#Way of the Cobalt Soul

[cagemasterfantasy]

Unused Subclasses: Monk: Way of the Cobalt Soul

Driven by the pursuit of knowledge, the archives of the Cobalt Soul stand as some of the most well-respected and most heavily guarded repositories of tomes, history, and information. Here, young people seeking the clarity of truth and the strength of knowledge pledge to learn the arts of seeking enlightenment by understanding the world around them, and mastering the techniques to defend it. To become a Cobalt Soul is to give one’s self to the quest for unveiling life’s mysteries, bringing light to the secrets of the dark, and guarding the most powerful and dangerous of truths from those who would seek to perverse the sanctity of civilization.

The monks of the Cobalt Soul are the embodiment of the phrase “know your enemy”. Through research, they prepare themselves against the ever-coming tides of evil. Through careful training, they have learned to puncture and manipulate the spiritual flow of an opponent’s body. Through understanding the secrets of their foe, they can adapt and surmount them. Then, once the fight is done, they return to record their findings for future generations of monks to study from.

Mystical Erudition: You’ve undergone extensive training with the Cobalt Soul, teaching you extensively in history or lore from the monastery’s collected volumes. You learn one language of your choice, and you gain proficiency with one of the following skills of your: Arcana, History, Nature or Religion.

You gain an additional language and an additional skill proficiency from the above list at level 11 and 17. If you already have proficiency in one of the listed skills at level 11 or 17, you can instead choose to double your proficiency bonus for any ability check you make that uses the chosen proficiency.

Extract Aspects: You can strike pressure points to extract crucial information about your foe. Whenever you hit a creature with one of the attacks granted by Flurry of Blows, you can learn the following attributes about the target: Damage Vulnerabilities, Damage Resistances, Damage Immunities, and Condition Immunities.

Level 6 Extort Truth: At level 6, you can hit a series of hidden nerves on a creature with precision, temporarily causing them to be unable to mask their true thoughts and intent. If you manage to hit a single creature with two or more attacks in one round, you can spend 1 ki point to force them to make a Charisma saving throw. You can choose to have these attacks deal no damage. On a failed save, the creature is unable to speak a deliberate lie for 1 minute and all Charisma checks directed at the creature are made with advantage for the duration. You know if they succeeded or failed on their saving throw.

An affected creature is aware of the effect and can thus avoid answering questions to which it would normally respond with a lie. Such a creature can be evasive in its answers as long as the effect lasts.

Level 6 Preternatural Counter: Beginning at level 6, your quick mind and study of your foe allows you to use their failure to your advantage. If a creature misses you with an attack, you can immediately use your reaction to make an unarmed melee attack against that creature.

Level 11 Mind of Mercury: Starting at level 11, you’ve honed your awareness and reflexes through mental aptitude and pattern recognition. Once per turn, if you’ve already taken your reaction, you may spend 1 ki point to take an additional reaction. You can only use one reaction per trigger.

Level 17 Debilitating Barrage: Upon reaching level 17, you’ve gained the knowledge to temporarily lower a creature’s fortitude by striking a series of pressure points. Whenever you hit a creature with one of the attacks granted by Flurry of Blows, you can spend 3 ki points to cause the creature to suffer a vulnerability to a damage type of your choice for 1 minute, or until they take damage of that type.

[essektheylyss]

I'm also still laughing that he really showed up, introduced himself as an Archivist of the Cobalt Soul, and then insinuated that they were going to go extrajudicially hunt down, capture, and "interrogate" a Cerberus Assembly Archmage. Sir, archivists do not do that kind of thing, least of all on their own, LEAST OF ALL with a bunch of random hooligans they were just sent to collect for an unrelated excursion. Quite honestly, that was the thing I kept going back to in evidence of, there is absolutely no way this is a legit archivist.

[soath]

Thinking again about the actual description of Trent’s fate, specifically the “no word publicly”. It suggests that instead of the out-in-the-open sensationalized courtroom trial we’ve built up, Trent might have just gotten disappeared. A meeting with the king, a short and sharp internal affairs investigation, no release of information to citizens, simply a new archmage one day and everyone knew better than to ask what happened to the old one. It’s definitely A Timeline for Astrid and Caleb, and a much different relationship for them with the rest of the Assembly.

[wizardnuke]

you can take the caleb out of the volstrucker program but you can't take the volstrucker program out of the caleb.the point of it all

[acebabecd]

"Hm, Seth could be a disguise, but let's not get hopes up"

*shows interest in time magic* "Okay, that's more likely to be Essek"

*says the name Bren* "There is no way that isn't Essek"

[mcz404]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒕

@/alonelysock over on twitter designed a new combat outfit for Rezza and I had to draw in it. Adore how she gets to show off her new lightning powers from multiclassing into tempest cleric

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Baby Mine - Part 2

I Don’t Dance

Azriel x Step-Daughter/Daughter, Azriel x Reader (his mate) - fluff and parenting - family dynamics

This can be read as a stand-alone if you imagine a situation where Azriel and Rhys are in a healthy co-parenting relationship. Rhysand is the biological father but Azriel is mated to the mother and, with her, raises their daughter as his own. I highly suggest reading Baby, Mine for their story though.

Baby, Mine - Part 1

I'll never settle down, that’s what I always thought

Black hair, hazel eyes, a smile that turned his heart to mush. Entering the room, her little hand gripped her mothers. Her eyes shone brightly, taking in the splendor of the grand room. Sure, she’d been in the House of Wind countless times but Starfall was always spectacular.

His daughter. Not by blood, but by heart and soul. Six years old and the most precious thing he’d ever beheld. Equally tied with the babe nestled in his arms at the moment, little wings tucked in tightly as he snoozed.

They’d thought this one would be a girl. Six-year old Azure (Azzie, for short) was certain that she would have a little sister but was completely enamored with her little brother from the first moment she lay her eyes on him. She’d almost forgotten about her wish to have a little sister, that is until the slight swell of her mother’s stomach recently appeared and she found she was going to have another little sibling to dote on.

Gods, Azriel was a lucky male. His mate, his children, the love and joy they brought into his world would never be lost on him.

“Daddy!” Azzie shrieked, barreling for him. Her little legs bounding through the room as quickly as they could carry her. She looked lovely, wearing a cobalt blue tulle dress that flared at the waist and shimmered throughout the skirts. And his mate, her dress was the cobalt blue equivalent, except it hugged her body all the way to the floor with a slight flare as it met her knees, the peek-a-boo fabric forming a deep “V” at her chest. At one point, the cleavage would have had his cheeks warming into a blush, but now they reddened as it pointed right to where their newest little love was growing.

“You look beautiful, little star.” Azriel crooned, kneeling down as his daughter flung herself into an extended arm, careful to keep the sleeping babe tucked in tight to his other. Her scent so familiar to him that sometimes he forgot that it was a combination of Rhysand and his mate’s and not his own.

It never bothered him though. While the dynamic was peculiar, it worked. He loved Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx as his own family. Rhys always respected Azriel’s decisions when it came to Azzie, while still loving her unconditionally.

Azriel looked to find Y/N’s eyes twinkling as she took in the three of them, love flowing freely into him through the bond. Her hand settled on the swell of her abdomen. He couldn’t believe they were fortunate enough to have gotten pregnant again so soon, though it was perhaps less of luck and more of his lovely wife’s nymph heritage. But to him - it felt pretty damn lucky.

It was then that the babe started to fuss.

“My sweet little Illyrian baby.” Y/N cooed, extending her arms, as Azriel carefully handed their son over. The babe instantly snuggled into his mother’s warmth, his cherub face turning toward her fabric covered breast, rooting for milk. With a soft smile and a playful roll of her eyes, she excused herself and the baby, heading down a quiet corridor where she could nurse him in peace.

I don’t dance but here I am, spinning you around and around in circles.

Azriel looked down to find Azure looking up at him in question. A familiar tempo filled his ears, the soft melody reminding him of days past. He looked down at his daughter, marveling over how much she’d grown over these years. He’d spent over five-hundred years in this world, lost but finding solace in his found family and then Rhys brought home Y/N from under the mountain, turning fifty years of peril into the most bittersweet blessing of his immortal lifespan.

There she had been, his mate, carrying his brother’s child - and he didn’t give a damn about blood. Azure and Y/N were his to cherish and love. And the added element of Rhys? It only solidified that his found family, was his true family.

It’s not my style but I don’t care, I’d do anything with you anywhere.

Y/N sat in a quiet room at the house of wind, the babe was almost asleep, he’d just needed her warmth and comfort to soothe him. She relished this moment, because though her breast was an instant pacifier, Azriel was typically the one to settle the children. The hum of his shadows and his presence, somehow iron-strong and yet, warm and safe, a beacon of comfort.

Tonight, she was the one to comfort the baby and she made certain to relish the moment, these days were fleeting, passing far too quickly for her liking. She needed to wean him, was in the process of it, but she had to admit that it felt nice to be needed.

Seated on a plush ottoman, she leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes as visions of Azriel, of their family danced through her mind. Azriel, her best friend, her strength, her sword, her shield, her everything. The protector of peace and love in their family. She hoped he knew how much he meant to them. She needed to remind him. She would tonight. He’d been her rock through everything. Not everyone would have taken to their mate carrying the child of another with such acceptance and devotion, yet her Shadowsinger had taken it all in stride. He’d never been jealous of her friendship with Rhys, he’d never belittled her for her past, he loved her through and through. He was the glue that held them together.

When Azzie was born Rhys came by the house with gifts and sweet praises, but it was Azriel who had held Y/N’s hand through each hour of grueling labor, through each painstaking contraction, each bitter curse through the pain.

When Azzie broke her arm at the park in Velaris, it was Rhys who took her for ice cream to lift her spirits. It was Azriel who had gently washed off the dirt and the tears from her eyes, spirited her to Madja’s without a second thought, and it was Azriel who rocked her until she fell asleep, spending the night on her floor in case the pain woke her up.

When a kindergarten bully made fun of her wings, Rhys reminded her how beautiful and strong she was. It was Azriel who decided then to stop holding back on teaching her to fly. They spent all weekend working on wing extensions and proper maneuvers for lifting off the ground.

And his girl? She was a natural. Azure quickly realized that her wings were a gift, she’d heard the song of the wind and how it called for her. She hadn’t viewed any snide comments as a slight since.

Y/N’s heart swelled at the thought of her mate and the life they’d built together.

You took my two left feet and danced away with my heart.

Azure looked up to Azriel. “Daddy, it’s my favorite song.” A smile curved his lips. A heartwarming memory of humming the same melody to her when she was the same age as her baby brother came to mind. He’d held her to his chest, allowing Y/N the much needed rest she deserved after weeks of colic-ridden nights. Poor Azzie had struggled so much, and Y/N had been so overtired, she’d tried so hard. In the end it was his shadows, the same shadows that soothed him during the hardest nights of his childhood, that began to hum the melody. He hummed along with them and Azure was out in moments.

That was his first dance with his daughter.

I don’t dance but here I am.

He’d never been one for dancing. He’d of course learned what he needed to for courtly affairs, it’d taken Mor 400 years to get him to go out to Ritas, he’d danced with Nesta once in the Hewn City to save Cassian’s ass after an impulsive move. He’d danced with Y/N in front of the fire in their living room on several occasions, and every Starfall since. Until his girls, he’d never felt the need to dance before an audience, but he’d do anything for them. Hell, he may have been a bastard for it but he even took an infinitesimal amount of pride in the world seeing that the stone-cold Shadowsinger was more than just a weapon, he was more than capable of love and, after much patience and understanding from Y/N, knew he was worthy of being loved in return.

So, Azriel took Azzie’s hand and let her lead him to the dance floor. He got lost in the music, the feel of her small hands holding onto his much larger, scarred one. She didn’t see the blood they’d elicited, the internal scars that haunted him, she saw the loving hands of her father that held hers when she needed comfort. She saw the gentle male at his core, the same gentle male that her mother had fallen in love with, that he’d found a life of bliss with.

I’d do anything with you anywhere.

“Dad?” A female’s voice stirred Azriel from his sleep. He opened his eyes to find a strong, confident raven-haired angel before him. His daughter. How fast life had gone.

“It didn’t take THAT long to curl my hair.” She snickered.

“Cut me some slack, Azzie, I’m six-hundred years old and your mother was up fretting over today’s details all night.”

A soft smile curled her rosy lips. It was so similar to Rhys’ but those hazel eyes of hers, gods, they still shone just as brightly as they did the day she was born. His eyes. A gift Y/N swore was granted from the mother herself, Azriel was inclined to agree.

Azure stepped forward, brushing an out of place lock from his forehead. “You ready?”

Azriel huffed a sound that fell somewhere in the range of chuckle and exasperation. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Striding arm and arm out the door, they walked in companionable silence down the hall of the temple. His little girl had grown so fast and today he’d hand her over to her own mate. The moments blurred as they met up with Rhys at the doors to the main hall of the temple, his violet eyes misty, much like Azriel’s.

You’ve got me in the palm of your hand.

The males escorted her down the aisle, reveled in the vibrant smile she flashed to her mate, the words of love and adoration they shared. Azriel only grieved how quickly time passed but he’d found joy that today they officially welcomed a new member to their family. Not that her mate hadn’t already been accepted by the entire inner circle, but today it was official.

The moments flew by and before Azriel knew it, the small audience of friends and family were gathered to witness the father-daughter dance. A mortal tradition that some fae had adopted. Azriel’s heart swelled as he and Azure stepped onto the dance floor, drifting into fluid graceful movements. She’d reserved this moment just for them. There was no bitterness from Rhys as he watched proudly from Feyre’s side as the father who raised Azzie handed her off from their dance, to her mate.

And then, Azriel sauntered to his own beautiful mate. The one who taught him that hope can be found even in the darkest of places, the one who showed him what unconditional love could do for a soul, the one who he’d built a family with. Extending a scarred hand that he no longer was ashamed of, he took her hand and swept her into his arms, dancing the rest of the night away with his mate, his home.

I don’t dance.

—————————————————

I hope you all enjoyed this follow up and that the timeline jumps made sense. Thank you for reading, I adore you all!

Tags

ACOTAR General: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Thanks to whomever submitted this request for inspiring me to write a follow up 🥰

[exandrianpunk]

y'all

Keyleth definitely would've seen through his illusion, right?

she saw that Essek showed up disguised as a random Cobalt Soul archivist and went "yeah, sure, why wouldn't an undercover Kryn drow show up when i asked a Zemnian human for help? that tracks with how wild everything is right now. anyways, gotta go deal with way more important people, byeeee"

or, way more juicy idea, did Caleb give her a heads up?

"ja, that sounds like a very important mission. unfortunately i'm indesposed (Jester knock it off this is an important call) but i can send you my good friend (Artagan please stop making that motion with your fingers). he'll be impersonating a member of the Cobalt Soul, but don't worry, Expositor Lionett is here with me and is giving me a thumbs up."

[aspiringsophrosyne]

The Mighty Nein: Weird Coincidences.

I've been compiling these here and there when I've had time, but there was a particular reason I wanted to get this post out of the way now. And it's this.

There's been some nervousness surrounding this, and I'm of two minds about it. On the one hand, people overstate just how hard the Nein's story would be to adapt and how much it would need to be changed for another medium. Can it be one-to-one with the original? Absolutely not. (Just as TLOVM couldn't be one-to-one either.) But the main issue is editing; the content is fine on its own.

And if this is the CRew themselves thinking the same thing, that's a little troubling, because it makes it sound like they might be changing more than they need to out of that unfounded fear.

On the other hand, all they might be talking about here is hindsight. The Mighty Nein's Campaign had a lot of strange coincidences, fortuitous thematic consistencies, and one-of-a-kind moments. The CRew is poised to reap the benefits of having these in mind ahead of time. This allows for some remarkable set-up and payoff if those involved are up to the challenge. Which, in the end, could be all they might be augmenting the story to do.

So maybe it's a good time to get into those weird coincidences, huh?

(Spoilers for basically all of Campaign 2 below the cut.)

Names

Veth Brenatto, her alias Bren, and Caleb’s original name: Bren. (This may have been inspired by the German word "Brennen",  which means “to burn”. Thanks Liam.)

Fjord Stone. Cad’s families: Clay, Dust and Stone. How the Wild Mother fits the story of an orphaned sailor like a glove. And how Cad, his family history, and likely the Wild Mother herself never would’ve entered the story if Molly hadn’t died.

A Mollymawk (spelled with a w instead of a u) is a type of albatross. Albatrosses are supposed to be unlucky, but only if you kill one. Per the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, everything goes to shit after a sailor kills an albatross. Molly’s death is just as unlucky, as it paves the way for Lucien's and Cognouza’s return. (In a meta sense, it’s also unfortunate for Matt and Taliesin, as it derails whatever plans they might have had for the character.)

Nine

Whelp.

Nine. Lots and lots of nines. And while Nein doesn’t mean nine in German/Zemnian (it means no), the wordplay works.

Nine schools of magic.

Nine people killed in Obann’s attack on the Cobalt Soul in Zadash.

The three titans (Uk’otoa, Quajath, and Desirat) collectively have nine eyes and nine crystals to unlock them and set them all free.

Nine hells.

Nine betrayer gods as of Vecna’s ascension.

Nine eye tattoos on Molly, each a mark of the Somnovem, the sleeping nine.

And of course, eventually, nine members of the Mighty Nein.

(Just for fun, Tharizdun’s sacred number in its premier in Greyhawk was 333. [3+3+3=?].)

Nein and its actual meaning work thematically as well. The Nein repeatedly clashes with forces and entities that want to mold them against their will into vessels they can use for their own purposes. And the group repeatedly says “Nein!” to that.

Tarot Readings

Molly deliberately pulls specific cards for his readings. Taliesin makes that explicit. However, some folks have pointed out that you can interpret his original reading for Jester where he tells her “You’ve already found what you’re looking for,” to be true in a few different ways. (She’s already found the people who will help her find her father. She’s discovered the company she sought that she only ever had with her Mamma and the Traveler prior, etc.)

But once we get to Jester’s readings, things really pop off. (Pop-pop off?)

Fjord's Reading

In episode 110, Jester draws two cards for Fjord: one for his present and one for his future. His present card is the Eye, which has two hands holding an eye above a restless sea.

There’s no need to elaborate on how that relates to Fjord’s then-present.

His future card is the Home And Traveler. This card could work for all the Nein if you interpret it as someone who will find or reach their home after some travel. But it hits especially hard for Fjord, who finds a home with Jester, the devotee of the Traveler, on a ship that travels up and down the coast.

And then...

Lucien's Reading

The three cards Jester pulls for Lucien are his past, present, and future. Even at the time, they seem pretty fitting.

His past: History and a Dream, which Taliesin clarifies as depicting the Calamity. This fits perfectly with the Tomb Takers’ previous job for DeRogna and their coming into the Somnovem’s patronage.

His present: the Tyrant. We don’t know either Lucien or his goals too well at this point, but we do know he and his troupe kill indiscriminately and he holds an unnatural sway over the other Tomb Takers.

His future: the Death Card. You can attribute that to the upcoming fight between him and the Nein.

But in hindsight...whoo boy. In hindsight, not only do we know of Lucien’s plans to dispatch the Somnovem and become the Tyrant king of Cognouza and all its lost, broken souls, but we know of his fall. More specifically, who he falls to.

Jester, sitting across from him, pulls his last card and tells him “Facing you is Death.”

And then it’s Miss Lavorre who ends him for good.

Divine Intervention

Generally, a Divine Intervention is a Hail Mary. You roll a d100 (or an equivalent combination of dice) and only if you roll a number below your level do you trigger it. Logically, this gets easier the higher your level gets, but you can’t rely on it until level 20.

Taliesin rolls three of these for Cad in the last quarter of the Campaign. And that’s cool enough. But what’s even better is the Wild Mother’s Grave Cleric rolls successfully for Divine Intervention every time he makes a request (knowingly or not) relating to Cognouza. The city that's coming to swallow Melora's Exandria whole.

The first successful roll comes when Cad seeks info about Vokodo, the pseudo-god of the island of Rumblecusp. Vokodo, it turns out, punched a hole through the Astral Plane to escape the hunger of the lost ward of Aeor. And upon its death, it gives a vision that sets the Nein on Lucien’s trail.

The second success comes when the Nein is attempting to uncover the Tomb Takers' secret entrance to Aeor so that they can use it to set a trap. Cad’s success tells them exactly where they need to go. This allows them to get Zoran, Otis, and Tyffial out of the way early, even if it doesn’t stop Cree and Lucien from continuing towards the city.

As for the third, well...we all know what the third does. That it prevails after Critical Role’s first Resurrection Ritual failure, (due to a natural 1 no less!) is just the icing on the cake.

Caduceus even makes the point that Cognouza had functionally become a corpse that was unable to die and that he was uniquely called upon, given his family’s business, to put it down for good.

Odds and Ends

Nott distracts a Manticore from killing Fjord by killing its baby. Her own child ends up in need of a resurrection later on in the story, during their trip to the Fire Plane. Speaking of which, a painting of said Plane can be observed in Trent's house. You know, the one he would end up chasing the Nein to?

Fjord loses his chance to break the first seal to Avantika; he lands the first attack on her Revenant incarnation when the Nein catches up to her after she escapes with his orb, and he gets the final blow on her there, recovering said orb as he does.

Yasha and Caleb are the most susceptible to the Succubus/Incubus mind control. In the former's case, this could be chalked up to her low Wisdom score...but it also serves as some neat accidental foreshadowing for her time with Obann. And for Caleb, it can be a callback to his time learning under Trent.

The Circus Kids' stories sync up perfectly. Both of their bodies end up puppeteered by someone from their respective pasts. Both of them are used to try to end the world. And, probably once Matt noticed this synchronicity himself, both are revealed to have fallen under the sway of the Chained Oblivion. And their stories didn't have to go this way. Molly didn't have to die, and Matt revealed that Yasha could've theoretically made that wisdom save against Obann's control in the King's Cage. But that's not how things turned out.

Accidental foreshadowing:

Episode 19, Molly and Yasha, after acquiring an item from an Orc hermit living somewhat off the side of the road:

Molly: We made a friend. Jester: Did you kill someone for that? Molly: Yes. Yasha: He’s dead. Molly: He’s very dead. And then he rose up from the grave again and we had to kill him again. Twice. Same man.

Also, in episode 23, after meeting the Syphilis Bandits again and leaving one of them out cold:

Jester: What if we put some flowers in his hair; so when he wakes up, he looks really pretty? Beau: That’s good. Let’s do that. Molly: There’s nothing better than waking up in the morning with no pants and flowers in your hair.

In episode 48, Yussa and Caleb have a conversation:

Caleb: Sometimes I follow my friends places I shouldn’t. Yussa: That might someday get you killed. Or may one day get you what you seek.

Following a certain Tiefling up to Eiselcross got him both.

Nott also asks Caleb in this episode if he has an eye on his forehead. This is probably a callback/joke about Scanlan’s blessing from Ioun, but it foreshadows what happens to Veth much later.

Episode 49, about Ludinus Da’leth and in particular, Vess DeRogna:

Fjord: Then we kill the two elves. Jester: Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Maybe we go up into their room at night or something and just, you know... Stabby stab.

Episode 70:

Jester (to Essek): Maybe you’ll like us so much you’ll just hang out.

Dramatic Irony:

Everything the Nein say about Molly after his death and at his grave is, in hindsight, an awful twist of the knife, as his body's former life is far from finished with him.

Episode 41. The Nein learns Orly can make magic tattoos. Beau talks about getting an eye tattoo on her back to mirror Molly’s:

Jester: I mean, I don’t know, maybe it was really sacred to him and he would be really super offended by it. Beau: Oh, yeah, maybe it would, like I stole it from him? Jester: But it’s fine, I’m sure. Beau: Yeah, you know, he’s dead, so, what’s he going to do?

Almost a hundred episodes later, Beau's new tattoo gets a little addition...

Episode 65

Jester: Are you nervous? Yasha: Yeah. Yeah, I’m nervous. I just don’t know what we’re walking into, you know? Jester: Yeah. We’ve got your back though. That guy isn’t going to do anything bad to you.

Episode 91

Veth asks Essek at dinner if he’s heard of a Nonagon, or someone named Lucien. Essek says he hasn’t. This won't be the case for long.

Episode 95

Jester, talking about Cad and the Wild Mother:

Jester: Yeah. So like, when he asks her questions, you know what she does? Artagan: “Nothing?” Jester: She blows the wind. Exactly, she does shit. So and he’s like, “I sensed, you know, I understand what she’s saying.” She’s not doing anything, but he thinks she is.

This commentary is particularly delicious, considering which Cleric's Divine Interventions end up working.

And there's probably some I've missed! These are just the little bits and pieces I jotted down during a rewatch. It wouldn't surprise me if there's more.

But that's to say, just what we've got here is a monumental amount of things to build off of and play with. The Mighty Nein's animated series has the potential to be something extraordinary if the CRew can make use of all these little gifts deftly and with subtlety. There's power and potential here, and I am nervous as hell about whether or not they can tap into it successfully.

[felassan]

The Flame Eternal

By Sylvia Feketekuty | Art by Albert Urmanov

Synopsis: "A pair of necromancers investigate what torments a distressed inhabitant of the Grand Necropolis."

"Thirty years ago, in 9:22 Dragon… “Well? You tore me away from an experiment for this, Volkarin.” The shorter necromancer caught a hissing monster of bone and dried gristle in a skein of light. A twist of her hand, and it was ripped apart. “What does the wretched thing want?” Emmrich Volkarin adjusted his collar pin. “Just a moment, Johanna.” “Fine.” Johanna Hezenkoss scowled at the skull cradled in Emmrich’s hand. “Anything to stop that howling.” The skull had started screaming, ceaselessly screaming, inside its niche in the Cobalt Ossuary of the Grand Necropolis. An attendant had noted it, informed the Mourn Watch, and a pair of necromancers had been dispatched. They came to a junction. Emmrich placed the shrilling skull on a plinth. “What insights on the dead it could—” “You already told me about your paper.” “Come now!” Emmrich turned. “What sort of passion drives one spirit above the rest? What tangle of thoughts and heart returned this soul?” “Mawkish drivel.” “You must admit it’s an interesting variation on possession!” The skull’s shrieks bounced through the corridor. “It’s only some petty spirit too weak to become a demon.” Johanna ducked under a collapsed lintel. Statues of corpses lined the passage. A flick of her hand, and a green bolt of light smashed into a lanky shape lurking at the end. The demon twisted up, wreathed in smoke, as another volley hit. It gnashed its teeth and collapsed into itself. “There. It should be safe for your corpse whispering.” Emmrich closed his eyes. Whispers came, and when he spoke, the air vibrated. “By breath and shadow. By endless night. Tell us what haunts you.” The skull’s sockets flared green. “Divided. Cold. Two graves where there should be one!” “Twaddle.” “Johanna!” Emmrich cleared his throat and turned back to the skull. “Tell me: what will grant you rest?” “Take this one… to sunken black walls… by silver flames…” The skull’s glow flickered, faded. It resumed its earsplitting shrieks. “You possess a grand talent, Volkarin.” Johanna gave the smallest inclination of her head. “And you’ve honed your command of sub-astral manifestation.” Emmrich beamed. “Why thank you.” “But what does this wailing nuisance want down in the Crescent Fane?” *** Emmrich leaned over a coffin ringed by bowls of silver fire. He placed the skull next to the body of an old woman, humbly dressed but crowned with white roses. The screaming stopped. “Mathilde…” “Your wife left gently, in her sleep, last midnight.” Emmrich smiled. “The records confirm she also wished to be interred together. You’ll not be parted again.” There was a sigh. Did the old woman’s mouth quirk, or was that the dancing flames? Johanna snorted. “All that fury, ending in another grave.” “Oh, I don’t know.” Emmrich ran a hand along the coffin’s snowy marble. “It would be rather fine to possess such an enduring affection. Besides, you did see this through.” “Someone had to ensure you weren’t beheaded while chattering with the dead.” “I am grateful for enduring friendships, as well.” “Bah!” They made their way back up the Grand Necropolis in companionable silence."

[source]

[theurgists]

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ ON A PILLOW OF

GRASS AND DANDELIONS ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

astarion ancunin x fem!reader

summary: you and astarion take much-needed time to yourselves in a field kissed by the sun. blueberries are the fruit of the occassion, as messy and sticky as they were. sometimes though, messy is a good thing.

warnings: 18+, smut, oral, ejaculation, deep-throating (??), a bit of nipple play if you squint hard enough, astarion's very vocal ( i don't make the rules ), astarion licks fruit juice off reader's chest, slight worshipping, not proof-read

a/n: wrote this at two am with a foggy mind and rusty smut skills. but alas, here's a small gift of an idea that refused to leave me. now, i can rest easily, bless.

The sun - a ball of fire in the abyss of the sky - is the brightest star. It burns the surface of your skin in vibrant rays of light, warming you from the inside; and setting you aflame. It wasn’t a foreign feeling, just one you learned to appreciate in the years you’ve been on this plane, a hug without drastic intentions, a heated embrace. Aside from the fruit in your hand; cobalt in color, soft-skinned, ripe, and dripping sour juices. It pools on the surface of your tongue alongside sugary essence once the sharp ridges of teeth puncture through; mixing in with warm spit, tricking down the chin and onto the expanse of your chest, loose, low-cut blouse leaving little to the imagination. 

The feeling you get from it is almost erotic, you think, as your lover laps at stray sweetness making its way to the base of your neck, right under the spot he adored so very much. The wet muscle of his tongue skims across your collarbone, his long, cold fingers hovering above your hip, the other keeping himself steady, hand sinking into the softness of the sheet below. His touches give off a certain urgency although his actions show otherwise. Astarion wants to take his time with you; albeit having seemingly all the time in existence to do so. 

A sigh escapes your lips involuntarily, airy as the hairs on your arms raise every millisecond that his body inches closer to yours, craving skin-to-skin through the thin layers of fabric. It causes you to straighten your spine, almost as if you were a stick wedged in damp soil, letting it mold further into you, keeping your soul in place. Every single bone within you was practically screaming. They didn’t mind being constricted like this, a small jumble of voices bouncing back and forth. 

It made you chuckle, a sound that had him humming against your skin in curiosity. “What’s so funny, my love?” 

Smiling,  you lock your irises onto a cluster of stray curls above you, hand moving to twist around them - an action that makes him visibly shiver.

“I’m supposed to be feeding you.” 

With a raise of his head, you could see just how big his pupils had dilated, ruby eyes just a shade or two darker than usual. His low-lidded gaze traveled down toward the valley of your chest, a purple tint left in streaks adorning your collarbone; evidence of his affection. “Are you not already?”

You roll your eyes, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you shuffle about next to him on your side, propping your chin on the palm of your hand, elbow digging into the ground beneath the white linen of the sheet. “No, you’re far too busy being a tease.”

At your words, he chuckled, face dropping to the left side of your neck with such swiftness that you raised your hips further into his at the feeling of plump lips on your pulse point. Although you couldn’t see him anymore, the way his fingers squeezed at your clothed hip told you everything you needed to know.  

“If you wanted me to bite you, all you had to do was ask.”

A breathy sigh left your lips, nails moving from his silver curls down to his back, his tunic wrinkling under your touch, preventing him from escaping. Hot white heat pooled in your lower stomach; a longing to have him touch you in your most intimate of places - desperately. Desire envelops you whole, just like the sparkle of the sun.

“Please Astarion….”

Shivering at the coolness of his lips against your neck, your face grew hot in sudden embarrassment. The organ that was your heart hammered erratically in your sternum as he sucked on your flesh, setting your skin ablaze in a way where it was somewhat painful… a delectable pinch as his fangs pierced the skin.

Astarion was no stranger to drinking your lifeblood, and the act itself wasn’t a rare occurrence. He enjoyed it - no, he craved it as if it were the finest, most expensive brand of wine he had ever tasted in all his years. It satiated his thirst.

His cheeks hallowed as he sucked once - twice more before pulling away, thumbing at the corner of his lip before parting his lips, tucking his bloody thumb into the heat of his mouth. “Delicious…”

Astarion was sure that his body had started to relax as your blood flowed through his veins, sloshing around in the confines of his belly as if he were a drunkard. 

The ridges of your front teeth sunk into the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip, and you watched cautiously as he toyed with the edges of his tunic, lifting it to his naval. Slight hesitation embedded itself in his hands before he flexed them a bit, ridding himself of the fabric completely. Despite having been bare in front of you countless times - even if not fully on display, he found himself growing somewhat small under your fixated look, opting to stand and plop himself in a bed of grass a couple of feet away. 

He extended his arms outward, blades of deep green tickling his knuckles, creating an itch that he refused to scratch. Filling his mouth with fresh air, his chest rose before deflating, the hairs in his nose burning. “Sometimes, I forget how to breathe.” 

Lashes fan against his skin as he closes his eyes, his undead lungs trying to find a comfortable rhythm, steady.  You can’t help but admire him from your place, eyebrows unfurrowing from their constant state of distress. 

The light had moved in his direction, clouds changing their position to make way as it shone down on his figure, drawn to him like magnets to metal. It casts shadows on his face, carving out every gentle dip of his abs, the flexing of his biceps as he raises a hand in front of his face, blocking his vision from the viciousness of it all. Instead of irritation filling his undead heart, it was a foreign sense of calamity. A feeling that he held dear for as long as it lingered.

“This feels nice.” 

His ears perk at the sound of your feet crunching grass, alongside the periodic chirping of birds perched on enormous tree branches above. A gust of wind weaved through tendrils of curls, seeping into his scalp, metaphorically dousing him in cold water. For a second, he indulged in the thought of bathing in a nearby lake wherever camp was set up for the night, taking his time to let it take over every inch of his body. 

A clench of his stomach muscles sends his eyes shooting open, neck craning to stare down at your hand traveling down the ‘v’ of his naval, tracing patterns on the way. Your unexpected compliment was nothing but a whisper in the wind that made the tips of his ears grow as red as his eyes. 

“You’re beautiful.” Leaning down between his wide legs, your sticky lips graced his icy skin, sending a jolt of heat through him, a gasp caught in his throat as you painstakingly peppered his abdomen in an abundance of kisses. 

Astarion was by no means ashamed when it came to eliciting pretty noises in response to your touch; need apparent in the way his head fell back, cushioned by grass and a halo of dandelions, his adams apple bobbing as your fingers hooked in the waistband of his pants.

“Let me worship you Astarion. You deserve to be tasted.” 

He propped himself on an elbow, staring down at you with an expression that could only be described as that of some sort of challenge at your request, his unoccupied hand stretching out to grip your chin loosely in his hands, fingers tapping on the fullness of your cheeks. “Needy little thing.” 

The low tone of his voice caused you to rub your thighs together, trying to soothe the developing ache between them, a feeling you knew wouldn’t go away unless he helped you - until he conjured every single facet of his love and adoration for you to the tips of his fingers. “Who am I to refuse my love’s desires?” 

Loosening his grip on your face, he allowed you to tug at the fabric of his pants, lifting his hips slightly as you shed them off of him completely, fingers dancing up his thighs, eyes greedily taking in his cock that lay hard before you, slightly curved and sensitive. His tip glistened with wetness that formed a waterfall of saliva in your mouth to coat him with. 

It practically begged for attention, some sort of relief that you were more than willing to give by darting out your tongue, bobbing your head down his length, and taking him down your throat as far as you could.

Through spit-covered teeth, Astarion hissed lightly as you palmed him gently, the extra layers of skin doing little to help him catch his breath. It stretched at every tug of your hand, at every bob of your head as you took him further in your mouth, cheeks hollow and mouth wet, shining under mustard yellow hues from the surrounding landscape of the hidden field. 

He was fucking perfect lying beneath you like this, devoid of any sharp remarks, and scandalous comments - just a blubbering mess. A man formed by all things precious, and a subtle sort of stunning. 

“Gods, just like that, pet.” He bucked his hips upward, hitting the back of your throat so violently that you gagged, an encouraging hum causing his cock to throb in the expanse of your warm mouth. 

He could stay here forever, your lips closed around him, cheeks stained with tears, fingers from your other hand tracing figure eights on his pubic bone to occupy yourself further with pleasing him. Even with a brain filled with endless fog, the pale elf couldn’t recount the last time you had sucked him as if your entire existence depended solely on his pleasure. 

Hell, he wasn’t complaining at all. The noises escaping his esophagus were more than enough proof, and you were more than happy to make it known. 

You swirled your tongue around his tip, gathering the taste of him, pubic hairs tickling your nostrils as the tip of your nose made contact with the base of his shaft. His lower stomach couldn’t help but clench tightly, only contracting when your lips widened, jaw slacking as you quickened your pace. 

White heat coiled in his stomach, a sensation so euphoric to him that his back arched slightly, brows furrowing, a chorus of broken, muffled cries leaving his parted lips. He released his seed, spurting his arousal down your throat, something you swallowed without hesitation as you pulled away from him.

Finding the strength to open his eyes, Astarion narrowed them at the white puff of clouds painting the sky above through vibrant leaves, a tingle vibrating throughout his body as you straddled his hips, rocking against him gently as he peaked at you. “Isn’t there something else you crave?” 

The flesh of your mouth meets his pointed ear and his spine grows rigid, then he shudders in anticipation, in desire. His hands are under your blouse before you can utter anything else, following the dip of your lower back as you press yourself against him. 

“I want to be inside of you.” 

There it was. 

The seven words you’ve been wanting to hear ever since he took your hand and whisked you away into the horizon, a basket full of berries that currently sat discarded somewhere around the crumpled blanket, rotting away in the heat.

“I’d rip this off of you if you’d let me.” He whispered, thumbing at your shirt, hair tousled and out of its usual format of precise placement. 

He looked like heaven. He tasted like heaven. He felt like heaven. 

It was a mantra that you repeated in your head as he discarded the shirt that covered the swell of your breasts, nipples perking when he pinched them between his fingers, taking one of them in his mouth almost immediately after as if he were still famished. 

Fidgeting with the ends of your long skirt, you bunched the fabric up your thighs, fingers disappearing under the material to move your soaked underwear to the side, throbbing with need. “You know I would if the circumstances were different.” 

Ah, yes, the fact that you two were fucking like rabbits out in the open. A thrill that never ceased to make your heart beat quickly no matter how many times you both found yourselves in this position. 

“Yet you’re letting me take you in broad daylight.” 

It was hard not to smile at that. 

After all, he did have a point.

tags: @tallymonster, @astariongf, @scandalcus

[utilitycaster]

this is another "inspired broadly thoughts about veilguard, a game I haven't played" post (it is currently downloading!) but this time it's about, to be honest, epic/heroic fantasy in general, and Campaign 3 and especially Vox Machina.

I think having Vox Machina's mission kick off first chronologically (in a fun way - last to be introduced, but first to go) fits because while the Nein's story is about the change enacted by a small, determined group of people who rely utterly on each other, Vox Machina has always had powerful allies from their introduction to the audience, though not, to be fair, their inception in the home game.

Vox Machina's story in campaign 1 ends with Vasselheim behind them - they are the strike force, but they can call upon bastions defending the city. Devossa and members of the Slayer's Take join them in the final battle. Gilmore, Allura, and Kima have their backs. The same is true in their battle against Thordak, in which they're joined by Tal'Dorei's army, the Ashari, and again, Devossa, Zahra, and Kash. Whereas the Mighty Nein's most public and political victories are ones of mediation and crisis aversion taking place largely off the battlefield (the beacon, the reveal of the Angel of Irons cult, the treaty negotiations, and taking down Trent and the Volstrucker), Vox Machina's public victories concern threats to the realm that bring disparate groups together. (These themes continue quite nicely in the parties' post retirements, Vox Machina being comprised of key figures in Whitestone, the Tal'Dorei Council, Vasselheim, and of course the Ashari and the Mighty Nein's main institutional tie being to the Cobalt Soul.)

I'm very openly a Nein Girlie, but Vox Machina is also quite dear to my heart and I have a particular love for that aspect: for Vox Machina serving as the tip of a worldwide spear against existential threats. The world unites behind them, repeatedly, and they take that role seriously, dick jokes notwithstanding, and do not let their allies down. Indeed, I think the Briarwoods arc is a great example of them not letting their allies down even when they are let down by their allies. Vox Machina is often described as the most archetypal fantasy campaign, and I think that's valid, and there is something very satisfying and lovely about a Tolkien story in which the world comes together against great evil. I think those endings are often harder than endings like those the Mighty Nein had - a story of a small group succeeding against the odds tends to fit narrative patterns of, well, succeeding against the odds, whereas everyone banding together often comes with both victory and terrible sacrifice - but they are vitally important.

I've really loved the Exandrian Accord and the Grim Verity as factions within Campaign 3 - I'd honestly watch 5 more accord sessions and I'm not joking - and after seeing Vox Machina this episode, I hope that Bells Hells are able to honor their agreements the way Vox Machina has and continues to do so.

[essektheylyss]

I understand the impulse to clown on Essek for walking around in Vasselheim with his recognizable voice with the Bright Queen's spearhead commander, and of course we could turn to the metatextual elements (the necessity of signposting the world for players on the part of the GM, the ease of using a familiar ally to introduce a relevant NPC and new point of contact) to dismiss this if we wanted, but I think it's more interesting—and funnier, as you'll see—to imagine this as simply an extension of the laws and logic that dictate the Mighty Nein as a narrative entity.

Fundamentally, the Mighty Nein within their campaign pursue personal and collective agency, often at the expense or in denial of political power. Where they do interact with more political forms of power, they evade its grasp upon them, most notably in their interactions with the war, but also while they engage with the Cerberus Assembly, the Cobalt Soul, and even the Revelry. The way they pursue agency, on the other hand, has far more to do with their own support of one another and their own individual power, especially where there is magic involved, and manifests in having the freedom to move and act as they wish in the world.

The culmination of this, as we know, is the mechanical ability in their final battle against Lucien and the Somnovem to manipulate the terrain of the battle map to their advantage with only imagination. At the same time, Jester and Caduceus can both call in free favors from their gods, one of whom is unlimited by the Divine Gate and in fact is far more governed by fey logic. Fjord has made three different divine pacts and is virtually unrestricted by any of them. Caleb's hallmark is an almost infinitely malleable home that almost literally seems to operate as a hammerspace, with a pinnacle dedicated to the potentiality of the universe, the application of which is one of his signature spells—against all odds successful in his initial goal, no longer fueled by guilt and grief, of bending reality to his will. It's narratively and thematically cogent that this be the calling card of the party as a whole.

The Mighty Nein are, in effect, dictated by Looney Tunes logic, and nothing else. They have been so successful in their pursuit of their own freedom that they no longer abide by the cosmic laws of Exandria, let alone the laws of physics or sense. So yes, from an external point of view, it does look exceedingly foolish for Essek to be traipsing around in Vasselheim under the Bright Queen's nose, but it's far more entertaining to argue that being a member of the Mighty Nein in fact simply confers the capability of ignoring the laws of reality without consequence when it's narratively convenient, characteristically interesting—or just really fucking funny.

[ninibeingdelulu]

Mimicking his mannerisms ✧

Plot: You mimic your boyfriend’s mannerisms.

At first, the enigmatic striker didn't seem to register your playful imitations of his signature subtle smirks or the way his steely cobalt eyes would narrow with razor focus.

Why would he? To Kaiser, such trivial details weren't worth breaking concentration over.

That utter absorption in the game, in dismantling defenses and obliterating opponents through sheer, leonine skill is what made you start mirroring his mannerisms in the first place.

The way his chiseled features settled into that stony, impenetrable mask of intensity whether dribbling a ball or simply contemplating strategy...you found it weirdly entrancing.

Which is why, bundled up on the sofa freshly showered after a match, you erupted into peals of giggles after perfectly emulating Kaiser's celebratory chest thump and fist pump from earlier when he'd scored the game-winner.

Complete with your best attempt at replicating that guttural grunt of exertion just to sell the impression.

At first, Michael merely arched one of those winged brows fractionally, gaze flickering over to you with mild interest. Studying, analyzing, deconstructing your silly antics just as he might an opponent's offensive patterns to identify weaknesses.

You beamed right back without a shred of self-consciousness, striking another achingly-familiar pose - feet braced apart, knees bent, arms raised like they're clutching an invisible ball, mouth curling into that infuriatingly smug half-grin Kaiser flashes before blowing past defenders like they're standing still.

And...was that the ghost of a chuckle rumbling up from the striker's barrel chest at catching your overly-earnest mimicry? Sure sounded like it before he hastily muffled the impulse, eyes crinkling with unmistakable amusement.

In a flash, you pounced - taking shameless advantage of your petite stature to clamber right into his lap before he could protest or deflect.

Looping your arms loosely around his thick neck, you peered down with dancing eyes and an impish grin.

"Something funny, Master Sniper?"

You crooned his moniker in an exaggerated baritone approximation of his own molten vocals.

"Don't tell me the great Michael Kaiser is finally going easy on the opposition?"

Michael, to his credit, didn't so much as flinch at your flagrant invasion of his personal space. Just leveled you with one of those piercing, soul-searing stares from beneath heavy lids for a pregnant pause.

Almost as if evaluating whether to simply disengage entirely...or take the bait and engage with this maddeningly irreverent side of you that delighted in needling his legendary composure.

Then, before you could react, those powerful arms looped in an inescapable vise around your midsection, crushing your squirming body flush against his own.

One broad palm cradled the nape of your neck, callused thumb dragging along the line of your jaw as Kaiser fixed you with a lopsided smirk crackling with unspoken challenge.

"So that's how you want to play it, wildkatze ?" Any pretense towards stoicism evaporated in favor of that rich, honeyed baritone dripping with roguish self-assurance that stole your breath more effectively than any physical exertion.

"Well then...no more holding back, starting now."

Those silvery eyes glinted like sharpened steel as he effortlessly flipped your positions with that same controlled, explosive grace he wields between the lines - pinning you bodily beneath his solid, unyielding weight with startling swiftness.

One sensual caress along the curve of your lips with the calloused pad of his thumb ignited tingling shockwaves through your nerve endings.

"Let's see how good your impressions really are...starting with the most important celebration of all once we're done here."

Any further protests dissolved into breathless, keening pleas of surrender as Kaiser set about teaching you to mimic the only poses and exertions that truly matter between the two of you.

[bright-side20]

Koschei's Sleeping Beauty retelling 🌹

I've found Koschei's sleeping beauty details so here it is

_In the tale, it is said that once Koschei focuses his gaze on the chosen princess, he is capable of exerting a powerful influence over her. He recites ancient, arcane words, and the maiden collapses gracefully, falling into a deep, unbreakable sleep, immune to the passage of time.

_ Koschei was described to be surrounded by shadows and swirling mist. He then takes the princess to his grand hall with a bone throne, where she waits for the hero who can break the spell.

*In SF:

The being that stood atop the lake was a shadow. It must be a reflection, Cassian thought. Smoke and mirrors. "Where is Briallyn?" Azriel demanded, Siphons flaring like cobalt flame. “I spend so many months preparing for you,” Koschei crooned, “and you don’t even wish to speak to me?”

*Koschei in the book is described as a shadow being as in the tale. Plus he could be trying to lure Azriel to the lake because once he can fix his gaze on him he'll be able to manipulate him with his power and enchant him with unbreakable sleep.

What I think is that Koschei could have been trapped in the lake using the Starsword, so he needs the TT to undo it. That's why he wants Az because he owns the dagger, so he could curse him with eternal sleep and try to make Elain free him from the lake in exchange for breaking Azriel's curse.

_In the tale, the only way to break the enchantment is through an instrument called the gusli which is very similar to the harp.

Gusli. Harp.

_The strings of the gusli are made of pure silver and inbued with encient magic, when played correctly they emit a powerful, harmonic resonance that can break the spell and awaken the princess.

*In SF, the harp has ancient magic in its strings, and they are also made of silver:

The golden Harp, covered in intricate embossing, set with silver strings.

The small strings are for games—light movement and leaping—but the longer, the final ones … Such deep wonders and horrors we could strum into being.

_In the tale, for the Gusli's magic to work, it should be played by a hero who is pure of heart and noble intent.

*We know that Elain can use the harp because she's a cauldron made, and we also know that she has a different kind of strength:

“Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different kind of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had always been so full of light.”

She is someone pure of heart, and her love for Azriel will definitely be strong and pure, so I think that could be another reason why she's the one who can break his curse 🥰

My theory about the harp is that, since in Hofas it was said that it can transfer one's power to the soul of another. Therefore, Elain may be able to give a portion of her life power to Az's soul through the harp to awaken him.

[utterlyotterlyx]

I love your writing. Could you write an Eris x Reader where she's known he's her mate but he didn't? And maybe they had a flirty thing going but nothing more Beron was recently overthrown and she finally felt safe to be more assertive about her feelings.

Oh my gosh, thank you!

A thousand times yes, let's go.

.

.

Dark Paradise

Summary - Eris was the only person who truly saw you, the daughter of a Lord of the Day Court, but when the bond snaps and creates a one sided love, you have no other choice but to distance yourself or else face Beron's wrath.

Warnings - pining, angst, fluff, mentions of torture

It had never been more than what it was, lingering looks of longing and what others would call harmless flirting, but to you, it meant the world.

Autumn wasn't exactly safe for you. Beron wasn't stupid enough to stand against Helion, even for the moment of satisfaction it would bring him to see you cowered and hurt. He'd made it clear he thought of it often.

You had moved to Autumn by the order of your High Lord, there was the potential that you could one day wed one of his sons since you were the daughter of a very powerful lord holed within the Court of Day. It had been two years since you had been moved into the Forest House, two years since you had met the Autumn Court heir and shrugged off attention from anyone else.

It had been a difficult adjustment, your Day Court attire was too revealing, too thin to protect you from the seasonal court you had found yourself within.

You knew Beron had no intention of wedding you to one of his sons, but you were a very lucrative card in his arsenal. Helion was like family, he'd to anything to ensure your safety, and Beron knew that fact well, like he'd thought about it more often that not.

But Eris. Mother above. Eris.

Hair the colour of hot embers, rich amber eyes, the cobalt jacket over a cream shirt with the top two buttons undone, brown leather pants, and the melody of the warm autumn forest as the sun slit its slumberous eye through the tree line mixed with smoked pinewood, enough to make you swoon.

Eris had grown to like you, he didn't speak to you much when you had first arrived, but after finding you with one of his sickly pups in the stables and where you began nursing her back to life did he know that you weren't in his home for any sinister reason.

From then, it had been long glances, insatiable flirting, small smirks that pulled at the edges of his lips when he saw you across the room, late night visits to the kitchens to eat pumpkin pie, and walks up the hills to catch the sunrise.

You were surprised it didn't happen sooner.

The snap that is.

When he had handed the now fully healthy and wriggling pup to you and told you to keep her, that her life continued because of you so she should be yours. It wouldn't be fair on her to be away from the being she had imprinted on.

The way his amber orbs brightened at the sight of her, Maple, wriggling around in your arms to douse your face in those sweet puppy breath kisses, the way he smiled at the sight was enough for your soul to sing. It was like he was the centre of gravity and all you wanted was to fall and allow him to pull you to where you needed to go.

But when the little gasp had left your lips, when he had looked at you with that furrowed brow of concern and asked, "What's wrong?" You knew that it was completely one sided.

Perhaps it wasn't a bad thing that he didn't know. If Beron had found out that the High Fae female he loathed was mated to his heir, he would surely do everything in his power to be rid of you before you could do any real damage. Helion' wrath or not, Beron would peel the skin from your body and relish in your cries.

So, you continued on seemingly unphased, raising Maple to be the most docile and beautiful creature, all whilst distancing yourself from Eris. No more morning walks. No more pumpkin pie after dark. Instead, his looks of longing turned into stares of concern, and the rife flirting had transformed into cornering you and asking if everything was alright to which you simply nodded to before scurrying away.

"Did my father say something to you?" Eris had pinned you to the wall by your rooms one evening, Beron was throwing some pompous dinner for the Lords of Autumn and you had done your duty as dictated by your title, wanting nothing more to leave the room and bury your face into Maple's fur until sleep consumed you.

"No."

"You're lying," Eris' eyes darkened, "You're my friend, Y/N. Tell me what I've done."

Friend.

"I, I just," footsteps approached and you flinched from his grip, trying to stick to the shadows as the steps passed and faded into silence, "I think I forgot my place here," you told him in a hushed tone.

Eris examined you, rolling his eyes down your body before finding your face and waiting expectantly for you to continue. Autumn suited you, the colours complimented you perfectly, the deep hues of earth and the brightness of the day melting into pristine harmony. You stood before him in a velvet stress the colour of ripe plums, hair unbound and falling down your back, with two braids meeting to frame your face.

"You mean everything to me, you're the only person here who actually sees me," his gaze softened and he willed you to continue, he loved your candidness, your will to always be truthful but also be mindful of how you spoke so that you didn't upset others, "I'm afraid that Beron will mistake our friendship for something more. He hates me, he hates everything I stand for, and I'm sure he'd have no problem showing me just as much. I have to distance myself, I don't have a choice if I ever want to go home."

"So that's it?"

"It has to be, Eris. I'm sorry," your bottom lip wobbled, Eris knew how hard you had tried to fit in and make friends with the people in Autumn, but Autumn hated outsiders, and that was what you were. You were so lonely there, and Beron was too stubborn to let you go.

If only he knew how much you loved him, how much you yearned for that tether dancing in the autumn breeze to find something to bind itself to. If only he knew how you dreamt of a life with him and how he consumed your dreams, night and day, his face was there, he was there all of the time and you were suffocating.

It had happened.

Beron was finally gone.

The news had spread around Forest House, the chatter so loud that it had awoken you that morning.

Maple was perched on the edge of your cream coloured comforter, tail wagging and ears pricked upward to the sky as if she was absorbing every bit of information that floated through the closed door.

Beron was gone. You were free.

But Eris. Poor Eris.

You knew that Eris loathed everything his father stood for, that he was already looking for a way to usurp the High Lord and take his place, to make the Autumn Court better for all. But his father had still died, his sire, the man who raised him.

Dressing quickly and calling Maple after you, you hurtled through the Forest House, squeezing through the haze of alarmed bodies that swarmed the foyers and halls, all muttering their shock, and some, delight.

Maple trotted alongside you happily, her ears flopping over her face as you raced toward his rooms, to only be stopped at his doors by two guards telling you that the new High Lord wished to be left alone. At the sound of your desperate voice, the doors behind them opened to reveal him.

Eris stood before you dishevelled, hair messy, bags under his eyes, swollen red cheeks, and clothes askew, he growled at the two guards before grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside, closing the door securely behind you.

Eris immediately fell into you, loud sobs soaring through his body, you supported his weight in your arms and worked your fingers into his hair, shushing him softly and holding him as closely as you could.

"I'm so sorry, Eris," you strained, threatening to join him in his sorrow, you swallowed it down and used the pads of your thumbs to wipe his tears away as his eyes scoured your face, like it was the last time he'd ever see it.

It took him a moment but he finally spoke, "I'm more upset about you leaving, is that bad?"

"What?"

Eris swallowed thickly, water pooling at the corners of his eyes again as he held your forearms in his hands, tracing small circles into your skin and drowning in your scent.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee clung to you, with a hint of honey and lavender, "He's gone, Y/N. You're free, you can go home."

Eris watched your face soften, he watched as you tried to contain your tears, he watched as you took a step closer to him and peered upward so that your eyes pierced through his soul, "I don't want to go, Eris."

Frowning, he asked, "Why? Beron was the only thing keeping you here-"

"Not the only thing," your voice was barely above a whisper, so quiet that he would have missed your words if it weren't for you standing directly under his nose. "You were right that night. I have been lying to you."

Eris said nothing and you continued with a shaky breath, "I'm sorry that I had to distance myself, that I had to stop being me with you. It was either be lonely or risk Beron hurting us, and I couldn't let him do that."

Sun filtered through the windows, cascading its glow over your bodies and spilling onto the floor, curling around you both to avoid interrupting the words flowing from your lips, "Seeing you was the best part of my day, no one looks at me here but not only do you look at me, you understand me, you see me for everything I am and accept it without hesitation. I couldn't be the reason you got hurt, I would sooner die than be the reason of any of your pain."

Eris looked down at you, etching the slope of your nose and curve of your lips to memory, the sun shone on you, making the bright specks of your eyes dance in its light and your skin glimmer softly like fine sand. It was your eyes he loved the most, pools of wonder and sadness, you spoke with your eyes, he had noticed, every single mood of your was clear as day when he looked into them.

Adoration was laced in them, elegant guarded adoration.

The glow felt brighter, and shimmers of gold tugged at his essence, enough to see you in a different world of light that wrapped around you both.

Eris was breathless, panting softly through his nose, "You're my mate," and as he said the word the bond came to life, that lonely tether dancing in the autumn breeze now finding the end it so craved to entwine itself with, "You knew?"

You nodded, "From the day you gave me Maple," you smiled sadly, that had been just over six months ago, and then it all made sense to him.

Eris had almost gone insane trying to figure out why you had suddenly cut him out of your life, but of course you were trying to protect yourself, to protect him from the evil that was Beron. The former High Lord would have brutalised you if he had known of it. You would have rather have been all alone than risk Beron unleashing his anger onto Eris.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have done something, I would have gotten us out of here, I would have taken you away and kept you safe," his fingers brushed against your cheek and you leaned into his touch, fire skittering across your skin.

"I didn't want to put you in that position, I couldn't do that to you," tears fell from your eyes and Eris kissed them away, the salty drops coating his lips.

"You've been alone all this time because you didn't want put me in that position?" Eris' hands fell to your waist and he pulled you in closer, your chests meeting, he pressed his lips to your forehead, mumbling against your skin, "I would turn this court into ash if it meant that you were safe."

"Eris-"

"No, let me talk," he held your face in his hands, willing you to meet his eye as he lowered his gaze, "You are my heaven and my hell, you are the morning sun that illuminates the world after a night of storms and darkness, you are the sandy shore that glistens in the moonlight, you are the first birdsong that cuts through the equinox. You are everything, and you are mine, really mine?"

Eris felt as though he was dreaming, or maybe he was stood in the middle of some cruel nightmare, but as you stood on your tip toes and brushed your lips against his, he knew that no pinch was necessary to wake him, your soft lips were certainly enough to remind him that you were there and real, and his until the moment he took his last breath.

Authors Note

I really hope you like this! Thank you for the request, I love writing for Eris so much x