#aric the shadow

[feirceangel]

Okay so you’ve written protective/possessive Feyd—what about protective Paul seeing his wife badly hurt or narrowly escaping an attack? I live for the “who did this to you” trope, got me weak at the knees 🥹

I sorta missed the whole wife part, whoops! But I hope you still like it!!

Imagine | Beloved (Paul Atreides)

Word Count: 1,820

Warnings: reader is harassed, I invented an OC to be the antagonist, protective! Paul, hurt/comfort

The halls of Castle Caladan are cold tonight.

Goosebumps are already forming on your arms as you walk through the dark.

Perhaps going for a late night stroll wasn't the best idea, but you just couldn't sleep tonight.

So you stroll instead, peering out of the windows to observe the rain clouds forming.

Castle Caladan has been your home for ages, even though you are not an Atreides. You've lived alongside House Caladan, having come from one of the lesser houses in an attempt to give you a better standing in society.

You're not angry about it.

In fact, you're grateful to live on this oceanic planet. And, you're happy to be alongside your best friend, Paul Atreides.

There weren't any others your age in Castle Caladan, so naturally you sought each other out early on.

Being friends came easily.

Paul has always been sweet, adventurous, friendly - and you are much the same.

Of course, you both had different teachings and priorities, but you always found each other whenever possible.

There was no greater joy than racing through the castle and playing near the waves alongside the boy with dark hair.

And now you're both older.

Life has intruded upon those times of peaceful play and brought forth more schoolings and politics that the young aren't susceptible to.

Although he has a higher standing in society, Paul always manages to remember you, make time for you. He vowed to never abandon you.

And you believe him.

But the subtle glares that Lady Jessica sends your way are not easy to ignore, nor are the signs that others in the castle are uncomfortable with the situation.

You try not to dwell on those things. Because the only thing that matters is being there for Paul. He deserves to have a friend that isn't a mentor or a parental figure.

As you walk though the sleeping palace, your find your mind troubled. Maybe that's why you can't sleep tonight.

Footsteps silent on the stone floor, you arrive before Paul's chambers. You hadn't realized you were walking here. Unconsciously, you sought him out in your time of uncertainty.

Resting your palm on the door, you close your eyes and sigh. You wouldn't disturb him at this hour- you know how bad it would look.

Before you can continue on your way, a voice calls out from the shadows.

"What are you doing here at this hour?"

It's a male's voice, one that you wish was unfamiliar.

"I didn't realize I couldn't roam as I please, Aric," you reply comply to the guard who walks closer.

His grin is wolffish, "I didn't realize you were stupid enough to come to him after dark."

"I was not going to disturb him."

"Oh no, I imagine he'd be excited to see you at this late hour."

"I don't like what you're insinuating," you start to walk away, hearing him continue after you.

He is right beside you, “I meant no insult, I assure you.”

“Your assurances are as empty as your head,” you retort, not even giving him a glance.

You’ve never liked Aric, so you see no reason to be civil with him. He’s always been an ass to you, finding any reason to make your life a bit more miserable.

“That was uncalled for,” he growls, grabbing your arm to stop you from walking away.

You fix him with an unimpressed stare.

“What do you want, Aric? It seems like you’re always following me,” you say calmly as he releases you.

He regains his composure, “I want you.”

You blink at him.

“I’m serious, I want you to stop fawning over Paul and turn to me instead,” his whisper is harsh and grating to your ears. “Be my wife. You’re of age now and I know you have no other offers.”

You can’t help but scoff. Stepping back from him, you cross your arms, “I do not fawn over Paul, and I am certainly not fond of you. I will do is both a favour and pretend you never asked.”

Rage lights up his features, his hand forming a fist at his side.

“I could give you everything you could ask for.”

“And you would take everything from me in the meantime. I know you, Aric. You are not kind,” you hiss, stepping back while he steps forward.

“Kindness gets you nowhere in this life.”

You shake your head, “Your actions in this life determine the outcome. And so far your actions are untoward. Cornering me at this time of night?”

“Paul will never marry you, you know,” he changes tactics.

You roll your eyes, “Admit defeat, Aric. I will never be yours.”

Suddenly, he is right in your face, sneering down at you, “I can take what I want. Like you said, it’s late, no one is here.”

“I will not let you.”

He laughs, grabbing your arm in a bruising grip once again. He wrenches you forward but you twist out of his grip and shove him into the wall.

He groans and recovers quickly, shoving you violently. You hit a corner and collapse on the ground, your arm dripping crimson.

Infuriated, you stand and glare at the smug bastard.

“Leave now,” you command him, using the Voice. You’re not a master at it, by any means, but you’re trained enough to get this brute to back down.

He leaves without a word, and you realize that you should have done that right away.

You grasp your arm and walk back to your chambers. Luckily, the wound isn’t deep and you’re finally able to sleep.

~~~

The next day commences as normal.

That is, until Paul appears next to you as you walk down the beach.

“I was looking for you,” he grins as he approaches.

His smile could brighten the darkest corner of space. His eyes are piercing and perceptive, you fear you could drown in their depths.

You smile back at him, “You found me.”

“I haven’t seen you in a few days, has everything been alright?”

That’s Paul, always so considerate of you and your wellbeing. The reminder of his care brings a softer smile to your face.

“I’m fine, just been tired lately.”

“Why?”

“Sleep’s been evading me,” you chuckle, bending to pick up a stone near your feet. “I’ll catch it eventually.”

A sudden tension fills the air, bringing you upright immediately. You look at Paul and see his gaze fixed on your bandaged arm.

“What happened?” He asks, concern dripping from his words like rain.

You move your arm from his direct view, “Nothing, it was an accident.”

His eyes flicker up to yours.

“You’re lying.”

You curse his Bene Gesserit training which makes it so easy for him to read you.

“I told you it’s nothing.”

“If it was nothing, you would’ve already launched into how it happened,” he points out. “Like that time you scraped your knee when you tripped down the stairs.”

You groan at the reminder, “You said you wouldn’t bring that up again!”

“Tell me what happened,” he reaches out to gently take your arm in his hands.

He examines the clean bandage before beginning to unwrap it. You shake your head but his eyes are pleading.

“Please.”

You sigh, unable to resist. He doesn’t even need to use the Voice on you, he controls you with his words, his eyes, his hands. You would give him everything if he simply asked for it.

He’d do the same for you.

“It was Aric,” you say, as Paul stares at the small cut on your bruised arm. “He got angry that I would never marry him in a million years.”

Paul’s expression goes dark, any mirth he might have had leaving him in an instant.

“Aric asked you to wed him?”

You nod.

“Then he did this?”

“Pushed me into the wall,” you confess. “I had ti use the Voice to get him to leave.”

You watch as Paul tenderly presses his lips to your arm, the contact warm and sweet.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You can’t be with me all the time, silly.”

He shakes his dark hair, “I promise, he won’t do this to you ever again.”

“How-“

Paul turns in a flurry, stalking back towards the castle. You race after him, suddenly unsure.

You knew you shouldn’t have told him what happened. This isn’t the Paul you know, this is someone else.

“Paul!” You shout as you run after him.

He’s too fast, storming to where Aric stands in the hall. Before Aric even notices his presence, Paul has punched him clear across the face.

Stunned, Aric stumbles back with a curse.

Paul doesn’t give him time to recover, kneeing him in the stomach so that he bends over in pain. You watch as Paul kicks him down to the ground, standing over him with a furious expression.

“I heard what you did last night, Aric.”

Aric groans in response.

Paul continues, “I know you tried to harm my beloved, tried to belittle her. Did you think you wouldn’t be punished?”

“Paul, I think he’s learnt his lesson,” you try to calm him.

“No, no he hasn’t.”

Paul watches as Aric rises to his feet, mouth bloodied.

“I should’ve known that whore would snitch.”

You wince, not at the intended insult, but at the fury blazing in Paul’s eyes. This isn’t going to end well.

“Stop talking,” Paul uses the Voice, before punching him once again.

“Get on your knees.”

You watch as Aric drops to the floor.

“Beg for her forgiveness and I’ll let you walk away,” Paul says casually. “If you don’t, I think you know what’ll happen.”

Watching with a flicker of amusement, you incline your head, “Go on.”

Aric grits his teeth, “I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t good enough,” Paul seethes, “Do it better!”

Aric slams his head on the floor, “Please, please, don’t let him kill me. I won’t ever speak to you again!”

“I know you won’t,” you nod at Paul. “I think all is well now.”

“Get up Aric,” Paul commands. “I don’t want to see your face again, you hear me?”

Aric nods and retreats with a burning face.

You turn to Paul, crossing your arms, “Beloved, huh?”

He rubs the back of his neck, averting his gaze, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Paul, hearing you call me that fills my heart to the brim. Your my beloved as well, you know.”

Paul bridges the space between you, clasping the back of your head and pressing his forehead against yours.

“I don’t think I could ever be without you. Even the thought of someone trying to take you from me, turn you against me…”

“Don’t worry, Paul,” you ghost your lips across his. “That will never happen, not as long as I have breath in my lungs.”

He wraps his arms around you, “I’ll cherish you always, protect you always.”

“I know.”

[A/n - It’s my first time writing Paul so I hope I did ok!]

[dark-moonlust]

The Werewolf, the Minotaur, and Their Mate

Pairing: werewolf x minotaur x f!human reader

Summary: You get caught between the heated desires of your werewolf and Minotaur boyfriend. They often get too possessive as if touching you is a competition. They eventually work together, pounding you good and deep so that you never forget how much they love you.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, double penetratiοn, oral fem and male receiving, p in v sex, anal +plug, fingering, huge🍆, belly bulge, knot, lots of 💦. Don’t like, don’t read please.

This is the full one-shot. It was posted first on Patreοn as my patrons get early access to my Tumblr posts+more smut! 😍I hope you like this! It’s so steamy!

Happy reading!

It was a late night and you were lying with your back on the bed, your body exposed to your two boyfriends: a werewolf named Ari and a minotaur named Bront. Aric had a big muscular frame and was covered in black fur that showed off his bright amber eyes. Bront was slightly larger than Ari and had coarse brown fur, a bull’s face and long protruding horns.

They had long now undressed you, their gazes roaming over your body, caressing your curves and making you shiver with anticipation. But when the time came for them to start touching you, they lost control. They wanted you too much, their desire overwhelming, and they always had a hard time sharing you and working together.

It didn’t help that they were both overly possessive of you, their primal instincts driving them to claim you.

“Move over, wolf. It’s my turn to kiss our mate,” Bront growled as he leaned in and claimed your mouth, his tongue pushing down your throat.

“I haven’t kissed her nearly as much as you,” Ari rumbled as he licked along your neck and up your face.

Their tongues battled for dominance, each trying to claim you in their own way. Captured between them, you moaned and wiggled slightly, overwhelmed by their intensity. You wanted to talk, to tell them that you were theirs, but every time you opened your mouth, one of them would grab the chance to kiss you deeply. When Bront’s tongue finally withdrew, Ari’s immediately took its place, plunging into your mouth and so on. The constant back-and-forth left you breathless and frustrated.

“Wait—mphhh—” you muttered, trying to catch your breath before Ari’s tongue invade your mouth.

Bront grumbled but decided to play with your breasts. His large, rough hands cupped your tits, shaping the soft, plump mounds and thumbing your sensitive nipples. His mouth enveloped each tit in turn, careful not to hurt you with his sharp teeth. His suckling was gentle yet fervent, alternating between your breasts, his tongue tracing circles around the tight, aching buds.

“Look at her…” Ari joined in the game, fondling the tit that Bront had just released and massaged it, his tongue licking around the areola. “Fuck, such softness.”

“Want to mark her pretty tits with my seed,” Bront growled, teasing your nipples with his skilled tongue.

“Yesss… please…” you whimpered and clutched both their furry arms begging them to stop teasing you. “Want you to fuck me.”

“We’ll fuck your pretty holes, mate,” Bront said, his voice sending vibrations through you, making your pussy leak even more. “But first, we’ll play with you. Hm?”

“No playing—“ you muttered, clutching their furry arms. “’m too sensitive.”

Bront gave you a firm look and settled down, his horns casting shadows on the wall as he gripped your hips and spread your legs open. He curved your legs upward, dragging them until your knees were at your ears, exposing your eager holes to their hungry eyes. You pussy clenched eagerly, you were drenched with arousal. Your ass was also filled with a pretty heart diamond plug.

“Told you the diamond plug would fit her best,” Ari drawled, his eyes dark with lust. “It looks so cute, lodged up her pretty ass.”

“Hm… looks stunning indeed,” Bront agreed shakily. “But I want to ruin her pussy first.”

You opened your mouth to speak but cried out instead when Bront’s long tongue lapped at your cunt, devouring your juices and flicking your sensitive clit. His hands kept your legs pinned wide while he did shameless things with his tongue. Ari watched enthralled, but then realized he wanted to taste you, too.

“Fuck, her cunny is so wet. Move aside, bullface, I want to taste her, too.”

“Get in line, mutt,” the minotaur snarled, his tongue plunging deep inside you, causing you to whimper and babble pathetically.

You were so close, each possessive lick brought you higher and higher and despite their bickering you came with a whine, your toes clenching, pussy pulsing around Bront’s relentless tongue. Your minotaur kept licking you up, slower this time, prolonging your pleasure.

Realizing he wouldn’t get his turn soon, Ari shoved Bront aside with a grin. “Step aside and watch, bull. It’s time to prepare her lovely ass.“

Bront narrowed his eyes at him yet reluctantly watched as Ari rolled you on all fours, his hands spreading the mounds of your ass. Ari’s tongue flicked around the butt plug, teasingly, before gently toying with the handle. He pulled it back slowly, stretching your hole, then slammed it back inside, making you gasp and tighten your anal muscles.

Bront, not one to be left out, pushed you down with a gentle palm on your back, pressing your face into the sheets. Leaning close, he watched the sight of you being so thoroughly at your limits.

“Take the plug out”, Bront demanded hoarsely. “I want to fuck her pretty arse.”

“Jokes on you, bud. I’m fucking her pretty arse,” Ari said, carefully removing the plug. It left your hole with a wet squelch, and you groaned as the thick protrusion exited your insides, leaving you feeling empty and needy.

Ari grabbed the bottle of lube and after he’d retracted his claws, he smeared the cold liquid all over his fingers and your ass. A thick werewolf finger stretched you, curling inside you. The sensation was incredible, especially when Bront joined in, inserting his own finger alongside Ari’s. You had both digits up your ass, both as thick as a human dick at full mast.

“I think she needs a bigger plug next time,” Bront said, squelching sounds echoing as he thrust his finger alongside Ari’s.

The werewolf hummed. “Hmm, she’s too tight.”

“I’m here, you dumbasses,” you groaned, the constant shifting of their fingers leavening you wanting more. “Stop talking and just fuck me!”

“Naughty little mate,” Ari said and smacked your ass playfully. “We prepare you first, and then we fuck you crazy.”

“Come on… hn…” you whined. “Can’t take this anymore. You both need to stop arguing and share me.”

Bront clicked his tongue. “Ask nicely for our cocks, little mate.”

You huffed. “Enough with the teasing. Make this work before I leave you both and go fuck my dildos.”

“She needs to be punished for even suggesting this,” Bront said in all seriousness.

Ari agreed, his brows furrowed. “Your mates are right here, hard and eager to satisfy you. Never dare say you’ll substitute us with stupid toys.”

“A lesson is in order,” the minotaur said. “Our impatient mate needs to get fucked stupid until she understands the gravity of her words.”

“Fucking finally,” you moaned and gasped when you received another light slap, this time on your pussy by Ari.

“Can I take her pretty mouth?” Ari asked. “You can break her ass and then we can take turns fucking her.”

They nodded in unison.

And began fucking you senseless.

Gone was their earlier miscommunication.

With impressive cooperation, Ari positioned himself near your head while Bront took his place between your legs. Their cocks stood at attention, their shafts as thick as your forearm, the tips leaking precum. Without waiting, Ari tapped his cock against your lips, parting your mouth and shoving his cock down your throat. You gurgled but at the same time, Bront lined up with your ass, the cockhead stretching the tight muscle and thrusting inside.

You gasped, “Mphhh!”

They fucked you from both ends in perfect unison. Ari’s cock filled your mouth and throat, salty precum trickling down your throat. Bront pounded deep into your ass, his huge frame hanging over your back, his breathing just as heavy as your own. The dual sensations were overwhelming, liquid pleasure coursing through your veins as they filled you again and again. The room echoed with the wet plap-plap of skin slapping skin and your muffled moans mingling with their grunts.

“Mmmm, such a good girl for us,” Bront said, his hips pounding you into the mattress. “Taking Ari’s cock down her pretty throat and my cock in her tight arsehole.”

“That will teach her not to mention dildos again,” Bront said, his fingers reaching to circle your pussy. You were drenched and painfully empty there, your poor clit begging for attention.

“You can use dildos only to prepare yourself for us, little mate,” Ari said while pulling back from your mouth, his cock coated in your saliva. “But never, never use them to threaten us this way. Understood?”

“Hmm… understood,” you took a deep inhale, shaking all over.

“We are also sorry, little mate”, Bront kissed your nape. “We quarrelled and teased you a little too much when we should be giving you one orgasm after the other.”

“Our mating bond is too strong and we want you too much that sometimes we lose control,” Ari added, kissing your flushed lips. “From now on, we’ll do better, love. We promise.”

“Please, make me yours,” you told them, your eyes misty. “Make me forget everything but you.”

“You want us to fill you up with our cocks?” Bront asked, his huge palm pumping his raging dick.

“Our seed trickling down your thighs?” Ari added, fondling his swollen balls.

“Hm! Yes, want you! Want you both to fuck me stupid!”

Your declaration was all they needed to get back at it.

They repositioned you so you were straddling Bront, your breasts rubbing against his chest while Ari kneeled behind you, his dick hot against your ass. Your minotaur lowered you down onto his cock, and your werewolf pushed into your ass. They thrust to the hilt, stretching your holes, both shafts rubbing against each other inside you. Then they started pounding you, their thrusts deep and relentless, their cocks hitting all the right spots.

You clung to both of them, your nails digging into their flesh as they fucked you in perfect harmony. When Ari’s cock left your pussy, Bront’s entered your ass. Next they alternated the pace, both slamming at the same time inside your holes. You could only whimper and blabber their names, their combined efforts pushing you over the edge.

Body trembling, you came hard, sobs of pleasure escaping your dry mouth. Bront devoured your cries with his kiss, his tongue brushing with yours in a rough messy kiss. Ari nipped and kissed your neck, leaving little love marks. Your mates were primal and unhinged, and you loved them—you loved how good they fucked you, exactly as you liked it.

And they were far from done.

They ruined you from what seemed like hours. With their inhuman strength and size, they put you in all positions imaginable and took turns claiming your holes, their powerful bodies working in sync to drive you insane with ecstasy. You lost count of how many times you climaxed and your voice went horse from all the moans and cries of pleasure.

When they did finish, they had completely delivered their lesson; you were sleepy and blissfully fucked, your lips smudged with seed, your cunt and ass overflowing with it. You collapsed between them, panting and sweaty.

They gave you water and some bites of food, then gently cleaned you up. They tucked you between them in the bed and held you, whispering how much they loved, how precious you were to them, how lucky they were to have found you.

“That was one amazing punishment,” you muttered with a sleepy smile. “I love it when you go feral over me.”

“We’ll be gentler next time,” Ari said, nuzzling your neck.

“Nooo,” you pouted. “I loved it.”

Bront half-laughed and kissed your nose. “Then you’ll get many more good and deep poundings tomorrow, sweet mate.”

You smiled, exhausted but satisfied. “Thank you. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” your mates whispered before you drifted off into a pleasurable sleep.

Did you enjoy? Are there any other pairing you’d like to see? I’m all ears 😆🩶

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

2 “Fuck me properly or I’ll find someone else to do it.“ “No you fucking won’t” with az please

🥵🥵🥵🥵

—————————————————————————

He’d had the absolute audacity to ignore you all day. And now he had the nerve to monitor your every move. And every move of the male who currently had his hands on you.

It wasn’t that you expected Azriel to spend every minute of Starfall by your side. You were merely fucking, merely the friend that Nesta had brought around months earlier.

But it hurt you that Az had barely spared you a glance, considering how close you’d become as of late. And maybe — maybe — some small, petty part of you wanted to hurt him back…without thinking too much about what that meant.

Which was how you’d ended up with a stranger’s hands on you all night. He’d told you his name, which you hadn’t bothered to remember. All you were focused on was his body grinding against yours.

And so was Azriel, apparently. If his intense gaze across the room was anything to go by.

You drank and danced and laughed with the male, giving Az the same treatment he’d given you. And only when you knew Az had gotten an eyeful of your behaviour did you peel from your companion’s side and excuse yourself to grab another drink.

The kitchen was empty, quiet. And perhaps that was why you heard the approaching footsteps.

Or perhaps Azriel wanted you to hear his approach.

Even with your back turned, you knew he was standing in the doorway. His shadows snaked through the room and brushed your arms, the touch cool and tickling. They retracted as you turned and casually pressed your back against the counter.

Azriel stared at you. His hazel eyes were a tad glazed, his stance looser than usual — evidence he’d been helping himself to the faerie wine.

“Having fun?” He asked you quietly.

“Oh, yes.” You sipped your drink. “Arun is splendid company.”

“His name is Aric.”

You shrugged. “It’s not his name I’m interested in.”

Az laughed without humour. “You’re not interested in him at all.”

“Sure I am.” Pushing away from the counter, you approached him. Tried to ignore his delicious scent enveloping in you. “I don’t have to just exclusively fuck you, you know.”

He looked like he was trying to mask a sneer. “You want to, though.”

Your eyes flicked over him. He looked incredible tonight, his leathers swapped for a more casual shirt and trousers in tones of black and slate grey. His hair was stylishly messy, a few strands falling into his eyes. He looked divine, good enough to undress then and there—

But his attitude…his cocksure attitude after ignoring you…it pissed you off.

Which was why the words fell from your mouth.

“Actually, Azriel, I was thinking it’s time we end this little arrangement between us. I think it’s run its course. The last time just wasn’t up to standard.” You smirked, looking him up and down. “I have to think of my own needs. So fuck me properly, or I’ll find someone else to do it.”

His eyes flared. His jaw ticked.

And then suddenly, you were being lifted off your feet. You barely had time to register what was happening as you were shoved into a nearby closet. Cramped and musty, housing shelves of long-life food, there was barley enough room for you in there, let alone you and Azriel.

But he squeezed you both in. And slammed you against the door, causing it to shut behind you.

“What did you say?” He growled, his hips holding you in place.

“I said.” You smirked, “Fuck me properly, or I’ll find someone else to do it.

Another growl. Deeper, more guttural. “No you fucking won’t.”

Before you had a chance to think up a smart response, to piss him off more, he yanked you around, pressing your front up against the door. A thrill shot through you, pooling wetness between your legs. A moan threatened to break free of your throat as he yanked the hem of your dress up, baring your bottom half to the cool air.

“No underwear?” Az hummed, nipping at your neck. “You filthy fucking female.”

His hand reached between your legs, and he dragged a finger straight through your folds, causing you to emit a loud moan.

“I planned to get lucky tonight.” You goaded. “Hence my dancing with Aric.”

“Your dancing with Aric was to piss me off.” He sunk a finger into you, and you gasped. “You don’t deserve to get lucky, considering you’re such a brat.”

Your head fell back on a moan as he pumped that finger. “You love me being a brat.”

“You sure about that?”

You pushed your ass back against him, smirking as his hardness pressed into you. And the way he grunted told you precisely how much he loved it.

He pulled his finger out of you, and you almost whispered at the loss of the feeling. But then you heard the clinking of his belt unbuckling.

“You want me to fuck you properly?” He gritted out against your ears.

“Yes.” You gasped. “Unless you’re not up to it. In which case—Aric!”

His hand clasped over your mouth, smothering your shout, and you couldn’t help laughing. Licked his palm for good measure as his fingers dug into your face.

But then you heard his trousers drop to the floor.

Your mouth went dry. All thoughts eddied from your mind.

“You asked for it.” He hissed, nipping your earlobe.

You were pure, wet heat between your legs. But even that couldn’t prepare you for the way Azriel slammed into you. The head of his cock teased your entrance so, so briefly — and with one great thrust, he was seated inside you fully, your noise of pleasure and pain catching in your throat.

“Speak his name again,” he growled, pulling out to the tip, “and I’ll leave you here to sort yourself out with your hand. Do you want me to do that, Y/N?”

You whimpered against his hand, wanting — needing — him filling you up. And he knew that. He chuckled darkly, slicking his cock with your soaked folds.

“Answer me.” He demanded, teasing your entrance. “Is that what you want? For me to leave you alone in here to make yourself cum?”

“No.” You moaned. “Fuck me.”

The tip slid in, making you bite down on your lip. “Hm? What was that?”

“Fuck me, Azriel. Fuck me.”

You heard him hiss — and then he slammed right back into you again, causing you to press harder against the door. He kept his hand cupped over your mouth, the other coming to rest on your hip.

And then he unleashed himself on you.

He was…frenzied. A pure animal, as he fucked into you. The sounds of your slapping skin, your heaving breaths, your building moans, were so loud, it was a wonder they didn’t reach out through the house, to the other guests gathered there.

“You like making me jealous, don’t you?” Az growled, reaching down to sink his teeth into your shoulder. “Like driving me mad by grinding on another male in front of me?”

“Fuck,” You gasped. “Serves you — oh gods — serves you right for ignoring me.”

“I was trying to stop myself ripping this fucking dress off you.” His hand slid from your hips to between your legs, his fingers finding your clit. “But you would have liked that, wouldn’t you?”

“More than you know.”

“Gods, I love fucking you.” His hips picked up their pace, and you were so full, so wet, so frenzied by his fingers rubbing your clit, you didn’t know how you were still standing. “I could fuck you all day, you know that?”

And gods, you could fuck him all day. All day, every day. He consumed you, and you consumed him, and it was perfect.

“Cum for me.” He bit your shoulder again, circling his fingers harder, faster.

You were on fire. Your legs trembling. Your pussy clenching around him. And as he pulled out to the tip, pressed down on your clit and slammed back in, you completely and utterly lost it.

A scream ripped through you, so loud that even his large hand couldn’t muffle the noise. The sound seemed to spur him on, and he pulled that hand away from your face, grabbing both of your hips.

Your entire body slammed against the door as he thrust into you harder, harder, harder, and then he was stilling, your feet lifting off the floor as he spilled inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He growled, throwing his head back. His fingers dug bruisingly into your hips, and the slight pinch of pain almost had you falling off the edge all over again.

The small, cramped room fell silent in the wake of your releases, only your heavy breaths filling the air.

And finally, after what seemed like hours of you trembling against the door, he pulled out of you, pulling some of his seed with him.

“Was that properly enough for you?” He breathed, yanking his trousers up.

Gods, yes, it was.

[lethal-seduction]

„𝐇𝐢𝐜 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐛𝐢 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐨𝐬.“ — Here is the place where death teaches the living // Hier ist der Ort, wo der Tod die Lebenden lehrt.

— Aric Kingston, better known as the death, grim reaper or tredici. One touch and you will die.

𝕯eath, 𝖕ain and 𝖎mpermanence

𝖎s a shadow of

myself.

𝐇ate and rage is running through my veins.

A touch of skin,

a touch of darkness,

a touch from me

and

these feelings infect you like poison

that eats its way through your body.

Mille vias velox ad mortem. A thousand quick ways to death // Tausend schnelle Wege in den Tod.

[spaceagebachelormann]

𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔!

HOW TO REQUEST

— state the character, romantic or platonic, the format of the request, and what you want with it

— do you have any specifics for the reader? male, female, blonde, poc, etc?

— requests can be send through inbox or dms, but inbox is heavily encouraged!

— PLEASE ACTUALLY SPECIFY WHAT YOU WANT WITH YOUR REQUEST!! ITS VERY HARD FOT ME TO WRITE SOMETHING THAT JUST SAYS “_____ x reader fluff” WITH NO FURTHER EXPLANATION!! GIVE ME A PLOT LINE!!

WHAT I WILL WRITE:

platonic

romantic

familial

any gender x any gender

headcanons

poly relationships

sensitive topics

x reader

ships (canon or non-canon, so long as it’s not problematic)

i. i WILL write cheating, but not if a character is going it to the reader/another character. i’ll make someone comforting another person after being cheated on, but i won’t write finnick odair cheating on someone

same thing ^^ goes for homophobic, transphobic, ableist topics like that, and. well i guess the same goes for abuse?

WHAT I WONT WRITE:

smut (i’m 14)

yandere

incest

student x teacher

canonically gay character (ex: wylan van eck) x fem!reader for romantic requests

canonically lesbian character x male!reader for romantic requests

songfics (nothing against them, i just don’t know how!!)

things about ocs

ship fics

character list (more to come!)

❍ = easiest characters to write for

bolded — favourite characters to write for

KEEPER OF THE LOST CITIES

❍ sophie foster, ❍ dex dizznee, fitz vacker, ❍ keefe sencen, ❍ biana vacker, ❍ marellla redek, ❍ maruca chebota, tam song, linh song, ❍ wylie endal, ❍ jensi babblos, stina heks

CHRONICLES OF NARNIA

❍ peter pevensie, ❍ edmund pevensie, ❍ susan pevensie, ❍ lucy pevensie, mr tumnus, ❍ caspian, eustace scrubb, jill pole, shasta, aravis

RIORDANVERSE

❍ percy jackson, ❍ annabeth chase, ❍ grover underwood, ❍ jason grace, ❍ piper mclean, ❍ leo valdez, ❍ hazel levesque, ❍ frank zhang, nico di angelo, will solace, reyna arellano, rachel dare, ❍ travis stoll, ❍ connor stoll, thalia grace, magnus chase, ❍ alex fierro, carter kane, sadie kane, lester papadopolous, lavinia asimov

PHANTOM OF THE OPERA

❍ christine daaé, ❍ raoul de chagny, erik destler, ❍ meg giry

p.s. i’ll write for the movie, musical, book and 1990 miniseries versions!!

HARRY POTTER

harry potter, ❍ hermione granger, ❍ ron weasley, ❍ luna lovegood, ❍ neville longbottom, ginny weasley, fred weasley, george weasley, ❍ sirius black, remus lupin, ❍ james potter, ❍ marlene mckinnon, mary macdonald, dorcas meadowes, lily evans

RIDE THE CYCLONE

ocean o’connell rosenberg, ❍ noel gruber, ❍ mischa bachinski, ❍ ricky potts, jane doe, penny lamb, ❍ constance blackwood

SHADOW AND BONE

❍ alina starkov, malyen oretsev, ❍ genya safin, ❍ zoya nazyalensky, david kostyk, erm others i accidentally deleted remind me to update this

SIX OF CROWS

kaz brekker, inej ghafa, ❍ jesper fahey, ❍ wylan van eck, nina zenik, matthias helvar

THE OUTSIDERS

ponyboy curtis, ❍ johnny cade, sodapop curtis, darry curtis, steve randall, ❍ twobit matthews, ❍ dallas winston

THE HUNGER GAMES

katniss everdeen, peeta mellark, ❍ finnick odair, ❍ johanna mason, marvel sanford, clove kentwell, cato hadley, ❍ cinna

IT (2017)

bill denbrough, eddie kaspbrak, richie tozier, ❍ stan uris, beverly marsh, ben hanscom, ❍ mike hanlon

THE SCHOOL FOR GOOD AND EVIL

❍ agatha of woods beyond, ❍ sophie of woods beyond, tedros of camelot, ❍ hort of bloodbrook, ❍ hester of ravenswood, ❍ anadil, ❍ dot, nicola, aric, rhian mistral, rafal mistral, leonora lesso, clarissa dovey

THE LAND OF STORIES

❍ alex bailey, ❍ connor bailey, ❍ red riding hood, ❍ jack, ❍ goldilocks, ❍ bree campbell

SCOOBY DOO

daphne blake, ❍ fred jones, shaggy rogers, velma dinkley

LITTLE WOMEN

❍ jo march, amy march, beth march, meg march, ❍ laurie

A GOOD GIRLS GUIDE TO MURDER

pippa fitz-amobi, ❍ ravi singh, naomi ward, ❍ cara ward, connor reynolds, ❍ jamie reynolds, nat da silva

THE MIGHTY DUCKS

❍ charlie conway, adam banks, ❍ lester averman, guy germaine, ❍ connie moreau, julie gaffney, ❍ ken wu, dean portman, luis mendoza, dwayne robertson, ❍ fulton reed

DRACULA

dracula, ❍ lucy westenra, mina harker, arthur holmwood, ❍ renfield, dr seward, abraham van helsing, ❍ quincey morris

FRANKENSTEIN

victor frankenstein, ❍ adam frankenstein, elizabeth lavenza, justine moritz, ernest frankenstein, henry clerval, the bride

DR JEKYLL AND MR HYDE

henry jekyll, ❍ edward hyde, ❍ richard enfield, gabriel utterson, hastie lanyon, lucy harris

MONSTER HIGH

gotta update this one guys,,,

THE BREAKFAST CLUB

john bender , ❍ claire standish, allison reynolds, brian johnson, andrew clark

THE POWERPUFF GIRLS

❍ blossom utonium, bubbles utonium, buttercup utonium , ❍ brick jojo, boomer jojo, butch jojo

DAVID BOWIE

❍ jareth, thomas jerome newton, david bowie

SWEENEY TODD

❍ sweeney, anthony hope, ❍ mrs lovett, johanna

THE ROSEWOOD CHRONICLES

lottie pumpkin, ellie wolf, ❍ jamie volk, ❍ ollie moreno, ❍ raphael wilcox, ❍ anastacia alcroft leblanc, saskia san martin, lola tomkins, mickey tomkins, binah fae

HAIRSPRAY

❍ corny collins, ❍ seaweed j stubbs, amber von tussle, tracy turnblad, penny pingleton, link larkin

MISC. CHARACTERS

sarah williams, ❍ bernard the elf, ❍ rodrick heffley, ❍ varian

[fourleafclovxr]

6: day after

The day after the world doesn’t end, Clarissa Dovey sleeps in.

There is so much work to be done, still. The students will have to be counselled; their tracks will have to be decided, properly. All the School Master’s mistakes will have to be undone. For someone so proud of his school, the only thing he'd managed to do, in the end, was ruin it.

Clarissa will have to be the one to fix it— she, alone, will have to bear that responsibility.

Lesso’s death, an open wound. A bleeding heart. There is no one left for Clarissa to rely on: not Merlin, as unpredictable as whatever is to come. Not Manley, only ever out for himself. Not any of the other Evil faculty, or indeed, any of the Good, who could not even begin to come close to understanding. Not any of her students, their students, clever and kind as they are; they have been through enough, and so much more.

No more counterpart, no more equal, no more reliable, faithful, ever-enduring Lesso. Perhaps this is a problem that Clarissa will never solve— a wound that will never truly scar over, a missing piece. Perhaps this is why it feels so hopeless to begin.

The funerals will have to be planned. Clarissa did not ever think she would plan Lesso’s funeral; she had thought she would die first, as Lesso was so fond of saying, because it had been true, she could not have imagined a life like this.

She will have to live a life like this.

There is so much work to be done, but an exhaustion weighs on Clarissa that rends to the bone. When all is said and done, there is her and her loneliness, there is her and all her regrets. She does not want to look at them any longer. She sleeps.

The day after, the sun bleeds bright as she wakes. Clarissa hadn’t been awake to watch it die. She’d only fought in its shadow, cursed its bitter cold, killed Aric under its corpse. Watched Lesso die in the dark. Then, before she’d let herself rest: healed injured students, brushed Nicholas’ tangled hair away from his face and spelled the dirt and blood from his jacket.

Today she wakes to sunlight through her window, sunlight and clear skies. The world hasn’t ended, though it had felt for a moment as if it had.

Merlin greets her in the foyers of Good, looking for all the world like he’d had a good eight hours of sleep; she knows for a fact that he’s been up all night moving the School Master’s tower back to its proper position. Another problem they need to fix, the issue of the new School Master. But Merlin doesn’t say anything, only offers an arm to her in silence, a support that Clarissa gladly takes.

“It’s all been prepared, dear girl,” he says softly. “The funerals. Don’t worry yourself over them.”

He’d taken Lesso’s body, in the end. Exchanged it for Nicholas’ in Clarissa’s lap. Clarissa had not quite loved Lesso enough to refuse to let her go. Or, rather, she had loved Lesso just enough.

Lesso, who had never been comfortable with being wanted, being needed, being bound. Who had let Clarissa hold on to her anyway. To hold all her hopes, all her faith. There is so little Clarissa can do for her in death. This is one of those things.

“Thank you,” she says, and tries to mean it.

The students gather in pairs, trios, bunches. Beatrix greets her with a tired smile, more reserved than she ever was; Kiko with red eyes and a brave face. Tedros nods to Merlin, Agatha placing a gentle hand on Clarissa’s shoulder as they pass, and Sophie only looks away.

Good and Evil, all together. This is what she and Lesso never dreamed of. This is an ending neither of them, none of their generation, could understand.

Clarissa wonders, then, how Lesso would feel. It would be an insult to her, this unity, this lack of fighting spirit. She had always been dedicated to the fight.

More than that, however, she had wanted them both to live. So Clarissa supposes she would take it as an acceptable price to pay. This temporary peace; and her life, as well, small change in the scheme of things.

Not to Clarissa. Never to Clarissa. But Lesso’s dead, so no one will ever know.

She makes her speech; doesn't remember most of it. It is wistful, for Cinderella, for her student. It is genuine, for Lesso. It could not be anything else.

It will not be the same again. But there will be so many days after this one; so many that Clarissa can almost believe it to be worth it, that Lesso is dead. Day after. Day after. Day after. Maybe, one of these days, Clarissa will understand them to be real.

[random-introverted-blog]

His Star - His Queen [Chapter 7 - Impromptu Rendezvous]

A King Deserves More

Summary: Astarion and you are finally (kinda) reunited (not fully). Tentative plans are discussed, a tournament commences and a wish is granted. Questions answered, (also kinda) and plenty more left to ponder (definitely).

You didn't think you were the only ones with plans, did you?

Link to the Tumblr Chapter Index

Warnings/Advisories: A fight scene, some uncomfortable witnessed kisses, a few mentions of blood. Creepy dialogue akin to Chapter 4.

A/N: We're getting close to a turning point in the story. Been sort of a lull period to establish what was set up in the first three chapters.

Thank you as always to everyone who supports this little adventure of mine! Hope the wait was worth it!

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

After a quick visit to the Precipice for the enchantment to be recast on him, Astarion once again found himself outside that damned palace, amidst the bustling stalls and festival nonsense.

They had been watching, but neither was sure how to reach you. You were effectively surrounded. With that steward spawn Malacai glued to your side, three servant girls in your shadow and four of those palace guards in polished silver armor gleamed in the rays of the midday sun. If there was an attempt at subtly, it was done poorly. But that didn't stop you from casually browsing the jeweler's stand as the stumpy human man made enthusiastic and broad gestures, beaming proudly as he went on about his wide and varied selection. Evidently eager to be the one to sell you your engagement ring.

Just as evident as the fact you weren't wearing one, despite the announcement yesterday.

It was one of the first things he noted to Aric beside him when they spotted you exiting the palace. Accompanied by your small horde, the Ascendant had walked at your side, hands clasped behind his back and carrying himself with his chin held high. Jester - a fitting name for a gnome, he might add, muttered something about drawing the Godking away before he melted into the sea of people. Just moments later, a messenger arrived and whispered in the Ascendant's ear. And then he visibly excused himself from your company. Not that you seemed to mind his abrupt need to depart. But Astarion could have done without witnessing the brief kiss he gave you before he departed.

"If we don't reach her now," Aric muttered to him urgently, "we'll lose our chance." "The tourney is in less than an hour." Subtly reminding Astarion that he insisted on participating.

As soon as he embarked on this ill-conceived plan, he immediately regretted it, muttering, "Bloody hells." But he was never one for planning, anyway.

"What are you—?" The tiefling asked, bewildered, as the elf departed his side and strode toward the guards and servants.

Predictably, his path was blocked by two guards, their crossed spears serving as a clear message "By order of his Majesty, none may approach the consort. "One of them said sternly from behind their full helmet, concealing their face. By curiosity or chance, you looked up from the ring in your palm. Your face instantly brightened with excitement, but then fell, dejected, just as quickly. Worry etched lines on your beautiful face, but you turned to that tall steward of yours. Speaking quickly and urgently, judging by the movement of your lips.

Despite the incredulous expression on your steward's face, you pressed on, your eyes silently begging for understanding. Reluctantly, and with a clenched jaw, the human waved his hand, causing your small horde to retreat. Leaving the path clear for Astarion.

It was so sudden to him then how much he's missed you. How desperately he ached with the ferocious need to draw you close, to wrap you in his embrace, where the world's shadows couldn't dare to touch the warmth of your skin. Shield you the same way you've shielded him so many times.

He could sense that it had also occurred to you. But you pressed your lips into a thin line and shook your head. "I don't need to give him more reason to..." you whisper, your words fading away. Your attention shifts, and you start absentmindedly turning the ring in your fingers, lost in thought. "How come no one else is reacting to you?"

As you ask, you visibly tense up, your muscles tightening as if you're holding yourself back. The urge to run to him was strong in you as well.

"That's quite a long story, my dear. For now, it's a unique spell, or enchantment. That protects me from my... quirks. And my identity from anyone besides you and him."

While skeptical, you seem satisfied enough to let it go. Freeing him to continue. "Listen, Tav," he spoke, mindful of his volume, his voice barely audible over the bustling festive chaos, "we're working as best we can to get you—"

As you hold up your free hand, you cautiously inquire, "Who's we?" You quickly glance from side to side, ensuring that your steward and servants are nowhere nearby to overhear.

"There's a resistance, darling," Astarion whispers. "I've spent the past tenday in their company. They've gotten me mostly up to speed on the state of things in this world." Astarion explains quietly, ensuring his words were only as loud as they need to be. Gathering his courage, he ventures to ask, "Are you...?"

He watches your body tighten into a coil of raw nerves, unease sneaking over you like an unwelcome shadow. "I'm okay, Star," you manage to say, even though your voice betrays a hint of your inner turmoil. "Just tell me what I can do to help. Anything, if it gets me out faster."

With a weighty pause, he inclines his head. "Do you think you could slip out of the palace again? Venture into the city, perhaps less guarded?"

You pause, your fingers fumbling with the ring, as you visibly ponder the request. The burden of the decision lingers in the air, adding a layer of tension. Visibly pondering the request, you furrow your brows, a small crease forming between them. "I... yes," you finally respond, the words escaping your mouth with a hint of bitterness. They hang in the air, heavy and charged. "I can convince him to let me leave, perhaps under the guise of... the wedding arrangements." The words carry a venomous undertone, as if each syllable is laced with resentment and disdain.

Your eyes dart around but focus nowhere in particular, avoiding his gaze momentarily before meeting his eyes, silently seeking understanding. The magnitude of the task is evident in your expression, a mix of determination and uncertainty. "But I can't give you a definite time or location," you continue, your voice tinged with a touch of frustration. "I have to think about it, spin some webs. Another tenday, maybe two, for when he might let me out of the palace. I can't guarantee how guarded I may be, though." As you speak, a faint scent of freshly cooked meats and incense wafts through the air, mingling with the tension. You take a deep breath, as you silently question if that is enough time or if it's too much time.

"How do I even reach you to let you know? Have you any idea how restricted I am in that gilded plane of Avernus? It's not like I can just toddle out and send a letter by pigeon." You gesture to him with the hand holding the ring and suddenly look away. Hiding your eyes behind your well tidied hair.

Every fiber of his being longs to envelop you in his arms, offering the reassurance you so desperately need, and he has to remind himself consciously of the audience around the two of you. "You helped me take back my freedom. I will not leave you alone fighting to regain yours, my love." He pauses and eyes the jewelry pinched between your fingers. A black band, exquisitely crafted, sparkled with a delicate arrangement of petite blue and silver gems.

Like a night sky painted with graceful strokes of twinkling stars, crafting an mesmerizing display resembling a beautiful dance across the dark expanse of midnight.

"You have a servant girl you apparently handpicked."

"Elowen." You finish for him, still not returning your gaze. "I saw her with you yesterday."

"She has a sending stone for you. You can use that to inform me how your plan is progressing, and when we can expect your... appointment." Astarion offers. By the hells, where is that wriggling worm when he really needed it? Dormant? Is that what Illyndra said? "I have to go. The tourney is about to begin. Suppose I'll see you there."

With a slow and deliberate movement, you raise your head to make eye contact with him once more. Hardened. But with more than just resolve. The instinct for self preservation was starting to take over. A little more than a tenday and you were already well on your way to building your bulwark against pain.

Your primal survival instincts were already well underway, it seems.

It seems like your primal survival instincts were already well underway. "No." you respond, your voice devoid of warmth, your eyes distant. "I have another lesson on sovereignty or whatever to endure, followed by a dress fitting, much as I wish I could shirk those things. But he will be there." Your gaze shifts upwards and away, as if searching for an escape. Despite your casual tone, the words carry a warning. His involvement will expose his presence in this world.

Now aware of the human steward's slow approach, his hands tucked behind his back. Astarion pressed his lips together, realizing that you had noticed before he did. "Lady Ancunín," he chided, "that is not the proper way to speak of your affianced publicly." As he drew near to your side.

A fleeting glimmer of a glare that passes through your eyes before you swiftly bury it away, refusing to meet your Star's eyes and witness his shock at your unexpected title. You take one last look at the ring between your fingertips before pushing it back onto the wooden counter of the stall. "It was good seeing you." Lacking emotion, you mutter over your shoulder, your voice sounding even more lifeless than the vampire spawn.

Then you turn away. The vibrant hues of your flowing dress create an enchanting whirlwind around you, captivating the eyes of those who witness your departure. Beside you, Malacai effortlessly matched your determined stride, the click of his boots echoing in sync with your deep brown shoes, and the guards and servants followed closely. However, amidst the commotion, only one person breaks away from your shadow, venturing into the bustling crowd. With a lingering gaze upon the ring you had set down, he moves on.

Curious, Astarion followed her carefully. Barely moving through the crowd when he found her again. He wasn't surprised when he found her speaking to the Ascendant. The exchange was short-lived, a mere moment, before he brushed her off with a nonchalant wave of his hand. She performed a graceful curtsy before him, and then hastily made her way, presumably in search of you. He turned back to a familiar tall Elven man. "Ballar." Aric said as he appeared beside him. "His righthand steward. Out of all his advisors, generals... Ballar is the one he seems to lean on the most." He explains calmly while Astarion recalls his first day in this world, in front of the palace doors.

On his way to the tourney ring, Astarion swiftly shares the key details of his conversation with you. Noting the balcony overlooking the patch of fenced in dirt from above. Positioned next to each other were two magnificent chairs with ornate designs. Empty for the time being, but a handful of servants diligently clean the tables, meticulously polish the armrests and golden goblets, and arrange a spread of refreshments.

"Jester lured Ancunín away by tipping off the Noctis to a resistance hideout, but now he has to hurry and evacuate it before they get there. He told me to make sure you won. Apparently he has an idea for that wish." Aric explains next, surprising Astarion the lengths the gnome went to provide him an opening to meet with you.

If these Noctis Veil are as... efficient as he's been led to believe, it was not a risk he would have taken lightly. An elite subterfuge and espionage force blended with vampire spawn? Creative... and terrifying.

Not long after, the tourney began. He had expected more competition than those he had faced in the ring already, but they hardly stood a challenge against him. It was almost comical. As their gazes met, Astarion braced himself for a more pronounced reaction from the Ascendant, but was met with a calm and collected demeanor. His doppelgänger didn't seem surprised in the slightest.

What did surprise them both was when you entered the balcony from the door behind the Ascendant. Right behind you, Malacai discreetly positioned himself against the back wall, behind the chairs. While waiting for his next round, Astarion observed the "sovereigns" and could tell that the Ascendant wasn't thrilled to see you there, although he didn't appear eager to send you away either.

Instead, he gestured to the seat beside him, and you took the offer. Though Astarion saw your lips moving, neither of your voices reached his ears. But you made a show of eyeing and playing with your left ring finger as you spoke, and your vampire managed a sad smile. Still doing your best to communicate to him what was unfolding around you.

But then the monster turned to lock his glare to Astarion's. Cueing you to look as well.

Much to his surprise, the Ascendant let you watch most of the event before clearly dismissing you. Again, with a soft touch and a gentle press of his lips against yours, he sealed the moment with a brief, yet lingering kiss, unable to resist the allure of your beautiful, addictive lips. You didn't look at Astarion as you rose and left, avoiding his gaze.

However, the Ascendant did. His eyes gleamed with wicked delight as he leisurely crossed his leg over his lap, revealing a glint of his fangs beneath his lopsided, smug grin.

Aric's surprise at Astarion making it to the final round was clear, as he made no effort to conceal it. Though the combatants thus far have proven easy.

Once he enters the pit, he assesses his final opponent. The sight that greeted him was a striking half orc man, his tall frame clad in resplendent gold and silver plate armor. A longsword stood firmly planted in the earth in front of him. On one knee, deep in prayer. A paladin.

Rising, he turns to the balcony, his eyes filled with determination as he brings a tight fist to his chest. "My Godking," he said with utmost reverence, "I swear my undying loyalty and devotion to you! May your reign beside our queen be long and prosperous!"

"You can take him deeper down your throat, surely." Astarion mutters under his breath with a roll of his eyes, drawing his twin daggers from his hip.

The game-warden, true to form, delivers her usual verbose introduction for the two fighters, emphasizing the high stakes of this decisive match. And with two deafening blasts of the horn that mark the start of the final match, the paladin fearlessly charges forward with a resounding roar that reverberates through the air and mingles with the dying echo of the tournament horn, his footsteps echoing like thunder.

Radiant energy crackles along the length of his blade. Astarion moves with grace and ease, smoothly sidestepping the initial strike, a small grin already forming on his lips.

The sound of steel meeting steel echoes through the festive courtyard as Astarion effortlessly parries the next series of broad swings, his movements appearing almost otherworldly in their fluidity.

With each display of the behemoth's strength, his confidence grows, knowing that all he has to do is bide his time, find the perfect moment, and make the behemoth kneel before him with a blade at his throat.

But the ferocity of his assault doesn't relent, testing your vampire's stamina. A heavy strike descends upon his head, and with a swift, skillful roll, Astarion narrowly avoids the blow. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder, confirming that the behemoth managed to graze him, marking the first sign of bloodshed.

Gods, what kind of idiot was he? Direct confrontation would never work. His opponent had brute strength and evident vitality on his side. But what he didn't have was speed and agility. He couldn't outmaneuver Astarion...

Filled with renewed determination, he deftly navigates around the hulking figure, launching rapid attacks whenever he spots a vulnerability in his armor. Aimed to soften his target, make him easier prey.

The paladin, feeling the taste of victory within his grasp, lifts his sword once more, unleashing a powerful cry as he gathers an overwhelming surge of radiant energy, preparing for a divine smite. With incredible reflexes and nimble footwork, Astarion skillfully evaded the attack, causing the half-orc to lose his footing and stumble ahead.

Astarion, quick as lightning, seizes the fleeting opportunity and launches a relentless assault on his opponent, the sound of his slashes and stabs filling the air as the paladin struggles to defend himself. Finally, one of Astarion's daggers finds a weak spot in the sturdy armor, piercing the skin and drawing blood. Despite his subdued appetite, the tempting aroma wafted through the air, teasing his senses.

Ignoring everything else, he stayed fixated on the momentarily stunned paladin, driving the pommel of his dagger directly into the half-orc's nose. He relished in the satisfying crunch and the resulting cry of pained astonishment. Employing a strategic technique, he disarms his adversary with the flat of his blades, following up with calculated strikes to immobilize the weakened areas.

Completely outmatched and devoid of weapons, it appears that even this arrogant brute accepts defeat as he humbly kneels before your rogue, surrendering without resistance. Silently acknowledging him as the victor.

The applause of the crowd faded into the background as he turned his attention toward the balcony. Astarion's eyes locked with the Ascendant's, who couldn't help but sport a sly grin as he arched one eyebrow in amusement.

He paid no mind to the game-warden once she let go of his arm, the one she had hoisted in the air, and he quickly made his way back to Aric. Only a little surprised to see the irritating gnome at his side. "Impressive for a foolhardy pretty boy."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Jester doubled down but shook his head. "Listen, we don't have long before you're summoned for your audience with Ancunín..."

‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐–‐

With a nod from the well-dressed servant, the guards stepped back, allowing him to open the door. The Ascendant commanded attention as he stood in the middle of the room, his back facing the onlookers as workers toiled to remove a grand portrait from the wall. Meanwhile, the Ascendant maintained his poise, casually holding a goblet between his fingertips.

It looked like you... but also not. Somehow.

His gaze lingered on them, studying their actions, before he turned his head to look over his shoulder and acknowledge his new arrival. "Ah, my favorite cockroach." Muses the Ascendant with a wry smile. Returning his attention to the workers, he commanded, "Leave us."

Astarion observed the workers exchanging uncertain glances, their hands carefully clutching the weighty portrait. Looking on, he could discern the Ascendant's eyes rolling and catch the faint sound of an impatient growl resonating from his throat. In a hurried frenzy, they carelessly released their grip on the item, hitting the floor with a resounding thud. The impact was forceful and reverberated through the room, shattering the delicate frame and inflicting irreparable damage upon the once-pristine portrait. Yet, a strange indifference permeated the room, as not a soul in the room seemed to care about the damage.

Once only the two vampires were in the room, the Ascendant turned to face him. "Quite a performance you put on today. And you didn't even spend half of it on your back." He taunts, flavoring the malice with a smirk as he elegantly swirls his goblet. Astarion's senses tingled as the intoxicating scent of fresh blood wafted through the air, a scent as pure as the first falling snow. It possessed a certain sweetness, a tantalizing whisper that hinted at its source - young, untouched... Virgin blood? The thought alone sent a shiver of excitement down his spine.

It was an obvious attempt to bait him. Salt his wounds and tease his instincts, his hunger. "Where is she?" Astarion demanded, his tone sharp and impatient.

Mimicking confusion, he gently tapped his chin. The furrowed brows cast a shadow over his piercing ruby eyes. "I know of many, but none named so simply as 'She'..." he mused, his voice trailing off with a hint of contemplation. As if lost in thought, he released a soft sigh, the sound barely audible. "You'll have to elaborate, I'm afraid. Small words, if necessary for you." He adds quickly near the end of his sentence. The words accompanied a slight wag of his finger, creating a sense of derision in the atmosphere.

"Where," your vampire's deliberate speech draws out each word, "is Tav?"

"Ah, you mean my consort and fiancée, Lady Tav Ancunín! Impressive, isn't it? She carries my name already, and she hasn't even decided on a design for her wedding dress! But I spare no time nor expense for my beloved treasure." He looks up and away, a wistful expression crossing his face and a sense of longing fills his eyes as he lets out a dramatic sigh, before refocusing on his Spawn-self.

"Even you can understand that, surely..." he uttered with a subtle hint of challenge in his voice and then casually lifted his goblet to his lips.

"I understand enough to know she detests being spoken of as some cherished possession." Astarion snaps, his voice sharp and full of determination, as he dares to take a single step toward the vampire lord. "She desires simplicity, quiet, a humble but peaceful life. Not," he gestures broadly to the large, opulent room, glittering chandeliers casting a soft, golden glow over the hardwood floor, "this. If you have any genuine care for her, you would have seen that by now," he argues with conviction. Lowering his chin, every one of his instincts urging him to rend this imposter limb from wicked limb.

Pausing, the Ascendant's piercing gaze locked onto him, an iciness emanating from his unmoving expression. The air grew heavy with anticipation, a silence so profound it echoed in the room. "She will learn," he asserts, his voice laced with an unyielding determination that cuts through the silence like a blade. "Already, the seeds of knowledge have taken root within her. And once she embraces the timeless gift of eternity, we shall have an infinite expanse to immerse ourselves in her tutelage."

Astarion's eyes widen in disbelief as he is taken aback by the shamelessness that emanates from the Ascendants' words. In that moment, his mind becomes a raging battlefield, a chaotic storm of countless responses swirling within him. Insults, questions, and a myriad of other thoughts clash violently in his head. But amidst the chaos, he hones in on the crucial information just revealed. "You actually plan to turn her?" He manages to utter with a focused glare, his words dripping with a blend of incredulity and scorn.

The scene before him unfolds like a vivid tableau, each detail etched into his consciousness, the Ascendants' smug expressions, his self-assured posture, all of it adds fuel to the fire burning inside him. Astarion can almost taste the bitterness of his own anger, a bitter tang that fills his mouth as he struggles to find the right words to respond. "She's to be just another pretty spawn to sit at your feet, then?"

"Don't be absurd," The Ascendant sneers, his lip curling in a disgusted expression. Shadows dance along the walls as the Ascendant's power emanates. The aroma of incense and polished floorboards lingers in the air, mingling with a hint of something sinister. "My power has surpassed that of a mere vampire lord," he continues, his voice dripping with a chilling confidence. "The bride of a vampire Ascendant, a king, a god... should transcend the lowly status of cattle and spawn." As he speaks, his eyes, a piercing shade of crimson, reveal a darkness that seems to simmer beneath the surface. The thought of his own immense power elicits a twisted satisfaction, sending a shiver down the spine of anyone who dares to meet his gaze.

"The depths of my intentions for my darling consort, my queen-to-be, are far beyond anything you could even begin to comprehend." With a dismissive flick of his hand, he turns away, his red and black tailcoat swirling behind him like a macabre dance as he gracefully moves towards a table - adorned with a vase of dark flowers and flanked by a pair of elegant couches. He takes a deliberate sip from his goblet. The liquid, a rich crimson, glimmers in the warm golden glow of light, embracing the room from the chandeliers above.

Setting down his cup with a gentle clink, he shifts his attention back to Astarion, whose feet seem glued to the ground. The room feels heavy with tension, as if it could be sliced with a knife. This bastard, with his unpredictable nature, unsettles him to no end. With reluctance, he acknowledges that his best advantage lies in staying close to an exit, much as he loathes to admit it. "My time is fleeting and precious, little rodent. You emerged victorious in the tournament, earning yourself a single wish. However, be warned, I possess the authority to reject anything I find unsuitable," he states, adjusting his attire to settle comfortably into the plush seat behind him. Draping one arm lazily over the backrest, lifting his other hand to inspect his impeccably manicured nails, a small gesture of indifference amidst the charged atmosphere.

Astarion doesn't hesitate. "The gravesite of your lover. Where is it?"

"The mausoleum—"

"The real one." Interrupting, he receives a look that is both amused and indignant from his imposter. "I know you hid the body."

"There was no body to bury, never mind hide." The Ascendant bites, sending a dagger of a glare up at Astarion. "The disintegrate scroll reduced it to ash, and her soul has no desire to return." His tone murmured as he allows his gaze to drift back to his nails.

"I concealed the remains by the beach, where our paths intertwined for the first time. I was not keen to share her, even then..." he murmured, his voice devoid of any excitement. A pat of his pocket to check the content and a precise motion, his fingers delved into the recesses of his exquisitely crafted pants, retrieving a weathered locket. Without a parting look, he stretched out his arm, offering it to Astarion.

Cautiously, he stepped closer and delicately lifted the small silver locket from his hand. Tracing their intricate, though simple engravings with his thumb, he marveled at their intricate simplicity. As he attempted to open the latch, a faint click sound sung through the air only to be met with resistance. The mechanism lay broken, refusing to yield.

Before he could gather his thoughts or utter another word, the grand doors to the room suddenly swung open with a resounding creak. In a state of urgency, a servant burst into the room, her breathing heavy and ragged and eyes widened in alarm. "My Godking, there is a matter that requires your urgent attention!"

With no interest in responding, the Ascendant maintained a distant stare, fixed on his nails. "Another one?" He mutters under his breath.

"It's Lady Ancunín, she... her parents...!"

In a swift motion, the Ascendant springs to his feet, his tailcoat flowing behind him. With purposeful, long strides, he makes his way towards the door, the sound of his boots echoing through the room. The air carries a sense of urgency as he sternly commands, "Escort our tournament winner out, he's received his reward." He remains focused, not glancing back at either of them.

Startled, her voice trembles as she stammers a quick acknowledgement and the guards flanking the doors from the outside move to stand beside her. The heavy footsteps of the guards echo through the grand hall, armor polished and shining in the well lit grand hallway. They stand beside her, their imposing figures reinforcing the command of their Godking, urging Astarion to comply.

As he delicately slipped the locket into his pocket, his feet remained rooted to the ground. His mind, however, raced like a wild stallion, galloping through a vast expanse of thoughts. You didn't have "parents"...

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈--ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈-

A/N: I know Bhaal is the Dark Urge's father, before we get in an debate to tell me something I already know...

Next chapter could be another Spawn chapter or we could go back to Ascendant. Seems like we're sort of doing a two-and-two sort of format and we can maintain that for awhile.

Would love to hear from you guys as always how you're enjoying the story thus far. Feel free to drop a reply or an ask, whatever floats your boat.

[ecommmax]

Whispers of the Past

In the heart of the ancient castle, where the walls whispered tales of glory and despair, Lord Aric sat at the head of the grand banquet table. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, surveyed the opulent hall with a gaze that had seen too much. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine, but an undercurrent of tension lay beneath the facade of festivity.

At his side, kneeling in humble supplication, was Elara, a maiden whose delicate features belied the strength within her. Clad in a simple dress that spoke of her servitude, her eyes held a glimmer of defiance, a spark that had not yet been extinguished by the weight of her chains. Her head bowed, she did not meet the gaze of her master, but she felt the heat of his scrutiny nonetheless.

Standing nearby, her posture rigid with silent resolve, was Seraphina, the warrior whose loyalty to the lord was as unyielding as the steel of her armor. Her presence was a testament to the battles fought in distant lands and the secrets buried in the castle's dark corners.

The hall, adorned with tapestries depicting the lineage of Lord Aric’s family, seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Each thread, each woven image, carried the weight of centuries. As the lord lifted a spoon to Elara's lips, the gesture was both tender and cruel, a reminder of the power he wielded over those within his domain.

The guests, nobles, and dignitaries from distant realms, feigned indifference, their conversations a mere murmur in the grand scheme of the evening. They knew better than to intervene in the affairs of Lord Aric, for his wrath was as legendary as his hospitality.

But within the confines of the castle, beyond the watchful eyes of the courtiers, lay the true story of the realm. A story of betrayal and loyalty, of love and sacrifice, of dreams crushed and reborn. And as the night wore on, the echoes of the past began to stir, whispering promises of change and the unraveling of fate.

The banquet was but a prelude to the saga that would unfold and test the bonds of loyalty and the limits of power. In the heart of darkness, where shadows danced, and secrets thrived, destiny awaited those brave enough to seize it.

[x-ceirios-x]

you made your bed

with jace missing, andy struggles with blaming herself for her brother's disappearance accepting the family she has around her.

cw: light cursing, andy having depressive thoughts, angst w/ a nice resolution

There were too many people on the same floor, Andromeda had decided, so she decided to scout around elsewhere. Normally, she had a great time in a crowd of people, but the only people she knew were worried about making sure Clary, the Lightwoods, Rowan, and Simon were okay. Maryse tended to her children, Aric disappeared, and Luke ran off to look for both of his kids. She quickly noticed someone missing in the sea of familiar faces: Jace.

Silently, she slipped into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. She paid attention to the conversations around her; Jace had stayed upstairs to protect Sebastian’s body. She realized she hadn’t seen him much in the last few days and kicked herself for not reaching out. He wasn’t at the Institute for a while, then not at Ironworks, and she suspected there was a better reason behind it, but that didn’t help the fact that she wasn’t there. What a wonderful sister she was turning out to be. 

What would she say to him when she saw him? What would she do? Hug him; punch him, maybe? Reassure him that he could always call her if he needed backup, just like she’d done for Clary a short while earlier? That had been unintentional, though. She’d tailed her to the Church, killed the Hydra demon when things got too rough for her to handle, and patched her up when they got back. She hadn’t thought to call her—how did she convince these people that she was there to help? Sure, sometimes she was a little arrogant and knew she could tone it down a little, but she’d never been around so many people that were a family like this. Even the little vampire was accepted into their ranks. All her life, she’d only ever had herself to rely on. Even in the few years she had Val, she learned not to trust someone that deeply again, because eventually, they’d leave too, even if it wasn’t willingly. 

She didn't get the opportunity to finish her thoughts, because the elevator made a ding noise and the doors opened, revealing the top floor. It was open, dark, and worst of all: empty. She retrieved her witchlight from her pocket and pulled her seraph blade, holding it in front of her and prepared for anything that might come towards her. She walked soundlessly towards the doors opposite her and into the garden outside. 

The cold air hit her immediately. She blinked, a few reflexive tears welling in her eyes as the wind blew into her. Once her eyes focused, she looked around, and saw the mass amounts of rubble from a clear fight. Her eyes landed on the glass casket several feet ahead of her; she drew in a quick breath and broke into a run, stopping only a few inches in front of it. 

Sebastian Morgenstern’s body was gone, the glass casket broken, and Jace was nowhere to be found. 

She fell to her knees, her mouth falling open, as she felt the broken glass dig into her knees. If it weren’t for the shadowhunter gear she’d been wearing, she would have bled, but she didn’t have half a mind to care. All these things were for naught, as Jace was gone. In the last few weeks, she’d done everything she knew how to help him, to help Clary, to show that she cared, and just when she thought they might have time to talk, she might finally find the words to explain all of her complicated thoughts to him, he was gone. 

Andromeda slammed her seraph blade into the tiled floor, tip-first, shattering it. Its glow dimmed as the pieces scattered and quickly disappeared. Something flashed in the corner of her eye—a shadow of sorts, and she held up the broken blade. She raised her head, pushing her hair out of her face, and was met with the face of her former lover. 

She dropped the blade. “Val,” she said, her voice shaking as she spoke. “How are you—”

“You knew this would happen,” she said, sparing her a bored look, barely glancing up from picking at her nails. “You’re too smart for that. You knew.”

“Knew—knew what?” she stammered. “Val—”

She strode towards her and casually sat on the broken coffin. “Your father left, your mother abandoned you emotionally years ago, I left you—and now your brother. Everyone leaves you, Andromeda, when are you going to see the common thread?”

Her eyebrows furrowed and she sat up on her knees, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders. Val, never in a million years, would have called her Andromeda. That was what her mother called her, and she hated it. “You—Val, what is going on?”

Val picked up the hilt of the seraph blade that she’d discarded in her shock when she saw her for the first time, and pushed the remaining, broken blade into her chin, tilting it upward. “It’s you, Andromeda, and I wonder how long it’s going to take you to realize it.”

Andromeda’s eyes flew open suddenly, and as her mind pulled her back to reality from the cruel dream, she realized how heavily she was breathing. She sat up, bracing herself on her arms as she got herself back under control. 

It had been a dream rooted in reality. She remembered finding the broken casket, breaking her seraph blade in a surprising show of angered strength, and returning back to the floor with the rest of the institute. She must have been pale as a ghost because Isabelle, looking suddenly nervous, pointed her mother to her immediately, and she had to explain to Maryse Lightwood that her son was now missing, as was the body of the man the Clave wanted dead the most. 

She checked her phone for the time and realized it was only midnight—she’d gone to bed early after a long day of staying cooped up in the training room. No one had been using it recently, as the Lightwoods and Ashfairs had all been too sick with worry about one person or another’s disappearance to even try training. She’d spent a bit of time with Alec and Clave meetings, but their friendship was incredibly shallow. Clary wasn’t up for talking, too worried about Jace, and it left Andy alone. Even in her mother’s house, she’d never felt that alone: surrounded by people that were supposed to be her friends, but she wasn’t important enough to be family. 

Silently, she pushed herself out of bed, and pulled on a recently-discarded pair of leggings from the floor, a pair of boots she could easily slide on, and her favorite cardigan—the first thing she’d bought for herself in New York City on her shopping trip with Clary. It seemed so long ago, though it hadn’t even been two months since she’d first arrived there. 

Without an end goal in sight, she grabbed her stele and a knife off her nightstand, as well as a few hair pins, and stuffed both into her bra. She fussed with her hair as she walked down the hall, past all the bedrooms with closed doors, and towards the elevator. She paused, suddenly, feeling something pull her back. Her chest tightened and she backtracked a few feet, into Jace’s bedroom. It had sat empty, unchanged other than the occasional rifling through for objects that might possibly be used to track him. Nothing had worked so far. 

His bed was still neat, save for the small, Clary-sized indent in the blanket. She’d spent some time there recently and must have fallen asleep there for a while. Not that she’d know, because she barely saw anyone out and about in the Institute these days.

She scanned the room for a moment and found herself gravitating towards the wardrobe. She opened the one door and pulled down a jacket—a black leather one that looked relatively new. If anything, she understood that Shadowhunters couldn’t keep clothes for very long. Demon blood destroyed many a pair of her favorite pants.

She slid the jacket on and realized it fit decently well. It was a little big in the shoulders but it would help save her from the cold, much more than her thin cardigan and tanktop would. She turned to leave the room and caught herself in the window—her reflection startled her. In that light, with the zipped jacket and hair pulled back, she looked shockingly like her father—or, at least, the photos she’d seen of him. She shook her head to wipe away the thought and turned on her heel, continuing her walk from the Institute into the city. 

Walking the city late at night was never exactly a good idea, which she understood, but she had a feeling that she would be able to fend off whatever demon or drugged-up perv came after her. Which was worse, she didn’t know. She took a right once she stepped off the steps leading into the church, and set off towards the subway station. As she walked, she carved both a soundless and an invisibility rune into her hip, then dropped her shirt back to where it usually sat. It was cold, too cold for her liking usually, but at least the subway itself had a little heat inside. 

She sat on the train silently for what felt like ages. Unable to stop thinking about what she’d seen, even if it was a dream, she spun her stele around her fingers. She felt like something was weighing on her chest and trying to pull it apart at the same time. She’d felt like this before, but never this intense. Part of her felt like punching the wall next to her, but she didn’t want to risk some mundane finding an indent created by no one. 

The ride wasn’t long, but it certainly cut down on the time it would take to get into Brooklyn. She and Clary had walked this path so many times she was half sure she could do it in her sleep. The sad part was, she’d never been inside. Andy walked the few extra minutes down the rough sidewalks before she found herself at Luke’s house, standing a few feet in front of the stairs that led to the front door. With her hand tightly gripped around her stele, she forced herself forward and knocked. 

She didn’t have to wait long. The door swung open and she could see dim lights behind Jocelyn Fairchild, who stood in the door. “Andromeda,” she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. “Are you alright? Clary is asleep for the night—“

“Actually,” she said, offering her best, parent-charming smile. “Is Lucian—“ she stopped herself, remembering that Lucian Graymark—the former Circle member, Shadowhunter and her mother’s younger brother—and Luke Garroway, New York werewolf pack leader and Jocelyn Fairchild’s fiance, were very different people. If she had a name she wanted to put behind her, she had to respect his, too. “Luke. Is he around?”

She paused for a moment and answered her question by stepping aside. Carefully, she shut the door behind her, standing very close to the outside wall, feeling like she wasn’t exactly invited inside. 

Jocelyn leaned over the couch and muttered something to Luke, who kissed her goodnight and let her head off, down the hall. Something between envy and a sense of longing hit her very suddenly—she wondered what it would have been like to grow up with two parents that so obviously loved each other, so evidently so that you could see it in the way they looked at each other. She remembered being that in love, and something in her heart twisted at the idea of it again. 

“Nice jacket,” he said, shifting to sit facing her. “Is it new?”

She opened her mouth to say something but found herself unable to form them. It wasn’t worth explaining all of it to him, she decided, and simply said, “Something like that.” She’d never felt so awkward before—even when she was a young teenager, her mother always told her she was too clever for her own good. She had a smart mouth, sure, but she could talk her way out of any situation she needed to. This—facing Luke, after being so cold to him—only deepend the guilt that had been pooling in her stomach for the last few days. 

He looked at her curiously, blue eyes only lit by the lamp in the corner and shielded behind his glasses. She knew both her parents had blue eyes, but she inherited the deep, dark blue from her father. Just another thing that reminded her she was the spitting image of him. He looked like he decided on something after a moment, and gestured at the couch next to him. “You look like you need to talk. Come sit.”

Weeks ago, when they met again in Idris, she would have snapped back with something rude and left, but his calming nature convinced her. He was right, she did need to talk to someone—to anyone, really. Even when she was by herself in Idris, she had her lab in the cellar or her bedroom to disappear to. She was still somewhat home. New York didn’t feel like home yet, and she still felt like a guest in her own bedroom. She didn’t know if she’d felt at home anywhere since Val died. 

Carefully, she pushed off her shoes and padded over to the couch. She sat on the opposite end of it, facing him, but her knees pulled up to her chest. Even when it was her idea to be here, she guarded herself. “How’s Clary?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper so she didn’t wake anyone in the house. 

“As well as can be expected. Torn up about Jace disappearing and frustrated with the Clave,” he said. “But you’re not here to ask about her—you wouldn’t have come so late. What’s wrong?”

The way he spoke was so parental but casual, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. In Idris, it had pissed her off—she’d spent sixteen years without a father and she didn’t need someone showing up and deciding, randomly, that she needed one. Now, it was almost…comforting. Someone cared. Not the professional manner that Maryse and Aric kept with her at all times, or the tired apathy her mother spoke to her with, but someone genuinely asking how she was doing. A wave of emotion took over her and she felt tears well in her eyes; she wasn’t one to cry and she didn’t know why she was suddenly, but she kept her voice as steady as possible. 

“Guilty as charged,” she said and cut herself off with a quick sniffle. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to dispose of them before he noticed. When she looked back at him, his expression had softened. Andy frowned and her voice hardened. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” he said, putting his hands up in a nonchalant surrender. 

“You are!” She realized quickly that she was much louder than she intended. She took a breath and turned back to him. “I don’t like pity.”

He nodded as if everything she said made something click in his mind, like he understood what he was dealing with now; it only infuriated her, but she had to control her temper. “I’m not pitying you, Andromeda.”

“Andy,” she muttered, bitterness seeping into her tone. “Andromeda’s what my mother calls me, especially when she’s mad at me. Andy is fine.”

“Andy, then.” He looked at her expectantly, and she muttered something about how she shouldn’t even be there at the moment. 

She spoke after a moment of debate. She could just leave, actually, but she’d come too far to chicken out now. “I have just felt…so incredibly overwhelmed with everything going on,” she said. She chose her words carefully to not reveal too much, but every bone in her body wanted to break when she glanced at Luke again. There was no clear way to describe this look he had, all the time, but his eyes softened and he looked concerned for her. No one had been concerned for her in a long time. No one worried about the girl who pretended to have all her shit together, not even her own mother. Of course she hadn’t—she’d iced her out years ago. Now, too much time had passed, she felt like if she tried to apologize now, it would just be awkward. She blamed her mother for years, but only after seeing Clary with her mom did she see where they both had gone wrong. 

Her throat tightened as she thought more, thinking of the dream with Val, of her mother, of the stress at the Institute, of Jace—she had a few weeks of getting to know him, and now he was gone. He disappeared and no one knew where he was or even if he was alive. She knew he was an incredible warrior, even better than most around their ages. 

Her voice got smaller as she realized how ridiculous she sounded. “I just can’t talk about it. The last time I did, I got yelled at because I don’t know Jace like everyone else does. It’s just shitty.”

Luke nodded as she spoke. “I can’t tell you I understand your situation, Andy, but I do think it’s not fair to be told you're not allowed to be upset. You and Jace seemed like you were getting closer, no?”

“I was trying to,” she admitted, pouting. She rested her head on her knees, looking over at him. In all honesty, she felt like a child again, getting so upset over nothing. When she was young and some kids were picking on her over nothing, her mom would make her favorite tea and wrap her in a blanket, and tell her stories of faraway lands with knights and dragons and strong princesses who figured their way out of similar situations to whatever she was upset with at the moment. The memories hurt—even if she wanted to, now, her mom would never do something like that. 

“Then it’s perfectly reasonable to be upset about it. He’s still your brother, whether you grew up with him or met him two months ago.” He offered an encouraging smile, though she couldn’t stand looking at him at the moment. Anything might make her snap and send the tears streaming down her face. 

Part of the reason she spent so much time out at night was so she didn’t have to deal with all this—all the thinking. Because once she started, she couldn’t stop. She tinkered late at night when things got to be overwhelming, but there was nowhere in the institute for her to do that. All the weapons in the weapons room were perfectly functional; broken ones were thrown out. She enjoyed fixing broken things—Clary saw it in the teacup while in Idris, but she’d been doing it for years. Now if she could fix herself, it would be a great step in the right direction. 

“How about this,” he said, noticing her hesitancy to believe him. “It’s late—you can crash here tonight, and maybe spending some time with Clary tomorrow will do you both some good. Get you out of your head a little.”

She smirked. “Why do I feel like you're trying to set up a play date?”

“Who says I’m not?” he said and began to stand. “Go wash up,  do whatever you gotta do, and I’ll get the couch set up for you.”

Andy sniffled, though nodded. “Yeah—yeah. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

She stood and walked back the hall, into the bathroom. Really, she could have fallen asleep on the couch the way it was, but Luke wanted to do something nice for her and she should let him. She sat on the counter for a moment, picking at her nails, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked disheveled at best—her sweater was falling off her shoulder and her hair was a mess. No wonder Jocelyn looked so concerned for her. The dark circles under her eyes had only gotten worse since the day before when she spent twenty minutes applying makeup to make them disappear, and she could see the remains of mascara she missed in the corners of her eyes. She looked like hell, frankly, and glared in the mirror at herself.

Even if it was a dream, Val was right. So much of this was her own fault. If she had left sooner, gotten to the roof fast enough to see Jace, she could have stopped him. Fought Sebastian. She heard from both Clary and Jace how strong he was, but even if it killed her, it wouldn’t have mattered. Jace would have been safe, and life in New York would have gone back to the way it was two months again. Just the way everyone would have liked it, probably. Shadowhunters die and go missing all the time, right? What was another Herondale with a tragic ending? 

She turned the sink on and splashed her face with cold water, hoping it would wash away the thoughts. It didn't, to her dismay, but it was enough to get her moving again. She dried her hands and face and walked back out to the living room, trying to fix the rat nest she’d pulled her hair into. 

Luke was sitting on the arm of the couch, skimming over some book she didn’t care to know the contents of. The couch had folded out into a bed that didn’t look comfortable in the slightest, but it was a bed, and that was the important part. The throw blanket that had been folded on the back was now laid out for her, and a square pillow was laid on one side. He looked up and smiled warmly; she didn’t have the energy to do so back. He pulled something out from behind him—a mug, she noticed—and handed it to her. 

She took it gratefully, holding it with both hands to warm her cold fingers. She took a sip, then very quickly pulled it away from her mouth. “Lemon mint?” she asked. 

He looked confused for a moment. “Is that not what you like?”

“It is,” she said, setting the mug down on the coffee table next to her. “How’d you know?”

“It was the only tea in the house when we visited, and Amatis thinks tea tastes like hot brown water,” he chuckled. “Stocked up when you and Clary started hanging out more in case you ever wanted some.”

“I—” She stared at him for a long moment, unsure how to react to that. It had been a long time since someone went out of their way to do something so nice for her, just because they could. Even living at home, her mom did what was necessary and not much more; these days, she didn’t blame her. She stammered for a moment, trying to find the words. She finally managed, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he said and stood. “Sleep well, alright? Kitchen light’s on if you need anything.” 

She nodded. He started down the hall, but before he could get too far, she called out, “Hey, Luke?”

He turned. “What’s up?”

Andy’s eyes turned towards the floor and she held her hands behind her back awkwardly. She didn’t know how to ask, but it was better to just rip the bandage off, right? She rocked back and forth on her heels for a moment, then said, “Can I have a hug?”

She stood there for a moment, staring at the carpet. She didn’t know how he’d react to that and she didn’t want to. But then he was in front of her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and she felt like she could cry. She forced the tears back but her breath was shaky. Luke didn’t say anything, just let her lay her head on his shoulder and breathe for a moment. She thought about how he’d been nothing but nice to her since they met in Idris and how she’d been so cold, just because she didn’t trust him. And she thought about how he was with Clary, so worried about her when they’d showed up at her mother’s house in Alicante out of the blue, and realized the reason she didn’t trust him was because she didn’t want to let anyone that cared about her like that in. She didn’t want the heartbreak of getting attached to someone who was either going to die or leave again. And despite her attitude, he was there if she ever needed something, and even when she didn’t. 

And hesitantly, she hugged him, too. 

[epickiya722]

You ever made any OCs?

I do! I have OCs for fandoms and then characters for my original works.

For fandoms, it's...

Hayate Sakagami, Hinata Mochizuki, Tamami, Tia Aurya, and Hikage Shirorei (MHA)

Kiya Nedakh-Thatch and Arin Radcliffe (Descendants)

Asahi Gojo (JJK)

For my original stories...

Myla, Lance, Ricardo, Yahiro, Zack, and Aiden (Shadows of Deckard)

Jayce and River (titular characters)

Amija, Aric, Jona, Daniel, Kevin, Joel and Eilan (TITLE IN PROGRESS)

Feel free to ask questions about them.

[eorzeashan]

Snowball fight! Eight, Theron, and whomever else you'd like to join in! :)

Winter Prompts

“Theron, stay behind me.” Eight gallantly stepped before his hiding spot behind a waste bin and fended off a flurry of snowballs lobbed his way, armed with naught but a tree branch held aloft like a blade. He caught them with its noticeably blunt edge, discarding the disintegrating snow with a flourish.

“Is this really necessary…?” Theron echoed, his back pressed against the trash receptacle, feeling his cheeks flush pink from needing to be defended or simply the bitter cold of Odessen’s winter.

Strangely enough for an operative, Eight put himself on the frontlines or in place of others more vulnerable– a trait unseen in most of his ilk, who excelled in the shadows behind their sturdier comrades. Yet Theron learned quickly through repeated battles by his side that such bold tactics were a strength rather than a weakness for the Cipher, whose fragile disposition as an agent acted as a mere cover for the unexpected warrior within.

But in this moment, it acted as little comfort to his dwindling pride that he was being protected by someone smaller than him– Theron checked the enemy position and popped briefly out from cover to snipe Aric Jorgan’s shoulder with a bold blast of powder, causing the Cathar to hiss a curse and fall back– and in a snowball fight, nonetheless.

“This is what you get for getting chummy with other spies, Agent!”

Theron instinctively ducked. Where that voice sounded, trouble soon followed.

Eight side-stepped several snowballs from Kaliyo, most likely filled with rocks, given the menacing way they heavily thumped against the ground.

As expected, the others were out for snow-covered blood.

Theron was stuck in the sinking ship with Eight and his angry acquaintances, for all his sad lack of actual enemies that weren't related to him. Not that Lana and Koth weren't gunning for his head– he could see them whispering tactics in the foreground through his flake-covered lashes, those vultures– but the entirety of Eight’s old crew had chosen to aim for their erstwhile agent as means of revenge today.

Theron was just collateral, or so he incorrectly assumed. Not that it would stop him from aiming for his compatriots himself, and what he wouldn't give to see Lana have a taste of her own snow. Theron smirked at the thought of the blonde Sith shaking off ice like a frozen voorpak, already balling up a fresh set of snowballs in his mitts.

“Eight, cove–ACK!”

Theron yelped as frigid, biting snow touched bare skin and fell even deeper past his clothing into nooks and crannies where the sun didn't shine. He instinctively scrabbled at the back of his jacket, face crumpling into what could be called an excellent mimicry of a paper ball. Betrayal! Stabbed in the back! Unprotected! And…SO COLD. If his skin were a jacket, he would've shucked it right then and there.

His suffering didn't go unrewarded. Two blue arms wrapped around his middle as a delicate chin pressed into his shivering shoulderblades. Theron’s surprise settled into relaxed ease as warmth flooded his center, pooling low in his stomach at the familiar scent of his lover.

Aketho sported a wicked grin as he nuzzled into Theron’s broad back, the telltale signs of snow coating his gloves pointing to only one conclusion. Theron gasped dramatically. “How could you, ‘Keth?” His hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion. “...And how did you get past Eight?”

“A good Cipher never kiss and tells,” Aketho purred. Theron shuddered as his hot breath ghosted past his ear. “You're my hostage now, Agent Shan. I’m afraid your friends won't be coming to rescue you, either.”

Eight whistled innocently as he turned his back to the two spies in love, stick-holding hands clasped behind him as he walked pointedly in a different direction.

Traitor! Theron assailed him mentally, mouth dropping in an O as he watched his faithful defender hand him to the enemy on a silver platter, complete with plenty of snow.

He slumped in Aketho’s embrace, giving up. “Well, I could think of worse people to be captured by.” He smiled, entwining their fingers together. His smirk grew lascivious. “Wanna ditch this place and get warmed up somewhere else?”

“Can't think of anything I’d like more.”

[sealeneee]

SWTOR OC Masterpost 2: Electric Boogaloo

because i've gotten some new blorbos or changed the existing ones since january. as usual, most info below the cut. take a shot every time you see "operative (secondary)"

Republic:

Katona (main)

nickname(s)/alias(es): none age: 16 (prologue), 33 (LotS) class: jedi knight combat style(s): sentinel (primary), assassin (secondary) alignment: full dark side relationship: married to Doc basic info: main blorbo, source of brainrot. terrible jedi. she starts out being moderately fucked up, then goes full bonkers during kotfe and slowly gets moderate again after kotet ends. also has adhd.

Vyrjea

nickname(s)/alias(es): none age: 19 (prologue) class: jedi consular combat style(s): shadow (primary) alignment: mostly light side relationship: none atm, might romance Lana basic info: a prime example of a good jedi. doesn't like fighting, but is very fond of research and finding or preserving knowledge. most of her dark side choices are from pragmatism/choosing the greater good, such as saving the holocrons on taris and not the people. she's also autistic

Debriata

nickname(s)/alias(es): Debri for friends, and Risha sometimes calls her Debris as a joke age: 26 (prologue) class: smuggler combat style(s): scoundrel (primary), operative (secondary) alignment: light-side leaning relationship: none :] basic info: aromantic disaster. somewhat selfish but not a total jackass. sometimes a bit too destructive (hence the debris joke) but ultimately she's a good person

Sharieli

nickname(s)/alias(es): none so far age: 24 (prologue) class: trooper combat style(s): commando (primary), operative (secondary) alignment: primarily light side (?) relationship: married to aric jorgan basic info: a very good soldier who follows orders as long as they are sane and doesn't bend to bureaucracy.

Rhaes'sa

nickname(s)/alias(es): none so far age: 20 (prologue) class: jedi knight combat style(s): guardian (primary) alignment: light side relationship: you guessed it. she's going after Doc as well basic info: she exists because i wanted an LS knight after having three playthroughs with murderhobo Kat. also because i wanted to explore a lightsided knight's dynamic with Doc. that's the meta. as for character info, she strives to be good but can be quite impulsive and reckless. bc she's a guardian and ls i hc her as having a pretty defensive, tanky fighting style.

a few spares that I currently don't plan to develop or play with but also not deleting

He'rrah, smuggler

Solraca, consular

Xey'ara, trooper

Empire:

Schixar (main)

nickname(s)/alias(es): Cipher 9 age: 25 (prologue), 42 (LotS) class: imperial agent combat style(s): operative (primary), sniper (secondary) alignment: neutral relationship: married to Vector Hyllus basic info: went independent at the end of class story. loyal to the empire but thinks it's very flawed and hopes to right some of its wrongs one day.

Caran'ta

nickname(s)/alias(es): held the title of Darth Imperius as a dark councilor age: 19 (prologue), 36 (LotS) class: sith inquisitor combat style(s): assassin (primary), sorcerer (secondary) alignment: light side relationship: married to Theron Shan basic info: don't let her alignment fool you -- she's still very cunning and won't hesitate to take decisive action if needed. very pragmatic and never wastes a potential resource or opportunity.

Cordovia

nickname(s)/alias(es): goes by Darth Nox as a dark councilor age: 18 (prologue) class: sith inquisitor combat style(s): sorcerer (primary), juggernaut (secondary) alignment: dark side relationship: whatever the hell is going on with Andronikos Revel basic info: your average unhinged evil nox who went power hungry. not entirely merciless, but unlike Ranta, her first thought is usually violence. likes flowers though.

Karsovia

nickname(s)/alias(es): the Emperor's Wrath, Empire's Wrath age: 19 (prologue) class: sith warrior combat style(s): marauder (primary) alignment: dark side relationship: something Very Complicated with Malavai Quinn basic info: your average brutal sith warrior. i really don't have much to say about her it's been a while since i played sw

Ascoriel

nickname(s)/alias(es): the Emperor's Wrath, Empire's Wrath age: 22 (prologue) class: sith warrior combat style(s): juggernaut (primary) alignment: mostly dark side relationship: will romance Theron Shan basic info: he's more pragmatic than most sith, but still ruthless and often unforgiving. he ised to pine for Quinn until the betrayal which he found unforgivable, and later pursued a relationship with Theron. palpatine-saying-ironic.gif. Shan lived though

Ares'sea

nickname(s)/alias(es): none age: 23 (prologue), 40 (LotS) class: bounty hunter combat style(s): mercenary (primary), scoundrel (secondary) alignment: dark-leaning neutral relationship: married to Torian Cadera basic info: primarily motivated by money or other kinds of profit. has a dry, deadpan sense of humor. also while my characters are all in separate universes unless stated otherwise, if they weren't, she'd be the reason Katona got the job of battlemaster and would thank Ares'sea for this a lot. bc she hated her predecessor.

Rezerra

nickname(s)/alias(es): Razor age: 22 (prologue) class: bounty hunter combat style(s): mercenary (primary) alignment: light-leaning neutral relationship: unknown yet basic info: she's lvl 1 so there really isn't any. sorry

Raettmyr

nickname(s)/alias(es): Cipher 18 age: 24 (prologue) class: imperial agent combat style(s): operative (primary) alignment: dark side relationship: none so far, might end up with someone from expacs basic info: he's very horrible. imperial bootlicker and patriot. he would sell his own family if it strengthened the empire. his eye color, scars and cybernetics are all a result of artificial vision enhancement.

Melniati

nickname(s)/alias(es): Cipher 14 age: 26 (prologue) class: imperial agent combat style(s): sniper (primary), operative (secondary) alignment: dark side relationship: none, i want to spare the characters of swtor from her basic info: she's also horrible like raettmyr, but unlike him, she has zero loyalties, not even to the empire. she's the most vile and evil and unprincipled agent you'll ever meet. she makes great soup though

Non class story characters:

Korse'yn

nickname(s)/alias(es): Informer 34 age: 22 affiliation and job: imperial intelligence informer who specialized in scouting. Melniati's brother combat style(s): operative (primary) alignment: light side relationship: gets with Lana Beniko in the expacs basic info: unlike his sister, he's quite sane and a mostly normal person. he's younger, but smarter than her, which resulted in him getting a less combat-focused designation.

Lesya

nickname(s)/alias(es): none age: 29 (class story start) affiliation and job: a combat medic, Doc's friend who finished the same university. combat style(s): scoundrel (primary) alignment: light side relationship: none so far basic info: at the middle of kotfe she joins the alliance and works with the commander (Katona), later finding out about their shared… acquaintance. information about the exact nature of the relationship doesn't get revealed until JuS, which results in a bit of yelling and confusion. don't hide the fact that you're married to their best friend from people.

[moradinsforge]

Introducing Aric Shadowblade, the Dark Paladin, a formidable figure shrouded in mystery and draped in the shadows of his tumultuous past. (I don't actually know if this is the miniatures backstory but it is my personal headcannon, 10/10 truly love dark paladins).

For inquiries into our miniature 3D printing and painting services please visit our shop at moradinsforge.etsy.com or message us directly!

[nonnonblog]

Lizard.

Hello there! How are you all this fine evening?

This is a story about a herpetologist, which is what I have just learned is the title of one who researches reptiles and amphibians. It is also the result of trying to include the word lizard in every sentence of a story, just because- though I have not held to that prompt in the second draft. A story where everything is compared to or is a lizard is not as good as it sounds. Don’t worry, I have spared you all.

Anyways, introducing… Lizard.

Lizard.

Aric felt cold, like a lizard might, where there was no solution besides running about and looking for sunlight. The problem with this was, unlike a lizard which lives outdoors, Aric was trapped in the dark confines of this winding passageway. Aric was in the labyrinth now, wandering helplessly about its cornerless passages and perfectly symmetrical doors. There was a monster here too, though Aric had not found that specific aspect of the labyrinth yet. He had been told it was a hairy thing, unlike a lizard at all. The piles of brown strands blowing like tumbleweeds up and down alongside him seemed to back this little snippet of information up.

Aric breathed in deeply, and heard a much, much larger breath in unison. It pushed him back towards its source, as the vacuum the breath left had to be filled by something. Aric looked behind himself in a quick glance, and saw a faint shape, an outline which seemed to somehow tower taller than the ceiling itself. The wood beams meant to hide the sky and entrap those with wings had to warp upwards in order to keep the illusion that this passageway was unbroken. This monster was much larger than anything Aric had ever dreamed of before, even beating out the whooping lizard of North Harima.

Aric guessed it was coming for him, darting forwards like a lizard on a road just feet from a carriage’s wheels. The hairy shadow gave chase, rhythmically shaking the ground as it constantly grew ever closer, each step sounding like claws on metal and stone.

Aric was deathly aware of his panting breath. There! Was that an exit? A lone ray of sunlight shone on the ground before him, a sign of new possibilities. His shoulder hit the wall as he attempted to follow the newest curve the maze threw at him, the burst of pain that signaled a new bruise reminding Aric he was no lizard. He had no scales. The sunlight may not save him.

He reached the sunlight anyways.

The End, for now.

If you are interested in reading any more of my other pieces, please consider checking out my website, the Non-Non-Blog, through the link below!

[onehornla]

The concept behind Onehornla's one of a kind mermaidcore folio: 'SEA TAILS' In the shimmering expanse of the ocean, where sunlight danced on the waves and the depths held secrets untold, lived a radiant mermaid named Lirelle. With long, flowing tresses that mirrored the colors of the coral and eyes that held the wisdom of ancient waters, she was a creature of enchantment and grace.

One fateful day, as Lirelle glided through the underwater gardens, her melodious song drawing dolphins and fish to her side, a shadow fell over her. Startled, she looked up to find herself ensnared in a net woven by human hands. Panic gripped her heart, and her heartrending song filled the ocean, echoing like a plea for salvation.

Above the surface, aboard a weathered ship, stood Captain Aric. A sea-faring man with weathered features, he had heard tales of mermaids and their enchanting songs. Yet, nothing could have prepared him for the heart-stopping beauty of the mermaid before him.

As Lirelle's voice wove a spell around him, Aric's initial intentions faltered. He looked into her eyes and saw not a captive creature, but a soul brimming with wonder and longing. A storm of conflicting emotions raged within him – duty to his crew, his desire for adventure, and an unexpected tenderness that surged from the depths of his heart.

Aric couldn't deny the pull he felt towards Lirelle, a pull that defied reason and circumstance. He cut the net, freeing her from her temporary prison. Their eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, a connection formed that transcended their worlds.

With hesitant trust, Lirelle allowed herself to be guided by Aric to the ship's deck. The sea breeze tangled her hair, mingling with the scent of salt and adventure. Language barriers were meaningless; their souls communicated through a language only the heart comprehends.

As days turned into nights, Lirelle learned of Aric's world – of distant lands, of stars that guided sailors, and of dreams that traversed horizons. In turn, she shared tales of underwater kingdoms, of dancing with schools of fish, and of the songs that echoed through ocean currents.

But with each passing day, a truth weighed heavily on their hearts. Lirelle belonged to the sea, and Aric to the land. Their love was a fragile bloom that defied the boundaries of their worlds.

As the ship sailed through uncharted waters, Lirelle and Aric found themselves drawn to a secluded cove. There, beneath a canopy of stars, they shared a bittersweet farewell. Their love, though forbidden and fleeting, had changed them forever.

With a tender kiss and a promise etched in their souls, Lirelle slipped beneath the waves, returning to her ocean realm. Aric watched her vanish into the depths, carrying with her a piece of his heart.

And so, the sea and the land held the memory of an improbable love – a mermaid and a sea man who defied destiny to experience a love that ignited in the heart of the enchanting depths.

Story by Onehornla.

IG and Youtube: @onehornla

[glcriouspvrpose]

ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ʙɪᴏ ; loki odinson

❝ Inside each of us, there is the seed of both good and evil. It's a constant struggle as to which one will win. And one cannot exist without the other. ❞

→ pinterest | playlist ( + thor )

↳ BASIC INFO

Character’s full name: Loki Odinson Meaning of name: airy, deceitful, sneaky  Other Titles: God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, Prince of Jötunheim Birth date: December 26th, 956 AD Zodiac: Sagittarius Nationality / Species: Asgardian,  Æsir, jötunn Languages Spoken: He can speak any language, but he primarily sticks to English and Asgardian (Norwegian)  Pronouns: he/him (if he shapeshifts, he’ll adopt the appropriate pronouns) Orientation: Bisexual  Superpower: superhuman strength, astral projection, shape-shifting, hypnosis, molecular rearrangement, conjuration, cryokinesis, telekinesis and teleportation. he was taught magic by his mother. Occupation: Prince, Avenger, Agent of SHIELD, future co-king of Asgard Relationship Status: dating Edward Hill

↳ APPEARANCE

Age: 1058 (equivalent of 21 on Asgard), 29-34 in Midgardian age Height: 6′3 Body build: tall, athletic  Eye color: pale blue, changes to bright green when he uses his magic Glasses or contacts: glasses, but purely for the aesthetic Skin tone: pale in his Asgardian/human form, blue-gray in his jötunn form Distinguishing marks: his markings when in his jötunn form Predominant features: his eyes, his cheekbones  Hair color and type: it’s curly, and usually shoulder-length and black, but since coming to earth it’s typically short and light brown Physical disabilities: can’t handle extreme heat Usual fashion of dress: business casual

↳ PERSONALITY

Good traits: ambitious, charismatic, charming, intelligent, physically strong, skilled sorcerer, strong leader. Bad traits: dramatic, flirty, egocentric, manipulative, mischievous, moody, temperamental, vain. Hogwarts House: Slytherin  Character Theme Song: Anti-Hero - Taylor Swift Personality Type: INFJ / ‘the advocate,’ has a gift for understanding and reading emotions, craves emotional intimacy, and are strong-willed, but can be vain and narcissistic.  Character is most at ease when: he has a sense of control Enraged when: someone asserts dominance over him Sad when: there’s a period of about one or two years after his brother’s failed coronation that he tries not to talk about to avoid those feelings  Greatest strength: his intellect, his magical abilities  Greatest vulnerability: his brother Biggest regret: letting his mother think he was dead etc.: he suffered a lot mentally after learning he was adopted, through willingly falling from the Bifrost to being under the control of Thanos. He does better now, but still has his moments.

↳ PAST

Hometown: Asgard Type of childhood: he had a sheltered, yet obviously privileged childhood, being the King and Queen’s son. But being the youngest of Odin’s sons and second-in-line, he often felt like he was in Thor’s shadow First memory: Thor bringing him a blanket when he woke up scared one night Most prominent childhood memory: turning into a snake so Thor would pick him up, changing back once he did so he could stab him Education: over the centuries, he’s gone through a few universities when he was bored, always assuming an identify that wasn’t actually him

↳ PRESENT

Current location: New York City, but he visits Asgard regularly now Currently living with: Thor Pets: Aric, his asshole black cat 

↳ FAVORITES

Color: Green Music: classical Food: Italian

↳ FAMILY

Mother: Queen Frigga Freyrdottir

Relationship: He’s still insanely close to his mother and valued her opinion more than anyone else’s growing up. Since Odin tended to favor Thor, Frigga kept Loki under her wing and was the one who taught him magic. She’s the driving force behind why he comes home regularly.

Father: King Odin Borson

Relationship: He loves his father, but their relationship has always been hot and cold. He feels like he always put Thor above him and blames him for creating a wedge between them. After finding out about him being adopted and all the secrets Odin kept from him and his brother, their relationship has been borderline nonexistent. 

Brother: Thor Odinson

Relationship: Historically, his relationship with Thor has been up and down, largely due to the influence of their father’s actions, but he loves his brother more than anyone. Most of the time, Thor and Loki act like two halves of a whole and understand each other more anyone else. After his time on Thanos’s ship, they’ve been inseparable.

Daughter: Eisa Odinson

Relationship: Eisa is the child Loki had with his ex, Glut. She’s earth equivalent of three years old. He wasn’t aware of Eisa’s existence until he met after being abandoned by her mother, due to Eisa’s being part frost giant. Since becoming an Avenger after the Battle and taking back his title of Prince of Asgard, Loki has taken sole custody of Eisa. She spends her time on Asgard and Earth equally. Loki changed her last name to Odinson to match his nieces, as Thor and Jane adopted the Earth tradition of using the father’s last name instead.

Other important family members: Hela Odinsdottir (sister), King Laufey (birth father) Nieces: Frea and Astrilde Odinson

↳ RELATIONSHIPS WITH OTHERS

Partner: Edward Hill Best friend: Clint Barton, Klara Arnesdòttir, Valkyrie  Ex: Jessica Jones

↳ BIO tw: suicidal ideation, trauma, mind control

Shortly before Thor’s failed coronation (which was mostly his own fault), Loki found out that he was adopted. It threw him for a loop, but everything, like the way he seemed like he was always second best in his father’s eyes, started to click. A confrontation between himself, Thor, and their father resulted in Loki willingly falling from the Bifrost. Not expecting to survive the fall, Loki fell into the Void and was taken onto Thanos’s ship where, for the next few months, he was placed under the control of the Mind Stone to be a pawn in his plan. When he first arrived on Earth, Loki had been under the Stone’s control. Thor eventually rescued him, having noticed something was wrong. It wasn’t until then that he was able to break free. Loki and Thor fought along the Avengers during the Battle of New York and he remained on Midgard, working as an Avenger and SHIELD Agent. Having maintained his prince title, and as a future co-king of Asgard, Loki still visits Asgard regularly.