a steadying breath as well but Feyre yelped. You stood without hesitating, ash daggers in hand.

“It’s gone,” Tamlin said, releasing her. It was all you could do not to sag against the hedges.

“What did you hear?” Lucien demanded—from the both of us, coming around the corner and crossing his arms. Shifting your gaze to Tamlin’s face, but found it to be so white with anger—anger at that thing—that you had to look again at Lucien.

“Nothing—I. . . well, nothing I understood,” Feyre said, and meant it.

You looked back at Tamlin as you said one word, “Everything.”

“If the Attor saw them—” Lucien said, glancing around.

“It didn’t,” Tamlin said.

“Are you certain it—”

“It didn’t,” Tamlin growled over his shoulder, then looked at Feyre and you, his face still pale with fury, lips tight. “I’ll see you both at dinner.”

Understanding a dismissal, and craving the locked door of your bedroom, you trudged back to the house, contemplating telling Feyre who Amarantha was and why she was able to make Tamlin and Lucien so nervous and to command that thing as her messenger. But you couldn’t and you hated yourself for it.

****

After a tense dinner during which Tamlin hardly spoke to Lucien, Feyre or you, you walked out onto the balcony that was attached to your room and climbed onto the roof. And slept under the stars that night.

You went outside the following day but didn’t venture into the woods. Raihn and you were merely sprawled underneath an Oak Tree that was near the house’s private garden. Alis brought breakfast and lunch out to you knowing you wouldn’t have eaten otherwise. Too lost in the thought of tomorrow being Fire Night, the thought of meeting your mate and what would or could happen.

She had tried asking me what was wrong but you couldn’t tell her. How could you when your mates life was at risk just because he was mated to you. You knew Alis wouldn’t tell anyone if you asked her not too yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. The instinct to protect your mate at all costs was overriding everything.

****

The day of Fire Night—Calanmai dawned, and you didn’t see Tamlin or Lucien all day. As the afternoon shifted into dusk, you found yourself sliding your blue cloak so dark it was nearly black over your shoulders as you headed towards the doors of your balcony, Raihn following close behind, “Stay here. No one can see you.”

He growled.

You sighed, making your way towards him.

Once you were face to face with him, you cradled his head in your hands, pressing your forehead to his, “Please. You have to stay here. They’re not only hunting me and. . . and if something were to happen to you. I—I wouldn’t survive it. And it wouldn’t be because of the bond. I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt.”

And if you get hurt. . . He let out a distressed whine at the thought.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

You heard him inhale, scenting you as if you wouldn’t be coming back. Without another word you walked out onto the balcony, giving Raihh a smile reserved only for him, then jumped off.

The sound of drums issued.

The drumbeats came from far away—beyond the garden, past the game park, into the forest that lay beyond. They were deep, probing. A single beat, echoed by two responding calls. Summoning.

You stood, staring out over the property as the sky became awash in hues of orange and red. Noting that your senses already felt. . . different.

In the distance, upon the sloping hills that led into the woods, a few fires flickered, plumes of dark smoke marring the ruby sky—the unlit bonfires you’d spotted two days ago. you needed to find your mate, you reminded yourself.

The drums turned faster—louder. Though you’d grown accustomed to the smell of magic after not being around it since you were a child, your nose prickled with the rising tang of metal, stronger than you’d yet sensed it. You took a step forward, behind you, your long shadow seemed to pulse to the beat of the drums.

Even the garden, usually buzzing with the orchestra of its denizens, had quieted to hear the drums. There was a string—a string tied to your gut that pulled you toward those hills, commanding you to go, to hear—to feel the drums. . .

Smoke and magic hung thick in the air. There were hundreds of High Fae milling about, you could identify which court they came from but some you couldn’t.

You stuck to the shadows as best you could as you made your way through the crowd, your human features caused by the blood spell your mother put on you, hidden in the shadows of your hood. You prayed that the smoke and countless scents of various High Fae and faeries were enough to cover your human smell, but you checked to ensure that your ash daggers were still at your sides anyway as you moved deeper into the celebration.

Though a cluster of drummers played on one side of the fire, the faeries flocked to a trench between two nearby hills. You followed them, savoring the pulsing beat of the drums as it resonated through the earth and into the soles of your feet. No one looked twice in your direction.

You almost slid down the steep bank as you entered the hollow. At one end, a cave mouth opened into a soft hillside. Its exterior had been adorned with flowers and branches and leaves, and you could make out the beginnings of a pelt-covered floor just past the cave mouth. What lay inside was hidden from view as the chamber veered away from the entrance, but firelight danced upon the walls.

Whatever was occurring inside the cave—or whatever was about to happen—was the focus of the shadowy faeries as they lined either side of a long path leading to it. The path wended between the trenches among the hills, and the High Fae swayed in place, moving to the rhythm of the drumming, whose beats sounded in your stomach.

You watched them sway, then shifted on then shifted on your feet. The string— the string you felt tugged once. Twice. You scanned the fire lit area, trying to peer through the veil of night and smoke. You know he’s here. Your mate. But you hadn’t found him. . . Not yet.

None of the masked faeries paid you any heed. They remained along the path, more and more of them coming each minute. The Great Rite was going to begin soon then.

You made your way back up the hillside and stood along the edge of a bonfire near the trees, watching the faeries. You were about to make your way towards the shadow covered woods, your senses were beginning to feel more fae—more animalistic than fae, when someone grasped your arm and whirled you around.

Lucien.

He snarled in your face, “What are you doing out here? Twisting out of his hold, he huffed, “I told you to stay in the house.”

“And I told you no.”

He sighed deeply, “Y/n, you can’t just do whatever—" he turned to look at what you were staring at and when he didn’t see it, he looked back at you. “—What the fuck are you looking at?”

Grabbing his face, turning his head, “Feyre.” There she was, your sister with a high fae whose black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers. He had blue eyes that were so deep they were violet. You’d know those eyes anywhere. He was the High Lord of Night.

Rhysand.

Lucien cursed violently, then went to Feyre. You were stuck in your spot looking where Rhysand once stood. He was alive. . . He was here. You had to find him. You needed to talk to him.

You scanned the crowd frantically trying to find him, the darkness beyond the crowd beckoned you, called to you and you felt eyes watching you. But, everytime you tried to follow it, the string that had been tugging all night pulled you away, farther and farther.

Without realizing it you’d rejoined the crowd and Lucien appeared next to you. The drum beats picked up, making the flames of the bonfires flicker with each pulse. He was standing so close to you, you could feel the radiating heat of his body and scent his arousal but, not just his, the other faeries too.

His eyes settled on your lips and tracked the way your tongue swept over them as you licked them. He took a step forward, reaching to cup your face when suddenly a tall high fae male had a dagger pressed against your tanned throat.

“Thank you for finding her for me, brother.” The male with the same red hair as Lucien said, but instead of russet eyes his were amber.

Standing before you was the most beautiful male you’d ever seen and the string in your chest seemed to glow and warm in response to his presence.

Brother. His brother. Your mate, he found you.

Lucien snarled at him, “Eris, if you hurt her—“ The tip of his dagger pushing into the soft pale skin of his brother’s throat.

“He won’t,” you cut him off. “He won’t hurt me. Will you, Eris?”

His lips were set in a feral grin that would make anyone else run but, you weren’t just anyone. “Never, little flame,” he promised.

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11

Taglist: @historygeekqueen @cat-or-kitten @yeeyeebabe @khaleesihavilliard @impossibelle @sleepylunarwolf @cutie232 @meepmeep-318 @belledawnidk @fandomrejects @wasntpriscilla @brandywineeeee @consultinghuntresshasthetardis

*If you would like to be added to the taglist for this story or to my general taglist, please either reply to this post or send me a message.

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #eris vanserra #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra x reader #eris #eris acotar #eris fanfic #eris smut #eris x reader #bound in flames

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sallownights · 1 year

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Hello, can I request an Ominis x reader? Maybe something with angst and a lot of fluff? I’ll let you choose what it’s about, or if you’d prefer not then it could be about something with the reader getting hurt. Thank you!!

i think he knows

word count: 2.9k

CW: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff. leander slander. they kiss, idk

A/N: anyways, i think he knows is a good song. banger song. also thank you for the request🤍🤍 i had a fun time writing this and i think i genuinely giggled a total of 14 times. my girlfriend proofread this 😐

pairing: ominis gaunt x f!reader. implied imelda x garreth?

Ominis had been searching for Y/N almost the whole day. Poppy had told him that she was in the Room of Requirement. However, when he was there, she wasn’t. Sebastian told him she was in the Undercroft, again, not there. Imelda had even tried to help Ominis look for Y/N with no such luck. He had even asked Garreth if he had seen her, but no such luck.

The castle was vast, there was a possibility that he just got unlucky when looking for her. Ominis couldn’t shake the feeling that she may be avoiding him. While he was walking towards the Slytherin common room, he heard a hushed argument down the hall. He stopped in his tracks, trying to decipher what was being said.

“Sebastian, I am fine. I’m just tired,” Ominis perks up hearing Y/N’s voice.

“You’re clearly not, your robes are in tatters. The ‘armor’ you wear is practically torn. Your eyebrow’s bleeding and Merlin knows what else!” Sebastian’s voice rang out in Ominis’ ears. His mind starts going quickly. Had Y/N gotten hurt? Where had she been?

“I’m fine.” He can hear how she’s quickly getting aggravated. He hears her footsteps get closer before she cries out in pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You just- Y/N. You’re clearly hurt. Ominis has been trying to find you all day. What would he think?” He hears Sebastian plead with Y/N, something he didn’t do very often.

“I just- I just needed to take care of something. Ominis would be fine. I’m okay.” Ominis frowns at her words. He’s not fine. He feels awful.

“Did you really? You wouldn’t care if I go find him and tell him that you’re all bloody?” Sebastian’s voice gets stern with Y/N, again, a rare occurrence. It’s normally the other way around.

“No! No- I just… I’ll tell him. I don’t want him to hear it from you. You’ll make everything worse. No offense.”

“I still am taking offense.”

“I said not to.”

“Well, fuck you, I am.” Ominis smiles at the two bickerings, deciding to walk out to where they can see him. He wanders towards their voices.

“Hey Y/N. Sebastian.” Y/N’s eyes get as big as mooncalves when she sees Ominis.

“Hey, Ominis… Sebastian and I were just-” She looks at Sebastian and he shakes his head. “talking about how I got hurt earlier.” Y/N says with a sigh and looks down.

“I’ll leave you two to talk.” Sebastian walks away, patting Ominis on the back.

“Is that where you were today? Fighting?” Ominis’ voice was a little tense, worried she was upset with him. He was so infatuated with her that even when he should be upset, he just wanted her to be happy with him.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N looks at her hands. They were covered in dirt and blood. She wasn’t sure when her blood started and stopped.

“Why don’t we go to the Undercroft? Or your Room of Requirement. I know how much you dislike the Hospital Wing,” He carefully wraps his arm around her shoulder, he hears her wince and drops his arm to her waist.

“Room of Requirement might be better. I can brew some wiggenweld when we're there.” Ominis nods and helps Y/N walk. They get to a floo powder station, taking them to the Astronomy Tower. He knew she wouldn’t be able to walk up all those stairs while hurt.

The door appears before the two, Ominis pushes it open, helping Y/N move inside.

“I can walk, it’s okay.” Ominis shakes his head.

“No, sit down. Let me take care of you.” Y/N blushes. Her head feeling a bit woozy. She’s not sure if it’s from blood loss or from Ominis’ caring nature.

Ominis helps Y/N sit down before he rushes off toward a first aid kit he made her keep in the room. It wasn’t the first time she had come back bloody. Ominis brought a bowl, rags, and the kit over to where Y/N was sitting. He brought himself to his knees, the bowl next to him. He quickly cast Aquamenti, filling the bowl with water.

“Give me your hands, love,” his voice is quiet, not wanting her to think he was upset with her. She places her hands in his. Ominis wets one of the rags he brought over before beginning to scrub the dirt and blood off her. He hears her wince every now and then.

“I’m sorry, love. I’ll be done with your hands soon.” He feels around her hands, feeling for any parts that feel grimy or sticky. When he can’t find any, he smiles and puts her hands down against her softly. He casts a spell quickly to figure out where her other wounds are.

“Okay, a pretty big gash on your back and one on your leg. I’m gonna bandage you up and then we’ll be done, okay?” He brings a hand to her cheek. She nods weakly. He frowns and stands up, helping her take her makeshift chest plate off and her bloodied shirt. He moves her so she’s standing up so he can wrap a bandage around her. He brings a new rag to her back, feeling her shiver at the cold sensation and wincing every now and again. He presses kisses onto her shoulder trying to bring her some comfort.

Once the scar is clean, he starts bandaging her, wrapping it around her back and waist. He kisses her shoulder when he’s done with that. He walks over to the dresser Y/N has kept in the room in case she wants to get changed into something comfier. He feels around for a fresh shirt for her to wear. He smiles feeling an embroidered flower on the shirt. It was a shirt he had given her. One he never wanted back because she sounded happy to wear it.

He walked back to her, helping her put on the new shirt. Y/N started taking off her trousers so Ominis could bandage her leg. It wasn’t bleeding nearly as bad as it was. He has Y/N sit down again, lifting her leg to wash it. When he finishes getting the blood off of it, he wraps another bandage around her leg.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers, he can hear her voice breaking. He lowers her leg, moving closer to her. His hands rest on her thighs, drawing circles into them with his thumbs.

“Love, it’s okay. Just come to me next time, okay? I promise I won’t be upset with you.” He presses a soft kiss to each of her knees.

“Okay, thank you for helping me,” Her voice was still, quiet. She sniffles, and Ominis reaches a hand to her face, wiping away a few of her tears.

“Of course. I’ll always patch you up. I would prefer it if you brought more wiggenweld when you’re out. Or Sebastian, he always offers.”

“Oh, Merlin. I don’t mind going with him sometimes, he’s just a bit much sometimes. I just wanted to be alone.” Ominis nods.

“Do you need to talk about it, love?” He brings himself closer to her, kissing her cheek. Her face gets warmer as her face goes crimson.

“It’s embarrassing,” she whines. Ominis chuckles at her antics before standing up.

“I’m sure it’s not. Do you want to lay down, love? I’m sure you’re sore.” Y/N sighs, taking Ominis’ hands to stand up. He brings her into a soft hug, kissing her shoulder again.

“C’mon, love.” Ominis softly takes her hand, leading her to the bed she conjured in the room to take naps between classes. Y/N smiles as Ominis helps her walk. His touch was so quick to calm her down. To bring her back from the confines of her mind. Ominis helps her onto the bed before he walks to the other side. He takes his shoes off carefully, discarding his robe as well.

When Ominis lays down, Y/N was quick to snuggle next to him. He wraps his arms around her, bringing his warmth with him. She clutches his jumper, glad to be next to him. They lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing a warm embrace. Ominis is careful when Y/N brings her legs to get tangled with his. He puts her injured one above his. He places his hand on her thigh, keeping her close to him. They don’t talk enjoying each other's company in comfortable silence, feeling safe and happy in each other's presence. Ominis brings a small blanket above Y/N when he feels her shivering.

It wasn’t unusual for the two to cuddle. Y/N always found comfort in Ominis’ arms. Ominis wasn’t one to complain either, the idea of keeping her in his arms was one he rather fancied. Keeping her out of harm's way. The way she went to him when she was sad. Or happy. Or excited. It never failed to bring a smile to his face. Neither of them ever expressed feelings of anything more. Worried they would ruin a friend they hold so dearly to them. So, cuddling was their best option.

This wasn’t the only way they shared their affection though. She would carry Ominis’ books from class to class while their hands were intertwined. Ominis often heard from Sebastian that Y/N looked at him like he was the greatest thing in life.

“Love?” Y/N looks up at Ominis, he presses a soft kiss to her forehead again. “What was it?” Y/N groans, trying to pull back from Ominis but he has a firm grip on her.

“It cannot be that bad,” Ominis says, reassuringly.

“You have no idea,” her face flushes. Ominis slides his hand up her thigh before placing his hand on her face.

“Just tell me. I promise you I won’t judge you.” Y/N licks her lips looking at how close Ominis is to her. His moles gracing his face so beautifully.

“It’s so stupid, I was telling Poppy the other day-”

“You told Poppy?” Ominis exclaims quizzically.

“Uh… maybe?” The shyness in Y/N’s voice returning. It was always intriguing to Ominis how someone as powerful and confident as Y/N could be so incredibly shy sometimes.

“Who else knows?” his voice is teasing as he brings his lips to her head again.

“Uhm… Sebastian. Imelda figured it out on her own. I told Natty too-” He chuckles hearing the list of people.

“Darling, it cannot be that embarrassing then.” Y/N groans again and covers her face with her hands and mumbles something quickly.

“Darling, c’mon. Move your hands.” He softly pulls her hands away from her face, kissing her nose.

“You won’t laugh?” Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Promise.” Ominis takes his hand and crosses it over it his heart.

“I am not above hitting a blind person,” Ominis chuckles and shakes his head.

“What is it?”

“I have this stupid crush on… someone. It’s so dumb and whenever I’m with them my brain gets all muddled and I get so worried I’m going to say the wrong thing. I feel like I can’t breathe whenever they're around. Like, whenever they touch me, my brain stops for a few seconds before I realize we’re in the middle of a conversation. My face is always so red too. I blush like fucking crazy and it's just… stupid.” Ominis’ thumb rubs Y/N’s thigh as she talks. He takes in her words carefully, trying not to let his disappointment show on his face.

“Okay… do I get to know who?” Y/N groans again. She goes to cover her face but Ominis is quick on the draw and catches her wrist.

“Oh Merlin, don’t make me say it,” He kisses her wrist causing her ever-present blush to deepen.

“Should I guess?”

“Oh, uh, sure. Why not?” Y/N’s voice is quiet. Ominis takes a moment to think.

“It’s not Northcott, is it?” Y/N giggles.

“Ew, no. Oh, wait, that sounds mean. No, it’s not him.” Ominis laughs, continuing down his list.

“Garreth?” He hears Y/N gag and he shakes his head, “Okay, not him. Natsai?”

“Why are you only guessing Gryffindors?”

“I’m going house by house. So, Natsai?” Y/N makes some sound that makes him nod and move on.

“Oh, Merlin, it’s not Leander is it?” Y/N lets out a loud laugh. Ominis joins her. She clutches onto his shirt to try to calm down. He brings his hand to her face, kissing her forehead before breaking out into another set of giggles.

“Sorry, sorry. That’s so rude of me. No, no, not Prewett.” Ominis nods again, moving to the next house.

“Amit?” As he holds her face, feeling her shake her head.

“Okay. Poppy?” She shakes her again.

“No, Pop is a really good best friend though.” Ominis nods. He knows Poppy had been there for Y/N many times. How they were also rumored to have saved a dragon. He didn’t know Poppy well, but with how many times Y/N spoke of her, he felt like he was her good friend. Y/N did sneak Poppy into the Slytherin common room enough for sleepovers though. Somehow never getting caught by prefects.

“Sebastian?” Ominis’ heart rate picks up a bit at the thought she might like his best friend.

“Ew, no. Sebastian is like an annoying older brother.” She quickly responds. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“I’m not going to entertain the fact it might be Imelda.” Y/N giggles and shakes her head again.

“No, Imelda is head over heels for Weasley. You didn’t hear it from me though.” Ominis smiles and nods. He had heard how the girl was slightly nicer to Weasley but if anyone asked about it, she would through some string of insults towards him.

“Oh, Merlin, I don’t know. Me?” Ominis says, half-joking. When Y/N doesn’t answer he smiles.

“Did I guess right?” Y/N smacks his chest lightly.

“Maybe,” He turns to face her, his hand stroking her cheek. Their foreheads touch as their legs get tangled together, causing Y/N to wince when she slotted her legs between his. He whispers a sorry against her forehead, leaving a kiss there. Ominis kisses Y/N sweetly, he smiles into the kiss. Their lips meeting in a soft and tender kiss. A kiss he had been wanting to do for the past year. A kiss he had wanted to do since he had gotten to know her. She was here, with him. He never wanted to be anywhere else. Without saying a word, they get closer to each other, The kiss is full of passion and tenderness, reflecting their deep feelings for each other. They wrap their arms around each other, deepening the kiss as they explore the connection they have always felt but never acted upon. The kiss ends, Y/N pulling Ominis into a tight embrace.

They lay there, in each other's arms. Ominis runs a hand up and down Y/N’s back softly, trying not to hurt her. Y/N hums softly in Ominis’ ear. It’s some orchestration she made him listen to. One he listened to as often as he could because she loved it so much. Neither wanted to break the silence.

Eventually, Y/N let their grip on Ominis go, moving back to bring him into another kiss. This one is more passionate. There is a deeper sense of familiarity and comfort between them, as they have already experienced the thrill of their first kiss. They explore each other's lips and Y/N nipping at Ominis’ bottom lip. Eventually, their kiss deepens, Y/N’s hands in Ominis’ hair and Ominis’ hands exploring Y/N”s curves. They savor the sensation of being close to each other as the kiss ends.

“I think I know who you have a crush on.” Ominis jokes, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek.

“Oh, shut up.” She kisses him quickly before backing away, enjoying the warmth of his body. They sit there in silence. Ominis traces the curves of her face, wanting to feel every part of her. To know every minute detail.

“So, what now?” Y/N breaks the silence. Ominis moves his thumb to her bottom lip, tracing it.

“How do you mean, love?” He tilts his head slightly.

“Like, what… what do we do now?”

“Oh, I suppose I should court you correctly.” Ominis sits up quickly, Y/N jumps slightly at the sudden movement but sits up too.

“Y/N, you are truly wondrous and I would be honored if you went out on a date with me.” He holds her hands gingerly, bringing them to his lips, the kisses soft. Y/N lets out a soft laugh before answering.

“Ominis, I would love nothing more than to go on a date with you.” A smile breaks out on Ominis’ face as he leans in to kiss Y/N again, but stops before coming to a realization.

“Oh, this makes so much sense now.” Y/N’s eyebrows furrow.

“What does?”

“Well, Sebastian once told me that you look at me like I’m a broomstick.” Y/N tilts her head quizzically.

“Huh?”

“It’s highly improper.” Y/N laughs, a bit confused.

“I’m literally half naked. Your hand is on my thigh. We’re past improper.” Ominis chuckles before leaning close to whisper in her ear.

“You look at me like you want to ride me.”

#ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis #ominis x reader #ominis x y/n #ominis imagine #ominis x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x you #ominis hc #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy sebastian #poppy sweeting

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bloodyodyssey · 1 year

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its way past time i stop messing with this so basic sheet on my limbus oc Antigone. Im gonna put like everything under the cut bc im gonna ramble lol:

Basic info:

Name: Antigone

Age: ??? im thinking early-mid 30′s for rn

Height: 5′11

Hair color: Bown, almost a dark red color

Eye color: Gray

Character Color: Clandestine Terracotta

Appearance: Brown skinned woman with her hair shaved into a very low afro (not quite a buzz cut however). Large but sparse eyebrows and perpetually half-lidded bored looking eyes. She has one mole underneath her right eye. Other notable features are the scars on her face and neck. The first scar on her upper lip, is a result of her being born with a cleft lip and it never fully closed but it doesn’t give her any issues. Some of her gum and tooth can be seen through the gap in the scar. Another scar is located on her head, stretching from about the middle of her right temple to right above her right eyebrow. The last scar is an old burn scar that goes around her entire neck, and she often keeps this covered with a braided cord necklace and a light yellow scarf. She isn’t fond of anyone touching her neck. Antigone also wears amber colored earrings that she got from her sister, and they are the one posession she treasures most. she’s always torn between leaving them off so that they aren’t lost in battle, and keeping them on to have some form of attachment with Ismene, who she hasn’t seen in years.

Personality: Speaks in a terse-formal manner but she also enjoys small talk. Gets along well with other sinners who have a strong sense of personal justice (she adores don quixote thats her bestie) and is known to be petty and throw snide remarks at sinners who favor rules over what is right or wrong (so she butts heads with ishmael quiet a bit as well as outis.) She values life above all else and honors death, having seen so much in her own family. She doesn’t goad over her enemies when she kills them, and instead wishes them a peaceful rest and it sounds almost like a prayer to the other sinners (which many think is strange since religion is obsolete. Antigone herself isn’t really religious she just respects the cycle of life and fate almost to the point of fear but she doesn’t make this apparent)

Room: Like the other sinners her room is normal unless she is in distress. While distressed the room takes on an earthy tomb-like appearance with graves appearing in the floor. towards the back wall there is a single item- a thread spinner that is constantly feeding out red thread that joins together tattered pictures on the wall. Each picture is a photo of her family, from her mother and father, pictures of her brother, and a photograph of her and ismene.

Still working out some stuff while i go through the other games but her family maintained a prestigious company in one of the other nests (not large enough to be a wing per-se but still up there). Stuff happens and she’s banned from the nest she was raised in to the backstreets. She ends up taking the exam to become a fixer since she no longer has a support system or knows anyone in the backstreets and it would be a sure way to at least get some kind of income and support herself enough to at least eat and joins an office. She only ever does enough to keep afloat though, so she never rises above a grade 7.

#limbus oc #limbus company #i had more to type but this is like. more than enough lol

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kayforpay · 3 months

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snow white and the hunter kills her. he doesn't want to, but he kills her, this little girl, barely at the cusp of young adulthood, cuts her heart out and puts it in his bag. the queen is a witch, after all. she might know he was lying otherwise. it isn't just him at risk.

he tucks a rose, thorned and red, stolen from the palace gardens for the one who relies upon him completing this task, into her chest. he closes the red wings of her ribs, covers her torn bodice with his own shirt. he pretends he can live with himself.

time passes. a year. another. the queen trusts him. gives him things. sends him on other missions. he never kills anyone else, she never asks him to. somehow, he thinks, that's worse. it's worse that she lets him live with one life, just one, on his conscience. the roses seem to drag at his clothes when he walks the garden with the queen. is she not the fairest woman he'd ever seen? he dare not say no.

the forest is full of dangers; wolves, foxes, diving hawks, deep streams that seem peaceful, winding paths to nowhere. thorny bushes grow in the shadows of ferns, snagging at the now-fine pants he wears. the bow in his hands is heavy. an elk, brilliant in the sun's outline, observes him critically. it does not run, though he could kill it as easily as it could kill him.

the place where he left her body is barren, a hole in the growth the size of a little girl. he has the same knife he used to cut her open on his belt; the queen insists. he kneels, places the knife on the forest floor. an offering? all good sacrifices require blood, but the elk has run.

the silver of the blade is almost white as the snow. behind him, someone steps from the shade of a tree, a girl in the tattered shirt he had abandoned before. it smells of roses.

#kay talks a lot #drabbles #yawns. goodnight

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bat-connoisseur · 3 months

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Some self-indulgent dbd killer furry designs! Been extra into drawing furries recently.

The Singularity is some kind of simian chimera thing, The Spirit is a Ryuku Flying Fox, The Trickster is an Asian Giant Hornet, and The Wraith is a White-backed Vulture!

most were picked based on vibes, the range of the animal, and how cool I thought it was. Especially in the spirit's case, I thought that torn and tattered wings would be really cool on her.

#Dead by daylight #The Singularity #The Spirit #The Trickster #The Wraith #dandy doodles #tw gore #tw blood #furryfying hux is hard considering the fact hes. hes just meat.#but i felt he deserved fangs thats what started this whole thing

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moonlightdancer26 · 8 days

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HELLO!!! okay so i’ve recently gotten my severus obsession back and i’ve been writing fics nonstop lol, i was wondering if you could give me some constructive criticism on this fic im planning to publish about eileen and severus accidentally on purpose killing tobias and fleeing to greece.

this is the first part of it

P.S trigger warning for some religious imagery and abuse

ONCE UPON A TIME, when the marks on his back were still fresh, Severus had told himself that he was growing wings.

After all, his mother thought he was an angel, even if his father said he had the devil in him. Severus had never done anything to make his father think that, but the man claimed he could see the shadow in the boy’s eyes. And whenever he caught a glimpse of it, he’d take Severus by the arm and lead him out to the private chapel that sat beside their clapboard house.

Severus used to love the little chapel—it had the prettiest picture window, all red and blue and green stained glass, facing east so it caught the morning light. The floor was made of stone—cold beneath Severus's bare feet, even in summer—and there in the center of the room lay a metal cross, driven straight down into the foundation.

Severus remembered thinking it seemed violent, the way the cross broke and split the floor, as if thrown from a horrible height. The first time his father saw the shadow, he had kept one hand on Severus's shoulder as they walked, the other clutching a coiled leather strap.

Severus's mother watched them go, laid in her own pool of blood. “Tobias,” she had whispered shakily, just once, her own body tattered in violet, blues, greens and reds, but Severus's father didn’t look back, didn’t stop until they’d crossed the narrow lawn and the chapel door had fallen shut behind them. Tobias had told Severus to go to the cross and hold on to the horizontal bar, and at first Severus had refused, sobbing, pleading, trying to apologize for whatever he’d done.

But it didn’t help.

His father tied Severus's hands in place, and beat him worse for his defiance.

Severus had been nine years old.

Later that night, his mother had treated the angry lash-marks on his back, and told him that he had to be strong. That Magic tested them, and so did his father. Her sleeves had inched up as she draped cool strips of cloth over her son’s wounded shoulders, and Severus could just see the edges of old scars on the backs of her arms painted over by the newest ones as she told him it would be okay, told him it would get better.

And for a little while, it always did.

Severus would do everything he could to be good, to be worthy. To not let the magic, the darkness, inside him out. He did everything to avoid his angry father’s gaze.

But the calm never lasted.

Sooner or later, his father would glimpse the magic in his son again, see the darkness pooling in those unnatural black eyes of his, and lead Severus back to the chapel. Sometimes the beatings were months apart. Sometimes days.

Sometimes Severus thought he deserved it. Needed it, even. He would step up to the cross, and curl his fingers around the cold metal cross, and pray—not to God, not to Magic, not at first, but to his father.

He prayed that his father would stop seeing whatever he saw, while he carved new feathers into the torn wings of Severus's back. Severus learned not to scream, not to let his magic lash out, but his eyes would still blur with tears, the colors in the stained glass running together until all he saw was light.

He held on to that, as much as to the steel cross beneath his fingers.

Severus would chant the words his mother taught him, to silence his mind and block out the pain.

Nothing is good or bad without first being determined so by the mind.

Pain cannot touch the mind.

Fear is subservient to the mind.

No wall can imprison the mind.

The body is the vessel and the anchor of the mind.

The mind is both one and multiple.

The mind has many rooms.

Memories half-forgotten and secrets long locked away.

In these natural protective barriers lies the power of the Occlumens.

The Occlumens must divide himself from his weaknesses.

The Occlumens must divide himself from unfulfilled desires.

The Occlumens must not permit a thought that could become a weapon to his enemy.

The Occlumens must place his trust in the strength of his mind.

A scarred mind is a protected mind.

Severus could never truly understand how he was broken, but he wanted to be healed.

If it meant that he would never have to endure such pain again.

He wanted to be saved.

And at last, his liberation came in the form of his father's lifeless eyes.

I’m so insanely and horrifyingly sleep-deprived and I’m on the brink of dying from exhaustion (this is a draft so now I’m in a much better state 😭) but AHAHHSHDJEHRJXKWKNRKFKSD I’M SO HAPPY YOU’RE BACK !!!!!!! I MISSED YOU SMMMM I REMEMBER BEING HEARTBROKEN WHEN I REALISED I COULDN’T FIND YOUR ACCOUNT. Welcome back to the Snapedom 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

also WOW I literally read this with half-opened eyes and I still got chills all over my body 😭 I knew you were a great writer but DAMN. plus I LOVE fanfics where Tobias is a religious fanatic and considers witchcraft to be a sin, and he takes it out on Severus. It’s scarily realistic and it very much gives me Claude Frollo and Quasimodo/Esmeralda vibes. I love when people include these kind of themes in their stories/fanfics, so props for that! I genuinely don’t think I have any criticism to give you, I legit got chills all over my body as I was reading this. I think it’s a great idea and I enjoy the details you’ve added. I am not bluffing when I say you have EXTREME potential. If you publish any of your fics, I want you to RUSH to my inbox or DMs as soon as humanly possible 🙏🏼🙏🏼

Again, so glad you’re back!! Your writing is spectacular as per usual 🩷🩷🩷

#severus snape #pro snape #pro severus snape #snape #harry potter #hp #ask #asks

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0-g-i · 2 years

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Okay, Sun and Moon are werewolves, Eclipse is just a big cryptic in the woods.

Also big thanks to @h0pef1lled @chaireem and @cero-sleep for helping out with ideas, and rambling. And also, others for the input and drawing the boys!

The plot was fluff but got two different version of it instead.

Overall, the AU is platonic.

The boys have three forms. (Except full wolf form is not shown and may only happen in one version of the AU)

Full wolf form:

Both Sun and Moon only have this form at night.

Looks like an actual wolf but have odd features which represent what they are based off. Like Sun has yellow to orange, brown colors while Moon is dark blues and whites. Sun has fluff around his head. Moon doesn't have nightcap, just fluffy main. Red of their ribbons still remain normal like ribbon. (w.i.p ) Only can walk on all fours, and have full body covered in fur.

Half/werewolf form:

During the day. They look more like the animatronics from the game but wolfified. Moon does have a long nightcap.

Moon has black eyes with white iris.

Sun has white eyes (but also can have black. w.i.p)

Sun has his sun rays but two are folded like puppy ears. They both have pants. No shoes. Bean pads on hands and feet.

Full Moon werewolf form:

Seems to happen every full moon.

Both are Taller

Lanky but also buffer

Big hands

Pants look torn or tattered.

Ribbons maybe a little tattered looking.

Sun's rays are more fur like.

Wide eyes

Moon's nightcap is longer.

Moon’s one eye is white and the other is black with red iris.

Sliver effects them severely in this form. Burns/stings them. Takes longer recovery.

For all three forms: In all forms they can eat and drink (because they are living robotic cryptic creatures), and they have blue blood.

Also, lowkey liking the idea of that one post about military robots that can eat organisms for fuel, thus making Sun and Moon kind of like those energetically autonomous tactical robot (E.A.T.R) (in w.i.p)

(Newer drawing down below)

Then there’s Eclipse.

(He’s the one in the trees)

Can shapeshift.

Doesn't change into human form.

May be only able change into small to tall forms only.

Main colors are black and white, then colors fade into greys.

Many spikes around his head, same are soft and wispy like mist and (light).

(He is a cryptic)

The shoulders are layer like bug wings and kind of like the flower praying mantis.

He is shadowy.

(There was an idea of him being able to change from dark colors to red colors)

He turns red when angry.

Yes, he's having a tea party with a little girl that got lost in the woods. I'm sure the family will find her in the back yard around midnight, all happy and covered in mud and talking about her friend she met in the woods by the swamp.

First drawings of Sun and Moon below-

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sillyfairygarden · 1 year

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fairy once more 🌹 my c!hannah design is complete, full design process is under the cut :)

wrow it has been like 1.5 yr since my first c!hannie drawing 😭 ourgh i love her sosososo much. i really went back n forth on whether or not to actually complete this design, due to my... complicated and strenuous relationship with the dsmp... but after talking it out and going through these pieces i wanted to do it justice one last time :)

without further ado here is a (near-complete) history of my c!hannahxxrose design. i have included text descriptions since my handwriting is notoriously doctoral (bad):

DESIGN EVOLUTION:

In the beginning the design was very simple, and leaned heavily into the popular fanon. [pointing at image of c!hannah with leafy, thick foliage leaves from fall 2021: this was drawn before the event where c!hannah got her wings, aka i'm psychic teehee]

(i didn't really know much about her character, so these aren't tied to the canon and got scrapped!)

[pointing to a design of c!hannah with fairy wings from early 2022: this simple dress was a staple in my early design...]

Post-Elytramaggedeon:

her wings! i think when she lost them, it really drew me into pinning down a design for her. i toyed with the imagery of torn, tattered wings, but then turned to a more melted look. i love the multicolour spread of her wings, through over time her wing shape changes from a butterfly wing to a more dragonfly/fairy-style.

i toyed with the idea of her wings being torn off completely, but at the end it was more true to the imagery to have these massive, multicoloured wings, useless and tattered.

[text beneath a c!tinarose piece from march 2022: first time drawing c!tinarose B) very uninspired outfits. also, why does c!tina have little wings??? The line "he ripped your rings, my little fairy :(" lives in my head rent-free. I wasn't happy with how this came out.]

[text beneath a c!tinarose piece from july 2022: genuinely one of the best pieces i've ever done. c!tinarose nation 4 lyfe ✌️ Really nailed the melty, shredded wing design here!

Design Exploration:

While working on those [above] pieces in 2022, i started exploring different ideas for my c!hannah design.

[text pointing to a sketch from september 2022, where c!hannah has a large, tree-like arm: in this, c!hannah is a flower nymph whose body is apart of nature--the tree arm is borne! i LOVE asymmetrical designs. In my notes, i wrote: 'she draws her energy from nature to heal after losing her wings- in return, nature returns to claim her body... as time goes on, the bark grows.]

Concept: pre-DSMP design:

[text pointing to a sketch of c!hannah kneeling, hair wild with flowers and covered in climbing vines: a rosebush who becomes a girl-in her early days, she is more plant-like than human girl! i loved this hair. so fun.]

Introduction of Armour:

[text beneath multiple drawings of c!hannah from summer 2022, where she is wearing armour: in these sketches, i was feeling the urge to draw some armoured ladies-and so c!hannah became my victim!

i'm always craving sleek, feminine silhouettes in my armoured designs, without turning into battle corsets and bikinis.

at the same time as this, i was in the brainstorming/conceptual stages for other dsmp characters, and i wanted c!hannah to be unique from the generic, full-netherite design.]

Final Design:

A year and a half after my first art of her, and i collected the varying design elements from past pieces into one final concept!

Knightly yet feminine, strong but still wearing (literally) the scars of pain. I wasn't confident in ever finishing this, but then i heard that she gets her wings back after the 2023 """finale""" of the smp... it was time to bring closure to this character design that i have poured a whole part of myself into. This was the final sketch.

[text near a sketch of c!hannah's final design: flower spirit, mix armoured with flowers (utena core).]

for the final piece itself, i wanted to reference the colours of hannah's minecraft skin, while still adding that fantasy-knight element. the wings are trimmed, but still retained that beautiful, multicolour melty look. her tree arm is finally blossoming and blooming with pops of colour, to signify regrowth after the trauma of losing a piece of herself. her insignia is not for any nation, but for herself.

References:

The works of these illustrators greatly guided this design. Additionally, my peers and other artists who have drawn/interpreted c!hannah before <3 feminine, strong designs are so beautiful!

[not pictured are the works of JC Leyendecker, Jasmin Darnell, CLAMP, Thores Shibamoto, and my dear friend zma. their works orbit my head like a ceiling fan whenever i put the pen to paper <3)

a few things didn't end up making the cut (the cape from the final sketch, her other forms and ideas for pre-SMP, etc) but at this point, i am really excited to just stop looking at this piece LOL. it has been staring at me for forever. im very pleased with it and touched something special at seeing my own abilities, ambition, and concept designs grow within my own work. even if no one reads all 213445345 words of this, it's a wonderful capsule of the work i put into this design and im quite pleased.

aneeeways if any1 read this far i hope u like it 🙇 ok im going eepy now gnight ^^

#dsmp #dream smp #dsmp art #hannahxxrose #hannahxxrose fanart #c!hannah #c!hannahxxrose #mcyt #mcyt fanart #thellos art corner #i can talk about this piece Forever. in case its not very obvi. ok ok ok im eepying now i swear

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determinedowl23 · 5 months

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My own Voices designs!! I wanted each of them to have their own distinct color and article of clothing, which was inspired by @bubblybloob’s designs for them. Individual notes below the cut:

Broken: I wanted his outfit to look haggered and worn. At first I was thinking to have his outfit be like a medieval prisoner’s, but I also added elements of friar robes to go along with Tower’s offer of making us a priest for her. I also made his beak chipped and made it that he doesn’t have the lower set of feathers on his wings (Idk what they’re called- primaries and secondaries I think?)

Cheated: I was stuck on Cheated for so long lol I had no idea what I wanted to do for him. I asked a friend for some medieval outfit ideas and eventually he came up with an executioner and I loved it. He is bitter about his death to Razor. He wants to find a way to kill her himself and will do anything to make sure, even consistently sacrificing LQ in order to get more Voices and become more powerful. And there’s the obvious blade theme going on. I’m pretty sure I had a third reason for it that I forgot too 💀 Now that I’m thinking about it, the Razor route actually kinda mirrors the Witch route, but the roles are swapped…

Cold: I wanted him to wear something an assassin would wear, so I just gave him a cloak lol. I thought that would be a little boring, so I made the front of it look like a scarf. Because…….. he’s Cold.

Contrarian: The obvious thing to do was make him a jester, so I did. The top half of his collar and the color are inspired by Sophist because the Party Crashers brainrot never leaves (I’m watching the Vernias Subathon as I’m writing this post) and if you’ve seen even one of his videos- especially a Mario Party one, you’ll know that he and Contrarian have basically the same personality.

Hero: He’s the main guy, and obviously a hero, so I gave him a knight helmet and cape. The color of the helmet feather changes based on what your Chapter II is (ex. his feather will be magenta during Damsel to match Smitten, and it will stay magenta during Burned Grey. Honestly I may change this lmao) and it’s black in the endgame sequence. He also shifts his cape so that the clasp is in the center during the endgame.

Hunted: Hunted has a torn and tattered vest that’s green to help with camouflage. He and Paranoid have the largest eyes, both because they are always on the lookout for a threat, but it’s more obvious for him and his prey nature. He’s the best flier of all the voices- in fact, he honestly might be the only one who can fly.

Opportunist: Sleazy loser car salesman. He’s the most put together (physically) of them all, and uses this clean look to make himself look “professional” so he can weasel his way out of a sticky situation. I might change his yellow to something less bright, I’m not sure if I like it. I just wanted to make sure his color was distinct enough from Hero’s and Skeptic’s.

Paranoid: His hat and shoulder cape are that of a plague doctor’s, since he single-handedly keeps you alive during Nightmare, and even when Hero takes over the Heart Lungs Liver Nerves™ it’s still Paranoid who’s calling the shots that he thinks are the best. He and Hunted have the best self-preservation skills and best survival instincts.

Skeptic: Honestly Skeptic’s personality was hard for me to identify when I first met him, but I view him as someone who’s skepticism comes from a place of curiosity and an itch to learn as much as he can before coming to a definite conclusion. So I gave him a stereotypical detective cape

Smitten: He’s a bard serenading his beloved Princess! His vibrant magenta outfit represents his love for the darling Damsel <3 His outfit was pretty straightforward lmao. Also, his and Opportunist’s chest feathers are meant to resemble an ascot.

Stubborn: Originally I wanted to make him look like a gladiator, but I didn’t want to give him armor so that Hero would feel more distinct from the others. Plus, he just wants an all out brawl where you and your opponent are even, and if he doesn’t believe in traps, I don’t think he’d believe in armor. Because of that, he doesn’t care too much about clothing. A simple sash will do- a red one so that the bloodstains will blend in. He has a scar over his chest and his eye he gained from the fight with the Princess in Chapter I.

#owl draws #slay the princess #stp voices #should I tag all of them?#yeah I will #voice of the broken #voice of the cheated #voice of the cold #voice of the contrarian #voice of the hero #voice of the hunted #voice of the opportunist #voice of the paranoid #voice of the skeptic #voice of the smitten #voice of the stubborn

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cookiesandcosplay · 6 days

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So! I Found an AU suggestion and this is the result. Inspired by the post linked, please feel free to give any feedback or comments.

Word count: 1.3k

Trigger warnings are in the tags!

@thecoolkids-things @genocidecomics

Too many. So many…

Remy LeBeau had fought everything he could, pulled children from the wreckage of splintered buildings. Grotesque infrastructure mangled and broken as the vile metallic beast tears through the once safe haven that was once Genosha.

Streets once filled with music and beauty, now ran red with bloodied rubble and bodies.

Horror. The smell of death. The sound of screeching beams filling the air. As he moved to take down the Sentinel, seeing it take off towards the gardens, Gambit pulled his trusty bow-staff from his pocket, a poorly planned plan sprouting to his mind. A kinetic surge. Shock the damn thing from the inside, take out the belly of the beast and it’ll drop where it stands.

His beloved Southern Belle had already taken a blow, Magneto eliminated before her very eyes as she was rooted to the spot by a cage of the old man’s own design. He can imagine it felt like hell. Seeing the closest thing to love torn away from you in a flash… It had broken him, watching her be wrenched from him during the dance at the gala. Even if she wasn’t his to lose, even if she’d already told him that he was just the Swamp Rat waiting in the wings? Watching as she glided through the air, bare skin brushing against the hands of the Germanic old fool. It’d broken him. Hurt him on the deepest of levels. He’d never held her like that, now it seemed he never would.

Even if he had expected the pain, it didn’t make it any easier to accept. He wasn’t ready, doubtful really that he ever would be.

Since the tortuous visions courtesy of Mr Sinister back at the mansion, LeBeau had had his fears. His doubts. His outright heartbreaking paranoia. But that all paled in comparison to the hearing the way Rogue saw him. A man who could never touch her. Not in the way she felt mattered. Not in the way she wanted. Needed. His heart had shattered as she made her admissions in his room. Speaking about how he was never going to light her up the way he brightened the rest of the world. That his touch was able to light up everything around him, but not her.

But even now, he’d lay down his life to keep her safe, a Devil’s Advocate. The truest gambit that may not pay off on his end… But the surviving mutants would be safe. She would be safe. Rogue is laid somewhere east, knocked out of flight (hopefully consciousness) from the charged motorcycle he’d launched into her to prevent what was essentially a suicide attempt in a rage filled move of vengeance.

He had no wish to die, but Hell… If he had to go, he’d sue better than the thieving swamp rat he was always seen to be. As he steels his gaze upon the vile kaiju creature that moves for the distance, taking a final millisecond to appreciate that she won’t see him suffer. Closing his eyes for a moment more, obsidian and ruby eyes fall closed for a brief moment, the Cajun taking a final breath as he coils himself to run. “Gambit ain’t got a chance… but the rest ah ya do. Content qu'elle ne soit pas réveillée pour voir ça.” The words meant for no one but himself. Muscular legs move to spring forward.

Until a hand grasps his arm, turning him away from the metallic monster with force. Sections of reddish brown hair and stark snowy bangs falling from the intricate braided bun that had once contained the curly manic locks. Emerald eyes shine with tears, as her body floats before him. The tattered red dress and running eyeliner may have seemed imperfect, but only showed the ferocity and tenacity that embedded her spirit. “Rogue no, Cher, I—“ The words are cut short, broken by lips against his. Heady, desperate as he feels a weakness in his body, gentle warm hands cupping his jawline to steady him as the strength starts to leave his body. The glow that once surrounded his staff begins to fade, a groan leaking into Rogues mouth as his wide eyes fall closed. His body starts to droop, falling into a state of weariness.

Releasing his jaw, Remy falls to the ground, the knees of his white suit trousers scuffed in the dirt. “Sorry Sugah… But this is how it has to happen. You light up everythin’ you touch. Even me.” Her body rises in the air, a heavy pink glow surrounding her as she looks down at the Cajun. A deep black seems to flash in her eyes for a moment, the darkness alight with a loving silence. An apology that she prays Remy can recognise. For the slightest moment she meets his gaze with a weak smile, only to whoosh away again, grabbing rubble and tossing it with the kinetic charge to draw the threats attention.

The shriek of green energy beams follow her, the Southern Belle weaving and bobbing around each ray. As a kinetic charge breaks a large crack in the Sentinel, she rushes forward, gritting her teeth as she generates the heavy kinetic field around herself. Her skin is on fire, her bones ache, her blood is boiling and her muscles are starting to seperate. Her voice is weak, the vibration of her vocal cords causing her more pain than breathing as she pushes on. “Ah feel you, Sugah, ah feel you!”

With a final push, Rogue breaks through the large crack burying herself in the swarm of wires and metallic veins inside the shell. A rasping brutal scream fills the air as the terminal blow leaves her body. Fingers wrapped around metal tendrils, limbs tangled in the wires and leads.

A bleeding pink glow envelopes the night sky, a mushroom cloud of Sentinel shrapnel spreading across the sky. LeBeau watching from the ground, he’s sick to his stomach, soundless, left in a state of shock. His fingers dig into the dirt, gripping as his head drops for a moment, he’s on all fours. Trying to muster the strength to recognise what he’s just seen. Sweat beading on his brow, blood streaking from his nose under the duress. Eyes clenched shut, he grits his teeth, jaw straining until a breath is finally released, a scream filling the air. “Rogue!” The scream is guttural, he can taste the metallic tang of blood as he howls.

Clutching at the bow staff again, he pulls himself to his feet, stumbling as he tries to run towards the gaping hole in the street. Adrenaline coursing through him, the drained energy not enough to hold him back as he sees a deep drop in the pavement. He throws himself into the hole, soot and dirt streaking the white suit as he skids the bowl-like drop. Hitting the bottom, there’s a limp body sprawled in the dust. Red fabric, singed and messy hair framing a face with blood streaming from her ears and lips.

“No… no, Cher no.” The words are weak as he crawls to the form, pulling away the lingering shards of metal tendrils, throwing them away as he pulls her body into his lap with no hesitation. A shaking hand supports her head, the other taking her hand.

Sobs rattle in his chest, his breaths shallow, almost wet as blood clings to his throat. Her chest unmoving, her emerald eyes closed as small sections of hair smoulder, pale skin marred by charcoal and bloody scrapes. The hand holding hers traces gentle circles on her palm, pulling it against his cheek. Her fingers are limp, unmoving, pale as the blood no longer circulates.

Desperately he holds the hand tight against his face. Whimpering words the only sound that fill the air as survivors step closer to the pit.

“S’okay, cher. Gambit’s gotchu. He ain’t lettin’ go. Gambit’s gotchu.”

#mun stuff #fiction #mun creation #Romy #x men 97 #alternate universe #tw: death #tw: violence #tw: suicide #tw: blood #tw: body horror #tw: angst #tw: long post #fanfic #x men 97 au #remember it

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v3nusxsky · 10 months

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Damn I’m already asking for part 2 😂of I’m sorry so it’s your choice but may I have have a part 2 where reader maybe dies or if they wouldn’t wake up after weeks or months

Torn apart

*Authors note~ part 2 here we come and in advance I suggest y'all get tissues low key kinda hate this but I may rewrite it*

Trigger warnings~ really angsty

Prompt~ tumblr anon~ Damn I'm already asking for part 2 😂of I'm sorry so it's your choice but may I have have a part 2 where reader maybe dies or if they wouldn't wake up after weeks or months

Part 1

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||previously|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

"Leonora carefully took you to her room and began to clean you up, the blood scrubbed off, the tattered clothing changed and cream rubbed gently on the absurd skin. "I'm so sorry darling, I should've listened to you. I hope you know how truly sorry I am."

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Truly, it was unusual for Leonora to care after a students trip to the doom room, but this was a unique case, you were a unique case. Deciding sleep was the best thing to help your battered body heal, she allowed you to rest in her bed while she forced her body to stay awake and watch over you. Normally, guilt wasn't an emotion that Lady Lesso would experience but now she was being drowned in it over and over again, wave after wave.

You should've woken up by now, she knew that. But you won't wake up. Sleep should've healed you. Deciding against it touching you she even tried to use some smelling salts on you, hoping it would wake you. But no success was found. In fact with every attempt she made to wake you and failed the guilt would rise higher, just about ready to make her pull her hair out. She couldn't have killed you? Sure she was evil but a murder? No, that is not who she is now.

Sitting next to your battered body she could see how wrong she was, you being nothing more than a sweet girl who was cruelly misunderstood by everyone, even Leo herself. She decided to give you until dinner. If you hadn't woken by then, she'd have to go and get some help. You would not die on her part that was for sure. Truly she knew she was out of her depth here.

Time tickled on, and there was no improvement in your condition. So of course you needed more help. Scoping you up into her ams she carried you to the medical wing in a desperate need for help. "Help me now! It's y/n she won't wake up" she practically screamed scarring the nurses into action. You were swiftly taken from her arms and placed in a hospital bed where vitals were taken and you were rushed into theatre. "Let me in there" she snarled at some poor junior doctor who looked absolutely terrified of her wrath. "Lady lesso, I can't do that. Wait here we will try our best. You being in there won't be much help" they informed before fleeing from her rage, the guilt now turning into anger. How could she be careless and stupid?

Hours after hours went by, there was no news, and truthfully she was running out of people to threaten with unimaginable consequences for not telling her or taking her to you. So when she finally got given your room number she hurried in to see you. There you lay incredibly pale, wrist in a cast, some cuts had been reopened and stitched properly. An iv was hooked up pushing antibiotics through you as you battled a infection. It was unknown to the staff, a very rare infection and of course the cuts exposed to the air triggered it off.

Your infection could take your life, she knew that. Only powerful beings would be able to contact it and last this long, truly she'd been underestimating you and she made sure to remind herself not to do that to you ever again. Sitting by your bedside Leonora allowed herself to cry. The lack of sleep and overwhelming emotions lowering her walls down to non existence. "I'm sorry y/n, I'm so sorry!" She whispered hoping you could hear her. "Please wake up love" she murmured before allowing the exhaustion to overtake her.

Neither of you knew what would happen now. What if you never woke up? What if you woke up and hated her? What if you died? There was too many what ifs for the woman who craved answers and routines. She could even imagine missing you so much, and those girls will be reprimanded for what they have done, but right now you are important. Truly she wanted to punish them to the high hell but not knowing if you'd pull through or not was stronger than the need to punish them.

Word count~ 775

#anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #anon requested #lady lesso #sfgae #leonora lesso #lady lesso x reader #lesso x reader #leonora lesso x reader #lady leonora lesso #lady lesso x you #lady leonora lesso x reader #dean of evil x reader #dean of evil #tsfgae

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undermounts · 28 days

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bite the hand - chapter 2: open palm, beckoning

pairing: Astarion/The Dark Urge

summary: Astarion helps her hide the body. Romance ensues.

preview:

“You’ve got an interesting hand of cards, darling,” Astarion purrs, looking up at her demurely. Damn him, it’s so hard to think when he’s looking at her like that and petting her hand. “I only want to help you play them well.”

Irileth’s mortification only grows as he slides one hand beneath her wrist, fingers splayed across the underside of her forearm, and lifts it to his mouth.

Yes, here is Astarion, kissing her palm, gazing up at her through his long white lashes with those piercing red eyes. It is not an image she will soon forget.

Check it out on AO3

The Archdruid Halsin is gone. Nettie doesn’t have a cure.

The mood between Irileth’s companions has thinned considerably in between the time they encountered the goblins at the gate of the Druid’s Grove and learned from Nettie that their best hope of a tadpole cure is missing, likely captured by the goblin warband. Or worse, if Sazza is any indication of the hospitality they can expect. (‘The Absolute’ll have yer head!’ )

But at least they’ve picked up the Blade of Frontiers. Whatever that means.

Irileth’s moth-tattered brain draws a blank at the moniker when Wyll introduces himself, brandishing his rapier with a suave flourish that the tiefling children seemed to love, so she only offers him a sheepish smile. Astarion laughs.

“Oh, good!” he sneers, putting his hands on his hips. “Another hero.”

“Well, I try to be. That’s the best any of us can do.” Wyll smiles modestly and oh, Irileth likes him instantly. She is relieved when he agrees to join their quest to remove the tadpole, so long as they help with his devil hunt in return. Advocatus diaboli.

Wyll seems so good. Heroic. If there is anyone Irileth can now turn to when her moral compass needs a nudge, it will be him. And should she lose the run of herself, well, maybe the Blade can keep her in check.

So when one of the tiefling children tells Wyll that Mirkon is missing, last seen heading through the Emerald Grove and toward the beach, well. It seems like the right thing to do, to follow the guiding light that is Wyll, charging for the shore.

They are ambushed by harpies.

There are four of them, perched on pillars of rock that punctuate the aquamarine waters of the cove and the surrounding cliffside. All winged, clawed, and clad in clattering bone armor, they sing and screech with beauty and horror in equal measure at the party’s arrival.

Mirkon is charmed when they find him, slowly wading into the surf, with a dreamlike expression. Shadowheart must haul him bodily over her shoulder to carry him, protesting, up the path to safety, while Wyll targets a harpy singing on the cliffside, his rapier pulsing with a dark green miasma. Astarion takes point on a nearby pillar of rock, his longbow drawn to cover Shadowheart’s retreat. Irileth sets herself on the two nearest harpies, dancing around them with all of a rogue’s grace, her body near vibrating with delectation at the very thought of the things she wants to do to the abominable creatures.

It is the first time they have all fought together, and the harpies are far more vicious and cunning than goblins or bandits. Yet, the fight goes unexpectedly well, up until the point that Astarion, too, is lured by the harpy’s song.

Irileth reaches him, up to her waist in the crystalline water, only a moment too late as Astarion cries out, his voice pain-riddled. She catches him as he stumbles back and the air is charged with the scent of metal. Dark red blood seeps from gashes that start at Astarion’s shoulder and disappear beneath the water, half obscured by his torn clothing.

(Blue satin, red crushed velvet, his doublet is the finest thing Irileth has ever touched, and oh! There: hand-stitched embroidery, made of red thread so dark, it nearly disappears into the blue panels. You wouldn’t notice it unless you knew where to look, and the shade of it doesn’t quite match the velvet. He did it himself. )

Astarion is still swearing and hissing in pain when Irileth drags him away from the harpy, just as its claws rake through empty air for another strike. Allowing the water to carry most of his weight, she pushes him a few feet behind her, back toward the shore.

Then, she turns, and—gods, it is almost too easy. Astarion called Irileth a punisher last night, and though she rejected the idea, she knows he is right.

She has the harpy on its knees in the water within seconds, its hamstrings slashed, freshwater churning red. It thrashes against her, wailing—how can a creature that sang so wondrously only moments before sound like that? She should end it, quickly, before the damned thing can open its mouth again, but she hesitates.

For a moment, Irileth is nearly overcome with the desire to drag this little display out, to slowly pull on its wings until tendons snap like harp strings. But then Irileth looks up and there is Astarion, free of the charm, and face distorted with vengeful fury.

“I’ll skin you alive, you foul wretch!”

He is a sight to behold, dripping water and blood. He belongs in a portrait like one of paintings they recovered in the bandit’s den, The Red Prince or Marcus Miles. Red eyes piercing, sodden silver hair curling over his brow and sparkling like so many stars, Irileth revels in the vision. So much so that it is with a near giddy haste that she pulls her blades free of the harpy’s massacred wings, plants her boot in its back, and shoves it toward Astarion.

Let him have his way.

Afterward, they sit on the beach, recovering. Now that they have a moment to breathe, Irileth realizes that the whole scene truly is rather idyllic: great red pillars of rock, sparkling waves, and lush blooms of greenery. And scattered across the dazzling vista are the broken bodies of the four harpies, a few smoking from Wyll’s magic.

Shadowheart is crouched beside Astarion, murmuring under her breath as his wounds close beneath her hands. They had been brutal: deep and jagged grooves that crossed from shoulder to ribs. His beautiful doublet hangs in tatters, torn pieces of golden thread glittering in the sunlight. Beyond repair.

“We’ve known Wyll for ten bloody minutes,” he grouses, glaring towards where the Blade sits perched on a nearby boulder, wiping at Mirkon’s skinned knee. “And we are already risking our lives.”

“Calm yourself, Astarion,” Wyll replies good-naturedly and—ah, Wrong move, Wyll—that only seems to incense Astarion more. “We did a good thing.”

“‘Calm myself?’” Astarion snaps, sniffing haughtily. “Surely you’re joking. You weren’t the one who was lured out into the ocean to be feasted upon by a bunch of overgrown birds.”

Irileth has mostly composed herself by now, her vile appetite sufficiently waned. Her brief wash in the cove cleared away most of the viscera and has cooled her down some, but adrenaline still races through her; she can feel the pleasant after-effects of the battle, shimmering through her marrow. (How sweetly her daggers sang! Flesh rending, bones cracking! Those wings, she wanted to pluck them off, one by one.)

“Perhaps we ought to let them rest up for a while,” Wyll says, rising to his feet with a pointed look toward Irileth. After giving only a brief nod to Astarion and Shadowheart, he begins the return trek up the dirt path, toward the heart of the Grove. “Come along, Mirkon.”

Mirkon scoots off his rock with a little shuffle, then holds his hand out toward Irileth. It is so small, Irileth observes, barely the size of her palm. She can imagine the adorable force it will have, struggling against her grip, if she were to hold him down beneath the waves.

Gods above and hells below, what is wrong with her?

She feels heavy with the weight of her sinful thoughts and, for an irrational moment, fears the others heard her vile musings through an unwitting tadpole connection. A second more and she half expects one of Shadowheart’s radiant bolts of energy to strike her in the back.

But when nothing happens, Irileth does her best to offer Mirkon her friendliest smile and gently presses her hand against his back, urging him forward until he runs ahead to cling to Wyll’s fingertips instead. Together, they guide Mirkon back to the other children, where he bids them to seek out Mol in the Dragon’s Lair should they ever need any help.

“The ‘Dragon’s Lair,’” Wyll echoes, amused, as they watch Mirkon run off. “I remember being young like that. Finding magic in the small things, dreaming of adventure. Did you have such fantasies?”

Irileth likes the cadence of Wyll’s voice, like everything he says is part of a fairytale, where there are only lessons and happy endings. Where nothing hurts.

“I don’t remember my childhood,” Irileth admits, and it feels easy to confess this to him. Maybe, she thinks naively, if she tells Wyll, nothing bad can happen. “I don’t remember anything, actually. From before the nautiloid ship.”

“Truly?” Wyll’s brows raise. His surprise is sincere. “What about the abduction?”

Irileth shakes her head. “Not even that. My first memory is of waking up in my pod, once the ship was already under siege.”

“Ah. I can see how that troubles you,” Wyll replies sympathetically. Then he reaches out and clasps her arm with a gentle squeeze. Irileth flinches. “But worry not, my friend. I have a feeling that our journey is only just beginning to unfold. We face much in the days ahead, and perhaps along the way, we can find you some answers.”

Wyll retreats with a comforting pat, though Irileth tries not to deflate at his response. Without knowing, she had sort of… hoped (how odd!) that Wyll might have a cure for her perverted affliction. Fool.

“Which reminds me,” Wyll says, and Irileth has to resist the impulse to sigh. How many times has she heard something like that in the last few days? “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Yes?” Irileth tries to keep the weariness out of her voice.

Wyll laughs, resting his palm over the hilt of his rapier. “I know that look. You’re spread thin and far too preoccupied. But I promise this will be worth your time.” Wyll pauses, glancing at the tieflings that surround them, still training with wooden swords under Asharak’s instruction. “But not here. Let’s find somewhere more private.”

Wyll has insisted that they find his devil quarry—this Karlach —no later than the day after tomorrow. He learned from Zevlor’s scouts that there have been sightings of scorch marks and fire-razed campsites along the Risen Road.

“It is a noble cause and well worth your while,” Wyll beseeched Irileth, fist held over his heart. “Karlach is dangerous. She brings death and chaos everywhere she goes. It would be unconscionable to let her roam free along the Coast! I promise you, once she is dealt with, I am all yours.” Then, after she already agreed, he added earnestly, “You’ve got a good soul, I can tell.”

If only he knew.

That was nearly an hour ago. Now, Irileth stands alone on the outskirts of the Grove, not far from the beach where they fought the harpies. Wyll has gone off to gather his things from within the Hollow, and Astarion and Shadowheart are supposedly in search of some new armor to replace the shredded doublet. Gale and Lae’zel are still further inside somewhere, bartering with—or intimidating, in Lae’zel’s case—the tieflings for supplies. In a short while, they will reconvene near the entrance of the Grove, then make camp by the river.

Irileth is secretly glad to have a break from all of the others. All of this, it’s exhausting. And overwhelming. And terrifying.

The parasite in her head frightens Irileth far more than she has thus far been able to admit. It has been benign the last few days, but how long will this truce last? Ceremorphosis—Gale has painted a rather vivid picture of the gruesome transformation, and even she finds it too dreadful for her taste. And then, there are the tieflings in the Grove. Halsin. Wyll. So many people, suddenly, who need help, her help, and how can she help anyone when—

And there. The thing she is most afraid of. How is she supposed to help anyone when she is little more than a beast? A hot-blooded killer, a mangled monster. Sometimes, when the battle-lust swells and the violent urge grows, the sound of her heart is less a beat than the pound of a war drum of blood.

She needs to get a hold of herself, immediately. If she doesn’t, they will cast her out, her companions. And with good reason! For who can sleep well knowing they might receive a knife in the back with no justification beyond her barbaric satisfaction?

But there is more to it than that. Beyond any sense of self preservation, she doesn’t want to hurt the people who have helped her. Call it loyalty, morality, or whatever bits of goodness she has picked up over the last few days. She refuses to bite the hand that feeds her.

Loathsome creature. She doesn’t want to be like this.

“There you are, darling. I’ve been looking for you.”

Irileth jolts, snapping out of her spiraling thoughts, to find Astarion leaning against one of the moss-covered pillars that surround the Emerald Grove. He watches her expectantly, already clad in his new leather armor, ruined doublet nowhere to be seen. He looks much better than he did down at the beach (even if she did like the sight of him, vicious, snarling, and coated in blood). Just beyond, the druids stand watch around their sacred idol.

“Have you now?” Irileth replies in what she hopes is an even tone. The last thing she needs is Astarion picking and prodding at her for all of her dirty little secrets.

“Of course I have.” The smile he gives her is slight and daring. “You’re the only person in this entire place that is even worth the time.”

And, damn her. Irileth knows Astarion is flattering her because that is just what he does, the flirt, but she feels her cheeks warm.

“Really?” Irileth arches a brow, doubtful. “I thought you would still be angry with me, for following Wyll to the harpies.”

“Oh, I absolutely am,” he replies, eyes narrowing, and Irileth can tell that he truly means that, even as he’s being so saccharine with her. His expression twists. “Charmed by a bloody harpy. No control over my mind, my body!” He pauses for a long moment to take a deep breath. “It is not an experience I would relish happening again.”

Irileth says nothing, for at this moment, Astarion looks so discomforted, and his expression is so at odds with his usual cool veneer and unflappable savoir faire. From this, she knows that his grievances with her today are very much real.

“It was an utterly brainless thing to do, putting ourselves at risk like that with a man we’d just met. But,” Astarion adds, collecting himself, and his smile gleams once more, “I suppose, just this once, I can forgive you.”

Could he? Doesn’t really seem the type.

“And what would your forgiveness cost me, exactly?”

“Ah, so shrewd, my sweet, dagger happy friend,” Astarion sighs, clasping his hands together. “It won’t cost you a thing. All I ask is that next time you want to race headfirst to the rescue?” He walks his middle and forefinger finger through the air. “You at least consult the rest of us first. Namely me.”

“I didn’t ask you to follow me, Astarion,” Irileth frowns, folding her arms. “Or Shadowheart, for that matter. You both followed Wyll and I down to the beach.”

“Yes, darling, that is rather the point, ” he bites out, momentarily exasperated. “Like it or not, you’ve apparently become our de facto leader. Making poisonous deals with that healer, playing liaison for the tieflings, recruiting bleeding hearts every which way we turn. Something happens to you and our growing, tadpoled little warband falls apart without direction. Remember our discussion about power?” In the midst of his tirade, his gaze suddenly snaps with rapt attention to her hand, to the offended finger.

Irileth curls her fingers inward, hiding them in the crook of her arms. “One of the others can lead, then, if you are unhappy with my choices.”

Astarion makes a quick tutting noise, shaking his head.

“Let’s not be rash now. No one’s unhappy, at least not yet ,” he coos at her, despite all evidence to the contrary. He takes a few measured steps forward across the mossy earth until the tips of their boots nearly touch. “Gale will lecture us all to death before we get anything done. The only thing Lae’zel and Shadowheart like less than each other is working with other people, and Wyll? Ha! Don’t get me started on Wyll. He’d have us running all over the bloody Coast hunting his devil and any other fiends until we all sprout tentacles and kill each other.”

Irileth raises her brows. He’s certainly formed a lot of opinions, reducing everyone down to a few choice qualities. She doesn’t miss that his own analysis of himself is conveniently absent. “And what about you?”

“Me?” Astarion laughs like she’s the one being ridiculous, not him, with his fluttering lashes and seductive smiles in the middle of a gods damned illithid invasion. “I much prefer to work in the shadows. So you see, you’re our best option. So long as you can be made to reason, of course.”

“Is that what you’re doing now? Working from the shadows to get me to do what you want?”

“I wouldn’t presume,” Astarion replies in a voice that tells Irileth he absolutely would. “This is just some friendly advice.”

Then, with an elegant gesture, he plucks Irileth’s hand from within the folds of her arms and holds it between both of his. Startled, she tries to pull away but Astarion holds fast, pressing his thumbs into the meat of her palm in a gentle massage. It feels—gods, it feels nice, and Irileth tries not to preen under his practiced touch.

Oh, she truly is so ridiculous! Drawn as she is to the feel of his skin against hers, cool and soft beneath the callouses.

Irileth’s mortification only grows as he slides one hand beneath her wrist, fingers splayed across the underside of her forearm, and lifts it to his mouth.

Yes, here is Astarion, kissing her palm, gazing up at her through his long white lashes with those piercing red eyes. It is not an image she will soon forget.

He releases her slowly, dragging the fingertips of one hand from her forearm all the way to her knuckles and caressing her thumb with the other. Irileth’s breath is tremulous as she releases it, and Astarion smirks, knowing all too well the effect he has.

With no small amount of effort, she clears her throat and stares Astarion down with a look that she hopes is stern, or at least not embarrassingly flustered.

“Fine,” Irileth says, and oh good, at least she isn’t swooning. She yanks her hand back. “No more harpies.”

Astarion sighs, overly dramatic and practically exuding sarcasm. “Thank you. ”

“And. I promise not to race into any more rescues without consulting the others, if there’s time.” She adds this last bit pointedly when Astarion’s expression grows too smug for her liking. “But if there is something I can do to help, I will do it. You can choose to follow or not.”

This seems a good rule, and honestly, like a little bit of a commitment now that she’s said it out loud. Irileth hadn’t planned to get involved in the affairs of the tieflings and the Grove, but gods, there are just too many issues that will fester if left unattended for long. If they’re going to be running around the wilderness, searching for goblins, supplies, and signs of a githyanki crèche for Lae’zel’s zaith’isk, then they might as well solve a few problems along the way.

Maybe, Irileth thinks, if she keeps herself busy helping, she won’t feel so inclined to hurt.

“Eugh. You aren’t even a godsdamned paladin,” Astarion mumbles, lip curling up. “But alright . I suppose that will do for now. Bloody do-gooders.”

“Next time, Astarion,” Irileth flaps her hand at him in dismissal, stepping away, “I would prefer it if you just tell me what you want. You don’t have to touch me to get something.”

“Oh, but I do so like touching you.” His smile is salacious, insouciant. “Trust me, darling, I am quite willing.”

She cannot believe him. Such a honeyed tongue he has.

He’s dangling bait in front of her, begging her to bite. He is such a flirt, Astarion, but Irileth doesn’t know how to play gently yet. So instead, she gestures toward him. “I see you’ve got some new armor.”

Astarion’s face slackens, confused. Then disappointment steals over his features for but a moment and he looks down at the new leather armor he adorns.

“This? Oh, yes,” he hums, picking at the edge of his collar. “A paltry gift from that tiefling at the forge. Apparently, rescuing that little urchin at the beach garnered us some good will. Now, if they could just give me a pile of gold…”

Astarion trails off with a sigh of longing and closes his eyes, tilting his head back toward the sky. The sun is descending toward the horizon but its radiance plays softly in Astarion’s hair, gilting the fine lines of his brow bone. Irileth’s stomach clenches.

“I’m sorry about your other clothes. Your doublet, I mean,” Irileth says, thinking of the dangling golden threads, the careful stitches he’d made along the back. “I know that you…”

That he what? Irileth doesn’t know anything about him. (Oh, what’s to tell? I’m a magistrate back in Baldur’s Gate. It’s all rather tedious.)

“You took good care of them,” she says instead, clearing her throat.

Astarion looks at her blankly for a moment, then laughs, loud and harsh. “Oh, you sweet, silly thing. What do I care about a pair of old clothes?” He says this with a sniff, as if he finds the very idea of sentiment to be distasteful. “I tell you, once we reach a spot of actual civilization, I’m going to buy my own things, not some out-of-season—ahem. Well. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now.”

Indeed.

Delightful as this has been (not at all) Irileth has the feeling that they should regroup with the others before Astarion can start swindling her into any bad ideas by whispering sweet nothings in her ear. She is just about to suggest as much when she hears something… odd on the wind. A discordant sound that just rises over the rustling grass and distant waves.

“Do you… Do you hear that?” Irileth asks, turning about. “It sounds like—”

“Like a dying cat,” Astarion answers coolly and Irileth ignores him.

Someone nearby is playing the lute. Or rather, plucking pitifully at it, and crying.

“Oh gods, you know you don’t have to investigate every little cry for help, yes?” Astarion’s sigh is long suffering as he follows Irileth around the peninsula to a crumbling stone veranda. “We just talked about this. Literally seconds ago.

A blue-skinned tiefling woman is perched on a slab of stone, dressed in the brightest assortment of colors Irileth has ever seen. There is a lute in the bard’s lap, which she strums haltingly as she sings in a wavering voice.

“Dance upon the stars tonight. Smile and pain will fade away. Words of mine will change—no. Become—ugh.”

Another dissonant strum. Even the surrounding wildlife, birds and squirrels, squabble their discontent at the sound. The tiefling berates herself, shaking her head vigorously.

Despite herself (and Astarion’s clear disapproval), Irileth is intrigued by this display. It is another opportunity, she figures, to, if not help, then at least soothe.

“Gods above, end me now. I can’t listen to more singing, not today,” Astarion mutters underneath his breath and Irileth steps forward before he can upset the woman further.

The tiefling is sweet, and miraculously, Irileth seems to aid in easing her sorrow, coaxing her and her verses along, bit by bit, until the entire song spills forth. Listening to the music, she feels, for the first time in days, at peace (for the first time ever, in this life). Perhaps, Astarion was right, maybe she was a bard, before the nautiloid. But the moment Irileth thinks that, she knows it is incorrect. She feels with some inexplicable certainty that in her past life, she despised music.

Irileth is fairly sure that Astarion is glaring at her the entire time, but she can hardly bring herself to mind. She is flying high today. Despite their misfortune with their tadpole solution, she has kept her iniquitous thoughts (mostly) on a leash and has been less than a nuisance to the tieflings: Arabella, Arka, Mirkon, and now this.

“Thank you,” the bard tells Irileth through a few stray tears when the song is complete, a beautiful eulogy to her fallen mentor. “I… I needed this.”

And then she pulls Irileth to her, the bells of her blazer tinkling softly. Irileth stiffens (Skin too tight, her bones cry their unease. It… frightens her some, the encompassing touch of another). But after a moment, she relaxes into the embrace, carefully placing one hand on the back of the woman’s shoulder.

Astarion looks on with a bored expression, cleaning beneath his nails with the tip of his knife.

“I’m sorry,” the bard says when she leans away, her orange eyes gleaming. She is so lovely, so innocent. Her voice reminds Irileth of the autumncrocus flowers that are scattered about the Grove, pale purple leaves tinged with yellow (the excerpt from a book on herbs: Legend says the first crocus was created by Lathander, the Morninglord, which is why this delicate flower is always found stretching its petals toward the sun.) “I didn’t even get your name.”

“Oh, Irileth. My name is Irileth.”

“Irileth. It is so good to meet you. Ordained, I think! It must be. Like the beginning of a beautiful story.” The woman smiles brightly and clasps Irileth’s hands tightly and with great warmth.

“I’m Alfira.”

That night, Irileth dreams the sky is raining blood. She dances, naked, beneath the crimson drops.

#bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #the dark urge #durge #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #astarion x durge #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #baldurs gate

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