#pierce the veil wallpaper

[tuftv]

I made a Tony Perry Wallpaper I guess. Pls use if you want to n.n

[xxwhiteveilbridexx]

ptv and skelanimals wallpaper XD

[girlemotions]

<<33 collages are so fun to make

[feministdaniel]

I made these two as halloween wallpapers :3

[teeng1rl]

still waiting 4 my turn…🖤

[dissonance-is-key]

Currents Convulsive ~ Pierce The Veil

[dontblameshay]

[lcokscreensandstuff]

Pierce The Veil - Even When I'm Not With You

[thatgirlstardust]

Guys please I need too 😭

I wanna do this wallpaper with somebody

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 03 Chapter 03 | rising resentment⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Sleep, usually a welcome escape from the confines of your routine, offered no solace tonight. Instead, a vivid dreamscape unfolded before you.

Golden light bathed a field of crimson flowers; their petals stained a shade of red that seemed to bleed into the very air.

In the distance, a young girl, no older than eighteen, stood amidst the flowers.

The white long-sleeved shirt, hung untucked; her black jacket lay discarded on the ground like a fallen feather, forgotten. Her hair, a cascade of long pale auburn, defied its usual confinement; bangs, usually kept just past her eyebrows, now clung in wispy tendrils to her forehead, framing her face alongside two longer, rebellious side strands.

This fiery mane mirrored the moonlight filtering through the clouds, but it was her eyes that held your attention—crimson orbs with pulsing yellow irises that burned with an intensity that both terrified and fascinated you.

This girl, she looked... familiar.

A prickling sensation crawled up your arms as a name, foreign yet strangely comforting, whispered on the wind. "Makima," it murmured, a single word carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken memories.

The girl turned, her crimson gaze locking onto yours. A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a smile that sent shivers down your spine.

In that moment, you knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that this girl, this Makima, was somehow a part of you.

But before you could reach out, before you could ask the questions burning in your mind, the scene dissolved into a swirling vortex of colors.

You woke with the taste of fear lingering on your tongue. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting long shadows across your room.

The dream felt real, more real than anything you had ever experienced. 

Makima, the girl in the flower field, who was she?  And how was she connected to you?  These questions gnawed at you like a constant itch that you couldn't scratch.

The influx of dreams was just the first in a string of unsettling occurrences. Sometimes, visions—vivid and disorienting—would occasionally pierce the veil of your new life.

One moment, you'd be staring at the pink wallpaper of your room, and the next, you'd be transported to a dimly lit office, the scent of cigarettes clinging to the air.

A tall, blonde-haired man with a dopey grin sat across from you, his eyes following your every move with an almost canine devotion.

"Denji~" you'd hear your voice purr, a voice that sent shivers down your own spine, so different from the small, hesitant tones of ____.  "Tell me again, what's your dream?"

Denji would lean in, his entire being focused on your words. "My dream... is to...  touch a nice lady's boobs..." he'd stammer, his face flushed.

A cruel smile would play on your lips, a stark contrast to the innocent smile of ____. "How quaint," you'd murmur, a dangerous glint in your eyes.  "But for now, Denji, you have a purpose.  And that purpose is to serve me."

The vision would then abruptly shatter, leaving you gasping for breath, a cold sweat clinging to your skin. 

These fragments of your past life were terrifying, yet strangely alluring.

Was she truly you?

☆

☆

You bounced on the balls of your feet, excitement buzzing through you like a beehive.

Today was "dress-up day" at your homeschool session with Mei, and you had meticulously planned your outfit—a superhero ensemble complete with a flowing cape and a mask you'd meticulously crafted from construction paper.

Mei, however, seemed to have different ideas.  As you proudly presented yourself, a triumphant grin plastered on your face, her smile faltered slightly.

"That looks fantastic, ____!" she exclaimed, her voice warm but laced with a hint of hesitation. "But wouldn't you like to add a little something extra?  Maybe a cute bow to match your cape?"

Your grin faltered. A bow? In your hair? That wasn't part of the plan. The image you envisioned—a fearless hero ready to take on the world—did not involve a frilly accessory.

A spark of defiance ignited within you, a heat that crept up your cheeks. "No, thank you," you mumbled, pushing a twist of hair behind your ear, a silent rebellion against the proposed bow.

Mei knelt before you, her eyes filled with a gentle concern that only fueled your burgeoning frustration.  "But a bow would look so pretty, ____. Don't you want to look your best for your friends?" she cooed, attempting to tie a bright pink bow atop your head.

The word "friends" did little to appease you.

These weren't friends—at least, not in the way you saw it on television.

These were just the other homeschooled kids you rarily interacted with; their interactions were more polite curiosity than genuine camaraderie. 

You didn't need a bow to impress them.

You swatted her hand away, a frown creasing your brow. "No bow," you muttered, your voice firm despite the childish tremor. "I look perfect already."

The hero in your mind wouldn't wear a bow, and neither would you.

Mei sighed, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face.  "Alright, alright," she conceded, shoulders slumping in defeat, untying the bow with a practiced ease. "If you say so.  But promise to be careful with your cape today, okay? And maybe, how about we pick a different color tomorrow? Together?"

You didn't respond, but the tightness in your chest eased slightly.

You didn't mean to upset Mei, but the need to control your own image, once a constant companion, was becoming a simmering ember within you.

As you marched out the door, cape billowing dramatically behind you, you couldn't help but notice a strange warmth emanating from your fingertips, a faint tingling sensation that seemed to pulse in time with your determined steps.

It was a feeling you didn't understand, but it was a feeling of... power. 

And even though you didn't quite grasp it yet, it was a feeling you were starting to crave.

☆

☆

The instance with the bow wasn't an isolated one. The more Mei fussed over you, the more you bristled at her smothering affection. You craved a sense of independence, a chance to prove you weren't some fragile doll that needed constant care.

This morning was no different.

"Look, I understand you're busy, but ____ is growing up so fast. These are moments we can't get back.  Can't you at least try to..." Mei, fuming from a heated phone call with your father about his constant absence and missed milestones, plunked a plate of lunch down in front of you.

 A simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich—your least favorite. But you barely registered the disappointment.

Your mind was fixated on the promised reward—a slice of your favorite strawberry cake—for cleaning up your toys and taking an unplanned nap while Mei ran a quick errand.

You nibbled on the sandwich, the disappointment a dull ache in your stomach.

Surely, Mei had forgotten. She'd remember when you finished your lunch, and you'd get your reward then. But with every bite, the ache intensified, transforming into a simmering resentment.

Ten minutes ticked by, the silence in the room broken only by the rhythmic squeaking of your half-eaten sandwich. Finally, Mei, still on the phone and arguing with your father, glanced your way.  Her brow furrowed with concern as she noticed your unmoving form.

"____? Sweetie, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice strained as she balanced the phone on her shoulder. She wiped a stray smear of jelly from your cheek, her touch well-meaning but unwelcome. "Does your tummy hurt? Did the sandwich go down the wrong way? Do you want Mommy to—"

You cut through her worried questions, your voice flat and emotionless. "Where's my treat?"

Mei blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. Then, a wave of relief washed over her face. "Oh, right! Your treat!" she exclaimed, a touch too brightly.  "Just give me a sec, okay?" She scurried to the pantry, the phone still pressed to her ear.

You listened to the muffled sounds of rummaging, your heart pounding a steady rhythm against your ribs.

This wasn't right.

You'd held up your end of the bargain, and now Mei was backtracking.

A beat of silence followed, then Mei reappeared, her smile strained.  "Looks like we're all out of strawberry cake, sweetie," she explained apologetically.  "But I found some apple slices instead! How about that?"

You stared at the proffered apple slices, a wave of anger crashing over you.

This wasn't fair.

You didn't want apple slices. You wanted the promised cake, the sweet reward you'd earned.

Logic, that annoying voice in your head, tried to reason with you. Mei had forgotten. It was a simple mistake. But the anger drowned it out.

You felt cheated, robbed of something you deserved.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them back, the heat of anger burning brighter than the sting of betrayal. A low growl rumbled in your chest, a sound that startled even yourself.

Your body began to vibrate, a tremor you couldn't control.

It felt like a live wire buzzing beneath your skin, a foreign energy coursing through you.

Shaking uncontrollably, the hot warmth of anger intensified in your stomach.

You squeezed your eyes shut, a strangled cry escaping your lips as you lashed out. "I...want...CAKE!!" With a deafening screech, you flung your remaining sandwich across the room, the splattering jelly mimicking the blossoming rage within you.

Your juice box followed suit, toppling off the table and showering the floor in a sticky red cascade.

"I want my cake!"

"____!" Mei's voice, usually filled with warmth, cracked with a mixture of shock and concern.  The phone clattered to the floor, forgotten as she lunged for you.

For a terrifying moment, you felt invincible, a force of pure, unbridled rage.

The world seemed to blur around you, the only thing registering the pulsing energy thrumming through your veins.

Then, strong arms enveloped you.  Mei's voice, usually a soothing melody, cut through the haze of anger. "Stop! It's okay, sweetie!" she cried, her voice a desperate plea as she tried to restrain your thrashing limbs.

But for a moment, you were a wild animal cornered, fueled by an anger you couldn't understand.

"Cake!" you screamed, your voice raw with frustration. "You promised cake!"

Mei's eyes welled up with tears, a reflection of your own mounting hysteria. "I know, honey, I know," she soothed, her voice trembling slightly.

Finally, with a herculean effort, Mei managed to pin you down, her warm hands cupping your face. She spoke softly, her voice a soothing balm against the storm within you. "It's okay, ____," she murmured, wiping away the stray tears that had finally escaped.

Mei began to rub your cheeks in soothing circles, her touch a grounding force against the storm that had just raged within you. "It's okay to be upset. But we can't throw things."

The tremors soon subsided, replaced by a deep sense of exhaustion.

Mei then sat you down in the "cool-down" corner, a designated space in the living room reserved for such meltdowns. As you sat there, slumped against the cushions, you watched the world blur through tear-filled eyes.

A wave of nausea washed over you, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

You glanced out the window, your gaze falling on a group of children leaving daycare, their laughter echoing in the afternoon sun.

They walked hand-in-hand with their parents, a picture of carefree joy.

A scowl contorted your face.

You hated that they seemed so happy, so carefree.

Everything about them—their freedom, their smiles, the way things just seemed to go their way—fueled the embers of resentment that still flickered within you.

But this time, alongside the anger, there was a new sensation. A strange tingling energy crackled beneath your skin, a faint echo of the power you'd felt just moments ago.

And in the quiet of the "cool-down" corner, a seed was planted.

What it will be, you didn't know, but you had a feeling that it would be undeniably... different.

A/N: okay, suprise update! just wanted to let you guys know that my laptop has been  utterly destroyed and is now being repaired 💀 so yeaahhh. anywho, thank you all for the support so far, hehehe didnt think anyone would be excited, lol. also, this won't be perfect and will likely have a few plot holes, but then again, i'm not here to write a real book, i'm here to share my delusions with yall 💗

[tuftv]

saw ptv’s recent kerrang mag and got inspired to do a wallpaper :) maybe some more soon?

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 3 - Ruhn: Nesta's 25? she should be at the club

The phone vibrating on the bedside table told Ruhn Danaan three things. One – he was late. Two – the mirthroot that Flynn had bought was more potent than first thought. Three – there was a snoring faun next to him.

Ruhn leaned over her bare body to reach his cell. He’d missed the call. And six others. Plus a couple of texts.

Hunt Athalar.

Hunt Athalar.

Hunt Athalar.

‘Stalked by the Umbra Mortis,’ he groaned, flopping back against the pillows. Micah’s insistence that heads of the city’s departments should exchange contact information was proving more of a ball ache than anything.

The faun beside him – Ruhn couldn’t remember her name – stirred then blinked at him with bleary eyes. They’d had fun last night. Well, as much as Ruhn could remember.

He hit the shower, hoping she might find her way out to avoid the awkward exchange, but when he came to his room with a towel around his hips, the faun was still perched on the edge of the bed.

‘I have some, er, aux work to do. I’ll pay for your cab home.’

Her mouth twisted. ‘You can’t remember my name, can you?’

Ruhn flicked his tongue against his lip ring, stalling for time.

The doorbell rang. Over and over, somebody was buzzing at the door and Ruhn had a good idea who.

‘Official aux business,’ he said, ushering her down the stairs despite her muttering under her breath about him being an asshole.

A storm by the name of Hunt Athalar loomed on the stoop. He took a step back before the faun barrelled into him.

‘Seriously?’

It wasn’t Athalar who spoke but the pretty blonde that Ruhn had met a couple of days earlier. Her arms were folded across her chest. The fae look of you’re-a-worthless-piece-of-shit had been perfected on her features.

‘I need to work,’ said Hunt, turning to her and grazing his knuckles down her arm.

‘I am not a child, Hunt. I will manage a day without your company.’

He winced. ‘Nesta, you can’t cross a road without help.’

Her expression stiffened into stone.

Hunt’s wings spread out, veiling them, but not muffling the sound.

‘Hey. I care about what happens to you. Danaan won’t let anything bad happen. I’ll swing by when I’m done. Buy more cookie dough. Watch a movie.’

Ruhn couldn’t stop himself from frowning. This fallen angel was better known for gutting his enemies, not getting cosy with females and watching movies.

‘Answer your cell when I call,’ said Hunt, turning to look at him. Lightning wreathed his hands in warning. ‘Put some clothes on too. Ruhn – no shit today.’

In answer, he gave a lazy salute. The angel clenched his jaw, but didn’t pass comment. He turned to leave, touching Nesta on the shoulder as he departed, before bolting into the sky.

‘Welcome to my humble abode, Nesta Archeron.’

The place was usually a mess, but under her scrutiny, it seemed worse than usual. Ruhn was painfully aware of the peeling, graffitied wallpaper, the scrunched-up beer cans littering the stained carpet and the stench of smoke and alcohol clinging to the walls. The ashtrays were overflowing. A photo of a naked female was tacked to the dartboard with a dart piercing her head. Nesta peered over his shoulder to look into the living room where Flynn was naked and unconscious on the couch then her lip curled with disgust.

Ruhn guided her through the house, picking up discarded beer bottles along the way. Well, even if she wasn’t from Midgard, Nesta maintained the same stuck-up aura as other fae. He could imagine her and Sathia Flynn looking down their noses at one of the lace doily infested tea-houses the fae liked to frequent.

‘Do you engage in such activities every day?’

‘Not every day,’ he replied. Most nights though. And most nights Ruhn would wake up with a gorgeous female beside him with no memory of her name – but he usually sent them home happy. He had a reputation in the city, but it wasn’t a bad one.

‘Hello.’ Dec sat on a stool in the kitchen, already clicking away on his laptop. ‘You’re the fae who fell from space.’

‘Nesta,’ she replied tightly.

Dec held out a hand for her which she tentatively took to shake.

The three of them sipped at coffee in a painful silence once Ruhn had dressed. Dec kept throwing glances his way to encourage him to say something but Nesta had already made her opinion of him – and his home – clear from the pinched expression.

‘Do you need sugar for your coffee, Nesta?’

At Dec’s question, Nesta’s lips parted. ‘It can have sugar?’

‘Sure. And milk.’ Dec pulled open the fridge to sniff the milk. He retched. ‘We don’t have milk.’

Nesta frowned again. ‘How old are you?’

‘We’re only seventy-five.’

Her brows raised again. ‘Only.’

For an unknown reason, Hunt Athalar had taken a liking to this female who had a stick up her ass so Ruhn didn’t want a target on his back for cutting her loose in the city. It would be long fucking day babysitting her. Ruhn glanced down at his cell. A message from his father flashed on the screen. As if the day couldn’t get any worse.

‘What do you like to do, Nesta?’

She glanced around the kitchen at the piles of dishes in the sink and the overflowing bin. ‘To read.’

Thank Luna.

‘How would you like to see Lunathion’s library?’ 

She jumped off the stool as if sitting on it had been a punishment. Dec had probably cleaned them once or twice. He hadn’t. Flynn didn’t know what a sponge was.

Just as Ruhn thought of his friend, Tristan Flynn staggered into the kitchen. To all of their relief, he’d pulled on a pair of grey boxers. His chestnut-brown hair was flat on one side from his sleep. At the sight of Nesta in their kitchen, he pointed to himself then Ruhn, trying to remember which one of them had spent the night with her.

Ruhn cleared his throat. ‘This is Nesta Archeron. And this is Flynn.’

‘Oh. The female with the magic sword. Nesta. Hello,’ he said, winking. ‘I’m Lord Tristan Flynn.’  

Her eyes went from his head to his toes then back up again, entirely unimpressed. ‘You need to bathe.’

 ***

The reek of sex and alcohol lingered even when they were far away from Ruhn Danaan’s pleasure house. The male was patient with her at the roads – no doubt in response to Hunt’s reprimand that she didn’t know how to cross. It wasn’t Nesta’s fault that those metal vehicles moved so quickly. But it was her fault that she forgot to look each time. On the whole, Ruhn Danaan seemed… fine. Not cruel. Not overwhelmingly arrogant even for a prince. He yawned his way along the walk, stopping to greet people he knew. But Nesta could not shake her prejudice because he looked so much like Rhysand. Even the low timbre of his voice was reminiscent of Rhysand’s despite the differing accent.

‘I have to meet my father,’ he explained. ‘I’ll save you from that. He’ll be panting if he finds out about the sword and he’ll want you wedded and bedded to… somebody.’ Ruhn cleared his throat again. ‘At the library, you can read books for free.’

‘I know what a library is.’

‘Alright,’ he said. Ruhn clung onto her hood at the approach to a busy crossing to stop her from walking into the road.

‘I can do the ones with the lights,’ she insisted.

‘Yeah, wait for the green male, good girl.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

His violet eyes alighted with mischief. ‘What should I call you?’

‘My name,’ she snapped.

The idea of Ruhn – Rhysand’s facial double – trying to flirt had Nesta wanting to shrivel up and die. No, it was bad enough having to listen to her sister and her mate’s toe-curling conversations. Nesta did not want fake-Rhysand to turn the charm on her.

‘You, er, you’re really not from Avallen, are you?’

‘I am from Prythian.’

‘You know of Fionn though.’

Nesta shrugged a shoulder as they continued down a quiet street dotted with trees as a warm, summer’s breeze swept through it. ‘It’s a story that I heard.’

‘I like stories.’

‘I’m not a good story teller,’ she insisted.

They stopped outside an elaborate building of white stone, made to look ancient even if it was new. A row of pillars lined the front, holding the overhanging roof up. Many stairs led to the entrance doors which were propped open. Ruhn led the way and dropped his voice as he pointed out places she could visit within the vast library. There were sections for artefacts, an archive, ancient books which were kept in glass cases, and rows and rows of books that were free for anybody to browse. From his wallet, Ruhn pulled out a faded card. The handwritten numbers were almost illegible.

‘This should still work,’ he said, taking to Nesta to one of the screens with portraits.

‘A television?’

‘Computer.’ He gave her a queer look. ‘You don’t have computers in Prythian?’

‘Obviously not.’

His tattooed fingers glided across the keyboard too fast for Nesta to make out what he’d done – so she pressed him on it.

‘I’ve used my library card to log you in. Still works after all these years. Good old public funding. You get three hours browsing then it will boot you out. You’ll have access to news journals, the internet, videos, whatever you want. Alright.’

Nesta nodded, not understanding most of what the prince had said.

‘Keep this,’ he said, pressing the small card into her hand. ‘If you want any books or whatever.’

‘When will you return?’

Ruhn shrugged. ‘I’ll send Flynn along to keep you company.’

‘Not him,’ Nesta said quickly. ‘Why can’t the other one come?’

‘Dec has a job. Flynn also has a job but he never shows up anyway.’

Once Ruhn Danaan’s steps faded from the library, Nesta was left in peace. The tranquil environment created by a library seemed a universal thing. She watched workers returning books to their rightful place and thought of her brilliant friend likely hard at work in Velaris’ library. Had news of her disappearance reached Gwyn and Emerie or would they hush it up?

Out of curiosity, Nesta searched her own name. It took an agonisingly long amount of time to find each letter but it yielded no results anyway. Then she searched Ruhn Danaan’s name and found pages upon pages of results about him. There was a birth announcement then subsequent ones about major milestones in his life. The portraits – photographs, she reminded herself – of him showed his glossy, black hair lengthening in each one with more and more tattoos added to his skin. His father, the king of the fae, reminded Nesta of Eris Vanserra. Both shared shining, wine-red hair and a long, thin nose but there tended to be amusement on Eris’ face like he knew a joke that nobody else did. Ruhn’s father appeared cruel and unwelcoming.  

Nesta couldn’t help but think of Gwyn again and how this process would streamline her research. Rather than finding obscure references in books, a simple search could be entered and the hard work had already been done. It was magnificent.

Her fingers hovered over the keys, wondering what to search next.

H-U-N-T A-T-H-A-L-A-R.

Hunt had just as many entries as Ruhn did. Perhaps he was a prince of angels.

There were news reports that featured his name as one of the malakim who’d worked on a case in the city. He’d caught many demons from Hel, but also prevented a lot of crime in Lunathion. There was the odd photograph of him – where he looked entirely unimpressed to be photographed. Nesta laughed at that. He’d endured her experiments with his cell phone in good enough humour.

THE UMBRA MORTIS PURCHASED BY ARCHANGEL MICAH DOMITUS

Nesta sat close to the screen, scanning the lines of text to ensure she understood it fully. Hunt was a slave, as he’d told her. But he’d had many owners. The latest, Micah Domitus, was his fourth owner and the governor of the city. She hated the way those words were thrown around. Slave. Master. Bought. It made him sound like cattle.

She should have stopped delving into this. It wasn’t Nesta’s business to know – but she had pulled a loose thread and could not let it go until it was unravelled.

Hunt had fought in a battle against other angels. The general he had served had been his leader and his lover. And he’d watched her die at the hands of her sister. He had been prepared to die for his beliefs, but instead a slave brand was inked to his forehead. What had he endured for two hundred years? When would he be free?

‘Hello, gorgeous.’

Nesta scrambled to close down her search history as the irritating fae male slid into the chair beside her.

‘The Umbra Mortis? I can tell you what you need to know,’ said Tristan Flynn with an easy grin.

‘Shh. This is a library.’

‘Then lets get out of here so we can talk,’ he suggested.

Nesta couldn’t help but roll her eyes at him. He reminded her of Helion. No amount of charm would work on her.

‘Ruhn said you know about Fionn. I can tell you our version of the story.’ He dropped his voice to a whisper, ‘The fae one that’s not in any book or article.’

***

For a slave, Hunt rarely had interest in his day’s work. It could be made bearable by the company in the 33rd, but today, Hunt’s heart wasn’t in it at all.

He’d fired off a couple of texts to Danaan asking about Nesta. He didn’t trust the fae not to dump her or piss her off – and he’d learnt that Nesta wasn’t shy or retiring when it came to letting her mood be known. There had been no replies so far.

‘Hunt, you’re in daydream land,’ said Isaiah, waving a hand through the air.

Hunt spread out the papers in front of him at the table. ‘Because you’ve given me the driest task imaginable.’

There’d been an influx of demonic activity in the last four years so Isaiah had him searching for patterns – the time, the location, the type – through old reports. It could not have been more boring. Hunt wasn’t made for paperwork. Hell, nobody was.

‘You’ve been keeping tabs on our friend from the sky?’

Hunt raised a brow. ‘Is that what we’re calling her?’

Isaiah shrugged. ‘Micah will be away for another week. I’ve not let the word out yet. We’ve not found anything on the sword except that it’s magic and hated Ruhn Danaan anywhere near it.’

That did make him laugh. ‘He’s on guard duty today. I wonder if she’ll feel the same way as her weapon.’

***  

‘This is what we call a liquid lunch,’ explained Flynn, as he insisted on being called.

The pair of them had tall glasses filled with crushed ice, brightly coloured juice and strong alcohol.

‘And it is acceptable here?’

‘Oh yeah,’ he said, sipping through a straw. ‘You’re on holiday from Prythian. Enjoy the delights that Lunathion has to offer.’

It was difficult not to enjoy his company. Nesta knew he was trying very hard to be liked, but also had an aura that he wouldn’t have cared if she didn’t like him either. It was different to be with the males from this land. Nesta felt safe with them. She could not imagine being left in Illyria or the Hewn City without harm befouling her. Flynn was a flirt, but his handsome smile was offered to every female with a pulse.

Money seemed no object to him either, so she had to wonder what he did or what he was a lord of. When her eyes had snagged on a dress, Tristan Flynn had wasted no time in purchasing it. A pastry pumped with cream had also been bought for her to snack on as they walked along the Istros counting the otters. He’d introduced her to one of the Mer who basked on the bank, enjoying the sun streaming upon his glistening muscles, but Nesta had been reluctant to get too close to the edge after Hunt had mentioned creatures called Sobeks. It brought up too many memories of being dragged to the bottom with the kelpie.

‘I can’t pay you for any of this,’ she replied.

Nesta took a tentative sip of her drink – and found it to taste delightful.

‘Wire me it back from Prythian,’ said Flynn, winking.

‘I have no money there either.’

‘A kept female?’

How right he was, Nesta thought. Everything in Prythian came with a condition. Look for these items or we’ll dump you in the mortal lands. Train or we won’t let you out. Her food, her lodging, her clothing, her everything was benevolently provided by Rhysand as long as she toed the line and did as she was told.

A female pulled up a chair at their table. Flynn’s demeanour changed at once.

‘What are you doing to this poor female, Tristan? She looks positively morose in your company.’

‘Haven’t you got a rich male to sink your claws into in The Five Roses?’

The female was as petite as she was, with light green eyes that were at odds with her dark hair. ‘I was actually on my way to have my hair done then I saw you tormenting a female and thought I might offer her a lifeline out of your abysmal company.’

Nesta had been about to offer that Flynn was not that bad – a shameless flirt perhaps who thought money could buy her affections – when he announced that their guest was his sister, Sathia.

‘I’ve not seen you before,’ she said, in a tone that suggested Sathia knew all of the fae worth knowing.

‘Nesta is visiting from Avallen.’

‘Father will be overjoyed to hear that you’re courting her.’

A blush stole across Flynn’s cheeks. ‘I’m not. Ruhn is.’

‘He most certainly is not,’ Nesta shot back.

Sathia took hold of Nesta’s hand to examine it. ‘Your nails are ghastly. Have you ever had a manicure?’

Nesta did not know the word. She glanced to Flynn who was staring daggers at his sister. ‘No.’

‘Then we must remedy it at once. Tristan, go and find another female to pant over. We’re busy.’

‘Can’t. Ruhn’s tasked me with looking after her.’

Sathia smiled sweetly to her brother. ‘Then I suppose you can come for a manicure too.’

***

A visit with Einear Danaan always left Ruhn bitter and broken inside. No matter what he did, he was always reduced to a boy who could never match his father’s demands. Ruhn could shake it off, pretend he didn’t care, but he always left his father’s villa with another splintering crack running through him.

He hadn’t planned to spend so long there, but his father had kept him, demanding information about the wolves and vamps. They’d gone over reports then his father had insisted on showing him his working model of the universe. That had kept Ruhn longer as he tried to wheedle out information about Fionn and the northern rift from his father without exposing Nesta.

It was dark when Ruhn finally left the Five Roses. There’d been a couple of messages from Athalar. One asking how Nesta was and another saying he would be later than planned but to stay with her until he arrived.

Ruhn groaned. If she hadn’t killed Flynn in all the time that they’d been together, it would be a miracle.

‘Dec, where’s Flynn?’ Ruhn asked into his cell. ‘He’s not picking up.’

Music thumped in the background of wherever Dec was. Through the cacophony, Ruhn made out, ‘We’re all in the White Raven.’

Hunt Athalar was going to kill him.

***

Sathia Flynn was going to kill her.

They had managed to lose her brother in a nail salon when his patience frayed. He’d given Nesta a card and said it was for emergencies only. It was not like the library card that Ruhn had given her. This one allowed Sathia to purchase anything.

Both her fingernail and toenails had been trimmed and buffed then painted. They’d gone to another shop where Nesta’s hair had been cut an inch or two shorter, but Sathia had her hair painted too and complained keeping it dark was so much upkeep – whatever that meant. They had gone shopping for heeled shoes and clothes that Sathia used her brother’s card to pay for. Then they’d gone to another place where Nesta had experienced pain like no other. Hot wax had been put on her body to rip out her hair.

‘Is it supposed to be this painful?’

They were in the bathroom of a club. She imagined Rita’s to look similar, but music played so loudly that it made the walls vibrate. They had drunk lots of cocktails. Her favourite – and the most difficult to ask for – was sex on the beach. Sathia and her friends had dusted glitter on to her face – and their own. One, Alice, was applying more make up in the mirror. Nesta barely recognised herself with her hair unbound and cosmetics on her skin too.

‘You can go commando,’ offered Sathia.

Nesta narrowed her eyes. She knew what that meant thanks to Hunt. ‘Do males do the same? The waxing down there?’

One of Sathia’s friends, Prunella, swigged at a bottle of wine where she sat on the sink. ‘You’re lucky if they trim.’

‘That’s why you get a vibrator,’ chimed in Alice.

‘What’s a vibrator?’

Sathia squealed. ‘I just love her.’ She ran her hand against Nesta’s hair. ‘Right. Shots and dancing. Let’s go.’

***

Hunt felt his age when he left the Comitium. A day spent at a desk had left his neck and back aching from holding up his wings. When he landed at Ruhn Danaan’s home, none of the lights were on. He bit back his irritation and dialled his number.

‘Where are you?’

Hunt had no doubt that Nesta would be able to hold her own. The issue was she was naïve in their world and he knew what fae pricks were like.

‘We’re out,’ said Ruhn.

‘Where?’

There was a slight intake of breath. ‘The White Raven.’

Fae assholes.

It was a short flight to the Old Square. The owner of the club was a butterfly shifter who was still on the door greeting patrons. At the sight of Hunt landing, with lightning crackling in the air, his jovial expression changed to one of concern.

‘Not trouble here, I hope?’

‘Off the clock,’ he replied tightly. ‘Come to visit a friend.’

‘There won’t be trouble?’

Hunt threw him a bland smile. ‘Let’s hope not.’

He spotted the three fae pricks drinking amongst other females at a booth near the door with Nesta not amongst them. Hunt worked his jaw as he marched over. One day, Ruhn Danaan would learn to grow up.

‘Where is she?’

‘In my defence,’ slurred Tristan Flynn, ‘it was my sister who brought her here. We’re just on guard duty, doing as we're told, Umbra Mortis.’

Declan Emmett, the most amenable of the three, pointed towards the throbbing dance floor. ‘She’s just enjoying the music.’

The others began peeling away from her at the sight of the Umbra Mortis striding through the crowd, a scowl on his face. Loose and free, Nesta was dancing amongst a group of fae females with her gorgeous hair tumbling behind her, without a care.

Gone was the female in leathers with a sword strapped to her spine. Gone was the female who found jeans uncomfortable. She was lost in the music, utterly free. One of the fae had shelled out on a new wardrobe for her, by the looks of the sparkly, black dress that skimmed her thighs and clung to her narrow waist. A shimmer of pink glitter dusted her cheeks.

When Nesta finally noticed the ebb of the crowd as he approached, she finally snapped her attention towards him.

‘Orion!’

Before Hunt could react, Nesta had moved at preternatural speed – faster than fae in Midgard could move – to throw her arms around his neck and lean all of her weight on him. Hunt lifted her off the floor to steady both of them and Nesta pressed deeper into his body.

Nobody had called him Orion for a long time – and never with such warmth.

She kissed his cheek. ‘Have you come to dance?’

‘No,’ he replied over the thump of the music. ‘To see you safely home. I was worried. Do you want to go with me?’

'I will go wherever you lead me, Orion.'

There was little resistance from Nesta who seemed happy to be led through the crowd towards the exit. From the giddy expression, she’d had a lot of drinks under Ruhn Danaan’s care. Hunt pulled off his jacket to protect her from the chill of the night on the way out.

‘Did you have fun with Ruhn?’

Nesta gave him a funny sort of smile with bleary eyes. ‘The Prince of Pricks.’

‘Shh,’ he reminded her as they passed a group of fae also staggering along the path. ‘You’ll get me into trouble.’

Hunt held out a hand for Nesta to take to steady her clumsy steps. Instead, she fell against him, knocking the air from his ribs as her arms came around his body.

‘Thank the Mother that he isn’t like Rhys even if they have the same face,’ she said.

On the walk home, Hunt hoped the fresh air might sober her up but it only emphasised just how drunk she was. Twice, he’d had to grab her before she planted her face into the concrete then she insisted she wanted to walk along a wall so Hunt had held her hand tightly while Nesta stepped across the crumbling brick in perilously high heels like a wobbling toddler. At the end, she leapt into his arms – before he was ready, so the pair had nearly gone down together.

‘I missed you today,’ she said with colour high in her cheeks.

It was just drunken talk, but Hunt would play that on a loop in his mind until he was dust.

It was too far to her hotel. If they walked, they might be there by sunrise with the pace Nesta was setting and Hunt didn’t want to risk her throwing up on him if they flew. The Comitium loomed on the horizon, still a hub of activity despite the late hour. He’d take her to the barracks. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody had been snuck in, although never by him.

‘Are you going to lock me up, Hunt Athalar?’

He grinned at that. ‘Have you committed an offence?’

Nesta gave him another inebriated smile as she clambered up another low wall to walk along. ‘I used to be a very bad girl. So they locked me in the House of Wind and destroyed my home and made me train until I was very good girl,’ she slurred.

Hunt lifted her off the wall before she fell and broke her neck.

‘Who locked you up?’

‘My family. My sisters. Cassian. Rhysand. All of them.’ She threw out her hands like it should have been obvious. ‘They all sat and told me how useless I am. You have become a pathetic waste of life.’ Nesta gave a low laugh then jabbed him in the chest. ‘Not eating won’t bring your father back, Hunt. And – my personal favourite – we did this because we love you. We ruined your life, ruined your future, but it’s because we love you.’

‘Stop,’ Hunt commanded, holding her still. ‘What are you talking about?’

Then it all came out, as if Nesta couldn’t stop herself. How she’d witnessed her father’s neck snap and retreated into herself because she couldn’t cope with the grief. How she drank every single night and took men to her bed to hate herself more. That her family had staged an intervention and forced her to become a warrior even if she had never wanted it. That her sister’s child would kill her but when Nesta revealed the truth, the male she was entwined with forced her to march until she collapsed. If Hunt ever met him, he’d kill him.

Nesta crawled onto the path then flopped onto her back. ‘The whole world is spinning.’

Despite Hunt’s attempts at trying to lift her up, she’d become a deadweight and patted the ground so he’d be beside her.

‘Nesta, we can’t lay in the middle of the path.’

‘Please,’ she begged, voice full of pleading so desperate that it twisted his heart.

What the hell was he doing? Hunt eventually lay next to Nesta on the concrete. The bright lights of the streetlamps blocked out most of the stars so he had the mad urge to fly her all the way to Mount Hermon for a better view. The night before that final battle, he and Shahar had fucked like animals – but Hunt had gone out to look at the stars one last time before the dawn took them. The stars had been stunning. And he had naively took it as a good omen because they’d made him hope of a better future.

‘I ruin everything, Hunt.’

He laced his fingers into hers. ‘That makes two of us then.’

Nesta closed her eyes, her other hand pressing against her forehead.

‘What did you drink today?’

‘Cocktails. Shots. Liquid lunch.’

Oh, she would need a medwitch in the morning to stop the hangover from hell.

‘They didn’t give you any mirthroot? No lightseeker?’

‘I don’t know what they are.’

When Nesta was ready, she pushed off from the ground and scrambled upright again. In the morning, he’d call Ruhn Danaan to give him an earful about getting a female who was lost in their world blind drunk.

From the bare shoulders that her dress exposed, Hunt could see the tattoo on Nesta’s back again.  

‘The male who made a deal with you and made you hike - is he your mate?’

Nesta threw up her hands then flopped onto a wooden bench on the sidewalk. ‘He trapped me in a house and laughed at me when I fell down the stairs. He fucking better not be.’

Hunt crouched down in front of her, touching a length of her hair. ‘Let’s get you to sleep. We will talk about it all tomorrow and see if I can help.’

Although, he doubted he’d get this much truth from her in a sober state.

Her mood was swinging to a different emotion every minute so Hunt wasn’t sure which Nesta he’d see next.

‘I don’t think you’d make me carry a heavy bag and make me walk until I collapsed.’

‘Never.’

Her hand touched his face, stroking it gently. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I did something stupid.’  

Hunt caught her hand and kept it cradled to his face.

‘I went to the library and I searched your name. I know why you’re slave. I know what happened.’

It meant Nesta knew about Shahar. Sandriel. The war. The slaughter. Who he was. What he did.

She freed her fingers to touch the witch-ink on his brow.

‘Orion,’ murmured Nesta.

There would come the inevitable revulsion. Some still believed in their cause even if they’d never act on it, but most found it laughable. Each person had a place in life, a standing which would never change. If you were at the bottom, then it was tough luck. Those at the top would always be there. Hunt had been a fool to hope he could change the world. And he’d lost everything as a result.

Tears spilt down her cheeks. ‘I wish there was a Hunt Athalar in my world fighting for people like me.’

‘Nobody wants that,’ he replied, standing and deflecting from the tenderness in Nesta’s voice. ‘Let’s get you to bed.’

The bubble of emotion that Nesta had shown to him was replaced for a strange sort of anger where everything irritated her on the final portion of the walk. When she walked into the hedge, despite his best efforts in tugging her out of its path, Nesta kicked it – then told it off for hurting her leg. At the Comitium, Hunt took her in the elevator but forgot how curious it would make her. When he showed her how to press a button for their floor, she pressed every single one then complained that it was a ridiculous invention for stopping at every floor.

There were some battles that Hunt knew not to engage in.

He steered Nesta into one of the kitchens. It was a small, rudimentary thing for snacks with most meals provided in a mess hall. The toaster worked, so two slices of toast were shovelled into her mouth to try and sober her a little before sleep. Her lips glistened from the butter and she ate with her eyes closed.

‘Shall we watch Bangs and Fangs?’ Nesta asked as she tried to throw an arm around his neck, but managed to collide with the wall instead.

‘Fangs and Bangs. You need to sleep. We can catch a Sunball game tomorrow, if you like. I’m not working.’

‘I don’t know what that is.’

‘You’re in for a treat then.’ He unlocked the door and pushed it open. ‘In you go.’

Hunt made a noise at the back of his throat. Nesta had barely even stepped into the room before she whipped her dress off over her head, tossed it on the bed, then staggered towards the bathroom. Half-way there, she bent over – glorious ass on full display in a lacy green thong – to take off one shoe which she threw across the room then stumbled the final distance.

This was going to be a long night.

[lapiseditscorner]

it's been 3 months and i come back to this blog bearing a pierce the veil wallpaper cause god my phone needs a retheme

115 days until i see them live :3

[thisgirllovesbands]

hiiii ummm idk how to start this but here’s some stuff to know about me

My fav bands/artists:

blink-182

Pierce The Veil

Taylor Swift

Palaye Royale

Fall Out Boy

Panic! At The Disco

Green Day

All Time Low

Simple Creatures

Red Hot Chili Peppers

311

*Nsync

Backstreet Boys

My Chemical Romance

Twenty One Pilots

Britney Spears

Some of my fav things:

anything about the 2000’s

ummm dnp (Dan and Phil)

Making phone wallpapers

F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Most 90’s sitcoms

Most 80s movies

The outsiders

I love Tumblr and Pinterest

Sam and Colby

I still love scooby doo and monster high

WWE

I love lots of other things too, but I just can’t think of everything

*I have ADHD*

*im also a minor so don’t be weird*

*my pronouns r she/her*

[discordapples]

PT. 19 Severance

Word count: 1.5k (7 mins read)

Characters: Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow.

Summary

Ominis searches the Room of Requirement for clues about the Collector and finds a strange book. When Sebastian confesses to his friend that he kissed Livia, the two Slytherin boys have an altercation that threatens their friendship's solidity.

Read the next chapter below.

Song list: We Are, by Hollywood Undead.

Ominis | Hogwarts, Early October, 1893.

The Room of Requirement has many seams, all of which Ominis spoors with the tip of his wand first, then with the pad of his fingers.

Aside from the standing mirror—that he is careful not to touch, for he knows this is how the entity gathers precious information on his marks—the room harbors a timeworn mahogany wainscoting, curls of flaking wallpaper and a kingdom of cobwebs lorded over by broods of scuttling spiders.

Cleaving through the stringy meshwork with his wand, Ominis searches and prods and pricks for a loose stitch in the Collector's cunning tapestry.

Soon, Sebastian and Livia will return from their trip to Hogsmeade and Ominis isn't eager to confess his solitary visits to the Room of Requirement.

Three he has made so far. Not only to poke holes in the veil of ignorance, but also to find a way to prevent entry to the Collector's twisted realm altogether.

If the entity can spin a nightmare on the loom of bliss, what can it weave with more sinister emotions?

For an hour, the Slytherin follows knots in the wood to inevitable dead ends; presses against the weathered paneling in search of a hidden contraption that could shift the walls; gropes his way along barbed edges and errant splinters, sighing in annoyance at his lack of success.

And when he is ready to surrender and plod back to the dungeons, his wand pierces through a crumbling plank and hits something with a thud.

Ripping chunks of decaying wood from the wall by the handful, Ominis digs until his fingers land on the spine of a book. His heart caroming in his chest, he pulls it from its improvised shelf, then sits on the floor, peeling it open onto his lap, his wand roving about the page.

Nothing.

His wand pulses feebly against the virgin surface, revealing no etches in the pulp, no pen grooves.

The book is misplaced. Has it been planted there by the Collector to toy with them?

Dragging a thumb along the leather, Ominis quests his mind in search of an explanation, but his conclusions are scant.

Livia described the drove of fingerprints staining the mirror's surface, and it is obvious other students brushed with the Collector the same way they did, which tells Ominis the sundry might belong to one of them.

But it also begs the question: who else at Hogwarts—or beyond—knows about this entity?

Ominis uproots himself from the dusted floor, then ambles out of the room, making for the dungeons with the strange book in tow.

He will stuff it under his pillow and, when the time is right, will interrogate the Mimic at length about it.

But for now, he walks back to the dungeons, his thoughts astir, scrolling by clumps of students and meandering ghosts and flocks of birds as they settle in the eaves for the night.

Outside, the storm is hollering, lapping at the sashed windows, and when Ominis makes it back to the shelter of his dorm, he settles before his desk, then scrounges through his drawer for a curl of virgin paper he endeavors to smooth before filling with letters.

Dear Mr. Dovetail,

My name is Ominis Gaunt. I am an eighth-year student at Hogwarts.

My friends and I gained access to the Room of Requirement through the method you described in your book. Within, we have encountered a sinister entity that branded itself as the Collector.

The presence asked to feed on our emotions in exchange for granting us an object we covet. Once, it has fed on our bliss, leaving us relatively unscathed, but despite the outcome of this first trial, I doubt the entity's motives are benevolent. My friends consider partaking in the leechings, but I know dabbling with this Collector is perilous.

I do not know what I expect from you, Mr. Dovetail, but if you have any information on this Collector, I would be indebted to you if you could share them with me.

With my sincerest regards,

Ominis Gaunt.

* * *

The storm has long thinned into a mizzle when Sebastian makes it back to their dorm. He brings with him the smell of sodden wool, the funk of soot, and a scud of bitterness that fogs over the room.

"How was your jaunt?" Ominis asks him, aware of Sebastian's festering mood.

A cloak puddles onto the floor; a sigh strangle out of a cinched throat. "You invited Livia to the ball."

Not a question. A statement. The kind meant to bludgeon.

"She said yes," is all Ominis offers as an explanation. "If she was yours, she wouldn't have accepted."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means she can make her own decisions," Ominis points out, his mood putrefying likewise. "She doesn't belong to me—or to you, for that matter—if she asks me to release her from her promise, I will, but if she won't, I'll go to the ball with her."

"I knew something happened during the leeching," Sebastian says, releasing, at last, the chimeras he gave shape to in his mind from their bony prison. "She was part of your bliss, wasn't she? Why?"

How Ominis aches to tell Sebastian what it was like to hold her in his arms, or share a slice of peace with her under the celestial canopy of the forsaken garden, or feel the silk of her skin against his palm, but instead he shakes his head, a gossamer line running across his forehead. "Why was she part of yours, Sebastian?"

"Don't deflect the question back to me. You always wiggle out of confrontation because you can't stand the fucking heat."

"What is this truly about, then?" Ominis snarls, the delivery resolutely sharp. "Let me paint the picture for you, Sebastian." He tilts his head, contempt bleeding through his features. "You're scared I have a chance with her, so you show some teeth the minute you feel her slipping away from your grasp. Am I getting hot?" He doesn't wait for an answer before notching another arrow and letting it loose. "You saw us at the lake when she peeled the shirt off my back. You heard her joke around with me in the Undercroft. You're angry I got closer to her than you ever did and now you pathetically ask me to back down. Well I won't."

Sebastian gives an arrogant scoff. "You're wrong on that account, Ominis. I kissed her today, and she reciprocated in full."

The blow lands.

It isn't the hurt that knifes right through Ominis' heart, it's watching the handful of elated memories rot and fall away from his clutch.

Was their time at the lake a lie?

Livia's touch on his skin felt real enough.

Was their moment in the derelict garden a ploy?

Her smile did blossom under this touch.

Was her answer to his request just another falsehood?

Her consent was eager enough.

His jaw tightening, Ominis shakes his head. "You're petty, Sebastian. Imelda was right about that."

"Then join the fucking club," Sebastian bites out, before setting to rummaging through his sundries.

There is the sound of mistreated leather as Sebastian yawns his trunk open, then the hiss of clothes being wrested from a dresser. Books are piled. Drawers are plundered. Hangers are stripped.

He is packing.

"Where are you going?" Ominis asks.

"Why does it fucking matter?" Sebastian shoots back.

Ominis knows he should be pleading with his friend.

But he is spent; smoked to cinders.

For once, he doesn't want to bend to the Slytherin's juvenile impulses.

For once, he'll let him go.

Sebastian lugs his trunk to the door, then yanks it open.

Before he can exit, Ominis angles his face to him, his anger still smoldering behind his cheeks. "I won't be participating in the Collector's other leechings."

He has toyed with the notion for many nights now, laying awake in his bed, tearing scenarios asunder.

If he is ensnarled in the Collector's schemes, he won't be able to pull his friends from its skein.

No.

He will hunt for answers in Hogwarts' murkiest corners.

Sebastian stops under the threshold. The words he serves Ominis are sharp with disdain. "Not even to protect your new flame?"

"I can protect her through other means," Ominis retorts. "Sometimes it's not about indulging someone, Sebastian. Sometimes it's about making the right decision for them."

"How chivalrous of you," Sebastian derides. "But I think you misunderstand her, Ominis."

"Enlighten me."

"She isn't the fragile little thing you think her to be."

Ominis wants to tell him Livia isn't the one he thinks fragile, but something keeps him from adding another score of blemishes on their bruised friendship.

Yet, the next words that leave him—even though intended to make Sebastian snap out of his delusion—only draw more strychnine from the injured Slytherin. "You're on your own, Sebastian."

"I've been from the start, Ominis," Sebastian spits back. "Your friendship was always conditional."

"And yours dependent on assent."

The trunk hisses out of the room and the knob squeaks softly in its socket. Sebastian lingers for another moment, then parts with two words that feel like a severance. "Goodbye, Ominis."

A period, not a comma.

A cut, not a bruise.

"Goodbye, Sebastian."

A candle snuffed out in their darkest hour.

Author's notes

I'm going out of town for 3 days on a little escapade with my mom, which means I'll be either drunk in a ditch or capering along, so I will most likely not have time to write. I'm coming back on Thursday, however, and I intend on making it up to you by posting our next leeching. 👀

If you haven't joined already, we have a charming little discord server that is growing like weeds. Don't hesitate to join on the fun. By the way, we have a roleplaying section that allows you to roleplay with Sebastian and Ominis in a scenario strangely reminiscent of this little fanfiction, so if you're interested it's happening over here: https://discord.gg/FCt7dp77

[dissonance-is-key]

Hills Like White Elephants ~ Isles & Glaciers