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blindmagdalena · 5 months

Text

All That Glitters

18+ 15.7k words. Dragon!Homelander x F!Reader fantasy au, messy world building, referenced cannibalism, handfeeding, super dubious consent, sexual coercion, monster anatomy, size difference, cunnilingus, breeding kink, dirty talk, marathon sex, mating bond/bite, knotting, tongue baths, virgins, scent kink, overstimulation, body betrayal, fairy tale schmoop. AO3 Link!

Summary: In a world where the only currencies that matter are gold and blood, the gods are lavished with both. Your regions god is a fearsome beast said to reign hellfire from the skies should his appetite not be satiated. When the demand for human sacrifices increases, you make the choice to volunteer yourself, determined to bring an end to the bloodshed, and ascend into the jaws that await you in the old stone tower deep in the woods.

illustration by the ever incredible @anon-nee, who was instrumental to the writing of this fic. see the full piece here! originally written for Monsterlander Mania, but obviously spiraled wildly out of control.

For as long as you can remember, there have always been sacrifices.

Such a thing is not unique to your village. Gods–and the creatures worshiped as such–throughout the world demand all manner of recompense for protecting the lands of those who idolize them. If the slaughter of a single lamb ensures green pastures in which the herd may thrive, few ever think twice before they lift the blade.

Not all townships worship for benevolence, however. Yours has always worshiped for mercy.

For generations, stories of hellfire raining from the sky have been passed by your people. A great, terrible beast with wings as wide as ten men were tall once patrolled the skies above you, wielding power so devastating that not even ballistae firing bolts the size of tree trunks could fell it.

It had a hundred names, each more terrible than the last. Scourge of the Skies, the Red Death, Flame’s Maw, and perhaps most unfortunately, the Devourer. Named as such for the countless lives it began to claim when treasures were deemed an insufficient tribute. Sacrifices were initially sparse, required only every dozen or so seasons. As time went on, the Devourer grew greedier and greedier, with the timespan between sacrifices shortening.

By the time you offer yourself to the council, there has been a sacrifice every month for over a year.

The wagon hardly jostles on this well-trodden road. You imagine it used to be a rougher ride, but with the increase in frequency of travel, it has smoothed. The thought worsens the feeling of icy weight in your stomach. One might think the exquisite fabrics you’re dressed in would bring some measure of comfort–softer than anything you’ve worn before–but the extravagance of them only serves to further alienate you from yourself.

You have become a thing. A finely adorned offering, and the fabric makes your skin crawl for it.

The tree cover breaks, revealing a monolithic stone tower that stands so tall, it splits the sky in two.

The Tower of the Seven. It’s been generations since anyone knew exactly what it was named for, but legend speaks of mythic creatures that were once held in such reverence, this tower was built in their honor. It served as both a temple and home to these venerated beings.

The years have not been kind to it. The stone pillars have become wild with overgrowth, and the air about this place reeks of stale, old death.

It stands now as a graveyard.

Even the horses refuse to venture much further than the threshold of the treeline, forcing you and your attendants out of the wagon to tread the remainder of the trek on foot. The men who walk with you carry short swords, but they serve no practical purpose, their edges having long since dulled. They are not here to protect you, they are as much a part of the ceremony as your fine clothes.

You shield your eyes as you look up at the staggering height of the tower, but swiftly drop your gaze. Best not to think of what awaits you.

On paper, sacrifice seems a simple thing. Slitting one’s throat upon an altar, floating a burning pyre across the river, or feeding the tribute a concoction of sleeping death and burying them into eternal slumber. Murder can be a righteous thing in the hands of a believer, or so they say.

For you, and those who have come before you, martyrdom is not as effortless as lying down and dying for the cause. The tower presents a trial to you. You must willingly climb the hundreds upon hundreds of large stone steps in order to prove yourself a worthy tribute.

Why you must prove your flesh worthy of consumption is beyond you. You’ve never heard of a farmer who sends his cattle to run laps before the slaughter. It seems a petty thing to demand. Perhaps the Devourer has grown indolent and slovenly in its feasting.

It’s easy to dream up nightmarish images of such an awful creature. A legless winged wyrm with a ribbed body, fat and slimy like an oversized earthworm. It would have an enormous maw with hundreds upon hundreds of jagged teeth, its breath reeking of charred flesh and sulfur. Such a wicked beast would stink like the layers of hell.

Somehow, tormenting yourself like this is an oddly calming distraction. The more nightmarish it becomes in your mind, the less real all of this feels. It’s just a bad dream.

No one speaks as you reach the base of the tower. There’s nothing left to say. You’re one of a dozen in the last year alone these men have ferried to their death. It almost seems cruel to expect eye contact, let alone sympathy. For that reason, it catches you off guard when one of the older of the three, a man named Hector with a thick set of troubled brows furrowed above kind but bloodshot, watery eyes puts his hand on your shoulder, offering a light squeeze.

The last sacrifice had been his own daughter.

In his gaze you find grief and gratitude in equal measure. Neither brings comfort. You return a small nod and move your eyes back to the ordeal that awaits you.

The tower is like an optical illusion: the proportions make it seem a reasonable size at a distance, but the closer you walk to it, the more mythical a thing it becomes. The archways curve high above your head, sized for creatures of legend, and the head of the building disappears completely into the sky.

In the center of it, a spiraling stone staircase beckons you. The masonry is exquisitely smooth despite the age of it, carved in an era when magic was a hundred times more prolific than it is now. It’s wide and open, the steps so large that you’ll be taking them one at a time. Worse than that, however, is the complete absence of any kind of protective railing.

If you sway, you very well may fall to your death.

At the center of the spiral stands a pile of debris. As you approach, a rustling catches your attention and you freeze, eying the pile warily. The head of a creature suddenly pops up, startling your heart into a thunder, but after a beat you recognize it for what it is: a small fox, its muzzle dirty. The two of you stare at one another for a long moment before one of the men behind you calls out, “Shoo, shoo now.”

Everyone keeps hushed, as if terrified of disturbing what is yet unseen.

Moving closer, you anticipate you might see a dead rabbit, or perhaps a chicken. Anything would have been a more welcome sight than the gnarled half-eaten body of a woman dressed just like you piled amongst the debris. You gasp, both hands flying over your mouth as you stumble a few steps backwards.

For a horrifying moment, you swear you see your own face in the rotten remnants staring back at you with black, empty eye sockets. It’s the hair that gives away the delusion, however, and with a chill down your spine you recognize the sacrifice who came before you; Hector’s daughter.

“Nadja,” the man groans morosely, the weight of grief in his voice palpable. You move away, towards the stairs, and watch with a morbid sort of fascination as the man weeps over the corpse of his daughter, touching her hair and her clothes, the only parts of her not twisted and rotted with death, the body left for maggots and scavengers. It’s sick, nothing like the beautiful and noble gesture sacrifice is always said to be. You look up at the dizzying height of the spiral staircase, following the line of it until the stone disappears into darkness. Did she fall, or was she cast away, having somehow proven herself unworthy?

In a strange sense, watching the men wrap her body in cloth to be carried home feels very much like playing the part of voyeur to your own demise. You stand at a distance, hand braced upon the stone, unable to shake the dread that you’re witnessing a vision of the future. Your future.

No. You will not be left for the insects and carrion-feeders. You turn your back to the sound of Hector’s weeping and, without another world, determinedly begin your ascent one large stone step at a time. Although you feel the men’s eyes heavily upon you, they remain silent, as if already grieving you.

Do not, you think brazenly, skin flushed with unexpected fires that bring your blood to a boil. Do not dare mourn what isn’t dead.

Those flames burn hot enough to carry you easily up the first several floors, indignantly stomping your way. You’ve heard stories of this tower all your life, but nothing could have prepared you for the true scale of it. Most of it is in a terrible state of decay, full of overgrowth and rot that, centuries ago, may have been wood and cloth.

You stop for a breath beneath the remains of what looks to have once been a vibrant mural. You can see trace evidence of beautiful paints, but whatever it depicts has been brutally clawed from the stonework. You lift a hand up high to trace one of the deep gouges in the stone; the marks are spread too far apart for your fingers to reach, but you can make out five distinct patterns nonetheless, like drag marks from a hand three or four times the size of your own.

Beyond the ruined mural, there are statues, too. You pass a grand monument of a woman who stands over seven heads tall wielding a sword of equal might, the statue adorned with steel bracers. You think she might have been beautiful in the same way a frightening storm is, but the head of the statue is long since gone.

On the next floor, you see upon the ground the ruins of a statue of a mermaid–at least, you thought it was. Upon further inspection, however, you see that the statue depicts a man. He has the lower body of a fish and strange indentations along his ribs, just beneath his bare carved chest. He, too, is headless, torso split horizontally, stone strewn across the floor.

This temple must have belonged to these lost figures, their monuments as desecrated as the rest of the tower. Whoever the Seven was, the world has since forgotten.

You wonder if the Devourer did this, defiled this temple to erase whatever history of heroes came before its tyranny.

Ultimately, you only find six statues. None of them have managed to keep their heads, and some are in worse shape than others. You imagine the seventh might have been destroyed entirely. It’s easier to imagine how or why these things might be than it is to focus on how badly your body aches, how you started this venture with the morning sun barely upon you, and yet you barely feel any closer to your destination as the darkness of night encroaches.

Every limb screams for rest. You stop occasionally, but you feel you must not sleep. Was poor Nadja pitched to her death for sleeping through her trial? You’d rather not find out. You’re not even sure if you would wake with the same angry conviction that drives you forward now, climbing step after unforgiving step. It’s gotten colder the higher you’ve gone, too. There’s a chance if you slept amidst the stone, you would turn to it yourself.

“Grant me strength,” you whisper to whomever may be listening. Be they fae or devil, benevolent or malevolent, it would be a boon to know there was some manner of being on your side.

You lean on the wall far from the edge as you ascend the spiral, too nervous of a fall to look over the edge and gauge your progress. A brisk wind chill has begun howling through the tower, whipping your clothing about and biting at your skin. You hug one arm tightly across your chest, bracing against the cold. At this rate, you’ll make for a crunchy meal not just for your bones, but for the frost you arrive covered in.

Your foot slides on something on the step that shifts and clatters. You nearly fall, heart hammering in your chest as you manage to catch yourself. Looking down, you’re shocked to see a pile of shining gold coins spilling down the steps amongst the debris. There is enough wealth discarded on these steps to see a dozen families fed for years and years to come.

You must be getting close. Carefully, despite the tremble running through your body, you shuffle your way through the mess, kicking it aside when you need to clear more of a path. The sound of rubble and gold and the like falling off the edge of the steps makes you flinch, the prolonged clattering of it serving as a reminder of just how agonizingly high you’ve managed to climb.

The familiar flicker of fire light draws a gasp of relief from you, tears gathered in your eyes from the sheer pain of moving your body forward. You can see shadows dancing across the walls, beckoning you from the cold with the barest hint of a warm draft. You’re practically crawling up the steps now, every part of you aching horribly. The tremble in your body is so severe, you worry you would fall to your death if you continued trying to walk through the hoard of treasures that have spilled down the steps.

You practically sob with relief when you reach the final step, limbs quaking beneath you as you haul yourself up onto the top floor and away from the awful railless edge of the spiraling stairs. You bury your face in the fold of your arms. The mixture of relief and exhaustion is so intense, the rest of the world falls away briefly, and the only thing that matters is catching your breath while you all but dry heave on the floor.

“I’ll be damned. I didn’t think you were going to make it,” purrs a resonant, honied voice, snapping you immediately back to reality. You shoot into an upright position so suddenly your head spins, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear your blurry vision.

Before you rests an enormous circular hall lit with dozens upon dozens of torches. The walls are lined with beautiful arched windows, and the interior is piled nearly to the vaulted ceiling with obscene amounts of coin, weapons, artifacts and similar treasure. Your gaze drifts towards the center of it all, where the source of the voice awaits you.

As it turns out, The Devourer is no oversized earthworm.

Reclined upon a magnificently carved marble throne, you behold a creature made of equal parts man and beast. Even sitting, his stature easily brings him heads taller than you. He is adorned exquisitely in gold embellishments–jewelry and piercings alike–and rich navy slacks, serving as a fine centerpiece to the lavish, untidy wealth that surrounds him. He wears a crown fit for a king, the jewel of it a radiant blue that matches his sharp predatory gaze. His lips spread into a wolfish grin. You’re utterly bewitched by the flash of his fangs.

“Rise,” he orders you, gesturing with a clawed hand that’s easily the size of your head. His rings shine beautifully in the firelight. “And speak.”

Shakily, you fight to climb to your feet. Worm or not, this man–this creature has been preying upon your people for generations. You remind yourself of the countless lives lost, of the mourning families, of Nadja’s desecrated corpse and the sound of her father weeping over the rotten remains of her. You steel yourself.

“You who the people know as Scourge of the Skies, Red Death,” you begin, blinking rapidly. Your head began swimming the second you stood. You’ve never been so worn out in your life, and though there are flames here that offer a slight degree of warmth, the cold has sunk deep into your bones. As you speak, your vision gradually begins to tunnel. “Flame’s… Maw… and the Devourer,” you address, fighting desperately to stay focused even as he fades in and out of clarity. “I’ve come to pay my village tribute, and to… to…”

The darkness at the edges of your vision thickens. Your words feel heavy and slurred on your tongue. You sway, feeling your own head slosh like a bucket of water, and before you know it, you’re pitching forward, and the world goes black.

That was anticlimactic.

There was a time he would have been met with awe. Reverence. He didn’t expect you to simply black out.

Scourge, Red Death, Flame’s Maw… Maw. He’s always despised that word in particular, and the ugly imagery it evokes. Just a handful out of hundreds of names he’s been called over the years–if you can call them that. Many border on insults, if not are so outright. The most tolerable name he can remember is Homelander.

They called him that in celebration, he recalls. Those were the last of the days he had any care left for them.

He blows a smoky little raspberry as he stands, hands clasping behind his back beneath his wings. His tail sways idly as he approaches, tentatively intrigued by your splayed form. It’s rare that a sacrifice makes it all the way to the top at all, let alone in a single day. The last one only made it halfway before she decided falling to her death was a kinder fate than him.

Truth be told, he should have reigned hell upon their little village for her insolence. Fortunately for them, her display filled him with far more apathy than it did fury. He crouches down near enough to touch, though he hesitates, hand ghosting just over your body. He tilts his head to the side. Your breaths are shallow in your sleep, a slight wheeze to each one. Your body is clearly overexerted.

Delicately, he slips his hand under your cheek to turn your face to him, examining your features. You’re prettier like this, the tension drained from your expression and replaced with peace. Certainly not the worst tribute he’s been offered. You were at least determined to reach him.

The corner of his mouth twitches.

He won’t kill you. Not yet.

Homelander lifts you up into his arms, supporting your comparatively slight form with ease. You feel as frail as any mortal might, but the weight of you in his arms strikes him with a peculiar sense of melancholy. He takes pause, more closely observing the shape of you cradled in his arms, head lolled against his chest. You fit there nicely, small as you are. He can almost pretend you’ve simply fallen asleep in the crook of his arm; somewhere you’ve always belonged.

It’s an intriguing little fantasy. He hasn’t felt the need to indulge in one of those in a long while. He keeps his eyes on you as he walks you to the collection of pelts gathered on the far side of the room, where he lays you down atop them.

What had you been intending to say before you passed out? Your departing words spin round and round in his mind while he looks you over, lowering himself until he’s on his hands and knees above you. Tributes used to come richly adorned in jewelry and glittering things, but such pageantry has long since vanished. He’s surrounded by enough of it that the absence doesn’t bother him anymore.

The glitter of gold hardly catches his eye these days. He doesn’t call for sacrifices to add to his wealth. He only seeks to quell his boredom. Perhaps you will prove useful for this, at least for a time.

Pressing his clawed thumb lightly to your chin, he tilts your head away and leans in, nosing up the line of your throat, lips barely ghosting your soft flesh. He inhales the salt-sweet smell of you, a mixture of sweat, the dusty stone steps you’ve scaled, and the sweet herbal oil bath your kind always receives before you’re sent to him. The blend is strangely intoxicating on you.

It makes him wonder if you taste as good as you smell. Parting his lips, his split tongue spills past them and drags a slow serpentine pattern from your neck to your jaw. Mmm, fuck. You taste better than you smell, the rich oil you were bathed in still clinging to your skin beneath the salty tang of your sweat.

It would be too easy to devour you. He groans quietly at the thought, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He’s known few things more intimate than sinking his sharp teeth into warm, pliant flesh. The feel of a pulse slowing against his tongue. The metallic rush of blood down the back of his throat. He hasn’t craved human flesh the way he does right now in years, yet something in the scent of you has ignited that primal aspect of him. Salivating already, he swallows it away and draws back.

Not yet. He still wants to hear what you were going to say.

It makes him smile to see the goosebumps that have erupted on every inch of your exposed skin. He cocks his head to the side and trails his index claw down the center of your chest, dragging down the pretty white fabric of your sacrificial dress, stopping just shy of the swell of your breasts. More goosebumps there, too.

None of it compares to the sound that you make. In your sleep, your brows furrow, and you exhale a noise somewhere between pain and sheer exhaustion, your small hand brushing his as you adjust against the pile of plush fur pelts. His gaze drops sharply, hand lifting tentatively. After a beat, he sets it down lightly atop yours. Captivated, he watches your whole body respond to his touch, turning and curling in towards him like a flora bending to the light of the sun.

Fascinated by your innate reactivity to him, Homelander lowers himself onto his side next to you. After a beat of hesitation, he encircles your wrist with his thumb and index finger and brings your palm flat to the warmth of his bare chest. A tantalizing shiver rolls through your unconscious form. Just as he had anticipated–hoped?–you follow the feel of him, moving completely onto your side and into him, breathing out a shuddering little exhale while the fire that runs through his veins warms you.

It isn’t enough to stop you shivering, though. Shifting, he spreads out his wing and curls that over you, blocking the draft that spills in from the surrounding windows. Only then does the tension in your body begin to ease, warmth chasing out the chill from your bones.

Homelander smirks, feeling inexplicably accomplished over this mundane little feat. He’s never particularly cared for the comfort of his tributes before; they’ve never served as anything more than playthings and meals. You should be no different. He knows you would be a delectable thing on his tongue, warm and wet down his throat, yet the thought of you in pieces–cold and unmoving–instantly vanishes his appetite.

He wants you in a new way entirely. Against him, with him. He wants to taste more of you, drag his tongue along the plains of your body and see how else you’ll react to him. He wants to find the places that quicken your breath. Would you sing your pleasure for him? He’s barely heard your voice, but already he can imagine it vividly.

You would. You will.

He’s begun to pant at the thought alone, smoke wafting from his mouth, his eyes softly aglow with crimson light. The smell of you has filled his senses so thoroughly he feels intoxicated by it, and between his thighs, his cock has begun to throb. He leans closer and nestles into your hair, inhaling deeply, a rumble leaving him on a warm exhale.

His entire body has taken on the heavy pulse of his heart, alight with the most visceral feeling he’s had in centuries. This is more than hunger, more than carnality–you mean something. Never before has he felt compelled to find pleasure in the frail body of a human, yet his blood sings it voicelessly in the back of his mind, his every instinct screaming one word again and again and again.

Mate.

Homelander had given up on the concept of a mate a long time ago, given that he’s… abnormal. Sterile. As an unnatural creature, there could not be a natural match for him. Someone who would call to his very blood and set it aflame. Yet here you are, seeking him as desperately as he once sought you. Is that why you were able to accomplish what so few before you had, pushing your body so clearly beyond your limits?

A low, possessive rumble leaves him. Reckless.

He pets your hair, testing the texture with his fingers awhile before letting his hand roam down the back of your neck, between your shoulders, up over your hip, down your leg. You’re no longer cool to the touch or shivering. He flattens his palm to your back and closes his eyes briefly. He’s never heard of a dragon bonding to a human before. He wonders if you’ll feel it too, recognize it for what it is, or if your mortality will make you oblivious to the depths of it.

It takes every ounce of his restraint not to shake you awake to find out.

Instead, he patiently learns the cadence of your heart. He commits your scent to memory, weeding out the natural musk of your skin beneath the herbs and oils you’ve been lathered in. Soon enough he’ll be able to pick you out of a crowd by the thump of your pulse alone, track you down from miles away with nothing but the barest whiff of you.

Not that he’d ever let you get so far from him now that he has you.

All you’re missing now is his scent. Leaning down, he licks a line adjacent to the one he had prior, and then another, mindful of his horns. The sweet taste of you makes him moan. He spends hours with you tucked in against him, idling away the time by learning your body as well as teaching you his. He nuzzles his cheek lightly against yours just so that he can turn and taste that same spot, something deep and primal in him appeased by tasting himself on your skin.

“My mate,” he half sighs, half growls.

He can’t wait to meet you.

Consciousness comes back to you in a gradual slew of sensation. Your fingers twitch, flexing in what feels like a lush, thick pelt of fur beneath you. Your whole body is pleasantly warm, as if you’ve fallen asleep in front of a crackling hearth, the cold of those awful stone stairs a distant memory.

The stairs…

Your eyes snap wide open, your spine going stiff. You’re laying on your back. Something wet and hot is dragging along the exposed skin of your shoulder–your dress pulled askew–in repetitive swipes. Looking down, all you can see is a mess of flaxen colored hair and one long, angular horn, the tip of it adorned in gold. The press of what you can only imagine to be a tongue is unnaturally smooth, as hot as settled coal against your skin. The beast gives a growl, and sharp teeth graze your skin. Your throat feels tight, the scream that bubbles up locked behind the tension of your jaw.

Oh gods, you think, beginning to shake. He’s eating me!

“Good morning,” purrs a familiar voice, the words vibrating against your skin. He lifts his head from your shoulder, though he doesn’t go far. You half expect to see his maw bloodied with your entrails from all the horror stories you’ve been told, but his grin is as clean as it was the first moment you beheld him. Up close, he’s even larger than you had initially realized. His face is well defined, with strong cheekbones decorated with smooth red scales that ascend into his hairline, where a golden crown sits neatly behind his horns. “Mmm, someone got their beauty sleep,” he says, the words a low, pleased rumble. You’re speechless, watching in bewilderment as he cups your face, hand so large it covers most of your neck, too. “You were out for hours.”

Your eyes dart to your shoulder, where your dress has been tugged down, but your skin appears unmarred. Around you, one of his enormous wings is curved over, shielding you both from the light and the cold beyond. You can’t move your legs, and with a glance, you understand why: his enormous tail is draped across both of them, pinning you in place. You look back at him, eyes wide in fear and confusion. You wonder if he’s been with you like this through the entire night. “You’re… You’re not eating me?”

The broad smile he flashes makes your heart skip a beat. His eyes, though sharp and a shade of blue you’ve only ever seen in the sky, are disarmingly human. Beautiful, even. They crinkle at the corners with what almost looks like fondness.

“No.”

“Why not?” You ask instantly, adrenaline making your voice sharp. “Not that I wish for you to eat me,” you say just as quickly. “But do you not–were you not–” He cuts you off with a noise that you belatedly realize is a laugh, the resonance in his chest so unearthly it gives every sound he makes an inhuman quality. “No, I was not eating you,” he says, sounding far too amused for your liking. “Tasting you, yes. And you do taste divine,” he says, leaning in again. You push your head back into the furs as much as you can, but he moves to the side, bringing his lips to your ear. “I knew my mate would.” Mate?!

Your hands fly up to his chest–gods, he’s as warm as hearth stones–as if to push him back, but you may as well attempt to push an oak tree aside. “What?”

He draws back, glancing down at your hands pressed to the bare skin of his chest before his gaze returns to yours, eyes narrowed in distinct pleasure. “Mate,” he says again, deliberately drawing the word out. “Dragons bond only once in a lifetime. Usually to another dragon. Clearly exceptions can be made, and you, precious little thing that you are… appear to be mine.”

His eyes fall shut, he leans in, and with a lurch of your stomach you realize he means to kiss you, his lips pursed and rapidly approaching. Your own lips part and a noise wholly outside of your control escapes you; a scream so shrill and sudden that it knocks even him back in surprise.

Blinking several times, he gives you a quick once over, visibly expecting to see you wounded and bloody somewhere. He looks back to your face when he finds nothing amiss. “What?”

“I can’t–I don’t know you,” you blurt out, equal parts flustered and alarmed. You can feel yourself burning up, and it isn’t just from the heat of him against you.

“So?” He dismisses, smiling with an array of sharp pearly teeth. “I’m your mate.”

“Humans don’t have those,” you counter, squirming under the weight of his tail. It’s like he’s draped several sacks of grain across your legs. “My lord Devourer, I–”

He scoffs, tail lifting as he shifts, bringing himself up onto his hands and knees over you, his wing unfurling and allowing the sun to spill in, washing you both in its light. “Homelander. If you must use one of those silly names, use Homelander. I’d prefer beloved, though,” he says with a sly lilt to his mouth.

A shiver rolls down your spine. Along with light, brisk morning air has slipped in between your bodies.

“Homelander,” you repeat, a name you’ve never heard before. It’s a great deal less menacing than the others, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has been eating your townsman for as long as anyone can remember. “I–”

He takes hold of your jaw with just his index finger and thumb, the rest of his fingers curling lightly over your throat. “You talk too much,” he tells you, eyes hooded and hungry. “Are you going to scream every time I try to kiss you?”

“Maybe,” you choke out, fists clenched tightly in the furs beneath you. He leans closer, tilting his head, his nose barely brushing the tip of yours. “I’ve never been kissed by a dragon before. Like I said, we don’t have m-mmm!”

It happens so swiftly you don’t have time to gather the air to scream. He presses his lips firmly to yours, making a noise so close to a moan that, despite the relative chasteness of the kiss itself, you flush with the indecency of it. It feels… hot. The heat of him is nearly too much to handle, like touching your lips to a hot mug of tea, but there is something intoxicating about it. He uses that heat to mold you to him, pulling you closer, his body sinking down against yours.

You’re too dumbstruck by the whole of the situation to struggle–not that it would accomplish much–which leaves you to simply experience it. His lips are tentative against yours, not harsh or demanding. He coaxes yours with his as if to dance, luring you into something that almost feels good.

Your heart hammers in your chest, his warmth pooling in your belly and spreading slowly through the rest of your body like boiled water poured into a lukewarm tub. He’s immovable, inescapable, and to your dismay, not entirely awful.

“I want to claim you,” he all but growls against your lips, his other hand clawing slowly down your side, tugging at your dress.

Your heart leaps painfully against your ribs. “Homelander,” you say, though he’s hardly paying you any mind, kissing your cheek now, your jaw, carving a wicked trail with his lips while his hand dips lower and lower, seeking the bottom hem of your dress. Heart racing, you breathlessly cry, “Beloved!”

That gives him pause. He rears back to look down at you, head slightly cocked, eyes bright and attentive. Your breaths are shallow, pulse pounding in your throat. You swallow dryly. “I’m thirsty,” you tell him, which is no lie. Your throat is so dry it almost hurts to speak. “Horribly. And hungry, I’ve not eaten since yesterday’s breakfast. You mean for me to survive, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he says, expression twisting like he finds offense in your words. “You’ll want for nothing.”

“Then please. Water?” You push, praying that he is more man than beast.

He regards you quietly, eyes subtly darting back and forth. There’s a petulant kind of impatience to his gaze that catches you off-guard, like a boy who’s been told he has to wait before he gets to play with his new favorite toy. “Water,” he echoes eventually. You nod. He startles you when he exhales a little plume of smoke from his nose, reluctantly lifting himself off of you. The chill of his absence is immediate. “Don’t move,” he says, suddenly looking displaced. You’ve caught him by surprise. Perhaps you’ll survive this yet.

You watch him rise to his full height, standing easily eight feet tall. You sit up, pulling the furs over your legs to combat the cold seeping in. The muscles of his back give a mesmerizing flex as he stretches his wings out, the span of them just as jaw-dropping as his height. He wears furs over his shoulders held in place with thick leather straps that cross over his back and chest, emphasizing his musculature as well as the crimson plating that covers his body. Spines run down the length of his back, transitioning down into a tail that’s even longer than he is tall. It moves along the ground in zigzags, almost like a serpent. You don’t realize how intensely you’re staring until you look back up and realize he’s looking at you over his shoulder, those piercing blue eyes keenly set on yours.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smirk. Something about his expression makes you feel like you’ve been caught doing something naughty. You drop your gaze. “Back in a jiffy,” he says. You look up just in time to see him step off the ledge, those brilliant red wings fanning out behind him. He disappears so suddenly that you can’t help but gasp, sitting up on your knees. You hear the beat of wings against the air, and then a second later see him lift back up into the skyline, twisting in the air before gliding back down out of sight.

You sit in stunned silence, listening to the fading thrum of his wings. It doesn’t feel real. You don’t know if this is some kind of twisted game he pulls with every sacrifice, or if you’re truly somehow different. You weren’t entirely expecting him to listen to you, but he did. He’s gone, presumably to fetch you food and water. You don’t know how, but you just commanded the Devourer to not only let you go, but bring you a meal.

In hindsight, you’re a little concerned that it was never specified what kind of meal. As far as you’re aware, he primarily eats people.

Adjusting your gown, you haul yourself up to your feet, crossing your arms in a vain attempt to protect the heat of his body lingering on your skin. When that doesn’t work, you pick up one of the several fur pelts strewn on the floor and drape it over your shoulders, sighing in relief. The pelt still holds some residual warmth; a boon over the lovely but ineffective fabric of your ceremonial gown.

In the light of day, you can make out a great deal more detail throughout the lair. The floor to ceiling archways deter you from venturing too far beyond the center, but still there is plenty to investigate. For example, the throne catches your eye immediately. The size of it makes you feel like a child again, navigating a world not built for you. The masonry of it is exceptionally smooth beneath your fingers, save for a handful of deep, jagged gouges that marr the arm rest. Tilting your head, you realize that you recognize these marks: they match those that you’d seen on the ruined murals.

You trace them with your fingers, connecting them now to the draconic claws that, just moments ago, had so delicately followed the curve of your body. He could so easily tear you apart, and yet in that moment you had never known a gentler touch. You pull your hand back beneath the pelt, feeling a shiver roll through you that has little to do with the morning chill.

Mate. That word sticks in your brain like a wad of gummy tree sap.

Circling the throne, you carefully step around the glimmering mess of gold, silver and jewels that litter the stone floor. There’s so much of it that it doesn’t even look real, stacked over itself like forgotten hay bales left to rot. There is more wealth here than you’ve seen in your life. A single satchel of it would keep you comfortable for the rest of your life, and yet here it serves as little more than clutter. As far as you can tell, it means nothing here.

The Devourer stopped seeking material treasure generations ago.

As you explore, part of you expects to find the corpses of all those who have come before you. Dozens upon dozens of bodies stacked up in varying states of consumption or decay, or maybe a monument built of their bones. You find no such construct, though. In fact, nothing about this place seems put together. You can’t imagine the madness that living like this for a week would induce in you, let alone decades.

To the east, movement catches your attention, startling your heart into your throat. It looks like a silhouetted figure at first, but your brain catches up quickly, and you approach the gently billowing fabric. It’s draped over a statue, giving it the illusion of a person, and your curiosity gets the best of you as you tug the drape down off of it.

You suck in a sharp breath. Once again, you find yourself faced with a legend given form– a painstakingly and intricately carved statue in the Devourer’s perfect likeness. It comes as no surprise that this is the only in-tact statue you’ve seen, but what you don’t understand is why it’s even here. If the Devourer was a usurper, some vicious interloper, why would there be a monument to him in the same vein as all the others?

The plaque beneath it reads: Homelander. Son of the Skies, Protector of the Earth.

Devourer, Scourge, Flame’s Maw–these names are all you have ever known, and yet this is the name carved in stone. He was once worshiped not out of fear, but reverence that you can see in every gentle curve of stone.

What happened?

Shuffling closer to the statue, the discarded fabric gathers at your feet. It’s not quite to scale, but it’s a handsome likeness nonetheless. It’s certainly been cared for more than anything else in this place. You wonder if it’s just vanity or if it’s something less obvious. You trace the smooth stonework, letting yourself get a better look at this version of him that’s less likely to eat you.

Objectively speaking, it’s a handsome visage. The resemblance is uncanny, clearly the work of an intensely skilled mason. His jaw is strong, eyes set forward in unerring determination. Tentatively, you touch the lips of the statue. He’d been so certain that he wanted to kiss you. Just the thought of his closeness and heat makes your stomach erupt in a flutter of butterflies.

Mate.

“I thought I told you not to move.”

You barely hear the full sentence, your own scream ringing loudly in your ears. You move to spin around, but your foot catches on the pile of fabric you had dropped to the ground and suddenly your whole body is pitching backwards, the back of your skull destined for the smooth, unyielding stone behind you. Fortunately for your brain matter, your descent is halted just shy of contact, one familiar clawed hand cupping the back of your neck while the other lands at your back, steadying you.

Homelander stands over you, a curious quirk to his brow. With his hand at the small of your back, his claws press lightly through the fabric, effortlessly upholding your weight. He holds you as if you’ve been caught mid dip in a dance.

“Gods, you scared me,” you say, eyes wide. “I didn’t hear you.” You had been so certain you would hear his return based on the sound of his wings when he’d left, but his approach had been terrifyingly silent.

“Yes, I know. It makes me a very effective hunter,” he says, dipping down to nuzzle at your neck, taking advantage of how the pelt has slipped off of your shoulder. He inhales the smell of you, prickling goosebumps all over your body. “I missed you.”

“You’ve barely been gone,” you reply impulsively, awkwardly trying to adjust yourself out of this arch he has you in. No use. His size makes him impossible to maneuver around, and your foot is still tangled up in the fabric that he’s currently standing on.

He gives another one of those rumbling sighs, drawing back to look at you. “You’re supposed to say that you missed me, too,” he chastises you, and though his tone seems light, you’re sure you see a flicker of impatience or irritation in his gaze. Maybe both. Despite how fearsome the sum total of his features make him, you’re once again caught off guard by his eyes. Though the color of them is icy, there’s a distinctly human warmth to them that grounds you in his gaze.

Still, the last thing you want to do is make him angry.

“Oh,” you croak quietly, realizing he’s actually waiting for you to say it, staring down expectantly while he holds you. “I… missed you, too,” you return stiltedly, unsure your hesitant delivery will be satisfactory. Shockingly, his expression lightens, lips curving into a smile. He lifts you off of your feet, untangling you from the mess beneath you and turning around to set you back down on relatively clear flooring.

“Good,” he purrs, stroking his hand down the back of your head like he’s petting an animal. He seems determined to touch you, but entirely unaware of how to. He cups the base of your skull and tightens the gap between your bodies, enticing you with his warmth as much as he terrifies you with the hunger in his eyes.

You put your hands to his chest, soaking up the heat of him as you vainly try to maintain an ounce of personal space. “Ah, the–the statue, it’s beautiful. Why do you cover it up?” You ask, the words leaving you in a flustered tumble.

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder, looking at the statue like he’s only just remembered it exists. “Oh, that. Mmm. Don’t always like what he has to say,” he replies, fitting his hand over top of yours, pressing it to his chest. You blink. What in the world does that mean? “You humans chill so quickly. I’ll have to light the hearth next time I leave you,” he says, earning a yelp from you as he abruptly lifts you up into his arms, tail slithering audibly along the floor as he carries you back to what you suppose for all intents and purposes is his nest. His touch instantly warms you to your core, making the fur you wrapped yourself in seem like a thin sheet in comparison. Despite your apprehension, you can’t help the way the tension in your body naturally eases with his warmth. Upon returning to the collection of pelts, you see the fruits of his labor.

Literal fruits, in fact.

Homelander has returned with a small bounty consisting of apples, two melons, and even a handful of peaches, all of it held in a beautiful–albeit aged–woven basket. You don’t get the chance to eat those often; the trees they fall from grow high on the surrounding mountains, and the farmers in your village are content enough with the established agriculture that no one bothers to grow them.

In addition, a tall golden pitcher stands filled to the brim with water. You’re once again hyper aware of just how incredibly thirsty you are, lips dry, throat parched. It’s the only thing you care about, clambering towards it the second Homelander sets you back on your feet.

The pitcher is heavy. It appears made of solid gold and it’s three times the size of any you’ve ever seen before. You don’t lift it so much as you just tip it back slightly, sighing loudly as you drink back the crisp, clear water. You sputter as the flow abruptly increases, water spilling from the corners of your mouth. Homelander has lifted the pitcher to help you drink, holding it one handed as if it’s no more than a drinking cup, his other hand settled upon your waist. He looks thoroughly pleased with himself, eyes half-lidded, lips gently curved upwards. Once you’ve drunk your fill, you push against his hold and he relents quickly, unnerving you with just how attentive he really is. He sets the pitcher back down and watches you wipe your chin dry.

“Thank the gods,” you sigh habitually, finally not feeling as though there’s grit in your throat with every word.

“I’d prefer you thanked me,” he says coyly, his gaze drifting down to where the water has wet your gown. The fabric clings to your skin, sheer where liquid has touched it.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Thank you, Homelander,” you correct. It’s taking every ounce of your fortitude to speak in full sentences with the way he’s staring at you, let alone the idle way his thumb is stroking your hip. No one has ever touched you with this mixture of ease and clear intent, the weight of his hand practically thrumming against you. The magnitude of him is a difficult thing to parse both in terms of his sheer size and the legend he represents. You don’t know how to reconcile him with the monster you grew up dreading.

No one warned you that monsters could be warm and handle you gently.

“Time to eat,” he says, setting the pitcher back down. He takes hold of both of your hips and pulls you down with him as he sits cross-legged on the pelts, the circle of his legs large enough that you fit perfectly inside it, your own legs hanging out over his crossed calves. His tail loops around as well, encircling him and draping over your legs. The underside of his tail is not unlike the belly of a snake, with large overlapping scales that layer down the length of it. It’s just as warm as the rest of him, and feels like an unnaturally soft stone that’s been baking in the sun.

Reaching over, Homelander plucks one of the peaches from the assortment. It looked perfectly average in the basket, but between his fingers it looks almost comically small. With a deftness that you wouldn’t expect from a creature of his size, he begins to slice through the peach with his blackened claws, delicately cutting out a wedge that he does not hand you, but he instead brings it directly to your lips.

You stare for a moment, struck by the rich red center of the fruit, how the juice of it drips onto his hand in sweet smelling rivulets. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and he quirks a brow, nodding towards the slice of fruit. You decide that of all the potential battles you have in front of you, this one in particular isn’t worth fighting, and you part your lips, watching him as you do.

His own lips mimic yours, falling apart in quiet entrancement. He slides the wedge between your teeth and watches with rapt fascination as you bite down on it, holding his gaze in an exchange that feels so unexpectedly raw and intimate, your pulse ticks up a notch. You swear he notices it by the way his head tilts ever so slightly, almost as if he’s listening.

“Good?” He asks, voice little more than a rumble.

Gods above and below, it is good. Despite the preternatural heat of his hand, the succulent flesh of the peach retains the morning chill, sweet and cool on your tongue. It’s perfectly ripe, yielding easily to the cut of your teeth and flooding richly across your tongue as you chew. He feeds it to you until it disappears, pressing the last of it in with his thumb, which then follows the line of your bottom lip, smearing the sweet juice on it. You nod and lick your lips, tongue narrowly missing his thumb, and what that does to his expression makes your stomach flip.

He’s quick to cut another slice to offer you. You repeat this process in silence, the air thick with tension that feels so palpable you’re sure you could swim through it. The sounds of the world have narrowed entirely to the sound of his claw cutting through the delicate flesh of the fruit and the tip lightly scraping the pit inside it. His hands have a sticky shine to them by the time he’s tossing the pit back into the basket, stripped as clean as a bone.

You chew your final bite, jaw slowing as you watch him take his fingers into his own mouth. He’s unabashed in the way he slurps the nectar off his digits, tongue slipping between them. That’s when you realize that his tongue splits down the middle, dexterously sliding over his fingers to lap up every drop of juice. Not only that, but you spot a flash of gold; the same kind of piercing he has on his ears. Watching him stirs something hot in you, a radiating heat that lights a flickering pulse between your thighs. You audibly gulp the last of your bite, tensing subtly when Homelander looks at you.

Slowly, his lips curl into a devious smile. “See something you like?”

You flush, fighting the urge to look away. Don’t play into it. Change the subject. “What happened to your last mate?”

His expression shifts to something slightly more incredulous. “There wasn’t one. You’re my first, my last, my only. Dragons only bond once,” he says, that split tongue rolling along his sharp teeth, that gold tongue piercing clicking against them. You wonder where else he’s decorated himself with gold.

Wait, what did he say? Your gaze snaps back up from his mouth to his eyes, which are once more set into that self-satisfied slant. He’s closer to you now, and nearing by the second.

My first, my last, my only.

“But I am no dragon,” you say, leaning away subtly, though there isn’t far to go. He’s got you trapped nicely in place, like a butterfly beneath pins. “How could such a bond form?”

“I’m as mystified as you are,” he says, his hand sliding up the small of your back. “I didn’t think a bond was even possible for me. Apparently there’s something different about you,” he says, and you notice a brief twitch of his lip, a flicker that looks just a touch like disdain. It disappears as quickly as it had appeared. “Something special,” he murmurs, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek.

Your heart races, your capacity for thought slowly disappearing the closer to you he gets. New subject, new subject! You think, frazzled by the warm spiced smell of him. His hand flexes on your hip, claws prickling your skin through your dress. “Aren’t you hungry?” You ask, eyes darting to the basket full of fruit just to his side.

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice so low you feel it reverberate. His nose brushes your cheek, trailing down from your jaw to your neck. You shiver, and the pulse between your thighs grows into a steady throb. He inhales deeply. “I’m famished.”

The world around you spins and the next thing you know, you’re on your back staring up at the aged banners draped along the stone ceiling, the fur pelts warm and plush beneath you. Homelander pins your arms down at your sides, once more poised on his hands and knees over you. His tongue draws a wet molten line from the collar of your dress to your throat, and you let out a soft, nervous cry as his teeth graze your skin.

Perhaps he’s going to devour you after all.

Oh gods! Gods, gods, gods, please no!

“Wait, wait! Don’t–please don’t eat me,” you plead in a panic, pushing up against his hands with all of your might. He doesn’t yield at all. You may as well be pushing against the stone walls of the tower itself.

He does laugh, however. It’s that same rumble of amusement that travels through your skin and into the core of you. “For the last time, I’m not eating you. I can smell your arousal, though. Practically taste it in the fucking air,” he says, trailing lower down your chest with every word, brazenly nuzzling the space between your breasts before continuing down. A wave of humiliation rolls through you at his words, and you look away. He releases your arms in favor of sliding his hands up your bare legs, pushing your dress up with them. “I’m just going to have a little lick.”

Frantically, you try to grab at him as soon as your hands are free. “Hold on, stop–”

“Enough!” He snarls suddenly, startling you quiet. You swear for just a moment that his eyes flash crimson. You clutch your hands to your chest. “You’ll not be harmed. Understand? Just… let me,” he says tersely, gaze hard before gradually softening as you silence yourself, watching him with wide, uncertain eyes. Satisfied, he lowers back down.

His sharp claws kiss harmless welts all the way up your legs, up to your hips, where he catches the band of your undergarments. He hooks his fingers over the waistband and drags them down, seeming to enjoy the way you pant and writhe under him, your heart racing.

“Have mercy,” you slip in quietly, squirming beneath the hot press of his hands, though you’re no longer struggling against him. “I’ve never–no one’s ever–I’m inexperienced,” you desperately explain, your mind running wild with what his size will mean for you if he decides he wants more than to taste you–to claim you, as he’d said before.

“Good,” he replies simply, pushing your knees up into a bend on either side of his head. “As you should be. As am I,” he says, turning his head to drag his split tongue in swirling patterns on your inner thigh, moaning at the taste of you.

You grip the pelts beneath you, brows furrowing. You stare down at the top of his head in confusion. “You are?”

“I told you. I’ve never had a mate. I’ve never felt the need to put my cock into what I intended to eat,” he says against your skin, erupting goosebumps all over your thighs. That should horrify you, but you’re instantly distracted by the sheer burning heat of his breath wafting over your wet cunt, a gasp slipping from your lips when he eagerly presses his tongue to it.

His tongue feels as smooth as glass, like liquid in the way it contours to your every curve. The split of it rubs on either side of your clit, massaging it between the two sides in a way that makes your knees shake. “Ffffuck,” he groans, immediately pushing his tongue into you, licking up the wetness of you twice as eagerly as he had that ripe peach.

You buck against him, a moan escaping you. The sound only encourages him to plunge his tongue deeper, that golden stud on his tongue brushing hotly against your inner walls. He drags it up and pushes it flush, half inside you and half grinding against your clit before pushing back in deep. It feels unlike anything you’ve ever known, so much better than your own curious, clumsy fingers. He laves attention on you like he’s starved for it, drinking just as thirstily as you had from the pitcher.

There’s no rhythm to the way he moves, no sense of consistency. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs you forward with ease, lifting you to push his thick split tongue even further inside you, plunging it in and out, growing greedier with every dive. He growls low in the back of his throat, tail thudding repeatedly against the floor. Instead of the little lick he claimed he was after, he’s working himself into an obvious frenzy feasting on you.

“H-Homelander, please,” you keen, his relentlessness rapidly building an unfamiliar pressure within you. He’s as sloppy as he is voracious, the wet sound of him obscene and loud in the enormous lair. His claws bite into your ass where he holds it firmly to his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. If he does, he’s taking it only as encouragement.

His tongue touches something inside you that makes your whole body jolt. You grab hold of both of his horns, your back arching as you desperately cling to them. You’re certain you meant to shove him back, to struggle. Instead, your body is ablaze as you yank hard on his horns, hitching your leg over his shoulder and riding his tongue with a shaking gasp.

The pressure bursts, and the wave of euphoria that crashes down on you is unlike anything you’ve ever known. You convulse against his mouth, walls tightening around the intrusion. You don’t recognize your own voice in the sounds you make as he continues to ruthlessly fuck you soaked and open with his tongue, his breaths so hot they nearly burn. The waves of your climax feel like they’ll never end, spurred on by every deep, wet thrust.

“Homelander! It’s too much, Homelander, too much, please, please–beloved, please, I can’t, I can’t,” you beg, desperate to get his attention. You’re on the verge of sobs when he finally withdraws his long molten tongue from you. You suck in a shuddering breath, releasing his horns and collapsing back against the pelts, sweat prickling along your hairline.

However, your shallow breaths are nothing compared to the sound of Homelander’s ragged panting. He looks entirely wild, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose, his cheeks flushed a dark red, the lower half of his face shiny with a mixture of your slick and his own drool. He takes his hands from under you and yanks the sash around his waist loose, dropping it to the side. Reaching behind him, he unfastens his pants.

Your mind is still a haze, but even through the delirium, you’re shocked by what you see when that rich navy fabric falls from his waist: his cock is as large as the rest of him, thick and dripping. The underside of it is strangely ribbed, a feature you’re certain is to be attributed to his draconic nature. Not only that, but he’s adorned in gold here, too, with a ring pierced into the head of his cock and studs between each ridge. Your eyes widen.

It’ll never fit.

Nevertheless, he looks entirely undeterred. Homelander adjusts himself between your legs, eyes thoroughly glazed over with lust, and presses his nearly scalding palms to your inner thighs, pushing them into a wide spread and down to the ground. Arousal and fear lance through you like a twin bolt of lightning.

“H-hold on,” you stutter, lifting a trembling hand. “I–” Bending over you, he silences you with a firm kiss. You press your hands to his chest and feel it thrumming beneath your palms, the heat of him more intense than ever. You can’t help but moan softly into it, overtaken by the smell of sex and something akin to burning incense. His tongue slips as deftly into your mouth as it did your cunt. Even after having felt it inside you, it’s thicker in your mouth than you’re prepared for, sliding in deeper, like he means to fuck you with it here, too.

It wholly distracts you until you feel a heavy, blunt press to your wet cunt. You make a half-hearted noise of protest, but his only answer is a low rumbling growl, claws biting into the meat of your thighs as he holds you still, effectively gagging you on his tongue.

His cock is as hot as the rest of him, but a great deal more solid than his malleable tongue. The thickness of it slowly spreads you wide, an aching pressure. You’re not sure if the burn of it is from the stretch or the heat, but either way it’s driving you insane. It’s hot and painful and good, frictionless with how thoroughly he soaked you, and despite your nerves, your cunt is loose with orgasm. It’s as if your body, independent of your mind, is eager to welcome him in.

You make a keening noise, the sound of it muffled in this devouring kiss. You grab hold of the leather straps across his chest and yank on them, twisting at them, but nothing takes your mind from how intense it feels to be split apart on the fat head of his cock.

The sounds Homelander makes in response are downright bestial, low and rumbling from his chest. Your only relief is when the widest swell of his cockhead finally breaches you, just the tip of it settling perfectly inside you. You cry out when he gives an exploratory backwards pull, and then shivers as he begins to rock gently, breathing heavily from his nose as he fucks you with nothing more than the head of his cock.

You’re starting to feel lightheaded, pitchy little noises leaving you with every exhale. Homelander sharpens his pace, breaking the kiss with a loud, carnal moan as he tips his head back. He’s barely even inside you and yet the girth of him is overwhelming, the ridges of his cock stimulating you in ways you didn’t know possible, the fat curved head rubbing against that same spot inside you that his tongue had previously made you see stars with.

Thoroughly overwhelmed by the incomprehensible assault of sensations, tears gather in your eyes. That pressure is building back up in you once more, starting at the base of your spine and slowly crawling up it. Desperate to tether yourself, to feel connected, you move your hand from the strap at his chest and touch his face. To your surprise, that instantly snaps his attention down to you, his beautiful blue eyes lost in a crimson glow.

Homelander meets your gaze, some level of cognizance returning to him, and whimpers, something hidden and vulnerable escaping in that exchange. He bends down, his nose brushing yours, and rests his forehead against yours while his thrusts grow more and more erratic, but never deeper. He fucks you in shallow, jagged snaps until finally that mounting pressure overwhelms you and you come again, simultaneously squeezing him into his own sudden release.

The flood of him inside you is burning hot, spilling into your core even from here, and he practically roars with it, burying that loud primal cry into the crook of your neck while his body stills, releasing pulse after pulse of thick, hot seed into you.

His breath billows hotly across your neck, the burning scent of him thick in the air. Your mind is so addled by your own euphoria that it takes you time to realize he’s speaking, fervent murmurings against your skin. “M’sorry, still, be still, I’m–don’t move,” he rasps, fractured little noises leaving him in between his words. You choke on your own breath when he sinks in, working you open slowly, shivers pitching up and down your spine. Gods above, he isn’t done.

Surely he doesn’t mean for you to take all of it… Does he?

You moan weakly, pushing your hand up into his hair and grabbing hold, which elicits a rumbling sigh from him in return. It’s silkier than you expected it to be. “Too big, it’s too much, it’s not–it’s not going to fit,” you pant out, screwing your eyes shut tight. While his release had initially softened him some, you can already feel his cock filling back out. Every bit he slips in further, you feel the mess of his release being forced out of you, come dripping down your thighs, slicking the way for the rest of him.

“It will,” he says at your ear, kissing the spot just below your earlobe, then your neck, his tongue slipping out to taste the sweat there before he kisses that same spot. He’s set upon you like an animal, lost to the drive of instinct, determined to fulfill his promise to claim what is his. “It will because it must. Because it’s yours. Because you’re mine.”

Homelander releases a breathy whine, sounding just as overstimulated as you are, nuzzling at your throat while he slowly works his way deeper, practically vibrating with restraint. He sounds as overwhelmed as you feel, but he refuses to stop, to lose. He holds you in place, growling whenever you squirm or struggle against him. The feel of it is dizzying, unbelievably hot and heavy, like fire given form, filling you in ways you didn’t know were possible. You’re feeling it again, the slow rise of that carnal pleasure building to an inevitable climax, and your whole body trembles with it.

You make a desperate keening noise, and Homelander hushes you, kissing your shoulder. “Sshhh, good, you’re doing so well for me. Don’t move yet, it’s almost over. You were made for this, for me. You feel it, don’t you? How easily your cunt opens to me. Nnngh, hah… Fuck, you fit me. You fit me. You do, and you always will,” he pants, voice hitching.

He slides his hands from your thighs to your waist, the press of his claws just shy of painful. With one final move, he lets out a quaking moan as he pulls you down onto the last of it, finally burying himself completely in your snug, come-soaked cunt.

The fullness of it breaks you–snapping the last tether that was holding you in place–and you come again, your velvety walls seizing up around him impossibly tight before spasming your pleasure around every vein, ridge and piercing he has. You can feel the shape of him so viscerally that you’re sure your body will remember it, carved out in the shape of his cock forevermore.

He cries out with your release, a reverberating sound that you feel all the way down to the marrow of your bones. You don’t know if he’s more in pleasure or pain, but he makes no move to retreat. Instead, he brings you that tiny bit closer, pressing every inch of your body to his. He rides out your pleasure, panting a wet spot into the crook of your neck.

Tears roll from your eyes to your temple, disappearing into your hairline as you breathe roughly. You’re overwhelmingly hot, oversensitized and raw, but as the aftershocks of your orgasm fade, your body steadily loses that quiver. You feel as if you’re melting down into the furs, struggling to even keep your eyes open as a gentle ecstasy sweeps over you.

Once he recovers enough, he lifts himself up onto his hands, and then sits back onto his legs, his hands on your hips to lift you partially into his lap to keep himself buried deep, hitching your legs around his waist. His eyes are completely glazed over, lips parted around heavy, hungry breaths. He doesn’t look at all sated. If anything, the look of his desire has only intensified, despite his obvious sensitivity. Sliding his hands up your body, he pushes your pretty white dress all the way up over your head, tossing it to the side so that he may finally see all of you.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice utterly frayed. He stares at you as though you’re a vision sent from the gods, a nymph plucked from the heavens and nestled snugly upon his cock. His hand sweeps down your stomach, settling low on it, where he lightly presses down. You both moan with the pressure, with how keenly you both feel it. “Told you it would fit,” he says, but his voice is not smug. There’s a breathless wonder to it, like he’s awestruck by the look of your body against his.

His tongue rolls out to sweep along his lips. He opens his mouth, and you can see threads of saliva snapping between his sharp teeth, his mouth wet with hunger. He continues to reverently stroke your stomach, his large splayed hand easily covering the expanse of it. “You’ll make a beautiful mother,” he says, a concept you don’t even know how to begin to unravel, but the way he says it makes you feel worshiped. “Perfect. So fucking perfect for me,” he says, a shudder in his voice. His crimson wings spread and curve in on either side of you, the hooked tips of them bracing on the stone floor.

“Mother?” You slur belatedly. You feel dizzy, your body as warm as burning coals and tingling all over. He lifts your legs one at a time, bringing each one up parallel to his chest. They hook over his shoulders as he leans forward, wasting no before time kissing you. His wings support his weight while he grips your thighs, squeezing possessively.

“Mother,” he confirms between kisses, bending you practically in half as he begins to rut against you. He’s not thrusting so much as he’s grinding into you, wringing a low moan from you. “You want that, don’t you? I’ll keep you safe. Feed you. Fuck you. I’ll take care of you, be yours, and you’ll be mine, won’t you? Sweet little thing, fucked happy and heavy with my children. Tell me. Tell me you want that.”

“Yes,” you moan, kneading the furs on either side of you. He paints a beautiful picture in your mind of fresh fruit, crisp water, and this dreamlike pleasure for the rest of your days. Beneath him, any thoughts of the world outside this moment melt away. There’s only the two of you, resplendently warm and living amongst the clouds. “I want it. I want–I want you,” you say, touching either side of his face. He leans heavily into your touch, his eyes falling shut. A soft noise that sounds like relief escapes him as you kiss him, coaxing that long, clever tongue out to meet yours.

The eagerness with which he reciprocates nearly chokes you, his tongue slipping over yours and halfway down your throat before pulling back, practically devouring you in this kiss. In your fever, this consuming passion feels so much like love it makes your head spin, makes you forget where, when and who you are. He breaks the kiss to moan unabashedly, shifting to put his lips to your throat, mouthing at your skin like he’s trying desperately not to sink his teeth in. The thought thrills you. You almost want him to.

“Again,” he pants, grip tightening on your thighs. “Say it again, please.”

“I want you,” you say again, more certain now. The desperation in him is disarming, and despite the animalism of him, you can clearly see the man in him now, hear it in the way he pleads for you to indulge him. That and the euphoric spill of pleasure electrifying your every nerve imbues you with some kind of sense of power, and however misplaced it may be, you immediately feel drunk on it. You can feel your body beginning to build back towards that ultimate swell of euphoria again. “I want to be yours. I want you to be mine.”

He groans, dipping lower to suck a mark at the junction between your neck and shoulder. This time, when you feel the brush of his teeth, you don’t shy away. You cup the back of his head and drag your nails down his scalp. Homelander thrusts his hips jaggedly, wringing a throaty gasp out of you. “Keep talking,” he demands, but you hear the plea for what it is.

“You feel good. Y-you fit,” you say, echoing his own words, though it’s getting harder to speak with the way he’s starting to fuck you in earnest, just barely withdrawing before he drives back in, as if he can’t bare to be more than an inch outside of you. You moan for him, chasing the bliss swelling rapidly between your legs.

Wait… Something really is swelling.

“What is that?” You ask, voice reedy. You whimper. Somehow, it feels as though he’s getting bigger. “What’s h-nnngh, what’s happening?” Your words are starting to slur together again, your mind split down the middle between your mounting orgasm, and the surreal feeling of the base of his cock growing inside you.

“Knot,” he explains between swipes of his tongue. “Keeps every drop of me inside you,” he says, giving a shuddering moan as that swell catches on the rim of your cunt when he tries to draw back. Just when you thought you had adjusted, that swell makes you ache, has you whimpering and squirming under him.

He could have told you it would get bigger!

“Oh gods, it–mmm, I’m–it feels–” You stop and start again and again, writhing, but he keeps you firmly in place, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh loud in your ears as he fucks you harder and faster, spurred on by the quiver of your cunt as your own climax nears.

“Come for me again. Show me that you want it. I want to feel your pretty little cunt squeeze my cock for my come,” he urges, voice reduced to a rough growl in your ear. He sounds like he’s barely holding himself together, every word more strained than the last. “Give it to me. Give yourself to me.”

The tug of his swollen knot bouncing off of your rim and the feel of his thick ridged cock massaging your walls completely overwhelms you. “Y-yes, okay, I’m–oh gods, gods, I’m–I’m coming, Homelander, Homelander!” You call, lips falling open on a silent scream as your throat locks up, a third orgasm crashing down on you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs.

Homelander muffles his own cry into the crook of your neck, stilling halfway through your orgasm with one final slam. This time, the rush of his release is pressed tightly against your cervix, pooling inside you with nowhere to go, his knot doing precisely what he said it would. The heat of it fills you in hot, rushing spurts, his cock jerking against your spasming walls with every load he empties into you.

A sudden stinging pain makes you gasp, confusion seeping into the euphoria that has thoroughly addled your brain. Fuck, you realize he’s biting you. His teeth sink in as smoothly as a knife through fresh butter, the sting giving way to the sheer heat of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue, and the inexplicable way it intensifies your orgasm.

The room falls deafeningly quiet save for the pound of your own heart in your ears and the heavy way you’re each catching your respective breath. Your arms fall bonelessly to your sides as you pant, your vision slightly blurry. Homelander begins lapping at your shoulder, soothing the spot he’d bitten. Your whole body feels heavy, stuffed fuller than you ever could have conceived possible. All you can do is whine as he adjusts you, gingerly bringing your legs down to settle on either side of him.

You’re not sure how you’ll ever get off of his cock now that you’re on it. His knot feels like a permanent part of you, fitted so snugly that, just as promised, you don’t feel a single drop spill.

Homelander doesn’t stop at your neck. He drags his tongue down to the dip of your clavicle, where it splits apart slightly anywhere it moves over bone. It feels surreal, but somehow different from the first time you woke to him licking you. For starters, you’re not terrified he’s going to eat you. That has an entirely new connotation now.

He moves down further, slinking down into the valley between your breasts, sighing as he pushes them together to lave his tongue between. He’s languid, practically purring with each breath as he savors the feel and the taste of you. You don’t have it in you to feel much more than exhausted, your limbs as heavy as stone, but it does feel good. Your breath catches when he opens his lips around one of your nipples, sucking almost half of your breast into his preternaturally hot mouth. His pierced tongue swirls over your nipple while his teeth flex precariously against the tender flesh. You lurch, letting out a breathy noise.

“Careful, please,,” you exhale, earning a glance up from him. His eyes are completely glazed over, soft and dark in a way that takes your breath away. He hums quietly in some weak acknowledgement before his eyes flutter closed, his throat bobbing with every swallow as he sucks your breast with unexpected gentility.

Watching him stirs a wash of strange feelings in you. With what little strength you have, you bring your hand up to touch his horn, contemplating the texture of it beneath your fingers. You follow the line of it down to his skull, tracing his hairline just beneath the crown that adorns his head, slipping behind his sharply pointed ear. He’s truly incredible to behold up close like this, beautiful without the lens of terror you had been viewing him through.

On some level, you know you should still be afraid, but it’s a difficult feeling to muster when he’s warm and lax on your chest with his cock buried inside you, suckling on your breast as you’re still riding the high of three consecutive climaxes.

You push your fingers into his flaxen hair. You’ve never seen hair this color before except in very young children. In your experience, age always darkens it away to a sandy color, but his is as bright and warm as sunshine. There doesn’t seem to be any part of him that isn’t golden. He exhales a deep sigh as you run your nails along his scalp, nuzzling sweetly against you. You smile despite yourself.

Who would have thought that a dragon might be so very much like an overgrown house cat?

When Homelander lifts his head, his tongue is the last to leave, returning to his mouth with a wet slide across his lips. He’s left your skin shiny with saliva, but he isn’t finished. He immediately lowers himself to your other breast, taking it into his mouth in precisely the same way. You bring your other hand up into his hair and continue to massage his scalp, earning yourself an appreciative little moan from low in his throat, his tail sliding audibly back and forth on the stone floor.

The two of you lay like that for an indeterminate amount of time. You drift in and out of consciousness, worn thin and soothed by the heat of his body seeping into your muscles, fairly certain you’ll never be able to sit up on your own again. Homelander eventually releases your breast with a soft pop and settles his head on your sternum, narrowly avoiding taking one of your eyes out with his horn. You continue to stroke through his hair as your strength gradually returns.

The swell of his knot, too, lessens, but even soft his cock fits snugly inside you. It isn’t until Homelander gingerly lifts himself off of you that it slides out, coming free with a significant gush that soaks your thighs and puddles beneath you. You flush, making a strained little noise. You feel carved out and left hollow by the sheer size of him. His wings withdraw and tuck in behind him while he sits back on his legs to admire the splay of you beneath him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, smoothing his hands up and down your thighs. You’ve never felt as exposed as you do in this moment, laid bare under his gaze. Even now, visibly drunk on pleasure and thoroughly satiated, there is an undeniable lingering famine in his stare. He sinks down and slowly spreads your legs apart, leaning in to run his tongue up the crease of your inner thigh. He laps languidly at your skin, earning hitched little breaths and sounds from you as his tongue deftly cleans the mess he’s made of you. He’s much more tame now than he had been, focusing not on overstimulating you, but simply washing you. It’s a strange and animalistic thing to do, but it’s intimate, too. Sweet, even.

Gods, he’s really done a number on your psyche.

Once he’s satisfied with the state of you, he climbs back up and settles on his side, looking at you with his hand poised over you, hovering like he isn’t sure what to do with it. His expression starts to shift, concern seeping into it. “You’re quiet. Did I hurt you?”

You huff a little breath. You’re quiet because you’ve just been fucked within an inch of your life by a dragon’s cock, but aside from that, of course he had. “You bit me, for starters.”

He turns somewhat sheepish at that. “Instinct. I wanted to mark you.”

“You succeeded,” you say, touching your shoulder tentatively.The skin is still raw, but it isn’t bleeding. It doesn’t even feel like it’s going to scab.

You must wear your confusion plainly, because Homelander is quick to explain: “I sealed the wound. It should be fully healed by sundown.”

“How did you seal it?” You ask, bolder now with how you touch it. It feels like simple indentations, a perfect mold of his teeth.

“My saliva has particular properties. There was a method to my debauchery,” he says, pointedly licking his lips.

You suppose that’s far from the most miraculous thing about him. “That’s convenient,” you say, to which he smiles. It’s bizarre how easily this comes now. You’ve heard of breaking the tension before, but this is certainly the most intense way you’ve ever broken through that initial barrier to more casual conversation.

Seeing that his hand is still hovering over you, you make a choice and take it, pulling it down to settle on your hip. Relief and excitement flash in his eyes in equal measure, and he takes that as permission to tuck you the rest of the way against him, settling on his side. He rests his head in his palm, propped up on his elbow. You curiously explore the plains of his chest with your fingertips, testing where flesh meets scales. They feel almost like bone, crimson colored protrusions that catch the light as prettily as rubies. They’re smattered along his body in the same way a human might have moles or birthmarks, incidental and seemingly without rhyme or reason.

His ribs are guarded by stiff plates that aren’t as solid as the scales, but look to serve as hardy protection. You let your fingers swoop down the ridges of them, comparing the textures along different parts of his body. It’s fascinating.

“I’ve never seen anything like–” you begin to pull your hand away as you speak, but Homelander takes hold of your wrist, bringing it back to his chest.

“Don’t stop.” You look up at him. His expression catches you off guard. He looks wounded, those fiercely blue and ever human eyes of his intensely focused on you. Swallowing, you nod. He lets go, and you begin to traipse your fingers along his chest again, following the line of the leather straps that cross over it. He lets out a heavy breath. “No one’s ever touched me like this,” he tells you after a long few beats of silence. “Not that I can remember.”

You glance up at him, but he’s staring down at your small hand tracing patterns on his chest. “What happened to this place?” You ask, because that seems politer than asking what happened to him.

“Guess it’s been too long for anyone else to remember. They’re all dead,” he says, the mood of his words difficult to discern. He inhales a contemplative breath, clicking his tongue at the end of it. “Time happened. I used to be something else to my people. I was… war. I brought fire down on their enemies, and they loved me for it. I won them their home. Homelander. There were others like me, but I was the best of them,” he says with conviction, though you sense bitterness in his voice, too. “When all the wars were won, they built this tower. They built monuments to their gods, and they placed us here with them as though we ourselves were relics.”

The end of his tail has begun to slap lightly against the ground. You can feel a slight uptick in the heat of him beneath your palm.

“They placated me with gold. Adorned me in it. At times they would summon me to festivals. Use my strength to build their stone cities, but they didn’t celebrate me. They had forgotten their love. They treated me as you would any other tool. Something to be taken off the shelf for work and put away when the task is done.”

The seething resentment is more clear in his voice than ever. While you didn’t ask it, it seems he understood what you really wanted to know. You’ve never heard this story before; The Devourer had only ever been a tyrant upon the people. No one ever spoke of a Homelander. No one ever spoke of a hero.

“When treasure failed to keep me impotent and obedient, they tried meat instead. They sent me livestock, as if the simple act of killing a cow would satiate me,” he snarls through his teeth, smoke wafting between them. He sucks it back, tipping his head up slightly in a bit to regain his composure. “They thought they could control me indefinitely. Out of sight, out of mind. It worked for too long, but only because I allowed it. Because I thought things would change. They never did. So I took their gold and their cattle and their crops and demanded more still. I demanded until they couldn’t ignore me any longer. When they failed to provide, I reigned fire down on them as I did their enemies two hundred years ago, and I gave them no choice but to look at the monster they made.”

His tail cracks like a whip against the stone floor. His anger is so visceral it makes your heart race, but there is more in his gaze than just fury. You feel as though you’re watching him rip apart the stitching over a wound that has been festering for far too long. “After that, they sent people. Simpering peasants who had no fucking idea who or what I really am. They bathed them in oils like slaughtered lambs basted for roast,” he growls, the blue of his eyes fading into an eerie crimson glow. “So I did. I devoured them, and I spat their own blood in their faces. If they wouldn’t have me as a man, they would have a beast instead.”

The Devourer.

You sit in stunned silence, watching as the glow of his eyes gradually fades, though his temperature remains the same. He looks at you, his expression braced, as if he anticipates a specific reaction. Rejection, you suppose. It seems to be the only thing he’s known for centuries. Within his gaze, you recognize a profound need to connect, to feel you, to hear that there might be a single soul in this gods damned world that wants him.

What does one say to such a story? The anger in his voice strikes such a wounded chord, you can practically smell the blood. The rawness of it alone makes your eyes prickle with tears, a lump gathering in your throat. How warped he has become not for the absence of love, but the deprivation of it. It’s clear in the way he speaks of them how desperately he wanted them to still love him.

“I’m sorry,” you say so quietly it’s a wonder he hears you. His expression flips completely, morphing into bewildered surprise.

“What?” His voice sounds small.

“I’m sorry that they abandoned you.”

If his own words are a knife in the wound, yours twist it deeper. He flinches like he’s been struck, staring at you with such bruised incomprehension. He opens his mouth to speak, but it’s as though he doesn’t even believe what you’re saying enough to formulate a response. He kisses you instead, holding your jaw in his claws. “I was good once,” he says against your lips, voice hushed as if he’s confessing a far graver sin. “I’ll be good for you. Let me be good for you.”

The desperation in his voice sets loose your tears. You nod, kissing him just as fervently. Centuries of bloodshed on the back of willful neglect is difficult to stomach, but you believe him. You believe the love that went into this tower–this beautiful prison–that they made for him, and you believe the love that you saw in his face carved in stone. You have no doubt that the wonder of him once inspired all those who beheld them, and that they were fickle enough to grow weary of him. Desensitized and disinterested.

When he rejected their apathy, they rejected his humanity.

Homelander lifts you up into his arms, sitting up, kissing you properly with a hand cupping the back of your head, his arm around your middle. His wings curve in around you, and he kisses you until your lips turn sore and you have to protest, your words melting into muffled laughter. He draws back with a brilliant grin. It’s different from the others you’ve seen; it’s the kind of smile that brings deep warmth to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. He lingers close to you, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I stopped believing a long time ago that you could be real,” he murmurs, unable to stop himself from stealing another quick kiss, his nose purposefully brushing yours. He’s thoroughly starved for every little touch.

“I am. So are you. Not the Devourer, the Scourge, nor the Red Death,” you say, tucking back the stray locks of hair that have fallen over his crown. This, too, had been carved for him. He had been loved once, and as he said, he had been good. There is love in you enough to help him find that goodness again. There’s no reason you cannot live for the being you intended to die for. “Just you. Just Homelander.”

He kisses you, and suddenly you feel as if you’re free falling. From this point on, your life is something new. Something inexplicable and unpredictable. It’s yours, but it’s also his.

All that glitters is not gold, and sometimes the monster in the dark is just your reflection.

phew. thank you SO much for reading. this fic took me almost a full month to write, and it often felt like it was never going to end. that said, i'm already kind of chomping at the bit to write more in this universe. i feel like these two have a ton of potential, and there's just so much more that i want to do with them now that we have the groundwork done. once again, a huge shoutout to the amazing artist @anon-nee, who not only illustrated our dragon boy himself, but these awesome environment sketches as well. please be sure to go give them some love! The Tower of the Seven

The Dragon's Lair

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #monster romance #terato #monster x human #dragon x reader #monster x reader #homelander fanfiction #i'm gonna need so much aftercare from y'all on this one i've been writing it for the last 23 days lmao #and i'm posting it all at once because I LOVE U #my writing #monsterlander mania

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yandere-daydreams · 3 months

Text

Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.2k.

TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.

Malleus met you at the base of his tower.

With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.

In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”

His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”

You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”

At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”

You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”

This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”

It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”

“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”

“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”

“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”

He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”

With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.

You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.

There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.

Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”

“I thought you were a thief?”

“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”

“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”

You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”

Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”

You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”

“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”

Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and…” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”

“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”

“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”

After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”

You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.

“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”

Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”

“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”

“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”

His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”

You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.

Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.

Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.

His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”

“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”

Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “…it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”

Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”

Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”

Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”

A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”

With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”

Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”

He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.

It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.

“This is what they banished me for, you know.”

“This?”

“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”

Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”

“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”

Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”

Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”

“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”

Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”

“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”

“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”

Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.

Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.

Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.

The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.

He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”

Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”

“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”

He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.

Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.

You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.

He was awake.

To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.

Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”

He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”

“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”

There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.

He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.

When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”

He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.

“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”

This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.

“I was always going to invite you inside.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #yandere twisted wonderland #twst x reader #yandere twst #twst imagines #malleus x reader #yandere malleus #yanderecore #yancore

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respectthepetty · 5 months

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The Eagle & the Serpent in The Sign

As a lover of tattoos, I noticed in the trailer that Phaya has wings tattooed on his back as well as another design.

Also in the trailer for the show, there was a shot of a book titled Legend of Naga & Garuda.

They are important mythical (and religious) entities. Garuda is a birdlike deity and is in a constant battle with snakelike Naga.

We saw them in the trailer as well.

The title card for the series also features them. The eagle is on the left and the serpent is on the right with its tail being the top of the wording.

This is Naga in creature-form confronting our Garuda in human form .

Phaya comes from a wealthy family (in any life).

And was in the air force before being recruited into the special investigations unit, which could be the reason for the wings tattoo.

So who could the serpent in human form?

And because I always pay attention to colors, Chalothon wears green ties, so this could be him or someone sent on his behalf watching Tharn.

In the trailer, Phaya speaks to a woman wearing a gold serpent crown and serpents on her necklace.

She mentions her sister will find Phaya in any life, and when we see Wansarat, she shares the same accessories with a serpent belt and bracelets as well but in green.

She was Naga's in their past lives.

But in this life,

she will be Phaya's.

Because Phaya is "of the air" he will struggle with water.

And he has since he was a child.

In the tale of Garuda and Naga, their conflict stems from powerful water that Naga possessed.

Note that there are three kids who see Phaya drowning: Tharn, Yai, and another unnamed kid.

One kid appears to wear green.

Wild Ass Theory - That kid is Chalothon and he had something to do with Phaya being in that water.

Tharn's parents died in an accident when he was a child, and he almost died as well.

He has the gift of foresight, and Garuda's most known wife is Unnati who was known for her wisdom. His gift is tied to karma, and as a child, he was told to free himself from the person he was tied to in a previous life, he needed to return a protective amulet to its owner.

Two Theories - I think for Tharn to no longer be tied to Chalothon, he had to save Phaya who is the person Chalothon has wronged in the past (and possible present) or Wansarat betrayed Chalothon by saving Phaya in a previous life therefore tying them together forever, and she must save him in every life now.

So when will the necklace reappear?

Because Phaya seemed to be wearing some sort of necklace when he confronted Tharn in the bathroom.

Bonus: We have a lion on the squad.

And Yai's girlfriend, Sand, is played by Yoshi who is transgender and Miss Tiffany's Universe 2017, so Yai better keep his eye on the prize and quit looking at other girls.

#the sign #the sign the series #the eagle and the serpent #symbolism #background noise

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mimi-0007 · 28 days

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FATHER & SON: James Earl Jones with his Father Robert Earl Jones on Stage in the 1962 Production "Moon on a Rainbow Shawl."

Robert Earl Jones (February 3, 1910 – September 7, 2006), sometimes credited as Earl Jones, was an American actor and professional boxer. One of the first prominent Black film stars, Jones was a living link with the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s and 1930s, having worked with Langston Hughes early in his career.

Jones was best known for his leading roles in films such as Lying Lips (1939) and later in his career for supporting roles in films such as The Sting (1973), Trading Places (1983), The Cotton Club (1984), and Witness (1985).

Jones was born in northwestern Mississippi; the specific location is unclear as some sources indicate Senatobia, while others suggest nearby Coldwater. He left school at an early age to work as a sharecropper to help his family. He later became a prizefighter. Under the name "Battling Bill Stovall", he was a sparring partner of Joe Louis.

Jones became interested in theater after he moved to Chicago, as one of the thousands leaving the South in the Great Migration. He moved on to New York by the 1930s. He worked with young people in the Works Progress Administration, the largest New Deal agency, through which he met Langston Hughes, a young poet and playwright. Hughes cast him in his 1938 play, Don't You Want to Be Free?.

Jones also entered the film business, appearing in more than twenty films. His film career started with the leading role of a detective in the 1939 race film Lying Lips, written and directed by Oscar Micheaux, and Jones made his next screen appearance in Micheaux's The Notorious Elinor Lee (1940). Jones acted mostly in crime movies and dramas after that, with such highlights as Wild River (1960) and One Potato, Two Potato (1964). In the Oscar-winning 1973 film The Sting, he played Luther Coleman, an aging grifter whose con is requited with murder leading to the eponymous "sting". In the later 20th century, Jones appeared in several other noted films: Trading Places (1983) and Witness (1985).

Toward the end of his life, Jones was noted for his stage portrayal of Creon in The Gospel at Colonus (1988), a black musical version of the Oedipus legend. He also appeared in episodes of the long-running TV shows Lou Grant and Kojak. One of his last stage roles was in a 1991 Broadway production of Mule Bone by Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston, another important writer of the Harlem Renaissance. His last film was Rain Without Thunder (1993).

Although blacklisted by the House Un-American Activities Committee in the 1950s due to involvement with leftist groups, Jones was ultimately honored with a lifetime achievement award by the U.S. National Black Theatre Festival.

Jones was married three times. As a young man, he married Ruth Connolly (died 1986) in 1929; they had a son, James Earl Jones. Jones and Connolly separated before James was born in 1931, and the couple divorced in 1933. Jones did not come to know his son until the mid-1950s. He adopted a second son, Matthew Earl Jones. Jones died on September 7, 2006, in Englewood, New Jersey, from natural causes at age 96.

THEATRE

1945 The Hasty Heart (Blossom) Hudson Theatre, Broadway

1945 Strange Fruit (Henry) McIntosh NY theater production

1948 Volpone (Commendatori) City Center

1948 Set My People Free (Ned Bennett) Hudson Theatre, Broadway

1949 Caesar and Cleopatra (Nubian Slave) National Theatre, Broadway

1952 Fancy Meeting You Again (Second Nubian) Royale Theatre, Broadway

1956 Mister Johnson (Moma) Martin Beck Theater, Broadway

1962 Infidel Caesar (Soldier) Music Box Theater, Broadway

1962 The Moon Besieged (Shields Green) Lyceum Theatre, Broadway

1962 Moon on a Rainbow Shawl (Charlie Adams) East 11th Street Theatre, New York

1968 More Stately Mansions (Cato) Broadhurst Theatre, Broadway

1975 All God's Chillun Got Wings (Street Person) Circle in the Square Theatre, Broadway

1975 Death of a Salesman (Charley)

1977 Unexpected Guests (Man) Little Theatre, Broadway

1988 The Gospel at Colonus (Creon) Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, Broadway

1991 Mule Bone (Willie Lewis) Ethel Barrymore Theatre, Broadway

FILMS

1939 Lying Lips (Detective Wenzer )

1940 The Notorious Elinor Lee (Benny Blue)

1959 Odds Against Tomorrow (Club Employee uncredited)

1960 Wild River (Sam Johnson uncredited)

1960 The Secret of the Purple Reef (Tobias)

1964 Terror in the City (Farmer)

1964 One Potato, Two Potato (William Richards)

1968 Hang 'Em High

1971 Mississippi Summer (Performer)

1973 The Sting (Luther Coleman)

1974 Cockfighter (Buford)

1977 Proof of the Man (Wilshire Hayward )

1982 Cold River (The Trapper)

1983 Trading Places (Attendant)

1983 Sleepaway Camp (Ben)

1984 The Cotton Club (Stage Door Joe)

1984 Billions for Boris (Grandaddy)

1985 Witness (Custodian)

1988 Starlight: A Musical Movie (Joe)

1990 Maniac Cop 2 (Harry)

1993 Rain Without Thunder (Old Lawyer)

TELEVISION

1964 The Defenders (Joe Dean) Episode: The Brother Killers

1976 Kojak (Judge) Episode: Where to Go if you Have Nowhere to Go?

1977 The Displaced Person (Astor) Television movie

1978 Lou Grant (Earl Humphrey) Episode: Renewal

1979 Jennifer's Journey (Reuven )Television movie

1980 Oye Ollie (Performer) Television series

1981 The Sophisticated Gents (Big Ralph Joplin) 3 episodes

1982 One Life to Live

1985 Great Performances (Creon) Episode: The Gospel at Colonus

1990 True Blue (Performer) Episode: Blue Monday

#james earl jones #black tumblr #black literature #black community #black excellence #blackexcellence365 #actor #robert earl jones #stage actor

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year

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Can I have a Yan genderbend of Maleficent? Or the very least in a yandere pletonic relationship with them?

Yandere Genderbend Maleficent x Reader

You couldn’t believe you used to admire your family’s ignorance. You internally screamed as you listened to your family further embarrass themselves. They were so deluded by your great-grandfather’s pact, they had become set in the avarice founded from it.

Long ago your great-grandfather had done the impossible. Defeating the fae army and even reclaiming the fallen land before establishing a functional militia there. Earning those honor-driven fae’s respect made your kingdom one to be praised in legend and stories to come. Some suspected you were a puppet state, and others wondered if you had a secret item that had the fae yielding to you. But you knew the truth. You were the only one who actually devoted time to the archives and private libraries. Actually yearning to know the truth. What you found was a successful mission to show the value of humanity. Your great-grandfather had befriended the young fae responsible for the war and somehow convinced him to explore the intricacies of the kingdom. The kingdom was filled with joy and a general consensus to be good. It sounded like paradise. The letters proved that the great fae thought precisely the same which is why he raised no alarm when he grew close with the prince–your grandfather. This relationship would be scandalous, judging by the letters both were torn between letting them be together. The fae was madly in love easily sharing his devotions with his friend, only for the king to show concern. For he knew his child and believed it would lead to their doom. As the king aged his authority was no longer uncontested and it was easy for his nobles to offer his throne in reward for control of the fae. It wasn’t long before your grandfather returned wings in hand and was crowned as the greatest king to be. It wouldn’t be until that same fae returned to curse your mother that the situation would intensify. The story would tell of the princess cursed to sleep through her own pregnancy and the future king that would slay the dragon that was that revenge-stricken fae.

They thought the body had faded because they had won. They were wrong.

“Oh, King of Fae can’t bygones be bygones?! After all your family and ours were great friends.”

You cringed as the green magic seemed to flare up once again. You bit your tongue, for the time being, your parents were completely oblivious to the friendly relations you continued to nurture with various fae.

“Yeah! What more do you want?! At this rate your just going to keep coming back to scam us or something.”

Your foolish brother piped in. Of course, he wouldn’t be aware of the true nature of the king before him. Nor of the power he possessed. You were lucky he hadn’t sucked the life out of everyone in this room.

“...I need proof of your loyalty to me. Something prized by your people.” Eyes hauntingly green roamed the room before landing on the oldest prince. “Someone precious.”

“Oh heavens! No, please!” Your mother cried leaning into your father who was visibly sweating.

“I’d rather die than give my son to you! Surely there is a gem or item you’d wish from us.”

The fae glowered. “No. Anything I want I can have. Anything I want I can take. Besides you, humans are hardly grasping what I want! Give me your prize!”

Prince Phil opened his mouth in a plea before being interrupted by the clicking of his younger sibling's heels. Poised and focused they easily attracted the attention of everyone in the room. Servants, guards and the royal family alike watched as the youngest royal came closer to the towering fae. If it weren’t for the situation he would have turned up his nose, the little parasite had done nothing but ruin his right to the throne. Not in the official light–his parents had always loved him more: they told him so themselves. But among the guards, the people, the servants, and even assassins had no stronger loyalty than to them. An embarrassment to the one birthed to wear it. He couldn’t stand (Y/n)!

Nonetheless, he watched as they bowed, practically on their knees to the fae distastefully dragging their cape on the ground. A shameful appearance for someone of royal blood; no matter how despicable.

They spoke, “Forgive us, my King. They are unaware of your history with the rulers of this kingdom and in no way are a reflection of the people who revere your existence.”

The green glow that had been permeating off the horned guest seemed to lessen as he watched blankly at (Y/n)’s plea. I could hear the scoldings they no doubt would receive, not to mention the punishments. What would it be? No more horse riding? Banned from the kitchen? Restricted from traveling? Oh, the possibilities were endless…

The fae didn’t speak which allowed (Y/n) to speak once again.

“I fear that my family has not much to spare…but if you’d be willing I offer myself to you.”

“(Y/n)! Speak no more!” Father called with more worry than I expected. But they continued looking into the monster’s glowing eyes as if to manipulate him as they had done with so many others.

“If you’d be willing your Grace, let me be your prize!” Tilting his head he seemed to consider before looking at father who had looked away. His lips opened to speak before another interruption occurred.

“(Y/n) please don’t do this!”

“Master please consider!”

“We’ll go!”

“Yes! Please you mustn’t this kingdom needs ya!”

Many of the lowly servants dropped to their knees calling out from behind the guards who were hardly doing anything to restrain them. Sneering I had half a mind to strike them now but I wasn’t a fool; decorum was important even for the company of a monster.

(Y/n) seemed to falter before continuing to bow to the creature, who tilted his head once more and smiled in amusement.

“I was worried I was being offered a worthless prize…” Withdrawing a clawed hand from his robe he lifted their chin and trembling lips. Smiling devilishly as that green fire around him flared.

“But I realize this is the fabled Shadow Dove, the silent pacifist between our peoples. Continuing to keep the…altruism within your kingdom.”

Father made a grumbled murmur from his beard and Mother looked just as surprised as me. I paid no mind as he made (Y/n) rise with a pull of their hand. He moved around them to step closer to our thrones. I drew my sword ignoring the shaking as I pointed in his direction. He looked to me, monstrous eyes keeping me at a distance he turned to look at father and mother smiling with that horrifying display of teeth. Staff in hand the green flare seemed to spout from the staff in a frightening display.

“I prophesy that when I take your Dove, your kingdom will crumble. From within its own walls your rule will end! From those ashes, I will take your kingdom and the last of your blood will be mine. ” He scoffed as mother shook intensely before mumbling something to himself…”That is if it survives from my own.”

With a slapping gust of wind and a pull of his robe; the only evidence that he was here was the singed marks against the carpet.

____________________________________________________________

As expected, the moment Maleficent left your mother broke into tears attracting the attention of your father and brother. Allowing you to leave quickly; as you were sure the anger behind their fear was bubbling. No doubt they’d somehow take it out on you, even as you were solely responsible for their lives.

“Oh, Master!”

“Do ya really h’ve ta go?”

“Will ya visit?”

Running into the arms of your family you let your shoulders sag. You let your worry show as you confided in them. To think the only people in the castle who were least literate were more aware of how much the monarchy relied on them than the actual people in power. You prepared yourself accordingly, sending letters to nobles, trade partners, and allies. Disclosing all the information so they knew where your country was at. You fiddled with your plume as you debated reporting Maleficent’s prophecy.

*Tap Tap*

You eyed past your pile of papers at the door. Seeing no one you continued to work

*Tap Tap*

You looked up again, with more vigor. You needed to focus on the good of your kingdom.

*Tap Tap*

“Alright, alright. I’m coming “ You began your search of the room looking frantically for the cause. Only to find it past your reflection in the window. You opened it letting the crow with something in its feet fly into your office.

“Well hello there.”

You carefully stroke the corvid as you unwrap the delivery. It was a letter and a vial filled with a liquid that seemed to change color under the light of the fire.

Dearest (Y/n),

In preparation for our marriage, I have sent to you an elixir. It is to ensure good health as the days count down before I come to retrieve you. I am willing to let you do what you will before I collect you. If there should be any circumstances that lead to you not drinking the elixir or otherwise damaging my prize I will speed that process up, with extreme prejudice.

–Maleficent

You eyed said elixir with great suspicion but after flashing a look of question to the—shrugging(?) crow, you downed it. Hacking at the burn that ran from your mouth to your esophagus you staggered onto your office couch. Scratching at the cushions you tried to refrain from screaming at the pain. It felt like your blood was boiling; thankfully your body felt the same and allowed you to fall into pain-numbing sleep.

The crow tilted its head, watching with beady eyes at the shivering human on the couch. Seeing that the human was still breathing the crow set to take off before being interrupted. Harsh knocking led before the door swung open to reveal a man dressed in royal robes. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he stepped towards the couch. He seemed to hesitate before shakily withdrawing the sword from its scabbard, raising it above your sleeping head.

“CAW!”

The corvid call startled the wielder, fearfully returning the sword to its resting place. He looked at the bird with a scoff, making moves to scare it away before stalking out of your office. Seeing as the letter was delivered and its receiver followed instructions, the crow flew away returning to its master.

The following morning, you continued to work having a vague recollection of the delivery. You pressed on, working diligently to organize the kingdom’s assets as best as you could. You held your face in your hands having finally sent your signature on a national ordinance. Preparing for your complete absence was harder than you thought. With the news of your engagement, the people were in a panic: riots, spreading hysteria, and massive scales of evacuation. Thousands of letters from allies and nobles alike begging to go to war instead of your marriage. It was too much for one person to take, especially if you were not nearly as experienced as a certain king should be. Speaking of the failures+ royal family they haven’t made an effort to speak to you. You couldn’t decide whether it was because they blamed you or were finally accepting how little they did on their own.

“Your highness…your parents invited you to dinner?” Your maid spoke unassuredly, if he was befuddled by the notion of inviting someone you live with to eat or that they reached out at all you couldn’t tell. Nonetheless, you accepted, making quick work of the remaining paperwork so that you could finally breathe. Savoring the cobblestone walls you had grown with: cried upon, slept on, dragged your fingers along. Doing the same in your adulthood you fought your tears as you realized how much you’d missed your home and the people maintaining it.

Arriving at the dining hall the king, queen, and their son was already seated digging into their food refusing to pause to acknowledge your entry. You sat at the farthest place setting with nothing on the plate your internally groaned. This was going to be a blood bath. A maid hurried to your side with foods you didn’t like silently apologizing; you deduced this was on purpose as you deadpanned to your family. With nothing but the cacophonous consumption to fill the echoing chamber of the dining hall. Only when you heard the clinking of silverware and the loud sucking of fingers that it seemed they were done.

“Are you not hungry? Are you so fickle that you won’t eat before we drink?” The king jovially chuckled as he wiped his greasy fingers on the vestigial robes your forefathers had worn before. In his laughing, the queen joined in. Phil did not. Instead, he diligently stared at his glass, staying still as he let a maid pour the red wine. You did not join in their laughter even as everyone’s glass was filled, including yours. You eyed the glass suspiciously even as they were already helping themselves to sip.

-DoN’T dRink ThIS-

Whatever that was, you agreed refusing to so much as touch the glass.

The king coughed for attention, raising his refilled glass as he gestured towards you. “Now we toast to the new beginnings that come with the relations beyond!”

The queen clapped to her husband before downing what had to be her third glass, the king downed him, but Phil did not. He seemed to be glaring at the glass as he violently swished the liquid in his glass.

You still didn’t touch your glass even as their contented expressions transformed into nervous looks. Eyes darting from your glass to one another king and queen visibly began to sweat and shift in their seats.

“Uhm (Y/n) dear why don’t you join us for our toast?” The queen nervously chuckled.

“I don’t want to.”

“M-maybe you just don’t want to eat on an empty stomach. Serv-”

“No, I just do not want to drink this.”

In a nervously shared eye contact your parents turned toward you as they fruitlessly pleaded that you drink the wine. All the more reason to believe something was amiss. They continued their desperate pleas as you stood to leave.

“I excuse myself. I have other matters to attend to-”

“No, you don’t!” Phil exclaimed springing from his chair, drawing his sword out, and pointing it at you. You faltered in your route looking to the exit where the guards were posted to see the queen barring the doors. Moving backward with the blade’s tip pointed toward you stopped when you felt the coolness of the wall.

“You’ve sunk your poisoned talons into this kingdom and I’m taking you out of it!” Phil screamed but you screamed right back.

“You idiot! Do you realize if you harm a single hair on my head this kingdom is doomed?! Maybe that wouldn’t have been the case if you had any semblance of the state of the kingdom!”

Your explanation seemed to make him hesitate only for him to come even closer letting the frigidness of the flat side of the blade sit on your neck. You could see the sweat on his brow and your parents working to hold the door. Fearing it is your last opportunity you looked to the narrow windows that showed the faraway lights of the town below and that crow who was sat with another message around its foot. You snapped back to attention as Phil screamed once more.

“Aaagh! Y-you couldn’t just have drunk the wine, you just had to do this…But I’ll DO IT! FOR MY KINGDOM!”

He swiped the blade across your neck before swiping again at your chest. You fell to the floor as you held the parts that burned with searing pain, writhing as you felt more blood rush over your hands. Worried you’d be succumbing to your death you let yourself silently cry as you lost the strength to hold your arms up. Your vision was spotty. All you could hear was the deafened pounding against the door, Phil’s crying, the comfort that followed from the queen…your mother

“W-what is that?! What is this?! Witchcraft?”

The blade was pointed at what would have been your corpse if it weren’t for your blood turning into a silver color and receding back into your body. The wounds you had began to close before stopping as you slumped to the ground. The royal family waited in silence as they watched you lay there. Still and unmoving they came closer to poke at your body hoping that you would remain so. But before they could do so the castle began to shake, windows shattered, and a storm surged outside. Hair and capes whipping in the wind it only took a flash of green lightning for the fae king had arrived.

“To think it took only three dolts to further your kingdom’s destruction; humans continue to amaze me.”

Maleficent spoke candidly before carefully pulling you up into his arms. Phil foolishly stuck his sword out towards the fae.

“So what are you going to do, huh?! Burn me with fire for hurting your precious little prize?!”

He shook as Malleus turned towards him staring him down with that intimidating glare and flare of magic.

“Hahaha!”

He laughed flashing his elongated fangs and letting Phil and the family sigh.

“No. Thanks to my productivity they’re not dead,” there was a breath of relief. One that was short-lived,” but your town will though and by tomorrow everyone will know why. Adieu.”

Nodding his head to the staff and guard that had broken through the doors and pointed accusatorially at the royal family as they watched Maleficent teleport away; beginning the disruption that would spur the prophecy they’d been given.

______________________________________________________________

When you awoke you felt an ache all throughout your body, making your awakening a slow mission. Looking around you weren’t in your home, instead, you were in a darker place with walls of stone and torches of green fire. Barely tilting your head, you laid eyes on that crow kirking its head in your direction before flying off. You had the urge to follow struggling to move with your achy legs and IV pumping something silver into your veins. Unplugging it as you hobbled out of your room, you relied on the cold feeling of your bare feet against the floor to wake you up as you followed the waiting crow.

It felt like you were walking a maze blindly following the corvid as he led you through the barren hallways. Finally sitting still he cawed on a rootlike perch that sat alongside the grand thorned throne in which Maleficent sat with legs spread open in attire much more relaxed than his usual cape. You stared inawe curious if you were dreaming.

“Come Dove. Sit with me. You have destroyed your first kingdom; here we bask in the glory of our immense superiority.”

“B-but I’m nothing but spoils from that destruction…if I should be so bold.”

He smiled. A smile of amusement as you retained your demeanor even in something as simple as your night cloth.

“Sit, (Y/n). I have already found you worthy of this honor. You are mine after all.”

You bowed before stepping up the stairs to his throne and letting yourself sit upon the leg of the fae King. Trying to still your heart as his hand wraps around your waist and pulls you close to cast a spell on a hovering ball of water.

“Now my Dove, let us watch their prophecy become reality.”

#yandere genderbend maleficent #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yanderexrea #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yandere maleficent #yandere genderbent disney #yandere genderbent maleficent #yandere male maleficent #yandere fairy tale #yandere disney #yandere disney x reader #yandere disney genderbent #yanderes #yandere #yandere male

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myymi · 4 months

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i want to talk about the paradox prism for a minute because it's really interesting to me

[everything below is purely speculation / headcanon - please don't mistake it for canon. beware of spoilers for sonic prime part 3]

similar to the master/chaos emeralds, the paradox prism has a level a sentience. not anywhere close to the same level as the emeralds, but there's still something there

the chaos emeralds tend to set up a line of dominos to cause a future event (ex; sonic taking tails under his wing and learning to become more responsible from it)

the paradox prism doesn't do anything close to that, but it does share something with the master emerald; it holds memories

the prism was able to create more versions of the people it saw based on the emotions it saw them project (tails, knuckles, amy, rouge, and eggman)

the different shards / shatterspaces are made up from other major events. whether from this timeline or another is different for each shatterspace

new yoke was created from the group's frustration with sonic + an ending where eggman's almost won (i believe this could be pulled from the events of forces, considering the enforcers)

i think the reason new yoke is the only shatterspace to have a version of eggman is because it's the only one that makes sense to have one

it's pretty well known by now that eggman will need a helping hand if he wants any chance at taking over the world

the only thing better than an evil genius is five evil geniuses, right?

the new yoke group are, as i said, everyone's frustration

nine is frustrated with his past. reminiscing about his tormentors brings him more anger than pain, and living in solitude definitely does not help

rebel and knux are frustrated by the loss of their home (and the egg council in general). having watched their home be destroyed was more heartbreaking than anything at first, it eventually grew to an anger that spurred them on to fix it

rusty is frustrated with those who disobey/fight against the council, but her anger eventually ends up directed towards the council for the way they used her.

i could go more in depth about the new yoke group, but this post is gonna be long enough as is wefoefwof

the shard being red could simply be because that's the color that represents anger, but i'd like to think that-going back to forces-it was a bit influenced by the phantom ruby/infinite as well

no place is formed by the underlying sadness + a devastating event that permanently changed the world (chaos' rampage)

im not connecting no place to chaos because of the fact it's flooded, im connecting it because of the way the stories parallelled

chaos' rampage begun when pachacamac attempted to steal and harness the power of the chaos emeralds for his own gain

dread seeks out the 'devil's ligthouse' solely to prove he is a legend, nearly killing his original crew trying to do so

both protagonists of these stories are selfish and caused destruction for their own gain

dread's, well, dread comes from his failure of proving himself to be the most feared pirate to ever live.

him failing to collect the shard caused him to believe that he truly wasn't a good pirate, leaving him to spiral into a life of cowardice.

the rest of the pirates' dread comes from their longing to be actual pirates.

because of his failure and cowardice, dread now leads a peaceful crew. they don't do any 'pirating', which leaves much to be desired

they enjoy the parties and all, but their true fun comes from being pirates, which dread deprives them of

boscage maze comes from the protectiveness surging between everyone + a world where harmony between enemies is possible to achieve (possibly comes from a timeline where eggman simply doesnt exist, leaving mobius to grow peacefully)

boscage is the shatterspace with the most life. it's full of all kinds of plants because nobody there is destroying it (intentionally, anyways)

thorn rose is protective over birdie and the green. she does what she can to protect both, even if it means hurting people she once called friends

keeping the jungle and birdie safe is her #1 priority, and nothing will ever change that (that's not to say something else can't join them in being her priority)

the scavengers are protective over their belongings and, no matter how strangely they show it, each other

gnarly was nervous when sonic touched his house, immediately turning aggressive to make sure he wouldn't damage it

instead of hiding the berry, prim showed it to the others for a chance they could all share it

instead of running off on his own, mangey let the scavengers follow him as he sniffed out the berry (+ him fetching the one that fell off the treetops, showing it off to the group)

hangry allows mangey to crawl around him, which we can assume means it happens a lot off screen as well

they stick together and cover each other's backs, no matter how hard the fight gets

while we don't know what this shatterspace was before it turned into the grim, it's pretty safe to assume that it was apocalyptic

who or whatever used to live here is long gone. the only thing standing are the purple crystal things.

my guess is it's a timeline where eggman won. he won, and the world died out because he ruined the ecosystem from building so many machines.

while purple is usually associated with royalty or mystery, it's also associated with power, ambition, peace, and independence

whatever happened to the world before the grim, it's very probable that it was out of high ambition with a need for more power. eventually, the world found its peace and is now independent

ghost hill is the blueprint. the time before sonic & co. make their mark on the world. a blank canvas.

maybe a timeline where they don't get a chance to make their mark on the world

yellow is a very light, energetic color. the feeling of happiness at the chance to create something new and fun.

ghost hill and the grim don't have much in terms of characters and design, but i think the colors of their respective shards give us plenty of information about them

the paradox prism is nothing like the chaos emeralds, but is also just like them at the same time. it's powered by pure chaos with no sort of indication on how it was created or why it has the powers it does

i wonder if eggman knew what the prism was exactly or if he only knew that it was powerful

did he know breaking it would cause the world to shatter? did he know how may memories it holds? how many lifetimes it's lived?

i also wonder if the prism knew sonic would shatter it, and that it was already preparing the shatterspaces; hence why it glows brighter

maybe it understood that sonic is a hands-on learner. maybe it knew he needed to experience the lessons first hand, needed them to-quite literally-slap him in the face

maybe it knew they all had their own flaws that they needed to be aware of. maybe it lived through the timeline where sonic never shattered the prism.

maybe the prism planned to be shattered by someone so it could share its memories. maybe there was some sort of pull that told sonic it needed to be shattered.

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llumimoon · 6 months

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making an AU based off a show based off a doll line means I go WAY TOO HARD on trying to figure out the fits.

here are the designs for the Ever After High AU !!! :D the story this time around is like. WAY too complicated to explain in one post but like the super duper summarized version is this:

For generations the citizens of Ever After have been following the tradition of signing a magical contract in the Storybook of Legends promising to relive their parents' fairytales to keep the stories alive. But there's a bit of an uproar when the newest Evil Queen in ages refuses to follow her destiny and things start to get a little complicated as the students at Ever After High realize that maybe not everything has been played by the book in the past. When Normal breaks a magic mirror he REALLY wasn't supposed to find, his life and story are thrown into chaos. Add in some wildcard Wonderlandians and now nothing's going according to the script. Is a happily ever after really possible?

The AU doesn't follow the show to an exact T, we mostly borrowed some elements and the initial Raven and Apple conflict so there's quite a lot of surprises in store :3c

(EAH AU made by @rindomness, @kaseyskat, and I!! <3 :])

Edit: more designs

image description under the cut

[ID: Four Images of dndads season 2 characters in an Ever After High AU, the first two images being design pages and the last two being doodle pages.

Image 1: A character line up of three designs, from left to right Scary Marlowe, Normal Oak, and Hermie Unworthy. They are each labeled with the fairytale characters they represent, from left to right Evil Queen, Snow White, and Mad Hatter. Hermie has a speech bubble that says "Hello ~ Audience! (yes you looking here)". On the far left Scary stands with her left hand on her hip and her right hand resting palm up with swirlfs of magenta and purple magic coming up from it. She has a serious look on her face and is wearing black mascara and purple eyeshadow. Her hair is various shades of purple to pink and is put up in a side ponytail with a spiky silver hair accessory along with a silver chain around her forehead. She is wearing a black cape with a magenta underside and a sleeveless ankle length dress and long fishnet gloves. The dress has a fishnet neckline and a purple jewel with silver wings on her chest that connects to the hood of her cape. There are chains that connect on he bottom of the jewl to loop around her back. She is wearing a black corset with silver lacing and the bottom of the corset is embellished with silver feathers and a stylized silver crow head. The skirt has a slit down the right leg that is connected with a silver chain and has a dark purple mesh layer on the top half of it. She is wearing black leggings underneath and platform ankle boots that are also decorated with mesh, chains, and lace. She has spiky silver bracelets and fingerless gloves on the back of her hand that connect to a silver ring with a purple gem on her middle finger. To her right stands Normal who is at shoulder length height to Scary and stands up to Hermie's eyes on his left. Normal stands with his right hand up holding a red apple and his left hand playfully posed out by his side. He is smiling cheerfully with an open mouth and has one green and one brown eye. He is wearinf a small tilted red and gold heart shaped crown with a teal bow on the bottom. He has short curly brown hair. He is wearing a white high collared shirt with long sleeves, lace details, and puffy teal shoulders. He has a short red cape attached to a big red bow with gold trip on his chest and a gold apple brooch in the center. He has a brown belt with a gold buckle and gold chains connected to the belt loops. He has puffy teal shorts with three red slits on each side and a white lace trim. He has sheer white tights with white vertical strips and red and white boots with gold detailing and a brown heel. To his left stands Hermie who has his right hand holding a teacup filled with tea at his stomach and his right hand is up to wave at the viewer. He is smirking and has teal hair with various turquoise and pink highlights. He is wearing a purple and magenta striped hat wirh a teal polkadot bow. He also is wearing teal glasses with a circle and square frame with purple and pink lenses and a rose gold glasses chain. He has a striped teal vest that has a long coat tail with pink and purple detailing on the underside. He has a rose gold pocket watch in his vest pocket and a purple and magenta bow on his chest. The collared shirt underneath is a light striped pink and lavender with puffy sleeves that turn into big circle sleeves with a lace trim. He has pink and purple gloves with a magenta ribbon around his wrists. His skirt is mid thigh length and has three layers, the top layer is magenta and has teal and purple polkadots, the second layer is vertically striped with pink and lavender, and the bottom layer is lavender lace, and the whole skirt has rose gold detailing. He has thigh high horizontally striped socks with lace trim and teal, pink, and purple heel boots with purple bows and laces.

Image 2: A character lineup of two designs, zoomed in so that the lower legs are cut off. Link is on the left labeled Prince Charming while Taylor is on the right labeled Queen of Hearts. Taylor has a mischievous smile on his face and his fist in the air as he shouts "Off with their heads!" while Link has one hand up to stifle a laugh and a fond expression and the other hand rests on the hilt of his sword on his belt. Link is dressed in white and gold princely attire that matches Normal's color scheme and a similar but longer red cape and a teal belt sash. He has gold shoulder tassels and a simple golden crown. Taylor has red streaks in his hair and two heart shaped space buns. He also has a golden crown with red heart shaped gems on them, a heart card earring, and a red collar with a heart lock charm. His dress has a high white neck collar that goes around the back of his head and connects to a short jacket with puffy red and black striped sleeves and a white lace trim and golden heart lapel pins connected by a chain. The dress has a sweetheart neckline and is split down to his waist in a V shape in order to mimics the appearance of a white heart on his top. The dress then flares out into a big poofy skirt that has frills at the bottom and has big red and black stripes on it. A sheer top skirt has a white and gold checkered diamond pattern on it. He also has white and red striped tights and black mary janes with a red heel and a golden heart clasp. He's also holding a golden staff with a red heart jewl at the top.

Image 3: A dark grey doodle page on a light grey background. Normal is standing with an exasperated expression on his face and is squatting with his arms out shouting "Am I the only one who cares about following our destinies!?". In the bottom left corner Link os holding Taylor in a princess carry, the both of them grinning with their eyes closed. An arrow is pointing at Link that is labeled 'was supposed to be Norm's prince'. Scary is in the bottom right turned toward Normal with her tongue sticking out and her middle finger up. Her bangs obscure her face. Hermie is in the top right looking at the viewer with his hand cupped toward his face saying "Don't worry, he'll figure it out" with a knowing smile. His eyes are obscured by his glasses.

Image 4: A dark grey doodle page on a light grey background with a sequence of events that go from left to right down the page. Normal is looking desperately up at Scary and clutching an injured arm while Scary looks concernedly down at Normal with her hands hovering. Behind her stands Hermie who's in a intense thinking pose with a hand on his chin. Scary says "Norm what-" and is interrupted by Normal saying "I need your help. I didn't know where else to go." Hermie has a thought bubble above his head that says "Is this im the script?" The next section has Hermie snapping with his eyes closed saying "I'll make it a comedy then, that'll fix it." The next section shows a loud bang on the door behind Normal who looks surprised and the section after has someone outside the door say "Oh thank GOD," while Normal sighs in relief. The last section has Scary with a frustrated look on her face and her hands up with magic energy coming up saying in all caps "Ok what the fuck is going on." /end ID]

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #dndads s2 #dungeons and daddies season 2 #cal draws #eah dndads au #scary marlowe #normal oak #hermie unworthy #lincon li wilson #taylor swift dndads #described #this au is marloakworthy qpr and romantic swiftli in the B plot LMAO #hermie does have 4th wall breaking powers tehe #and yeah all the kiddads are gonna play a role in the plot #Lark and Sparrow ESPECIALLY.#if u want to know what roles they had before Sparrow was also Snow White while Lark was . the Huntsman .#the destiny usually goes to the oldest sibling but its a bit of a mess when twins get involved #and yeah. Hero does exist. I wonder what happened to her . :]#we also p much made it so Wonderland = Hell since its also a diff dimension from Ever After #which means all the Close Fosters are Alice in Wonderland characters #its very very fun . esp bc they have diff attitudes towards stories and destinies #this au is simultaneously very silly and also very tragic #sorry Norm we gave u the worst complex known to man . idk how it got worse from canon but it did .#marloakworthy get to go through All The Horrors while swifli hold hands and skip through a flower field

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greenwingspino · 1 year

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Pondering the walnut.

Made in Krita.

#spinoart #fake screenshot #nina #legend of the green-wing #bird #birds #macaw #macaws #red macaw #krita #krita art #krita drawing #digital art #artists on tumblr #parrot #parrots #autumn #walnut

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mrsshabana · 6 months

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𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐲

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary You're sent on your first assignment as an entomologist, but things quickly go awry on your first night and you meet a creature that should just be an urban legend. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Mantis!Gyutaro x female!reader, insects, blood, gore, violence ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 2.8k words

✧:･ﾟ→ Mantis Gyutaro art ✧:･ﾟ→ Chapter 2

Tonight is your first night in the field. After years of studying entomology, you were lucky enough to snag a spot on a prestigious team of entomologists. You moved your entire life here so you could have this golden opportunity. Little did you know, they only accepted you because this forest is known for its disappearances. They can’t risk losing their most valued scientists, so they prefer to send the newbies to places like these.

Unfortunately for you, your studies require you to gather samples of nocturnal species. Which is why you currently find yourself trekking through the lush forest. With only a small flashlight and a paper map to guide you.

Every minute sound sets off your anxiety. You even get startled by the occasional cool breeze rustling the leaves of the trees that tower above you. The only thing keeping you grounded is the soothing song of crickets.

That is, until it all stops. The entire forest goes quiet as you step into a small clearing.

“What the hell?” you say to yourself to fill the void. The undeniable feeling of being watched begins to weigh down on you. Flashing your light behind your shoulder, it reveals nothing at all. Only the empty path from where you came. “Weird…” you push yourself forward.

One step… two steps… three…

In the blink of an eye, your entire body is pinned to the ground. Your face digging into the dirt, you’re unable to see what is restricting you.

All you know is that something big is holding you down.

Rows of sharp objects dig into the skin of your back, preventing you from struggling. You try to kick your way out of its grasp but the needle-like protrusions dig deeper into your flesh with every movement.

Your screams echo through the trees, but you know that no matter how hard you scream no one will be close enough to hear you. And whatever is holding you down right now doesn’t seem bothered either.

The beast is quick with its movements. You are so used to working with carnivorous insects that you can already tell that this thing doesn’t plan on keeping you alive for long.

Everything goes in slow motion when you feel the skin on the back of your neck tearing. You’ve got to act fast or else this is it.

The creature can barely sink its teeth into you before you are swinging your head backwards. The back of your head smacking the creature straight on its forehead. It unlatches from you, falling backwards with a hiss.

Scrambling to your knees, you turn around to face whatever thought you’d make an easy meal.

It’s a man. No… It’s an insect.

The creature has the body and the face of a man, albeit very thin and bony. He has black hair that fades into green halfway down, partially tied up in a messy topknot. Large folded up wings lay on his back. His forearms are decorated with long, sharp spikes. His entire body is covered in ink-like black splotches. Two long antennae hang in front of his face.

The thing is sitting down, groaning with its head in its palms.

Your thoughts are spiraling. There’s no way that this is actually happening right? The sane person in you wants to run away screaming before this thing gets back up. But the entomologist in you wants to investigate further. You know you’re playing with fire, but your curiosity gets the best of you.

You take a moment to admire his appearance again. Antennae, tibial spines, large wings. This creature resembles a mantis. Ok, what do you know about mantids? They’re aggressive predators, territorial, and they’ll eat almost anything. Shit, none of that information helps you right now. It only diminishes your chances of getting out of this alive.

You took too long, and the creature has recovered from your headbutt. Staring at you with wide eyes, it slowly moves towards you. Inching ever so slowly.

Reaching into your pocket, you grab the small jar of honey you were going to use as bait later in the night. You know that mantids only eat live prey, but this is all that you have.

You fumble with the lid, scooting yourself backwards as the creature continues its crawl towards you. With a huff, your back hits a tree, stopping your path. You are met with glowing yellow eyes and deadly mandibles inches from your face.

Somehow, you managed to open the jar. The sweet aroma of artisan honey fills the air around you. In a desperate attempt to distract the creature, you hold the honey out to him.

“H-here. F-for you…” you stutter, voice barely above a whisper.

Guttural clicks rumble from his chest. He exhales in your face, the rich scent of blood fills your nose. Almost making you gag. You must’ve not been the first item on the menu tonight.

With curiosity, the creature sniffs the jar in your hand. He places a hand on your hip to keep you in place, as a long tongue slips out of its mouth. Its tongue is pitch black and forked at the tip.

You feel like you can’t breathe as this thing starts to lick the honey from the jar. Seemingly satisfied by its sweetness he continues. This creature is quite literally, eating from the palm of your hand.

It’s great that you managed to distract it, but what do you do now? It’s holding you down so you won’t be able to get away. All you can do is watch as the jar slowly empties, your fate approaching. You thought you were being smart by offering the honey, but all you managed to do is give him an appetizer.

It only takes a few minutes for the jar to be licked clean. His hungry gaze shifted back to you. He licks his mandibles as he inches his face closer to yours, tickling the top of your head with his antennae.

“P-please… I-I don’t wanna die,” you whimper. Lowering your head and squeezing your eyes shut as tears roll down your cheeks.

All you can do is wait for the pain of being ripped apart.

But it never comes. And when you open your eyes, the beast is gone.

︶︶꒷ ₊˚ ︶︶꒷ ₊˚

It took all your willpower not to brag to your colleagues about the amazing discovery you made. Yeah you almost died, but that was a small detail.

You made it safely back to camp. Everyone else was asleep when you arrived so you had all of the privacy you needed to recompose yourself.

The next afternoon you set out into the forest again. It took you longer to make it there this time because of the wounds that you were left with the previous night. Multiple punctures on your back, and a bite on your neck. You can’t complain though because you know you were lucky to come out alive.

Making it back to the familiar clearing, you unpack your bag. This time you came prepared with plenty of food to distract the mantis. Some grasshoppers you stole from your colleague, as well as some honey. There are so many questions that you want answered. You know that you are insane for wanting to get close to this thing again, but you can’t help yourself. It’s in your nature to be curious about new discoveries!

Leaning against a log, you wait for nightfall. Passing the time by taking notes in your journal.

Day 1

I met the mantis at night. Unusual behavior for a mantis. But not completely uncommon for males. Most mantis hunt during the day time, but sometimes male mantis will hunt at night. As it is easier for them to avoid birds. However, mantis have to worry about avoiding bats at night. But the mantis man is so large that I doubt he has to worry about any predators at all. Does he choose to hunt at night to avoid humans?

Once surrounded by the darkness of the night, you begin to regret your decision to come out here. The panic that you felt the previous night begins to overcome you again. You flash your light up into the trees. No mantis to be seen.

The senses of a mantis are very strong. His eyesight is beyond anything a mere human would ever fathom. So if he is close, he must’ve already seen you. As an ambush predator, you know that he’ll be stalking you from afar. The halt of the cricket song alerts you that he’s close. It’s said that crickets stop chirping when a predator is nearby.

“I-I know you’re there! I brought food for you,” your voice shaky, trying to sound confident but instead you just sound pathetic and weak.

No response. Just silence.

Turning on your flashlight, you check your surroundings. And when you turn around you are met with the sight of the mantis. He was sneaking up behind you, never making a sound to alert you. He got alarmingly close, so good thing you turned around when you did. Who knows what would have happened if you were a second later.

This is the first time that you are seeing the mantis at his full height. He towers over you, more than any normal human would. He must be around seven feet tall.

Yellow eyes stare widely at you, as he slowly continues to creep towards you. Continuing to stalk you even after you’ve spotted him. It’s unnerving and creepy.

“H-hello,” you try to break the tension. But your words only set him off. He opens his mouth and starts hissing at you. Unblinking eyes never diverting away from you. Every step you take back, he takes forward. You know what he’s trying to do, he’s trying to intimidate you. You are in his territory after all, so maybe he is interpreting your presence as a challenge. It’s just a speculation, but it’s all you have to go off of. So, you slowly kneel down and grab the container of grasshoppers from your bag. Making sure to never break eye contact.

When he sees the snacks you brought for him, he stops hissing. Cocking his head to the side in curiosity.

“I brought these for you,” you shake the container, making the insects jump around, “I promise they’re tasty.”

The mantis chirps as he kneels in front of you. Snatching the container from your hands, he starts chewing on the plastic. Cracking it with his strong mandibles until it breaks, releasing the grasshoppers. They scatter quickly, jumping and leaping around the clearing. The mantis is quick to snatch them up and shove them into his mouth, leaping around like a cat until he’s caught them all. You feel bad about stealing your colleagues' grasshoppers, but this research is far more important. You took the largest specimens you could find. This is no regular mantis, it will take an incredible amount of food to satiate him enough to not consider you as a meal option for the night. But unfortunately, you don’t have access to such copious amounts of food. So you’ll just have to pray that this will be enough for now.

You study his movements. He’s fast and silent. A deadly combination.

It doesn’t take long for him to finish hunting down the snacks you provided. The loud sound of exoskeletons being crunched fills your ears as he approaches you again. The sound sends shivers down your spine.

He seems much calmer than he was earlier, looking at you expectantly. Maybe he knows that you brought more food for him? You wouldn’t be surprised if he could already smell it.

This time you came prepared with a large jar of honey and a spoon. The mantis starts chirping when you open the jar, eagerly fluttering his wings in anticipation of the sweet nectar.

Holding the jar in your lap, you use the spoon to collect the honey and bring it up to the mantis’ face. His long black tongue unfurls from his mouth, licking the spoon clean. It makes you giggle, spoon feeding a big scary creature.

He tries to lunge forward to take the jar from you but you push him back. “No! Bad boy,” you scold.

With a growl he pushes you to the side, taking the jar for himself. “Hey!” you yelp. He holds the jar close to his body, dipping his tongue in the thick liquid only to bring it back into his mouth. He repeats this with no intention of stopping until the jar is empty.

Well, at least he’s distracted.

“Do you have a name?”

He quirks a brow at you, licking the honey off his mandibles.

Can he not speak? He seems intelligent but if he hasn’t spent much time around humans then it makes sense that he wouldn’t know how to speak. But does he understand what you are saying?

“My name is Y/N,” your words seemingly go in one ear and out the other. “If you promise not to kill me, I’ll bring you even more honey,” that seems to have gotten his attention. He stops and stares at you with hooded eyes. Looking much more relaxed than earlier, he chirps two times before diverting his attention back to his snack.

You can only assume that he’s agreeing to your terms. Or at least, you hope he is.

While he’s busy eating, you use this valuable time to observe his appearance and mannerisms. He allows you to get close enough to inspect the beautiful arrangements of spots that decorate his body. Getting a closer look at him, you can appreciate how beautiful he is. Maybe someday he’ll expand his wings for you to see.

Just in case things went awry, you brought a tranquilizer with you. If you are able to tranquilize him and take him back to base camp, you’d be praised by everyone. You can only imagine all of the awards and recognition you’d receive for bringing his existence to light. But watching as he eagerly slurps the honey, it’s hard not to feel sympathy for him. If you were to take him back to camp, he’d be contained and experimented on for the rest of his life. And that's not fair to anyone. Even a mantis human hybrid.

After half an hour he hands you the empty jar. His eyes look heavy and he blinks slowly. Poor thing must be tired after eating so much sugar. Without a thought, your body moves on its own. You cautiously bring your palm up to his head, and begin stroking his hair with your hand. He seems unbothered by your touch, closing his eyes and purring in response.

Aw, he’s actually kind of cute. Extremely deadly, but cute nonetheless. His antennae twitch, tickling your arm as you pet him.

He’s so vulnerable right now. This would be the perfect opportunity to tranquilize him. But instead, you vow to yourself that you will protect him. As long as you’re here you will study him in secrecy.

His head dips for a moment before he picks it back up. He’s so sleepy that he almost fell asleep. So he decides that it is time for him to go. You watch as the mantis climbs up a large tree, making himself comfortable on a branch and laying down to rest.

︶︶꒷ ₊˚ ︶︶꒷ ₊˚

It’s shocking how well your second encounter with the mantis man went. He was aggressive at first, but when you introduced food into the equation, he became docile. It’s obvious that he is food motivated, so everytime you go out, you make sure to have some snacks on hand just in case there is a surprise encounter.

But it has been a couple days since you’ve been able to see your new friend. You aren’t worried about him, knowing full well that he’s more than capable of hunting on his own. But you do feel bad, so you bring an extra large batch of grasshoppers and beetles.

As you approach the familiar meeting spot, you hear rustling in the brush beside you. You know it isn’t the mantis because he stalks silently.

“H-hello?” you whisper.

“Hey! You shouldn’t be here!” A female voice whispers back. The sound of twigs snapping under her feet as she approaches you.

She steps into the moonlight, her exquisite beauty revealed to you. She has blue eyes and long white hair. And she’s far too overdressed for a walk in the forest.

“This forest is dangerous. You need to leave now!” panic evident in her voice as she takes your hand in an attempt to show you the way out.

“Wait! I’m a scientist, I know what I’m doing. You on the other hand, really shouldn’t be here,” you warn, “There are dangerous animals that live here.”

She stops, raising a brow in confusion, “Could it be?... Have you met him too?”

You gulp, “The mantis…”

She nods and her eyes widen, “You’ve met my brother…”

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #gyuutarou #gyuutarou x reader #ume shabana #mantis au #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #cryptid x reader

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slytherins-heir · 16 days

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🇸🇵🇪🇱🇱🇧🇴🇺🇳🇩

word count;; 14k+ pairing;; sebastian sallow x f!reader warnings;; depictions of injury, violence, and death. use of crucio. slight jealousy, angst, and a lil fluff and mutual pining to go along<3 slight lore changes regarding fiendfyre, and use of y/n. slightly dark wizard!sebastian but also saviour!sebastian 💖

*minor hogwarts legacy spoilers but nothing outright*

a/n;; this took longer than expected- i haven't written in so long so i hope you guys enjoy 💖 (i didn't expect it to be this long, and i feel like the end is a bit shit but i appreciate all of you guys sm for entertaining my fics)

Nestled in the Scottish Highlands, away from prying and mundane eyes, stood a behemoth of magic, history, legend and mystery. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The castle’s many stained glass windows glistened, the Black Lake sparkled under the stars, and the Forbidden Forest looked just as foreboding, yet at the same time, peaceful, under the last of that night’s moonlight.

The serenity of the landscape was suddenly disturbed, but not by destruction, instead by one of the most regal and proud creatures. A large, majestic Hippogriff broke through the light clouds that hung over the castle, and on the creature's back was a girl, nothing more than a Hogwarts student. “Let’s go Highwing, before anyone notices we’ve been gone all night,” said the girl on the creature's back as she took in the sights from the height they flew at one more time before returning to her usual student life. As Highwing soared in the sky, her huge wings beat against the wind causing an undeniable rhythm in the air. The large, majestic creature flew, a loud and proud call was let out from her chest as she took one last long soar before beginning her descent back to the ground.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Back in the quiet of the castle, where students slept soundly, the only thoughts in their minds were the dreams that played out behind their closed eyes, there was one student who hadn’t slipped into the comfort and safety of his dream realm, a fifth-year Slytherin by the name of Sebastian Sallow. Instead of being nestled up cosy in his bed just like his fellow students, Sebastian sat perched on a long sofa in the Slytherin common room, eyes drifting between the doorways that were across from him, his books and the mix of half-used, blank pieces of parchment that sat on the table in front of him. “Where is she…?” he muttered to himself, slinking back into the cushions behind him. Usually, Sebastian wouldn’t keep himself so concerned with what someone else was doing, against the rules or not. But Sebastian found himself in this predicament more often than he would care to admit.

The new student, y/n, had a penchant for sneaking off unnoticed, with only the occasional comment from Imelda or Poppy drawing any attention. However, Sebastian on the other hand was more than aware of her disappearances. In fact, her absence never failed to register with him. Initially, he didn't dwell on it too much, respecting her need for privacy, just as he would want. Yet, an underlying sense of worry persisted within Sebastian, despite his rational understanding.

His eyes drifted around the large open room, taking in every inch of the usually bustling common room. Even the large windows at the end of the room that stood proud, looking out under the murky, Black Lake provided no signs of life, not a single thing except for the usual green hue coming from the windows, casting a haunting, yet beautiful atmosphere. It seemed for all the world, that everyone but Sebastian was asleep, everyone but Sebastian was without a worry. His eyes settled on the fire, the flames were a deep, vibrant orange, hinted with hues of yellow and red as they twisted and danced together. Sebastian found himself, once again, getting lost in their hypnotic sway. There had always been something so inciting to him about fire — the beauty of it, yet the destruction it was capable of always just twinkling beyond the captivating twists.

The sudden sound of a light step began to echo throughout the stagnant silence Sebastian found himself in, pulling his focus away from the dancing flames, choosing instead to watch the entrance to the common from the staircase, a drop of hope bubbled in his stomach as he sat up a little straighter and picked up his book, as if to seem like he was unable to sleep; instead of sitting, waiting for y/n to return. The footsteps were soft, almost imperceptible, like the gentle patter of raindrops on a windowpane. They echoed through the dimly lit room, creating a rhythm that seemed to reverberate through the very air. It was as if the very walls of the castle were whispering secrets, hinting at the arrival of someone who could provide answers to the questions that had been swirling in his mind.

"Sebastian?" a voice asked, barely a whisper, barely rising above the gentle lull of the crackling hearth. The soft patter of approaching footsteps punctured the quiet, drawing nearer to where Sebastian sat, engulfed in his thoughts.

"What are you doing up so late? I didn’t expect anyone to be up." y/n inquired, her voice laced with a hint of worry as she settled onto the sofa opposite him. The faint glow of the embers cast a warm light upon her face, revealing the fatigue etched into her features.

Sebastian lightly shook his head, placing his book atop the disarray of parchment. "Sleep eluded me, so I thought to come down here, see if I can make a dent in Sharp’s assignment" he replied, his tone carefully measured to hide the deceit. He hoped the flickering shadows would hide the concern that he felt was all too apparent in his eyes. "Let's not dwell on just my sleeping habits," he deftly redirected, his gaze intently studying her, "You're the one cutting it close, aren't you? Classes in a few hours, and here you are. I'd wager you not making it to our morning classes tomorrow." A strained chuckle escaped him as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, bridging the distance between them.

Her response was uncharacteristically delayed, and when it came, it didn’t come with its usual excitement. She drew in a breath, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames that seemed to ensnare her reflection in their fiery ballet. Her hands moved in a subtle, self-comforting gesture, leaving a hint of an inner turmoil that she hadn’t confided in him.

A flicker of movement drew his attention to a slender cut marring her face—a wound that was unveiled as she turned towards the fire, how he didn’t notice it the second she had joined him escaped him, it bothered him that he hadn’t seen it straight away, he almost felt guilty. His instinct urged him to reach out, to bridge the gap and address the injury that seemed to scream for attention. Yet he restrained himself, settling back into the shadows with a quiet resolve. "When she's ready, she'll confide in me," he told himself, the thought more a plea to convince himself rather than a conviction.

"I… I was out with Highwing," y/n finally murmured, her voice a soft echo in the room. "There was… something I had to tend to, a matter related to the trials. We encountered some poachers, a couple of goblins—nothing more." But her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths, and Sebastian's intuition screamed in silent alarm deep within him.

The crackling fire no longer commanded her attention as she turned to gauge Sebastian's reaction, searching his face for signs of doubt. She hoped he'd let the matter slide, and as if sensing her silent plea, he simply nodded, acceptance flickering in his eyes. "You know, if there's anyone capable of giving poachers a run for their money, it's you, y/n," Sebastian remarked, the softness in his smile reaching his eyes.

Her response was a half-hearted echo of his grin, her eyes locking with his for a fleeting moment. "Thanks, Sebastian. It means a lot, you know? Having someone believe in me when everything here is still so relatively new," she murmured, the vulnerability in her voice brushing against the silent space between them.

Sebastian's chuckle broke through the heaviness, his smile widening, a shared moment of lightness taking the edge off his earlier worry. "Not believe in you? Come on, you had me outmatched from day one. Anyone who can do that is destined for greatness." His words teetered on the edge of sentimentality, and he quickly steered the conversation back with a playful challenge. "But, since I've been demoted to second-best, courtesy of you, you owe me an adventure. It's only fair, right?"

There was a teasing tone to his voice, but behind it lay his sincere desire to join her, not just for the thrill, but to ensure her safety—something he couldn't admit just yet.

The suggestion drew a soft, airy laugh from her as she rose to her feet, sidestepping the deeper implication of his words. "Next time, maybe, Sallow," she deflected with a lightness she didn't feel, sensing the undercurrents of concern that both of them were dancing around. "But for now, I'm off to bed. We've got Hecat first thing, and you better not be up all night either. Promise me you'll get some rest too?" "Promise," Sebastian nodded, the care in her voice buoying him a touch, though it couldn't fully brush off the thought of her concealed injuries. "Go on, then. Get some sleep, y/n. I'll meet you here in the morning before class."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The next day had come all too soon, the cool morning breeze wisped around the castle grounds as the rising sun’s glow cascaded over every inch it could touch. A fragment of the golden glow broke through the dark water that sloshed against the large windows within the common room — causing the room to have more of a glow than usual.

Y/n sat on the edge of her bed, the freshly made bedding underneath trapped between her fingers as she pulled and twisted at the thick fabric subconsciously, deep in her thoughts; she felt almost glued to the bed, her eyes stuck focused on one point on the floor in front of her as her thoughts ran rampant within her.

The sleep that she had promised Sebastian hadn’t come as she had hoped, instead, she had spent the last of the night tossing and turning, arguing with her inner thoughts, overthinking every detail and thought that crossed her mind.

She would love nothing more than to have Sebastian come with her, to have Sebastian by her side every time she left the castle, but she knew that no matter what; great danger would always be waiting right around the corner for her — not a single situation so far had proven anything different. She wondered if she would be able to live with herself if anything happened to Sebastian, but what didn’t cross her mind — Would Sebastian be able to live with himself if something happened to her and he wasn’t there to help her? Or save her?

Her racing thoughts were interrupted by the heavy dormitory door being pushed open and spoke a voice, causing her to jump from her sitting position and almost out of her skin. “Aren’t you coming y/n?” said the voice as a head peaked through the door, the head of Imelda Reyes. “You know Sallow is waiting for you down there, he seems to be under the impression you aren’t coming to class.” she continued, entering the room. “You know how Sebastian is… Not a man with a lot of patience, now is he.” y/n replied swiftly, hoping to avoid discussion as to why Sebastian thought as much, the last thing she needed was someone else asking questions.

Imelda waited for y/n as she grabbed her robes and wand she had left on her beside the locker before following Imelda out of the dormitory and down the winding hallway that led to the common room. The two girls walked in silence, the only sound being their steps across the metal flooring mixed with the light morning chatter of sleepy students coming from the common room some distance away. “What are you doing tonight?” Imelda asked suddenly, catching y/n off guard. “Tonight? Why?” y/n responded without turning to look at Imelda, her brain suddenly coming up with all types of scenarios, her anxiety slightly spiked as she waited for Imelda to spit out her reasoning.

“Well, you’re the only one who feels like a competition out on the pitch y/n, you’re getting better. You can almost keep up with me, so even though Quidditch is cancelled this year, maybe you wouldn’t mind helping me practice? I need someone who pushes me… Anyone else and it would be too easy… You’ll get some experience out of it too, and you might be ready for Quidditch tryouts next year.” Imelda quickly blurted out, completely unaware of how laced with ego her words were, but y/n knew it wasn’t intentional. Imelda wasn’t afraid to let people know she knew what her strengths were, and she never downplayed them for anyone, and that was something y/n admired in her.

“I really wish I could Imelda” y/n said softly as they cascaded down the steps and towards where Sebastian and Ominis sat talking between themselves. “I haven’t gotten around to Sharp’s assignment yet, and I haven’t gotten a chance for Hecat’s assignment yet either, I wish I could help you out, Imelda but I just don’t have the time tonight.” y/n finished, throwing Sebastian a pleading look once she realised he was watching them approach. “Well, what about this weekend? Any assignments we get today won't take the whole weekend to do” Imelda continued, stopping in her tracks once they reached the couches where the boys sat. Imelda perched herself on the arm of the couch, her eyes bore into y/n’s, almost as if she was trying to get into y/n’s mind to make her agree, but before she could even give Imelda an answer, Sebastian had realised the conversation y/n was trying to wiggle out of, knowing she couldn’t tell Imelda the truth.

“I mean, she would love to help you Imelda, but we’ve got plans this weekend, so unfortunately you might have to pick one of the other students, even if they don’t hold a candle to y/n’s skill” Sebastian said as he walked over to stand beside y/n, a smile on his face which y/n returned with a soft smile, grateful for his swift thinking. Imelda opened her mouth quickly to argue with Sebastian, probably to say how practising for Quidditch next year is more important, but Ominis was the next person to protest against Imelda’s arguments; but not for the same reason as Sebastian—Ominis simply didn’t want to listen to their conversation.

“You know Imelda, maybe more people would want to practice with you if you didn’t speak down to them and act as if you were a gift from Merlin himself. You’ve no chance of changing their minds, you’ll learn, as well as I, that there’s no changing their minds once they’ve decided something, together.” The way Ominis spoke left a feeling of bubbling guilt between Sebastian and y/n as they exchanged looks. Was that really what Ominis thought? Y/n began to worry that her and Sebastian’s adventures so far were driving a wedge between Ominis and Sebastian, the last thing she would want would be to cause a rift between the two lifelong best friends, but a nudge to her arm pulled her from her thoughts and she looked up to meet Sebastian’s gaze. He just shook his head lightly, indicating for her to not start overthinking Ominis’ words.

Imelda rolled her eyes at what Ominis had to say, but she didn’t have a retort for him; instead, she turned her attention back to y/n and Sebastian. “Well. Enjoy your adventures. Don’t come crying to me when you need someone to fly with y/n” The snark from Imelda was natural, something anyone who knew her was used to; even y/n already understood despite her short time at the school. “Oh, Imelda you know that’s not-” y/n began to speak, but Imelda was quick to shut her down, her willingness to talk back to y/n but not Ominis didn’t go unnoticed. “Save it, I don’t have time. Some of us have actual responsibilities. I’ll see you in class.” Imelda snapped as she turned to leave, her nose turning even more upwards than it had been in its natural position, leaving the three friends in silence.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“She’s going to kill me the next time I turn down practising with her.” y/n said as she walked with the two boys towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, she knew she’d definitely get an earful from Hecat over not having the assignments, so being late wasn’t an option. “Surely the girl who beat me at Crossed Wands can put up a fight against Imelda unless she had something to hide about our duel..? Maybe, Felix Felicis?” Sebastian said, turning his head and giving her a look, a sly smile on his face. Anyone who didn’t know him would think this was a real accusation, that he was genuinely accusing her of cheating in their match—but his two closest friends knew it was just lighthearted banter.

“Oh please Sebastian, you know I didn’t know how to brew Felix Felicis back then, tell him Ominis, I won fair and square.” y/n said, looking between the two boys. “She’s not wrong Sebastian, she had only just gotten to Hogwarts, she probably didn't even know that potion existed. She won out of skill, like she said, fair and square” Ominis said tauntingly, getting a scoff from Sebastian. “Well, she’s had actual help and time with professors to learn! Oh, leave it..” Sebastian finally said defeatedly. He would have been annoyed at what Ominis was saying if it hadn’t been about y/n, hearing that he just wasn’t good enough to win did sting him a bit.

They left the warmth of the castle, the cool autumn breeze ran over the friends as they made their way through the grounds of Hogwarts. As they crossed the Viaduct courtyard, y/n noticed the decorations that seemingly appeared overnight. Cobwebs seemed to be hanging on arches, doorways and corners, pumpkins lay strewn about in a range of sizes. Even the smaller decorations and candles had seemingly been placed in such a fashion that it almost transformed the feeling of Hogwarts, even in the morning time.

“Well, those little house elves were hard at work last night,” Sebastian said looking around at their passing surroundings as they crossed over the Viaduct Bridge. “They’re always hard at work… They never get a break.” Ominis muttered, his voice low. The two other friends exchanged glances, knowing where Ominis’ sudden attitude change came from. For a Gaunt, Ominis’ views were unheard of.

The Gaunt’s were cruel.

They were descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself, their heritage and lineage were of utmost importance to them. They had no time for Half-Bloods, and most definitely no respect for Muggle-Born witches and wizards. When it came to house elves, they were no different. They viewed the elves as nothing more than what their purpose served, and at that, there was no respect. Violence was common, physically and verbally, and that didn’t stop at house elves… Their obsession with blood purity, obsession with the Dark Arts, their sadistic ‘hobbies’ Ominis hated everything about their beliefs and what they did, choosing to have his own set of beliefs instead. Any time Ominis spoke about his family, it was never positive. Y/n knew there was more to his story, but she didn’t want to press him about his family and the Dark Arts; knowing the subject would be sensitive.

Y/n hated hearing her friends sound anyway upset, she racked her brain for something to say, to maybe comfort him somehow. “I agree Ominis” she said, placing her hand lightly on his arm as they continued into the Astronomy Wing of Hogwarts. “..but Hogwarts is the best place for them. If they were left to their old masters, who knows what could happen to them.” her voice matched the soft, sensitive nature of the conversation. However, as soon as her hand reached his arm, Sebastian had become all too aware of it. A strange feeling started brewing inside of him as he watched and listened to them. Was he jealous? Was her hand on his arm more than a friendly touch? Sebastian’s mind filled with questions, questions fueled by his sudden jealousy. “I know, I know, but there’s not much comfort in knowing they are still being worked to death,” Ominis spoke glumly, y/n looked sympathetic towards his feelings, and Sebastian wanted to know why it bothered him so. “That’s all they know Ominis, at least they’re safe here..” y/n said, her hand dropping from his arm, not knowing what else to say to ease Ominis’ pointed feelings on the topic. Sebastian felt calmed when her hands dropped to her sides, but now he had to face the fact he was jealous, and over such a small thing. They walked in silence up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower, unsure of where to take the conversation after it hit such a sensitive tone.

“Hecat’s going to have my head you know.” y/n said trying to divert the conversation, and their moods. Sebastian and Ominis both let out a small laugh at her sudden statement. “You didn’t finish your assignment?” Ominis asked, almost as if he was disappointed in her. Y/n shook her head as they crossed the marble flooring and up the right staircases and corridors to reach Hecat’s classroom. “Well, someone was out all night causing trouble,” Sebastian said giving y/n a knowing look, a slight smirk played on his face. “Maybe she will let me hand it in late? If I tell her some of what I was doing? Surely she’d understand right” y/n asked, unsure of how Hecat would handle the situation.

Ominis just shrugged before he spoke, “I wouldn’t know. I like to get my assignments in on time.” y/n just smiled before rolling her eyes, “Gee, thanks Ominis. That is a great help” she said jokingly. Sebastian took the situation a little more seriously, since he knew more than Ominis about what she had been doing.*

“What are you going to tell her?” Sebastian asked, looking down at her. “What if you just tell her you were out gathering supplies or something, and you got into some trouble? She can’t disprove it, and it’s not really a lie, you’re just… withholding the full story. Plus, you still have that cut on your face still too so surely she’ll believe you..” Sebastian said in a hushed voice, genuinely trying to help her situation. A sigh left her as they approached the classroom, “I guess we’ll find out won’t we..” She said, opening the classroom door and entering, Sebastian and Ominis behind her.

As usual, they were the last few students to walk in besides a couple of stragglers that waltzed in after them. The class was lively, chatter coming from every direction as students spoke among themselves. Ominis walked and took his usual seat in the middle of the class, not bothering to speak to anyone, instead just preparing his belongings for class, the thought of his family heavy on his mind again. Sebastian perched himself on top of his desk at the back of the class, preparing for the incoming babble and nonsense as he watched Garreth Weasley approach him. y/n on the other hand made a direct beeline for the steps up to Professor Hecat’s study, repeating the excuse in her brain. She knocked on the door lightly and it was just a few seconds before the door opened and a voice spoke gently. “Come in, come in” said the older voice, y/n followed her instructions and walked into the little room above the classroom. “Professor Hecat, would you have a few moments?” y/n asked, her voice unwavering but she was still nervous nonetheless.

Hecat turned from the array of books she was sorting, directing her attention fully to y/n. “Of course, what is it Ms. y/l/n?” Hecat asked, raising an eyebrow slightly at the girl's words, stepping closer to her student. “I, I don’t have the assignment Professor” y/n said while looking at the ground, she looked up at her professor before continuing; “I intended to finish it last night but-” Hecat cut swiftly across her sentence; “but you thought you could come with excuses instead of the assigned work?” Hecat asked, her hands crossing over themselves in front of her. Hecat examined her student’s reaction to her words, suddenly noticing the mark on y/n’s cheek. “Merlin, what happened to you child? You’re hurt” Hecat said almost in a distressed voice, y/n simply just continued on her ramble in hopes Hecat would let her finish. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Professor. While I was out, we came across a poacher camp. I couldn’t leave without doing something, and I understand my studies are important..” y/n spoke fast, but Hecat listened to every word, just as y/n hoped; she prayed Hecat would understand the excuse she had, considering Hecat’s past of fighting poachers.

“But with all due respect Professor, I won’t let poachers or any other horrible person get away with their actions just so I can do an assignment” The words came from her before she even could think about them, it was kind of what she wanted to say; but it came across a lot more disrespectful than she expected, or so she thought.

Hecat’s face remained stoic as she took in her student's last few words, giving the impression that she was not happy. Suddenly a small smile cracked across her face as she looked at y/n. Hecat had not expected such a valid excuse in her mind, never mind expect such with passion, conviction and sincerity. Hecat merely nodded, her smile never once fading now. “I’ll give you until our next lesson, I see no reason to punish you for something I would have done as a student, someone’s got to do something about that lot,” Hecat said, her voice was light now, almost as if what y/n had said to her reminded her of herself.

“Thank you Professor” y/n said as she turned around to leave the study, unsure of what else to say; this wasn’t the outcome she had expected. She reached just outside the door, on the balcony looking down at the class, her eyes instantly looked at Sebastian. Her heart began to race slightly as she realised he was looking directly back at her, ignoring whatever nonsense Garreth was spewing at him. Hecat’s voice calling her pulled her attention back from Sebastian, turning around once more to face the Professor. “Oh and Miss y/l/n? Next time you decide to take on poachers, be prepared. Never go wrong with carrying some essence of dittany with you as well as your usual potions” She took Hecat’s words seriously, nodding once again at the older woman. “Of course Professor, I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.”

Y/n made her way back down the short flight of steps and across the classroom as she ran through the thoughts of how lucky she had gotten with Hecat, how lucky she had gotten that Hecat saw some of the young student in herself. She took a seat beside Sebastian, letting out a sigh of relief as she sank back into her chair. “I see you’ve still got your head.” Sebastian laughed, turning to look at her. “She was… Okay with it. I told her about the poachers and that seemed to work in my favour.” y/n said, the worry that was present in her voice before class was now gone, finally able to think of more important things than an assignment. The class passed by relatively slowly, but no student was surprised. Even in such an interesting class, theoretical studies were always dragging time along, seemingly never-ending. So once Hecat dismissed the class, students almost threw themselves out of the door to get to their next class in hopes that whatever was next was more lively.

Ominis left the class without a word to anyone, leaving Sebastian and y/n to throw each other worried glances. They knew better than to follow Ominis and hunt him for answers as to what was wrong, instead, they gathered their belongings and made their way from Hecat’s classroom, making their way back down to the Potions classroom.

“So, about our adventure,” Sebastian said, the two walking side by side across the hallways, they moved slightly every now and then when another student, or group, pushed their way past. “I was thinking we could go tonight, I don’t have much to get done and I’m sick of being in this castle.” Sebastian’s words were filled with hope, and something else that she couldn’t put her finger on.

“I don’t know Sebastian I-”

“Oh come on y/n, I’m not some fragile little thing that’ll get hurt the second we leave, I can defend myself you know.” Sebastian’s voice didn’t have its usual joking tone to it, causing y/n to look up at him while they walked.

“I never said you were Sebastian, I know you can but-” He cut her off again. “So it’s decided then. Tonight, we’re going on an adventure.” Sebastian’s voice was light again as he spoke, basically telling her rather than asking now. “Fine Sebastian. But we’re doing it my way. There’s something I have to do, so promise me you won’t do something reckless?” her words were serious, and a tone of defeat was lingering in her voice. “I promise y/n, we’ll do it your way.”

She didn’t know if he was being honest or just telling her what she wanted to hear, but she had accepted it, knowing Sebastian would not let it go, not until he got to come along with her. ‘This is the last thing I need..’' she thought to herself, as she mulled over the fact that any task would only be made more difficult with Sebastian there, his tendency to charge in guns blazing all of the time left little space for plans to be executed with stealth and precision was something y/n knew could be an issue and could possibly jeopardize the task at hand.

They walked the rest of the way to Potions without talking anymore about the topic, instead just talking together like normal friends, no talk of dark magic, no talk of danger or poachers, no dark wizards' name even graced their lips… It was something she wished was more common, but between her life and her friends that she held close; having a ‘normal’ friendship was off the cards. Between her two best friends, one a Gaunt who defied his family’s expectations, and the other with a longing for dark magic and power, she knew that the current flow of normal conversation wouldn’t last long; the trio were anything but regular students of Hogwarts.

Sebastian, Ominis and y/n all chose the same workstation, each friend on each side of the large table between them, a collection of cauldrons, ingredients and vials laid strewn about on every table; chatter was lively in the class as the students worked on their potions. Professor Sharp walked around the room, his injured leg causing his steps to falter occasionally as he made his rounds, not affected in the slighest. He inspected everyone’s potions, some gaining compliments; others causing him to say nothing more than a grunt before moving to the next. Ominis avoided joining much of the conversation as y/n and Sebastian discussed their plan for that night, y/n on the other hand didn’t delve too into detail about what she had to do, not wanting to speak about it in such a busy environment.

The potions class seemed to fly by relatively fast, some students received praise for their attempts at the potions; other students would have been lucky to be ignored by Sharp. One of those unlucky few students being Garreth Weasley. The trio looked up as they heard Sharp clear his voice as he approached Garreth, who was standing by his cauldron. The potion Garreth had brewed seemed to stench up the class the longer it brewed, the mixture seemed to expand in the cauldron before it swelled up; a large bubble formed on the top; shaping into a hand that seemed to reach for saving from the dreadful potion — the desperate potion’s stretched hand deflated with an amusing “poof”, the sound it made seemed like the last painful exhale from something that had been holding onto the last few seconds of it’s life before letting out that last, pathetic sound.

Garreth’s failure earned him a deep frown from Sharp. “Mr. Weasley, I cannot keep repeating myself. Please follow the instructions that are provided to you and refrain from your own… concoctions. You may yet still have time to pass this class and prove you’re not a failure. Please keep your own ‘potions’ for when you have mastered the simplest, yes?” Sharp said as he looked down at the ginger boy who was fighting off a frown of his own from falling upon his freckled cheeks.

Sebastian, Ominis and y/n couldn’t help but chuckle amongst themselves once they heard Professor Sharp’s words and watched Garreth’s attempt at the potion dissolve the shape it had taken and recoiled back into the large cauldron.

Professor Sharp had taken notice of the three best friends joking amongst themselves as he made his way towards their shared table, not failing to compliment Amit’s potion to a high extent as he passed by the table Amit shared with Garreth and Poppy— Amit always had a way of succeeding, even if it wasn’t a strength of his. He held himself to a high standard within his classes, so it was no surprise that this class was no exception.

The three friends subdued their light laughs and mutterings towards each other the closer that Sharp got, turning their attention back to the potions that had sat in front of them. Sharp didn’t speak a word as he made his way around the table, glancing at each of their brewings intently. They stood and almost held their breath — hoping that their potions, at minimum, were passable. A thoughtful ‘hmm’ left Professor Sharp as he stood up a little straighter after studying their potions. “For three who seemed most interested in watching others, you haven’t disappointed me completely” Sharp said in his usual indifferent tone, his eyes flittering between Ominis, Sebastian and y/n. “Next time, please pay attention to your own cauldrons and not other students,” Sharp said bluntly, causing y/n and Sebastian to look at each other. Professor Sharp turned his attention to Ominis fully now; “Well done Mr. Gaunt, I assume you’ve been practising? This potion is well brewed — Ten points to Slytherin.” Sharp said before he turned and made his way back to his desk. Sebastian and y/n turned to Ominis, a smile on each of their faces. Ominis hadn’t been the best at potions — but he was determined to overcome the struggle that came along with the class due to the pressure he applied to himself. A satisfied smile came across Ominis’ face upon hearing Sharp's words. A sense of contentment washed over Ominis as one of two friends spoke; “Nice work Ominis, I guess we should probably practice too” y/n said with a chuckle, genuinely happy that her friend managed to overcome a hurdle that he too often struggled with.

Luck had been on their side as the three had received compliments on their potions, clearly showing they had some skill when it came to the careful craft, but Professor Sharp didn’t hesitate to let them know they still were not up to his high-held standards, that they still had some growing to do within the area.

Once the class had tidied away their potions and cauldrons, returning ingredients and books to their rightful place, the rest of the day passed with surprising ease. Most of the classes seemed to pass swiftly, and the friends were not about to complain about that — all complaints had been reserved for their History of Magic class. The class dragged on as Professor Binns’ dull, monotone voice filled the room. The odd student took notes, and paid attention to the dry words that left the ghost professor's mouth, the rest of the students feigned interest. Some students watched Binns float as he lectured on, staring through the transparent man, and some passed notes (taking full advantage of the professor’s obliviousness). Sebastian sat with his head resting on his hand; his eyes fighting to stay open. Ominis sat in silence, his gaze turned towards the window as he let Binns’ lecture float by his ears — his mind elsewhere. Y/n’s energy to the class was not much different, her body language showed she was listening intently to Binns’ words, but rather her mind was somewhere else — somewhere far away.

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As nightfall came, the usual hustle and bustle of the castle quietened down, most students now working on assignments, while others wandered about the castle or loitered around talking to friends. The only chaotic noises to break the relaxed environment and subdued chatter came when some of the ghosts of Hogwarts flew past, Peeves was tormenting a couple of first years, and the usual screams and shouts of Eddie Cleaver rang through the halls as he wisped past.

Outside of the castle, the Halloween decorations came even more to life, the candles cast their golden, warm hue upon parts of dark passageways, corners of the courtyards, casting an a beautiful but ominous glow over the decorated areas — the aura hanging on each of the old stones of the castle radiated halloween charm.

Where festive scenes were lacking, there was one student, beyond the walls of the castle, beyond the care of Halloween decorations. Flying above the Forbidden Forest was a large creature with a small figure on its back. The autumn breeze blew past y/n as she perched on Highwing, she took in every sight below her, taking advantage of her high vantage point. She knew this task wasn’t going to be easy, she knew this was where danger truly lay. Highwing and the girl made their way lower to the ground before Highwing began to gracefully saunter through the forest, the creature knew of every twist and turn within the treacherous forest. Y/n’s senses were on high alert as all sorts of noises happened around her, but she and the Hippogriff continued on, not willing to be shaken or have her focus thrown off.

Back in the safety of Hogwarts, Sebastian stood outside of the Slytherin common room, frustration bubbling in him. Y/n had been an hour late meeting him and it bothered him deeply. He marched briskly up the steps leading to the main part of the castle, praying in his mind that she would be around the corner — though his silent pleas had not been answered. Instead when he rounded the corner, to his surprise, he saw Ominis sitting on one of the seats near the entrance to the library, his wand in hand and a rather thick book in the other.

“Sebastian? What are you doing here?” his voice was confused as his attention to the book he held dropped. “I thought you were going on your adventure?” Ominis’ voice was heavy, his tone dropping at the last word. “I was but, Y/n. She was meant to meet me outside the common room an hour ago. I’ve been looking all over for her.” Sebastian sighed, approaching his friend. “What?” Ominis asked bluntly, suddenly a tone shifted in his voice to slight concern. “Sebastian, she left already. I passed her before she as she was on her way, she said you were meeting near the forest.” Ominis finished his sentence, the genuine concern now present in his voice. “She said what?! She intentionally left without me? And lied? Why-” Sebastian was now full of emotions, a mix of worry, concern and a tinge of anger that she would lie to him, that she would leave him behind; Sebastian’s thoughts and emotions were then flickering all over the place.

“You don’t think, do you, Sebastian? She doesn’t want to drag you into trouble, or danger.” Ominis said knowingly, and he was right, she didn’t want to but Sebastian in any dangerous, or stupid, situation — but this logic didn’t sit with Sebastian in the slightest. “So it’s okay for her to run towards danger alone but not with me?” Sebastian’s voice showed all of his emotions at once, causing Ominis’ eyebrows to rise and a sigh to leave him before he spoke.

“She just doesn’t want you getting hurt Sebastian.”

“And I don’t want her getting hurt, but she doesn’t care about what I want, so why should I care about her wanting to go it alone?” Sebastian had a good point that even Ominis couldn’t argue against, and Ominis didn’t argue his friends point; instead what he spoke next was the quite opposite.

“Then go after her Sebastian, she was heading to the forest. She seemed flustered when we met, she was quite anxious…” Those were all the words Sebastian needed for his mind to decide his next course of action. “I’ll talk to you later Ominis,” Sebastian said as he turned on his heel and began to jog briskly from his friend before he began to run towards the large doors that were at the end of the large hall, every fibre of his being told him something was wrong.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Y/n was quiet and careful with every step she took. Her wand was held tightly in her hand, ready for anything. She took note of the surroundings, seeing what she could use to her advantage. Just on the edge of where the poachers set up camp, was a clearing, giving a view of the night’s starry sky over the hill’s ledge. She thought about being able to cast the poachers off the steep edge that looked over the forest, she took note of where the forestry ended, the last thing she would want is to end up burning down an entire magical forest. To her advantage, the trees stopped just before the encampment, allowing for the use of fire spells; a favourite of y/n’s.

She watched from behind the bushes as poachers spoke to each other about plans, not knowing of the student who lurked not far from their camp. She stepped quietly across an opening in the trees, Highwing not far from her. Highwing’s safety was a major concern to her, even in such a tense moment. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if anything happened to the creature.

“What will we do with the egg?” said a poacher, y/n’s head snapped around the tree to get a better view. “Cage it, don’t know if it’ll hatch. Keep it safe. That’s a lot of money.” said another poacher with a laugh, y/n’s stomach twisted at the sound of capturing and selling any creature or egg. “How d’ya reckon they managed to capture that beast ‘nyway? Nowt’ easy ‘bout a Horntail, ‘n’ bet a few of ‘em ended up crispy” said a poacher who sat by the fire that burned in the middle of the camp. There were a few tents set up around the area, all around the fire. Cages were all over the ground, some empty, and a couple contained little Nifflers that looked terrified, Y/N’s heart cracked as she saw the full scene, but her mind was now in overdrive.

A Horntail? Captured? How? This added a whole new layer to everything going on, added something else that she felt that she needed to take care of. The thoughts of her initial reasoning for being out that night swarmed her mind, now with the added stress of releasing the Nifflers and a dragon egg. Her mind spun with solutions to the situation that seemingly got more dire the longer it dragged on.

She couldn’t stand there anymore, looking at the creatures and listening to the horrible conversations between the poachers.

As poachers continued to talk about the dragon amongst themselves, y/n made her way closer to the camp, taking a mental note of where every poacher was located. She glanced back at Highwing who stood proudly in the shadows, the Hippogriff took another step forward. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, afraid Highwing would catch the attention of the poachers. ‘I should have never brought her’ y/n thought to herself, swearing at her own stupidity and recklessness, thinking now she may have put Highwing in danger too — that Highwing would draw attention. Thankfully, as if Highwing would read her mind, the creature didn’t make a sound, and y/n pressed on, relieved.

She noticed a lone poacher close to her, his back turned to the student. She closed the gap between them while raising her wand, a whisper then left her lips, only loud enough for the incantation to work; “petrificus totalus”

The lone poacher seized up as if frozen before his body dropped to the ground. Y/N breathed a sigh of relief once he was down, ready to approach the rest of the camp. She took note of the three poachers that were left, thinking to herself; “only three, okay..” She had dealt with more than three poachers in the past, so this didn’t cause her any concern. Instead of taking a tactful approach, she took advantage of how little poachers were at the camp.

She leapt from the shadows pointing her wand directly at the poacher that sat by the fire. “Depulso!” she shouted, a blast of light came from her wand, directly hitting the poacher and sending him flying into the high burning fire that once provided a source of warmth for the poachers — and now it was being used for their demise. His screams filled the air, even as his body was engulfed in the flames, his screams were still audible but now mixing with the sound of the fire crackling in an attempt to break down the foreign mass of skin and bone that had been forced into its core.

The remaining two poachers were suddenly caught off guard as turned to see her standing there, her Hogwarts robes billowing in the breeze that drifted by — but the robes were a dead giveaway as to who she was, a situation she had not predicted happening. “You!!” shouted a poacher, his wand quickly got drawn as he got prepared to fight. “Confringo!” came from the poacher, a burst of fire headed straight for y/n, she quickly rolled out of the way, barely missing the intense attack that had been directed at her.

Her heart began to beat faster, and she realised she made a mistake wearing her robes; now giving everyone a sign that she was the student causing trouble for them, the student that Rookwood was pursuing rather intently. She ran across the camp, firing at both poachers but neither seemed to b giving up or dropping anytime soon. Neither she nor the poachers gave up their relentless casts, and the situation only seemed more dire when a couple of more figures started approaching. Y/n noticed this and she panicked, causing her to almost get hit with a powerful cast of Reducto that someone just fired at her.

“Highwing!” she yelled, not seising her casts or wand movements once, “Get out of here! GO!” she screamed at the Hippogriff to leave her behind, knowing if more poachers came that they wouldn’t hesitate to try take the creature — or worse. Highwing hesitated, watching the student who cared for her so much fight off the oncoming attack from multiple directions. “NOW HIGHWING!” y/n screamed, her voice breaking as she deflected a jinx hurling towards her. Highwing didn’t take another second before sprinting out of the forest, understanding the urgency of the situation. The Hippogriff’s heart was now beating fast as she ran back through the forest and towards the school — hoping to catch someone’s attention, anyones attention that could help.

Y/n kept fighting and dodging curses, not stopping for a second. She knew if she didn’t put her everything into this, she wouldn’t be coming out of this fight, not alive anyway.

“Reducto!” she got a hit on a poacher that was moving closer to her, the man suddenly burst into nothing but ash that lingered in the air before settling on the ground, every atom of the poacher was simply reduced to nothing but specks of grey that settled on the ground where he once stood.

Despite her success so far, it had seemed to her as if every time one poacher went down, another appeared in the last’s stead. Frustration began building in her as she did everything she could to try to keep her mind focused on the fight, but as soon as she found it, the focus was snatched away with blunt force. Y/n’s full attention was pulled from the fight by a swirling stream of purple smoke that twisted its way to the ground, as the smoke dissapated, y/n got a clear view of who had just joined the fight, and the stakes were raised tenfold when she realised who had just joined the fight. “You’re the little bitch Rookwood wants!” shouted a scratchy female voice, the insult cutting through the air like a knife.

Ashwinders…

Y/n cast a quick protego shield as the poachers kept their attack going, she knew she had to get out of this and fast. Her mind ran through spells, jinxes, curses anything that would give her a leg up on the competition now but it seemed almost impossible, her knowledge finally halted her, leaving her with little choice. She kept letting off fire spells one after another, the bombardment somewhat helped the odds of the fight be in her favour for a moment — just a moment. A familiar swirling sound was light upon y/n’s ears. She forced herself to pay no heed to the sound, until a second purple tornado-like smoke appeared before spreading. Once the violet smoke disappeared, in it’s wake stood another Ashwinder, this one seemingly larger than the first.

“Petrificus totalus!” shouted the new Ashwinder, this time a male voice came from the Duelist. He landed a perfect hit on her without much effort, causing her entire body to freeze up. She had lost complete control of her body as her wand fell from her hand and landed by her feet. She was completely defenceless. She screamed obscenities in her mind, unable to open her mouth even the slightest bit. She was done for. Her body didn’t even have a chance to fall and hit the ground before another spell was cast at her now statue-like body. “Wingardium Leviosa!”

She was at the complete mercy of the Ashwinders and the last remaining poachers, the poachers were clearly exhausted from the fight, retreating away from the duelist who now walked closer to the camp. The Ashwinder that cast the Levitation charm pulled y/n closer to them as they closed the distance, leaving her suspended in the air, frozen, unable to defend herself. “Do you realise how much of a nuisance you’ve been? How many problems you’ve caused for us?!” screamed the male of the duellists, his voice was full of venom and hatred, and at that moment y/n truly feared for her life.

“Well no more! No more stupid little brats thinking they can stop us!” the Ashwinder controlling her lowered Y/n so he could stare directly into her eyes as he spoke with his cruel voice. Y/n had no option but to listen, to hang onto every word spat at her.

The looming female Ashwinder began walking towards her accomplice and the frozen student. Once again the scratchy, female voice spoke while stepping up to the suspended girl; “…and when your little friends hear about how we tortured you, how you begged for your life before we ripped you to shreds, they’ll learn not to interfere. They’ll learn their place. Like Rookwood says, ‘Children should be seen and not heard’” the female Ashwinder continued in her vicious, venom-laced voice. The Ashwinders were wholly and completely unaware of the tiny bit of information she had just given y/n, and she knew exactly what she was going to do with it if she got out alive… Even in that moment, she forgot about the threat to her life; only thinking about what the female Ashwinder had just said, information that could help Sebastian and his sister. 'Children should be seen and not heard'

A poacher suddenly appeared, pulling an empty cage with him. The cage wasn’t much bigger than what a couple of Niffleres were in, but that wasn’t something that either the Ashwinders or poachers cared for. “Someone get a word to Rookwood! Tell him we got the little bitch.” said the female Ashwinder as she glanced at the cage, ideas running rampant through her head. “..until then, we’ll have some fun, wont we girl?.” Y/n was suddenly dropped to the ground, but her still frozen body was then shoved into the cage, the girl left completely defenceless, completely overrun with terror.

The remaining poachers and the Ashwinders watched as y/n lay motionless in the cage, finding no amusement in the idea of caging her anymore, not when she couldn’t express her fear, not when she was quiet. Y/n saw the female duellist raise her wand once more, suddenly casting at y/n with something she couldn’t defend herself against; even if she had her wand.

“Crucio!”

There was a split second before the curse hit her that allowed her mind to register the curse and the bright green sparks that emanated from the tip of the Ashwinder’s wand.

The pain was unbearable, y/n’s body was no longer frozen; the Unforgivable Curse that was cast on her overpowered the weak-by-comparison charm. A searing pain washed over her entire body, feeling as if every inch of her skin was set on fire; it felt like a million cuts all over her body that were being cleaned with pure alcohol. The pain caused her to writhe in the cage, her body tensing and dropping, and tensing again. The only sound that came from her was sounds of pain, screams that pierced the night air rang out through the forest, the pain didn’t feel like it was ever going to stop and when it did, the relief didn’t last long before the curse was cast on her again, this time even more painful. Her screams reached a pitch she didn’t think possible, the screams were so bloodcurdling that they set her own hair on edge, anyone nearby surely would think there was a banshee wandering about.

She wanted to beg, to plead for them to stop, but the more she tried to make words come out, the more intense the pain soaring over her body got and the more she in turn screamed.

Some distance away, Sebastian walked towards the Forbidden Forest, his ears caught a scream, a scream that sent a shiver down his spine, and his blood ran cold when it broke through the air. “Y/N!” he said to himself, panic rushed over him as his feet began moving faster, Sebastian was now sprinting towards the sounds. He was so focused on following the directions of the screams and watching the ground for obstacles he had to divert around, that he didn’t notice the white creature heading toward him until it was too late.

His body fully collided with Highwings strong body, knocking him backwards. Highwing took notice of Sebastian and reared on her back legs, trying her best to signal him distress. He didn’t even think about standing back up, panic flooded his voice; “Highwing?!” he knew if Highwing was alone, those screams definitely came from y/n. Highwing was stressed, cries came from the creature, almost begging him to understand her as he stood back up to his feet, ensuring his wand was with him. “I know, I know Highwing! It’s okay, I’ll find her okay? I promise I’ll find her” he didn’t know if he was trying to convince himself or the Hippogriff that was in front of him. He stroked Highwing’s chest signalling for her to calm down, the intensity of the situation and his determination to save her made Highwing and Sebastian forget they hadn’t ever met properly, the Hippogriff uncharacteristically trusted him straight away.

“I need to go, I have to find her” Sebastian said hurriedly as he stepped away from her, continuing on his path to find y/n. Highwing let out a neigh before following him, she then overtook him as if to lead him to the poacher’s camp. He knew Highwing shouldn’t be near the poachers, but he wasn’t about to try to tell a Hippogriff what to do, especially not at such a critical time. Instead, he followed her heavy footsteps through the forest, winding around corners and trails after the Hippogriff.

Screams rang close by to where the boy and the creature, stopping them dead in their tracks, y/n was close by — quite close. “Please Highwing, stay here. Stay safe. I’ve got this.” Sebastian said in a nervous but confident voice. Highwing’s head bowed, acknowledging his wishes which took him by surprise.

The distinctive sound of screams disappeared, but only for a moment. The harsh Ashwinder’s voice was audible from where they stood. “CRUCIO!!” this time it was screamed with pure hatred. Sebastian instantly snapped his head in the direction of the camp, now knowing where exactly to go — his hastened steps taking him to the location of the screams.

Y/n wanted to beg, to plead for them to stop, but nothing but harrowing screams could leave her mouth, tears streamed down her face and she finally felt defeated; finally met her match. In that moment she wished for it to be over, wished for the pain to end at any cost, but it never did. The excruciating pain only ever stopped for a single moment until another round of the torture curse was thrust upon her. Y/n felt her mind drift from her, she was unable to think of anything anymore, unable to focus on anything but the pain; not even thoughts of Sebastian could break their way through the brutalising pain that the Ashwinders cast on her.

From out of the blue, an explosion erupted from the camp, debris from a tent flew in every direction. The remaining poachers and the male Ashwinder were the first ones to act in retaliation, turning their full attention to the cause of the explosion. The female Ashwinder on the other hand, kept her focus on y/n, clearly enjoying inflicting pain on the student — revelling in her screams and cries rather than the idea of joining in on the combat just yet.

Sebastian walked into the camp as debris fell around them, the fire that had caught on the tent fabric now burned intensely around them, but it didn’t bother Sebastian in the slightest. He didn’t so much as flinch as he stepped through stray flames on the ground, the fiery atmosphere seemed as if it motivated him even more. He was enraged. He set his sights on one of the poachers who was preparing an attack, but Sebastian was quicker. “Diffindo!” Sebastian’s cast caught the raggedy-looking poacher, the spell’s power sliced through the man as if it were a knife and he was just a sheet of paper, the poacher fell to a lifeless pile on the ground; his fatal injuries directly across his stomach that split him into two caused blood to run and stain the ground around him.

The female Ashwinder that had been intently torturing y/n looked up from the writhing and contorting girl in the cage, the anger radiating from the duelist was imminent, but Sebastian’s anger was more. “Oh look. One of your little friends has come to see the show,” spoke the raspy-voiced woman. Y/n’s eyes drifted towards the camp’s entrance, catching sight of Sebastian firing off at the surrounding poachers, making quick work of them. The Ashwinder considered her next course of action for a split second, toying with her options of joining in the fight or torturing the girl.

Just as the poachers dropped, two more swirls of purple smoke slammed into the ground, and Sebastian’s eyes snapped around the camp. He was determined to not let them get the better of them. Once the female poacher realised there were more Ashwinders for reinforcement, she knew what she would do next, try and fluster the student who had just so brazenly walked into the camp, thinking he was a match for them. The ego of the student was something that the Ashwinders hated, that a student thought he would be a threat to them.

But that was the Ashwinder’s undoing.

Underestimating Sebastian Sallow and hurting the ones he cared for was one way to write your death, one way to bring your death upon you in whatever way he saw fit. He could be unforgiving, he could be just as cruel as them, if not more.

“Crucio!”

Another wave was sent over y/n, just as painful as the last. Her screams didn’t care for her wanting to hold them back, so she didn’t distract Sebastian, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even fight the pain, even when he was right in front of her. “Sebastian!” she screamed his name,she was surprised for just a moment that his name rang out through the air, yet she was unable to get anything else out as she continued to convulse in the cage, causing her to hit off of the small prison she had been put in. Sebastian’s attention was instantly drawn to where the scream came from. What he saw sent him into a rage, his mind no longer considering a rational approach. His focus was tied to the female Ashwinder, and y/n could almost swear she saw someone other than Sebastian through her tears. Someone to fear. Someone who didn’t care about the repercussions of the actions he would take. Sebastian raised his wand, his intentions so clearly stated in his mind that he didn’t even have to speak a word as he cast at the Ashwinder.

In a turn of events, karma came in the form of Sebastian, the Ashwinder that had been getting so much satisfaction from torturing y/n had folded to the ground, now letting out her screams of pain as she twisted and writhed around on the stone ground beneath her. Even in her own pain, even without him saying the incantation; y/n could tell that Sebastian cast crucio on the duelist. The power required to do such a thing, she knew right now Sebastian had one intent on his mind — but it didn’t bother her, for all of that moment when the crippling pain dissipated she had felt something she had not in some time — relief. Relief from no longer being tortured, and the relief that came with Sebastian’s arrival to the horrific situation she had gotten herself into.

He turned his attention to the now-gathering Ashwinders that cast all types at him from the edge of the cliff. Sebastian dodged and deflected the mixed hues of green and red that flew at him, a sudden power in him unlocking in the heat of the battle. Sebastian held his wand aloft, his eyes glinted with the power that was building within him. Y/n watched as Sebastian moved his wand so elegantly through the air, she was unable to make out what incantation he said, but within a moment she all but knew, and worry came over her in the form of a tsunami.

From the very tip of his wand came fire, but not bursts as he had been casting previously. Instead, it streamed from his wand, his eyes followed the growing stream as it formed shape above and around him.

From her confined space, y/n could feel the intensity that cracked through the air, as harsh as a leather whip that came from hell itself. As Sebastian’s concentration deepened, the once fiery twists that streamed from his wand began to writhe and twist with the movements of his wand, it’s chaos seemed to find order under his control, but how? The flames had a life of their own, as if with each breath Sebastian took, so did the flames; each breath bringing it more to life than the last.

“Sebastian, no!” y/n yelled, hoping that she could stop him from casting such a devastating spell, but it was too late.

The Fiendfyre’s colour was a deep, malignant crimson that seemed to bleed its ominous glow on everything around, casting everything in a hellish glow. The Ashwinders, who once underestimated him were momentarily halted by the spectacle, caused by a student no less. They watched in horror, and fascination, as the flames above Sebastian’s head began to form shape. The fire had begun to grow and take form as the shape of a head formed, followed by a long sinuous body and a flickering tongue. The Fiendfyre serpent, a terrifying sight to see, hung in the air as its body looped and coiled, as if ready to attack at any moment.

Despite the fear that built up within y/n, she couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. Fiendfyre was known for its destructive properties, synonymous with ruin and its desire to consume everything in its path; including the caster, but as she watched, rather than their surroundings burning to the ground around them, the two students included, it seemed to be controlled by Sebastian with eerie precision. Despite the fear that built up within y/n, she couldn’t help but marvel at the sight that came to life in front of her. Y/n, (and Ominis), knew that Sebastian felt a certain way about the dark arts and dark magic, she knew it was something he desired to learn about, to know how it worked, even how to weild it; but she didn’t know his interest would go to this extent. Oh no, this was far beyond her comprehension.

What would Ominis think if he witnessed something so unbelievable? Something so… Incredible. Something told her that Ominis wouldn’t find it the same awe–inspiring spectacle that she did, that he wouldn’t ever be open to the beauty in anything dangerous or related to the Dark Arts.

It was a clear demonstration of Sebastian’s hidden depths, the years of study and practice, and an undeniable connection to the Dark Arts he had that y/n had never fully appreciated, but was also a show of his determination, and dedication to the craft, but also of the lengths he would go to for those he cared about, the lengths he would go to for power… Sebastian had achieved something so unheard of, something that was considered even impossible; not just casting Fiendfyre, but bending it to his will, controlling the flaming serpent that paid homage to Salazar Slytherin; someone Sebastian revered for his affinity with the Dark Arts.

Her astonishment was complete as she watched Sebastian take control of the flaming serpent. In all the tales she had heard, Fiendfyre was a wild, uncontainable force of destruction, yet here it was, a testament to Sebastian's formidable power and dark affinity.

The spectacle before her was both stunning and terrifying.

As the Fiendfyre serpent hovered, a guardian beast conjured from flame and wrath, it was clear that the battle had shifted. With the serpent of fire at his command, Sebastian was not just a defender; he was a storm that couldn’t be controlled, reshaping the terror of the night into something he could be proud of. The serpent of fire seemed to pulse with a life of its own, its eyes glowing embers that locked onto the Ashwinders with a predator's gaze. The heat that emanated from it was oppressive, the air shimmering in waves that made the scene before her look like a mirage. Yet, this was no illusion; it was a vivid, terrifying reality.

Sebastian moved his wand with a fluidity that belied the danger of the spell he commanded. The serpent of Fiendfyre responded, its movements synchronised with his intentions. With a flick of his wrist, Sebastian directed the serpent, its body slithering through the air, weaving around the spells cast by the Ashwinders, creating a protective barrier of fire and fury around him. Not a single spell or jinx cast by the Ashwinders penetrated the serpent, the flames seemingly protected Sebastian, and and its focus was directly locked onto the Ashwinders.

As the Fiendfyre serpent surged forward, its fiery form twisted and contorted with sinister grace. With a menacing hiss, it lowered its head, the flames writhing and flickering like a serpent preparing to strike as the air around shimmered with its heat. Sebastian's control over the dark magic was palpable as he guided the serpent with precise movements of his wand.

With each command, the serpent responded, its burning eyes fixed on its targets with predatory intent; Sebastian’s eyes matched the serpents. What once seemed like just a reflection of the flames in his eyes was now something more; his eyes glowed with the same bright, fiery, scarlet flames as if his irises were consumed by the flames he produced.

Whisps of fire cracked from the serpent, as if threatening to drop its destructive touch on everything that surrounded them, to ultimately consume everything — but it did not give into it’s dangerous threats. It continued to follow the commands made by the male student, almost as if the Fiendfyre and Sebastian had a deeper connection — as if the troubled student and the chaos he controlled had an understanding of each other.

The fire serpent grew larger, as if standing tall and proud — a predator staring down its helpless prey. The foes that remained infront of Sebastian only had a moment to examine the power being shown right in front of them — they had lost their chance to flee once and for all. Y/n could only make out small moments from the now one-sided battle, her focus was intently tied to Sebastian and the Fiendfyre as her fear slowly melted away, as if the terrifying sight was the answer to all of the issues — no longer viewing the Fiendfyre as their demise.

In the blink of an eye, the serpents mouth opened; it’s jaws parted as it’s blazing fangs were on full display as it suddenly lunged forward with the command of Sebastian’s wand movements — with a simple flick of his wrist, the monstrosity darted through the air with the speed of light. How Sebastian controlled the fiery demon with such grace, such elegance, was something that those witnessing the events unfold could believe — especially not since he did it while anger raged inside of him, if not stronger than what he wielded. The scorching snake dashed across the camp that separated the Ashwinders from their imminent death. All y/n could make out was the blur of crimson and amber, along with its radiating and blazing heat that emminated from the fire beast as it darted past towards it’s prey, its mouth still agape, still baring its fierce fangs. The Fiendfyre was unrelenting once it reached its casters target, its widened mouth slamming shut around one of the Ashwinders with such force, that y/n could have sworn shockwaves were sent through the ground.

Sebastian continued to focus on the frenzy of fire that he commanded, each movement he made was graceful and intentful — like a dancer whoms body married the notes their body intertwined with — the attacks from him and the creature he controlled were just like master and puppet. Deliberate. Intentful. It didn’t take long for Sebastian and the Fiendfyre to make short work of the enemies who had underestimated him — their bodies no longer stood before him, the Fiendfyre had ultimately consumed their bodies — every atom of their beings had been ripped from existence. The serpent that had one stood strong, proud and dangerous retreated back from where it attacked the helpless duelists, and y/n couldn’t help but feel as if Sebastian’s control of the Fiendfyre might just fail as the battle ended. She expected the blazing form to disobey it’s caster, she expected it to lose it’s controlled form and spill its hot, lava-like fire until it consumed everything. To her shock, the Fiendfyre continued to obey Sebastian even though it wanted to break free, wanted to burn everything it possibly could.

The snake slithered back for one more proud stance in the air before its swelled size began to deflate — the fiery snake wove its way around Sebastian once more, as it twisted it soaked in the last few moments of fresh air it would get until he cast it again. It lost its solid shape, as it returned into the tip of Sebastian’s wand it melted back into it’s original form before disappearing completely. Once the conjured beast was completely gone, a spark came from the end of Sebastians wand. He barely acknowledged the spark that sigalled him that the cast was complete before he ran over to the cage that y/n had been stuffed into.

Sebastian noticed the lock on the cage hadn’t been locked — it reminded him of hearing the cruciatus curse, hearing her scream. Even though he had handed out karma, it didn’t make him feel any better. The unlocked cage just showed what the Ashwinders had intended; they didn’t lock it simply because they didn’t have to, because she would be able to leave even if she wanted to. He pushed the thoughts aside quickly before ripping the cage door open with such intensity y/n was surprised that it didn’t break away. Sebastian threw his wand aside as he turned his attention to getting her out of her confinments. His hands grabbed her legs which were closest to him and began to pull her from the cage as gently as he possibly could. Y/n couldn’t move a muscle besides the involuntary twitches her body made — a lingering affect of the repeated use of the Cruciatus curse on her, one that Sebastian hoped was only temporary.

“It’s okay, it’s okay” Sebastian said softly as his arm looped behind her knees, making it easier for him to fully pull her out of the cage. Sebastian sat down on the ground from the kneeling position he had been in as he pulled her body as close to him as possible between his outstretched legs. He put an arm around her shoulders to support her upper body as he held her close, his other arm wrapping around her too. “It’s okay, it’s over now… you’re safe, I’m here,” he said softly before resting his chin against the top of her head. He was just happy to have found her— while she was still breathing. Y/n body still ached from the curse being cast over and over, as if every drop of strength she once had was gone — now barely even able to sit herself up on her own, her upper body being supported by Sebastian, her head resting just at his shoulder as she sat between his legs, Sebastian had let the second arm that wrapped around her fall and moved her legs so they lay over one of his own spread legs so she was in a position that helped him hold her even closer — almost scared that if she wasn’t curled into him that he might lose her again.

Her voice was soft, and slightly weak when she spoke; “I’m sorry Sebastian-” her attempt at apologising for leaving Sebastian behind was cut short by a chorus of “shhh”s that came from him. His hand that had moved her legs then ran through the side of her hair as he placed a kiss atop her head in an attempt to sooth her, as well as himself. “Don’t apologise, please. You’re safe now,” Sebastian said with a light shaky voice, his chin resting on the top of her head, unwilling to let her out of the attempted embrace.

A sudden crack of a tree branch breaking, along with footsteps made Sebastian’s head snap in the direction it came from as his heart began pounding again while y/n felt a surge of fear when the sound rang through the air, instantly thinking of the situation she had barely just escaped not long ago, and she began to tremble slightly with fear.

Sebastian’s own mind went to the worst scenarios possible; more poachers, more ashwinders, some of Ranrok’s loyal goblins — but as quick as his mind presumed danger, the cause of the sounds stepped from the dark shadows into the camp. Sebastian had taken note of y/n’s slight shaking, her head turned into his chest and he began to try soothe her again. “Hey, it’s okay- it’s only Highwing,” Sebastian said softly as he stroked her hair again, his thumb brushed against her cheek occasionally — something that gave y/n a sense of warmth and comfort.

Highwing stepped into the camp and instantly saw Sebastian on the ground with y/n, and even the Hippogriff seemed worried at the sight of the two students as she stepped slowly and carefully across the camp towards the friends. As she grew closer, Sebastian noticed something in her mouth and he raised his eyebrow slightly to himself. Despite the light front the still burning campfire, it did little to help Sebastian pin-point what she was carrying. Y/n’s head rested against Sebastian’s chest as she turned her head ever-so-slightly to see the Hippogriff approaching slowly. As Highwing stood infront of the two friends, she bowed her head to them as she dropped what she was carrying from her mouth just by where y/n layed on Sebastian. “Looks like someone’s brought you something you may have lost,” Sebastian said with a smile as Highwing nudged the object closer with her beak.

On noticing it was a wand that Highwing carried over so diligently, Sebastian reached out the hand that once administered comforting touches to y/n, the other remained around her shoulders and picked up the wand, tucking it into the inside pocket of y/n’s robes for safety. A small smile danced across y/n face as Sebastian placed her wand away safe and turned her head slightly more to look at the loyal Hippogriff. “Thank you, Highwing,” she said, resulting in Highwing raising her head and letting out a satisfied sound before she lay back fully on the ground. Sebastian and y/n watched Highwing settle for a moment before y/n turned her attention back to Sebastian, looking up at him slightly as she took a moment to think about her words.

“And.. thank you, Sebastian… If you hadn’t had come I-” before she had a chance to get the next word out, Sebastian had cut her off. “Stop,” he said, the word was demanding but his voice was gentle as his hand ran through the side of her hair once more before resting on her cheek, his thumb wiping away a tear that had fallen from her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me. The most important thing is that you’re safe” Sebastian said as he looked at her with his brown eyes that seemed to make his gentle words seem even softer. As he spoke, his words caused her heart to swell. Sebastian’s voice was more gentle than usual, an inflection of a deeper care for her rang through his words leaving the two to share in a quiet moment before y/n broke the silence - not being completely sure how to approach the conversation.

“When you told me what you heard the day Anne was cursed… ‘children should be seen and not heard’..” she said in a soft voice, hoping to cushion whatever blow her words were about to have on him. She could feel Sebastian’s body tense up underneath her and noticed how the arm around her tensed as his jaw clenched. Sebastian’s heartbeat increased as a mix of anxiety, anger and anticipation bubbled within him - not speaking a word, rathering to let her say what she had to say. “..when the ashwinders had me, one of them said the exact same thing..” she paused for a moment, her own anxiety brewing at the thought of how Sebastian would react. “..they were quoting Rookwood, Sebastian.. Rookwood was there that day, he was the one to curse Anne..” she finally said as she looked up at him, gauging his reaction to her revealing the truth behind his sisters condition.

She had expected Sebastian to take the news badly, terribly even - and he would have been right to. Instead, Sebastian gave a small nod as his jaw remained clenched. He wanted nothing more than to go find Rookwood in that moment and make him pay.. To make him experience even a percentage of the pain and suffering his sister had no escape from. Despite his desire to go find Rookwood and do such unforgivable things, he knew in that moment y/n needed him, even if she wouldn’t admit it to him - or herself. He continued to hold her, his grip around her tightened ever-so slightly; a signal to her that despite his quiet demeanour, his mind was anything but.

Her soft hand being placed on his one of his anger-flushed cheeks pulled him from his thoughts long enough to notice her looking up at him, concern etched across her features. “…we will find him Sebastian, we’ll make him pay. I promise.” her words were flooded with sincerity and determination as she spoke, her eyes locked on his. Regardless of what she had just been through, it was clear that Sebastian and his sisters situation was a priority to her rather than her own wellbeing; her selflessness, her care and determination made Sebastian’s true feelings for her flourish more than they had already. A small smile tugged at the corner of Sebastian’s lips as he gave a gentle nod, not trusting his voice to not waver at her promise. Her words and touch soothed the anger that was twisting within him; it slowly being subdued by the emotions that came as a result of her tender actions.

The two sat there for a moment without speaking a word, instead they just looked into each other’s eyes as the campfire’s slowly dwindling flames cast a warm glow on them. It seemed like the rest of the world melted away around them, as if the Fiendfyre came back to life and swirled them in their own bubble. Every thing in that moment, from the breathing of Highwing who lay not far away to the sounds of nature around them, felt right. Y/n was so wrapped up in the moment, so lost in the brown eyes that bore into her own that she didn’t notice Sebastian’s free hand making it way up until it was placed on her cheek, his thumb grazed over her soft skin in such a gentle way that it made goosebumps wash over her skin. Not a single word was shared between the two, instead it felt like the two were the opposite end of magnets that drew closer to each other in slow motion. Her eyes flicked between his and his lips as his face drew closer to hers, both heartbeats sharing an increased speed as their breaths were slightly elevated against one another's. Everything seemed to move slowly as the distance between them decreased, the tension increased; anticipation bubbling under both of their skins until their lips finally met.

It felt like every firework in the world had been set off simultaneously the second his lips touched hers, for both of them. Sebastian's hand moved from cupping her cheek and ran through the side of her hair before stopping at the back of her head, their lips never parting once as they finally indulged in their once-hidden feelings towards each other.

Everything seemed at peace — even if just for a moment. No thoughts of dark wizards, or goblins intent on destroying the world, or the trip to St. Mungo's that y/n would undoubtedly require For just a moment, the two didn’t feel the pressures of the crumbling world around them, didn’t feel the pressure of all the odds being stacked against them. Instead, they let themselves melt into each others touch, revelling in the kiss that spoke volumes for them — the anxieties relating to their feelings for one another that they had both bottled and shoved aside all melted away.

It wasn’t a moment they would rush from, for the first time that year they felt a sense genuine relief and happiness wash over them, as if the pair had The Draught of Peace coursing through them.

It was a moment of genuine emotion, genuine connection between them - two kindred spirits coming together like dancing flames that grew as one as they intertwined with one another; and nothing could ever snuff out the spark.

(a/n; thank you guys for reading, hopefully it wasn't as bad as it is in my mind~ I'm gonna start posting more regular fics/one shots/scenarios I've been building in my head so keep an eye out💖)

💖Sebastian Sallow Taglist💖 @angel-anna @cyan1decandy (let me know if you want to be added for upcoming fics)

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