#as well as making me feel genuinely full of wrath and fury | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

5eraphim · 2 years ago

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HGHHBK I love your work! Everything is so well written and just amazing.

Can I request yandere Scout eating out captive reader as a form of punishment because they tried to escape the night before?

This wound up being a bit longer than i thought it would, but i feel like that happens every time ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ , I liked your premise a lot anon, I hope this works for ya! I wanted to write this to make up for how much I've bullied him, like in (this post lol) and actually this one too, yes this is a dark!scout story, but canon scout is a sweet boy who is kinda pig-headed, but genuinely means well and i like to think of him as a frat boy wrapped around a boyscout's heart, and if he's your fave, i support you <3.

Character: The Scout 🐇 (Team Fortress 2)

Rating: X (MINORS DNI, YOU KNOW THIS ISN'T FOR YOU)

Content Warnings: afab reader, dubcon, forced intimacy, oral (female receiving, scout is kinda weird about feet for a moment i guess?, biting, kidnapping, yandere, toxic relationship

Word Count: 3.4k

MASTER LIST

TIP JAR

(Song Inspo- Time is Running out, Muse)

"Wrath is the desire to repay what you have suffered." — Kaveh Akbar, from “Pilgrim Bell.”

Cornered, the walls were closing in, and you were stuck with nowhere left to go. Yet another escape attempt ending in failure, as you were practically dragged back to Scout's bedroom, the door slammed shut behind the two of you as you were pushed onto the shared bed, knowing well enough to stay put when he walked back to lock the door. You heard him speak in an uncharacteristically low voice. "Ya oughta know you'd need to be quicker than that to ditch me."

He was pissed, "No one is faster than me- Why did you even try!?" He glared at you, his bright blue eyes narrowed, teeth bared in aggression, his neck tense and left knuckles white where he gripped his bat. It wasn't uncommon for you to try and escape, but every time you tried, you swore you were caught and brought back faster than the last time. Not for lack of trying, but you were too weary to honestly try and fight back anymore; you learned quickly Scout was not afraid to do whatever it took to keep you in line, as well as often being blinded by his own rage and hurt you more than he intended in moments of high intensity. The situation was hopeless, but your resilience wasn't gone yet.

"Shut up already! I wasn't even trying to escape! God forbid I get a little fresh air-"

"You are so full of shit." He spat on the floor, leaning his bat against the bed as a warning as he stood over the side of the bed, arms crossed, looking down at you. "I know you were tryna run. Tell me why."

You shot back, "Take a wild guess-"

"No, go on; tell me why you wanna leave so bad since you think you know so much!" You made the dire mistake of underestimating his anger before, and you knew him well enough to know he wasn't in the mood to show you mercy. Scout's face was flushed red with rage and exhaustion. Being so naturally pale, he could never do much to hide his own anger. You wanted to fight back, to take out your frustrations on him, but while his metal bat was still within arm's length, you knew better. So you decided the wisest course of action now was to try and de-escalate things, to try and calm him down, you couldn't pull off your escape, but you prayed there was still some way you could make it through the night unharmed.

"Scout, please. I wasn't running away; you know I wouldn't do that to you." You sat up a little in bed, slowly inching away from his body, looming over the bed's side to sit with your back against the pillows, knees bent towards your chest, unbothered by the dirt you likely tracked onto the bed with your shoes, it's not like Scout would care either. But he didn't look convinced, and you sighed, "Scout, can't we just talk this over? I know you're confused and all, but just hear me out."

He didn't answer, gritting his teeth, crawling into bed over you suspiciously quiet. Thankfully, he was not yelling, but his fury was still clear as day on his face. At first, you tried to scoot over to the side and give him space to sit next to you, but he was quicker, keeping you pinned as he crawled over you. "Ya know, I'm getting real sick of you and your pissy little attitude. So I think, if you know what's good for ya- You're gonna lay down right here and stay nice and quiet for me."

You opened your mouth to say something, but the way he stared you down, almost challenging you to even try and keep resisting, killed the words before they could leave your mouth. For a second, the two of you appeared locked in place like that, making you feel like a deer caught in the headlights. While you knew it was dangerous to try and run away while he was on a mission, it wasn't until you were here and directly under Scout's mercy that you entirely realized how dangerous the situation was. While you and the rest of the team loved to tease Scout about his babyface and un-intimidating disposition when he wanted to be, Scout could be scary as any other. "So what's it gonna be, princess? Are you ready to say you're sorry?"

Meekly you nodded; the sound of your heart hammering in your chest made his threat all the more intimidating, forcing you to submit before things got even worse for you. It was hard to say anything now that your mouth had gone dry, nor could you think of what to say. But you managed a " Yes, Scout, " using all your strength to stay still and hide your fear the best you could. Earlier in the relationship, you remember crying at times like this, how terrified you were to face Scout's inner anger. Now you could hold in your tears, but the fear was as intense as ever.

"That's my good girl." You could practically feel your skin crawling every time he spoke using one of his cruel little pet names, his little way of trying to keep you feeling small and beaten down, to remind you how you were nothing compared to the likes of him. The pillows slightly propped up your upper body, your lower half lying flat against the mattress. Scout began to tug at your cotton t-shirt, you fumbled awkwardly, and he helped him get the garment off before he went to work on your bra, which you reluctantly shed to allow it to join your poor top abandoned on the floor below. You felt sick to your stomach, feeling him undressing you so effortlessly while you were forced to lay back and take it. You felt too embarrassed being bare-chested in front of Scout to look him in the eye, much less in such a compromising position, forcing you to stare pathetically off to the side, face hot with shame.

"Don't gimme that look; ya brought this on yourself. Remember that."

You cringed in dual disgust and apprehension when you felt his thin lips connecting with the bare sensitive flesh below your navel. The contact was surprisingly gentle coming from him, but this did nothing to calm your rising anxieties, he wasn't messing around this time, and you didn't want to imagine how far he would take this. A shiver ran down your spine when you felt his tongue testingly swipe over your lower belly; the tiny wet trail left behind made you groan in the back of your throat as you wriggled in discomfort.

For a moment, he entertained himself by playing with the sensitive skin of your stomach, feeling goosebumps prickle as your clammy palms fisted at the bedsheets, your legs trying to remain still, despite twitching restlessly as he continued to tease. Then, Scout wrapped his arms around your naked torso, inhaling deeply and feeling your softness with his own face as he licked and kissed his lower and lower.

"Now let's getcha outta these."

As usual, he reacted without waiting for your response. Scout unwrapped his arms from under you, using them to help push himself all the way back to sitting on his knees over you, scooching back so he was leaning over your ankles. You didn't protest when you felt him pull off your shoes, a bit comforted by the feeling of the cool air through your socks. He absentmindedly dropped the shoes off the bed. You turned your gaze to the ceiling, nervously gripping the blanket and sheets with your clammy hands, waiting for him to strip you of the rest of your clothing with a likewise disregard. Scout caught you off guard by using two fingers to tickle the bottom of your feet, still covered by socks.

With an ugly choked-laughing sound, you glared back at Scout's all too-happy face. He pinched your little toe between his thumb and index finger, "Ticklish?"

He continued to use his fingers to trace up and down around the underside of your soles, the ticklish sensation still unpleasant but nowhere near as powerful now that you were no longer caught by surprise. In any other context, with any other person, the interaction might've been cute, but not like this. Your feet already felt hot and raw from trying to run away from the maniac, and the way he continued to tease the sensitive area felt beyond gross. You drew your feet away slightly, pressing the bottom of your feet to the mattress to prevent him from trying to touch you again. "You are so fucking weird." Scout merely shrugged, still smiling maliciously as he pulled down your socks. He dropped back down to his elbows to get his face nice and close to your legs, rubbing the side of his face over your legs. His soft cheek brushing against the top of your lower high gave you butterflies, a feeling of equal excitement and disturbance. What bothered you more was remembering that his actions were ones of lust and love as he looked at you with wide blue eyes, his smile much softer now. You wondered if maybe he wasn't trying to embarrass you earlier but genuinely trying to get you to laugh. Scout loved you with his entire heart, despite your best efforts.

For a few moments, he took great efforts to make himself as comfortable as possible, no doubt thinking in his mind his actions were as soothing to you, which, while you were glad he wasn't enraged enough by your betrayal to really hurt you, was still cold comfort. You swallowed hard, feeling him tracing his hands up the sides of your thighs to rub gentle little circles, inching closer and closer to the edge of your cut-off shorts.

You felt your temperature climbing as he trailed kisses to the spot just above your knee up the length of your leg, again with a kind of romantic gentleness you'd never seen from him before. It disturbed you, and you hated how uncertain this made you feel he was up to something sneaky or seconds away from biting into your leg as hard as he could. Scout sensed you were staring at him as his eyes flicked up to meet yours, his head falling to the side to rest his cheek on your thigh.

"Babe, ya know I'm crazy for you, don't ya? I'd do anything for you, so why'd ya try and run away like that?"

His puppy eyes were almost strong enough to make you regret what you'd done, but you knew the cruel man behind that baby's face too well to be fooled. He wanted to get a reaction out of you, but you forced yourself to remain as rigid as possible. Finally, he gave you a sweet, crooked smile as he continued, "I could spend all night like this. I just wanna hold ya, but since ya wanna get me heated so bad, I oughtta return the favor."

It was like he was trying to get you to fold, to offer to hold him like this for the night and save yourself from the humiliation of whatever perversions he had on his mind, but you had a feeling agreeing to cuddle would only lead to the same outcome. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. When you didn't respond, he turned his attention to your shorts, unbuttoning them and pulling them past your ankles as you shifted awkwardly to help him. Now you were almost entirely bare before him, with just one last scrap of fabric left to protect your modesty. Not like that mattered to him; without waiting another moment, he dove his head straight between your legs.

"H-hey! Easy now-"

"Relax, relax, I'm not gonna hurt ya, baby, just givin' ya another reason to stick around." He didn't even bother fully dressing you down, merely pushing the fabric to the side with his skinny fingers as he finally tasted you. His tongue ran over the sensitive area, not deep enough to enter you, but enough to make your eyes flutter shut, your head rolled back a bit, and a moan, halfway between despair and arousal, filled the room as he continued to drink in all you had to offer. Even muted between your thighs, you could hear him moaning too and didn't doubt he was either dry-humping the mattress or using his free hand to palm himself while still between your legs. He liked to start out slow like this, to try and savor the "first taste," but you knew he wouldn't last too long like this. Especially not after he was already pissed.

His fingers moved from between your legs to using both hands to grip the waistband of your underwear, harshly pulling suddenly, quickly snapping the elastic, and doing the same to the other side just as quickly, Scout managed to easily remove the rest of the fabric, giving him full access to your body. He was done with trying to go slow and gentle, using both hands on the inside of your thighs to push them further apart, causing your pussy to spread wide open for him. You squirmed a little in sudden discomfort; feeling his hot breath fanning directly over your exposed sex felt pleasurable but not enough to make you forget your guilt. "Scout, cmon- can't we just-"

"Nope." He wasn't about to turn back now, not after he finally had you exactly where he wanted you. Especially not seeing you already beginning to "soften up" under his touch. You hated how turned on you felt watching him act so rough and demanding over your body. He was an annoying, self-absorbed brute, and you hated the way your body continued to heat up as he kept you pinned down and wide open.

He took another long lick, his tongue flicking over your clit, the feeling causing you to tense up instantly. You tried hard not to give into him here, to keep your hips from bucking against his mouth, but Scout knew you better than you wanted to admit. He used his fingers to massage your thighs before retreating his right hand to join his mouth at the entrance to your core. The feeling of his eyes against yours was enough to keep your eyes scrunched shut, not daring to actually look down and risk catching the sight of him watching your face intensely as Scout lapped against your pussy. He suckled away greedily, wanting to feel as much as he could of you with his mouth, using his nose to bump against your clit as he used his tongue to press a little deeper inside you.

Scout pulled one of your thighs over his shoulder, forcing you to bend your knee and bring him closer to your wet opening. The longer this went on, the harder it was to keep still, and once you gave up on that, it wasn't long before you gave up on keeping quiet as well. And you gasped out loud when you felt his fingers prodding at your entrance. Scout moved so his mouth could kiss and suck away directly on your clit while his fingers began to work against your pussy. Thankfully you were more than wet enough to help his fingers get a feel for the sensitive tissue, which began to stretch to accommodate as he pressed them deeper inside you. The pleasure was building fast, and you felt your head lull back, breathing ragged, your body throbbing and wet around his mouth and fingers. Like always, he moved quickly and adeptly with his fingers, curling them and helping you open up more as they became coated in your slick. By now, you were becoming blinded by pleasure, your thighs squeezing against Scout's head, wanting him to make you come; the moment you felt his fingers curl upward inside you, all initial self-restraint was forgotten.

You could practically feel your end coming closer and closer as you rolled your hips against his face. You were aware of Scout's moans and sounds of pleasure reverberating between your legs, but the two of you were practically seeing as one here, knowing you were just seconds away from climax. Sweat clung to your back, soaking the sheets under you, your body felt too hot, and you were practically begging Scout to "go harder, please- as hard as you can!" The spots where he held you down in his tight grip were beginning to ache and feel sore, but you were too close to care; your back arched off the bed while you finally felt your orgasm beginning to dawn. Scout could practically feel it too, your body so erotic, moving against his touch like an angel, this one moment of intimacy feeling hotter than anything the two of you had shared before now. Scout could feel how swollen your clit had become since he started, and he focused on using his tongue to wrap and twist against the sensitive bundle of nerves until he felt your thighs tense up, gripping him even tighter as you came. Scout didn't stop sucking away at your sex as you ground mindlessly against his face, riding out the climax.

The fatigue following orgasm hit you all at once; all the tension you felt in your joints and muscles gradually began to melt away as your heartbeat slowed. Thought the head fog of pleasure lingered as you felt your ragged breathing begin to regulate itself again. Even as Scout continued to lap up as much of your fluids between your legs as he could manage, inciting the occasional throb of after-pleasure. While your relationship with Scout was far from what you ever wanted, a part of you was thankful he was here to hold you during your comedown. To have a warm body wrapped around you to satisfy that primal part of your brain that longed for companionship, no matter who it came from, to be there for you after the pleasure ended. You kept your eyes shut, knowing if you were to open them, you'd be brought back to reality all too quickly. It would end the light, almost floaty feeling in your chest as you felt Scout gradually draw his head out from between your legs. He placed one last kiss over your right hipbone before laying his head down to rest his head on your lower belly, both arms wrapping around your torso to pull himself closer to you, unintentionally smearing the mess on his lips against your naked skin.

"You're my baby; you'll always be my baby. No matter how far you make me chase you- I'll never give up." Usually, after he made you come, he was so loud, so proud of himself, but he sounded completely different now. Scout sounded almost shy, so hushed but at the same time sincere. One of the few times he ever seemed to actually try and choose his words carefully before speaking. Almost like he was begging you.

"Scout-" But you were cut off.

"I know you still want to try and escape, but I'll never let you get away with it. I don't want to hurt ya; just- I mean, I'll do anything to protect ya from other guys, but if it means I gotta keep ya all locked up or knock some sense into ya when you're acting crazy. I'll do anything."

Despite yourself, you forced your eyes open slowly, trying to focus your fuzzy vision on the boy lying over you; it was a pitiful sight. Scout was violent, dangerous, and you hated him, but you couldn't help but feel pity for him. You didn't want to be here or be a part of this, but you couldn't help but wonder if Scout felt just as much a victim of his obsession as you were.

Scout didn't look up at you with puppy eyes or ask anything of you. Likely, he wouldn't want your pity, and you didn't want to divulge that sentiment anyhow, but still, with a moment of hesitation, your hands lightly rested on the top of his head. Using your fingers to stroke gently over his hair while you stared blankly up at the ceiling, praying sleep would find the two of you quickly.

#anonymous #request #yandere #x reader #self ship #tf2 x reader #yandere tf2 #yandere team fortress 2 x reader #tf2 smut #tf2 drabble #yandere smut #yandere imagine #male yandere #tf2 scout #tf2 scout x reader #yandere tf2 scout #yancore #afab reader

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msmc-796-official · 4 months ago

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Okay, okay, one question at a time. It appears Phoenix wasn't kidding when she described your enthusiasm. It's endearing, really.

First: how am I.

I'm doing well - the calibration process went smoothly, and the weight distribution is satisfactory. My precision with small arms fire still isn't quite where I want it to be, but overall everything is very well coordinated and doesn't feel too bulky or slow for my reflexes. I've not tested my prosthetic in my Caliban just yet (our sparring match with CMC will be a good test of this), but between your modifications and Slipshod's mods on the Caliban itself to account for the new arm, I have full faith that it will function as intended, if not better.

Second: my pilot history.

I have been a pilot from a very young age, and have served faithfully under MSMC's employ for approximately 12 years. 2 of those years were spent as a cadet undergoing orientation, with the remaining 10 dedicated entirely to the service of MSMC-796 "Heaven's Fury". I have served as squadron commander for three years now.

The Caliban was a natural choice for someone of my skillset, unfortunate as that connotation is to me now. The Caliban, at its core, is a frame designed to kill people very, very quickly. I used to be very, very good at killing people (and I still am, though these days I am out of practice and much less proud of it), and this frame has only exacerbated those tendencies. It was not my first frame - I have piloted both an Everest and a Sherman in the past - but it is the frame I have chosen as my own. (Slipshod says I should try piloting an Empakaii at some point. The very notion is ridiculous.)

As you well know, my original Caliban frame, Sudden Intervention, was slagged during the events of the Fireman Saga. Slipshod has since printed me a new one, complete with upgrades and new equipment befitting my LL9 status: From The Ashes We Rise.

Third: how to be like me.

This... is a difficult question to answer.

Perhaps you have heard the rumors about my past - that I was born and raised on Ras Shamra. That I used to work under the employ of Harrison Armory as a Colonial Legionnaire. That I was actively deployed on the Dawnline Shore as part of a combat squadron.

These rumors are all true, I'm afraid.

I was indeed a Legionnaire not all that long ago, and I have been an active participant in untold atrocities best not mentioned publicly. It is a piece of my identity that I have tried to bury the best I can (with mixed results) and make what peace I can with. MSMC was my chance to leave a miserable existence as an anthrochauvinist pawn behind and make a fresh start, free of my ties to the Armory... and, I'm ashamed to say, protected from the brunt of Union's wrath by the intricate contracts drafted by the MSMC legal teams.

It is a minor miracle that MSMC saw me fit to lead a squadron of my own accord, and it is no accident that I was paired with members with drastically different affiliations - Phoenix being a native of IPS-N airspace, Slipshod being an ex-HORUS operative. It took quite some time before I came around to their particular way of thinking, and even longer to feel like a worthy squadron commander. It is with their help that I have begun to make reparations for my bloodstained past, and the fact that someone like you views me as a role model - something to be aspired to, even - is admittedly rather bittersweet.

I was not a good person for a very, very long time. That I am seen as one now is a testament to how much one is capable of changing as a person, provided they are willing to ask others for help along the way and put in dedicated, genuine effort.

Last: advice for an aspiring lancer. I'll try to keep this brief for you; I understand this has been a lot to take in.

Your mech is your partner, for better or for worse. While I cannot speak to the experience of piloting alongside an NHP, your mech is as much a living, thinking entity as you the pilot. Two bodies, one purpose. Treat it with respect, and it will serve you well.

Heed your squadmates' judgements, even if you disagree. You will never quite see things the same way they do, and external opinions are infinitely valuable in the face of uncertainty and doubt.

It's never too late to change who you are. I trust this point requires no further explanation than what I have provided already.

Most importantly - stay true to yourself. There is nothing more miserable than becoming locked into a set of ideals and beliefs that inherently are not "you", especially for someone else's sake. I learned this lesson the hard way. I can only hope you will not have to.

-- Lockbreaker

> Greetings, Gray. This is Lockbreaker of MSMC-796 speaking-

// Oh, don't be so formal, Kennedi! Gray knows full well who you are. We're on a first-name basis. Good to see you again, by the way!

> Hmph. But yes, hello, Gray. Phoenix has informed me that she has promised you a meet-and-greet with me after my prosthesis calibration was complete. I have indeed completed said calibration, and while this initial decision was made while I was not yet coherent enough to consent, I'm willing to humor it for her sake.

// RUDE! I had that prosthesis custom commissioned for you, and now you have the nerve to-

> That was a joke, Phoenix. I'm more than happy to chat with Gray. It's an honor to get to meet the talented mechanic behind my new arm (even if they did, by Slipshod's request, put flames on it).

// ...if you say so. But yeah, here's Kennedi, as promised - if you wanna ask questions, go right ahead. I'd love to stay and chat too, but I actually have to go here in a bit - we've got a new round of recruits coming by later and Upper Management wants me to go do my PR spiel to welcome them in. See you two later!

> Aaand there she goes. Well then. Now that it's just the two of us, I suppose I'm an open book. I'm sure you have questions for me; go ahead and ask, and I'll answer to the best of my ability.

-- Angel & Lockbreaker

+ Oh Ra, okay, uhm-- okay okay, so— Sorry, one moment, this is really cool— I don't mean to fanboy, I've just been really amped for this meeting!!

+ I mean, obviously, first and foremost- How are you? How has your recovery been? I know you're in fantastic company, and that your squad has been so worried, so I bet that's been really nice- And how is the arm treating you? Did my advice on stump care help at all, and how's the weight distribution? Trying to make something to interface with a mech like yours, with the requests Slipshod made, without making it so heavy that it causes muscle fatigue was a very fun challenge. And I like the flames! I drew the decal myself.

+ As for uhmm- slightly less personal questions? I wanted to ask- how did you settle on your Caliban? Was it your first frame, or did you try a few? And how old is it, or, better yet, how long have you been piloting? Did you attend an academy, or was your training on the field? See, I guess I'm- moreso looking for a crash-course on-- well, not "how to be you," but I admire you, really, a lot- and I want to set myself up for success.

+ Maybe it's better to ask; Do you have any advice for an aspiring Lancer?

#lancerrpg #lancer ttrpg #lancer rpg #> I sincerely apologize for the wall of text - I am not an eloquent person by nature but I much prefer clarity over brevity #> let it be known MSMC-796 will not be taking commentary on my status as an ex-Legionnaire at this time (nor will it ever)#correspondences with: Gray

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kingandfireheart · 4 years ago

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The biggest Eris Vanserra moments from ACOTAR -ACOSF: What the fuck is happening in Autumn (Part 1)

I was originally very confused about how people seem to LOVE Eris all of a sudden, so I went back through the books to find out. SJM has definitely sprinkled the bread crumbs for some massive Eris revelations - will he have a redemption arc? does he even need to be redeemed? What are his secrets? Why did he leave Mor? Why did he protect Lucien? Why did he want to marry Nesta?

Cassian and Feyre voice doubts about Eris that really had me thinking about all of his scenes in the books:

" Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison. Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that."

"You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods."

I went through all five books and pieced together the most telling Eris moments (they are all below the cut)

What I gained from this exercise was a few observations

Eris may have a moral compass - he curbs Beron's and his brother's bad behavior, and he stick his neck out to help in the war . He also seems to genuinely care for his soldiers. Eris pushes back against Beron, the oldest and most terrible High Lord, even when it results in punishment

Eris is playing a long game here, and it isn't limited to just him being high lord. We still don't have the full story on Mor and Lucien : what were the larger forces at play? Why did he buy Mor time? What did he show Rhys and Mor to convince them to trust him? Does he care for Lucien like a brother? Is he just a part of the schemes?

The Lady of the Autumn Court is definitely a big piece to the Autumn Court, Lucien, Helion, and Eris puzzles (Here is a list of her moments!)

See my other compilations of Character moments here: Lucien Sass, Nessian Mating Bond (Pre-ACOFAS), Cassian + Words of Affirmation (ACOSF), Lady of the Autumn Court

A Court of Thrones and Roses:

Tamlin tells Lucien's Story

"Lucien is the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.”... “The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is … cutthroat. Beautiful, but his brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court. Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that —“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.” Tamlin paused for a moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, “Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. Lucien said he didn’t care that she wasn’t one of the High Fae, that he was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that he was going to marry her and leave his father’s court to his scheming brothers.”

A tight sigh. “His father had her put down. Executed, in front of Lucien, as his two eldest brothers held him and made him watch.” My stomach turned, and I pushed a hand against my chest. I couldn’t imagine, couldn’t comprehend that sort of loss. “Lucien left. He cursed his father, abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without his title protecting him, his brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord’s crown. Three of them went out to kill him; one came back.”

---

“As emissary,” I began, “has he ever had dealings with his father? Or his brothers?”

“Yes. His father has never apologized, and his brothers are too frightened of me to risk harming him.” No arrogance in those words, just icy truth. “But he has never forgotten what they did to her, or what his brothers tried to do to him. Even if he pretends that he has.”

Under the Mountain

When Amarantha tortures Lucien for Feyre's name:

Behind them, pressing to the front of the crowd, came four tall, red-haired High Fae. Toned and muscled, some of them looking like warriors about to set foot on a battlefield, some like pretty courtiers, they all stared at Lucien—and grinned. The four remaining sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

---

Lucien’s brothers lurked on the edges of the crowd—no remorse, no fear on their handsome faces.

---

“Her name?” she asked Tamlin, who didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on Lucien’s brothers, as if marking who was smiling the broadest.

Amarantha ran a nail down the arm of her throne. “I don’t suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien,” she purred.

“If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you,” said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.

---

Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. His brothers frowned—the eldest going so far as to bare his teeth at me in a silent snarl.

---

A ripple of laughter spread across those assembled behind us, the loudest from Lucien’s brothers.

When Rhysand takes Feyre to the parties at night:

Faeries and High Fae gawked as we passed through the entrance. Some bowed to Rhysand, while others gaped. I spied several of Lucien’s older brothers gathered just inside the doors. The smiles they gave me were nothing short of vulpine.

---

We reached the throne room, and I braced myself to be drugged and disgraced again. But it was Rhysand the crowd looked at—Rhysand whom Lucien’s brothers monitored. Amarantha’s clear voice rang out over the music, summoning him. He paused, glancing at Lucien’s brothers stalking toward us, their attention pinned on me. Eager, hungry—wicked. I opened my mouth, not too proud to ask Rhysand not to leave me alone with them while he dealt with Amarantha, but he put a hand on my back and nudged me along

During the second trial:

In the crowd, red hair gleamed—four heads of red hair—and I stiffened my spine. I knew his brothers would be smiling at Lucien’s predicament—but where was his mother? His father? Surely the High Lord of the Autumn Court would be present. I scanned the crowd. No sign of them

---

“Answer it!” Lucien shouted, his voice hitched. My eyes stung. The world was just a blur of letters, mocking me with their turns and shapes.

The metal groaned as it scraped against the smooth stone of the chamber, and the faeries’ whispers grew more frenzied. Through the holes in the grate, I thought I saw Lucien’s eldest brother chuckle. Hot—so unbearably hot.

---

“Just pick one!” Lucien shouted, and some of those in the crowd laughed—his brothers no doubt the loudest.

When Tamlin and Feyre make out in the closet:

“You’re both fools,” he murmured, his breathing uneven. “How did you not think that someone would notice you were gone? You should thank the Cauldron Lucien’s delightful brothers weren’t watching you.

After Feyre breaks the curse:

The Attor and the nastier faeries had disappeared instantly, along with Lucien’s brothers, which was a clever move, as Lucien wasn’t the only faerie with a score to settle

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Court of Mist and Fury:

Lucien telling Feyre about Jesminda:

“Even if I what?”

His face paled, and he stroked a hand down the mare’s cobweb-colored mane. “I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”

Rhys tells Mor's story:

His throat bobbed. I could tell it was rage, and pain, that kept him from telling me outright—not mistrust. After a moment, he said, “I was there, in the Hewn City, the day her father declared she was to be sold in marriage to Eris, eldest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” Lucien’s brother. “Eris had a reputation for cruelty, and Mor … begged me not to let it happen. For all her power, all her wildness, she had no voice, no rights with those people. And my father didn’t particularly care if his cousins used their offspring as breeding stock.”

“What happened?” I breathed.

“I brought Mor to the Illyrian camp for a few days. And she saw Cassian, and decided she’d do the one thing that would ruin her value to these people. I didn’t know until after, and … it was a mess. With Cassian, with her, with our families. And it’s another long story, but the short of it is that Eris refused to marry her. Said she’d been sullied by a bastard-born lesser faerie, and he’d now sooner fuck a sow. Her family … they … ” I’d never seen him at such a loss for words. Rhys cleared his throat. “When they were done, they dumped her on the Autumn Court border, with a note nailed to her body that said she was Eris’s problem.”

Nailed—nailed to her.

Rhys said with soft wrath, “Eris left her for dead in the middle of their woods. Azriel found her a day later. It was all I could do to keep him from going to either court and slaughtering them all.” I thought of that merry face, the flippant laughter, the female that did not care who approved. Perhaps because she had seen the ugliest her kind had to offer. And had survived.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Court of Wings and Ruin:

Lucien tells his story:

“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”

A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

Despite myself, a shudder rippled down my spine. I finished off the apple and uncoiled to my feet, plucking another off a low-hanging branch. “Would you want it—your father’s crown?”

“No one’s ever asked me that,” Lucien mused as we moved on, dodging fallen, rotting apples. The air was sticky-sweet. “The bloodshed that would be required to earn that crown wouldn’t be worth it. Neither would its festering court. I’d gain a crown—only to rule over a crafty, two-faced people.”

Lucien+Feyre vs. Autumn Court Brothers:

“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.”

“We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.

That knife pressed a fraction harder into my skin as he let out a humorless laugh. “Right. Rumor has it you two have run off together, cuckolding Tamlin.” His grin widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”

“He had it in her, it seems,” one of the others sniggered.

I slid my gaze to the male above me. “You will release us.”

“Our esteemed father wishes to see you,” he said with a snake’s smile. The knife didn’t waver. “So you will come with us to his home.” “Eris,” Lucien warned. The name clanged through me. Above me, mere inches away … Mor’s former betrothed. The male who had abandoned her when he found her brutalized body on the border. The High Lord’s heir.

---

“This can end with you going under, begging me to get you out once that ice instantly refreezes,” Eris drawled. Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two. “Or this can end with you agreeing to take my hand. But either way, you will be coming with me.”

---

Glaring—then considering. Watching the three of us as I said to Eris, to his other two brothers, to the sentries on the shore, “You all deserve to die for this. And for much, much more. But I am going to spare your miserable lives.”

Even with a wound through his gut, Eris’s lip curled.

Cassian snarled his warning.

I only removed the glamour I’d kept on myself these weeks. With the sleeve of my jacket and shirt gone, there was nothing but smooth skin where that wound had been. Smooth skin that now became adorned with swirls and whorls of ink. The markings of my new title—and my mating bond.

Lucien’s face drained of color as he strode for us, stopping a healthy distance from Azriel’s side. “I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.

Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something like fear now creeping into them.

Lucien advises the Inner Circle:

Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.”

A snarl from Rhys.

“Your brothers saw me, though,” I said, setting down my fork. “Perhaps they could mistake the flame as yours, but the ice …”

Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows —if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”

Mor said, “Eris might keep that information to himself and convince the others to as well, if he thinks it’ll be more useful that way.” I wondered if Mor looked at that red hair, the golden-brown skin that was a few shades darker than his brothers’, and still saw Eris.

Lucien said evenly, “Perhaps. But we need to find that out. If Beron or Eris has that information, they’ll use it to their advantage in that meeting—to control it. Or control you. Or they might not show up at all, and instead go right to Hybern.”

Eris in the Hewn City:

If the Ouroboros could not be retrieved, at least without such terrible risk … I shut out the thought, sealing it away for later, as Keir left. Leaving us alone with Eris.

The heir of Autumn just sipped his wine.

And I had the terrible sense that Mor had gone somewhere far, far away as Eris set down his goblet and said, “You look well, Mor.”

“You don’t speak to her,” Azriel said softly.

Eris gave a bitter smile. “I see you’re still holding a grudge.”

“This arrangement, Eris,” Rhys said, “relies solely upon you keeping your mouth shut.”

Eris huffed a laugh. “And haven’t I done an excellent job? Not even my father suspected when I left tonight.”

I glanced between my mate and Eris. “How did this come about?”

Eris looked me over. The crown and dress. “You didn’t think that I knew your shadowsinger would come sniffing around to see if I’d told my father about your … powers? Especially after my brothers so mysteriously forgot about them, too. I knew it was a matter of time before one of you arrived to take care of my memory as well.” Eris tapped the side of his head with a long finger. “Too bad for you, I learned a thing or two about daemati. Too bad for my brothers that I never bothered to teach them.”

---

“Of course I didn’t tell my father,” Eris went on, drinking from his wine again. “Why waste that sort of information on the bastard? His answer would be to hunt you down and kill you—not realizing how much shit we’re in with Hybern and that you might be the key to stopping it.”

“So he plans to join us, then,” Rhys said.

“Not if he learns about your little secret.” Eris smirked. Mor blinked—as if realizing that Rhys’s contact with Eris, his invitation here … The glance she gave me, clear and settled, told me enough. Hurt and anger still swirled, but understanding, too.

“So what’s the asking price, Eris?” Mor demanded, leaning her bare arms on the dark glass. “Another little bride for you to torture?”

Something flickered in Eris’s eyes. “I don’t know who fed you those lies to begin with, Morrigan,” he said with vicious calm. “Likely the bastards you surround yourself with.” A sneer at Azriel.

Mor snarled, rattling the glasses. “You never gave any evidence to the contrary. Certainly not when you left me in those woods.”

“There were forces at work that you have never considered,” Eris said coldly. “And I am not going to waste my breath explaining them to you. Believe what you want about me.”

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

“And what of the brother you hunted down alongside me? The one whose lover you helped to execute before his eyes?”

Eris laid a hand flat on the table. “You know nothing about what happened that day. Nothing.”

Silence.

“Indulge me,” was all I said.

Eris stared me down. I stared right back.

“How do you think he made it to the Spring border,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t there—when they did it. Ask him. I refused. It was the first and only time I have denied my father anything. He punished me. And by the time I got free … They were going to kill him, too. I made sure they didn’t. Made sure Tamlin got word—anonymously—to get the hell over to his own border.”

Where two of Eris’s brothers had been killed. By Lucien and Tamlin.

Eris picked at a stray thread on his jacket. “Not all of us were so lucky in our friends and family as you, Rhysand.”

Rhys’s face was a mask of boredom. “It would seem so.”

And none of this entirely erased what he’d done, but … “What is the asking price,” I repeated.

“The same thing I told Azriel when I found him snooping through my father’s woods yesterday.”

Hurt flared in Mor’s eyes as she whipped her head toward the shadowsinger. But Azriel didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he announced, “When the time comes … we are to support Eris’s bid to take the throne.”

Even as Azriel spoke, that frozen rage dulled his face. And Eris was wise enough to finally pale at the sight. Perhaps that was why Eris had kept knowledge of my powers to himself. Not just for this sort of bargaining, but to avoid the wrath of the shadowsinger. The blade at his side.

“The request still stands, Rhysand,” Eris said, mastering himself, “to just kill my father and be done with it. I can pledge troops right now.”

Mother above. He didn’t even try to hide it—to look at all remorseful. It was an effort to keep my jaw from dropping to the table at his intent, the casualness with which he spoke it.

“Tempting, but too messy,” Rhys replied. “Beron sided with us in the War. Hopefully he’ll sway that way again.” A pointed stare at Eris.

“He will,” Eris promised, running a finger over one of the claw marks gouged into the table. “And will remain blissfully unaware of Feyre’s … gifts.” A throne—in exchange for his silence. And sway.

“Promise Keir nothing you care about,” Rhys said, waving a hand in dismissal.

Eris just rose to his feet. “We’ll see.” A frown at Mor as he drained his wine and set down the goblet. “I’m surprised you still can’t control yourself around him. You had every emotion written right on that pretty face of yours.”

“Watch it,” Azriel warned.

Eris looked between them, smiling faintly. Secretly. As if he knew something that Azriel didn’t. “I wouldn’t have touched you,” he said to Mor, who blanched again. “But when you fucked that other bastard—” A snarl ripped from Rhys’s throat at that. And my own. “I knew why you did it.” Again that secret smile that had Mor shrinking. Shrinking. “So I gave you your freedom, ending the betrothal in no uncertain terms.”

“And what happened next,” Azriel growled.

A shadow crossed Eris’s face. “There are few things I regret. That is one of them. But … perhaps one day, now that we are allies, I shall tell you why. What it cost me.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Mor said quietly. She pointed to the door. “Get out.”

Eris gave a mocking bow to her. To all of us. “See you at the meeting in twelve days.”

Inner Circle Reacts to Eris Alliance:

Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris.”

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

Perhaps Rhys had not filled him in on everything, then. On what Eris had claimed about saving his youngest brother in whatever way he could. Of his defiance.

“Your whole family is despicable,” Amren said to Lucien from where she and Nesta lingered in the archway. “But Eris may prove a better alternative. If he can find a way to kill Beron off and make sure the power shifts to himself.”

“I’m sure he will,” Lucien said.

High Lord's Meeting

(the highlights - there's a lot of Beron, Eris, and Helion to piece together here)

Beron—slender-faced and brown-haired—didn’t bother to look anywhere but at the High Lords assembled. But his remaining sons sneered at us. Sneered enough that the Peregryns ruffled their feathers. Even Varian flashed his teeth in warning at the leer Cresseida earned from one of them. Their father didn’t bother to check them.

But Eris did.

A step behind his father, Eris murmured, “Enough,” and his younger brothers fell into line. All three of them.

Whether Beron noticed or cared, he did not let on. No, he merely stopped halfway across the room, hands folded before him, and scowled—as if we were a pack of mongrels.

Beron, the oldest among us. The most awful.

Rhys smoothly greeted him, though his power was a dark mountain shuddering beneath us, “It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family.”

Beron’s lips curled slightly as he looked to me, my crown. “Mate—and High Lady.”

I leveled a flat, bored stare at him. Turned it on his hateful sons. On—Eris.

Eris only smiled at me, amused and aloof. Would he wear that mask when he ended his father’s life and stole his throne?

---

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

Heat stained my cheeks. This wasn’t outright battle, but a steady, careful shredding of my dignity, my credibility. Beron beamed, delighted—while Eris carefully monitored.

---

Rhys went on, “I … convinced her that it would serve little purpose.” “Who knew,” Beron mused, “that a cock could be so persuasive?”

“Father.” Eris’s voice was low with warning.

For Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and I had fixed our gazes upon Beron. And none of us were smiling. Perhaps Eris would be High Lord sooner than he planned.

---

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.

But Beron said, “You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.” A wry look. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”

Even Tamlin looked toward us—toward me.

“Helping to guard our city,” was all I said. Not a lie, not entirely.

Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

If they knew Elain was Lucien’s mate … It was now another avenue, I realized with no small amount of horror. Another way to strike at the youngest brother they hated so fiercely, so unreasonably. Eris’s bargain with us had not included protection of Lucien. My mouth went dry.

But Mor replied smoothly, “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.

---

Only Eris knew how far that alliance went—information that could damn this meeting if either side revealed it. Information that could get him wiped off the earth by his father.

Mor was staring and staring at Azriel, who refused to look at her, who refused to do anything but give Eris that death-gaze.

Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.

---

Beron’s face darkened. “Watch your tone, girl.”

“She doesn’t have to watch anything,” I cut in. “Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her.” I looked to the alchemist. “I will take your antidote.”

Beron rolled his eyes.

But Eris said, “Father.”

Beron lifted a brow. “You have something to add?”

Eris didn’t flinch, but he seemed to choose his words very, very carefully. “I have seen the effects of faebane.” He nodded toward me. “It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—”

“If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.”

“It is no theory,” Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. “I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.”

A female of pride and hard work.

Eris said, “I will take it.”

It was the most … decent I’d ever heard him sound. Even Mor blinked at it.

Beron studied his son with a scrutiny that made some small, small part of me wonder if Eris might have grown to be a good male if he’d had a different father. If one still lurked there, beneath centuries of poison.

Because Eris … What had it been like for him, Under the Mountain? What games had he played— what had he endured? Trapped for forty-nine years. I doubted he would risk such a thing happening again. Even if it set him in opposition to his father—or perhaps because of that.

Beron only said, “No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.” Indeed, the others seemed rather put-out that their first barrier to the throne wasn’t about to risk his life in testing Nuan’s solution.

---

Rhys lifted a brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”

“I have not yet decided.”

Eris went so far as to give his father a look bordering on reproach. From genuine alarm or for what that refusal might mean for our own covert alliance, I couldn’t tell.

---

This argument was pointless. And I didn’t care who they were or who I was as I said to Beron, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.”

At his side, Eris had the wits to actually look worried.

But Beron continued to ignore his son’s pointed stare and hissed at me, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”

I didn’t deign responding.

“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”

---

Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between my sister and his father.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce.

“You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?” Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit. Nesta marked the gesture—hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered.

---

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.”

A look at his family, and they vanished. Eris was the last to winnow, something conflicted dancing over his face, as if this was not the outcome he’d planned for.

Expected.

The Lucien Paternity Revelation:

Helion began asking why we wanted to know, what Hybern was doing with the Cauldron … and Rhys fed him answers, easily and smoothly.

While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.

I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.

It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.

My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?

It would seem not.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

The War:

Out of a rip in the world, Eris appeared atop our knoll, clad head to toe in silver armor, a red cape spilling from his shoulders. Rhys snarled a warning, too far gone in his power to bother controlling himself.

Eris just rested a hand on the pommel of his fine sword and said, “We thought you might need some help.”

---

But Beron. Beron had come. Eris registered our shock at that, too, and said, “Tamlin made him. Dragged my father out by his neck.” A half smile. “It was delightful.

---

Rhys’s voice was rough—low. “And what of your father?”

“We’re taking care of a problem,” was all Eris said, and pointed toward his father’s army. For those were his brothers approaching the front line, winnowing in bursts through the host. Right past the front lines and to the enemy wagons scattered throughout Hybern’s ranks.

The Final Meeting:

Eris was bruised and cut up enough to indicate he must have been in terrible shape after the fighting ceased yesterday, sporting a brutal slice down his cheek and neck—barely healed. Mor let out a satisfied grunt at the sight of it—or perhaps a sound of disappointment that the wound had not been fatal.

Eris continued by as if he hadn’t heard it, but didn’t sneer at least. Rather—he just nodded at Rhys. It was silent promise enough: soon. Soon, perhaps, Eris would finally take what he desired—and call in our debt.

We did not bother to nod back. None of us.

Especially not Lucien, who continued dutifully ignoring his eldest brother. But as Eris strode by … I could have sworn there was something like sadness—like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Court of Frost and Starlight:

Mor's Flashback (TW: physical abuse, violence)

But the Autumn Court male standing beside Keir … Mor made herself look at Eris. Into his amber eyes.

Colder than any hall of Kallias’s court. They had been that way from the moment she’d met him, five centuries ago.

Eris laid a pale hand on the breast of his pewter-colored jacket, the portrait of Autumn Court gallantry. “I thought I’d extend some Solstice greetings of my own.”

That voice. That silky, arrogant voice. It had not altered, not in tone or timbre, in the passing centuries, either. Had not changed since that day.

Warm, buttery sunlight through the leaves, setting them glowing like rubies and citrines. The damp, earthen scent of rotting things beneath the leaves and roots she lay upon. Had been thrown and left upon.

Everything hurt. Everything. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but watch the sun drift through the rich canopy far overhead, listen to the wind between the silvery trunks.

And the center of that pain, radiating outward like living fire with each uneven, rasping breath …

Light, steady steps crunched on the leaves. Six sets. A border guard, a patrol.

Help. Someone to help—

A male voice, foreign and deep, swore. Then went silent.

Went silent as a single pair of steps approached. She couldn’t turn her head, couldn’t bear the agony. Could do nothing but inhale each wet, shuddering breath.

“Don’t touch her.”

Those steps stopped.

It was not a warning to protect her. Defend her.

She knew the voice that spoke. Had dreaded hearing it. She felt him approach now. Felt each reverberation in the leaves, the moss, the roots. As if the very land shuddered before him.

“No one touches her,” he said. Eris. “The moment we do, she’s our responsibility.”

Cold, unfeeling words.

“But—but they nailed a—”

“No one touches her.”

...

She began shaking, hating it as much as she’d hated the begging. Her body bellowed in agony, those nails in her abdomen relentless.

A pale, beautiful face appeared above her, blocking out the jewel-like leaves above. Unmoved. Impassive. “I take it you do not wish to live here, Morrigan.”

She would rather die here, bleed out here. She would rather die and return— return as something wicked and cruel, and shred them all apart.

He must have read it in her eyes. A small smile curved his lips. “I thought so.”

Eris straightened, turning. Her fingers curled in the leaves and loamy soil.

She wished she could grow claws—grow claws as Rhys could—and rip out that pale throat. But that was not her gift. Her gift … her gift had left her here. Broken and bleeding.

Eris took a step away.

Someone behind him blurted, “We can’t just leave her to—”

“We can, and we will,” Eris said simply, his pace unfaltering as he strode away. “She chose to sully herself; her family chose to deal with her like garbage. I have already told them my decision in this matter.” A long pause, crueler than the rest. “And I am not in the habit of fucking Illyrian leftovers.”

She couldn’t stop it, then. The tears that slid out, hot and burning. Alone. They would leave her alone here. Her friends did not know where she had gone. She barely knew where she was.

“But—” That dissenting voice cut in again.

“Move out.”

There was no dissension after that.

And when their steps faded away, then vanished, the silence returned.

The sun and the wind and the leaves.

The blood and the iron and the soil beneath her nails.

The pain.

Eris in the Hewn City:

“I would suggest reminding Beron that territory expansion is not on the table. For any court.”

Eris wasn’t fazed. Nothing had ever disturbed him, ruffled him. Mor had hated it from the moment she’d met him—that distance, that coldness. That lack of interest or feeling for the world. “Then I would suggest to you, High Lord, that you speak to your dear friend Tamlin about it.”

“Why.” Feyre’s question was sharp as a blade.

Eris’s mouth curved in an adder’s smile. “Because Tamlin’s territory is the only one that borders the human lands. I’d think that anyone looking to expand would have to go through the Spring Court first. Or at least obtain his permission.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Court of Silver Flames:

Mor meets with Cassian:

“Eris bought me time.” Her words were laced with acid.

Cassian had tried not to believe it, but he knew Eris had done it as a gesture of good faith. He’d invited Rhysand into his mind to see exactly why he’d convinced Keir to indefinitely delay his visit to Velaris. Only Eris had that sort of sway with the power-hungry Keir, and whatever Eris had offered Keir in exchange for not coming here was still a mystery. At least to Cassian. Rhys probably knew. From Mor’s pale face, he wondered if she knew, too. Eris must have sacrificed something big to spare Mor from her father’s visit, which would have likely been timed for a moment that would maximize tormenting her.

Cassian meets with the Band of Exiles + Eris:

Lucien’s gold eye clicked, reading Cassian’s rage while warning flashed in his remaining russet eye.

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

---

Eris was their ally. Rhys had bargained with him, worked with him. Eris had held up his end at every turn. Rhys trusted him. Mor, despite all that had happened, trusted him. Sort of. So Cassian supposed he should do so as well.

---

Eris snorted again at Cassian’s fumbling, and, unable to help himself, Cassian at last turned toward him. “What are you doing here?”

Eris didn’t so much as shift in his seat. “Several dozen of my soldiers were out on patrol in my lands several days ago and have not reported back. We found no sign of battle. Even my hounds couldn’t track them beyond their last known location.”

Cassian’s brows lowered. He knew he shouldn’t let anything show, but … Those hounds were the best in Prythian. Canines blessed with magic of their own. Gray and sleek like smoke, they could race fast as the wind, sniff out any prey. They were so highly prized that the Autumn Court forbade them from being given or sold beyond its borders, and so expensive that only its nobility owned them. And they were bred rarely enough that even one was extremely difficult to come by. Eris, Cassian knew, had twelve.

“None of them could winnow?” Cassian asked.

“No. While the unit is one of my most skilled in combat, none of its soldiers are remarkable in magic or breeding.”

Breeding was tossed at Cassian with a smirk. Asshole.

But Eris shrugged a shoulder. “I think plenty of parties are interested in triggering another war, and this would be the start of it. Though perhaps your court did it. I wouldn’t put it past Rhysand to winnow my soldiers away and plant some mysterious scents to throw us off.”

---

Eris’s long red hair ruffled in the wind. “Whatever it is you’re doing, whatever it is you’re looking into, I want in.”

“Why? And no.”

“Because I need the edge Briallyn has, what Koschei has told her or shown her.”

“To overthrow your father.”

“Because my father has already pledged his forces to Briallyn and the war she wishes to incite.”

Cassian started. “What?”

“Explain what the fuck you mean by Beron pledging his forces to Briallyn.”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. He caught wind of her ambitions, and went to her palace a month ago to meet with her. I stayed here, but I sent my best soldiers with him.” Cassian refrained from sniping about Eris opting out, especially as the last words settled.

“Those wouldn’t happen to be the same soldiers who went missing, would they?”

Eris nodded gravely. “They returned with my father, but they were … off. Aloof and strange. They vanished soon after—and my hounds confirmed that the scents at the scene are the same as those on gifts Briallyn sent to curry my father’s favor.”

---

“What does Beron say?”

“He is unaware of it. You know where I stand with my father. And this unholy alliance he’s struck with Briallyn will only hurt us. All of us. It will turn into a Fae war for control. So I want to find answers on my own—rather than what my father tries to feed me.”

Cassian surveyed the male, his grim face. “So we take out your father.”

Eris snorted, and Cassian bristled. “I am the only person my father has told of his new allegiance. If the Night Court moves, it will expose me.”

“So your worry about Briallyn’s alliance with Beron is about what it means for you, rather than the rest of us.”

“I only wish to defend the Autumn Court against its worst enemies.”

“Why would I work with you on this?”

“Because we are indeed allies.” Eris’s smile became lupine. “And because I do not believe your High Lord would wish me to go to other territories and ask them to help with Briallyn and Koschei. To help them remember that all it might take to secure Briallyn’s alliance would be to hand over a certain Archeron sister. Don’t be stupid enough to believe my father hasn’t thought of that, too.”

The Inner Circle Assigning Cassian to Eris:

And then Cassian had been slapped with a new order: keep an eye on Eris. Beyond the fact that he approached you, Rhys had said, you are my general. Eris commands Beron’s forces. Be in communication with him. Cassian had started to object, but Rhys had directed a pointed look at Azriel, and Cassian had caved. Az had too much on his plate already. Cassian could deal with that piece of shit Eris on his own.

Eris wants to avoid a war that would expose him, Feyre had guessed. If Beron sides with Briallyn, Eris would be forced to choose between his father and Prythian. The careful balance he’s struck by playing both sides would crumble. He wants to act when it’s convenient for his plans. This threatens that.

Eris meets with Rhys and Cassian:

“You’ve turned into quite the little traitor,” Rhys said, stars winking out in his eyes.

“I told you years ago what I wanted, High Lord,” Eris said.

To seize his father’s throne. “Why?” Cassian asked.

Eris grasped what he meant, apparently, because flame sizzled in his eyes. “For the same reason I left Morrigan untouched at the border.”

“You left her there to suffer and die,” Cassian spat. His Siphons flickered, and all he could see was the male’s pretty face, all he could feel was his own fist, aching to make contact.

Eris sneered. “Did I? Perhaps you should ask Morrigan whether that is true. I think she finally knows the answer.” Cassian’s head spun, and the relentless itching resumed, like fingers trailing along his spine, his legs, his scalp. Eris added before winnowing away, “Tell me when the shadowsinger returns.”

Eris meets with Cassian and Nesta:

“The Dread Trove,” Eris mused, surveying the heavy gray sky that threatened snow. “I’ve never heard of such items. Though it does not surprise me.”

“Does your father know of them?” The Steppes weren’t neutral ground, but they were empty enough that Eris had finally deigned to accept Cassian’s request to meet here. After taking days to reply to his message.

“No, thank the Mother,” Eris said, crossing his arms. “He would have told me if he did. But if the Trove has a sentience like you suggested, if it wants to be found … I fear that it might also be reaching out to others as well. Not just Briallyn and Koschei.”

Beron in possession of the Trove would be a disaster. He’d join the ranks of the King of Hybern. Could become something terrible and deathless like Lanthys. “So Briallyn failed to inform Beron about her quest for the Trove when he visited her?”

“Apparently, she doesn’t trust him, either,” Eris said, face full of contemplation. “I’ll need to think on that.”

“Don’t tell him about it,” Cassian warned.

Eris shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m not going to tell him a damned thing. But the fact that Briallyn is actively hiding her larger plans from him …” He nodded, more to himself. “Is this why Morrigan is back in Vallahan? To learn if they know about the Trove?”

---

Cassian grimaced. “Technically, Azriel and I did. Your soldiers were enchanted by Queen Briallyn and Koschei to be mindless killers. They attacked us in the Bog of Oorid, and we were left with no choice but to kill them.”

“And yet two survived. How convenient. I assume they received Azriel’s particular brand of interrogation?” Eris’s voice dripped disdain.

“We could only manage to contain two,” Cassian said tightly. “Under Briallyn’s influence, they were practically rabid.”

“Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.”

Eris snorted. “There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.”

---

“Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?” Eris seethed.

---

Nesta took one step closer to Eris. “Your soldiers shot an ash arrow through one of Azriel’s wings.”

Eris’s teeth flashed. “And did you join in this massacre, too?”

“No,” she said frankly. “But I wonder: Did Briallyn arm the soldiers with those ash arrows, or did they come from your private armory?”

Eris blinked, the only confirmation required. “Such weapons are banned, aren’t they?” she asked Cassian, whose features remained taut. The conflagration within her burned hotter, higher. She returned her attention to Eris. If he could toy with Cassian, then she’d return the favor. “Who were you storing those arrows for?” she mused. “Enemies abroad?” She smiled slightly. “Or an enemy at home?”

Eris held her stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nesta’s smile didn’t waver. “Would an ash arrow through the heart kill a High Lord?”

Eris’s face paled. “You’re wasting my time.”

Eris and Nesta dance:

"Don’t believe the lies they tell you about me.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Oh?”

Eris nodded to where Mor watched them from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. “She knows the truth but has never revealed it.”

“Why?”

“Because she is afraid of it.”

“You don’t win yourself any favors with your behavior.”

“Don’t I? Do I not ally myself with this court under constant threat of being discovered and killed by my father? Do I not offer aid whenever Rhysand wishes?” He spun her again. “They believe a version of events that is easier to swallow. I always thought Rhysand wiser than that, but he tends to be blind where those he loves are concerned.”

---

Cassian could only stare at Eris’s throat, pondering whether to strangle him or slit the skin wide open. Let him bleed out on the floor.

“That’s not my decision,” Rhys said calmly to Eris. “And it seems foolish for you to offer me anything I want in exchange for her, anyway.”

His jaw tightened. “I have my reasons.”

From the shadows in his eyes, Cassian knew something more lay beneath the rash offer. Something that even Az’s spies hadn’t picked up on at the Autumn Court. All it would take was one push of Rhys’s power into his mind and they’d know, but … it went against everything they stood for, at least amongst their allies. Rhys demanded their trust; he had to give it in return. Cassian couldn’t fault his brother for that.

Eris added, “It is a bonus, of course, that in doing so, I would be repaying Cassian for ruining my betrothal to Morrigan.”

---

Again, Rhys’s lips twitched. So bloodthirsty, Cassian heard his High Lord croon to his mate. But Rhys said, “Anything I want, whether it be armies from the Autumn Court or your firstborn, you would grant me in exchange for Nesta Archeron as your wife?”

Cassian growled low in his throat. His brother was letting this carry on too far.

Eris glared. “Not as far as the firstborn, but yes, Rhysand. You want armies against Briallyn and my father, you’ll have them.” His lips curved upward. “I couldn’t very well let my wife’s sister go into battle unaided, could I?”

Eris, Cassian, and Nesta meet (the last time before the Rite)

Cassian only gave her an amused wink before continuing, “Your letter seemed to imply that your father was making a move. Out with it.”

“My father went to the continent again last week. He came back seeming normal, without the glassy-eyed aloofness my soldiers displayed. He did not invite me to accompany him, or explain what he discussed with Briallyn. I can only assume the fallout is approaching, though, and wanted to warn you. It was not something I could risk putting in writing. But for now … for now, it seems as if the world is holding its breath.”

---

“That’s absurd,” Nesta snapped. “What do we have to gain?”

Red flame sizzled in Eris’s eyes. “What did the King of Hybern have to gain by attaining the Cauldron and invading our lands?”

“We have no interest in conquest, Eris,” Cassian said, crossing his arms. “You know that. And we’re not going to use the Trove.”

Eris barked a laugh. Nesta could see that he didn’t believe them—that he was so used to the twisted politics and scheming of his court that even when the simple, easy truth was offered, he could not see it. “I find myself not entirely comfortable with your court possessing two items in the Trove.” His gaze shifted to Nesta. “Especially when you have so many other weapons in your arsenal.”

---

Eris picked at a piece of lint on his jacket. At his side hung the dagger Rhys and Feyre had gifted him, simple and plain compared to the finery on him. Her dagger. “You’d be truly stupid to go after Briallyn directly.”

“Leave the heroics to the brutes, Eris,” Cassian said. “Wouldn’t want to risk cutting up those pretty hands.”

Eris’s fingers curled slightly on his biceps. Nesta reined in her smile. Cassian’s words had found their mark.

---

Eris only said, “If you fail in retrieving the Crown, you risk Briallyn using it upon you. She could turn you on each other. Make you do unspeakable things. Even reveal to her where the other two objects are. And you’d have no choice but to tell her everything.” He worried about them revealing their alliance—for his own sake. “You threaten to expose us. Do not pursue the Crown.”

---

Eris glowered. “Has this been the plan the whole time? To string me along, make me an enemy of my father, then use the Trove against all of us?”

“You made yourself an enemy of your father,” Cassian said, smiling faintly. “When he finds out, I wonder if he’ll let your hounds rip you to shreds, or if he’ll do it himself.”

Eris paled slightly. “Don’t you mean if he finds out?”

Cassian said nothing. Kept his face neutral. Nesta stifled her smugness and did the same.

Eris observed them. For the first time since Nesta had known the male, uncertainty banked the fire in his gaze.

And then he turned toward the other subject in his letter, facing Nesta before he asked, “And my offer for you?” Not one ounce of affection or longing laced his words.

Nesta lifted her chin, smirking at last. “I suppose once we have the Crown in our hands, the Night Court won’t need you after all. Neither will I.”

She could have sworn Cassian was repressing a laugh, but she kept her gaze on Eris, who went rigid, rippling with rage. “I do not appreciate being toyed with, Nesta Archeron. My offer was sincere. Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.”

Cassian cut in smoothly, “Try to fuck us over, Eris, and you risk yours.”

Eris’s upper lip curled. “Do whatever you want.” He straightened, as if shaking off any emotion, face going cold and cruel again. “It’s your lives you gamble with, not mine.” He chuckled, nodding to Cassian. “So what if the world loses another brute to war? Good riddance.”

Eris getting kidnapped and ensnared by the Crown:

Azriel said tightly, “My spies got word that Eris has been captured by Briallyn. She sent his remaining soldiers after him while he was out hunting with his hounds. They grabbed him and somehow, they were all winnowed back to her palace. I’m guessing using Koschei’s power.”

---

I had to use that brash princeling Eris to draw him in.” A soft laugh. “Eris tried to help his soldiers when they surrounded him during his hunt. Help those wretches. He rode right up to them, rather than gallop away as any wise person would. They grabbed him with minimal fuss. Even those infernal hounds of his could do nothing as Koschei winnowed him away.”

Eris might be a good male?

Eris went on, “Always mix truth and lies, General. Didn’t those warrior-brutes teach you about how to withstand an enemy’s torture?”

Cassian knew. He’d been tortured and interrogated and never once broken. “Beron tortured you?”

Eris rose, tucking his book under an arm. “Who cares what my father does to me? He believed my story about the shadowsinger’s spies informing him that a valuable asset had been kidnapped by Briallyn, and that you lot were disgusted to arrive and find it was me, rather than someone from the Summer or Winter Courts or whoever stoops to associate with you.”

Cassian unpacked each word. Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him. But Eris had held out. Fed Beron another lie.

And then there was the way Eris had spoken about the other courts. Something had been off in his words, his tight expression. Was the male jealous?

Cassian opened his mouth, more than ready to launch that question at him and bestow a stinging blow.

Yet he hesitated. Looked into Eris’s eyes.

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege—on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien’s lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn’t he do?

“Get that pitying look off your face,” Eris snarled softly. “I know what sort of creature my father is. I don’t need your sympathy.”

Cassian again studied him. “Why did you leave Mor in the woods that day?” It was the question that would always remain. “Was it just to impress your father?”

Eris barked a laugh, harsh and empty. “Why does it still matter to all of you so much?”

“Because she’s my sister, and I love her.”

“I didn’t realize Illyrians were in the habit of fucking their sisters.”

Cassian growled. “It still matters,” he ground out, “because it doesn’t add up. You know what a monster your father is and want to usurp him; you act against him in the best interests of not only the Autumn Court but also of all of the faerie lands; you risk your life to ally with us … and yet you left her in the woods. Is it guilt that motivates all of this? Because you left her to suffer and die?”

Golden flame simmered in Eris’s gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d be facing another interrogation so soon.”

“Give me a damn answer.”

Eris crossed his arms, then winced. As if whatever injuries lay beneath his immaculate clothes ached. “You’re not the person I want to explain myself to.”

“I doubt Mor will want to listen.”

“Maybe not.” Eris shifted on his feet, and grimaced again. “But you and yours have more important things to think about than ancient history. My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he’s not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too. I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash.”

----

Eris was still their ally. Was willing to be tortured to keep their secrets. And Cassian didn’t need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction.

---

“You know, Eris,” he said, a hand wrapping around the doorknob. “I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation.” He looked over his shoulder and found Eris’s gaze blazing again. But only pity stirred in his chest, pity for a male who had been born into riches, but had been destitute in every way that truly mattered. In every way that Cassian had been blessed—blessings that were now overflowing.

So Cassian said, “I grew up surrounded by monsters. I’ve spent my existence fighting them. And I see you, Eris. You’re not one of them. Not even close. I think you might even be a good male.” Cassian opened the door, turning from Eris’s curled lip. “You’re just too much of a coward to act like one.”

#eris vanserra #autumn court #morrigan #a court of silver flames #long post #kp analysis #lucien vanserra #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #lady of the autumn court #helion spell cleaver #acotar series #mtp

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nancydfan · 4 years ago

Note

Okay but honestly everyone (besides Mia) doubted Ethan and his abilities the entirety of the game- especially Chris.

Obviously all the lords are like “ha ha you’ll never get past me!” And then insert picacho surprised meme when he does.

Even Miranda seems to be like “whAT THE FUCK” when Ethan stumbles his way back to fight her after she swore she killed him. Like yes she knew he was “special” somehow but never realized the full extent of his abilities.

But Chris himself doubted Ethan the most honestly.

I feel like when Chris and his team found and got Ethan and Mia out of the Baker’s house in RE7, he probably just thought Ethan was lucky. I mean, here’s this totally average guy and you’re telling me he killed/ severely injured the members of this family who had been infected with the mold, as well as killed Eveline himself? Like Chris was probably like while this man definitely was able to fight his way out there’s no actual way he was able to do this on his own, maybe he’s over exaggerating or whatever.

But he doesn’t say anything, and offers to teach Ethan military training (at least I think it was Chris, only because they seem to be more familiar with each other in RE8) because even if he’s over exaggerating the man clearly has talent and capabilities to make it out of that house in relatively one piece.

And then they get into training and Chris is incredibly impressed. For what appears to be your typical average dude he’s got pretty good fight tactics and techniques, and can handle a gun pretty well. Of course there’s always stuff to improve on and Chris teaches him to the best of his abilities, and here he gets to know Ethan.

This is a man who always offers help to anyone who needs it, and goes out of his way to comfort people whenever they need it. He truly loves his wife, he never makes a “gotta get back to the old ball and chain” or other “I hate my wife” jokes, he truly appreciates her and respects her with every part of him.

He has a great intuition, both in fighting and just when reading people. When Chris or someone around them has an off day he immediately picks up on it and is able to sense what that person needs. With Chris he will casually mention that his door is always open, he might not know the answer but Ethan is always willing to listen if Chris needs it. And though Chris at first insists that he’s fine, somehow Ethan Winters gets him to open up a bit (not completely, but Ethan’s genuine kindness begins to crack Chris’ ‘tough guy’ mask he puts on that lets Ethan see a glimpse of the real him. Chris’ squad is in utter shock of this because it took them YEARS to achieve this), and they both can sit down and share the horrors they both have experienced and for once in Chris’ life he starts to feel that maybe he can actually recover from what he’s seen.

Ethan also somehow knows exactly what to say. Though sometimes he’ll have to pause to get the right words and thoughts together, when he finally speaks his words are exactly what Chris (and others) needed to hear, even if Chris won’t admit it.

Ethan is the guy who when he sees injustice he doesn’t stay quiet, he is loud and makes sure that whatever happened doesn’t go unnoticed. He somehow remembers everyone’s birthday and gets them the present that they actually want, even if the person and Ethan have only talked once.

And though Ethan has the capability to be serious when needed he can be light hearted and funny, and though sometimes his jokes are simple puns or the same reiteration of the joke you’ve heard 100 times you can’t help but laugh because he somehow made it sound different, somehow breathed some fresh life into it. He has his favorite shows that he always makes sure he is home by to watch, and though he is at his core gentle and kind he can also be tough, and isn’t afraid to call you out when you’re wrong.

Ethan is the least judgmental person you will ever meet, and is truly open minded and will listen to you completely and openly. He isn’t afraid to change his opinion when he realizes he was wrong. When him and Mia throw a Christmas party they always invite Chris and he is always touched by it.

It is through their time together training that Chris realizes that while yes Ethan is a completely normal man he is far from completely ordinary and boring.

And when he announces he’s going to be a father Ethan’s eyes completely light up, and he spends hours of talking about all the beautifully mundane things that accompany preparing to become a parent and dealing with the trials of Mia’s pregnancy. There is no doubt in Ethan’s voice or heart that lead anyone to believe that he thinks that there’s a possibility that Rose might be unhealthy due to both of their exposure to the mold. Ethan runs on optimism and truly believes that she’ll be alright, that though they’ve been through hell him and Mia finally got the happy ending they deserve, and Chris has never been so happy for him.

And then, of course, everything comes crashing down.

When Chris learns that Miranda has infiltrated the Winters’ home he is infuriated on their behalf (can’t this family catch a fucking break?) and does all he can to help them (but little does he know he actually will make it worse). He doesn’t tell Ethan whats going on because they need the element of surprise to get Miranda and Chris knows Ethan will not lie low until he gets there. While Ethan was incredibly lucky to survive Dulvey there’s no way he can survive Miranda’s wrath.

(Also I think there was a document saying they didn’t know if Ethan was compromised or not, hence why Chris didn’t tell Ethan immediately what was going on but still he was over the line)

When Chris discovers that his team escorting Ethan, Rose, and Miranda had crashed and died, leaving Miranda in sole control of Rose he is devastated but thinks to himself that he must keep going, there’s no time to grieve or feel guilty for mistakes when Miranda is moments away from completing her ceremony.

And then he gets word that Ethan Winters has been spotted in the castle. And he shakes his head because of course he’s still alive, Ethan must run on luck and sheer will because how else would he have survived the crash?

And though Chris wants to go after him to tell him to sit his ass down so his team can do their job he can’t because again time is a luxury he can’t afford and he hopes Ethan’s luck saves his ass again this time. And though he hopes for the best can Ethan really take on these god-like creatures?

And then he again gets word that Ethan Winters somehow is defeating all of the lords. He’s going through them as if they’re simply ants beneath his feet and somehow he is still going. And though this is great Chris and his team are rapidly losing the element of surprise they’ve been trying to maintain since coming to this village.

And when he encounters Ethan again it almost hurts to see this man who once sat with him for hours talking about nothing, offering to help him with his taxes look at him with such fury and disdain that it almost sends shivers down his spine, that even though Chris is a highly trained operative he for some reason feels like if Ethan chose to kill him Chris wouldn’t last long. He wants to explain but time won’t let him (or is it the fear that he was wrong all along and once he spits his words out he’ll realize this).

And when Chris runs into Ethan at Karl’s factory he finally gives up and figures that he could use Ethan’s luck on his team, if Ethan can eliminate the four lords without any military help then he’s got to be able to have a shot and killing Miranda with Chris’ and his team’s help.

And when he hears Miranda kill Ethan on the phone it is a blow to his gut that he wasn’t expecting, because Ethan Winters has made a bigger impact on his heart than he thought possible. And it is in this moment of grief that he realizes his mistakes, that he was wrong to alienate Ethan, the man who went through hell twice without looking back to save his family.

The guilt only gets worse when he finds Mia, because he has to explain to her that it’s his fault that her husband is lying dead without his heart due to Chris’ own negligence. And when Mia tells him that he doesn’t understand how special he is he desperately wants to hear it, despite his mind telling him that’s she’s wrong, he wants Mia to tell him that Ethan can survive the impossible because he wants a second chance to make things right.

And when he gets the report again that Ethan Winters is somehow alive and is on his way to the ceremony site Chris’ heart soars and he wonders how could he have ever doubted Ethan Winters and his ability to come back to the people he loves time and time again.

(Also I could be wrong here because I don’t remember if Miranda blocked Chris out once she realized he was there but the rest of this is going to go off of the assumption that Chris was present and could see what was happening)

It is not until Chris makes it to the ceremony site and sees the battle between Miranda and Ethan that Chris truly realizes that he has severely underestimated this man for 3 whole years.

He’s seen Ethan fight before- he saw it in training and heard his squad give him the summary of what they saw when Ethan fought the other lords, but this is the first time Chris has seen Ethan TRULY fight, and on his face where Chris is so used to seeing compassion and love and carefreeness is suddenly replaced by anger, resentment, and pure determination because his daughter’s life is on the line and he will fight until there is nothing left of him to keep that little girl safe.

Chris watches in awe, because even though Ethan looks like he is barely staying together, like he is one breath away from falling apart he is still fighting. Maybe it’s because the mold is being destroyed or maybe Ethan’s injuries are so severe that the mold can’t be bothered hiding itself anymore but he finally sees the proof for himself that Ethan Winters is no longer human- Miranda is tearing into him and Ethan does not care- the long gashes she makes onto his body are desperately trying to suture themselves back together with small tendrils of black, this mold desperately trying to keep Ethan together when Miranda is so intent on tearing him apart.

He watches in amazement as Ethan somehow manages to avoid her claws and her own tendrils of mold reaching out to pound him into dust. He watches in amazement as it doesn’t matter how much Miranda damages Ethan- he gets back up again to unload another round of bullets into Miranda without slowing down, and watches in amazement as Ethan actually begins to win this battle- this perfectly normal man versus a god-like creature and Ethan is actually winning despite all the odds stacked against him.

This is Ethan Winters, he thinks, and while the mold might have given him regenerative properties the mold did not give him the drive and determination Chris sees before him- though Ethan Winters is infected but he is still Ethan Winters, each bullet he fires is coming from him, and his pure will to survive and save his daughter. The mold did not change him to a super hero because this is who he is at heart, a man who is willing to risk it all just to make sure the ones he loves are all right.

And if he didn’t already respect Ethan before he certainly does now, and he curses himself for being so ignorant and not letting Ethan in when he had the chance.

But that’s alright- because Ethan Winters has just eliminated Miranda before his eyes and is running to his daughter, and now Chris will have a lifetime to make it up to him.

But then he sees Ethan collapse to his knees in front of him, and his feet are moving before he even thinks to go because there’s no way, this man did not survive this hell just to die on him now.

Chris is relieved that Ethan is still (barely) conscious as he puts his arm around the man to help him out. Time has never been on their side and it certainly isn’t now, as Chris practically drags Ethan out because he has failed him too many times and he refuses to fail him again.

He tries to get Ethan to keep fighting because it seems that all of the life has drained from this man, the only part of him that’s full of life is the arm carrying his daughter because even when he’s on the brink of death he will not let anything happen to her. Chris brings up Mia and it pains him to hear the loss in Ethan’s voice, as if he’s already decided he’s a lost cause. Chris will not let this happen, he points out that they’re going to blow the village sky high and that’s why they need to get a move on and-

Suddenly Ethan is pushing Rose into his arms, and Chris can’t believe he gets the privilege to hold this man’s daughter after all he’s done and Ethan is draping Rose in his worn out coat and begging Chris to teach her to be strong and Chris won’t have this, Ethan Winters will not die on his watch he will get home to his family and live to live a perfectly normal life, when suddenly Ethan pushes Chris out of the way of a mold tendril that acts as a barrier between them and Chris watches in horror as Ethan stumbles backwards, the man looking more and more like a walking corpse versus the man he just saw moments ago, full of life and determination to kill Miranda.

“Goodbye, Rosemary” Ethan chokes out as he starts to stumble his way back to the ceremony site, and Chris can almost feel the pain of Ethan’s loss at not being able to be with his daughter and wife just within the utterance of these two words.

And Chris is calling Ethan back because dammit it doesn’t have to be like this but Chris knows what a man hell bent on something looks like, and Ethan is already almost out of his sight and the whole village is collapsing around him.

Cursing Chris turns around, cradling Rose close because Ethan somehow miraculously chose to trust Chris in protecting her and like hell will he let something happen to her after this. Chris will teach her to be strong and how to be brave, and not because he’s a man and Mia is incapable of it, but Chris will teach Rose how to be strong like her father was, and how to defend herself because both he and Ethan know that Rose’s abilities will make her a constant target for people to use for their own gain.

When Chris hands Rose back to Mia the joy on her face is short lived and suddenly she’s demanding where Ethan is, begging them to put the plane back down because there’s no way in hell he’d leave them willingly and just as Chris utters that Ethan chose to sacrifice himself the bomb goes off and he feels another blow to his chest, and it’s as though he can’t breathe for a second. He sees the realization hit Mia, and that though Ethan has survived the impossible time and time again can he really survive being blown to bits?

Chris can barely contain the grief and guilt that is consuming him as he looks out the window at the site where Ethan Winters’ luck has run out, the site where Ethan Winters has now died for the second time.

He glances back at Mia and Rose, and each sob Mia lets out cuts him like a knife because he knows he is responsible. He promised this little family that he would protect them and he failed. He failed Mia, he failed Ethan, and now he has failed Rosemary as she must now navigate her life missing a father who would have done anything for her.

Chris will not let Ethan die in vain. He will protect Rose, he will teach her how to fight and how to defend herself. And though he wants to reach out and comfort Mia he knows it will be unwelcome, but looking at Rose he will not fail her again.

He made a promise to Ethan Winters that he fully intends on keeping.

I’m sorry what did I do to be so emotionally attacked like this 😆

I’m SOBBING OMG. Ty really. I feel like I have nothin I can add to this because GAH MY HEART. You get it. You understand these characters and I was smiling so huge as you described Ethan because YES ALL OF THIS. Then the pain as Ethans end approaches. AND CHRIS’ PERSPECTIVE THROUGHOUT AND HIS PROMISE GOING FORWARD.

Anyway someone get me tissues. This was so beautiful. Bless you 💜💜

#thanks for the ask nonnie 💜💜💜#resident evil #resident evil 8 #ethan winters #chris redfield #resident evil spoilers #mrs joe speaks #long post

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queen-scribbles · 3 years ago

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World Building Wednesday- Endrali Jade

(except it’s Thursday bc I saw @swtorpadawan‘s tag literally as I was climbing in bed last night 😅)

B A S I C S

• Full name: Endrali Jade (Chiss name’s Sabosen’dra’listral, but she doesn’t know that; it got buried in a Jedi archive within a couple months of her arrival) • Gender: Female • Sexuality: Straight • Pronouns: She/Her

O T H E R S

• Family: Parents and 3 older siblings, but they are unknown to her and unplanned by me(bc I know if I figure them out I’ll want to play them /cough) • Birthplace: Csilla • Job: Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order, Commander of the Alliance • Phobias: Loss of control/free will, drowning • Guilty pleasures: She doesn’t really have guilty pleasures? She enjoys what she enjoys, none of it is bad, so there’s no reason to feel guilty(she’s also much better about acknowledging when she needs a break or otherwise isn’t at 100% than some of my other characters /cough Vica, so she doesn’t ever feel guilty about needing to rest)

M O R A L S

• Morality alignment: Yet another Neutral Good (Light V) baby for me :D • Sins: lust/greed/gluttony/sloth/pride/envy/wrath (only if you really push her, and it’s more “righteous fury” most of the time, but, well. There’s a thin line) • Virtues: chastity/charity/diligence/humility/kindness/patience/justice

T H I S - O R - T H A T

• Introverted/extrovert (she’s good in social situations, very gracious, excellent at conversation, and it takes a long time to run down her “social batteries” so many people labor under the impression she’s an extrovert. But she recharges by meditating or spending time alone/just with one or two people she really cares about, so the girl’s an introvert) • Organized/disorganized. (Started simply because she didn’t have a lot in the way of personal possessions, and she’s just defaulted to keeping them organized as she accumulated things. She has a very impressive lightsaber crystal collection at this point.) • Close-minded/open-minded. (She’s always willing to listen to all sides of an issue and try more unorthodox solutions) • Calm/anxious. (she’s so calm she radiates peace) • Disagreeable/agreeable. (see the previous two) • Cautious/reckless. (she’s definitely more prone to considering all her options and weighing out the best choice whenever possible, rather than charge in blindly) • Patient/impatient. • Outspoken/reserved. (She’s not afraid to speak her mind, but doesn’t make a habit of just blurting things out, either, so I guess she’s somewhere in between?) • Leader/follower. (and she’s very good at it) • Empathetic/unempathetic. (the nature of her bond to the Force has her very keyed in to people’s emotions. She can’t read true natures like Jaesa or anything, but she can sense if someone’s, say, genuinely repentant and going to do better if he’s given a second chance) • Optimistic/pessimistic. (she always hopes for the best and only plans for the worst bc Lana nags her into it. :P) • Traditional/modern. (In-between again. She has a good balance of more traditional beliefs and modern ones) • Hard-working/lazy. (While she’ll rest when she needs it, she’s a very hard worker at any task she undertakes)

R E L A T I O N S H I P S

• otp: Endrali/Arcann • ot3: n/a • brotp: Endrali & Nadia, Endrali & Vette • notp: I can’t think of any that are that strong, but I literally don’t ship her with anyone but Arcann

tagging @haledamage, @actualanxiousswampwitch , and anyone who wants to steal it 😉

#tagged #endrali jade #swtor #(i debated saying lust too but that was One Time not a recurring thing so i don't think it counts)#(and to clarify: her chiss name wasn't INTENTIONALLY buried #it got filed away and she was four so was just happy being endrali and that piece of information was basically forgotten #as more stuff was filed around/on top of it)

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pinky-the-elephant-room · 5 years ago

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Messenger

AN: This is my prompt for @liliesoftherain and I’s server April prompt. I thought I would do a Greek Gods with Japanese fusion. I haven’t edited it thoroughly just yet, I will do it later when I have time.I cut this prompt short cause I had a whole ass plot figured out before Final weeks hit then I was too late to finish on time and so I’m posting it as is. I still hope you guys enjoy it though <3. Read rest of the prompts: HERE

Warning: Contains explicit sex and smut. Read at your own discretion.

Gods & Godesses:

Aizawa- Hades

Keroberosu- Cerberus. It’s now a three headed cat cause I said so.

Haru- Another “potential reader” Persephone. Her name means Spring.

Shikaku- Basically an OC who is suppose to be Demetor. Her name means Harvest.

Hawks- Hermes.

Endeavor/Todoroki- Zeus

Hadajuban- a white layer worn underneath a kimono

------------------------------------

The Messenger God known as such to mortals, nicknamed Hawks by fellow gods, and Keigo Takami among his closest companion, smiled indulgently as he tried not to show his irritation. He really couldn’t be mad at the Spring Goddess as she ran around trying to gather her necessities to leave the underworld, she was too wholesome. Her childish sunny smiles and giggles echoed throughout the desolate world as she ran.

She abruptly stopped in the middle of her packing.

“Shouta, do you think I can take some pomegranates with me?” she asked the dour god eagerly.

The God of the Underworld paused in his playtime with Keroberosu, the three-headed cat.

“I don’t care, but you better hurry up. It’s rude to keep people waiting,” Shouta said as he spared a glance at Keigo before he resumed playing with his cat.

Keigo raised an eyebrow at Aizawa. When people picture the God of the Dead, they certainly don’t expect a man like him. Many times, Keigo made the trip down here and he spotted the God sleeping on a makeshift futon, while souls passed through. Though, Aizawa certainly resembled the part with the appearance of being half-dead with baggy eyes.

Keigo didn’t make the trip here often before the debacle. But, now with seasonal change, Haru was ordered to return to her mother so that spring and crops would flourish again. Though humans all suspected Aizawa kidnapped her when in reality the Goddess had wandered into the underworld, and Aizawa wasn’t bothered enough to order her to go home. Keigo suspected that Shukaku or the Goddess of Harvest had spread the tale of kidnapping and rape to her priests who in turn spread it throughout the lands. After all, she was the only Goddess who regularly had contact with the mortals.

Keigo turned to observe Aizawa as he lured Keroberosu with a toy and the black feline excitedly chased the bait.

Yet, what was suspicious in all of this was how quickly Aizawa had married Haru. While delivering messages between Todoroki, Shukaku, and Aizawa, in that short amount of time they had gotten married, consummated it, and Haru had even eaten seeds of the underworld. Preventing the Goddess from returning the surface world for 6 months. Clearly, the man cared far more about his interloper than he let on at the beginning.

“I’m finished!” she announced cheerfully. Keigo sighed with relief. Finally. He was anxious to go.

Aizawa petted Keroberosu one last time before he turned around to face them both. He approached Haru and caressed her cheeks.

“I will see you later,” he rasped quietly to his wife. Haru, in turn, smiled gently.

“Try to get some sleep while I’m gone ok?”

Aizawa grunted and kissed her forehead.

Keigo looked away from the intimate scene as his heart clenched with jealousy. The easy affection between the Gods was something to be cherished not torn away in their world of immortals.

The Spring Goddess skipped happily to Keigo.

“Ready?” he asked.

She grinned and nodded as she held up the basket of goods for the trip home.

Keigo gathered the Goddess in his arms as his red wings sprawled out from behind. He flapped them a few times.

He could feel the harsh glare from Aizawa, Keigo couldn’t help but smirk. He carefully maneuvered Haru and bridal carried her. The glare seemed to intensify like Aizawa wanted to rip his soul out and cast it into Tarutarosu. Keigo sweatdropped and flew off before Aizawa could comment. Haru screamed out her goodbyes as she twisted around to wave to her husband.

Hours later Keigo let down Haru in the shrine of Shukaku that was her home.

‘This is my chance.’ He thought.

Shukaku didn’t like any Gods to linger around her dwellings or shrines. Her wrath was worth fearing especially since her daughter had gotten married, she was even more short-tempered. However, he noticed how for a few hours she would be distracted by the arrival of Haru, caring for her daughter.

He gave a salute to the young Goddess before he flew off. Just in time too as Shukaku barreled to her daughter and gave her a tight hug.

He encircled the temple a few times before he spotted her. He made his way to the temple and landed on top of it, to get a perfect bird’s eye view of the worshippers who were making their tributes. Keigo felt his heart skip a beat as he finally spotted Y/N. She was a bewitching human. He had noticed her a while ago when making a delivery to Shukaku who had noticed his wandering eye and shoved him away in a hurry. So, a few days after that encounter, Keigo had disguised himself as a peddling old man to get a glimpse at Y/N who would take care of the incoming devotees.

She wasn’t perfect, her skin too tan evident of her farming origins. Her clothes too torn and shabby, but her smile and gentleness as she accompanied the disguised Keigo enchanted him. The swell of her breasts took his breath away when she bent down to offer him a meager meal of bread and potatoes. She was at first another peasant that hung around the shrines before the priests took advantage of her youth and put her to use. The priests themselves were too busy appeasing the Harvest Goddess to deal with the hungry and the poor.

Yet, all he wanted to do was adorn her in silk and riches. Why didn’t anyone steal her away was a mystery. Didn’t anyone else not notice the beauty behind the dirt-covered fingers and peasant clothing?

Ever since that day, Keigo would whisk away after delivering Haru to her mother to catch a glimpse of his beauty. He watched for hours as she worked in the shrine before finally, she headed home for the day. However, Keigo knew he couldn’t just watch anymore, his desire to possess her overwhelmed him. He had to have her and soon. Keigo smirked, he knew exactly how to do go that, and he flew off to make the appropriate preparations.

A few days later, Keigo straightened up his extravagant yukata as he kept a close eye on his entourage that was accompanying him. All of them were nymphs ordered to participate in this charade by him. This was necessary he can’t have Y/N’s family suspect him for even a second. The neighboring villagers gathered around to watch the wealthy man in his riches make his way through the slums. They had reached their destination and with inhumane finesse, Keigo lept off the horse, made his way to the bowing man who’s home they had stopped in front of.

“My lord. How may I help you?” the peasant asked as he bent low.

“You are Y/N’s father, aren’t you?” Keigo asked despite already knowing.

The peasant looked up in surprise before looking down in a hurry.

“Y-yes, I’m her father. Is she alright? Or has she done something to offend you, my lord?”

Keigo shook his head.

“I have something to offer you. Let’s talk inside.” Keigo conveyed with this head towards their shabby shack of a house.

Y/N’s father shook himself and quickly made his way inside with Keigo following close behind him.

Keigo fought hard to keep the frown off his face as he looked around the surrounding. His beloved Y/N grew up in such a dwelling when clearly, she should have been a queen.

Y/N’s father offered him a seat and even some drinks and food to the rich man who just refused.

“I’ll cut to the chase. I want to ask for Y/N’s hand.”

The peasant gasped incredulously.

“My lord, I cannot accept that offer. She is in Shukaku-sama’s service. I can’t with good conscious deprive of her duties,” he begged.

Keigo smirked. “Oh yes. The Goddess that still starves your family despite your devotion. Remind me how many of your crops survived this year? Or do you and your wife still starve yourself every night so that Y/N and her siblings can have something to eat?”

Y/N’s father looked away in shame.

Keigo seized the opportunity, seeing the peasant’s weakness. “Give her to me. I’ll adorn her like she deserves. She will sleep every night with a full belly. All the children that are blessed to Y/N and her future generation after won’t ever starve.”

The peasant was now shaking, just a little more.

“Even you. As Y/N’s immediate family will it not be her husband’s duty to take care of them? I will make sure all your children prosper. Though, I cannot make your crops grow. I can give you gold to buy all the food you will ever desire.”

Y/N father’s felt his heartache at the dilemma. For far too long the family has been struggling with meager rations and crops.

“I have to ask since she is my eldest daughter. Will you treat her with the respect a wife deserves? You won’t cast her aside, will you?”

Keigo felt his inwards burn with fury and felt the need to bury his claws and talons into this mortal. Even throw some of his sharpened feathers to turn him into minced meat. He forced himself to calm down as he breathed a deep breath through his nose.

“Of course not. I have made a journey all the way down here to ask for her hand from her father. I wouldn’t do that for a woman I was just going to set aside.” Keigo reassured the mortal.

Y/N’s father wiped the tears that welled up and solemnly nodded.

Keigo felt the first genuine smile since he came here threatening to creep upon his face and he became serious once more.

“Get her ready in a week. I will send supplies to make sure she’s ready for the journey,” Keigo said as he made to leave the shack.

Y/N’s father interrupted, “but my lord what will I tell her?”

Keigo shrugged and let a small smile bloom on his face. “Tell her she’s going to become a bride.”

With that, he hurriedly made to leave the slums that rank of animal feces, tracked mud and dirt everywhere. Keigo gathered his entourage as he made his way back to his temple that was worshipped by his cult. There he celebrated his win with a cup of sake.

“To Y/N and I’s future! May she forever remain lovely and exquisite as she does now.” He toasted brilliantly before drinking his sake.

Wedding

Keigo couldn’t help but sneak peeks at his bride. He was right she looked impeccable in the bridal clothes he had provided. Y/N was clearly nervous as her hands shook and she also snuck peeks at her husband. Keigo would flash warm smiles to her each time she did. Y/N would quickly turn away as she blushed.

With the wedding party settling down, Keigo was anxious to get Y/N alone. It had been hours of festivities as minor deities and nymphs visited disguised as humans. Y/N’s family, of course, wasn’t allowed to attend, instead, she had said her goodbyes in the morning before she was whisked away for preparations.

No, what his attention was currently focused on is discerning the secrets underneath the kimono of his lovely wife. When the last guest had retired to their home, Keigo helped his wife up. He took her to the room in his temple that would be their shared room. The futon was laid out along with some sake. Keigo quickly put away the sake as he didn’t want Y/N to get too drunk to enjoy their night.

He offered her his hand as he brought Y/N closer to him.

“Did your mother explain about your duties to your lord husband?” he whispered huskily in her ear as he toyed with the obi of her kimono.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she felt his warm breath sending goosebumps throughout her body.

“S-she did. She also told me that it would hurt,” Y/N whimpered out.

Keigo let out a chuckle.

“Y/N, I’m going to make you so delirious with pleasure you won’t feel a thing,” he promised as he undid the knot on her obi and took off her kimono.

The white layer underneath showcased just a bit of Y/N’s curves that he ached for so many days to touch and hold.

Keigo grabbed her face as he softly kissed her and coaxed Y/N to respond. Slowly and reluctantly she did as he subtly taught her the art of kissing. While she was busy, Keigo let his hands wander getting the hadajuban off her body. He slid the robe off and let it flutter down onto the tatami.

He pushed her down to the futon, still kissing her as she let out quiet, reluctant moans that Keigo cherished. He made his way to her neck, leaving behind marks showing his claim on her. Kissing the tops of her breasts, he caressed her thighs that had her keening for more. She grabbed his shoulders and tightened her hold on him, not knowing what she needed at that moment. Luckily for Y/N, Keigo's favorite type of lover to have were virgins. He loved the way they got all excited and needy from a few touches, he knew exactly what she needed.

He removed his own kimono before switching positions with Y/N to settle her on top of him. Y/N blushed as she felt her husband’s member hot against her juncture. She balanced herself by putting her hands on his chest and tried to get off.

Keigo grabbed her waist before she could.

“Stay. This way it will hurt less.”

Y/N started breathing erratically as he started to pluck her nipples and grinded against his hand when he checked her readiness. He could feel her virginal barrier still intact.

“I-I’m not sure what to do,” she confessed as she looked anywhere but at her husband.

When Y/N felt him shaking, she looked down to see him chuckling.

She felt his hands tightened around her hips. “I have you so don’t worry,” he reassured. “Though, you should probably start by putting my cock inside.”

Y/N spluttered at his straightforwardness and felt her face get even hotter. Keigo smirked, delighted she could be undone by a word, though by the time he’s through with her he’s going debauch her so thoroughly that she wouldn’t even look him in the eye for weeks.

Keigo reminded her to start by thrusting and grinding below her. Y/N whimpered in return as the contact sparked tingles through her core. She hesitantly grabbed his member, the temperature, and hardness of which perplexed her. Keigo exhaled, trying to remain in control as he watched the mortal he was obsessed with, fulfill his wildest fantasies.

She couched her hips nearer so that her entrance she was so intimately familiar with lined up and slowly sank onto his cock. Her breath hitched as he stretched her out so wonderfully, giving a pleasure that she had only felt through her fingers. Yet, her fingers couldn’t compare to the fullness that his cock inspired. The strange sensations of his ridges also provided extra stimulus.

Keigo held her steady as Y/N let his member in and out several times before finally letting him in deeper. Y/N licked her lips in nervousness as he was only a few inches in and the rest of him still to go. She hesitated before changing her mind and was about to withdraw. Keigo seeing Y/N’s second-guessing herself when she had made such good progress, made him impatient. He tried to wait he really did, but sometimes even an immortal can be tempted by earthly pleasures. He thrusted in fully, as he ripped through her hymen and filled her to the brim. Y/N choked out a gasp at the slight pain, but mostly pleasure as her body slumped forward.

“Come on wife show me what you can do,” he said as he nudged her to move.

Y/N straightened up and moved her hips. At first, her rhythm was all off and she kept her thrusts short and uneven. Still, she gained more and more confidence as she found what she liked and fulfilled her needs. Soon her body naturally started doing a wave of sorts as her hips rose and fell on his cock. Y/N gasped and moaned as sweat started dripping from her forehead and down her body. Keigo reached up and licked the salty moisture before it disappeared into the valley of her breasts.

She was truly a magnificent sight as Y/N evolved from a peasant girl into a God’s woman right before his eyes.

Y/N finally finding the rapture she was looking, sped up, and starting actively bouncing. Unable to keep his hands to himself, Keigo held the bouncing globes in his hands as he swirled his tongue and suckled. That proved to be too much for Y/N as she let out broken groans and clenched her eyes shut. The sensations exploded and overwhelmed her mind as Keigo helped her ride it out from below. She collapsed on top of him as her body rested.

Keigo helped her move to the side and spooned her from behind. He grinded into her back, his cock still pulsing with need. Moving Y/N’s hair out of the, he kissed her neck a few times before plunging his cock back into her. Keeping her flushed against his body as he had his hand over her waist to keep her still as his thrusts rocked her body back and forth.

She concealed her screams into her futon as he set about a harsh pace, faster than the one she had been used to. He stealthily trailed his hand down to her pussy. Her clit was well lubricated due to the moisture that gushed out each time he pulled out and slammed back in. Feeling himself get close, Keigo started rubbing her clit frantically, wanting to feel her walls squeeze him and greedily suck his seed into her womb.

Y/N despite muffling her sounds, got louder and louder, screeching as she came once again. Keigo groaned and nestled his face into her shoulder as he released his cum into her. Y/N groggily felt herself being tucked in beside him and a blanket soon covered them both before she drifted off to sleep.

Several hours later Y/N was hastily woken from her rest for the third time that night as Keigo took her over and over. As she keeled over from yet another orgasm, she blearily looked at her blonde husband who was panting above her and swore she saw his eyes turn gold and red wings erupt from his back.

#bnha prompts #mha prompts #bnha smut #mha smut #hawks x reader #hawks x you #hawks x oc #keigo takami #keigo imagine #takami keigo #keigo x reader #bnha au #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha greek au

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hale-13 · 4 years ago

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State of Grace

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 28 Prompt - Display and

Identity Reveal Bingo Prompt - “Were you ever planning to tell me?”

Peter can do this. It’s just high school and he’s only been on the run from the American government for the whole summer. He can do this.

Words: 2220, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Ned Leeds, Peter Parker/Michelle Jones, Peter Parker & Happy Hogan

Characters: Peter Parker, May Parker, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, Happy Hogan, Flash Thompson

TW: Mild Panic, Angst

Read on AO3 or below line break.

“Are you okay?” May asks him, leaned against the frame of his open door, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand and a silk robe knotted shut over her pajamas.

“Sure. I’m fine,” Peter says and holds back a wince – he doesn’t even believe himself. He continues to fiddle with the new notebooks he’s shoving in his ratty book bag, fraying and stained from his summer on the run. May offered to get him a new one but he had – stupidly – declined. And, yes, he regrets it now.

The look May levels him with is one of disbelief but he chooses to ignore it in favor of completely unpacking and repacking his bag, shoving his suit into the dark recesses and trying to ignore it. He hasn’t been out as Spider-Man since… well anyway he doesn’t really use his suit as much anymore but he can’t stand to not have it with him. He hasn’t told his SHIELD assigned therapist that yet but he can imagine what she would say.

It’s not pretty.

“You look real fine,” May tells him in her no nonsense way but then her face softens. “You know you don’t have to do this right sweetie? You can home school if you want?”

Peter’s fingers tap a staccato rhythm against his pants leg and he clenches his fist tight enough to turn his knuckles white to stop it. “I know May,” he says. He did consider it for a while but he genuinely loved Midtown and he wanted to have a normal senior year with Ned and MJ; apply to colleges, go to prom and on dates with MJ, graduate. He wanted to get into MIT just like Mr. Stark and share a dorm with Ned and just… be normal.

May lets out a sigh and enters the room, setting her cooling coffee mug on his desk and untangling his fingers from the strap of his bag before pulling him into a warm hug. Peter melts into her and reaches his arms up to hug her back gently. He loves her more than anything and he absolutely hates what he’s put her through. He hates that she can’t work at FEAST anymore, that she basically has to have a bodyguard with her everywhere she goes because of him. That all of her friends have alienated her except for Pepper Potts who lives over two hours away and can’t really visit.

“It’s going to be okay Petey,” she tells him softly as she rocks them back and forth using his childhood nickname and making tears well in his eyes. He’s already cried twice in the last twelve hours so he needs to dry it up or he’s going to look like even more of a mess when he gets to school. “I believe in you and I know you can do it but just know you can leave at any point okay? Remember the meeting with Morita? Just ask and you can leave.”

“I know,” Peter says into her hair – it smells like her favorite jasmine shampoo and the familiar scent is comforting. “I’ll be fine.”

A knock sounds at the door ending their embrace and May looks at her watch and frowns. “Happy’s early,” she mutters, grabbing her coffee cup and shuffling to the door. “Finish packing!” She calls over her shoulder and Peter haphazardly shoves the rest of his things into his bag so that he can join her in the living room as she opens the door and lets out a soft ‘oh’.

“Ned?” Peter says, confused at seeing his best friend in the hallway outside his front door smiling a massive smile. “MJ?” His girlfriend stands next to Ned looking just as bored and unaffected as usual except for the slightly faintly look in her eye that he knows means she’s nervous. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you honestly think we were going to let you rejoin society completely on your own?” MJ asks with a raised eye brow and a smirk.

“Yeah Peter what do you take us for?” Ned jokes, walking through the open door and giving May a quick hug as she closes the door behind them.

And, yeah, here come the waterworks again Peter thinks as he sniffs wetly. Ned and MJ had both spent most of the summer on the run with him or hiding in Dr. Strange’s weird house and he knows today is just a big of a deal for them as it is for him and he never would have thought that they would… he sniffs again and wipes his eyes. “Thanks,” he says sincerely, choked up as he pulls them both in for a hug.

Ned returns the hug, now just as emotional but he can basically feel MJ’s eye roll as she returns his hug. “I can’t believe you actually thought we weren’t going to be here after everything loser,” her voice is fond and Peter squeezes her just a bit tighter. “Besides, I want to see the look on Flash’s face – he has such a massive crush on Spider-Man that his face will make a great addition to my ‘In Distress’ series.”

Ned and Peter both laugh and Peter releases them both. He revels in the warmth for just one more minute before he sobers to say “You don’t have to do this. It could put a target on your backs and I don’t want you to get hurt.” Ned and MJ share a commiserating look with each other before leveling Peter with twin glares and he holds up his hands in surrender. “Just checking!”

He had tried to break ties with both of them when he left at the beginning of the summer but was told, under no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t allowed to make their decisions for them. MJ’s impassioned speech had also contained a thirty minute detailed history of women’s rights and how chivalry was just another way men belittled them and Peter really couldn’t love her any more if he tried.

Before either one of them got the opportunity to lecture Peter again there was a brief knock at the door before Happy opened it and walked in, studiously avoiding looking at May who was fighting a smile of her own. They had been on-again-off-again for months and Peter really didn’t want to think about it. “Hey Happy!” He said, going for bright but falling short and flat. Graciously, no one pointed it out.

“Didn’t know I was chauffeuring half of your school,” he grumbled and Peter’s smile became more genuine – Happy liked to pretend to be gruff but they all had his number – he was super soft and gooey on the inside. “You ready to go?”

Was he ready to go? No, not really, but he needed to so he just nodded, tightening his bag straps around his shoulders and turning to pull May into another quick hug. “I’ll see you after school,” she whispered into his ear with another quick squeeze before moving on to repeat the gesture with Ned and MJ. “Have a good day!” She told all of them as Peter slipped his hand into Michelle’s and followed Happy to the elevator. One of the two SHIELD agents that were constantly stationed outside his apartment followed behind them as unobtrusively as possible but it still made Peter’s skin crawl.

Nick Fury – the real one, not the Skrull (holy shit an actual shape-shifting alien!) that Peter had met in Europe – had assigned he and May a full security detail once he had been cleared of all charges. Peter had hoped they would be gone by the time school started but Fury was nothing if not cautious and Peter had to accept that they would probably be following him for most of the school year. At least he had managed to talk Fury and Hill into keeping them outside the school so he wasn’t being followed by a bunch of guys in suits to all of his high school classes.

“You good kid?” Happy asked once they had slipped into his town car and pulled away from the curb, Peter sitting in between Ned and MJ and a SHIELD vehicle following closely behind them as they navigated the Queens streets.

“Yep. I’m good. Great. So good,” Peter rambled, ignoring the heavy looks MJ, Ned and Happy all shared.

“You sound great,” Happy said sarcastically, flicking his eyes back to the road. The rest of the car ride to Midtown was filled with oppressive silence as Peter’s heart rate ratcheted up higher and higher the closer they got until it felt like it was pounding in his chest when they pulled into the parking lot. The group of four SHIELD agents behind them all left their SUV and ignored the curious stares of the mass of teenagers milling in front of the school as they disappeared into the masses.

“You ready to go Tiger?” MJ asked, taking Peter’s hand and squeezing it again.

Peter gulped, his mouth and throat suddenly dry. “Sure,” he croaked out.

“Dude,” Ned muttered. “You don’t have to do this; you know that right? You don’t have anything to prove.”

“I know,” Peter agreed. “But I need to do this.”

Ned studied his intently for another moment before nodding once. “Then lets go.”

The yard fell completely silent for about ten seconds when Peter exited the car, flanked by Ned and MJ, before everyone started furiously gossiping and pointing at him. Perter felt his cheeks heat up and he ducked his head. “Ignore them,” MJ said, grabbing Ned’s hand with her free one and pulling both of them forward. The crowd parted for them, staring at Peter like he was on display but no one dared to risk MJ’s wrath and approach them.

The hall’s were just as crowded when they stumbled through the front doors but the flood of students inside must have already heard about their arrival since they were, with the level of failed surreptitiousness that only teenagers could achieve, taking pictures and videos of Peter’s entrance into the school. He could feel his face paling and he let his eyes glaze over and go out of focus as his breath quickened.

“Don’t,” MJ said, pulling him along to his locker. “Get your chin up,” she hissed at him, “they’re piranhas, don’t show weakness.”

“Don’t show weakness,” Peter said weakly, feeling a little faint. “Right.”

“Back off,” he heard Ned say angrily to a group of juniors who were approaching Peter with hungry expressions and phones out. “Don’t you have a class to get to?”

“Clear the halls!” Mr. Harrington called from outside his classroom. “Home room starts in two minutes! Get a move on!” He caught Peter’s eye and winked at him as he started herding the unruly groups along and Peter felt something settle in his just a little.

‘Come on Spider-Man,’ He said, cracking his neck a bit and trying to hype himself up. ‘Come on Peter. They’re just people. You’ve got this.’ He rolled his shoulders back and kept walking, trying to put more confidence in his step and ignoring the surprised faces of his friends as he pushed through the crowd to his locker.

Ned split off to head a little further down the hall to get his own things but Michelle opened the locker next to his and gave him a self-satisfied smile. “That was hot,” she told him with a ridiculous wiggle of her eye brows and he let out a loud laugh, giving her a fond look as he stowed his gym bag and slammed the door shut.

“I’ll have to keep it up then,” he said, trying for confident and focusing on her slightly chapped lips. He really wanted to kiss her.

She snorted and grabbed his hand again. “Later Tiger,” she promised. “But only if you make it through the whole day.”

He grinned back at her, finally settling and ignoring all the people watching them. “How could I not with a promise like that?”

Ned had just joined them when, out of nowhere, Flash planted himself directly in their path, leveling an angry glare at Peter opening and closing his mouth a few times before finally just pointing at him.

“Yes Flash?” Peter asked, confused and tilting his head to the side at his frenemies odd behavior. Flash let out a growl of frustration.

“You’re Spider-Man,” he finally said.

“Uh…” Peter said, taken aback a little. “Yeah? Old news right?”

“You’re Spider-Man,” he said again, sounding beyond angry and yanking at his slicked back hair, mussing it. “You actually let me… I’m Spider-Man’s biggest… you let me call you penis!”

Ned snorted, his face turning red from trying to contain his laugh and even MJ looked a little smug. Perter just smiled. “And?”

Flash dropped his hand, looking crestfallen. “We’re you ever planning to tell me?”

“It’s called a secret identity for a reason Flash,” Peter pointed out and Flash rolled his eyes.

“Fair point I guess,” he agreed, hitching his bag up his shoulder. “See you at lunch Parker.”

Peter stared after him, bemused. “Did that just happen?”

“Oh yeah,” Ned cackled. “And I filmed it!”

Peter laughed and started walking again just as the first bell rang. Maybe he could do this after all.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump28 #Prompt: Display #identityrevealbingo2021 #Prompt: Were you ever planning to tell me?#spider man #Summer of Whump 2021 #Identity Reveal Bingo 2021

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elderbwrry · 4 years ago

Text

Even if he doesn’t say so - Chapter 4/?

Kylo/Hux/Poe Witcher AU

Chapter summary: Poe gets into a barfight - minor warnings for blood. (word count 2141)

Chapters 1, 2, 3 and on ao3

Kylo and Hux were on their way back to the tavern where Poe would be giving his latest performance...

They had spent all the afternoon consulting with the mayor of this backwater little town as to what services they could possibly render him. He was an odious man who didn't seem to know exactly what he was talking about, and prattled on for hours about werewolf sightings – Kylo was almost certain that the mayor's reports were only rumour – before changing tack to ask Hux a million pointless questions. It had taken so long that it was now almost night. The least he could have done, if all he wanted was to be able to say he'd met a mage and a Witcher, was compensate them for their time. Still, it had been fun to see how politely Hux could insult him.

There was a considerable noise coming from somewhere ahead of them on their path, and, as they rounded the corner, it became clear that the source was the tavern. The place was full to bursting, people crowding in the door and standing on tip toes to see in. The music which should have been flowing out of the place was instead replaced with shouts and jeering. Hux and Kylo figured out what was happening at virtually the same time, quickening their pace.

The place smelt of spilt beer and sweat, and the loud, human noise bit at Kylo's senses with an acidic tang between his eyes and at the back of his neck, making his fists curl. Hux shouldered his way forward, but the crush parted easily for them, creating ripples of, “It's the Witcher!”, “that horrid magician,” “mutant freaks.”

If everything had stopped when they arrived, the solid blow of flesh hitting flesh kickstarted it all again, sending forth another round of jeers as everyone turned back to the commotion at the centre of the room. The last layer of people peeled back, and the cause of it all was revealed.

Poe, his lute and doublet discarded somewhere, was squaring up, fists first, to another man who was both younger and larger than himself. The sleeves of Poe's shirt were rolled up to expose his forearms, the collar of that same shirt flapping open lower than usual, his knuckles of a shade suggesting that a number of blows had already been dealt. His hair was in disarray, sweat sheening his skin, and there was a bright red split freshly on his lip. It was... handsome. It made Kylo angry.

Growling, he took an abortive step towards Poe's adversary, only to be blocked by a surprisingly firm hand on his sternum. Hux.

“What is the meaning of this?” the mage asked the room icily.

“They're voicing their unwanted opinions,” Poe told them, and it was with such hostility that Kylo would scarcely believe it could come from him, if he didn't know that Poe had a righteous streak a mile wide.

“We don't take kindly to things like you coming to these parts,” someone said.

“Witchers and their murdering.”

“Mages and their sin.”

“We've heard the stories!” another added, and noises of assent scattered around the room.

Kylo had been in situations like this before. He'd been known to act badly in them. Rashly. Angrily. He cast his gaze around, and people seemed to shrink back from it. He could only imagine how he looked, pale skin, red scar, irises a sick, blank yellow, like a vulture. Finally, he found himself facing the man Poe had been fighting.

“Inhuman thing,” the man looked Kylo up and down with disgust and spat at his feet.

Kylo could have had the man in a choke-hold in a matter of seconds, but a determined blur shot forward, ducking under the fists the man's slackening stance had let weaken. Poe punched the man hard in the stomach, causing him to double over enough that Poe could then bring a knee up into his nose, letting loose a fountain of blood. The man yelled in pain, grabbing a hold of Poe's shoulder. Kylo had never intervened faster in his life, hitting away the man's arm and standing in his way.

“You need your pet monsters to save you, huh?” the man taunted even though he was clearly scared, or at least wary, his eyes flitting between Poe and his reinforcements, his speech clodded up with his nosebleed.

“Watch your damn words!” Poe shot back. “My friends are better men than you'll ever be.”

“Pussy.”

Kylo had to stop Poe's lurching attempt at an attack.

“Everyone out!” Hux ordered, his voice almost impossibly loud. People began to slink out of the door, but slowly enough that Kylo decided to take matters into his own hands and bundle Poe off in the direction of the stairs. He went with a few firm nudges, snatching his lute and doublet up from where they were stashed by the bar as he went. His tendons stood out where his grip on them was so tight.

“Go to the room,” Kylo hissed at him, lingering on the stairwell in case Hux needed backup.

It was quickly revealed to be a pointless consideration.

Hux already had backed Poe's assailant up against a wooden wall, the point of a dagger to his throat, his other hand glowing at his side. Kylo was almost certain that was the initial stages of a nasty hex, more than was required to intimidate some bigoted peasant.

“He started it-” the man was saying, and Hux was shaking his head with a sneer.

“That could not matter to me less. If I hear a single word from you I don't ask for, you will regret it. Do you know you laid hands on a lord?”

The man's throat bobbed. Of course he hadn't known Poe was nobility.

“In his kingdom,” Hux continued, turning the dagger so the edge was on the man's clavicle, “he is known as a good man. A righteous man. You angered- no, you infuriated a good man. Riled him up enough to do this.” Hux's tone changed, getting impossibly sharper. “I am not like him. I could raze this pathetic spit of matchsticks, if I wanted to. And you,” he dug the dagger in a little, skirting the man's jugular, “would be the one to blame, for harming someone I hold precious.” He let the threat sit for a moment before stepping back, the glow by his hand dissipating. “In fact, you had better check your house isn't already up in flames.”

The man made to scramble for the door.

“And next time,” the man paused, the hate in his eyes now significantly dwarfed by his fear as Hux spoke, “I suggest you remember that a mage's wrath is far worse than our sin.”

Kylo got up to the room before Hux could catch him watching on the stairwell.

Poe was pacing restlessly. When Kylo entered, he stopped, tapping his foot. “You should have let me beat the shit out of him.”

“You should have let me beat the shit out of him,” Kylo replied, his voice curling into a growl. To hear the way the townspeople spoke about himself wasn't unusual – he'd lashed out before, and it was one of the reasons he stayed out of towns as much as possible – but it was the first time he'd heard someone speak about Hux that way, and it was the first time Poe had come to blows that Kylo wasn't there to stop before he'd sustained damage. Crossing the room and lifting a hand to carefully tilt Poe's head to the side, examining the bruising on his jaw and temple, Kylo asked, “Did he hurt you?”

“Just bruises,” Poe replied, his teeth gritted more, Kylo suspected, from residual fury than from pain. No, that would hit later when the adrenaline dissipated. “Those things they were saying about you – fucking rude. And untrue.”

Kylo hummed some assent. “You both should be treated like royalty,” he muttered, thinking it only true; Poe wasroyalty of a self evident sort of virtue, and Hux was both powerful enough and well respected enough to demand that sort of praise.

Poe laid his fingers on Kylo's wrist. “And the things about you,” he insisted, his brow furrowing in a way that said he was concerned in a new direction. “You don't believe them, do you?”

The disbelief in Poe's voice made Kylo want to deny it. Luckily, Hux joining them in the room saved him from stumbling his way some verbal deflection.

“Did he hurt you?” Hux asked immediately.

“Just bruises,” Poe repeated as the mage approached, before protesting with a weak “Hey!” as his shirt was unceremoniously lifted by Hux to inspect him for more bruises, wincing as his surprised twist to the side made something twinge.

“What if he'd had the presence of mind to pull a knife?” Hux reprimanded him, noting with disapproving exactitude the red patches by Poe's ribs.

“Well he didn't, so it's fine.”

“That is not-” Hux cut himself off with an irritated sigh, heading to where Kylo's pack was by the table and picking through it without asking. “In the future, please remind yourself of your mortality before throwing yourself into something so foolish as a tavern brawl.”

“You sound like Leia.”

“I desperately hope not,” Hux replied drily, and, having found the vial he was looking for, returned to stand before Poe, looking over his bruises again. He popped open the vial – Kylo recognised it as one of his own healing potions, too strong for Poe just to drink – upturning it with his finger over the top, before dabbing the liquid onto the bruises.

Poe hissed at the contact. “Look, you can't expect me to just stand there while people insult you!”

“That is exactly what I expect-”

“Don't ask me to, Hux. I won't.” Poe's dark eyes flicked up to Kylo again, anguish creeping in to the set of his features. “Not when Kylo believes those things.”

Hux froze in what he was doing and straightened up, turning his own piercing eyes onto Kylo. “You do?” Voice as fine as wine, Kylo could detect in his tone notes of disapproval, mild shock, and, surprisingly, genuine pity.

Kylo had been standing there quietly until now, trying not to do anything to bring Poe back to that subject. “Well I...” he fumbled, casting around as if for an answer, pressure mounting as he could feel their attention trained on him, “I'm... it doesn't...” His eyes began to sting and – fuck that – he didn't. He didn't need to be pitied, by Hux, by Poe, by anyone else, no matter who they were to him. He knew what he was, and, though it made his blood boil to hear commoners who hadn't known half the fear and pain he had throw words around like they did, it only hurt so much because he worried they were right.

Poe was reaching out for his wrist again, and the contact made Kylo snatch his arm away and stalk over to the window with a snarled, “Just leave it.” He gripped the window sill and the wood of it creaked with the strain.

Three open-palmed bangs on the door, and the landlord hollered through to them, “I want you out! Out, you hear?”

A few more bangs had Kylo whirling round and snapping, “Fine, now fuck off!” Footsteps hesitatingly retreated, the landlord no doubt wondering whether they actually would go, but there was no way they would stay; there was an even chance Kylo would hit the next person who bothered them, and an only slightly less likely one of Poe doing the same.

“I'll fetch my things,” Hux said. They'd taken two rooms, and, as usual, Kylo and Poe were sharing while Hux got his own. “We should head north a mile or so,” he continued to lay out the reasoning for a sheltered spot he'd noticed, tending to the last of Poe's wounds.

He crooked a finger at Poe, who leaned forward a little. Hux dropped a little of the healing potion onto his thumb, and placed the pad of it tenderly onto the split on Poe's lip. It was just a moment, but though Hux was all business, Kylo noticed Poe's shoulders drop and his eyes flit to Hux's lips momentarily. When Hux removed his thumb the merest of seconds later and turned his attention to recapping the vial, Poe's tongue laved over the spot, which had already faded from red to pink under Hux's care.

The scene made Kylo want – he wanted to touch them, to patch the two of them up when they needed it, to look after them. He gripped the windowsill tighter. Next time, he'd be the one defending them.

#darkgingerpilot #armitage hux #kylo ren #poe dameron #kylo/hux/poe #darkpilot #kylux #my writing #fanfiction #witcher au #fantasy medieval au #star wars #thanks for reading my niche stuff #ok im go take a nap now much tired

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halloowqueen · 3 years ago

Note

“Shhh, they’ll hear us.”

@pastelmoongoddess | ficlet meme

STARCOURT

" Nom de dieu! " the vampire curses at her, anger boiling in lifeless veins, but sizzling up all the same as she tries to tell her to be quiet in the middle of their debate. He never is capable of silence when things get heated and it's one of the biggest differences between the two of them.

" Really? Honestly, Lestat, you needn't yell and scream at every opportunity just to seem high and mighty. Careful of your temper, too, your brat is showing, " she remarks, a displeased look about her expression. He isn't exactly being very reasonable under the circumstances.

" Do not test me, Helene, " he is still angry, huffing and by all accounts puffing his words in a last ditch effort to find some stability once more, but he is vexed. For a moment, he forgets what it was they had been fighting about in the first place and then realises his anger is misplaced.

Lestat allows his gaze to drift away from her, eyes much less of a ghost-white indicating pure wrath and settling in to being their usual bright blue. Still gorgeous, she notes, admitting to herself that even in his angry state he is very much like a marble statue, but he knows this anyway, so giving him any kind of ego boost isn't necessary.

" Or what, Lelio? What exactly are you going to do? Yell at me some more? Pull a Louis and burn the place down? " as she says this, a hint of a chuckle escapes her, but the silence that follows besides the rumble in his chest that soon makes itself known as a roared response, freezes the woman in place and she barely has time to blink.

" That's in very poor taste, " he scolds her, talking through his teeth as he is almost showing them in his fury, fangs protruding whilst he looms over her shorter form. " I don't think even a sorry will remedy that one, Helene. "

Her eyes soften some when she realises what she had said and how, such a joke was cruel, given that it had been an attempt on putting him to sleep indefinitely and she knew it was wrong to use it as humour. It had been a long time since that day, but the wounds were fresh.

" Lestat, I'm sorry.. forgive me, that was too far even for me. I wish that had never happened to you, " she's upset by her own error in trying to fend off his anger which in turn just made things that much worse and he seemed to grow even more angry the more she spoke.

" Apology not accepted, " he hisses, closing in a little more and trapping her against a wall with one arm, his eyes digging down into the depths of her soul as he did nothing but stare her down for a few moments. " You should learn to hold your tongue. I should teach you a lesson or two about that. My kind aren't all forgiving. "

Her breath hitches in her throat as he says this, fearful, uncertain of what he means and putting every possible worse case scenario together in her head, looking up at him expecting the absolute worst to follow, but he does not even make a move, nor say another word.

" Lestat.. " she breathes, his name soft-sounding as she tries to smooth things over and get out of whatever trouble she had gotten herself into. She hadn't though, but he was making damn sure she believed as much.

" Be quiet, Helene. Enough talking.. they'll hear us, remember? " his tone was playful, yet also a warning that should she try his patience again, there would be some form of consequence meeting it halfway.

" But, I.. " she squeaks out, staring up into his eyes that were once more turning lighter, more pale and ghostly in appearance; his annoyance returning. " Why are you angry again? You're like a child, " she tells him, frowning in distaste of his childish behaviour.

Lestat chose not to dignify that with an answer, rather, his thumb came to rest against the side of her neck until she felt the coolness of both his hand, and the ring that he wore there, which prompted a panicked shiver. It was sharp, but she knew that already, which made her fear that much worse and her breathing became unstable.

" You enjoy riling me? Why, Helene? " he is genuinely curious with that one, finding her responses to him thus far to be the sort of thing most would say when looking for a fight, and he didn't like her tone, either.

" I don't, at all. You're just very touchy and you take even the tiniest bit of a jab to heart. You know that about yourself, I don't know why you need me to reaffirm it for you. If you were anything other than a big baby we would not have started fighting in the first place, " she tells him, worry over her words hidden in her tone and yet she knew she was only telling him the truth.

" Careful— I might just have to give you a warning, " his eyes dance with fury but his touch remains gentle, even if the cold metal against her neck is making her heart beat a mile a minute. He hears that, too, and smiles down at her with that same knowing look about him.

" Go ahead, " she offers, an open response to both his warning invitation and the fact that being able to hear her heart pumping so rapidly is increasing his hunger. She is in a roundabout way telling him he can, if he needs to.

" Non, Helene. You know I never will. Never press me to, " his jaw tightens because while that is true and he would never bite or drink from anyone undeserving of pain or even death, the sound of blood travelling so quickly, so loudly through her veins does entice him momentarily, but he draws back away from her instantly. " Non.. "

" Here, " the brunette simply outstretches her forearm to him instead, aware he is capable of feeding without the inevitable death following when he has full control. " You need to feed, at least a few drops, Lestat, you're not in any danger of killing me. I trust you, " she nods as if to confirm those words for him and herself.

Lestat looks down at her face, then her arm, as if to say, he has never known anyone to so freely offer themselves up as a meal before. However, this is quite different. This was not sacrifice, this was along the lines of one good deed in favour of another, an I owe you sort of deal. He would definitely owe her, after this.

" Helene, " he almost purrs her name in his hungry state and takes her offered arm, turning it, holding her hand and her arm to keep it steady before taking a bite. A soft gasp leaves her at the contact, the feeling of sharp and quite painful teeth pushing through her skin.

His eyes briefly glance up at her face as he feeds, a whole lot of adoration the only emotion he finds then, as she had so fearlessly given herself like that. He stops after a few mouthfuls, catching a stray drop on his bottom lip with the tip of his thumb and glancing at her again.

" Merci, " he says, voice low and content, giving her a smile, that one she knows so well. " J'ai besoin de toi, " he adds, with a large smile, allowing her then to rest against his body should she feel faint, even in the slightest.

#drabble #answered #helene #lestat #lelio #starcourt #pastelmoongoddess

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gcldenharvey · 3 years ago

Text

“The lower you fall, the higher you’ll fly” - Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

The Basics:

Name: Harvard Hargrove III

Nicknames: Harvey, Harv, Goldie, Veevee

Age: 19

Birthday: March 31st, 1979

Gender: Cis man

Pronouns: He/him/his

Sexuality: Straight

Major: Business

Former school: UCLA

Job: N/A, his dad still completely supports Harvey financially

Faceclaim: Jacob Elordi

Personality Positives: Magnetic, extroverted, athletic

Personality Negative: Wrathful, duplicitous, destructive

About:

YOU'RE THE GUY EVERYONE WANTS TO BE. QUARTERBACK, POPULAR KID. THE FACADE LOOKS PERFECT ON THE OUTSIDE, BUT INSIDE YOU'RE CRUMBLING. YOU'RE GETTING ANGRY AT THE WORLD IN A WAY THAT YOU'VE NEVER BEEN BEFORE. YOU GO OUT LATE AT NIGHT LOOKING FOR FIGHTS; CRAVING THE FEELING OF GETTING YOUR FISTS WET WITH BLOOD, BUT YOU'RE DOING EVERYTHING YOU CAN TO HIDE THAT PART OF YOURSELF FROM EVERYONE AROUND YOU. YOUR FATHER GROWS MORE DISAPPOINTED BY THE MINUTE, AND EVERY SINGLE DAY YOU THINK ABOUT RUNNING AWAY. BUT NOW THAT EVERYONE YOU LOVE IS BACK IN TOWN, HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO LEAVE? YOU AND LUX WERE CHILDHOOD NEIGHBORS. YOU GREW UP MAKING MUD PIES, AND SNEAKING OUT TO PARTIES TOGETHER. LOOKING IN THROUGH HER BEDROOM WINDOW GETS HARDER EVERY SINGLE DAY. YOU KNEW SHE WASN'T PERFECT, BUT YOU WERE OKAY WITH THAT... NOBODY IS PERFECT. BUT SOMETIMES YOU WONDER IF YOU WERE THE ONLY ONE WHO KNEW THAT SIDE OF HER. YOU KIND OF HOPE YOU WERE.

Secrets:

The Small Stuff: At UCLA, Harvey found his way into an underground fight club, which he quickly grew to adore. Rising through the ranks with remarkable speed, Harvey learned that the best way to stop someone looking at you funny is to make sure he can’t see straight. Now, back in Cherry, his entire body itches for a fight he can’t find a release for.

The Big Stuff: YOU WERE ARRESTED FOR AGGRAVATED ASSAULT AT YOUR LAST COLLEGE, AND SHOULD HAVE FACED JAIL TIME. THANKS TO YOUR FATHER'S MONEY, THE PROBLEM WAS HIDDEN IN THE SHADOWS AND YOU WERE ALLOWED TO QUIETLY TRANSFER... BUT YOU KNOW IT CAN'T BE THAT SIMPLE. YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE IN THE GANG WHO WAS PLANNING TO COME BACK TO CHERRY ANYWAY, BUT YOU'RE NOT GOING TO TELL ANYONE. IF EVEN ONE PERSON FOUND OUT ABOUT WHAT YOU AND YOUR FATHER DID, IT WOULD END YOUR CAREER BEFORE IT EVEN STARTED, AND COST YOUR FATHER HIS OWN. AKA, YOU WOULD BOTH BE ROYALLY FUUUUUUUCKED. NOT TO MENTION THE FACT THAT NOBODY WOULD EVER LOOK AT YOU THE SAME.

The Interview:

“HOW DO YOU FEEL NOW THAT EVERYONE IS BACK IN CHERRY?”

The grin that stretched across Harvey’s face was wide and bright and he leaned forward in the chair, that one too-short leg of it rocking forward to hit the ground as Harvey leaned forwards towards Clarissa. Only someone that knew the boy well would have caught the tension running along the sides of his eyes that pulled on the smile, making it appear just a touch brittle. “Oh it’s great,” Harvey said, voice carrying easily through the small room. “This is where we all came from, this is what made us all who we are and now…” Harvey trailed off, swallowing around a lump in his throat. The smile had faded entirely but with effort, Harvey managed to bring it back, though it was a pale shadow of its original form. “With Lux gone, I think we’re going to need each other. Or, well, most of each other. There are some people I could have gone my entire life without seeing again!” A light laugh punctuated that statement, but the creak of wood underneath Harvey’s hands as they gripped the wooden arm of the chair with a white-knuckled tension spoke louder than the laughter.

He consciously relaxed his hand, before bringing it over to smooth down a non-existent wrinkle in his pants. He knew coming here without a drink or three was a bad idea. Harvey didn’t think about the bags that had remained unpacked since he had gotten back to town that now lay scattered along his dorm room like soldiers on a battlefield, quietly saying that tomorrow, surely, he would leave. He didn’t think about the ever-growing hole in the plaster he was hiding in his closet. It had formed when he heard the news, that everyone, everyone minus Lux was back, for better or for worse. The worse, Harvey had reflected in those rare moments of peace that he only ever found in the moments after a punch was thrown, seemed far more likely, given the fucking bullshit of the past few years. No, Harvey didn’t think about any of this, and just smiled at Clarissa instead. “It’s definitely going to be interesting.” And that was the most honest thing he had said thus far.

“WHERE DO YOU SPEND MOST OF YOUR FREE TIME?”

“Well,” Harvey began, leaning towards Clarissa with an expression well-known in town forming across his face. It was the look he got when he was flirting and was supposed to make him look mysterious and yet approachable. Whether or not it actually did that, Harvey had no idea. No one had ever bothered to tell him. It seemed to work often enough for him to believe it had some validity. “If you’re wondering where you might find me for a bit of fun, you can always check the track. I’m usually there in the mornings before class. If that doesn’t work, you can probably find me on the beach, or at the best party in town.” He winked. “I know how to have a good time. If you’re ever looking for one, hit me up.”

That all was true. Harvey wasn’t in the habit of lying to beautiful women, after all. Not if it meant some fun could be had in the future. Lying about everything else? Yeah, sure, that’s fair game, but not that. It just fit too well with the rest of how people expected Harvey to be for him to not take full advantage. Plus, it was fun. But even though it might have been true, that didn’t make it fully honest. Harvey would never tell anyone, though, just how much time he spent in The Pit, or how the sounds of The Garage provided a steady pounding noise that focused Harvey like nothing else as he hung around it hoping to one day ask for a job. But that wasn’t the charming athletic party boy his father had told him to become, or else, and so those places, the places that saw more of Harvey than anywhere else, remained a secret.

“WOULD YOU CALL YOURSELF POPULAR?

It was the first genuine sound Harvey thought he had made during the entire time he had been in that room, and it punctured the air like a pin through a balloon. “I wouldn’t go that far,” Harvey hedged, using his hands to make his point, “I don’t exactly have a huge friend group and there’s a few people in town now that I’m pretty damn sure aren’t my biggest fan.” Harvey shrugged with one shoulder, the hand of the other going up to scratch behind his ear in a nervous gesture he never quite managed to break. “But yeah, I guess, if you wanted to, you could call me that. I was quarterback, you know, and definitely never had problems getting any dates to the dances. If that’s all popularity is, then I guess you could call me a popular kind of guy.”

They never ask what all that costs, Harvey reflected. The thought sent a bolt of fury, bright and true like lightning, straight through his body into his gut. He shifted slightly in the chair which rocked with the movement. Harvey shifted again and it rocked back. He decided not to move again any time soon. The noise of it made that burning in his chest that much stronger and he could feel his jaw clenching with the effort it took to appear unaffected. Not for the first time, Harvey thanked his lucky stars he had as much practice with that as he did. He also cursed them in equal measure, for forcing his shoulders to learn to carry that weight without crumbling. But what was it that Dad always said? ‘No one expects you to change anything, Harvey. All we ask you to do is soldier through to the other side’? Words to live by, apparently. He couldn’t stop the snort that escaped at that thought, but he waved off Clarissa’s curious look. “Sorry. Old joke from the locker room. Nothing you’d want to hear.”

“DO YOU REALLY THINK LUX KILLED HERSELF? ”

“I do.” The words came easily, without thought. Harvey knew he had thought about this a lot, considered it while laying in bed or while driving to the next party. It forced its way into nearly every moment of his life, and though he had done his best to drown it out, Harvey hadn’t managed to yet. “I lived next door to her, right? Our bedrooms were right across from each other and I knew she wasn’t perfect. I think she knew I wasn’t perfect either. But I saw things, overheard things.” He shrugged again, this time with both shoulders. “It wasn’t easy on her and I think she just took the fastest way out she could.” The smile that came across Harvey’s face now was tinged in heartbreak and the weights he felt ties to his shoulders every day. “I kinda get why she did it, too. There’s only so long you can tread water before your arms and legs just give out and you drown.” He shifted backwards and the chair moved with him. “I’ve seen it happen. I’ve had it happen.”

Headcanons:

While Harvey is majoring in business, this is entirely because this is what his father expected of him, and as he’s spent his entire life living up to those expectations, it seemed easier, at the time, to just go along with it. He doesn’t like it though.

That old muscle car Harvey drives is the last thing he has of his mother, who died when he was seven. She willed that car to him and he treats it better than he treats some people. It is his most prized possession.

Harvey knows that in order to leave town like he desperately wants, he needs a job to get his own money. But getting a job would lead to questions from his father, from people around town, everyone. He can’t have that. Harvey has a reputation to maintain after all, and so he feels as if he’s in a form of limbo right now.

Lux and Harvey used to sneak out through their bedroom windows, sometimes helping the other get across the roof or down onto the pavement below. Harvey fondly remembers those times, how it all felt like a secret he was in on that no one else knew about. There was a unity in it, an understanding that they were both running away from something. Now that Harvey wants to leave Cherry for real, he almost feels an obligation to do it for Lux.

The man is heterosexual, almost to a fault. He has absolutely forgotten to attend get-togethers with friends or to finish up homework in favor of a date with a beautiful woman.

His favorite subject in high school, much to the surprise of all that knew him, was English. He really enjoyed discussing the books. Writing the papers, however, was a real drag and his work never really reflected his understanding of the material. This only lead more to the perpetuation of the “dumb jock” stereotype as he talked a lot but got horrible grades. Despite this, he bought a copy of every book they read and kept them.

Harvey’s favorite kinds of movies are action-comedies. His favorite movie is Ghostbusters but he has a secret soft-spot for movies like The Dead Poet’s Society and Sixteen Candles. He would, however, break the nose of anyone that shared this piece of information.

He failed his driver’s test three different times because he kept blowing through red lights.

He is allergic to strawberries. This was discovered back in Kindergarten with a snack that had strawberry jam. It caused his throat to swell up and for him to be sent to the hospital. This was the first time Harvey was at the center of the school’s focus but it wouldn’t be the last. Harvey grew to love the idea of being at the focus of everything and turned to sports to fulfill that desire.

#cusaintro #introduction #✵ musings #✵ inspiration

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rollingthundermusic · 5 years ago

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Some Albums I Like pt. 2 (2001-2020)

Ahh, the 21st century. Full of shitty music. Full of some good music too.

2001, Lateralus by TOOL: Maynard James Keenan’s voice makes you really want to understand whatever the fuck he’s saying in some of these songs. Because if you’re gonna get a crash course about Kabbalah from any record, it might as well be one this good.

2001, White Blood Cells by the White Stripes: This is the rock for college students to listen to on their way to their minimum wage job.

2003, Dopesmoker by Sleep: Yes, I know this record technically came out in 1998 as Jerusalem. But the 63 minute and 36 second long title track may just be what pushes me to break sobriety.

2005, I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning by Bright Eyes: In a post-Elliot Smith world, we still need tortured indie rock and tortured indie rock stars.

2005, Demon Days by Gorillaz: Three imaginary boys…and an imaginary girl as well. Not nearly as depressing as Smith’s debut though.

2006, Hell Hath No Fury by Clipse: What the title doesn’t tell you is that they stole all Hell’s fury and put it on this album.

2006, Donuts by J Dilla: Show love to the producers, kids. I wish he was still around to receive some love.

2008, 808s and Heartbreak by Kanye West: I loathe Kanye West for his arrogance and idiocracy. He might as well walk around with his arms given how often he shoves his feet in his mouth. I like this album because it barely sounds like Kanye West.

2008, Ninja Tuna by Mr. Scruff: The innocence that emanates from this album is enough to crack the tough shell of any music snob. The songs aren’t half bad either. Background music at it’s finest.

2009, The Suburbs by Arcade Fire: This album is a time machine. The sounds and flavors take me back to certain places and emotions. It’s intoxicating.

2010, Man on the Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager by Kid Cudi: This record isn’t exactly a smash hit, but Mr. Mescudi is sincere and genuine. And some cuts on this LP truly feel like they’re on the cusp of greatness, and for that it’s wormed its way into my heart.

2012, The Idler Wheel Is Wiser Than the Driver of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will Serve You More Than Ropes Will Ever Do by Fiona Apple: The fact that I took the time to type this album’s ridiculously long title should be a testament to how much I like it.

2014, Run the Jewels II by Run The Jewels: Rarely is the sophomore album the best in an artist’s discography. But if there’s one word to describe El-P and Killer Mike, it’s definitely “rare.”

2015, To Pimp a Butterfly by Kendrick Lamar: An honest commentary on the inequity plaguing the U.S.A. Lamar is quick with his tongue and sharp with his mind.

2016, Teens of Denial by Car Seat Headrest: Indie rocker Will Toledo goes alt-rock because he can. Who are you to stop him? You still listen to The Lumineers.

2016, Blonde by Frank Ocean: One track made me cry. The rest of it was capable of far worse.

2017, Capacity by Big Thief: If every human had a voice like Adrianne Lenker, then I’d day at least 80% of current global issues wouldn’t exist.

2017, DAMN. by Kendrick Lamar: Wrath and frustration given sound. Lamar is shouting into the void and he demands an answer.

2017, Big Fish Theory by Vince Staples: I don’t like calling Vince Staples “experimental.” It would imply that what he’s doing isn’t natural for him.

2019, When I Get Home by Solange: Solange Knowles answers the question: What kind of music does a deity make?

2020, How I’m Feeling Now by Charli XCX: This whole bubblegum bass scene may be a flash in the pan, but Ms. Aitchison is quite flashy.

2020, After Hours by The Weeknd: I used to think that he was just another melodramatic straight guy. Now I know that he is, but he seems to be more self aware than before.

2020, Spinnin’ by Bastards Of Soul: Old school sounds with a lovely modern twist. These guys are definitely bastards; forgotten sons of a bygone age.

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miracul0us-multishipper · 5 years ago

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Nullification

Or: Now that I know how to write angst it’s over for you bitches!

Chat Blanc except darker, because I’m full of malice and have no fear of god.

Warning: While I’m not one to write a lot of gore for shocker value, it gets, uh, bloody in this one. Not overly detailed, but still.

Also, there’s a major and a minor character death in this one. Have fun!

- - -

There was light.

Harsh, cold light so bright it left dark splotches in her vision when it faded.

No.

She stumbled forward and fell to the floor. Her red suit was intact, her skin unblemished.

Ladybug had survived.

The realization filled her with dread.

Please, no.

“C-chat...”, she breathed, her voice barely audible. She had forgotten to breath, and she didn’t feel like she was able to start again. The white cataclysm might have as well hit her, she felt like it had punched a hole into her chest.

She looked up.

Not because she wanted to – no, no, no! – but because just couldn’t stop herself.

The space in front of her was empty. There were black stains on the ground, and a small crater. No body. No blood.

Ironically, that made it worse.

Blood meant life, blood meant she could do something. Anything.

Instead, there was nothing indicating Chat Noir - Chat Blanc, Chat! - had ever been there.

Suddenly her body remembered how to breath and seemed intent on making up for the seconds - minutes? - she had lost. The world begann to spin around her as she hyperventilated, small, helpless sounds escaping her constricting throat.

A sob rose up in her chest and turned into a retch halfway through, before coming out as a dry, frantic cough.

She doubled over, her hand hitting something hot and metallic. A ring.

NO!

No, no she couldn’t- this couldn’t- why had he-

A guttural scream tore trough her, twisting her insides by the sheer force of it. Once she had started, she couldn’t stop anymore; every new breath only served to make more room for screaming.

He hadn’t killed her - why hadn’t he killed her?! - and now she was the one left behind again, but there was no Akuma to purify and no evil for Miraculous Ladybug to cleanse. And the look in his eyes had told her that he knew, he knew and did it anyway, why did he do it why did you do it why did you-

Through the tears in her eyes, she saw a shadow and recognized it instantly. She couldn’t make out his form, but the pain in her core was mirrored in his and she knew he was still trying to process what had happened.

Plagg was quiet in his anguish.

He wasn’t weeping like her, wasn’t shaking and screaming like her. His was a wordless grief, too great for such a small body. Motionless, frozen he floated on the spot, green eyes wide with fear and knowledge and pain pain pain.

His head turned, slowly, towards her until they were locking eyes. And for a moment they were one, one gaping wound left by a claw that had never touched them. Not them, never them. Only himself.

“I can bring him back.”, said a voice behind them. He was stepping into her view, warily, circling her at a safe distance. (There is no safe anymore.)

“It doesn’t matter. I can bring him back.”

Hawkmoth’s breathing was a little faster, she noticed. His pupils were blown wide, she noticed. He’d been surprised, startled even. But not shocked. No, nothing affected him enough to shock him. (Yet.) His voice was as even as always. (I’ll make it scream.)

“I just need your earrings, and his ring. And then he’ll live.”

She wondered if he had considered this beforehand. He had known Adrien so long, had groomed and molded him to his every whim. He must have taken this into account.

Yet he had akumatized him regardless. He knew his sons life - death, death, Adrien’s death - could be used to force her into compliance.

Her fingers tightened around the ring, her thumb brushing over it. There was a slight crack in its surface, and its black color seemed to fizzle and glitch beneath her touch. It was hot in her palm, burning.

Hawkmoth’s eyes were fixed on it as well, but he didn’t dare to come closer.

Clever man, she thought.

Cautious.

Self-preservation had always been his forte. Not so much his sons.

Another sob shook her and she choked, heaving and coughing as if she could vomit the pain out of her. The endeavor remained fruitless.

Plagg’s eyes didn’t narrow when he looked at his chosens father murderer. His face was made of stone, but when he looked back to her, his eyes were full of emotion. And... acceptance.

And she knew what she had to do.

“T-Tikki...”, she sobbed. She doubted her friend could hear her, but there was an awareness between them when they were transformed. As if in response to her thoughts, a feeling of dread and pleading rose from the other side of their bond. She knew Tikki would never approve. So she looked to her other half.

“Plagg.”, she whispered. The Kwami closed his eyes, his fangs visible in something between a smile and a snarl.

She looked up at Hawkmoth.

Suddenly the last word was very, very easy.

“Unify.”, she said. Softly. Almost peacefully.

She rose to her feet as Plagg blurred and fused with his Miraculous, a static crackle marking the start of their transformation. Electrical currents shot through her veins and her muscles seized and trembled under their force. She kept going anyway, biting her teeth together and walking on. Step after step.

Warmth filled her and turned into seething heat as her costume changed, Black spreading, red receding, inky hair framing her face freely. White filled her vision and painted her costume, but her focus was unwavering and she kept on walking. Her muscles burned and every breath seemed to rasp her throat bloody, but his pain had been greater, greater, he had screamed so loud and she could do this do this for him-

Then the anger hit her, and oh, wasn’t anger just so much better than grief. Yes, after this horrible loss and sorrow, Plagg’s fury uniting with her own was ecstatic, exuberant. It hit her almost as hard as the rush of power did when the transformation completed, leaving her a mess of black and white, green and green, hot and cold. Red-tipped claws - how poetic - extended from her black gloves, sharp and desperate to dig into skin, stone, reality itself.

Plagg’s ring was of an unblemished, flawless white; like a fresh page of an unused book. Her earrings were pitch black, so dark they seemed to devour the light around them.

She sighed, closing her eyes.

Oh yes, this was so much better.

Where fusing with any other Miraculous had felt draining, this absolute union felt potent, and almighty, and right.

This wasn’t Ladybug, or Lady Noir, or all her Multimouse Fusions. This was regnant, and absolute, and final. This was the darkest chasm and the brightest sun and the entire empty void in between.

She stopped her advance. Right in front of Hawkmoth.

Deeply, she sighed and opened her eyes - three of them, now. Purple and pulsing in an otherworldly light as they regarded the man in front of her. He seemed so small now. So frail. Had it truly been him that had caused her all this anguish? This little amount of pitiful atoms, unfortunate enough to come together in this constellation?

“You are alive.”, Hawkmoth remarked. He sounded surprised. Impressed even. She wondered if he’d ever granted these emotions to Adrien.

“I am.”, she replied. Her body was screaming as every force of nature wanted to tear her apart at once, but she felt more alive than ever. Full of potential, she was the page waiting to be filled and the pen ready to comply.

“How?”

She smiled, genuinely. His honest disbelief and awe amused her. If Adrien were here, he might have made a little joke. She loved his jokes.

“I am very motivated.”

Hawkmoth hums. His curiosity and envy could not mask the fear he hid behind his questions. Her smile widened.

“You are scared.”

“I have no reason to be.”, he was quick to deny. He laughed, looking up to her in false confidence. “No, I have you all figured out. All of you. You are of remarkable intelligence, but your devotion to my son is greater. I have seen how you reject personal gain in favor of his delusions, time after time.”

He leaned closer to her, eyes firm as he felt more and more in control again.

“You want him to be happy, don’t you?”, he implored her. “Think. What does he want? You know it. He wants his family, whole and happy again. Me, his mother and him, happily ever after.”

His face grew softer, as did his voice. He was so sure he could mold her into the role he had planned for her.

“He deserves it, don’t you think so?”, he hummed full of nostalgia. “He sacrificed so much for you already. Surely, his love would sacrifice her selfish want for revenge for him?”

He smiled.

“Make the wish.”, he whispered almost conspiratorially. As if he were telling her an funny story only the two of them were allowed to know. It was so heartwarmingly ignorant. “Make the wish, and make him happy.”

“Happy”, she repeated, her smile widening once again. She sighed pensively, then she looked back at him.

“His name.”

Hawkmoth blinked, his smile frozen on his face.

“...what?”

“You’re not saying his name.”, she explained patiently, nodding encouragingly. “Say it.”

He stayed quiet, confusion growing in his eyes. With it came insecurity. With it came fear.

“Say”, she demanded, “his name.”

Her voice sounded the same to his ears, just the slightest bit off to emphasize her point. The glow in her eyes brightened just a tad and only the slightest whisper of a breeze tugged at their clothes. He gulped and she knew he had gotten the message.

“Adrien”, he said. “Adrien Agreste.”

He didn’t stammer. It rolled over his tongue easily. There was no guilt in his voice, no tears in his eyes. Not even a hitch.

And suddenly she was full of hate and wrath and vengeance and she wanted his blood staining the concrete. She raised a clawed hand and tore it downwards without feeling any resistance.

There was a scream; a sweet, panicked scream and Hawkmoth tumbled backwards, holding his face, covering his bloody eye socket. His intact eye stared at the redness pooling in his palm, staining his suit, dripping onto the ground. His breathing grew ragged as he looked up at her, trembling in pain.

Ah. So this was what shock looked like on him.

“What are you doing?!”, he spat at her. “He’ll never forgive you if you hurt me! He’ll... he’ll hate you! Loathe you!”

She had to suppress a disgusted shiver as she flicked off the eye that was stuck on her index claw. It hit the ground with a squelching sound that made her feel sick, followed by the scraps of his mask she had torn off. The magical fabric may be indestructible to most forces - but she was no longer one of them.

“You’re probably right.”, she admitted and remembered Adrien’s fierce devotion to those he loved. Even if they didn’t deserve it. “He’d rather kill himself than hurt anybody.”

And he had.

“But I guess we won’t out.”

Now Gabriel froze. He swallowed, shaking his head as he tried to comprehend her words.

“...what... what do you mean?”

She raised her hand and observed how the sunlight played on the rings surface. It’s a sunny day, she realized belatedly. How odd.

“Adrien is so full of love.”, she smiled softly, before repeating: “He’d rather kill himself than hurt anybody.”

She lowered the hand and stretched her claws.

“I can feel... so much.”, she murmured, more to herself than to him. “Even if the ring wasn’t cracked, this... balance is delicate. I can’t risk to tip it too far, or everything will come crashing down.”

Adrien didn’t want that, she knew it. And she’d honor it.

“I won’t make the wish.”, she informed Hawkmoth matter-of-fact. He gasped as if she had punched him in the chest. She found it to be quite satisfying.

“B-But you have to! You... You must!”

He jumped up, grabbing her collar and shaking her.

“He’ll be dead otherwise!”, he yelled at her, his blood flying everywhere because of his frantic orders. “Don’t you get it?! You’ll never see him again, you hear me? There’s not even a body you could bury, there’s no goddamn cure!”

He was seething and terrified and she could feel Plagg begging to claw his other eye out. She decided to save it for later. Now, she had to savor this.

“Is that what you want, you sick little psychopath?”, the old man hissed at her. “You want him to have died for nothing? No, for you?! Because that’s what he did!”

He laughed, his single eye racing around erratically.

“He died because of you, Ladybug!”, he shouted gleefully. “Because this poor little son of mine was so convinced you were perfect! How do you think would that stupid boy feel if he knew you just let him perish? His entire useless life wasted for-“

He didn’t get to finish. Her fist collided with his jaw before he could, hurling him through the air and slamming him against a wall. He bounced a little when he fell onto the ground.

She straightened herself and went to walk up to him. He was disoriented, trying to pull himself up the wall, but the hit had been hard.

He fell back on the ground.

“What... What are you?”, the broken, beaten husk of her nemesis whispered. She kneeled down next to him and pulled him into a sitting position by the throat.

“A valid question.”

The darkest chasm and the brightest sun and the entire empty void in between, she had thought earlier. But Adrien had been her light, and Chat Noir her dark knight, so now there was only emptiness. A void.

“Call me Null.”, she answered and her hand around his throat raised him into the air. Her grip tightened, claws digging into the skin above his jugular. She smiled and raised a talon. Plagg purred.

“Now, let me see that other eye of yours.”

- - -

This was loosely inspired by @familyagrestefanblog ‘s post on pv lore

Might do another part of this, but if you want to, feel free to continue this yourselves

#miramu writes #nullification au #miraculous ladybug #mlb #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #hawkmoth #ladybug #chat noir #chat blanc #tw gore #tw violence #tw character death

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crusherthedoctor · 5 years ago

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The Lutrudis Hadeer Characterization Masterpost

A while back, I made a big post about the thought process that went into the design for Lutrudis, as well as her name, species, and choice of weapons. In the midst of doing a bunch of other stuff (like the Eggman Sweet or Shite review, which is definitely still coming guys I swear, please don't leave me D':), I recently figured I could do the same for the character's... well, character, and provide some further insight into how her personality was shaped together. Cause why not, right?

Obviously, we won't be covering literally every single personality trait that Trudy has, like her hobbies and whatnot. If we went over all of that, we'd be so far into the future that Tumblr's search system might actually start working again. No, we'll just be keeping it to the central ingredients that make up the overall package.

1. A cool head? In my Sonic OC?

The recurring cast in the Sonic universe is filled with fiery, hot-blooded sorts in one way or another. Sonic might as well be the love child of Mentos and Diet Coke with how full of energy he is, Knuckles and Amy are both prone to letting their temper do the talking, Eggman... is Eggman, and the list goes on. And while there are a number of characters who are more low-key or even outright introverted by comparison, they still tend to exhibit a trait or two that makes them more in-line with the rest of the crowd, be it youthful excitement (Tails, Cream), a fiery temper (Blaze), or the odd bit of cockiness (Shadow).

So what better way to help make Trudy stand out... than by not really having anything like that at all? Contrary to most of the hot-blooded cast, it takes a lot to truly enrage her, and even then, you'll be lucky to get anything past tranquil fury. She's not particularly hammy either - flowery with her language at times, certainly, but not hammy - nor is she a cocky type, even against the weakest or most ridiculous of opponents, and although she does grow as a person over the course of the story she's involved in, all of this remains fairly consistent.

That's not to say that Trudy is not a passionate person. Far from it, in fact. She has a lot of passion. She just shows it in a different way than the average Sonic character.

2. Lutrudis? More like Unsureofdis.

Uncertain characters are also somewhat rare in Sonic's recurring cast (at least in the game universe), and just like with the previous point, even when they're there, they'll usually have something to counter it. Blaze may have been a bit insecure before meeting and befriending Sonic and Co, but as mentioned, she’s got a fierce temper, and even when she started off on her own, she felt that only she could take care of the threat of Eggman and Inferior Eggman Nega. Likewise, while Silver may have doubted himself about Leslie the Crack Dealer’s Iblis Trigger ruse cruise, he still got cocky when he had Sonic on the ropes, and he could be quite full of himself in the Rivals duology as well.

The point being, they still tend to show some semblance of the same “yep, I'm the one for the job, no questions asked” confidence and swagger that nearly everyone else has, no matter the flavor. Trudy, suffice to say, does not have this mentality. Trudy accepting Sonic and Co's help in dealing with sinister affairs in Viridonia without any haughty protest on her part isn't just because she knows they can handle it, or because they're Sonic Heroes and they'll show 'em the real superpower of teamwork... it's also because she's genuinely not sure if she would be able to take care of the matter on her own.

When she saved Cream from the wrath of the Wraith for example, she wasn't thinking “This looks like a job for Miss Hadeer!”

She was thinking “This could very well get me killed, but I have to help the poor bunny somehow...”

In other words, Trudy doesn't consider herself to be some sort of destined protector who has to do this herself. She constantly second guesses herself, and frequently believes her friends are more qualified and competent than she is. Her only reason for doing her best and helping out regardless is simply because she wants to.

3. A light at the end of the tunnel.

For the sake of tact, it's not shoved in your face relentlessly, but reading between the lines, it can be easy to get a sense of melancholy from Trudy. Particularly due to past experiences, she does indeed have an element of depression within her, and this can occasionally show in her body language and facial expressions, even if she's currently feeling positive emotions.

And yet, notice how she continues being a friendly pony. Notice how regardless of her experiences, and her thoughts on said experiences, her actual behaviour is (mostly) free of bitterness or cynicism, and that she doesn't hide the joy that her new friends make her feel. She's not outright ignoring her experiences or pretending they don’t affect her, because they clearly have affected her, and she's never ignored her scars (metaphorically and literally, the latter being a permanent side-effect of her condition), but she knows better than to let it consume her, so she tries her best to look at the bright side of life even during the darkest days.

It's Sonic's opinion that Trudy's inner spirit is a lot stronger than she thinks, with or without his help. Her refusal to give into misery and lash out at the world foreshadows that he's not unjustified in that belief. That, and it ties into the franchise’s usual taste for optimism and idealism against the odds.

4. Hadeer? More like Hadork.

So, everything thus far helps set Trudy up as a mellow, down-to-earth sort of personality. So far, so good. However, it's still the Sonic the Hedgehog universe we're talking about, filled with many colorful characters of all shapes, sizes, and eccentricities. When a franchise has a larger than life cast in a larger than life world, the characters who are meant to be grounded often risk coming off as boring and could end up easily overshadowed, because the creators or writers often neglect to give them any quirks of their own, usually out of fear that it'll disgrace the character's gracefulness. In fact, I personally feel this was a common problem with Sally, in both SatAM and Archie (mostly pre-reboot admittedly).

IMO, these writers are just being plain old silly. Just because a character is quirky doesn't mean they forfeit all their dignity altogether. Like a lot of things in life, you just have to balance it out, and that's what I did (or tried to do...) with the green equine.

So yes, Trudy is elegant, but she's also a really goofy dancer. Yes, she's gentle and motherly, but she also goes back and forth between being a heavy sleeper and being an insomniac. Yes, she serves as a warmhearted auntie figure for Cream (and a big sister figure for Amy), but she also spends a quarter of her time looking like a ninja with the way her bandana covers her face (whether it be due to cold weather, strong scents triggering her sensitive nose, or doing it in the presence of villains as a mildly theatrical way of visually conveying her disdain for them).

And of course, in the right situation, she can be just as much of a dork as the titular blue hedgehog is.

Which leads me to my next point...

5. “You might know everything I'm going to do...”

Trudy was created with the intention of having a character who is actually like Sonic himself in a lot of ways, but it's not apparent initially.

This sort of yin-yang contrasting routine has been done before a few times in the series, with Knuckles, Shadow and Blaze being the most obvious examples. But with them, their similarities are easier to spot from a distance. Knuckles is more earth than wind, but you can tell he's as stubborn as Sonic is. Shadow's methods and outlook differ, but you can tell he's still a mirror of Sonic (cause you know, he looks like him). Blaze is more distant, but you can tell how she can easily be just as worked up and angered as Sonic.

With Trudy however, if you take her at face value, you would think she's the exact opposite of Sonic. She's an introvert, he's an extrovert. She's got a calm temperament, he can get impatient even at the best of times. She's quite fancy, he's more rough and tumble. She takes things slowly, he leaps ahead without a care in the world... You would think that, outside of them both fighting for good, they would have nothing in common, and that their dynamic would be more akin to Sonic's relationship with Sally, which although they were friends, their relationship could often be somewhat rocky due to their differences in... basically every area and opinion imaginable.

But then you get to know Trudy, and the unfolding of the adventure reveals the rest of what she has to offer. The aforementioned soldiering on in spite of any depressed moments is in itself a small hint that Trudy shares Sonic's philosophy of never giving up. She believes that most people are good at their core, and while she won't excuse especially evil people or actions and will punish them appropriately (albeit with regret that it had to come to that), she's willing to give a chance to those who are willing to take it, just like with the Blue Blur. Not only does she NOT find Sonic's jokes and hijinks annoying, she actually has a similar sense of humor herself. And while reasonable people generally tend to loathe injustice and oppression, Trudy shares Sonic's uniquely intense contempt for it, and believes in one's own personal freedom just as much as the hedgehog does, let alone freedom in general.

In short, Trudy is what you get when you take Sonic's deeper qualities and general outlook on life, and apply them to a more introverted and taciturn personality. The exact same beliefs, but from a different perspective, so to speak.

6. A different kind of intelligence.

Tails and Eggman are the resident kings of scientific prowess in Sonic's world, and it goes without saying that I wouldn't want to do them a disservice by having Trudy one-up them in that department. But that doesn't mean your character can’t be talented in other areas, right? Contrary to what all those Mary Sue tests dictate, your character can in fact have a high IQ without intruding on an official character’s territory.

Therefore, Trudy is pretty good at innovation and craftsmanship in her own right, but whereas Tails and Eggman do it through technology, her field of expertise is more to do with arts and crafts, and to a lesser extent geology. For example, both her bow and her whip were crafted by the lady herself, using nothing but her decorative knowledge and flair.

Outside of that, she tends to know a fair bit about a lot of things in the world, largely attributed to her photographic memory, meaning she's bound to have a few answers no matter the subject of discussion. Granted, she's unlikely to be the absolute number one expert on any of those things, but she's at least a useful jack of all trades in that regard.

7. Feeling a little horse.

I very much approve and flat out adore the idea of Sonic characters having characteristics that remind the audience of what species they're supposed to be, so I made sure that Trudy had a wide selection of little mannerisms that would reveal her for the little horsie that she is. These include, but aren't limited to...

- When she’s fascinated or concerned by something, she’ll lean a little forward with her hands close to her chest, which subtly mimics the act of prancing.

- When she wakes up, she briefly stretches her arms and legs (albeit not too recklessly so as to risk straining her sensitive limbs).

- Her tail has a number of quirks. If she's happy, it might slowly swish to and fro. If she's REALLY happy, it might flick...

- And if she doesn't approve of someone or something, it might stiffen and raise a little bit, as if to helpfully inform the bad guys where they can kiss, if ya know what I'm saying.

- When she's being affectionate with her friends, she might give them the ol' nuzzle.

- When she's in a playful mood, there might be a little skip in her walk, the anthro equivalent of trotting.

- When she's annoyed, she might humorously let out a snort that sounds identical to a real life horse snort. And while she certainly doesn't neigh in the traditional sense, when she finds something hilarious or Sonic's making her laugh with his antics, her laughter can't help but take on a neigh-like touch to it. (The latter was actually a headcanon suggested by @darklightheart, and I immediately agreed with it because it's cute and funny in equal measures.)

Naturally, she gets all shy and embarrassed when the neigh-laugh comes out, thinking it sounds silly. At least Sonic finds it endearing.

Note that I'm well aware that some of this differs from how real life horses react to certain things. (Eg: tail swishing tends to happen when a horse is agitated rather than happy.) But I freely admit that it's more for the sake of giving the character that extra bit of soul than it is for utmost accuracy. That's the way it goes with fiction sometimes. :P

Interestingly, Trudy tends to get Sonic indulging in a funny hedgehog characteristic of his own. That being, he might curl into a ball if Trudy's being particularly... ~complimentary~ towards him.

And there we are! These are the core elements that make up Trudy’s characterization. If you ever wanted a general list of what makes her tick, then hopefully this post will help in scratching that itch. And if it doesn’t, then hopefully it still proves that more thought was put into her than Scourge. :]

#Lutrudis Hadeer #Sonic Character Design

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