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tadpolesonalgae · 11 months

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Demon!Azriel x Reader: Teeth and Talons

Summary: you’re accused of witchcraft and sacrificed to the shadow creatures, only to be saved by their ruler who’s suspiciously in sudden need of a bride…

Warnings: demon!Azriel, drinking blood (more vampiric), mentions of cannibalism, sexual tension, rituals, monsterform! azriel?, biting

A/N: I do want to make a small note that @azrielscrown ’s Prince of Hell series made me want to write my own demon!Azriel fic!

-Part 2- -Part 3-

Visual Prompt here!

You’re a trembling mess, cold sweat slicking your body with sallow skin, temperature fluctuation from sizzling to so cold you feel you’ll seldom be capable of movement once the fit has passed. You know what the priests will say. Possession. They’ll say you’re being inhabited by a shadow creature, tie you to the bed and mist sacred water across you until your body shatters.

The fever isn’t subsiding, and you’re not the first to succumb to the strange plague sweeping through the citadel. Just one of many poor, unfortunate souls. You’ve heard they’ve taken to burning the bodies. Some not completely void of life before they’re set alight.

Is this really the end? It swept in so abruptly, seizing you firmly as it ravages you internally. You can only hope death will come silently.

————————

When you wake, your rags are soaked with sweat, a dark pool having formed beneath you, yet you are no longer being sieged by heat. Your brow is clear of sweat, your limbs no longer being wracked with tremors.

You’re struck by the peculiarity of the miracle. Nobody else has survived. Surely if the plague wasn’t fatal word of mouth would have carried the news to the emperor by now. Not as if he would know what to do. Not as he if was actually ruling.

Maybe some god had taken pity on you.

You should make an offering to Thesan.

————————

The following morning you were arrested. Witchcraft, they said.

Not miracle-worker. That was reserved for men.

The stories had willingly flown in. A woman without husband, living by herself, suddenly recovering from an absolutely fatal plague? Corruption. A pact made with the Lord of the underground. The king of Hel.

Devil worshipper.

Witch.

Whore.

The last you knew had nothing to do with the allegations and everything to do with your sex. It didn’t make the sting and less painful.

————————

You’re thrown to your knees at the foot of the dais, the boy-king sat atop the throne, lounging in a bored fashion. He only perked up when he was brought ‘visitors’, or rather, people for him to inflict punishment.

Candle-wic, he cries, clapping his hands in puerile manner, his young mouth lifting into a gleeful smile as he points at you. How a child could so joyfully sentence someone to being doused in scalding tarmac only to be then set aflame, you could hardly fathom, yet here the boy-king sat, dictating your fate with a flick of his youthful hand.

His advisor advises him. Something less flamboyant. More discreet.

It’s the first time you’re setting eyes upon the emperor’s advisor and you’re not at all surprised to see the old man with already fading hair and wrinkles that swallow his eyes beneath flaps of loose skin. But that’s what you catch on. Eyes black as the devil’s, black like you’ve never seen black. Dark as pitch.

They’re alarmingly void, more than anyone’s have any right to be…and lacking in definition. Just one solid layer glazing across the obsidian coloured surface. Depthless.

He suggests leaving you for the devil you sold your heart to in order to revive a remedy. There’s no use in proclaiming your piety, their minds are set. You’re a threat to their power, an unseen obstacle and must be dealt with accordingly.

————————

And that’s how you find yourself in the centre of The Blood Rite. The private ceremony is reserved for great warriors to prove their worth. Though apparently, it serves as a discreet method of elimination for unwanted - innocent or not - citizens.

The earth is damp beneath your knees, the bones sinking into the mud. Your wrists are bound painfully - a courtesy that would not be extended to a warrior. The ties are designed to hinder, to make an already inevitably gruesome death all the more horrid by removing any ridiculously self-indulgent notions of escape.

Your breath fogs as you exhale harshly, the night air freezing your lungs with every breath. How long had you been kneeling here, waiting patiently for your end? Because it’s coming for you. There’s no point of struggling. Movement would only catalyse the inevitable. Maybe if you remained still, calmed your heart and removed any sort of thrum from your body the unknown entity would leave you be.

Wishful thinking.

The night air presses in on you, goosebumps pebbling up your forearms, hackles rising at your back. There’s a presence to the forest you’ve been dumped in, a cloying madness that lies between the trees, stalking every silent breath of damp air.

A twig snaps to your right, tension rippling up your body, neck flushing with heat as terror seeps from your being. Your eyes dart around the forrest in a frenzied dance.

A shadow flickers in your peripheral vision, darting behind a tree. Pulses thrum through you, beating your blood melody loud and clear. How long would your death last? Would you unnecessarily suspended in those agonising moments that should be limited to mere seconds? Or would the dark beasts draw out your torture, playing with the shreds of your skin with carnal delight.

Something rustles to your left, like a hurried shuffle through leaves, only made to taunt and confuse. Made to misdirect.

Then something pounces on you, sharp claws biting into your shoulders as you’re slammed backwards into the ground. Maybe it would be quick, but not painless. A beast wreathed in shadow, four paws with talons the length of your forearm and rows of razor sharp teeth that glitter with wet saliva beneath the silver moonlight. It has an elongated snout, a flat nose sliding over the protrusion, skin around it’s eyes peeled back to be permanently bulging.

It shoves it’s snout against the spoonful of your abdomen, sizing up how big a bite to take. You pray, silver lining your eyes as your body trembles, petrified to the spot. You can easily imagine entrails decorating it’s teeth like the wreathing in temples. Your stomach lurches.

Then it releases an ear splitting scream, agony slicing down your ears as it howls to the sky. Hot, dark liquid splatters onto your torso, followed by a wet ripping sound. Its blood - you assume that’s the liquid - smells of damp clothes left in a pile beneath the sun: stagnant. Admittedly, not the worst scent.

The large creature goes lax, slumping forward, toppling on top of you. You’re crushed by the weight that slugs into you, knocking the breath from your lungs as you careen backward.

The beast is nudged aside by a large protrusion of shadow, flipping the creature onto its back, allowing you to see the viscera spilling from its soft, round belly. A cold sweat slicks your skin, hairs standing on end as inherent dread twists you round it’s sharp talons.

The humanoid shadow steps forward and you’re frozen in place, hardly able to even shift a muscle as it prowls closer. Until it’s stood in front of you. Fight or flight kicks in, everything kickstarting inside of you as you scramble to your feet, finding safe purchase on the forest floor.

You back up, paralysed with fear as you watch the creature, shadows flickering at its silhouette. Before you really have a chance to move, or even do anything, the shadows swarm forward and you feel rough hands gripping your upper arms.

The last thought you have is how abnormally elongated the creatures talons are, like those on a phœnix.

————————

Your mind can barely comprehend the information. Words turning to mush in your brain, thoughts slowing to a sluggish squelch as you sit across from the dæmon. Azriel.

Azræl? You had asked, trying to pronounce the word on your tongue, but the syllables simply bumbled together. He’d shaken his head, Azriel, he’d repeated. You’d kept you silence, deciding the chance of spelling it out in your mouth to his liking was low enough to class as a risk. Instead you’d swallowed and nodded. He’d looked as though he’d push, but his eyes flicked to the bowl in front of you, ordering you to eat.

All he’d told you was he was in need of a human bride. Not why. Or what your role was. Nothing. So you went on with nothing, deciding to follow his command to eat, despite the protests from your stomach.

You look down only to see there’s no cutlery. Your lips part silently in question, flicking about the table as he watches you from the opposite end, marking your actions. His gaze makes you squirm in your seat, discomfort pressing down on you.

Eventually you swallow, lifting your gaze to his nervously. That was another thing, his eyes: Eyes black as the devil’s, black like you’ve never seen black. Dark as pitch.

“May I have a knife and fork?” You request, voice hoarse and scratchy. His eyes bore into you, piercing your soul as they filter through your pupils. You swallow again, throat feeling dry. The table has a single jug - no glasses. The water is crystal clear, mist condensing over the glass, no doubt refreshingly cool. Your parched throat is desperate for reprieve, yet he gives you none.

You’re in Hel, he’d told you. That was becoming clear.

You try sitting in silence with him, but he keeps staring at you with those wild, pitch black eyes, pupils that swallow his irises - if dæmons have irises.

“You’re not going to inquire why I selected you?” He breaks the silence, his deep voice rolling across to you, encompassing your sentences.

“I’m not so conceited as to believe you intentionally chose me,” you reply, steeling your spine as your eyes flick to his. “You are clearly a creature of self-serving narcissism.” Is it wise to say that to a dæmon that technically saved your life? Either way, you hope he doesn’t hold that over you. Dæmons can be…unkind when it comes to their debts.

“Creature over beast?” He responds. Despite the casual tone he’s using, his sharp gaze reminds you it’s anything but. “Are you a beast?” You settle on.

“That’s for you to decide for yourself.”

You bite off some of the fluffy bread, “so there’s no definitive answer?”

He cocks his head, amusement sparking in his obsidian gaze. The movement makes you pause. You have close to zero idea what his intentions are.

You swallow. “You’re not going to eat anything?” You nod to his end of the table, void of any eating instruments. What do dæmons eat, anyway? Do they eat?

A slow smile lifts the edges of his mouth, the tips of glittering canines protruding beneath his lips. There’s nothing remotely kind about it.

Discomfort coils in your lower belly. You’re no longer hungry. Moving slowly, you quietly push the plate away a little, lowering your hands to your lap as you shift in the chair. Something gleams in his eyes and you wonder if he derives pleasure from the buildup of tension before a kill. Immediately, you regret the thought.

“I think I’m full,” you announce, softly, hoping you’ll be allowed to leave the chamber. “Not curious about my eating habits?” He drawls. You know you probably don’t want to hear the answer, but he’s not really giving you a choice. All you can hope for is that it won’t upend the contents of your stomach.

“It didn’t seem as though you were keen on answering,” you reply, watching your hands fiddle in your lap.

He hums, and you prepare yourself. But silence follows.

When you lift your gaze to see what he’s doing, he’s gone, seat empty. It’s unnerving being in his presence, but at least you have a vague sense of where he is. Now you feel as if he’s watching from every corner. You shift in your seat, heart pounding.

A hand wraps beneath beneath your jaw and you flinch, jumping in your seat. He pulls your head to the side, lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as your fingers turn white with how hard they’re biting into the wood of the chair arm. Your jaw tightens as you feel the menacing scrape of canines tracing your throat, every muscle in your body turning rigid as you shrink into the chair.

“How obedient,” he drawls, the muffled murmur making your hair stand on end. “I bet I could sink my teeth into you and you wouldn’t move a muscle.” Your breathing turns shallow as you try to limit your movement. “Isn’t that right, bride?” His razor sharp teeth scrape a little too close, a hot stinging sensation prickling your neck. You try to lean away from him but his grip tightens.

“You eat humans?” The tremble in your voice is prominent, and you’re surprised you don’t stutter with the fear that’s thrumming along with your heartbeat. “Among other things,” he drawls, inhaling your scent as you try not to move. Your breath catches as he opens his mouth over your throat, a whimper working it’s was from your own as terror climbs higher. A quiet squeak leaves you as his tongue swipes out, hot and wet, dragging over your skin as he tastes you.

“I can imagine how your skin would come apart beneath my teeth.” Another scrape, followed by that sting. He huffs a dark laugh onto your neck, “does that terrify you, bride?” White spots swim in your vision, dark blotches accompanying them as he squeezes on your throat.

Then he’s pulled back, the spot on your neck feeling cold and empty now his mouth is no longer latched onto you.

“Come, it’s time to retire.”

————————

I can imagine how your skin would come apart beneath my teeth.

The more you replay the words, the stronger the thrill they send spilling inside of you. You have to remind yourself it would be painful. Unpleasantly so. It wouldn’t the be sting he’d given you over the meal, it would be a frenzied shredding. Ripping and tearing as you’re pulled apart beneath his teeth and talons.

If he becomes bored of you, or you fail to meet any expectation of his, would he be free to replace you? Your brow furrows. Are you dead? Surely nothing alive can exist in the underworld. It’s a home for the damned.

Are you damned?

An adrenaline-fuelled smile cracks your lips. Maybe he’s your damnation.

What a silly thought.

At least the bed looks comfy. It’s circular - you hadn’t known they could be circular - and has a distinct lacking of pillows and blankets that you would have expected to decorate the mattress. Maybe that’s just another difference between your kinds.

“You don’t like it.” Displeasure drips from his words as you jump. He’s a very quiet predator. Automatically, you retreat a few steps, finding him directly in front of you when you turn to face his voice. He follows like a dance partner, hand gripping your jaw as he looks down at you, face blank. “Ungrateful,” he taunts, softly.

“I’m curious about the bedding,” you stammer, hauling yourself together. “The nest is fashioned after your own,” he replies, eyes remaining on yours as he pulls you closer, “you did not seem to value them in your own den.”

Heat flushes your cheeks, eyes snapping away from his, “they’re expensive.”

“Steal, then.” You bite back your reply, that if you were caught, you’d suffer a less than favourable death. His brow twitches, “swallow your tongue and be surprised when you choke,” he mutters.

“What?”

He releases your jaw, stalking away, leaving you dazed and confused.

————————

He prowls through your thoughts that night, every scene you dreamt up tainted by a dark shadow lurking just out of sight. The presence grows more sinister as the imagery drags on, growing stronger with every second. He brings a flare of heat with him, every touch of shadow sending flame to lick between your thighs until the dreamscape shifts.

You’re lying on the circular mattress, darkness shrouding the surrounding room, lit only by candles. The milky wax melts to the floor, moving in circles until it forms a tight ring around the mattress. Then, the streams start looking toward your bed, rolling beneath you to inevitably join.

It’s an altar.

Your heart pounds as you look up, that dark presence returning, lurking at the end of the mattress. His pitch black irises take up the whole of his eyes, leaving the ball smothered in darkness. There’s no doubt he looking at you. Shadowy sinew runs beneath his skin, and you follow the lines with your eyes.

He’s naked. Completely without clothing.

Gorgeous. Crafted. Divine.

He’s different from earlier. The blotted out eyes and sinew aside, his canines are more pronounced, fur dusts his abdomen, thickening as you follow down. The same black veins pulse along his cock that’s hard and swollen. Begging to rut into something.

You’re desperate for water, throat parched as you tear your gaze away, dragging it over the rest of him. Scars lacerate his torso, decorating the corded muscle of his arms. Sharp talons split from the skin of his fingertips, curved and razor sharp. As long as your forearm, you would guess, if not longer.

You suck in a breath, raising your gaze to his blacked out eyes. He’s hungry. Ravenous. All of it piercing into you as you shift in the nest, trying to slowly shuffle backward. You catch sight of yourself as you’re doing so, clothed only in a white robe that’s barely concealing your breasts. The lace reaches just past your elbows before it cuts of, and the rest of the silky fabric does nothing to conceal your heat from him. He has the perfect view of you: your thighs are parted though you’re trying to squeeze them together, nipples peaking through the sheer silk.

But he doesn’t move. He just stands there, watching. Waiting.

He’s waiting on you. Waiting for you to come to him.

Heat spools between you thighs as a sinful curve tips the edges of his mouth, like he’s hearing your thoughts and giving you the confirmation you need. You’re not sure what will happen if you don’t adhere to whatever ritual he’s caught you in.

But you know you’re in a dream. You’re asleep; safe. He can’t hurt you here. It means nothing.

Maybe that’s why you shift onto your hands and knees when he beckons you toward him with the pull of his middle and index finger, crawling toward him, eyes trained on one another. It’s like you’re enraptured by him, everything around the male fading to negative space as he encompasses your conscious. He’s everything.

You stop when you reach him, tucking your legs beneath you as you kneel before him, hands in your lap. How obedient. His mouth splits open in a murderous grin, baring his sharp canines as he takes in your submissive form. Small.

How he’ll enjoy defiling you.

————————

You wake with a gasp, skin damp but clothed. You pant, fingers gripping the mattress as you haul down lungfuls of air.

“Bad dream?”

You scream, jerking away from the voice, scrambling backward but a hand wraps around your ankle. He pulls you toward him, making you scream harder, kicking as your night robe rides up until the silk is pooling at your waist.

He snarls at the noise, lifting from his stomach, muscle flexing with the movement, as he climbs on top of you. His hand covers your mouth, silencing you as he straddles your middle. The male sleeps naked. You silently thank his shadows for sparing you the humiliation of a shameful flush decorating you cheeks should you have seen him again, in such a short span.

Silver lines your eyes as those same shadows tie your wrists down.

Terror sets in and you open your mouth, biting down hard on his hand. He doesn’t even flinch. Only cocks his head in what seems like confusion, pulling his hand away to examine it. You still, not knowing what to do. You don’t want to provoke him any further. “You bit me,” he states, eyes flicking to yours, back to normal.

Then a dark laugh rumbles from his chest as one hand grips your jaw, the other thumbing your upper lip away from your teeth, “how adorable.” The pad of the digit runs beneath the blunt edge of your canine, pressing against the enamelled bone, “what were you expecting to do with these?”

You tremble beneath him, the true power imbalance dawning on you. His teeth broke your skin by grazing it, while he’s pressing against your own canine without so much of an ounce of pain showing.

I can imagine how your skin would come apart beneath my teeth.

Before you can manage anything he’s pressing his face into the crook of your neck, scenting you. He pulls back, nostrils flaring.

“You’re in heat.”

“I’m not an animal,” you breathe, a hot flare of indignation flushing your skin. Despite the denial, warmth envelops your body, settling deeper in the pit of your belly. “It just happens sometimes,” you hiss, hot embarrassment flushing your cheeks. “It’s not something I can help.”

“I can.”

“No.”

He tilts his head, lips curving into a malevolent grin, “you’re aroused. That’s what a husband is for.” Your breath hitches at his implication. “You aren’t my husband.”

“Not yet. But you’re still mine.”

“I am not.” His thumb brushes against the soft skin of your neck and you flinch, feeling the sting his canines left. “Maybe to you. But you’re surrounded by my kind. They’ll understand my mark.” Your eyes widen, “you can’t do that,” you breathe, “you can’t just lay claim to any human you want.”

He leans closer and you press back into the bed, “what’s stopping me?” The words brush over your mouth and you shiver.

You’re aware of the shadows thrumming around the bed, how his powerful arms are caging you in, but it’s taken you a while to realise there’s something hard poking into your middle. You squirm beneath him, trying to wriggle out of his dominating hold. “I said: what’s stopping me?” He growls, hand fisting in your hair as he yanks you upward, his mouth grazing leisurely along the lifeline in your throat.

A whimper claws its way up your throat and he laughs at the sound, canines searching for their earlier mark. “That’s right,” he purrs, lapping once over the scratches before he lines his teeth up, preparing to bite down, “nothing.” His fangs sink into your skin and you don’t even have enough breath to scream.

His shadows loosen and your hands instantly fly to his hair, nails raking over his scalp. He doesn’t let up and you grasp onto him desperately, clawing for something to grip, to tie yourself to for some form of safety. You go lightheaded as he feeds.

The myths you’ve heard about their drinking habits are false. In the tales they don’t leave a drop behind, needing every ounce to sustain themselves. For Azriel, it’s a display of decadence. He doesn’t need every drop. He’s drinking you up for his own enjoyment. You aren’t a necessity, or even a luxury; you’re a gluttonous indulgence.

Blood trails hot paths down your neck, sloping over your collar bone, trailing between your breasts as the liquid flows down your body. It spills over your back, saturating the bed with sanguine flavour. Then he pulls back, licking over the bite mark to heal it. You receive a metallic zap, and you’re sealed. Fresh as ever.

He looks down at you, soaking in your look of shock as he releases your hair, a blood-red slash instead of a grin. It drips from his lips, weighted droplets splashing on your chest, staining the silk night clothes. “My side is fulfilled,” he drawls. Your vision swims, fingers releasing their grasp on his soft hair, brushing over his shoulders before falling at your middle.

You manage a few shaky pants before he’s lowering his mouth, a surprised whimper being stolen from your lips as he settles over you. The blood mixes with his taste, tongue sliding over yours as his canines inadvertently slice up the inside of your lips. You lie there, passive, still very much in shock.

With the little strength you have left, you bite down on his tongue. Blood - not yours, this time - fills your mouth, gushing from the wound you’ve made. His eyes snap open angrily, hands brutally digging into your shoulders as he shoves away from you. Fury dances in his charcoal eyes before it’s smothered.

“If I’m going to choke on anyone’s tongue,” you hiss, words dripping with venom, “it’ll be yours. Not mine.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower

#demon! Azriel #acotar #dark! Azriel #Azriel smut #acotar au #azriel acotar #shadowsinger #Teeth and Talons

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maybe-limerence · 9 months

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Ruler of the cruel

Masochist! Yandere Author x Cruel! Editor Reader

Authors note/warnings:

W-Yandere stuff, some suggestive content (nothing major), drugging.

A/N- [hearts are time skips] tbh, I really like this one. I did ask a question, feel free to answer. Have a good night/day, drink and eat something. Enjoy~

____________________________________

Yan!Author, (pen name H.D. Oleander) was destined for greatness.

Yan!Author, who was born to an elite family. He had the highest of education. He had women, men, and everyone in between pining after him.

Yan!Author, who is the heir to a multimillion dollar company.

Yan!Author who was born into the life of dreams.

🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤

Editor! Reader, toughened by the world. Born to a not so well off family with little love to go around.

Editor! Reader, who built up a reputation. Reader was known as he ruler of the crueler (given to them from a good friend and colleague as a joke).

Editor! Reader, who didn’t care who the person was. The would be author could be God, and Reader would still give harsh feedback and a big red rejection stamp on the work if it wasn’t up to their standard.

Editor! Reader, whose reputation didn’t stop people asking to buy them drinks. No one made it past the first date without crying.

🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍

Editor! Reader’s publishing house started to fail (totally not Reader’s fault. No, not at all), so when they got a large sum of money they had to take the chance.

A week before the money was offered, a rich looking man bumped into a very unhappy Reader.

Yan!Author was walking around town (in a disguise of a slightly less rich man) and happened to knock into someone.

Reader was angry (like always), but getting bumped into and dropping the manuscript they were submitted (and rejected) pushed them over the edge.

“Watch it asshole!” Reader snapped, a bitter and icy tone in their voice.

Normally Yan!Author wouldn’t take the disrespect. Yan!Author was much more important than them, right?

That would be in a normal circumstance.

This time, the person was… beyond breathtaking. Beyond angelic. Beyond godly.

You waved your hands in front of their face. Why were they staring? Creep.

“O-oh!” Yan!Author said.

Sighing, you crouched to pick the papers up,

“Here, let me hel-” Yan!Author tried to crouch beside you.

“You’ve done enough,” you snap.

Yan!Author, taken aback and slightly aroused let you push past them.

That night, Yan!Author looked you up (he may or may not have sneaked a quick pic for… reasons) and found the publishing house. He also saw that you were one of the cruelest editor of all time. You were notoriously harsh on everyone.

🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤

When you got to your desk on Monday your boss approached you cautiously.

“A-as you know, we’ve received a large amount of a money from an author who goes by the pen name H.D. Oleander—”

“Like the flower?” You ask, tone as pointed as ever. Your boss flinched.

“Well, yes, he specifically requested you to be his editor.” The boss dropped the manuscript on your desk and practically ran out of your office.

You sighed and went on to critique the work.

🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍

When you were done, it was 5 minutes til close.

You went to go submit it back to this H.D. Oleander guy when your boss asked if you were harsh as always. You told him you were honest.

Your employer asked if you could be nicer, especially since Oleander was so rich and they didn’t want to go bankrupt.

In the most professional way, you told him to go fuck himself. Like hell you were going to lie. You were known for your honesty, that was obviously why you were requested.

Your boss couldn’t do anything to stop you, so he let you do as you pleased and sent the manuscript back.

🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤

The day Yan!Author got the edited manuscript was one of the happiest days of his life.

When Yan!Author saw the red lettering and harsh critique, he couldn’t help but get excited in more than one way.

Yan!Author spent most of the night imagining you making fun of his lack of talent, lack of creativity, making fun of him. He imagined the kind of things you would say and do to him if you found out he was jerking off to the thought of your voice calling him pathetic. (I kinda wanna write a full on smut scene, should I?)

🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍

The next day at work you’re called down to the lobby, a frantic and strange tone in the receptionists voice. Almost as if she was trying to seduce someone.

Taking the elevator down you let your mind wander. Sure, you maybe be cold, but you still have an imagination.

You step into the lobby to see an oddly familiar face. The receptionist tried to flirt with the guy. He paid no mind.

As soon as you’re in his view he practically skips to you.

“Can I help you?” You ask.

“Yes! Thank you for the corrections on my book!” He beams at you.

“It’s my job?” You’re confused.

“Well, thank you! Here, we’re going to get lunch! I’ll pay!” He continues, overly excited.

“… ok?”

He grabs your hand and drags you to his limo. Yes, limo.

When you climb into the vehicle, he immediately pours you a drink.

“Where would you like to go?”

“I don’t know. I don’t eat lunch,” you take the drink.

After you finish it, you feel… dizzy?

Wait.

Did he spike—

“I’ll see you when you wake up darling,”~

🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤

#yandere #oc stuff #sub yandere #top reader #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere original character

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kratioed · 4 months

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I like how back when GOW (2018) first came out, nearly everyone was captivated by the enigma surrounding Faye. We wondered about her physical traits; such as her tattoos, braids, scars, etc. We silently agreed that she's some buff Viking MILF who pegged the notorious God killer into submission before Ragnarök's announcement.

But after Ragnarök came out, the same enigma that used to surround Faye is now replaced with Hel; daughter of Atreus, grandchild of Kratos, and future ruler of Helheim. Almost everyone agreed that she has vitiligo, heterochromia, split hair colors, and is just as powerful (and even deadly) like her grandfather.

Faye used to have variant depictions back before Ragnarök's release date, and now Hel is getting the same treatment. I seen small variants of Hel from 2018, but not as nearly enough until recently. Like grandma, like granddaughter. 🥰🥰🥰

#Kratioed Speaks #Norse Mythology #Laufey #Hel #God of War #Faye #Laufey The Just #gow Faye #gow Hel #God of War 2018 #God of War (2018)#gow 2018 #God of War: Ragnarök #God of War: Ragnarok #God of War Ragnarök #God of War Ragnarok #gow Ragnarök #gow Ragnarok

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darkdrin6 · 6 months

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A few drawings in honor of the last Halloween event! Hel, the ruler deity of Helheim from Scandinavian legends, and the Burnt bride and groom (based on a story we heard a long time ago and can't find!).

"No one leaves Helheim"

Hel, the deity of death and winter, the ruler of the cold afterlife. Beauty and horror mingled in his dual face. He will not let anyone out of his eternal captivity.

Clothed in the splendor of the northern lights, he looks with pity at the newcomers to his icy kingdom. Funeral songs are carried with a blizzard, but everything stops when he demands silence.

"Even death will not separate us"

The bride and groom, burned on their own wedding day. Without having time to take the oath of allegiance, they are still faithful to this promise. On the darkest night of the year, they strive to find each other and complete the wedding ceremony to rest together.

Clothed in fire and darkness, they are the embodiment of posthumous passion. Every sanctuary they come to burns down in a fire.

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bucknastysbabe · 1 year

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Hello! I saw your work when you wrote about three men from the house of the dragon (Jace, Aegon and Aemond) at once and I fucking loved it! I don't know if you can write something like this again? Maybe, somewhere during some kind of ball, some lord sticks to the reader in the corridor (very cruelly sticks, perhaps so that pieces of her paty remain (remember Sansa from the first season)) some lord, and she tries to fight back, but too much shocked and these men come to the rescue, God I hope you understand me thanks for your creativity!

My prince in shining silks?

Rating: Teen

Tags: Aegon II x Reader, Aemond x Reader, Jace x Reader, AFAB!Costayne reader, chivalry, sweetness really, fluffy, Aemond is emotionally constipated, Jace is a baby, Aegon and Sunfyre are BFFS, I get a little character studyish, TW: attempted rape, nondescript castration, Aegon’s past misdeeds

A/N: OF COURSE I LOVE STUFF LIKE THIS ENJOY XOXOXXO

Some say that the North remembers. But you’d like to say that the Hightower’s never, ever forgot a slight. They were too proud, too old of a family. Elevated to the highest position as they became the puppeteer for the Dragon. It was a grand tourney and feast in the Reach for young Prince Daeron’s 13th name day, a man grown now.

You were of House Costayne. Bannermen of the Hightowers, but had not so hidden preferences for Rhaenyra as rightful ruler for the future of the kingdom. Also the fact that your ancestor Elinor Costayne was a black bride of Maegor. Who was supposed to stay true to his Hightower bride. Therefore there wasn’t the best of blood between your families.

But your family was here. Quite spread thin if you could say. All filtered far away from the center of the jamboree. One of the dragons roared from far off. It sounded like Prince Daeron’s she-dragon Tessarion. Daeron was a kind soul and handsome. Too young for you by some years. You’d overheard Lord Hobart reprimand the lad after chatting to you, “You know what color her family’s flag flies.”

That was that. He didn’t speak to you much anymore, but would smile. You were a lady in waiting for Samantha Tarly, soon to be Hightower. It made things much worse for you and your position at the feast. Down with lesser nobility and the knights. Suddenly you felt very alone and afraid, picking at your meat nauseously.

A breath reeking of wine entered your ear, “Why’ve they got pretty little Costayne down here? You bed the princeling, incur the wrath of Lord Otto?” You turned to face the man, shock etched into your features, stuttering, “N-no my lord it must’ve b-been a mistake!” It was the huge second son of Lord Bulwer, Uther. He looked bullish like the sigil they bore.

He crowded into your space, grinning, huge hand gripping your shoulder. Bulwer grunted, “No one’s going to see when their pretty lady is gone, not down here. Maybe Prince Daeron will come to the rescue.” You remained quiet, eyes searching for a familiar face but found none. Tears leaked from your eyes as Uther led you farther away from the din of safety.

Aegon

Aegon hated these events. He lounged back and sloppily poured more mead down his throat. Alicent slapped his arm as to say, have some decorum you halfwit! The prince scoffed and got up, he needed to take a piss anyways. He sauntered through the woods, relieved himself, and decided to stagger over to his baby Sunfyre.

The golden beast huffed at Aegon, nuzzling his palm. The blonde softly chatted in Valyrian. He loved Sunfyre, so much, probably the only friend that unconditionally loved him. Both of their heads turned at the sound of a woman’s plea for help, cut off by the sound of a smack. Sunfyre growled lowly, turning to look at his owner as if to say, “Are we going to do something about that? What if it’s Hel?”

Aegon really couldn’t be bothered but he heard another shriek and Sunfyre had already dipped for Aegon to mount his beast. The elder prince eyed the dark forest, his golden dragon snorting and twitching it’s head to-and-fro. Aegon demanded, “Keligon,” he pat golden scales, “Ilagon.” Sunfyre let him hop off and come forward to the scene.

Some Reach lord, thick as a aurochs and hairy like one too had a girl shoved into the dirt, down in a rut, hands tearing at her garb. Aegon could see the tears in her eyes under the moonlight. Guilt constricted his chest. Is this what he thought was fun? The Targaryen needed to set himself right, help the girl.

“In the name of the Seven Kingdoms, your Prince commands you to cease at once!,” Aegon called down from his higher position. His dragon hung back, snorting and waiting. She cried, “Please! Prince Aegon! My virtue! I need Lady Tarly!” The lord snarled, “Your family stuck her at the end of the table for a reason, just having a little fun, get back to your silken chair.”

Just having a bit’ of fun.

Aegon was furious now, self-hatred fueling his desire to make this man burn. He barked, “I’ll ask one more time, get off the Lady and go back to your shitty house and their shitty wooden chairs.”

The aurochs scoffed and ripped the girls bodice with a grin. He really was stupid, drunk, or possibly both. She tried to cover her exposed teats, sobbing for Lady Tarly, her father, she was of Costayne. Costayne was a reputable house. This would be bad to ignore a bannermen’s virgin girl. Even if they were a bit astray. Maybe this could get them back.

Aegon looked over his shoulder to meet gleaming reptilian eyes. He pointed at the man and hissed, “Sunfyre, Dohaeris!” He mounted the dragon again, who let our a fierce screech. The ugly lordling hopped back and cried out in shock. The lady of Costayne covered herself and scurried backwards, getting even more dirty. The Prince directed his purple eyes to the man, “If I hear of you assaulting ladies of nobility again, all I have to do is say one word and you’ll be a nice roast.”

He dismounted again, thanking his dearest friend. The girl sat crumpled, heaving sobs, eyes swollen. Aegon offered her his cloak with a frown, asking, “Who was that?” Her wide eyes met his, beautiful in their sadness. Aegon liked sad things more than all of the revelry. She mumbled, “Uther Bulwer. I was supposed to be seated with Lady Tarly or my family. Thank you my Prince. I cannot repay you enough.”

Aegon hummed, “That’s horrid, I apologize on behalf of the dumb fuck who did that. C’mon, show me to your tent and I’ll get Tarly.” He gathered her up in his arms, her legs shaking too bad to take a step. Aegon looked at her crumpled face and asked gently, “Would you mind getting on my mount, he’s a good boy. Listens well.”

Her eyes grew wide at Sunfyre, but the dragon dipped its head and let out a soft purr as to show it’s good behavior. Aegon couldn’t help but smile at his mount. She stammered, “O-okay.”

She remained silent as Sunfyre ungainly took them to the Costayne and Tarly tents. He helped her down and carried the girl inside, who had calmed significantly. She even pat Sunfyre and whimpered, “T-thank you.” She received a pleased chuff in response.

When they entered the Costayne tent Aegon was assaulted by members of the family and a frantic Samantha Tarly. She cried and gathered the girl up, demanding, “Where was she? Where was my girl?” Lord Costayne came to Aegon and looked down, offering a hand to shake. Aegon explained, “I was uh- relieving myself and heard her. Uther Bulwark was attempting to take her virtue. His violets flicked over to the young lady being coddled by others, looking heavenly in his emerald cloak.

Costayne frowned deeply and hummed, “Raper. He should be sent to the wall. I would also request why the girl was seated at the end.”

Aegon dutifully nodded and replied, “I will return to my family and resolve the matter. May I speak to the girl?”

Narrowed eyes. Aegon still had a shite reputation.

“You may.”

Lady Sam looked up and allowed for Aegon to kneel at her side. He thumbed the ermine cloak and said, “Green is a nice color on you. Please be safe and mayhaps write a raven or send a message through Daeron. Good night to you.” She tearily smiled, “Thank you my prince, you are too kind.” The Costayne kissed his cheek with soft lips and that was it. He felt her eyes follow his retreating form.

Aegon decided he would marry the girl on his aggressive stomp back to the family tent. After he got Bulwer sent to freeze his cock off and chide his mother for being callous over the poor, beautiful, sad thing’s last name.

Jacaerys

Ser Harwin used to joke that Jace had his head constantly on a swivel. Which was a good trait, his father said. Jace knew the truth, who didn’t. Regardless, he was eyeing the feast. His Velaryon cousins were squabbling, the Targaryens looked pessimistic per usual. He took his time glaring down Daemon, who paid him no mind, whispering to mother. Daeron and Luke chatted amicably.

Baratheon, Lannister, Arryn, no Stark, Tyrell, even Martell had made their appearances. The rest of the Hightowers and their bannermen were at a table. Jace studied all the sigils of the Houses of the Kingdoms. He saw their green. Then the other colors of Tarly, Costayne, and Ball. Lord Costayne apparently had a very comely daughter, Lady Sam Tarly’s little lady in waiting. He didn’t spot her. Daeron had spoke of her beauty earlier but said he wasn’t allowed to interact per the old cunt Hobart.

He eyed to the outer tables of hedge knights, lesser houses, and high bastards. He saw the black and white of the Three Towers in a handsome dress. She was being shook and grabbed at by what seemed a Bulwer man. The man was twice his size but Jace would not stand for a raper or deviant like his cousin. He got up from his table, mother raising a questioning brow.

Jace silently stalked round to where the Bulwer was leading the muffled Costayne off. He darted behind them, using the cover of the night. Leaping forward he held a knife to the man’s thick neck, right on the pumping jugular. Jacaerys rumbled, “You’ll be castrated and sent to the wall for defiling a lady of her standing you fool.”

The man stiffened and Jace could smell piss as he nicked the skin of his neck with sharp Valyrian steel. He stammered, “She asked for it s-sir. Swear on it.” Jacaerys coolly replied, “Remove that paw of yours and let’s hear Lady Costayne then.” She turned to peer over Bulwer’s wide shoulder, weeping, “Please help Prince Jacaerys, I wish to be with my family!”

Bulwer let go of her and dashed off into the woods with a curse. She bowed and thanked him profusely, tears staining perfect cheeks. Jace frowned, “I apologize if the fool got piss on your beautiful dress m’lady. How in the Seven Hells did you end up at the edge of the feast?”

She bit her lip to stay quiet, eventually whispering, “My family supports your mother. The Queen did not like that. And no, somehow the piss missed my dress, thank you.”

Jacaerys gruffed, “Good choice on your family, even in the nest of Greens. Let me escort you back to their table, yes?” She grabbed his hands and kissed them gently, demurring, “Yes my prince, thank you.” Jace kept his hand at the small of her back as he led her to the Tarly-Costayne table. They received her joyfully, cheering the prince on. Lord Costayne gave a solemn nod and smile. The girl turned with flushed cheeks, “A dance later perhaps?”

Jacaerys smiled, “I’ll be waiting.”

Rhaenyra questioned him, “What were you doing over there? Right in the Tower. Or one of them.” Jace puffed his chest out, “I saved Lady Costayne’s virtue from some brutish Bulwer second son.” Daemon patted his back and commended, “Good man. That will be a boon for their support. Lady Tarly thinks her as a daughter.”

When Jace spun the beauty around later, he dreamt of her in a gorgeous Targaryen maiden’s cloak. They shared a kiss in the crowd later, her asking him to visit on Vermax some time. Jace eagerly acquiesced, promising to find the time. Something no one was sure how much was left.

Aemond

Aemond growled to himself, “Fuck tourneys, fuck parties, fuck feasts, and especially fuck my brother.” He swung at a tourney dummy outside of the revelry. They wouldn’t come looking, maybe send Criston if something was really needed. There was no time for shite like this, the man needed to train for the war.

He wanted blood. Especially Strong blood.

The Targaryen’s second son sharply swung down at the dummy, grunting with effort. He thought of drunkard Aegon probably taking some serving wench’s cunt and swung again. Why did the gods resort him to this status? The spare. They must have a purpose for him somewhere.

He heard shuffling and a grunt from his left. A girl’s muffled squeal. Aemond’s hearing was better on his blind side. See Criston had assisted him into honing that into an advantage. He stopped his swinging and paused.

“Stop! My virtue! They will know!,” came a small voice.

Clothes were ripped. A gruff voice slurred, “Like they care, Green’s just waiting for a reason to make you a silent sister. Shut up whore!” Another muffled yelp echoed into the quiet tourney grounds.

Aemond crouched and moved forward, eye searching for the raper. He was taking a lady of repute, he could hear that much from her accent. He arrived outside the stables, a horse whinnying in distress. Horses were smart like that, like his Vhagar, could pick up on people. The blonde snuck around the stables, quietly peering through slats until he saw the pair.

A…pretty young lady. Being defiled by some brute. Aemond swung open the door and yelled, “Stop now you raping cunt!” The man turned around with a growl, standing to his full height. He was obviously drunk. The man reached for his sword, clearly unable to tell he was about to swing on a Targaryen as Aemond had his cloak up.

The man wore the bull sigil of Bulwer. He had a great sword. Perfect, Aemond could outmaneuver the lummox. The girl held her arms over her exposed chest, mouth agape, deep eyes wide. The man swung down in a clumsy arc, the prince deflecting it and jumping to the side to strike at the man’s ankle, cutting him down. Bulwer howled and cursed, struggling to get up. Aemond yanked down his cloak and tossed it to the girl.

The bull’s face was etched with fear upon realization of who he just attacked. Aemond laughed bitterly, amused at the surprise. He crouched over the man and sheathed his sword, pulling out a sharp knife. The blonde politely called out, “Close your eyes my lady, I have to do something before this fool is sent to the wall.”

Bulwer trembled, struck with fear. Aemond grinned as he unlaced the man’s breeches, “Won’t have to freeze your cock and balls off at the wall if you don’t have any more.”

Cries and squalling of pain filled the tourney grounds, widely unheard by the feast. Now cradling his once privates, the Bulwer whimpered and moaned in pain. Aemond wiped his hands on the deviant’s clean doublet and stood back up.

The girl had gotten up by now, still closing her eyes. Aemond cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “It’s over now my lady. He won’t be able to hurt a lady again.” She opened her teary eyes and wrapped Aemond into a tight hug. The prince was shocked, wrapping his lean limbs around her waist, the jewels pressing into his sleeves. He murmured, “You’re safe, yes, what’s your house my lady?”

“C-Costayne.”

Black supporters. Aemond’s lips pressed together. He wanted the lady to be a fervent supporter of his family. The second son needed a wife too. Maybe this ordeal would change things around. She sighed, “I thought you were this scary, mean, vicious dog they kept at the keep.”

Aemond laughed, genuinely, he liked her melodic tone. He replied, “I can be, but I also practice chivalry.” She hummed, “Yes, I’ve seen that.” Aemond wanted to stay in her arms, smell her scent even if marred by the musk of horse.

He asked anyways, “Would you like an escort back?”

She shook her head, divine face looking up to his. Costayne meekly asked, “Would it be inappropriate if we stayed like this for awhile, my prince?” Aemond found himself pressing his lips to hers gently, sharing a sweet peck. He murmured, “Probably so, but let’s find a place better than around him.” They both chuckled, held hands, and found a spot by the babbling brook.

They’d find them later. Holding hands and chatting. That would be the last time she stayed in the Reach for many a year.

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #jacaerys valaryon x reader #aemond fluff #aemond targaryen x reader #asks answered

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ficretus · 7 days

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RWBY contains surprising amount of Norse allusions in the story (and funny part is that almost none of them center around Nora, who's primary allusion is Norse god). Everything from Oz being Odin, Beacon being Valhalla, Branwen siblings being Huginn and Muninn, Pyrrha being Baldr, Tree in Ever After being Yggdrasil, and so on.

However, I want to focus on Salem as Loki allusion and her Grimm hybrids.

While relations wise Salem doesn't make much sense as Loki (since Odin's wife was Frigg), Loki does share ancient past with Odin that latter is embarrassed to admit. This of course parallels back to Salem being Ozma's "little" secret he keeps from his allies.

Outside of that, both Loki and Salem seek to overturn order of Gods and cause a Doomsday. Loki also nicely parallels Salem's title of Queen of Grimm by being father (or mother in Sleipnir's case) of monsters that would end up causing Ragnarok. Those children being Fenrir, Jormungandr and Hel.

Hel and Fenrir were already featured in the show, being Cinder and Hound respectively. Cinder has visual similarities with Hel: Mask and Grimm arm (as well as her asymmetrical clothing style) parallel to Hel's half flesh, half blue skinned appearance. Both are also self proclaimed rulers that were cast down at very young age (Cinder symbolically, Hel literally). Hound, just like Fenrir is massive wolf that devoured Odin/Oscar. Their deaths are also relatively similar: Hound was crushed under statue while Fenrir had its jaw crushed by Vidar's heavy boot before being stabbed.

Unlike Salem's other creations, Hound and Cinder are hybrids, which gives them elevated position. If we go by that logic, then third harbinger of Ragnarok, Jormungandr, should also be a hybrid and major threat narratively. Jormungandr appears as either massive serpent or worm depending on the version of story. This, combined with current Vacuo setting makes me believe that we might see Jormungandr in the show as massive Grimm sand worm. While Jormungandr was aquatic being, there is no appropriate setting for that in the show and it would come way too close to Leviathan from Volume 6. So why not bust out a sand worm, after all, desert is sea of sand.

At its core it will likely be another silver eyed warrior, although I don't think this will be Summer. Since potential Grimm Summer would be an allusion to Red Riding Hood's devoured grandma, If they ever make a Norse allusion for Grimm Summer it's more likely she is gonna be a Garmr, ultimate hound of Norse mythology and guardian of Hel's gate (this could be a parallel to implication that Summer was the one guarding conquered Beacon). It's the only opponent at Ragnarok that doesn't seem to be referenced in any way. Garmr's opponent at Ragnarok was Tyr (who parallels with Yang) so it makes sense narratively as well.

#rwby #rwby volume 10 #rwby theory #rwby vacuo

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emilystheories · 1 year

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Bryce Quinlan's true home: A compilation of all the evidence.

[ACOTAR, CC and slight TOG spoilers!]

It seems that the consensus among fans is that Bryce will return back to Midgard at the end of CC3, and that most of the story will be wrapped up. On the contrary, I think it's just getting started, and instead believe that:

Bryce Quinlan's true home is Prythian. She will be the Starborn Queen, and ruler of the Dusk Court.

And not just Bryce. I think Hunt, Ruhn and everyone else will be joining her too... because (to put it bluntly).. Midgard is fucked.

Allow me to go through the evidence.

Bryce is repeatedly connected to dusk.

One of the first thing Hunt notices about Bryce is that her scent is of the "first stars at nightfall." Nightfall is another word for dusk. SJM often uses scent to foreshadow a character's home (ie. Rowan of TOG smelling like Terrasen, and Rhys smelling like Velaris).

Bryce has been obsessed with Pegasus dolls since book 1. It's then no coincidence that the Pegasus's in Prythian came from the Prison Island... where the Dusk Court (most likely) used to be. (And... think about that Pegasus doll that SJM included in the CC3 reveal video...)

Bryce often has her nails painted in "twilight" colours (another word for dusk), and even her damn nipples are described as "dusk pink" (lmfao).

"Dusk's Truth" seems to be of great importance, and I'm willing to bet that everything Danika did - from giving Bryce the Horn, to even her own death - was so that Bryce could escape Midgard and reach Prythian and the Dusk Court. Recall Baxian's words; that Danika was searching for a way into a new world - one without the Asteri.

The home of the Starborn fae isn't Midgard, it's Prythian - the Dusk Court. Bryce Quinlan is heir to the Starborn fae. She is Queen Theia's descendant.

Bryce is also connected to Prythian.

The star on Bryce's chest is a "beacon" for Prythian, and glows for people who also originate from the ACOTAR world (I don't think people understand how big a deal this is...). If Bryce returns to Midgard permanently, then she'll forever wear a star on her chest that glows for another world.

Bryce is the Horn. If you subscribe to the theory that the Horn is the 4th Dread Trove item, with the other 3 being in Prythian, then she is obviously needed there - especially when ACOSF hinted that all 4 items joined together allows for something big to happen...

The prophecy about the knife and the sword suggests that the ACOTAR and CC fae are going to be reunited. Bryce owns this prophetic sword - she has a big part to play (one that surely can't be fulfilled if Bryce just pops into Prythian for a quick visit, and then leaves again... and really, what would be the point of that?)

Foreshadowing that Bryce will be a queen.

It is repeatedly stated that Bryce bears the exact light of the Starborn Queen.

Bryce's name in Hunt's phone is 'Bryce Is a Queen.'

Hunt himself often remarks on Bryce's queenly demeanour:

And in CC2, Hunt again thinks to himself that the 'princess' title isn't enough for Bryce... that she is something more...

Then in the final CC2 chapters, we see Ruhn pleading with Bryce to become Queen:

To which Cormac agrees, and then says that the future of their people moving forward, all depends upon Bryce...

And most importantly, Ruhn's last words to Bryce: "Long live the Queen."

And now that I'm thinking about it, it is repeatedly stated that Hel's armies strike at Bryce's command. The entirety of Hel... await Bryce's orders. As if she too is their Queen. (It won't surprise me if the Dusk Court is strongly intertwined with Hel, there's SO much evidence... but that's for another post).

Other characters and their connection to Prythian.

Bryce isn't the only one with ties to Prythian. We also have:

Ruhn and Rhys looking identical.

The Asteri originating from Prythian, and making clear that their true goal is to go back there to get revenge (so the plot is likely to follow in this direction...)

The Princes of Hel are connected to Prythian: the Illyrian's and Hel's armies have the same wings, we have a "Lord Thanatos" in the Hewn City, the 7 layers of the library, that "cat presence" watching...

When Bryce is taken to the town house in Prythian, she remarks that the interior decorating is the same as Jesiba's and the Autumn King's - they are both likely from Prythian.

The Bone Carver drew three interlocking circles in the sand, which is the exact symbol of Parthos (and the symbol of Bryce's Archesian amulet). The Bone Carver's brother is Koschei (the upcoming ACOTAR antagonist) - he is also likely connected to Parthos.

The Under-King is described exactly like The Suriel (they're likely the same species). Bryce's star even glows for the Under-King, which tells us he is from Prythian.

Bryce's star also glows for Cormac and the Avallen fae; they're likely from Prythian also (and the Dusk Court). In fact, one of the first thing Bryce notices when she lands in Prythian, is that everyone is wearing the same clothes as the Avallen fae.

The Thunderbirds (and likely Hunt) were connected to "Dusk's Truth." (So, Bryce ending up in Prythian isn't just about the Bryce x Azriel theory...).

And this leads me to my most controversial opinion of all: although unbeknownst to readers, Crescent City is an ACOTAR spin-off series. That's not to say it can't stand on it's own, or that is has lesser value - but rather that almost all characters have ties back to the ACOTAR world - and this is surely not a coincidence.

I truly believe that SJM is planning a full multiverse crossover series between all 3 of her worlds, and CC was the series needed to bridge ACOTAR and TOG together. But, more on this later...

We don't want the characters staying in Midgard. They need to get out.

Midgard is entirely different to the ACOTAR and TOG worlds. The Asteri entered Midgard, absolutely obliterated everyone and everything, and then built their own world from the ground up. Every building, road, every inch of this world - was created and orchestrated by the Asteri. Their power and influence is absolute. Bryce realises this too:

We see the death camps in Kavalla... but I would argue that the whole of Midgard is one giant death camp. Any sense of freedom... is an illusion.

And because the Asteri control everything, they see everything, and know everything. I can't see how any of the CC characters will overthrow the Asteri in Midgard (I mean, they get close to Rigelus at the end of CC2, and Bryce has to world jump to escape, and Hunt and Ruhn are facing slavery, or worse. And yet we're to believe that SIX Asteri will be defeated in one book...?)

However, if this is all part of a larger scheme, where a multiverse book series in the works, and ACOTAR, TOG, and CC characters will rally together to defeat the Asteri (TOG Spoilers - as well as Orcus and Mantyx... they're still out there, don't forget), then maybe there's a chance.

And, let's not also forget that Bryce bargained away her resting place to the Under-King. If Bryce dies in Midgard... she's screwed. She has no chance of reincarnation, or eternal peace, or... whatever happens after death. But, if she dies in Prythian, it's a different story...

Midgard is doomed.

Following the final chapters of CC2, it is clear that Midgard is heading towards imminent destruction.

We know that Bryce has been thrown into another world. Ruhn is in the Asteri dungeons, his future uncertain. Cormac was killed. Do we really think the two fae kings; the Autumn King, and The Avallen King, are just going to sit back and accept this? Let the Asteri murder and torture their children?

We also know that the leader of the human rebels, Pippa Spetsos, was killed. I can't think of anything that would enrage the rebels more (and their mech suits, the synth - everything they've been brewing, feels like it's reaching its climax...)

Then we have Apollion mentioning that the 'Northern Rift' is groaning, and that he senses war approaching. (And for what it's worth, I'm not sure I trust Apollion...)

Lastly, we are still yet to see the consequences of Tharion's actions, and the River Queen's wrath. It is stated multiple times that the River Queen has the power to flood Lunathion if she wished, and I can't help but feel that is relevant.

The flooding of Midgard.

When reading CC1 and CC2, did you happen to notice the sheer amount of times it is raining?

SJM even makes a point to tell readers that there is record rainfall... (and thank you to @/highladyfeyre on TT for her theory on this!)

Then, in Throne of Glass, Aelin falls through the worlds, and sees the ACOTAR world and the Crescent City world. However, she also sees a world entirely covered in water.

Linking to this, in ACOSF, Merrill explains that all of the worlds are stacked on top of each other, even sharing the same space - but what separates them is TIME. Again going back to TOG where Aelin falls through the worlds, it says this; "She was falling. Falling and being thrown. The Wyrdgate sealed behind her, and yet she was not home. As it closed, ALL WORLDS OVERLAPPED. And she now fell through them."

If the worlds are separated by time, then it can be argued that Aelin wasn't looking at separate planets - she was looking at the same world, throughout differing time periods (more evidence for this here). Meaning, the world covered in water... is still yet to happen.

And following CC3, what is the final Crescent City book to be called...?

House of Many Waters.

The Multiverse series.

You might be thinking - what the hell is the point of Midgard flooding?

Well, the 'flooding of Midgard' is a key event in Norse Mythology, and signals the arrival of Ragnarok (a huge war across all of the worlds, that resulted in the end of life as they know it).

Another term for Ragnarok, is "Twilight of the Gods."

The same name as Sarah's WIP book series... one that she appeared to draft at the same time as Crescent City...

Twilight is another word for DUSK. It all just fits too perfectly to be a coincidence.

Thus, I wholeheartedly believe that CC3 and CC4, as well as the final ACOTAR books, are the precursors to SJM's endgame series - Twilight of the Gods. Where the ACOTAR, CC and TOG characters will unite for a universal war, in order to stop the end of the world.

"But SJM said ACOTAR and CC will be standalone!"

Firstly, with all due respect to SJM, her word in interviews is not always gospel. She is known to deceive fans in interviews; for example, in 2020, SJM said a multiverse crossover would never happen, and in her most recent interview, she revealed that she has actually been planning the crossover for years. I'm not suggesting SJM has malicious intent, if anything, it's the opposite - she does not want to spoil the books for us.

Secondly, SJM never confirmed that ACOTAR and CC are both entirely standalone reads (if they were, she'd never go forth with the crossover). Instead, she said that you don't need to read ACOTAR to understand CC3. That makes sense, and to me just means that she is going to include extra contextual information to help out those fans who are indeed standalone readers (which won't be hard, because Bryce will be learning everything about Prythian for the first time too).

But the most important point is this - the multiverse crossover changes everything, and 100% changes the ACOTAR world as well.

As proof of this, consider Rhys. He has been studying the universe intently for years now. He even built his own orrery - his own map of the universe. As of CC2, he has just met a girl from another world. This girl will almost certainly be telling him about the Asteri, and that their true goal is to go back to Prythian - Rhys's home - and exact revenge.

So, do you really think that Rhys will learn about the existence of other worlds, the existence of the Asteri (who actively want to hurt his loved ones), and then just.. forget about it in future books? Send Bryce back to Midgard alone, simply wishing her well, and then going back to his ordinary life? No.

Elain's book.

As even further proof of this, consider that Elain's story will be the centre of the next ACOTAR book.

In ACOSF, we are told that there are three prominent mountains in Prythian, known as the "three sister peaks." The mountain where 'Under the Mountain' took place (and where Amarantha held people captive), Ramiel, and the mountain of the Prison Island.