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art: mageonduty, creating.dark.art

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a slice of life🦊

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These pages could be talked about every single day and it still wouldn’t be enough. In this scene Feyre was mean and selfish. She didn’t spare a single thought to how Lucien was feeling and she felt no guilt for the terrible situation she’d singlehandedly landed him in.

I will say this until the end of time: Lucien deserves better.

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Emissary Lucien and Vallahan

Here is a fun thought. Anyone want to see Lucien go to Vallahan and get them to sign the treaty in a day whereas useless Mor has spent almost a year and made absolutely no headway. I swear Mor is the worst Ambassador/Emissary ever.

I just want to see Lucien be sent to Vallahan (Rhys finally took Eris’ suggestion to use his youngest brother’s talents in Vallahan). He walks in, has a 12+ hour closed door meeting with the leaders of Vallahan, walks out WITH the treaty signed, hands it to Mor, and leaves. Also if he can make a nice quip to her about stop spreading rumors about his loyalty and “bias” work, that would be chef kiss.

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Tamlin: anytime Lucien starts to tell me a funny childhood memory I brace myself to hear the most traumatising shit ever

Lucien: it was funny

Tamlin: I will pay for ur therapy bills

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everyone talks about Lucien in white, but let's just imagine how hot Lucien is in black.

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the foxes doing the hear me out cake challenge and who/what I think they’d put on there

Neil: Andrew Minyard, Kevin Day

Dan: Mufasa (Lion King), Filmore!, the weather app, the red M&M, Weaver (Antz), Scully (Monsters Inc.), Diego (Ice Age), Manny (Ice Age), the purple M&M, Mr. Clean, Bob Duncan (Good Luck, Charlie), Jimmy Neutron’s mom, Kevin Day

Andrew: Wymack (pissing Kevin and Dan off but the rest of the team agrees with him), Neil Josten, Ghostface, Chucky, Rumpelstiltskin (Shrek), the sound of glass breaking, a baseball bat, Wymack a second time, Gerard Way, Ben&Jerry’s peanut butter & cookies specifically, Kevin Day

Aaron: Jessica Rabbit, Lola (Sharktale), Candace (Phineas and Ferb), Fiona (Shrek), the dragon (Shrek), Sally (Cars), Matt’s mom, the green M&M, an aglet, an old fashioned quill and ink, swiss cheese, Peach (Super Mario), Kevin Day

Matt: Sarabi (Lion King), Sandy Cheeks (SpongeBob), Andrew’s car, King Julien (Madagascar), Neil Josten, the “Jules” desk chair from ikea, the fairy godmother (Shrek), peach (the fruit, cmbyn style), Birdo (Super Mario), one of those sheet face masks, marshmallow fluff, Kevin Day

Allison: Balto, Scar (Lion King), a snickers bar, a salt lamp, Jack Skellington, Emily (Corpse Bride) (yelling ensues because both Emily and Jack are just hot), Diego (Ice Age), Dr Drakken (Kim Possible), the dad from inside out, the invisible man (Hotel Transylvania), Kevin Day

Nicky: Gill (finding Nemo), Diego (Ice Age), Major Monogram (Phineas and Ferb), Christmas ornaments, groan tubes, the Belgian techno anthem “Pump Up The Jam”, Sauerkraut, Bloaters/Shamblers (The Last of Us), Coriolanus Snow (The Hunger Games), Barry B. Benson (Bee Movie), the German word “Potzblitz”, Kevin Day

Renee: a literal rainbow, the Mona Lisa, a swiss pocket knife, a braided brioche loaf, Ghostface, Haymitch Abernathy (The Hunger Games), Barbie (the actual doll), the beast (Beauty and the Beast), Mrs. Potts (Beauty and the Beast), Andrew Minyard (earning a silent high five from him and Neil), Kevin Day

Kevin: some very niche historical figures, the onceler (the Lorax), a literal exy racquet, Gloria (Madagascar), a three sixty vodka bottle, Shego (everyone yells at him that she’s not a hear me out; she’s just hot), Allison Reynolds (earning a side eye from her), Matt’s mom

Bonus:

Katelyn: Dr Doofenschmirtz (Phineas and Ferb), Vanessa Doofenschmirtz (Phineas and Ferb), Sally (Cars), Andrew Minyard (Aaron is disgusted), Ron Stoppable (Kim Possible), Timon (Lion King), Balloony (Phineas and Ferb), the number 8, the periodic table, the electronic configuration of phosphorus, Jordi (The Secret World of Santa Claus), Gordon Ramsay, Kevin Day (Aaron high fives her)

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"You may call me Jesminda, Prince."

It is early morning. The predawn rays illuminate the ever-golden crowns of the ancient trees whose mighty trunks have stood on these lands for centuries, planted as far back as Braon, the first high lord of the Court of Autumn. This was his favorite part of the forest. Away from the big cities, away from the capital, villages, and settled places. Just nature and air. With his own hands, Braon had planted every sapling of every tree, every bush sprouting in this forest. Or otherwise known as the Forest of Golden Thought. That name didn't come to him right away. Braon liked to come here once a month, walking alone, thinking about the new and the old, the mortal and the immortal, the beautiful and the ugly. When he was bored with his duties, with the lords and ladies who were always dividing territories and fawning over him at every meeting, trying to seek his favor. Even when he was bored with his family. The beautiful Inwu, the wife of the high lord. A stern woman with a cold heart. He loved her. She wasn't of the highest blood, came from a lower caste, but he loved her. Long ago, when Prithian had not yet been broken into courts, on this very spot, Inwu had saved him from arrows and boiled love in his heart. She bore him a son, little Kinshua. Braon cherished his child. But even from his beloved family, he grew weary. He wanted peace. So he grew his own forest, in the southeast of the Autumn Court, on the border with Spring, where the monsters of all kinds still dwell. Here, Braon found peace, where he could indulge his tormenting thoughts and compose them into poems that, after his death, Inwu would transcribe into chronicles that would be honored for generations to come. It was because of this that the first high lord of the court of Autumn was nicknamed the Thinker.

Millennia have passed, generations of rulers have passed, but the Forest of Golden Thought is still one of the most dangerous places in the Autumn Court. It is said that the Thinker's wisest thoughts and fears have become tangible because Braon filled them with such strong feelings, and if anyone dares to enter this mysterious forest, he will either lose his mind or be eaten by one of the monsters. Golden trees still grow here, and in the very centre of the forest stands a lake so clear that it seems as if it were not water but tears. In the villages there is a legend that the lake was formed from the tears of Inwu, which she shed while mourning the death of her husband.

The golden leaves rustled at the pace of their light steps, the branches crunched beneath their soles. There was no power now to distract Lucien Vanserra from the thoughts that occupied his clever head. ‘Perhaps all the legends were lies? I've been wandering in this forest since my childhood, and I haven't gone mad yet, and I've never seen any monsters so colorfully described in the annals. " Once again, he escaped from the Forest House, away from the abuse of the cruelest of all six of his twin brothers. Aisa and Assar were the true children of their father, so much like him they were both. The twins heeded Beron's every word and advice. They put their father's words into postulates, obeying Beron's every will without question. They always mocked Lucien. They regarded his younger brother as a toy, and Beron condoned them in this. Lucien was not a weakling, and if the ‘educational measures’ of Beron he could not avoid, then with the attitude of the twins he fought, if not openly, then arranged them various tricks. ‘You let me down from the summerhouse? I'll put laxative root in your food. Did you tie me to a wild horse and gallop it? I'll set a bogey on you when you hunt. It was a vicious circle. But Beron knew what names to give his children. The High Fae have long believed that names have power, and how a parent names their child will determine their character and sometimes their fate later in life. The name Aisa meant sharp or fallen, and such was the first of the twins. Sharp, as an arrow he threw words at anyone he didn't like, and it didn't matter to Aisa whether it was a servant or a high lord. The other twin's name, on the other hand, meant vengeance. Assar was never stingy with it. All of Lucien's attempts to fight back, his little childish pranks on these two met with nothing but dire consequences. He was always invited to Beron's carpet afterward. And the twins were there, too. Common sense told Lucien to stop and not answer. ‘Silence is golden,’ Inkyu, the sixth son, himself following such a principle, had always told him. Sometimes, it seemed to Lucien that Beron didn't know Inkyu existed at all. He was so indifferent to him. He even gave him such a name: Inkyu meant ‘sixth’. "I guess your father's imagination ran out on you, - Aisa laughed, ‘I took one look at you and knew you were no good for anything.' Inkyou never responded to that. He wouldn't even look at the twins. Lucien couldn't do that.

It was the seventeenth year of his meaningless life, and all these years, he had had no peace from Beron. Not a day could pass without him being bullied, not a meeting with the supreme ruler that did not end in abrasions for the youngest and most unloved of his sons. Beron and the twins were his nightmare, and because Lucien knew he could not remain silent, could not quietly bear all the inclement weather they would bring down upon his head, he would withdraw into the forests of the court of Autumn.

For days he wandered, hunting deer or fishing in the cold rivers. He travelled to villages and small towns, always hiding his face with a cloak so that Beron would not be informed of his adventures. He spoke to the inhabitants, saying that his face was so ugly that if they saw him they would immediately fall from the sight. Introduced himself as a wanderer, making up different names and stories. He helped with the harvest, learning what his brother Eris would call ‘not worthy of a prince’. But he tried to help the peasants. More because there was no one else. Beron didn't care about their problems, the only thing he cared about was the tribute they brought him each month. Few courts retained this custom. After the war, most of the High Lords had reformed to appease the populace, but courts like Autumn, Spring and Night still observed the custom.

The seventeenth day had passed since the youngest prince had fled from the Forest House, delaying the hours of pain that Beron would invariably bring him, for he had quarreled with the twins again. This time Lucien did not stop at any villages or taverns, he walked purposefully this very way, hoping to stay here for a couple of months, for no one would ever venture into the Forest of Golden Thought. He was drawn to the dead silence of this forgotten place, a place where Lucien could finally free himself of all titles and responsibilities and relax. To let himself go and collapse all the shields hiding his true nature. The nature of the Court of Day. Here, he could bask in the sun and soak in its light and warmth.

Strolling along one of the paths, shimmering in the sunlight, enjoying the solitude, Lucien moved towards the Lake of Tears. He felt the gazes of unknown monsters watching him through the golden crowns of mighty trees, but never once did any of them dare to attack or even show themselves, so Lucien did not pay much attention to it. He was occupied with other thoughts and dreams. Dreams of distant lands. Of other courts. Of travelling and making new acquaintances. About how his life would have turned out if he hadn't been the son of a high lord. What would he have done? What would his character have been like? Interests? Would he have been a strong warrior? Or a merry minstrel? Or would he go to an academy and teach? Or would he go into commerce and travel by ship?

Step by step, he indulged in his dreams, savoring them like the juiciest fruit from court of Summer, savoring what he thought he would never experience in his life. Without noticing anything in front of him, he silently walked to the shore of the lake and froze. He was not alone. In an instant, waking up and throwing all his thoughts back, he drew his bow and pointed it at the rippling water in which someone was splashing. But he didn't fire. A creature emerged from the lake. ‘It's a girl!’ - exclaimed the young man mentally with surprise. She had her back turned to him and had not yet noticed him so that he could see her shamelessly. A small head crowned with twisted horns that nestled in a mane of brown, oak-bark-like wet hair that ran down her thin, swarthy back. Sharp shoulder blades stuck out tantalisingly, wet shoulders shivering in the cool air, and Lucien couldn't budge. He tried to send a pulse to at least one of his limbs, at least to lower his bow, but it was all to no avail. The prince just stood there watching this fae turn around quite clearly, not expecting to see him there with an arrow pointed at her. Shock encompassed the features of that lean pretty face. The redhead's already large eyes widen even more in surprise, the small mouth with the puffy, dry lips opens ready to scream, but he seems to restrain himself and just covers it with both palms of his hands, the nails on the fingers of which could rival his older brother's stilettos.

Lucien manages to make an effort on himself and lower his weapon.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't expect anyone else to be here at all." - he said quietly, though more than anything he wanted to burst into a selective profanity.

The girl slowly took her palms away from her face, still with a confused look on her face, and began to step out of the water apparently unashamed of her nakedness. Lucien tactfully began to look around and, noticing a dark green cloak lying by a boulder, hurriedly took it and threw it over the shoulders of a small faerie already standing on the shore, whose head didn't even reach his shoulders. Tilting her head to the right, causing her mop of hair to ripple and almost hitting him with her horns, she asked decisively:

"Who are you?"

There was not in that face the beauty of which women at court are so proud. There was nothing refined or delicate, no fair skin or high forehead. No ballads could be written about this face, no poems could be composed about it, and it was difficult to give her any vivid epithets. But there was something in those eyes, in that slanting gaze, or was it the wildness of her features, but, as always, he could not lie to her.

"My name is Lucien Vanserra." - he said quietly, almost in a whisper

Slight surprise slipped into her gaze, and then the wildness returned, and a cheeky smirk slid across her dry lips.

"You may call me Jesminda, Prince."

And those words were the beginning of their end.

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a little sketch of Lucien's past. Not canon at all. English is not my first language, so I apologize.

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Demon Lucien and priest Tamlin au👩🏻‍🦯

NSFW on Patreon ✨️

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Lucien can potentially wield Lightening!

Like...hear me out!

He has fire from his mother And air from his father

Combine them and BAM!! He can wield Lightening!

It's totally possible! And logical! It makes sense!!

Sjm please please please!

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the name Lucien means not only light, but also intelligence and beauty. Even this man's name hints to us that he is awesome.

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Steps crunched on the grass behind us. Nesta whirled, but— Lucien. It was Lucien. Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he’d run from the shore. — Chapter 78, ACOWAR

According to @moonpatroclus, @cauldronblssd and myself, there is nothing more gentlemanly than being sweaty and covered in blood. For Day 1: Gentleman of @lucienweekofficial, we’d reached out to @/paolapieretti.art to capture exactly that — and oh did she DELIVER. See how his Illyrian leathers tear exactly right to offer us a tasteful peek at the VanTits? See the smear of blood near his fangs? Very demure, very oh-wow-our-legs-just-magically-opened.

A massive thank you to @/paolapieretti.art for doing such a wonderful job on this piece (do you SEE the Night Court insignia on his shoulder plates??) and for being an absolute joy to work with. We hope you love Lucien (or, as we’ve dubbed him in our group chat, War Daddy) as much as we do!

Art by @/paolapieretti.art and commissioned by @moonpatroclus, @cauldronblssd, and @velidewrites. Reposts are not allowed!

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louder

Lucien Vanserra is Prythian's it boy.

He has made a name for himself. Everyone knows him. He has insane lore that Prythian knows about. He defies Amarantha in front of everyone. He's a prince, (now double it). He travels to many places and meets many people, important people. He can negotiate. He can lead. He led an entire fleet to the war. He can speak to anyone. He has rizz. He's actually powerful. He just can't help but be popular.

(This guy wouldn't ever be homeless for a long time. He's too cool)

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It's been 23 years since he joined the army. For five years, the war has been raging in the eastern Continent. The commander of the Seventh Infantry Division, Lucien Vanserra, or Dragon as he was called by his enemies for his unexpected and extremely powerful raids on enemy troops, enters a deep cave where a message from a general has brought him. "Find the Seer. We need to know our future, Lucien." - the letter reads. Well, of course, he has nothing else to do, does he? Though Ironil was his teacher and loyal friend, his distrust of the others irritated Lucien. His mentor could have sent some private and not him. He has an army standing by, they need to move on, go on the offensive, and their commander has to play bloodhound. But Lucien understood why Ironil had sent him. With anger, spitting, he understood why. Not just because of distrust of the others. By nature, Lucien was a hunter. From a young age, he had learned the art. First in the forests of Autumn's court with his brothers in a warm coat and dogs, later in the cold northern forests in a shirt and bow against the monsters of the Continent, and, now, during the war Lucien had to hunt for enemy heads.

The cave was poorly lit and, strangely, not damp. It looked... inhabited. Lucien could smell someone's scent. A woman's. He would give a lot right now for a woman's sensual embrace. Or a man's. It didn't matter, he wanted to feel the warmth of someone else's body, to taste skin on his tongue. But that's not what this is about. The woman smelled like moss and needles. The whole cave was saturated with her scent, she had been here for quite some time. As he walked deeper into the cave labyrinths, Lucien's ears began to hear scraps of chanting in a language unknown to him. The rough sounds, more like clicks than syllables intensified as he approached. In the right passage, a staircase leading upward appeared before Lucien. The steps were illuminated by purple stalactites. As he climbed the stairs, Lucien took his sword out of its sheath just in case. He had created it himself, forged it out of fire and light with his own hands, and now it shone in the violet light. Prepared means warned - that's what his mentor always told him, well, after several unexpected attacks and wounds after them, Lucien remembered it and always drew his weapon, even without knowing whether there was an enemy nearby or not, and in the last dangerous years he even slept with a naked sword.

Climbing the stairs and turning the corner before the man was a wide hall with high ceilings, painted Signs on the stone walls and the same purple light of stalactites. In the center of the cave, in the middle of three carved wooden pillars, a fragile-looking woman sits with her back to the commander. Seers are helpers, they do not belong to a separate clan or race, when a girl awakens a gift she is immediately expelled from the family and the child has to go to find a secluded shelter. Blind. The Seers are not born blind, but when the Gift awakens, their sight is gone forever, as well as their ability to procreate. They are kind by nature and never take sides. Their help is selfless and very valuable, but to get it, the Seer must be sought out, which is incredibly difficult. But don't be fooled by those slim shoulders and hunched backs, Seers have the Power to render their abuser insane. Mother has done her best to protect women with such an ungrateful gift.

"Hello, Dragon. Hello, Lord of Fire. Hello, master of the sun. I welcome you to my haven, Lord Lucien. I have been waiting for you." - said in a husky, low voice, "My name is Meliss, and I will help you learn what you have come for, but open your eyes to what you do not wish to understand."

Lucien didn't like those words. He didn't plan on lingering here, and judging by the way she was talking, Meliss was going to be talking for a long time. Too bad, he didn't have time. And what's with the stupid riddles? What is it he doesn't want to understand? He's someone who's always wanting to understand something. Someone who's always learning. Lucien walked in silence and sat down opposite the Seer.

"Your campaign against Rusk's invaders will end successfully. You are on the right track, Lucien, and the rightful heir will be able to return to the stolen throne." - The woman began without preamble, taking Lucien's hand. He immediately felt a slight tingling sensation in his palm, as if he had grabbed a fir branch. But then Melisse led her palm higher, to his elbow, his shoulder, and as she unbuttoned his black uniform, her hand froze on his heart.

"You're a rarity Lucien. You went to the school of Fury and you were sure that's what you needed. You thought Fury was your friend, you thought you were full of rage. But you weren't, were you? Your results weren't the same as your comrades, rage didn't give you strength, it only weighed down your heart. Am I right? Lucien, I'll tell you an important thing and you'll remember it forever. You're a child of true love, Lucien. You're full of love, and you feel it. You're compassionate, and killing is no pleasure to you. That's right. You are Love, Lucien. Your name means more than light in the ancient language of the court of Autumn. In the archaon, language of the court of Day, Lucien means True Love. Never forget that. Mother created you to give love. You will be happy, no matter what you think to yourself. You are Mother's favorite, so love yourself as much as the world loves you. This is what I see, so see it, too." - The Seer spoke quickly, and tears flowed from her blind eyes.

Lucien could feel the breath getting stuck in his lungs. Love. No one had ever loved him, that's what he thought, that's what he felt. Beron had bullied him, his brothers had put him down for nothing, the courtiers thought he was worthless, and his mother... his mother didn't even look at him. Didn't protect him. Didn't love him. Only the oldest of his brothers, Eris, treated him with kindness and care. But even that had faded over the years. Love. Lucien would give a lot to have someone love him the way he loved the world.

The Seer wanted to say something else, but the Commander deemed what he heard sufficient. Lucien stood up quickly and strode towards the exit.

"Lucien!" - came a call to him.

He stopped without turning around. He did not want to fall into the trance of those empty eyes.

"You were made for Love, not for Cruelty. Remember that and never, hear, never forget it, Lucien. You are Love."

He ran out of there.

He ran and ran. Seconds, minutes, hours. He allowed himself to stop only when the Seer's cave was far behind him. It was the sea. The mighty waves were rising anxiously, as if echoing the emotions of a man who had been given both welcome and unhappy news.

Lucien continued to look out to sea, as if trying to see the golden roofs of the palace of Day, while the Sun rose over the continent, greeting his prince in the hope that someday he would hear the answer to his caressing words.

The cities awoke, his warriors awoke in confusion as to where their commander might have disappeared to, and the sun continued to rise, illuminating the beautiful features of a man, no longer a boy, who had yet to accomplish great feats and endure unimaginable suffering.

Tears were streaming down his face

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my little sketch. there's nothing canon about it. it's just what I wanted to do. i'm not a native english speaker or a writer, so don't judge me harshly.

reading this and listening to The Sleep Token.

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The School of Sinoran. From the ancient language of the Fae, Sinoran means rage. A school of battle, a school of war, a school of hardening. Since ancient times, powerful parents have sent their children to be trained as warriors. Common wanderers come here for strength. Girls from all corners of the world come here for wisdom and knowledge. But this is not just a school. You can't just learn here, it's not easy. You have to survive here. Especially the men. Men come to show their strength and find new strength. Lucien was sent here to die.

Beron had had enough of this reckless young man, the bastard of the Court of Day and his antics. He can't just kill him, so let him die in the wars that swarm the Continent. The sea and miles separate Lucien from home. From beloved mother. From an older brother. "But better that," Lucien thought, "than to be beaten constantly for a wrong look. I can survive here. Beron didn't break me, and I won't be broken here".

Now the young man stood looking up at this huge building. It is north and cold, summer is so rare here, but Lucien does not feel the frost, the fire warms his blood. Tall spires of towers, a wall more suited to siege defense. Who are they defending themselves against? No one in their right mind would attack the School, its graduates are listed as some of the finest warriors. Lucien suddenly felt uneasy. He didn't want to fight. But it was all he had left. Or death. Perhaps she was preferable.

Lucien looked up at the tall carved gates. They were definitely made by a craftsman. A craftsman who possessed magic and knew powerful spells. How else to explain that just looking at the entrance made Lucien's eyes water? Fucking Court of the Day abilities. Spells of restraint, of repulsion.

Suddenly, the monstrous gate opened and a broad-shouldered warrior with a cordial face appeared before the young man. Sharp ears made him look like a high fae, and his dark skin, the way he wore bracelets on his biceps, and the tattoo of a golden dragon wrapped around his wrist indicated that he belonged to the Court of the Day. Interesting.

The stranger's face suddenly twisted. And not surprisingly, probably the expression written on Lucien's face clearly expressed his attitude to everything around him. He was always frowning. Not because of anger, but just so it was arranged facial expressions, but when he smiled the others could go tears from the dazzle of this smile. But that's not the case. Lucien didn't want to smile at all, he was sick of this snow, this long way here, the sea, the ship, and now this guy was standing there smiling as if every day was the best. What an abomination. If he had his dagger with him, Lucien would probably stab either himself or this asshole out of anger. But he didn't have his dagger. Like any other weapon, really. Beron made him leave everything behind. Everything. Perhaps he had hoped that the careless offspring would die on the way to the School, but it was not to be. Lucien may not have been afraid, but he knew how to defend himself perfectly and in any way he could. He loved his life and he was not going to give it away cheaply in the near future.

"My name is Braskar," came a rich, deep voice with a distinct accent, "glad to welcome you to the path to rage, my possible comrade." It was a strange interpretation of the official greeting, but Lucien made an effort to be polite and pulled back his hood with the words:

"I don't need a path to rage, I have enough for everyone."

He heard a gasp of delight. Well, he was gorgeous, but the dust and dirt of the past two weeks of travel, first by ship and then on his own, had spoiled it a bit.

"You," Brascar began, "You're from the Court of Autumn! You are Lucien! I have heard of you. Rumors of your bewitching beauty reach this wilderness as well. Ha, unloved son. Let's see what you can do, boy."

Before he could speak, he found himself pinned to the ground, choking on snow. Lucien was on top of him, clutching his head and growling menacingly. How dare he. His weapon may have been taken from him, but he could just strangle him, couldn't he?

Suddenly, a powerful torrent of force threw them both back.

"I see you have a lot of rage in you, boy," said a quiet voice, but it only made Braskar fall to his knees, whispering apologies. Lucien raised his head and stared at the person who spoke. It was a tall man in a military uniform and shoulder epaulets. "Some big shot here," Lucien thought as bright pink eyes examined him from head to toe. Dark hair, blue in color, strong build, a sword at his belt, and blue claws on his hands. "Is he a natural fae?". Lucien didn't recognize the classification into higher and lower. The inferior ones were natural to him. They were weaker, but don't underestimate them. This one was strong. And not just physically. He reeked of power. The look in his calm eyes did not express anger, but he didn't want to change his mind.

Lucien straightened up and looked him straight in the eye. He doesn't know how to be afraid. They will not see his weakness. He will fight, no matter how much he wants to. He will prove he is worth more than just a handsome seventh son. Beron may have sent him to his death, but Lucien came here for something more important. Knowledge. He will learn.

It was as if his thoughts had been heard:

"My name is Ironil, and I am the chief general of the army of the Sinoran School. I will teach you."

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a little sketch, my idea of Lucien's past. Don't judge me harshly. I'm having trouble with the dialogs so far, but I'll get better.

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Pain. Pain so intense that it blinded him. Literally. How ironic it would be if he wasn't in such a shitty position, but nothing ever went smoothly in his life, so Lucien was used to it. That bitch Amarantha ripped his eyes out. Ripped out. His. Eye. Yes, because he'd dared to hurt her ego in front of those bastard High Lords. He was the one who said what none of them would dare.

Lucien had never felt fear. "Fearlessness is both a gift and a curse, little brother, and only you decide what it will be to you," Eris had told him. And now, after all these years, Lucien realized how right his brother had been. His fearlessness had brought him to this pain. Tamlin had sent him here. Tamlin - his friend - was afraid to go himself. Lucien could taste the sour, vinegar-like taste of betrayal on his tongue.

He'll get over it. He'll just stop screaming in pain and kick Tamlin's ass.

Lucien hears her laugh, that crazy cackling laugh. Mean old bitch. It's echoed by the laughter of his "father", his brothers. The bastards who lick her to stay alive. "What could be worse," Lucien thinks, "than bowing down to such a monster. Lucien never bowed. Strange that no one had killed him for it yet - the High Lords had such fragile egos. Lucien liked to shatter them. Watching their eyes twitch when he acted like he was the High Lord. It was a pleasure that could be compared to little else. "If they only knew," - Lucien thought, - "if they only knew how many threads I have in my hands, they would never look at me like that". But now he was lying on the floor, howling in pain. The left side of his face was flaming from the wounds left by Amarantha's claws. Lucien is nauseous. All he can do is vomit in front of everyone. More humiliation lies ahead. He feels consciousness begin to slowly slip away from him, but before it does, he raises his gaze, full of righteous anger and hatred, to Amarantha. She knows his secret. And perhaps the impression of his burning eyes is clouded by the absence of the other, but before he passes out, Lucien sees on Amarantha's face the effect that look had on her. Lucien saw an emotion on her face that made him crinkle his mouth full of long fangs like ancient fairies. It was fear.

so, this is my first sketch that will probably turn into a story. English is not my first language, so don't judge me harshly.

[apollo-ap]

ty for 100 followers wowow u guys are so nice 🤲❤ so here's some tamlins for the tamlin girlies (which i know most of u r🫵)

🫶🫶ilys 🫶🫶