#the glow kills me his eyes are so pretty good lord

[defiedlife]

ooc. good morning welcome to me thinking about how Aventurine's eyes glow off and on the majority of the time his eyes are visible during his trailer, and also how parts of it are allegories for some of the events of 2.1 and his backstory. flskjaf rambling in tags.

[feyreswaterybowels]

⟡ Princess of Dreams ⟡

# 1 Lucien x Rhys!Sister

⟡Part 1⟡Part 2⟡Part 3⟡

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Centuries ago Rhys’ youngest sister was kidnapped by the High Lord of Spring instead of kill like their mother and sister. The high lord had wards placed on his court so she was unable to leave. Rhys has believed her to be dead this whole time. What happens when Feyre finds out who she is and swears to take her home.

Warnings/Tag: Takes place during ACOWAR. Implied past sexual assault. Fluffy romance. Feyre being besties with Rhy’s sister. Pet names (pretty girl, sweet girl, Princess (her title)

Authors Note: All likes, comments and reblogs are welcome, appreciated and encouraged. Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for part 2! Bold italics are mental communication regular italics are inner thoughts.

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I know who you are.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, Feyre—

You’re Rhys' sister. He told me all about you while I was there. I…I have a plan. I’ll take you back with me when I go. I’ll take you home.

The hushed conversation with Feyre played on repeat in my head for days. She had trusted me enough to tell me she wasn’t really here for Tamlin, that it was a plot, a plan and she was going back to the Night Court. Back to Velaris and she was taking me with her—she was taking me home.

Home.

There was only one problem. Just one. The male lying in my bed. I turn away from the window to gaze at him lying there naked, golden skin glowing in the moonlight. A crown of red splayed around his head. Grooves and planes of lean muscles on display. Arms folded behind his head.

Gods, he’s beautiful.

I had yet to tell him of Feyre’s plan. I believed he wouldn’t tell Tamlin but at the same time…I wasn’t sure how safe his mind was with two other daemanti in the house. I could only protect his mind when I was with him. Plus, Tamlin was his best friend. His High Lord. If he knew of Feyre’s plan to leave…and everything else she told me and Tamlin found out, we could both be locked away again. Not only that, but if he found out Lucien knew? That couldn’t happen. I wouldn’t let harm come to either of them.

I took in a deep breath, walking over to the bed, tucking my wings as I slowly crawled up that perfect body. Dipping my head and trailing my lips over that patch of hair that went down, down, down, breathing in the scent of him. Mm.

“And what exactly are you doing?” That deep voice rumbled. I looked up, a sly grin across his face, metal eye glowing in the dark as he took in the sight of me between high thighs as I licked my bottom lip.

“Who? Me?” I asked, sliding a hand up his thigh to grasp him in my hand, stroking him once.

“Yes you, Princess” He laughs, grabbing and pulling me up the bed, kissing me as he rolls us over. I can feel him hard and heavy between my legs and it makes me moan.

“Lucien,” His name falls from my lips as he presses our bodies together. “Don’t tease, I want you.”

“Don’t tease?” He scoffs, “Says the one who was about to wake me up with a pretty little mouth.”

His grin is feral and I can’t help but return it.

“Come on,” I spread my legs wider, letting him feel the wetness there, “I know you want it.”

“And she calls me the tease,” He mocks under his breath before kissing me, tongue sliding into my mouth.

My fingers tangle in those long fire locks. I moan when I feel the heat radiating from his body, I love when he does that. The heat always feels so good against my sensitive skin.

He grins at me again, pushing up onto his knees, towering over me. He grabs my thighs, spreading them out and looking over me and I let him. I always loved the way he looks at me, his beautiful scarred face showing every ounce of emotion he feels.

He reaches between his thigh, wrapping a strong fist around himself and I watch stroke for stroke as he watches me. I tug on that bond between us, watching as it seemingly tugs him closer though I know it was his own doing.

“So, beautiful, all laid out for me,” He groans and I open myself further for him. Stretching my wings out across the bed, arms above my head, legs still spread wide but using a foot to rub over his calf.

That does it for him. He swoops down, grabbing me around the waist to yank my hips up, lining himself up and filling me. I cry out his name, arching into that fullness, into that glorious stretch.

We move together heat and passion. It’s rough and loving and he’s got me falling over the edge in minutes. Then again. And again. He’d always been so good at getting me there. Doing everything to make sure I was pleasured properly.

Tonight was no different as he leans over me, slow, firm thrusts hitting exactly where I needed it as he mouthed at my wing, tongue tracing through the grooves, and one hand wrapped around my wrists above my head to hold me in place.

“Say my name, pretty girl” he says, heated kisses on my wing.

“Lucien,”

“Louder,” he growls.

“Lucien!”

“I want the whole house to hear you, sweet girl.” His tongue laves over a particularly sensitive spot and I’m gone again. Gushing over him and moaning his name loud enough that the whole house definitely heard it.

It’s not long after that his thrusts are slowing. He lets go of my hands so I can touch him, he always liked having my touch when he came. I grinned into our kiss as my hands ran over his body. His panting moans turning into grunted growls. He was so sexy like this. Covering me fully, hair falling around his face, teeth bared.

I reached up pushing his hair behind those pointed ears, thumb tracing over part of his scar before pulling him into a kiss that was more tongue than anything.

“Fuck, just like that, baby,” I moaned into his mouth. “You’re gonna make me cum again. Make me feel so good!”

“Yeah? Gonna cum in that pussy for you, pretty girl, then I'm gonna eat it out.”

That’s what did it for me, I tightened around him. He follows me over the edge a few thrust later with a growl of my name.

Then he’s slipping from my body and sliding down, kissing a trail to my centre, keeping true to his promise.

“Fuck,” He groaned, coming back up, sliding his tongue into my mouth to let me taste myself. Kissing me slow and sloppy. “So perfect. My pretty, perfect mate.”

Despite what we’d just done I blush at his words.

“My sweet handsome mate,” I whisper back, tumbing at the bottom of his scar again before wrapping my arms around his neck.

He holds me tight, arms wrapping around me as we catch our breath. I tuck my face into the crook of his neck breathing in his scent—organic, earthy and sweet. Perfect.

My eyes welled up when thoughts of leaving weave through my brain. This was my mate, I had built a life here with him. But I had been trapped in this house for so long that it wasn’t really life. I wanted to go home to Velaris. To my brother and our family. I could try to convince Lucien to go but that could put him in danger. I had almost lost him under the mountain, I could t go through that again. If I left first I could always seek him out later but to stay here when I had the opportunity to finally go home, when I had Feyre telling me she could break the wards binding me here. I couldn’t turn that down.

“My love, what’s wrong?” Lucien asks, pulling back to look at me. Our eyes meet as he wipes away my tears. “Talk to me.”

I sniffled. I felt like it was now or never. I either told him now or he would find out when I leave. I couldn’t do that to him though. It would break his heart to wake up one day and find me gone.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong,” He said, petting my hair.

“I don’t know if I can say it out loud,” I tell him, our eyes meeting.

“That’s okay, Princess” Lucien nods his head, concern written all over his face.

“You can’t tell Tamlin,” The crease between his brow deepens. “You can’t tell him, Lucien, please. Promise me.”

He watches me for a moment, confused and concerned but he nods. “I promise. I won’t tell him.”

“Feyre and Rhys’ bond wasn’t actually broken that day with Hybern. She’s has a plan to go back. She…she said she can break the wards that hold me here so I can— I can finally go home,” I tell him, his eyes widen but he doesn’t look entirely shocked at what I’ve told him.

“And I’m assuming you have the intention of going with her?” He asks, sadness tinged the words and the bond.

“I have to, Lucien. I haven’t seen Rhys in centuries. Centuries. And he thought I was dead the entire time until recently. I need to go home, I need to see him and the rest of our family,” I cried, hot tears sliding down my face. He grabs me, pulling me up and holding me. Stroking my hair and shushing me softly.

“You should go, Princess. You should go home,” He says, kissing my head. I pull back to look at him, searching his face.

“Come with me,” I whisper, grabbing his face. “You can come. You would love Velaris—”

“I can’t,” he cuts me of gently, stroking his knuckles down my cheek. “Not that I don’t want to. Fuck, it hurts just thinking about you being away from me but if the three of us disappear? Tamlin will flip shit.”

“And he won’t be able to get to us in Velaris,” I tell him, grabbing the hand caressing my cheek and holding it tightly. “We would be safe there, Lucien. We could have a life together, a real one. Our own place by the river I showed you. A proper mating ceremony. We’ve been talking about kids for a decade. We could happily and safely have them there.”

“I don’t know…” Lucien shakes his head and I can see the water lining his eye.

“Me and you, Lu. That’s what we always said. Me and you—”

“Always.” Lucien nodded, looking over my face. Taking in every detail like he was trying to remember what I looked like before I was even gone. “What if you go with Feyre and I come later? You have to go now, you’re right you can’t pass up this opportunity to go home. I understand that. But you can come back for me, right? I could help keep Tamlin away…for some time anyway.”

My tears break loose then as I sob against his neck.

“I know it’s the best option but I don’t want to leave you,” I cried, clinging to him as he pulled me into his lap, letting my wings cocoon around us.

“Sh, it’s gonna be okay, my love.” I feel his tears on my neck and my heart breaks.

It was right but it felt so wrong.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

“So you’re joining us after all?” comes Tamlins snarky comment as soon as I walk out of the manor. I roll my eyes, fluffing the ugly powder blue dress.

“Unfortunately,” I rolled my eyes at him, it was too early for his shit, but still smiled at Lucien when his arm wrapped around my waist, careful of my wings.

“You can stay here,” Tamlin retorted with an eye roll of his own. “That would be preferable.”

“Well my mate asked me to attend. As did my friend, even if you wish Feyre wasn’t my friend,” I sneered at him with a wicked grin.

“I would never say that,” Tamlin returned the sneer, baring his teeth at me.

“Play nice, Princess,” Lucien purrs through the bond.

“Not out loud anyway,” I gave a sweet smile. “You look beautiful,” I said, hugging Feyre and kissing her cheek before pulling Lucien away to our horses.

Lucien helped me onto my horse, a gorgeous black mare, her coat shining even in the darkness of morning—a gift from Lucien after I accepted the mating bond. I looked down at him with a smile, running my hand through his hair.

“You’re lucky I love you, I really don’t want to deal with Ianthe’s shit today,” I said, situating myself in the saddle.

“Ianthe’s shit is exactly why I asked you to come,” Lucien said, grabbing my hand and kissing the back of it. “I appreciate you coming anyway, your presence will make it much more tolerable for me.”

“Yeah, I know, come on, let's get this over with,” I said, urging him to his own horse. “I’m ready to get today over with so I can get drunk and dance with you under the stars.”

Ugh, he looks so good. I thought as his head dropped back with a laugh before mounting his horse, dressed in autumn colors he stood out perfectly from everyone else wearing the hideously bright spring court colors. I’d be covered head to toe in Night Court black if it was allowed. I’d have loved to see the look on Ianthe’s face if I had shown up today in all black.

We set off soon after everyone had mounted their horses and there were already hundreds of fae crowded atop the hill when we arrived. I fought the urge to bare my teeth when I saw Ianthe’s gaze lingering on my mate as he dismounted his horse and strided to mine.

“Ignore it. She’s not worth your jealousy,” Lucien said as he reached for my hand, helping me from the saddle.

“I’m not jealous. I’m protective. I don’t like the way she looks at you,” I say, running my hands over the collar of his jacket. “Like she’ll drag you away to have her way with you whether you like it or not.”

“That’ll never happen, my love.”

“Damn right it won’t, I’d break her hands if she ever touches you,” I huff, as a feline smile crosses his lips.

“You’re sexy when you’re possessive,” He said, leaning down to kiss me, first my lips then my forehead before extending his arm to me to hold onto.

“You better make this up to me later,” I grumble, as I would much rather be back at the estate hiding in my room.

“Oh, I will make it up to you, sweet girl,” Lucien promised, leaning down to whisper in my ear, “slowly, with my tongue. Over and over.”

My body flushed knowing exactly how good he is with that wicked tongue. His gaze turns heated knowing exactly what I was thinking, feeling exactly what I was feeling.

“Lucien,” Tamlin calls from where he and Feyre are standing. I glance at those full lips one last time before he’s gently pulling me, guiding me away from our partially secluded spot. .

Jurian is at my other side suddenly walking with us as we trail behind Tamlin and Feyre—also linked by the arms and the Hybern Royals. I had seen the gleam in Feyre’s eye before she turned away, like a wolf getting ready to play with its prey. It made me giddy inside.

I couldn’t wait to witness her revenge.

We stopped walking when Tamlin and Feyre did, reaching Ianthe at her stupid altar as she offered them a singular nod of head. The Hybern twins shifted impatiently, Brannagh had made comments the night before how they didn’t bother with such things in Hybern—practically implying that soon we wouldn’t be bothering with it either. Smug little bitch.

“A blessed solstice to us all,” Ianthe called out to everyone around and I don’t roll my eyes the way I want to.

I stood there through an endless string of prayers and rituals, acolytes pouring sacred wine and the blessing of harvest goods. A lovely, rehearsed little number. Lucien was practically falling asleep between Feyre and I.

Ianthe lifted her wine and intoned “As the light is strongest today, let it drive out unwanted darkness. Let it banish the black stain of evil.” I sneered at her, I knew those words were directed at me. My brother. Feyre. Our home.

“She’s lucky my wine doesn’t end up in her pretty face,” I silently told Feyre, watching her expertly hide her grin with the wine chalice—her silent agreement.

“Would Princess Brannagh and Prince Dagdan do us the honor of imbibing this blessed wine?”

I shared a look with Feyre as the twins frowned at one another—the crowd murmuring behind us. But Feyre stepped aside, smiling a pretty smile and gesturing to the alter for the royals.

“Drink and let our new allies become friends,” Ianthe declared before they could refuse. “Drink and wash away the endless night of the year.”

The two daemanti surveyed their cups, most likely searching for any hint of poison. Feyre kept that smile on her face, I couldn’t extend that same faux courtesy when the prince looked my way. I didn’t care enough to put on the facade.

They each barely sipped the wine before trying to step away from the altar. Ianthe cooed at them like children, insisting they stay at the altar with her, to experience the ceremony at her side.

“I’m bored, Luc,” I grumbled to Lucien through the bond as Ianthe continued on with her praises and rituals. Eyes finding Lucien every now and then, looking away when I send her a death glare—lucky she doesn’t know who I really am.

“I’ll be over soon,” Lucien chuckles, pulling me into his side with an arm around my waist.

Finally, Tamlin was summoned over to light the candle for the souls lost this past year. This part bored me too. Those souls were gone; they didn’t need a candle lit to bring them back to the light. But just as I was starting to lose my patients the sky was finally filling with streaks of pink as Jurian was called forward to recite a prayer as well.

It left only Lucien and I standing with Feyre in the circle of grass, the altar and horizon in front of us and the crowd behind us. The look on Lucien’s face drew my attention as he scanned the area and I could help the crack of a smile when I noticed something out of place. A miniscule little detail no one else seemed to notice—except maybe now my mate.

I watched as Ianthe stepped toward the hill’s edge, her golden hair tumbling freely down her back as she lifted her arms to the sky. The chosen spot was intentional. Only that marker that told her where to stand wasn’t in the spot it had been in when we first arrived.

Golden rays of sunlight finally broke over the horizon. Light filled the world clear and strong. The murmurs started through the crowd. Cries of a name, not Ianthe’s but Feyre’s.

That gorgeous light had not filled and surrounded Ianthe but Feyre.

Ianthe seemed to be the last to notice, to see the sun was not blessing her but Feyre.

She glowed so brightly, brighter than what seemed natural for this occasion but I didn’t care to question why. She was beautiful—shining as if she were the star that hung above Ramiel.

“Curse breaker,” some murmured.

“Blessed,” others whispered.

Feyre's face was one of surprise and acceptance, though I knew it wasn’t genuine, those around us wouldn’t read it that way. They would only see what she allowed them too. The shock and bafflement of Tamlin and the Hybern twin’s faces was ever satisfying.

But Feyre didn’t look at them. She turned to Lucien and I, her light radiating so bright it was almost hard to keep that eye contact. A friend looking to another for help. She reached a hand to Lucien then to me.

I knew Ianthe had to be losing her shit behind us but I was too enchanted by my brother's mate. Yes, this was all a show, but Feyre was special.

I took her hand, watching Lucien do the same. Then we shared a look, lowering down to one knee, pressing her knuckles to our brow. I knew the crowd behind us had followed suit.

I had never kneeled for a high lord of the Spring Court. I was Princess of the Night Court. Heir of Velaris. Princess of Dreams. I knelt for no one—certainly not for anyone of the Spring Court. Not now, not ever.

I was not kneeling before Lady Feyre. Or Feyre Cursebreaker. I was kneeling for Feyre High Lady of the Night Court. Feyre that led Prythian from tyranny and darkness. Feyre that saved my mate and thousands of others under the mountain.

“My high lady,” I declared to her. The only person besides my brother I’d ever sworn fealty to.

I looked up at Feyre, our eyes meeting before she looked to Ianthe, smiling a sweet smile, one that transformed to show a bit of that wolf hiding beneath.

[recreationalfanfics]

Hello it's me again I am sorry for the previous request and I hope I am not bothering you and that you are doing ok ☺️

If it's ok and if you have time and you're not busy, would it be ok for a Yandere Poseidon x Angel Reader, Yandere Hades x Angel Reader and Yandere Buddha x Angel Reader

I noticed that in the manga and anime we don't see any angels at all unless I overlooked them but I got curious and wondered what would happen if one were to appear would the gods lock them up in a golden cage or cut their wings to keep them tied to them because in a way angels are being of pure light and power

I am sorry if it sounds ridiculous 😂 and Thank you

I don't write for Hades since he's in the manga, I hope you enjoy and SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER.

Yandere! Poseidon + Angel! Reader:

- Poseidon does very much believe that, because he's a God that he is still superior to you. After all, Angels are meant to be messengers for Gods. Compliant, innocent, quick on their wings, and adoring of their Lord.

- Perhaps on the God's side, you belonged to a different God. One who was on good terms with Poseidon, at least from their point of view, and who you adored being around.

- Everytime they requested Poseidon to meet them, he'd open his room door and see you and all your holy light. It's clear you're scared of him from the timid smile on your face but you were given a mission from your God and you would not fail them!

- He was annoyed with you at first, after all, you were just a sniveling little servant who followed your diety around like a lost puppy. It was pathetic really. Yet, it never stopped his eyes from drifting towards you and never stopped him from zoning out as he took in your appearance...it was, no pun intended, heavenly. Everything about you was absolutely glowing both literally and figuratively.

- He started to hate your diety, honestly. They always got to keep you by their side. You always loyally flew after them with nothing less than admiration and a certain brightness in your eyes and a smile on your face. Even if they were upset, you'd break your back bending backwards just to see them smile and it sickened him.

- You start to get creepy vibes from Poseidon, his eyes holding this dark stare and your intuition as an angel could see something dark fester within him. His hands touching your wings, making you flinch from how cold they are but you didn't dare pull away...you'd just stand there, panicked and terrified. He smiled to himself as he let his fingers feel your soft feathers, enjoying your compliance and submission.

- When you tell your god, they hear your concerns and start to keep you away from Poseidon...a terrible idea. One that resulted in your diety dying, in fact.

- It was bloody and it was brutal and when it was done, you tried to fight him by summoning your sword and burning him with divine light. You stupid little angel, did you forget? He IS Divinity. A powerful God. And you were just an angel, powerful but not strong enough to kill him.

- He threatens to cut your wings off when he takes you to his palace in the ocean. You're not entirely sure if it's a hollow threat (it is not) so you take it to heart and try not to be annoying (smart decision) but you still mourn the loss of your God. You know better than to let Poseidon know that because as far as he's concerned, HE is your new God now. You serve and worship him.

- He wouldn't want to cut off your wings, they are apart of what makes you so gorgeous and considering you're underwater: they'd most likely drag you down than help you so he lets you keep them (for now) and admires you from a golden cage. He will touch them when he pleases, he will seek for your physical affection and he dares you to try and deny it to him because you know the consequences.

Yandere! Buddha + Angel! Reader:

- Oh he's heard about you guys before...Angels, that is. He's pretty sure that you're the cutest one he's seen. You're so happy and upbeat yet so strong and loyal, even though most angels are like that, there's just something different about you that really catches Buddha's eye.

- The way you'd allow him to touch your wings and when you sat and talked to him while he napped, you'd extend them and use it to shade him from the sun. Maybe it was the way you were the first angel to greet him with a cheery smile or the way you constantly wanted to spar with him and pouted when he teased you after beating you for the umpteenth time.

- He met you because he was friends with your diety, the god you praised all day long. Buddha wonders when he started to hate the person he called his "friend", probably the same time his obsession started with you because he slowly became more and more jealous of the way you acted around them.

- Following them like a lost puppy with wings, declaring your undying allegiance to them every day, and having that adoring look in your eyes. Buddha was confused about the feelings he'd get when he saw you look at them like that but he knew what they were now...and he spent long enough trying to hide them.

- He tried to explain the entire thing to his friend, trying to cover up his obsession as best as he could with promises of taking care of you of you became his. Yet your god was a clever one and saw immediately through Buddha's honey coated words and noticed the obsession in his eyes. It was a shame really, Buddha would've preferred not to have killed him but your god threatened to keep you away from Buddha...to keep you safe from him.

- The old fool didn't realize Buddha was going to keep you safe, especially how Buddha held you after telling you that your god unfortunately got into an altercation with the other gods, how you should fight for humanity with Buddha to avenge them and stick it to the gods. He doesn't actually let you fight, however, despite the fact that Angels were adept fighters as well as messengers: he couldn't risk you getting killed after he stained his hands in blood just to have you.

- Buddha is one of the Yandere's that is least likely to get caught, I will die on that hill personally, and chances are is that you trust him enough to believe everything he says at first...but also, you're an angel. You can sense when someone isn't being honest, when someone doesn't have the right intentions, and while you don't want to doubt Buddha after all he's done for you and your deceased god...you know he hasn't been telling you the truth.

- When you confront Buddha about the truth or if he feels like you're becoming more cold or withdrawn, he'll tell you everything. He hopes you'll understand his reasons but it seems your too blinded by your grief to try and attack him...which is silly because you should know from sparring lessons how this is gonna go, little birdie.

- There isn't really any place you can go to escape Buddha, nor is there a God alive who will believe you, but Buddha would rather save the trouble and just tie your wings up and keep you in his room. He'll inform Brunhilde that he'll just do his fight and then yours because you're too torn over the passing of your god when in reality, you're tied up in his room crying tears of frustration from how easily Buddha fooled you and how he even managed to put magical chains on your wings to prevent you from flying.

- He'll take them off someday, when you realize why he did what he did and that it was for the best. When you realize that he wasn't the problem: your God was for trying to keep you away from him when you were clearly destined to be his. Don't worry, he fixed that...now he just has to fix you and everything will be all better.

[miyaniacs]

Corrupted by Darkness

- Introduction -

Facts ; Wattpad

ACOTAR x Fourth Wing x OC

You know how there’s Good and Bad in the world? Heaven and Hell? Angels and Demons?

For every good person, or fae, there’s an evil one out there. Somewhere.

Well it’s the same for dragons.

And I’m not sure if I found the good one or the bad one.

Hello Family,

I’m sure you all are thrilled to … read from me.

Until I found out you were spying on me the whole time?

Come one! Cassian? Do you have no trust in the way you trained me?

Or you Azzie? You made me a fucking shadow yet you’ve sent your shadows to spy on me?

I know I know, Im still a child in your eyes… but I’m as old as the others around me - besides I’ve survived with you as my “family”, you really think this will kill me?

Anyway, I finally have the privilege to annoy you all with endless letters, the first year is over and I’m still alive baby.

So let me tell you about my year…

On my very first day I made a friend, Rhiannon. We ended up being in the same squad too - Fourth Wing, Flame Section, Second Squad. Two new friends we made in our squad are Ridoc and Liam. I know you told me to stick to the other fae around here… But she’s a bitch and I’m this close to kill her every second she opens her mouth. And I really don’t know why our wing leader is fucking with her- like literally. Humans need to meet more fae, otherwise he’d realize that she’s not special. I really hope more fae will come to the riders and help mixing humans and fae in the future… Geographically our worlds are connected but somehow we are not. Back to this bitch tho. Her Name is Eve and she’s the daughter of some lord from Autumn, who’s dad is or was friends with Beron - this should be enough for you to know that she’s a bitch. So anyway now my friends and our section leader Garrick are now judging Xaden for fucking with her. Which made Xaden, our wing leader, hate me… Don’t ask me why just me and not the others too, but just me.

Maybe it was because I once said to Eve that I know she’s just messing with him because she can’t have the real Shadow boy ( yes I’m talking about you Az) - and he was right behind me. She looked offended tho, so add her to the endless list of girls that want to fuck Azriel, yet he still choses the life of abstinence.

Okay uhmmm all the fighting stuff is actually way too easy for me which is why I’m mainly training with Liam or Garrick and not the other first (now second) years.

The food is awful and doesn’t get better the longer you eat it (pls Rhys I’m begging you, pull some strings and get me a care package).

Well other than that… I know you what you want me to talk about… The dragon who chose me.

Noctis.

What can I say - I or We were the talk of the month when he appeared during Threshing and chose me. Everything around me became black. I couldn’t see anything and then… two glowing red eyes appeared in front of me and he spoke. He spoke in my head.

‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

Then the darkness … vanished and there he was. An enormous black dragon. His scales are razor sharp spikes, his horns ( he has for of them) are so long, I could hold them while riding him. His teeth come close to the size of you Cassian. His tail ends in something that fades into a shadow… just like his wings. They have holes in them and the ends fade into shadows…

He wasn’t a normal black dragon I was sure of that.

Thanks to being a fae I got on top of his back and somehow managed to stay there during the flight.

I’m sure you heard all about the drama that went down afterwards.

He shouldn’t be here.

He’s supposed to stay a legend.

Is he even real?

How can he possible bond to someone?

Rhys.

He doesn’t just look like the Dragon Amren told us about. The one she saw when she first landed on this continent.

He IS that dragon.

And he’s a sarcastic bitch that doesn’t know when to stay out of my head or my business- you two would get along so well.

But he’s pretty cool.

And he’s not screaming in my head rn to write this.

Well… and now to the other matter.

My…signet …

So there’s the one… everyone knows of… Shadow Wielding. That’s kinda obvious with how Noctis looks (and forces me to spend more time with Xaden, since we both have the same signet and he’s told to teach me).

But it’s just one of them… Rhys… I feel it. I feel the blood of the people around me. One time Rhi was bleeding and it just wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know what to do… I just wished it would stop. And then I felt it. I felt her blood running out of the cut on her arm and… I made it stop?

I know it sounds crazy but.. then there was this other time … I was just minding my own business during lunch and Eve had to sit down right in my eyesight and make out with Xaden… I got so annoyed… and just wanted it so end. I thought about blood running down her neck… and then… it started to run. Run out of her nose, down her mouth and…down her neck. She needed to go to the healer’s because it just wouldn’t stop.

Rhys.. what is wrong with me?

Noctis just tells me that he knew why he waited for me.

I know I should go to my teachers.. and learn how to control it.. but something tells me that I shouldn’t.

Oh and Rhys… His power… feels like yours.

Talk to you all later…

Nea.

With a sigh I put away my pen.

Shadows crawl around me and caress my face.

I smile and look at the male behind me.

“Did I wake you up?” I ask him.

“No… But I’m kind of offended our activities knocked me out more than they did to you.�� He laughs and gets out of my bed. His lips touch my shoulder blade, right where Noctis marked me. His fingers trace the thin lines on my body, that run from the dragon on my back all over my body.

“They’re beautiful.” He mumbles.

Pfff obviously. Noctis sighs and I feel him rolling his eyes.

“Come back to bed now.” He says and walks backwards, dragging me with him.

[kit-williams]

Run rabbit run

YANDERE NIGHT LORD RAPTOR TIME

Also trying out this mood board shit please lemme know if its good

tw: Yandere, kidnapping, He's a fucking Night Lord but this is pretty chill, dialogue heavy will probably have to write a follow up for this one.

He watched from his perch the screaming and the crying. But Ghosk Sevyrarek always had a good eye for the unusual like the leggy little thing sliding against the pavement. Pushing what the baseline human body was capable of... his black eyes raking over those thigh muscles as they are pushed to the limit of human ability. He watched the prey driven members of the warband rush after the little rabbit.

Oh this wasn't just a normal human he figured watching how they cleared a jump with ease as three night lords rushed after like newly turned to chaos space wolves. He rolled his eyes at the display of their mindlessness knowing full well what would happen to this darling... he blinked at the thought. When was the last time he called anything a darling....

Nostromo... He recoiled at feeling nostalgic as that would only bring guilt. His decent mood felt soured... it wasn't the rabbit's fault as much as he wanted to blame the darling. Oh she very much was a darling... a pretty thing a pretty little rabbit. He could swoop down and stop the neophytes playtime with just a quick snap of her neck like a good hunter would.

He was losing fun with the warband... Ghosk figured he would lend his services to another warband of brothers... and then another... and then another. He snarled as he eyes watched the little leggy darling. Murder and torture was no longer giving him any thrill and more and more often he found himself feeling the barest emotion of regret. Coward... he hears some foul voice in his mind whisper.

The pretty rabbit was getting tired she was struggling to make those turns... her lungs were burning up probably. His leathery wings spread into the smoke licked night sky as he dove from his perch. She couldn't do it any more! She physically couldn't run anymore and she turned to look at the three monsters with glowing red eyes and skull faces. How they howled with laughter and glee purring and cooing what they would do to her.

The pavement exploded behind her as all she had time was to look behind her... maybe maybe the Emperor did send an angel? But with the leathery wings that came out of the smoke she wondered if they were right... there was no Emperor here. Ghosk ignored the vox messages as he grinned with glee down at the little rabbit before he grabbed her and jumped into the air letting her scream in fear.

"Let go of me!" She screamed.

"Well if you say so." Ghosk cooed and dropped her watching the wind rip through her hair before he dove after her and twirled her back into his arms. "Thought about it... maybe not the best place to let you go." He say laughing.

He played this game with her flying higher and higher and dropping her or tossing her around. Her reuniting with his armor was causing her to bruise and the next time he tried to drop her he watched her cling onto him. "Aww little rabbit are you done flying with me?" He put his hands under her arms and brought her close to his face to have her nuzzle his helm.

He watched her gag at the smell of death coating him but he listened to her whimper, "Please if you're going to kill me just let me go."

"See that's the fun part little rabbit! I don't know if I'm going to kill you yet. I could... though I might not." He says landing on a building with a huff as he sits her down, delicately placing a claw under her chin, "Now if you want your death to be slow and agonizing I would recommend you move from this spot. Got it?"

He watched her nod and he pat her head like the good girl she was. "Now where was I..."

"You said you might not kill me?" His little rabbit spoke as he watched her massage those delicious legs of hers.

"Yes I might not because you little rabbit bring up pesky little memories."

She gave Ghosk a curious look. Ghosk on the other hand pulled off his helmet and shook some of his hair free. "You know you'll probably just get hair in your mouth when you put that helmet back on." His little rabbit squeaked out.

"Oh feeling a bit mouthy then pet?"

"Listen you say I bring back memories. I assume you're just going to kill me in a different way."

"Awww pet do you trust me that little?" He cooed over at her and she just gives him a 'really' look. "No I'm not going to kill you yet." He watches her roll her eyes. Oh he's in a good mood! He likes sassy little darlings though you've half resigned yourself to a fate he has yet to decide. What a pretty little darling you are.

"Alright I'll bite..." He watches her pause as she makes a disgusted face as he returns the look with something more lewd at her suggestion, "Um... I bring back memories."

"Yes you do." Ghosk becomes serious as he paces slightly, "Pesky little memories and feelings of a life long long gone. Yet Oh I don't know... maybe I'm just bored with all of this." He gestures to the burning city though for him he gestures to the dropship with his "brothers" god... the Iron Warriors feel like they have more brother hood... no the fucking World Eaters have far more comradery than he does with his supposed brothers.

"Why don't you just go then?" She holds back a groan as she rubs her sore legs but she looks up at her "savior". "If you're bored with it I'm certain the Emperor can forgive you right?"

Ghosk threw his head back and laughed hard when he finally calmed down he tried to compose himself, "Oh you're a funny little thing. He walked over and his right wing grabbed her and picked her up as she squirmed obviously freaked out by the way the membrane hugged her. "Careful little one... I've suffocated someone with my wings try not to squirm too much." He said looking over the edge before jumping down the few stories. "Now where were we... right. I was laughing at your suggestion. But I might move on... just I hardly have anything holding me here." He looked to his rabbit tucked into his wing as it curled around her like a large hand just holding her and caressing her with its thumb as he looked to her.

"What do you want me to say? That you shouldn't go? Oh yeah no totally stay here with the rest of the psychopaths."

"See that's what I don't want to do. I'm just so bored with it." Ghosk said with some dramatics.

"Then I guess you can leave them behind and we can part on friendly terms."

He dramatically turned his head toward her and cocked it to the side. "And leave my dear little rabbit at the mercy of wolves who will most likely break you in many many ways." He cooed as she shrank slightly.

"I have a feeling you're going to break me too."

He pursed his lips for a moment tapping his chin. "I might try that consent thing. But no my rabbit... you're not leaving my side. We're on this journey of self discovery together! Won't it be fun?"

He hummed as he walked past his brothers holding his prize and put his helmet back on his head and felt annoyingly amused... his little rabbit was right... he did get some of his hair caught in his mouth. "

[strawberrisncreme]

A Good Day

(Read on Ao3 HERE)

Pairing: Young!Clive x Reader (iirc I made it p much gender neutral save for one tiny part)

Summary: As Rosalith's (admittedly young) chocobo caretaker, it is your duty to ensure the well-being of the birds. What starts as another average day ends up being more eventful as you bump into the young lord Clive Rosfield.

AN: I really tried writing fics again just for this game, emphasis on the word TRIED. I haven't written shit in 10 years

Year of the Realm 860 Rosalith - The Grand Duchy of Rosaria

The streets of Rosalith slowly come alive as the first hints of sunrise casts a warm glow across the cobblestone paths. The insistent “kweh’s” of hungry chocobos fill the air as you make your way towards the wooden stables, grimacing as you feel your boots sink into the muddy ground. Your sleep-addled brain can barely keep up as you carry out your duties of replenishing each chocobo’s greens and setting out fresh straw. While it’s admittedly not the most engaging task, you find comfort in the routine and can think of far worse company than the gentle birds that you care for. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you can’t keep the smile of excitement off your face as you walk up to the next bird, her sharp blue eyes snapping to you as you carefully extend your arm to her, waiting to see if she’d accept your offer of pats.

“Hello Ambrosia, I apologize for being a bit behind schedule…some of the others were being difficult today, but I trust you won’t hold it against me?”

You beam as she nudges her head into your outstretched hand, permitting you to give her snowy white feathers a quick ruffle before you turn, tending to her empty food trough. 

“You know girl, I have a feeling that today will be a good day.” You mumble as you fish out her quality greens, “I heard that Clive was planning on going for a ride today, wouldn’t that be nice? Take you out for some fresh air, maybe even get in a few kills…mind you, that would mean more work for me. It’s a right pain in the arse trying to get blood out of your feathers.”

So caught up in your tasks, you were painfully unaware of the new presence of a certain young lord Rosfield who was casually leaning against the wooden post at the entrance of Ambrosia’s stable, quietly listening to your musings. 

“But you ought to be careful out there, I know you wouldn’t let it happen but with the Blight and all who knows what you and Clive see out there mm? Can’t let the young lord get hurt… or you for that matter.” You laugh, standing up, “Well, not like he’d listen to me- OH!” You jump as you finally take notice of your silent companion. Well, aside from Ambrosia of course. “Lord Rosfield!” You exclaim, hastily bending at the waist into a rather ungraceful bow. “Forgive me, I was not aware that you would be at the stables this early in the morning!” 

You can hear him stifle a laugh as he walks closer, his boots coming into your field of vision from where you remain bowed over.  “Please, rise. And you need not show such stiff formalities, after all, did I not just hear you refer to me by name instead of title?”  You quickly snap out of your bow, inwardly cringing at your appearance (a messy and sweaty mess) an embarrassingly stark contrast to his well put-together attire, the morning sun glinting off the sword he keeps hung on his back. Silently, you pray furiously for him to mistake the flush on your cheeks as a result of your physical labor, and not as an effect of you being in his presence alone.

So what if you held a tiny flame for the young lord? It’s not your fault he was blessed with a pretty face...and a likable personality… and- Great Greagor. What wasn’t there to like about him??

“-ou feeling well? Shall I call for a healer?” You quickly shook away your thoughts as you refocused your eyes (and thoughts) on Clive, resisting the urge to physically slap some sense into yourself.

“Apologies, my lord, how may I serve you?” You hurriedly lowered yourself into another bow, nervously fiddling with the front of your skirt. 

“Please, Clive is perfectly suitable. He stepped closer, arms outstretched as he motioned for you to stand. “There is no one here save for the chocobos, and I doubt they have much regard for titles.” 

You straighten out once more, awkwardly nodding in agreement. “Well, right then…how can I be of service to you…Clive?” The name felt wrong coming out of your mouth now, while it wasn’t the first time you used it, you could never get used to referring to any of the Rosfield’s as anything less than their rank…to their faces at least. Clive on the other hand grinned at your compliance, turning to smooth out some of Ambrosia’s feathers.

“It seems I rose earlier than usual today, it’s a while yet before my presence is needed elsewhere so I thought to pay a visit to the stables.” 

Ambrosia happily soaked up the attention from her favorite human, letting out a soft kweh as he rhythmically stroked along her beak. Anyone would agree that it was a damned adorable sight.

“She is a fine bird” you say, affection evident in your voice, “it would be rude of me to have a favorite out of all the steeds, but I won’t tell if you don’t.” You grinned at him, carefully grabbing your broom to sweep away bits of dust and straw that littered the floor. 

You failed to notice the light flush that colored his face as he cleared his throat, “That she is, you have my gratitude for taking such good care of her. It’s clear that she’s taken a liking to you.” 

You shook your head, “She’s just a naturally sweet girl, I’m sure she’d behave the same with any other chocobo handler.” 

He scoffs, running his hand through her plumage “You’d be surprised, consider it a compliment… by the Mother, ” He sighed, his face twitched slightly in embarrassment, “how embarrassing…I never asked for your name.” You stood there, dumbfounded for a moment. “Please, my lord-” “Clive.” “... Clive . That really won't be necessary-”

“Nonsense, I would like to know the name of the individual who takes such good care of our birds.” His smile was almost blinding as you floundered inside your head. Embarrassingly, your name seemed to slip from your mind for a moment. “It’s ___!  But please my lord, you need not feel pressured to use it-” “ ___? ___… ” He tested, unaware of your rapidly increasing heartbeat. This is it. You were going to die in a chocobo stable. “I like it.” He says, the smile evident in his voice, “It suits you.” “You have my thanks my lor- I mean, thank you, Clive.” You stuttered out, gripping the handle of your broom tightly.  He smiled brightly at you, seemingly wanting to say more but was quickly interrupted at the sudden sharp shout of “LORD ROSFIELD!” that pierced the calm morning air. “It seems that I let time slip away from me,” he said sheepishly, “my apologies, but I should make haste before Commander Murdoch wakes the entirety of Rosaria…thank you for taking the time to speak with me ___ . I shall leave Ambrosia in your more than capable hands.” You quickly bow your head to him, still unused to hearing your name coming from his lips. Giving you one last smile of gratitude, he pats Ambrosia on the neck affectionately before slipping out of the stables. Turning to the snowy chocobo, you watch in a daze as she happily wolfs down her breakfast. “A very good day indeed…” 

[aicosu]

Ooh if you’re still taking numbers for the prompt thingie, 14! I adore your writing so much!

"Talk to me, prithy, I know you hath something stuck in that throat, and it's not ocean."

She stares through his soul before ducking her head into the wafts of her hair, scooting backward in aqua and shadow.

No avail.

"Well, fuck." Eddy sighs, sitting down in front of the glass coffin, boots spread.

Don't open the crate. They had decreed. An extra sixty pence for him to turn his eyes away and whistle over his morals. 

He'd taken the gold and opened the crate anyway, as soon as he was out of the city walls.

And it was a fucking mermaid they had him smuggling. A siren of the sea. A Poseidon witch. A femme enchantress who robbed men of mind and blood before drowning them at the bottom of the darkest trenches. 

She looks terrified. 

But isn't that part of the play? She's the most ethereal beauty he'd ever seen in his life, just likes myths said they would be. Then her glowing blue eyes and milk skin framed by golden floss hair was all just the meat under a propped up box with a stick. She'd use them to lure him to a watery death and lay eggs in his chest… or something. 

He doubts she could drown him in less than a trough of water, though. It barely reaches past her shoulders. And she had no space to turn or fold, let alone swim or kill. 

She's stationary and shivering. Stolen and smuggled. 

And Eddy doesn't smuggle people. And… Mermaids were… people shaped enough to fall under that honor code. Exotic birds of fire, beatles made of gold, and dogs that could bark open portals—sure. If the buyer liked animals and not just greed.

His normal fare is usually just illegal spices for the recreational minded. Liquors that controlled dreams for something to relieve a wounded day. Rare books with incantations for better genes and the like. Maybe some rare weapons and metals when he was in a legitimate mood. 

Buying and selling people was sadly common and sadly profitable but not so sadly in his repertoire. 

Til' now.

Accidental, promise. And the bad taste he'd had since stepping foot in the Duke Brenner's caste of forbiddens was a pretty big foreshadow, but one he could feel a rebellious itch against. Something that told him to take the job and ruin it. 

So here he was, in the back of his caravan with an open crate to a mermaid case outside the forgettable village of Pitty Glen, ruining it. 

Pitty Glen, because it is the complete opposite direction of the High Lord Creel's manor he's been directed to take her to, and it's also where his pseudo boy lives. Boy as in knave. Though smugglers didn't technically have knaves, they had accomplices. 

And Dustyn Son of Hender was a good one of those, with his endless tomes and scrolls of legend and mysticism.

"Verily, let's… see what we have here." He waves the Books of Seas at her. 

She bobs ominously in response, siren eyes illuminated like foggy moons. Her eyelashes clump, wet and golden, and the effect is such a detail of humanity. Eddy finds himself staring at the contrast of her very real details to her very unreal ones. The pearlescent skin pressed gently with patterns of scales that come and go with the refracting light. The golden thick of her tail, adorned in flimsy paper wet fins, pink and waving like a lady's chiffon wrapped around her. And the sparkling stones man made and otherwise crowned over her hair. Brooches and coral and pearls and possibly the broken chains of a man's pocket watch—like she had maybe slaughtered some humans and created jewelry from their leftovers as souvenirs.

"Apologies, good fuck, let's just—" Eddy pulls his eyes away because it's rude to gawk at a woman even if she probably eats people. "...see if anything in this blasted thing helps our dialogue."

Turns out the trinkets aren't souvenirs but status. 

Mermaids are actually pretty courtly, even despite the book's pages being littered with illustrations of naked beautiful women with large gnashing teeth and bloody claws—Eddy doesn't appreciate the over exaggeration of their gruesomeness, and flicking his gaze up to the even flow of her sineous scales, hair, and tail: the under exaggeration of her countenance.

They apparently make trade and fashion with each other by gifting all things… sparkling. Shiny was the only name on their currency. And the more one had, the more high up the court they were. 

"So, you're a mermaid lady-in-waiting? Or maybe a duchess of some reef?" he asks, flipping the book to spread its pages against the glass to show her the drawings of different mermaid treasure jewelry. 

She shrinks at first, the underwater jerk fluffing her chest, curls, and gems. But then she's bending close, touching her own little tiara of compasses and rubies.

Eddy stands, looking about the crates and baskets of his caravan, past the other cargo he'd taken on of opiates and weapons, shuffling through his own cot bedding and trunk to find something suitable. Something sparkling.

"I suppose maidens' love for bobbles is true on dry or wet land, ha!" Eddy barks, watching the aquarium case rock with her obvious excitement. She tries to follow the book when he takes it back. "Greetings, condolences, compromises, forgiveness, so forth, so forth—are begun with such gifts. Greedy! But understandable. I too, start all my friendships only if they pay tribute. Granted, I don't have friends, I have customers but…" 

A metal brooch clatters to the floor, stopping beneath the wedge of his boot.

The Templars sword and sheild.

He picks up the richly engraved cape closure and frowns.

"Well, it's not like I fucking need it anymore," he tells it and himself.

When he comes back to the coffin, the siren’s webbed fingers splay on the glass. Long sharp knives’ end nails tapping lightly as she peers close to see what he’s doing.

“Whoa, terrifying. Verily, the book is… not wrong then.” His eyes dart to the codex again and the drawings of bloody, horrible ends to the men who trifle with these creatures. 

But she looks curious. Innocent. Absolutely entrancing.

Gold all over and blue where it counted, she’s the sea itself in the space of refracted light. Even the junk in her hair she’s collected does it’s job, shining and glittering to match the deepness of her eyes and the wetness of her lips. Wetness of her lips—she’s in water, you absolute buffoon. Still. Entrancing,

That’s the point, that’s the point, that’s the point…

He shakes himself. Murderous mythical creature or not, he’s not selling her to some high bidder who will display her in a dining hall for lords and ladies to gawk at for the rest of her life before someone decides they haven’t tasted mermaid morsel or some lord deems her fit for a deadly romp.

And he can’t help her return to… wherever she hails from if he can’t commune with her. 

So this.

Flashing the brooch at her proves worth it. The water inside splashes with her excitement, her eyes on the shine with rapt attention so much so she doesn’t notice the case above her pry open. Eddy drops the metal inside and yelps back when she twists and jumps upon it.

“F-for you! Dear… lady. Y-ye! You fancy that? It's a gift! Want to keep it?”

Curled in her palms, she grins.

Oh.

“Ohhhhhhhh….” he wobbles, staring at her teeth. The incisors are familiar. Flat like his. her canines and the rest however… Sharp and long. A beautiful skin she has, wrapped tight around a body made for destruction. Like engraved plating on a blunderbuss. Gem-encrusted sheaths on blades. Many, many, many blades. “You... you must need those… for something, then.” Egads.

She ignores him though, too busy closing her eyes to focus on attaching his old Templar’s medal to the collection in the crown of her head.

Eddy picks up the book again quickly, reading fast down the passage of gifts. “...once received, placement of parcel upon each siren is denotation of class… huh, hmmm… wrists, no, necklace, no…. hair! AH–”

Royalty.

“Oh, oh no. Oh… god.”

Royalty. Only those of high lineage within the matriarch may crown themselves.

Mermaid… princess.

“Y-you don’t think that would look nicer on, perchance, a lapel or, or, or an earring or—”

She blinks at his rambling, smiling with such grace and poise he’s only getting more and more upset.

Then she opens her mouth again.

But this time he’s not distracted by the fangs as much as he is the note. The singular, sweet, unearthly, and altogether unworldly note of music. Of voice—nothing of any sheet he’d ever known, and he’d known them all. A high-pitched, low-pitched, tuning fork flicked against the chords of time and space and heavens.

Around them, the caravan wobbles in color and picture, and Eddy falls back on the slats, dizzy as the world around him tilts, reverberates, and her face illuminates with a literal sun behind it—Golden and perfect. Oh, mighty sun, sweet maiden, to go to her and let her have him—! To allow him to sink into that noise. He would be so happy, so content—

Whoa—what?

“S-STOP! Stop, stop, stop!”

Her shoulders jerk, teeth snapping shut.

“N-no singing! Uh—”

Singing. Siren. Mermaid. Ships crashing into rock and men getting their face pried off for egg nesting. Bad.

“—I, I’m not, I don’t really enjoy music and, you're not really in pitch for that… diddy. Sorry. I’m pretty particular about… I have a sensitive… bard’s ear…”

She stares back at him, hands wringing through her hair fast and uneven, looking very much like a girl he’s yelled at and now was insulting and not a vile witch who’d just tried to enthrall him into a cannibalistic ritual.

“S-Sorry. Let’s. how about we just… we’ll wait to sing until you know. Never, maybe.”

At least not until he put her back in water and sailed weeks away from her. 

He puts his hand on the glass for recompense, eyes still dizzy with her beauty and whatever that had been.

And… incredibly, without prompt or circumstance, she does too.

Calm and graceful, and smiling full of needles and joy, she matches his rounded, thick fingers with her delicate points and laughs.

And it sounds… Boy, does it sound.

Eddy cries to it. Quite literally the sound of it yanks something up his throat and past his nose until he’s spilling tears. He feels magic in his veins. And not in a dreamy pathetic poet way—no, magic, scroll-full magic with history and weight in it that he knows for sure she is doing it.

“M-maybe no laughing either princess,” Eddy says, scrubbing his tears away with his hair. “That mayhaps be best!”

She laughs again and he curses as he puts his head in his knees and sobs past his own barks of mirth at the ridiculous situation. 

He cries and laughs and stares at the wood of the caravan floor and her again, shining and sweet—and h-how?

How in the realm did he get himself into such a mess? Such a divine mess?

Or is that the Siren’s song talking?

[shadowqueenjude]

Why the Vanserras are elite

"Why do you simp for Lucien and Eris? The bat boys are so much better." Bestie, it's fucking obvious. One, they're the most charming.

Lucien: "If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?" “I’m Lucien. Courtier and emissary.” He gestured to me with a flourish. “Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.” Lucien was crouched over me, frowning. “I couldn’t heal you completely—they would know someone helped you. The bruises are there, along with a hideous black eye, but … all the swelling’s gone.” “And my nose?” I said, feeling it before he answered. “Fixed—as pert and pretty as before.” He smirked at me. “We’re not going to bite.” Lucien’s white teeth gleamed in a way that suggested otherwise. Eris: "When you get tired of the animal, come find me. I'll show you how a future High Lord plays." “You’re a pretty little treat. I’d be happy to play any manner of game with you, Nesta Archeron.” Nesta’s mouth twitched to one side. “And you? Who do you love?” His smile sharpened. “Are you inquiring after my eligibility?” “I’m merely saying it’s hard to find a good dance partner these days.” Eris laughed, the sound like silk over her skin. She shivered. “Indeed it is. Especially one who can both dance and tear the King of Hybern’s head from his shoulders.”  “They say your sister Elain is the beauty, but you outshine her tonight.”

Two, they're actually feminists, unlike the fraudulent bat boys. Lucien: Beyond us, I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it. Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow. Like stalks of wheat in a wind, the others fell to their knees as well. For in all of her preening ceremonies and rituals, never had Ianthe revealed any sign of power or blessing. But Feyre Cursebreaker, who had led Prythian from tyranny and darkness … Blessed. Holy. Undimming before evil. I let my glow spread, until it, too, rippled from Lucien’s bowed form. A knight before his queen. Eris: The music rose and rose and rose, faster and faster and faster, and as its last few notes sounded, Eris again released her. Nesta spun solo once more, three more precise, perfect rotations as Eris dropped to a knee before her and held up a hand. The final note blasted and held, and Nesta halted with preternatural ease, taking Eris’s hand in the same movement that her back arched and she flung up her other arm, the portrait of triumph. Three, they're the biggest doms. Lucien: “Easy,” Lucien repeated, and flame sizzled in his russet eye. The flame, the surprising dominance within it, hit Cassian like a stone to the head, knocking him from his need to kill and kill and kill whatever might threaten— Eris: “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred. “If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear. Four, they're the smartest characters. Lucien: The Clever Fox Stares Down Winged Death. Eris: “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.” Five, they're fashion icons. Lucien: He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish —but well-mannered and elegant. Eris: Eris dressed as immaculately as Rhysand, not a strand of his long red hair out of place. Six, they're literally keeping Prythian together at this point. Lucien: He had to give Lucien credit: the male was somehow able to move between his three roles—an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin—and still dress immaculately. Eris: “Eris bought me time.” Her words were laced with acid. Cassian had tried not to believe it, but he knew Eris had done it as a gesture of good faith. He’d invited Rhysand into his mind to see exactly why he’d convinced Keir to indefinitely delay his visit to Velaris. Only Eris had that sort of sway with the power-hungry Keir, and whatever Eris had offered Keir in exchange for not coming here was still a mystery.

That reason enough for you???

[tiny-elf-of-doom]

Discipline In the Bastille

Good Omens Fanfiction

Crowley x Aziraphale

Nsfw MDNI: spanking, dirty talk, discipline, dubious consent, bad angel, dom Crowley, sun Aziraphale, French Revolution, guillotine, language, mentions of death, and crying.

“Animals.” Aziraphale huffed.

“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, Angel, only humans do that.” A familiar voice called from behind the angel.

“Crowley!” Then, he noticed the look on the demon’s face, “oh… good lord.”

For the majority of their shared existence, Aziraphale hadn’t made too many stupid decisions, but this one was the most ridiculous by far. He had popped across the channel in the middle of a goddamn revolution to get something to nibble. Crepes, he’d claimed. No other country made them better than the one they originated from. Crowley growled in annoyance at the mental image of the angel’s arrest.

“You look like Antoinette in all that sparkle and ruffling fluff, what the hell were you thinking?” Crowley was standing now, expression strict, “walking around like a lost broach on the King’s lapel, thinking “what shall I eat today?” Maybe you need a heaping plate of bon sens!”

Aziraphale’s eyes began to water, “you’re mocking my eating habits and my decision making abilities! How dare you!”

The demon meant to only roll his eyes, but his entire head went with them. “Angel, I love to watch you eat- the pleasure I draw from it… you’re as smooth as the softest bed silk and I love your plush curves, but a mishap like this cannot happen again; this calls for punishment.”

The demon swayed across the room to where the angel once sat. It had been a cold and brittle stool. Crowley kept the angel’s wrists confined in the chains and patted his lap. The gesture was strange behind Aziraphale’s blue eyes, but eventually, he got the message. His face went pale at the very thought of what Crowley was implying.

“Excuse you!” The angel gasped. “I’m not some elementary boy that’s acting out of line!”

“A good spanking is in order, princess. You’ve been a very naughty thing and I can’t imagine letting you go without a reason to behave.”

Outside the cell, the guillotine sliced another head clean from its body. The sound was horrendous- wet and sloppy in the late afternoon sun. Crowley wasn’t there to humiliate him; he was there to give Aziraphale a choice. He could either submit like a good, little cherub, or use up a frivolous miracle to save himself from discorporation.

In the end, he chose the ladder. Stepping in front of Crowley, the angel lifted his chains and gave them a wee shake. The demon chuckled softly and began to pull down the angel’s trousers and stockings. He had the prettiest legs with a light dusting of white hair glowing atop celestial skin. What Crowley would have given to kiss every inch of them: to bite the flesh of this divine entity. However, that could be sought after later.

Aziraphale lowered himself over the demon’s bony knee, revealing his backside to the light pouring through the small window. It was quite a sight, the nearly white bottom. Crowley was excited to see how well it took to his strikes. With a careful hand, the demon rolled up his sleeves and landed a small slap to the angel’s left buttock. It was manageable, nothing extraordinary, until the Crowley added some enthusiasm.

A CLACK sounded throughout the cell. The stinging sensation hadn’t been given time to soothe before another blow met the pink skin. Crowley was mercilessly engaged with every smack, ensuring those glistening cheeks were as red as his hair. As for the angel, he was grinding his hips forward, biting his bottom lip to avoid the excess of whimpers. He felt dirty rutting into that modestly dressed thigh, but the motion was the only thing keeping his clit throbbing.

“Five more, angel,” Crowley warned, sounding just as strung out as the angel. “You’ve such a pretty arse. ‘Look so angelic in all that peachy blush… like a battered orchid.”

“Crowley, I beg you to take me after this. It hurts so very good…” Aziraphale let out another strangled groan.

SMACK SMACK SMACK! The last five landed at the very curve of the angel’s cheeks, striking with enough force to warrant a few tears. Aziraphale’s bum bruised a dark rouge, possibly darker than the blush of an aristocrat. Crowley helped him rise to his feet, feeling those fragile legs shake.

“You demon…” the angel wept. “Touch me…”

“Of course.” Crowley half carried Aziraphale to the stones opposite the cell gate and began attacking his lips with feverish kisses. One of his hands slipped between the angel’s legs, embracing the damp warmth that enveloped his white curls and tender labia.

Crowley was a greedy demon who happily inhaled the angel’s moans as he slowly massaged his tender clit. Aziraphale gripped at the fabric of Crowley’s sleeve, trying to find something to ground him in these times of lustful desire. If his legs weren’t shaking from the spankings, then they surely were now. The stone wall behind him scratched at the tender flesh of his bum, eliciting the familiar sting once again. His fingers continued to move in that delicious clockwork circle, pressing firmly when the fiend craved more of Aziraphale’s sweet moans.

“I’m close… Crowley please…” the angel had been crying, absolutely shuttering from the agony of pleasure. “May I come?”

The demon nodded, trying to keep himself in check, “come for me, Angel. You pretty thing…”

And he nearly set the Bastille’s guards running to the source of the howl. Aziraphale had liquid drenching his inner thighs, running in murky strands of milky white. Crowley ate it up, savoring the taste of a well spent seraph. Once the angel could no longer stand, the demon miracled his legs into a firm jelly, but not too firm as to forget why they ached.

[achaotichuman]

Tamlin blinked. “But…you took all this effort to have me healed. You’re telling me after that…you don’t want to keep me?” Lucien looked him up and down. He caressed Tamlin with his own severed hand, and Tamlin shook with the effort it took not to reach for Lucien with the other hand.” “You wouldn’t look so pretty on my wall all guts hanging out, would you? I had to think of a way to preserve you in this pristine condition without the Mother taking you away from me.” Lucien smiled before he dug through his drawers and pulled out a bottle with some shimmering purple liquid in it. “I got this substance made by Nuan. It will prevent the magic from claiming your body. That way I can keep you with me forever. Lucien dipped his hands into the substance before he began carefully stroking Tamlin’s forehead like a little baby. Tamlin closed his eyes, tears forming in his eyes. This was it. He was really going to die. Lucien’s hand lovingly brushed across his collarbone, down his pecs, across his shoulders, circling his thighs, until he finally reached his feet. Lucien yanked Tamlin up so that he could apply the substance down his back. Tamlin hissed as Lucien’s hands dug into his scalp. Lucien only laughed against the back of his neck. “So obsessed with me,” he murmured. Tamlin managed a shrug. “I’m not the one who spent a week trying to figure out how to preserve my body for posterity.” Almost immediately, Lucien slapped Tamlin’s ass, and he yelped. Tamlin knew that if he could see his backside, he’d find a brand mark where Lucien had hit him. “It’s not my fault you’re so handsome,” Lucien countered. In spite of everything, Tamlin blushed at the compliment. Finally, Lucien turned Tamlin’s body around to face him. “Goodbye, Tam. It has not been great knowing you.” Tamlin cringed at the barb; it hit the mark. “I will never forgive you for how you treated me after under the mountain. I’ll never forgive you for Calanmai, for those sentries, for that black eye. You deserve every last bit of pain I’ve inflicted upon you.” Lucien lifted Tamlin’s severed hand again. A moment later, the hand began to glow an orange-white hue. Tamlin looked down at his body for the last time, ignoring the burning of his wrist. It was then that he noticed the small area of skin where there was no purple gel. “You missed a spot,” Tamlin said, nonplussed. Lucien only tossed Tamlin’s severed hand up and down, smiling. “No, I didn’t.” Lucien shoved that hand against Tamlin’s skin, and he roared as he felt his skin peel off, his ribs shatter, his lung puncture. “Tamlin, High Lord of Spring, killed by his own hand,” Lucien mused. “Who would’ve thought?” Tamlin’s hand dug into his body, and Tamlin finally realized what Lucien was doing. “Your heart is mine,” Lucien snarled. “It deserves its own display apart from your body.” And Tamlin felt his heart desperately trying to sustain him as Lucien squeezed and squeezed and squeezed-             The last thing Tamlin felt was a tug as Lucien ripped his heart out of his body.

I hate you and I love you

HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME BUT ALSO HOW IS IT SO GOOD I LOVED THIS SO MUCH BUT I HATE YOU AND ITS AMAZING BUT I AM SO MAD.

I can’t I actually can’t

But you are an amazing writer. This was so good, Thank you so much!!!

[charmquarkstrangequark]

Anthony Bloody Lockwood: the Impact of his Past

Oh, Anthony Lockwood… I thought he’d be the easiest to analyze because he’s just a dumpster fire of unresolved trauma, but every time I sat down to do it, I couldn’t get started. So, apologies if this is a bit slapdash or disorderly. Also, spoilers, etc

So, I think that for the first six years of Anthony’s life, things were pretty good. His family is obviously wealthy; no one is paying bills as an anthropologist studying ghostlore on other continents, and he had two parents in that arena. Plus, have you looked at property values in Marylebone? Lord have mercy! But also, he’s actually very good at showing love and caring, and that is learned behavior. He does this a lot with physical contact and caring for physical needs, which would make sense if most of his years experiencing love and comfort were his toddler / preschooler years.

I wonder if Anthony and Jessica went overseas with their parents. At one point, Lucy is looking at a picture hanging at Portland Row (if I recall correctly), and Anthony tells her which foreign country it is, and what his parents were doing there. To me, this means that either (a) he went with them on their travels, or (b) after their passing, Jessica ensured their memories stayed alive for Anthony by sitting with him, looking through memorabilia, and explaining the wheres, whens, and whys of it. I actually love either possibility.

That brings us to the first searing tragedy for young Anthony.  His parents are killed in a car crash whilst on their way to give a lecture.  It is the same lecture that they originally gave to the Orpheus Society, and eventually, the impetus for their elimination. Anyway, Anthony says that Donald and Celia Lockwood were his first ghosts.  He saw them in the back garden from his attic window, and though the police officers and Jessica would choose not to reveal their deaths to him until the following morning, Anthony, on a fundamental level, already knew. It’s interesting, is it not, that Anthony was the relatively old age of six before his Talent showed itself. Lucy, we remember, was responding to the sounds of ghosts whilst in her crib. I wonder if Anthony’s parents would have been visible even to those without Talent, or to adults. There is some precedence for ghosts appearing to loved ones at the moment of death. Perhaps this actually triggered some latent ability in Anthony, and caused his Talent to manifest as Sight.

Because they died relatively close to Portland Row, Anthony spends the next decade or so constantly passing by the place of their death. Likely, over time, the sharp sting of this experience faded to a dull ache, but it definitely seems like constant exposure to the place of their deaths had to be re-traumatizing at some level.  One would assume he could even see their death glows as he passed by.  (Side note: because the series is told from Lucy’s point of view, we know a lot about the sounds of hauntings, but we are almost never treated to all of the death glows that Anthony must see.  During one job, he mentions to Lucy that he can see a small death glow where a tiny rodent or some such animal had died. It boggles the mind to consider how very many death glows he must see, everywhere they go.  And yet, much like with his own personal traumas, he rarely ever speaks about them to his friends. Imagine that.  Imagine everywhere you go, seeing all of the deaths that have happened, and just letting your eyes slide over them because they are so commonplace. Does he even make note of them anymore, even to himself? Does he feel surrounded by death all the time, a close and constant neighbor?)

The next trauma is closer to home. Jessica is going through belongings of their parents, in her own bedroom. ( I wonder if she moved into their parents’ bedroom after their death. It would make sense then why the decor in her bedroom is curiously childlike (in Lucy’s opinion). Perhaps she also chose to use that room to store the memories of childhood, as Anthony would later do.  Or perhaps she was unable to bring herself to move into Donald and Celia’s bedroom, as her brother later would, and simply held on to the reminders of a simpler time.  But anyway, this is Anthony’s post, not Jessica’s.)

Anthony is playing. He doesn’t want to come in and help Jessica go through Mom and Dad’s weird stuff from other countries. He’s having much more fun doing what he wants. Then, he hears, or senses something. He goes in to find Jessica, calling out to her and telling her not to sulk, only to find her dead and blue and swollen on her bed, and a ghost attacking him. He reacts instinctively with his rapier (making me think he’s already had at least some lessons), and rids himself of the ghost.  But the damage is done. Did you ever notice how Lockwood doesn’t really have hobbies? He spends his free time training with his rapier and reading gossip magazines. I think the root of it is here.  He was pursuing his own interests, and Jessica died. So, young Anthony decides he just won’t have interests anymore, because it’s safer for everyone else that way. He is, at this point, nine years old.

Here’s where things get a bit fuzzy. We know Anthony is cared for, at some point, by an aunt or uncle. He mentions his uncle (who died of a stroke - yet another loss) during Lucy’s interview.  The uncle was kind hearted, and enjoyed hunting. We also know Anthony, at some point, connects with Nigel “Gravedigger” Sykes, and learns the Agent trade. I believe (with no evidence whatsoever), that these two things may have been concurrent. Perhaps Anthony’s uncle let him learn to use his Talent to become an agent, but also insisted the boy continue his education (perhaps with tutors) so that once those Talents faded, he would still have a future. In any event, the uncle dies, so does Sykes, and Anthony is now an Agent.

These events had some powerful influences on young Lockwood. For one, he has absolutely no compassion for ghosts. “There are ghosts and then there’s us, and it is either kill or be killed,” he tells George. “Ghosts don’t have feelings,” he tells Lucy. He is impatient with her interest in making contact with ghosts to help them resolve whatever holds them here, especially since she has to distance herself from the protection of salt and iron to do so.

Also, somewhere, he learned to bottle up his feelings and hide them behind a charming smile and a fashionable, bespoke suit. After the deaths of his parents, Lockwood likely wasn’t dealing on a daily basis with anyone who wasn’t also traumatized. So he didn’t learn how to properly work through those feelings, instead tucking them away, and only letting them out when he sneaks into the cemetery where his family is buried. Instead, Lockwood learns that a brilliant smile, enthusiasm, and a bit of exaggeration will get him far in life. It isn’t until he allows others into his home, and his heart, that he begins the healing process.  It isn’t easy; in fact, when Lucy gets too far into his heart, he reacts by pushing her away, becoming detached, polite. It scares him how much he cares for her, and how the thought of her being injured can push him into a near panic. He’ll die for her, but he won’t open up to her in a meaningful way, because he doesn’t know how. It’s difficult and painful.

Lockwood definitely comes off with a fair amount of impulsivity and forgetfulness. This causes him to do things like go to the Hope house without chains, or wraith hunting without flares. He’s so eager to jump into jobs that he rarely gives George the time to properly research the history. He signs contracts without reading them. Many fans have rightly noticed that these can be indicators of ADHD. But they are also frequently found in children with trauma history. I’m up in the air on which is the root of Lockwood’s recklessness; perhaps it’s both.

Lockwood also seems wonderfully unaware of his own privilege. He hands Lucy a diamond necklace he pulls out of his suit coat pocket. (I think this is at least partly to hide it from George, but still…) I don’t know that he even recognizes how likely it is that Lucy has never owned anything half so valuable. He refers to the part of Kensal Green where the wealthier citizenry was buried as both “classy” and “pre-pleb”. He mentions that using horseradish rather than gravy in hors d’oeuvres is indicative of “civilization”. In this, I think, Lucy will help to humanize him, being from a completely different background.

This leads into a strange idea of fairness. He thinks everyone should (and will) treat each other with sporting fairness. When Kipps doesn’t treat Lockwood & Co with respect after Combe Carey Hall, it shows that Kipps “lacks respect”. Winkman wouldn’t dare scar Lockwood’s face, because then he’d have to kill the Agent, and Winkman “wouldn’t get away” with that. He even offers to duel Fairfax when the other man has a rifle trained on him because that seems somehow fair to Lockwood. He’s still very young, and “born minted”, and the callous coldness of the real world still shocks him.

Lockwood is also a wonderful mixture of cockiness and self-doubt. He doesn’t think himself worthy of love and caring, but also relies on a smile and a wink to get his way more often than not. He has an acerbic wit and is savage with people he doesn’t care for (such as Kipps at the start of the series). He has such perfect faith in his own rapier skills that he’ll turn his back on other elite agents to show how little fear he has. He relies on the rapier for both living and dead threats. He wears it everywhere, even when his teammates don’t bring their kit. It is a part of his identity, his armor, like his suit and his smile. But when it comes to his love interest, he’s unsure. In the show, he confines himself to accessorizing in a way that matches her, to making her toast. In the books, it takes her leaving him for him to be willing to lay out his cards and express his interest and desire to be by her side.

Finally, because this is getting very long, Lockwood sees himself as responsible, horribly responsible, for everything. He’s responsible for the death of his sister. He’s responsible for mistakes made by “his” agents, because it’s his name on the door. He’s responsible for the mental and physical well-being of his friends, and even the safety of his rivals, because he’s Anthony Bloody Lockwood. He sees himself as an island, and as a result, keeps making the small mistakes that prevent his Agency from being as successful as the sum of its parts. It will only be when he allows them to care for him as he cares for them that each will come into himself or herself fully, and his Agency will flourish.

[gasha40k]

The last post was supposed to be a lot longer, but it got cut off because Tumblr is made of rocks. I’ve got a bit more to share, starting with a little bit of progress on World Eaters.

Finally got my hands on this guy again. I only need two more models to finish my World Eaters character collection: Azrakh the Annihilator and Angron. I also saved the Juggernaut body from my first Invocatus so soon I’ll have a Lord on Juggernaut as well

The fluff behind Lord Invocatus is so excessively metal that I can’t help but love it. The mental image of Avocado here galloping across the sky on a bridge of smoke and flame is one of the most raw things I think I am capable of imaging. That being said, the model is, like, very disappointingly not on fire, even if it’s still a banger model. I felt that this was a horribly missed opportunity, so I went about and built a reposed Invocatus with an added 3D fire effect from Deadly Print Studios to represent the bridge of flames. I’m really happy with this! Not only does the repose make him look larger and more ferocious, but the fire makes him look like the centerpiece that he should be, and the visual of him and his Juggernaut leaping over a plume of flame is sure to strike fear into the hearts of whoever I field him against. Or he’ll be the biggest target on the board because of his posing, and he’ll get shot and killed immediately. We’ll find out!

In the time since my last post, I’ve also come into possession of a few new neat 3D printed models for some little projects of mine, courtesy of an Ork-playing friend. This guy here is Tyrant Siege Terminator from the Iron Warriors Legion, the Chaos Legion that my Thunderbearers claim their heritage from (not that they’d know this, though).

Making that objective marker from a few posts ago was really fun, so I made some more ideas for custom ones to use with my factions. While I don’t exactly have a plan of action regarding this guy here, I do know that I’m going to turn him into some kind of relic recovery marker. A supremely apocryphal Chapter artifact of the highest sanctity, for the eyes of the most elite Thunderbearers only. An echo from a forgotten past, a powerless demigod from a lost era, frozen in time and waiting for 10,000 years. This’ll eventually be painted in Thunderbearers regalia and draped with either creeping vines and wild overgrowth, or dust, cobwebs, and rubble. Despite its heraldry, however, this ancient armor is still noticeably a Terminator pattern utilized almost exclusively by the Iron Warriors Traitor Legion. This implies that whichever venerable forebear originally adorned this armor would’ve either been a Battle-Brother of the Chapter’s earliest shrouded histories, or a later Astartes of such grand renown that he inherited what would’ve undoubtedly been one of the Chapter’s most valuable artifacts. Regardless, it’s a neat looking piece and not something that people will glean from first glance. It’s like a little Chapter Easter egg basically for me only, and that’s cool cuz it’s my army. <3

This beefy boy will be the subject of another objective marker. After a page describing each of the Chaos Gods, 9th Edition’s Codex: Chaos Daemons includes a two-page spread detailing anecdotes about various Daemon Worlds and how exactly they’d fallen to the Gods. The above excerpt from the Khornate incursion on a Daemon World named Tartora struck me as particularly visually poignant, so this boisterous Ork is gonna get turned into a statue of brass and bone. I’ll decorate his base with various skulls and lots and lots of blood. Maybe fire, too. I think a sort of glowing red vein effect on the base might be pretty cool. I’ll use him primarily with my World Eaters. Combined with a classic skull tower that I’m gonna make at some point, that means I’ll have two objective markers for both of my armies.

Moving on, I’ve been painting my dudes in what I believe to be their final color scheme for a good long while now. I’ve even started putting transfers on some of them as of a couple loads ago. That being said, I noticed that my most up-to-date heraldry sheet was kind of total garbage, and it didn’t represent the current look of the army whatsoever. This new heraldry sheet will be my (almost) final one; the colors are all correct, the helmets are all correct, and the Chapter icon has been edited and finalized. I may change the symbol signifying Chapter Honor Guard to be a set of tilted black stripes, sorts like hazard stripes but with the yellow replaced by Wraithbone. This could be another subtle nod to the Iron Warriors heritage as black stripes are a very common pattern, which means it could rationally be either an ambiguous heraldry of visually pleasing design, or iconography from culture that’s evolved slowly over the course of 10,000 years.

On the gameplay front, I recently played my first and likely final game of Strike Force in 9th with my brother. To send out 9th and usher in 10th, the Thunderbearers and Cobalt Lancers got together again for a good old fashioned “full-scale combat simulation.” They definitely used tracer rounds or something.

Most of my games are pretty standard but this one was great fun. We had very similar army compositions, with differences only in some key areas, like armor and HQ choice. The plan for us both was to forward deploy Infiltrator squads to hunker down on objectives, since we both took our Chapter-specific action secondaries. The mission we rolled, however, had better plans, and disabled setup rules in No Man’s Land, effectively making the Phobos forward deploy completely useless. It was a really even game, likely my favorite I’ve played so far, and I realize now after playing it that 2000pts is definitely the way that 40k is meant to be played. There were a lot of cool moments, too, and I think that was mostly facilitated by the higher point limit.

A Redemptor, an Aggressor Squad, an Eversor Assassin, and a Primaris Techmarine walk into a bar.

One of those cool moments was a chain of events that I’ll remember for a good long while. After my Predator las-sniped an enemy Redemptor, my own Redemptor stomped up to join two Space Marine columns locked in combat. After some intense combat, the Dreadnought was felled, surprisingly setting of an explosion, dealing mortals to literally everyone in the circle. The Techmarine takes the opportunity to kill the Eversor after this, who then explodes, killing the Techmarine. Earlier in the game, an Impulsor had exploded, and if I recall correctly, Big Harold exploded, bringing the game’s total explosion count to around 4 or 5. Fun!

My brother beat me on objectives, 26-40. He played his primaries far better than I did, and I was far too focused on killing his scary shit to properly run my secondaries. While I took out his Repulsor—the centerpiece of any good Cobalt Lancers army—during the game’s first BR, which significantly lessened his firepower and freed me up to move, aggressive pushes with his Impulsor and excellent positioning of his squads kept me at bay and I lost the inevitable Astartes vs. Astartes battle of attrition.

I hope that I can play some more 2000pts games here soon. I got my hands on a copy of the new Core Rulebook, so I’ll be hopefully be dipping my toes into the future of the 42nd millennium here soon. I’ve got some friends who wanna get back into the game with 10th, so I’ll be getting a couple Combat Patrol games in as well. Maybe Calthradia will follow into 10th, but the Crusade has been on hold for months now and I’m undergoing some significant life changes at the moment, so I doubt I’ll be making much consistent progress for a while.

[randomlyexisting]

He plays guitar while I sing Lou Reed

Aemond Targaryen x Jacaerys Velaryon

Band/singer Au

————————————————————————-

Aemond is the guitarist / second voice of a band, that he works sweat, blood , and tears , with no single help from his father. Everything seems to go great but then life gives him an obstacle in the road to his success ,the lead singer and drummer, quits leaving them with a huge problem since they have gigs booked.

Aemond’s band mates go behind his back and offer the spot to the person he’s been pretending didn’t exist.

After dealing with a nasty breakup and finally winning the inner battle with his fear , Jace finds himself writing and his dream of an artist rise from the ashes.

Jace needs to prove to the record label he got what it takes to be a singer and not just a song writer, so he accepts the offer that might make his life a living hell for next months.

Or

Jace and Aemond are forced to be in a band together to get what they want while trying to ignore each other. Aemond best friends wants to know what’s that thick tension between their friend and the newbie. Cregan just wants to play the drums without having to fear of said guitarist killing him in his sleep.

———————————————————————

Jace bare feet taps against Aemond’s naked back , meanwhile Aemond played his guitar, as he worked on a song. He’d sprung up from Jace arms out of nowhere, exclaiming he was struck with inspiration , he explained on seeing his alarmed face at the sudden outburst.

Jace watched silently, not wanting to interrupt. He knows how one can get in the zone—well he used to—blocking everything and everyone.

Before everything flipped upside down. The accident. The unsaid goodbyes. Jace can still feel his father light touch under his chin, if he closes his eyes.

Feeling his throat clog with emotions, Jace pushes all the bad memories away and focused on Aemond. Who is a pretty sight. Why ruin a good day.

The curtains were opened, making the sunlight peek through the windows giving Aemond a glow around the crown of his silver hair. Made him look like a Greek God.

Taking Jace breath away.

His hand came up to push his own hair away from his face and laid his arms out like a starfish. Aemond mumbling incoherently , distracted with his song.

Jace shoves Aemond forward with his foot, wanting his attention back to him. He gave him enough time to jot down everything. A chuckleeaves his mouth when Aemond body lurches forward with the push.

“Sorry.” Aemond turns , giving him his side profile ,humming a tune under his breath. His mind far away. Still distracted.

Aemond being bathed in the golden sunlight, a song rang in Jace head. His uncle is attractive. Even when they were children, Jace always thought Aemond was cute , grumpy, but still cute. He also thought Helaena was pretty, still is.Aegon didn’t fall behind either

It reminded him of the countless of edits that Baela and Rhaena sends him with the same song stitched to it.

An idea , like a lightbulb above his head appeared. Jace smiled, still feeling giddy even if Aemond wasn’t paying attention to him. He knows how to get the attention he wants.

Clearing his throat , drops his feet and leans his upper body, resting his weight on his elbows.

“Dear Lord , when I go to heaven, please let me bring my man,” Jace sings, grabbing Aemond attention. He continues to sing as Aemond rise from his spot to face him. “When he comes, tell me that you'll let him in

Father, tell me if you can”

Aemond beams , making Jace heart stutter. His brown eyes roam Aemond body, but his eyes flickered back to the necklace that had a guitar pick that rested on Aemond chest.

A guitar pick that had words engrave in High Valyrian . A gift Aemond promise to wear it always close to his heart.

Jace moves to sit up to his knees, making a dramatic show of pointing with his hand the next verse to an amused Aemond,

“All that grace, all that body

All that face makes me wanna party

He's my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds”.

Jace is happy with himself when Aemond blushes.

Aemond plants a sweet kiss to his lips making him whine when he pulls away.Aemond has this look that Jace already knows what he’s going to say.

“You sing beautiful.” It wasn’t Jace first time singing. He stopped after the incident. It had seem that the Gods gifted their family in singing. His mother, Daemon, and his grand sire. Luke sang like an angel . Joffrey was getting there. But Jace stopped. He’d grown a fear to sing but recently his love for music changed along with his feelings for his uncle. His views were changing. But not that fast.

He can sing with Aemond but he couldn’t sing to anyone else. Jace brushes off the compliment that will only lead to an argument.

“Jace.” Aemond sighs, already trying to bring up the topic. He’s not ready. He will never be ready.

“Sing me a song?” Jace demands , jutting his bottom lip. It was only fair to hear Aemond vocals.

Aemond lets it rest in peace, already use to it, he adjust the guitar , fingers hover over the strings ready to play . “What song?”

“I wanna be yours.” Jace falls back and returns to his position of a star fish. He love this bed, it smells like Aemond. Jace wants to steal a pillow. And keep it forever.

“The one Rhaenyra always humming too?” Aemond ask , his hands already positing in the right place.

“Yeah.” Jace nods, and chuckles when Aemond dramatically clears out his throat.

“I wanna be deep in you as the Pacific Ocean” Aemond sings the lyric wrong, with a smirk pulling the corner of his lip.Jace shoots him a unimpressed look, making Aemond laugh.

“I wanna be yoooooooours.” Aemond stretches the word longer than necessary making Jace break into a fit of giggles. Aemond following along.

“You only know that part” Jace shakes his head amused by his boyfriend humor.

“Yeah.” Aemond sheepishly admits, puts the guitar to its rightful place and walks back to the bed. Jace shrieks when Aemond jumps on bed, landing on top of him . Aemond huffs as he maneuver Jace legs over his hip, with no help of the pillow princess and support his weight on his arms to not to squish Jace with his weight.

Aemond worried that later Jace’s face will hurt with how hard and big he was smiling.

He, himself, felt the ache, his face muscle twitching with his own smile .

“Write a song about me so you won’t forget about me when your famous.” Jace whispers , tugging at the necklace that dangled across his face. He played absently with guitar pick .

“I’ll write you a millions of song .” I will never forget you. Aemond seals the promise with a long deep kiss that take their breath away.

“ I just died in your arms tonight,” Aemond begin to sing, his deep velvet voice vibrates through Jace chest, Aemond leaned down to give Jace another kiss .

His arm reaches to push Jace’s hair away and runs his calloused fingers to his brow, cheek, jaw and all the way to the red swollen lips.

Aemond place his finger on Jace puffy lips and snorts when Jace playfully bites his thumb. It felt ridiculous being this joyful just by simply being in each others presence. He felt like a kid given a bag full of candy.

“It must've been some kind of kiss” Jace wiggles his eyebrows before he pulls him down for one more kiss.

Aemond can feel Jace smile throughout the kiss.

He wants to cling to this moment. Where everything is perfect. Where nothing can come and ruin his happiness. Aemond desperately clings to it.

They will find a way to keep their relationship on the low. It’s hard when their always in the public eye, their whole family is, and people were constantly waiting for them to slip up and to broadcast it to the whole world.

If the media find out, it would force them to make a choice that it would leave them with the bitterness aftermath and a broken heart that they won’t be able to fix with missing pieces or with any melody. Aemond hopes, prays that it never happens.

——————————————————————

[Time Jump]

“Thought you’d never overcome your stage freight .” Aemond smiles but there’s nothing friendly about it. Neither his tone of voice, hint of mockery but Jace wasn’t here to fight. Even if it was easier than to have a simple conversation.

It use to be. It seemed ages ago when they could communicate with only their eyes and body. Now they’re strangers ready to attack in fear they’d find a weakness to use against each other.

“Neither did I. I had people help me.” Jace had to remind himself that he needed to play nice . So he claps his hand behind him to hide how hard his fingernails dig into his palms.

It’s not sharp enough, his nails bitten down short in moments of nervousness.

“Cregan?” Aemond scowls , pushes his weight off the wall he leant against to move closer. Have never wanted his help, not even when he offered it with his heart. What was so special about the guy?

“Couldn’t just live in fear for the rest of my life, right?.” Jace lifts his shoulder, schooling his face expression the most he can.

Jace didn’t bother clarifying his real relationship with Cregan ; they were simply friends, brothers.Aemond doesn’t need to know what goes on or not in his life. This was all business after all.

Aemond seem unfazed by the vague answer and didn’t press on that subject. Small part of Jace felt disappointed. It seem he could care less even if he’d been throwing daggers with his eye ever since he met the drummer. If looks could kill, Jace would’ve been in Cregans’s funeral. Guess Jace made that up his mind.

“I don’t let fear control me.”Aemond squared his shoulders, as if readying for a fight. Jace wanted to laugh in his face at the lie he’d tried to feed him.

“I know you don’t want me to join the band. I think everyone noticed with your so called interview.” Jace scoffs, he could still feel the warmth of embarrassment creeping up from yesterday that Aemond cruelly made him go through.

Jace eye flicker down to Aemond neck , the simple gold chain mocked him , the guitar picked gone. He probably threw to the trash.

“I’m glad then, it will make it easy for them to deliver the news to you and your drummer today.”Aemond sharp grins hurts but doesn’t hurt Jace as much as the words that he said.

“I’m not gonna let my future go down in flames just so you could feel good about yourself.” Aemond looms over Jace, using their height difference to his gain. His sharp jaw was clenched hard, radiating pain from his teeth to his temple.

Aemond wants Jace to cower, lower his head in fear but Jace tips his chin higher, not breaking eye contact with him. Anger swim in the brown orbs that used to swirl with false tenderness directed to him. A broken part of him, misses it, even if it was fake.

Can Jace say the same thing about his eye. Can he see how cold and cruel his blue eye is now. Not a trace of the young teenager that would do anything for him just for a small amount of affection in return.

“I’ll sing for your band for now and once you guys find a replacement and I sign my contract with the label , we won’t have to see each other again. “ Jace takes a step back, desperately wanting space between them, he lets his arms fall back to his sides. It feels like defeat.

Aemond halts in moving closer, there was no need for them to be close, even with their hearts empty their bodies pulled to each other like magnets.

“It’s only temporary.”

“Temporary, huh”Aemond scoffs in disgust. the damn word leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. “We both know how that works.” Jace hides his flinch at his uncle cruel reminder.

Jace breaks first and looks away. Wanting to hide how his eyes betray him and chin wobbles. Aemond keeps staring, now the side profile where the long brown curls grab his attention.

His hands move before he can think and reaches to tug on it gently. The movement make Jace turn to face him again making his finger touch Jace upper cheek.

In moments of weakness Aemond cups his face and lets his thumb trace the soft skin. He was still beautiful, still his beautiful Jace. Jace can’t help but lean to the touch that his heart engrave yet his skin regretfully forgotten how it felt.

“Band meeting!”

Jace and Aemond jump away from each other immediately. Jace is the first to leave. Aemond shoves his burning hand into the pocket of jacket where the damned pick burned a hole into his palm.

—————————————————-

Soooooo, I been listening to Lana del Rey a lot since HOTD , and this au just magically appeared. Hope it’s not that bad to read or too cringey, I typed as quick as I could to post this.

How hot would it be , Aemond playing the guitar , Jace and Aemond singing songs to throw indirects at each other , the sexual tension just building up with each show, Aemond writing songs about Jace and vise versa , 🤌🤌 , but I can’t write so I gave you this shitty piece lol.

There’s obviously a time jump in between the two parts I written. Idk why they broke up, but it tore their souls apart to end the relationship, but they still love each other lol.

I had to add Lana Del Rey and Arctic Monkeys somehow. So enjoy I guess🙃🤷‍♀️.

[corvusalbus93]

Deals with Vulgrim

Strife visits Vulgrim after another successful mission, not long after the events of Darksiders Genesis +++

While it wasn’t technically warm in the Void, the snow on Strife’s armour began to melt, as soon as he stepped out of the serpent hole. Water began to drip from the pointy edges of his armour, leaving a trail as he went looking for Vulgrim.

When he found the merchant, he seemed to be in a hurry, hastily pulling sealed scrolls from the shelves. He didn’t even notice the Nephilim at first, too focused on his task, until Strife cleared his throat. The merchant turned around and gave his toothy smile. At least Strife assumed it was supposed to be one; it was sometimes difficult to tell with that almost skeletal face.

 “Ah, Horseman. As much as it pains me to say, your timing is a tad inconvenient,” Vulgrim welcomed him, trying to sound polite despite the edge in his voice.

“What’s the matter? You and the Scrying Eye had a falling out?” Strife joked, crossing his arms.

The demon ignored his quip. “Another matter requites my full attention at the moment. If you would excuse me for but a minute, I have another costumer.” Vulgrim clicked his fingers, the sound amplified by the metal covering his hands. Almost immediately someone materialized by his side in a puff of purple smoke and pink fire, another familiar face. “Dis, please tend to our guest.”

The curvaceous demoness smiled, eyes lingering on Strife. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

Without wasting another second, Vulgrim hurried off and disappeared through the serpent whole, leaving the two alone in his domain.

Strife frowned, looking after him. “What was that about?”

Dis hovered closer, two of her fours arms akimbo, while waving one of the others in a rather dismissive manner. “Oh, Vulgrim is just bargaining with a rather capricious demon lord at the moment.”

“So that’s why he’s on edge. Hope he isn’t taking it out on you.” For a demon, Dis was actually pleasant company, especially when compared to her employer.  Strife had always enjoyed their interactions, though he wasn’t naïve enough to think that she treated him kindly purely out of the goodness of her heart.  Pretty much everyone had ulterior motives for what they did, demons doubly so.

She gave him another smile. “Nothing of the sorts, though I’m touched by your concern. No, if Vulgrim isn’t sending me out on some foul’s errand this is actually a cushy job.”

“Don’t tell me that you like working for that floating corpse.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, but we actually had quite an influx of business recently,” Dis told him as they walked downstairs to her little workshop. First thing to catch his eye was a massive caldron, standing on an unnatural fire, which matched the pink flames Dis had instead of hair. Whatever that concoction was, it was already bubbling over, but the demoness didn’t seem to mind. “Hell has been quite a mess in recent years.”

“Isn’t it always?” When the lords and masters of Hell weren’t marching against Heaven, they tended to fight amongst each other. Peacetime wasn’t exactly a thing in the second Kingdom.

“Well, since you and your brother killed the Masters, there has been a significant power vacuum, which has everyone all fired up. So now there are plenty of upstarts trying to fill that void,” Dis explained as she picked what Strife assumed was some sort of dried plant from a small drawer, and tossed it into the cauldron. “If I weren’t employed to Vulgrim, I likely would be forced to pick a side; unaffiliated demons usually don’t last long.”

Somewhat cautiously Strife stepped closer to the fireplace and peered into the cauldron, just in time to see the brew change colours into a glowing blue. “If those wannabe lords are waging war against one another, you wouldn’t have lasted long either way.” Entire demon armies were probably tearing each other apart as they spoke.

“My point exactly. So now I’m biding my time, let those fools sort this mess out, while I remain here in the Void, relatively safe. Besides, I still don’t have quite enough to buy my freedom yet. That reminds me; it there anything I can interest you in?” She added a rather suggestive wink for emphasis.

“Afraid not.”

“Such a shame,” she lamented, before she floated over to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. Strife needed to tilt his head to avoid her big horns, when she pulled a crystal from somewhere on her person. “But here; on the house. Don’t tell Vulgrim,” Dis purred, a finger pressed against her full lips.

“Hey, my lips are sealed.” She’d given him a pointy shard of amber colouration, so small and fragile looking that he dared not put any pressure on it, as he held the crystal between two fingers. Upon closer inspection, Strife saw small shapes dart back and forth on its surface, almost too fast for even his eyes to follow.

Just as he had put it away in one of his pockets, Strife heard a distinct sound from the serpent hole, telling him that the demon merchant had returned.

“Ah, Horseman. I hope you forgive the dalliance. And I trust Dis has been accommodating.”

“Very much.”

“Don’t be a stranger, darling,” she chirped, waving goodbye as Strife and Vulgrim left her workshop.

“Heard there’s a lot going on in hell right now.”

“Yes, so many demons squabbling, so many...opportunities.” Vulgrim chuckled, making the Horseman pull a face behind his mask. “But I must admit to being a little disappointed that you seem to be visiting empty handed. And I had so hoped you were able to recover a few of Mammon’s treasures.”

Strife shrugged. “Sorry; was ordered to destroy them. Wouldn’t look good if they showed up again in yours hands. Council might ask some questions and guess, who I would have to go after next.” Not that he would terribly mind. Vulgrim had his uses, but the gunslinger had never entirely warmed up to the demon.

Meanwhile, the merchant shook his head, a hand on his heart. “And there I thought we’d become such good business partners.”

“Well, this is all I got for you this time.” The horseman tossed him a small pouch full of boatman coins.

“Mhm. I suppose it will do,” Vulgrim conceded after a precise count.  “I’ll consider it your fee for continued use of the serpent holes.”

“Sounds like prices are increasing.” That much money should have afforded him at least one potion on top.

“Considering they get you almost anywhere undetected, connecting countless realms, I’d say you have yourself a real bargain.”

Strife sighed, dismissing the idea of threatening the demon. “My pockets would disagree, but it’s not like I have many alternatives.”

“None, to be exact,” the merchant pointed out all too happily. “But if you could bring me something a little more...exotic, perhaps we could adjust our arrangement.”

“What do you have in mind?” Hopefully not another artefact; this demon already had too many powerful ones stowed away here. Though come to think of it, some were likely in Samael’s possession by now, which was possibly even more worrisome.

“The wyvern glands you brought me some years ago for example. You wouldn’t happen to have anything like it in your possession; it’s so difficult to get my hands on goods from the First Kingdom sometimes.”

“What? Don’t tell me they don’t like seeing your pretty face there,” Strife mocked. “But no, haven’t been to any of their realms recently. Still, I can promise to keep an eye out. I’m sure I find something.”

“Excellent. I knew we would come to an understanding.”

+++

This takes place just after another excerpt from my discontinued Darksiders Pariahs-story, which I posted here.

[disneyanddisneyships]

@gyubby99 okay I found another song that works with aponi-

Alastor x OC fic

Summary: in life, Lilly was a kind girl. Until her ex boyfriend took advantage of her. To get back at him she killed him and then herself. She now resides in hell with a different name, staying at the hazbin hotel so she can redeem herself.. now known as Aponi Wings, she has been with alastor, the radio demon, for a while, and she's been performing at a local club. He comes to see her one night at the same time her ex boyfriend does.

Alastor sat down at a table in the club, ordering a drink as he waited for his beloved to start her performance so he could take her out to dinner afterwards.

Preferably somewhere nicer than this place.

Alastor raised an eyebrow as another demon took a seat next to him.

"Come to see the performance?" Alastor asked as he took a cigarette and lit it.

"Come to see the woman who killed me," the Hog replied.

Alastor turned to him slowly, realizing who he was, who his Lilly had to him about.

Before another word was spoken, the music started.

Aponi walked on stage and up to the microphone to start speaking.

"In my life, I was Lillian Marigold Carlton who worked at taco bell in uranium city, Saskatchewan," she started, speaking to her audience. "But in my dreams I played a different role. I was Aponi Wings in post-war France! A hooker with a heart of black charcoal," She explained before the music began.

I write poems to burn by firelight Drink champagne and guzzle gin Good girls call me "the town bicycle" Don't knock it 'til you've tried my life of sin

Aponi sang as she sat on a chair, her legs spread to seem more bold.

She smirked as she spotted both of the men she knew all to well.

Oh, Alastor, my pimp, knows never mess with me

She sang as she took Alastor's cigar from him and lqyed down on the stage, face to face with her ex lover.

Last prick did that faded quick to black I have no idea where to find him, officers

She sang as she got up and walked over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders, her eyes glowing in pent up anger.

The cigar burned in her finger. But if you do, please mention that I'd Like to have returned the pretty knife That I stuck ten times in his back!

She sang as her ex lover flinched.

She took a drag of the cigar before handing it back to Alastor and getting back on stage.

For I sing songs until the break of dawn I embrace a new man every night My life's one never-ending carnival A world of boozy-floozy flashing light

She snag as her hands traveled up and down her body..

I want to be that fucked up girl

She sang with the smile of someone who was deranged.

He said, "I think I am in love with you" I've heard that lie a million times before Oh, tonight I give in to the fantasy Take love when you can, when you're a whore

She walked down onto the floor as she sang, sitting down on a demon's lap.

Alastor clenched his jaw.

For I sing songs until the break of dawn I embrace a new man every night My life's one never-ending carnival A world of boozy-floozy flashing light

She walked back onto the stage and leaned against one of the poles that was placed in the center.

I want to be that fucked up girl

She sang as she sunk to the floor, her thighs spread as all the demon's hollered.

So now I sell my love for opium In some rat-infested Chinese dive At night I burn myself with cigarettes Just to somehow prove I'm still alive

She began to rerun her life to the audience, taking the cigarette from alastor once more and burning her leg.

Alastor's eyes widened as he realized she was a bit drunk... now that worried him.

Eight months later I catch typhoid flu Kicked out, I see the ugly light of day Dying in an alley, a priest kneels down to me-

Aponi sang as angel dust walked on stage and held her head in his lap. "My child, do you have any final words to the lord you'd like to say?" Angel asked as he mimicked a priest.

"Oui. tell him that, like him, I choose to burn out rather than fade away!" Aponi shouted in an accent as the lights turned off.

They turned back on to reveal her on stage, standing legs spread over a chair.

For I sing songs until the break of dawn I embrace a new man every night My life's one never-ending carnival A world of boozy-floozy flashing light For I sing songs until the break of dawn I embrace a new man every night My life's one never ending carnival

She sang as she danced on the chair, gaining shouts from the demons in the audience.

A world of boozy-floozy flashing light I want to be that fucked up girl I wanna be that fucked up Girl...

She sang as she stood on the chair, running her hands up into her hair.

Broken heart, a flask of gin Tattooed with a safety pin Teeth all stained with nicotine Running nylons, shattered dreams Super crusty, holy terror Wild eyes and black mascara Broken heart, a flask of gin Tattooed with a safety pin Teeth all stained with nicotine Running nylons, shattered dreams Super crusty, holy terror Wild eyes and black mascara

She sang quickly as she walked around, being twirled around by other dancers.

Alastor grew nervous as he watched her.

She had relapsed. This wasn't good.

If I could have just one dream...

She sang as she sat back down in the chair.

If she could have just one dream...!

Her coworkers sang.

I'd be that fucked up girl! Hey!

As the song finished the lights went out and Aponi walked back down to drunkenly fall into alastor's arms and onto his lap.

"Darling, you're.. drunk," Alastor muttered as he held her.

She giggled. "Maaaaybe so!" She smiled.

"I thought you were sober," He stated.

"I was! But things change!" She laughed.

Angel dust walked up to them.

"Dont know where she got the booze. But she needs to go back to the hotel," Angel stated.

"I agree. Come on darling, let's get you back," Alastor muttered as he and Angel helped her up and out of the club.

[wall-maria-fritz]

{ A Footnote in His Story: First Look}

Levi Ackerman x Reader (and Zeke Jeager)

What's this? Me?? Writing again??? I've been dreaming this up for half a year now, and I just wanted to give you a first look. Your very sweet comments, and reblogs on my previous stories are what have been pushing me to finish this story, and thank you all so so much for the motivation! I hope you never tire of supporting me, and I hope to bring you more fantastic stories! &lt;3

I know I'm very slow on posting anything new, and in replying to requests, but honestly, I'm just anxious to ensure that what I put out is as close to good quality writing as I can. But hey! I still very much enjoy writing my little Levi fantasies~ Love youuu &lt;3

Summary: She was half Marleyan, half Azumabito. And he was the soldier she was never meant to love.

It was like the forest around him grew still. Every cricket, every owl, every wild thing fell silent.

Like the fulfillment of a bad omen, Levi Ackerman read and re-read the Marleyan newspaper delivered to him by a messenger riding from Trost—likely under Hange’s orders. The picture they chose was almost too comically beautiful for the headline they’ve printed. It’s been a week and a half since Liberio, and still, the Marleyan papers have nowhere near exhausted the immensity of the battle’s aftermath. Every day was a higher tally of casualties to report on, every day was another big personality lost to the Tragedy of Liberio—is what Marley is calling it now.

And today, was the one headline he’s been futilely hoping would never be reported.

Levi’s always thought this one would be different. That it would elicit a different response from him. Maybe he would lash out? Scream, cry?

But no.

He just sat. Sighed. And briefly, closed his eyes.

Just like he did with all the others.

He doesn’t know how long he’s sat there, elbows on his knees, paper in hand, eyes closed, but he almost forgot about the man across the fire.

“Do you know why she was named Nikiya?”

Well, perhaps this was different. For once, Levi ignored the grating annoyance that comes to him each time Zeke Jaeger opens his mouth. Levi simply opens his eyes, and returns the direct gaze Zeke was giving him, who was patiently waiting for an answer.

The flickering glow of the flames painted shadows across Zeke Jaeger’s cold blue eyes. Under the firelight, they looked even colder; hollower. One look at him, Levi knew Zeke has known the news far longer than he has. Levi couldn’t tell if the man’s eyes betrayed its own grief. If for once, Levi could recognize something even vaguely human in them.

It may be just because of the shadows dancing across his face that he couldn’t see, but Levi found none.

Ignoring whatever response Levi has been mulling over—if at all—Zeke continues, “Her mother was a ballerina just like her. They say her beauty rivaled even pearls from the Orient. Her father was just a Captain when he fell in love with Emika Azumabito. He was watching her dance as Nikiya from La Bayadere. General Calvi was smitten. Enamored.”

Levi knew this story. Back in Marley, it was like their own little folklore—the Captain destined to be a great General; everything short of a war lord. And the pretty ballerina from far, far, away, destined to die of heartbreak.

And no, the joke wasn’t lost to Levi.

“They had an affair, and came our little Nikiya,” Zeke finishes in that stupid sing-song voice he uses.

And it infuriated Levi.

Before Zeke could even reach for his coffee, before he could even so much as flinch, Humanity’s Strongest has him up by his lapels. Fists tight, teeth bared—like a man afflicted by an animal’s bloodlust.

“She is not yours.”

It came out in a low growl. Every fiber in his being was telling him to kill the smug bastard, but Levi knew what Zeke was doing. He was using Levi’s emotions; to gauge him, to escape from him, hell, maybe even to entertain himself. If Zeke couldn’t fight him, then he’d use every dirty tactic he has, and one of them is to make Levi the fool who allowed himself to feel.

But damn it all.

Damn it all.

Despite the machine of a man keeping him in its grip, Zeke only stared back at the dark glare Levi gave him. He didn’t even bother to put his hands up. He only faced the Captain and asked, so nonchalantly, “Do you know how La Bayadere ends, Captain?”

Levi completely disregards the question, like he didn’t even hear it.

“Did you love her?”

Zeke repeats himself, “Do you know how La Bayadere ends, Captain?”

“Did you love her?”

“Do you know how La—“

“Did you love her, Jaeger?!” Levi shook the man in his grasp. Shook him almost desperately.

He was breathing heavily. He could roar all he wanted at Zeke Jaeger, but he could barely say your name.

Levi’s eyes were blazing, he could hear his men scattered around the forest stirring at his outburst.

Only, Zeke simply replied, a stark accusation slicing through Levi—

“Did you?”

What did you think? Loved it? Hated it? Can't wait for the full post? Hmu! I love love love hearing from you guys, truly <3

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