#I know it's dark - but that's where the freedom is

[thewulf]

Bound by Shadows || Azriel

Summary: Request - I'm hoping you could write a fanfic where reader, Feyre's twin, who actually killed the wolf but let Feyre take the credit... and before she realizes what she's done Feyre is gone. She struggles with guilt and isolation in Velaris after the sisters transformation by the Cauldron.... Read Rest Here

A/N: OKAY I LOVE THIS. It got away from me a bit. I didn't realize how fun this world would be to dive into. Let me know your thoughts as always :)

Pairing: Azriel Shadowsinger x Female Reader (Feyre Archeron Twin Sister)

Word Count: 8.2k +

TW: General ACOTAR TW

Under the starlit skies of Velaris the City of Starlight pulses with a life of its own. Its vibrant lights reflecting off the river with laughter and music filling the air, breathing life into every cobblestone and corner. But for you the city’s brilliance only deepens the shadows that cling to your soul. Shadows that no light seems capable of dispelling.

You walked alone. Your steps aimless being driven by the restless guilt that gnaws incessantly at your conscience. Every whisper of the wind seems to accuse you, every glance from a passerby seems to pierce through the facade you barely maintain. The weight of the secret you harbor presses down on you with every step… the wolf, the woods, the dreadful slice of the arrow that was meant to protect Feyre not harm her. But Feyre stepped forward and shouldered the blame. She was taken from you in an instant and forced to face the horrors of the faerie lands. It was all to shield you her twin she thought of being too gentle, too fragile for the brutal truths of that world.

The transformation wrought by the Cauldron has only magnified everything. Every emotion, every fear, every shard of guilt. It was supposed to be a rebirth but for you it feels more like a slow descent into a nightmare from which you cannot awaken. The power that now courses through your veins feels like chains. A constant reminder of the price paid to the mother. Of the freedom you don’t believe you deserve.

As you wander through the bustling streets the sounds of celebration around you clash violently with the turmoil within. Families and lovers share warm, joyous moments. Their laughter echoing in the crisp night air while you drift among them. You were simply a specter unseen, untouched by the light of their joy. Your heart aches with a loneliness so profound it threatens to consume you whole. To reduce your existence to a mere shadow of regret and sorrow.

You find yourself on one of the many ornate bridges spanning the Sidra. A place you often found some sort of solace in. You leaned over the balustrade to gaze into the dark waters below. The reflection of the city’s lights dances across the surface, a stark contrast to the darkness that seems to stretch endlessly beneath. It is here in the quiet far enough away from the eyes of those who know you, those who worry over you, that your facade finally cracks.

Tears that were unbidden and unwelcome, spill over, tracing cold paths down your cheeks. You are tired. So incredibly tired of pretending. Of hiding the depth of your pain. You wish to scream so loud. To let out the anguish that fills you, but your voice is as lost as your soul feels in the face of your endless guilt. Instead, you just stare down at the dark waters with silent sobs wracking your body. It was better this way. You couldn’t let Feyre see you like this. She was finally so happy. So happy with her mate. Her Rhysand. You couldn’t threaten that happiness. You owed her so much more than that. You quite literally owed her your life. So, you would suck it up in solace. Cry it out on your own.

In the solitude of the night, you allowed yourself to feel your overwhelming emotions. To acknowledge the pain and the darkness. Little did you know you are not as alone as you believe. From the shadows an Illyrian figure watches you. His own heart heavy with unspoken secrets. Azriel was the spymaster of night court for a reason. He picked up on you disappearing for hours at a time when the others didn’t. He picked up on the fake smiles you threw everyone’s way. He seemed to pick up on it while the others didn’t… other than Feyre who seemed to watch you just as much as he did. He decided he would watch over you. For Feyre, his brothers mate. And for you. The woman who couldn’t seem to get used to being Fae as easily as your sisters did. The human turned Fae that consumed more of his thoughts than he cared to admit.

But for now, he waited behind his shadows. A silent guardian in the night recognizing that some battles must be faced alone before they can be shared.

You returned from the bustling markets of Velaris with arms laden with the myriad items Feyre requested. As you approach the townhouse the warm light from within spills out onto the cobblestones. It was a stark contrast to the dusk settling over the city. You pause at the door steeling yourself with a deep breath before stepping inside. Your smile as you hand the bags to Feyre doesn't quite reach your eyes. But she's too caught up in the moment to notice.

"Thank you so much," she says with a relief evident as she starts to unpack the food you’d volunteered to pick up for her. She pauses before she got too carried away giving you that look, the one you've come to know so well. The one that silently implores you to stay. To be a part of her world. "Will you stay for dinner? Everyone's coming over. Even Amren agreed to come. It would mean so much to me."

Her eyes are pleading and you know you can't refuse. Not when she's given up so much for you. With a nod you agree even as your stomach tightens at the thought of facing everyone. It was easy to fake your inner turmoil when it was only her or Rhys. But when it was the entirety of the Inner Circle it was harder to hide away. Inevitably someone would get you hooked in on a conversation. You haven't sat down with them since… well, since before the Cauldron. Since before everything changed. And that was almost an entire year ago now. You knew this request would come sooner or later. Though you were hoping for later you were going to suck it up for Feyre.

As the evening wears on the townhouse fills with laughter and conversation with everyone gathering in the familiar camaraderie that once felt like home to you. But now you feel like an outsider watching from the shadows even as you sit among them. At the dinner table you're terribly quiet. You were merely pushing food around your plate listening to the ebb and flow of conversations you can't force yourself to seem to join.

Feyre decided to sit beside you in hopes of calming your nerves. She notices. She notices the way your eyes were downturned. The way you occasionally nodded your head or smiled briefly pretending to be listening. The way you didn’t pick your fork up once. Her joy fades a little each time she glances your way. You didn’t notice the way her expression turned from mirth to concern. She squeezed your hand under the table in a silent message of solidarity and love. But even her touch can't pull you from the fog that's settled over you. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was your punishment? To live in a hazed state for thousands of years? Oh, how you wished to be a tiny little human again with the promise of dead after a hundred years or so.

Rhysand sat at the head of the table catches Feyre’s subtle, worried glances towards her twin. She meets his eyes with a silent conversation passing between them. She didn’t know what to do anymore. She needed help. He nods slightly. His expression was solemn, understanding the depth of her worry. His gaze then shifts to you filled with a quiet resolve. He knew you were struggling but didn’t pick up on just how much you were. You’d done a masterful job until tonight hiding it away.

Rhysand had felt the ripple of concern from Feyre long before she voiced it. Her distress over your withdrawal echoing within him. She watched you with a sister's keen eye and her silent worry bled into their shared bond. A testament to her deep care for you.

Azriel, Feyre is troubled by Y/N's state. As am I. Rhysand's thought reached out to his brother that was sitting next to you. There was a thread of urgency woven through the mental call. She's pulling away and Feyre feels it deeply. Keep an eye on her please? Help her if you can.

Azriel's presence in Rhysand's mind was immediate and calm. He was steady force amid the silent storm of concern. I'm already on it, Rhys. I’ve sensed it too, he assured. His mental voice as composed as the shadows he commanded. You don't need to worry. I’ve been watching over her not out of obligation, but because... because she matters to me. I’ll make sure she’s safe and supported.

Azriel’s vigilance came not from an order but from a place of quiet solidarity. His attunement to the nuances of emotion and the unspoken had already drawn him to your side. Rhysand’s request merely echoed the actions he’d already undertaken. His actions were born from a blend of duty and a deep, personal concern that Azriel rarely let show. In the face of Feyre's distress and now Rhysand’s request, he became a silent sentinel for you. He needed to ensure that you were not only protected but also truly seen and understood.

Dinner continues around you as you withdrew into yourself. The laughter a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. You're barely aware of Azriel's presence on your other side until you feel him beside you. His chair slightly closer than usual. His voice is soft, almost lost in the surrounding noise, as he leans in. "You don't have to be anything you're not, not here," he murmurs only for you to hear. "It’s okay to just be. To just breathe." His words meant to comfort felt like a lifeline in the sea of your tumultuous thoughts. You didn’t look at him for you were worried tears might spill over. But you nodded in acknowledgement letting him know that you heard him.

The evening slowly winds down and as the others linger over drinks and stories Azriel stays by your side. His presence a steady promise of understanding and patience. He doesn't push you to talk nor does he expect smiles. Instead, he offers the silent support you didn't know you needed, becoming a guardian not just of your safety, but of your peace.

Feyre watches this exchange with a glimmer of hope lighting up her worried features. Perhaps with Azriel's help you might find your way back to them. To yourself. Tonight, though, is just a small step in your journey back to yourself.

As everyone departs for the night you linger in the living room feigning interest in tidying up the small mess left behind. Feyre watches you for a moment with that same concern etching her features. But she decided against speaking, sensing your need for space.

Once the house is quiet you decide to step out for a walk under the night sky of Velaris. It had become your favorite routine. A routine that kept you grounded. A quick walk to your favorite spot on the Sidra. The city's soft lights reflect gently on the river casting dancing patterns on the water. It's beautiful yet the sight does little to ease the tightness in your chest.

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't notice Azriel's approach until he's almost beside you. His presence is calming and somehow it doesn't startle you. Perhaps because in your heart you know he understands the need for quiet. His own demeanor is often just as reserved.

"Good evening," he says. His voice a low rumble. "Care for some company or would you prefer solitude tonight?"

You consider his offer for a moment. Company might not be so bad even though this was usually just a place for you. But it was Azriel. Someone who respects the silence as much as you do. "Company sounds nice, thank you," you reply with your voice softer than you intended.

Azriel nods falling into step beside you. As you walk his shadows play at your feet. It was a subtle yet comforting gesture. At one point one of his shadows curls around your hand. This small, almost imperceptible touch from his shadows offers a silent, comforting presence that envelops you in a sense of security. Neither of you speaks as you walk along the riverbank. The only sounds was the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the distant hum of the city. The silence between you is more than comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding that words can sometimes be too cumbersome.

After a while though Azriel speaks up. He wasn’t looking at you but staring out at the water. "It's easy to feel lost in this city… even with its lights and crowds. Sometimes it feels like being surrounded by shadows even in the brightest part of the day."

You glance at him, surprised by the reflection of your own feelings in his words. "Yes, it does," you agree. You were feeling a weight lift slightly knowing that someone else understands.

He nods slightly at your words, "The shadows aren't all there is though. There are places, moments like these, that can offer some respite. And not all shadows are bad." He smiles looking down at the ones that clung to your feet.

His words make you look at him anew. You weren’t just seeing the spymaster or the warrior but someone who also seeks to find balance between the light and the dark. It makes you wonder if perhaps in this shared moment you might find a way to navigate your own shadows. They might not all be bad you had to agree with him.

You don't say much more as you walk back to the townhouse, but the silent agreement hangs between you, comforting and promising. Maybe, just maybe, you're not as alone as you thought.

The dawn is still a whisper of light across Velaris as you sit quietly by the Sidra. The gentle murmur of the river a soothing background to your thoughts that never seemed to shut the hell up. Lost in the reflections of the dancing water you hardly notice Azriel’s approach until he’s beside you. His presence as quiet as the morning. It was becoming a routine for him to join you on the river it seemed. Not that you minded. He might be the one person you’d happily accept to intrude on your solitude.

“You’re up early,” he remarks softly not wanting to startle you. His tone as gentle as the river’s flow.

You look up with a soft smile on your face. His familiar, reassuring presence is a comfort. “Just needed some air,” you reply with a yawn. Your voice carrying the weight of another sleepless night.

Azriel nods, understanding. He looks out over the water for a moment sharing the silence with you. Then, turning back to you, he suggests, “Come with me. I think I have something that might help clear your head. Help you to focus a bit.”

You’re hesitant. The idea of doing anything but sitting quietly feels daunting. But there’s something about his offer. The promise of relief, however temporary, that nudges you to your feet.

“It’s just training,” he adds. seeing your uncertainty. “Physical activity can be a good way to let out some of the emotions that are harder to express in words. We’ll take it slow. You set the pace.”

Trusting Azriel’s judgment, knowing he wouldn’t push you into something without reason, you stand and follow him towards the training grounds. The city is quietly waking around you and the walk is silent but comfortable. His presence a steady reassurance by your side. Something you were slowly growing to cherish.

As you reach the secluded training area the first rays of sunlight begin to warm the cool morning air. Azriel gives you a small, encouraging smile. “Let’s start simple. No pressure. Just you learning to trust your strength again.”

The training starts at an easy pace. Azriel guiding you through basic maneuvers. His patience was evident. But as your body begins to warm up with the activity and your focus sharpens on the movements. There was that sense of release you never knew could come. It was unfamiliar yet welcome that starts to take hold on you.

As the morning sun climbs higher the training session progresses under Azriel's watchful eye. You find yourself gradually syncing with the rhythm of the physical exertion. Each movement flushing out the restless energy that has been building up inside you. Azriel's guidance is firm yet encouraging and you start to feel a rare sense of accomplishment as you slowly master each new maneuver he throws at you.

But as the session intensifies Azriel begins to push you harder, increasing the pace and complexity of the drills. His softness changed into some else. You knew he was only pushing you to help but it was starting to become a little too much. You’d only been Fae for a year to his centuries. "Come on, Y/N, focus. You can handle this," he urges. Throwing a series of rapid, controlled strikes that you're meant to block and counter.

For a moment you rise to the challenge your movements sharp and sure. Yet the physical strain is relentless. All too soon it starts to mirror the inner struggled you've been trying to manage. The boundaries between physical exertion and emotional pain blur… each block and dodge feeling more like a fight against your inner demons rather than a simple training exercise.

Suddenly, one of Azriel's strikes comes a little too close, a little too fast. It isn't meant to hit you and it doesn't but the rush of air as it passes by your face triggers something within you. Panic seizes your chest and the walls you've been holding up begin to crumble. Your movements falter. Your hands drop to your sides rapidly as your breath catches in your throat.

You step back abruptly with short, ragged breaths. Azriel stops immediately, concern replacing the intensity in his eyes. "Hey, are you okay?" he asks all too softly this time. He watched with concern as you struggled to compose yourself.

You nod rapidly trying to blink back the tears that want to rush out. “I’m fine. Just tired.” You murmur. It didn’t even sound believable to you. You turned you back to him so he wouldn’t see the distraught look on your face.

He steps forward with a sadness etched deeply on his features. "It's more than just tiredness, isn't it?" he asks gently as he reached out but stopped short, giving you space yet showing his readiness to support.

You shake your head again trying to compose yourself. Willing yourself to rebuild the barriers crumbling around you. "I'm fine, really, just got a little carried away," you offer weakly with your back still turned, fearing that facing him might reveal too much.

But Azriel doesn’t retreat. Instead, his shadows do what he physically refrains from—they reach out for you. You feel a cool, soothing sensation as one shadow gently curls around your arm, not binding but comforting. It was like a silent message of empathy and support. The unexpected kindness, the soft touch of darkness that doesn’t demand or judge, only seeks to comfort. But it undoes you completely.

Your defenses shatter at the tender contact. Tears finally spilling over as you turn back to face him. The floodgates opened by the gentle brush of his shadow. "I'm not fine," you admit, your voice choked with emotion. "It's all just... it's too much sometimes. I feel like I'm drowning in what I had to do. In what Feyre had to endure because of me. All because of me."

Azriel listens with his gaze never wavering. His eyes were filled with compassion and a profound understanding. His shadow retracts slightly giving you a moment, respecting your space while keeping the silent promise of his presence.

He nods his head willing you to continue. "Let it out, Y/N. You don't have to carry this alone," he says quietly finding the courage to step closer now. He opened his arms to you in an offer of comfort that you no longer have the strength to refuse.

As you step into his embrace, allowing yourself to be held, the warmth of his body contrasts with the cool touch of his shadows creating a cocoon of safety around you. "I was the one who killed the wolf that started this whole mess," you confess through sobs. Your words muffled against his chest. "Feyre took the blame to protect me... because she thought I couldn't handle the consequences."

“It’s okay,” he whispers. His voice close to your ear. “You were never meant to carry this alone.” He pauses. His hand gently lifting your chin so you can look at him. “Feyre’s path was her own. Fate had a hand in it. She was meant to meet Rhysand through Tamlin. To find her way to the Night Court. It couldn’t have been you, Y/N. Your path is different and it’s still unfolding.”

You shake your head feeling the weight of it all. “But-“

Azriel’s hold tightens reassuringly. His wings stretched around you before he stops you. “She did what she believed was right, out of love. And now you need to allow yourself to be loved and supported, too. Let your family be here for you. Let me be here for you.” he pleads, his tone imbued with a promise. In the safety of Azriel’s wings with the gentle embrace of his shadows, you feel a lightness you haven’t felt in a long time.

Beneath the shelter of his wings Azriel holds you close feeling the profound shift within as your eyes meet. In that moment a golden thread previously unseen but always present tightens, binding your soul to his. The mating bond ignites with a radiant force, undeniable and transformative.

This newfound connection stirs a deep protectiveness in Azriel, an urge to cherish and guard you that feels both ancient and freshly awakened. Love pulses through this bond unspoken yet palpable aligning his heartbeat with yours. He experiences a profound sense of belonging, understanding now that every moment with you, every shared concern, was leading to this revelation.

With the emergence of the bond, Azriel, who often cloaked himself in mystery, finds in you a clarity that illuminates his existence. This bond does not overwhelm; instead, it completes him, brightening his path forward. The world around him expands promising a journey not walked alone but side by side, in step with each breath.

Yet, the magnitude of this discovery brings a mix of elation and a daunting sense of responsibility. You are vulnerable, your soul laid bare before him, and he is cautious not to burden you further. Internally, Azriel grapples with the desire to declare the bond versus the need to provide you with stability and support without the shock of this revelation.

He resolves to keep this monumental discovery to himself for now, focusing on being your steadfast support. His shadows as a subtle extension of his will, curl gently around you both. They offered a protection and comfort without overwhelming you with the truth.

Azriel knows he must seek Rhysand’s counsel to navigate the complexities of this bond with sensitivity and respect for your emotions. As he holds you he silently vows to take this journey at a pace that honors both your readiness and the bond’s potential. Wrapped in his embrace, Azriel stands as your guardian bonded by fate yet guided by a deep respect for the journey your heart needs to undertake.

"You've been strong today," Azriel whispers into your hair as he senses your grip tighten. "Let's head back home. You need rest." His voice is as soothing as the twilight and his offer is tender, without any urgency that might hint at the truth simmering beneath his calm exterior.

The walk back from the training grounds is quiet, filled with a companionable silence that speaks of shared struggles and mutual care. As Azriel guides you to Feyre's studio, where she immerses herself in swathes of color and light, his touch lingers reassuringly on your arm. It's an affirmation of his presence, his support, his unspoken pledge to be there for you, come what may.

You offer him a soft smile. One that acknowledges the solace his presence brings even though you were still oblivious to the tectonic shift in his inner landscape. Azriel returns your smile with a quiet intensity, a vow that when the time comes for the bond to reveal itself to you he'll be there, just as he is now—steadfast, protective, and utterly devoted.

A subtle shift in Azriel’s demeanor as he prepares to leave catches Feyre's sharp eye. There's a fleeting tension, a trace of something potent and profound flickering in the depths of his usually inscrutable eyes. It's a glimpse of vulnerability. An undercurrent of panic that he's quick to disguise but not before Feyre takes note. Something significant has unsettled the shadowsinger and it likely had to do with you.

With a nod that holds more gravity than usual Azriel turns to go. His steps are measured but the urgency in his exit is apparent to anyone who knows him well. Once he steps beyond the view of the townhouse his wings unfurl, a dark silhouette against the Velaris skyline. He takes to the air with a speed driven by the need for counsel. For understanding the newly realized bond weighing on him with a mix of awe and anxiety.

He lands at the House of Wind with an intensity that is uncharacteristic for him. His feet touching down on the stone with a thud. There's no time for hesitation as he makes his way to where he knows he'll find Rhysand, perhaps Cassian too. The door to the study bursts open under his force and he stands there as a figure riddled with the shock of his own heart's awakening.

Inside the study, Rhysand and Cassian pause mid-conversation as the unexpected clamor announces Azriel's approach. Concern flickers over their faces. A stark, thunderous arrival is not Azriel's way.

"Are you alright, Az?" Cassian is the first to react. His voice tinged with concern as he notes Azriel's agitated state.

Azriel pauses before catching his breath. His demeanor one of a man grappling with overwhelming news. "It's the mating bond," he manages to say with his voice tight of emotion. "With Y/N—it just... it just snapped into place."

Rhysand rises from his chair. His expression shifting to one of understanding as he processes Azriel's words. The air in the room thickens with the significance of his declaration and there's a moment of collective stillness as they all absorb the meaning.

Cassian’s previous levity fades into a solemn gravity, reflecting the seriousness of Azriel's revelation. "That’s... big news, Az. How are you feeling about this?" he asks as he stepped closer in caution.

Rhysand, maintaining his composure, offers a supportive nod. "This is a momentous time, Azriel. We’re here for you, whatever you need," he assures him embodying the role of the leader who understands the profound implications of such a bond.

Azriel exhales deeply the reality of the situation settling in. "It's overwhelming," he concedes. A frown creasing his brow. "I mean, I hoped, maybe even wished for it. But now that it’s here, it feels... heavy." He looks up. His expression serious. "She’s still healing. I need to be careful. Need to make sure this doesn’t overwhelm her."

Rhysand gives a supportive nod. "Just keep being there for her, Az. You’ve always managed to support her without pushing. This doesn’t change your approach just your understanding of the connection."

Cassian smirks, pushing off from the table and clapping Azriel on the back with a bit more force than necessary. "Look at you all serious and broody—more than usual, I mean. Come on, Az, you know you're probably the only one who can handle this with the perfect blend of mystery. Besides," he adds with a wry grin, "have you seen the way she looks at you when you're not looking? That’s not just gratitude my friend. It’s like she’s hit the jackpot and she doesn’t even know it yet."

Azriel can’t help but crack a small smile despite the turmoil inside. "Thanks, Cass. I just don’t want to mess this up."

"Don’t worry so much, brother," Cassian chuckles, his tone light but earnest. "You’re doing fine. Plus, if you start floating around like a lovestruck bat, I’ll be here to pull you back down."

Rhysand laughs softly before shaking his head at the general. "He’s right, though. Take it step by step, Azriel. Let her come to terms with her own feelings. When she’s ready it’ll be right for both of you."

Feeling somewhat lighter Azriel nods appreciatively at his brothers. "Step by step," he repeats, firming his resolve. With a final nod he steps back into the night bolstered by the mix of Cassian’s humor and Rhysand’s leadership. He was ready to face the future with a heart full of hope and a mind cautious of the delicate balance he needs to maintain.

Back in the townhouse Feyre greets you with that mischievous grin that heralds some sisterly teasing. She sets her paintbrush down before wiping her hands on a cloth as her eyes sparkle with playful curiosity. "So, what did you do to him?" she teases with a smirk on her face.

You frown genuinely puzzled by her question. "What? Nothing, I... we were just training, then he said he had to go." Your voice trails off mirroring your confusion over Azriel's sudden change in demeanor.

Feyre chuckles, shaking her head as she picks up her brush again. "That man is always so mysterious. But don't worry it's probably just Azriel things. Or maybe, just maybe, you're the perfect distraction for our dear spymaster."

"What are you on about?" you ask while feeling a mix of amusement and bewilderment at her jest.

"Oh, please!" Feyre laughs, her brush dancing over the canvas. "He looks at you like every moment you spend together is something precious. Like you're a rare painting he can't quite believe he's stumbled upon."

"You're imagining things," you dismiss her. Shaking your head with a smile. "Azriel is just being kind. He's like that with everyone."

Feyre gives you a knowing look. Her smirk broadening. "Sure, he’s kind to everyone, but with you it’s different. He doesn’t look at anyone else quite like he looks at you. Like you’ve cast a spell on him and he’s trying to figure out how to live with the enchantment."

Her words make you pause. The playful insinuation tugging at the edges of your thoughts. Despite your dismissal Feyre’s observation lingers. A teasing possibility that maybe there's a hint of truth in her playful assertions. The room fills with your laughter, a sound that masks the flutter of curiosity her words have sparked.

Unbeknownst to you while you puzzle over Azriel's sudden departure, Feyre's mind is swiftly connecting with Rhysand's. A silent inquiry flits through their bond: Something's up with Azriel, he seemed... off. Did I miss something?

Rhysand's mental response comes with a chuckle that Feyre can almost hear: He’s fine, love. Just had a bit of a revelation. He’ll share when he's ready.

A spark of mischief lights up Feyre’s eyes as understanding dawns on her. Her lips curve into a sly, knowing grin. But she carefully masks any hint of her newfound knowledge from you. "You know, I think we deserve some fun today. Just us twins. You’ve been pushing hard with all that training and brooding," she suggests. Her voice bubbling with an excitement that piques your curiosity.

"Really? What did you have in mind?" you ask. Your earlier confusion over Azriel's behavior giving way to intrigue at Feyre's sudden enthusiasm.

"Oh, just a day for us to unwind and maybe get into a little mischief," Feyre replies, winking. "We can leave the mysteries of shadowy spymasters behind and focus on spoiling ourselves."

You laugh while nodding in agreement, relieved to set aside the morning's puzzles. "That sounds perfect, actually."

As the day unfolds with Feyre leading the way with her occasional secretive smiles and the warmth of her company envelop you, making you feel cherished and a part of something larger than just sisterly bonding. Every now and then she throws you a look filled with unspoken laughter as if she's in on a joke that’s yet to be told adding an intriguing layer to your day out.

"Enjoy today," Feyre says at one point. Her grin infectious. "Because who knows? Tomorrow you might find yourself swept off your feet in ways you never expected." Her words are light, but they dance with implication, leaving you wondering about the possibilities that tomorrow might bring.

As the days unfold since your training session you begin to notice an unusual shift in Azriel's behavior when he's around you. Always the quiet, stoic presence, he now seems to carry an air of nervousness that is both surprising and endearing. It's as if he's forgotten how to be around you. His typically smooth demeanor replaced with an awkwardness that sends a ripple of amusement throughout your days.

During your daily routines, whether you're practicing combat skills or just strolling through the lush gardens of the Night Court, Azriel is consistently by your side. Yet, his typical quiet confidence seems to falter. Today when he hands you a training sword his fingers not only linger but also tremble slightly against yours. The contact is brief but the moment his skin brushes against yours a visible blush creeps up his neck coloring his cheeks in a rare show of discomposure.

"Sorry," he stutters. Quickly retracting his hand as if scorched by the brief contact. He averts his gaze making sure to look anywhere but at you. His discomfort palpable in the tight set of his shoulders.

You can't help but tilt your head eyeing him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Azriel, are you alright?" you ask with a hint of a smile on your lips. Your voice is soft though hoping to ease some of his evident tension. The gardens around you bloom vibrantly. A stark contrast to Azriel’s suddenly flustered state.

He clears his throat attempting to regain some of his usual composure. "Yes, I'm... fine," he manages. His voice a notch higher than usual. He meets your gaze again holding it for a moment longer than he intends. The intensity of his stare both confusing and thrilling.

Just then as if to spite Azriel, Cassian strolls by and upon noticing Azriel's flushed face and your puzzled expression he can't help but let out a snicker. "Lost your cool, Shadowsinger?" he teases, winking at you before continuing on his way with a chuckle. "You’re usually smoother than this, brother!"

Azriel shoots Cassian a brief glare but there's a resigned humor in his eyes that suggests he knows just how out of character he must seem. As Cassian’s laughter fades into the distance Azriel finally turns back to you attempting a sheepish smile.

"It seems I'm a bit out of sorts today," he admits. His voice finally steadying. "Nothing to worry about, really."

Watching Azriel grapple with this uncharacteristic awkwardness only endears him more to you. There’s a sweetness in his struggle. A reminder that beneath the composed façade of the Night Court’s spymaster lies a depth of emotion rarely seen but profoundly felt.

On a tranquil afternoon in the Night Court, you find yourself relaxing in one of the quieter gardens alongside Feyre, Rhys, and Azriel. The air is filled with gentle laughter and the soft rustling of leaves. Cassian and Nesta are notably absent, presumably because Cassian has taken it upon himself to "help" Nesta with some errands—a pursuit that everyone knows often ends in playful bickering and affectionate banter.

Elain has also opted for a day out with Lucien exploring new botanical gardens on the outskirts of the city. Her passion for plants and Lucien's support in her endeavors showcases the growing bond between them.

The conversation flows easily until Rhys, with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, steers it towards Azriel’s recent scouting mission. "Azriel here stumbled upon something quite intriguing recently, didn’t you?" he teases while watching Azriel closely.

Caught off-guard Azriel’s response is delayed, his eyes widening slightly as if Rhys had tread into forbidden territory. "It was nothing out of the ordinary," he finally mutters. Though his voice holds a trace of unease.

Feyre jumps into the fray. Her tone laced with playful curiosity. "Oh, but I heard it was quite the discovery. Rare and fascinating… something that might deeply engage a man’s interest."

You laugh completely oblivious to the underlying meaning and look at Azriel with raised eyebrows. "What was it, Az? Some kind of hidden gem or a lost artifact?"

There’s a brief moment where Azriel’s composure falters under your direct gaze, his eyes meeting yours before quickly glancing away. He recovers quickly, however, a slight flush on his cheeks. "Yes, something like that," he agrees, his voice steadying. "A discovery that could indeed change one’s perspective for a lifetime."

Rhys doesn't miss a beat adding with a light chuckle, "Let’s hope it’s not kept secret too long. Such treasures are better when shared, right?"

Feyre nods enthusiastically. Her eyes dancing with amusement. "Especially when they bring people closer together, right, Az?"

Azriel meets Feyre’s gaze. His expression settling into a subtle smile that hints at his deep thoughts. “Indeed,” he replies quietly, the single word rich with unspoken meaning, affirming the sentiment with his usual succinct eloquence.

As the conversation moves on the jokes and laughter continue, your heart warmed by the newfound perspective you found with them. Azriel watches you with a gentle, albeit slightly wistful smile. He noticed how much more you're around, how your laughter fills the air more often, and how your vibrant personality begins to shine through once more. His heart fills with a mixture of relief and deep affection, seeing the signs of your healing. In these moments he cherishes the progress you've made feeling hopeful about the future. He was ready to support you every step of the way as the true nature of his discovery waits to be shared with you.

As the weeks blend into months, the connection between you and Azriel deepens. It was nurtured by shared moments and his unwavering support. On a crisp evening as the sun begins its descent painting the sky with strokes of pink and gold, Azriel brings you to a secluded hilltop that overlooks Velaris. This spot was known only to him and offers a panoramic view of the city as it starts to twinkle with the first lights of evening, the natural grassy surface underfoot soft and inviting.

Standing close by his presence was both comforting and solid, Azriel shares a story, his voice low and warm, recounting a humorous mishap from his early days as a spymaster. The tale is endearing, revealing a less guarded side of him and laughter bubbles up freely from your throat.

As your laughter transitions into a soft chuckle, you turn to face him. The last rays of the sunset bathe Azriel in a warm, golden light that illuminates his features, casting a glow that outlines him like an ethereal halo. His eyes that were filled with affection and a hint of amusement, meet yours. In that instant something profound shifts within you.

It feels as if a key has turned, unlocking something wondrous and overwhelming. The mating bond, which has been delicately weaving its way through each of your interactions, now clicks into place with perfect clarity. The sensation is electrifying yet profoundly comforting. Resonating through your very being.

Your breath catches and your heart races—not just from the shock of the realization but from the undeniable rightness that surges through you. Azriel, noticing the subtle transformation in your expression halts his story. A flicker of concern crossing his face.

"Are you okay?" he asks with his voice tinged with worry. The humor from his story now replaced by attentive care.

A mix of joy and amazement washes over you as you feel a comforting swirl of his shadows around your feet. Like curious creatures affirming this new connection. "Azriel, I think... I think the mating bond just…," you trailed off unsure how to continue. Your voice was filled with awe. The realization brings a new depth to your smile as you meet his gaze which is now shimmering with a mixture of relief and happiness.

"That's what I've been feeling," Azriel breathes out, a tender smile spreading across his face as he steps closer. He reaches out gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "I've been waiting, hoping you would feel it too when the time was right."

Taking his hand, you feel a warmth that goes beyond physical touch. A connection that seeps into the depths of your soul. "I’m glad it’s you," you say quietly, sincerely, the words flowing easily.

Azriel’s other hand comes up to gently cup your cheek. His touch feather light. "And I’m honored it’s you," he responds. His gaze locked with yours. The world around you—the city lights, the soft whisper of the evening breeze—fades into a gentle backdrop to the profound connection you share.

In this moment with Azriel’s shadows dancing around, playful, and protective, you feel a sense of completeness. A promise of endless possibilities. Together, bonded not just by fate but by a mutual understanding you know that whatever the future holds you'll get to navigate it side by side.

As the realization of the mating bond settles between you, Azriel's shadows seem to take on a life of their own. They swirled around you both with a newfound enthusiasm. The delicate tendrils of darkness weave around your legs and occasionally brush against your hands as if testing and reinforcing the connection that has just been acknowledged.

Azriel watches with a tender amusement as his shadows interact with you, their movements more animated than usual. "They seem to have taken quite a liking to you," he comments. His voice warm with affection and a hint of pride. "They're not usually this... attentive."

As the shadows continue their gentle dance around you, one particularly daring tendril snakes up your arm, its touch lighter than a feather. You can't help but laugh. The sound echoing softly in the quiet of the evening. With a delighted grin you reach out to trace the path of the shadow with your fingertips, marveling at the cool, tingling sensation it leaves on your skin.

Azriel continues watching with an affectionate roll of his eyes accompanying his half-smirk. "You're going to spoil them," he teases. His tone light but full of warmth.

Encouraged by your positive reaction another shadow playfully darts forward and mimics the motion of a gentle kiss on your cheek. You giggle with joy, your hand touching the spot in mock surprise and then you're both laughing. A shared moment of joy and wonder at the peculiar yet endearing behavior of the shadows.

Azriel shakes his head, but his eyes shine with amusement. "Now you've done it. They're going to expect this king of attention all the time," he jokes as the shadows around him swirled in what you swear could be shadowy laughter.

"You know, I think I'm okay with that," you respond still smiling as you watch the shadows retreat slightly, as if bashful from the attention. "They're quite charming. Just like someone else I know." You glance up at Azriel with a playful smirk. Enjoying the light flush that colors his cheeks at the compliment.

The shadows, seemingly pleased with their role in this light-hearted exchange, settle more calmly around you both like a contented sigh after a bout of laughter. The protective circle they form feels like a gentle embrace not just from Azriel but from all parts of him.

As the laughter fades Azriel's expression turns tender, his gaze softening as he searches your face looking for any sign of unease. "But seriously," he says with his voice low and earnest, "are you really okay?" His concern is palpable. The bond between you making every emotion, every nuance of feeling that much more intense and meaningful.

You meet his gaze feeling a surge of warmth from his sincere concern. Smiling gently, you nod, the tranquility of the moment filling you with a profound sense of peace. "I really am okay. For the first time in a long time," you admit. Your voice steady and sure. The confession feels like a significant acknowledgment of the journey you've been on and the role Azriel, and his shadows, have played in it.

Azriel's smile in response is radiant. A look of relief and happiness that brightens his entire demeanor. "That's all I’ve ever wanted to hear," he murmurs. His voice soft with emotion. He stands closer, his hand gently squeezing yours. "Come on, love," he whispers with a twinkle in his eyes. "Let's fly home."

With a graceful motion Azriel unfurls his expansive wings, the dark feathers shimmering under the starlight. The sight never fails to take your breath away. He wraps an arm securely around your waist, his touch reassuring. "Ready?" he asks. His voice a low rumble filled with excitement and anticipation.

With a nod you cling to him, feeling the rush of air as he leaps into the sky. Velaris unfolds below you. It was a gorgeous tapestry of lights and shadows. The wind was cool and exhilarating against your face. Flying with Azriel, held close against his chest, the city sprawling beneath you is an experience that feels as if it straddles the line between dream and reality.

The flight is swift and smooth. The quiet only broken by the rushing wind and the steady beat of Azriel's powerful wings. The world seems to shrink away, leaving only the two of you soaring through the night sky. As the House of Wind comes into view Azriel’s descent is gentle, a reminder of his skill and care for you.

You land softly on the balcony, the cool night breeze playing around you, still wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. Just as you touch down the laughter and lively banter of the Inner Circle reach your ears from inside.

As you and Azriel step through the grand doors of the House of Wind the lively atmosphere of the Inner Circle greets you. Cassian's booming voice fills the foyer as he spots you descending from the balcony. "Finally decided to join us, huh? Or were you two plotting to take over Velaris with your love-struck scheming?" he teases, winking not so conspicuously.

Rhysand joins in with a sly grin. His eyes twinkling with mischief. "I think they were busy weaving shadows and starlight. Look how they landed, like a pair of night-blooming flowers." His voice was laden with humor and draws a round of chuckles from around the room.

Feyre, Nesta, and Elain watch from the side, their expressions varying degrees of amusement and affection. Feyre's eyes meet yours and she gives you an approving nod. Her smile suggesting she understands more than she lets on. Nesta’s smirk is more enigmatic but supportive while Elain’s gentle gaze is filled with romantic delight at the scene unfolding before her.

Amid the teasing Azriel keeps you close, his arm remaining protectively around your waist. The warmth of his embrace reassures you. His presence a calming force against the good-natured ribbing. "Ignore them," he murmurs softly against your ear, just loud enough for you to hear over the laughter. His voice is rich with affection and a hint of playfulness that only you are privy to.

"You make it sound so easy," you whisper back, unable to suppress a smile feeling buoyed by the love filling the room.

As the evening progresses the light banter continues, with everyone occasionally casting teasing glances your way, making playful comments about the inseparable duo you and Azriel have become. Despite the jests there’s an underlying current of genuine happiness for you both. A celebration of the deepening bond that everyone seems to recognize and respect.

The night unfolds with shared stories, laughter, and an occasional clinking of glasses in toasts, not just to the night but to new beginnings and magical connections. As you stand by Azriel’s side, surrounded by friends who are more like family. You feel a profound sense of belonging and happiness. Here in the heart of the Night Court, under the watchful eyes of the stars and the soft glow of the city, you are home—not just in place, but in heart, bound by love, laughter, and the eternal dance of shadows and light.

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[caesium-55]

—everything is orange. [ iv ]

pairing: lando norris x kpop idol! reader

summary: a racecar driver who needed a fake girlfriend to dispel rumors and a kpop idol who needed publicity for her song. somewhere in between orange cars and orange sunsets, stands something they're afraid of naming.

note: omg im so sorry for not being online lately. i got a writing part time job now so... i may not be as active as before. hope yall are having a great day! not edited. not beta read.

masterlist.

Everything inside your studio is gray. The walls, the couch, the floor, the instruments. It's the kind of room that will make a sad beige mom over the moon.

But when you open the door and the sight of one Lando Norris greets you, looking devilishly handsome in his dark blue button up shirt and black pants and Nike sneakers with his curls concealed underneath his dark blue bucket hat, the studio suddenly doesn't feel as gray as it usually is.

“Lando?” Your brows rise towards your hairline. Truthfully, he’s one of the last people you expected to see inside HAN Ent’s building, much less outside your studio.

“Hi,” he smiles charmingly at the shock in your voice, showing all teeth and smile lines. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You stammer, still not over your shock, “S-Sure.”

You step aside to grant him space and allow him to enter your magic shop. Lando’s eyes curiously roam around the studio and you close the door behind him, nudging the houseplant further to the wall using your foot to avoid getting tripped on it in the future.

“Take a seat. Please,” you invite, gesturing towards the couch. Lando takes the invitation and sits down. He looks too big on the couch, you note. He has long legs and an athletic build. Perhaps, it’s time to buy a bigger one.

“Nice place,” he compliments.

You want to snort out loud but refrain yourself from doing so.

Lando is saying things out of politeness.

Your studio is shit.

You know that.

It used to be a stock room that was converted into a studio when Yoon PD-nim offered you that deal, that's why the room is graciously small. They soundproofed the walls, painted everything gray, shoved in a few pieces of recording equipment and called it a day.

It's still quite nice of Lando to compliment the place though. You might hate this place but this is your wizard’s tower, your witch’s hut, your magic shop, and you feel pride swell in your chest when someone thinks your little corner is cool, even if you think he’s lying.

“Thanks,” you say sincerely. “How did you know I was…”

“I asked Jinnie,” he says simply.

“Ah,” your tone falls flat.

A moment's pause.

“So this is where you’ve been working?”

You nod. Suddenly, you feel conscious.

Your studio isn't really in the best state right now. When you work in a creative fever, you tend to make a mess. Being messy enhances your creativity. The sprawled papers with lyrics, the empty styro cups of coffee lying around, numerous pens and pencils (you don't even know why you feel the need to bring a lot of them) and rubber erasers, and your snacks. There's a mountain of crumpled paper in your trash can.

“Sorry, the place isn't really….” you trail off, making vague gestures with your hand. “I didn't know you were coming.”

“It's okay,” he chuckles. “I called, you know. And texted. You didn’t return any of it.”

“Oh, my phone’s charging,” you say, beginning to feel bad that you accidentally ignored him. “And my notifs are silent.”

“That explains it.”

“Shouldn't you be resting?” you asked. “You have a flight tomorrow.”

It's currently the 19th. Lando is set to leave for Japan on the 20th. His team wants him in Suzuka by September 20 and not later than that. They already had a field day when Lando announced that he's flying with you. At first, he wanted it to be just you and him. His team wouldn't let him because he can be a PR nightmare if given enough freedom so they let his manager, Kyla, tag along.

You’ve mistaken Kyla as a member of the PR team. Turns out she’s his manager.

“Is it a sin to want to spend a few hours with my girlfriend before I go?” he flutters his eyes innocently. You snorted.

“Fake but okay.”

“I’m being sincere here, girlfriend,” he pushes his lips into a pout. “Did you eat already?”

“No,” you answer.

“Should we grab something together?”

“Should we?” you humor his suggestion. It's been a few hours since you’ve eaten. You’ve skipped both breakfast and lunch.

“I think I can call a restaurant and make a reservation.”

“It's near midnight,” you point out, glancing down at the Rolex decorating his wrist. Isn't he aware of how late it is?

“So?”

“Restaurants are closed by now,” you state.

Lando shrugs.

“I can make the effort of finding those seafood pasta you like.”

Your brows furrow.

“What do you mean like? I never said I like those.”

“But I thought…” Lando blinks. “I’ve read it somewhere…”

“Huh?”

“You're from Jeju, right? You grew up eating seafood so you like seafood and you once said you have a palate for Italian food. I tried…liking the pasta with seafood. I hated it but I ate it anyway.”

Your jaw hangs open at the revelation.

This is single-handedly the sweetest thing someone has ever done to you.

You don't know whether to be touched about the sincerity or to cry because of his idiocy. You can definitely do both but you refuse to do both. You have an image to maintain.

“Didn't I tell you that the company manipulated my public information?” you ask incredulously. “Yes, I was from Jeju but I didn’t eat seafood much. I have a mild allergy—”

“In seafood?” you see his eyes widen into saucers. Oops, you shouldn't have said that. “Wait, you had an allergy attack, didn't you? On those lunch dates we had? Why didn't you tell me so early on?”

“I thought you liked it!” your voice raises slightly, panicked. You're caught. He isn't supposed to know about this.

“I didn't?! I loathe seafood but I ate a few bites because I thought you liked it!”

You blink at him. That is the sweetest while simultaneously the most stupid thing someone has ever done for you. You drag a hand across your face, a groan escaping your mouth and yet you’re smiling. You shake your head at him.

Points for Lando Norris for making you capable of feeling frustrated and another feeling you cannot name.

“We’re idiots.”

There is a stretch of silence before Lando speaks up.

“What do you want to eat? And please tell me the real one.”

You began listing the first three things that appeared inside your brain, “I like…. ramyeon, natto, and tteokbokki.”

You have a palate for convenience store food. Food that you can find in busy night markets. Food that is sold by street vendors. The kind of food that tastes like absolute shit if cold but tastes like home if microwaved into the right amount of temperature. If you venture in your imagination hard enough, you can taste your mother’s cooking after a few bites. But you don't tell Lando that.

“We can eat that.”

You raise a brow.

“The ramen, the chicken, and the tteokdokdok.”

“Tteokbokki,” you correct him gently.

“Tteoktokki,” he repeats.

“Tteok.”

“Tteok.”

“Bokki.”

“Bokki.”

“Tteokbokki.”

“Tteokdokki.”

You shake your head, “Tteok-Bo-Kki.”

“Tteok-Bo-Kki.”

You snap your fingers, nodding in approval, “Better.”

“I literally said the same thing.”

“You didn't.”

“Where will we eat this tteokbokki?” He says the tteokbokki slowly, careful with his pronunciation.

“There are night markets nearby,” you tell him. “It’s crowded though. I know a good convenience store that’s a good drive away. It’s usually empty. Do you go to convenience stores?”

You suddenly feel stupid for asking.

Do multi-millionaires like Lando Norris go to convenience stores? It’ll make much more sense if he books restaurants or employs a private chef to cook for him at home. Do they even have a palate for instant food? What do rich people snack on? You don't know. You're not rich. Even after becoming famous, you’re still not rich enough to live the life of luxury.

This just highlights the difference of the worlds you and Lando live in.

“I do. Just not frequently,” he shrugs. “We can go to the convenience store if you want. I don't mind.”

“No, it’s fine. We can eat anywhere you want. Jinnie might have a few hotel restaurants in mind.”

“But do you want to eat in hotel restaurants?”

His question makes you pause and Lando immediately takes your hesitation as a no.

“We can eat anything you want to eat. This is your place anyway. Show me around.”

You bite your lower lip as you contemplate. Should you or should you not? That is the question.

When your eyes drag themselves back to Lando’s face, you see that he’s already looking at you intently as he awaits your answer patiently. You want to shrink back at the intensity of his gaze.

“Well then, do you want to go on a convenience store date with me, boyfriend?”

Despite the hesitation he’s displayed earlier, Lando grins at your offer.

You take Lando to your favorite place in all of South Korea. Google Maps says it's a three hour drive away. You arrive there in two hours and a half.

Maybe it's a sign to change careers.

You used your Jeep Wrangler. Lando offered to drive but you shook your head and hopped on the driver’s seat, him taking the passenger seat.

You won't allow anyone to drive your car. It's a rule of yours.

The last time you allowed someone to drive your car, your Hyundai jumped over a sewage canal. Lando might be a professional race car driver and that alone spoke multitudes of his driving skills, but you're so traumatized with the incident with your Hyundai that you physically can't allow anyone, professional driver or not, to handle the steering wheel of any other cars you own.

Cars are expensive. You can't buy another car. You’ll bawl when you see the money departing your bank account.

You palm the steering-wheel with your right hand. Your left hand lays flat on the back of the passenger seat, behind Lando’s head. Your upper body is rotated towards the back, full focus activated as you reverse the car in expert ease. Lando is observing you, you can tell. You can feel his eyes burning holes in your side profile.

“You okay?” You ask Lando. The man has gone uncharacteristically silent when you’ve started reversing the car. You hear Lando let out a breath. Almost shakily. You cannot tell for sure.

“Yeah,” his voice breaks like a boy undergoing puberty and you have to thin your lips into a line to prevent yourself from laughing. “Nice parking skills.”

“Thanks,” you say nonchalantly. “You sure you're okay though?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” you see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he rubs his throat. “I think the seatbelt’s a little too tight.”

Once the car’s perfectly parked, you kill the engine and exit the car. Lando follows suit.

“I don't know why you have to drive for almost three hours just to visit this place,” Lando gestures to the surroundings. “There's nothing here.”

“Exactly,” you say. “Come on, boyfriend.”

You pat his shoulder and lead the way. A bell chimes loudly as you push the door open. You step inside, the British racer only a few steps behind you. You tug down your mask.

“What's this place?” Lando questions.

“24-hour convenience store,” you answer. “But no staff.”

“No staff?” he asks. “So self service?”

“Ah yes, that’s the word. Self service,” You say. “Quite nice, right? We have complete privacy and good food. Two best things in the world.”

“Careful. Your introvert is showing.”

You snort, “First time coming to a place like this?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “No staff? Does nobody attempt to steal things?”

You shrug, “Probably not. Ramen is not worth going to jail for.”

“This shop will make a million dollar loss in an hour if it's in another country,” Lando says, his nose wrinkling. “Like in the UK or US or something.”

You beckon Lando to follow you through the aisles, “This way.”

“You even memorize the places of things,” he comments. “You come here often?”

You hum a yes. You stop in front of the freezer and open it, pulling out two plastic cups.

Lando’s forehead creases, “Just ice?”

“This is an ice cup,” you explain.

“Are we going to wait for the ice to melt before drinking it or….”

You stare at him incredulously before promptly bursting out in laughter.

“What's funny?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“Nothing, sorry,” you clear your throat. You don't know why you find that funny. Your humor is broken. “They sell pouches of juice or coffee and you pour it into the cup.”

Lando’s head tilts. He looks like a confused baby owl.

“Here, I’ll show you,” you walk up to a nearby shelf and grab a Kuromi pouch. It's peach-flavored. “This. You pour it here.”

You gesture to the ice cup. Lando’s mouth forms a circle in realization.

“Cool.”

“There are a lot of flavors,” you add, gesturing to the shelf. “Peach, apple, mango, strawberry, orange…”

You read out the flavors for Lando because you know he can't read Hangul. Lando wordlessly picks a grapefruit-flavored pouch. You nod.

“Good choice. Oh wait, we forgot to get a basket. Can you?”

Lando nods and leaves. When he comes back, now with a yellow basket, the two of you continue to browse down the entire store. You explain each of the food. He said no to most of them. Lando is a picky eater, you learn.

The two of you fill the basket near to the brim. You pay for each item, even though Lando insisted that he do it, and you occupy the table that faces that floor-to-ceiling glass window, overlooking the darkness of the night outside.

“Here,” you hand him a plastic fork. Lando accepts it, his brows furrowed. “You were struggling with the chopsticks.”

A shy smile makes its way to his face, “Sorry.”

You wave your hand as if to say it's no problem and plop down on the chair beside him. Lando digs in with his Buldak Samyang carbonara while you stir your Yoppoki Tteokbokki with yours before taking your first bite. You immediately let out a moan of pleasure.

“Is it delicious?” he asked.

“Very.”

You eat until your cheeks fill, chewing slowly.

“Oh wait, you should post something.”

“Now?”

“You took pictures of me earlier, right?” you know he did. He tried to be slick about it but you’d know if someone is taking a picture of you. “Put it on your story.”

“And delete it?”

“No. The world already knows we're dating anyway. Well, fake dating.”

Lando pulls out his phone and shows you the pictures in his gallery. There are aare a total of four pictures. Three are blurry. The other one is blocked by his finger.

“That one is good.”

“What do you mean good? It's blurry.”

“Blurry is an aesthetic.”

Lando shakes his head but opens his Instagram and begins to edit the photo you’ve chosen, “Help me with the caption?”

“I’m not good with them.”

“Me neither.”

“Your first caption was pretty good.”

“You think so?” he sounds hopeful.

You shrug your shoulders.

“Just say something like ‘her’ then put a period.”

That's the limit of your creative powers for the day.

Lando nods and begins typing. He’s typing quite long for a word with three letters and a single punctuation mark. He shows you the caption.

Your brows furrow.

He laughs, “I’m funny.”

“You’re really not,” you shake your head. “Put it in your drafts.”

“So I’m not posting it now?”

“You post it after we leave the place,” you say. “So we’ll be gone by the time the fans see it and decide they’ll come here.”

“That's very smart.”

“That's not being smart. That’s just common sense,” you state flatly.

“You know, I always thought you'd be a cold person.”

You raise a brow, not entirely sure if you're understanding him correctly. Cold is an adjective. It's used to describe temperature. You're uncertain if it can be applied to use as an adjective to describe a person.

Lando must have sensed your confusion that he adds, “Ice queen.”

Oh.

Yeah.

Okay. You understand it now.

“You used to look so cold and cool,” Lando says. “Ice queen. But also an IDGAF attitude. Very intimidating.”

You have no idea what IDGAF means but you nod your head and act like you understand him anyway. You make a mental note to search it up on the internet later.

“But you’re not.”

“I’m not,” you echo.

“You’re actually pretty sweet,” he adds.

“I’m trying to be kind.”

“You don't have to try. You already are.”

“The companies make us act sometimes.”

“What?”

“Like, before debut,” you begin. “There are companies that assign certain images to their idols. They give them parts to play like directors do to actors in movies. Like, oh, you look like this kind of person so you have to act like this kind of person. They take a look at your visuals and decide what role you’ll have. They took one look at my face and told me that I have to be a strict and serious person who is scary and cold and unbothered. I didn't want to do it because I tend to smile really easily before and I just wanted to have a lot of friends, you know?”

You shrug your shoulders.

“When you’re intimidating, you tend to not have a lot of them. Despite that, I followed the role. Many praised me for it and others just….well, they didn't like it. The company was happy, though. They told me I was good at acting. But it's just…sad that the person I am on the screen is not real.”

“Yeah, that's honestly sad. I can't imagine doing that for my team. I’ll suck at it. Imagine me cold and serious,” Lando makes a serious face but he ends up doing a The Rock Smoulder. You have to stop yourself from laughing out loud by thinning your lips and twisting it.

“You're doing it, though. For the team. This whole fake dating thing,” you gesture to yourselves.

Lando mutters something under his breath while stroking his chin. You don't catch it.

“Hm?”

“Nothing. I think your eyes are pretty.”

He's changing the subject. He does it so swiftly, too.

“I know, I thank my mother every day for it,” you joke and Lando chuckles softly. “But don't be jealous, you have pretty eyes yourself.”

He turns into a lovely shade of pink. You can see it. You don't speak of it.

“It changes colors sometimes,” you continue, pointing at your eyes. “Like, it’s kind of gray in the dark. But if the sun shines on it, it has three colors.”

“You stare at my eyes a lot, do you?”

“Well, if a certain thing is pretty, you can't help but stare, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess that's why I stare at you a lot, too.”

You laugh, the sound airy, shaking your head. What a flirt. The cute kind.

“I’m quite the head turner, aren't I?”

“You are,” he agrees seriously.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smirks, confident.

“Careful, you might fall for me, fake girlfriend,” he says cheekily. You have the desire to shatter his ego so you did.

“You're handsome but you're not my type.”

His smirk falters. You give a chortle.

“What's your type then?” he asks, leaning slightly forward. His eyes reflect anticipation.

You fall into a momentary thoughtful silence, “For starters, attractive men who can drive very fast cars. With a racing license this time. Not like me.”

Lando smiles at your light attempt at a joke. Good to know that he finds the dark humor surrounding your career-ending scandal funny.

“I am an attractive man,” he gestures to his face. “With a priceless face and I drive a very fast car. Formula one or sports cars. Oh and would you look at that? I have a racing license and a regular driving license.”

“You are an attractive man,” you agree. “But again, not my type.”

Lando dramatically puts his hand against his chest, right above where his heart lies and acts like you just shot him dead on the spot.

“Hmm, what else? Ah, plays golf,” you list another trait of your ideal man.

“I play golf,” he crosses his arms, leans back against the back of his seat, and lifts his hips a little as he adjusts his sitting position on the chair, manspreading a little. This is one of the subtle things men do that women cannot help but find attractive. You’re also a woman. Of course, you find that attractive.

You roll your eyes, feigning annoyance. Lando laughs at you.

“A few years older than me.”

When Lando opens his mouth, you cut him off, holding up a finger, “I’m older than you.”

By months only but still.

“In the standards of your fake birthday, I am older than you.”

You huff, shaking your head. He is right, to some degree. The world thinks he is older than you because HAN Entertainment decided to lie about your birthday.

“Looks good in red.”

“You know, orange is a mixture of red and yellow. Technically, it's still red. So I look good in red. One plus one equals two. I am connecting shit.”

He raises two index fingers in the air and connects them together to put further emphasis on the words he imparted in a sage-like manner.

“You're not connecting anything.”

“Hell yeah, I am. I am so smart, I should just be McLaren’s chief strategist. Maybe then I can finally get my first win.”

You cannot help but raise an amused brow.

“Fine, if you're so smart Mr. Strategist, what's plan A to your victory?”

His answer comes immediately, no hesitation and he utters it with so much confidence in his chest: “Sneak into Red Bull and steal their car.”

You abruptly burst out laughing, the sound filling up the entire convenience store. You cannot hold it in anymore. You have to slap a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself down.

You don't laugh pretty. You're very much aware of that. You sound like a dolphin when you do. But Lando is so funny that you forget to feel conscious of the weird sound that leaves your mouth for a whole five seconds before you remember to compose yourself and stop.

“You don't have to cover your mouth when you laugh, you know?” he says. “Or try to stop yourself from laughing. Just laugh if you want.”

You give him a look. Why is he turning serious all of a sudden?

“Wait, red?” Lando does a double take once you’ve composed yourself. “Don’t tell me your ideal type is….”

His forehead creases. You nod.

He says, “Carlos?!” the same time you say, “It’s Kim Mingyu.” How did he even come to that conclusion?

Oh wait. Red. Older than you. Drives fast cars. Racing license. Makes sense.

You blink at each other.

“Who the hell is Kim Mingyu?”

“You don't know Kim Mingyu?” you pull out your phone, open Google Photos, and search for the folder named: 민규❤️❤️❤️. The folder contains 7659 photos of Kim Mingyu.

“Fake boyfriend, let me introduce you to my boyfriend, Kim Mingyu,” you show your favorite Mingyu photo.

The one where he’s wearing a black fitted shirt, his cheek against the back of his hand, and the veins in his arms bulging. He’s serving major boyfriend vibes.

Lando rolls his eyes.

“He doesn’t look that good.”

“No, Lando, you are not seeing it,” you hold the phone closer to his face.

“I am seeing it and I am saying he’s not good looking.”

“Lies.”

“I'm not lying.”

“It's Kim Mingyu.”

“And?”

You pull a face, retracting your phone. “Come on, he’s quite good looking. And tall. Very tall.”

You once have to stand beside him in an ending ceremony in Inkigayo. You barely even come up to his chest.

“I’m tall.”

“You’re shorter than him.”

“You're killing me here.”

You chuckle. You pat his shoulder in faux sympathy.

“There, there. That's okay. You're my boyfriend anyway. Don't be jealous.”

“Damn right, I am.”

You snort.

“But you have to stan Seventeen though. After your race in Suzuka, we’ll try to binge GoSe.”

When you’re too full to finish the rest of your tteokbokki, you drag Lando outside the convenience store.

“Sand?” he questions.

“Sand,” you state.

“There's sand in my shoes,” Lando complains.

“Take it off and like,” you make the motion of flipping your shoes upside down to remove the sand inside. He does as you’ve told him but he seems to be not fully satisfied with it. There is still sand inside his shoe.

“This won't do,” he says. “I should have brought flip flops.”

“Let's go barefoot,” you kick off your shoes and neatly place them on the foot of a nearby coconut tree. You motion for Lando to do the same, but you’re met with hesitance.

“What if someone steals them?”

It's a valid concern to have, you suppose. You look around you. Darkness is all that can be perceived.

“Who’d steal them? Cheonyeogwisin?”

“I don't even know what that is.”

“Just leave the shoes here, Lando.”

The sand feels good underneath your feet. A bit ticklish. A little too familiar. You turn on the flashlight of your phone and jog up to the shore.

“Wait for me!” you hear Lando scream from behind you.

“Palli!” you yell back, voice almost drowning in the wind.

“I am palli-ing!”

You roll your pants up to your knees and soak your feet in the cold waves, shivering. You turn around just as Lando body slams you and the two of you fall into the ice-cold waves. Your jaw comes slack, eyes wide. The two of you are now drenched from head to toe.

Lando bashfully smiles, “Sorry.”

“Lando!” you splash him in his face.

Lively shrieks fill the silent night sky. The stars twinkle with mirth at the two of you, the line between fake and real blurring.

Lando flies out just four hours after you arrive in Seoul proper. You feel bad for bringing him somewhere far and not giving him enough hours to rest. Then, he tells you: "It's one of the best nights I've ever had."

He sounds so sincere that you have to stop yourself from blushing red.

In the schedule Jinnie gave you, you are only required to make an appearance in the race proper on the 24th. You have the 20th, 21st, and 22nd to work on your single before having to fly out on the 23rd. Regardless, you fly to Japan on the 21st with Jinnie in tow, two days earlier than your original schedule.

Jinnie doesn't question nor protest against your obvious disobedience on the appointed schedule. You're glad she didn't.

"Lando?" you question after seeing the man standing behind your hotel door. It's nearly twelve and you've just checked in the hotel with Jinnie. "What are you..."

"Just checking in," he smiles. "Do you mind if I come in?"

"Don't you have a race tomorrow?" Despite your question, you sidestep to let him inside your hotel room. "You should be resting."

"That's okay. I'm well rested. Are you going to watch the FP1 tomorrow?"

You shake your head, "I'm going to work on my song."

"Oh," his face falls. "Why'd you fly in early then?"

You shrug.

Honestly, you don't know either.

It's an act based purely on impulse. Not your finest moments.

"Maybe I can watch?" you say. "I'm not really sure."

You don't want to get mobbed again.

ORACLE has a rather large fanbase in Japan. You know there will be curious fans who'll await your appearance in the race. And while you're glad that your PR relationship with Lando is receiving the right type of attention from the public, you still hate having this much attention on you.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Lando says.

"I'll go," you decide with finality. "I mean this is why we're doing this in the first place, right? Make people believe that we're real."

Lando's lips form a line.

"I suppose."

"Then, I'll be there."

The song making can wait.

Once again, Jinnie takes charge in deciding your clothing. You’ve long since given up on protesting or even suggesting your ideas. You have to get used to it again. Wearing whatever is given to you like a doll. After all, you are to return to the stage of KPop again.

Today’s WAG OOTD is a Miu Miu black dress, a black leather jacket, and Gianvito Rossi strappy sandals. Nothing too impressive. It's just the free practice sessions after all.

Jinnie hands you the McLaren ball cap and you grimace.

“How's the song coming up?”

“I’ve been trying to combine my demos and see how it sounds,” you reply. “But I have a concept in mind and I jotted down a few phrases for the lyrics.”

“I got an email from Yoon PD-nim today. He’s strongly suggesting you use a racing concept for your single.”

Strongly suggesting.

Translation: commanding.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Fuck it.

He’s really going to use the scandal and hope it’ll make you rise from the ashes like a phoenix reborn. The problem is that you're far from a phoenix. You’re human. As disappointing that may be but that is the cold truth. You're uncertain how people will react if you use a racing concept. You cannot afford to risk this over something like this.

You have one chance. And if KNetz reacts badly on your song and your MV, you’re never going to have another chance to go back on stage, to go back home.

Yoon PD-nim is too thoughtless at times. You want to shake him.

Jinnie drives you to the paddock and drops you to the parking lot. You expect that you’ll have to find your way to the garage again alone. Your knees are trembling as you step out of the car.

To your surprise, a staff member of the McLaren team—you assume he works for the team because of the orange polo shirt—approaches you as you exit the car.

“[Name]?”

“Hi,” you offer a polite smile.

“I’m Rick, I’m one of Lando’s mechanics, pleasure to meet you,” he introduces.

“Pleasure is all mine, Sir,” you say, dipping your chin into a small bow.

“Come this way,” he beckons. You follow him.

“Did Lando ask you to pick me up?”

“Well, he insisted on picking you up but the race was about to start so we had to force him to stay put in the livery and he wouldn't stay put until we said we’ll pick you up. Said people might flock over you and you don't like it when it happens.”

Your heart warms.

“That's very thoughtful of him. And sweet.”

“That's Lando Norris for you,” he says. “He’s always treating all the people he’s working with kindly. He only has to be polite but he even exerts effort in helping and making our work easier.”

“That's true,” you agree. “I can attest to that, as his fake girlfriend. He only has to treat me well when there's a camera but he’s even going as far as offering friendship.”

The rest of the walk to McLaren was peaceful. Or at least as peaceful as you hope it can be.

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #f1 imagines #fluff #fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris #ln4 fic #ln4 #ln4 x reader #kpop idol! reader

[vidavalor]

But what if Azzy and Crowley aren't quite angel and demon any more but something else, and it's revealed when they pop their wings and they turn out to have changed to a sort of greyscale iridescence (light grey for A. and dark grey for C.)?????

Bold of you to assume that it's Az who is the light grey. 😉

Crowley has always been able to do his angel magic since he fell and Aziraphale's always been able to do temptations/possessions. They just didn't know it, it seems, until around 597 AD. I think the point might be more along the lines of all of them-- the angels, the demons, the humans-- are just beings.

We're all people. Call yourself what you like. Identify as you wish. You get to decide who you are and real freedom is getting to a point where you don't let someone else's definitions of who you are impact your own.

There's a moment of God's narration in S1 when Crowley is bringing baby Adam to Tadfield Manor and he is about to cross paths with Arthur Young. Their interaction sets off the series of miscommunications that result in the baby swap that night and sets the events of 11 years later into motion. God explains that (this is a little paraphrased) it helps to understand that, in human affairs, misunderstandings happen as a result not of people being fundamentally bad or fundamentally good but just as a result of people being human. She is narrating Crowley's story at the time and he is among the humans in the sequence whose miscommunications are impacting events. God is referring to Crowley as human in her narration, causing us to then consider what a human is just as much as what an angel or a demon is.

It makes you wonder if God views all of the beings on the show as fundamentally human-- which is quite different from how the angels and demons have been taught to view themselves, no?

Angels, demons, humans-- all just beings. Different from one another but with commonly held wants and needs. All God really wants is for everyone to have fun and take care of each other. Everything else is bullshit beings have made up to make everything more complicated and painful. God's favorites are the ones who question and work towards freedom and peace-- theirs and that of those around them.

'Demon' is a label The Metatron came up with to ostracize angels who rebelled. It's not really a thing. Many of the angels, though, don't live up to the label of 'angel.' It's all shades of moral grey. True evil exists-- Satan-- but that's not most of the demons, who are just actually basically the original anti-fascists. (Witness how much they all hate the Nazis in 1941.) Most of the demons are just the first free-thinkers while most of the angels are just repressed prisoners of the whole toxic system.

They all need some good music and a hot chocolate. I have the feeling that, at the end of the day, Crowley and Aziraphale could make their wings any colors they might like to, so long as they're of mind to do so. They likely can do anything they believe they can do.

#ineffable husbands #good omens #good omens meta #aziracrow #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale

[captainwinterrsoldierr]

you'll be ok

jason grace x fem!reader

Authors note: I haven’t written in a while I’m sorry if this is meh also it’s in y/n (you perspective)!

Warnings: None

syn: jason is feeling overwhelmed with who he should be and who he wants to be.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was midnight as the Argo ii sailed across the seas. The night was beautiful. The waters reflected the jittery stars in the sky. Jason sat at the edge of the ship, his head on his knee. He looked as he felt, troubled and a sense of confusion. All these made up memories, feeling more at home at a different camp than where he was raised. He felt conflicted on what he should feel.

Y/N restlessly flipped in her bed. It was like this lately. Not being able to sleep until the cracks of dawn. She sighed heavily, grabbed a blanket and got up and made her way down the halls of the Argo II. Small snores and swoons were heard in the dark hallway. She noticed one door was open, Jason’s. She mentally noted that and went up the stairs leading to the outside of the ship. As her eyes adjusted to the night light she noticed the blonde guy missing from his quarters sat at the bow of the ship. She made her way over to him and noticed he looked distressed and deep in thought.

“H-hey Jason,” You said. Jason slightly jumped at the sound of her voice, startled that someone else was up at this time of night.

“Sorry sorry didn’t mean to make you jump!” Y/N exclaimed.

Jason patted next to him acknowledging for her to sit, “no please sit down I’m sorry I just wasn’t expecting anyone else out here.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “are- are you ok?”

Jason smiled softly, “yes- no I’m ok I don’t want to burden you.”

Y/N slapped his shoulder lightly, “you can never ever burden me Jason. Whatever is bothering you, you can talk to me ok? I’m here for you, always.”

Jason sighed and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, “I’ve just been feeling stressed ever since leaving Camp Jupiter and the Argo II accidentally attacking there. They probably think I’ve outright betrayed them without knowing the truth. And it’s just been making me think who am I? And who do I want to be? Roman, Greek? How many more false memories do I have? It’s all very overwhelming.”

You listened inventively. Your heart ached for him and how you wish you can just take even a half of his pain away from him. He was a puppet to so many and you wanted to help him. Help him find who he deserves to be, and help him find his peace.

You scooted closer and wrapped your blanket across his legs to keep him warm. You placed a hand on his shoulder and looked into his blue eyes. “I think Jason Grace is who Jason Grace is. a loving, selfless, kind soul who will help anyone in need. Someone who wouldn’t think twice of sacrificing himself for his friends. And that Jason, that’s something not even fake memories can take away from you. That’s just who you are. The rest of this will come as you navigate this newfound freedom outside of Camp Jupiter. There’s no harm in being both. It will come and you’ll know when it hits you. You’ll be ok I promise.”

Jason pulled your hand off his shoulder and held it softly in his hand, “Thank You Y/N, that makes me feel better, I’m grateful to have someone like you in my life.”

You smiled at him warmly, “of course dummy and if you ever need a reminder of how sweet and awesome you, my quarters is hmmm? 2 doors down from ya….. on the right side.”

He chuckled and surprisingly leaned in to kiss the top of your forehead, “I’ll be sure to take you up on that.”

You blushed softly, “I hope you do.”

#pjo #jason grace #pjo fandom #pjo hoo toa #percy pjo #pjo tv show #jason grace x reader #jason grace imagine #jason grace fanfic #heroes of olympus #jason grace headcanon

[inuhalfdemon]

No One Can Know...(6/?)

Word Count: 2,551 Words

Rating: Explicit (SMUT + Violence)

Chapter 6

"Welcome to the nightmare in my head

Say hello to something scary

The monster in your bed

Just give in and you won't be sorry"

- Halestorm

“And, here I was wondering what all the fuss was about…” Lucifer chuckled. “You better not have blown apart my fuse box.”

Alastor’s eyes glowed bright; cutting through the darkness. Lucifer’s eyes had quickly adjusted to the loss of light and he could see that Alastor was struggling with himself. He watched as Alastor’s clawed fingers flexed; cutting into his face – his head shaking.

“Whoa, hold on.” Lucifer quickly threw up a portal; a ring of swirling gold forming beside him. “No need for that; you’re covered in enough scars, my friend.”

Alastor’s hands curled into fists; he pressed them to the sides of his head – ears flattening - as he took a stumbling step backward. His antlers were growing at an incredible rate; filling the room. Lucifer could hear bones cracking…

“Better do this then…” Lucifer manifested a chain in his hand; with a toss, he sent it flying at Alastor. A heavy shackle caught the demon at the neck, snapping closed. The chain was heavy; made to restrain Al just enough for Lucifer to get him moved. He hesitated to use heavenly bonds or any of the chains that were casted in brimstone…better to allow Alastor the freedom to shift and change as he succumbed to his rut – he worried that confining him now might make things worse for the sinner.

A vicious snarl erupted from between Alastor’s clenched teeth; hands wrapping around the chain that held his shackle.

“Come along, then” Lucifer shifted smoothly; six wings spreading wide as he threw himself backward into the portal – dragging Alastor with him.

The pocket of nothing that he had brought them to was no less dark than the shower room had been. Lucifer was a romantic at heart – even with their unique transactional circumstance -  he would have preferred something more scenic or comfortable. However, this would be plenty accommodating to them for now.

Once they were through; Lucifer snapped the portal closed – flicking the chain back and sending it and the shackle away. Folding his wings and shifting back; Lucifer assessed Alastor’s state.

The demon was on his hands and knees; claws gouging into the floor. Lucifer could see that he was still fighting with himself; the muscles on his back were stretched, strained and taut. Drops of blood were falling from the cuts he had made to his face and onto the floor. His ears were laid back flat and his antlers continued to thicken and lengthen.

Lucifer approached him and he saw that Alastor’s body was shaking from all of his effort.

Damn it.

“Alastor!” Lucifer knelt to face him. “You need to stop doing this.” 

The demon’s claws dug deeper. Alastor wasn’t looking at him; he was snarling through his teeth – bloody foam seeping from his gums and Lucifer knew he had bitten himself somewhere.

Lucifer hesitated to touch him; but then he reached out and caught Al’ chin – pulling it up so that he could look into his maniac and crazed eyes.

“We’re good. I got us where we need to be. You don’t have to keep fighting it…” He saw Alastor wanted to believe it; desperately needed to but his body clenched as a ripple of shivering ran through him – he needed to allow himself to shift form.

Running on his hunch…Lucifer gripped his chin tighter; needing Alastor to understand. “It’s okay…you’re not going to hurt anyone; certainly not me. I’ve got this, just…let it go. It’s time to lose control.”

 It was incredibly brief but something in Alastor’s face was viscerally honest as his eyes widened; his ears pressing flatter before a violent shudder ran through him. His claws retracted from the floor and Lucifer quickly backed himself away.

Ducking his head; Alastor finally let himself change – sharp creaks and cracks filling the darkness as his limbs twisted and contorted; his body violently snapping and lengthening as he became something hulking and macabre.

Massive clawed hands spread; each talon sharpened into an incredibly large and deadly point. His antlers finally found their form; twisting and black they jutted into sharpened points – gleaming white at the tips. The branches curled and wound around themselves; the bases were thick and heavy; protruding sharply from his great head. His ears laid low and flat; curling at the tips. His mouth was all teeth – long, jagged points hanging from the maw and dripping drool mixed with red-tinted foam. His thin body had become sucked in – ribbed and bony – vertebrae sticking grotesquely from his back. A thick red and black line of fur stretched from his head and down his back – the bristling hairs standing into sharp hackles A similar line of hairs formed a trail from his navel all the way down to his groin. His tail – no longer delicate and cute – was frizzed up; standing and trembling behind him. His legs were bent into haunches behind him; hocks covered in black fur that ran to meet red cloven hooves. More eye-catching than anything though; was Alastor’s penis – fully erect it pressed curved and seeping into his abdomen as he moved – the size of it matching these new greater proportions he had found for himself.

“Where the fuck are you going to put that?” Lucifer crossed his arms; tilting his head.

Alastor’s red eyes bore down on the angel; the pupils had become moving radio dials. A static buzzing filled the air – sending vibrations all throughout this enclosed and yet empty space. Alastor’s great maw opened; lower jaw hanging slack as saliva seeped from between great yellow teeth; spilling onto the floor. A rumbling traveled to Lucifer; sending tremors to him from the floor as a deep and gurgling growl emitted deep from Alastor’s chest.

“I’m not turning myself into some fucked-up-looking doe; if that’s what you’re wanting. There’s not enough lube in the world for me to be comfortable with you pointing that thing at me.” Lucifer continued to jape at him.

Judging from experience; he suspected that Alastor’s eldritch form was more of a result from all of his pent up energy wreaking havoc with his power and less to do with breeding. Lucifer made a mental note of them needing to have a discussion regarding the positive sides to promiscuity – or at least the beneficial aspects of some increased frequency with it.

Alastor stepped one hulking clawed hand toward him; the points cutting deep marks into the floor. The radio static was humming louder – developing into a sharp and stabbing keening. The hackles on his back stood up straighter and his tongue lolled long and dangling from his mouth.

“Still a ‘no’ from me, I’m afraid.” Lucifer told him with a passive wave of the hand.

Alastor’s growling deepened; another clawed hand stepping forward – followed with the scrape of a massive cloven hoof.

“You know…” Lucifer smoothly shifted form himself; his wings pulling him upward. “There’s really nothing sexier than consent.”

A great and terrible snarl tore through the empty space as Alastor leant back onto his massive haunches and swiped a wickedly large handful of claws at Lucifer. The angel dipped; easily dodging the outstretched talons.

“Now don’t go getting your ears all in a twist with me just because you’re feeling sexually frustrated…when I offered a lovely bit of fellatio the other day but, no-”

Alastor flung a warped and twisted forelimb at Lucifer; catching him in the palm he drove him into the ground – pinning him there.

“Ow.” Lucifer then laughed. “Sorry, you didn’t actually hurt me…just a reflex. Funny, how that sometimes just comes out, am I right?” He smirked up at Alastor, his head pressed tightly between two great talons.

Alastor’s glowing eyes narrowed as he leaned over; saliva falling in strings from his lips.

“Oh, yuck…” Lucifer squirmed. “Do not! You touch me with that slime and I will blow chunks all over these pretty claws of yours.”

Alastor pressed closer; the strings of drool dangling just above Lucifer now.

“No, Al!” He cringed, wriggling. “Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew – EW!!!”

In a soft poof; he became a sizeable white snake – easily slipping from between the claws and coiling around the base of one enlarged finger.

“Ssssssssseriously.” Lucifer’s snake formed raised up; flicking out it’s tongue. “Disssgusssssssting!”

Alastor’s insane and monstrous grin widened; lifting the clawed hand Lucifer was on he quickly brought it to his teeth; meaning to pull the snake off.

A soft poof again and Lucifer was a small white bird; swiftly spiraling and darting all around.

Alastor drew back, tilting his head as his glowing eyes followed the bird’s quick movements.

“Whooo…” Lucifer’s bird form puffed in little pants. “Wish I knew that this what we would be doing…I need to work-out more.”

Sharply; tilting his head Alastor clipped the little bird with a branch of his antler – sending it somersaulting downward.

Lucifer swiftly shifted back to form – his large six wings dragging him quickly upward again.

“Fucking nice shot!” He climbed higher before hovering in place. “I’m impressed.” He smiled down at Alastor with a wide and toothy shit-eating grin.

Alastor huffed; snapping his jaws closed – snaggle-toothed fangs overhanging his lower lip - thin trails of blood seeping down his chin.

“You really need to stop biting yourself.” Lucifer remarked. “Stomatitis is no joke.”

Alastor threw his bulking weight up; jaws flying open and slamming shut a hair’s breadth from Lucifer when he flapped back.

“Fuck, you’re quick.” Lucifer dove; evading a close swipe.

Skimming close to the ground, Lucifer spread his wings wide before pulling them sharply down to pull himself back upward as Alastor leapt for him.

The keening of the radio was starting to die down now and Lucifer saw that Alastor’s fur and hair was standing less upright.

“Are we about done here?” Lucifer asked him; hovering again. “I’m starting to get bored and I really hate flying around fully naked; it gets drafty.”

Sitting back; Alastor raised himself up onto his haunches – clawed hands lifting from the ground; limbs hanging long and lanky as he considered Lucifer’s position.

Before he could make another attempt at him; Lucifer flung an arm and sent a flurry of golden chains - holy bonds – to encircle the eldritch demon’s legs. Pulling his fist back; the bonds tightened – effectively pulling Alastor heavily to the ground.

With a dive and a flaring of wings; Lucifer landed beside him.

The holy bonds encircling his legs had not only brought Alastor down but also brought him back to form. The radio demon hissed and spat; flinging spit and blood onto the floor as he tried to tear at the chains encircling his legs.

Lifting a hand; Lucifer sent another chain to twist tightly around Alastor’s wrist. With a jerk; the chain pulled his hand to his back – a loop of it sharply pulling his other to meet it so that he was solidly hog-tied.

Alastor pinned his ears flat to his head; snarling loudly as Lucifer stood there, considering him. His antlers were heavy and spread wide above his head, his eyes flaring starkly red.

“You are quite powerful, aren’t you.” Lucifer casually noted. “I have you in some of the strongest chains in Hell and you are still a bit of a problem. I bet you have power that even you haven’t tapped into yet.” He laughed. “I believe you actually could give me some real grief even…under the right circumstances.”   

Alastor’s snarl deepened.

“Now…the question that comes to us now, I think, is this:” Lucifer’s eyes trailed to Alastor’s crotch. The demon was uselessly fighting the bonds, lying on his side and snarling crazily into the floor. He was still sporting a rather uncomfortable looking erection; the member had to be terribly painful and throbbing to him by now. “How do we make you more…compliant? You’re going to have to get more of a grip on yourself before I let you touch me again.”

Alastor’s snarling was starting to die in his throat – turning to low growls; a little bit of the craziness was leaving his eyes. 

“I suppose I could leave you here – give you time to cool down. Or, perhaps…” Lucifer lifted a wrist; tilting it.

Alastor’s eyes widened and his growling ceased.

Good, he’s still out of control but at least he’s coherent now.

Lucifer moved closer and knelt near Alastor’s face – firmly he reached out and gripped him by the base of an antler – lifting his head so their eyes were level with each other. 

“If you bite the absolute shit out of me, I’ll put a muzzle on that lovely face.” Lucifer told him.

Eyes wide; Alastor’s twisted and insane smile grew.

Still holding him by the antler; Lucifer brought his wrist close to Alastor’s face.

“You won’t hear this when I tell you…” Lucifer was saying, as Alastor bit sharply into the skin; hot golden blood dripping from around his lips. “But, you will want to take it easy with that it’s….” Alastor’s eyes rolled and he started to sway drunkenly. “Potent.”

Sighing; Lucifer pulled his bleeding wrist from him. Gold seeped from the corners of the radio demon’s mouth. The chains encircling him came loose; sliding away into the dark.

“Even at that,” Lucifer was saying; steadying him by the antler. “You’re more of a lightweight than I anticipated.”

Lucifer gave him a minute; letting the effects of the ichor work through his system.

When Alastor started moving; Lucifer carefully observed him. Alastor was disoriented and his eyes were glazed but the craziness that had been there had left him.

“You feeling ok?” Lucifer asked him; releasing the antler now that he was a little more with it.

Alastor shifted and Lucifer briefly saw again that the sinner’s erection was curved tightly upward before the sinner was climbing over him.

Lucifer fell back with him; feeling Alastor’s throbbing member pressing against him. Alastor was kissing him; pressing Lucifer to the floor beneath him – grinding roughly into him. Flicking his hand open; Lucifer reached between them and grasped at the incredible length. Alastor gasped; feeling his cock slide through the warm lube Lucifer had manifested into his palm.

They quickly adjusted themselves; Alastor leant over - sliding into Lucifer – bodies pressed tightly together and facing each other. Alastor eased himself in – shuddering at the tight heat. Lucifer’s penis and balls were tucked tightly between them; his member responding quickly to the stimulation of their movements. Groaning; Alastor began moving and Lucifer arched himself back; lifting his pelvis so that every thrust was a delicious stroke to his swelling cock.     

Alastor’s chest and face were turning a brilliant and deep red; he was panting and sweat coated his tired body. He trembled and Lucifer gripped his sides; steadying him. Jerking; there was a hitch to Alastor’s thrusts and he was climaxing – his sensitive member stiffening then softening inside Lucifer. Shakily; Alastor pulled himself out; he tried to angle himself so that he could reach for Lucifer’s length but he swayed – he was incredibly lightheaded. Feeling he was close; Lucifer pulled Alastor to him – gripping his own length he pumped himself – kissing Alastor’s neck while allowing him to lick the drying remnants of his blood from the inside of his free wrist.  

Lapping the skin clean; Alastor groaned – collapsing onto Lucifer just as the angel found his own blessed release. 

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Chapter 7

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[miss-celestia13]

An Arsonist’s Anguish

Richy’s Lament - A Duskwood One Shot

A dark, angsty exploration into Richy’s character as he sets the stage for his death. There is no happy ending. Just some hope that another soul made it out of the mine as it burns. Crossposted posted on Ao3.

Trigger Warnings are below the line. Please check them.

TW: Suicide, Self Hatred, Hallucinations, and thoughts/descriptions of Death. Read at your own risk. I tried not to be too graphic, but you will know what’s happening.

Richy would never see the sun rise again.

The ghosts of all the beautiful things he killed to protect his secrets haunted his dragging, stumbling steps as he traversed the mine and ignored the cameras he installed. Gasoline poured and splashed from the canister he held as he wove through tunnels and gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm.

It was nothing compared to the emotional torture he felt inside. His thoughts were a tempest raging with the violence of a cyclone. Every destructive gust ripped through the fragile edifices of his grip on reality.

Within the labyrinth of his mind, self-loathing chewed on his soul like a pack of feral beasts tearing at the tender flesh of their fallen prey. Each bite drew forth burgundy rivers of desolation, self-condemnation, and unyielding fury. Blending with the physical aches until he couldn’t tell them apart

His arm throbbed as he ignored the yelling in his mind. Fucking Dan. Dan, who gave him a gun?! Oh, what an idiot! He scuppered all Richy’s plans and left him scrambling to end it before anyone else got hurt. Ensure nothing remains but ash.

Rivers of cold sweat streamed down his grey face as he held his injured arm over his stomach so he wouldn’t bang it into the rough wall. He wanted to punch the stone to take his mind off it. The bottle of pain meds he stole from his mother rattled in his pocket, but he couldn’t risk taking them yet.

His breathing roasted his throat, but his entire body shivered as though an icy glacier engulfed him. The persistent tremble in his body intensified with every labored step.

The combined weight of his physical and emotional agony was an anchor on his back, dragging his broken spirit beneath tumultuous waves, where the agony of drowning and being hammered from all sides echoed through the depths of himself.

It didn’t feel like any of it was unfair. The thirst was the worst thing. He kept smacking his lips together, attempting to inspire some moisture, but his tongue remained bone dry and coated in the remnants of bitter blood rust.

The blood he’d lost stained his skin and the stone as it dripped through the filthy dressing he tried and failed to use as a tourniquet. Everything felt like it happened to someone else. Something otherworldly piloted his body from the inside.

Like some demon possessed him, guiding him down depraved, treacherous paths, and the priest hadn’t arrived in time to exorcise him.

And he’d done it to himself. Every choice he’d made since kidnapping Hannah, it had felt like suicide in slow motion.

He marooned himself on an island surrounded by vipers of his own creation.

Now, the only option to set himself free was fire. It would hurt, he thought, and his stomach wrenched to the side, almost splitting in two as he dreaded it so strongly.

And death. There was a liberating freedom in death. A broken sob tore through his clenched teeth as he thought of Jessy, the emotions he harbored for her, and everything he had never deserved to have with her.

She was a shot of adrenaline after years of lethargy.

So many of his favorite memories revolved around her and their silly inside jokes. He’d used his closeness to her to torment and stalk her. Terrorized her and her friends. She would never forgive him. Her smiling face, her flaming hair, and desire for a life of adventure had made his miserable existence worth living.

She would forget him one day, but never forgive him. He was a coward. An idiot. He’d let them all believe a masked myth was chasing them.

The only masked freak after them was their own friend.

His megawatt smile, stupid jokes, and constant upbeat attitude despite the shitstorm life rained on him had been the heaviest disguise of his brief life. They’d all bought it.

Hook, line, and fucking sinker. None thought to check beneath that smile. Now, it had twisted and transformed into a permanent snarl. If they paid attention, they would have found the rot and ruin underneath his cheerful demeanor. None of his friends had stopped to think about just how stressed he was. How much he had to carry for his family and Hannah—screw her. She was party to his worst decision.

She caused it.

Her wanting to sacrifice herself, him, and Amy to clear her conscience, betrayal. Betrayal was a dagger Hannah concealed in a cloak of mutual trust and unspoken promises to take their secrets to the grave. That blade had appeared suddenly and without warning, piercing the walls of his shriveled heart.

Half of him wished he’d killed her while he’d had her under his control. End the threat, leave her body to decompose in the mine.

No one came here. He’d made sure of it. Everything might—well, it was too late now. She was safe in the hands of Alan Bloomgate. Hannah, perfect, beautiful fucking Hannah.

He hated her. He blamed Hannah. But it was Amy who he blamed the most. Richy blamed everyone but himself for too long. He knew that. And now he would pay the price for it.

He’d already staged his death. Now he just had to commit.

The cloying scent of gasoline infiltrated his nose, thickening in his raw throat, and the empty metal cannister fell from his weak fingers. The thunderous clanging as it bounced and came to a stop worsened the headache he’d had for the last few weeks.

It pounded in time with his thudding heart. Each pulse pushed yet more blood out of the wound in his heavy, aching arm. It tingled and sparked with fiery pain with every paranoid twitch as he glanced behind him, sure he heard footsteps chasing him down.

He gave himself a shake when only his shadow approached. It looked much bigger to him now. Sinister and spreading to encompass the entirety of him.

It had taken him over long ago, and at last, he accepted it. It was too late to beat it back. He’d embraced it. Its hug was gelid and dragged him down, down, down. The shadow had always been in him; his choices had brought it to life, and it was time to eliminate it so it wouldn’t harm anyone else.

If his last victim was to be himself, it would end on his terms.

His last words had been a confession and an apology. To Jessy, and his friends, to the unwitting stranger he’d dragged into this mess, and to himself. His conscience was far from clear, and his reckoning awaited him amongst the flames he would soon ignite.

The cave in which he’d chosen as his tomb would remain safe from the flames, but the poison smoke would choke him. An intangible noose, as he couldn’t bring himself to tie a rope. He shuffled inside and loosed a long breath that felt more like a death rattle.

His stinging eyes couldn’t penetrate the blackness encroaching him on all sides as he reached into his jacket pocket with his good hand, and pulled out the zippo lighter he’d stuffed inside days before. He’d always suspected.

Deep inside, Richy had expected that this was how it ended. The cold silver metal warmed a little in his clammy hand as his thumb stroked over the Garage’s logo and wished he had said goodbye to his parents before he gave himself to the fire.

It was best they learned with the world. His suicide letter would speak for him and he prayed it would ensure his family didn’t suffer for his actions.

Naïveté had always been his downfall.

Before he set his ultimate act into motion, Richy took his phone out of his jean pocket and flicked the flashlight on. The bright beam of white light assaulted his eyes and created a flurry of moving shadows. The skittering of tiny claws on loose stone racing away from him painted a cruel smirk on his mouth as he cast the light around the small cavern and found what he was looking for.

A grubby black backpack sat against the grey rock wall, covered in dirt, blood, and guilt as he scuttled over to it. He unzipped it and pulled out the almost empty bottle of water he’d been rationing for days.

After fishing the bottle of medication out of his pocket, he struggled to open them both, and cried out as his jerky movements irritated his wounded arm. It took five very long minutes to get the pills out. The light from his phone shuddered as he set it down to count the pills.

He’d chosen the strongest ones his mother had. One knocked her out for half a day, and he wanted to numb himself as much as he could before the smoke smothered or flames devoured him. They were heavy on his tongue as he tossed back a fistful of the chalky tablets and chased them down with the last of his precious water.

For a moment, they got lodged in his throat, his mouth flooded with saliva and his eyes prickled with fresh tears.

He couldn’t even kill himself right. Everything he did just failed in spectacular fashion.

He was a monster of his own making, and only he could slay it. He swallowed, compulsive and dry, ignoring the hot flashes creeping up his neck as the painkillers scraped down his throat and into his hollow stomach.

Richy dropped to his knees and crawled over to the wall, and slumped back onto it. Paper crinkled in his inside coat pocket as he shifted to get comfortable. He had about an hour before the full effects of the medication set in. He would light the fire once the gnawing, eroding ache in his chest and arm dulled.

Until then, he sat with his thoughts, his splintering sanity, and cursed himself. Cursed Duskwood and the predator the town had forced him to transfigure himself into.

The weight of hopelessness hung around Richy’s neck like a noose pulled tight, squeezing the light of life from his eyes.

It was a suffocating darkness that swallowed him whole, leaving nothing but the biting tang of despair on his tongue. Each breath felt like inhaling shards of broken glass, cutting deeper with every huffing exhale.

The silence that echoed in his soul was a relentless scream, a haunting, deafening reminder of the emptiness that consumed him.

“I should’ve told someone,” Richy said in a whisper.

The words bounced softly off the rock, a harmony of regret.

He twitched as it fell silent, mouth furling and eyes glazing over as he listened to the racket in his head.

All you had to do was hand yourself in. You could have avoided all of this.

What do you think will happen to your family? They’ll live happily ever after in the town you terrorized?

Do you honestly think your pathetic letter will save them?

The slippery voice of his own darkness broke into a baleful laugh. It made the hair in his nape rise and stand stiff. He shuddered, thrashing his head and gritting his teeth until they squeaked.

“I tried. I always tried. But I’m a failure. I’ve always been a failure. I can make it right. It’s the only way.” He muttered as the disembodied voice agreed.

Make it right? Ha! You think you can wash away the stain of your idiocy?

You’re tainted.

Forever marked by your wrong choices, Richy.

Redemption? You make me laugh.

Redemption is a fairytale, a delusion you’re desperately clinging to.

It is so far beyond your reach…

Richy’s voice was a growl as he said, “No, redemption isn’t my goal. I can’t undo the damage I’ve caused, but I can end it before anyone else gets hurt. I can make sure the world knows it was me.”

The derisive laughter of his demons chafed at his skull as if their talons were scratching their unspeakable names into the bone.

You’re a lost cause. A testament to all your failures.

Each step you take is a step closer to the abyss of self condemnation.

There’s no way out.

Your sacrifice won’t save your soul.

“I accept that!” Richy roared, spittle flying from his chapped lips as he panted like a wounded beast.

“My death might be the only way to atone for all I’ve done. I don’t care what comes after that. But my family won’t suffer because of me. Not any more.”

The voice in his head made a sound of agreement before it crooned his worst fears.

Yes, your death is the ultimate penance.

Your final act of contrition for the havoc you’ve so selfishly wrought.

Then again, have you considered the aftermath?

Your family will endure your actions. Long after you’re gone. Their suffering will echo until they, too, shuffle off the mortal coil.

Searing fiery agony ripped through Richy’s heart. It felt as though someone had taken a knife, heated it up over a fire until it glowed red hot, and then plunged it into his chest. The scent of burned flesh and molten iron filled his nose. The sensation felt so real to him.

His hand clawed at his jacket over his pounding heart, as if to pull the blade free, but his fingers met only dirty fabric.

“They won’t! They won’t! They won’t! I’ve made sure of it. This isn’t their burden to bear!” He yelled, voice laced with an anguish that made his body convulse as rivulets of salt descended his bared teeth.

Helplessness stole over him as his demons taunted and chuckled in a scornful manner.

You should have thought about that before you started donning the guise of an ancient legend.

Idiot.

Weak.

Pathetic!

Your existence is a festering wound that poisons all in your vicinity.

Embrace the fire.

Let it cleanse all the filth you’ve spread.

But just know, your family will bear the scars of your choices, as they’re carved into their souls for eternity.

Richy sobbed through the agonising sensation weaving through his internal organs. He felt as though someone was weaving his internal organs together with a blunt needle, and they had deliberately coated the thread in salt to prolong his suffering. The increasing pressure in his head demanded an outlet as well.

Everything ached, it bled, and it tore him apart. He was so tired. So tired of trying.

This mine, this town, and all it had demanded of him, he was done with it all. He wanted it to burn. His desire was for them all to suffer, just as he had for a decade. He hadn’t dug just one grave that night. No, there had been one accident and four graves waiting for them. They’d just seen theirs too late.

The forest had never forgotten them, though. It had been patient.

That night with Hannah and Amy, it had never ended. It was a living nightmare he had no way out of. Their deaths had simply waited for them to catch up, and even if Hannah could find it in her to exist after all he’d done, he knew she’d died alongside Jennifer and the rest of them.

Ghosts. That’s what they were. He saw it now. There was no point in trying to hold it off anymore.

It was as if the pressure in his head imploded with that thought.

He wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings as his mind fragmented and warped, and his tenuous hold on reality slipped from his grasp.

The cave dissolved in his vision. Something at the very core of himself disintegrated with it.

He was somewhere else. Somewhere he had long tried to forget.

It was ten years ago.

Amy was there. As was Hannah.

He held a muddied shovel. The surrounding forest smelled like home, but his blood had turned cold. Jennifer’s lifeless body lay broken and bloodied, the remnants of shock still painted across her lovely features.

Her hair lay in a sanguine halo around her head as Richy set down the shovel, and silently, the trio worked to lift the woman.

Hannah’s sobs blended with his labored breathing, sweat drip, drip, dripped down his sore neck. He’d wanted to report it to the police. Tried to convince them to do so anonymously. But Hannah, in her fright, had convinced him they’d be signing their death warrants.

His family would suffer. It was he who gave her the keys to a client’s car. It was due to be scrapped, yes, but that didn’t make it better. Everyone would boycott his dad’s Garage and now that mom was growing worse, the sickness in her invading her mind, he knew they needed that income more than ever.

All they could do was hide the body, agree never to speak of this night, and give the greatest performances of their lives to ensure no one ever suspected them once word of Jennifer’s vanishing spread through Duskwood. He felt like something inside him was dying.

His throat tightened, mouth flooding with saliva as the urge to vomit overtook his senses. Heat crawled through him as he swallowed a mouthful of acidic bile and looked heavenward as they shuffled to stand at the edge of the crudely dug grave.

The stars overhead mocked them as the foliage and freshly overturned earth disguised the metallic scent of spilled blood and their sour shared guilt.

“Are you sure you can live with this?” He asked as they hesitated to drop Jennifer into the ground.

Amy chewed on her bottom lip, blood staining her teeth she’d bitten so hard, and her leaking eyes wouldn’t settle on anything as she gave a single jerky nod. Richy’s stomach sank, but he turned his gaze to Hannah.

His friend’s grief mottled face would haunt him forever as she said, “What other choice do we have?”

That answer inspired zero confidence, but Richy accepted it as an affirmation, and said, “Okay, on three—1, 2, 3!”

With a slight swing and a wobble, they released their hold on Jennifer and all three screwed their eyes shut as she hit the bottom of the hole with a sickening crunch.

Amy fell to her knees, her shaking hands gripping the loose mud ringing the unmarked grave as she sobbed uncontrollably. Richy could hardly stand to watch her, and was glad when Hannah, who was crying freely herself, hauled her away.

He nodded once as Hannah and Amy embraced, clinging to one another, wordless apologies pouring from them both as Richy retrieved his shovel.

He felt like they were being watched. Paranoia snaked through his mind like a weed he knew would grow out of control. All he could do was start refilling the grave.

The soft sound of metal scooping up damp earth seemed to ring through the forest as he internally shut down. All his emotions, he forced them aside. He locked them in a cage made of lead and lined with explosives. Life would never be the same.

Life would be a method actors dream after this. He knew this would change them at a molecular level and none of them could breathe a word of it once they left this cursed forest.

Richy took the last deep breath he’d ever experience and watched expressionlessly as the earth rained down on Jennifer. The pattering noise reminded him of rain, of tears. Amy cried harder while he diligently worked to cover up their mistakes.

Hannah watched, her mouth open in a silent scream.

Wetness trickled down his cheeks as he slowly returned to the present.

Hannah’s face floated across his vision as the scene fully dissipated, and he found himself back in the cave. Stale air replaced the aroma of the night dark forest, and a thin haze hung over his eyes as a euphoric rush raced through his bloodstream.

He felt as if he was floating and drowning in a sea of deliriousness.

The medication had kicked in. His legs were leaden as his head lolled on his neck as if on a swivel, and there was an odd sensation in his nose, like the smell of a roaring fire, but none had been lit. The bullet wound in his arm still griped. Infection had set in, he thought.

Only death would cure it. The meds would ease his passing.

A synthetic fatigue draped him like a cloak as he blinked blearily at the dancing shadows creeping nearer. His mouth turned so dry his tongue curdled in his mouth, and his breathing grew shallower as the painkillers burned through the aches in his body. Not long now, his mosaic mind kept jumping between the past and present, footsteps and disembodied voices whispered so close and real that he answered one.

“I should have turned myself in, I know.”

“At least we agree on something. ”

A female said. His suddenly too heavy head swung around to find the source, his sluggish heart raced faster and faster as the voice sounded like Jessy’s.

“Jess? Remember the fish? The names I made up? If I could—No—I’m so fucking sorry...” He said. He spoke with a voice threaded with deepest despondency.

“The fish were just another lie. All of it was. Your life ended the night Jennifer did. Was any of it real after that? Anything you said, did you mean any of it?”

His shrunken heart broke irrevocably, the agony radiated through his chest, and filled him with a coldness that would soon embrace all of him.

“I didn’t mean—please—I’m ready to pay for it. No one else will hurt because of me.” He swore vehemently.

Jessy’s spectral laugh, derisive and humorless, taunted him.

“We will hurt. It won’t go away. Your actions caused wounds that will scar us forever. Death is your relief. Living with what you did to us is our grief. Goodbye, Richy.”

Richy cried silently as her voice faded and the full effects of the painkillers turned his bones to jelly. He had to light the fire before he passed out. A coffin was his only way out of this cursed place.

Bracing a hand on the knobby wall, he gradually rose to his feet as rock crumbled under his fingers, and rained to the dusty ground, sweat on his palm mixed with the dirt as he tottered toward the entrance. He thumbed the Zippo open as he panted, jaw clenched and eyes stinging with slaking tears.

Petrol permeated the air. He breathed it in as he flicked the lighter and swayed on weak knees as the tiny flame ignited. In the dim, damp recesses of the mine, shadows waltzed like specters as Richy, face obscured by the glow of the lighter and shadow, dropped the flame with a snap of his wrist into the pool of gasoline.

Flame surged away from him, hissing along in a serpentine trail until it morphed into a living beast starved and hungry for destruction. He stumbled back. The heat was a physical blow as it sucked out the oxygen, and he trembled like a newborn fawn as he dropped to his knees and stared and stared and stared.

Amidst the cavernous depths of the mine, the candescent light of the furious fire cast a macabre ballet of shadows upon the rough-hewn walls, a surreal tableau of light and darkness. Tendrils of flame licked and lapped at the stone, awakening ember-tinged echoes that wavered and flashed like phantoms in the subterranean gloom.

Billowing smoke, an ash ridden shroud, coiled sinuously through the labyrinthine passages. The evidence he had doused in gasoline would soon catch fire. Relief glittered through him at the thought. An acrid perfume of burning wood and charred earth mingled with the metallic scent of ancient minerals, an otherworldly aroma that lingered in his lungs and clung to all his senses.

There was no going back now. Every breath was slower than the last. It felt like he was inhaling lava as the heat singed the soft tissue and hair in his nose.

His weighty eyelids sat at half mast. The tunnel walls seemed to exhale, releasing murmurs of long buried secrets, as if the very mine itself sought to voice its resignation to the all-consuming blaze. Mirroring his own easing turmoil as he shut down the instinct to flee and welcomed the darkness speckling the edges of his vision.

His lungs were burning as he struggled for air, and it felt like there was a boulder sitting on his chest, keeping them from inflating and grinding his bones down.

The feeling went out of his legs as his hands turned to claws and raked down his neck, leaving scarlet trails of pain scoring his constricting throat.

His world flipped sideways as he collapsed and his head cracked off the rubble strewn ground, but he no longer felt any pain. The roar of the fire, the slowing beat of his heart, and the stones poking into his tear-streaked face were all he knew.

As Richy’s weary eyes teetered on the edge of closure for the last time, a bizarre scene unfolded within the tumult of his fading consciousness.

The nerves in his hands spasmed and his fingers twitched, filthy nails scratching at the dirt to distract himself as he resisted the urge to fight for his life.

No, it had to end like this. If Hell was real, it was best he got used to it.

Freezing panic blasted through him like a blizzard as his blurred eyes caught sight of something that didn’t belong.

Through the shimmering haze of smoke and heat, a figure emerged from a tunnel he hadn’t thought to include in his fiery last act. His heart tried to beat faster as fear spread its icy fingers through his body. The person appeared cloaked in a shivering orange glow and erratic shadows.

Masked and foreboding, the phantom figure raced away without noticing Richy. And lost in the fractured fabric of his perception, Richy could not see who or what it was. If it was a real person, they might’ve tried to drag him out. This would all be for naught. For once, his horrendous luck benefited him.

As it was, the panicked footsteps bolted away from him, barely heard over the howling fire, and vanished into the tumult of smoke.

He hoped they made it out. It hadn’t occurred to him he might take another’s life with him. Just another mistake. Another tally on his list of sins committed. His choices lay before him like an intricately woven tapestry, each thread a testament to the wrong turns and paths he tread, yielding a disturbing, wretched pattern he wished he could unravel and weave anew.

His trembling gaze soon faltered as the slithering smoke filled his lungs, gasping for air that no longer existed as he spluttered and coughed. With every shallow inhale, the world blurred and distorted. Black spots burst like maleficent fireworks in his eyes, shutting down his fleeting thoughts of crawling to safety.

A cacophony of wheezes and whines slipping from his open mouth faded into a distant echo, as his eyelids, heavy with surrender, fluttered closed. He gave himself over to the exhaustion eating him alive from the inside.

The world outside ceased to matter as an alleviating darkness enveloped his mind. His tiny exhales were little more than puffs of air. A whispered farewell to all those he was leaving behind.

Richy had fallen quiet, but the fire raged on, growing stronger as it feasted on wood, and hastily packed boxes, and the papers inside them. His legacy of ash and blood.

In the letter he left for his parents, he had assumed all guilt and taken the lion's share of the responsibility for Jennifer’s death, and his actions after. Hannah, he thought she had suffered enough, and whatever punishment she received, he didn’t want it to ruin her more. Death was his toll to pay, his lethal reputation would exist long after him and pay for the rest of it. He only hoped his parents could move on from this.

They wouldn’t see him again, not until the funeral. It was over. The corrosive effects of his choices had eaten away at everything good in him.

There was nothing left to salvage from his wreckage.

He tried. And he failed. This time, he finally succeeded in something. The complete demolition of him. A tear slipped through his lashes, warm and soft as it fell to the mucky ground.

It was the last. No more fell.

Death came quietly for him, as silent as a falling leaf drifting into a pile of its fallen friends. His chest stuttered as tentacles of smoke wreathed around him like funeral wrappings, falling as still as the rock he lay atop.

Death finally slayed Richy Rogers’ demons, and no one heard their screams.

——————

I have never been so nervous about something I’ve written. I hope that you—I can’t say enjoyed 🙈 but I hope your time wasn’t wasted. Thank you for reading, if you made it this far.

This is in no way meant to glamorise mental illness or anything like that. That is not my intention. I have been where Richy was in this story, I didn’t kidnap or help bury anyone, but I’ve dealt with depression/anxiety all my life. I’ve dealt with suicidal thoughts. There is nothing glamorous about it. This is just a fictional character study to explore his mind and emotions at the end of the game. If you are struggling, please reach out to anyone you trust. Or a stranger, if that works better. Share the burden. You don’t have to suffer alone. It can get better. I promise. I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t ❤️🫂

Thank you ❤️

And the “masked figure,” that was Jake from this story, The Ending You Deserve. Just a little Easter egg for anyone who read that 🤭❤️

#dark fanfiction #duskwood everbyte #duskwood game #duskwood fandom #duskwood #richy rogers #duskwood richy #duskwood jessy #duskwood jake #duskwood fanfic #duskwood oneshot #moonvale #duskwood episode 10 #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #duskwood fanfiction #one shot #angst #hurt/angst #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #sad ending #dark themes #duskwood x moonvale #duskwood mwaf #fanfiction writer #my writing #women writers #creative writers

[y-rhywbeth2]

Lore: Baldur's Gate #2

Demographics of the Western Heartlands

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. There's a lot of lore; I don't know everything. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

The City #1 | Demographics | Administration & Government | ??? - WIP

A sort of overview of how people fit into the region. When I say "Baldur's Gate is a human city" I am not overexaggerating.

So: detailing the five main human groups of the region: the elves would rather stay in Evereska, thanks; the half-elves would rather not stay in Evereska: the halflings are cheerfully exploiting the local adventurers; the gnomes mind their own business; the dwarves have a local history that's just the world hitting them with sticks; and for some reason the Hells have it out for the Western Heartlands, and tieflings are resented for being a reminder. (And the occasional half-orc and dragonborn is there too, I guess.)

-

While the exact percentages may have shifted up or down somewhat over the course of events at the end of the Era of Upheaval and so on, they're still a pretty solid idea of what to expect from the Western Heartlands, and thus Baldur's Gate as the largest population centre (it's also where the most diversity is, being the only major port city for miles).

The breakdown is:

78% Human 7% Elven 4% Half-elven 3% Halfling 2% Gnome 1% Dwarf 1% "Other" [Tiefling, Half-orc, Dragonborn]

-

So 78% of the entire population of the Western Heartlands is human; consisting mostly of five ethnic groups. These groups being defined by their shared inherited cultural norms and genetics across Faerûn. Chondathan culture heavily shapes Baldur's Gate.

80% of these humans are Tethyrian [melting pot of cultures and genetics, predominantly Calishite and Chondathan by ancestry. By average: brown skin; black hair; blue eyes (northern) or brown eyes (southern). Their primary ancestors were the native people of the lands that became Tethyr and Calmishan who have dark brown skin, but lighter skin can become more commonly seen northwards, where Netherese and Illuskan genetics enter the mix]. In the Western Heartlands - they mostly follow Chondathan cultural norms. They have a history of being colonised and enslaved (largely by Calimshan), value freedom and community above all else; slavery is the pinnacle of evil. They have a strong bardic tradition due to relying on oral lore and song to keep their histories and what remains of their distinct culture alive (the majority of their cultural norms will be determined by the dominant culture they've mixed with). The average Tethyrian is raised to mistrust authorities with more jurisdiction than a city state (kingdoms and empires = bad). -

10% are Calishite [dark brown skin; black hair; dark brown eyes. Tend to be short. Due to genie ancestry, most genasi are Calishite]. The percentage is probably higher in the 15th century, due to a wave of refugees. The ancestors of the Calishites were slaves of genies who came to Toril, set up their empires, annoyed the local elves and got wiped off the map and left the humans to inherit their master's empire. Calimshan is one of the oldest human empires still standing, and they're very proud of this fact. They value reputation above all else (personal and family, both highly interconnected) which is basically a form of social currency. Very strict social divides: Class matters, traditionally they're patriarchal and gender roles are strict, marriage is important and the father determines social class (only women may marry "above their station"). In recent history, a return of the ruling djinn and efreeti led to a lot of war and destruction in Calimshan, sending a wave of refugees into the world. Most of those refugees live seperate from the main city in "Little Calimshan" in the Outer City. Said war has recently ended, due to the actions of a Chosen of Ilmater, and many Calishites in Baldur's Gate are considering returning home (especially because there is considerable friction between the refugees and the locals). Sorcery is a common occurance, and Calishites have a strong arcane and divine tradition. -

5% are Chondathan ["tawny" brown skin; light brown to black hair; brown or green eyes. Tend to be tall]. Their ancestors started off as warriors, whose many wars led to them destroying an elven city and a retaliatory tidal wave that eventually led them to discover that trade worked better for them (this did not stop them pissing off elves everywhere they went), they did such a good job that they dominated Central Faerûn through mercentile skill, and Chondathan culture (i.e. language, the Thorass alphabet and such) is a major influence pretty much all over Faerûn. Typically Chondathans have adapted quickly and peaceful to the norms and laws of other peoples, and a Baldurian, Cormyrian and a Sembian will not be perfectly interchangable. Still they will often have shared values: Violence is tacky and counterproductive. a reputation for honesty is paramount and breaking your word is taboo. Tend to be cat people, with a strong appreciation for tressyms. They value hard work, industry and admire wealth (which is power and evidence of a good work ethic). Social standing is determined by money and influence. Class divides don't tend to be rigid, and it's generally believed that hard work should open doors. You start work at 12 (apprenticeships) and if you're able bodied you will be shamed for "not pulling your weight". The elderly tend to hang around after retirement and tutor the next generation. They have little in the way of magical traditions, or interest in it. -

3% are Illuskan [pale skin; blonde, red or black hair; blue or grey eyes. Tend to be very tall]. Rarely found outside of the North (including the Sword Coast North, across the border), most Illuskan cultures are tribes and settlements on the frontiers. They value courage, battle prowess and survival and haven't been as successful in the larger world because they tend to prefer war and raids to trade. Larger civilisation hinders growth and encourages weakness and dependency, and is largely shunned. The rest of the world considers them "no better than orcs" and the Illuskans think the rest of the world are a bunch of cowards unworthy of respect. Not being able to be the warrior hero of some kind of epic tale (or being bold enough to aspire to be) is not necessarily a thing to be ashamed of that you will be mistreated for, but you won't be given any respect past basic courtesy either. Magic is not infrequent amongst Illuskans, due to Netherese ancestry, but it is mistrusted due to the history of the Arcane Brotherhood of Luskan, who are evil bastards. Religion is eh. Illuskans generally only have uses for gods who serve a practical purpose (so appeasing the gods of fury (such as Auril and Umberlee) and Talos, god of war). -

1% consists of the Gur [brown skin; thick, straight black hair; dark brown eyes. Tend to be hirsute and short, but "stocky"] The ancestors of the Gur were Rashemi, a people they still strongly resemble, physically. The modern people feel no kinship with their distant kin though. They're mostly nomads, but some Gur can be found permanently settled in the slums of cities like Baldur's Gate and Elturel, where they're treated as subhuman. Their patron deity is Selûne: protector of travellers and outcasts, and a patron of diviners, which the Gur practice for protection and aid in navigation (as such they also worship Savras, god of truth and fate, patron god of divination). Amongst their own the Gur speak a unique dialect of Rashemi that no outsiders are privy to. There's not a lot on the Gur, but if they share any cultural norms with the Rashemi, it might be something like this: The Rashemi value personal skill/strength (in whatever form that takes) and achievements, and scorn the concept of inherited (unearned) titles and wealth. They also value the wellbeing of the land itself, to which they show respect. While they don't shun work, they don't live for it either; the youth are often found carousing loudly with their friends, and while the adults are expected to contribute to society, they also enjoy a good time. Children are subject to tests as they mature, and elders are afforded great respect for their experience and the challenges they have overcome in reaching their age. Interestingly, Rashemi expats also have a reputation for being "nuisances" outside of Rashemen: many struggle with culture shock, and the stereotype is that they will get drunk and wander around picking fights everywhere (the Rashemar norm of challenging others to help them and you improve comes across as aggression to outsiders). -

The remaining 1% is a mixture of the many, many, many different humans on Toril. This canonically includes one of Faerûn's only Maztican communities, consisting of the Nexala people living in Baldur's Gate (I think they drew inspiration from the Mexica?) and there appears to include a Kozakuran (Japanese fantasy counterpart) minority. TSR's decision to start creating fantasy world counterparts to real world cultures for "exotic" expansions is... hmm, contentious, and I don't know enough about the real world counterparts to know if I'm handling it well, so I'm not going further into that.

------

7% of the population of the Western Heartlands is elves, making up the largest non-human population of the region.

It's mostly moon elves [fair skin, often seen in literal white hues likened to alabaster and marble, with tinges of blue; white, silver (like the metal, not grey) or black hair; eyes always flecked with gold] and wood elves [copper brown skin, tinged with green; blonde, red, brown or black hair; brown or green eyes. Metallic sheen to hair and skin.] Some sun elves returned to Faerûn in the mid-1300s [gold, bronze or amber skin; blonde, red or black hair; golden brown, green or black eyes. Metallic sheen to hair and skin.] (both moon elves and sun elves are categorised as "high elves", in BG3 mechanical parlance). Moon elves are individualistic and have a reputation for flightiness, thrill-seeking and hedonism. Sun elves are conservative, more observant of social hierarchies, have a strong cultural focus on magic (divine and arcane both) and extremely wary of humans due to historical conflict and human expansion into (now lost) elven lands. Wood elves are known for their open mindedness towards non-elves and many hope for elves to live fully amongst the non-elves one day, but due to their nature-oriented spirituality and way of life they rarely venture into human civilisation and are usually highly uncomfortable there. When compared to the percentages of other demihumans in the area, the elven population seems very high, though that 7% accounts for Evereska, the last major bastion of elven civilisation on Faerûn. Although apparently the elves are trying to rebuild Myth Drannor yet again, and good luck with making that stick. While elves do make up the largest non-human minority group in Baldur's Gate, the vast majority of that 7% traditionally remains in Evereska and refuses to leave their homeland's borders, and of those that leave it's almost entirely moon elves, who are the most likely to assimilate into human culture. A minority of wood elves might be able to get comfortable in cities. Your average sun elf, to whom preservation of elven culture is a sacred duty given by Corellon him/herself, would be horrified by the concept of assimilating into the N'Quess, and any that aren't are going to be under immense social pressure from their house/clan to come home and conform (especially because there's a chance that their family may view humans as dangerous). That said, the flightiness of youth can generally be forgiven (they'll grow out of it). Most encountered are young adventurers under 100 years old and semi-nomadic family groups of moon elves who wander between human settlements as their whims (and/or the mercantile work of their clan/house) takes them. Older elves are unlikely to be found in Baldur's Gate in high numbers, as the rapid, demanding pace of the metropolis clashes badly with the "take your time" philosophies and lifespan of elves. A few families of sun elves also established themselves in the minor human cities of Iriaebor and Berdusk, further South East, after returning from the Retreat.

- 4% of the population is half-elven, almost entirely of moon elven descent, and, on the human side, likely to be of Tethyrian ancestry.

It's likely most are found in human cities, even if they weren't already born there. The noble houses of Evereska have traditionally been extremely xenophobic (even the elven commoner clans were considered beneath them), and the only non-elves permitted entry for most of Evereska's existence have been Harpers: the opportunities for half-elves to be born within the realm have been fewer that otherwise. Human civilisations also saw an influx of half-elven immigration during the late 14th century - albeit most moved North - when the Spellplague caused Evereska and the Feywild to merge slightly, and an increase in xenophobic attitudes made many feel unwelcome.

- 3% is halfling, almost entirely lightfoot [very, very wide genetic pool. The hin have moved around enough that no features or colouration has become a norm for an entire geographic population.]

Lightfoot halflings - or hin, amongst themselves - are pretty much all over Faerûn, having made themselves comfortable and unobtrusive living alongside humans. They mostly assimilate into human cultures, though there is still a focus on clan and family. There is a small village in the region called Gullykin, which mostly keeps to itself and profits from its brewery (which also happens to be the temple of Yondalla). They also cheerfully make a side profit off of the frequent adventuring parties who use the village as a rest stop while exploring the nearby ruins (Durlag's Tower and the Firewine Ruins). The locals have no interest in the ruins themselves, considering Firewine particularly cursed, and pride themselves in being as peacefully boring as they possibly can.

- 2% consists of gnomes, almost entirely rock gnomes [brown skin; white hair; no information given on eye colour, although "glittering black" has been used as a descriptor.]

Gnomes prefer to stay well hidden, in secret villages scattered around the world and unseen by outsiders, but a minority are drawn to Baldur's Gate. Rock gnomes split their time and focus between their career (usually craft of some sort, and rock gnome working environments are known for their very relaxed, friendly atmospheres) and partying.

- 1% consists of dwarves, shield dwarves [pale to light brown skin; dark hair; blue eyes] and gold dwarves [light to dark brown skin with a reddish hue; black, grey or brown hair; brown or hazel eyes]. Exact numbers aren't given, but as, historically, the shield dwarves almost went extinct due to wars where the gold dwarven numbers reached such levels of overpopulation in the Great Rift during the Thunder Blessing of 1306 DR that many were forced to migrate in droves, I would assume that it's either, like, a 50/50 split, or the gold dwarven population is the higher one.

Gold dwarves put their success and survival down to adherence to dwarven ways of life and are staunch traditionalists, cleaving to family, clan and faith: Dwarven history being characterised by the loss of homeland after homeland, they are very keen to ensure that their way of life survives. They have a bad history with the various inhabitants of the Underdark (especially drow). Shield dwarves have been in the area the longest. They have lost many of their homelands in the North to orc invasions and the expansion of humanity in their subsequent weakened state. Those found in the Western Heartlands belong to a subdivision called the Wanderers; dwarves who after the loss of their ancestral homes took to a more nomadic life, making a living as mercenaries and crafters in the settlements of other races. Many may have non-dwarven ancestry, as shield dwarves started intermarrying to bolster their numbers due to wars and an infertility crisis rendering their population dangerously low - non-dwarven ancestry is mostly humans and gnomes, though some hin and elven blood can be found. The same traditions their gold dwarven kin hold to exist in shield dwarven culture, but due to the pressures of survival many traditions are looser or have fallen by the wayside. The most successful dwarves are presumably the Shattershield clan, who settled in Baldur's Gate at the time of the city's origin and became the Gate's sole non-human Patriar family. There have been attempts to create new homelands in the Western Heartlands, and all of them met with disaster. The town of Kanaglym, established in 722 DR eventually discovered that they'd accidentally found a portal to the Fugue Plane in the town well. The half-dwarven adventurer Daeros Dragonspear established Dragonspear Castle aboveground, over the town's location in 1255 DR, creating a safe haven for the dwarven people that was also guarded by Daeros' copper dragon companion Halatathlaer, who had a lair nearby. Then a mage, seeking the dwarves' wealth, decided to embark on a complicated plot, of which the most relevant step was opening a portal to Avernus and tricking Daeros to walk into it, and also destroying the castle with an invasion of dragons. A dwarf by the name of Durlag Trollkiller also established a home for his clan (Durlag's Tower) at some unknown date, and that was later annihilated by an infiltration of doppelgangers and mind flayers. The Orothiar clan settled in the Cloakwood, however they were forced to abandon their clanhold when a mine wall was accidentally breached: the river flooded their home, and wiped out most of their people, bar a few survivors.

- 1% covers everybody else. Hobgoblins, gnolls, goblins, kobolds and such will make up the majority of this category; the recently established Yuan-ti kingdom of Najara has also joined this percentage; with a minority of half-orcs (orcs are not really found in the Western Heartlands, the nearest are mountain orcs in the North), and then a smaller handful of planetouched (tieflings, genasi, aasimar (mostly tieflings and genasi)) and dragonborn left over.

While generally not popular anywhere, tieflings are particularly mistrusted in the Western Heartlands. They're associated with the Dragonspear Wars - the first of which took place in 1356 DR - where Waterdeep and Baldur's Gate went to war with the invading forces of Avernus (coming from portals set up in the eponymous Dragonspear Castle). There was another invasion in 1363 DR. Then that time Mephistopheles invaded Waterdeep in 1372 with the intention of conquering Toril and turning it into the tenth layer of hell probably didn't help their reputation either. Nor the fey'ri invasion of Evereska in 1374 DR. Nor did the Elturel incident... It's not unlikely that there are a fair few people with dormant infernal blood in their veins, but the tiefling population isn't likely to see much growth, as the birth of a tiefling child to human parents is not infrequently met with panic and infanticide.

There's nothing I can really find on half-orcs, but I would imagine most are of mountain orc and Illuskan heritage, and they or their ancestor/s migrated from the North.

I'd hazard a guess that the entire dragonborn population of Baldur's Gate - possibly the entire region - can be seen in-game. They have no history in the area that I know of.

#idk but this post makes me feel like anxiety vomiting... #fyi WYLL IS THE MOST ACCURATE FR CHARACTER IN THIS GAME FOR A MULTITUDE OF REASONS including his speech patterns #Dude actually *sounds* like he lives here #god that took a while #There were so many sources and I'm concerned I didn't double check enough and aaaaaaaaaaaaa #The good news is that I'm too tired to be yelling now #lore stuff #long post

[marimayscarlett]

Prepare to be swept away by a heart-pounding story of love and danger. 🔫💖 Explore the captivating world of Richard Zee Kay, a hardened gangster [Ich Will MV], who finds himself captivated by you, an unexpected hostage. 😱 Will you succumb to the allure of forbidden love or fight for your freedom? 👀

(caution: this got longer and kind of different than I expected, no idea what my brain did here)

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

The camera pans through the reception hall of a bank - once sterile, now littered with glass shreds and rubble. Anxious hostages sit in groups on the floor, held in check by sinister-looking gangsters. The camera zooms in on a pair of black men's business shoes walking slowly over broken glass. They stop in front of the reception, camera pans upwards to the profiles of two people standing opposite each other. A man with styled raven-black hair and a shadow of a beard, and a bank employee with auburn hair, green eyes and a petrified and defiant expression on her face.

“So we meet again, little one. I'm glad to see your pretty face after such a long time.” “Why am I not surprised you didn't make the jump, Kruspe.” “After you dumped me, I didn't see the point anymore, sweetheart.” “How typical of you again. Going through with things to change your life for the better just doesn't seem to be your forte. Besides, who dumped who? An illegal weapons-deal was more important to you than your fiancée at the time, who had hoped so much that you would leave your old life behind - did that slip your mind? With your actions back then, you dug the grave of our relationship. Single-handedly. I should have known that there was no future with a notorious petty criminal, especially not for an ordinary girl.” “Now you're being unfair. You knew what a dilemma I was in back then! It was either I make the deal or three of my colleagues get wiped out. What was I supposed to do?” “You should have been honest. Less lying. More honest love. More appreciation for what's waiting for you at home than what the fucking streets and your oh so holy dark gangster world has to offer you. And now look at you. Robbing the bank where your ex works, taking innocent people hostage. How low do you want to go, Kruspe?” “When you were gone, I didn't see the point in anything anymore. I almost lost it without you! My mind went into overdrive, I just wanted to distract myself, and if that meant doing more crooked things, then so be it! I know that…if you came back to me, I would have the strength to change.” “If I had a dime for every time I had to listen to your empty promises, I would have been rich enough not to have to take this stupid bank clerk job. Do me a favor and leave the bank through the back door after your damn robbery so I don't have to watch you leave and fuck up your future again.” “…I can change. I want to change. I'm only doing this robbery because I have to. If you knew what's at stake here… When this is over, I will change.”

“….prove it to me.”

This coming summer at a movie theater near you: The gripping real-time thriller “Heist of the Heart”, a demanding love story between a tough man of the gangster world and an unyielding woman, now hostage to her former lover, who mourn their shared past and fight for their future. Will they get back together while a bank is robbed along the way? Is Richard really ready to leave the criminal underground behind? Is his love strong enough to go through with it? And what does the Russian mafia have to do with it all?

Pack your popcorn and tearproof tissues and get ready for a thrilling rollercoaster ride of emotions - spiced up with a dash of guns, grenades and Tarantino-worthy storytelling. 🍿🔫💘

#rammstein #richard kruspe #ich will mv #ask #don't ask me a thing. it's 1am and I discovered my inner steven spielberg just let me be delusional here for a bit

[theredontbedragons]

No daylight

"When you and I are of the same mind... there is nothing we have not yet been able to do."

Map

#no daylight #well I said I'd get you back #sirtadcooper #several iterations later and here it is #dark and gritty #turned out way more cinematic than intended #I know it's dark - but that's where the freedom is #early edits of this looked like a French film poster #and yes that is the Treasure Island map in the background #black sails edit #bs edit #black sails fandom #mine #captain flint #john silver #james flint #long john silver #black sails #treasure island

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

okay we have officially entered the Winter Break Is Driving Me Mad zone

#djhahdjhkashdash i have sat still as in not moving as in not going anywhere as in Still for too long #but it's too cold and dark to run around or go somewhere #and everyone is conspiring against me (there is someone in every single room so i am effectively cornered) #i was not built for this i feel like i'm going to explode they should release me into the wild so that i can experience freedom before #my untimely death by nature's hand but it will be oh so beautiful it will be yuri too btw #at least during the summer i can go to parks and walk through the forests or go in the caves or something but i can do nothing #during the cold dark winter #i am trapped in this tiny house with these people and i cannot leave i am going stir-crazy and it has been exactly 5 days since #school has officially ended #mayhaps i shall test if the rock climbing gym is open during winter break #we have one at my school and technically i get free access but i never go in bc i know too many gym rats and i hate seeing ppl i know #in different locations #but damn rock climbing sounds good rn #[insert google search] noooo they're closed on the weekends for winter break noooooooo #and their hours suck noooooo #u know what i may just say fuck it and go to a park or smth we have a hilly one that i bet no-one will be at bc it's fucking cold #i am going to go mad staying here i am going to be sick #where are the beautiful trees and fresh air and sunshine where did it all go why am i stuck in this house #i have no room to move all i can do is wait for the main room to be vacated so i can have space to dance but this is not enough #i need to climb something i need to be given more space to do something but noooooo #u know what i will unbecome nocturnal just to go places during the day #i will go to the sad cold riverside park and i will run from whatever geese are still around. maybe i'll bring a dog #if i do not i am going to scratch up these walls and YES they are yellow but they are not wallpaper it is paint. if u even care

[theflyingfeeling]

Hiii! Just wanted to share that today I’ll be thinking about these moments/pictures 😌✨💕

also you mentioned how they watched LOTR together (and I decided they did) and it reminded me of this:

aaaaaaaaaaaaaa 😭😭😭💕💖💗💞💖💕💞💗

are y'all looking at how Aleksi is holding Olli in the screencaps from Posse?? because I am and I haven't stopped thinking about that moment ever since it happened two (?!) years ago 🥺😭

may we also consider these moments while we're at it:

why are they crushing on each other so hard I'm going insane 😭😭😭😭😭

#imagine them on a movie date night 🥺 #either at the cinema where they end up sort-of-holding hands in the dark but can't really because all the others are right there #and they don't want to attract the others' attention and listen to their teasing #maybe they find it hard to focus on the movie because it's just so nice to focus on the softenss of the other's hand instead #and the other smells so nice too they had to fight back the urge to lean against their shoulder 😭 #or at home they could just cuddle on the couch with snacks and a blanket #aleksi would keep asking olli questions about the LOTR universe and olli would be so patient answering them (it would be his pleasure) #aleksi may not be that interested. he just loves listening to olli talk about the stuff he's passionate about 😭 #and olli may feel a tad jealous when aleksi says he thinks [insert LOTR character] is ''kinda hot'' but oh honeyyyy #aleksi will make sure olli knows just how hot aleksi thinks he is after the movie 😌 #(aragorn is undeniably the hottest but i wanted to give y'all some freedom of choice regarding that in case some of you have bad taste) #ollixallu #answered asks #sparfloxacin

[faggyangel]

like 'i wanna go' doesn't mean he's suicidal, it means 'i've developed friends and family, i've grown, i've experimented and discovered who i am and made peace with it, i've loved everyone i needed to and they loved me back and i know that now. i can let go of the idea of glory and just be with family for the time i have left. i'll sit with ed until i go and tell that i love him, tell him it's okay that i'll be gone because he has people who care for him, it's not just me anymore, i can trust stede to love him, watch him become who he wants to be, i can tell him that i want him to be happy, that he can leave blackbeard behind and be who he is outside of being the legend we made together. ed's loved and protected, the crew is safe, my family is taken care of, and i've done everything i need to.' he doesn't mean 'i wanna go because i don't want to live' it means 'i wanna go, i'm ready, i lived my life and i can let go now' izzy died happy and fulfilled, he died in the arms of the man he loved, surrounded by people who loved him. the crew mourned him by celebrating lucius and pete's love, they mourned him by going forward and avenging him, forming a new family and crew to carry on the legacy of piracy, and most importantly ed is mourning him by doing exactly what izzy told him to do, he's letting blackbeard die and allowing himself to be loved, he moves into a little house with someone who will always love him with izzy's grave and memorial in view, and izzy will always be with ed in so many ways, but especially because he gave him permission to let go of his darkness and become someone better

#to fucking quote d20 and brennan lee mulligan just because because your story ends doesn't mean it didnt happen #his story his development his role was so important and meaningful and death will never take away from that you know? #like it was beautiful and heartbreaking and meaningful and tragic it wasnt a brutal murder it was the end of his story #also yes he was queer no it was not becaude he was gay or anything like that like it was a loss sure #but also even if you do want to compare it to the brutalization of queer ppl which i do think is extreme but going down that road #means honoring those who died and sacrificed and suffered before you by remembering them by going forward making life better for those after #and using that freedom to be better and grow and live your life to the fullest #“where's the queer rage?” the queer rage is within the revenge crew going out and taking back power from the british #ed cant be surrounded by darkness forever let him REST #our flag means death #izzy hands #done tagging spoilers because its been a while since it came out

[carlyraejepsans]

You know what's a messed up thought? We need to stop the knight from opening fountains in order to stop the roaring right? And to do that we need to seal the fountains... Who opened the fountain in castle town? If we assume its the knight, it might mean that we have to seal the castle town fountain aswell, and i think that would make an interesting ending, like, choose to keep it open and risk the roaring? Or close it and say goodbye to your friends forever.

I've talked about your point before, it's a very good observation! but instead of arguing for or against it, I'm just gonna say this:

ever played one shot? the other cute indie game with meta themes and player/PC interactions that's referenced multiple times throughout deltarune? (ex: the room with the tree and the man behind it)?

know how that game ends?

yeah :]

#:]] #i don't speculate about deltarune that much #but one thing i feel very strongly about where it's going #and it's that by the end of the story the light world and the dark worlds won't ever be able to communicate again #because the power dynamic between the darkners and the lightners almost directly parallels the dynamic between kris and the player #which. while i think kris had a hand in our coming. is still one of disproportionate disparity #think of the control we have over kris and their body and their life #now think of the control lightners have over darkners for the pure fact that they're objects in the lightworld #how they make them. and literally give them purpose. and can destroy them willingly or not #like remember that meme about the kid from toy story ''how was he supposed to know they're alive. they shouldn't be'' #considering this power dynamic it becomes clear that there's no true ending to dr where we remain in control of kris' body #... and there won't be any end for the darkners' crisis as long as they're tied to the light world. as objects #there's also another possibility. which is that dark worlds aren't truly... Real real. like their function IS to help and support lightners #which would SEEM to be supported by the fact that (according to toby) making plushes of the darkners serves a purpose to the story #while making plushies of the lightners doesn't #but it's debatable. especially with how hard the story in ch1 pulled on the ''lightnerd and darkners are equal'' which... #on a purely material/ontologic sense is just not true #but seems to remain conscience/will/freedom-wise #but anyway yeah. going by vibes and thematical predictions alone #i think we'll have to definitely close the portals to dark worlds. so they can go on to live their own destinies separate from ligtners #and THEN. don't forget will play again. the version with lyrics. and like the stickers it's gonna impliy that it's sung from ralsei's pov #and he'll sing ''don't forget: I'm with you in the dark''. and we'll all BAWL our FUCKING EYES OUT #answered asks #deltarune #entry log

[maegalkarven]

I love how vastly different June and Levi are and how their relationships with Enver differ in so many ways.

If Levi is a guy believing he is equal to gods, then June is, at his core, a prodigal follower.

It's a pattern he doesn't break out of even as he betrays his father for Selune. Gortash didn't manage to shake this part of him, only created a push, allowing June chose a god other than Bhaal (i.e. June didn't want Enver to die, realized he didn't want to die himself and entered a pact-like relationship with the Lady of Silver to prevent these two things from happening.)

The hardest thing for him is to go back on his word/dismantle the existing alliance. His mortal flaw is loyalty, blind loyalty.

So at some point his story comes to a crossroads.

He can either reaffirm his alliance with Gortash, unknowingly dooming him a Gortash himself, not to mention death of Duke Ravengard and many other casualities.

In this scenario Gortash dies from the psyonic command of the Nether Brain and June becomes the hero of Baldur's Gate and the new archduke.

Which sounds fun and games until you realize it also includes him becoming a new Chosen of Bane, because June might have learned how to break out of his father's chains, but he doesn't know what to do with himself and, after his and Selune's ways part, is an easy prey for gods with less than honorable plans.

The other road comes with stabbing Gortash in the back, metaphorically speaking. It includes the wicked choice of putting a tadpole into his head and making him cooperate because "oh, but I can just relinquish the protection astral prism bestows on you. I am sure you'll love being Elder Brain's thrall".

It's a choice what leaves absolutely everyone (well, not EVERYONE) horrified because not only they did not expect that from June, but also looking how pleased June is with himself by walking Gortash into the corner opens their eyes to the fact what he is not, in fact, a hero. He was a villain in the past and some of this past still lingers, even more after Selune's cold soothing light has left.

And, ridiculously, it's the choice what saves everyone; gondians, Ravengard, Karlach, Gortash himself.

#bg3 spoilers #bg3 #dark urge: june #june's main theme is servitude and wherever he breaks out of it #if he does it's his good ending if he doesn't - the bad one where he is bane's new favorite tyrant #all gortash managed to do is to show june he has a choice who to follow #and june breaking out of this badly fitting loyalty is a result of the bond he builds with companions #also to clarify of course june and enver were A THING #surprisingly the whole tadpoling business actually makes it better bc before that Gortash kind of looked down at june #but after that june gains new respect in the man's eyes. Enver didn't know his favorite assassin could be cunning and wicked #in a way beyond bland murder that's it #me: *invests in more than one durge and makes them whole ass people* #me: i am very normal about this game #what are they doing after the end of the game? Gortash kind of manages to pull the 'i was enthralled as you all' card #Probably doesn't manage to keep his title as archduke but weasels out of any reprecussions #is he still Bane's Chosen? I doubt it. At this point Bane has probably deemed him a failure. #there's a big chance he tags along with June and Astarion to Underdark because hey all these unliberated ppl in there! #Astarion: so let's make it clear...You're planning to conquer Underdark? #Gortash: Conquer? Such a crude world. I am planning to liberate them. save them from themselves! #June laughing: sure you do love. i bet that's what tyranny is al about: liberation. freedom of wills and artistic expression. #Gortash: laugh all you like my dear partner in crime but don't you see them suffer? #Gortash: don't you hear them choke on a breath under suppressing rule of the Spider Queen? #June: so you deem yourself a savior now? #gortash: yes. The question is: will you save these people with me? #June:...a...compelling argument. I doubt we can do worse than the existing conditions under the Lloth are #Astarion: another world' saving but also inevitably self-centered quest? Another one? We JUST survived the last one. #June: I don't know. We live here now. isn't it natural to make this place more... lived in? I like the dangerous nature here #June: but I doubt drow will be very welcoming. And Menzoberranzan seems like a good place for the spawns to settle #June: ...if we restructure some things that's it #Astarion painfully aware he travels with two fools with delusions of word domination/salvation: fiiine.

[astaricn]

Tags

#❝ think i forgot how to be happy something i'm not but something i can be ❞ ;; vis #❝ i'm starvin' darlin' let me put my lips to somethin' ❞ ;; ic #❝ i'm a man of wealth and taste i've been around for a long long years stole many a man's soul and faith ❞ ;; abt #❝ ten thousand candles couldn't light all the darkness in my heart ❞ ;; aes #❝ i belong to here where no one cares and no one loves no light no air to live in ❞ ;; isms #❝ i have heard enough of these voices almost like i have no choice ❞ ;; hcs #❝ i can be the subject of your dreams your sickening desire ❞ ;; desires #❝ even with nothing on bet i made you look ❞ ;; wardrobe #❝ i'm gonna dance with my hands above my head ❞ ;; playlist #❝ tell everybody i’m on my way new friends and new places to see ❞ ;; main verse #❝ i broke my chains there's more to do and i still want to live ❞ ;; freedom verse #❝ everybody knows that home is where your teeth sink love ❞ ;; ascension verse #❝ pull me by my hair so i don't go nowhere ❞ ;; pre game verse

[collidingxworlds]

Personalised Tags Dump #1

@omniishambles & @uselessdevice || @imprvdente & @hvbris

#personalised tags #(( I want posts where I can find them easily xD )) #* Only with you I find the freedom to be everything I want to be * ::Crowley&Aziraphale:: {omniishambles} #* I'll take this fall in the dark with you till the end of our bloodied days * ::Will&Hannibal:: {omniishambles} #* It's a chain of blood and secrets that ties us together * ::Sam&Megan&Deirdre:: {uselessdevice&hvbris} #* And if there’s blood on my hands I know you’ll always make it into something beautiful * ::Abigail&Clarice:: {hvbris} #* This is us. Peak of youth. Building identities. A world of secrets * ::Abigail&Clarice&Fish:: {imprvdente&hvbris} #* Hand in hand we'll walk the bloodied shadows of this night * ::Abigail&Fish:: {imprvdente} #* We were seeds shoved underground and now we spread like wild flowers * ::Abigail&Salomé:: {hvbris} #* And we'll be fighters to reclaim the life they took from us * ::Five&Eleven:: {hvbris} #* The bruises on my soul don't hurt as much if I can hear you breathe * ::Will&Noah:: {hvbris}