lomahdu

[lomahdu]

Arcane - Eris Vanserra x Unnamed OC

Eris’s best kept secret is infiltrated.

No use of y/n

WC: 1039

Warnings: Angst, Violence

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

On the border between the Autumn, Winter, and Summer Courts lies Eris’s deepest secret. Kept for nearly two hundred years by powerful magic and glamour, cunning lies, careful footwork, a mask of malice, and the occasional murder, Eris was able to keep his sanctuary and mate safe from the rest of the world. 

It was not just his power that kept her hidden from Prythian for so many years. No, her mixed parentage of high fae and strong witch blood had a heavy hand in shrouding not only their home but also their mating bond. One hundred and ninety-four years, and not even a fox had crept within a mile of their sanctuary. So when Eris was called before Beron at such a late hour, he had been expecting orders to assassinate another lord or courtier.

The presence of two of his brothers was unexpected, immediately setting him on edge. At one point in time, they’d been such good boys. Bright white smiles and crooked teeth, flushed cheeks, and curly red hair as they’d run to him. Begging for another story or to play with wooden swords. But those days were long gone, and Eris held scorching embers close to the tips of his fingers, ready to go the second this impromptu meeting would turn south, which he knew it would with the crooked smirks on their pale faces. Beron’s crown lay heavy on his wrinkling brow, and brown hair not shared with his sons lay short in a perfect wave. The permanent scowl on his face turns into a snake-like grin as Eris stands at attention before the golden throne. 

Eris bows deeply, hand on sword, as he meets his father's eye. His peripheral watches his brothers, and as they navigate to stand on either side of him, he rises and tenses even more in preparation for what’s to come. 

“Over the past three weeks, I’ve sent sentries in search of new outlooks between our courts. Both Summer and Winter have pledged their allegiance to the Night Court. Spring has become a cesspool, and the vermin have been sneaking into our forests.” The High Lord rises from the throne, clasping his hands behind his back as he takes four steps down. Four more steps, and he stands in front of his general, the wicked grin on his face remaining. Faint trickles of fear begin to travel down Eris’s spine.

“Reports from the southernmost border have been as expected. The weak spots in my wards were restored, and a permanent watch was erected. The majority of the western border was as expected as well. As was the north.” He takes three more steps, encroaching on Eris’s space until he’s only a breath away. His brothers shadow his father's steps, inching closer to pin him in place.

“But when the sentries came to the northwest?” Beron questions, and Eris’s blood cools to ice in his chest, his heart skipping a beat before it plumets to his stomach. He says nothing, ensuring his mask of indifference stays steady on his face. He tightens his grip on the sword at his hip.

“They came across a ward. A strong one, very strong.” Beron tilts his head to the side, studying Eris with intensity before he continues. “A ward not made by me. I was called to investigate, and do you know what I found?” The cruel grin turns into a glee-filled smile as he reaches out one hand, resting it just an inch away from Eris’s face, as if he were prepared to grace his eldest son with a loving touch. 

“I found your magic, my son. Mixed with the scent of a lesser fae.” Silence falls. It was all he needed to say. Eris knew—he knew—that if Beron had managed to discover the glamour, his next step would have been to break it. To discover what his son had hidden from him in his own court. To discover who had assisted in erecting such magic. The grip on his sword was impossibly tight as he dropped part of his glamour and pulled. The smoky scent of the mating bond fills the room because, after two hundred years, the secret is out. Two hundred years, and he’d never taken the risk of invoking the bond within a hundred miles of this house, of his father. But Beron knew, and if Beron knew—

She doesn’t respond to his call. He can’t feel her.

He acts first, taking quick steps back away from his father and freeing his sword in less than a second. He holds it at the ready, swallowing deeply as he works past his fear to ask.

“Does she live?” Beron laughs, clapping his hands together as if Eris’s fear was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

“Does she?” His father directs his attention toward his second-born son. The glint in his eye is nothing short of evil, and his stance is all too casual as he examines his nails. He simply shrugs his shoulders in response, and with that, Eris leaps to action. With just a few quick steps, he raises his sword and brings it down on his brother's neck. 

Two seconds pass as his head hits the ground. His father stands still, shocked into silence, while his remaining brother begins to seethe.

“What have you done?” His brother asks, drawing his own sword as he begins to stalk toward Eris.

“What have you done?” Eris asks in reply, igniting his sword. Beron still stands silent, his eyes on his fallen son, as the two still standing circle each other with blazing swords. His brother strikes first but he is weak. Eris avoids the strike, taking his own with a deep cut to the arm. As his brother cries from the blow, he makes another, slicing across his chest. He hits the ground, throwing a hand up as he releases a gust of burning fire, but Eris is older. Stronger. Trained better. Angrier. And within the course of a minute, two severed heads graced the floor of the Forest House.

Finally, Beron’s shock at the turn of events breaks, and a heavy blast of fire hits Eris’s right side before he can winnow away from one carnage to another.

[lomahdu]

In an alternate universe where nesta archeron takes a liking to the smart-mouthed shop owner in her neighbourhood. Here is my attempt at fan-ficing.

The scent of velvet leather and fresh fabrics lingered in the air as Nesta came to. Her head throbbed, sharp pain radiating from where she had been struck by a heavy object. She blinked against the haze, the room dimly lit by candlelight, willing her vision to come back into focus. The unfamiliar surroundings only intensified the unease twisting in her gut.

Where was she?

She shot up, her body tensing as if ready for another attack, but the sudden movement made her head spin. Her hand flew to the throbbing wound on her scalp, fingers brushing over dried blood.

“Easy there, warrior,” came a smooth, feminine voice from the corner of the room. “Unless you're planning on knocking yourself out again.” 

Nesta froze, her eyes snapping to the source of the voice. A woman–a female, rather, stood against the far wall, arms crossed. In this light, it was hard to make out her appearance, but her silhouette was regal. The dress she adorned glittering in the light it captured when she moved.

“Who the hell are you?” Nesta demanded, her voice sharp as she tried to shake off the lingering fog in her mind. The last thing she remembered was the attack, fists swinging, the crack of the brick against her skull. She tensed again, ready to spring to her feet despite the dizziness that threatened to pull her back down.

The female raised a brow, unfazed by Nesta’s tone. “You're welcome, by the way.”

“Welcome?” Nesta echoed, her eyes narrowing. “For what?”

“For saving your ass,” the female shot back, her tone dripping with annoyance. She uncrossed her arms and took a step forward, looking down at Nesta with a dull expression that teetered between disinterest and annoyance. “You were unconscious when I got to you. Two men, both very stupid and very much trying to rob you…disaccounting for the other horrors they had planned, attacked you. Though I'd say they got more than what they bargained for.”

“Rob me,” Nesta muttered, shaking her head slightly at what they might have done to her unconscious body. She could still feel the rage bubbling beneath the surface at the memory of the attack. She’d fought back, but then–the brick. That had been her undoing. The last thing she'd seen was the pavement rushing toward her as her vision went black.

“So, instead of leaving you to bleed out in the street, I brought you in here.” The female gestured around the cold, cluttered room. “Though if I’d known you'd wake up with this charming attitude, I might have reconsidered.”

Nesta scowled, her gaze sweeping over the room before finally settling back on the woman. Her gratitude was there, but it was buried beneath layers of her usual coldness and mistrust. “I didn't ask for your help.”

“And yet, here you are. Alive and breathing, thanks to me.” eyes gleaming with a challenge she added, “But if you want, I can throw you back out on the street.”

Nesta held her gaze for a moment, her anger simmering low and dangerous, but the truth was undeniable. She was grateful, though admitting it aloud felt like swallowing broken glass. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to mutter, “Thank you.” it came out stiff and begrudging, but it was the best she could manage.

The female gave her a mocking smile. “That wasn't so hard, was it?”

Nesta bristled at her tone, at the ease with which this stranger seemed to pick apart her defences. “Who are you anyway?”

“Selyse,” she replied, crossing her arms again, a casual elegance in the way she moved. “I own this boutique.”

Nesta’s eyes flickered around the room, now realising the racks of fabrics, carefully arranged bolts of cloth, and mannequins draped in gowns, they were in a back room perhaps. Not exactly where she expected to wake up after being attacked, but there were worse places.

“Why did you help me?” Nesta asked, her tone still guarded.

Selyse shrugged. “Maybe I have a soft spot for wayward females who look like they're about to get their skulls caved in. Or maybe I just don't like seeing people get attacked right outside my store. Bad for business, you know?”

Nesta glared at her, annoyed by how effortlessly she seemed to rattle her. “I had it under control.”

Selyse laughed, short and humorous. “Oh, is that what being knocked out by a brick looks like?”

Nesta stood slowly from the velvet couch she was carefully sprawled on, legs wobbly and head dizzy. She hated being vulnerable, hated feeling like she owes anything to anyone. So with certainty she snapped. “I would've been fine.”

“Well fine or not, you weren’t,” Selyse shot back, her gaze steady. “ You can be as cold and ungrateful as you want, but I saved you. End of story.”

There was a tense silence as the two females stared each other down. Finally, Selyse let out a soft sigh and gestured toward the door. “If you're feeling well enough to walk, the door is that way. If not, you’re welcome to stay here until your head clears. But either way, try not to get yourself killed. I've got enough to deal with without having to save bratty strangers from the dangers of this city.”

Nesta did not respond, her mind racing as she weighed her options. She didn't like this female’s attitude, didn't like how easily she snuffed out her defences. But she couldn't deny that she felt safer here than she did outside. At least for the moment. So she stayed quiet, letting the tension settle as she sat back down on the plush velvet cushion. Her head still pounding, her pride still bruised.

Selyse smirked, as if she could see Nesta’s internal struggle, and with a casual shrug, she turned to the door and walked out, leaving Nesta alone with her thoughts–and that uncomfortable realisation that, despite the disagreeable nature between them, she was still grateful. And she hated to admit it.

though I did welcome criticism, please be nice to me I'm very sensitive😭❤️

@lomahdu @1800naveen, @zeevbenoit 🤭

[lomahdu]

A court of blood and fire

☀︎—pairings:eris!vanserra x oc character

☀︎—warnings:cannibalism, swearing

☀︎—Lena's note:English isn't my first language so i apologise if i made any mistakes

☀︎—Chapter 1; Chapter 2

Celeste POV:

Another day drags by, slow and merciless. The air is thick, stale—unchanged for gods know how long. The only sound that breaks the silence is my ragged breathing, shallow and uneven, and the relentless, maddening drip of water echoing through the tomb.

That damned sound… drip… drip… drip… It burrows into my skull, a cruel and constant reminder of time slipping through my fingers like sand.

How long have I been hearing it?

I have no idea.

I used to count, once. Back when I still had the energy, back when my mind wasn’t drowning in this eternal emptiness. I kept track of the days, the days—7065 of them, to be exact. After that, I stopped. I got lazy. I gave up. I'm pretty lazy so that's understandable.Honestly, I surprised myself that I had the patience to keep track for that long.

That’s 19 years and 356 days.

What can I say? I’ve always been pretty good at math.

What I wouldn’t give to read a book. Or to eat some hot guy. Either one would do just fine.

The damn water keeps dripping, over and over, and right now, I swear I’d claw out my own brain just to make it stop. I glance down at my hands—or what’s left of them. Bone, rotted flesh, a few scraps of skin clinging on for dear life. I turn my head—wait, correction—I turn my skull, with what little decayed skin and a few pathetic strands of hair still attached. A ghastly face stares back at me. Or, well, what’s left of it. I gnawed it clean a long time ago.

The hunger gnaws at me, deep and unrelenting. It has been my only companion in this wretched place, a constant, aching reminder that I am still here, still bound to this miserable existence. I press my teeth together—or rather, the bones of my jaw clicking dully. I used to chew the bones left behind, grinding them to dust between my teeth in some pathetic attempt to feel something. But bones are useless. They don’t satisfy the hunger, don’t ease the agony that festers inside me like an open wound.

Every so often, some idiot stumbles in, crossing the threshold of this tomb despite the warnings. Do they not read? Do they not understand?I don’t get it—do these people not have a single functioning brain cell?The signs are everywhere. Do not approach within 5 kilometers of the tomb. Danger to life. And yet, they come.Well, they don’t have brain cells anymore—quite literally.

Curiosity. Stupidity. Arrogance.

It doesn’t matter.

Because when they step inside, they don’t leave.

The moonlight slips through a crack in the tomb’s ceiling, casting a soft glow on a bone lying in the dirt. A leg? An arm? Hard to tell. It’s been gnawed down to almost nothing. I remember chewing the bones to dust at some point, but when I realized it wasn’t doing any good, I stopped.

I used to think the hunger was the worst part. The endless, gnawing agony, the feeling of being hollowed out from the inside, like something vital is being ripped from me over and over again.

But hunger is nothing compared to what I’ve become.

A nightmare wrapped in rotting flesh. A corpse that refuses to stay buried. Jesus fucking Christ is really hate being ugly like this.

I really hope those cunts suffer a slow, agonizing death.

Third Person POV:

Azriel and Cassian flew through the cold night air, their powerful wings slicing through the wind as they approached the tomb—the prison of the blue-eyed witch.

The journey had been silent, thick with unspoken tension. This wasn’t just another mission. This was her.

They had all agreed that Azriel shouldn’t go alone. Not because he wasn’t capable—he was, more than anyone. But none of them knew how she would react. Five centuries had passed since he last saw his sister. Five centuries of silence, isolation, and starvation. What had that done to her?

They reached the tomb just before midnight, landing in front of its entrance. It was an ominous place, carved into the jagged mountainside, surrounded by twisted, blackened trees that looked half-dead. The air was unnaturally cold here, sharp and biting, as if the land itself rejected whatever was locked inside.

Azriel landed first, his boots making almost no sound against the rocky ground. Cassian touched down beside him, folding his wings as he scanned their surroundings. They both knew better than to step forward.

The tomb’s entrance gaped before them like the maw of some ancient beast, nothing but pure blackness inside. They couldn’t see the magical barrier that kept Celeste trapped, but they could feel it—a force humming in the air, unseen but impossible to ignore.

Azriel stayed just at the edge, careful not to cross that invisible line. If he stepped inside, he would be trapped, just like her.

Cassian, too, held his ground.

The cave was silent. Empty. Lifeless.

And yet, they could feel her watching them.

The weight of her gaze was suffocating. It was sharp, piercing, hungry. Even without seeing her, they could sense her eyes on them, scanning them, assessing them like a predator watching prey.

Cassian shifted slightly, flexing his fingers. He could tell Azriel wasn’t ready to speak. So he did.

“You want to get out of here, huh?” he asked, his voice casual as he stretched his wings slightly.

Silence.

For a moment, the cave remained deathly still. Then, from within the shadows, a voice emerged—smooth, melodic, and deceptively sweet.

“Only if it means leaving with your bodies in pieces.”

Cassian exhaled sharply. Of course.

Her voice was the only beautiful thing left about her.

Sirens lost their beauty when they starved—flesh rotting away, bodies withering into grotesque husks. But their voices? Their voices remained perfect. Preserved by dark magic to lure in the foolish, the desperate, the unfortunate.

Cassian tilted his head. “Hate to break it to you, Ariel, but getting out of here is going to require a deal.”

A low, amused chuckle echoed from the cave, soft at first, then growing louder. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. It was hollow, sharp—like something that had long since forgotten how to laugh properly.

“Enlighten me, Cassian,” she purred. “I see you haven’t gotten any smarter over the years.”

Cassian growled, fists clenching. He wasn’t known for his patience, and she was already pushing it.

“We need you to break a curse,” he said bluntly. “You get out, but only after we make sure you won’t harm anyone.”

Celeste hummed, as if considering his words. Then she let out another laugh. “You do realize that’s not going to happen, right?”

Azriel, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was calm, controlled, but edged with something sharp—something dangerous.

“You’re not in a position to negotiate.”

Celeste clicked her tongue. “Aren’t I? You are the ones desperate enough to come here. That tells me you need me more than I need you.”

Cassian growled again, his patience thinning.

“Listen to me, you blood-sucking bitch,” he snapped. “We will get you out, and you will break the curse. But first, you’re going to make a deal—you won’t touch the people we care about."

She clicked her tongue, the sharp, wet sound cutting through the cold, stagnant air of the tomb. They couldn’t see her, but they heard it—an ugly, grating noise that sent a shiver down Cassian’s spine. It was the sound of impatience, of amusement, of something ancient and bitter twisting beneath the surface.

A soft exhale followed, and then her voice—smooth as silk, but laced with venom.

“Only the ones you care about?” she mused, the mockery dripping from every syllable. “Gods, and ya'll call me the cruel one. Your moral compass is seriously fucked up.”

The words echoed through the tomb, lingering like a whisper against the stone walls. She wasn’t wrong, but they wouldn't admit it.

Neither of them answered.

Azriel’s expression remained unreadable, a mask of cold detachment. Cassian, however, felt his jaw tighten. He hated that she had a point.

Celeste let out a low, breathy chuckle from the shadows, the sound devoid of warmth. “Ah. I see. No comebacks? No self-righteous excuses? Interesting.”

Still, silence.

The wind howled faintly outside, rushing through the trees like distant whispers. Inside the tomb, the atmosphere thickened, the weight of her presence pressing against them, probing, waiting.

Then, after a pause—

“You are desperate, aren’t you?” she murmured, almost gently. “How amusing.”

Azriel’s hazal eyes remained locked on the darkness, unreadable, unwavering. “Do you accept it or not?”

Another pause. Another hum.

Then—

“Fine,” the siren purred, and though they still couldn’t see her, they could feel the grin in her voice.

“But before I step out of here,” Celeste continued, her voice like silk, “I want food. Bring it to me first.”

Azriel didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”

The moment the word left his lips, a sharp, searing pain flared across his wrist. He sucked in a quiet breath as the magic sealed itself into his skin, branding him with the deal he had just made.He knew she felt it too on her own arm

A new tattoo bloomed on his already-scarred hand—thin, twisting lines of flame.

Celeste hummed. “Flames. How ironic.”

Neither male responded.

Celeste, like Azriel, bore the mark of fire on her hand.

She had been only fourteen when their brothers gave the order. Burn Azriel, they had told her. Make him suffer. Prove your loyalty.

She had refused.

So they did it themselves.

They had pinned him down, ignoring his struggles.And when Celeste still would not obey, they turned on her too.

Both of Azriel’s hands had been set ablaze that night, flesh melting, bones scorching beneath the unbearable heat. But only one of hers.

Because, they said, she was still family.

Unlike him.

It was meant to be mercy. A twisted kindness. But Celeste had never seen it that way.How could she.She begged them to stop as her flesh and bones melted.

To this day, Celeste couldn’t stand the sight of flames.

She never flinched at the memory of pain—pain was familiar, expected, something she had learned to swallow whole without complaint.

But the fire had left more than scars on her skin. It had seeped into her mind, curling around her thoughts like unseen smoke, suffocating, choking.

Azriel had healed. The burns had become part of him, buried beneath layers of hardened will and quiet vengeance. But Celeste…

Celeste still saw fire in her dreams.

Still smelled the acrid stench of burning flesh if she let her guard down for even a second.

Still felt phantom heat licking up her arm, cruel and all-consuming.

It was why she never lit candles before she was trapped in here, why she avoided hearths, why even the flicker of torchlight made her stomach tighten with something she would never name as fear.

She was one of the greatest witches but still haven't learned a single fire spell.

Because fire didn’t just burn.

It took.

Without another word, they turned and took off, heading back toward Velaris.

The two Illyrians landed outside the townhouse, shaking off the night’s chill as they stepped inside. The Inner Circle was already gathered, along with Nesta and Elain.

Rhysand’s violet eyes locked onto them immediately, sharp and questioning. He didn’t have to say a word.

“She agreed,” Cassian said, his voice gruff. “But before she comes out, she wants to eat.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

“How many?” Elain asked softly. “How many will she need before she… leaves?”

Azriel met her gaze, unreadable. “No idea. We’re guessing around three hundred.”

Nesta scoffed. “If she’s as powerful as you say, why hasn’t she just walked out?”

Mor sighed, crossing her arms. “The tomb was sealed with magic older than our world. Yes, she created black magic, but the spell binding that place has nothing to do with her.”

“Then how exactly are you going to break it?” Nesta asked, her tone laced with doubt.

Amren, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, her silver eyes flashing. “The tomb’s magic blocks anything inside from casting spells, foolish girl. Not the other way around.”

Nesta tensed at the insult, but before she could bite back, Rhysand held up a hand. His voice was calm, but firm.

“Enough. Azriel, round up the worst criminals you can find. It doesn’t matter what they’ve done—give them to her. Do it quickly.”

Azriel didn’t argue. He only gave a sharp nod before vanishing into the shadows.

Azriel returned to the cave, moving without hesitation, his steps silent as death itself. In his grip, he dragged a prisoner—a fae male who had long since lost any hope of salvation.

The fae wasn’t particularly large or muscular, appearing no older than twenty-five in human years. But that hardly mattered now. His once-fair skin was marred with bruises, his ribs—several of them—cracked and broken by Azriel’s own hands. Blood, dark and dried, clung to the golden strands of his matted hair. His clothes, once fine, were now nothing more than shredded fabric barely hanging onto his battered frame.

He had been useful once, this man. Had held information that Azriel had needed.

Now, he was nothing.

Now, he would serve a different purpose.

The prisoner’s legs trembled as he stumbled forward, barely able to hold himself up. His breath hitched, shallow and uneven, as he turned desperate eyes toward his captor.

“Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse and raw. A plea, fragile and broken.

Azriel said nothing. He didn’t even blink as he shoved the male forward.

The fae staggered, his foot crossing the invisible threshold of the tomb.

And then he felt it.

His eyes widened in terror as he turned back, hands slamming against the air—against the unseen wall of magic that now trapped him inside. He pushed, punched, clawed at it, but the barrier didn’t budge.

“Please,” he whimpered again. “I’ll do anything.”

Azriel only watched. His expression remained utterly unreadable.

A shuddering breath left the prisoner’s lips. Then—movement.

Not from Azriel.

From within the tomb.

Someone yanked him back—something unseen, hidden deep within the swirling shadows. No—something .

A scream tore from the fae’s throat, raw and shrill with terror. Bones cracked with a sickening crunch. The sound echoed off the cave walls, followed by the unmistakable gurgle of a man choking on his own blood.

And then, silence.

Where the light of the moon still touched the ground, a dark pool spread, creeping past the magical boundary. The fae’s blood, soaking into the earth.

Azriel had seen enough.

Without a word, without a single backward glance, he turned on his heel and vanished into the night, already planning his next move.

She would need more food.

tags:@seassttar

[lomahdu]

Random Texts between Insomniac!Reader x bf!Rafe Cameron 🌙

💛✨🌊🌟🔥💛✨🌊🌟🔥💛✨🌊🌟🔥💛✨🌊🌟🔥💛✨🌊

💛✨🌊🌟🔥💛✨🌊🌟🔥💛✨🌊🌟🔥💛✨🌊🌟🔥💛✨🌊

Pairing : insomniac!reader x bf!rafe

Late nights, restless thoughts, and Rafe is always there beside you, even when sleep feels miles away. You don’t have to say a word—he can feel your unease. Whether it’s the constant thoughts racing through your mind or the dark hours you can’t escape, he’s your constant.

✨ Until next time, my loves… Stay restless. Stay golden. 💛🌟

📢 Taglist:

[lomahdu]

ERIS VANSERRA NSFW ALPHABET

☀︎—pairings:eris!vanserra x reader

☀︎—warnings:NSFW content

A=Aftercare(what they're like after sex)

If it’s only a one-night thing, he would just fall asleep without cuddling, talking, etc. He wouldn’t be cruel, but he simply wouldn’t care. If it isn’t a one-night thing, he loves aftercare. I see him as someone who is touch-starved and would press your body to his as close as he can while cuddling. He wants to make sure you’re okay, and if you are sore, he would absolutely panic and be very much not chill about it.

B=Body part(favourite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

He really likes his hands. He has long fingers and loves to compare his hand size to yours. Before you, though, he didn’t like them because they reminded him of what he had done. However, he adores it when you stare at his hands and can’t focus on anything else because of the veins on them and the rings. He really likes his rings—they add a little touch to his “cruel” personality.

On you, he really likes your waist. He literally touches it whenever he has the opportunity to. He likes how his hands fit perfectly on your waist.

C=Cum(anything to do with cum, basically)

He likes coming inside you.The feeling that you feel him inside you turns him off so much.He likes coming on your chest as well

D=Dirty secret(pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

His dirty secret is that he steals your favorite smut books, reads them, and then does to you all the things you read about. He would never admit it, though.

E=Experience(how experienced are they?Do they know what they're doing?)

I see him as a play boy.There was a period that he would run through the whole autumn court.He definitely knows how to fuck you right

F=Favourite position(this goes without saying)

He really likes missionary if it's long term relationship because of the intimacy and the eye contact but if it's only one-night thing(basically everyone before you) he would take them from behind because he wouldn't want to get attached or the girl to get attached

G=Goofy(are they more serious in the moment?are they humorous?)

He is usually never goofy in any way.His humour is more dry and sarcastic so he is definitely serious in the moment.He is serious in every situation so that isn't a surprise

H=Hair(how well groomed are they?does the carpet match the drapes?etc.)

He has a happy trail and it's well groomed.After all appearance is one of the most important things for him

I=Intimacy(how are they during the moment)

I think it depends on the situation and your mood.He can be a total jerk or a sweet and gentle.He's very good at reading your mood and know exactly what do you want

J=Jack off(masturbation headcanon)

I don't see him as a someone who masturbates a lot, like not at all.Even before you he had a lot of side chicks who would beg him to fuck them since he is the heir of the autumn (a very handsome one) so he wouldn't need to jerk off.When he got with you he basically fuck you whatever he's horny (if you allow of course)

K=Kink(one or more of their kinks)

Degradation-what can i say that man has a filthy mouth

Breath play-He likes having absolutely control in the bedroom because he can't have control in his life so he likes controlling your life (of course not literally he wouldn't hurt you)

Hate/Love sex-I see him as a person who would fuck someone he says he hates

Temperature play-come onn his power is fire it's conon sense

Brat Taming-he’d probably enjoy when you push his buttons just so he can put you back in place.

L=Location(favourite place to do it)

Probably at home.Couch, bedroom, bathroom, kitchen everywhere but in home because he likes to give everything from himself

M=Motivation(what turns them on)

You.Literally just you.Even when you aren't doing something sexual he will be hard as a rock

N=No(something they wouldn't do;turn offs)

You to degrade him.He will degrade you but as soon as you degrade him he will cry-quite literally. Probably it has to do something with his father's insults

O=Oral(preference in giving or receiving)

He loves seeing you at you knees for him kissing his dick.But he is really good at giving too

P=Pace(are they fast and rough?slow and sensitive?)

He fucks rough.Like really rough.Your cervix is bruised all the time.But if you don't feel well he is going to he gentle and slow and he will take care of you

Q=Quickie(their opinions on quickie)

He doesn't really like quickies.He likes taking his hime with you

R=Risk(do they take risks)

He is down to experiment, I mean he's quite kinky really and has experimented in the past, but he'll be a bit nervous to scare you off or go too far when you're early in your relationship.

S=Stamina(how many rounds can they go for)

He is a high fae so he can go as many rounds as you can take

T=Toys(do they own any toys)

I personally don't see this man using toys.

U=Unfair(how much they like to tease)

He is suck a tease.A degrading one.He will tease you at the point of you going crazy

V=Volume(how loud are they)

At first he wasn't that comfortable with you but as soon as he got comfortable he would moan as crazy.He likes talking like a lot.You could cum only from his dirty talk

X=X-ray(what's going on under the clothes)

He has pretty long and thick cock.I imagine it with a few piercings.When you touch his piercing he absolutely go feral

Y=Yearning(how high is their sex drive)

He is really horny but he is pretty good at hiding it

Z=Zzz(how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

At first he didn't fall asleep before you did because of his trust issues but now he doesn't really care.

[lomahdu]

A court of blood and fire

Chapter 1

☀︎—pairings:eris!vanserra x oc character

☀︎—warnings:mention of death and cannibalism

☀︎—status:ongoing

☀︎—Lena’s Note: So, I want to say that I read ACOTAR a long time ago, and I don’t quite remember everything. Most of this fanfic is going to be my creation, and I’m not going to follow SJM’s plot. Many things are going to be different from the actual books. I also wanted to say that this is a DARK fanfic. The OC is a literal serial killer, so if you don’t like that, you can skip. I’ve read a lot of dark romance, so this fanfic is going to be pretty twisted.Did i forget to mention that our OC is cannibal?Enjoy if you can babes

Third person POV:

Three Witches

Three witches went into the manor in the mortal lands, where they found not only the darkness of the night court but also the madness. Two of the witches lost their minds entirely, while the third suffered a literal meltdown of her brain—quite literally. All of them had attempted to break the curse on Vassa, yet every effort ended in failure. Still, Vassa knew that there was no other option but to try again. She made another attempt, only to be met with disappointment, a result that was far from encouraging.

At that very moment, the fourth blonde witch sat on the floor, surrounded by an circle of herbs, flickering candles, and a massive leather grimoire filled with ancient spells— given to her by Rhysand. Nearby, Azriel lingered in the shadows, his sharp gaze fixed on the witch. He had never had a good experience with witches; in fact, it had always been the opposite.

After the witches’ failure, Jurian could no longer hold back his frustration. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed onto the black leather couch in the night court.They sent away the witch

“These are witches. Why can’t they break this damn curse?” he muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

Vassa snapped back, “Why are you so tense? I’m the one who has to transform into a firebird at dawn, not you!”

Jurian’s tone grew more sarcastic as he replied, “I’m not sure you see the bigger picture, Your Majesty. We’re all just here, watching a bunch of witches fail to lift your curse, and—”

Before he could finish, a deep, commanding voice cut through the tension. Rhysand, “Enough.” The tone in Rhysand voice made it clear he was utterly fed up with these childish fights.

About ten minutes later, when the heated atmosphere had somewhat calmed, Jurian stepped closer to the Inner Circle and said in a lowered tone, “Can we talk?” He cast a meaningful glance at his ginger friends. “Alone.”

Vassa began to protest, “If you have something to say, say it in front of everyone—” but the one-eyed, red-haired faye cut in, guiding her out of the room .

Once the chamber was quiet again, only Rhysand, Azriel, Cassian, Mor, Nesta, Feyre, and Jurian remained. The mood was tense, each person lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Jurian directed his attention toward Azriel, his eyes questioning as he asked, “And your sister?”

At the mere mention of that word, Azriel’s jaw tightened and the shadows around him seemed to writhe in silent protest. The two Archeron sisters present—Feyre and Nesta—exchanged wide-eyed, shocked glances.

“Excuse me?” Azriel replied in a low, measured tone that barely concealed a surge of anger. His silence said more than words ever could.

Mor, unable to hold back, muttered under her breath, “More like a bloodthirsty, vicious bitch…”

Nesta, tapping her fingernail impatiently on the table, asked, “I didn't know you had a sister.Who is this sister of yours that everyone seems to despise so much?”

Cassian shrugged dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. No one’s going to wake her up.” His tone carried both resignation and bitterness.

Feyre, visibly confused and desperate for clarity, pleaded, “I’m really lost here. Please, someone explain.” Her eyes darted among Azriel, Cassian, and Mor, seeking an answer.

Rhysand leaned forward,. “His sister has been locked away in a tomb for 504 years. That’s where she’s meant to remain.” His words brooked no argument, and Azriel, still shrouded in darkness, said nothing.It was clear that he didn't hate his sister like the other .

Before Feyre could ask another question, Jurian’s voice cut in sharply, “You all gave your word to help Vassa, and I expect you to honor it. I don’t remember Celeste being as bloodthirsty or ruthless as all of you and those stories are making her out to be.”

Cassian sneered bitterly, “Maybe because you weren’t there when she lost her mind and gutted out fifty Illyrian soldiers.” His words, laced with anger , hinted at a painful past.

Nesta’s voice turned mocking as she added, “You mean Celeste—the one from those old fairy tales, the one mothers used to scare their children into eating their vegetables? The mermaid Celeste?” Her sarcasm cut through the room like a sharp blade. In response, Rhysand shot her a venomous, almost threatening glare that silenced any further mockery.

In a bitter tone, Mor finally said, “She wasn’t a mermaid. She was a siren.” Her eyes drifted away as if lost in memories of times long gone.

"It's the same thing" Nesta stated

"Mermaid are not as they are in the story books they are dark cruel creatures who only wait to lure and eat someone" Morrigan replied to the beautiful face of death.

"Even if we wake her, she'd still need—" Azriel's voice trailed off as he reluctantly spoke of his sister. But before he could finish, Rhysand's voice cut through the air like a blade.

"We are not waking her up. Not now, not ever," Rhysand declared with finality, his tone leaving no room for debate. "End of the argument."

"At least think about it, Rhysand. You gave your word, and that tattoo on your wrist is living proof of it," Jurian said, pointing his chin toward the tattoo that marked the bargain between the high lord and Vassa. "We all know what happens when a promise sealed with a tattoo is broken." With that, Jurian turned and walked out the door.

Rhysand swallowed hard and exchanged a grave look with the inner circle. If he failed to honor the promise, both he and Feyre were fucked. He shouldn’t have made that promise to Vasa, but now it was too late.

“Azriel, tonight you will go to the tomb and speak with her,” Risand ordered. Azriel was the only one who could enter the tomb and speak with his sister without being torn apart.She didn't really get along with the inner circle-like at all.

Feyre turned to her mate. "Wait, Rhys, from what you all just said and from all the stories we've heard... I don't think this is a good idea," she said, concern knitting her brow.

They all knew the tale of the witch. It was said that 500 years ago, a 16-year-old girl brutally killed her two brothers and her father in their home. She had gone mad-and drowned herself so deeply in magic that she created a new kind of dark magic-black magic. The legends spoke of her biological mother being a siren, and how sirens reach their full potential at 18—gaining the ability to control both mind and body. But being a siren wasn't a blessing-it was a curse.

Sirens had to feed on flesh— preferably while their prey was still alive, struggling to escape. They lured their victims in with their unreal beauty, but if they went too long without feeding, they transformed into hideous monsters from the depths of the ocean-twisted, repulsive creatures beyond nightmares.

“It isn’t a good idea—no, not at all—but it’s either that or you and I die, dear Feyre, so I have no other choice,” Rhysand replied grimly.

Cassian's eyes darkened. "You're signing the death sentence of at least 100 people, brother," he said. "After 500 years of starving, how many do you think she'll eat before she looks more like something other than a pile of rotting skin and bones?" His voice was grim, unyielding. "Probably more than 100," he finished, his tone sharp.

Rhysand's answer came quickly, no hesitation in his words. "Better to sign their death sentence than ours."

It was clear now. The decision had been made. They would free her.

tags:@seassttar

☀︎—Lena’s Note, Again:Okay, guys, I don’t know what I just wrote—it looked better in my head, but whatever. I hope it’s not cringe, and don’t judge me too harshly (actually, please do—I need to know what I have to work on).This is kinda short, but I wanted to introduce you to the sirena-witch thing and a little bit of her powers. What’s your opinion on the stories about Celeste? She kinda sounds like a crazy bitch, but don’t worry—she’s really fun, and I honestly love her.Pls drop your opinions in the comments.Bye!

[lomahdu]

A court of blood and fire

☀︎—pairings:eris!vanserra x oc character

☀︎—warnings:blood, gore, swearing, abusive relationship with a parent, nsfw themes, cannibalism, accidental cannibalism, angst, but not limited to

☀︎—status:ongoing

☀︎—updates:every thursday and monday

☀︎—Lena’s Note: Okay, guys, this is my first ever fanfic (okay, it’s the third one, but I wrote the old ones when I was 11, so I don’t count them), and I’m kinda nervous. I have big plans for this fanfic, and I hope that I’ll have the time to bring those plans to life.

OC aesthetic

Eris aesthetic

Eris x Oc aesthetic

Chapter!1

Chapter!2

Chapter!3

[lomahdu]

A court of blood and fire

Eris and Celeste aesthetic

[lomahdu]

A court of blood and fire

Eris Aesthetic

[lomahdu]

A court of blood and fire

Celeste Aestetic

[lomahdu]

𓆉Eris

☀︎—A court of fire and blood

☀︎—NSFW Alphabet

𓆉multycharacter

[lomahdu]

Masterlist

🖤ACOTAR

🤍OUABH