#i know where my allegiance lies

[ipromptography]

it's still all about him

[wri0thesley]

neuvillette’s design didn’t really get me when it first dropped like wriothesley is definitely more my type but he’s so sweet uwah 😭

i really want wriothesley to be a gruff clipped awkward type with a secret soft side . . . that is all i can hope for. if he's sampo-ish like his design implies i will accept it too. honestly at this rate i think i would accept anything give me the handsome duke

[seresinhangmanjake]

His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: You used to be a Lady, a daughter of a Great House until Feyd took you. Since then, your sole purpose has been to warm his bed, but when Rabban asks about having you for himself, Feyd makes a choice that changes your future.

Words: 2600

Notes: Possessiveness. Grumpy Feyd. I know it's similar to another one of my fics, but I realized that after the fact, so...

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You didn’t sleep. Not a wink. You laid in his bed all night, waiting for the man who never came, and your heart didn’t cease its ferocious beats for a second. Where is he? Why isn’t he here? Is he ok? What happened? The sun rises without answers to those questions. 

You shoot up in bed when the door eases open. Expecting to find him, you’re disappointed to see instead his harpies enter one after the other. They don’t look at you. One goes about riffling through your dresses in the closet, one heads into the bathroom and you suddenly hear a rush of water filling the tub, and the last of them goes to the vanity Feyd brought in for you, lining up makeup and hair pins that she intends to use on you. 

The air about them is poised—an echo of who they used to be before they were turned into pets—as, for the moment, their vile, more carnivorous side lies dormant. 

Feyd only allows them to near you a couple hours after they’ve been fed; the peak time between their hunger sated and their bellies rumbling. At any other time, your uniquely foreign scent wafts to their nostrils and they are incapable of holding themselves back. More than a handful of instances—when they’ve managed to manipulate the guards to open their cages with their seductive smiles—they’ve gone on the hunt for you; one time in particular, sneaking into the bedroom in the middle of the night and yanking you from Feyd’s arms with the intention of sinking their teeth into your flesh. Feyd had been so furious he’d cut a finger from each of their hands. 

Still, they don’t scare you. You see in them women not entirely unlike yourself: owned, and therefore, changed. Soft are the women who have had the luxury of marriage and child-rearing in the comforts of wealth and beautiful homes—and good for them; how lovely to be soft—but it is the women who have not a choice in their existence that develop a steel shell. And you and the harpies have steel shells. In that way, they are your kin, and you try to subtly express that when you can, even though their allegiance to Feyd can make that quite difficult.

“Where is he?” you ask. 

They ignore you, continuing with their tasks, and you huff. Yes, sometimes they refuse to speak with you, and always it seems when you need their words most. In the past, you’ve been tempted to dangle your arm in front of their sharpened fangs in the hope that the offering will encourage their cooperation, but you’ve yet to find the bravery for that. Plus, Feyd would lose his mind. Well, he would lose the rest of it. 

“You’ve spoken to me before,” you continue. “Why not now?”

One of them stops and faces you. She glances at her sister who shakes her head. 

“Tell me,” you plead. 

“We are not permitted to speak with you on the matter,” the other says to your frustration. That is not good enough. Regardless of how he sees you and how you feel, he is the one thing keeping you alive on this lifeless planet and you refuse to go about your days worrying over his safety and what his disappearance means for your fate.

You throw the sheets off your legs and stand. 

“I don’t care,” you spit as your silky nightgown falls at your ankles, but then you reconsider your tone. The harpies do not do well with aggression. Being so animalistic, their instincts are easily drawn out, and they tend to attack when attacked, which is not a fight you would win. 

You take a calming breath, placing a hand over your heart. “We are the same. He owns us, he clothes us, he feeds us,” you remind them. “On this planet, I am as much your sister as you are each other’s. We all care about him in a way and if I knew what happened to him, I would have the decency to tell you.”

The harpy who drew your bath returns to the bedroom. Having overheard your words, she crosses her arms and says, “With respect, my Lady, we are not your sisters,” she says. “We have never had him the way you have, and he does not feel for us the way he does you.” 

Your clenched jaw loosens, lips parting. If you had assumed anything about the relationship between Feyd-Rautha and his harpies, it was that they had once been where you are; that when you came along, they lost their rank and became something alike the handmaids from your home world. You’d assumed that when they warmed his bed, their handmaids were the women who entertained him before them, and so on like a disgusting, perverted pattern. But if that is not the case, then your sense of identity is even more confused. Not to mention, nary a soul has referred to you as ‘Lady’ since you were taken from your family. So why show that respect now when Feyd practically stripped you of the title months ago? 

You look to the only one of the three who seems unsure of the situation. She’s biting her lip, worrying the fabric of your unworn gown between her fingers. 

“What about you?” you ask her and her head lifts to meet your eyes. She’s the smallest of them—pixie-esque, like you read in fairytale stories as a child—and despite the core of their primal nature, the gentlest. “You want to tell me.”

The harpy by your vanity hisses, but the gentle one does not shy away at the warning. “She has been kind to us,” she tells her sister in the most self-assured tone you’ve ever heard leave her mouth. 

The sister snaps back. “He instructed us to do one thing: get her ready for the day and act like nothing is wrong. It was not to tell her what happened.”

You lightly gasp. “So something has happened,” you state, feeling your heartbeat quicken. Your chest begins to rise and fall to match the rapid rate. “Is he ok?”

There are a few seconds of silent pause before Pixie stands a little straighter, setting her shoulders in a strong line. “Our Lord na-Baron was answering for the death of his brother.”

Your head jerks back. “Rabban?” you question, your brow pinching. “Rabban is dead?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“And Feyd is the one who killed him?” That doesn’t make any sense. While Feyd has complained enough for you to know Rabban is a bumbling idiot, he eventually found a way for his brother to serve a purpose. Why would he kill a man when he is no longer the nuisance he once was, you wonder, so you ask, “Why?”

“The Lord Rabban…made suggestions,” Pixie tells you. One of the harpies groans as the other shakes her head.

“What suggestions?”

She bites down and swallows hard, then she says, “He suggested that the na-Baron share you for his own pleasure.”

Instantly, you’re hit with a wave of nausea. Share? Share you? The concept of a foreign woman hopping between men of status is not unusual, but at this point, you assumed if Feyd were going to participate in something like that, he would have sent you off already. Not doing so didn’t even surprise you. He’s too possessive. 

“You said he was answering for Rabban’s death,” you say, but answering for that surely wouldn’t have taken so many hours, not when the Baron saw Rabban as a waste of space. “So where is he now?”

—

He doesn’t notice when you step into the training room and you’re thankful for that. You came on a mission to extract more answers out of him, but you don’t mind having a second to admire him sparing against his trainer. 

He’s sweaty. You like him sweaty—sweaty and bare-chested and perfectly, effortlessly mesmerizing as aggressive grunts leave his lips. You silently watch their violent dance, your form mouse-like by the door until his trainer looks up and halts to stare at you. Feyd whips around to follow his line of sight, then he sighs and turns back to the smaller man. He mutters something as he grabs the rag at his belt and runs it down his face. 

The trainer leaves and Feyd places his knife back on the table among many others. “I told them to keep you away today,” he says dully, monotone, not meeting your eyes as he runs his finger over the blade and fiddles with the hilt. “Incompetent brats.” 

“You didn’t come to bed.”

“I was busy,” he responds without letting a beat pass. He continues to avoid your stare and mess with the knives as if he’s never wielded them before.

You slowly step down the stairs into the pit of the room. “Busy killing your brother?” you ask. The muscles in his back twitch and flex under pale skin as he grips the hilt harder. 

“That is none of your concern.” The distance between you lessens until you’re a foot from his back, but he doesn’t turn around. 

“Even though you killed him because of me?” you ask. His neck ticks and his head tilts and shifts to adjust to the tension. When he still doesn’t respond, you try another angle. “Why are your harpies referring to me as their ‘Lady’?”

That seems to do it. Feyd faces you, crosses his arms, and leans his lower back against the table. “You think spending one night without me gives you permission to be nosy?”

You don’t give in to his method of shutting you up by aiming to make you feel silly and guilty. Instead, your eyes narrow and you mirror the crossing of arms. “Why am I a Lady again?”   

“You just are.”  

“Are you sending me home?”

His eyes flash. Blue irises darken a shade. “Don’t be stupid.”

“So I’m a Lady on Giedi Prime?” you ask, dropping your chin to emphasize how ridiculous that sounds. 

The edge of Feyd’s jaw sharpens as he clenches his back teeth. “Stop asking questions.”

“Then answer one,” you say. 

It’s a shot taken by an untrained hand, as he doesn’t enjoy demands, especially not from you, but you figure you have nothing to lose in the attempt, so you don’t cower under his menacing glare. You wait. And much to your surprise, he surrenders. 

He blinks, and when his eyes open, they have softened ever so slightly. Then he says, “You’re marrying me,” and everything from your lungs to your limbs freezes in shock. 

“W–What?” you stutter. That makes less sense than Rabban’s sudden death. 

Feyd groans and stands straight, his arms falling at his sides. “See what being nosy gets you?” he snaps. “I wasn’t going to tell you immediately, and you had to go and ruin it.”

He grabs a fresh knife and stomps his way over to a dummy, ready to attack something other than you for the insecurity that he can’t completely contain. You’ve never witnessed him insecure, but you know the feeling when you see it—the defense mechanism, the distancing himself, the grumbly attitude. 

“I’m not sure I understand,” you press as he slashes and stabs at the soulless victim. “I’m marrying you because you killed your brother for wanting to fuck me?”

With a grunt, the dummy’s head severs from its torso and flies off in your direction. It rolls and rolls and stops just before hitting your feet. The dead eyes stare up at you in silent amusement. Now you’ve done it, they mock.

“I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, do you understand me?” Feyd growls.

Your eyes shoot to his. “The marrying you part or The your brother fucking me part?”

He tosses the knife aside. It clatters against the ground as he closes in on you. His hand wraps around your neck. “Don't test me,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I will sew your damn lips shut if I have to.”

An empty threat if you’ve ever heard one. He would never harm you, but even if he were going to try, his fingers would need to be squeezing much tighter.

You roll your eyes. “Well then how am I going to suck your cock?”

Something about the tease stuns him. His tense features immediately settle and his whole body eases with his exhale. Glancing at your lips, he licks his own, and you think he might decide to kiss you—after all, it’s been a good twenty-four hours since the last one—but he doesn’t.

You snort. “Didn’t think that one through, did you.”

Long fingers unwrap from around your neck. “You’re not funny,” he mumbles with an odd sense of shame.

“If you don’t find me entertaining, can you maybe take the time to explain all of this better?”   

Feyd considers keeping his mouth shut. You know him well enough to know that. However, it’s ridiculous to contemplate since he’s already spilled the bigger news. Nothing could be more shocking than you, after the bed-warming position you’ve held for months, becoming his wife. 

“My uncle was going to take you away from me for killing Rabban,” he finally says. “So I told him I've had plans to marry you for the alliance and that's why I refused to share you. Rabban wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he had to die.”

Raising a brow, you say, “The Baron accepted that explanation? My House may be one of the Greats, but we do not offer much for Giedi Prime.”

Feyd shrugs. “My uncle enjoys anything that causes upset. Marrying me means we will always own something very valuable to your family.”

It would likely offend another, but you don’t mind being owned. While the Baron may believe the Harkonnens as a whole will own you, you belong to Feyd and Feyd alone. He’ll never allow anyone to hurt you and now he’ll never have to fight or argue with anyone to stake his claim, which works for you just fine, to say the very least. 

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

Your head tilts as you smile. “Caring enough to protect me.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” he says. “I didn't do it for you, I did it for my own benefit.”

Your sweet smile morphs into a smirk. “The benefit being that you get to keep me all to yourself…for the rest of your life.”

With a scoff, Feyd rolls his eyes and crosses his arms again. “Whatever.”

“Feyd…” you sigh, leaning into him.

“What?” he returns in his snarky tone as if he doesn’t want you near, but he doesn’t step out of the bubble of your space.

“I'm happy.”

A pink tinge sneaks onto his pale skin, and he quickly looks away. And before he has a chance to come up with some witty remark to smack you with, you grab his face and press your lips to his. 

You hold on to him until he starts to kiss you back, and then he's reaching for you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you, and you know you won't be going anywhere for a good long while.

[circeyoru]

Collection of Overlords = Requested

[Alastor x Soul Owner of All Overlords!Reader]

The Request

Part 1 (here) — Part 1.5 — Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9  — Part 10 — Part 11 — Part 12 — Part 13

Overlords. The sovereign rulers of various domains and areas of the Pride Ring. Sinners that rose to power through dealing with souls and troppling over the weak to show who’s the one in power and control. Together, they own millions of souls and representing the controlling powers of the city

Yet what sets them apart from the other demons in power? Why were they the sovereign rulers of their specialty and not another that claims or tries to threaten them so? 

There’s a system, a power even beyond them combined and rival that of the King and Queen’s, that stablizes them. A supporting system, if you will, one that approves of the Overlords’ existence. As other rings have their Sin to impose power and their form of order, Pride has something similar. The founder of the Overlords and owner of their souls; the Collector

To call yourself an Overlord and rule over some form of territory, be it a street, a block, a town, a building complex, you have been approved by the Collector. No, one doesn’t seek the Collector out, the Collector seeks them out. It proves potential, it proves worth, and it proves attention-worthiness. All Overlords know who were the real one by the mark on their souls, a stamp of proof, that they’d take pride in

Rarely to none would the Collector gather Overlords together. So they make their own gatherings to keep track of any new members to their collection. There were times when some would fake their claim, they were viciously shredded where they lied. There was barely any proof, the mere aura and presence was enough to tell

All Overlords were the Collector’s prized souls, their worth to the Collector is shown when their mark remains intact as time goes by. Once the Collector deemed the Overlord as trash, they are let go and the other remaining Overlords will devour to keep the collection worthy

It’s the Overlords’ goal and duty to remain relevant and strive to be stronger. Not only to secure their title as an Overlord, but to also stay within the Collector’s elite collection

“Do you hereby swear your allegiance to me, the Collector, so long as you are in my favour? In return for entering my collection, you will be protected and secured of your authority and strive in your domain. Know that only I am able to throw you away and none other should you fall beyond my interest and favour.”

“I solemnly gage (I solemnly swear).”

“Yes, as you wish.”

“Why, absolutely, Darling!”

“F**k yes!”

“Of course, Dear.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Naturally.”

“Hell’s yes!”

Alastor felt it, his soul like a beating heart when one meets their love. His smile widening and excitement building up within him. At the same time, there was the touch of nervousness too. He quickly made his way down to the lobby where Charlie was seen welcoming a few guest that wanted to be redeemed

Well, the hotel has been gaining popularity after the battle with the exterminators and the fact that they won was no secret or easy feat to pull. Maybe the renovations also played a part. But Charlie was none the wiser whenever someone was expressing a want to be redeemed 

Though to Alastor, it was a bigger deal when he spotted what was among the group of newcomers. There was no mistaken it, it had to be. While you were in disguise, you were still as elegant and commanding as the day he sold his soul to you and be the only one to have gained your attention and favour the fastest among your collection

Alastor held himself back, he wasn’t proper of him to interrupt Charlie’s little welcoming speech and you wouldn’t like it if he did. Luckily, while Charlie was busy with settling the other guest before you, he was given his chance to greet you

“Alastor, pleasure to be in your presence,” Alastor took your hand and kissed your knuckles, his eyes staring up at yours while he bowed low to show respect and the need to please. “Quite the pleasure.”

“Charmed.” You let a smirk form on your face, though it quickly fade to keep up with appearances

“May I inquire as to what brings you to this fine and renewed establishment?”

Charlie arrived in time to greet you as well. Being her usual cheerful and upbeat self even after all these years, and surviving the horrid battle against the angels. If you weren’t in disguise, you would have given her a pat on the head and a hug to comfort her. Yet you stick to your little plan and stayed level headed

It was merely to fine a place to stay, you explained how Vox was someone that had no sense of privacy with how he bugged everything. You kept the spying on you part to yourself, though you knew Alastor caught on when you mentioned Vox’s devices. Then you gestured to Alastor and praised that he was a perfect counter and addition to the hotel building since he cancels out Vox’s devices naturally

Alastor let out annoyed radio static when he learned of Vox displeasing you, how disrespectful. If only Vox could do even worse to be dropped out of the collection, then there’d be a real battle. Since deathly fights between the Overlords was forbidden. Still, Alastor could feel his smile widening at the superiority over Vox he had and praise he received, even with his 7 year disappearance, you didn’t let him go

Vaggie was quick to reject your stay and attempt to push you out when you weren’t even lying to want to be redeemed. Saying that the hotel wasn’t a rent-free place for demons to just show up to crash for their own amusement

Alastor was smart and quick to interject and maybe nearly slap Vaggie lobby but he managed to keep his hands behind his back. He gestured to the other guests as he made a point that turning away guest was rather rude for someone wanting to redeem demons. You added you can pay if it was too much, or just leave. Which gave Alastor a mini panic

Charlie agreed in the end and Vaggie received a look from Alastor while you thanked them with a smile. Alastor followed closely behind you while the tour was underway with the other new residents. When Charlie was arranging everyone’s stay, Alastor immediately had your room key ready, promising that it was the best room the hotel can provide. If you lacked anything, he’ll provide!

Since everything simmered down, you were in your room waiting for Alastor’s knock on your door to bring him to his radio tower that was guaranteed to not be listened in. He showed up at record time and offered you his hand to teleport the two of you to his tower

With a snap of your fingers, you let your disguise fall, revealing you in your glory and natural look. You sat on his desk while Alastor stood. The two of you started chatting then inquiring about the other’s well-being and current entertainment

It was rare, but you do visit your Overlords from time to time just to chat or catch up, it not only shows a want to connect and understand your souls, but also your continued interest in keeping them. There were times when your meeting with them could be a sign of you removing your hold over their soul, then it was a matter of time before the other Overlords knew about this development and hunt them down to own or destroy

An example was Husk. In your observant and keen eyes, you watched as he bet on the power and protection you granted him without a second thought, thinking that he would win back soon enough. Not soon enough for you as it would appear. You didn’t even visit him, you merely let him go without a word of warning. In fact, your patience and the extra time were your warnings

One that he didn’t even realize he was given. So Alastor set out to dominate Husk when he was removed from the collection. With Alastor’s win, he owned Husk’s soul and revealed that he was history to you. The look on Husk’s face was enough of a dedication to you, Alastor returned his dues

Though there were times when you allowed some lesser demons into your circle. Namely the Vees, specifically Valentino. He was at risk of your removal, yet time and time again, he was saved by Vox and Velvette who proved they work better as a team than individually like other Overlords. So to keep Vox and Velvette, Valentino was allowed to stay

That’s until you find more worthy ones

Yet it was in the Overlords’ nature to be the remaining one in your collection. To put down the other as a method of showing their superiority to you. You knew this ploy, so you set that they weren’t to fight or belittle the other with the aim to kill. You didn’t need or want souls that would harm other souls you hand picked

The Vees were your unique case. A case that was fragile to maintain. Wrong moves here and there, disrespectful words spatted out, risky actions committed. And they risk their entire group gone from your collection. Was there one that was save from your removal? Hardly, it was with a comparison does Vox and Velvette appear to be better

“When are you going to show me your wound, Alastor?” You got to your goal. You knew of the battle, you also knew Alastor took up the impossible task of defeating Adam to show you he was strong to remain in your elite. You knew your souls do their best to maintain your interest in them. Alastor was no different, especially when he disappeared for 7 years.

“A mere scratch! Nothing for you to worry over.” Alastor laughed, who was he lying to?

“It wasn’t a question.” You spoke with half-lid eyes staring back at him.

He flinched and bowed his head, slowly undoing his coat and shirt, finally showing you the large bandaged wound that was soaking with more blood by the minute. “It’s… not as bad as it seem…”

You becken him closer to you so you could inspect it. Silence filled the room. Alastor was ashamed, the silence was deafening to him, he can’t handle it. His heart beat fast, his mind wondered if you’re throwing him away like you did Husk. This was the calm before the storm.

His head jerked up when your soft hands pressed against the center of his chest, he’d have felt more of your touch if not for the layers of bandages. A warm feeling covered his wound and he felt energized and relaxed, his knees caving in when your hand retreated

He didn’t even realize his head was in your lap as his ears pinned back while your hands combed through his hair soothingly. His eyes closed from the peace he felt

It reminded him of the time when he first met you. How foolish was he to want to overtake you, to think you were weak, to think that you were only relying on the souls you collected. No, you held real power, power he can’t even imagine

“Alastor, you know I’m never going to let your soul go, right?”

“Thank you, My Liege.”

BONUS!

When another Overlord meeting was held, nearly all were in attendance. The news of your appearance was enough of a goad to draw in the others. Even the Vees were all present

Once everyone was seated, Alastor took the floor. You approached him, he wasn’t released by you, and you were staying where he was. As expected, there was an uproar. How was Alastor this lucky?!

Alastor directed to Vox, retelling your displeasure in his stalking while he defended that it was for protection. More eyes directed to Vox, seeing him as the reason why you weren’t as active as before, you were uncomfortable because of all the devices and camera Vox has around the city

“Hahaha! However you spin this to your favour, you can’t deny that Our Lovely Protector and Liege is vexed by your actions. So much so that Our Liege has seeked me out for haven! Now what’s to be done about that, hm?”

“You little!!!”

Meanwhile, you watched from the comforts of your room while a holographic display. A fond smile on your face and a chuckle of amusement let out, “I’ve collected quite the group, huh? I never get bored with them around.”

Note: Yes~ This is out now!! Wonder if you guys like this one. I'm wondering if I should add 'yandere', but then it's more like that, more of devotion and loyalty. Anyways! Love to hear your thoughts (if you have any)

I got a challenge for you though!! Can you name, in order, all the Overlords that were used to illustrate swearing allegiance to?

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

@mistpurpl3

[lucifersdickriderdotnet]

A Little Surprise

Summary: Through an unfortunate series of events, Lucifer has been transformed into someone much younger, much freakier, and much different. It's Mammon's job to take care of him. 5k words.

Disclaimer: NOT DEMONCEST. JUST BROS BEING BROS.

Notes: hey guys. This is my first ever (posted) Obey Me fanfic. If it's bad. No it's not. Baby Lucifer looks different because I headcannon that he did. If you disagree that's okay but I don't want to hear it. There are a lot of personal headcannons in here that you will have to pry from my cold dead hands. Also, Baby Lucifer is like, a freak. And vaugely autistic. (I'm so nervous about posting this please think it's good.)

“Run that by me one more time.” Mammon has his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the Demon Prince, heir to the Devildom Throne, with nothing less than malice in his eyes.

“It seems that there was a mishap involving him and Solomon.” Diavolo looks shy somehow, cowed. Even Barbatos looks wary. It’s rare for Mammon to get genuinely angry, rare for him to talk in any way that is not casual and lighthearted, and it’s rarer still for Lucifer to be absent.

“Yer aware that there ‘re very few curses that work on my brother?”

“Yes. I am– I am truly sorry, Mammon. I hadn’t realized that there would be this much trouble.”

“He’s only been tellin’ ya for ages how untrustworthy he finds Solomon.” Diavolo flinches back slightly, “But sure. ’S no way you coulda known.” Mammon can see Barbatos about to step in and defend his master, and he holds up a hand to stop it. Unlike his brother, Mammon holds no allegiance to either of them. His loyalty is to his brothers, he only cares for Diavolo because Lucifer does, and currently, there is no Lucifer.

“Just. Tell me where he is.” His arms are still crossed over his chest and they remain that way as he follows the two through the Castle. For once, he doesn’t even consider stealing anything, doesn’t flinch at the ghostly noises that filter through the halls, he just silently follows the two people who are supposed to be powerful enough to protect his brother. The two people who failed.

Unsurprisingly, the room that Diavolo had unofficially converted into a study for Lucifer is a mess. Mammon knows that Lucifer’s study at home isn’t exactly neat, but he also knows that his brother’s pride would never allow him to dirty someone else's home. Especially if that someone else is Diavolo. Still, he hadn’t expected the room to be in its typical pristine condition when he learned what had happened. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected there to be a room at all when he checked his D.D.D. and saw Diavolo’s name flash across the screen instead of Lucifer’s.

Standing in the corner of the room is Lucifer, although this Lucifer is much younger and much smaller and brighter, and standing in the opposite corner is Solomon, cowering and silent in a way that is entirely uncharacteristic. To be fair, Mammon would be cowering too if a fledgling Lucifer was staring at him. From what Mammon remembers hearing, before Michael was created, Lucifer was alone. It was just him and Father for a long time. Michael says Lucifer didn’t stop becoming off putting until Sariel was created, and even then he was weird.

“Who are you?” Lucifer’s voice is booming and loud and fills the whole room. He doesn’t open his mouth to speak and Mammon is hit with the sudden realization that he hasn’t learned he can yet.

“I’ve already told you! I’m a sorcerer! My name is Solomon and–”

“Lies.” Solomon flinches back at Lucifer’s words even though the latter hasn’t moved an inch. “Solomon is not born yet. He is to be a great king full of wisdom. You are not him. He does not exist.” Mammon sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Lucifer.” His brother’s head turns slowly towards him.

“Who are you?” There’s the boom again, shaking the walls of the room, knocking trinkets older than Mammon off of the shelves.

“I’m… I’m yer brother, Mammon.” He takes a step towards Lucifer’s corner and watches and Lucifer’s wings fluff up to make himself bigger. He almost forgot how brilliant they were, all six of them, brilliant and white and pearlescent. He forgot a lot of things about his brother’s angelic form, apparently. Like how his eyes are an unsettling shade of blue, and the white-blonde of his hair. He forgot how much Lucifer changed when he fell, God’s favorite, disgraced for all eternity.

“I do not have those. Yet. I will be getting some soon.”

“Yeah, I know. Somethin’s wrong and everythin’s all topsy-turvy. I promise ‘m not lyin’ though.” He takes a step closer.

“My brother, you said?”

“Yup.”

“Hmm.” Lucifer eyes him, sizes him up and down as Mammon finally gets within touching distance. He knows that even in this much younger, much smaller form, he would lose in a fight to his older brother. He thinks Lucifer must know this, too. There is a moment of silence where the two stare at each other, before Lucifer walks closer to him and headbutts his hip.

“Thank you for finding me. I do not like it here.” The top of Lucifer’s head barely reaches Mammon’s waistline and he’s going to hate that everyone knows he used to be shorter than Luke. Mammon snorts, patting his head gently.

“Of course. Yer my brother after all. It’s my duty.” Lucifer nods resolutely and grabs Mammon’s hand. He’s cold, but then again, he is even as a demon, so that’s nothing new.

Lucifer does not acknowledge Diavolo as they leave, he doesn’t comment on the way Barbatos is most certainly a demon, and he doesn’t mention the demonic energy he can feel radiating off of Mammon. He simply steps through the portal Barbatos created and stays quiet.

–

Levi is currently pounding on Mammon’s door. Mammon owes him 500 Grimm for not telling Satan that he was the one who broke a shelf in the library and Levi intends to collect.

“Mammon! I know you're home! Open the door!” There's a lot of weird scuffling on the other side before the door opens a crack and he's met with a singular blue eye.

“What?”

“You owe me.” He watches that eye roll and the door shuts for a second before a hand is shoved through the crack and Grimm is being unceremoniously thrust at him.

“Here. Now go away.” The door shuts again and Levi stares at the colored wood and immediately pulls out his phone.

Everyone Except Mammon

Levi: guys. Mammon just paid me back.

Satan: ?????

Beel: maybe he finally came to his senses

Levi: it's Mammon

Beel: yeah okay

Levi: he also wouldn't let me in his room

Levi: like he didn't even open the door all the way

Levi: he only opened it a crack

Asmo: do you think he's hiding something?

Levi: it's Mammon 

Asmo: yeah okay 

Asmo: so what should we do? break in?

Belphie: we could ask Lucifer?

Levi: he's with Diavolo on business

Belphie: it's Mammon 

Levi: yeah okay

Levi exits the chat and opens his contact for Lucifer. He doesn't usually let it ring more than once when it's his brothers. He hates to be left out of the loop and worries for them even if he hates to admit it. Levi’s call goes to voicemail, so he tries again. And again. Lucifer doesn't pick up at all.

Levi: Lucifer isn't answering his phone

Asmo: what

Levi: I called three times

Satan: I didn't curse his phone this time 

Beel: Belphie?

Belphie: nope

Levi: should we call Diavolo?

Satan: no

Satan: we should ask Mammon

Levi pounds on the door again and is met with more cursing and shuffling on the other side of the door.

“Mammon? What's happening in there?”

“Mind your own business!”

“Your business is my business!”

Levi: he won't let me in

Belphie: then wait until he leaves and sneak in or smth 

Levi grumbles to himself and resolves to wait. Mammon is gonna get hungry eventually, his chance will come.

It takes longer than he wants for Mammon to leave his room, his own door cracked open so he can hear when Mammon’s door opens and shuts. He’s halfway through a boss battle in his latest RPG when it happens and he, regrettably, has to pause. Mammon won't stay out of his room for long, especially if he's hiding something, but it isn't hard for Levi to push open the door and shut it behind him and come face to face with Lucifer.

“Oh, shit.” Levi stands in front of the closed door and stares. Lucifer stares back, except it isn't the Lucifer he knows. He's not tall and imposing, he doesn't have freaky carmine eyes or jet black hair. He doesn't have four wings because he ripped all six off when he Fell and then two sets came back. No, instead his brother is short, shorter than Luke, and still imposing. His brother has bright blue eyes and white-blonde hair and six wings and he's younger than Levi has ever known him. Obviously, he snaps a picture.

“And who might you be?” His brother's jaw moved up and down like a puppet but his voice sounds like it's coming from inside of Levi’s mind. He forgot Lucifer could do that.

“Uh. I'm Levi. Leviathan. We're brothers.” Lucifer's expression doesn't change past its neutral state, but his wings flutter happily.

“I have many brothers? I must be very blessed.”

“You could, uh, you could say that, yeah.” He takes a step forward before deciding to sit on the couch. The door opens the second he does.

“Hey, tyke. I got some food–” Mammon stands, arms laden with snacks that are most definitely Beel’s as the door swings shut behind him.

“Hello, Mammon!” Lucifer's wings flutter again.

“Hey. Levi, what a surprise! Why are you in my room?” He walks over and dumps the snacks in front of Lucifer and he trills happily before ripping something open and chowing down.

“You were hiding something. So, I had to check.”

“What if I was hidin’ a girl in here or somethin’?”

“Except you aren't ‘hiding a girl in here or something.’ You're hiding Lucifer.” Levi gestures wildly towards him and then stands. “What did you do?”

“I didn't do anythin’. Diavolo called and when I got there he was like this.”

“He's a baby!”

“I'm aware!”

“I am not a baby.” They both jump at the volume of Lucifer's voice. “I am already thousands of years old.”

“You look like a baby,” Levi says

“I am older than your feeble mind could ever understand.” Lucifer crosses his arms across his chest. He sounds defensive, like he's had this argument with someone before. It's the most emotion he's displayed all day.

“Yeah, sure.” It's fun to tease Lucifer, and even better when they can get away with it. Levi opens his mouth to say something else when Mammon gives a loud sigh.

“This ‘s why I didn't tell any of ya. Yer all gonna use it to be mean to ‘im.”

“He deserves it.”

“He's literally an infant.”

“No I am not.”

“O’course you aren't,” Mammon soothes, “Yer very big and very strong.” Lucifer preens. And Mammon gives another sigh.

“Levi, get outta my room.”

“I just got here!” 

“Don't care. Get out.” Mammon starts pushing him towards the door, shoving him forward despite the fact that Levi is dragging his heels along the floor. He forgets how strong Mammon is sometimes.

“C’mon! Just let me stay in here! I didn't do anything–” The door shuts loudly in his face. He pulls out his D.D.D.

Levi: I figured out what Mammon was hiding

Asmo: and what might that be?

Levi: image sent

Asmo: holy shit

–

In an impressive show of restraint, none of the brothers come knocking on Mammon's door. He expects it, because Levi is a blabbermouth and his brothers are nosy, yet it doesn't happen. Instead, he gets to spend the next hour trying to get Lucifer to talk normally instead of that weird way he used to communicate with Father. He is mostly unsuccessful.

“We'll work on it.” Lucifer frowns at him, a perfectionist even as a child.

“I would like to leave this room.” He says, and it sounds a little more normal.

“What if, and hear me out, we didn't do that?”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“I do not like that answer.” Mammon groans and flops backwards on his couch. Damn Solomon and damn Diavolo for getting him into this mess. And while he's at it, damn Lucifer for being such a weirdo.

“Mammon, please?” Lucifer leans over him until his blue eyes are boring right into Mammon's. He doesn't think Lucifer blinks for a straight minute.

“Yer gonna go out regardless of if I say it's cool or not, aren't ya?”

“Indeed.”

“Fine,” he sits up and rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms, “I'll take you to the music room.”

“Music? That sounds wonderful.”

“Yeah, yer a big fan. Well, you are normally.”

“Let us go.” Lucifer’s wings flutter again and Mammon wonders when his brother learned to add inflection into his voice, when he learned to use his facial expressions. He wonders if it ever gets tiring for him to use them now, if he's ever exhausted by the effort it takes to be himself.

Mammon trods down the hallway and Lucifer floats behind him.

“It is dark here.”

“Yeah, we hadta move.”

“I see.”

They enter the music room without much fanfare except Satan is there playing the piano. Lucifer sways happily to the music and floats over to Satan.

“Hello. This is beautiful. What are you playing?” Mammon stifles a laugh at the way Satan nearly jumps out of his skin. Lucifer isn't speaking directly into minds anymore, but it does sound like a disembodied voice is speaking just a little too loudly right next to your ears.

“You've never heard of a piano before?” Satan's voice is full of snark.

“No.” Satan and Lucifer stare at each other for a minute before Satan grumbles and goes back to playing. Mammon goes and sits on Satan's other side.

“You guys never said he was so bright.”

“He is the Morningstar. You thought he just got that name for fun?” Satan shrugs in response, fingers still dancing along the keys.

“We look so similar like this.” 

“I don't think so.”

“Don't be condescending.”

“You look more like Lilith than anyone else.” Satan stops abruptly and Lucifer lets out a sad trill.

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Mammon bats Satan's hands away and takes over, playing an old lullaby that Lucifer taught him once.

“Oh!” Six wings ruffle, “I know this one!”

“I don't,” Satan says.

“He used ta play it for me when I was younger. When I couldn't sleep. I don't think anyone ‘cept the two of us know it, to be fair.”

“He's never played it here.”

“He doesn't play the piano anymore.”

The song finishes and Lucifer puts his hands on the keys.

“I would like to try.”

“Knock yerself out, bud.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you can go ahead and try.” Satan says and he moves so that Lucifer is in the center of the bench instead of him.

It's almost uncanny the way he plays. Repeating the song Mammon just finished with no error. It's just like him, to be perfect at something on the first try.

“Was that good?” He asks, blue eyes looking at the two of them imploringly.

“‘Course it was.” Mammon says.

“It's you,” Satan crosses his arms over his chest, “it wasn't anything less than perfect.”

“I am sure there is room for improvement.” Lucifer preens despite his attempt at humility. Mammon and Satan share a look over the top of his head.

–

Lucifer wants to go outside next. He all but begs until Mammon relents, and then basically drags him out the front door.

“There is a garden.” He’s mesmerized by the flowers.

“Yeah, ‘s yours. Most everything here is yours, actually.” Outside of their rooms there isn’t really anything the brothers own for themselves. Nothing they put effort into maintaining. Nowhere they spend their time. The library is shared by both Satan and Lucifer, and even though Belphie spends his time in the Planetarium, Lucifer is the one who does the upkeep.

“What are these?” Lucifer’s hands are gentle as he strokes along a petal of a rose.

“They’re roses. You grew ‘em yourself. Created a new breed ‘n everythin’.”

“That is wonderful.” He turns to look at Mammon. “Do you like them?” He stills for a moment. He doesn’t think Lucifer’s asked for anyone’s approval ever. He just does what he likes, what he thinks is best, and deals with whatever consequences happen by asserting his intellectual superiority.

“Yeah. Of course. They’re beautiful.”

They continue their walk through the garden, Lucifer “oo”-ing and “ah”-ing at the different Devildom flora. They come across one of Satan’s stray cats that Lucifer pretends not to know about and he laughs, bright and tinkling. It sounds like wind chimes. Mammon watches his face split open into a smile so bright it hurts to look at before fading into something softer but no less radiant. He doesn’t think he’s seen him this full of joy or wonder ever. He wonders when the last time Lucifer was unburdened.

They come to the center of the garden, where a bubbling fountain sits and find Belphie lying in the grass, staring at the stars.

“Hello.” Lucifer’s voice is less loud now that he’s had more practice, but it still fills the space like he’s talking at you from every direction at once. Belphie tilts his head in Lucifer’s direction.

“Hey.”

“Who are you?” Lucifer leans over him, blocking his view.

“Belphegor.” He pokes the side of Lucifer’s knee and chuckles when Lucifer twitches.

“Are you one of my brothers?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I have so many! It is nice to know I am no longer lonely.” Lucifer pauses for a second. “Not that Father is bad company.”

Belphie hums and puts his hand on the top of Lucifer’s head, pushing him out of the way of the sky. Lucifer squawks and Mammon is definitely going to mock him for it when he goes back to normal.

“That was rude.”

“You were in the way.” Lucifer huffs slightly and tilts his head up to stare at the sky, leaning so far back he almost falls over. Belphie laughs at him. “Lay down, dummy.”

“I am not dumb,” he lays down, wings curling over him like a blanket. “I am incredibly intelligent. Although, there is still much I have to learn.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Belphie’s dry tone makes Lucifer huff again, grumbling softly in irritation. Mammon sits down on one of the benches behind them and looks up too.

“There are many more stars than the last time I looked,” Lucifer says.

“I’d imagine they haven’t formed yet.” Lucifer hums and continues to gape at the full sky. “You see that one?” Belphie grabs Lucifer’s hand and uses it to point at a constellation. Mammon knows which one he’s looking for before he’s done guiding Lucifer’s arm.

“Yes.”

“You and I made that one together.”

“Wow.” Lucifer’s voice is soft, quieting so that it sounds like it’s coming from him instead of from everywhere. He turns his head to look into Belphie’s eyes. “It is radiant. You did a good job.” Belphie sputters at the praise.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“You should be proud of your achievements, Belphegor.” He redirects his gaze back at the sky, finally tucking his arm back between his body and his wings. “Creation is a beautiful thing.”

–

The thing about Lucifer’s stare is that it’s always been incredibly unsettling. As an angel or a demon, if he looks at you for long enough, you’re going to spill your secrets. Mammon has only ever known Barbatos and Michael to be immune to the effects. It’s somehow worse now that he’s small. Maybe because there’s no reasoning behind it. He’s not staring to get information out of you, or to get you to behave, he is simply observing. He’s doing it now, watching as Asmo gets ready to leave the house.

“What is that?” He’s standing directly over Asmo’s shoulder, alternating between staring at the side of his face, peering at him through the mirror, and oggling over all the cosmetics Asmo has on his vanity. Mammon is playing on his phone, lounging on Asmo’s bed because Asmo got tired of using him as a test subject half an hour ago.

“It’s blush.” Asmo dips a fluffy brush into it and places it on the highs of his cheekbones.

“What does it do?”

“It makes it look like I have color on my face.” Asmo puts a hand over the half of his face with blush and points in the mirror. “See how my face kind of looks colorless here?” He moves his hand, “Now, I look all rosy.”

“Wow. That is amazing.” Lucifer leans forward more, like getting closer to the mirror will help him see better. “Can I have some?” The question makes Mammon almost drop his phone on his face and makes Asmo still. He meets Lucifer’s sharp blue eyes with his own.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! I would like to be colorful, too.” Asmo snorts unattractively and mumbles something Mammon doesn’t hear. He rummages around his desk until he finds a different color blush, something more suitable for Lucifer’s pale complexion.

“Here.” He swipes the brush across Lucifer’s cheeks and nose and Lucifer giggles. Wind chimes tinkling through the air again. Asmo smiles and brushes some across his nose just to watch him scrunch it up.

“That tickles.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

They sit like that for a while, Lucifer watching Asmo do his makeup and then asking what it’s for. Asking for Asmo to do the same to him. It makes Mammon think of the times before RAD was fully built, when Lucifer still had time for all of them. It makes him think of before, right after the twins were born, when by some miracle he was around for long enough to know them. Lucifer’s been busy since before Mammon was thrust on him, since before Mammon was created, he must be so tired.

“What are you doing this for?” Lucifer has shifted so he’s sitting halfway in Asmo’s lap, forcing the younger to work around him and his wings.

“I’m going out.”

“To where?”

“I’m going to hang out with Solomon.” The answer makes Lucifer’s wings ruffle unhappily, makes him cross his arms over his chest.

“I do not like him.” His voice has shifted so it’s louder again, coming from multiple places at once now that he’s upset.

“I know.”

“Then why do you hang out with him?”

“He makes me happy.” Asmo sets his things down and pets the top of Lucifer’s head, fluffing through his hair in a way that Lucifer would never let him if he were himself. At present, the casual affection makes a chirp rise in the back of his throat and he leans into the touch like a cat.

“Oh,” he considers this for a second. “I suppose that if he makes you happy, it is okay.” Asmo laughs.

“You’ve said that before.”

“It is an easy choice. You are happy. That is what matters most to me.”

“He looks so different,” Asmo meets Mammon’s eyes through the mirror, “but I guess his goals have always been the same, haven’t they?”

–

Lucifer insists on walking Asmo to the door and staring down Solomon silently as they leave. It makes Mammon laugh and Solomon almost piss his pants. Asmo rolls his eyes at the whole ordeal and kisses Lucifer’s forehead as he leaves. Neither of them take a picture of the way his cheeks flush at the action, just like neither of them set it as his contact photo.

“Mammon,” Lucifer tugs on his sleeve as they make their way back to Mammon’s room, “I am hungry.” Mammon sighs and redirects them to the kitchen.

They find Beel in there, gross and sweaty from a workout, and angrily rummaging through the cabinets.

“Mammon,” he does not sound happy, “where are all of my snacks?”

“Uhhh.” He’s seconds away from slinging Lucifer over his shoulder and sprinting out of the kitchen when Lucifer moves over to look in the cabinets and recognizes something.

“Oh,” he pulls out a bag of chips that only Beel eats, “I had some of these earlier. May I have them again?” He’s looking at Mammon and Beel is looking at him and Mammon sends a prayer to the Demon King that Lucifer manages to survive this because he doesn’t know what he’d do without him.

“You.” Beel’s face is slowly turning red. “You ate my chips.”

“I had not realized they were yours. They are very good.”

There’s a moment of silence where Lucifer stares up at Beel and Beel takes several deep breaths in and out.

“That’s the last bag.”

“Would you like it, then? Mammon will surely find me something else.”

“No,” he sighs, “I guess you can have it.”

“Thank you!” He smiles again and Beel squints against it. “That is very kind.”

“You always say you hate that flavor.” Beel watches Lucifer tear into the bag like he hasn’t eaten in days. Save for the snacks Mammon gave him earlier, he probably hasn’t.

“I do not know why I would lie. These are very good. My favorite of the ones Mammon provided me with earlier.”

“They’re my favorite, too.”

“Would you like to share?” Lucifer offers Beel the bag and pouts a little when Beel shakes his head. His fingers and cheeks are covered in chip crumbs and he’s generally making a mess. He looks adorable.

Beel grumbles and looks at Mammon unhappily,

“You’re lucky.”

“Most definitely.”

“I’m going back to my workout.” Beel grabs something from the fridge that has Mammon’s name on it and makes to leave the kitchen, and Lucifer floats behind him.

“Where are you going?”

“To the gym.”

“What is a ‘gym’?”

“Uh. Follow me, I guess.” And he does. Lucifer watches in wonder as Beel returns to whatever set he was on, insists on trying the equipment, too. “Hey, do you wanna try something?”

“Yes!”

Beel sets himself up for a push up and gestures for his brother to sit on his back. Lucifer finds it delightful, wind-chime giggles ringing through the gym. It almost makes the stench of Beel sweat bearable.

–

Beel has usurped Mammon as little Lucifer’s favorite just because Beel is carrying him around the House on his shoulders.

“That’s not even fair! I can carry him!” Mammon walks slowly in front of Beel on purpose, not above tripping him to get what he wants.

“But you aren’t.” Beel walks deftly around him and Lucifer laughs at the way Mammon runs to catch up. He’s lucky he’s cute.

“Hey!” Levi’s door bangs open and it startles Mammon enough that he shrieks. “I want to hang out with him, too.”

“Levi,” Lucifer wiggles himself off of Beel’s shoulders, “we met earlier, yes?”

“Uh,” he doesn’t seem to know what to do under the weight of his brother’s stare, “yeah. We did.”

“I have done an activity with everyone. What is your activity?”

“We could play a game?”

“Like hide and seek? I do not like hide and seek.” Lucifer crosses his arms over his chest in a way that makes him look almost petulant. “Father always wins.”

“No, I was thinking we could play, uhm. Devil Kart.”

“I do not know what that is.”

“Good, maybe I’ll actually beat you this time.” Levi’s words make Lucifer ruffle in displeasure.

“I do not like to lose.”

“No, you definitely don’t.”

Levi pulls the three of them into his room and turns on the TV, feiging surprise when everything is already set up.

“Will you teach me how to play?” He considers it for a split second.

“No, you’ll figure it out. Afterall, you’re not a baby right?” Lucifer lets out another unflattering squawk followed by grumbles about fairness.

Despite the fact that no one taught him how to play, Lucifer proceeds to beat them all at the game in a way that is unsurprising but extremely annoying. Levi pouts and sighs about it, Envy leaking into the air.

“Do not fret, Levi. I am sure there are things you are better at than me.”

“Don’t lie, Lucifer. You’re good at everything.” Levi sinks further into his tub and jumps when Lucifer’s head pops over the rim.

“I do not believe so. I think I am bad at spending time with my family.” Lucifer’s face twists into a frown. “I did not think I was one to squander such blessings.”

“Well, it’s not like that’s your fault,” Levi rushes to comfort his brother, only because seeing his usually neutral face in anything except that or a smile is discomforting. “You have a lot of responsibilities.”

“Then it is not your fault I beat you at the game then, is it?” A mischievous twinkle lights up his blue eyes, “I must have what they call beginner’s luck.” Levi sits up suddenly, reenergized.

“Yeah! Obviously! There’s no way I’m letting a baby beat me in my own domain.” He grabs a controller again and Lucifer resolutely doesn’t mention the fact that he’s no longer a baby.

–

By the time they all turn in, Levi has managed to beat Lucifer once. Coincidentally, that’s when he kicks them all out of his room, claiming tiredness. The timing works out, because Lucifer is rubbing his eyes tiredly and stifling yawns. Mammon has to restrain the urge to coo several times.

The walk from Levi’s room to Mammon’s is a short one, but Lucifer still seems too tired to make it, so of course, Mammon carries him there. He sets his brother into his bed and goes to lay on his couch when a tiny hand grabs at his wrist.

“Mammon?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Sure.” Mammon crawls under his covers and pretends like this isn’t the first time in a long time he’s cuddled with his brother like this. There’s quiet, and Mammon thinks that Lucifer must be asleep when he says something.

“Thank you for taking care of me today.”

“It’s nothin’.”

“It is not. It is everything.”

–

Mammon knows his brother is back to normal when he wakes up because he is both no longer the big spoon and because baby Lucifer didn’t have this many muscles.

“Mammon,” his brother’s voice is deeper and for once feels like it’s coming out of his body instead of out of thin air.

“Mmh.” He doesn’t move away from the cuddle. Lucifer’s arms seem to tighten around him.

“Thank you.”

“‘S whatever.” He hears Lucifer let out a huff at his easy dismissal and decides to ignore it. His brother’s arms are nice, comforting. It’s been a long time since they’ve hugged like this, since he’s been able to rest in the safety of Lucifer’s hold. He misses it.

“I have to get up.”

“Nah.” Another sigh. Lucifer only shifts to get more comfortable.

“Don’t tell anyone that I’m doing this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

–

It doesn’t matter that Mammon didn’t tell anyone, because the two of them fall back to sleep and when Beel comes to fetch them for breakfast he takes a picture instead of waking them up. 

Lucifer has to pay Asmo not to post it.

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐀 𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐜𝐞 & 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 ⚘ 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒘

Summary ➳ Thorin’s heart swears to despise each and every dragon, but how could he come to hate its rider who longs for a home as he does?

Extra Information ➳ (Y/n) appeared in Mirkwood twenty three years ago with a baby dragon perched on her shoulder. Thranduil took her in to keep a promise to an old friend.

(A/n) ➳ I started writing this mid November of last year back when I started the Hobbit. I plan to upload this series either Spring or Winter. Feedback is greatly appreciated. I feel like this is more of my better works considering I wanted it to feel like the Hobbit/LOTR.

Word Count ➳ 610

Content Warnings ➳ Female Targaryen Reader, 3rd P.O.V, mentions the Doom of Valyria, mentions of death…

Series Masterlist || Chapter 1

(Y/n) watched from the corner, watching as each dwarf was pushed into a cell. Their complaints were falling on death’s ears.

She stepped out from the shadows and towards Legolas’s direction, wanting to know where the dwarves came from.

“What do you know of dragons, girl?” The dwarf’s voice was gruff, laced with bitterness as he eyed the dragon sigils embroidered into her clothing. “You wear it like a badge of honor.”

(Y/n) eyed him as well, realizing who the dwarf in the cell was. “You’re Thorin Oakenshield? Heir to the throne of Erebor.”

Thorin’s fists clenched around the iron bars. “You have yet to answer my question.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened in amazement. “I cannot believe it. I’ve-”

“(Y/n)! Dina!” Legolas commanded her to come. “Get away from the dwarf.”

With that, she walked away, leaving no room for Thorin or (Y/n) to say anything.

“Must you speak to them?” Legolas sneered, following you down the steps. “What reason do you have?”

“I’ve always wanted to see the infamous Thorin Oakenshield. It was not disappointing.”

“...Is it?”

(Y/n) nodded, a smile on her lips. “Yes. If what they say is true… If they reclaim the mountain, I would love to see the glory of Erebor.”

Legolas froze in his steps. “I am beginning to wonder where your allegiance lies.”

“What makes you wonder that?”

“...Go, I need to report to the King.”

She rolled her eyes, asking herself if her curiosity made Legolas or anyone else question her loyalty.

Of course, her loyalty lies with Thranduil, he saved her and took a human and a dragon in. A human not from this world.

The sun had begun to set when (Y/n) stood at Thorin’s cell. “Might I ask you something?” She began, breaking the silence.

He looked up at her, eyes wary. “What is it? Dragon rider?”

“If you had no memories of the kingdom or its riches, would you still fight to reclaim it?”

“Yes.” He answered without hesitation. “For it is not the gold or treasures that drive me, but the honor and memory of my kin who were lost. To reclaim Erebor is to honor their memory, to give those who wish for their home.”

He stepped closer to the bars as he spoke his words, loudly enough for the rest of the Company to hear. He spoke with bravery and pride, not a single once of shame in them.

(Y/n) listened to his words closely. It made her think of her own home, the writing of the book could not describe the doom correctly.

Only a dream, unsure if it came true…

(Y/n) became lost in her thoughts, she began to speak aloud. “I wonder…” She uttered. “What it would be to see Valyria, to walk the streets, see the dragons fly into the sky with my people on its back. I wonder if any Targaryens remain.”

She sighed, sitting down on the steps. “I wonder if the dream was true and the doom of my home was correct.”

Thorin, still irate from the encounter from earlier but genuinely curious about her side of dragons, sat as well. “Was it taken?”

“It was destroyed. A Targaryen had a dream, D… Daenys had a dream. She had foresaw the destruction. But I have no way to know if it was true, I do not know if Valyria still stands or if any Targaryens remain to rule the skies.”

(Y/n) looked up to the ceiling, closing her eyes to remember how Valyria was described. “To be home. I would give my life just to see it.”

“…May you find your way home, dragon rider… And safely.”

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.

[ultimateshixiongfuckertournament]

Noncanonicals Tournament FINAL

This final is between Han Ying from Word of Honor (shizun/mentor: Zhou Zishu) and Fang Duobing from Mysterious Lotus Casebook (shizun/mentor: Li Xiangyi / Li Lianhua)

Propaganda under the cut! (Warning: Propaganda may include spoilers about the characters and their media)

Han Ying:

He idolized and was mentored by Zhou Zishu to the point of recruiting other young martial artists to revive ZZS’s dying sect and willing to die live happily ever after for it.

#han ying wants to fuck zhou zishu SO BAD#han ying#shizunfucker tournament

#my sweet ying'er wants to fuck zzs so bad he's gagging for it

#HAN YING HANDS DOWN#would have licked his boots if he asked

#han ying wanted nothing more than to officially become zzs's student/part of his sect#it was literally his dying wish that his brothers in arms may get to do that#he says several times in the show to zzs's very face that he's 100% down for dying for him#he swears allegiance EXCLUSIVELY to zzs and not the prince they're all serving#he comes up with bangers like 'if there is anything you need I will lay down my life with no regret'#'if you were gone one day how could I live alone'#'a loyal servant wouldn't have two masters in his life'#he sneaks into zzs's abandoned residence and homoerotically-#-strokes the painting of a flower that symbolizes a) zzs himself b) zzs's grief for being the lone survivor of his sect#and he wanted to join siji so so badly#it was his life's dream and he died IN siji but before getting to have that 😭#listen he makes me insane#anyway they should have fucked sloppy style and zzs would have had an out of body experience if hy called him shizun#my final thesis goodbye

#it's HAN YING#you could power entire nations with the power of that yearning

#han ying saw zhou zishu and IMMEDIATELY dropped to his knees are you joking#wen kexing immediately clocked him

#ying'er my sweet prince#he wants the dick so badly

Fang Duobing:

Fang Duobing has most definitely had several fantasies of being dommed by his shifu Li Xiangyi! He is also equally invested in marrying Li Lianhua - travelling the jianghu, going on rooftop moonlit dates, incorporating looking after him forever and ever into his general future plans. This is even before he knows that Li Lianhua and Li Xiangyi are the same person. Oh there are Layers to the shizunfucking. Where's that post about being so devoted to someone that it breaks the pedestal they're put on and comes full circle to loving them for the person they are? (its here: https://www.tumblr.com/difeisheng/733133489565745152/the-core-of-fanghua-is-built-around-fang-duobings) When they finally do get to know each other 10 years later, after Li Xiangyi's identity is found out, Fang Duobing insists on being equals rather than master-and-disciple! Li lianhua is Fang Duobing’s guide in the Jianghu! He leaves his house, dog and the only records of his unique martial arts to Fang Duobing before running away!! Fang Duobing’s most important agenda is to save Li Lianhua from slow death by poison!!! He doesn't care if Li Lianhua keeps leaving him behind and lying to him and is 'at peace' with dying!! They live together. They'll never be equals. They've been equals all along. They're zhiji. They're master and disciple. they're married. They're everything.

#this man wanted to fuck his shizun under two whole ass different identities#this man was given one million choices between his shizun and his entire cushy rich boi life and did not sweat the decision even once#this man was engaged to a princess - who was COOL - and went “no thanks i’d rather follow shizun around in a fantasy china airstream’

#this cannot not be fang duobing let's be serious#polls#he's been drawing hearts around his shizun's name since age 8

#Fang Duobing going through it for what he thinks is two different people but is just one guy#so he gets my vote easy

#pls he is head employee at shizunfucker.co

[rose-of-red-lake]

Unreliable Narrator in the Sith Show

I have seen a few arguments that the Acolyte is a case of total unreliable narration, that it's a new Star Wars era of storytelling, a "sophisticated" show from the "Sith's POV," which is why the Stranger/Qimir seems so calm, balanced, and sure of himself. But don't worry - according to these opinions, the modern audience will be able to see through his lies, being astute enough to know that he's evil, without having to tell us directly. Because telling us directly is too much of a mustache-twirling villain trope, or something.

So is everyone on the same page? Did we all get this?

Naur, I don think so... because I have also seen a lot of odd defenses of the character, that he's not really as bad as the Jedi make him out to be, that he's not a Sith, and that he wants to be left alone as a rogue, without any allegiances, just doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants. I have seen people agree with his perspective, that the Jedi are the oppressors because they won't let him live how he wants. Someone even compared him to Mando with Osha as his Grogu. Man just wants a family without the government telling him how to live his lyfe. 😥

So if audiences are indeed smart enough to see through the unreliable narrator, why are they agreeing with him? Why are people sucked into his own perspective, which is Ayn Rand on steroids to my mind. Running through the galaxy, doing whatever you want? Okay, but look where that led. Once he wanted an acolyte to go out into the world and assassinate some Jedi, he isn't like Brendock or Dathomir witches anymore. That should have been a line, drawn, clear to the audience. But then the narrative goes back to extreme moral relativism. "Well, maybe the Jedi shouldn't have interfered..." or, "Maybe they were right to." So we have morally grey situations with a baddie POV mixed in, in a television show where we can't get inside people's heads? Okaaaay...Leysle with a Y. Good luck with that.

If this is all just unreliable narration, why is Sol so unsympathetic, unwilling to ask for forgiveness, even right up to the end? This just makes Osha look justified for killing him. The Dark Side doesn't even need to be "seductive" if Sol's actions were so bad. And I'm taking his actions that way because of what the showrunner said about him: Sol has a darkness in him that he can't control. And what was the content of this darkness, you might wonder? Well, he was being more like a "father" than a "Jedi" again according to Headland. Alright, why are those two roles mutually exclusive, at all? Doesn't her own mentor Feloni criticize Obi-Wan for not being enough of a father to Anakin?

But maybe the unreliable narration could come through with how the Order is portrayed in their scenes without Qimir. But nope, they're like the freaking police department in the Wire: cold, calculating, trying to cover things up. If it was an unreliable narrator, wouldn't we have a break in all of the bleakness that shows us, hey "Qimir is kinda wrong here." I don't think we do.

Beyond any of this, I don't trust this writer to write something as complex as a "Sith POV," or use unreliable narration effectively. I don't think she's experienced enough.

Not to mention, I don't think the showrunner gets the emotional turmoil of what its like to be a Dark Side user. They should be lost in their emotions, letting their emotions rule them, subject to constant turmoil, constant fear of losing what they have, and wanting more and more because of their greed. The unreliable narration should break at some point to show that, and it shouldn't be so subtle that it goes over people's heads. Moreover, a Jedi like Sol should be more sympathetic because they are at least struggling to suppress their inner Dark Side. Sol did nothing like what Anakin did. If he is truly acting like a overly-compassionate father, then he shouldn't refuse to ask for her forgiveness either. He shouldn't be dead in the mud, choked by his own daughter.

Goddamn this show is fucking bleak.

[mcflymemes]

GENERIC FANTASY PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue for any fantasy setting

you are a descendent from an ancient royal line.

can you joust?

this is not a question of bravery.

are you too cowardly to take a life?

hand me my sword.

the sheets feel scratchy.

you could have got us killed!

if you had kept to the plan, those knights might be alive right now.

together, we have a chance to take back what is ours.

would you ride into town with me?

you're playing with fire.

you should be on the throne.

perhaps we never should have come.

did you bring your bow?

you take one more step, traitor, and i'll chew you to splinters.

are you fit to compete, or shall the forfeit stand?

thank you, my lord.

i will deal with you when this is over.

you have to go alone.

we have some work to do.

it's an ambush!

why are they all staring at us?

were you robbed?

clean your sword.

i must look for a suitor.

i know where your allegiance lies.

pick up your sword.

you're not going to kill me?

what do you propose we do, your majesty?

the path takes us through there.

i will probably die on this quest.

even the peasants can marry for love.

your people love you.

i just learned this spell. can i show you?

are you with me?

how many more must die for the throne?

why don't we discuss the matter later?

what are you wearing to the ball tonight?

do not shush me!

be careful on those roads. there's been a report of bandits.

i'm not worthy of the throne.

how do i know your promise will be kept?

take the sword to the tower.

is that your horse?

i hear there's going to be a royal ball.

it was said to be magic.

no one has ever taken that castle.

what a waste of brandy.

is there a way down?

do you hear talk of a dragon?

you knowingly endangered a member of the royal family.

on a horse, with a lance... you're unbeatable.

some day, i'll be a knight.

there's an army out there, and it's ready to follow you.

hold your tongue or lose it.

you're no longer a myth. you're starting to mean something.

admiring the castle again, i see. isn't it beautiful?

tonight, evil has met its match.

you make me feel like a poet.

i'll ride with you.

this kingdom is better off without the lot of you!

why were they trying to kill you?

no one ever comes back from the woods.

i think it's time we found out what's going on.

i will not lose.

how about a little target practice?

you were right to fear the woods.

choose your last words carefully!

the time for pleasantries is through.

run, and i will run with you.

they wanted to arrange my marriage.

will you dance with me?

i'm sure when i'm older, i'll understand.

you know what we have to do.

what do you think? now that you know what i am?

you speak of what you do not know.

my parents were peasants.

we have a long journey ahead of us.

we should have killed them when we had the chance.

you might find this land a more savage place than you remember.

do you even know how to use that thing?

you have to be of noble birth to compete!

i didn't want to be at the celebration.

i can do magic.

are those catapults?

do you know any spells?

i'm not supposed to be seen with people like you.

minotaurs? they're real?

try and take them then.

help me fetch my arrows.

i'm afraid i'm not worthy of you.

i hear you have a quest for me.

sit with me and drink.

that's a bit of a long story.

there is no way that i am fighting.

i challenge you to a duel.

i wonder who lived here.

maybe it's time you had this back.

you have a traitor in your midst.

meet me in the castle gardens tonight, after the sun sets.

the king sent me.

you stole from the castle?

[azsazz]

Bloody Knuckles and the Songs of Death (Part 2)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is everything that Azriel is not. Opposite feelings but equal death in the end.

AKA: Half a rewrite of chapters 43-47 of ACOWAR where reader is now there as part of the Autumn Court, excited to meet Azriel. The other half are my own ideas.

Warnings: Major themes of death, ACOWAR spoilers, blood, gore, mentions of abuse, smut.

Word Count: 3,991

(Part One)

_________________________________________

Absolute silence. Absolute stillness.

The tremor of magic slides through the room as shield after shield locks into place around each High Lord and their retinues. A wave of heat flashes across your face as even Beron’s protective shields come out, and something exciting stirs in your chest because of it. The power flitting through the room weighs heavy on everyone’s shoulders, their faces solemn as they look between each other wearily, sizing each other up, but your lips twitch, itching to break out into a grin.

You can almost smell the bloodshed waiting to happen.

You can’t help but watch how the Night Court participants react to Tamlin’s arrival. Rhysand’s face is set into that well-practiced bored look that Eris had told you about. You can practically feel the dark power rippling beneath his skin.

Feyre tries to school her face into the same cold caution her elder sister wears, but she fails so miserably your laugh nearly slips. Not even the daggers the shadowsinger shoots you has your smile faltering, and you lean in a little closer to Eris beside you, if only to play the part you knew so well as you dismiss him, feeling the embers of Beron’s eyes following your every move. At the sight of the vague distaste on Mor’s face, you’re on the edge of your seat.

Feyre’s discomfort is palpable in the large room that has suddenly shrunk three sizes since the arrival of the missing High Lord. Your attention returns to Tamlin, his gleaming green eyes fixed solely on the new High Lady of Night and her mate.

He smiles broadly, his sharp teeth white as crow-picked bones, the kind that can rip through flesh with the ease of the freshly-sharpened blade at your side, the kind that can land a killing blow with one well placed bite. A shiver slides up your spine at the thought of Tamlin slaughtering someone with those wolfish teeth.

Thesean rises from his lush chair as if to greet the tardy male. His captain remains seated beside him with a hand on his sword.

“We were not expecting you, Tamlin.” Thesean gestures beside him towards his cringing attendants. “Fetch the High Lord a chair.”

Tamlin doesn’t acknowledge Thesean, instead, his eyes stay locked on Feyre and her courtiers.

Something in his smile changes, turning more subdued. You can see clearly the effect it has on Feyre, the way she stiffens under his unfaltering eyes, turning more and more vicious the longer he looks.

He’s clad in a green tunic, the color of full grasses you’d only seen once. He dons no crown, no adornments that show off his wealth like many of the other High Lords. Eris twists his thick gold ring around his first finger, a circlet of leaves that make up his family crest, his only true show of wealth.

Beron is the one who breaks the tense silence and you refrain from rolling your eyes, knowing what punishment it will catch you if he notices.

You still hadn’t fully recovered from his last disciplinary action.

Azriel’s brows furrow in your direction as you shift uncomfortably in your chair, fingers brushing over your sleeve where the mark lays. It’s a fleeting brush of his golden gaze as it hardens on the Autumn Lord two seats down from you.

“I will admit, Tamlin, that I am surprised to see you here.”

Still, the High Lord of Spring does not look away from his prey, watching every breath Feyre takes.

Beron continues anyway, “Rumor claims your allegiance now lies elsewhere.”

You have to give it to the asshole High Lord that you’d very much like to put in the ground. He isn’t afraid to ask the real questions, the ones everyone so desperately wants answered but doesn’t dare ask.

Finally, Tamlin’s gaze shifts, not towards the male speaking to him, but to the shining ring on Feyre’s finger. To the dark swirl of ink etched across her hand, flowing beneath the glittering, pale blue sleeve of her gown. It trails up, up, up to the crown of onyx jewels in her hair, glittering in the sunlight.

Nobody moves.

You’d heard of what she’d done to him and his court. The deceptions, the lies, all of it had spread across Prythian like a wildfire, poisonous and all consuming. What she’d done to him in her rage…you would have to agree that the beast keeping her holed up in his mansion deserved nothing less. If the Autumn and Night Court weren’t on such terrible terms, you think you'd actually like to get to know Feyre and become her friend.

The change in Feyre’s stare is evident. Her molten wrath at the memories of what he’d done to her turns her pale gray eyes into something sharp-edged and brittle.

Thesean’s attendants return, hauling a chair between them. They set it between Oakland and Helion’s entourage. Neither look thrilled about it, Oakland trying to smother the look of disgust with his wine glass, but they aren’t stupid enough to physically recoil as Tamlin sits.

The High Lord of Spring says not one word.

Helion waves a scar-flecked hand and your head tilts as you stare at the pink slashes cutting across his dark skin, curious as to how he’d gotten them. If he’d been close to Death when he’d received such an honor.

“Let’s get on with it, then.”

Thesean clears his throat, but no one looks his way.

Not as Tamlin surveys the hand Rhys has resting on Feyre’s knee.

The loathing in the Spring King’s eyes practically simmers.

Everyone in the room braces themselves as he opens his mouth to speak. 

“It would seem congratulations are in order.”

His words are flat–flat yet sharp as the claws he’s hiding beneath his golden skin. 

Feyre says nothing.

Rhys holds Tamlin’s stare. He holds it with a face like ice, and yet utter rage roils beneath it. A cataclysmic rage, surging and writhing around the room, threatening to take everyone out in a single snap.

But Rhys addresses Thesean instead, who has reclaimed his seat, yet seems far from any sort of ease, “We can discuss the matter at hand later.”

Tamlin tacks on calmly, “Don’t stop on my account.”

The light in Rhysand’s eyes gutters, as if a hand of darkness wipes the very stars from his violet gaze. He reclines in his chair, withdrawing his hand from Feyre’s knee to trace idle circles on his seat’s wooden arm. “I am not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies.”

You, along with Helion, across the reflection pool, grin like lions.

“No,” Tamlin replies with equal ease, “You’re just in the business of fucking them.”

The entire Court goes silent.

Cassian, Azriel, and Mor are as still as Death, fury rippling off of them in silent waves, something that has utter delight rushing through your veins. As if Eris can feel your excitement, he places a hand over your knee under the table where no eyes can see, not that anyone is paying the two of you any attention anyway, not while there is something far more interesting to watch.

He squeezes softly in warning. 

Don’t fuck this up.

Whether Tamlin notices the courtier's anger or cares that the three of the deadliest people in the room are contemplating his demise, he doesn't let on.

Your mouth parts slightly to taste the air. It’s all you give yourself for now, the metallic tang of bloodshed waiting to happen. You want to feel that red warmth across your skin, ache for the slickness between your fingers, painting your skin crimson, warm like the Death you love so dear.

Rhysand only shrugs, smiling faintly. “Seems a far less destructive alternative to war.”

“And yet here you are, having started it in the first place.”

The Night Court ruler’s blink is the only sign of his confusion.

A claw slides out of Tamlin’s knuckle.

Kallias tenses, a hand drifting to the arm of Viviane’s chair–as if he’ll throw himself in front of it. Honorable of him. But Tamlin only drags his claw lightly down the carved arm of his own chair. You’re wickedly transported to the thoughts of all of the times you’d done the same with your blade, watching the life drain from your foe’s eyes. Your stare becomes more intense. 

Tamlin smiles at Feyre knowingly, the High Ladies pallor turning white as the motion triggers something within her.

“If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.”

Feyre says quietly, “The sun was shining when I left you.”

Your smile hurts.

Green eyes slide to her once more, glazed and foreign. He lets out a low snort, then looks away just as quickly.

Dismissal.

Kallias asks, “Why are you here, Tamlin?”

Tamlin’s claw digs into the wood, puncturing deep even as his voice remains mild. “I bartered access to my lands to get back the woman I love from a sadist who plays with minds as if they are toys. I meant to fight Hybern–to find a way around the bargain I made with the king once she was back. Only Rhysand and his cabal had turned her into one of them. And she delighted in ripping open my territory for Hybern to invade. All for a petty grudge–either her or her…master’s.”

“You don’t get to rewrite the narrative,” Feyre breathes. “You don’t get to spin this to your advantage.”

Tamlin angles his head at Rhys. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”

The grin drops from your face.

Feyre’s cheeks are stained red. This isn’t an outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of her dignity, her credibility. Beron beams and your stomach churns at his delight–while Eris carefully monitors.

Rhys turns his head, looking Feyre over from head to toe. Then back to Tamlin. A storm about to be unleashed.

But it’s Azriel who says, his voice like cold death, “Be careful how you speak about my High Lady.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. Something preens in your chest at his words, at the open threat on his face, bright eyes dark with the shroud of Death itself.

Surprise flashes in Tamlin’s eyes–then vanishes. Vanishes, swallowed by the pure fury as he realizes what that tattoo coating Feyre’s hand is for. “It was not enough to sit at my side, was it?” A hateful smile curls his lips. “You once asked me if you’d be my High Lady, and when I said no…”

A low laugh. “Perhaps I underestimated you. Why serve in my court, when you could rule in his?”

Tamlin finally faces the other gathered High Lords and their retinues. “They peddle tales of defending our land and peace. And yet she came to my lands and laid them bare for Hybern. She took my High Priestess and warped her mind–after she shattered her bones for spite. And if you are asking yourself what happened to that human girl who went Under the Mountain to save us…Look to the male sitting beside her. Ask what he stands to gain–what they stand to gain from this war, or lack of it. Would we fight Hybern, only to find ourselves with a Queen and King of Prythian? She’s proved her ambition–and you saw how he was more than happy to serve Amarantha to remain unscathed.”

You catch Feyre holding back a snarl at the heinous words aimed at her mate.

Rhys releases a dark laugh. “Well played, Tamlin. You’re learning.”

Ire contorts Tamlin’s face at the condescension. But he faces Kallias. “You asked why I’m here? I might ask the same of you.” He jerks his chin at the High Lord of Winter, at Viviane–the few other members of their retinue who remain silent. “You mean to tell me that after Under the Mountain, you can stomach working with him?” A finger flung in Rhysand’s direction.

The silvery glow about Kallias dulls.

Even Viviane seems to dim. “We came here to decide that for ourselves.”

Mor stares at her friend in quiet questioning. Viviane, for the first time since the Night Court had arrived, does not look toward her. Only at her mate.

Rhys says softly to them, to everyone, “I had no involvement in that. None.”

Kallias’s eyes flare like blue flame. “You stood beside her throne while the order was given.”

There isn’t anything anyone can do, except watch Rhys’ golden skin pale. “I tried to stop it.”

“Tell that to the parents of the two dozen younglings she butchered,” Kallias says, and this time you don’t feel that loving caress of Death, you only hurt for the children that had been ripped away from their parents at such a young age. You know that Death herself will take the best care of them, and sometimes not all death can be justified. “That you tried.”

Rhys’ mouth tightens. “There is not one day that passes when I don’t remember it,” he says to Kallias, to Viviane. To their companions. “Not one day.”

“Remembering,” Kallias answers, “Doesn’t bring them back, does it?”

“No,” Rhys says plainly. “No, it doesn’t. And I am now fighting to make sure it never happens again.”

Viviane glances between her husband and Rhys. “I was not present Under the Mountain. But I would hear, High Lord, how you tried to–stop her.” Pain tightens her face. She, too, had been unable to prevent it while she guarded her small slice of territory.

You had heard the whispers of things of what happened during Under the Mountain and snippets of what Eris could choke out, but you had never really believed it to be much truth as it came from the gossipping handmaids of the Autumn Court manor that you were bound to, even while the High Lord and his family were trapped below.

Rhys says nothing.

Beron snorts, the sound makes you cringe. “Finally speechless, Rhysand?”

Feyre’s hand slips to Rhys’ arm. Tamlin marks it, but she doesn’t seem to care. She says to her mate, not bothering to keep her voice down, “I believe you.”

“Says the woman,” Beron counters, and it’s all you can do to not look like you’re a part of their façade as a unified family. “Who gave an innocent girl’s name in her stead–for Amarantha to butcher as well.”

Rhys swallows and Feyre’s grip tightens on his arm.

His voice is rough as he says to Kallias, “When your people rebelled…” And you recall exactly how Winter had rebelled against Amarantha. And the children…that had been Amarantha’s answer. Her punishment for disobedience. “She was furious. She wanted you dead, Kallias.”

Viviane’s face drains of color.

Rhys continues, “I…convinced her that it would serve little purpose.”

“Who knew,” Beron muses, “That a cock could be so persuasive?”

“Father.” Eris’ voice is low with warning. His hand tightens on your knee.

For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Feyre fix their gazes upon the High Lord of Autumn. None of them are smiling.

They look as though Eris might become High Lord sooner than he plans.

That flutter kicks up in your stomach again at the lethal looks in their eyes, especially that extra sparkle in Azriel’s.

If only you could help make that happen.

But Rhys goes on to Kallias, “She backed off the idea of killing you. Your rebels were dead–I convinced her it was enough. I thought it was the end of it.” His breathing hitches slightly. “I only found out when you did. I think she viewed my defense of you as a warning sign–she didn’t tell me any of it. And she kept me…confined. I tried to break into the minds of the soldiers she sent, but her damper on my power was too strong to hold them–and it was already done. She…she sent a daemati with them. To…” He falters, but you all know what had happened. The children’s minds–they’d been shattered. Rhys swallows. “I think she wanted you to suspect me. To keep us from ever allying against her.”

What he must have witnessed within those soldiers’ minds…

“Where did she confine you?” The question comes from Viviane, her arms wrapped around her middle.

No one is entirely ready for it when Rhys answers, “Her bedroom.”

His friends do not hide their rage, their grief at the details he’d kept even from them.

“Stories and words,” Tamlin says, lounging in his chair. Your anger flares like the fires of the Court you’ve been chained to for nearly a century. “Is there any proof?”

“Proof–” Cassian snarls, half rising in his seat, his wings starting to flare.

“No,” Rhys cuts in as Mor blocks Cassian with an arm, forcing him to sit. Rhys adds to Kallias, “But I swear it–upon my mate’s life.” His hand rests atop of Feyre’s.

Your stomach whorls at the realization that he must have known what coming here, presenting his front just as they are, would cost him. What he might have to reveal beyond the wings he’s managed to hide so well for so long.

Tamlin rolls his eyes. You can see the utter restraint Feyre has to keep her from lunging for him–from ripping out his eyes in the name of her mate.

But whatever Kallias reads in Rhys’ face, his words…he pins Tamlin with a hard stare as he asks again, “Why are you here, Tamlin?”

A muscle flickers in Tamlin’s jaw. “I am here to help you fight against Hybern.”

“Bullshit,” Cassian mutters, and you silently agree, catching his glowering gaze with a slight nod of your head. His brows twitch into a furrow before he dismisses you, untrusting of the pet so cozied up to Autumn.

Tamlin glares at him. Cassian, folding his wings in neatly as he leans back in his chair once more, offers him a crooked grin in return.

“You will forgive us,” Thesean interrupts gracefully, “If we are doubtful. And hesitant to share any plans.”

“Even when I have information on Hybern’s movements?” 

Silence. Tarquin, across the pool, watches and listens–either because he’s the youngest of them, or perhaps he knows some advantage that lies in letting them battle it out themselves.

Tamlin smiles at Feyre again. “Why do you think I invited them to the house? Into my lands?” He lets out a low snarl, and Rhys tenses in his seat at the sound. “I once told you I would fight against tyranny, against that sort of evil. Did you think you were enough to turn me from that?” His teeth shine white as bone. “It was so easy for you to call me a monster, despite all I did for you, for your family.” A sneer towards Nesta, who is frowning with distaste. “Yet you witnessed all that he did Under the Mountain, and still spread your legs for him. Fitting, I suppose. He whored for Amarantha for decades. Why shouldn’t you be his whore in return?”

“Watch your mouth,” Mor snaps. 

Tamlin ignores her wholly and waves a hand towards Rhysand’s wings. “I sometimes forget–what you are. Have the masks come off now, or is this another ploy?”

“You’re beginning to become tedious, Tamlin,” Helion says, propping his head on a hand. “Take your lovers’ spat elsewhere and let the rest of us discuss this war.”

“You’d be all too happy for war, considering how well you made out in the last one.”

“No one says war can’t be lucrative,” Helion counters. Tamlin’s lip curls in a silent snarl that makes you wonder if he’d gone to Helion to break Feyre’s bargain with Rhys–if Helion had refused.

“Enough,” Kallias says. “We have our opinions on how the conflict with Hybern should be dealt with.” Those glacial eyes harden as he takes in Tamlin again. “Are you here as an ally of Hybern or Prythian?” 

The mocking, hateful gleam fades into granite resolve. “I stand against Hybern.”

“Prove it,” Helion goads.

Tamlin lifts his hand, and a stack of papers appears on the little table beside his chair. “Charts of armies, ammunition, caches of faebane…Everything carefully gleaned these months.”

“Noble as it sounds,” Helion continues, “Who is to say that the information is correct–or that you aren’t Hybern’s agent, trying to mislead us?”

“Who is to say that Rhysand and his cronies are not agents of Hybern, all of this a ruse to get you to yield without realizing it?”

Nesta murmurs, “You can’t be serious.” Mor gives her a look as if to say that he certainly is.

“If we need to ally against Hybern,” Thesean said, “You are doing a good job of convincing us not to band together, Tamlin.”

“I am simply warning you that they might present the guise of honesty and friendship, but the fact remains that he warmed Amarantha’s bed for fifty years, and only worked against her when it seemed the tide was turning. I’m warning you that while he claims his own city was attacked by Hybern, they made off remarkably well–as if they’d been anticipating it. Don’t think he wouldn’t sacrifice a few buildings and lesser faeries to lure you into an alliance, into thinking you had a common enemy. Why is it that only the Night Court got word about the attack on Adriata–and were the only ones to arrive in time to play savior?”

“They received word,” Varian cuts in coolly, “Because I warned them of it.”

Tarquin whips his head to his cousin, brows high with surprise.

“Perhaps you’re working with them, too,” Tamlin said to the Prince of Adriata. “You’re next in line, after all.”

“You’re insane,” Feyre breathes to Tamlin as Varian bares his teeth. “Do you hear what you’re saying?” She points toward Nesta. “Hybern turned my sisters into Fae–after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!”

“Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress–I’m sure the trait runs in the family.”

Nesta lets out a low laugh. “If you want someone to blame for all of this,” she says to Tamlin, “Perhaps you should first look in the mirror.”

Tamlin snarls at her and your excitement returns. You may see some action after all.

Casisan snarls right back, “Watch it.”

Tamlin looks between Feyre’s sister and Cassian–his gaze lingering on Cassian’s wings, tucked in behind him. Snorts. “Seems like other preferences run in the Archeron family, too.”

Feyre’s power begins to rumble throughout the room–a behemoth rising up, yawning awake.

“What do you want?” She hisses. “An apology? For me to crawl back into your bed and play nice, little wife?”

“Why should I want spoiled goods returned to me?”

Her cheeks flare.

Tamlin growls, “The moment you let him fuck you like an–”

One heartbeat, the poisoned words spew from his mouth–where fangs lengthen.

Then they stop.

Tamlin’s mouth simply stops emitting sounds. He shuts his mouth, opens it–tries again.

No sound, not even a snarl, comes out.

There is no smile on Rhysand’s face, not a glint of that irreverent amusement as he rests his head against the back of his chair. “The gasping-fish look is a good one for you, Tamlin.”

The others, who have been watching with disdain and boredom, now turn to the High Lord of Night. Now possessing a shadow of fear in their eyes as they realize who and what, exactly, sits amongst them.

You can’t help but to smile again. Wicked.

Brethren, and yet not. Tamlin is a High Lord, as powerful as any of them.

Except for the one at Feyre’s side. Rhys is different from them as humans are to Fae. 

They forgot it, sometimes–how deep that well of power goes. What manner of power Rhys bears.

But as Rhysand rips away Tamlin’s ability to speak, they remember.

[mageknight14]

Dissecting the Femme Fatale Archetype: A Dive into Kanon Tachibana's Character

Kanon Tachibana is one of my favorite TWEWY supporting cast members. Probably not a truly unique opinion, as she's one of the more positively-received characters I've seen when it comes to online opinions on the game, but she's one of my favorites because she’s a perfect example of NEO’s more subtle character writing and gets the perspective flipped on her twice when you initially play through the game and then replay it. So, with that, let's get into her character and what makes her tick in particular.

When we first meet her, she doesn’t make the best first impression, what with her stealing the hard-earned victory pin from Rindo/Fret’s noses and sweet-talking them into letting her keep it (I also love how she glares at Shiba’s announcement, having seen this old song and dance).

Combine this with what the Social Network says about her leading other teams to their doom thanks to her honeyed words and sweet disposition and what we seemingly have is a classic case of the femme fatale character, someone who’s NOT to be trusted.

However, as we progress through the game, we can see that there’s actually a lot more to her than meets the eye. Even after point-sniping them, she still comes forward to give the Twisters advice from time-to-time when it comes to matters regarding the Game. Encouraging them to take on more team members, warning against going up to fight the Ruinbringers (Susukichi in particular), all that jazz.

At the same time, however, she also takes care to reaffirm that she’s also suspicious of the Twisters and their capabilities, often showing surprising amounts of protectiveness when it comes to the other team leaders. These switches between friendly teasing and hard-hitting accusations understandably unnerve the team a bit.

On top of that, throughout the weeks, she also shows a talent for picking apart Fret's surface-level compliments/attempts at flattery, herself being an expert when it comes to that sort of thing as noted by her Social Network profile.

While she is mainly looking out for herself and the Variabeauties, she also does have a sense of honor/fair-play when it comes to be able to fight on an even playing field, which she showcases in her alliance proposal to the Twisters on W2D3.

In the span of one convo, she was able to:

-Pick out that the Twisters are the biggest wild cards in the structure of the Game and note them as such, giving them incentive to look into their own capabilities and find her offer more appealing when weighing their options.

-Play into their doubts regarding the Game and reaffirm to them that this is really the only option they have left at this point if they want to have any hope of actually escaping.

-Blow away Fret’s preconceptions that she’s just as ingenuine as he is as shown by his nervous laughter

-Emphasize that if they’re able to pull it off, it’s a win-win for everyone involved.

It’s made apparent that Kanon is an incredibly skilled negotiator, though understandably Rindo still has her doubts about her because she’s been equal parts threatening and supportive, which sends a mixed message. Who’s to say where her allegiance truly lies?

However, a surprisingly strong affirmation on her convictions comes from no one other than Motoi himself, who actually vouches for Kanon’s intentions and belief in the Twisters being genuine on her part. This along with Swallow’s prodding later on gets Rindo to change his tune. Now, there’s a dozen different interpretations on why Motoi would go out of his way to vouch for Kanon’s character but the fact that he was actually right on the money is a pretty subtle hint that they know about each other and how they tick more than people realize…

Then we go into W2D7, where Kanon’s recounting of the Ruinbringers’ activities and her muted reaction towards Motoi’s erasure emphasizing that she’s been at this for a long, LONG, horrifying while, becoming practically numb to it all.

And when Sudden Death in Week 3 comes around, she starts to kick up her critique of Fret and his issues into overdrive, wanting to see him grow for the better knowing full well that she and the Variabeauties might not make it at the end of the week. And unfortunately for her, Fret, and the Beauties, that fear ends up becoming a reality.

The following day, Fret flat out tells the others about how he felt about Kanon: that he wanted to BE like her, finding her genuine nature and confidence in who she is as something to aspire to, and wanted her to see him reach that level.

By then, our perspective on Kanon has flipped: a scheming femme fatale who turns out to be an intelligent, real, and loyal soul. Someone who starts off cold towards the Twisters before coming around to genuinely like and appreciate them (note the little smile in image 2!)

However, this is only half of the real Kanon we get to know and when we take a look back at some of convos within the game, the Reports, and see past Fret’s idealized image of her, we get to see a much more deeper side to Kanon than what was already there.

First, we need to talk about two aspects of Kanon; her hidden resentment of the Twisters/the system she’s trapped in and her trust issues. As noted above, Kanon is quite curiously protective in regards to the other Player teams, even accusing the Twisters of sabotaging them at some points, and this is for one particular reason: she and the rest of the Beauties are in an unspoken alliance with both teams. One where the top 3 teams (besides the Ruinbringers of course) keep their footing by sending new players and other teams to last place. This is something that’s actually alluded to on W2D3, with the Beauties and Purehearts corroborating together to take down the Twisters.

I also want to draw your attention again to these scenes here, where in the second timeline Rindo has Replayed to, Kanon already knows about Fuya challenging the Ruinbringers whereas before in the first timeline she didn’t, hence why she’s a bit more antsy this time around.

The reason for this is because, due to the Wicked Twisters screwing up the balance of powers between the teams with their sheer existence and sending the DRS plummeting to last place on W1D5, Fuya has become more daring/reckless, desperate to etch out a win against Susukichi. While Fuya is noted by in the Social Network to have surprisingly strong Imagination, there's a reason why he and the the DRS are mainly in dead last.

Kanon and Motoi are the most powerful of the (non-Ruinbringers) teams solely because of their ability to manipulate things in their favour despite both being weak in psych/Imagination. In that regard they’re the most "successful" within the constraints of the rigged game. Fuya, on the other hand, while having strong psychic powers, isn't as wily as the other two in regards to their social prowess and failed to keep his team properly motivated and prevent them from feeling demoralized, which is shown most prominently on W1D5 where Rindo uses his time travel to reroute them from fulfilling their duties by playing on their desires in their moments of weaknesses.

With this in mind, it's no wonder that Fuya became so desperate to risk it all against Susukichi. And while the Twisters do almost bring about change by beating the Ruinbringers, it ultimately doesn’t matter in the long-run due to how incredibly rigged the Shinjuku game is and as a result, the DRS are eliminated, getting rid of the Beauties’ and Purehearts’ safety net.

This kind of stuff is what I mean by Kanon being a perfect example of NEO's subtle character writing. At first glance, Rindo's nonchalant note of her behavior in the second timeline isn't anything to write home about, but it's when you look at all these individual pieces and start lining them up all together, a clear picture starts to be formed. It's what makes NEO so fascinating as a work to explore everytime I replay it.

The Reports make it especially clear that the teams have been through this experience for 30 LOOPS, which has left them teetering on the brink of despair and coping with the situation in anyway they can, with W1D5 (as noted before) and W2D4, as well as other segments, exploring this in more detail.

Imagine going through what is essentially a never-ending hell for weeks on end with no opportunity for rest so you come up with a system to at least stall the inevitable before a couple of kids come around to throw that system out of wack but it all ends up amounting to nothing. With this in mind, it’s honestly no wonder that a part of Kanon resents the Twisters for what happened, with her Dive on W3D3 bringing up all of these lingering feelings to the surface.

However, Kanon knows that the Twisters realistically wouldn’t know about any of that. How could they, after all? She knows that they’re fundamentally good kids at their core and knows that her feelings towards them aren’t fair so she keeps them buried to focus more on her tasks. She tries to take all of the responsibility upon herself and not let anyone else get caught up in the crossfire but this leads into one of her fatal flaws: her inability to trust in the capabilities of her team.

Throughout the game, it’s made pretty apparent that both the Twisters (Fret in particular) and the Beauties idolize her, with the latter propping her up as their Kween. And to their credit, Kanon IS a genuinely good leader, one worth looking up to. However, with all of those expectations comes a sense of isolation, a feeling that you HAVE to take on all of the burdens because if you don’t, who else will? This is shown when she splits up the Beauties when the threat of the Plague Noise comes around, not trusting their capabilities. However, all this did was leave the Beauties as slim pickings for the Noise, including Kanon herself. This is actually foreshadowed all the way back in Week 1, where she declines potentially recruiting Nagi because she doesn’t want to ruin the dynamic she and the Beauties have going.

This is also a reflection of how Rindo himself initially acts, not wanting recruit more team members because he’s afraid of getting dragged down into failure and having no faith in his or his teammates’ capability to achieve things for themselves. What’s interesting is that Kanon does it because she wants to shoulder the burden/responsibility by herself whereas with Rindo, he does so because he wants to AVOID having to take responsibility for any potential fallout, relying on someone else to do it for him. However, as the game progresses, Rindo gets better about this, learning to let his barriers down, reach out to others more, and trust in himself and his friends’ capabilities.

In fact, when trying to save Kanon, Rindo nearly makes the same mistake as her by asking Fret to split up, but when Fret shows up, Rindo and co. are down to support him. And although they didn’t succeed in saving her, they were able to grant her the opportunity to die as herself and gain valuable information on combining Fret and Nagi’s powers to combat Shibuya Syndrome that helps them out in the following days.

Overall, Kanon is an incredibly interesting character with a lot going on underneath the surface (in a way, she’s basically Fret’s Hanekoma) and I hope that this analysis on her was able to at least shine some light on her various nuances.

[desswright29]

CLASS 58 (Prolouge)

A/N: Soooo I wasn’t gonna do anymore Series but damnit this shit won’t turn me loose! So Here is a new MINI Series I’m introducing called CLASS 58!

“Alright! Everyone have a seat at the desk where you see your name tag. Do NOT touch the paperwork until instructed to do so!” The instructor yelled out.

You and the vaguely familiar faces around you, slowly walk around finding the seats that held your first and last names. Eager and full of anticipation for what lies ahead of you all for the day. You find your seat and run your finger across the name tag. New beginnings. You scan over the first paragraph of the papers sitting in front of you as you sit.

I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the …

“What the fuck are we getting ourselves into?” A feminine voice said from behind you. You turn to face her. She was short, brown skinned, and chubby. Her hair was cut low, and she had perfect teeth surrounded by pretty lips and a beautiful dimpled smile. She held out her hand to you, and you took it, giving it a short shake.

“I’m Benson. Kia Benson” You give her a smile, as she takes the seat next to you.

“Y/n Y/l/n”

“Nice to meet you Y/l/n.”

“Likewise” She sat, enthusiastically turning towards you in her chair, manspreading, and throwing her arm over the back of her chair. She stared at the side of your face until it started to burn, causing you to look over at her.

“Excuse me?” You say. She bit her lip as she looked you up and down.

“Mm”

“Mm?”

“May I ask how a pretty little thing like you ended up here?”

You smirk, and raise a brow sitting back in your chair. “You first.” She gave you that pretty smile once again.

“I was curious and let’s just say I enjoy challenges. I took a chance, applied and after an excruciating eight months of interviews my charm eventually landed me the position.” She gave you a wink and you rolled your eyes.

“Oh I'm sure it did. You seem full of charm.”

“You have yet to see the levels of my charm.”

“Mmm, can't wait.”

“I bet you can’t pretty lady. So what's your story?”

“I was recruited. Directly out of the military, Army HSC 601st Aviation Brigade. I should reintroduce myself. Staff Sergeant pretty little thing. As you so charmingly put it.” You held out your hand again and Benson lifted both of hers in defense.

“Oooh shit my bad boss lady! Ion want no smoke.” You chuckled at her dramatics.

“I know you don’t.” You said, once again raising your brows.

The sound of the heavy classroom door slamming behind someone interrupted the banter between you and your neighbor.

“Ay, Whaddup Udaku. Late as fuck as usual I see!”

“Ah Ha ha haaaa. Shut the fuck up.” The thick, sexy accent dripping in sarcasm caught your attention, and when you turned your head to see the woman donning such an attractive voice. Your heart dropped into your stomach. There she stood. Tall, shaved sides and a curly top. Her biceps bulged from a black compression top, and she wore shorts that read Army on the bottom left corner. A camelbak backpack was strapped to her shoulders, the rubber tip that dispensed the water rested between her lips as she walked down the aisle dapping up various people.

“Damn” you whisper to yourself.

“Man, damn! Here go this cock blocking bitch!” You hear come from next to you.

“And just what cock was she blocking? You glued the zipper on your backpack as soon as you opened your mouth.”

“Ha! You got jokes.”

“Fuck all that, who is she?” You said your eyes following her, as she sat in the desk front and center of the room.

“That’s Udaku. Another Army recruit. She’s been interning here for six months already. She comes and does P.T. with the canine team every morning and everyone knows her. And every woman in the force is trying to get her.”

“Well I might have to toss in my hat.” You sat forward in your seat, elbows on the table as you got an eye full of the African goddess. Benson smacks her teeth.

“Or, you could just be with someone who’s already interested” She opened her arms wide, and again there was that smile. You couldn't help but return with a giggle. “Benson, you're really cute. But I don't intend on dating anyone during this process. I have to be laser focused. We can be friends though. You seem pretty cool.”

“Pretty cool. I’m the shit!”

“See that’s what I'm talking about right there.” The two of you go back and forth until the instructors make their way to the front.

“Alright everyone settle down! Face forward!” The room quiets as everyone looks towards the front anxiously awaiting the man's next words.

“I’m Mr. Kaufman, your lead instructor. This is Mrs. Santigo, and Sgt. Sanders. These are my assistants. Your only job here for the next several months is to do as we say. Everything that we say to you will be for your benefit. We know what we’re doing, which is why we’ve been tasked with educating you all. It would behoove you to listen. Ms.Udaku! Please stand for me.” Shuri stood to her feet, turning to face the rest of the class. Her eyes scanning over the room.

“This is Udaku. She will be your class Captain and point of contact. If you have any questions after hours, contact Udaku. If she doesn't have the answer, she will contact us. If you're sick, call Udaku, If you have a family emergency, call Udaku.”

“If you need to ease the ache between your thighs. Call Udaku” The girl behind you whispered, causing snickers around the area. Shuri’s eyes landed on the group before settling on you. You were stuck in place as she looked you over, placing the straw of her camelbak back into her mouth. She bit into it and gave you a smirk and a wink before turning around and placing herself back into her seat.

“The oath that lay in front of you. I suggest you become very familiar with it and learn it by heart. That Oath will become your life. The line between a good or great officer. We will break you, and build you into some of the strongest people this world has to offer. This will be emotionally and physically demanding and not all of you will make it. But those of you who do will become a family. We’ll get ready to begin our first lesson here in a few but before we do. I want to say welcome Class 58 to The Federal Bureau of Investigations.”

WHO’S DOWN FOR COP SHURI!!!😉

[13leaguestories]

February 2024 Forecast

Superstition

Episode Four has been talked about and Episode Five is being written still. You'll know when it all gets updated. I want at least two episodes down before I even put something out. I actually just want to finish it but heyyyyyyy, you're going too far now.

Riders of Abauruth Survey

This survey is so that I can get an idea of what people want to see return and what they may like to see change.

This rewrite was for two reasons.

1. To bring RoA into the Jiwenia universe and to do that things had to be changed. For example, the history. I just couldn't copy and paste and move it over, it wasn't going to work nor fit. At this moment I don't even know where it will fit in the timeline just yet. Probably a few decades after ToA but I'm not entirely sure, like I said.

2. To tell the rest of the story I did want to tell back then but didn't really get too. I already had a whole thing on why I canceled it so just go read that.

This is brainstorming stage. So once I shut it down I'll be going through it, figuring out what tons of folks want versus what they really do not and figuring out how to make it all work or if it even works with my vision.

Some quick out there facts that I know:

Allison won't be dying like in the original. Her death will be like everyone else's, based on the reader. Sorry but her name doesn't start with Ch so she won't be one of those "could be in, could be dead" characters.

Dragons will still be male. Only addition to the setup is there will be a green dragon.

Your character is not the prophesied hero they once were. Read the summary on the survey.

There are 7 LI's and some of them will be locked out depending on gender. Gender is important!

These characters are the same but their allegiances and motives have changed. Do not go into this thinking they are the exact same. This is not the same RoA.

[torturedpoetsflashfest]

FEST RECAP

Thank you all for a wonderful flash fest! 24 fics based on 16 songs with the most popular being "The Prophecy," "Peter," and "But Daddy I Love Him." The Black cousins reign supreme over this album with Regulus (7), Sirius (6), Andromeda (5), Narcissa (5) and Bellatrix (4) being the most popular characters. 9 fics met the challenge of having a word count which ends with 13.

Thank you to all the writers, and maybe we'll see you again for a flash fest for Rep (tv). In the meantime, come hang out in @marauders-taylor-fiending discord server or participate in @thetorturedpoetsfest <3

She's the Albatross (She's Here to Destroy You) by thistlecat (Narcissa centric, 313, T)

Beautiful, poised Narcissa Black Malfoy, so unlike her mad sisters with their insistence on destruction. Song: The Albatross

Did you really beam me up in a cloud of sparkling dust just to send me back where I came from? by @comesitintheclover (Harry-centric, 1013 words, G)

Harry wakes up from a long nightmare where he reckons with the anger of being left in an abusive home and how to feel about all that he's been through now that it's finally over and he's finally safe. Song: Down Bad

If Only by multilingualism (Hermione/Severus, 1013, T)

Severus imagines what could have been.

A greater woman has faith by @sugarsnappeases (Lily/Sybill, 3849, T)

they're exes. they're miserable. things ensue.

Song: The Prophecy

Take the Glory, Give Everything by MidnightStargazer (Narcissa & Regulus, Narcissa & Draco, 743, T)

Regulus dreams of glory, longing to make a name for himself and be remembered. Eighteen years later, Draco does the same. Narcissa knows better. Song: Clara Bow

The Prophecy by eggmett (Regulus/Tom Riddle, 1013, M)

The prophecy—For neither can live while the other survives. The thing that had finally sent Tom over the edge. Confimation that he would fall before he had even finished rising. But the omen sentenced us to death that day too. Tom and I would never be free of each other as long as we’re both alive. We’d never be able to live inside this toxic world we built. It didn’t stop me for yearning for it. I’ll always be desparate for his attention. Desparate for his touch. Song: The Prophecy

Promises, Oceans Deep by @sixlane (Regulus & Sirius, 2357, T)

Regulus lies awake on the night of his 14th birthday, running through the plan over and over in his mind. He’s had years to work it out, make sure it’s perfect, but tonight it becomes real, no room for messing up. If he’s caught, he’s dead. He knows this like he knows his own name. A truth his parents have been telling him since Sirius left. or, Regulus executes his escape to meet his brother, but he must soon face the fact that he's been left behind. When Sirius finally turns up, he's seven years too late. Song: Peter

A Dangerous Man by MidnightStargazer (Lucius/Narcissa, 695, T)

Lucius has blood on his hands and owes his allegiance to Lord Voldemort, but Narcissa doesn't care. Song: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

what if he's written "Mine" on my upper thigh only in my mind? by @thistlecatfics (Sirius/Regulus, 1013, E)

Regulus and Sirius are brothers. Regulus and Sirius are no longer brothers. Or, a culmination of fatal fantasies. Song: Guilty as Sin

Peter by Faelostinwoods (Marlene & Peter, 229, G)

Peter had been angry, angry at his friends who treating him worse as the war got worse, angry at dumbledore for not protecting them, angry at whoever created his story because it was getting worse. He had joined the death eaters, in a desperate attempt to change his outcome. Yet, he didn’t expect it to go this far. Song: Peter

my absence makes headlines by @plecotusauritus (Sirius-centric, 459, G)

the scandal was contained the bullet had just grazed at all cost keep your good name you don't get to tell me you feel bad Song: Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

Forever Guilty, of Sin by @nena-96 (Hermione/Ron, 2148, M)

Hermione is alone inside the tent, as she tried to read The Tales of Beedle the Bard, but her memories blend in with the guilty fantasy that was being with Ron Weasley. Song: Guilty as Sin

loml by @emlovessid (Regulus/James, 1013, M)

It’s only been a few weeks since he’s been able to put words to it, but the feeling itself has been there from the beginning, from the first twining of hands and hitching of breath as their lips brushed, growing and growing until– “I love you,” James sighs, the words tumbling out as he breathes freely for the first time in weeks. “You might be the love of my life, actually.” Song: loml

So Long, London by @tealeavesandtrash (Sirius/Remus, 1013, T)

The silence hangs heavy, dead air suffocating. The sky outside is covered in grey clouds, casting the kitchen gloomy shadows. The pathetic fallacy is well-suited at least. Sirius’ eyes burn into him, staring him down over a cup of tea. It makes Remus’ skin crawl worse than the half-healed scars that litter his arms and back. He focuses on buttering the dry toast. Three months ago Sirius would have had breakfast ready for him when he came home. Six months ago he was still begging to spend the full moon together. Song: So Long, London

Burn My Life Down by @thecasualauthor (Andromeda/Ted, 637, G)

She sees everything about her life burn to ashes. Song: But Daddy I Love Him

Slow Quicksand, Poisoned Blood by @nodirectionhome-ao3 (James/Lily, 913, T)

After learning of the prophecy that threatens to doom her son, Lily begs the cosmos to spare him from this fate. Song: The Prophecy

I might just love you 'til the end by @ncoincidences (James/Lily, 1013, G)

James and Lily have been together since high school, seven years with each other. Recently, they have been drifting apart... will they make it till the end? Song: imgonnagetyouback

These Fatal Fantasies by MidnightStargazer (Bellatrix/Tom, Bellatrix/Rodolphus, 606, M)

Bellatrix is faithful to her husband. Technically. But her heart belongs to the Dark Lord. Song: Guilty as Sin

Mine Alone to Disgrace by MidnightStargazer (Andromeda/Ted, 474, G)

Andromeda tells her parents she's engaged to Ted Tonks Song: But Daddy I Love Him

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart by MidnightStargazer (Narcissa centric, 770, T)

Narcissa won't let anyone see her cry, even when her heart is breaking. Song: I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

but now we’ll curtail your curiosity (in sweetness) by @chemicalwildflowers (Andromeda & Tonks, Andromeda & Bellatrix, 215, G)

Nymphadora finds an old photo. Andromeda wants to protect her, for just one more day. Song: Robin

The Black Dog by ghstboys (Sirius/Remus, Remus/Tonks, 154, unrated)

Sirius watches Remus and Tonks from the afterlife. Song: The Black Dog

But Daddy I Love Him by @miss-grimwood (Bellatrix/Rodolphus, 146, T)

Bellatrix tries her best to avoid an arranged marriage with Lucius Malfoy in favour of Rodolphus Lestrange. Song: But Daddy I Love Him

said you’d come and get me but you were twenty-five (and the shelf life of those fantasies has expired) by @effiepotterisamilf (Regulus & Sirius, 295, G)

It’s Sirius’ 25th birthday and he’s not coming back for Regulus. Song: Peter

[gecskeleton]

i read a fic years ago that loosely covered this concept but sadly never finished it (to my knowledge. it is now lost to the sands of time) and recently i’ve been rotating it in my mind again: what if vulpes realised that without the courier’s help caesar would surely succumb to his illness. maybe not before seeing to the legion’s second and final attempt at conquering the dam, but their chances of success on that front wane by the second. he knows his position within the legion depends almost entirely upon caesar’s partiality. he knows that with caesar gone lanius would have no impediment to succession of the throne which would bring their organisational differences to a nightmarish unavoidable head. vulpes would basically sooner abandon ship than pledge loyalty to that particular man-made monster. so he decides to cut his losses and make a deal with the courier: they personally (with or without arcade’s involvement) see to caesar’s death in a manner that sort of kind of still carries “honour” (whatever that means to him is up for debate) and vulpes will take care of the rest. lanius will have to be a group effort with the courier’s allies. of course, a courier who wasn’t willing to aid the legion in the first place is bound to have some doubts. like if vulpes is the last surviving member of caesar’s inner circle then wouldn’t that just leave the role open for him? if they’re going to level the foundation of the army it has to be permanent. vulpes has to make very clear where his allegiance lies. which, obviously, is with himself. the AMICUS MEUS, INIMICUS INIMICI MEI quest where you’re like 85% likely to be double-crossed by that insufferable twink

[thatbxolivia]

could you do one where the reader regresses during a mission? With clone wars era anakin?

🎀 anon

you have the best ideas omg

you woke up this morning feeling incredibly little. you pushed it down, not wanting to impede on anakin’s plans. he had this mission planned for weeks, needing you specifically as your father, a political figurehead on Tattooine, was making issues for the senate and giving troubling signs of separatist sympathy. you had no contact with your family, especially not your father, and preferred to keep it that way. however, you were beginning to feel useless and when this opportunity arose, you jumped at the opportunity.

you had tried sending a message to your father, asking him to PLEASE stop this madness, but you received no response. you knew he would be angry with you when he saw you, but anakin would be with you the entire time.

you sat in the passenger seat of anakin’s ship, silent as he manned the controls. he looked over at you.

“i will turn around right now, i’ll take you home. i’ll find someone to watch you, just say the word.” he told you, smiling softly. you shook your head.

“i feel kinda weird… but not enough to regress.” you lied. “i’ll be okay to wait til we both get home.” you told him, giving him a small smile. he nodded, you thinking he believed your lie. you felt better knowing he wasn’t worrying about you instead.

soon enough you landed on the desert landscape near mos eisley, departing the ship and tracking through the market to your fathers workshop. when you found it, you stood in front of the door, sighing.

“i don’t want to do this.” you muttered to yourself, hoping anakin didn’t hear. he did.

“i’m serious. anytime, even if we’re in the middle of speaking, just tell me. give me a sign, i will take you home and have someone watch you. i don’t care what the order says, you do NOT have to do this.” he said, grabbing your shoulders and making eye contact with you. you shook your head, not wanting to be a big baby. you stood your ground before, you would now as well. you were going to do this.

“no, anakin.” you said, and he backed off hearing his name. he nodded and smiled sadly at you, not used to hearing anything other than “daddy”.

“okay.” he said. “then let’s go, baby.” he said putting his hand on your back and guiding you in.

the workshop was small. roomy, but small. it was well lit with multicolored lanterns and lampposts, giving the room a very colorful view. you remembered it. you remembered being young, before your parents separated, and spending many a night in this workshop. you loved it. loved.

“most people use common sense when they don’t get a reply to a message and leave the recipient alone.” you heard a man scoff behind you. you turned around and deadpanned at him; lo and behold, in all his glory, your father. “then again, guess you weren’t very bright.” he grumbled.

“i’m very intelligent, thank you.” was all you said in response. “we’re here to talk about-“

“ugh.” he cut you off, exiting the room. “boring.” he called over his shoulder, making you scoff. anakin spoke up.

“you know of me?” he asked, holding his head high.

“the great hero of the order.” your father said sarcastically, not actually impressed. anakin’s response was to use the force to drag your father over to him, choking him in the process.

“i’m not as kind as your daughter. if you refuse to speak with her, you get me instead.” was all anakin said, keeping a dead serious expression. your father nodded, gasping for air when he was let go.

“these the kinda people you hang with?!” he asked incredulously. you on the other hand just shrugged.

“they’re nice to you when you’re nice to them.” you replied, earning a small snort from anakin. at least he thought it was funny, unlike your father.

“what do you even want?! why do you care where my allegiance lies?!”

“because your dragging this entire planet down a separatist sinkhole, i won’t have it, none of us will!” you said, raising your voice. “tattooine has for far too long been engulfed in war and slavery and the LAST thing it needs is separatist ownership. for fucks sake, dad, what the hell happened to you?!” you yelled, anakin behind you being dead silent. he’d never seen you this way. “you are my father-“

“i gave you life and that’s IT! you are no daughter of mine!” he yelled back, making you cry immediately.

“fine! die then! take the whole planet with you and die a lonely and miserable old man. i HATE you!” you screamed louder than anyone. the room fell dead silent.

“glad the feelings mutual.” he said with venom in his voice. “get out!” he pointed towards the door and kicked over a box. the noise startled you and you cried.

“daddy..” you sobbed.

“i’m not your father!” he screamed, pointing at the door again. “fucking go!”

you ran out into the streets, earning a few weird looks, but most people seemed sympathetic. your heart was breaking. what a stereotype, a young girl needing her boyfriend to be her caregiver because she has daddy issues. for fucks sake.

“i’m here. i’m not him, i’m here and i always will be.” you heard behind you, feeling a hand on your shoulder.

“i never should’ve come here.” you sobbed, shaking your head. anakin wrapped you in a tight hug from behind, his chin resting on top of your head.

“even when you’re just a baby, you’ve always wanted to do everything yourself. i see it now, you don’t want to be big or anything like that. you want to be independent so if someone leaves you, it doesn’t hurt. but you can depend on me.” anakin said. “you can always depend on me, i am NEVER going anywhere. not without you.” he said, whispering the last part. you cried at his words.

“daddy,” you began. “i lied. i shouldn’t have come here i’ve been feeling off all day.” you fessed up. your daddy was not angry or upset with you, he had a very calm look on his face, very sympathetic.

“i know.” he said. “you needed to come to this conclusion yourself, there was nothing i could’ve said.” he told you. “but i’ll tell you what we’re gonna do.” he began, walking you forward, back towards the landing spot. “we’re gonna go home, i’m gonna get you in a bath and changed, then we can have kol come watch you, or maybe obiwan, whoever. and i’ll come back here and deal with this, and you’ll never have to hear about him again.” you both stopped. “sound like a plan?”.

“yes.” you said, kicking a rock. you felt better already, in your headspace and your daddy already making plans to help you out. your shoulders relaxed.

“good.” he said, continuing forward with you in tow.

“i hate him.” you said.

“no, you don’t. you love him and that’s why it hurts. you won’t heal until you acknowledge that fact.” your daddy told you softly. you knew he was correct.

“why is he so mean?” you asked, feeling tears form again as you walked. you could see the ship ahead of you in the shipyard. you sighed.

“i don’t know, that i wish i knew.” he said sadly. “but i do know that it gets better, losing a parent. or in your case, going no contact. the first few days are hard,” he confessed, not wanting to lie to you. “but i’ll be there. then, it’ll get better. and better, and better, until you learn to live with that loss. it will always hurt if you think too long about it.” he said. “but you learn to live with that pain, and you learn ways to cope.” he said, smiling and reaching the ship. he opened the door and let you enter first.

“daddy?” you called out, looking back at him. he had walked in and was packing something.

“hm?” he hummed, stopping packing and looking up. he always gave you his full attention. always.

“am i too much?” you asked and he smiled.

“never.” he said, knowing you needed to hear it. it was the god’s honest truth, and he’ll tell you any day you need to hear it again.

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀