#flying through details that i wanted to hone in on

[kathaynesart]

So I read your analysis of Donnie’s ninpo and I think it’s really interesting. I find it funny that the last turtle to hone his ninpo is now one of the top two skilled in it.

I did want to ask though, what’s up with the little Donnie projection he has flying around? I’m assuming he’s not actually doing all the poses the little guy does like laying on the ground when it lays on Mikey’s palms. Is this his Ninpo, or the visors they wear, or possibly a third option I haven’t taken into consideration yet? I imagine it’d be a little draining to make a perfect detailed replica (hehe) of yourself flying around with energy that could be going into shields and the sort. Also the little guy can talk to people! Is that their visors or can Donnie’s ninpo allow him to almost throw his voice literal miles away?

Just curious about how your Donnie works! Your AU is REALLY amazing and I look forward to every part! Genuinely you are such a big inspiration to me :3

Also feel free to ignore this if someone has asked it already <3

Ah-ha! Good catch. For the most part what we see is in fact a projection of whatever pose Donnie is actually making. It's basically just a hologram of him and uses minimal energy since the mystic fragments in the boys' armor is doing most of the work for him (this includes voice projection, because *mystic science* and I'm lazy). He just can't go very far from them since it's their armor that is projecting him.

However, we do get to see one other projection of him in the latest chapter. Namely the "Mini Donnies."

If the Donnie projection we usually see is similar to a "live feed" then these little guys are more like animated gifs. They're basic images of him used as indication markers for his brothers. Had this scene been fully animated you would have seen that these little versions of Donnie are just doing a back and forth 2 frame hammer animation. That way his brothers could see if he was mending all the spots on the shield. (Sure they couldn't see the backside of the shield but boy was panicking haha.)

As far as Donnie laying down that is TOTALLY something the real Donnie is doing right now. Bro went and exhausted himself then crawled back through Leo's portal in a much less flashy fashion. He's probably laying on Raph's pillow pile back in their dorm now. Thanks for your question!

[doumadono]

emergency request

work has been stressful. i’m having panic attacks, and i’m dealing with a lot of disability related stuff on top of it. (in short: frequent episodes of not being able to move. at all.)

i don’t know if you write geto (didn’t see him on your masterlist), but if so, i would really appreciate a little geto x f!reader comfort fluff. if you’re not comfortable writing geto, i would happily accept aizawa.

thanks 🖤

A/N: I'm truly sorry to hear that you've been going through such a challenging time. Work-related stress, panic attacks, and dealing with disability-related matters must be incredibly tough. Take the time you need for self-care. You're stronger than you know, and I believe in your resilience ♥ If you ever want to talk or share more, I'm here for you. Take care of yourself, my dear! I genuinely hope this brief story brings you some comfort. Please be gentle with me - it's only my second time writing for him

JUJUTSU KAISEN EMERGENCY REQS

Geto was exceptionally perceptive, noticing subtle shifts in your mood long before you verbalized them.

He paid close attention to the nuances of your expressions, from the smallest furrow in your brow to the way your gaze shifted.

Initially, he observed in silence, not wanting to intrude but filing away mental notes about the patterns of your emotional landscape.

Geto became adept at distinguishing between your ordinary fluctuations and the more pronounced signs of emotional turmoil, honing in on the moments when you became increasingly weighed down.

He noticed the small details — how your laughter lost its genuine lilt or how your smile didn't quite reach your eyes during particularly trying times.

He was observant not only of the highs and lows but the nuances in between, recognizing the subtleties of emotions that might elude others. 

Finally, one day, he asked, "You seem a bit distant lately. Anything you want to talk about?”

You tentatively shared glimpses of your struggles, allowing Geto to see the vulnerability you kept hidden from others. "It's just work stress, I guess. Been feeling overwhelmed…”

Geto pulled you into a reassuring hug. “I'm here, baby. Pour it out.”

The walls around your emotions started to crumble. “I've been having panic attacks, and it's affecting every part of my life. I'm just so… tired… emotionally exhausted, you know?”

He tenderly planted a series of gentle kisses on your forehead. "Don't fret, my dear. This too shall pass. All you have to do is be patient and show kindness to the wonderful soul of yours that I hold so dearly. Come, let me take care of you.”

The weight of the day pressed heavily on your shoulders as you stumbled into the shared apartment. The air felt thick with the residue of stress, and every step carried the burden of exhaustion. In a rare moment of vulnerability, the dam holding back the emotions broke, and you couldn't contain the torrent any longer.

Without warning, you began to scream, a raw and primal release of the pent-up frustrations and anxieties that had accumulated throughout the day. The sound echoed through the walls, a cathartic symphony of anguish. With each scream, you shed a layer of the burdens you had carried for far too long.

In a desperate frenzy, you tore your bag off your shoulders, the motion aggressive and unbridled. The bag hit the floor with a thud, a symbol of the weight you were shedding. Shoes were kicked off haphazardly, sent flying across the room like discarded remnants of a battle fought in the outside world.

Limping a step or two, you felt the physical toll of the day on your body. Each movement was a reminder of the struggles faced, a silent testimony to the challenges that seemed insurmountable. Despite the pain, you pressed on, driven by an unyielding need to find release.

Finally, on your knees, your body sank to the floor, and you hid your face in your hands. The sobs wracked your frame, the tears flowing freely as if breaking a dam of pent-up emotions. The vulnerability of the moment was palpable, an unguarded display of the toll that life had taken on your spirit.

The apartment walls absorbed the echoes of your cries, bearing witness to the raw authenticity of your emotional unraveling. In this private space, you allowed yourself to be unapologetically human, to let the facade crumble and reveal the vulnerabilities beneath.

Unbeknownst to you, Geto had been home the entire time, quietly observing the storm of emotions that unfolded. His footsteps had been soundless, allowing you the space to release the torrents of frustration that had built up throughout the day.

From the loyalty of a follower, the dynamic had shifted into a more intimate connection — the transformation from a dedicated supporter to a life partner. It had surprised you, leaving you in a state of perpetual awe at the evolution of your relationship. You marveled at Geto's keen intellect, appreciating the depth of his personality that went beyond the public facade. Yet, despite the admiration, there lingered a sense of bewilderment. You couldn't fathom what it was in you that had caused someone of his stature to fall for someone as seemingly ordinary as you.

The quiet rustle of Geto's kāṣāya garment marked his silent approach. As he entered the room, his discerning eyes took in the scene — your slumped figure on the floor, the remnants of emotional release scattered around. 

With a subtle grace, Geto crouched beside you, his kāṣāya settling around him. His presence was a steady anchor in the midst of emotional turbulence. As he observed, the lines of concern etched onto his face betrayed a genuine worry for your well-being.

His thumb and index finger gently grasped your chin. There was a silent understanding in his touch — a recognition of shared struggles and vulnerabilities.

With a voice that held a calming resonance, he asked, "What's wrong, my love?" Geto's eyes searched yours, seeking the truth behind the storm of emotions that had unfolded.

Struggling against the strength of Geto's grasp on your chin, you attempted to avert your gaze from his keen, black irises. However, his hold was unyielding, preventing even the slightest movement. Your eyes, teary and vulnerable, met his unwavering gaze.

Tears welled up and spilled down your cheeks as the floodgates of emotion burst open yet again. With each sob, you began to share the burdens that had led to this emotional breaking point. The weight of work, the battles with disability, and the overwhelming stress poured out in words between shaky breaths. "I... I just can't handle it anymore," you admitted, voice choked with emotion. "Every day feels like a struggle, and I don't know how to keep going. Oh, I'm so so useless."

As you poured out your heart, a haunting self-doubt surfaced. Amidst the sobs, you confessed, "And... and I don't understand why you're with me. I'm not good enough for someone like you. You deserve someone stronger, someone who doesn't break down like this."

In the stillness that followed, Geto's gaze remained unwavering, his fingers maintaining their gentle yet firm hold. His expression held a mixture of understanding and compassion, the weight of your words acknowledged without judgment.

With a voice that resonated with sincerity, he responded, "Strength is not about never breaking down, little one. It's about finding the courage to rise again. And you, my dear, are stronger than you give yourself credit for."

His words, though simple, carried a profound reassurance. Geto's thumb wiped away a tear from your cheek, his touch a gentle acknowledgment of the vulnerability you had bared. "I chose you because of who you are," he affirmed, his voice a soothing presence amid the storm of emotions. "Your strength lies in your resilience, in the way you face challenges head-on. You don't have to be perfect; you just have to be yourself."

With your gaze locked onto Geto's unwavering eyes, lips slightly parted and tears streaming down your face, you continued to pour out the burdens that had weighed heavily on your heart. The sobs, though still present, became intertwined with the raw honesty of your words. "I feel like I'm drowning, Geto," you admitted, your voice shaky yet determined. "Work, my disability, everything... It's just too much. There are moments when I can't move, and it terrifies me. I don't know how to handle it." The vulnerability in your expression mirrored the openness of your heart. "I thought I could handle it all, but it's breaking me," you confessed. "I can't keep up this facade of strength. It's exhausting, and I'm tired, Geto. Tired of pretending I'm okay when I'm not."

Tears blurred your vision as you continued, "And there's this constant fear," you continued, your voice quivering. "That I'm not good enough for you. That you'll see through this facade and realize I'm just... not enough…"

Geto observed your tear-streaked face with a slight tilt of his head, his gaze unwavering. Geto slipped one of his strong arms under your knees and the other against your back. With seemingly effortless strength, he lifted you into his arms, cradling you with a tenderness.

Silently carrying you through the apartment, he navigated toward a hidden sanctuary — a winter garden tucked away at the back: a place that held significance, a haven of tranquility that had often brought you solace in times of need.

The door creaked open, revealing the serene winter garden adorned with delicate flora. The air was warm, and the ambient quietness seemed to amplify the intensity of the moment. Geto, still holding you securely in his arms, stepped into the sanctuary that he knew held a special place in your heart.

The familiar surroundings embraced you with a sense of calmness as Geto carefully settled you on a comfortable metal bench covered with thick blankets, ensuring that you were cradled in warmth. 

Geto's gaze shifted to the delicate flora surrounding you. His voice was low and measured as the tall man began to explain, "All of these," he gestured towards the various plants, "are delicate. Just like you." His words held a quiet reverence for the intricacies of life, and he moved towards a small pot adorned with your favorite flowers — blue orchids. "It's easy to break them," he continued, his fingers grazing the petals with a gentle touch. "But even in their delicate state, they strive to survive." His attention shifted to a particular orchid that both of you had thought was long gone. Geto revealed the seemingly lifeless stalks, and to your surprise, pointed out two new buds emerging, still tender and small. "They may look delicate, but they have a strength within," he remarked, his eyes meeting yours. "Even when faced with adversity, they find a way to grow anew." Moving back to you, Suguro's gaze held a rare softness. "Just like these orchids, you've faced challenges and found the strength to grow. I admire your resilience." His words were sincere, a reflection of the admiration he held for your tenacity in the face of life's storms.

Tears welled up in your eyes. The quiver in your chin mirrored the emotions boiling within your soul. The weight of his words sank in, a profound recognition of the strength that had blossomed in the face of adversity. "I... I never thought of it that way," you admitted, your voice soft and tremulous. "It's just... sometimes it feels like everything is too much, like I'm too fragile for this world." The vulnerability in your confession hung in the air, a stark contrast to the quiet strength that Geto had just commended.

Geto's eyes held a depth of understanding as he listened to your words. With a reassuring touch, he reached out, his thumb gently brushing away a tear that trailed down your cheek as he took a seat beside you. "It's crucial," he said, "to focus on your own well-being. Only then can you coexist with your inner demons. Sorrow has a human heart too often. And you're strong enough to overcome it.” Geto, with a tender gesture, pulled you to sit on his thick lap. His strong arms enveloped you, drawing you close to his wide torso. Gently rocking you back and forth, he whispered words of encouragement into your ear. "You're stronger than you think, and I believe in you. Life throws challenges at everyone, and your resilience in facing them is truly admirable. Remember, it's okay not to have it all figured out. Be patient with yourself, take one step at a time, and know that you're not alone. I'm here, you're not alone. We're in this together. You're capable of overcoming whatever comes your way, and I'm proud to stand by your side. You can always count on me. I won't hesitate to remove any obstacles that stand in your way. Your well-being is my priority.”

The warmth of his embrace and the soothing cadence of his voice created a sanctuary of comfort, a moment of solace in which you felt both physically and emotionally embraced. You gently wrapped your sore arms around Suguru's neck, seeking solace in his comforting, warm embrace. Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, you expressed gratitude, your voice soft but filled with sincerity. "Thank you for always being so gentle with me.”

"Anytime, Y/N. Difficult moments will fade away. And I'll never leave you alone. Ever,” he accentuated the last word, gently kissing your forehead. "Now, wipe away those tears and join me. We still have a delightful supper to prepare together.”

[lafleshlumpeater]

can you do an ethan nakamura x reader pls 🥺

If you can't it's okay ❤️

i hope you werent looking for anything specific but this is what i came up with<3

(i tried to make this as gn as possible- lmk if theres anything wrong w it)

Warnings: ethan is a bit (a lot) in love, unbelievably cheesy plot, gn reader

(im sorry for tsitp reference i had to okay- also for the plot we’ll just pretend ethan is the only nemesis child)

ethan nakamura masterlist

To say Ethan was infatuated was an understatement.

The few who knew him well had never seen him like this before. Jaw slack, eyes wide and blind to the rest of the world every time you walked past.

He wanted to talk to you. If only his voice didn’t fail him every time you offered him a courteous smile, asking how he was and if his day was going okay.

He was torn- between wanting to be bold, asking you out with an air of confidence he didn’t care to admit his lack of, and admiring you from a safe distance, sighing wistfully with want.

And one day, the opportunity to be bold was granted to him, although seemingly insignificant-  teasing him, forcing him to make the decision between taking his chance or letting it fly past him.

“Ethan,” you greet, awfully chirpily, Ethan thinks, for a cold Sunday afternoon. He can’t help but love it, though.

“Hey,” he responds, feigning at indifference. Really, his heart rate sped up a notch and he could feel his face grow warmer, and just knowing that fact painted his cheeks a more prominent red. You don’t seem to notice, and he thanks all the gods (bitterly) for your oblivion to his adoration.

Kicking the cabin door shut behind you, you hold a clipboard and a pen in your hands. “Cabin inspection,” you smile smugly, eyes honing in on every detail of the room which made it an utter mess. Ethan cringed.

“That was today?”

“Unfortunately for you.” You smirk. With a facade of innocence, you bat your eyelashes and Ethan’s stomach flips. “I assume someone… forgot?”

He bites his lip, indiscreetly kicking rubbish under the bed. “Uhh…”

You shrug, scribbling on your clipboard. “Cabin Sixteen… stable duties.”

“No!” he exclaims in protest, louder than he meant to. You look up at him through your lashes.

“No?”

“Can- can we forget about this, just for once? For one, there’s no- one else to help me clean, and this is the first time I’ve…” Ethan falters once he realises you’re teasing, lips quirked up into a playful smirk.

“What’ll you give me if I do?”

His racing mind slows.

What?

Was this you flirting with him?

With him? Of all people?

After a tense pause, he slowly rises to his feet, taking a small step towards you, letting out a highly intelligent, well- deliberated: “Huh?”

You giggle coyishly. “I said, ‘what’ll you give me if I do’?”

Ethan swallows.

He’s never been the most outgoing of people.

Taking another step towards you, pauses for a second. His decision could mess everything up, but better to mess everything up rather than to have the regret eating away at him for ages to come, right?

Wetting his lips, Ethan walks slowly to stand in front of you- leaning in slightly. When you don’t pull away, he takes it as encouragement.

With a deep breath, he reaches out, gently tilting your chin to face him and presses his warm, soft lips to yours.

This wasn’t proofread at all so… please lmk if it doesn’t make sense anywhere before i re read it one day and cry <3

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

[futurehunt]

My Old Friend, Fire

Azriel x Eris

Against his better wishes, Azriel has found himself growing close to the new Autumn High Lord, Eris Vanserra. The male has dug himself under his skin and now he can't get him out. An invitation to the Autumn Equinox changes the path of Azriel's life for the better.

Read on AO3

AO3 version is updated with editing and spelling corrections!!

Word count: 15,737

Azriel POV

18+

Content warning: Smut- story can be enjoyed fully without reading it!

*no beta, we die in Prythian

This is long, I apologize! It's a lot of feeling, realizing, and longing. Azriel's got all the emotions. Flashbacks are in italics- they all have important details in them that tie in at the end so don't miss 'em!

~~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

"I would do it all again. I would suffer another five centuries of you loving another, another five centuries of facing my father's cruelty, another five centuries of being hated by all of Prythian just for this- just for you."

~~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Read full story below

Azriel shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting at the pinching sensation caused by the buttons on the wing-flaps of his jacket.

Mor had bought it special for him, special for today.

It was a tight-fitted jacket made of a dark, woodsy green fabric. Along the cuffs and collar were sewn black embellishments that swirled and shaped a pattern so complex that Azriel hated to think of how many hours went into creating it. Intricately carved silver buttons ran up the front and finished at a final clasp around the middle of his neck.

Mor said the jacket suited him, brought out the colors in his eyes. Azriel just felt like a fool.

He'd been on edge all week leading up to tonight. The Autumnal Equinox, Mabon. The Autumn Court's Great Rite.

It was Eris's first Equinox as High Lord of Autumn. He had graciously extended an invite to Rhysand, Feyre and the Inner Circle- his treasured allies he mockingly referred to them as in his letter- and encouraged them to come celebrate his new position and experience a true taste of Autumn.

"Treasured?"

Eris remained silent in response, bow drawn tight. His sharp gaze honed in on a pheasant, trackings its movement through the stalks of wheat. Its emerald neck acting as a beacon for the eye.

Azriel wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that gaze, how it would burn.

On an exhale, Eris let the arrow fly. "Don't talk while I'm aiming, it's rude." He turned towards Azriel, not bothering to spare a glance to see if his arrow met its mark. Eris released a shrill whistle and his hounds took off, cutting through the stalks to their target.

"Treasured?" Azriel pressed again.

"I used my thesaurus for that one." Eris quipped back.

Azriel squinted his eyes at the High Lord. "You like being disliked, don't you. You're a masochist."

"You like me".

"I tolerate you." There was a chill in the wind that blew towards them across the field. It dusted red across Eris's pale cheeks, the fire in his blood seemingly not fighting the bite of the cold. "Here are the reports we have on Koschei. He's getting desperate."

Eris reached out for the thin file from Azriel, the full might of the hunter's gaze finally locked onto him. It burned right through him, just as Azriel had suspected. Burned right through to the icy center of him.

Rhysand and Feyre decided they would not attend. While they wanted to put on a good show for diplomacy, they deemed it unnecessary for the High Lord and High Lady to make an appearance. And as it is with them, where one goes so does the other. In their stead, Azriel, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta would be attending as representatives of the Night Court. Azriel was pretty sure Cassian and Nesta only decided to tag along because they wanted to fuck in the woods.

Azriel chuckled to himself as he remembered the conversation in which Cassian crudely explained to Nesta the erotic nature of Great Rite celebrations after nightfall. Nesta had known the basics, brief snippets of information from what Feyre had deigned to share with her about Calanmai, Spring Court's Great Rite, but wasn't aware the seasonal courts all had their own version. Nesta was all too eager to attend after learning everything.

Mor was attending because. . . he wasn't entirely sure. Azriel knew Mor had made great strides in accepting Eris as an ally of the court, knew that she had traveled the path of forgiveness with him and the two were on amicable terms. Amicable, nothing more. Eris certainly did not make it easy, he was still an asshole. Gods was he an asshole.

But Azriel also knew she was still haunted by the past. Saw it in the glaze in her deep brown eyes every time Keir threw barbed comments her way. Azriel gathered that this visit tonight would serve as one of Mor's final steps in conquering the demons of her past. Regardless, she seemed all too willing to attend.

It was part of the reason Azriel agreed to join the visit today- why Rhysand pulled him aside and adamantly requested he tag along. Though Rhysand's request left little room for disagreement.

He wanted Azriel there to keep an eye on Mor. Rhysand knew all too well how suffocating the horrors of your past could be. Azriel remembers vividly the nights, not too long ago, when dark power filled with shadows and stars would burst through his brother's window as he drowned under the weight of everything that haunted him.

.…........................

That's how Azriel found himself here, in the ornately decorated receiving room of the River House, the base of his wings getting pinched to Hel by the jacket Mor bought him for Mabon.

He's the first to arrive as usual.

It was barely past three in the afternoon but the sun, beaming in through the room's westerly windows, was already on a quick descent. His shadows dodged the rays and dissipated whenever they come in contact.

Azriel thumbed the plum, silk curtains that draped the large picture window whose frame he leaned on. Not that he would ever utter the thought out loud but he found the interior of his brother's home a bit gaudy. Fit for a High Lord, no doubt, but it felt impersonal.

Eris's manor smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon. Woodsy and sweet. The scent stuck inside of Azriel's nose, invading his senses. It invoked a nostalgia for an experience he had yet to live.

"The magic in Spring is growing weak- I can feel it in the land at our shared border. We need to get Tamlin back on track," Eris spoke without preamble. He stood opposite Azriel, a smoke gray granite countertop separating them. The texture of the stone rippled and eddied, it felt like the scars on his hands.

"Tea?"

Azriel nodded in assent and looked around the kitchen in which they stood. Dark brown wood laid the foundation of the room, it blended well with the warm colors of the furnishing.

"You made yourself right at home. Was your father's body even cold before you started moving in?" The question was probably too crude, even for Azriel.

Yesterday marked a month since the long awaited death of Beron Vanserra finally came to fruition.

Eris merely smirked over at him, taking his crass question in stride as he poured the second cup of tea. His eyes traced over every inch of Azriel's face before he responded, "You wound me, brute. This manor hasn't been inhabited since my grandfather. My father felt it too exposed and only resided in an apartment deep within the Forest House."

Azriel snorted. His only response. He continued to take in the room.

In the corner of the kitchen was a nook that housed a dining area encased by a dome of windows on one half. It gave the illusion that you were dining out in the jeweled canopy of the woods.

His attention caught on the dining chairs that surrounded the table.

They were all shaped to fit wings.

Growing weary of the solitude, Azriel decided to set out to track down Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx in the massive house when the carved wood door at the home's entrance swung open. From his spot within the receiving room, Azriel watched Mor strut in.

"I knew that color would look great on you," She tittered, looking him up and down, "you really ought to let me buy you more for your wardrobe."

Azriel's face pinched - answer enough to her demand.

"A shame" she bemoaned, throwing herself on to one of the room's stiff cobalt couches. "Where's Cass and his Lady Death? We should be off soon."

"Don't call her that." Azriel chastised, not having an answer for the first part of her question.

Mor just shot him a look, rolling her eyes. It's been a year and a half since Nesta sacrificed her Cauldron-stolen power for the life of her sister and nephew, yet Mor still clung to that infernal nickname. For Mor it's all in good fun, but Azriel never fails to catch the haunted look that ghosts Nesta's face whenever the moniker is used in her presence.

As if on cue, he heard the bustle of Cassian and Nesta coming in through the home's rear entrance. No doubt they landed on the back lawn after flying down from the House of Wind. Cass still likes to give Nesta a good fright by coming in hot for his landings, the back lawn providing a perfect landing zone for him.

Confirming his suspicions, Nesta's face is tinged with green as she rounded the corner and came in sight of Azriel and Mor.

"Cassian, they're in here," she called over her shoulder. Her hair, uncharacteristically, is worn loose today, with a tight braid running down the center of her head segregating both halves of her hair. Her mauve, linen dress was modest in the length of its hem and sleeves but clung to her frame in a way that suggested excellent tailoring. As she twisted to shout to his brother, Azriel noted the deep scoop of the dress's back.

"You look...very good today, Nesta." Azriel said to her as she twisted back around and entered the receiving room. Not that she didn't usually, though she now wore her Valkyrie leathers more often than not.

Mor interjected from the couch, "You didn't say anything to me! I even complimented your jacket".

"Your ego doesn't need anymore stroking, dear sister." Cassian quipped sarcastically, picking up the conversation without pause as he too rounded the corner and entered the room. "And, my even dearer mate is upset with me so she told me she'll be leaving me tonight for our beloved- her words not mine- High Lord of Autumn".

Azriel hummed his acknowledgment, not wanting to voice anything that may incidentally draw himself into the middle of their squabble.

Eris would probably think she looked drab in the linen dress.

"Linen is the fabric of the working class, Azriel," Eris drawled, a mischievous grin lifting the right corner of his mouth.

Even from his position on the leather tufted couch on the opposite end of the room, Azriel could see the mirth glimmering in Eris's eyes from where he sat behind his grand mahogany desk. Azriel twisted away from the sight to look back into the depths of the crackling fireplace that warmed the High Lord's office.

"You're just a snob", he shot at Eris, not bothering to turn around again.

He heard him snort. "Linen is a lightweight, breathable, porous fabric. It is designed to be worn by those working the fields. It's not supposed to be fashionable- I'd look like a fool wearing linen to a dinner with my court representatives. Apologies for knowing the intricacies of garments and how they relate to socio-economic class."

Azriel couldn't help himself. Throwing an arm across the back of the couch he twisted to look back at Eris again.

"Lightweight, breathable, porous fabric? You're a snob and an ass." He secretly delighted in the look of glee that flashed across Eris's face at the insult. "Why even ask for my opinion then? If your own was so decisive."

"I like to hear what you think." Nothing but truth burned in the amber flames of Eris's eyes.

"Thank you, Azriel." Nesta shot sharply at him. She lowered herself gracefully onto the couch opposite of Mor. Not allowing space on either side of her for Cassian and his wings, leaving him to settle in standing next to Azriel.

He felt a nudge on his shoulder and looked over at his brother who leaned in and said, "Nice jacket, Az. You look like a proper little prince of Autumn in it".

Azriel scoffed, taking a wide step away from his brother before quickly twisting his body to punch Cassian in the arm in retribution for his gibe.

Nesta guffawed from where she perched on the couch. Composing herself, she remarked, "At least he made an effort! You look like you're ready for a visit to Windhaven."

It was true. Cassian donned a standard set of his leathers, albeit cleaner and newer than his usual ones.

"Whatever. I'm not making an effort for the prick," Cassian shot, impudence lacing his tone. "It's an Equinox celebration that the entire court is invited to, at most we'll see him to shake his hand before he moves on to others he deems more worthy of his time."

He wasn't wrong. Like Calanmai in Spring, Grianstad in Winter, or Litha in Summer, denizens of Autumn flooded to their court's seat during Mabon to celebrate the equinox and participate in the Great Rite. It's a tradition, Azriel heard, that even Beron nurtured and encouraged. After all, a fruitful turnout for a Great Rite produces a wealth of magic for the court. Azriel is sure that another strong motivator for Beron's patronage of the event were the swaths of young fae females that showed up clambering for his attention, hoping the magic of the Rite would choose them for their High Lord. Even the deep-seated fear and corruption that Beron plagued the land with wasn't enough to dim the honor of being selected by whatever powers governed the Rite.

This year, for the first time, it would be Eris's turn to lead the Great Rite. He would pair off with a lady and together they would fuel enough magic to inundate the land until the next Mabon. The thought settled like glass in Azriel's stomach.

"Even then," Cassian continued "he'll likely only deign to be touched by you, Nesta. The rest of us are too beneath him for an actual handshake."

"Speak for yourself, Cassian," Mor chimed in indignantly.

Nesta hummed in agreement and added, "He'd probably give Azriel a handshake. After all, he's the closest with Eris out of any of us at this point."

"We are not close," Azriel growled at her defensively.

He immediately regretted his tone when he saw the trepidation in her eyes. He felt like his father.

"Is your father still alive?" curiosity clouded Eris's face from across the chessboard between them.

Azriel's eyes flickered up to him for a moment to take in his demeanor before refocusing on the board as he took one of Eris's black marble bishops with his gleaming, white knight.

"How is that a pertinent question?"

"How is playing chess pertinent," Eris countered.

"As the official liaison between the Night and Autumn court, it's my duty to make sure our allies are properly schooled in all forms of strategy," Azriel arrogantly replied. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep his grin from spreading across his face. After six months of working with Eris as liaison between their two courts, he had come to enjoy the haughty banter the pair fell into in each other's presence.

"Azriel," Eris dead-panned.

Azriel would never admit to the shiver that ran through him at the sound of his name in Eris's mouth. Shame washed over him at the mere acknowledgement of the sensation.

"He's dead," he at last replied to Eris, dryly.

"He gave you those burns?"

Azriel only shook his head.

"You're ashamed of them." An observation, not a question from the High Lord.

Azriel settled his face into a sheet of neutrality. His centuries-old mental barriers slamming into place as the topic of conversation entered an area he had no interest in going.

Playing his turn, Azriel hoped to end the game quickly now. He shouldn't have stayed this long anyway, was only there to assess the durability of the security wards around Forest House as a courtesy to Eris.

Quiet blanketed them as the pair finished up their game. Azriel refused to raise his eyes to look at Eris.

"Beron would have healers erase all the scars he etched on me. For five centuries."

"I don't care, Eris." Cruel words that did not reflect the truth. He did care- deep down in a pocket of his soul that he never let see the light of day- he cared about what Eris had to say.

Azriel still refused to raise his gaze up to the High Lord sitting across from him.

"He would erase everything he did to me. No proof that I lived. No proof that I suffered. No proof that I survived. All my torment is trapped inside my head with no evidence that it happened, no outlet for escape... I wish he had left them... but that was probably the point of healing them in the first place."

Eris's declaration cut deep through him, burning through the layers of his defenses in a rage of fire.

He stayed for another round of chess.

Azriel ran a scarred hand down his face, mortification riding through him in waves.

"I'm sorry, Nesta, I didn't mean to snap."

Nesta shook off his words with ease. "I only mean to say, you literally are closest with him," she pressed on "the rest of us haven't even seen him since his crowning ceremony eleven months ago. You're the only one meeting with him anymore."

Of course. He was such an idiot. Of course that's what she meant.

Cassian came up behind him, clamped his hands on his shoulders, and jostled him jovially. His brother's voice boomed behind me, "Don't worry, Az, we know you still hate the lordling as much as ever. We'd never dare suggest otherwise." Azriel could've sworn he heard an undercurrent of sarcasm lacing his brother's tone.

But he didn't hate Eris. Didn't hate him at all. Dreaded the looks on his family's faces when they realized just how much he didn't hate Eris Vanserra anymore.

That was the other part of the reason he agreed to join the visit today. For the past eleven months he'd been working as the Night Court's liaison to Autumn, having taken it over from Cassian, he's found himself... inexplicably drawn to the High Lord. Perhaps in the absence of conflict, Azriel was subconsciously poking around for danger and adrenaline. Eris made his blood boil and he was addicted to it. Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

Mor was looking at him with an expression he couldn't decipher.

"We should go." Was all he said to the room.

The females got up from their respective places on the couches and together they all trundled through the receiving room out into foyer.

"Guess Rhys and Feyre don't want to see us off," Mor observed.

"Ten gold marks they're both dead asleep upstairs. Nuala told us that Nyx has started climbing out of his crib at night and that Rhys and Feyre can't leave him unattended for even a second," Cassian added, laughing.

The four of them headed out to the front courtyard, not wanting to check and risk waking the parents up. They cut across to a point that would put them outside the wards encasing the River House.

Nesta grabbed Cassian's hand. Feyre, in her free time, had been teaching Nesta how to winnow. The eldest sister became adept at it rather quickly and could even carry Cassian along with her over great distances.

Together, they winnowed away to the Autumn Court.

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

A thrum of voices chattering around him was the first sensation Azriel perceived as his shadows dissipated and left him standing in an area of woods on the outskirts of the Forest House.

The next sensation to follow was an aroma of smoked meat, spun sugar, and baked pastries.

Surrounding him, and stretching out as far as he could see, were merchant stands and food stalls. There seemed to be no coordination with how the stalls were organized. They were dotted randomly throughout the woods, the sea of stands interspersed with giant oak trees that comprised this section of the forest.

Waves of people bustled around him, side-stepping the obstacle of his body in order to reach their next destination.

He snapped his wings tight into him to avoid any unwanted contact.

Azriel looked over the heads of the fae surrounding him to try and locate Mor, Nesta, and Cassian. There had to be thousands here. His eyesight found no end to the mass of people.

At last, he spotted the three of them already together a few hundred paces away, ogling the vendors. He made his way over and heard the last snatch of what Mor was saying.

"- seen these only in Montesere." Her voice was filled with awe.

They were huddled around a table laden with glazed pottery. Plates, mugs, and bowls all painted with rich, vibrant jewel tones.

"Eris reached out to a few territories on the continent to invite local artisans to come sell their wares at this year's Mabon," Azriel confirmed, sidling up beside Mor. "With Calanmai being... not what it used to...with everything going on with Tamlin...Eris is trying to pick up some of the slack."

Mor's face twisted in surprise at his words.

"And I think he's trying to set a good precedent. After all, Beron only allowed upper-class and high fae craftsmen to set up booths here and apparently he even took a cut of their sales," Azriel scoffed out. "Eris didn't limit who could participate this year. He told me a lot of local lesser fae farmers are coming and selling excess crop from the growing season that just concluded- I think he might've gone a bit overboard with how many he's permitted though."

Mor nodded silently, smirking in amusement at him.

Realizing how much he'd just prattled on about Eris and his booths, Azriel felt his face heat up.

He focused his attention of the pottery in front of him, suddenly very interested in inspecting the intricacy of the handiwork.

Azriel pointedly avoided Nesta's stare that was burning a hole through his head. He had easily just proved wrong his statement earlier about how close him and the High Lord had become.

"So...is that where Eris lives?" Nesta's attention had shifted away from him and she was turned around, pointing to the Forest House in the distance. It's oppressive size seemed to have stunned her. Azriel knew from experience that it took around three hours to get from one side to the other, having done the entire walk with Eris a few months ago.

Azriel shook his head, refusing to foolishly prattle on again and reveal precisely how entrenched in Eris's life he really was.

"From what Azriel's told me, he now lives in the High Lord's manor. It has sat vacant since his grandfather. I think it's somewhere on the other side of the Forest House," Mor fills in for him. "Though from the crowd that's gathered around the south entrance, I'm assuming Eris is likely over there now."

Indeed, there was a massive congregation of people milling around the wide, stone stairs that led up to the grand south entrance of the Forest House. The massive wooden doors at the top landing were thrown open. Though due to the row of guards flanking the stairs and entryway doors, Azriel couldn't make out if Eris was up there.

It hit him then.

The hundreds of fae gathered around the steps, the thousands more that wandered through the festival, the countless guards and sentries patrolling the area- they were all here for Eris. Eris Vanserra, the bane of Azriel's immortal existence, the High Lord of Autumn. Eris was a High Lord now; no longer a pestering lordling with dreams brighter than his own damn hair.

Azriel knew this, of course, had been working one-on-one with Eris for months to help ease the transition into his new role. But being here, it all felt more real.

The Eris he played chess with last week in the study of his manor home while they drank out of a shared bottle of wine was the same High Lord who now ruled the court he stood in and drew the crowd of thousands surrounding him. The same High Lord who seemed to already have the admiration and respect of many, given the throng waiting to greet him.

The crowd awaiting Eris seemed to be largely comprised of females, no doubt hoping to be the lucky maiden selected to help him complete the Great Rite that began after sundown.

Azriel's shadows thrashed around him at the thought.

"Well, let's go get the greetings over with. One of Eris's weasly guards probably already informed him of our arrival," Mor said bluntly, stepping away from the table of pottery.

Azriel steeled himself with a breath and dropped into step next to her as the four of them weaved their way through the festival-goers and headed for the south entrance steps.

He was thankful for the push of the crowd that slowed their journey down.

A wave of anxiety flooded through Azriel, causing his stomach to clench. His lungs wouldn't expand to take a full breath and it was making his surroundings spin. He felt like he was standing on the precipice of a battle that he was guaranteed to lose.

Why was he nervous?

Azriel willed his centuries of training to take over and took a deep breath to release the tension that seized him.

He pulled at the high-neck collar of his jacket, hoping to loosen it. It felt like a leash growing tighter with every step he took towards the Forest House.

Eris was going to mock the jacket, he was sure of it. He was going to call Azriel 'a want-to-be Autumn aristocrat fool', he never should have let Mor dress him in this.

He just hated seeing Eris. Hated the male's all-knowing gaze that could tear through Azriel's defenses without a thought. Mor, Cassian, and Nesta were going to see it. They were going to see the way Eris could pick him apart and expose a layer of Azriel he never showed. They were going to witness first-hand just how much the Autumn High Lord affected him.

As they reached the rear of the crowd huddled around the bottom of the staircase, Azriel's eyes darted around the top trying to spot the High Lord.

He couldn't see him. Where was he? Was something wrong?

And as much as he was dreading speaking to the male, his absence made Azriel's stomach drop even further.

His mind whirled with unexplainable anxiety.

He needed the Cauldron-damned crowd to get out of his way so he could get up there and see if something was wrong.

Fae tended to retreat willingly away from Azriel. His oppressive height, writhing shadows, and intimidating wingspan conveyed what he usually didn't need words for. It seemed the prospect of catching sight of the new Autumn High Lord distracted the fae in front of him enough that none marked his presence behind them.

"Move," Azriel's deep, menacing voice broke through the thrum of sound. He felt no inclination to add pleasantries to his request.

As the fae closest heard him, they turned to look at the source of the sound and scrambled back at the sight of him.

With ease, Azriel marched through the pathway that opened for him and led Mor, Nesta, and Cassian to the stairs.

Five flights made up the grand entrance and by the second landing Azriel still couldn't catch sight of Eris.

Desperation quickened his pace.

At last he reached the third landing, coming into view of the palatial wooden doors of the Forest House thrown open at the top. And there he was.

Eris.

A full breath of air whooshed into Azriel's lungs as he finally gazed upon the High Lord.

Eris's beauty was undeniable. It was almost laughable the way he made everyone around him look simple. A God stood amongst fae-kind.

In the afternoon sun, Eris's hair glowed like living flames; the ends of those fiery locks pushed back behind his pointed ears. Those very ears were adorned with a handful of small golden hoops in the upper cartilage, drawing Azriel's eye to trace along their curve.

His beautiful, wicked face was twisted into a wry grin in reaction to whomever he was speaking to. Azriel couldn't tear his eyes away from the High Lord to check. With his unmarred porcelain skin, Eris appeared to have been carved from marble.

Azriel's eyes continued their journey down the slope of Eris's neck, taking his time to trace its length. He was surprised Eris couldn't feel his gaze burning into him.

The male wore a billowing white silk shirt whose neck hung open to reveal a hint of the muscled chest that lay underneath. He wondered what more lay unexposed. The shirt was tucked into a pair of dark, well-tailored pants- very well-tailored pants.

On top of his ensemble, Eris donned a cloak whose hemmed reached to the bottom of his boots. The garment was a rich, velvety maroon, with gold details running down the sides of the opening.

Perfectly put together as always. Eris was skilled at wielding clothes like a weapon, he always knew how to arm himself properly for the occasion. And today he looked so damn regal and powerful, commanding the attention of everyone around him.

As if finally registering the weight of his observation, Eris turned and caught sight of Azriel and the others.

A wide smile broke across Eris's face.

Azriel's head whipped around to look behind himself. Who the hell was Eris smiling at? Mor? Nesta? Had someone else followed them up the stairs?

Cassian and the two females had come to a stop behind Azriel, no longer ascending the stairs.

When had he stopped walking?

Azriel looked back and the smile that had cut across Eris's face was gone. The male was now biting his lower lip, keeping it still.

Cassian gave him a push from behind before sliding around Azriel to take the lead with Nesta.

"Let's go you fool," his brother said to him gruffly.

The shove and command from his brother broke Azriel out of his reverie. It must be the magic of Mabon that entranced Azriel when he was regarding Eris. The magic flows most acutely through the High Lord after all. Azriel had become as spell bound as the hoard of fae below him.

Azriel resumed his climb, drawing nearer and nearer to Eris.

As Cassian reached the final landing ahead of him and approached Eris, Azriel heard the High Lord say in greeting, "Well, if it isn't my favorite court. Behind the four others. I'll be generous and put Tamlin at the bottom of my ranking."

Still an asshole. A beautiful asshole.

"You're look very pretty today. I like what that jacket does for your eyes." Azriel chuckled at his brother's words. Cassian had learned well how to get under Eris's skin.

Eris sneered at him, not responding, before turning his gaze to Nesta. His expression lightened as he looked to her. "Nesta, you do yourself no favors with the company you keep."

To Azriel's surprise, Cassian chuckled good-naturedly at the High Lord's remark.

"It's lovely to see you again, Eris." replied Nesta, politely. "I think you might be right. I find myself occasionally regretting my refusal of your proposal."

Eris nodded his head in the mockery of a bow before replying sarcastically, "At your earliest convenience Lady Archeron, I will eagerly make you my bride." His eyes glittered with derision.

Nesta chuckled, curtseying before Eris, before grabbing Cassian's hand and pulling him out of the way.

Eris shifted his attention to Mor. "Morrigan, I must say I did not anticipate your appearance today."

"Eris," Mor nodded in greeting. "It's been a while since my last visit."

Visit is not how Azriel would categorize it.

She continued, "I wanted to reacquaint myself with the court and I heard," her eyes shot to Azriel, "that this event was not to be missed."

Azriel's face twisted. He said no such thing.

"Hmm," Eris hummed as his gaze quickly darted to Azriel, "Well I'm happy you could attend. I hope everything is up to your standards."

Perfectly cordial, the two of them. They had come such a long way.

Mor gave no reply before bowing out of the way.

She turned to Azriel, squeezed his arm and said quietly, "We'll wait for you at the bottom of the steps."

Why? He didn't voice the question aloud.

He turned to face Eris who was glaring pointedly at the spot on Azriel's arm that Mor just touched.

Azriel stood in silence, waiting. After a moment, Eris's stare rose to his.

"Azriel."

"Eris."

More silence.

Eris's gaze darted down Azriel's frame, taking him in.

With surprise lacing his tone, the High Lord said, "Your jacket... I like it."

Azriel's brows shot up his face.

"The color. It suits you. I don't think I've ever seen you in something other than black. I appreciate that you made an effort with my court's style," Eris added on. Genuine sincerity shone in his face.

Azriel merely nodded in thanks.

A slight weight lifted off of Azriel's chest at the High Lord's words. Why did he give a damn what Eris thought about his clothing? It was humiliating. Why did he have this irritating need to impress him, to get his approval?

Azriel wanted to run away from the knowing glint in Eris's eye, the ghost of the smirk that danced on his lips, like he knew exactly the effect his comments would have on Azriel.

Planning to do just that, Azriel spun on his heels angling to catch up with the rest of his companions who already reached the bottom of the staircase.

"Wait." Eris's voice stopped Azriel in his descent.

The Illyrian turned to look up at the High Lord who now descended the few steps Azriel was able to make.

Eris came to a stop on the same stair as Azriel. They were eye level. How had Azriel never realized the two of them were the same height? Perhaps it was due to Eris's new commanding presence, it was now impossible not to be aware of every detail about the High Lord. Azriel tried desperately to tamp down the flush in his cheeks.

Eris continued on, cool confidence lacing his tone, "I'm heading out to tour the vendors, would you join me?"

A lifetime of stoicism is the only thing that kept Azriel from reacting visibly.

There was a crowd of people waiting to meet the High Lord. More dignitaries were set to arrive, surely Eris had to wait to greet them.

But Eris was looking at him with such an earnest expression that Azriel couldn't find it in himself to care about what duties of his might take precedence.

"Is that... a request or a command, High Lord?" Azriel responded after a moment, keeping his features neutral.

Eris's eyes narrowed slightly.

"A command. I don't want you off on your own scaring away all my visitors"

Laughter broke from Azriel's mouth before he could catch it.

The corner of Eris's mouth quirked up in satisfaction.

That wouldn't do.

"No, thank you." That should humble the High Lord. Azriel took off down the flight of steps at a much quicker pace this time.

Silence. And then, "No?!" Eris called after him.

The smack of boots against stone rang out as Azriel heard Eris follow him.

Azriel made it down two flights, nearly halfway to the bottom, before Eris caught up. He could see Mor, Cassian, and Nesta looking up at them from below.

Eris grabbed his arm. His cheeks were flushed and eyes a bit wild as he demanded, "You really won't come with me?"

His arm tingled under the hand grasping it.

"Ask nicely."

Eris huffed out an exasperated laugh.

"-Azriel!" That was Mor's voice this time from two flights below.

He could see Eris's face bunch up in frustration. The grip on his forearm tightened infinitesimally.

She called up at him, "I promised Emerie I'd get her something so I'm going to go look around. Alright?"

Azriel nodded in understanding. It was then that he realized Nesta and Cassian had already peeled away and were reentering the thick bustle of the festival.

At his assent, Mor followed after them.

His attention returned to Eris.

"Azriel. Would you please join me?"

He was quiet for a moment, before, "Yes... what about them?" He nodded at the throng waiting for Eris.

The hand on him gripped hard and then Eris was winnowing them in a spark of heat and light.

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

They reappeared on the outskirts of the Forest House's northern side. A few hours walk from their last location.

The festival stands and crowds were sparser here. But in a small field of grass close to the northern entrance of the estate, a group of children were playing. Squeals of delight rang in Azriel's ear as the children ran around, tossing a ball between themselves. His shadows jumped at the shrill noises, darting out as if they'd investigate.

A pleasant, carefree atmosphere hung in the air.

"It's so... different here now," Azriel said carefully.

So different from Beron.

Eris hummed quietly in confirmation at Azriel's words. He wistfully watched the children play. "Rhysand once advised me that change is slow in our world and to prepare myself accordingly. I've personally found that it's only slow if you don't care to try hard enough."

Azriel's eyes narrowed at the slight jab to his brother.

Eris pulled his attention from the children and dropped his hand from where it still wrapped around Azriel's forearm. Azriel hadn't registered it was there but the cold it's absence left in its wake sent a shudder down his spine.

Leaves crunched under the heels of their boots as the pair walked leisurely into the festival.

"You think you care more than Rhys? Care more about your court?" The comment rubbed Azriel the wrong way, he couldn't let it go.

"I think Rhysand cares an awful lot about Velaris. I know he sacrificed greatly to keep them safe from Amarantha. But a High Lord's duty is to the well-being of everyone in his court, not just those he favors."

Azriel stopped in his tracks. "Don't speak about it as if you have any idea."

"Don't I?" Eris said, stopping with him. His brow quirked up on his face. "Aren't I one of the few that can now judge him?"

"You know nothing of the Night Court. Since when were you an advocate for the rights of Illyrians?"

"It's not the Illyrians about which I'm concerned."

Azriel's mouth dropped slightly, "The Court of Nightmares? You can't be serious. Keir has gotten to you."

Eris whooshed out a frustrated breath. "Keir is a pest. But he's not the only one that lives there. You forget that I have experience at Hewn City, not only now, but from before."

Rhys had snuck Cassian and Azriel into Hewn City earlier that morning. It was the first time Azriel had been anywhere but the steppes of Illyria.

His shadows writhed over his wings, something in the bowels of the mountain called to them.

The three of them stood a few hundred paces from the entrance to the Court of Nightmare's receiving hall.

She was in there. Mor.

She was in there with Keir getting introduced to her new captors, the Vanserras.

It was the reason for Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel's visit today. Mor would never admit it, that beautiful, proud female, but Azriel knew she was terrified for the encounter. He had practically begged on his knees for Rhys to take them there so they could keep an eye on her.

The grand obsidian doors that kept Mor from view creaked open suddenly, startlingly the three males.

They stood straight, imbuing confidence into their features. Despite being barely of age, the three of them refused to cower under the presence of Keir and the Autum High Lord.

Beron Vanserra exited first, Keir keeping at heels like an overexcited dog. Pathetic.

A few paces behind was Mor, eyes blazing as she kept her stare straight forward. And there he was.

Eris.

His cruel, cold beauty matched his reputation.

The second Azriel laid eyes on him, he felt a searing hatred for the male tear through his chest.

Azriel had hated before; hated his father, his half-brothers, the camp lords that shunned him. That hatred had been iced-cold, settling inside him like a stone. It followed him everywhere and pushed him to work harder, fight harder.

What he felt now, staring at the Autumn male before him, was a passion so bright it ached deep inside him. It set his blood on fire.

As if sensing Azriel's glare, the princeling's eyes slid over to him. Eris's mouth parted slightly, eyes widening, as he looked at him. The shadows often taken people by surprise.

Azriel sneered at him before tearing his eyes away to look at Mor. As she passed Azriel, she gave him a reassuring nod. She was alright.

He shot her a gentle smile in return.

He kept his attention on her as she walked away but had the odd sensation of another stare burning into him.

"I don't think you went there more than once," Azriel scoffed.

"I was enough."

"Enough for what?" Azriel grew exasperated.

"Enough to see that Mor was not the only young female desperate to escape that prison. She was just the only one that had a lifeline out of there. Rhysand condemns everyone in there for the crimes of their ancestors. For the crimes of Keir and his ilk. I know monsters lurk in every shadow corner of that gods-forsaken place but it's Rhysand's responsibility to not abandon those that need help. Who want something better."

That immediately shut Azriel up. He looked to Eris's face and saw a passionate fury on it, saw a look of someone who related intimately to about that which they spoke.

"Perhaps you're right." Damning words from Azriel's mouth. But today was not the day to delve into it, to process just how much a part Azriel played in keeping those people trapped within the confines of the Court of Nightmares.

A slight burst of guilt churned his stomach.

Eris observed him with an understanding he didn't deserve.

"Anyway," Eris shifted the topic onwards, "I am hungry." He made a show of looking around the booths around them as they walked. "What interests you?"

Azriel shrugged noncommittally. "Whatever doesn't have a line."

"Why would I want the food that doesn't have a line. Don't you think that would suggest it's not worth eating."

Azriel rolled his eyes and said, "Nothing can be that bad. Food is food."

"Very well. But if it is bad you still need to eat it all." Eris said and took off towards a food stand that stood patron-less.

As the two of them approached, the man standing behind the stand's counter eye's widened. A High Lord and an Illyrian shadowsinger marching towards you was likely an intimidating sight.

A basin of cooking oil bubbled away behind the stall, lit by a large fire kindled underneath. On a small table next to it two trays were filled; one with a rough flour mixture and one with beaten, uncooked eggs. A container full of wooden skewers sat next to it. On the ground, off to the side was an ice-box whose lid was firmly shut.

"My lord!" The stall's operator rose from his stool and gave Eris a sweeping bow.

He then merely jerked his head at Azriel, saying nothing. A look of contempt flashed across Eris's face at that.

Eris shook the look off his face and smiled stiltedly in greeting to the vendor. "We are looking for food, sir. What are you making here today?"

"Amazing," the vendor exclaimed, "I am the premier maker of fried Autumn frogs!"

Azriel watched Eris's brows shoot up his forehead.

That explained the lack of line.

Now that Azriel looked, he saw a crudely painted wooden sign depicting a frog skewered onto a stick. He should've been paying better attention on their approach.

"Wonderful." Even centuries of courtier skills couldn't stop the trepidation from slipping into Eris's voice.

"We-," Eris darted his eyes over to Azriel and he could see a dark humor glittering on the High Lord's face, "We will take three, please, one for me and two for my friend. He's very hungry."

Azriel stomped on the male's foot as soon as the vendor turned to start preparing their order.

"Food is food," the High Lord whispered at him, wincing in pain at his foot.

"I'm not even hungry," the Illyrian hissed back.

"Too bad, you are now." The High Lord chuckled at his own antics.

They stood there waiting for their food. Azriel scowled as he watched the frogs get dipped in the batter and then dunked into bubbling oil.

He was deeply regretting his earlier statement.

Eris slid a few silver marks onto the stall's table as Azriel grabbed two of the skewers from the vendor. He'd let Eris grab his own.

The pair strolled away, eyeing the food in their hands.

Azriel gulped before braving a small bite from the fried meat. He swallowed roughly.

"So?" Eris questioned.

Azriel contemplated for a moment before replying, "It's... not that bad." He went in for a second bite.

Following his approval, Eris raised his own skewer to his mouth and took a sizable bite.

The High Lord's face dropped at the taste that met him. His stare burned through Azriel with fury as he slowly chewed and swallowed the large bite that was in his mouth.

Azriel threw his head back roaring with laughter.

Eris chucked the food into a nearby trash bin, "That. was. disgusting," he seethed. "Why did you say it was good."

"You deserved it you ass." Azriel threw his skewers into the bin as well.

"It was sour!?"

Azriel continued to laugh.

Eris's eyes softened imperceptibly as he looked down at Azriel's smile. It sent a jolt through Azriel's system.

The two of them wandered on, appetite gone.

They stopped at many stalls along their walk. Eris thumbed through heavy, fur garments on display from a Winter Court seamstress. Azriel weighed and handled Raskian throwing knives brought from a merchant on the continent. The pair chuckled at a table that displayed men's silk undershorts, saying they were going to send a collection to Helion. Eris grimaced when Azriel reminded him his mother would be on the receiving end of the silk shorts, the male's amusement dissipated immediately. Azriel had to drag Eris away from buying a dozen handmade leather collars for his hounds. Eris did end up buying a thin silver chain bracelet from a local Autumn crasftwoman. It was made from a metal found only in this court, Eris told him, and the metal is the only known deterrent to the fire magic the flowed through the blood of Autumn court fae.

"It's incredibly hard to find, near impossible to forge into something wearable, and gods-damned expensive as a result. I can't explain to you how it works, just that it'll lessen the effect of fire magic on the wearer. The Mother balances all things she creates."

Eris pivoted towards him and in the blink of an eye clipped the bracelet around Azriel's own wrist. It sat right below where the scars on his hand faded into unmarred skin.

Azriel gaped at the High Lord.

"Well it's not like I need it," Eris said in response to his expression. "I am the Lord of fire. It's not exactly going to hurt me."

Fluttering ignited within Azriel's chest, it tickled along his ribs.

"Will it protect me from you?" He meant the question to sound coy but it came across strained.

Flames flickered in Eris's irises as he said, "Nothing could stop me from reaching you, Azriel."

Azriel's heart ponded painfully within him. "Your fire, you mean?"

"Yes, my fire." The flames in his eyes shuttered and he took a step away.

They strolled on.

It was impossible to miss the way passersby looked at Eris. Hunger. Longing.

It reminded Azriel that nightfall was rapidly approaching, only two hours away. The notion saddened him.

"How does tonight work. For you?" questioned Azriel, although he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Eris smirked in amusement at him, "When two people are attracted to one another, Azriel, they do something called-"

"You ass," he growled, cutting Eris off, "What's the ritual? I know Calanmai has a cave, Summer a beach cove, Winter... I don't know- a glacier? What's the landmark of choice for Autumn."

"A tree."

"A tree?"

"Yes. A tree. Don't give me that look, I didn't pick it. There's a large oak tree at the center of Autumn, I'm told it's been there since the court's creation. It's said to be the center, the beating heart, of all magic here. A load of nonsense but it's tradition at this point. I've seen it a few times. It's this massive thing, so large that a hundred people wouldn't be enough to line its entire perimeter. According to my father, it's hollow inside. I'm not sure how that works out. There's ancient wards around the oak that only allow the High Lord to approach or winnow inside the tree. And that- that is where the magic happens." Literally and figuratively.

"A magic sex tree?" Azriel said crudely.

"It's no worse than a magic sex cave. Certainly better than a glacier. Or snow bank. We should really find out what it is in Winter."

"Well I feel bad for whatever poor female gets chosen for you tonight. She has your company and a floor of dirt to look forward to." Bitterness laced Azriel's words and he hoped it sounded like contempt for the High Lord.

"Don't sound too jealous now, Azriel." The fire was back raging in the High Lord's eyes, "After all, no one said it had to be a female."

Azriel couldn't help it as his attention dropped down to Eris's full lips at the words. Dropped to look at the High Lord's muscled body hidden beneath his clothing. Azriel wondered what his skin tasted like, if it was sweet and woodsy like the cinnamon and sandalwood that wafted on his scent.

"Unfortunately," Azriel choked out, "I will not be here to see the lucky chosen person. Female or male."

"What?" Eris sounded frantic.

"I'm not staying. Mor and I are leaving before nightfall. Nesta and Cassian are the only ones remaining."

Eris stared at him, eyes wide, searching Azriel's face. "Are you serious? You're leaving? Why did you come?"

"You invited us. Mor was adamant on coming and I didn't want her to come alone, Nesta and Cassian aren't much for company." It was a lie, one that Azriel spouted again.

"Then where is your precious Morrigan?" Eris made a show of looking around them.

"I'm here if she needs me."

"You really came here only for her?" Devastation etched across Eris's face. Azriel refused to read into the expression but his shadows were jumping around him, slithering out as if they wanted to wipe that look off the High Lord's face.

"Why do you care anyway? What's it to you if I stay and find some stranger to fuck in the woods and add a little magic to your Great Rite. It doesn't interest me." The words were a barrier to hide the war raging inside Azriel; to hide the feelings ripping away inside of him desperate to get out.

Eris looked away from him and stared up into the vibrant canopy of leaves above them. The setting sun shone down through the branches, making his fair skin glow. He seemed to be counting every leaf on the oak that towered over them. As Eris got lost in the scenery above them, Azriel took a moment to map out every detail of his face.

Eventually Eris said, voice controlled, "You're right, I don't care. I'll be preoccupied with someone else anyway."

Eris glared at him, staring deep into his soul, as if he could see the animal that went wild inside of Azriel at his words.

They walked for an hour longer, finally approaching the south entrance again. Their conversation was noticeably more stilted.

The disgust from the fried frogs had abated but Azriel found he was no longer hungry for an entirely different reason.

The sun was cresting the horizon. Soon it would set completely and the Great Rite would begin. He could feel the magic thrumming in the air, ready to break free from the confines restricting it.

He looked at Eris next to him. The High Lord looked agitated, twitchy. The magic must be beating away at him as the Rite's beginning drew nearer.

Now that he had his gaze on him, Azriel couldn't look away. There was a magnet inside of him drawing him closer as if its match was inside the High Lord. He understood now why people went mad during Great Rites, this heady sensation made him want to disregard all expectations and let loose. Azriel wanted to lean in and taste the sweat beading up on Eris's skin.

Unknowingly, Azriel had taken a few steps closer to Eris who darted his attention over to him. He wanted to keep those amber eyes on him- didn't want anyone else to come in between them. He wanted to feel Eris's burning palms running along the skin under his jacket. Wanted to feel those lips against his neck, sucking marks for everyone to see.

Azriel needed him. He couldn't let anyone else have him- not tonight.

He was going to tell him as such, "I-"

"Azriel!"

The call from Mor broke through the haze Azriel was lost in.

"What? Azriel, what?" Eris grabbed him by his jacket bringing his attention towards the High Lord again.

Azriel wanted to step into the fire inside of Eris's eyes and burn.

"Azriel" Mor's hand clamped down on his shoulder as she said his name a second time.

He turned to look at her.

"It's nearly nightfall, we should go. I'm feeling pretty drained, do you think you can winnow both of us back? I don't think I can make it the entire way?" she looked up at him expectantly.

He needed to go. He couldn't leave her here alone. He looked back at Eris.

The High Lord looked like he was seconds from dropping to his knees to beg Azriel to stay. The hand holding his jacket twisted tighter.

"What were you going to say, Azriel?" Eris sounded manic.

"I need to go, Eris"

"Yes. Okay." He looked crestfallen. His hand still gripped Azriel's jacket.

"You need to let go."

The High Lord actually shook his head no in response to that.

"Of the jacket. You need to let go of my jacket." Azriel felt like his heart was ripping out of his chest. Desire was swallowing him whole.

He at last dropped his hand away.

Azriel spun on his heels, grabbed Mor, and winnowed away without glancing back.

.…........................

Azriel bid Mor goodnight in the dimly lit foyer of the River House and dazedly made his way up to his room on the second floor of the home. Dropping onto the foot of his bed, he propped his elbows on his knees, stuffed the heels of his hands into his eyes and pressed so hard that a constellation of lights popped into his vision.

He needed to get up. He needed to fly. He needed to lay down. He needed to get drunk. He needed to go to sleep. He needed to scream until there was nothing left in him. He needed to curl up and cry.

There was an animal inside of him clawing to get out, ripping at his chest so hard he swore he could feel it tearing underneath his ribs.

What was wrong with him?

After a few minutes there was a knock on his door and Azriel jolted up from the hunched position he'd been in.

Peering in through the cracked doorway was Mor. When she met his gaze, she gently swung the door open the rest of the way. It was silent for a moment as she looked over him as he remained sitting on the foot of the bed.

"You should go back", Mor whispered delicately into the depth of the room.

Azriel's brows furrowed. He just stared at her, tried to read her expression. There was nothing but quiet contemplation on her beautiful face.

"You should go back", she repeated, simply. Mor's assessing gaze tore into him. He could feel the truth she wielded cutting through him as they looked at one another.

Azriel said nothing. Couldn't choke out the words and only shook his head.

Mor at last entered the room fully and crossed over to where he remained sitting.

She gently grasped his face between both of her hands and angled him up to look at her. Her fingers were delicate and soft against his skin as her thumbs stroked short arcs soothingly against his cheeks. There was a time that he would've killed for a touch like this from her.

Now all Azriel could think about is what the same touch would feel like under wider, stronger, warmer palms. If there were fiery amber eyes looking back at him instead of warm brown ones.

His eyes pricked at the thought and he attempted to duck out of Mor's grip, cowering at the weight of everything he felt.

"You're the one who asked me to leave with you. Why should I go back," he asked her, staring at the tile underneath her shoes.

"I wanted you to have a few moments alone, away from the Rite's magic so you could clear your head and think without it influencing you."

His shook his head again, "I don't want to go back."

"Yes you do. You know you do."

"I don't want to want to go back." He looked back up at her.

"You don't need to be afraid of it anymore, Azriel. We love you, every part of you. No matter what you choose." This was the Morrigan of Truth who spoke to him now. The fae who saw every facet of the world around her with uncharacteristic clarity.

She didn't elaborate before heading back out of Azriel's room and down the hall. She left his door open.

Azriel sat there. He counted to a hundred before standing up and hurtling out the door and down the stairs. He rushed out into the front courtyard, made his way to the ward boundaries and winnowed away in a swirl of shadows.

.…........................

The hum of a crowd didn't meet him this time as his feet touched down in the Autumn court for the second time that day. The buzzing of insects and the rustling of wind blowing through leaves were the only sounds that kept him company.

He didn't recognize the land where his pesky shadows deposited him. He intended to go back to the same spot he originally left.

He felt, more than he heard, someone winnow into existence behind him.

Azriel drew his blade and spun around, expecting to find an attacker awaiting him.

It was Eris.

His hand holding the knife went limp and dropped down in shock.

"How did you find me so quickly?" he asked.

"I could find you anywhere you go, Azriel."

His name was butter in the High Lord's mouth. He wanted to grab Eris and taste the tongue that said his name like that.

"You came back." Eris's pupils were blown wide as he looked Azriel up and down. He'd become a creature of the Rite, the power making him more monster than male.

Azriel's blood rushed in his ears in response.

"I did."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"I need to hear you say it." The male clawed back control to ask that question. To hear Azriel give his consent.

Azriel let him stew in silence, driving Eris mad. He was nervous to let the words out of his mouth.

Growing impatient, Eris said, "Azriel."

"I want you... Eris. I want this. I want you."

With a groan at his words, Eris rushed to Azriel and slammed his lips into his.

The first press of Eris's lips against his own was like a lightning strike. It made Azriel's skin burst to life with the power of it.

Azriel slid his hands into the silky red strands of the male and held him close. He angled the male's head to the side to deepen the glide of their lips along one another.

Eris's hands, which had gripped his waist, moved down underneath Azriel's jacket to brush along the skin of his lower back. His hands burned a path along Azriel's skin, just how he imagined they would. At the sensation, Azriel let out a small groan.

Eris used the opportunity to slide his tongue into Azriel's mouth. His tongue stroked along Azriel's own, sending a shiver of desire down his spine.

The taste of Eris was better than he ever expected; it made him feel high. He barely drew a breath, not wanting to part from Eris's mouth for more than a second. His taste was more gratifying than air.

Azriel pressed his front into Eris until they were fully flush, his hardness pressing into the other male's own.

"Azriel, fuck," Eris backed away for a moment to murmur on his lips. "I need- I need-," he didn't finish that thought before leaning in to give more sucking kisses to Azriel's bottom lip.

A broken groan escaped Azriel as the High Lord bit down on his lower lip, his cock growing harder in his pants.

Eris pulled off him again and grabbed Azriel's face between his hands to keep him still. That didn't stop Azriel from chasing his lips for more.

"Have you been with a male before?" Eris asked him.

"I'm 545 years old, Eris, of course I've fucked males."

Eris growled at the statement, eyes blazing. He grabbed Azriel's ass and dragged him back in for a few moments.

Panting to catch his breath, Eris said, "That's not what I mean." He squeezed his ass for emphasis.

Oh.

No, he hadn't. Not that it didn't appeal to him but he could never give someone control of him like that. But looking at Eris, into the face of the male he'd grown to know so well the past year, Azriel didn't feel the same trepidation that tended to hold him back. Azriel realized that he actually trusted Eris. He wondered when that happened.

"I want to." With you, only with you. He hoped his eyes conveyed the truth he wouldn't speak.

Eris leaned in and gave Azriel a gentle kiss before winnowing them away.

They reappeared inside the hollow of a massive tree. It must've been the oak Eris spoke about before.

It smelled mossy and the air was damp inside the trunk. As Azriel predicated, only dirt lined the floor.

Eris conjured a couple faelights that rose above them and sent a gentle glow cascading down upon the pair.

There was a beat thrumming in the air. It pounded so loud through Azriel that he felt his heart skip to match its beat. The sound made his head swim with a heady sensation.

He saw Eris in front of him similarly affected.

His gaze dropped to see tenting at the front of Eris's pants. His wings twitched with the arousal that flooded him in response. He needed him. Now.

Always knowing what was on Azriel's mind, Eris hooked a finger through one of Azriel's belt loops and dragged him back toward him.

Instead of his mouth, this time Eris ran his lips down Azriel's throat. They were delicate kisses that sent goosebumps over Azriel's arm. The male seemed to be savoring the pounding of Azriel's pulse beneath him. When he reached the soft hollow between his neck and shoulder, Eris sucked hard.

Azriel's knees buckled beneath him. Only Eris's strong arms supporting him kept Azriel up as the High Lord laid claim to the sensitive spot.

Azriel shoved at the coat draped around Eris's shoulders. The maroon garment thudded to the dirt floor with success.

Once that was gone, Azriel slid his hands under Eris's silk white shirt and traced along his back and chest. Though Eris was leaner than him, shapely muscle lay underneath his clothes. He had been general of Autumn for close to five centuries, the training required for that now showed in the strong chest and abdomen that Azriel's fingers ghosted down.

Eris moved on to sucking a matching mark on the other side of his neck. Azriel's head fell to the side as he let out a low, deep whine at the sensation.

"You taste so good," the High Lord whispered into his skin.

Azriel rolled his hips against Eris's in a desperate search for friction. Eris snapped his fingers and the entirety of both the males' clothes disappeared.

A wobbling sound left his mouth as he took in the sight of the naked male against him. Eris's muscled, pale chest and long lean legs made his mouth water. He wanted to taste every inch of him. He pushed Eris to the ground and did just that.

Azriel nipped and sucked down the male's chest, leaving marks and savoring the taste of his skin. He paused when he reached Eris's cock. Where Azriel was long, Eris was thick.

He bent down aiming to take him in his mouth when he was stopped.

"No." Eris's chest was heaving. "I can't- don't want to finish yet. If you take me in your mouth, this'll be over far too quick."

Azriel smirked, leaning down to lick a long stripe up the underside of him anyway before leaning back on his knees.

Eris followed him up and pushed him down onto his back. The male settled between Azriel's legs and looked down at him.

"Is this okay for your wings?"

Azriel never let his wings get trapped like this. In his centuries of taking lovers, would only ever be on top. But the sight of Eris above him made his cock twitch and blood heat, and Azriel knew it was alright.

"It's fine."

Spurred on by his confirmation, Eris bent down and took Azriel in his mouth without preamble.

Azriel shouted a groan at the warm sensation of Eris's mouth around him. He worked Azriel slowly, tongue dragging along him. Eris was looking at him, watching his every reaction with blazing eyes.

After a minute, Azriel started to feel a tightening in his lower stomach. He was already so close.

Just then, Eris's hand that rested on his thigh, slid over to press into the area beneath Azriel's balls. Questioning eyes looked to him and Azriel nodded his approval.

A bottle of oil appeared out of thin air into Eris's other hand and Azriel felt a zap of cleaning magic rush through him. Convenient.

Eris pulled away to pour oil onto the fingers of his right hand. After slicking them up, Eris grabbed one of Azriel's thighs and pushed it up out of the way. He then ducked down and took Azriel in his mouth again while gently pressing the tip of his pointer finger against Azriel's hole.

The Illyrian let out a choppy moan and the High Lord slowly pressed his entire, long finger into him. It was a weird sensation. Neither pleasant or unpleasant, just new. Eris's mouth continued to move up and down him, keeping the pleasure stable. After a few seconds Eris moved the finger within him, steadily withdrawing and pushing back in.

Azriel relaxed around the finger after a few moments and felt Eris's middle finger push in to join it. He hissed at the slight burning sensation that went with it. The High Lord shot him an apologetic look.

Both fingers pressed in all the way together and repeated the same cycle of moving slowly to loosen Azriel up. The only noises were the sounds of Eris's mouth on his cock, the slide of the fingers inside him, and the gentle moans coming from his mouth. As Azriel once again relaxed around the fingers, Eris pulled off him.

He gave Azriel a wicked smirk before curling his fingers up and brushing along a spot that he hadn't yet touched. Azriel's legs spasmed at the jolt of pleasure that shot through him.

"Gods, what was that." he moaned out.

"You must not have been pleasuring those male's very well if you don't know what that is, Azriel."

Eris started thrusting his two fingers harder inside of him, keeping steady pressure on the spot.

Azriel threw his head back, moaning loudly.

Eris pushed a third slicked finger in. The burning only heightened his pleasure this time.

Azriel drew his second leg up as Eris rammed his three fingers into him, no longer taking Azriel in his mouth. He didn't need it. The High Lord's fingers alone felt amazing.

Azriel's hole eased around the three fingers and was taking a fourth appendage in no time. He felt stretched so wide. The amount of fingers Eris had stuffed into him allowed him to brush roughly against that spot every time. Knees drawn up, Azriel's eyes rolled back into his head as he laid there getting fingered by the High Lord. His hands clenched at the ground above his head.

The drums of the Great Rite thrummed around them. The sound clanged in Azriel's ears. The closer he got to finishing, the louder they grew. They reached a deafening crescendo before Eris's movements came to a stop inside of him.

Azriel groaned out in protest. He was about to cum from Eris's fingers alone. His hips thrusted uselessly as he tried to get him moving again

Eris leaned down and sucked Azriel's lips into a kiss. "You're not cumming until you're on my cock, you big bat." He slipped his fingers out of Azriel.

Eris sat back and started slicking his cock up with oil.

"I want you to start off riding me," he said, "that way I know you're in control in the start. The magic is getting to me, I don't know how much longer I can keep it contained and I don't want to hurt you."

The sentiment thrummed in Azriel's chest.

He swung a leg over the male and settled up against his chest. Eris was sat up, a hand on the ground behind him to prop himself. The other was still stroking his cock.

Since the males were the same height standing, Azriel rose over him a bit while sitting in his lap. He leaned forward, unable to resist the temptation of kissing Eris.

When he pulled back, Eris was giving him a look that knocked the wind out of him. There was a well of desire and admiration in his eyes. No one had ever looked at Azriel with such raw longing before.

He felt Eris line himself up behind him. The head pressed against him and Azriel rocked his hips back slightly. He had to press hard to get the tip to pop in and when he did, he released a long whine at the burn.

Azriel gripped the High Lord's shoulders tightly. His features twisted at the discomfort and he stayed motionless for a while. With one hand still holding himself, Eris raised the other to rub along Azriel's lower back.

Eris tilted his chin up and recaptured Azriel's lips. It proved a welcome distraction and shortly Azriel was rocking his hips again, taking more of Eris's cock in him.

The hand Eris had on his lower back was gently pushing him down on every rock, increasing the pace at which Azriel took him. It was the only sign of desperation from the High Lord.

Once Eris was far enough inside him that he didn't need to guide his cock in anymore, his hand reached around Azriel's front to press a thumb against the skin between Azriel's balls and hole.

The jolt that shot through Azriel was similar to the one from the spot inside him. With a renewed desired, Azriel pushed down into the press of Eris's thumb. As his hips chased the pleasure of the pressure, Azriel was surprised to find himself meet the jut of Eris's hips below him. He had taken him to the hilt.

He leaned into Eris's neck and moaned loudly at the feeling of the male's cock fully enclosed within him.

"Fuck. So good Azriel. You're so good."

Azriel was stretched so wide on the base of Eris's thick cock. He felt the tip deep within his stomach.

In that moment, Azriel was completely owned by the High Lord.

He raised his hips up a few inches and dropped back down. Eris let out a rasping groan and tightened his arms around Azriel.

Azriel's shadows wrapped around the pair as he began to ride Eris in earnest. Eris's cock scrapped deliciously along that spot inside of him and Azriel rode him hard, addicted to the feeling.

His full, leaking cock bounced forgotten beneath their stomachs.

"You're riding me so good, Azriel. You feel fucking amazing." Eris groaned into his ear.

The praise made Azriel's skin flush. He wanted to erase every fae from Eris's memory. Make him forget anyone that wasn't him.

He bounced mindlessly on Eris's length. Content to stay like that, wringing the helpless moans from the male's mouth.

But the pressure on his thighs grew to be too much and Azriel still needed it harder. He couldn't ride Eris's cock hard or fast enough to get what he wanted.

"Eris," he moaned deeply. "More. I want more."

"Gods, Azriel. Anything. I'll give you anything you want."

"Fuck me, please."

Without pulling out, Eris flipped him onto his back, showing care for his wings. He hooked both of Azriel's legs over his arms and placed his hands onto the dirt floor in the gap between Azriel's waist and wings. He then started pounding so hard into Azriel that the Illyrian saw stars.

The feeling of the full length of Eris's thick cock pistoning in and out him rendered Azriel speechless. All he could do was grip Eris's back and moan into the air in the hollow of the tree.

The beat of the Great Rite's drums resumed, matching the rhythm at which Eris fucked in to him. The slap of their pelvises reverberated in the enclosed space.

Eris dropped his legs and lowered himself on to his forearms by Azriel's head. The shallower angle made him grind furiously against that spot along Azriel's walls. Eris nipped at his lower lip, panting into his mouth.

"You're so gods damn perfect Azriel."

Azriel moaned at the words.

The drums raced around them.

"So. fucking. beautiful." Each word from Eris was interrupted by a brutally deep thrust.

"I wish I could fuck you all night but I'm so close," the High Lord continued on.

Azriel nodded in agreement, wrapping his legs tight around Eris's hips. He didn't want the male pulling too far away from him, not now. He hole was squeezing sporadically around Eris's length.

"I-" Azriel couldn't get anything out, too busy moaning.

The drumming was reaching a crescendo again. It rocked against Azriel's skin.

"What is it." Eris brushed kisses along Azriel's jaw as he fucked him.

The beat around them was deafening.

"I feel so good, Eris-" Azriel groaned out the male's name.

It must've been from witnessing the delirium of Azriel's pleasure that he caused but at his words, Eris shouted out a long surprised groan. Azriel felt the male's cock twitching inside of him and his thrusts stuttered to quick, deep jabs. Heat bloomed within Azriel's stomach from the High Lord cumming.

At the sensation of the pulsing warmth of Eris's cum inside him, Azriel felt his own cock start to shoot. He grabbed himself moaning as his strokes heightened his finish.

As Azriel plummeted down into his orgasm, the drums of the Rite's magic pulsed through him. The beat matching the rhythm of his heart hammering inside him. Azriel's legs tightened around Eris as they both rose and fell through the waves of their pleasure, creating their own rhythm that sang with the magic of the night.

Fingers still dug tightly into the pale muscled back above him, Azriel's release came to an end. His legs dropped and relaxed to the ground as all his strength flooded away. He felt Eris's cock give one final kick inside him before he too finished and relaxed fully down onto Azriel's front.

The thrum of the magic in the air came to a stop, the sounds of the woods rushing in to fill the silence left by the drum's departure.

They laid there, Azriel wasn't sure how long, catching their breath. He closed his eyes, laid his head back, and enjoyed the warmth of Eris pressed against him.

The pressure on his wings soon became too much and he shifted, pushing slightly at Eris's hips.

With a groan, the male on top of him pushed up onto him arms, staring down between them as he pulled out. Azriel hissed at the sensation.

"M'sorry," Eris murmured, rubbing a hand down Azriel's thigh soothingly.

Eris Vanserra was rubbing his thigh.

Hundreds of fae showed up tonight with the hopes they'd be the lucky ones selected to sleep with the High Lord. And here Azriel was, in the middle of some historic magical tree, spend dripping out of him, getting his thigh rubbed by Cauldron-damned Eris Vanserra.

It was completely fucking surreal.

Azriel giggled. He didn't think he'd ever giggled in his life.

He felt drunk on the atmosphere. Maybe this was an after-effect of the magic's let-down; after the high of Rite abated you were left feeling delirious.

Eris took one look at him and started laughing too. They were definitely delirious.

Leaning his weight forward into his forearms again, Eris rested his forehead against Azriel's collarbone as laughter kept rocking his frame. Azriel buried his face in the silky red hair below him, chuckling into it.

With deep breaths, they both collected themselves.

Eris rose up onto his knees and glanced down between Azriel's legs.

"Fuck," Eris groaned, throwing his head back," You need to close your legs or I'm going to be ready for round two in a few seconds."

Azriel burst into laughter again, kicking Eris away from him.

"Gods," Eris moaned as he clambered to his feet. He reached a hand out for Azriel who took it and forced Eris to do most of the work pulling him up.

Azriel wrapped his arms around Eris's hips, the other male grabbing his bicep and throwing his second arm around Azriel's neck.

Silence weighed down on them as they stood facing each other. Eris's thumb left a path of heat in the arcs it swiped along Azriel's bicep. His other hand played in the short cropped hair at the base of Azriel's head.

With the high of the night seeping from his system and Eris's hands tracing warm paths along his skin, Azriel felt his eyes start to droop.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Eris whispered, lips only mere inches away from Azriel's own. Anything louder would've felt like a shout in the calm atmosphere around them.

Azriel nodded in assent, he wasn't sure any words would make it out of him.

He leaned forward capturing Eris's lips in a delicate kiss. They stayed like that, mouths moving slowly together, until Eris pulled again with one last nip to Azriel's lower lip.

"C'mon," he murmured, backing away from Azriel. With a snap of his fingers, Eris magicked both of their clothes back on.

Azriel walked up to press into Eris's front again and raised his hands to straighten the male's cloak which skewed haphazardly on his shoulders.

"Magic is not a precise science," Eris justified.

Mustering up the energy to speak, he replied, "You're such an ass."

Cackling, Eris winnowed them away in a crack of flames and light.

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

The large rustic living room of Eris's manor was blessedly cool.

Warmth prickled along Azriel's skin, it felt like the sun was beaming down on him. He'd lived most of his life at a temperature that matched the night-time air on a crisp autumn night. This was a welcome change but an odd adjustment.

Azriel had a feeling the fire lord with him had something to do with it.

His eyes traced the wooden beams that led to the top of the room's vaulted ceilings as Eris moved around the kitchen in the distance.

Shuffling alerted Azriel to his entrance back into the living room.

He eagerly accepted the tall glass of water Eris handed to him and chugged it in one go, spilling a good portion of it down his chin.

"Brute"

Azriel glared at him through the glass.

"Didn't stop you from fucking me."

Eris's eyes darkened at the words, the right side of his face was lit up from the moonlight pouring in through the sizable windows that framed the woods outside. The High Lord only shrugged, grinning wildly.

His own grin grew in response. This was probably the most he'd smiled in one day. There was an ache in his cheeks from his overuse of the action; mindlessly he rubbed at the sore spots.

"Get used to it," Eris said.

Azriel didn't know if he meant the fucking or the smiling. Both would be fine, he figured.

They stumbled upstairs, giggling like a pair of drunk younglings every time Azriel's wings caught on the stairs. He was usually much better about keeping them raised but his body felt like it'd been sitting in the birchin for an hour- every muscle loose and tired.

Eris's bedroom was large and its foundation was laid by the same rich, dark wood that Azriel had loved in the kitchen. On the opposite side of the bedroom's entryway was a wall of windows and a glass door that led out to a partially enclosed terrace.

In the moonlight, Azriel vaguely deciphered a few plush couches and ottomans clustered together out there. They were enclosed by concrete columns that lined the terrace's perimeter. Enough space was between each column that, if Azriel wished, he could climb the railing and sail out over the autumnal canopy on his wings.

"You look like you're plotting your escape." Eris's sharp gaze tracked Azriel's own. He'd always been able to read him like book much to Azriel's chagrin.

"A good fighter always has an exit strategy."

A flash of sadness crossed Eris's expression at his words. There- and then gone- before Azriel could truly register it.

Reality began crashing in around him, settling a heavy weight on his chest.

To distract himself, he stepped onwards into the room and continued his assessment of the space. To the right was a massive fireplace framed by a large picture window on either side. Azriel saw the glow of faelights at the Forest House in the distance. There were two leather armchairs placed in front of the fireplace.

The left of the room held a palatial bed, wide enough to comfortably fit two winged fae if desired.

It was a wonderful space. If Azriel had ever desired to design his own, it likely would've looked a lot like this. It was nothing akin to Feyre and Rhy's palatial, overly ornate estate, or the soulless sandstone interiors of the House of Wind. Eris's room- his house- was warm and inviting, it beckoned Azriel in like a moth to a flame.

Eris, having followed Azriel into the room, continued on, "There are stairs up to the roof... if you wanted to know other escape options. It'd probably be easier to take off and land there."

Azriel turned to face the male behind him and asked, "Why do you have stairs to your roof?" Odd indeed for a male who could never and would ever be able to fly himself.

"Why not?" Eris wouldn't meet his eyes then.

But Azriel knew. Deep down he knew, had always known.

The roof. The two armchairs in front of the fire place. The dining chairs carved for wings. The male's burning gaze that was able to melt away centuries of ice that coated the outside of Azriel's soul.

He knew what it all meant, used to be terrified of it. Yesterday afternoon he feared it so much he could hardly breath.

He wasn't scared anymore.

And Eris knew too. Had likely known far longer than Azriel- he was always so clever.

Eris had probably figured it out forever ago and let it rot away inside of him. Trapped in his mind, tormenting him like the scars from his father that would never mar his skin.

"Centuries, Azriel," Eris muttered. It was as if the fire-blooded male in front of him, who still would not look at Azriel, could read every thought that ran through his mind. Could he?

Silence settled around them. Eris's attention focused on the dew fogged window next to them. He looked fixedly at the Forest House lights gleaming in the distance.

"I've wanted you- this- for centuries," Eris ground out. The truth, at last.

"I have known for centuries." Each word out of Eris's mouth sounded pained.

Azriel walked up to the male, reached out a scarred hand to gently grab his chin and turned his face towards him.

He traced every inch of Eris's face with his thumb. The strong jaw that framed everything. The sharp cut of the cupid's bow on his full lips. The long, straight bridge of his nose. The flushed cheeks that burned under Azriel's touch. The constellation of freckles that dotted his porcelain skin. The permanent crease between his brows, the only sign of mortality on his beautiful, immortal face.

He looked nothing like Azriel but looking upon him was like gazing into a mirror.

"All this time? Everything?" Azriel whispered. He couldn't find it in himself to elaborate, desperately hoped that Eris would once again understand what he meant.

"Everything. Always. It was always you." Eris's brows cut together, a look of sorrow and desperation overtaking the face under Azriel's thumb.

A small whimper escaped Azriel's lips but he clamped down on it.

The small sound must've been enough for Eris because it seemed a dam broke inside of him with the way his next words poured out.

"From the first moment I saw you at Hewn City, I knew Azriel. I could feel it so deep in my bones that it ached. But the engagement to Mor had already been finalized and I had no clue what to do. I knew you loved her, saw how you looked at her. I felt sick. My mate-"

Another whimper broke from Azriel's lips at the word. Eris spoke it with such finality and confidence.

At its utterance, a key clicked into place deep inside Azriel's chest and opened a truth that he had known all along.

"My mate," Eris continued "was in love with the female I was set to marry. Quickly, I grew to realize Mor's desperation for freedom, the truth about herself she kept hidden away. I couldn't help her. Azriel, you have to believe me. I tried. But, I had so little power to fix the situation. Leaving her there- in the woods, leaving her to her freedom, it was the best I could do. I thought she would understand. I thought you would underst-" Eris's voice cracked on the last word and he ducked his head down out of Azriel's hands to hide it from view.

Composing himself with a deep breath, Eris raised his head and continued on.

"I never imagined my actions would lead to you hating me for centuries. I thought I'd have a chance to explain. I thought you- Mor- Rhysand- anybody- I thought somebody would understand that if I helped her, she would have become a ward of my court. Trapped there. Keir knew; that's why he left her in my woods. Eventually I realized it was for the better- you hating me. I was a fool for ever thinking otherwise. I still had no power against my father and if he ever suspected, ever got a whiff, of what you were to me, he would have tried to kill you. He most certainly would have killed me. And it all would have been for nothing. I knew I did the right thing after he executed Jesminda. She was harmless, so innocent, a member of his own court, and he still killed her for the crime of being a lesser fae in love with my brother. It was then that I decided to never do anything but make you hate me. I wanted you as far away from me as possible. I could handle the torture my father inflicted upon me but the one thing I'd never be able to bare was him hurting you. Not you. Never you."

Eris's voice shook as silent tears cut across his cheeks. Azriel wondered how he could still be so beautiful while he cried.

"You were this precious thing that the Mother had blessed me with and the only thing that mattered to me was keeping you safe. And the only way I could do that was by keeping you far away from me and the reaches of Beron. Then everything with Amarantha happened. Forty-nine years under there and Azriel, you were the only thing that got me through it. Knowing you were safe, wherever you were, and that you were out there. I made a vow to myself that if I lived through the ordeal, if I ever managed to be free, I'd fix my wrongs. I didn't want to die knowing you still hated me. I wanted to see you, at least once, look upon me with something other than loathing. But then I got addicted to it- addicted to you not hating me anymore. Addicted to being with you, speaking to you, learning about you, playing gods damned chess with you. I crave it more than I crave my next breath. Five hundred years of torment and the past year has made every second worth it. I would do it all again. I would suffer another five centuries of you loving another, another five centuries of facing my father's cruelty, another five centuries of being hated by all of Prythian just for this- just for you."

Azriel's vision blurred from the tears flooding in his eyes, mind whirring as he tried to process the weight of Eris's confessions. No words came to him. Instead, he leaned forward into Eris's shoulder and sobbed. He sobbed and sobbed, releasing centuries worth of sadness and pain and loneliness that had built up inside him. He found a comfort in the crook of Eris's neck that he'd felt never anywhere else before.

It was as if his soul knew he'd met his mate all those years ago in the depths of Hewn City and had been decaying inside him ever since, growing sick at the distance that separated it from its other half. As Azriel leaned into the warmth of Eris, he felt a small part of his frozen, sad soul started to heal.

Eris said nothing, stroking a thumb across the back of Azriel's neck. He leaned more heavily into the sturdy support of Eris's body with each soothing swipe.

"Let's go to bed," Eris whispered into his ear once the sobs stopped racking Azriel's body and his choppy breathing evened out.

There'd be more time to talk tomorrow. The darkness of the night felt too fragile for the words they would need to share, the decisions that needed to be made.

Eris turned his head and gently brushed his lips across Azriel's. They fell in to one another, deepening the kiss before pulling away to catch their breath.

Eris ran the hand that was on the back of his neck down his arm, fingers ghosting across the sleeve of the dark green jacket Azriel wore. At the cuff, he danced along the black sewn embellishments before finally trailing down to tangle his fingers with Azriel's.

Wordlessly, he pulled him towards the bed.

When they got to the foot of it, Eris raised his hands up and began unclasping the silver buttons that held Azriel's jacket closed. He then reached around his back and unbuttoned the ones that ran from the bottom hem to the base of his wings.

"I really do like this jacket on you," Eris whispered into the depth of the silence.

"I knew you would," Azriel murmured back.

He said nothing about the disbelief that twinkled in Eris's eyes. He knew Azriel too well.

Kicking off his shoes and shucking down the tight black trousers he wore, Azriel rounded the bed to the right side closest to the wall of windows. Behind him, he heard Eris also undressing.

Azriel lifted back the heavy duvet and stretched out on his stomach, hoping to give his wings some reprieve from the pressure they'd endured that night. The cool cotton sheets tempered the burning he felt inside of him.

Eris climbed in next to him and laid on his back.

Turning to face the High Lord, his High Lord, he reached out a hand to grasp the wrist that lay closest to him and stroked the delicate skin there.

At the contact, Eris slid over underneath Azriel's outstretched wing, moving closer to him as their gaze locked.

Fire blazed deep inside his amber eyes. It felt like an old friend; one that had scarred him long ago but would never again.

They probably should've bathed, should've eaten something, should've talked more. But the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon flooded Azriel's senses, seeping the energy from his body. All he could do was watch the fire dance in the eyes next to him and think about how Eris smelled like a long-lost nostalgia that he'd finally found.

For the first time, sleep welcomed Azriel with open arms and he felt at peace.

[miranyx1337]

Alastor x angel reader

FEATHER chapter V

When I opened my eyes, I sensed it was the day I never wanted to face. The day to start implementing a grand scheme against heaven. Crimson light pierced through the curtains, but it wasn't the familiar sunlight. A magnificent pentagram gleamed above the hotel, and an army assembled against heaven. They aimed to extinguish my people, but did I possess the right to thwart them?

I observed malicious smiles honing angelic weapons, relishing the thought of golden blood. Yet, what emotions would Adam's blood evoke in me?" I'll likely be his top priority. I suspect he forced my mother into silence and passivity. If only I could erase his little secret from memory.

If souls could be judged anew, why hide it? Is it about his dignity or perhaps the will of God?"

Strips of bandages cascaded near my bare feet. As I reached the portal in the nick of time, I grievously injured two of my wings. The pain of unfolding stiff feathers pierced my back, accompanied by a subdued hiss escaping my lips.

Examining my ravaged visage, circled light eyes, disheveled hair, and wings with missing feathers. I confronted the memories of the previous evening. Running my fingers over my cheek, recalling increasingly embarrassing details,

Wait, didn't Vaggie once mention that Alastor's favorite meal was decaying deers? Oh heavens, I hope he didn't consume them yesterday. I watched as my cheeks reddened and feathers bristled. It wasn't what I had planned, yet I easily surrendered to the arms of the radio demon.

I braided my hair and arranged feathers in any sensibly stylish manner. Trembling hands slowly buttoned up the snow-white shirt, a silver corset wrapped around me, and beneath a light skirt with a slit, long black boots peeked out.

"What time was really left? Three weeks until the battle?’’ Approaching the balcony with determination, I forcefully swung open the doors. Only 4 or 5 meters separated me from the ground. With a smooth movement, I jumped onto the railing. maintaining balance by leaning on one of the columns.

Barely 9 days passed, yet it felt like an eternity without flying. A few deep breaths, I spread my arms to sense the balance. Seconds from the jump, a sudden tug pulled me back. A black tentacle gripped my waist, and moments later, I found myself in the arms of radio demon.

"I knew you might feel regret, but I wouldn't accuse you of suicidal attempts," he whispered directly into my ear. I sharply recoiled, standing on my own.

I glanced back to utter the first words of the day. "Jumping from the balcony is nothing compared to a hellish portal," I proudly replied, resuming my climb on the railing.

"Sweetheart, just wait a little; impatience isn't a trait of wise people," he cautioned.

"What should I wait for? An army furious angels led by Adam?" I questioned.

"Wait for my plan to work."

"No offense, Alastor," I addressed him directly for the first time, "but your army of cannibals can only break their teeth on celestial blades."

His face revealed he didn't take criticism well. " Oh, I see you don't appreciate demonic beings,". The atmosphere thickened. "And me.

When I first learned about the plan from Charlie and Veegie, I was terrified. However, my deep longing to return home was tied to their success. My lips opened in silent astonishment; they truly wanted to face the angelic forces.

So, what's the plan? Invite them for dinner with our own bodies?"

The plan is the last thing your beautiful silver head should worry about. I'm the one pulling the strings here, Soon, we'll partake in a feast with Adam's head served on a platter and golden drinks in our cups."

"Stop talking like that about my kind ," I insisted.

"Oh About angels flying here to murder hundreds of souls or those who aren't in a hurry to descend for you?" he mocked.

My lips tightened in a grimace; I felt anger taking control over me.

"Alastor, stop!" - I shouted, to my own surprise, feeling my hand clenching on the cold metal.

A blue chain led from my hand straight to the tied demon, who instantly froze.

Alastor looked at me with undisguised surprise, his eyes wandering across my face and hands, trying to connect the dots until he finally found an answer.

Alastor POV:

Angel magic weakened contracts but also made them susceptible to a new owner

The hands that touched me with unique delicacy this night, now are helding the chain tightly around my neck and hands, instantly making me to be on my knees

As quickly as they appeared, they vanished, and I desperately gasped for air.

Y/N approached, visibly in shock but stopped a few centimeters in front of me.

The sudden command still echoed in my ears, piercing through my body like a blade.

Traces on my wrists and neck burned. I know the feeling of chains, but their angelic version was something else on my sinful skin.

Oh fuck it, I became properity of an angel

From her bewildered eyes, I gleaned that she has no idea what just happened. Does she even know about soul contracts in hell? If not, it's better to keep it that way. "Give me a second," I propped myself up on trembling hands, clumsily attempting to stand, "and I'll explain everything."

I felt a slender arm lifting me up. She gripped my face, examining it from every angle.

"We will talk later," she uttered with a gaze lowered.

I tried to read something from her expression, but with a stony demeanor, she turned towards the balcony.

A strong gust of wind forced me to lean on a cane and close my eyes. When I reopened them, Y/N had dissolved into the air. Only the shadow of wings traversed the crowd gathered below.

Simultaneously, giving me time for deep reflection on how to deal with this... unconventional situation."

[sentientgolfball]

Hey! My God, if you only knew how much I enjoy your writing, it's so nice to read!!

I was wondering if there could be a Phantom x Reader story? Where the reader would be a fallen angel, nothing gets out of my head that because he was recently summoned he would be totally curious about the reader.

But if it doesn't, that's okay, I love your writing! Bye Bye!! :]

— 🎃

WAHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SAYING THAT I’m soft no one touch me :,,)) I really hope you like the direction I went with this one

My requests are open !

“Unholy fuck.”

Phantom stares in awe at the place he’s stumbled upon. It was big. No, not big. It was tall. The actual diameter of the room wasn’t anything bigger than the common area in the ghoul den, but when he looked up it went on forever.

“This has to be breaking at least like…three different laws of physics.”

“It would be space not physics. And I assure you, no laws are being broken. Just a little bent.”

He stops dead in his tracks upon hearing a voice. Two voices? It sounded like a masculine and feminine voice speaking at once. He looks around the strange room he’s found trying to find its source but he comes up empty handed. But he’s stubborn. He’s not going to give up so easily. His lichtenberg scars spark to life as his quintessence flows through him. He focuses, trying to hone in on a mind, on a soul.

Nothing.

He huffs and spins in a circle.

“Did you leave? Who are you? I can’t feel you?”

No response.

He shrugs it off and begins looking at the contents of the room. It’s dim, the only light coming from the embers of a fireplace. The only furniture present is a lounge sofa and a wooden desk with a small bronze statuette of Lucifer on it. However, the place is absolutely filled with books. I mean, that part is not really surprising. He did stumble upon this place while wandering around the Ministry archives searching for a tome detailing all the current information that has been gathered on imps.

He had been searching the archives for hours getting deeper and deeper and it only now just hit him that this place must be the heart of it all. But why did it look like a regular room? He contemplates this, continuing to shuffle around the circular space until his eyes land on a book. The exact book he was looking for.

“Okay now that’s just spooky” he grabs it and flops down onto the sofa “good thing I love spooky.”

He sits now totally engaged with the material. So much so that he doesn’t notice the glowing yellow eyes perched upon one of the many shelves.

Curious, you think to yourself staring at the little ghoul who accidentally entered your domain.

You spread your wings and silently glide down to the floor, like an owl descending on its prey. He still doesn’t notice you when you land, wholly consumed by the contents of the tome.

“What does a ghoul need to know about imps? They are nothing more than low level spawn designed to bring energy back to Hell to feed Pandemonium.”

He jumps, dropping the book and staring up at you. You stare back with a neutral expression waiting for him to answer.

“I what huh where did you?!?” He flounders

You stand with your hands clasped behind your back looking at the book he dropped. You tilt your head and it hovers in the air for a moment before zipping off down the row of shelves to its proper place. He watches it fly off with a desperate look.

“Aw come on I just found that!”

“How did you find my domain little star?”

He blanches and whips his head around to look at you.

“I didn’t know this was your place. I am so so sorry. I was just trying to find what I needed, they’re starting to have me search the Ministry for any unwelcome entities like a weird guard dog and I wanted to just learn more about all the known entities so I’d know what’s a friend and what’s a foe and I kept walking cause couldn’t find and then I ended up here.”

You tilt your head listening to his rambles. He found the heart of the Ministry, my sanctuary, my domain, on accident?

“Do you know where you are little star?”

“The…the middle of the archives?” He squeaks out.

“Close” you hum “Do you know who I am?”

He shakes his head

“Do you know what I am?”

He shakes his head

“Fascinating. I am the Great President of Hell, governor of 36 legions. Or I was, until the Dark Lord himself decided my talents would be better suited assisting this cause. I am Knowledge.”

“You’re…a you’re Fallen.”

“I am.”

He has the exact opposite reaction to what you were expecting. His eyes light up and looks like he was just told the best news he’s ever received.

“This is perfect! Okay so what can you tell me about the creatures that are drawn here cause of the magic? How ‘on the lookout’ do I have to be about like dangerous things that want to kill people?”

“Are you not scared? Intimated?”

“I mean…I was at first but that’s just because you were so quiet. I’m usually the one popping into existence trying to scare everyone around me.”

You genuinely cannot believe the sincerity behind his words. You have never once had a creature speak so casually to you. It boggled your mind how natural he was. It drew you in.

“Well then, since you came here for knowledge then I will oblige. You may ask me anything you wish.”

You did not realize what you would start by saying that simple phrase. He spent the remainder of the day on your sofa picking your brain about every little thing he could think of. You had to admit, you find it very endearing. It had been a very long time since someone wandered down to your sanctuary for the simple sake of learning. You were happy to answer every single thing he asked you; you were happy to have someone to speak to, to share with.

Eventually it got to the point where he needed to leave and you bid him farewell with a promise.

“I find you interesting little Phantom. You are welcome to come here when you please. If you can find it again.”

He waves happily at you as he leaves, smile wide on his face.

~~~

Turns out, he would find it again. And again. And again. He made it a part of his weekly routine to visit at least once. He still occasionally came to you with questions about certain topics that he found interesting, but slowly his curiosity began to drift to you. For once in your very long existence you had no idea how to answer the questions thrown at you. It felt strange, foreign to talk about yourself. You couldn’t think of time you’ve ever been asked about yourself when beings came searching for knowledge.

“Why do you stay in this dingy place? I think you’d like the stars.”

“I’ve seen the stars, little Phantom. I saw their birth.”

“Yea but I bet you haven’t seen them from earth.”

“I suppose I haven’t” a twitch of a smile appears on your face.

“But to answer your question, I stay here of my own accord. I could very easily glamour whenever I want and walk among the congregation, but I do not wish to. This form is already very restrictive. I do not wish to push it farther.”

He looks thoughtful for a moment

“OH! I have an idea!”

You watch him spring up from where he was lounging to stand in the middle of the room. He freezes and turns to you.

“Uh if it’s not too much trouble.” He gestures to the embers of the fireplace.

You snap your fingers and the room is plunged into complete darkness. Not for long though. A soft purple glow starts to fill the space. It starts in the shape of lightning, but you watch Phantom’s expression change from serene to complete concentration as the light splits from his body. It’s no longer in harsh, jagged shapes, instead it’s taken the form of hundreds of little tiny balls of light. They dance around the space drifting softly through the air. One floats close to you and you reach your hands out to cup it, bringing it closer to your face.

“Light projection. This is amazing. This is one of the hardest skills for a ghoul of the stars to master.” You stare at the ball in awe before looking up to him.

He blushes slightly

“Yeah…I’m really jumbled up. Basics are hard for me but this stuff” he gestures with his arms causing more of the balls of light to swirl by “it comes so easily to me.”

“You are a gift to the universe little Phantom.”

“You can’t just say something like that!”

You stand and walk close to him, taking his hand.

“I can and I will. You are talented and beyond brilliant, a perfect image of The Old One’s creation. But you are also kind, strange for a demon but intriguing nonetheless. You are different from any creature I’ve met and I think that is a gift.”

He looks like he is going to cry and that confuses you. You didn’t think you said anything rude. You are even more confused when he wraps his arms around you, burying his head into the crook of your neck. You freeze. You don’t really know how to react. You couldn’t remember the last time you had physical contact with another being. You slowly mirror him, wrapping your arms tentatively around him. He starts to purr and you are very confused again.

When was that a feature?

When you feel his tail wrap around your arm you respond by wrapping your wings around him.

This is…nice.

You two stay like that until each one of the little purple lights die out. When it comes time for Phantom to leave he almost runs into a bookshelf trying to look at you as long as he can. Just before he’s out of sight he waves to you and you wave back. When he’s gone, you carefully touch the place on your arm where his tail was wrapped tight. You can still feel the tingle of the touch on your skin. You smile.

What is this?

[sherwees]

everything-is-fine-maybe-not-but-whatever (sequel to cflwasd)

cw : major character death, NONCON, violence, detailed-ish murder(s), kidnapping, torture, usage of drugs to knock out reader, descriptions of inflictions (bruises and scars) and just overall fucked shit.

side note : that one clip of Hendery saying “So pretty.” got me through this and I'll link it in the fic.

extra side note : ty for @ne0pearl and @imeunseoksbby for giving me this whole idea!! I tried not to disappoint.

Your mind maybe processed the rushing footsteps coming towards you along with the warmth of Hendery's cock leaving you but you definitely heard a strangled grunt from Hendery with a thud to the wall.

You fixed yourself or at least tempted to but seeing the scene of Hendery's face turning pale with Eunseok's unrelenting grasp on his neck from your peripherals irked you to do something. You were used to not interfering with Eunseok's usual quarrels with whomever.

Swinging your purse on your shoulder, you're met with Eunseok's dead stare with tears brimming, he seemed mad but actually upset for once. Hendery's veins protruded out of his hand as he slid up the wall, teeth clenched in hopes to control his breathing; his other hand fixing his crooked waistband to his underwear.

“Please go outside..” Eunseok says, tilting on one foot to grab his beanie from the ground.

You still and stare.

“Go. Outside.” His head was now turned to you and his voice cracked on the last word, he now shut his eyes with seething anger.

“But Kunhang–”

He slams the side of his fist to a wall, leaving a dent. “I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT– Just go outside.” He then smoothes his beanie out, huffing. Only then, you rush out the door; the summer heat causing your shirt to cling onto your body once more.

This was the only moment you could appreciate your house only being a block away, you could make it home fast and prepare for what he was going to do in a few.

You could only lay under your gray blanket, looking dejectedly at the scars on your thighs; lifting your thigh to observe the crimson heart from only a few minutes before. Hearing the door slam, you scrambled to run to the bathroom with an ache in your chest.

You grasped the oval pendant on your neck with a wince, sliding down the door with a sob until you heard calmer footsteps from the living room. The pendant now laid in your hand, the same pendant you honed on the marble basement floors when you were so fed up from the arguing, you wanted to kill the man.

You wanted to check but it might've been a trick just waiting to hit so you didn't even bother to peek outside until curiosity hit when you heard Eunseok's footsteps and a creak to the bed.

What?

Eunseok's gaze met your scared own immediately.

“Eunnie?” You mumbled.

“My sweet girl.” He rasped from the edge of the bed, arms wrapping around you once you came over with a weak crooked smile from his bleeding lip. The purple and blue splotches blooming amongst his neck and the slight tear at his shirt's neckline, your eyes widened in concern whilst you hugged his neck; smelling his strong cologne from his grey shirt whilst smoothing your hand to his torso.

He sighed, “Now what am I going to do with you..”

There was a sudden steel grasp to the base of your neck; Eunseok's veins leading from his shoulder to his forearm strained against the thin shield of tan skin. The spit accumulating in your narrowed esophagus caused you to kick and scratch at his back. Eunseok's eye twitched, his tense expression falling at once.

You felt something warm on your shirt... sticky.. He coughed concerningly enough to finally make you stare at the maroon emerging and painting his ribs. A profound narrow wound seemed to be stretching from his back to his center; It couldn't be?

Horror and concern jumped at your nerves, “No, no, no.” you murmured as Eunseok's eyes went dull, pupils expanded once he laid beside you. His eyes flickering from your frantic hands grabbing and gripping his shirt to the snot lining your upper lip, lips contorted as spit flew from the power of your strained cords.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” You straddled him into a hug, rocking his soon lifeless body as the blood spread on the sheets below you. His exposed rib knicked and scratched at your own, his heartbeat slowing at the rhythm of your curses.

It was now silent.

You couldn't even call the cops.

Feeling a sharp sensation poke into your palm, opening it there laid, your oval pendant, stained with blood.

You tossed and turned, what the fuck were you doing with a body only a few meters away, your significant other. You needed somewhere to go, he started to decay and every moment you checked on him; his skin got paler.

You couldn't take it. You then scowl and jump up to yank Eunseok's coat off the rack, his warm scent shooting up your nose; something to remember for some time. Where were you walking actually? was the only thing you thought whilst mindlessly walking through the quiet roads. The cold air brushed your exposed and torn knees, the street lights seemed a blur until you stopped at the same wooden door coincidentally.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

Your fist felt sore.

You bit your lip, enough for blood to draw. Your finger tips feathered the cold knob in hesitation, taking a shaken breath, you swung it open; the wind aiding it creepily.

One step.

Two steps.

Three–

“I've been waiting for you.” The grave voice scared you to the core, causing you to stop on your heel comically with a jagged breath. Stilling with a sigh, shoulders hunched as the door shut behind you with your coat sliding off slightly.

Hendery let out an exasperated grunt as his slender fingers trailed around your now-trembling shoulders. His pads rubbing smooth circles into your shoulders to soothe you, you felt like a statue within his presence once he turned you slowly. His eyes focused on your dismal ones as you attempted to look away at the sight of the red outline of Eunseok's fingers.

“There's no need to be ashamed baby, it's just a little boo-boo.” He coaxed in your ear, using his backhand of his navy sleeve to move your strands from your pretty face.

“You need to calm down, come with me.” In a trance, you did. You were mesmerized by his sweet voice down the hallway, the darkness didn't concern you until you felt a smooth, comfortable surface that laid behind you. Your eyes darting around the room until a cool air of wind hit your sweaty forehead, the moonlight then alluded through Hendery's window; illuminating half of his face. His eyes low and gazing deep into your own, his lips parted and plump.

You then felt something poke at your neck and a force, the substance causing you to go limp, your peripherals went black and you could only focus at Hendery's smirk tug at the corner of his lips. He waved his hand in your face, wincing at the pain forming in your retina; it was now that every time you would blink, it would hurt.

“So pretty~” was the only thing you heard until you fell into the abyss.

“How long has it been?” You mumbled as you scratched at your knees. You could barely remember what you've done in the past 24 hours, he hasn't been down here for about 3 days. The insanity nearly consumed your soul into nothingness, you started seeing figures run across the dimly lit room and noises from the corner. You only spoke back once and now he was overdoing it.

Did he want you to suffer? You now raised your knees to your chest but the shock of pain and exhaustion from the scabs and scars and days of starving just made you go limp. Raising your attention to something else, you stared at the jeans, jackets, stuffed animals, sweatshirts that Hendery considered “gifts” and lied saying that they were brand new. They were all Eunseok's but when you questioned him, he left for a few weeks but then brought a decaying finger in a bag just to leave you in hysterics.

Leading you to go into straight havoc; shredding clothes, ripping the stuffed animals and doing anything to get his attention but you eventually regretted it once he screamed at you for an hour about your ungratefulness and that you were going to be buried and forgotten right alongside your scum of a boyfriend.

The thought of being forgotten still itched the crevices of your mind till this day.

You wriggled your skirt off with scathed digits, the same one stained with the blood of your dead lover to examine your blemishes, fading and new. The bile raised at your throat and the tears overflowed your waterline as you copied Hendery's trail that he made on that same fateful day. You regained the feeling of your legs fully because of the pain that he inflicted on your lower region in general. Just being stubborn got you here and now you couldn't even escape, the times your punishments got worse just for “disobeying” him.

The times that you were paralyzed as he pounded his anger into you as his gruff voice would just spit all types of curses in your ear with his nails leaving prints in your plush thighs, when he would shove some type of pill down your throat just to wake up to an ache in your abdomen just to raise your shirt; met with scars and engravings of profanity, he even hyper extended your arm to make sure you were defenseless against him.

Footsteps came from above.

Locks twisted from the door that your eyes were glued on since the beginning of your stay, something warm flowed through your stomach. The excitement shooting an unexpected grin to your face, he's treated you so well, what could go wrong?

The light peaking from the door for a quick second then fading away. You didn't even notice Hendery walking over until he placed a harsh kick to your side, your legs went numb again.

“What did I tell you about ignoring me–”

“But I'm not.” You interrupted sternly but immediately shooting your hands up in front of your face with a whimper once he raised a hand.

“Still flinching? You know I'm not him.. I'm your true love.” He lowered to your level in a squat, the scar on his eyebrow fading from a previous struggle. You never realized you were spaced out until he boomed a “Hey!”, your attention back on the fuming eyes of his; causing you to shrivel away a bit.

“I believe I have a gift for you, I know you'll love it~” Hendery singsonged the last part of his sentence with a hug as he was now on his knees. “Sometimes, I think about knocking you up.. S’ you could be mine forever ya’ know.” The color drained from your face, your teary orbs meeting Hendery's intimidating ones.

“Come on~” He whined like a kid, his willful expression meeting your sore eyes. The pads of his finger were cold once they made contact with your shoulders, trembling.

“Imagine a little you and me running around our happy little home! I mean just think about it..” His tone becomes as soft as his other hand trailing up and down your thigh, massaging it.

“But I don't think I can.” You blubbered, looking down in shame.

“But you will.” Hendery swiftly pulled out something from his slacks, you could barely react once the familiar stinging of a needle penetrated your skin. Only a hiss could emit from your mouth as your body laid slack, everytime you would move your head even a bit; shapes flooded your vision.

“Y’ think you could talk back?” He manhandled you to the floor, the force felt painfully numb to your hipbone. The sound of a zipper resounded off the walls, your cries felt stuck like a cork in your throat. This might've been the end, you were weak and you felt as brittle as lead.

“You must've been just waiting for me, honey?” His digit toyed with your pantie line then shoved it down, you let out a miniscule screech once his cock nudge at your impaired hole. His tip then exceeded slowly into your heat, his hand slowly trailed up to your jaw gripping it as he lowered his upper half to your back.

“So fuckin’ tight, just how I remembered.” He choked in your ear, his pace became feverish as your face rubbed on the ground. You felt the life leave your body moderately, mumbling a “Kunhang, please..” as your fists closed and clenched.

“Fuck, you're bleedin’ but you'll stay f’ me alright?” He teased in your ear but slapped one of your bruises, causing you to discharge more blood on his member.

You missed the fine breezes from when Eunseok would take you on a walk at a forest preserve as an apology after hurting you similarly but only this time; nobody could save you from the inevitable coming closer with every blink.

You missed him so much.. His topaz eyes that matched his pretty wisps of hair and that same basketball jersey with his name embroidered on it but you'll never see him again.. alive.

But now, the only memories you had of him were fading with your own life.

[dailycharacteroption]

Mind Smith (Pathfinder Second Edition Archetype)

(art by SavvyBanani on DeviantArt)

Creativity is perhaps the greatest treasure of the human mind, a product of imagination that drives one to turn a thought into reality. Without it, ttRPGs would not be possible. Heck, this blog would not be possible both in the fact that I wouldn’t be writing it, and the fact that there would not be the technology to give me a space to do so in the first place.

Of course, creativity requires a lot more than just imagination. It requires materials and at least a basic understanding of how to use them.

But what if you could skip the material step, and create directly from the mind? Literally will something into existence?

While there are plenty of spells  that can do just that, conjure something imagined by the wielder, there are also those that can bring about a weaponized ideal without any magical training. With a thought, they can bring about a figment of a weapon so detailed that it has an effect on reality. Such practitioners, these “mind smiths” can never truly be disarmed, and can prove to be incredible masters of their tulpa weapon.

Now, if you’re at all familiar with the vast ocean of archetypes for First Edition, your mind might be bringing up names like “Mind Blade or Spellblade Magus”, or “Gloomblade Fighter” and the like. And you’d be right to do so, for this archetype certainly does serve as a way to emulate those concepts and more in this edition (though I’d still check out my conversion of the Spellblade to Second Edition on my Patreon).

Of course, the exact specifics of how these warriors create their weapons can vary a lot. They might draw upon quasi-real shadows, or have honed the idea of their weapons through training. Or maybe they were blessed with the ability to do so by some greater will or happenstance. The specifics only really matter for character flavor and story. But for now, let’s see exactly what the archetype can offer.

Naturally, the dedication to this archetype grants the power to create such a weapon, though it’s specifics vary. Some have a smaller, more agile weapon, while other have a larger weapon with reach. Either way, the damage dealt can vary by day. Furthermore, they learn to create a small keepsake such as a bit of jewelry or a small figurine which, while on their person, lets them channel the magic runes on it into their weapon, improving it’s power to be comparable to a real magic weapon.

With a thought, many wielders can briefly shift their projected weapon to a form that acts as a mobility aid, letting them leap further.

Many also infuse their weapon with magical force, making them perfectly suitable for fighting ghostly foes.

Those with the skills can also shape their weapon into useful tools for whatever they are working on, though only one tool at a time, not a whole kit.

As they grow in mastery, many refine the shape of their weapon to emulate a handful of useful quirks to it, such as multiple striking surfaces, an entangling shape, the weight to knock foes back, and so on.

A fun thing about a mental weapon is that breaking it doesn’t do much, but scattering the shards of your weapon can be a deadly attack against multiple foes, shredding them before reforming the weapon.

Some are able to prepare slightly different alternate shapes for their mental weapon, letting them switch to a slightly different fighting style when needed.

Rather than a conical blast, some are also capable to channeling a projectile through their mental weapon, striking from afar.

Others still learn to be able to add a different enchantment to their weapon each day, adding things like flame and frost to the equation as needed.

With enough practice, their weapon can even reflect the properties of cold iron or silver.

Finally, powerful mind smiths can learn to add alignment-based runes, as well as swap out their temporary runes on the fly.

This is a fun archetype if you want your character to never be without a weapon (which does require some finangling if the GM wants to do any scenario in which the party is captured.) It’s also got some fun ways to upgrade and use the weapon in battle. Naturally, martial classes are the best pick here, ranging from fighters and swashbucklers who want a signature weapon with a little pizazz, to champions that channel their righteous might into a blade, to the rogue that always seems unarmed until their not, and even the occasional spellcaster that has a special trick up their sleeve for emergencies (as well as every tool they need for crafting). Either way, their power is certainly fun and impressive.

When playing a character like this, it can be fun to design your mental weapon. Does it resemble a real weapon? Is it a unique creation? Does it have clearly defined edges and design, or is it more of a blurry shape with an all too solid edge or striking surface? Your imagination (and therefore your character’s) is the only guiding factor here.

Ever since seeing one as a young child, Alban has never gotten the image of an elven curve blade out of his mind. The young dromaar tried to recall over and over again every detail of the weapon from his mind, until the time came that he discovered he could project it to his hand. His orcish kin may disdain his choice of shape, but the image of that weapon was a formative experience for him, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

The western reach of Veltala Forest has been overcome with a blight that has given it the name “Skitterwood”. An apt name, as it infests the very trees with eggs that grow at irregular and unnatural rates, resulting in all manner of insectile horrors. However, the guardian druids are fighting back, enlisting the forest’s denizens and wielding spears drawn from their very will against the encroaching horror.

They say that in the temple of the God of Justice in Port Maw, the champions there train in an unusual technique, focusing their idea of justice into the image of a weapon until they can call it forth to strike down the servants of wickedness. However, despite the religious nature of the order, they are open to teaching the technique to others, as long as they prove good of heart.

[heart-of-neptune]

Your life in a movie:

Pick whichever one you want. This one gave more guidance than I expected. I liked it.

Pile 1:

In this movie, you are a god. You hold power that can be used to create life. Your life is filled with wealth, abundance, and so much more. You have a beautiful garden in which you spend your time honing your powers and skills. You didn’t become this powerful overnight or maybe you did? No one actually knows. What I do know is that you spend a lot of time training without any expectations. You remain calm knowing that the more you practice, the better you become. You have no enemies because everyone knows you are constantly getting more and more powerful so they let you be. You train with every tool and element at your disposal, mastering each of them knowing that there is no true mastery because there is always something new to learn.

A gazelle and a wolf are guiding you at this moment. They say to pay attention to your surroundings and be sure to lead with openness and acceptance. Make your home is a place that feels good. 

Pile 2:

In this movie you have wings. Whether literal or figurative is up to you. You are able to fly in this world. Nothing can hold you back here. You are completely balanced in the spiritual and physical world due to being able to ground yourself effortlessly. You have an angelic presence in whatever way the word means to you. It is pure energy. You live your life gracefully and you are known to be strong, flexible, and adaptable. You are always looking up to the stars looking like you are far away even while your body stays planted on the ground. You inhabit both the seen and the unseen worlds at the same time and it’s almost like you are multiple beings at the same time. Your ability to be present in both worlds allows you to move through life in a state of bliss. Strangely enough, an owl and mouse are guiding you. The mouse sees all the finer details of the physical world which keeps you grounded while the owl helps you see all the things hidden in the dark. Pay attention to all the messages you receive in both the waking world and the dream world. The details the mouse points out in both will prove to be important. The owl will point out all abundances and wealth that you've yet to see. 

Pile 3:

In this movie, you are more on the still side of things. Most of your fast movement occurs on a mental and spiritual level. Your physical movements may happen on the slower end of things because you take your time to put things into action. Once you decide to do something, things happen rapidly. You are constantly shedding skin, old beliefs, and thoughts, and transforming. This is due to you being constantly inspired by either yourself or the world around you. You are always on the move whether that be physically or mentally or spiritually. You do find stillness in nature but even then you are aware that there is always movement, even in nature. Nothing remains the same forever. You rest your mind as often as needed because your ability to transform so rapidly stems from your mind. Your mind holds your power. This is how you are able to create a world you enjoy. Fireflies and butterflies surround you at this time. They guide you on a journey of inspired transformation that actually feels good and holds no discomfort for it is only filled with unlimited and unending inspiration. Trust yourself and your guides and let yourself change into what feels great.

[briaberri]

“I dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. ‘Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.’ ‘I can help her,’ said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing from his fingers as he extended a hand.”

I'm entirely pro Elain. But, before she was much featured in the text, I lived in the shadow camp. Full of questions, curious about details, intrigued by what was left unsaid, wondering about the quiet depths of a character born in the dark and held close to the chest.

Most the characters are on an arc of self-acceptance, self-worth, self-redemption. They're trauma-processing through the internalized lessons they've learned, that grind all of that into dust. They're trying to become heroes of their own stories. Az' captivated me with cues about the subtle subtext sensitivities in his character. He's not just looking for redemption, he's looking for an expression of his inner self that doesn't have an outlet in the world he lives in. One line sank him and his journey home in my heart: "I can help her." <3

Azriel is a character whose most noted trait is his reserve and restraint (until it's not). Why? A sense of unworthiness, shame about his lineage, complexity regarding the blood on his hands, wrapped in a desire to nurture and shield others. He's a character that says a lot of love with very few words. I imagine the seeds of revelation and release that start to bud -- ripping the flesh of their long germination and turning their reach their tendrils to the sun -- when he not only tells the room but realizes to himself that he can help her. Not, 'kill for her', not 'torture her enemies', not 'avenge her', not 'burn down cities to her feet'. He can fight for her though peace, through resonance, through shelter, through soft care, through patience and companionship, through simple domesticity (yes please!), through the absolute opposite of every tool he's typically got access to exercise. His shadows are gone because this is Azriel, shining.

Call back to the vulnerability hinted at when he states that he'll teach Feyfey to fly.

Call back to Feyre, noticing how relaxed and at peace Elriel are in the garden, but his attire is so at odds with the naturality of their companionship there.

I wonder what a release it is for his character to finally take that restrained, true self -- not the one he developed and honed to survive the world as the creature he is -- and pour it into well-being, into life -- for someone vulnerable. Azriel wants to take care of a person with tenderness, gentleness, to shelter space for a shared blossoming wholeness that isn't proven by the ability to spill blood, banter, and hold it's own. This tells me mountains about his character, and how he sees value in others. I think he needed what he pours into her, in those early disorienting days. I think Az sees a kindred spirit without the help of a warrior's body. He wants to be a warrior for her broken spirit. Her broken spirit doesn't need bloodshed. I don't know what's more loyal than when love is born of empathy.

I imagine how deeply it impacted him to realize that he could help Elain, and what kind of slow dam rupture of hope began to spill. He couldn't help Mor. He was too young to help his mother. He couldn't help Rhys. He couldn't help the sisters facing the Cauldron. He feels responsible. Azriel doesn't condescend Elain. He feels awed by the gift of a chance to help her.

I see the moment a very young child holds a newborn for the first time with all the sacred, instant sense of responsibility, desire to help, and recognition that adults have words for, but they may not.

I see those cutsie photos of fawns curled up with dogs and such.

Azriel wants Elain to to restore and thrive, knowing the chaos, violence, and overwhelm of their world and all it's powers. He recognizes that for once, he can be instrumental in care. and that is irresistible, not just because he cares for Elain, but because this lets him walk in his true self. To not restrain. That's not selfish... it's truthful. So, he steps forward on the cusp of exposure, full of the reverence and hope at the advent that he's free to release shields, and offers his hands. It has with all the tremulous hope of a childling waiting for that crack of light under the door of a dungeon to open to sunlight -- who realizes this time, he can open it.

[enigmaticexplorer]

Thrawn Headcanons

Warnings: explicit sexual material (minors DNI); female!reader referred to as Thrawn’s partner.

A/N: I’m rewatching Rebels and I’ve been in a Thrawn mood for months after finishing both canon series. Being my favorite Star Wars character aside, I’ve never seen headcanons of him. So I wanted to take a stab.

SFW

1.     Thrawn likes children. He likes their curious nature and always takes time to answer their questions, nudging them to think about answers and work through problems themselves. Patient and methodical in his approach, Thrawn believes educating and preparing future generations to be inquisitive, analytical, and detail-oriented is instrumental to the survival and success of the Ascendancy.

2.     Museums—specifically art and history museums—dominate Thrawn’s days off work. He takes his time (at least half a day) observing and reading the exhibits, appreciating unique aspects to different cultures, and studying the art and history of these cultures to better understand their actions—military or otherwise. Sometimes he loses track of time and an announcement that the museum is closing will surprise him. It’s one of the few times he’s caught off guard.

3.     Thrawn does not understand politics, and it frustrates him. He’s spent years honing his military and analytical skills, so to be bested by politics irks him. He views problems through an analytical mindset that can be solved through logistics. But politics is not black-and-white, and people act on their personal—sometimes greedy and/or selfish—motivations (in both the Ascendancy and the Empire). Thrawn believes in pursuing the good of the Ascendancy, and the good of the galaxy at large. He doesn’t understand how individuals pursue their own greed over the survival and success of a galactic union.

4.     Perceiving the world around him through an analytical and logical mindset, Thrawn can be seen as emotionless and unfeeling. This isn’t accurate. Thrawn cares for others, in his own way. He sees the potential in others and he wants to help them reach that potential. It doesn’t matter if it’s a child wanting to learn how to fly or an officer proving themselves worthy of a promotion, Thrawn wants to see his subordinates and general citizens succeed. And he will provide them with the tools and means to succeed. That’s how he shows he cares.

5.     Thrawn saves his genuine smiles for specific moments—achievements. He does smile on the occasion (especially when a child works through a problem), but his genuine smiles are rare. They can make anyone feel special and appreciated.

6.     With a constant yearning to learn, Thrawn enjoys spending time at a museum with his partner. He will challenge your thinking on certain beliefs, and he expects you to challenge his own. Your interest in specific exhibits piques his curiosity and, after your visit, he will spend hours learning everything he can on your subjects of interest simply to share in your fascination.

7.     Being with Thrawn is a learning experience. Logic dominates his mindset and he finds it difficult, at times, to understand the more emotional side to his partner. He wants a partner who is independent—who isn’t emotionally reliant on him—and recognizes his unique ways of showing love.

8.     Thrawn doesn’t verbalize his love and, from face value, it can seem like he views his partner as a colleague and nothing more. But he shows his love through the time spent together, by welcoming you into his home and sleeping in his bed; he shows his love through simple gestures, like learning everything about your interests/beliefs to engage with you, observing what piques your attention in a marketplace and later gifting it to you, knowing your drink preference and preparing it for you each morning to take one extra thing off your plate.  

9.     Thrawn is not neglectful with his attention and care, but he does emphasize the importance of his work (the man is trying to protect his people and other species from a Grysk takeover—that shit requires lots of his time and attention). He desires a partner who isn’t clingy or demanding of his time; someone who respects his dedication to his work and supports him. Someone who doesn’t balk at his drive and understands when he can’t make it home until late at night.

10.     It’s never a dull evening in Thrawn’s kitchen. Innovative, Thrawn prefers to experiment with recipes—mixing herbs, introducing new seasonings, trying different methods. He likes to perfect variations of the same recipe—keeping true to the source material—and he especially loves when you join him. Music in the background and you both contributing to the meal’s preparation, is a simple way for Thrawn to wind down after a busy day at work. And if you—in the middle of preparing dessert—tease him by splattering some whip cream on his face, he’ll return the favor to your neck or collarbone, and he won’t hesitate to lick it off. Possibly leading to more intimate areas for whip cream extravaganzas.

NSFW

1.     Inventive and perceptive, Thrawn seeks to understand your body and its most sensitive spots. He dedicates time to learning the intricacies of your body, and he’s meticulous in his desire to know every way to make you orgasm. Curiosity dominates his thinking and he will never stop trying to find new ways to bring you pleasure.

2.     Enhanced senses—from the ability to detect increased body heat to scenting the beginning of arousal—allow Thrawn to be in tune with your body. He knows when you’re aroused, and more often than not, a quick scan of your body can tell him what exactly you need in that moment. (The best thing for more reserved partners who don’t like to verbalize their wants.)

3.     Thrawn has a particular interest in making you orgasm just from nipple play. He will hold your hips firmly, making sure you don’t grind your clit against him, and experimentally lick, suck, and bite until you’re orgasming.

4.     Never one to shy from using all at his disposal, Thrawn likes to experiment with vibrators. He has a collection, each with its own purpose based upon menstrual cycle, time of day, and particular sensitivity to stimulation.

5.     Thrawn likes to make you orgasm. Needing to test your limits and challenge his own beliefs about your body, he takes immense pleasure in your orgasms and his success.

6.     Thrawn prefers control in the bedroom. He derives pleasure from seeing you squirm beneath him—dominating the pace in which he fucks you, flattening your hands to the mattress, tying your wrists to the headboard.

7.     From behind, Thrawn will grip your hips and fuck you hard, fuck you deep until you’re nearing your orgasm, and then he’ll hold you in place, feeling you strain against him as you try to find rhythm again, chuckling at your desperation, massaging your hips and ass as he starts a slower pace, edging you back to the brink.

8.     Eye contact is a favorite of Thrawn’s. He likes to put a pillow beneath your back so you can take him deeper, and when you wrap your legs around his hips, he’ll growl his pleasure. Legitimately growl.

9.     From extensive research and experimentation, Thrawn has perfected rhythmic thrusts. Hard, fast, slow, rough. It doesn’t matter the style: he has technique for every scenario. He could double as a male stripper from his impressive hip maneuverability, alone.

10.     Disciplined in his work, Thrawn loves when you sit beneath his desk and suck on his cock. It’s a nice challenge to him—to see if he can sort through the details of his work while you bring him pleasure. Once finished, he’ll stroke your hair and as he’s seeing you out his door, he’ll casually whisper he’ll return the favor later. The promise is a type of foreplay—to let you know what’s coming but to make you wait.

11.     Thrawn has an imperceptible possessive nature to him that only you know about. Marks on your inner thighs, the swells of your breasts, and especially your hips are his physical reminders that you belong with him.

[odysseywritings]

The Dead Moth and Other Ghosts

@flashfictionfridayofficial

(tw insect cruelty imagery)

Christian passed by a church while commuting to the hospital and wondered when was the last time he prayed. One memory after another flowed into him. Some good, some bad, some funny, some embarrassing. The past had its place and he wanted to move on, keep his head on, and focus on the current, the here and now.

Pre-med made the time fly and gave him the need for exorcizing anxiety. It felt nice to contribute to the physical betterment of humanity without any nagging reflection. But today was slower and he needed to fill the time with studying. He honed in on vivisection, amputation, pain and other stimulation, and consciousness. All of it to help humanity but there was something else he walked away from.

Despite the blood and guts, medicine was the perfect example of humanity's scientific hand, to defy disease and ailment and even halt death. It was the cleanest arm in all of mankind's dealings. Christian believed it. But another part of him, nameless, shadowed him and wormed its way into his consciousness.

"Christian," the voice chirped. "Did I cause this?"

He peered deeper into his book to drown out the now echoing voice.

"Be honest with me, if not for yourself. Would you really want to become a doctor if you never saw me? How much I ignited the sparks of childlike curiosity?"

Christian accepted the voice existing but feebly ignored it until his steel fortress bent. He saw the apparition in full detail and magnified. A moth flying in front of him, missing limbs and a head.

"You can always change. No one has to stay ignorant of his actions. Or to deny his powerless understanding of the world. You thought an afterlife existed and that I was a step above a toy. A play thing. Like the ants you saw your cousin incinerate."

Christian swallowed in rage and sadness. He didn't mean to cause pain. He was a dumb kid who knew nothing. He wasn't a serial killer in waiting. He swatted the moth but his hand went through the wobbling sight.

"It's different. Your hands. Those tiny, curious things. The intimacy of it. Is that why you want to be a doctor? So you can control life and death in a nice, wealthy way? Bugs come and go, there's no hard feelings. But don't be surprised if a god exists and treats you the same."

Christian grabbed his book and slammed it against his wrist, again, again, again, until it numbed him. He trembled from the pain so he could transfer the guilt into something visible. The moth flew closer to his eyes in violent motions.

"All things want to live. Even if it means using something else to raise yourself. Don't kid yourself if you feel like a messiah. You can't bring back what you kill."

Christian breathed in ragged bursts, sweating, and ran his fingers through his dampened hair. The same fingers crawling down his face. The same ones that decide life and death. His blood froze.

"I don't know what this human emotion you're going through is. I take it it's not good by how many fluids are coming out of you, so take this. I'm already gone. No amount of life saving, or death dealing, or sulking, or avoiding changes that. Nothing."

Christian stood silent, shaking. The headless, limbless moth floated onto his nose.

"But what you can do is improve. Even back then, you saw and realized what you did was wrong without your mother or teacher or priest telling you. Maybe if not me, something worse might've happened. Who cares? You are alive and you can change. There are innocent children who never learn and become killers. If you do care, so be it. But history alone doesn't control who you are or what you must do to atone."

The moth ghost vanished once he blinked. Christian's senses were returning and the world stabilized. He closed the book in a hurry and walked inside the building to burn up anxiety. His trot stopped as he found a fluttering moth hovering by the ground. He thought about leaving it be or killing it to remove the pest, but he knew it was just a tiny bug that just wanted to exist.

He clasped his hands around the confused insect and carried it until he went outside and let it fly away. Deep down he knew this sentiment wouldn't amount to much, and that the moth wouldn't repay the favor and save his life in the future. But it got to live when death could've arrived just as normal. It wouldn't be an exciting life of heroism and triumph, and that's perfect for it, as life can win another day.

[bish-plz-haha]

Just Pretend (a kagehina fanfic)

Just a little snippit of something I wrote a while ago and posted on AO3. If you wanna, you can read it here. (I also knew next to nothing about the ending so... OC's galore and OOC characters! That's my style. Lmao)

"Hey, Kageyama! What's up?" Hinata answered cheerfully. Kageyama could hear that stupid smile of his through the phone.

"Can I ask you a favour?" Kageyama cautiously asked. A pause on the other end of the phone made his heart pound in his chest. Kageyama wasn't sure why he was so nervous, but he was. And this was his last resort. He nervously waited for the reply that seemed to take forever to come.

"Sure!" Hinata finally said after a moment. Kageyama let out a breath and tried to figure out how to word his question but eventually gave up and just decided to go for it.

"Will you go on a date with me? Not like a real date or anything but like, my teammates invited me to this group date thing and I tried looking for a date but I cant fine someone and it's tomorrow and for some reason I thought it'd be a good idea to ask you. I understand-"

"Kageyama-"

"-if you say no. It's a stupid request anyway. Actually, you're probably going to say no anyway, so please just forget I ask-"

"Kageyama." Hinata tried again, his voice stern. It rattled Kageyama. This time, Kageyama paused and waited. "Don't just assume things for me. If you need a date that badly, I'd be happy to go." Hinata heard Kageyama sigh in what he assumed was relief. Or maybe Kageyama was just catching his breath. Hinata couldn't really be sure, but Kageyama definitely sounded calmer.

"Thanks, Hinata. I owe you one." Hinata couldn't help but giggle.

"Okay, what's the dress code and where and when do you want me to meet you?"

They sorted out the details and chatted a bit longer. Hinata had told Kageyama all about the team he was now playing with.

"You should see this one guy. He plays number 17 on our team. He's a wing spiker like me, but he's an actual giant! Last time we measured, he was one hundred and ninety eight centimetres!" Kageyama listened as Hinata rambled on about his teammates and his fans. He told Kageyama how, when he was in Europe for a vacation, he was recognised by a university student.

"So how have things been? I haven't really talked to you in over a year, Kageyama. You really gotta keep up with us more." Hinata asked as he finished rambling. Kageyama heard a voice in the background. "Oh, by the way, Suga and Daichi say hello."

Kageyama couldn't help but grin at their names. He remembered their days together fondly. Sugawara and Daichi followed them all through their high school career. They were always up in the stands, cheering Kageyama and Hinata on, along with the others, of course. Kageyama owed so much to Sugawara and Daichi as they reshaped him into a team player. They taught him how to fight alongside his teammates instead of with them. After middle school, Kageyama had an intense fear of teamwork. He would've rather done everything himself than rely on others. But Sugawara and Daichi really taught him the value of trusting in your teammates to have your back.

"Tell them I said hello back. I haven't seen them in a long time." Kageyama said sadly as he heard Hinata tell them what he had said. "But yeah. Um, I've been good. A lot of training. I've been running a lot in the mornings before practice. And when we practice, I usually work on my receives and spikes. They say that I should hone my setting skills more than anything but I'd like to be better at things that dont come as naturally - though we also got a lot of practice of that in high school." Kageyama chuckled at the memories of Coach Ukai making them do flying laps. And the training camps with tokyo powerhouse schools were no better.

"That's great, Kageyama! I just usually wait for practice to do my running. My coach, Hiragi Tamojikato, is very strict on everything we do. From our diets to how we train. He watches us and gives us meal guides and everything! It's a pain, but I'm glad for it."

Kageyama loved hearing about Hinata's life as a professional volleyball player. They had a match-up once before after they were recruited to their now-teams. But Kageyama liked to keep up with his best friend. Though, as Hinata had previously stated, Kageyama failed to do that in the past year as he had been super busy with travelling and training and playing matches. But he kept up with Hinata through articles and interviews from Hinata's current team.

"Ya know, maybe we could get the old team back together some time. Asahi works in Sendai. And Yamaguchi and Tsuki are together in Hiroshima - though I'm not sure what they're doing there." Hinata giggled. One thing Kageyama noticed through his conversation with Hinata was that the orange haired boy wasn't using that stupid grammar he used to. The words of 'fwah!' and 'bwam!'. He kinda missed it but knew that as they grew older, Hinata probably grew out of his adolescent speech. Well, Kageyama figured it was that, or he just didn't want to embarrass himself in front of professional players.

"Kageyama? Are you listening?" Hinata questioned from the other end of the phone. Kageyama hummed. "I said that I have to go now but I'll meet you at your apartment around four thirty okay?" Kageyama hummed again and smiled, saying his goodbye to his best friend and hanging up the phone. Kageyama laid back on his bed, the plush mattress combined with the soft duvet allowed his body to sink into it. Kageyama stared up at the ceiling, grinning to himself as he thought of what the next day would bring, completely in the moment and forgetting that Hinata was only coming over to be his pretend date.

[nicolewoo]

Super Earth Part 3 Liftoff

Pairing: Roman Reigns X Reader

Warnings: None

I opened the door, and the cameras went wild. I waived shyly as I took my seat next to Jamie.  Roman’s seat was on the other end of the table. The crowd of press settled down quickly.

“Sorry to be late. I was handling last minute details.”

“Everything ok?” My boss asked.

I smiled, “Just checking the pollen counts of his samples.” I replied.

“Captain Y/N?” The reporters clamored for my attention.

I chose Leslie first. She had done great coverage of our last mission, “Captain, this is your third mission?” I nodded yes. “And the longest too. It’s well known that you asked for this mission.”

I interrupted “asked…. Begged…. Bribed….” The audience laughed.

“Why this particular mission?” Great question Leslie. She knew I could easily answer it.

I exhaled as I sat up a little. “Our planet is wounded. We are too populated, too polluted. Colonies like the one on Super Earth can be our saving grace. Think of it, an entire planet larger than our own where humanity can expand and ease our burden on Earth. The Super Earth colonists, headed by amazing scientists like this group” I motioned to the group we were taking “have learned to make electricity from the tides of the ocean.”

Jamie added, “it’s not perfected yet.”

I nodded to her. “Right, but here’s my point. The colony was built with zero damage to Super Earth. Zero. We have sworn not to ruin Super Earth by poluting there. The colonists had to learn to work with the planet instead of against it. Imagine what we can do to heal our own planet once these technologies are perfected. Getting scientists to the planet is essential. I want to do my part.”

Jamie jumped in before the press could ask a question. “Plus, we” she motioned to indicate her and me “get a three month vacation on the planet.” She leaned back in her chair as the crowd laughed.

“Yeah well,” Dr. Rhea Ripley, one of three scientists from Australia, said as she leaned back the same way Jamie did “I get a 9 month vacation while you two drive.” The crowd laughed.

Dr. Reigns’ low voice filled the room “Speak for yourself! I’ve got plants to tend to! A botanist’s job is never done.” The press loved the banter.

“In truth,” I started, “These scientists will be doing experiments the whole way. In fact, I’ve seen their schedules. It’s pretty booked.”

Roman answered “and on top of that, Captain YLN has just agreed to teach me how to fly the ship!” He’d thrown me for a loop, but I recovered my composure quickly.

“See? They’ll be busy.” I said. More laughter.

“So what WILL you do on your three month vacation Captain?” A reporter asked.

“I plan on learning about the planet and all the work being done there. But if I get the time, I was hoping to hone my chess skills.”

The innocuous answer barely registered with the press. They immediately asked Jamie the same question. She joked about getting a tan on the ocean planet, but I couldn’t listen, because I could feel Roman’s stare boring into me. The answer wasn’t innocuous to him. He understood my message, and when I allowed myself to look over at him for a second, I found him smiling.

————————————————————

Jamie hit the intercom button and motioned me to start. “Crew, passengers, we are getting ready to take off. For those of you who haven’t done this before, remember to tighten your seatbelt, turn your seat toward the cockpit and take deep breaths. If you get nauseous, close your eyes and try to relax.”

The radio clicked “Explorer, are you ready for takeoff?” Jamie answered the base.

“If you get too sick, there’s a container right by your left hand. Use it and close it. Remember we will not have gravity for this part of our trip, so if you don’t cover it, you might end up with some on you.”

“Explorer, We are ready to count on your mark.” The radio crackled again.

“Just a reminder, this is my third mission, and I haven’t lost anyone yet.” I joked through the intercom. “Just listen to me, and I’ll get you through this. We’re going to start our count down now.”

I nodded at Jamie and she answered again. “Base, we are ready. Start the count.”

We fired up the engines.

10. I checked my own seatbelt and nodded to Jamie.

9. “Let’s do this.” She said.

8 We were preparing for liftoff, checking dials, levels, buttons, all last minute checks.

7  My brain was doing continuous checks on the ships systems.

6 Roman was back there. Was he scared? Will he get sick?

5 I had to be perfect on this mission. I had to keep him safe.

4 I had a whole ship of people to keep safe. 40 total.

3 The silence in the cockpit was broken now by only the sound of the engines.

2 “Let’s do this!” Jamie said.

1 “Here we go.” I said over the intercom

———————————————

“Doctor Thorp, how are our passengers?” I asked. Thorp was our doctor. We’d worked together on two missions and were friends.

Thorp’s response was fast, “Only two pukers and 4 passed out.”

“Pretty good.” I joked back. “Everyone recovered?”

“Yup. They’re up and moving and brushing their teeth.” He laughed.

I unbuckled myself, getting out of my seat and stretching. Jamie did the same. “Who do you think puked?” she asked.

Mentally, I ran through our passenger list. “The scientist from Norway.” I guessed and she agreed. “And….. Canada… that Zayne guy.”

“No way! She laughed. It’s the German guy….. GUNTAR!!!” She overly pronounced it like he did. “It’s always the big guys.”

Checking the ship’s controls I chortled, “Wanna put $20 on it?” She shook my hand to seal the bet.

 “Who do you think passed out? Not that hottie from the US!” Her devious smile said more than her words.

I had to hide my face, before she realized I was hiding something. I busied myself looking at the communications panel. “Dr. Reigns? Nah, he’s one of those guys that never loses control.” I mused.

“I gotta say, I’m glad he’s on this trip. Great eye candy.” She fanned herself with her clipboard indicating he was hot. If she only knew…. Those muscles. That tattoo…. His Adonnis Belt……………..

I took a deep breath and tried to calm my body, but it didn’t comply. “He’s definitely handsome” I replied casually, and she must have believed the act, because she changed the subject.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you. I did manage to get a copy of that TV show you wanted…. The Tudors?” She said. “Wanna watch some tonight?”

I needed a quick distraction, “Don’t think I can. I need to meet with Dr. Zayne about his experiment.” I tried to sound casual.

Jamie looked at me, cocking her head to the side. “What’s going on?” She didn’t believe me. “What is your interest in all these scientists?” She didn’t suspect it was Reigns…. She thought something was going on with all the scientists.

Giving her the completed checklist, I looked directly at her. “Nothing…. Just….” I hesitated, trying to think what to say. Suddenly, I had an idea. “It’s top secret.”

She was shocked. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know.”

That lie bought me some time.

————————————-

My phone beeped, and I opened it to find Roman’s stunning face smiling at me. “Hey, you alone?”

I nodded. “Yes, but what would have done if I’d said no?”

He laughed, “I was going to pretend some of my research was top secret, and you had clearance.”

“Thinking on your feet Dr. Reigns? Well done!” I smiled at him.

“I think it’s a little late to be calling me Dr. Reigns” he laughed. “Just call me Roman.”

“Agreed.” I answered, “and you can call me Captain YLN” I teased.

He rolled his eyes at me. “Can I come see you tonight?”

“No.” I answered quickly. “We have to be more careful than that. Why don’t we meet in your lab?”

“That’s pretty public!” He protested.

I laughed. “Just trust me, please.”

He laughed. “Ok. My lab. 10 minutes?”

__________________________________________________________________________________

@mindofasagitarius @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist @marlananicole @wickedsunfire @starwithaheart @spookys-girl @pitlissa22 @snowpanda18 @thesamoanqueen @sassginaswanmills

[theomnicode]

Reasons to love OPM & little tidbits #7

Small characterization details that are easy to miss ep7:

Saitama is far better at strategy than given credit for

As it turns out, he thinks about a lot of strategy and acts on the instinctual level because he is in fact, a very experienced battler at this point and who wouldn't be, after 3 years of monsters?

Tossing the moon rock around is just tip of the iceberg in how much Saitama actually instinctually strategizes within battles.

Getting into a melee range with a psychic of Tatsumaki's caliber could only be possible if he at first didn't pull any attention towards himself. In such a position, if he was a mean person, Tatsumaki would've already been defeated when he approached her from her blind spot. Someone who was more inclined to establish themselves as person of note could not be able to maneuver like this.

Not just the more obvious maneuvering around the battlefield that occured in these latest chapters, like pulling Tatsumaki out of the civilian zone, Saitama employs multitude of other strategic points in his own combat.

Such as using terrain to his advantage. On multiple occasions we've seen him jump from rocks to rocks and using launched items like rockets to maneuver around in the air and even the opposition like Genos or Garou. He can't fly, but he can make it seem like he can fly.

Herding his opponents around the field to tire themselves out so they are less inclined to fight him is part of his battle strategy, but how he does this is plain annoy, mock and use psychological tricks to antagonize his opponents into surrendering or attacking him, like he did twice in the Garou fight and once against Boros. Inciting his enemies to attack him instead of the possible civilians around makes them easier to herd around in the battlefield to go where he wants them to go and do what he wants them to do.

Such maneuvering allows for easy counterattacks when enemies get frustrated and attack with very direct movement that is easy to block and even grapple. He grabs Garou's fist not once, but twice if we include the redraw just because Garou ultimately gets extremely frustrated at his lack of progress and Saitama notes that the only progress Garou made was shred his outfit and man, he only totally noticed it just now and it's getting a bit cold, like he hadn't fought for solid minutes with nothing on.

(Solid way to piss someone off, certainly)

When someone gets too frustrated to fight and starts to fight like this, they become predictable and so, Saitama grabs his fist into an iron lock he has no hopes of getting out, besides with a surprise maneuver of surprise blinding Saitama.

Not the first and last time Saitama uses psychological trick to outstrategize his opponent. It is in human nature to not look up either when he moves so fast even Garou is confused at where he went. We instinctually do not expect attacks from the sky, rather than from the ground level.

(Pretty sure I read this from somewhere, I could be wrong ofc)

Last but not least; allowing himself to get pummeled just to show how ineffective his enemy's attacks are is another strategy to just wear down his opponents so he can finish the fight without killing the opposition if at all possible. And allowing himself to get pummeled, only to switch strategy midway and grab an uncoming fist is an unexpected move. Saitama can deliver devastating counterattacks if he ever needs to, even if someone happened to be great at martial arts. If someone wants to fight him, they're going to have to kick his ass to the curb and and get counterattacked.

Tatsumaki fight offers an interesting strategizing point because Saitama is inclined to want to finish the fight as fast as possible now. So mistaking Saitama as dodging and running away because he has no ideas how to handle it will be costly, because allowing him to think up a new strategy will just be their undoing and he'll only hone himself and his instinctual fighting style through numerous battles to become devastatingly efficient.

The weaknesses with his strategy is ofc, longer duration of the fight allows for more things happening and his strategy to even be turned on it's head and work against him in a horrible way, but I can't fault Saitama for trying to be nice guy and not try to cripple his enemies by using slightly bit too much force when he hasn't approximated the amount of force he needs to use to defeat his enemy. We know he has to really focus on opening even a bag of chips so he accidentally doesn't send them all flying and just a minor bump from that was enough to scramble Genos and his memory.

Take care Tatsumaki, Saitama is soon to have a solid strategy against OP espers as well. Everything you fling at him can become his weapon.

[downwiththeficness]

The Usurper-Chapter Five

Summary: Lilah McNamara stole things for a living. It was tedious work and often dangerous, which made it just exciting enough to keep her interested. After botching a routine job, Lilah finds herself standing amid monsters. Wholly unprepared for the horror of living under Amaru’s reign, Lilah decides to use her well honed skills to thwart the queen’s plans and prevent the end of the world.

Word Count: ~2, 800

Disclaimer: I do not consent to this work being copied or posted to other sites of blogs.

Start at the Beginning Previous Chapter Next Chapter

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“You’re angry.”

Lilah crossed her arms and looked away. Angry was the least of her emotions, at the moment. Anger was overtaken by fear and a sense of impending doom. Not only was she well and truly caught, the person who caught her wasn’t even human. Brasa was right, though. She was angry.

Lilah was angry at herself. She was angry that she dismissed so many fucking red flags that were waving directly in her face. The body language. The clothes. The fucking name. She just rolled right along with it while treating Brasa like he was actually Antonio. How could she be so blind? So stupid?

“If you want to know the truth, you’ll need to at least look at me.”

They were riding in the back of an SUV driven by a kid that looked no older than sixteen. Lilah sat as far away from Brasa as she could, but it still wasn’t far enough. She knew that throwing herself out of a moving vehicle barreling down the highway would hurt, but was willing to do it. A quick test of the handle proved that Brasa was, once again, a step ahead of her—the child lock was engaged. She sucked her teeth and contemplated whether or not she could break the window.

“You’re angry,” he repeated. “That’s understandable. I wasn’t in a position to tell you the truth before. I’ll happily tell you everything now.”

Lilah cut him a look, “As if I’d trust the word of a vampire.”

Brasa laughed, and she hated how it made her chest constrict, “I am not a vampire. Although, I credit you for being so bold.” He paused, then, “I am Xibalban.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes. A large difference.”

Lilah sighed and turned her head to look out at the world flying past her. Regulating her emotions was taking nearly all her energy. She didn’t have anything left over to question him about what he was or where he’d come from. Once she got away from the insanity of the situation she’d found herself in, she could do a little research. Until then, Lilah’s priority was to escape at the earliest opportunity. She wasn’t going to end up like Antonio. Sucked out of her own body and replaced with something hungry and terrible.

“Most of what I told you was true,” he said. She heard Brasa sigh, then, “I...omitted a few details so that I didn’t scare you.”

Her lip curled, “Details aren’t going to scare me. Killing Raul—that scared me.” She would never forget the look on Raul’s face or the way the light faded from his eyes. Not in a million years. Not ever.

Heat wafted from his direction, warming the car by several degrees, “I regret scaring you. It was necessary. He was threatening you.”

Lilah’s head swiveled around, “The fuck do you care about threatening me?” Followed by, “I had him under control.”

Brasa leveled a look at her that was focused and firm, “You did not.”

“I did,” she countered, “You don’t know what you walked in on.”

He took a breath and his lips pulled back a little from very, very sharp teeth, “Do you know what a shotgun can do to a body—a human body.”

“Not my first rodeo,” Lilah snipped with marked ire and not a little bit of bravado. She’d never seen anyone blown through with one, but had seen enough movies to guess at what it would look like.

“His finger was on the trigger,” Brasa said. He leaned forward, “The barrel was aimed at your head.”

Lilah, too, leaned forward. She held his gaze and replied, “He wouldn’t have gone through with it. Raul didn’t have it in him to kill someone.”

At this, Brasa rolled his eyes, “I’ve seen lesser men kill.”

“I’m sure you have.” Lilah couldn’t help the ice in her tone. Nor could she help the way her voice dripped with disdain. All the anger she felt towards herself was easily pushed in his direction. It momentarily relieved her of taking responsibility for her bad choices the last few days.

“You have questions,” Brasa said eventually. “Ask them.”

Lilah sniffed, “I’m good. No questions.”

His eyes narrowed, “Liar.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from taking the bait. Lilah had loads of questions, but she needed time to think. The SUV pulled off the highway and was driving through the desert off-road. The lights of the city faded away, leaving nothing but the moon and what was lit by the headlights. The further they got away from town, the harder it would be for Lilah to get back. She was in decent shape, but hadn’t had to run for her life in a long time. Adrenaline and fear would only get her so far. If she was going to act, it had to be soon.

The hair on her arms rose as she recalled the story Brasa crafted for her that night at dinner. They took him into the desert, and then into a cave. They left him for dead, but he wasn’t alone. There was something else in the cave with him. Lilah clenched her jaw against a fresh wave of fear. The thing in the cave with him was sitting right next to her. It had eaten Antonio and taken his body.

Brasa seemed to sense it, “I’m not going to hurt you. No one is, if I have anything to do with it.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means,” he said patiently, “exactly what I said. I’m not driving you out here to die. You are safe when you are with me.”

Lilah stared at him, working hard to reconcile two directly opposing truths. One: Brasa was inhuman and thought nothing of killing. Two: He had killed Raul (so he said) to protect her and he was offering continued protection. But, why? “I have to reiterate my previous question.”

He slumped back in the seat and his eyes lifted to the roof of the car, as if she were the one being difficult. “I didn’t have to return to that silly little church, Lilah. I came back for you.”

Lilah continued to stare at him, wishing that she’d just kept her mouth shut. Every word from his lips made her more confused, She didn’t like to be confused. Confusion meant danger—this level of confusion might mean death.

Brasa’s head rolled to the side and his gaze was soft when he said, “I couldn’t have done anything different. I didn’t have a choice. I saw you through his eyes and knew…”

“Knew what?”

“That you were my bondmate. That something I thought was impossible was...reality.”

Lilah didn’t know what a bondmate was or why it guaranteed her protection. It sounded like a made up word. Something to placate her while he backed her into a corner. She blinked at him for a long time while the SUV kept barreling forward towards an unknown destination. “Bullshit,” was all she said.

He laughed, eyes crinkling, “I thought the same thing. But, when you walked up to me in the church, I knew it was true.”

Lilah turned her gaze to the window and stared absently at the scenery as it flew past, “I think that’s enough. I think I’m done hearing the truth.”

“Fair enough.”

She leaned over against the door and kept watching the landscape as it rolled beneath the SUV. Ahead, there was a large rock formation that was steadily growing larger. They were going to the caves. Lilah closed her eyes and tried to center herself. She was absolutely not taking Brasa at his word. Anything could be waiting for her when the car came to a stop and she needed to be prepared. Her hands curled around a purse that contained a cell phone and Antonio’s keys. No weapon. Nothing to defend herself with. She was glad she’d decided against heels. It would make running that much easier.

The SUV pulled to a stop in front of the rock formation, just as she expected. What she didn’t expect was a line of cars parked along with them. Ten, maybe fifteen. All different makes and models. They were scattered across the dusty ground like picked clean skeletons. Remnants of the many people who’d been brought here before her.

Brasa got out and walked around to open her door. She ignored the hand he offered to help her out. He didn’t looked the least bit surprised, just closed the door behind her and walked towards the open mouth of the cave as if she’d follow along. Lilah glared at his back and remained in place. This was where she had to make her stand. If she went into that cave, Lilah was going to die.

The kid driver put the SUV in reverse and swung away from her in a move that was meant more for flash than function. She flipped him the bird before turning back to Brasa. He was watching her with a vaguely amused look on his face. Lilah had to think twice before she flipped him the bird, too.

Brasa held up his hand towards the cave in invitation. Lilah stood her ground. His arm dropped and he took a step forward, “We’re in the middle of nowhere. Where do you think you are going to go?”

Lilah scoffed, “We’re maybe thirty miles from town. All I have to do is put this big ass rock at my back and walk.”

She almost couldn’t see his smile in the moonlight, “You know, I’m tempted to let you try, just to see how far you get.”

Lilah’s answering hum was touched with challenge, “I think you’re underestimating how spiteful I am.”

Brasa was suddenly standing directly in front of her. Lilah hadn’t even seen him move. One second he was standing near the entrance of the cave and the next he was less than a foot from her. She stumbled with a startled yelp and fell right on her ass. A sharp pain lanced through her palm. Lilah held it up to her face, realizing with dread that blood was dripping from a small cut in her palm.

Leather wrapped gently around her wrist. Lilah’s jaw dropped when he lifted her hand to his mouth and licked the blood from her skin. It was bone deep instinct to yank her wrist free and scramble away. Brasa watched her carefully for a moment, then said, “I apologize. I didn’t ask if I could do that.”

Holding her hand close to her chest, Lilah eased to standing. She didn’t like that he actually looked like he was sorry. Didn’t like that she wanted to believe in his apology.

“You can walk, if it will make you feel better. But, I’ll be behind you.” He paused, then, “My patience isn’t endless, Lilah. When it runs out, we’ll end out right here.”

Lilah lifted her shoulders and tried to project confidence, “Why?”

“Why?”

She nodded, “Why? Why here? Why the cave?”

“Ah,” Brasa breathed, “Its the shortest way.”

“To where?”

“To return to my place, where I should have been these last few days.”

Lilah closed her eyes, briefly. Then, “And, where is your place?”

“With the queen.”

“Which queen?”

“Amaru.”

“Right.” She tilted her head back and look up at the moon. It was the same moon that had been there her whole life. Lilah was standing on the same earth that she’d always walked on—except, now, she knew that not-a-vampire vampires existed and they had a monarchy system.

Cool.

Cool, cool, cool.

“I don’t want to meet your queen. Brasa.”

He scoffed, “You won’t. I don’t have any plans to introduce you.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

Brasa shrugged, “She’s...volatile. And, not fond of humans. You’re just food to her.”

“Wow, thanks,” Lilah drawled in a voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Lilah,” he said, “Amaru is an ancient Xibalban blood queen. Everyone she meets, she either kills or enslaves. Gods have knelt before her. Forgive me if I don’t think you’ll be any different.”

“You might be underestimating me again.”

“You might be stalling for time,” Brasa countered. Lilah could hear the humor in his voice and it rankled her. “Come with me. I’ll take you to a place where you can rest. You can plot your escape there.” A pause, “Or, you can plot while you walk yourself to exhaustion. And then, I’ll just pick your stubborn ass up and carry you back.” Another pause while he considered that option, “You know, I might enjoy that more.”

Was he flirting with her? It sounded a lot like he was flirting with her. Lilah was undecided on how she felt about that, but was she was decided on was that she wasn’t going to give him the pleasure. She clenched her jaw and approached the entrance of the cave, “Well?” she muttered irritably, “Lead the way.”

Lilah made it about half a minute before she regretted her decision. The moonlight faded quickly, leaving her in perfect blackness. She couldn’t see Brasa in front of her. Couldn’t see anything, really. Her feet stopped moving and her eyes blinked rapidly as if she could clear her vision.

The scrape of a foot against stone, “Why have you stopped?”

“I can’t see.”

“Right,” he replied. “I forgot about that.”

“You sure fucking did.”

Brasa took her hand carefully and laid it atop his shoulder, “Keep this here. I’ll guide you.”

He moved slowly, giving her directions along the way. Right turn in three, two, one. Bit of an overhang, better duck. The ground dips, here. They walked like this as the cave wound steadily downward and then back up again. Lilah was so used to unending darkness that, at first, she didn’t realize that there was actual light up ahead.

The cave opened up to a landscape a little bit like the place they’d left. Desert and moonlight. Except there was a town visible in the distance. Lilah could see the high tower of a sign advertising gas prices. Beside it was a long building that was probably a motel. Not far from there was definitely a diner.

“Where are we?”

Brasa stared ahead with something like displeasure tilting his mouth downward, “A place to rest. Temporarily.”

“I’m sorry,” she began, “your, uh, reigning queen is shacking up at a motel?”

“We are traveling.”

“To where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why?”

“To find something.”

“What?”

Brasa inhaled sharply and started walking forward, “We can talk about that later.”

Lilah stood there for a second or two, then sighed deeply and made to follow. They walked right up to the motel and Brasa let himself into one of the rooms. Lilah had stayed in worse places. And, with the highway nearby, she had ample room to wiggle out of this mess. She just had to wait for the opportunity.

Brasa stood near the door, watching her, “I need to check in with Amaru. Get some rest. We won’t be here long.”

Lilah was suddenly alone. He was gone so fast that she barely registered the door closing between them. She took a single step backwards and dropped onto the mattress of the bed. It squeaked beneath her weight. Just for fun, she bounced a few times to hear the squeak again. The amusement was short lived. Lilah was left in a silent room with nothing but her thoughts. They moved like molasses in her brain, circling around the central fact that her entire worldview was changed. She couldn’t believe it. Could. Not. Believe. It.

Lilah refused to lie to herself about the instability of her situation. About how urgently she needed to get the fuck out of it. She rose and went to the window. “Figures,” she grumbled.

There was someone standing outside of her door. He was an older man. Short in stature. Gray hair. Dressed immaculately in a beige cotton suit. His gaze was focused away from her. A bodyguard, if she’d ever seen one.

“What the hell,” she said while she opened the door, “Hello, there. Are you with Brasa?”

The man turned, eyes dancing, “I am.”

“Right,” she replied. “I’m guessing you’re here to make sure I don’t leave.”

He smiled, “You guess right.”

“Any chance I could bribe you to...look the other way for, like, ten minutes?”

His smile widened to a grin, “I’m afraid not.”

“Great,” Lilah muttered. “Alright. Bye, then.”

His answering ‘goodbye’ was lost while Lilah closed the door and trudged back to the bed. She sat and leaned her elbows on her knees so that she could think. Lilah went moment by moment all the way back to when Brasa walked into the church. She analyzed it for clues—anything that might point to Brasa’s weaknesses.

Somewhere along the way, she had an awful realization.

He called me Lilah.