An Angel NFSW alphabet pleaseeee
thank you so much (*ďźâďź)ďž
I will get onto it after V's is finished!
Not today Justin

titsay
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@livindalie
An Angel NFSW alphabet pleaseeee
thank you so much (*ďźâďź)ďž
I will get onto it after V's is finished!

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Can I request a V NSFW alphabet pretty please???:000
I am not so great at writing other KC characters and it might take me a while but I will write it! Just do not expect it to be as good as Roninâs if thats where this is coming from đŤśđť
Love your writing/gen
Thank you! I will definitely try to write more from now on đ
NSFW Alphabet â Ronin Beaufort
Ronin
You (m and f friendly)
A â Aftercare, what he is like after sex:
Not overly sweet, but not his usual mockery either. A few kisses on your face, hands feeling you to make sure you arenât gone and are there, maybe teases you a little, mostly looks out of it like his mind is elsewhere.
âIâmâŚfine. I suppose itâsâŚmaking me feel some type of way. Câmere, letâs stay like this for a few more minutes.â
ââŚHm, that was kinda adorable.â
B â Body, his favorite part of you and himself:
Roninâs favorite part of your body would not be anything you expect, probably. Being such a hard person to read, he had never directly told you he adored some particular part of you. When asked, Ronin would joke he loves your pretty little head because it is just so crackable with a crowbarâ though in his rotten mind he has a thing for your thighs.
They are so delicious looking in a way that has him grab them every once in a while; when you are just sitting, Ronin would trail a finger down on your thigh and grin when you give him a look. Would absolutely grab and leave finger marks during intimacy, he loves leaving prints on you, or have your thighs wrapped around his waist or head.
âYeah darlinâ spread them just like that or I might fuckinâ snap them open.â
âEasy, fucking easy Ronin, ow!â
As for himself, Ronin is proud of everything. His arms. He built them swinging.
C â Cum, where does he like to cum on you?
He doesnât exactly have a favorite, the sex itself matters more to him but if he had to absolutely choose, it would be your face or inside. He loves how you get riled up when he messes your pretty face with his cum, looking up at him with those shameless and fierce eyes while your lips and cheeks are literally sticky.
Inside you is mostly because majority of the time he is too into it and wants you to feel him and milk him dry, all while he mumbles horrible praises one should be offended with but you are out of your mind and are into it. He loves how sick you are for him.
âFuuck, arenât you a good one? Keep those eyes on me, shit, so obsessed with me yeah?â
âFuck you. You are so gross.â
D â Dirty Secret, pretty self explanatory- a dirty secret of theirs:
WellâŚRonin is pretty grotesque and you do love that about him, but he is not really the one to keep anything he wants a secret with what he wants to do with you sexually.
However,
He did keep one thing hidden. One little thing that gets him going even when alone, and one he didnât say because he wasnât sure if you were ready yet.
Taking you in a bloody bath. Your body slipping from his grip due to blood, engaging in multiple sins at once, the smell of iron suffocating you both as he pressed your head down in the puddle. What was better than marking your love with blood and gore?
âLook so pretty when your face is covered in guts baby, lift up and let me see- damn, a fucking masterpiece.â
âI smell terrible it canât be that good.â
E â Experience, how experienced are they? do they know what theyâre doing?
He is in his early 20s, had two lovers before you and I presume he had sex with his Ther in their times if things were similar to what they had in GG. He does not fuck around, he never had flings because he doesnât want to screw someone he isnât intimate with.
But that doesnât mean this man doesnât know what he is doing. He is very good, he is very observant and notices every little reaction. Knows where to grab, touch; how to thrust, pace and arrange his roughness. He knows exactly what he is doing, and you are done.
âWanna be my Virgin Marry, darlinâ? Oh, no? Donât like that? Well, then maybe you can be my Lilith.â
ââŚ.I dunno about that baby.â
F â Favorite Position, this goes without saying:
Him on top of you, against the wall, from the back while your face is pressed down so hard you canât breath; he likes seeing your face more, your reactions to everything he is doing. He wants your nails digging into his skin like stakes, back arched towards him like he is your salvation, he likes marking your skin with harsh hickeys so you facing him is his favorite.
âThis is a bit intimate, isnât it darlinâ? Shit, you are so fucking pretty when you are dying for me.â
âMy god-â
âNo god here baby, just me.â
G â Goofy, are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.
Oh, I think we all know this man loves teasing you and being humorous during it. He is never completely serious. Even when he is being serious. Itâs not that he isnât taking sex with you seriously, he just canât help loving you this way. He sees it as something to be truly connected and his feelings just pour out in teases and jokes that sometimes has you giggling as well, sometimes irritated.
âLetâs just cuddle and if it slips in, it slips in.â
âRonin i swear to god-â
H â Hair, how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes?
He is buzzed, not clean shaved. He takes pride in being clean and then likes ruining that. Thats what he is, he ruins things. He loves rotting things. Sometimes leaves it off, it is nice to see hair growing over his marks, makes him feel confident and he feels he looks good.
âI havenât shaved yet. You donât mind? Hahaha, thatâs gross. What?.. Donât give me those eyes. Relaxxx, Iâm merely kidding.â
âYou will be my 13th reason.â
I â Intimacy, how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect:
He loves letting you start the intimacy, seeing you wanting him; your romance was not the usual kind, Ronin was a romantic in his head, and in your head- his rotten praises, your teases, his mockery, your speechlessnessâŚHe is intense, intimate and utterly grotesque.
âBut you love that, donât you?â
âShut your pie hole.â
J â Jack off, masturbation headcanon:
Ronin much rather to have you than masturbate. Why would he stroke himself alone when you are completely corrupted by him, wanting him as he was? But he likes mutual masturbation. You touching yourself, fingers glistening with your arousal because you were watching him jerking off with almost no reaction and utterly unable to touch him.
âWant it? Hmm, do it a bit faster and maybe I will let you.â
âPlease.â
K - Kink, one or more of their kinks:
Bondage, edging and knife play. You can get crazy often during intimacy and he takes advantage of that to force you further, binds your wrists to the bedpost with a belt while he slowly teases you.
He has a small pocket knife he carries for emergencies, and though he doesnât nick you, (unless you are actually into that) he hovers it, caresses your skin because you like the anticipation and the risk, and he likes your excitement.
If you were into actual knife play, he wouldnât mind leaving small cuts at precise times to add to your pleasure when you are close to your orgasm.
âDo you like the feeling, darlinâ?â
âUh- no- this is fucking burning!â âdo it moreâ
L - Location, favorite places to do the do:
Purgatory. Goes without saying and sounds cliche but it means a lot to both of you. Itâs the place you two saw each other first, shared a kiss and fucked against the wall. He could never forget that day. Itâs his favorite playground, in every aspect. It symbolizes you having the chance of being pure and a saint but choosing to fall and be corrupted with him instead. And he fucking loves that.
âYou know the drill, baby. Hands around my neck and hoist those legs up around my waist.â
âYou are over 6 feet Ronin, help me up.â
M - Motivation, what turns them on, gets them going:
Ronin loves bickering with you, even over the simplest things like an argument about if you can pee in the shower or not, he can turn it into a joke which makes you even angrier and you walk up to him, eyes raging, and he is in the mood.
If you do finally kill someone, call him and he sees you in blood, freshly having taken a life, your eyes sparkling with a thrill so familiar to him, proudly asking his help to carve out the aorta and fuck he is hard. You are not carving that aorta anymore.
N â No, what is his absolute no?
If you know him enough, Ronin is not the type to judge you for anything you want. He would be down to try it if you are so excited for it, if you give your consent to him. One single thing he would absolutely not do or attempt is forcing you into anything. Even when it was your first kiss, he let you choose to do it. He let you want to grab him and kiss him. He would not do anything without confirmation and consent.
âYeah? You want this? Tell me you do. I want- no, need to hear it.â
O - Oral, preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.
Goes both ways, favors givingâ more like favors making you beg and cry so he actually gives. He is an amazing eater, skilled with his pierced tongue, knows exactly how rough and where to lick and suck until your legs are shaking. He bites, definitely. Laughs into your skin when you hiss and pull on his hair. He loves denying you relief, and loves how you are too eager to suck him off too.
âOh well, what do we say darling? No, not please. What am I, Christ? A please is not enough. Tell me what you want, and I will do it. Anything. Say it. Say, âI want you to eat me out Ronin.ââ
âI am not saying that asshole. This is a feast, take it or leave it.â
P - Pace, how fast/slow he goes:
Slow and deep when he is feeling like teasing you, hands hold down your waist so you take it. Fast and still deep when he is done teasing and is too aroused to go in a steady pace. He is consistent too, once he starts going fast he will keep it fast.
âFaster? You want me to go faster? Damn darlinâ, okay. I will make you feel every inch, every bit.â
Q - Quickie, thoughts and experiences:
Loves them. Would go anywhere. First time you found and went to his workplace where he works as a mechanic, he was wearing a white sleeveless shirt because of the heat, drenched in sweat and grease and oh boy you went feral even he was surprised. Took you in your car, a silent quickie and you didnât even take off your clothes. He never let you live it down and when you texted him you needed him when he was at work, he would reply he could always go for a quick sex.
âCome over with the car, I only need 5 minutes to send you over to the other side.â
â5 MINUTES?!â
R â Risk, what risks is he willing to take?
Literally anything. Ronin gets off on the thrill of the unpredictability because it directly opposes pre-destiny, he would bend you over in the literal alleyway you two met in and pound you shamelessly. Which he did. He mainly knows nothing will happen, but he loves to keep you on your toes and make you clench around him thinking you can get caught at any time, begging him to go faster and trying oh so hard to stay quiet. You were so oblivious in the haze of pleasure.
âGotta be quick? No, I want to take my time with you. Aww, is my little writer afraid they will get caught with the Butcher balls deep inside them?â
âOh my god- fuck- I am going to murder you if we get caught. Go faster.â
S â Stamina, how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?
With this literal devilâs killer stamina? Four. And more. A small break when you finger yourself, then he can keep going. Ideally, one or two is enough for him but if you are insatiable and he is insatiable good luck because every time his effort is the same and he looks a lot more sexier the more orgasms you give him.
âYou want another one? Darlinâ do you want to completely drain me?â
âOh I am going to drain you alright. Of your fucking blood.â
T - do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?
I feel like he doesnât own toys, he didnât need them for himself and since he wasnât in an active relationship he didnât need to own any. After you though, if you do have any toys you wanted to use he would be all in for it. He would make you use a vibrator while all of you are in a voice call playing mafia and you have to keep yourself together while he keeps making implied statements.
âI think you are the mafia darlinâ. Because you seem to be stuttering a lot and your voice is shaking. Are you lying?â
ââŚyou shsure are having fun, arenât you.â
U - Unfair, how much they like to tease:
A lot. Bunch of. The devil has an edging kink and a thing for hearing you beg, writhe and struggle he would absolutely tease you to tears. Tease you with his tip before entering you, tease you with his tongue- never quite putting it on where you want, hands teasing, even words are teasing.
âYou are doing great baby.â
âOh I hate you so muchâŚâ
V - Volume, how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.
Groans. Not a whimperer. Sharp grunts followed by a huffed laugh and a mockery. He also dirty talks, he is pretty loud but not too loud, not as loud as you thatâs for sure. It is a way to show you he is loving every minute of you, how good you feel, how much he loves you.
âFeel so fuckinâ good baby, fuck-â
W - Wild card, a random headcanon for the character:
He loves being caressed. Not in a gentle way but like you are tracing his body like trying to memorize it. Nails scraping against his toned stomach, thighs, lips brushing his jaw, neck, throat, fingertips around his nipplesâ he goes mad for it. Once you discovered how much it turns him on and gets his breathing quickened, you abused it so much it became foreplay.
ââŚshit, hahh.â
ââŚdid you just whine?â
X â X-ray, what lies beneath those clothes?
Pretty strong and lean. Not bulky. He doesnât work out in the usual sense, he has arms day every day- at work as a mechanic and when he was swinging his crowbar to crush skulls. So his biceps are firm. Though they are not exactly stone, he also has abs, you could feel the firmness if you touched his abdomen.
As for his size, Ronin is approximately 17 cms. Which is very ideal considering his situation. Itâs not too thick not too thin, pink tip, and the marks of his operation.
âYou like what you see?â
He would eat your reactions up.
Y - Yearning, how high is their sex drive?
Ronin is not one of the constantly horny guys, rather some things you do drives him feral and he just has to feel you; know that you are there, alive and with him. So when itâs a normal day, in the server, just talking etc. he doesnât think of sex that much.
When he is hunting and killing? Oh he yearns. The thrill pumps blood straight to his cock when he remembers you, sees the ghost of you fucking in Purgatory and calls you to see if you are home.
âDarlinâ? Are you home? Yeah? Good.â
âWhat the fuck, are you coming to kill me or something?â
Z - Zzz, how quickly they fall asleep afterwards
He will watch you fall asleep first. Running his knuckles over your cheek, his fingers through your hair until your teases and conversations die down to a peaceful sleep. He likes seeing how safe you look with him, you trusted him so much, and he wasnât going to refuse. Falls asleep right after.
ââŚAre you asleep?âŚYes, you are. Well Iâm⌠I. I like you, darlinâ. I love-âŚlove you.â
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Eris had to look after all his brothers when they were babies and try to silence them and keep them quiet so Beron would not hurt them into silence.
When Lucien was a baby and he was looking after him, Lucy was more rebel than any of his brothers and scorched Beron one time. When he attempted to burn the youngest boy back, Eris took the blow and he burnt his hand. It healed quickly but it became a reason for why Eris cares a lot about how his hands look.
He makes sure they are perfectly elegant and well kept to never remember what could have happened to Lucien.
He had to look after his brothers because after how he grew up with his mother barely keeping him alive and well, he did not want to see her cry over a hurt baby ever again.
Guess I should be drawing and sharing more but I swear I have been stuck on a drawing of Eris hammering his own weapon, half naked because why would he be needing clothes, and every time I look at my progress I cringe because I truly canât capture his essence the way I want and its such a hard pose that I donât just want to deliver but I need that man to look perfect.
Here is âHoppyâsâ birthday gift @erin-bo-berin !
Yes we know its totally for the cutie and not you â¤ď¸
I actually have been working on this drawing for a while for my rendering but now that the opportunity has presented itself, I will go ahead and use it.
Also if you can tell, this was gonna be a Lucien drawing first but I turned it into Eris and they are related so I guess it isnât far off?
Looked into some inspirations here and there as I still am navigating through anatomy.
Feast your eyes babes đŤĄ.
Eclipse Tango
ââââ> an Azriel x female reader fanfic
> There will only be smut when it is stated at the start of a chapter.
summary: You, the Spymaster of the Day Court, have been feeling a tug in your chest towards the North ever since the War with Hybern; are you ready to find out what is waiting for you there?
Part 1 - The Lightdancer
â The sun will always rise again.â
ââââ
You were born in the remote, sun-drenched fringes of the Day Court, within the high-walled Gilded Canyons. Your people, the Lightdancers, were ancient High Fae who didn't just wield lightâthey lived in a state of symbiosis with it.
While the rest of Prythian feared the dark, the Lightdancers were hunted because their magic made it impossible for anyone to hide a lie.
When you were barely fiftyâa mere child by Fae standardsâa lingering faction of Hybern loyalists, seeking to blind the Day Courtâs future, raided your village. They sought to snuff out the "Living Beacons." You survived only because your mother pushed you into a crevice of white quartz.
As the darkness of the raiders' magic descended, you felt a tiny, frantic warmth against your cheek. It was your first ever Spark.
Not a servant, but a tiny, orb-like fragment of consciousness that shimmered with pure white light. It didn't hide you in shadow; it bent the light around you until you were nothing more than a refraction, a trick of the eye.
You were the only one left. For decades, you lived as a ghost of the canyons, dancing through the sunbeams with your growing family of orbs, surviving on wild fruit and the warmth of the sun.
Helion, the young and vibrant High Lord of the Day Court at that time, was known for his obsession with lost lore. During an expedition to the Gilded Canyons to study ancient solar ley lines, he didn't find ruinsâhe found a girl.
He saw a woman in tattered silks, surrounded by a dozen floating, humming orbs of light that seemed to be playing a game of tag with her. Helion, the Spell-Cleaver, recognized the magic instantly. He didn't approach her as a hunter, but as a peer. He sat in the sun for three days, reading aloud from his journals, until your curiositiesâand your orbsâled you to sit beside him.
He didn't just take you in; he gave you a purpose. He brought you to the Thousand-Pillar Palace, where for the first time, you had enough silk to move in and enough libraries to understand what you were.
There was someâŚromance between Helion and you, as bright and intense as a midday sun. You were a match of intellect and power. Helion was captivated by your ability to see across leagues through your "friends," and you were captivated by his brilliance.
It was during this eraâcenturies agoâthat Helion personally inked the tattoo on your chest. He used an enchanted ink infused with crushed sunstone. It wasn't a mark of ownership, but a tether.
It ensured that even if you were trapped in the deepest dark, you would always have a spark of the Day Courtâs heart beating against your own skin.
However, as the decades passed, the "fire" of your romance settled into something much deeper and more permanent: a profound, platonic soul-bond.
You realized your love was better suited for the council room than the bedroom. You transitioned from lovers to the closest of confidantes, becoming the foundation of the Day Courtâs stability.
While the other Courts looked to the Night Courtâs shadows with fear, you taught Helion that the most dangerous secrets are the ones people think are safe in the light.
You revolutionized the Day Courtâs intelligence network. You didn't send hooded figures into alleys; you sent "drifting motes of dust" into high-society ballrooms. Your sparks sat on chandeliers, hid in the reflection of wine glasses, and hovered in the open air, invisible to those who weren't looking for them.
You became the Lightdancer, the Spymaster who managed the Day Courtâs affairs with a smile and a silk gown.
By the time Amarantha rose to power, you were the invisible hand keeping the Day Courtâs libraries hidden and its people fed while Helion was forced into the Mountain.
You were the one who stayed behind, your orbs dimming in the oppressive dark, waiting for the day the sun would finally return to Prythian.
The eras of Amaranthaâs reign and the War with Hybern were the two crucibles that forged you from a scholar-dancer into the formidable Spymaster you are today. While others fought with steel and shadow, you fought with the preservation of truth and the speed of light.
When the High Lords were summoned and subsequently imprisoned by Amarantha, the Day Courtâthe seat of Prythianâs history and knowledgeâbecame a prime target. With Helion trapped in that dark, subterranean hell, the "Thousand-Pillar Palace" stood silent.
You refused to go to the Mountain. Instead, you invoked an ancient protocol of the Lightdancers: The Solar Veil. While Amaranthaâs emissaries and Hybernâs looters came to strip the Day Court of its spells and treasures, you moved through the palace like a ghost. You used your sparks to create optical illusions, making the most valuable wings of the Great Library appear as nothing more than solid, seamless marble walls.
This was your greatest personal struggle. Without Helionâs presence to anchor the Courtâs magic, and with the sky perpetually choked by Amarantha's gloom, your sparks grew sluggish.
They turned from brilliant white to a sickly, flickering grey.
You spent those 49 years in a state of constant sensory deprivation. You attempted to send your orbs into the Mountain to find Helion, but the sheer density of the dark magic there acted like a vacuum.
Every time a spark crossed the threshold of the Mountain, it winked outâand you felt the "death" of each friend as a sharp, cold prick in your heart. You learned then the limit of your power: Light cannot exist where there is no hope to feed it.
When the curse broke and the sun finally hit the Day Court again, you didnât rest. You spent weeks "rechargingâ your orbs in the high-noon heat, preparing for the conflict you knew was coming.
During and before the final battles against Hybernâs forces, you realized that the biggest disadvantage of the allied Fae armies was communication. Messengers were being shot down, and winnowing was too exhausting for constant tactical updates.
You took to the frontlines alongside Helion. You stood atop the highest vantage points, silks snapping in the wind, and released thousands of tiny sparks. They looked like a cloud of glowing embers drifting over the battlefield.
You tethered a spark to every commanderâRhysand, Azriel, Cassian, Tarquin, and the other High Lords. By whispering into your "Master Orb," your voice traveled through the light waves, emerging from the sparks at the commanders' ears instantly.
You could see what every spark saw. In the heat of the battle, you would relay movements to Helion: âHybernâs right flank is buckling. Send the Pegasus cavalry now."
The battlefield of the Summer Court was a symphony of screaming steel and crashing waves, but atop a jagged cliff overlooking the fray, you were conducting a very different kind of orchestra.
Helion stood beside you, his amber eyes glowing with pride. "You're sure about this? Some of them have... volatile tempers."
"Theyâll live," you had murmured, your hands moving in a graceful, circular motion. From your palms, dozens of tiny, brilliant white sparks erupted like a firework held in slow motion. "Go, my friends. Find the crowns."
Cassian was the first to react. He was mid-swing, decapitating a Hybern scout, when a marble-sized orb of pure light zipped under his helm and lodged itself firmly against his ear canal.
"Gah! Bug! Iâve got a glowing bug in my ear!" Cassian had roared, nearly dropping his Siphon-shield as he started digging a frantic finger into his ear. "Az! Azriel, get it out! Itâs vibrating!"
Azriel, shadows already swirling in defense, had paused as a second spark hovered inches from his own face, seemingly waiting for permission. He didn't swat it; he felt the peculiar, warm hum of itâa frequency that made his shadows go uncharacteristically still.
A mile away, Varian had had his khopesh at the throat of a spark that was trying to land on Tarquin.
"Move and Iâll melt you," Varian had hissed at the orb.
"Varian, wait," Tarquin commanded, tilting his head as the spark successfully tethered to his ear. "Itâs... singing. It tastes like citrus and old parchment."
In the Winter Court camp, Kallias had frozen the air around his head into a defensive ice-shell, but the spark simply winnowed through the ice, nesting in his hair. "Viviane, get the salt," he had muttered, sounding deeply tired. "The Summer Courtâs magic is hallucinating again."
Thesan was politely trying to reason with his spark. "Excuse me, little light? I am trying to coordinate a healing ward. If you could perhaps move to my shoulder?"
And then there was Tamlin. He had been in beast-form, golden fur bristling, snapping his jaws at a spark that kept dodging his teeth with playful agility. He had let out a frustrated, earth-shaking growl that translated roughly to: Get this firefly away from me before I tear the sky down. He let out a low, warning growl that vibrated in his chest. "If this is a trick, Rhysand, Iâllâ"
"Itâs not me," Rhysandâs voice carried over the wind, though he looked just as baffled.
Finally, there was the Autumn Court. Beron stood in his tent, snarling at his generals, completely ignored.
A single, exceptionally bright spark was currently nestled comfortably in the high collar of Erisâs tunic, pulsing with a steady, rhythmic light.
Your voice had whispered specifically into Erisâs ear, skipping Beron entirely.
"And I prefer to speak to the person actually holding the leash, Prince Eris.â
Erisâs lips twitched into the smallest, most dangerous smirk of the war. He looked toward the ridge where a golden figure stood against the sun. He didn't know who you were, but he decided, right then and there, that he liked you.
Suddenly, a clear, calm, and slightly amused female voice had rang out inside all of their heads at onceâvibrating through the sparks with the clarity of a bell.
"Gentlemen, if youâre finished attempting to murder my friends, we have a war to win."
The High Lords all froze in unison.
"Who is this?" Tarquin demanded of the empty air. "Identify yourself.â
âI am the Spymaster of the Day Court," the voice had continued, laced with a hint of dry amusement. "If you can hear me, it means you are currently part of the Light Network. Lord Beron has been excluded for... security reasons. Eris, try to keep your father from doing anything exceptionally stupid."
Erisâs laugh echoed through the spark. "No promises, Spymaster."
âGeneral Cassian, please stop hitting your ear. You're giving my sentinel a headache." You sighed, amused.
Cassianâs hand dropped, his face turning a vibrant shade of red. "It started it," he muttered.
"High Lord Tarquin, Hybernâs ships are flanking your left. High Lord Kallias, the ice wards are holding, but you have a breach at the southern wall. Tamlinâstop growling and look at the ridge. There are archers."
Rhysand, who had been watching his own spark with intense fascination, let out a low, smooth chuckle. "Helion, you magnificent bastard. You finally let her out of the library."
Helionâs voice joined the network, sounding smug. "She was bored, Rhysand. And honestly, watching you lot try to fight a war without a proper radio was becoming painful to witness."
"Focus," your voice had snapped back, though the "smile" in your tone was evident. "I am your eyes and ears now. If you die, my sparks die, and they are far too pretty to waste on your incompetence. Now, shall we win this war?"
From that moment on, the Allied Lords didn't just fight; they moved as one. And while the world marveled at the tactical brilliance of the Day Court, Azriel stayed silent, his shadows leaning closer to the tiny white orb in his ear, listening to the heartbeat of the woman he hadn't even met yet.
During the final push, you pushed your magic beyond its limits. To illuminate a hidden fleet of Hybern ships moving under a cloak of magical darkness, you flared your entire being. You became a second sun for five minutes, blinding the enemy and allowing the Day Courtâs fire-wielders to incinerate the vessels.
When the light faded, you had collapsed. You suffered from Sun-Blindness for three days following the warâtotal, terrifying darkness. Helion stayed by your side, holding your hand in the infirmary, until the first sliver of gold returned to your vision.
By the time the war ended, you had earned the respect of every High Lord. They had all heard your voice in their ears during their darkest moments.
Now, with the world rebuilding and waiting for the threat that is Koschei, you remain Helion's right hand, your tattoo a constant reminder that even after the longest eclipse, the sun always returns.
Today, the air shimmered, and with a sudden crack of displaced wind, Morrigan appeared. She didnât look like a warrior today; she looked like a woman who had escaped. She was already laughing before she fully materialized, her red silk dress a vibrant contrast to the Day Courtâs gold.
"If I stay in the Night Court one more day without seeing the sun, I think I might actually turn into a bat," Mor declared, lounging immediately onto a chaise.
You didn't stop your movement, your body flowing into a deep arch, a quiet and distance music playing. "Helion is in the library, Mor. But you knew that. You always know exactly when heâs neck-deep in research and looking for a distraction."
"Oh, Iâll distract him later," Mor winked, reaching for a carafe of chilled wine. One of your sparks drifted over, hovering near Mor's glass and illuminating the liquid with a soft, prismatic glow. Mor poked at it playfully. "Honestly, Y/N, these things are far too charming to be spies. How does anyone take you seriously when youâre surrounded by glowing bubbles?"
"Thatâs the secret," you straightened, your silks settling around your legs. You whistled softly, and the spark zipped back to your shoulder. "People tell the most scandalous things to a room they think is empty. They donât notice a bit of dust caught in a sunbeam."
"Speaking of scandalous..."
A second, heavier presence manifested. Rhysand stepped out from the shadows of the archway, his dark wings tucked tight, his violet eyes dancing with their usual, infuriating mischief.
"I heard my name being invoked," Rhysand said, leaning against a pillar. He looked at you, his gaze tracking the three orbs spinning around your head. "Or perhaps it was just the sound of the Day Courtâs most dangerous weapon doing her morning yoga."
"High Lord," you inclined your head, though your smile was sharp. "Youâre late. Helion hates it when people are late to discuss trade routes. It makes him... talkative."
"I was waylaid by a very persistent nightmare," Rhys said, though his eyes drifted to the spark on your shoulder. He reached out a finger, and the sparkâusually friendlyâzipped back, hiding in the folds of your hair. Rhys raised an eyebrow, giving an amused and devastating smirk. "Still haven't taught them to like the Night, I see."
"They don't like what they can't understand, Rhysand," you replied, crossing your arms. "Your shadows are... dense. My friends prefer clarity."
Rhysandâs expression softened into something more contemplative, a look you only saw when he wasn't performing for the other Courts. "You know, Y/N, I have a brother. Not by blood, but by choice. Heâs my Spymaster. Heâs spent five centuries listening to the wind and the darkness."
"Iâve heard the rumors," you said lightly. "The Shadowsinger. A bit gloomy for my taste, isn't he?"
"Gloomy? Perhaps," Rhys stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial velvet. "But he is quite literally the other half of the world's song. Iâve often wondered what would happen if I brought him here. If your little sparks would try to light him up, or if his shadows would finally find something worth holding onto."
You felt a strange, inexplicable shiver race down your spineâa pull at the center of your chest, right where your tattoo rested. You shook it off with a laugh. "Don't bother, Rhys. I have enough trouble keeping Helionâs secrets. I don't need to be chasing a brooding Night Court male through the darkness."
Mor stood up, tossing a grape at Rhysandâs head. "Leave her alone, Rhys. Sheâs far too bright for your lot. Besides, if those two ever met, the sheer intensity of the 'Spymaster energy' would probably collapse the Hewn City."
Rhysand caught the grape in mid-air, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. "Maybe. But I think it would be a very interesting collision. Until next time, Lightdancer."
You straightened as Rhysand winnowed away to talk to Helion, your sparks zipping playfully toward Mor, circling her head like a crown of living diamonds.
Mor grinned, leaning against a sun-warmed pillar. "Night Court has run out of people I actually want to talk to. Come on, Y/N. Spend the day with me. The libraries can survive without you for twelve hours."
The day was a blur of the Day Court's finest luxuries. You lounged by the reflecting pools, the water shimmering with the light you subconsciously coaxed from the air. You drank chilled nectar and shared pieces of gossip that only two women in your positions could knowâof Erisâs latest posturing in Autumn, the new High Lady you havenât met yet and her legendary sister the Made Lady Death.
But as the sun began to dip, casting long, violet shadows across the terrace, Morâs tone shifted.
"Come to Velaris, love," Mor said, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "Not for a summit. Not for a meeting of High Lords. Just... come home with me. Meet the rest of them. Meet Cassian and Azriel and Feyre. Youâve spent five centuries looking at the world through light orbs; itâs time you saw the City of Starlight with your own eyes."
Your heart gave a strange, frantic leapâa sensation like a spark hitting water. You felt the tattoo on your chest thrum, a ghostly warmth spreading toward your collarbone. You masked it with a practiced, neutral expression.
"Iâll think about it, Mor," you said softly. "The Day Court doesn't exactly run itself."
"Helion would push you out the door himself if he knew you were hesitating," Mor challenged, standing up and brushing off her dress. "The invitation stands. Don't make me wait another century."
Later that evening, the palace was quiet, illuminated only by the soft glow of enchanted lamps and your drifting sparks. You found Helion in the Great Library, surrounded by towering stacks of ancient scrolls, his golden skin glowing in the lamplight.
"She asked you to go, didn't she?" Helion asked without looking up, his voice echoing in the vast space.
You leaned against the edge of his mahogany desk. "Is it that obvious?"
"Youâve been vibrating with a very specific kind of energy since she left," Helion smirked, finally setting down his quill. He walked over, placing a steady, brotherly hand on your shoulder. "Darling, you managed this Court while I was at Under the Mountain. You fought a war at my side. You have earned a week in a city that actually knows how to throw a party."
"Itâs not the party I'm worried about," you admitted, your voice dropping. "Itâs the... the pull, Helion. Since the war ended, every time I look North, I feel like I'm missing a limb. Iâm afraid of what Iâll find there."
Helionâs expression softened, his thumb brushing the edge of the tattoo he had inked so long ago. "Then find it. If there is something in the Night Court that is calling to the Lightdancer of Day, I want to know what it is. And if you don't like what you find? You can always dance your way back home to me."
You looked at your sparks, which were currently huddled together on a nearby bookshelf, glowing with a bright, expectant white. They were excited, as if they knew your life would never be the same once you went to the City of Starlight. You took a deep breath, the scent of jasmine and sun-warmed stone filling your lungs one last time before you made your choice.
"Tell the messengers to prepare a winnowing coordinate," you said, a sharp, excited spark finally lighting up your eyes. "Iâm going to Velaris."
*
Thank you so much for reading this! I thought the concept of something the opposite of Azriel would be really interesting so I created the Lightdancers, I hope you liked it!
This scene was my turning point đ
Inspiration was from @erin-bo-berin âs last updated chapter The Dove.
Ps. I canât believe this took me five days, taking a break here and there.
Pss. I put a representative [reader] character as it is a fanfic if anyone wonders who the woman is. I also have never drawn a long haired man before, so it might look messy, forgive me đŤś

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V Headcannons
this is my like first attempt at writing V so I hope I get him right.
@elliethesheep hope you enjoy it, it's a bit short though.
* V definitely has watched V for Vendetta multiple times and occasionally repeats his lines when he is alone in his room. He also think he gets it perfectly.
*Love Language:
Since his love language is acts of service, I strongly believe V would do household chores. You come home, sighing, tired and see the dishes done, garbage out, rooms cleaned. He doesnât say anything, doesnât ask for acknowledgement; he is just happy to take the weight off your shoulders.
One day you had came back from work, the editing of your book was almost over and the stress has been tiring you more than usual. At times like this, your boyfriend Valentin -it was still so weird to call him that in your head- was a great help. Since his home was compromised, he had been living with you and thank god he was. He was so sweet, always making you coffee in the morning like how you liked it, without you having to ask.
That night he must have seen your exhaustion and stress, because after you got out of shower your clothes were let out already, a soft classical music -you recognized it was Beethoven- playing and a mug of hot chocolate was on your desk.
You had gotten dressed to find him, he was sat on the couch, looking at his phone. You approached him quietly and leaned against the back of the couch, whispering in his ear: âHi Vigilante.â
He sighed, sensing the mischief in your tone already. He was done with you but could never be actually done with you. âYes?â
âI have hot chocolate in my room.â There was more of that silence where he made it clear he was not going to indulge you. âDid you make it?
âDid you?â
You paused.
âNo? Thatâs why I am asking.â V stayed silent and turned his head to look at you.
âHm. Well if you didnât make it and you know you didnât make it...â
Oh, you saw where this was going.
âI wonder who made it if not you.â
âOkay V, fuck you.â You heard him chuckling quietly as you turned to leave and drink that hot choco you knew would taste amazing.
âYou are welcome.â
* He sleeps with a plushie. You caught him once. He was absolutely defensive, one minute threatening you one minute asking you not to tell anyone. You swore on your dignity.
Then told Misaki the next day.
* You also caught him listening to Ariana Grande. You got a mic and started singing- his face was so red you couldnât stop teasing him for weeks. One month later Angel was teasing him about it as her and Misaki had got him started to it- he knew it was you but couldnât prove it.
* Mafia:
You were great at being the Mafia. Not arrogance, you havenât lost once when you played with the server; the only one that sniffed you out was Ronin but he was an asshole so no one believed him anyways.
Angel, almost ironically, rarely became Mafia. Misaki was the Detective regardless of their actual role, Luca could not hold his role a secret if his life depended on him, Feli was an expert with a close record to Ronin who mocked everyone occasionally, Vince was your narrator and then there was V.
The painfully obvious. Or maybe just to you. He was a good detective but never managed to convince anyone.
âIâm telling you itâs Ronin!â
âYou say that every game Misaki.â Angel sighed, she was tired but she would never miss a game.
âYeah and every 20 times I am right!â Misaki shouted, they werenât the mafia and they were kind of right. Ronin was the mafia, and you were. And V was âonto youâ.
âItâs MC.â he said for the 100th time.
âHow can you say that V?â you pouted, a whine to your voice he told himself not to fall for.
âItâs you and Ronin.â V snarked.
âThat would be a terrible match.â your partner in crime said, sounding perfectly bored.
âYou are just obsessed with us V.â
âUgh.â He groaned, utterly fed up. âNo, you are the mafia. Stop lying.â
The crowd hang Ronin, who surprisingly did not sell you out after, was found. It fell on you and you threw the shade at V. Your victim. V for Vigilante? More like V for Victim, ha.
âItâs not me, MC is tricking you.â
âI canâ believe you are lying to us bro, not cool man.â after Luca, even Angel voted for V. You somehow won after that and V kept sending you rematch messages. He was so obsessed with you, you guessed.
V Headcannons then, Maybe Maybe? Take your Full creative liberty:3
Ps: And regarding my previous ask, I wasnt Looking for anything in general! It's Just Nice to set boundaries so people know what not to ask considering How commun It Is to people request really creppy stuff in This app apparently/gen (Ex: heavy gore, animal dead, scat, SA/Non con, Minor x adult, incest)đ°/Concerned
That is so thoughtful đ I appreciate that. I will certainly work on something for V!
Ronin x Killer MC
Part 1.
TW. gore, blood, whole disgusting stuff
(This is a short one just to navigate through the start and see if anyone will be interested, so donât forget to let me know if you ARE interested.)
âŚ
You were never one of those kids who played outside, fed the stray cats or pick up flowers for your mom. More like spent your days trying to survive your fucked up dad and his no good of a mom wife, all while trying to keep up with school.
You will have a better future, they said; your family wasnât even around to tell you to fuck off. It used to hurt you, you know. Their absence, the sight of happy familiesâŚhaving people waiting eagerly for your return from school. Now it is just a hallow memory, just two people who brought you into this shit world and disappeared.
Well, you didnât think things would end up like *this*, sure- but you sure as hell knew nothing good was gonna become of you. Making money working as a bartender at a bar -not a cafĂŠ because people were too bright and happy there- and occasionallyâŚaccidentally swinging your pretty bat to drunkards heads. They end up dead, needless to say. Do you feel guilt? Nah, not really. Your folks made sure of that years ago.
You shook drinks all night, listened to people venting or trying to flirt- your attention was on those who caused a problem, harassing people or those who come in here and think they can tell you how to do your job. So you showed them your other job. You follow them out, an arm around their shoulder and a sultry voice is enough for them to follow you towards the back like a lost puppy, and then comes the bat. Your beautiful sinner, thorny rose. You put some screws on it and hit them right in the throat, the sound enough to draw a giggle.
This was nice. You barely afforded rent and had no friends but you were truly happy for once in your life. Until the news started to pay more attention to someone elseâs murders.
The Devilâs Butcher, rained hell over the streets again.
You hated whoever that was. They stole your spot life, got a media name and was known for being the gorest- if that was even a word. You knew they had to be doing this on purpose. When your murders made the headlines, Butcher was in a gruesome alley blowing peopleâs skulls and leaving stupid demonic signs with theirâŚeverything. Gotta admit, they werenât bad. If you werenât so ambitious, you even might have been a fan.
Today, leaving work as usual, no murder because you werenât in the mood, you passed two friends who looked too scared to be out at this hour.
âIâm telling ya bro, a fucking blood bath.â You squinted your eyes as you slowed your steps to listen more.
âOh god, I saw the leaked crime scene pictures today and I was gonna throw up.â Your hand gripped your bag harder, this much gore could only mean one thing. Your worst nightmare had outdone itself again.
The boysâ voices faded as you hurried your steps to your apartment, which was a few blocks away. Though your head was at somewhere else, you kept thinking about finding this rival of yours and show them the Devil was killable. You wanted to burst their artery, watch them trying to breathe before you ripped his heart out and put it in a jar in your house like a fucking trophy. Your life would be complete then.
As you rounded a turn an idea popped into your head. It was disgusting, horrible and utterly necessary. Steps came to a halt and you suddenly changed your destination, smiling to yourself as the alley of the Purgatory came visible. You always left your bat hidden in the bar somewhere, but you did carry a pocket knife, and you didnât need anything else either.
You entered under the cut tires, the alley was quiet- the crime scene was poorly kept- as people came here for the thrill all the time. This meant an opportunity for you, an opportunity to shove your murder and challenge into The Butcherâs face. Hearing hushed talking, you made your way towards them. Two men, possibly homeless or wanted, standing around a dimly lit barrel fire.
You didnât notice when the knife was out, or when you threw your bag to the floor and jumped right towards them. You were something else when âhuntingâ, the joy blinded you as you sliced and diced them; letting them scream so someone would hear and remember this.
You stood in that alley for an hour, setting up a masterpiece you were proud of. Blood had splashed to the walls, there were blood pooling around your shoes while your two muses stood upside down. You left that alley with a smile on your face that would not fade away for a good long time.
âŚ
It was a usual morning for the devil, wake up looking like his charming self as always, go to work and all that stuff until he could breathe again in front of his pc- checking the Slaughterhouse Losers and reminding them he was alive and they should be grateful for that.
Thatâs when Ronin saw last nightâs news. Angel had sent the link, knowing it wasnât done by him but it was done in his favorite spot. His first instinct was quiet, he didnât open the link for a few minutes- not out of speechlessness but his growing interest and the door to entertainment.
His hand moved the mouse to click it, the news immediately filling his screen. It took him a minute to get access to the crime photos and the sight made him breathless. In all his life, Ronin had been stolen of air only twice: one belonged to Therâs existence and their death, the other was reserved for his butchering obviously. But never for someone elseâs murder, no, this wasnât murder. This was intent, it was a dirty act, a dare he couldnât help but laugh at.
The murder scene was so red the walls werenât visible. Someone had stranded two men upside down on separate poles, their hands above their heads like how Jesus H. Christ was crucified. The pretties thing was the message you had left behind screwed onto the manâs chest.
âNo itâs not the Butcher baby, do not insult me.â
Shiiit, someone was pissed with him.
âThe Antichrist.â Damn, were you trying to flirt?
âOh fuck, who are you, you rotten little thing?â Ronin didnât realize he was grinning, leaning forward instinctively towards the monitor. He was not letting whoever this was go, he would catch you in his claws and taste your corruption or better yet- see if he could make you worse.
He did not know who you were, but you were hell of a fun and he wasnât planning on letting you be. You wanted a challenge? You were gonna get filth and fucked up until you couldnât take it.
To hell he hoped you could take it.