#not exactly what I meant but I ran with it; the wings are meant to be like the ones the Specter Knight amiibo fairy has

[alangdorf]

Back at it again in the catboy mines; this time it’s me! Dress inspo and boots inspo bcuz they’re cool

[hells-wasabii]

here’s a thing you could try doing (if you want to) the Hazbin hotel gang with seraphim child reader who somehow appeared in hell after the ep 8 battle.

the gang now has to look and protect this child since others could use them for their own means with the power the kid has and for some reason they can’t go to heaven… almost like they have a purpose here in hell

A/N: This is probably going to get a part 2, I'm a little invested in where this could go! It's probably gonna get turned into a little series with a plot.

With a child seraphim i really don't see one knowing what hell even is yet. Sure, they would tell them about it, but definitely wouldn't know what it is. Or alcohol, or curse words or anything vulgar really. I hope you enjoy!

Character: General

Type: Fic (Nonromantic, Plot-centric,Hotel staff/residents with seraphim child!reader, General)

It was an honest mistake. You really hadn't meant to, but Emily and Sera were starting to argue again, something that had been happening often since that nice Charlie girl you had met at the zoo came and gone. So you had snuck away. You hated when they argued, they were your family. Family shouldn't fight, ever, you had decided early on.

Curious, you continue on towards the portal. You investigated, peering through to see a strange place bathed in red, you saw a broken building, something that reminded you of something one your brothers had shown you from the human world. War, you thought it was called. Something horrible that humans thought up to hurt each other.

You hated when people were hurt. You wanted to get closer and help anyone who might be hurt, even if your powers hadn't fully come in yet.

Then an idea came to your mind! You could ask your brothers to help! They would know exactly what to do! With this in mind, you attempted to return back through the portal, only to be pushed back by some invisible force.

Wait... What? Why wouldn't it let you back in?

Then it happened. You were still a young Seraphim, your wings weren't super strong yet, and as you peered down at the red place your wings gave out. Luckily, your brothers and sisters had trained you in case something like that happened! You were able to slow your descent, at least enough for it not to hurt when you finally landed.

So you started to make your way to the pretty, large building on the hill with a sign that read Hazbin Hotel. Though the building didn't seem quite finished yet, it was still really pretty. Odd, hadn't it just been all broken?

As you pushed your way in through the heavy doors, you saw three people over at a tall counter: A cat man with wings cleaning a really small glass, an angel, but she didn't have her wings out, and- Oh no! She seemed to have misplaced her halo, too! That wasn't good! And a pretty pink and white spider-man that was sipping on a pretty looking juice

The pretty spider-man looked over at you and did a spit-take, nearly choking on his juice.

"What the fuck is a kid doing here?" He exclaimed, gesturing at you, fuck? What kind of word was that? No one had taught it to you, and you couldn't remember any of your fellow Seraphim using such a word, either. This seemed to get the other two's attention as they turned to look at you, shocked expressions on their faces.

"What does 'fuck' mean?" You asked, head tilted in confusion looking between each of the strangers. The pretty spider-man looked like he was going to start laughing but the angel next to him hit him hard in the shoulder, only serving to confuse you more.

"Charlie!" Excited, you ran forward, using your wings to jump higher than you would have otherwise, right into her arms. The blonde non-angel caught you with ease.

The princess of hell's eyes widened looking up to find her companions looking just as confused and shocked as she felt.

This wasn't good, not one bit.

[druigs-wife]

IN AMADO || NAMOR X FEM!READER

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE || ONE SHOT

summary: after months of separation, namor visits and shows you how important you are to him.

warnings: MINORS DNI, smut, penetration (mxf), oral (f&m receiving), slight angst, wakanda forever spoilers

word count: 2.2K

A/N: translations: in yakunaj ~ my love, in lool ~ my flower, in reina ~ my queen, in amado ~ my beloved

Every six months you and Namor meet on the beach nearby your house. It was already your tradition. No matter how much he wants you to come and live with him in his kingdom and be his only, it wasn't possible.

Yesterday he didn't show up for unknown reasons, as you two had agreed half a year earlier. You did the same as the day before, you sat down on the soft sand in the light of the full moon and patiently waited for your beloved one to come to the surface. Seconds, minutes and hours passed. It was midnight and there was no sign of him. He was never so late. Something must have happened. What if he was hurt in some way? What if you won't see him again? With those dark thoughts a single tear ran down your cheek, but you wiped it immediatly. He could give at least some sign that he is okay, that he is safe and that he still loves you. Why didn't he do that?

It was getting colder on the beach. The waves in the Atlantic Ocean were getting bigger and the wind stronger, sweeping your hair back. Your body started shaking but you were stubborn. This time, you won't let go and keep waiting, even until the dawn. You got up from the ground and started walking towards the cabin where you lived to take a blanket with you back to the beach to cover yourself and warm up. However, as you turned your back to the ocean, you heard a familiar and calm voice.

"In yakunaj, wait..." you immediately turned towards him and looked into his cholocate eyes. At a distance, you could sense that he felt guilty.

Without overthinking, you started walking faster towards him. Thanks to his wings he reached the sand and opened his arms where you found yourself a moment later. He could only hug you even tighter so that you wouldn't be able to run away from him.

"I thought something happened to you. I was losing my mind." you got out of his grip and cupped his wet cheeks in your hands. Your gaze traveled all over his face, but you couldn't find a single scratch. Namor just remained silent and watched you. "You should have let me know you weren't coming, give me a sign, anything." you started shivering more from the cold, he noticed it and started rubbing your arms to keep you warm. "I was worried."

Namor was acting differently than usual, as if something was bothering him. He looked at you with great sadness and regret, but also love and care. You've known each other long enough that you could tell when something was wrong.

"(Y/N) you need to warm up, you're trembling." you nodded slightly, he put his arm around you, and you went home together.

You sat on the wooden floor by the fireplace covered with a blanket and stared at the bright flames. A few moments later, you were awakened from your trance by the sound of creaking panels. Namor joined you, holding cups of something to drink in both hands. He brought you hot tea and for himself only water. He sat down next to you that your bare knees were touching. For the next hour he explained exactly why he hadn't visited you yesterday. The whole world can learn about the existence of the Talokan. You knew how much his kingdom and his people meant to him. Everything. So you weren't surprised what next steps your beloved one would have to make to keep it all a secret from the greedy world.

"Tomorrow morning I will sail to Wakanda with my entire army and put an end to this war." you stared at the already empty cup while listening carefully to what Namor had to say. "I can't let anything happen to Talokan..." he took the cup from you, put it on the ground next to him and wraped your palms together "...and I can't let anything happen to you." you looked at him and a small smile appeared on your face.

"I'm not a threat to them, they don't even know I exist, do they?" he nodded slightly, "So what are you afraid of, in amado?" he smiled gently at the nickname. Only you could call him like that. He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

"I'm afraid that through this stupid war I might lose you, that they can take you away from me, just as I took their queen from them." you sighed heavily amd closed your eyes, leaned a little forward that your foreheads touched.

"And what about you, hmm? Will you come back to me safe and sound? Nobody knows about us... I won't know if you survived or not." you said. You didn't get any answer for the next few moments. All Namor did was leaned back and placed a kiss on your forehead and then on your temple. He put his arm around you and came closer to you than before.

"I give you my word, when I am done with this, I will come to you as soon as I can." Namor gave a few more kisses against your temple. "But if... if anything happens to me, you'll find out just as quickly. You have my word in reina." you looked deep in his eyes. His promise was everything to you at this point.

You finally decided to get closer to him. The tips of your noses touched gently, and your lips was only inches apart. Finally Namor brushed yours hungrily but tenderly. You felt like you hadn't seen each other in ages. You wrapped your arms around his neck and his various necklaces. He, on the other hand, began to run his hands over your hips, waist and higher. As the kiss grew more passionate, you pulled away from him to catch your breath.

"Will you stay with me?" you whispered in his ear and brushed it lightly with your lips. The very gesture made Namor shudder. It was his sensitive point. Taking the opportunity that your neck was more exposed, he didn't waste a single moment and started peppering her with kisses, leaving tiny hickeys on it.

"Only if you want it." your foreheads and eyes meet again. You both were breathing hard. "Do you want me to stay?" you nodded immediately. "I need words in lool." before you spoke, you touched his left ear with your fingertips, then slowly took off his earring and set it on the floor. You did the same on the right side and put your hands on his chest keeping eye contact.

"Stay. Stay with me." Namor smirked broadly and kissed you lovingly, but you quickly broke this gesture because you wanted to get rid of the rest of the jewelry that he didn't need at the moment. With slow movements you removed the necklace after the necklace from his neck. He just watched your every single move carefully. Next were the arms, one jewelry on each of his biceps and on both forearms. You had to move away from him a bit to be able to take off the next ones on his calves "accidentally" touching the wings at his feet. They were also his sweet spot. Namor groaned softly at the contact. He needed you. Right now.

He rose a little and grasped your thighs tightly to be able to lift you up from the floor. Once he was standing on his feet, you wrapped your legs around him on the way to the bedroom. Namor kissing you passionately placed you carefully on the edge of the bed. This time it was he who took the initiative. He began to remove parts of your clothes from you, revealing more and more of your skin. You only stayed in your panties. Without taking his eyes off you, he got up from the bed to take off the last parts of his clothes. He threw his belt and shorts on the floor, freeing his cock and climbed on you again. He kissed your neck and sucked it alternately covering it with hickeys. For a few seconds you felt his cock brush against your thigh. With every second he was getting lower and lower. After a few moments, his lips were on your breasts, he worshiped every inch of your body. He started caressing your nipples, making circles around them with his tongue and sucking them as well. You were already a moaning mess, but you still wanted more. You wanted more of him.

You ran one hand through his black hair, and the other you placed on his shoulder and dug your nails lightly into him. He moaned against your breasts and began to go down. He placed wet kisses on your belly, until he finally reached your thighs. He adores them, so he also left a few hickeys and love bites on them. He looked up at you.

He reached for the fabric of your panties with his fingertips, they were already wet. Namor was waiting for your permission.

"Please..." you moaned softly. With one smooth movement, he pulled the last part of your clothing off you and your whole beautiful body appeared in front of him. Namor was enjoying this view as well as the first time he saw you in all your glory.

"May I?" he asked politely being inches from your folds, putting one leg over his shoulder for better access to your entrance. You felt his warm breath against your skin.

"Yes, in amado. Make love to me, please." at these words Namor immediately began to lick the wetness from your folds, teasing your clit with his nose. You rolled your eyes back at the sensation and lay down completely on the freshly laundered sheets as he dived deeper into your pussy while he was on his knees.

You missed this and couldn't wait to suck his dick until he goes wild. You groaned loudly as his tongue was slightly higher on your wet and aching clit. You were so close, but you wanted this moment last forever, so you tense your muscles and dug your nails into his hair. Namor brought his free hand to his mouth and dipped two fingers in his saliva, then sliding them inside of your pussy. When he felt that you're close, he began to curl them in your sweet spot, to which you replied with more uncontrollable moans of pleasure.

"Cum for me in yakunaj, let me feel you" at his filthy words you came so hard that you arched your spine and your body was shaking with the pleasure your beloved just gave you. When he cleaned your folds, he climbed on top of you and placed a long kiss on your lips. You could feel your own taste. Namor pulled away from you and then you touched his cock and started pumping it slowly.

"Let me worship you, my king." taking the opportunity that he didn't pay enough attencion, you turned the both of you that he was now on his back and you were on top. You did exactly what he did to you. "K'uk'ulkan..." you sighed marking every inch of his body, you slide lower and lower until your mouth was on the tip of his cock. You took it in your hand pumping, licked off his leaking precum and sucked gently on the tip. He propped himself up with his hands so he could see what you were doing to him. He groaned softly and closed his eyes with the excess of pleasure. Namor put his hand on your head and started fucking your mouth. At first he kept the pace that you set, but with each passing second he was closer and his thrusts became faster. When he felt that he was about to spill his cum inside your mouth, he stopped his movements as well as you.

"Up, in reina. Up." you did as he told you to. You stood up and pressed your lips together in a passionate kiss. Namor moved you with his arms to make you sit on him. You've been waiting for this moment for a long time. His wings began to flutter, brushing against your bare skin. You touched one with your fingers and Namor let out an innocent groan. You weren't admitting the thought that you might lose him. He directed his cock towards your entrance and in one move he was inside you. You both moaned loudly. You wrapped your arms around him, and he took your nipples in his mouth again and savor them while thrusting his cock against your g spot.

When Namor was making love to you, it felt like it was your first and at the same last time. He was rediscovering your body, every inch of your soft skin, your reactions to his actions, and your beautiful sounds again. Everything was perfect.

You have never believed in what the other people have said about him in legends, because what he is like right now, in your arms, fascinated by all of you, is a complete opposite of what is said in all those fairytales.

When you both reached your climaxes, you lay down on the bed together, Namor wrapped his arm around you tightly, and you put your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat. Until you both fell asleep in each others arms, he whispered sweet nothings into your ear and rubbed your nude and soft shoulders.

"In k'áatech, in yaakunaj.

Teech le in yóok'ol kaaba'."

"I love you, my love. You are my whole world."

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 || 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[kreumiya]

★・fever dream part 1

taking care of the leader of Penacony while he's sick

Well, the leader of Penacony may seem like he doesn’t have any weaknesses, however… getting sick a day before a banquet the two of you were meant to attend was definitely one. 

“Excuse me,” you said, pushing your way through the crowds of servants that had gathered outside of Sunday’s door. Maids, doctors, tourists, everyone of the sort was piling in. After all, not everyday did you hear the news that someone from The Family would get sick, even if it was just with an ordinary fever, they were quite closed off. Why do so many people have to be here? you thought, making it to the backdoor and letting yourself in, knowing that the bodyguards were already all too used to this occurrence. 

“You’re here?” 

Sunday looked up at you, smiling with a cloth half falling down his face. You walked towards his bed, noticing how intricate all the architecture seemed to be in his room. Plush velvet decorated his room in the farthest layer of the hotel. Taking a seat next to his bed, you took the cloth off his head, grabbing the basin and wringing out the water.

“You don’t have to–” he interjected, reaching for your hand. His hand was abnormally warm, especially so for someone like him, who you were so used to having hands cold to the touch.

“Well, I do have to so you can get better for the banquet,” you frowned and took the wet towel, placing it gently on his forehead. “If you don’t get better, who’s going to the banquet and hosting everyone? Surely you won’t let me, your poor assistant who’s only meant to accompany you, do it all by myself?” you let out a sigh, resting your head on his chest, hoping that you being dramatic would somehow cure all of his illnesses. He let out a small laugh and ran a hand through your hair. 

“Of course not, I’m sure I’ll get better in no-time, don’t worry much,” Sunday smiled, his wings moving slightly. “And even if you were to host a banquet by yourself, I’m sure you’d be able to anyway. But I doubt you’d be able to deal with the Nameless, I myself aren’t sure about them either.” 

You two lingered in silence for a few minutes before something crossed your mind. 

“Oh right!” 

You ran to the other bed, which was what took you to the Golden Hour dreamscape. Of course it was exactly as you remembered it, drunks and tourists of the like littered the place. And oddly enough, the bright lights of the city reminded you of how you had met Sunday – although that’s a story for another time…

Taking in the sound of the bustling city for another moment, you ran towards Sunday’s favourite shop, a cake shop that he had visited many times. Letting yourself choose the freshest cake with the great excuse that “Sunday would be eating this.” Soon you returned to the room, shoving the cake in between his hands.

“How’s it taste?” you grinned. It was his favourite food after all. 

“Not bad….”

And soon you tucked him back into bed knowing that tomorrow would be a long day with a sick leader of Penacony and a large banquet that hosted everyone from all around the universe. You just couldn’t wait to be overworked, at least it was with Sunday. 

Fever Dream Part 2

i have so many pulls for this man, probably ooc idk we've barely known him in story

[in1-nutshell]

Hey just had a thought what if all the old Predacon buddy accidentally stumbles upon a relic that reverts them back to their younger body somewhere between when they were still a gladiator like they are mentally and physically reverted back into their younger form and younger predacon buddy is like more cold and distant but is still nice to the younger bots and Optimus

Young Predacon Buddy is not happy with this sudden change.

Especially with the buff Orin Pax they found.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the Old Predacon turning back to his prime youth with Wheeljack, Smokescreen, Bulkhead, Ratchet, and Optimus Prime

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronain reader

TFP

The team had recently acquired a new relic from the latest find.

Buddy had stayed in the base with Ratchet and the kids to try and decode the item.

When the team arrived, they placed the relic in one of the med slabs to be scanned later.

Buddy was finishing the decoding when the relic started powering up and had a bad feeling about it glowing.

Glowing things and Buddy didn’t exactly mix well.

A sudden beam came out of the relic and started bouncing around the base.

Everyone ran for cover.

The beam headed straight for Optimus.

Buddy ran and threw themselves at him covering the mech with their beast mode and large wings.

A sudden bright light flashed before dying down.

Buddy and Prime were okay.

But the closer the bots looked at Buddy they realized something was off.

Either that beam polished them and gave them a frame upgrade.

Or…

Something wrong happened.

The Predacon groaned as they got off the Prime shaking their helm.

They stood up straighter than they had ever seen Buddy go normally.

And they stretched their massive wings farther than they had seen before.

Buddy goggling opened and blinked their optics.

Their entire paintjob was new yet scratched.

They also had more decorative markings and more armor plating.

Buddy finally looked around and hissed.

Their plating flared up a bit making themselves look bigger.

More threatening.

They demanded to know where they were before they slit everyone’s throats.

Something was terribly wrong.

Optimus took this moment to call Buddy.

Buddy turned annoyed but it turned to shock and surprised.

They called him Orion.

…

Oh no…

After a bit of explaining and finally decoding the purpose of the relic.

The relic had the ability of returning a bot to a point in their youth along with all their memories from that point in time.

That meant Buddy was only familiar with Optimus and Ratchet.

Everyone else was a stranger to them.

Wheeljack

Buddy gets annoyed at all the asks to spar by many of these ‘Wreckers’.

Especially from the white one, Wheeljack.

A very persistent fellow.

When Buddy finally gave into the challenge, it was over in a couple of seconds. Usually this would have taken 5 minutes tops for Wheeljack with older Buddy.

This strength was scary.

Too quick…

Too brutal…

Too much of everything.

Buddy may have gone a bit too far with some more denting than what they would usually do.

And they weren’t even using most of their strength, and Wheeljack knew that.

Even now at the prime of their youth, they were still holding back.

“Hey Buddy, you wanna spar?”-Wheeljack

“And why would I want to spar with you? Do you not value your own life Wecker? I’d rather not give Ratchet more work in the med bay.”—Buddy

Buddy goes to walk away.

“It’s only sparring, or are you too afraid of the challenge?”--Wheeljack

Buddy stops and slowly looks back at Wheeljack with cold and calculated optics.

“Challenge accepted Wrecker…”--Buddy

Smokescreen

Buddy is softer with the younger members of the team.

Even when they found out about humans, they were soft on them too.

Smokescreen, still being one of the younger bots, got this treatment too.

Buddy did mention before that they had a habit of ‘taking bots under their wing.’

He didn’t think they meant it literally.

Buddy was a bit rougher than usual, but they still cared and looked out for him.

When Smokescreen asked to spar, Buddy hesitated to ask if that was what he really wanted.

Smokescreen said yes.

5 seconds…

5 seconds was what it took to bring him done.

A minute with the phase shifter on.

Buddy constantly gives him tips on footing and arm placement, but he doesn’t really take that into account while his helm is still spinning from the tail whip.

“Hi I’m Smokescreen.”--Smokescreen

Buddy looks at the bot.

Buddy takes their wing over him.

“Mine now.”--Buddy

“What?”--Smokescreen

“Mine.”--Buddy

Bulkhead

Buddy liked Bulkhead.

He was an almost adequate sparring partner.

He could take much more damage than some of the other bots here.

Bulkhead didn’t want to fight Buddy though.

Bulkhead had been the one to cause some heavy dents in Buddy before.

But that was the older, more patient Buddy.

Now he was talking to the les patient, younger Buddy.

Which gave Buddy the wrong message.

They thought that he didn’t want to spar them because they were a predacon.

An animal.

A monster.

Something not worthy of his time.

Buddy defiantly made sure the two of them sparred even adding more denting from their frustrations.

But not too much

They didn’t want to upset Ratchet or Optimus.

“Have you come to spar with me like your friend in the med bay?”--Buddy

“Nah, I don’t wanna hurt you, Buddy.”—Bulkhead

“I almost guarantee you won’t Wrecker.”--Buddy

“Yeah, but I hurt you last time—"--Bulkhead

Buddy clamps their jaw on Bulkhead’s arm and throws him on the far side of the room.

“You calling me weak!? I’LL SHOW YOU WEAK!”--Buddy

Ratchet

It was between Ratchet and Optimus to explain to Buddy what was happening.

They only trusted being around the two.

Both knew it would take a while for Buddy to warm up.

Buddy often dropped off team members who thought it was a good idea to spar with this much younger predacon.

Or the ones who pissed Buddy off.

Buddy does look after Ratchet.

More worried about how many years the bot put on.

Nearing the same age as each other, Buddy worried for their friend’s health often asking him to take naps while they kept watch.

Surprisingly this worked many times while Buddy was in the med bay.

Buddy would always stand guard over their resting friend, growling at anything that would disturb his sleep.

Mainly because Ratchet didn’t want to be physically subdued by a younger Predacon that could take him out in seconds.

“Ratchet.”--Buddy

“Buddy.”--Ratchet

“Have you been sleeping well?”--Buddy

“Why?”--Ratchet

“You look closer to my age than a few cycles ago.”--Ratchet

“I’m old Buddy.”--Ratchet

“Not as old as me.”--Buddy

Optimus Prime

Buddy was extremely surprised to see Optimus and Ratchet the way they are now.

Ratchet for the number of years he took on.

Optimus… well that was self-explanatory.

From small Orion pax to big Optimus Prime there were quite a few changes.

It did warm his spark seeing Buddy so worried for their friends looking like they went a joined the pits.

Buddy for the first few days was Optimus and Ratchet’s shadow.

They constantly watched over the two like a hawk.

Even going as far as growing when one of the team memebers came to close to one of them.

Buddy insisted on sparring with Optimus

With this new form of him, he had a painted target on his back and Buddy was not going to let him go anywhere where he could get hurt.

Bigger framed or not, Buddy has taken down bots far bigger and stronger than him. He needs to get ready.

Optimus had the best time out of the entire team.

Mainly because Buddy focused on training Prime than getting the match over with.

“Orion?! Orion!”--Buddy

Buddy wraps their wings around the much larger Prime before taking a good look at him.

“What is all this? Are you planning on competing in the pits? When did you get so big? You were so small, why, you’re as tall as I am!”--Buddy

“There’s much that needs to be explained old friend.”--Optimus

“You, even sound old. Did Megatronus put you up to this? I swear that mech…”--Buddy

Buddy looks at Ratchet and nearly drops.

“Ratchet?!”--Buddy

Buddy goes up to him with a worried look.

“What happened?! You look almost as old as me? We just saw each other over two cycles ago? WHAT’S HAPPENING?!”--Buddy

[calumfmu]

tell me what you need

summary: you're the girl in the labyrinth with Felix before he ya know.

cw: 18+, mdni, oral, slutty Felix (a need), teasing, dirty talk,

1.6k+ words

Fog settled heavy throughout the high walls of leaves and branches around you. Your feet stumbled as you made your way through the maze, trying to find yourself centered as you searched for Felix. Felix Catton. The man of the hour.

You have had your eye on him ever since you started your semester at Oxford. You only had one course with him, but that was all that it took for you to be attracted to the tall man. You had competition, this you knew. He wasn't the type to be tied down to one lady, he had many suitors lined up for him.

But you weren't either. It was stupid for anyone to think that either of you were going to be tied down. It was the peak of your youth, the time where you need to be sleeping around.

All semester you had been flirting with each other, sneaking glances at each other in the long corridors of the university, brushing your fingers against each other at the campus bars, hinting towards what you knew was to happen eventually. Tonight was finally the night were you knew you had him exactly where you wanted.

A branch suddenly snapped behind you, earning a squeal from your lips. Your gold crown dipped into your line of sight as you swiveled around, searching for the source of the noise. Placing it back into place, you frowned, regretting the decision to come out here in this state of mind.

You swore you saw a flash of white dip behind one of the maze walls, but you blamed it on your drunkenness. 'S nothing, you thought, shaking your head. 'S nothing, just find Felix.

You continued your trek towards the center of the garden maze, heart pounding in your chest in anticipation. He shouldn't be too far from now.

Attending this party was a last minute decision of yours, as you heard it was for Felix's new 'best friend of the hour', as people mentioned. You weren't quite sure what that meant.

As you made a left, you sighed in relief, finding a clearing with a statue in the mind. And there he was, Felix Catton, standing with all his might. He looked good, loose fitting jeans hanging low on his hips, white tank top snug to his frame, gold angel wings spread behind him. A cigarette was between his fingers, between his lips as he looked at his ring clad fingers.

"Oh, Feliix," you sing-songed, trailing the edge of the clearing.

His gaze shot up to meet the sound of your voice, smiling once he realized who you were.

"yn?" He answered, taking one last drag before throwing it to the ground. He stood to his attention, straightening his posture as he took in your appearance.

You were adorned with gold cuffs at the wrist, a white sheet drapped loosely over your frame, crown shaped like an olive branch placed within your hair. You didn't have anything to meet the Midnight Summer's Dream theme, but you did have this outfit prepared from the last costume party your roommate attended.

You looked like a goddess if you did say yourself, and it was perfect that this man in front of you looked like your match.

"What're ya' doin' here?" He gave you a cocky smile, leaning back smoothly on the statue behind him. His floppy hair hung low over his forehead, eyebrow piercing begging to be seen beneath it.

"Heard there was a party," you muttered, beginning to walk closer to him. His eyes trailed your body, teeth running over his bottom lip. "And I knew I had to join."

Confidence rolled off of your shoulders as you crossed the path over to him. Standing in front of him, you cocked your head at him, smiling as he tilted his head back to drink you in.

Silence crept between the two of you as you lifted a hand, running it down the length of his torso.

"Ran into Farleigh, told me you'd be out here," you whispered, taking another step so you would be chest to chest. You felt Felix's breath hitch up, a taunting smile playing at the corners of his red mouth.

"Farleigh's 'ere?" He questioned, hand reaching out to grab at your waist. His hand was huge in comparison, fingers bunching the fabric there.

"Never mind that." You began to kiss at his neck, body already aching at the way his head leaned background exposing the long stretch of his jugular vein. Your hands began to roam free, feeling strong muscle beneath the thin layer of his clothes.

He breathed a low fuck underneath his breath, small pants escaping his mouth as you began to kiss down the length of his chest. Your hands searched for his waistline, finding the button that held his pants together. Cock straining through the thick fabric.

You managed to free the button, unzipping it slightly so your hand can slip beneath his pants grabbing hold of his shift. He began to breath even heavier at your grasp.

"Fu-uck, yn, just lik-"

You giggled, leaning up to kiss him, halting his words.

"Like that, Felix?"

You freed him from his pants, cock springing free. He hissed as it hit the cool air, swinging his head back so it hit the statue behind him. A low moan escaped his throat, incoherent words coming with it.

You dropped to your knees, pulling down his pants even further as you took in the sight before you. Even in the dark light, you could tell his cock was beat red, dripping with desperation for your attention.

Glancing up at him through thick eyelashes, you smirked slightly before taking the tip of it in your mouth. You mouthed at it, tongue darting out to taste the saltiness of his precum.

Felix moaned further, hand reaching out to run through your hair.

Jerking it, you licked along the underside, noticing how he fell out from the gesture.

"Look at my little Felix," you toyed, tightening your grip as you jerked his length. "You're falling apart right now, aren't you, love?"

He nodded through kiss bitten lips, red and plump. His eyes drooped further, watching you as you teased him with your tongue.

"Little Felix wants more?"

He mewled, trying to position your head so you got more of him in your mouth.

"Ah ah ah," you teased. Jerking rapidly at this point, you dribbled some of your drool on his head, watching as it mixed in with the liquid pooling at the tip.

In the distance, you could hear the party, poppers and fireworks going off as people cheered around you. The bass of the music rumbled through the manor, you could feel it in your chest.

Another branch cracked to your left, and you whipped your head around to find it. Your mind messing with you, you figured.

Turning back to Felix, you stared up at him as you took the head of his cock between your lips. Your tongue began to work back and forth on its underside, hand still moving over its length.

You began to work your way down its length, the girth stretching your mouth open wider as he filled you up. Felix was a mess above you, both hands running through your hair at this point, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He was murmuring at this point, praising you for the magic you worked on him. You found your rhythm--sucking at the tip while your hand stroked over him, mouth going up and down the swollen member.

You pulled off with a pop, jerking him with a fever, palm curving with every movement.

"Such a slut, Felix."

You giggled, leaning down to lick at his balls, hanging heavy over his jeans. "Who would've thought?"

He was getting closer to his peak, hips jerking with desperation as you stroked him closer to the finish line. He was dripping more and more, head thrown back in ecstasy as his fingers pulled at your hair.

Another firework exploded in the distance, Felix's breath becoming more shallow, yet high pitched.

"I'm almo- right there, yn, right th-"

He whimpered, whining at your mouth returning to his head, lapping at the droplets.

"Mmm- fuuc-" His hands pushed your head down his length, you allowing it this time. A choke escaped you, gagging at the length of his cock hitting the back of your throat. It was harsh, demanding, the way he fucked at your mouth.

He was so close, he could taste it, mumbling as that high approached him. Feeling it in the pit of his stomach, he moaned, a ribbon of white fluid hitting the back of your thro-

"Felix?" A voice sounded behind the two of you.

And before you knew it, you were pushed to the side. Felix quickly tucking himself back into his pants before buttoning them.

"Ah Jesus Christ, What the fuck are you doing here?" Felix asked, hoarseness evident within his throat.

A smile tugged at your mouth as you wiped the back of it with your hand. Rising to your feet, you adjusted the shoulders of your dress.

"Were you spying on us?" You questioned, beginning to leave the proximity of Felix and the statue. Felix's body language stiffened, focusing on the man in white in front of the two of you.

Oliver, you recognized, his new best friend.

"No, I wasn't." He was defensive, a bottle of who knows what in his hand as he came closer to you.

You rolled your eyes at him, turning your shoulder to find your way back to the party. The party continued on in the distance, awaiting your arrival. Oliver was replacing your distance to the winged man in the tank top as you made your departure.

As you made your way back through the maze, you smirked to yourself, satisfied with the mess you had made of Felix Catton. You pictured him whimpering, the taste of him on your tongue, his fingers in your hair.

Successful night, you thought to yourself. Hopefully there's more where that came from.

[pearlsinmyhair]

₊ ⊹ the price of the name.

synopsis: reader has had a hard life, and now she’s an orphan. but someone just as lonely comes into her life to take her under his wing.

warnings: angst. lots of hurt, very little comfort. miguel is a hardass who pushes people away. death.

platonic!miguel x daughter-like!reader. no seriously, reader is eighteen and young. this is found family, not romantic.

the intention is for this to be multi-part. how many parts? idk.

word count: 1.3k

pt i : fate

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 

being a spider person was always unfair. mercy from whatever divine being that controlled their universes was hard to come by.

you were no exception.

your father died early, shot by a man who ran with someone’s purse. you didn’t know him well, you were only three after all. but your mother fought hard to teach you about him, to make sure you remembered some semblance of him.

and all was well for a time. you went to school, made some friends, started working for some extra cash under the table.

you were reaching up into your attic when the sharp sting of a spider bite zinged up from your hand. you killed it with a slap, but nothing could stop the venom that now traveled through your veins.

the rest was history: you became your universes one and only spider woman, learning her trade as she went.

the cannon event hit later, and it was different from the others.

you had no uncle to find dead on the street.

but you did have a mother.

she was working the late shift at the hospital when a spouse of a dead patient burst through the doors and demanded to see a doctor. apparently, the man wanted revenge for the hospitals failure to save his wife, and he had come to instill justice.

your mother had raised her hands and tried to plead for him to stop, to calm down, to lower his gun.

the shot made your spider-senses go haywire, and you practically flew to the trauma center. the security guards had no idea what to do, so you just ran past them to find your mother bleeding on the cold white tile.

it took everything in you to remember that behind your mask, no one knew you were this woman’s daughter, and you’d have to respond carefully. you watched as the officers called the next of kin, and you were thankful that you had had the mind to put your phone on silent that day.

no one noticed the tears streaming from your eyes behind the suit. you swung back home as fast as you could, answering your phone when they called you again.

pretending to not know what was going on was the second worst thing you had to do that day. you had to fight from chocking on tears as you answered the call.

eighteen and orphaned, standing over your mothers open casket. a part of you thanked that you were older, because it meant that you didn’t have to go into foster care. but nothing could truly quell your grief.

and then the universe decided to send you a big middle finger in the shape of a Doc Oc right after the funeral ended.

you knew that you couldn’t keep going like this. no one should process grief this fast. but as the villain sent a tidal wave through the streets of new york city you relized that you didn’t exactly have a choice.

with great power comes great responsibility.

and saving these people was your responsibility, no matter what mental state you were in.

this Doc Oc looked to be from some other dimension. instead of mechanical tentacles like that of your Doc Oc, he had real ones, and he apparently threw actual octopi at people when he was pissed off.

it was no easy task, and at one point he had thrown you against the wall and knocked your head. as your vision swam, he picked you up with one of his suctioned limbs and squeezed.

it all happened so fast.

a flash of orange and yellow swirling at the edge of your vision. orange silk shooting into your captors face. and then someone shot forward and sliced the tentacle that held you.

you sank to the ground as you caught your breath, vaguely hearing someone say “Lyla, run a diagnostic. what’s the best way to take this guy down?”

as you wheezed, a large hand rested against your shoulder, and a soft voice greeted your ears.

“Sit tight, kid. I’ll handle this.”

you didn’t have time to argue when the hand vanished, and you peered up just in time to see a large spider-man in a blue suit throwing himself at the villain.

you stood as you caught your breath, rushing right back into battle to help the man that had saved you. the Doc Oc dragged you both to the bay, sinking down into the water. it was advantageous for him, being a water dwelling creature, and you and the man struggled. it took another spider, a woman on a motor cycle, showing up to help defeat him.

but it was you who dealt the final blow, wrapping the villains limbs to a nearby pier to keep him underwater. when the pair of new spider people got him all tied up and prepared to take away, you just…collapsed.

everything came down on you at once. your exhaustion, your sadness, your loneliness. everything.

you barely heard the spider woman murmur to the brash man across from her, and it was only when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around you and pick you up that you snapped back to reality.

but just as quickly as you zeroed in on the feeling, your brain whispered sleep in your ear, and you passed out.

₊ ⊹

you woke to a strange bare bedroom and an odd watch that flickered with light on your wrist. noticing the glass of water on the bedside table, you chugged it, coughing when you got too eager.

“You’re awake!”

you screamed, a small voice coming from right beside your head unexpectedly. you turned to see a small woman illuminated in the light from your watch.

“no need to be afraid. i’m lyla.”

lyla. that rang a bell.

“where am i?” you asked as you noticed the clothes folded in the corner of the room. you cast a sideways glance at the projection, and lyla turned to give you the illusion of privacy.

“miguel will answer all your questions. i’ve alerted him of your new condition.”

you slipped on the black sweatpants and top gratefully, relishing the feeling of soft cotton against your skin. as your hands moved over your body, you quickly noticed various cuts and bruises.

that’s right, i passed out.

“where is this miguel?” you asked as you studied the watch, noticing the flickering ‘EARTH-928’ across the screen.

almost immediately, little glowing footsteps were projected from the watch, making you whip your hand away from your face.

“i guess that’s my answer?” you asked lyla, and the woman nodded.

you sighed, figuring you might as well follow them.

fantastic survival skills from the one and only spider-woman.

well, you thought, not the one and only.

₊ ⊹

the man before you seemed almost nothing like he was when you were fighting Doc Oc.

he seemed…infinitely tired. his shoulders hunched, head ducked down. you supposed that you were distracted during the fight.

but his expression revealed much more than his body language. he had deep eye bags, and his cheeks were sunken in a way that expressed not just natural bone structure but also a lack of eating and sleeping properly.

miguel looked drained.

you were still processing what he had told you, about the cannon and the ‘Spider-Society’ and the ‘Arachno-Humanoid Poly-Multiverse.’

you had actually openly scoffed at that one, and he looked dejected by your reaction.

“but i can’t just send you home now. i’m pretty sure jess would actually web me for all eternity if i did.” he was saying, rubbing his brow.

“so what exactly am i doing here, then?” you asked, curious but hesitant.

he turned his back to you, looking forlornly at his screens.

“i’m going to train you.”

“why?” came your response, surprised and uncertain. you may have only known miguel for less than an hour, but you could already tell that taking on a young apprentice wasn’t exactly in his character.

he didn’t turn to you. he just kept looking at a picture of a young girl on one of his screens.

“because you remind me of someone.” he said quietly. then he looked at you, and you were struck with the amount of guilt and suffering that lived in his eyes.

“and because you remind me of myself. and i can’t let you become like me.”

masterlists | part ii

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Angel!Lucifer x Human Reader: Second Preview

Hey hey! This is for all you night owls out there! I call this a preview but it's pretty long lol. The people in my community already read a part of this but there's new stuff too! Let me know how you enjoy it so far! And again, thank you for being so patient with me on this one <3

No active warnings!

You looked down and began to fiddle with your hands, unsure if your reason would upset the angel. "It's Adam..." you began, "He's...so needlessly demanding and harsh. He doesn't see us as equals, he believes himself to be superior to me. I've tried explaining to him that he shouldn't be acting this way, but he refuses to listen! Finally, I had enough of him...so I ran..." You felt the tears well up in your eyes once more, small whimpers escaping your throat as you tried to hold yourself together. "I know we're meant to be partners and I've sure heaven will not be happy b-but..."

"Shh, it's alright." Lucifer cooed as he wiped away the tears the fell down your cheek. "Please, no more tears. You were right to stand up to him. Adam should know better." You sighed and let your head rest in Lucifer's small yet tender hand. You glanced over at the pound when you heard an unfamiliar noise emanating from the center. You noticed some feathered creatures you didn't recognize swimming on the lakes surface. There seemed to be one that was much larger than all the others. You looked back at Lucifer and saw his face light up with delight. "Do you see those little ones over there?" You nodded. "Heaven may not have wanted my input on creation, but that doesn't mean I didn't have any."

"Are those your creations?" you asked.

Lucifer smiled and then sighed. "One of very few. Do you want to get a closer look?"

You looked back out to the water and saw the group of animals flap their wings, splashing the water in every direction. They seemed so full of life and energy, watching them play filled your heart with warmth. You nodded, albeit a bit nervously. Lucifer let out a melodic whistle; you watched as the little creatures made their way towards the lake bank. You saw them use their small wings to help them onto land and waddle towards the two of you. Initially, you stretched out your hand to touch one of the smaller ones but pulled back in hesitation.

"Don't worry," lucifer reassured, "they are harmless, I promise! Watch!" Lucifer cupped his hands together and laid them down in the soft grass. A few of the small ones happily chippered and hopped into his palms. "Want to give it a try?"

You copied Lucifer's motions exactly and watched as the same thing happened with the remaining babies. Their feathers were bright yellow and soft to the touch. You were in awe of the little lives you held in your hands. "They’re so small," you said aloud to no one in particular. "What are they, Lucifer?"

The angel lowered his hands and let the little ones go back to what you now assumed was their guardian. "I named them ducks," Lucifer answered. "The little ones are ducklings; not fully formed yet but they will grow!"

You nuzzled your cheek to the handful of ducklings; their little peeps made you chuckle. "They're beautiful!" you exclaimed, letting them down so they could join their family once more.

"Yeah, beautiful..." you heard Lucifer murmur. You looked over to see his lovely blue eyes staring straight back at you, a tint of yellow now colored his cheeks. "Uhh, I mean, umm...here! Watch this!"

A sudden flash of sparkles left you dazed, but only for a second. Lucifer had disappeared in front of your eyes.

"Lucifer?" you called out, looking to either side of you but seeing no one.

"Down here!" you heard his voice respond. You looked down and saw a small little white duck in Lucifer's top hat. He smiled at you and wagged his feathered tail. You couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh, what an adorable little creature," you fawned playfully, cupping your hands once again and allowing him to hop in them. You brought him to your cheek and nuzzled him as you did with the others. Lucifer quacked in excitement. "I didn't know you could change forms!"

"It's not something I do often," he admitted. By the tone of his voice, it almost seemed like it was something that had been discouraged. "But I don't mind making a special exception for you!" You noticed the sun began to dip over the horizon, the fleeting sunlight shimmering off Lucifer's pristine white feathers. It would be night soon, and in that moment you realized you didn't have anywhere else to go. Lucifer noticed the change in your demeanor, tilting his head. "Is something the matter?" Before you could open your mouth to speak, a bellowing call could be heard from the tree line.

"Where the fuck could she be?!" you heard the voice ask, filled with annoyance. Adam. You saw the man push past the foliage and make it to the clearing. His eyes immediately found yours, and you felt as though your heart had nearly stopped. You let Lucifer down gently before standing up.

"Stay here," you whispered to him. "I'll talk with him."

"But-" Lucifer tried to refute, but you shook your head intensely.

"I don't want to risk angering heaven," you responded. "The last thing I want is for you to be punished for my choice. Please?"

Hesitantly, Lucifer nodded in agreement, making his way to the water to join the other ducks in an attempt to blend in. His little hat vanished as he started swimming. You sighed and turned to meet with the brute of a man who was already towering over you. His chest heaved; his breath was short. You could already tell this may not end well.

"Where the FUCK have you been?!" he began to shout, raising his hands in the air out of frustration. "I've been looking for you for way too long, you know that? Making me walk everywhere to find you? Fucking ridiculous!"

You took a deep inhale and let it out slowly before responding. "I'm sorry, Adam," you feigned an apology.

"Whatever," the man spat back. "You've had your temper tantrum, now let's g-" Adam paused, his eyes staring at the length of your body. "The fuck is this?" he asked grabbing the sleeve of the cloth that hung off your body. In your worry for Lucifer, you'd forgotten about the gift he had given you. You smacked Adam's hand away and wrapped your arms around yourself.

"It doesn't matter," you answered curtly.

You watched as the man's eyebrows furrowed at your non-compliance. "I don't have time for this," he reached out once more and took a firm hold of your wrist. "We're going back. Now!"

You slipped your wrist out of Adam's grasp and took a few steps back, your feet at the end of the lake. "I..." you started, your voice threatening to crack. "I'm not going back with you! I'm tired of your behavior and your disrespect. I'm not your servant, Adam, and I refuse to live the life I was given as your slave."

Adam snarled at you, stomping closer and closer to you, forcing you back into the water as you tried to avoid him. But it was to no avail. He was quick to grab your arm and yank you from the lake pulling flush against his bare chest. "That wasn't a suggestion," he spoke through gritted teeth. You tried to pull away but his grip on your arm was far too strong. "Like it or not toots, we're the only ones in this place. You have nowhere else to go and you know it! And frankly, I'm tired of these stupid games! Now, quit acting like a bitch and move your-"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" a booming voiced roared. You felt a hand take a firm hold of the one that was trapped by Adam and watched as another tore Adam's own hand away from you. Lucifer appeared in front of you after separating you from the man. The angle floated off the ground, his wings spread out wide as he moved swiftly towards the startled man. "How dare you!" Lucifer growled. "How dare you put your hands on her like that! How dare you speak to her like that! You have no right!"

Adam held his hand in pain, shooting daggers in Lucifer's direction. "Who the fuck are you?!" He took a step closer, not waiting for an answer. Even as Lucifer hovered over the ground, Adam still towered over him easily. "You know what, I don't care! Listen, short stack, I don't know who you are or why you're here, but you need to get the fuck out of my way. She's my wife and I can do whatever I want to her. She's mine, got it?"

Adam curled his uninjured hand into a fist and took a swing at Lucifer, only for him to fall flat on his face as Lucifer easily dodged his attack. "Nice try," the angel taunted, "and by the way, the name's Lucifer." You let out a small laugh. Fire burned in Adam's eyes as he lifted his head.

"Shut the fuck up!" he yelled at you. But Lucifer would not accept this response. He latched onto Adam's arm and lifted him of the ground like he weighed nothing.

"What did I tell you about speaking to her like that?" Lucifer threatened. He tossed Adam against one of the trees that stood at the edge of the clearing. The man groaned in pain, attempting to pull himself up and lean his aching body against the tree. Lucifer quickly swooped down, acting as a barrier between the two of you. "You've shown me who you are, Adam. You are a monster, a disgrace. You treat this woman like the dirt you walk on and you expect her to stay with you? To love you?" Lucifer hoisted Adam up, pinning him against the trunk. "You will never see her again; do you understand me? You're going to leave this place and never come back. She is under my protection now. And if you ever so much as come within a mile of her, I will not hesitate to turn you back into the dust you were formed from." Lucifer released his grip on Adam and watched as he took a few steps back into the forest. "Leave. Now!"

Adam wiped the small amount of blood that dripped from his lip and laughed darkly. "Fine, keep her!" he yelled. "She doesn't mean anything to me! Who would want a slut like her anyway!"

"GO!" Lucifer bellowed.

Without another word, Adam took off into the trees. Lucifer flew high up in the sky within seconds, his arms stretched out on either side. The ground beneath you began to shake violently and you wanted to call out for Lucifer before you realized that he was the cause. Seemingly out of nowhere, large rock formations began rising from the earth, rock tumbling down as the mountains grew. As soon as they reached Lucifer's height, they stopped.

And then there was silence.

[im-a-writer--im-in-distress]

The Witchling (Part I)

Insert with: Ruhn Danaan

Reader: Female (she/her)

Words: 2100+

About: Ruhn and his girlfriend are having a rough night…

Warning(s): (spoilers for this story ahead) violent fighting, character death, near death, vampirism (TVD), werewolf bite (sorry, Ruhn)

A/N: Day Six of Ruhn Week 2024! The prompt is "Night". @ruhnweek New stories all week! So, y’all can blame @danikamariewrites for this post, because that’s what gave me this idea. I was at a loss for this day until I saw that (amazing!) post. So, yeah. @danikamariewrites your fault.😏 (I’m already working on a Part II. *cough cough*)

Ruhn sat on the edge of his desk at the Aux, phone pressed to his ear. "I’m so sorry I can’t be there to see you off."

Your laughter floated through the line, though it did little to ease his guilt. "Stop, it’s fine. The city needs you more than me. I can manage one night without some grand farewell."

He ran a hand through his hair. "You know I’m always here for you, right? Even when you’re out with your coven?”

"You worry too much, prince. We take care of each other.” Your heart tightened at the lie you told, your fingers tracing the edge of the blood bag hidden in your coat. “Plus, I have my own magic to protect me, remember?"

"I know, but…" He hesitated. I want to be with you. "I just hate the thought of you out there without me."

"I know," you whispered, showing your heart. "And I love that about you. But you have to trust me. I can handle myself."

"I do trust you, witchling. It’s just…” It’s dangerous. “I miss you."

Your breath hitched, the weight of your secret pressing down on you. "I miss you too, Ruhn. More than you know."

The silence between the two of you was thick, filled with half-spoken lies. You broke it first, your playful tone meant to mask the ache in your chest. "I’ll make it worth your wait."

Ruhn’s chuckle was warm as he joined in on your joke. "I’m gonna hold you to that.”

But the warmth fell flat even for himself. He knew these hunts were part of your culture, and because they were, he would never be invited to come along, but he didn't like you spending an overnight outside the city. Even if your coven was with you. “Be safe, okay?"

"Always," she replied. "I love you, Ruhn."

"I love you too, Y/N. Call me when you get back, please?"

You didn’t respond, but he heard your breathing change. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

Ruhn heard the phone clatter to the ground, and other voices over the line. He called to you, but no one responded. Only the sound of shuffling and yelps of pain.

Your heart raced as you crouched low, shadows coiling around you like dark tendrils enveloping an egg. Your phone lay on the ground, Ruhn’s frantic voice faint in the stillness of the standoff. The creature that had knocked your phone out of your hand breathed heavily just out of sight. It stepped into the moonbeam, his eyes gleaming. It was a… human?

"Who are you?" you demanded. "What do you want?"

A hulking wolf-shifter stepped forward with a sneer. No, he was the one whose breathing you’d heard. "You’re trespassing, witch. This is our territory."

Your eyes narrowed. The Auxiliary had strict patrol zones, and you had been careful to avoid them. Sometimes that meant betraying other borders. "I'm not here for trouble. Just passing through."

"Passing through?" said another voice, dripping. An angel stepped into the dim light, his wings casting eerie shadows on the alley walls. "Looks like you’re doing more than just passing through."

Your hand closed on the empty blood bag in your pocket. “I don’t want any trouble,” you said.

But you were already in trouble. The shadows beyond these men rippled and half a dozen more of their pack stepped forward. It was a mixed pack, one developed by those exiled from their own; it was exactly the kind of unholy union your kind was meant to manage.

These packs always had something to prove. And you were their new target.

One of the shifters lunged at you, claws extended. You dodged, your body moving with heightened speed. It was fast enough to get away, but not as fast as you were capable of. Hunger gnawed at your insides, weakening you. You retaliated with a swift kick that sent the shifter sprawling back. His pack growled. They weren’t done.

"Come on, then," you said, summoning your shadow magic to envelop your attackers. Tendrils of darkness wrapped around their limbs. In your weakened state, though, the shadows couldn’t hold tight, and one by one, they broke free.

You didn’t have time to think about it. Another beast charged, jaws snapping. You sidestepped, slashing with a blade concealed in your sleeve, drawing blood. He howled, and you took a step back, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The angel watched, a cruel smile on his lips.

"Is that all you've got?" he asked in a genuine voice, then launched himself at you. You blocked and countered, but each movement was draining. The depleted blood in your veins was already a concern; without it, your strength would continue to wane.

A sharp pain exploded in your side as a shifter’s claws raked across your ribs. You staggered, barely avoiding a second blow. Your mind raced. You needed to escape. You couldn't die here, not like this. Not without seeing Ruhn again.

The angel laughed, his blade glinting as it slashed at you. You managed to land a punch that sent him reeling.

But it wasn’t enough.

Their pack of misfits surrounded you, eyes glowing. You felled one, then another, but they kept coming, relentless.

Each dodge you made, each strike you landed— They all stripped your energy, your weakened state making each step more and more unsteady. Your instincts were dulling, too, confirmed by the barrelling strike one of the shifters surprised you with. His big paws pinned you down as your blade skittered away across the pavement. His teeth bared down on you, inches from your face, when his nose caught a whiff. "You smell… different." He sniffed you again, and his pupils swelled with primal recognition. "Prey."

Your blood ran cold. They could scent your true nature. You were in over your head.

You didn’t have a choice. You let your true eyes show, glowing red in the dark. The wolf in him sneered, thrilled. But then, he faltered. Your eyes seared into his, and his body heated from the inside out. Panic threaded into his eyes. Then, he was crippling off of you, sharp cries falling out of him as his blood boiled.

You took the chance to scramble away. A heel landed on something with a crack. It was your phone, the cracked screen gone black. Ruhn… You’d forgotten about him. He’d heard all this?

"Interesting." The angel gleamed, sadistically delighted, as he stepped closer. "You're not just any witch, are you?"

“What gave me away?” You spat, pushing to your feet. The blood magic had faded from your eyes. But so had the energy you desperately needed.

The angel kicked your blade back across the pavement. It landed by your feet, but you didn’t dare take it. “Go on,” he said. “We’ll wait.

You eyed him, your muscles prepared to leap at any sign of movement, and kneeled to retrieve your blade. As soon as your fingers wrapped around it, the human—a Vanir, you realized—launched at you. He held two blades, and he wielded them well. You struggled to dodge, landing only one blow good enough to stun him. Your speed glitched behind him and you cracked his neck, letting the limp body fall.

You were breathing hard now, unable to catch your breath. This was it. You weren’t going to survive this fight. Now, you just needed to make your body as presentable as possible for when Ruhn inevitably found your corpse.

The angel hmph-ed in amusement. He stepped forward. “Let’s finish this.”

You launched at him, focusing your strength into your feet to stay balanced as you parried with each other. He was good, and tonight, you weren’t much better. Tonight, he was a worthy opponent for your last fight. He shoved you with his arm and you tripped, landing hard on your knees. “Stay down, witch.”

Pain and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm you. How could you fight when your own body was betraying you? You pushed to your feet. If this was your last, you were gonna make sure it was one hell of a fight.

Teeth sank deep into your shoulder and you cried out at the searing pain, the sound echoing in the narrow alley. Agony washed through your veins, frying every nerve ending in your body, and you collapsed under it. Terror struck you. A wolf bite. No…

‘Y/N!’ You heard your name on Ruhn’s voice crash in your mind, the first sign it was over. Your mental block had fractured and crumbled, and Ruhn knew it.

That only made this worse.

The angel laughed, a deep, haunting laugh. "Finish her," he ordered.

You lashed out, catching the angel off-guard. Your blade sliced the base of his wing, shaving feathers off to the quick. He stumbled back, cursing, but his pack was relentless. Claws and blades tore at you, your only defense to pull shadows around you like a shield. You could feel the venom spreading, your body—and your magic—growing weaker with each passing second.

One last desperate, crazy idea. Gathering the last drops of your strength and magic, you pulled the shadows tightly to ball at your chest. They resisted the tight compression, needing to be free, but you held tight, sweat and blood streaking down your skin. It took all your strength to hold them tight.

The angel towered over you, bright white under the moonlight. “Goodbye, witch,” he said, and daggered his blade down at you.

You released your hold and the shadows splintered from their confines, exploding in all directions. Their razor edges ripped through the last of your attackers. You saw the blurry image of angel wings fall to the ground as darkness overtook you.

The bullpen was in chaos, and it was all Ruhn’s fault. He had burst out of his office towards the boys when he heard the fighting on the other side of the line. He put it on speaker-phone and watched the men get white in the face.

Flynn and Ithan had wrestled with him, trying to calm him down, but the second the phone line went dead, Ruhn lost it. His roar of frustration and panic echoed through the building, silencing everyone. Flynn's grip on his arm tightened, and Ithan stepped in front of him, an attempt to calm him that didn’t do much.

"Dec, find her!" Ruhn snapped. Declan was already hunched over his station, fingers flying over the keyboard as he scanned security footage. "Check every damn camera near the gates!"

"She's with her coven, right?" Dec asked, but didn’t wait for an answer.

Ruhn's mind raced. He had to focus, had to think. Your mental block was up, and that was a good sign. It meant you were still conscious, still fighting. But it also meant he couldn't reach you, couldn't tell you he was coming. His chest tightened, helplessness crushing him.

Your agony sliced into Ruhn’s mind like a white-hot iron, the force of it physically knocking him to his knees. It was a raw, guttural sound like nothing he’d ever heard.

"Ruhn!" Flynn shouted, dropping to his side. "What's happening?"

"Y/N," Ruhn whispered, breath coming fast from the flash of your pain. You’d never spoken in his mind before. He couldn’t help the sick feeling that came with it this time. Flynn's face was a pale blur before him, eyes wide with alarm. Ithan dropped a hand on his shoulder.

"We’ll find her," Ithan said, his voice strong like he meant it. "She’ll be okay."

Ruhn nodded, swallowing hard. He forced himself to stand, unsteady on his limbs. "We need Hypaxia," he said, his voice raw. "She might know where Y/N is."

Flynn nodded, and Ithan pulled out his phone, dialing the witch-queen's number, and handed it to him. It felt like an eternity before she answered. "Where’s Aurora?" he barked. No time for pleasantries.

"Ruhn, what happened?"

"She's not with her coven, is she?"

"No," Hypaxia admitted, her voice soft. "She's alone."

Ruhn's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. "Where is she?"

"I don't know, but she would've gone to her caches.” Hypaxia said. “I know where one is."

"Give me the address," he growled. He snapped his fingers at Flynn and he bolted over.

Hypaxia rattled off the address, and Ruhn relayed it to Declan, who immediately triangulated it on his screens. "I'll meet you there," Hypaxia added. "I have the key."

"Fine," Ruhn bit out, then gave Ithan his phone back. He turned to Flynn. "You're coming with me. Ithan, keep your phone hot. I'll send you another address if she's not there."

Flynn nodded, already pulling on his coat. Declan called out from his station, "I don't see anyone on the cameras."

"She's alone," Ruhn barked, his voice echoing through the bullpen. He didn't wait for a response, didn't look back as he darted out the door.

.

Part II Part III coming soon!

[a-lilypad]

@jegulus-microfic | april 5: slap | 1.3k words

a little theater rivals to lovers au where reg and james are double casted to the same role and james rips the only costume they have the day of regulus' opening night (cw: slight violence)

big big smooch to @ecstarry for the idea ily <3

A loud ripping sound echoed through the auditorium, causing everyone to immediately stop what they were doing, despite being in the middle of a scene. Even in the shadowed wings, Regulus’ expression was very visible and did not bode well for the rest of the cast. 

Or more specifically, for James Potter. 

Regulus’ jaw had dropped slightly, leaving his mouth agape, and a look of complete disbelief in his eyes. Shaking his head slightly, he seemed to come back to himself, shock morphing into an intense red-hot rage. It ran through his veins, replacing his blood, burning through everything in its path and was radiating from him in waves. 

Creating pure destruction and leaving only anger clouding Regulus’ mind, shown by the hardening of his eyes and clenching of his fists. 

He felt his nails dig into the soft flesh of his palm, nearly piercing the skin but instead forming harsh pink dents. Though they’d be nearly impossible to see through the already purpling bruises there.

Maybe Sirius was right and he needed to find better coping mechanisms… he could unpack that at a different time.  

At that moment he had more important things to deal with, such as James Potter, his theatre rival of three years, ripping the only costume they had the morning of their performance opening. 

“I can not fucking believe you, Potter!”

He started towards the horror-struck boy, stomping across the stage, and swung his arm with as much force as he could garner. The sound of the slap masked horrified gaps from the cast members on stage, but couldn’t hide the way Potter’s head flew to the side. 

Huh. Maybe Regulus was stronger than he thought. 

As Potter stared at him with an emotion he couldn’t quite identify, (because, while he knew Potter wasn’t the sanest of people, there was no way he was crazy enough to be looking at the person who’d just slapped him hard enough to knock him back a few steps with awe) Regulus shook out his hand with a wince. That had fucking hurt. 

“REGULUS!” his Drama teacher, Mr Slughorn, shouted. He had an annoying nasally voice that went right through him, he genuinely hated the man but he usually loved acting enough to let it slide. This was not one of those moments. 

“Wha-why-you” he rambled, hands frantically waving around “Why on Earth would you slap Mr Potter?” 

“He just ripped my fucking costume! We don’t have another, what was I meant to do? I can’t go on stage naked,” Regulus complained. 

He knew it was a bad idea the minute Slughorn had suggested Potter run through a final dress rehearsal. He was B cast! It was A cast’s night which meant it was Regulus’ night. 

Potter was looking at him strangely, his brows were furrowed slightly, almost as if he too was confused. He was staring at him with both reverence and irritation. Then in a split second, the irritation took over and he came out of his stupor. 

“You could have maybe, I don’t know, not fucking hit me?” he snapped, “it’s not like I did it on purpose!” 

Regulus scoffed, “You definitely did!” and stepped even closer to Potter, pointing his finger at him and pushing it into his chest, “You’ve been praying for my downfall since the second you saw me beat you, just admit it, I am better.” 

“ENOUGH!” bellowed Slughorn, Regulus had completely forgotten he was there, in fact, he’d forgotten anyone else was in the room with them. That was weird. “Both of you are to go to the supply closet and find something else for Mr Black to wear tonight, we’ll have something somewhere.” 

Huffing and sending Potter a death glare, Regulus swiftly turned around and stormed off stage, hearing Potter’s footsteps behind him as confirmation he was being followed. 

Great. This was exactly what he needed. Alone time with James Fucking Potter. He hated him. He had since the first time Regulus auditioned for a school musical in year 8. 

He remembered being so scared, he was shaking and praying he wouldn’t vomit up his organs, then Potter flounced in, all big hair and a cocky smile. He barely even spared Regulus a look before announcing to the other people in the room that Regulus would never get the part and he’d be stuck playing a tree in the background. 

He was right of course, Regulus had been so nervous he’d fucked his audition completely and had ended up not even having a single line. 

Potter got the lead. 

He vowed that day to never let Potter beat him to a role again, and so far he hadn’t, managing to get the male lead in every performance since. 

Ranting under his breath, Regulus continued listening to Potter’s footsteps, praying that he’d trip over something and fall flat on his face. Sadly, that did not happen and they both arrived at the storage closet unharmed.

Well, except for Potter’s face, a bright red mark was blossoming across his cheek. In his room, Regulus had a shelf of little trophies and awards he’d earned, but this was the most valuable. He wanted to take a picture of it and display it like a tapestry. He’d wanted to knock the crooked smile of his face for years now.

“What the fuck are you smiling about, this is your fault” Potter snapped, reaching forward to push the door open, having to bang it a bit, it had been given to the drama department after the lock had broken leaving it so that you can only open it from the outside.

“My fault?!” Regulus seethed, anger rearing up again as he followed Potter into the closet, “I’m sorry, did I rip the costume? Because, now forgive me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure that was you!”

“I’ve said already it was an accident, god you’re insane”

“I’m insane? Are you fucking joking? I’ll show you insane” Regulus snapped stepping into Potter’s space.

The door slammed behind them and a loud click told them it had locked. 

Well fuck.

Potter stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter. Curling over, wiping away tears, booming laughter, while Regulus wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and disappear. 

“What by locking us in a confined space together? Great plan Reggie” he choked out, still cackling.

Regulus ran a hand through his hair, messing up the precise curls. “Don’t call me that!” then turned to start pulling at the door, desperate to set them free, but no matter how hard he pulled at the handle it wouldn’t budge.

“Stop laughing at me” Regulus mumbled, hitting his head against the door and groaning, the situation was embarrassing enough without Potter taking the piss.

The laughing trailed off suddenly and Regulus cocked an eyebrow suspiciously, not expecting to actually be listened to. Potter was gawking at him, eyes sparkling, his jaw dropped slightly. 

Narrowing his eyes, Regulus met his gaze, “What?” he sneered.

Potter slowly moved towards him and tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear, his face fell from anger to confusion and Regulus was holding his breath. He wasn’t sure why. It felt like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. Their eyes locked and the world around them disappeared.

Then they were kissing, lips meeting bruisingly, and Regulus didn’t know who had moved first. It was desperate and hungry, tongues exploring each other's mouths and breathy gasps being shared between them. Potter’s hands threaded through his hair and pulled, causing his lips to part around a guttural moan.

He grabbed Potter by the shoulders and shoved him slightly, leaving about an inch between their faces, “This means nothing, I still fucking hate you” he mumbled into Potter’s mouth then he grabbed his face and pulled him in again and proceeded to practically eat him alive.

[lildoodlenoodle]

One of the biggest problems and red flags about the whole spider society was having kids be workers for them.

Now I’m not saying the spider society shouldn’t have contacted the younger spiders or even work with them! But the spider society should function as more of a support group and emergency backup type situation for the younger spiders.

There was no reason for Margo, someone who is implied to be like Miles’s age, someone who can’t even drive, to be running an integral part of the society and how they are keeping the multiverse intact. She not only ran it, but if it malfunctioned it was clearly her job and responsibility to fix. When the machine ‘breaks’ and functions while, as far as she’s aware, no one’s in it she’s panicking, even though there would be no real consequences if she just let it run. There was no reason for Gwen, a 16 yr old, to be running around the multiverse alone going on high stakes solo missions(and that’s not even getting into the whole homeless thing). We don’t know yet what Peni’s role is but we have to assume it’s similar in nature and responsibility. That is insane.

Pav is the only one who seems to have a healthy relationship with the society, because he’s not really in it! He doesn’t know the indoctrination canon events yet, we don’t see him going off on solo missions, he gets backup when he needs it and that seems to be it.

For the kids that do know the canon events theory(Margo, Peni, Gwen) I cannot even imagine what must be going through their heads. Who else from their worlds has to die. For Peni, is her last living relative, Uncle Ben, the next person for her to lose? If Gwen returns to her world how long will it take for her dad to die? What other traumatic events have Miguel’s theory dictated will happen to them next? What horrors do they know will happen to them and their loved ones that they aren’t allowed to prevent? Is Gwen destined to die young because she’s the only Gwen we see Alive? And Gwen and Hobie, Pav’s friends, do they know that Gayatri and her dad are both destined to die? Like the mental gymnastics these kids have to go through and the mental torment that goes with it.

And then on top of it, to threaten said teenagers, who you have working for you, with being kicked out and being isolated from the people that are like and understand them is really fucked up. Especially if the threatening is because they are acting like teenagers and not soldiers. If Gwen is sent home, not only is her life put in danger but so is her father’s and they all know it. That is some culty level gaslighting and even grooming. Margo and Peni both are implied to not have good home lives either. The more you think about it the worse it gets honestly, because what goes along with this is we never see any of the adult spiders say anything about this.

Miguel and Jess both saw Gwen’s father, a grown man, try to arrest his daughter with a gun pointed at her. They save her, Jess takes her under wing(and whether they meant to or not) effectively become her guardians. They monitor her with what could essentially be a baby monitor/tracking device. They can control where she can and cannot go. And while understandable to not give a teen access to the entire multiverse they were very much giving her the adult responsibilities of protecting it.

When she does screw up, because she is a child who wants to see her friend, Jessica very flippantly references Miguel sending her home, making me think this is not the first time they’ve had that conversation, which is so worrying. And then they eventually do. They knew exactly what situation they were sending her into and not only did the entire society watch Miguel do it with little protest but didn’t even mention it afterwards. Even if Gwen was a threat they had other options, rather than sending her home, where she could still be safe.

There’s also a lot to say about how Jessica, Peter B., and Miguel handled Miles that speaks more to this pattern of behavior but that’s another post.

In the comics the ‘Spider Society’ got away with this sort of stuff, even having an actual infant just chilling with the group, because the spiders were being hunted. They couldn’t go home or leave the safe space dimension because it wasn’t safe. In the movie that is very much not the case. WHY WERE TEENAGERS WORKING FOR THE SOCIETY!?

[asterbats]

Starfallification GTI edition... It's these guys....

Design/Story/Headcanon rambles below!

Virizion

Name: Aramis

Pronouns: She/It

Design Ramblings:

-Her colors are a little dull to imply a sense of melancholy. Kind of a hint that she's not exactly healthy.

-Has a battle scar on her face from one of its escapades pre-GTI

-Has a friendship necklace with Keldeo. She only starts to wear it again in the postgame.

Headcanons/Tweaks:

-Doesn't go by Aramis until far later. Insists on the more distant "Virizion" until the Great Glacier arc

-Because this is an alternate timeline where humans went extinct, the Swords of Justice never became a steady group, so there is no formal quartet. Aramis does not know her own Terrakion and Cobalion.

-She does, however, know Keldeo, of course. There was no sort of mentor/student relationship between the two, they were childhood friends and used to spar frequently. Aramis was a shy child while Keldeo was more bold, so he helped bring her out of her shell. The two had a "he talks enough for the both of us" sort of dynamic. He infodumps and it listens.

-Has always struggled with deep self esteem issues, as she doesn't feel she's particularly likable.

-It actually did know about Keldeo's entercard capabilities, which was how it recognized Umbreon and Espeon as entercard users back in the day. It was very disturbed to see Keldeo's entercard markings in the Great Glacier.

-Didn't expect to find Noodle and Parker as enjoying as they were. She honestly expected to see Parker as a pest. But she found them more and more endearing as time went on and eventually sought out their company on her own very consistently. She’s in a QPR with them.

-She's very expressionless and aloof, which leads Pokemon to assume that she has no real feelings, especially as she rejects all of them. She was like this even before Keldeo sent the letter, but it got worse afterwards, of course. She's very blunt and honest as well, not seeing the point in sugarcoating anything. Because of this, she gets along well with Espeon.

-Feels the most conflicted about their child, as its worried that they will resent her for being aloof and avoid her. Or that they would see her for "what she truly was". But their child loves and looks up to her a ton, which does make her feel better.

Emolga

Name: Parker (Insists on Emolga)

Pronouns: He/It

Design Notes:

-So when I was younger, I always figured that Emolga kinda presented himself as a superhero? Because he swoops in to save Dunsparce in Stompstump Peak, he always sticks up for the little guy, and he's very vain and outspoken. The wings also lended well to that, since they look like a cape. So I wanted to lean into that!

-He's mixed with both Theivul (for the mask, tail, and extra brown color) and Boltund (for the wavy fur and eyes).

Story/Headcanons:

-When Parker was younger, it was abandoned by its parents, and no one was willing to take the orphan in, so he had to steal food to survive.

-It was every Pokemon for itself, so Parker never grew close to other Pokemon. Due to his small size and power, he was usually harassed for what little items he had, so he never trusted anyone.

-When he was a teenager, however, he ran into Noodle. The little snake was being bullied for their money by another group of Pokemon, and was frantically trying to empty his pockets. Emolga typically would have just ignored it to save his own skin... but watching the Pokemon mock Dunsparce and berate him for not having more food, and the sheer desperation and tears in the snake's face, something in him snapped, and he swooped in to defend the Dunsparce, fighting off the Pokemon. He intended to leave soon after, but Noodle insisted on taking care of his wounds and giving the Emolga a place to stay. After that, he and Noodle were best friends.

-Parker stopped stealing after that incident- it didn't want to stay in that lifestyle anymore after seeing how honest Noodle was. Unfortunately, this meant going hungry, so he would often go into Mystery Dungeons to get supplies for them- eventually becoming a stronger fighter for it. This inspired Noodle to want to be a treasure hunter themself, although they got lost very easily- Parker would have to look for them more often than not. Not that he didn't take pride in that... he let that ego go to his head. He loved providing for the smaller Pokemon, sure, but he also craved the notoriety.

-Holds a grudge very easily. You call him a rat and he will remember that decades down the line. He finds it hard to forgive

-Despite his size, he knows how to impose himself. Its got a naturally loud voice and he usually perches himself on high ledges so he stands over people.

-He has a massive heart, though. He adores his partners and will lay himself on the line for them. He also fawns over their child a lot.

-Was the closest to Eris out of the gang for a while, besides Kiran. It taught Eris how to handle his electricity and take care of his new body properly.

Dunsparce

Name: Noodle

Pronouns: They/He

Design Notes:

-Wears a reunion cape given to them by Kiran so they don't get lost as often!

Headcanon/Story notes:

-Was always picked on for being a weaker Pokemon. Because of this, they were rather withdrawn from others, and never put up a fight against larger Pokemon- they just didn't want any trouble.

-Took Parker into their home once he saved them from a group of Pokemon that was harassing them, and the two became fast friends. Parker jokingly called them a "noodle" because of how wobbly they'd get when they were scared, and the name stuck.

-Parker inspired them to want to become an explorer... but unfortunately, they never had the strength for it. He would go into dungeons on his own, and Parker would have to swoop in and save him.

-At first, they admired Aramis for its strength, and thought that if they could only become stronger, they would be liked as well as she was. But when they both joined Paradise, they broke her walls down, and saw her for who she truly was- warts and all. And they appreciated her more and more every day for it.

-Actually fell into a more strategizing/organizer role as the events of the game went on. They came into their own as a fighter and explorer and can hold their own in a fight now, but ended up finding a lot of comfort in taking care of others.

-It was their idea to adopt their kid. The trio had found the egg in a dungeon and Noodle pushed and pushed to raise the child as their own.

[loserboyfriendrjl]

“are we telling him?”

“fuck, no.”

“jealous, prongs?”

a snort. “no, obviously not, it’s just that—”

“i’m trying to sleep,” remus moaned.

“he’s alive!” james exclaimed, throwing his arms up and wrapping them around remus, which earned him a wince. “sorry, mate.”

he finally opened his bleary eyes and found himself where he usually resided after the full moon; his friends were looking at his expectantly, and remus suddenly felt horribly naked, which he wasn’t, but having someone (or, rather, a specific someone) look at him like that had that effect of him. he wasn’t exactly drawn to the idea of someone seeing him in such a state.

“tell me what?” he asked, bringing up a bandaged wrist to his eyes, trying (rather unsuccessfully) to rub the sleep away from him eyes.

“ah, well,” sirius said, grinning, “a certain prefect stopped by to wish you a speedy recovery and,” he scratched his chin, his eyes sleepy, too, ““all her best”.”

lily, then. well, something worse could have happened. like him slaughtering someone in cold blood. or sirius, james and peter having been caught by madam pomfrey in the shack. or snape coming to the hospital wing and prancing around smugly, glaring at remus as if he could open his skull and read his secret off from there in big, bold letters.

“oh,” was what he answered with, accompanied with a smile. “well, if you see her, tell her i said thanks.”

“prongs will see her, all right,” sirius grinned; remus earned a questioning eyebrow.

peter cackled, which earned him a smack from james. “well, you see, as you might know, our dear friend’s a head boy now.”

remus rolled his eyes. “really? it’s not like you wrote to me first thing after finding out.”

“yeah, well. he apparently ran into evans before duties yesterday, or more like went on the same route and bumped into each other. and scored himself a date with her next hogsmeade weekend, since this one she’s on duties with sluggy. or the slug club. whatever.”

“what!?” remus demanded, a little bit too loudly, which he immediately regretted, for his voice was hoarse. he looked around for madam pomfrey, trying to see if she would berate him for his outburst, yet she didn’t. “what!?” he asked, again, a little bit more quietly.

sirius nodded, lounging in his chair at ease. “prongs is finally a big man. aren’t you?” he patted james’ cheek affectionately. “peter earned himself a detention for that weekend, so i guess it’ll be just the two of us them. fancy calling a date?” he asked, grinning.

remus hoped his face hadn’t turned as red as he felt it would, once his cheeks and ears heated up. he and sirius were… complicated. by complicated, he meant snogging behind their friends’ backs whenever they had a spare moment, yet nothing more. however, something had shifted in their dynamic, and it felt like a bleeding wound. remus wanted to press his fingers to it, to get an explanation before there would be nothing left of them. why was he thinking of wound-blood metaphors? what the fuck.

“sure,” he beamed, grabbing a chocolate frog off the nightstand. “date, then.”

[alairroux]

Through the Veil: Shattered Sanity

And here we go with another chapter! I hope you'll enjoy it. Feel free to let me know about your opinion and thoeries.

Chapter IV

"Free Fall"

After being woken up by Logan, the rest of the day was passing as slowly as the morning. Peaceful and nice in its own way. After breakfast Alice went to rest in her room, this time without any weird dreams, while Wade and Logan decided to crash on the couch in the living room. Every now and then she could still hear them argue about some pointless things, and desperate tries of Wade to calm down Logan by calling him “Peanut”. Just like it’s going to help. Finally she managed to drift off for good. 

Her heavy steps were filling the air, along with her panting. She was running and jumping from one building to another for quite a while already. Ugh, helping Deadpool and Wolverine save the city once more wasn’t the easiest task. Certainly her suit was helpful in all that, but in a scorching sun of summer she started to consider a change of fabric as this one was’t letting as much air as she would’ve liked it to do. Once again she had sent a mental signal towards Logan, waiting for a reply. Why were they taking so long? If that guy had a gun she would’ve been long dead by now. Yet, of course, they sent a person without a healing factor to distract the attacker, perfect plan. No wonder Wade was the one who made it. Not that she had anything against Wade, just, it wasn't the best idea. It wasn’t the first time either, and she knew what was coming. Her favorite part. 

Finally she received a signal back, which meant that they were already waiting in place. She ran up to the edge of the building, stopping and turning. Even if she wanted to jump to another one, even with the help of her modified boots, it wouldn't be easy, probably wouldn't work at all. Alice slowly turned towards the guy that was chasing her. Oh lord, breathing in that mask was almost impossible and she started to feel dizzy a bit. It wasn’t exactly pleasurable. She shook her head quickly and focused her eyes on the guy with a knife in front of her. 

“Nowhere to run anymore, sweetheart.” He taunted. 

“True, nowhere to run… But that doesn’t mean I’m out of options.”

She said, with a hint of amusement in her voice. She closed her eyes and let her body tilt backwards, over the edge, losing the ground from beneath her feet. It felt so freeing, so good… To feel the air enveloping her, surrounding her body, she kept her eyes open. 

Despite the speed with which she was approaching the earth, she could almost feel the time slow down around her, the building moving slow, but stuck in a blurr. The sheer speed pushing the air out of her lungs, but who would’ve needed it? A small price for a piece of freedom that she craved more than anything else. It was almost like she could fly at any given moment now, spread the wings she didn’t know about, and approach the sky. In moments like that, she couldn’t blame those that took their life this way. It was terrifying, the first time she did this unintentionally, by tripping and just starting to fall, she could feel her soul leave her body for a moment. Right now? She craved it every now and then, only waiting for an opportunity to just jump and feel it again. 

Everything that is amazing has to come to an end after some time, unfortunately. The same rule applied to her free fall. She pushed the claws out on her gloves, as well as activating them in her boots, turning her body towards the wall and hooking it all in the concrete side of the building. She slid down a few more meters, before coming to a halt. The city for sure is grateful for claw marks every now and then. After her breath catched on with her, she jumped down onto the ground, already feeling how sore her shoulders got. First legs, then arms, but she kept forgetting about it. About the simple fact, that her boots were much better at neutralizing the impact than her gloves. 

Judging by the screams, unhinged comments and growling coming from above, Logan and Wade had their fun already. Lovely. She took off her mask, catching a normal breath that didn’t stink like metal. She has to do something about it, at least add some fabric under the metal parts? Maybe that’ll help. There was a lot of room for improvement, after all, she completed the suit not so long ago. Well, completed was a big word, more like, made it in a way that won’t kill her while she was inside it. Yes. That’s way closer to the truth. Alice pushed the button on her chest, causing the suit to retract into that weirdly shaped necklace. Easy way to store it and use it when needed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t really a pretty one. Well, you can’t have everything it seems. She stretched a bit, before going to their spot in which they planned to meet after the mission, battle or whatever you call it, will be finished. 

She waited there, on the bus stop, looking through her phone. Maybe it was a bit weird that she was leaving the battlefield as soon as possible, but she never really liked the idea of being seen by many. Even more, of being slowly forced into becoming someone famous. It wasn’t a world for her, that much was sure for her.Why a bus stop? There was a perfect place nearby to hide some spare clothes, yet it was stupid, but if those two dorks would get blood into the flat, she’d be the one cleaning it all. 

Due to lack of sleep last night, her eyes were starting to fall closed. A short nap won’t hurt, right? The sun was warm, and there weren't many people nearby, so it should be safe to actually fall asleep. After all, nobody knows when they’ll be back this time.  Slowly, she let her mind slip into the state of being half asleep, and half awake. 

When she opened her eyes once again in the dream realm, here she was again. That endless meadow. But this time, there were bees and butterflies, many of them, twirling in the air as their transparent wings reflected no existen sun. She started walking through there, feeling the urge to run, rising up in her, almost like someone or something was chasing her. Slowly, step by step, she picked up her pace, until she was sprinting somewhere ahead, feeling the warm air on her skin, slowly sink into her lungs, settling there like it was looking for a comfy place to rest in. Such a weird feeling, almost like she was drowning on land, yet she couldn’t stop her run. Faster and faster, her feet hitting the ground, causing the dust to pick up and follow after her, the urge was coursing through her veins, burning like fire. What was after her? Why was she running? Where did that fear come from? Why was it there? She could feel her mind fill with many different doubts, again and again, and again, getting loud once more. Her dreams weren’t safe anymore. The pain reached her even here. Was she running from it? From that pain of having too many voices in her head? If so, she was definitely losing that battle. There was almost an urge to scream in her, to let them all out, but she couldn’t. Her lungs were flooded with warm air, filled to the brim, her voice gone, no more ability to take yet another breath, to beg, ask or speak. It was torn away from her. 

She had fallen, tripping over some stone that wasn;t there. She could hear and feel it, but couldn’t see it. When Alice finally managed to pull herself up, pushing her hair back, away from her face, she was just on the edge of some crack in the earth. She moved closer and leaned over her. It looked like a rift to some different place. It was dark, only specks of some blue light barely visible for her eyes. A shiver ran down her spine, yet she couldn't stop herself from trying to reach into it. 

Cold surrounded her hand quickly, seeping through her skin and her bones, but it wasn’t unpleasant for some reason. She watched it almost like in a trance, as the darkness started to crawl up her arm, overfill and bubble above the edges of the rift, staining the meadow with something that wasn’t exactly black, neither blue, navy or deep green. It was like liquid darkness, felt sinister and so comforting at the same time, she didn’t move an inch, observing it all. Then she felt the cold from within yet again, this time it was sharp, almost like it stabbed her right into her heart in just seconds. 

“No! NO! NO! NOO!!!”

It was the same voice as the last time, but this time it was more frantic and angry. So loud that it immediately filled her mind, waking up all the thoughts that got silenced by the runny darkness. Sharp pain shot through her brain, Alice immediately moved her hands to her temples, squeezing them in a need of relief. With a sharp breath that she took, she woke up. 

The sun hit her eyes as soon as she opened them, trying to get up, only after a second realizing that Wade was carrying her, well, right now, looking like he was trying to catch a feral cat and lift it without pissing it off even more. 

“ Jesus Christ, princess, calm down, what got you feral so quick?” He asked before setting her down on the pavement. 

“Nothing… Nothing, just a nightmare. Where are we?” 

“Almost home, we’ve found you asleep. And papa bear insisted on not waking you up, but he didn’t want to carry you, to not stain you with blood.”

He let out a quiet “ow” when Logan hit the back of his head on the nickname. Really this man had no restraints when it came to calling the mighty Wolverine completely ridiculous things. Alice chuckled at that sight, fixing her clothes and making sure she still has her phone with her. Everything in place. 

“ If he’s the papa bear, are you a mama one?”

“Sure, and you're our little cub. One of them, as Peanut has insane drive and sta-”

“Okay! Enough. I don’t need to know how many times you tried to give me even more siblings. Jesus.” 

Sometimes she wasn’t ready for Wade’s words. Most of the time honestly. But again, she wouldn’t change it for anything else, that’s for sure. Life would be so boring without those two around, certainly less laughs, maybe less troubles, but… She couldn’t really care for any troubles that came around the corner at this point, just the comfort of belonging somewhere was paying it off easily. 

After going back home and getting ready for the evening they decided on yet another movie night. Quickly it ended with Wade sprawled out over hers and Logan's lap, muttering about different things in his sleep. Maaaany time repeating possibly every nickname he has given Logan up until now. Alice didn’t even want to know what he was dreaming about, it was one of the rare moments when she wasn’t tempted to read his mind. Besides, her headache was enough, she didn’t need to add any of the chaos that was in his head. After a while of pondering her options, she turned to Logan. 

“When  you two were in the Void… Did you possibly see something underneath it? Like, a hole in the Void and something weird in the hole?” How else could she explain what she saw in her dream? 

“I don’t recall anything like that, but honestly we were a bit busy, bub. Why?”

“No reason, just curious…”

“You’re a horrible liar, but I won’t pry. You should sleep, you have work tomorrow.” 

She nodded her head at that, leaning a bit on the back of the couch and closing her eyes for a moment. She was working from home anyway, so she could sleep here, she showered already so it was only a matter of waking up on time. 

“And bub.”

“Hm?”

“Stop jumping from the building. I don’t want you to slip. Especially when you’re like, you know, right now. With all that mess in your head, it’s like begging for death. Don’t even try to roll your eyes at me.”

“I won’t.”

“Full sentence.” His voice was really stern. Better to not piss off him without a reason. 

“I won’t jump again. I promise.”

“Atta girl. Goodnight.” This time much softer, maybe he had a soft spot for her, after all?

“Goodnight, Logan.” 

[inaconstantstateofchange]

Raphael/Haarlep | there is wise valour (and there is recklessness)

A/N: 18+ | a pre-canon exploration of the possible origin of Raphael's Ascended Fiend form, and the begrudging rapport between him and Haarlep.

Words: 3.4k

Read it on AO3

Raphael stalks through the halls of his House – nothing so grandiose as to deserve the epithet, yet, but he is prepared to impress his will upon the universe until it is – cringing imps scattering into the shadows as they avoid his fearsome tread. A telltale haze shimmers at the edge of his vision, overwriting the dull stonework with rippling red. The door to his personal suite looms out before him, and he scrabbles at the handle, forcing it open just enough to allow him entry, then spinning to force it closed again with a barely-tempered thud. The resolute click of the arcane locking mechanism grants him some small measure of relief.

His servants, few as they are, know not to disturb him here, so he will have his peace.

This simple and inanely optimistic certainty is broken almost immediately, with the voice of potentially the last being he desires to encounter in this moment: Haarlep, his lord father’s wretched consolation gift.

Oh, he certainly did not deign to express it as such, but the timing made the implication exactly as clear as the Archduke of Cania required. Too slow to profit as he had desired – as he had planned, painstakingly – from the fall of Netheril, and the fatuity of the fool Karsus, the Crown and its fearsome power already swept up and shelved away in the vaults of Mephistar, to be ignored or studied – then ignored again – at his father’s leisure.

“Oh dear, our little lord’s in quite a state today, is he not?” The silken tones of the incubus’s voice might be enticing to another, but they grate against Raphael’s ears like the music of a fingerless bard.

Raphael grits his teeth, refraining from digging his horns into the wood of the door before him by willpower alone. Haarlep, his father had named the wretch, an insipid mirror to reflect his every action back to Mephistar. He could not afford to be known to his father in this state.

A fit of temper was one thing. Hypocritical though he be, Mephistopheles could not deny his blood ran true in such matters. An uncontrollable beast-form, however, one twisted and warped by the broken magics of Netheril? Such knowledge would bring either disdain or interest — and a scrutiny he would not be liable to profit from in either event.

“What are you doing here?” He grinds out, refusing to turn around. Poor form, to leave his back to an enemy, but better the suspicion of weakness than the truth of it, until he can master himself as he ought.

A light, chiming laugh floats through the air like gossamer webs, undulating as the incubus steps closer to him. They run fashionably tapered claws in maddeningly delicate tapping motions down his back, between the base of his wings. He’s certain it is meant to entice, but all it does is make his skin itch and crawl, hungering for slaughter – for satiation – in a ravenous manner he has not felt before.

The desire itself is certainly not new to him, but the drive to follow through, and damn the consequences? That is more of a struggle. He’d thought the beast-form would take a mighty shape, one that would augment his own power and prestige, that he could gloat about to rivals and hold over the heads of his siblings.

Instead, he is left to feel grateful for his position of no note, that he has no true household staff to warn away from loose tongues. Only a few wretched imps, too foolish to put one brick atop another were the plans directly before them, and the incubus, its true thoughts held scrupulously behind dancing eyes. Said incubus’s vexatious tapping continues, clawtips light enough to refrain from marring even a thread of his richly embroidered tunic, but refusing to respond to the intimation of his shifting motions and leave well enough alone.

“Why, I aim only to remind my lord that I am here at his disposal, of course.” The incubus’s tone is conversational, as though they are speaking over a formal luncheon, rather than after they had barged into his own private chambers without so much as a by-your-leave. Raphael’s fingers curl against the door, leaving slight gouges this time.

The incubus is not finished, however, continuing on languidly, “We have had so little opportunity to connect, you and I, since I was first remanded into your… care.” The subtle emphasis put on the last word indicates the incubus’s cognizance that the reality was anything but, and invites him to commiserate with their shared circumstance. Raphael declines. Their situations are nothing alike, and he’ll not be condescended to by this… this… wretch.

At his limit with the damned touching now, Raphael spins away, knocking the incubus’s overreaching arm to the side. “Enough, damn you!” His voice begins as a snarl but he manages to quell it to a hiss. “Your presence is neither desired nor requested, and thus you should be anywhere at all in the estate but my private chambers.” He gestures to the door in a clear dismissal. “You may count yourself fortunate that I have more pressing matters to deal with at the moment than your insolence.”

He knows as soon as the last word leaves his lips that he’s made an error. The incubus’s eyes light up behind the graceful drape of their hair, filled with a dancing glow as its plump lips curl with keen delight. “More pressing than making use of an esteemed gift? The little lord is keeping secrets.” Its tongue flicks out, long and forked, wetting its lower lip with a glistening sheen as it draws, achingly slowly, back in.

Raphael tears his eyes away from the gallingly-enticing gleam, displeased to find that, yet again, his threats are as puffs of air to this detestable creature. He attempts to draw himself up, mantling his wings with oblique menace, and flattens his voice to a firm register. “I have no obligation to keep counsel with you, cur.”

The incubus taps one long, slender finger mockingly against its chin. “Mmmm,” it lets out a long, unnecessarily drawn out hum. “‘Obligation’? Certainly not. I would not dream of prevailing upon the goodwill of your august personage to demand as such.”

It pauses, a glimmer of sweet-edged malice drifting across its face. “However… It might behoove the little lord to indulge an ally, rather than order an adversary.”

The hellfire haze, nearly dissipated while he was not paying attention, blazes back into being around him. The beast howls within, clawing at his bones, desperate to cleave flesh and willing to settle for his own if more suitable sacrifice was not provided. Raphael grinds his teeth against the cry of pain, keeping his voice unaffected even as it feels like speaking through blades of infernal iron.

“You presume much, gift-of-my-father. Perhaps too much. Why should I seek to find an ally in one so markedly bound to higher loyalties?”

The incubus laughs, light and mocking. “Loyalties? What a precious concept. A lord must have strength enough to protect his vassals, in exchange for their loyalty.” Their friendly mien drops entirely, pinning him with a flat, piercing gaze as that damned finger taps, slow and languid, against their chin. “Thus far, I have seen no indication of any such strength from you, little lord.”

At this final expression of disrespect, the delicate webs of Raphael’s remaining self-control fracture and wisp away. A hideous sound of ripping flesh and crackling bone echoes around the room, dissipating against the sound-muffling enchantments etched into the stone. Between one interminable blink and the next, his vision doubles, then trebles, the shifting haze edging out to line the fringes of his new sightlines. He looks to the incubus standing before him in triplicate – a reflection now in truth – with fury the forenote of the increasingly bestial bent to his mind. He loosens his disjointed jaw in anticipation, and awaits the wretch’s usual twist of mockery.

Haarlep stares – up, and up – at the mangled, marvelous creature before them. So this is what their little master has been hiding since his return from the broken remnants of Netheril, bare days after their own arrival. He’d slammed back into the House like a meteor strike, a furious tempest raging throughout its halls ever since. Haarlep’s sole attempt to ingratiate themself had been met with glowering fury followed by curt dismissal, and a silent, fraught détente ever since.

That, of course, simply would not do. Perceived failure at such a level would, sooner or later, make its way back to the lord of Mephistar. And, generous though the terms of his commandment had been, none were that generous.

Haarlep had bedecked themself in their finest things, gauzy drider-silks embellished with blood-pearls and ornate, embroidered sigils, and hied away to the little lord’s personal chambers for one final attempt. Either they’d finally come to some conclusive understanding, or… Well. The consequences for a failed contract with the lord of the Eighth Layer would not be pleasant. Haarlep took pain to bed as a lover as willingly as pleasure, but even their malleable form and aberrant senses had their limits.

And, at first, it had seemed like their cause was just as lost as it had initially appeared. The stubborn little brat, refusing to treat with them as their positions demanded, to engage with the realities they were – the both of them – constrained within. They’d pushed, pressed up close to his body the way they knew he loathed, needling at him with claws and words alike, pricking about for any crack in his obdurate mask.

And then — not a crack, but a shattering entire. Emerging from the stagnant shell of the lordling was birthed a monstrosity, pure and twisted.

An agglomerate skull, eyes glowing baleful and amber from cavernous sockets. Jagged limbs unsuited for movement and coated imperfectly with dappled scale, internal fire licking out from the crevices against undefended flesh, searing and cauterizing in continuous agony. Wings, groomed and genteel mere moments before — now marred with rot and ruin, mantled in tattered shreds held in place by blackened scar tissue.

What a mess. Haarlep could understand why the little master had been so reclusive if this was the shape now lurking within him. His new form’s structure might be passingly compared to that of a cornugon, but only to a witless imbecile. The bone-plate, tarnished and burnt, bore some similarity to the lustrous ossified mail of an osyluth, but lacked entirely their ordered and brutal beauty. In truth… beneath the surface, there was truly nothing of the Hells about this form at all, but rather — something far more Abyssal in origin.

Haarlep smiles, slow and sweet, their long tongue flicking out from their mouth and dragging back the scent of the beast as it returns, a delectable sweet hint of Chaos just discernible below the rest. Their smile grows wider still as they savor it, subtle fangs bared by the action.

“Little master has been quite the naughty boy, hasn’t he? Dabbling with magics too powerful for him, perhaps? Snooping around in pilfered Netherese parlors, grasping at scraps?” They tut chidingly, shaking their head at him.

The beast huffs out a gusting breath, fetid air coursing from its maw, its blackened claws all too obvious as they raise to strike.

Haarlep coos. “How cruel of the little lord to keep this lovely surprise all to himself. Why, we could have been playing together long since.”

Silence, for a moment. Then a reverberating growl shudders from its chest, emerging as a guttural hiss from its frayed vocal cords. With a crack of over-stressed bone, the beast crouches, then springs forward, toppling them both and slamming its forelimbs down on either side of Haarlep’s head. Its bone-jaws open and chitter against one another in accompaniment to its hissing. Hot, silvery liquid drips from the base of its throat, settling in searing pearls on Haarlep’s face before streaking wincingly away.

Haarlep clucks their tongue, reaching out a hand to caress along the roughened bone of the closest skull. “You can certainly take me like this, if you’ve a mind,” they say leadingly, rolling their body languidly upward to brush against the delightful texturing of the beast-form above them. Oh, it has been too long since they’ve dealt with any of Chaos’s get. An admittedly amateur transformation, perhaps, but nothing they cannot endear themself to their little lord by offering some much-needed assistance.

The beast responds with a huff, moving toward their touch for one brief moment, then away again, the creaking of misaligned joint and bone filling the chamber with a grisly cacophony. It seems the little lord isn’t particularly accustomed to his new form’s mind yet, either. That will make some things harder — and others easier.

Haarlep rolls their body up against the beast’s once more, to regain its attention and realign its purpose. Its triune head with trebled skulls, raised to scan the room around them, swings back down to pin him with those flat, glowing eyes, set so far back in their sockets. The vision on this beast-form must be disorienting indeed.

A snarling rumble rises up from the cavernous chamber of the beast’s chest — perhaps a disdain of the presumption, or an unfamiliarity with the sensation in this form. In either case, the little lord is welcome to communicate his desires to Haarlep should he choose. Otherwise, they shall do as a good attendant ought, and attend him.

They undulate again, aiming with particular focus for the most likely location of a hidden pleasure structure, sparing a moment to hope that their rash little lordling had not botched whatever ritual he’d stumbled upon with such talent as to lose that. Haarlep could certainly make an exemplary showing without any such element present – and had upon multiple occasions in the past – but it would certainly help the situation along. After a long moment, they feel an answering pressure coming from the boiling hot area between malformed limbs, and devote particular attention to encouraging it to emerge further.

The beast, plainly feeling the results of their efforts, snarls again, its claws scraping against the stone floor and leaving deep, gouging furrows. Its central skull flashes down and fastens around Haarlep’s throat, just barely stopping before it would cause true harm. They freeze for a moment, elegant neck extended, and luxuriate in the dull prick of those rending fangs — then moan, low and throaty, relaxing into them until the prick becomes true penetration.

The beast huffs, in what resembles nothing so much as sheer bewilderment. Haarlep throws their head back in laughter, relishing the bite of the bone-tooth collar, and the gentle rivulets of blood that begin to seep steadily from the punctures. “No stomach for the devouring, have we? A pity. By all means, then, allow me.”

They slither sinuously free of the beast’s hold, loosened in its surprise, earning more tender tears from the delightful drag of fang on flesh. The beast seems fully lost in its puzzlement now, crouching back on its haunches, its budding member just beginning to poke forth from the sheath at the twisted apex of its hips. Haarlep feels their mouth water, venom pooling slick and sweet, as it emerges in jerking, ungraceful spasms. Their eyes curl up in a true smile.

“Look at you,” they croon. The cockhead is blunt and brutal, with raised ridges at irregular intervals across its surface. The shape of it tapers just under the first bullying bulk of the head, then flares outward again, with diagonal, tiered ridges forming concentric circles underneath it. It looks delectable.

They slide closer on their knees, bowing their head and letting the smooth flood of their hair fall to the side to keep the nape of their neck – and its sluggishly bleeding marks – exposed. The beast observes the motion, skulls twisting to keep them centered in its vision and mantling its tattered wings, but makes no move to dissuade them by force — a clear invitation if Haarlep has ever seen one.

They lean closer, tongue flickering out to wrap around the flat tip and taste. The beast lets out a screeching cry, contorted hips juddering forward and one hand slamming down to tear at the floor. Misshapen then, but no less sensitive for it, it seems. Haarlep retracts their tongue slowly, savoring the taste of ash and burnt sugar. All things taste saccharine to them from contact with their venom, but the overwhelming edge of conflagration on the beast adds an alluring dimension they hunger for more of. And they’ve certainly never been one to deny themself an indulgence.

Prepared this time for the response of the beast – so clearly never touched before in this form – Haarlep wraps their long fingers around it, inanely delighted by the way they nestle into the hollows created by the banding ridges. The size would be difficult to fully encircle for the average mortal, but fits the grasp of Haarlep’s long fingers near-perfectly. The beast gives another rattling cry, starting forward as the stimulation encourages forth one final pulse of the cock from its sheath, a raised nodule at the base of the cock itself tugging free from the lip of the sheath.

Haarlep hums, eyeing the little structure with consideration, then moving their thumb down to caress it with the barest edge of claw. The beast growls, and the blaze of heat about it increases as it curls forward, its skulled head coming to rest in the air just above Haarlep’s upper back. They begin to feel enshrouded in the waves of heat rolling off of the beast, caged between it and caught in the dizzying miasma of Chaos.

They send their tongue out once more, this time holding the beast still by their hand around its cock. Their tongue flickers dexterously in between their fingers and the roughened flesh of the cock itself. The beast pants above them, gusts of air teasing down along their spine. With more of that ash and cinder scent filling their senses, Haarlep widens their mouth and takes the beast’s cock within them, the blunt head rubbing pleasantly up against the back of their throat. Their venom catches and pools in the crevices on the cock’s surface, easing its glide as it enters them. They shift away their fingers bit by bit as they usher the cock into their mouth, adjusting their mouth to its size before removing the last implicit constraint on the movement of the beast.

The head catches against the opening to their throat just as the beast recognizes its freedom, chasing the sensation they’ve granted it with jerking thrusts of its hips. Haarlep angles the flexible muscle of their throat to better receive it, feeling the ridges pressing back against their flesh as the beast bullies its way further into them, utterly uncaring of their own welfare. It is for the best that they’ve been the one to give the little lord’s beast its sorely needed outlet. Any other and the lordling would have more likely awoken to a shattered corpse, with the whole House aware of just how fastidious he is.

Overcome by the sensitivity of its fledgling flesh – and, if Haarlep might be so modest, the experience of their own peerless form – the beast only lasts a few more minutes before its thrusts grow even more frenzied. A sizzling heat permeates Haarlep’s throat as the cock flexes and shudders within it, seeming to grow larger for a few moments as the taste of ash and honey intensifies.

The next moment, the beast is tearing back from them, just barely avoiding slicing itself on their fangs as it stumbles backward, flesh cracking and splitting in a grating inversion of its earlier transformation. Its own form sizzles and steams, a haze in the air around it for a moment before, transmutation complete, their little lord stands before them once more. He looks lost, for a moment, before his scan of the room – now in quite some disarray – comes to a halt with his eyes on Haarlep, still kneeling gracefully with their hair cascading about them. His face twists, too many emotions to quantify spasming across it all at once, before settling on a faint, haughty sneer.

Haarlep licks their lips – and the visible remnants of their activities – slowly, sensuously. “Why, little lord, I do believe you and I have much to discuss.”

[beansidhebumbling]

His heart tripped, stumbling in his chest and he heaved a breath at the painful tug at his ribs. A burning tightness felt in the gaps between seconds and there! Deep in bone he felt the twining braid of fate tugging at him, linking him, in life and beyond to the female that stood before him.

Nesta Archeron.

Nesta.

Nesta.

His heart righted itself and began beating anew to the rhythm of her name. 

The two sisters arrived at the townhouse in a flurry of blood, broken wings, and tears. The rain pounding on the shingled roof was too similar to the hammering in his skull for Rhysand’s liking. Feyre was beside herself, collapsing in his arms, a bundle of salt water and regret bound in a slight frame. Nuala stood nearby, expertly bandaging Azriel who gave a nod at Rhys’ cocked brow. His focus so torn between consoling the Saviour and calculating exactly how fucked they were, meant he only registered Nesta and Elain as two shadows of his own follies in his periphery.

When Cerridwen arrived with steaming tea, he handed Feyre off to Mor and made his way to the Shadowsinger, who had stationed himself by the rich velvet curtains of the sitting room window.

Casting a bubble of privacy around them with the wave of his hand, he turned his ire on his brother and growled,

‘What in the Mother’s name happened, Azriel?’

The Spymaster huffed, one scarred hand raising to tug at the ebony curls of his fringe. His shadows agitatedly moved in whisps and turns around his body, the same coordinated dance as flocks of birds in flight.

‘We walked right into a trap is what. I had no clue…’

He paused for a moment to stare at the storm that raged and scattered oak leaves along the small front garden.

‘Nes…We need to discuss some things privately Rhys, the Cauldron-’

An unyielding grip on Rhysand’s silk clad bicep halted Azriel, whose mouth clamped in a tight line. Rhysand turned, scowl adorning his face to shoo away the intruder when, like walking into an April shower, he was caught in a cloud of jasmine, and freesia, and something intoxicating he could not name, as he came face-to-face with her.

Hair freshly washed and braided framed a heart shaped face. Whiffs of fresh florals and a sticky sugar sweetness trailed like vines in the air. She was glaring at him with a wrath that seemed depthless, churning in the misty eddys of her glorious eyes.

His heart tripped, stumbling in his chest and he heaved a breath at the painful tug at his ribs. A burning tightness felt in the gaps between seconds and there! Deep in bone he felt the twining braid of fate tugging at him, linking him, in life and beyond to the female that stood before him.

Nesta Archeron.

Nesta.

Nesta.

His heart righted itself and began beating anew to the rhythm of her name. 

*

    Feyre had once told him they looked alike.

She had been flattering herself Rhysand thought unkindly. No living being could compare to the harpy that stood, stony-eyed and iron-spined before him. For she was beautiful in the way only those made of blades could be.

‘You’re Nesta, Feyre’s sister.’

His unimpressive observation was uttered far too breathily. Azriel’s eyes burned hot on the side of his face. His lungs were too busily engaged with supplying air to his brain as it ran in circles because she was his-

‘You’re the bastard Feyre is engaged to.’

Drenched in acid and seeped from behind gritted teeth, the quiet words still caught the pointed ears of the Saviour.

‘Nesta! Don’t you-'

Feyre started from her seat beside Mor, lit with indignation on his behalf. Her strange loyalty to him received so quickly and nearly entirely undeserved… the human in her remained. How long before she lost that? Before her emotions cooled in the way of fae who had centuries to ponder and simmer on feelings? Was her forgiveness obtained as quickly as her loyalty? Rhysand knew with a sickening surety he was guaranteed to discover the answer to the last question.

He held up one hand never glancing at the Saviour, for he had no will nor ability to look elsewhere, not when the rest of his life stood before him seething so prettily.

‘Feyre darling. It seems your lovely sister wants a word with me.’

The words charmingly uttered did not temper Nesta’s ire in the slightest. Unable to resist the chance for time alone in her all-consuming presence even if it meant to face the full force of her rage, he offered hastily,

‘May I suggest we talk in my study Nesta? So you may express yourself unencumbered by an audience.’

‘Rhys, there’s no need for that..’

Again he cut Feyre off growing impatient with her continued interruption. Did she not see the chess pieces were toppled around them, the plans so carefully formed crumpled and tossed?

Three steps ahead was still two steps behind his father had advised.

What would he say to his son now when it all seemed irrelevant? Now that his heart was threatening to leap from his throat to land at the slippered feet of his-

‘Feyre my darling. Please.’

He allowed some authority to leak into his tone. Feyre stiffened slightly, eyes open and pleading but after a few strained seconds she nodded her head slightly, moving to Elain’s side even as silence reigned.

Nesta’s eyes had only narrowed further throughout his interaction with the Saviour and when he extended her his arm, she looked pointedly at it, draped in the finest black silk woven by the Mothfae of the Elfeisian Valley, before ignoring it in favour of gliding from the room. With her chin held high, gaze higher still, she threw a scathing look at the Morrigan who whispered something to Cassian as she left.

He followed hurriedly, eyes glued to her, the dastardly pull, making her rejection of his proffered arm sting. She was a mere human not a day ago, a scornful shrew by Feyre’s account, a thorn in his side demanding security and protection below the Wall, when, if not for his vested interest in appeasing the Saviour of Prythian, he would have happily eaten her heart, and that of her doe of a sister too. Now she was a goddess who gazed upon him with such loathing that it tickled some perverse part of him.

If attention borne from hatred lit his skin aflame he could only imagine what such intense focus borne from more amiable feeling elicit in him. 

*

    As the door swung closed, the quiet hush of voices within could be scarcely heard, and mattered little, for she stood, arms folded before him, rendering him dumb as power eeked from her like rays from the sun.

He needed to say something.

Make some move.

Fall to his knees in a plea for marriage or forgiveness. Too slow at contemplating his options he lost his chance for action when she snapped,

‘Lead the way villain.’

His tether.

His entrancement.

The bond was pulled taut between them. Rhysand wondered could he see it shimmering if he squinted. And that chant continued in his pulse, catching his breath and breaking the rotten meat that lay in place of a heart.

Nesta

Nesta

Nesta

His mate. 

*

    Upon entering the study, Nesta made a beeline for the cushy leather chair in the corner and while arranging her full skirts gestured for him to take a seat at his desk, in his study.

Outside lightning struck and the sharp outlines of their shadows rose to almost kiss along the wall. The impertinence of her action, the arrogance, bit like venom at the back of his mouth.

But with it came the recollection he had pulled the exact same move on the eldest Vanserra not two years ago, making him almost shivery in anticipation. He had always revelled in a battle and here before him stood his equal who seemed to possess his playbook also.

So, he sat.

‘To what do I owe the honour of your anger?’

The languid drape of his frame, the jeering tone of his voice belied that he meant it. It was an honour and the way her power suffused through the air, cloaking him in blessed heat was driving him slightly mad.

It licked at his blood. His power hungered for her, the fantasy of her coated in the obsidian hand of night taunted him. Would she fall drunk when encased in his blanket of stars and gloom? Would she beg for a taste of eternal darkness?

Nesta shifted in her seat unaware of his more desperate musings. She did not waste time and spit out,

‘What have you done to my sister?’

Rhysand felt his jaw clench slightly despite himself. A slight flaw in his poker face. His composure shaky in the face of jasmine and freesia and the thought of burying his head in the curve of her neck and inhaling.

The tell was enough.

She could smell the answer in the scent of his posture, had clearly played the liar's game before. Those sharp eyes catalogued the slight fluttering tension in a beat. In response her fists clenched and the black of her pupils slowly began oozing out to coat iris and sclera, until like the gods of old her eyes were two obsidian holes in her fine face.

She had taken from the Cauldron. Azriel’s most grave fear, conveyed mind to mind, confirmed.

Mother save them all. 

*

    Even as his self-preservation screamed at him, to fight, to flee, the ribbon between them sung because..

.....because she was looking at him.

He wanted to swim in pools of eternal death, to bask in the creeping rot until he was but molecules. Molecules of a male, floating, drowning, dreaming in her.

‘So it is you who taints her ribbon of gold with decay, who has forged a chain of darkness to tie you to each other. Did you think you could get away with that?I could smell it on you. On her. Polluting the atmosphere with its wrongness.’

A predator on the hunt she rose from her seat to circle the desk, leaning in until he felt the sharp press of her nails against his throat as she squeezed her hands around his neck.

He caught the moan of ecstasy that carried from deep within.

Beautiful.

Vicious.

Witch.

His.

She had to be. He was hers.

*

    Would she mark him with a cut if he begged?

Let red drip onto her fingers, stain them. Hope that some of it might seep into her skin, so he could be part of her, so that his darkness could rest easy amidst silver death.

His eyes fluttered, fighting to stay open and not submit to the scratching loveliness of her touch.

‘I will ask once more and then I will not again. What have you done to my sister?’

Her hands tightened for a second before loosening to let him reply,

‘What will you do if I do not answer Lady Archeron?’

He taunted.

He leaned into her, even as she recoiled, hands retreating to hidden pockets in her skirts.

In the icy absence of her touch, some form of sobriety presented itself.

From the simple cotton confines her right hand rose wordlessly and she held a clenched fist before him. He stretched his palm out to receive the silent offering.

A grey acorn dropped, scattering into ashes upon contact.

Her left hand braced on the arm of his chair so eye contact was unavoidable. She craved his fear, to see it surface in the violet gleam of his gaze, he reckoned.

He craved things far more precious than fear from her.

The dust marked his palm, etched itself between crevice and wrinkle, as she whispered calmly,

‘I did this on the way in. I felt the surge of life that it held. What would have been an ageless oak in the garden of the fae-scum that reside here. I felt life and I pulled. I pulled all that could be from it.'

She bared her teeth in a horrifying facsimile of a smile and hissed,

‘Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.’

An old ditty from some human plague.

He steadied himself, searched for the spine he was fairly certain she had not ripped from him yet.

‘I am no acorn, Nesta.’

‘No. But when I scatter your dust along the Sidra who will be able to tell the difference?’

There was a beat of silence.

She had a point.

Nesta tilted her head, tapping her foot in anticipation of an explanation.

‘Do your human tales mention the Weaver?’

She scrunched her fine arched brows before stating in a distant voice,

‘A Witch of Waste and Middle... who threads the tapestry of fate.’

‘Clever little thing aren’t you?’

Her eyes flashed.

‘Clever enough to know to mind my manners when someone could turn me to dust.’

His lovely mate, all bark and bite.

‘Touchy, touchy.’

He sniped but when she snarled and her hands started to glow silver, he held up his own in surrender.

It wouldn’t do for her to kill him before she had a chance to fall in love with him. With this in mind he spoke carefully,

‘I made a bargain. A fiddly thing they are, love. Like thread, so many loops to be found. Dangerous business to mess with loops and the Weaver. Only the brave or foolish do so.’

In a voice drier than the sands of Day she retorted,

‘A tragedy then that you are both.’

A small laugh burst from the rising corners of his mouth. It was his true laugh, high and cold and utterly inhuman, not the warm gravelly one he created to enchant the Saviour.

‘You flatter me.’

She did. She flattered him every second she spent in his company.

He wondered did she find him pretty? Did she admire the sharp angle of his jaw, the sheen of his hair, the lean muscle of his frame?

‘I’ll flatten you if you don’t get to the point.’

‘A bargain with the Weaver to alter the bonds. Break and remake.’

Feyre’s bond to Cassian now a fraying string, a red primrose strangled by bindweed. A new one built of night and darkness and Winter’s blood. Nesta released a strangled scream, storming to the other end of the room as hot blush painted her cheeks and the pieces clicked together.

‘Oh you heinous piece of shit. You didn’t just break whatever bond she had, you tied her to you.’

A simple plan. Bond with the most powerful fae in Prythian. On the infinitesimal chance his mate appeared he would kill them. So simple and yet…

He had miscalculated.

A rare occurrence.

A fatal mistake.

He could not kill this creature of mercury and boiling burning anger, whose blood was dripping from clenched fists onto the well tufted carpet.

She had no such qualms however.

‘I’m going to murder you.’

Vow uttered she prowled towards him, stopped in her tracks as his low warning reached her.

‘I really wouldn’t recommend that if you value your sister.’

‘Is that a threat, you fucking monster?’

She thought him a monster. Strange for it to hurt so, an apt descriptor, one he had revelled in now sat heavy in his chest coming from her.

‘I’d prefer you think of it as sound advice. How about a deal?’

She scoffed, her disgust apparent.

‘Now why would I make a deal when I could just kill you before you hurt my sister or anyone else?’

True fear laced his voice as he responded,

‘Because your sister’s life is tied to mine.’

And only the Mother knew what possessed him to attempt to lighten the mood after such a confession.

‘I do so like a bargain.’

Nesta recoiled in horror.

‘Your lives are tied. What would possess Feyre…’

She trailed off. The answer hung in the air between them but he vocalised it all the same,

‘Love.’

There was no glee in Rhysand saying such a thing. Feyre’s love, adoring and fragile, still young and wild, a toy he’d played with for his own amusement, would eliminate whatever slim chance he had with Nesta.

His best laid plans would soon be his ruination. His heart could not be ignored, nor the screaming writhing bond that made his ribs ache. He had to salvage something from the wreckage of his greed and ambition.

‘Stay in the Night Court and I’ll break the false bond with your sister.’

‘I’d sooner drown myself in your river than vow to stay in this court under your rule, to be used for whatever evil you concoct next.’

‘A century. Stay here a century and Feyre can go where she pleases, free from the bond. I’ll fund her travels and comfort.’

Nesta let out a derisive snort.

‘Oh that is a given. She is the Saviour of you and your rotten kind. You fooled my sister and you brought myself and Elain into this mess with your carelessness and arrogance.’

She shook her head sadly.

'And a century? Not a chance.’

‘Need I remind you, you are one of my rotten kind now. Fifty years.’

The sharp intake of breath from her was all he got as she turned her back on him and did not deign to answer. No hostile party had ever turned left back open to him before. It pleased him that he did not frighten her.

Silver linings to cling to, as like ice melting, she sought to slip from grasping fingers.

‘Twenty and you live in the Townhouse and work under my employ.’

‘So you can exploit my powers? So I have to suffer your miserable presence?’

So he could see her face each day. So other Courts would cower before them. So he could offer her the world if she asked.

‘Consider Rhysand that if I figure out how to get to the Weaver myself I will fashion my own bargain with her.’

He was bombarded with different horrifying visions of Nesta. Hanging from one of the great oak trees that grew in the Middle, the Weaver hacking off limbs from her corpse to make wax and soup, her bronze hair matted with blood as her skull cracked like a runny egg, leaking all she was onto damp grass. Nesta with her newly burgeoning power was too weak yet for the Witch of the Middle. A dread settled in his bones and panic eroded his voice so it left his chapped lips in a rasp,

‘No.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Please... just five years. You will stay in the Townhouse and your time is your own.’

He held no cards, not at her own unwitting threat to her safety. She seemed to sense it, the gambler’s instinct gleaming in the twinkle of her eye.

‘Three years. I will live in Velaris independently on the condition you break the tainted mess that connects you and Feyre before the year end.’

He went to agree and was stopped by her voice continuing a pitch lower and finely sharpened like a dagger.

‘If not I will leave and make it my mission to take your court apart brick by fae-damned brick.’

*

    Three years.

He was glad the bond hadn’t snapped for her yet so she did not know a bargain was unnecessary. He would throw himself off Ramiel to make her smile.

Three years to convince her he was a male she could love. Three years to earn Feyre’s forgiveness and qualify for Nesta’s consideration.

Three years.

A blink of an eye, especially when he had no clue how to break a bargain with the Weaver.

But Rhysand had faced worse.

He extended his hand.

At the very least he could touch her, feel the soft skin of her pale hand meet his, at least once more, relish in the sparks that flew and the marks they’d share.

There were silver linings after all.