....as my good friend @oxiosa said, prehistory is still precolumbian era! No one said how long ago it had to be!
Anyway, you know La Cueva de las Manos? It's very cool. It makes Tumblr have a lot of feelings about connections to prehistoric people through time. Also the aesthetic is amazing ♥
Hi! How are you? Can you write some enemies to lovers with Lute if you feel comfortable with that? Like reader is a overlord who likes to fight every extermination day just for fun and Lute sees a worthy rival until they fall in love?
❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐧 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 ❥
Oh wow I love her such a normal amount like seriously you could ask me anything about her and I would be the most normal person ever about her. But something about enemies to lover Lute with a sinner reader just hits different-
Someone here was having way more fun with the enemies to lovers aspect of this (and it's not Lute.)
(I am sorry I took so long with this request, but it was just so long and I'm juggle multiple blogs, interests and school-work rn so I'm just happy to get this one out. Thank you for being so patient <3)
➲ Lute + !F!Overlord!Reader
➲ Romantic ☒, Platonic ☐
➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 4,529 Words
➲ Warnings/notes; Descriptions of gore, descriptions of body shifting/horror, tsundere Lute, lots of fighting between two idiots who are actually trying to murder each other
Three hours before extermination day. Three hours before the exorcists would descend from Heaven like a plaguing swarm to rid Hell of as many demons as they possibly could. Three hours before you could go dance with death like you usually did and scare the living shit out of winners and sinners alike with your almost insane mannerisms.
Because that's what you did for fun, apparently.
However, unlike the countless times before you'd done this, you were feeling just a little tired. Staying up late to binge the new episode of 'MAMMON'S MAGNIFICENT MUSICAL MID-SEASON SPECIAL' mightn've been the best idea you'd ever had, but it was one hundred percent worth it even as you stood proudly, staring up at the pearly gates of Heaven. From where you stood, they still looked rather bare, and so you didn't think a quick nap beforehand would be all that bad, right?
At least, that was the plan. Just a quick nap before the extermination to get your head in the game - Except you'd forgotten to put a damn alarm on and slept right through the beginning ceremony. As the holy trumpets and guitar riffs echoed throughout the scorching pit of eternal suffering, you were snoozing away peacefully in your Evil Overlord Tower™.
Or, at least, you were.
Something didn't feel right, which was odd, because you had one of the most comfortable beds in all of Hell courtesy of the instinctual fear you spread throughout the ring of pride. And when something wasn't right, you sought to make it right because you didn't deal with shit that annoyed you (such, through the power you held).
A light weight rested across you, evenly spread expertly as if whoever was standing above you was trying not to rouse you from your slumber. For a moment, you thought you'd imagined it. There was no movement from above you, and there was a split second where you considered just letting your mind relax and fall asleep again, but such thoughts didn't get you into your current status. Being an overlord meant destruction and paranoia, the two things you strove to embody.
You barely gave whoever was on top of you time to react, moving swiftly enough that for a split second, your entire body shimmered and turned invisible as you slammed your would-be attacker into the floor.
Your hands fumbled, grappling with a sleek, steel pole that you promptly threw outwards, topping the attacker in front of you over. The room around you shook violently, the lights flickering as your brain caught up with your body, trying its hardest to shake the dregs of unconsciousness from your mind.
Bold stripes stared back at you, a sleek mask emblazoned with threads of angelic steel. The sight jogged your still sleep-hazy brain.
'Oh yeah, extermination day' and you gleefully took a swipe at the exterminator in front of you. You'd just fix the damages later.
But she was fast, swift on her wings and on her feet and she ducked and rolled out of the way. You could see she was stumbling, still recovering from the shock of being thrown halfway across the room, but you could still clearly see that she wielded her weapon with pure fury and raw talent, which was certainly something you weren't used to. Other exorcists relied on the fact that normal demons couldn't hurt them, their fighting sloppy and trivial because of it. The one in front of you actually knew what she was doing.
"You're kinda rude, y'know," Rolling your shoulders, a part of you was miffed for being woken up so rudely. Another part of you was grateful for the wake-up call.
She laughed, deep and sharp. The sound made your heart flutter.
"Demon scum like you don't deserve niceties," Her grin grew, sharp edges stretching upwards. You hummed thoughtfully and shrugged your shoulders.
The exorcist charged forward, striking forward with precision startlingly quickly. But you were quicker - Ducking under the point of her spear and tackling her, grappling with her wings as the two of you rolled across the floor in a writhing mass of fury. Holy steel clashing against the might of an overlord. Deep grooves were carved in your floor, yet, as the exorcist managed to tuck her head and roll with the momentum till she was on her feet in one elegant swoop, you couldn't find yourself caring. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, and you almost laughed as she stabbed at you with her spear once more. You parried it almost expertly, cackling before you managed to grab the pole between your palms.
It almost seemed evenly matched between the two of you, an unstoppable force fighting against an immovable object. The poor spear quivered, bending as you both quarrelled over it like young children until it splintered roughly between your palms, crushed beneath the sheer force you exerted. That seemed to get the exorcist's attention.
She stumbled backwards, no doubt thoroughly pissed off at her now shortened weapon - But even that didn't deter the bloodlust in her step. Half of it was thrown away, the broken half that held no pointed end, and chucked it at your face. It missed, and instead, it rattled ominously somewhere behind you in time with the flickering lights, but with your attention split for just a breath, the exorcist lunged forward and scraped a shallow wound in your forearm. It stung, numbly, and the wisk of air as she jumped warned you belatedly. Crimson trickled tantalisingly down your arm as the air between you sizzled, thick and heavy with some undeterminate feeling that made your blood thrum with electricity.
You cackled, grin growing to match the angel's, jaw splitting further than it probably should've as your bones cracked seamlessly, form growing larger as you felt the power of endless stolen souls burning your flesh. Your head brushed against the ceiling, bending to fit in the limited space - You could only relish in the confusion and fear that rolled over the exorcist's face, quickly masked with the solemn, set expression of a battle-seasoned soldier.
However stoic she seemed, you saw your opening and rocketed forward with speed that seemed unsightly for how big you were, pulling yourself against the floor like the demon you were. With the force of a semi-truck, you slammed the exorcist into the wall, fracturing the framework and no doubt rattling her entire being to her very core. You could feel the point of her spear pressed faintly against your chest, a gentle reminder that you quickly snagged and tossed the item far across the room.
Face to face, almost nose to nose. A twisted scarl danced across her face, pearly white fangs stained with spatters of golden blood. It was almost beautiful with how it shimmered in the darkness, like liquid stardust.
"You better fucking kill me, hell-spawn," She spat in your face, fingernails carving angry crescents in your skin.
You laughed, because her words were rather cliche, after all.
"Y'know," You mused, "maybe knowing I'm down here will make you try harder next time."
That did not ease her scowl, but that didn't really bother you, because you had other places to be right now - You weren't going to waste your entire extermination day on one singular angel after all.
You threw her out of the nearest window.
She would be fine, with her wings and all, but it was still funny watching the momentary panic spread across her face before she realised the same thing you did.
Furiously, she flared out her banded wings, scattering loose a flurry of black and white feathers, specks of gold blood arcing in the crimson sky around her. Dazed as she was, her fierce eyes flickered and spun before honing in on her mobile target, namely, you. A titan of the underworld, an overlord in hell - An ear-piercing, spine-chilling cackle echoing around the eastern side of the Pentagram as you pulled yourself from your tower, monstrous figure all too elegant for how big you were, hauntingly so.
And that just made her blood boil, to see a sinner escape her clutches and laugh like nothing was wrong - Or worse, to laugh and knock down her subordinates straight from the sky like they were nothing more than bugs. As little as she cared about the fledglings on their first escapades, that was her hard work going to waste because the littles had no idea how to use their wings.
And that just pissed her off all that much more.
The little exorcist you'd hucked from the top floor window was the furthest from your mind as your galavant around hell started again. She was a little spitfire, but nothing you hadn't ground into the dirt before and gotten away with. Even the array of cuts and slashes littering your body, courtesy of her spear, didn't mean anything beyond a harsh sting that would be gone within the next month. Yet nothing she did was permanent, which is why you didn't exactly pay attention to the screeching war cry of rage followed by a sharp twinge between your shoulder blades.
Which irked you, but not that much. You twisted your neck in an unnatural manner, bones creaking as your form bent in on itself, teeth fastening around the stab-happy angel's wing before wrenching her away from you. The machete she'd snagged from elsewhere remained buried just beneath your shoulder, you absentmindedly reminded yourself to remember it after this whole ordeal was over. Angelic steel was no good when left to fester in an open wound.
It could've been the same angel, probably was for all you knew. All their stripes looked the same, and plenty had horns curved back like hers (you had a collection of similar exorcist helmets lining your basement, and you still struggled to tell them apart when not labelled.)
But it was those eyes - They were different, or her mask was at least. You'd never seen obsidian glass carved with an 'x' marked over an eye, but there was something about it that was so alluring. It was shiny, unique, and belonged to an especially bloodthirsty angel, and you had what was probably the perfect spot to display it back in your den.
Greed made you strike out, grabbing at her helmet and tussling with the exorcist as the two of you fell to the ground. You may have had the size advantage, much larger than the lean figure writhing beneath you, but she was still incredibly strong. Her wings were annoying too, beating and kicking up dust that made your eyes water and ache, battering against your face and drawing a headache up, thrumming against the back of your skull. But you wanted that helmet more than anything, but she seemed extremely determined to keep it on.
The force of it all sent a splintering crack through the surface, shining a brilliant bright white like the threads of angelic steel melted and spilled like blood as one horn snapped clean off beneath your palm.
Those eyes.
They almost made you falter, as gold as angel blood. They were beautiful.
The exorcist, however, was not as thrilled.
She snarled, whipped her head around and sunk her teeth into whatever of your flesh she could reach.
It was more like a hell-kitten nipping at your skin, but you still flinched and let her go, watching as she slumped, cradling a crooked wing. A swelling of a certain emotion welled in your gut, something that made you feel small and achy and you absolutely hated it, but you couldn't do anything. Or, more aptly, you didn't want to do anything as you merely watched the exorcist flare her wings out, still beating strongly despite the fact one of them surely was broken.
The trumpets sounded. She made a rude gesture (many rude gestures, actually) before she grabbed the discarded weapon and the broken curve of her horn before disappearing back into the flock.
It was almost creepy, with the way your eyes watched her without blinking.
"You-"
"You!"
It was that time of year already.
The puffed-up exorcist looked angry, but no more than the last few times you'd seen her. You'd come to associate her venomous scowl, sharp wings and pointed spear as a sort've unique welcome between the two of you, in the same manner that your oversized overlord form bent out of proportion was a gratuity you reserved for your exorcist and your exorcist only.
Because it was fun, and something you two did together.
"I want to try something," You mused out loud. The angel in front of you didn't respond to your remark, circling you like a severely ticked-off lion. You didn't expect her to, intently watching her as your neck kept twisting and twisting, bending like an owl.
Even with every muscle in her body tensed, she still wasn't prepared for how fast your strikes were. One and two, sharp against her chest as your hulking silhouette snapped and quashed itself into a far more humanoid one, the exorcist's favourite blade now held loosely between your hands. As if it would make her feel better, you kicked a machete, similar to the one she used in your first fight, toward her. Coated in crimson blood of sinners, yet still undoubtedly sharp.
"Here, now it's more of an even fight," You shrugged your shoulders, stancing up.
She scoffed.
"Is that really the best you can do?" She sneered, tapping her foot and folding her wings back high and proud. You quirked your eyebrow.
"Huh?" Your head tilted just a bit too far to be considered 'cute' or 'puppyish'. The exorcist grumbled.
"Your form. It's shit," She motioned with the tip of her blade. "Tuck your arms in, for fucks sake. No wonder your swings are so sloppy."
For once, you seem flustered and tried your hardest to follow her instructions. Heat swelled in her chest, almost like pride. But she would never be proud of someone like you.
"And speaking of, adjust your grip. Move your dominant hand up and your non-dominant hand down - For the love of anything holy, how can you be so shit with the bare basics!"
"Okay! Sorry!" You shifted your weight and tried to do as she told, almost forgetting where exactly you were. The exorcist only felt her grin grow more sadistic, watching how small you suddenly seemed in front of her, and how pathetic you were at actually using a weapon like a somewhat normal person.
It was sad.
(It reminded her of her bright-eyed, curious fledgling classes. All of them eager to learn about how to serve the lord above.)
"Like this?" You question, insane eyes almost reflecting the same eagerness of her students.
It was all wrong, but that was what she wanted.
"Ha. No."
This time she was the one covering the distance between you two with frightening speed, flinging herself forward with the momentum from her wings. The noise you made plucked at her heart, that startled screech clashing with the harsh sound of metal as you brought her own weapon up against her.
It was a brief moment of weakness, one quickly lost as you found your footing and started swinging. For how amateur your swings were, they were more than halfway decent compared to the littles fighting closer to the portal into Heaven. She could work with this, make it feel like you were actually a challenge instead of just another run-of-the-mill sinner.
She could see the way your eyes were glowing, looking all too content with yourself as you somehow matched her footwork and swordsmanship. You were a bit all over the place, but you were also incredibly smart - Picking up on her unique fighting style that not one other exorcist had, and you were doing it fast. Puffing up, almost preening.
"Aha! Now for some witty back-and-forth banter!" You declared out of nowhere, swings much more confident. She narrowed her eyes, infuriated. Just when she thought you were starting to take this whole thing seriously.
The exorcist remained eerily silent, not even puffs of exhausted breath or grunts with each collision of the blades.
"Huh, yeah, not really sure where to go with that?" You shrugged with the brief lull in fighting, darting backwards and sheathing your weapon with just a tad too much confidence for her taste.
Which, every part of this felt like a trap, but she trusted her own skills enough to not fall prey to the like of a sinner. Expertly, more than expertly, she matched those steps as you fell back, advancing, wings arced out as eyes aglow with holy fire.
Only for you to, once again, take her off-guard with your usual tactic. Darting forward, ducking under her blade and kicking her feet out from underneath her. She didn't make a sound but refused to go down with a fight and grabbed at the back of your outfit.
Her vision briefly went dark, the impact of something heavy crashing against her torso and knocking the wind right out of her. Her helmet cracked again, which was par for the course ever since she started brawling with you every extermination.
"Well, fancy meeting you here," Through the new crack in her helmet, she could almost perfectly make out your face. A bit too perfect, and way too close. Close enough to see her pale reflection in the dark of your eyes.
Your, admittedly, pretty eyes.
She felt like carving her own heart out rather than admitting she'd ever thought that in the first place.
"Get. Off. Me." She snarled. Meanwhile, stars practically glowed in your eyes.
"Oh wow! Dropping the 'Hellspawn' and 'Demon-scum'? Could this be love?" You were clearly joking, but her own heart decided to betray her thoughts, flipping in graceful arcs that she'd seen you perform one too many times.
She bit you again.
Five hours.
It had been five hours into the extermination.
With a ranking tally of two hundred and fifty or so demons, the exorcist figured she was fine to have a quick look around.
Because, through all this time, she'd seen neither hide nor hair of you. She didn't want to admit that she'd been loitering around your tower, knowing your tendency to throw yourself into the fray, dancing like you were tempting a lightning storm. She didn't want to admit that she'd been expecting to see your annoying face peering out at her from a nearby rooftop or to descend upon her like a leaping cat, or even to stroll up and start talking to her like the two of you were old friends. None of that happened.
The streets were rather empty, if you didn't take into account the blazing wrecks of cars, broken corpses and puddles of crimson blood puddling around the divets in sulphur roads. There were no moving, 'living' souls scurrying around, and that was what worried her.
Or, no. Not worried. She wasn't at all worried at the thought of you gutted somewhere, dying in a pool of your own blood, banished to the forever void that came after a second death. No, she was pissed at the thought that someone else had managed to kill you after all those years of the same cat-and-mouse dance. Or, more aptly, cat and fox dance. That honour was rightly hers, and she'd smite down any other exorcist that dared to stand in her way.
In her way of killing you. Yes.
The exorcist pinned back her wings, sheathing her weapon and scuffing her boot against brimstone in annoyance. This was bullshit.
There was no fun in the exterminations without your jeering taunts, or odd remarks, your instance of fighting absolutely everyone you saw. Along with the annoyance of you ditching her mid-battle to rip feathers from one of her cohorts, along with a certain warmth she felt when you came bounding back towards her, bloodlust in your eyes and that same weapon you'd stolen from her all those years back pointed directly at her.
The angel only stopped once her boot stepped in liquid gold. It rippled, her thoughtful reflection mirrored and shimmering on its surface. Amber ichor, melding into the red from a nearby puddle, the mingling of sinner and winner blood alike.
What was the chance? She reasoned. But only one demon so far had managed to draw blood from an exorcist.
With a set snarl, she followed the trail. Her bootsteps were the only sound ricocheting around the dinky alley she found herself tracing.
"Oh, it's you..." She almost jumped out of her boots at the sound of your voice. Although, it didn't sound like you, per se. It was croaky and weak, dull and mild-mannered to put it lightly.
You were resting against a brick wall, clutching your front, eyes dimmed in the bright light. Squinting, as if a headache was plaguing your every thought.
Beside you, one of her cohorts rested too. Not dead, but her mask was all but shattered, one of her wings horribly ripped. She wasn't sure if she'd ever fly properly again.
But, you were not dead! Which was good news, because it meant she would be the one to finally slit your throat and watch the light drain from your eyes. And you knew it too, with the way your head kept tilted in her direction, a thoughtful twinkle in your eye.
"So, how's your day been?" Still playful, still joking. It was definitely you.
She scoffed.
"How's the blood loss?" She quipped back, the first she'd ever done so. Properly, at least. You laughed wetly, gagging on your own blood. Even she couldn't help but chuckle, dragging the tip of her weapon up until it rested gently over your heart.
Your laughter died down. Her hand was shaking.
Everything around you was quiet, like the two of you were submerged in a solid bubble of silence. Your ragged breathing was the only sound above a whisper, wet and ragged.
"Can I see your face?" Your voice was as soft as she'd ever heard it. Genuine.
She hummed, quirking a single brow. Not that you could see, because of her helm.
"Why would I do that?" She'd meant for it to sound more venomous. It didn't. You tried your hardest to shrug your shoulders, wincing in pain.
"Well," You sucked in a pained breath, "if I have to die here, the last thing I'd like to see is your face." Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, smudging the whorls of gold and red blood alike as they dribbled down your cheeks.
Something within her snapped. Dead. Death. A future forever without you. If she'd thought today's extermination had been boring without you, she couldn't even imagine any more.
That's what she told herself, anyway. A future without you was not one she wanted to live, for any reason.
The clank of angelic steel broke the atmosphere, harsh against the bloody floor. Fingers fuzzy and numbed, clasping as the latches that kept her exorcist helmet together. One flick, then another, a sharp snap. Dark obsidian peeled away, horns lifted till a silver-sharp face so out of place in the depths of hell appeared.
"I was right," You croaked. "You are... Pretty woman."
You devolved into another flurry of hacking coughs. The angel felt her feathers flare up, alarmed.
"Yeah, yeah," You waved her off, "don't show weakness or whatever, thanks lieutenant." Your chest crackled painfully as you just regained some unneeded breaths. The angel in front of you stumbled, anxiously padding forward as her boots clacked against the ground.
"Look, I can die happy now. Was fun fighting against you - Really fun, actually. And look! You finally came out on top this time, eh?" You tried to wink, you really did. It just didn't have the same effect when you were bleeding out in front of her. Which made her stomach drop and her adrenaline spike.
'This goes against everything I've ever done' She squinted, furrowing her brow. Gold eyes almost glowed like hot iron, fingers clasped firmly against the hem of her outfit. 'But, y'know, I could always say I was just trying to save my flockmate.'
And she tugged.
Her shirt ripped, the sound harsh against your ears, but it left her with a hefty chunk of fabric that slid against her chainmail gloves. The Lord would smite her down if he ever found out about this, but chances are, in the belly of hell, it would be a secret between only the two of you.
Hours ticked onwards, slipping through her fingers far too quickly. She was just lucky you were as strong as you were, holding on to your consciousness with all your might as she worked her magic. Stuff the wound, stop the bleeding, heal and hope to everything that was holy that angelic magic didn't sear your flesh the same way their steel did.
Of course, you being you, airy quips were thrown around, keeping the air light as your wound slowly healed. It was nasty, there was no doubt about that, your first permanent scar. But at least this way, you'd make it out with your life.
"How did you even let her catch you off guard?" She questioned you after hours of silence.
"I'll be honest, I thought she was you based on her footsteps," You sighed, exhaling softly as she tugged at your makeshift bandages. You got no proper response outside of her light scoff. Somehow, that still made you burn hot with shame.
In perfect unison, the two of you looked out to the horizon. Golden light spilled down from heaven, the portal slowly growing more and more, ripping open a way back to their holy home. Six minutes till the trumpets would sound, if you had to guess. The angel tutted, disapproving of the way time worked. The thought was enough to make you crack a smile.
"I have to go," She seemed hesitant.
"I'll be fine," Even if hoisting yourself to your feet almost made you black out, lugging yourself back to your tower shouldn't have been a big problem when you could literally see one of the back entrances.
That didn't ease her thoughts. She was thinking, mind ticking away as she thought and thought and thought. She kept thinking, until she slowly reached up and snagged a rounded, down-fluff feather from her puffed-up shoulder. Pristine and warm to the touch, it washed away the blood as she carefully placed it into your shaking palm.
No words were shared between you as she rested you against the wall, letting you steady yourself and she hoisted her fellow exorcist onto her shoulders. After helping her shimmy back into her iconic helmet, she glanced backwards at you before stepping toward the light.
"You better not die before I can kill you." Her words were soft, unlike her sharp exterior. You could only match the assumed small, hidden smile. With a hum, you felt only a single name come to mind.
Since i saw that you are writing about ITSV/ATSV can i request something about Hobbie x F reader who has opposite life and aesthetic? They have so much in common but at the same time they are so oppositive like the reader play the piano and dress like old money girl aesthetic?
YESSSSS I LOVE THIS IDEA!!!!!
🥀Cw: none, just fluff!!!
listen, we all know Hobie isn't big on labels or commitment, but when itt comes to you? he's genuinely WHIPPED like you are HIS girl
you guys definitely have an opposite couples aesthetic, with him being so spunky and outgoing while you are much more calculating and reserved. he's great at getting you to loosen up a little, and you end up being the one keeping him in check!!
listen, the old money aesthetic is all about looking classy and refined, and Hobie is the exact opposite of that. he probably thought you were a bit snobby when he first met you, but felt bad about making assumptions once he genuinely got to know you and realized how sweet you are
Hobie probably finds your style really interesting, the same way you find his style intriguing. whenever he sees clothes that you'd like or accessories that match your style, he always buys steals them for you!!!!
once he learns you know how to play the piano??? he's SMITTEN. he seems like he'd enjoy a partner who can play an instrument, and would love to just listen in and hum along as you play. he would let you teach him how to play piano, but only if you let him teach you how to play guitar as well!!!
Hobie would give you SOOOO many song recommendations to play, and in turn he'd play some songs for you!!
your guys' music tastes definitely make an impact on eachother. you've got him listening to lana del ray and laufey, which is SO out of character for him!!! he ends up actually enjoying some of ur music taste, even though he'd never admit it. in the meantime, you're music taste has now been expanded and bands like Three Days Grace, Meatloaf, INXS, and Green Day are now in your playlists !!!
Hobie keeps you up to date on a lot of activism and stuff like that, and would def bring you to punk rallies and rock concerts even though you don't fit in at ALL. everyone knows not to mess with you tho because he always stays nearby, and his hand is practically glued to your waist all night
since you're so fem, Hobie would TOTALLY let you do his makeup!!!! if you ever need to practice, or your trying out a new lip combo or mascara, he's more than willing to be your muse !!!
Hobie is the life of the party, he's genuinely so chaotic and all ober the place, and more often than not you're the one making sure he doesn't go too far. especially if you are in the spider society, theres been a multitude of times where you've had to put a hand on his shoulder and restrain him from fucking DECKING miguel (lmao)
on the flip side, he convinces you to loosen up a little and be yourself. you don't have to be perfect all the time, and when you're around Hobie, you can always be yourself. he genuinely loves you sooo much, flaws and all
you guys are genuinely SUCH a power couple- opposites attract fr ‼️
RAHHH THIS IS SO CUTE!!!! sorry this is so short i didn't really have any full fledged scenarios in mind but PLEEEASSSEEE feel free to request more!!!! i loved this req sm hehe- ive been FIGHTING a writing slump recently urgrhrhrg
Hi! How are you? Can i request a Velvette x F reader? Or GN if you feel more comfortable, I don't mind. The reader being so slow to understand Velvette flirting and she gets frustrated like "oh you are so lucky that i love you"
Hi there! I’m good! Hope you’re doing good too. Love thisssssss. Velvette would get so lovingly annoyed lmao 💜 thanks for the request! And enjoy~
TW: suggestive themes, lots of cussing
Notes: gn!reader, this is just a short little oneshot.
ALSO, I got a ton of requests waiting for me rn. Plz feel free to keep sending em in! Just be patient with me, I’ll get to them 😉
Velvette x reader- Oblivious 💓
Girl tries soooooo hard and gets soooooo mad when you don’t get it.
Velvette is pretty confident, extroverted and bold naturally so when it comes to her fat crush on you, she’s not afraid to make it known.
But come on! She’s trying to have fun with it, trying to tease you and get you all flustered but you just won’t budge.
She will straight up compliment you, loudly and in front of all her models and assistants, something about looking hot as hell, and you just figure she really likes your outfit today. That’s all she means, right?
Velvette likes to jokingly do things that’ll allow her to touch you intimately.
For example, she’ll drop something in your lap just so she can slowly reach down and pick it up, letting her fingers linger on your thigh all while maintaining eye contact
Literally doesn’t phase you and she’s just flabbergasted…like damn, what does she have to do? Straight up kiss you on the mouth to get her point across?
She’ll post pics of you on her sinstagram with nothing but heart emojis as the caption and you just like it and comment “BESTIE” and now she’s pouting bc she wants to be bae, not bestie
One time, she made this big scene complaining about being short a model and her desperately needing an extra body. She’s so dramatic, so cute.
Immediately points to you, wiggling her brows suggestively as she motions for you to follow her.
“I’ll even dress them myself~”
And she proceeds to take you to a room alone and watch as you happily undress. You’re comfortable with her, why not?
Meanwhile, Velvette is dripping in sweat and trying not to straight up moan at the sight of you so bare and vulnerable before her.
“You okay? You look like you don’t feel good.” You feel her forehead as if checking for a fever and she wants to slap you rn bc hello?! She’s literally in love with horny asf for you and you think she’s sick? Satan, help her.
And when her words fail her, she goes to plan B- kissing you right on the mouth.
It’s one of those kisses that starts tense and awkward but is easy to melt into.
“Oh.” Is all you can get to come out of your mouth once you part and this makes Velvette huff in frustration once again.
She goes on a tangent about her feelings and how frustrated she is with you. She’s like lowkey scolding you as she confesses her love and attraction for you.
By the end of it you’re a bright red, stuttering mess of embarrassment and adoration for her.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve been..very into you this whole time too.” You finally admit it.
“You’re adorable, truly you are. I love you but for FUCK’S SAKE, (Y/N)!”
a/n — Upset because tumblr took the yellow font option away from me. It would went so well, what the fuck guys.
warnings — not fluff but not angst, kinda just a really gay fight scene, homoerotic rivalries, so I guess implied fem reader, no pronouns though, mentions of blood, unhealthy relationships
summary — Each year on extermination day, you and Lute face off. Whilst ignoring growing feelings for you, she trains to best you in your next fight.
You were a good fighter. Lute knew that. However, it wasn’t rare that after a year of training for the extermination, she happened to forget just how good.
When she trained, she thought of you. You and your playful attitude despite fighting and almost being bested by an angel soldier. But, it was the fact you could keep up with her that drove her nuts.
It wasn’t like she was obsessed, though. She hated you the perfectly normal amount for a rival. From your soft lips and how your teasing smile looks against them, to your fighting stance and how you look with a bloody nose.
After hours, she’d think to herself, i’d like to see that demon try to win against this. And of course she’d be fully prepared for victory against you.
However, just like every year, she remembered how good you were at first sight.
You stood fending off angels and helping smaller demons into cubbyholes to hide out. She grimaced, flying down to meet you.
Your concentrated face faltered into a reassured smile when you saw her, “‘bout time you showed up, angel.”
The nickname made her sick to her stomach. She frowned. Well, it definitely her feel something in the pit of her stomach.
“Don’t think i’d skip a chance at finally taking you and your vile demon kind down. Think you can keep up this time, demon?”
You laugh slightly, walking closer to her, “Aw, look at that. I get my very own nickname too. How cute.”
Anger shoots through her and she lunges at you with her spear. Quickly, you dodge and roll underneath it, skidding to a stop by a nearby pile of debris.
C’mon, you think, there’s gotta be something here to fight with.
Lute doesn’t wait to access your position, instead once again thrashing her spear towards you.
You duck out of reflex and jump out of the way, “Fighting your opponent when they’re empty handed? Scared what i’ll do with a weapon, Lute?”
Your teasing doesn’t go unnoticed. In fact, she fully stops and looks around for a weapon, still keeping an eye on you.
Then her gaze shifts back towards your stance. Just when you think she’s going to jump for you, she passes you.
Turning around quickly, not wanting a knife in the back, you see her. Her arm is extended towards you, offering an exorcist spear.
“Are you blind? It was right behind you,” she begins to circle you slowly.
Your eyes follow her and you guard yourself, trying hard not to leave any weak spots exposed.
“Well, no need for the suspense then. You want a fair fight or what?” You smile, cracking your knuckles and rolling your neck.
She tosses the spear towards you. You catch it in one hand and barley have time to position yourself before she’s on you again.
Jabbing her weapon at you, you block eloquently and shoot for her stomach. She just barely dodged the attack and looks up at you momentarily.
Your spear meets hers with a clank and you shift forward to push her back.
“So how’s heaven?” you ask casually, smiling far too brightly as your weapons slam together.
She adjusts her position, feet moving to the side and aiming her spear for your gut. You jump away and she moves towards you.
“Better than this god forsaken place,” she concludes, stalking towards you as you continue to barely block her attacks, “Stop distracting me, demon. You know you can’t win.”
“Uh-huh. Just trying to make conversation, sweetheart.” She scoffs at the name and charges you with more aggression. “Careful, your sides exposed.”
She looks to her stomach area to see if you were correct in your analysis. You were, but she didn’t have time to process that thought when you take the moment to make a shallow cut on the side of her cheek.
Lute jumps back startled, and for a moment, you actually look sorry. Before you can say anything, she starts circling you once again.
“Nice trick, demon filth. Now try to block this,” she uses her wings to lift her up, flying down at you and attacking from about three feet above you.
In the most literal way possible, she had the higher ground. You don’t let it show.
Swiftly blocking her hits you manage, “Oh ‘demon filth.’ That’s a new one, very cute. Should we try out ‘honeybuns’ next?”
Lute groans loudly, dropping her wings slightly and tripping you up with her spear, making you fall flat on your ass, “We are not a couple! Stop playing mind games and fight me.”
Her voice had that excited aggression in it that coated her sentence in an angry rasp. She aims her spear at the ground where you lay and throws it.
You roll out of the way swiftly. Thank god, Lute can’t help but think. However, her gratitude fades away when you grab her weapon from out of the ground.
Running toward her, she backs away, considering what her next attack should be. However you stop in your tracks directly in front of her and offer her spear up to her directly.
There was not distance between you too as she grabbed the weapon, hands staying on yours for far too long.
“So we aren’t a couple? Because I think we’d be a match made in heaven,” You smile weakly, worn out from the fight.
Unlike usual, your jokes draws no reaction from her, only a blank confused stare. You both breathe loudly as you look at each other, silence overtaking the both of you while you catch your breath.
“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” She blinks, gravel in her voice from shouting.
“Nowhere of consequence.”
“You keep up with exterminators in battle. I—“ she breathes, brows furrowing irritably, “I have to know.”
“Well then,” your thoughts wonder to a moment only seconds before. ‘We are not a couple! Stop playing mind games and fight me.’
She was right, of course. You weren’t dating. What you had was simply a rivalry. Nothing more. Nothing less. After all, you were just trying to kill each other
“Get used to disappointment.”
a/n — expanding the rival sinner reader and Lute universe because i’m obsessed with her and already have another fic in mind.
Anyways, stand back Vox and Alastor, you and life’s rivalry is way more intense and queercoded.
OH ALSO the title and last line is a princess bride reference sorry not sorry.
Hello! I recently found your blog through you Lute stuff and because I'm unreasonably gay for that woman, I have a hurt/comfort idea for you.
Lute picking at/pulling her feathers out when she's stressed/upset and her partner (maybe even f!sinner 👀) just gently stopping her and running her fingers over the wings to soothe the pain from it. All while reassuring Lute that she's okay, she's safe and she's perfect.
That's all, thank you for your time and your writing!
you up for a fight? —
827 Words,, Lute x reader
warnings — hurt/comfort, mention of rivalry, light angst, nothing too heavy, not entirely proofread
summary — Lutes rivalry with a sinner is put on hold when she can’t find them one extermination day. Fearing the worst, she freaks out and looks for them.
a/n — Anyways I made it my rival sinner au because I wanted too and felt like it sorry brother.
She couldn’t find you. After a whole year of waiting to fight you, fuck, to see you, she couldn’t find you.
You were her rival, and only that. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t getting worked up over your disappearance. She trained to fight you, a talented sinner, and best you. But she didn’t expect her favorite demon opponent to be gone without a trace.
Lute felt a loss for air, at your absence. She zipped throughout the entire ring, scavenging for any trace of you. Had some other angel got to you? Were you hurt? Was it worse than hurt?
Her breath started to hitch and her soldier attitude dropped into panicked hysterics. And her thirst for victory against you became a desperate need to see you in tact and in good health.
Finally, she dropped into an empty building near your usual meetup spot. It was completely abandoned, making it the perfect spot to collect herself.
However, she did the exact opposite. The pressure on her to be the perfect soldier had finally became too much and she was spiraling.
Gasping for air, pacing the empty space, and picking at her feathers to no avail. You were dead, she thought. You were gone for good and it’s all because she didn’t get there first. So much for being an amazing soldier. God she was a screwup. How could she let this—
“Lute?”
She stopped in her tracks, turning to you slowly, and running towards you, “Y/n!”
You brace for combat, expecting a strike with her spear or a blow to your head, but instead, find her arms thrown around your neck.
“I thought you were gone,” she said loudly, voice breaking, “That some cunt angel got to you or— or—“
“Hey, it’s okay. Lute, fuck.” you take a moment to adjust to the soft touch, considering it to be a trap, before finally wrapping your arms around her waist, “I’m here, I’m safe, it’s alright.”
You weren’t expecting such a warm welcome in all honesty. And, a part of you mourned the loss of a fight. However, your heart went out to Lute and her strong reaction.
There was no denying that on a certain level, you two were extremely close. How many years have you been trying to kill each-other? Obviously enough for one of you to be crying at the thought of anyone else finishing the job.
And, there was no denying you’ve had softer moments before. Well, nothing to this extent but, just soft enough to form some kind of emotional bond.
“All because—“ her voice is rough and raspy, but thick with tears and anguish, “—because I wasn’t quick enough. I couldn’t find you, it’s my fault.”
She pulled back from you and paced slightly as she rambled on about ‘not being good enough’ and her fingers picked roughly at her feathers.
“Hey—“ you try but fail to get her attention, “Hey! Stop!” your hand grabs hers and stops it from moving. Meeting her eyes, you take her other hand much more gently and caress her knuckle.
“You’re doing perfect. You didn’t do anything wrong, Lute.” her eyes widen as she looks at you, face still stroked with tears, “You are good enough. I mean— fuck. You found me, right?”
You smile slightly her way, earning an empty stare. Instead, you pull her into another hug and caress her back softly.
“I’m proud of you, yknow? After all, takes a lot to get someone actually excited for extermination day,” she buries her faces in your neck as you speak, “It’s alright. We’re alone. We don’t have to fight, we can just take it easy.”
Then, like a switch was flipped, she snaps her body away from you. For a moment, just meeting your eyes, she breathes softly. Finally, she snaps out of what ever panic she was in, well, to the best for her ability, and brushes herself off.
Clearing her throat, she grimaced. “I apologize for that outburst, demon. I guess i’ve had a stressful day,” she looks up at you as if remembering something urgent, “Oh, and I didn’t mean whatever I said. Hysterics.”
She went to clarify more but she felt it stupid, What would she say? ‘Oh yeah, I wasn’t actually worried about you dying. In fact I want you dead!’ Not only was that tacky, it wasn’t entirely true.
You stopped her from furthering this, “It’s fine, Lute. You were upset. I won’t hold you to it. And hey, if you are in better spirits and don’t mind me asking, are you up for a fight?”
She almost smiled at this thought. Fighting was something she knew, unlike the terrible feeling she just had. It was almost as if the sentence was perfectly calculated to comfort her.
Before she drew her weapon she could feel the smile spreading on her face. Was she up for a fight? The answer was simple; with you, always.
a/n — I’m so sleepy, I proofread this but i’m so tired I literally don’t know if it’s coherent.
Hi its me again 💖 how are you doing? When you have time can you write something about Velvette (our queen) x f reader? They being friends but doesn't matter how much Velvette flirt with her, she never notice? You know when a person is so slow taking hints until is saying directly? This will frustrated a lot to Velvette
Pd:i love your art, they are amazing ❤️
.•velvette HC•.
.•velvette x clueless!reader
.•warnings!: fluff! Cuss words! Some smut
.•the idea of a clueless reader and a flirtzy velvette has me going FERAL also thank you darling your the best!!
•velvette definitely isn’t subtle with hints that she likes you.
•she drops them like a crazy soccer mom
•she gets you coffee every morning, makes special clothing lines dedicated to you, say I LOVE YOU and calls YOU pet names and you still don’t get she’s in love with you.
•she gets so frustrated when you don’t get hints, if she gets you flowers you’ll just say their pretty and set them in a vase and go back to work and her face goes bright red with frustration.
•”darling are you blind” she says turning her head towards you with a hand on her head “what?” You pause and just stand there dumb founded
•”I’ve been dropping hints to you that I’ve liked you for a year now. But that thick beautiful skull of yours can’t get it threw” even if she was angry with you she can’t be mean
• “velvette I-i..” she stuck and hand up shutting you up “just…forget I even said anything”
•”vel wait, I didn’t know you liked me” and just sniffled and smiled a little “I got you flowers every week and got you coffee every morning before work I mean for Satans sack I memorised your meal at your favourite lunch place” she turned her head to face you
•your face was bright red and had tears running down you face “really..velvette no one’s ever treated me so good” you basically tackled her to the ground
•burying your head in her neck and kissing her cheek
•she couldn’t help but giggle at your actions
•”I can’t help but take it…you like me too?” You giggled and just nuzzle back into her neck “of course I do dummy”
•let’s just say your guys relationship was a shocker to the internet and it was a shock to Valentino that velvette got threw your dense head
.•im so sorry it took this long for met to get this done
.•if it’s not how you imagined it I’m very sorry and I can do it again if you please!
Hi! How are you? You can write something about Velvette x reader, being reader a famous pop singer in hell. They followed mutually in social media before and one day they have the chance to work together for a show what ends in they dating after a time? You can take it in the direction you prefer. Thanks 💖
.•PINK WINGS•.
•.~Velvette x pop star! Reader
•.~Warnings,: cussing!, fluff!, that’s really all
•.~ What’s an amazing idea!, tried my best on this one hope it’s too your liking
The end of a long first show, being all dolled up in reds and blacks with you hair tied up so it easier for you to sing and not having to eat your hair while your performing, you sat in front of your vanity looking at yourself the makeup the crew had done now all sweaty and worn down and the chocker that was gifted to you by Velvette a social media overlord that you were mutuals with on hellsta,
*Ding* your phone light up showing the picture of you and your helldog, picking your phone up it was a notification from velvette “Best girl I know!, born for the stage!” It was a post a picture of you on the stage you had just performed on. how sweet, you smiled to your self, you posted the post on your story saying “Thanks babes! 💕” you giggled as you watched your story flood with likes, setting your phone down you got out of your performance wear and changed into some flared black pants and a crop top that was white and had a graphic drawing of wings on the back with your stage name under neath, letting your hair down you sighed in relief and grabbed your bag and phone and headed back to your apartment.
Walking down hells streets you got a DM from Velvette “Hey sugar! Yeah know I could always collab with ya, wear my outfits and perform fashionably” you cracked a smile what a dream it wasn’t something knew of Velvette sending you DMs you guys were social media besties, you would shit on the same people and tag each other in it.
Walking up the stairs you unlocked your door and set you bag down on the floor and flopped onto the couch, you thought of what to say, it wasn’t a bad idea velvette was a fashion icon and you were a pop star so it wasn’t like you had to think twice, you let your fingers type away, your black finger nails hitting the screen creating a tapping sound as you did so, “Yeah know, not a bad idea hun what ya got planned?” It wasn’t till a matter of seconds till velvette replied back “How about we meet up tomorrow at my studio and while plan it together ;)” you couldn’t help but giggle and feel a hit of small heat on your cheeks at her winky face, “Sure I’ll be there by 10” you replied getting off the couch and going to your room to get ready for bed knowing tomorrow is gonna be a long day.
*Ring*…..*Ring*….*RING!* your alarm clock went off, rolling over pressing the stop checking the time, your eyes light up as you saw it was 9:40, “SHIT WHAT THE FUCK” you said rushing out of your bed falling in the process, getting back up you rushed over to your closet and put on some pants and a off the shoulder sweater, you quickly put your hair up and grabbed your sunglasses and put them on, rushing out the door you almost forgot your phone, picking it up you saw a message from Velvette “Were are you at?, don’t tell me you slept in” you could hear her eye roll.
You were basically running to her studio, you finally meet the doors of her modelling place we’re all the “Magic happens” she says, opening the doors you were faced with a angry Velvette yelling at the models to ‘Hurry up and grab the racks’, you walked in and her head immediately snapped towards you, all the anger flushed away now a big smile painted on, “Darling!” She grabbed your hands and spun you “You look like a pop-star running away from the paparazzi” she giggled, you chuckled and rushed a quick “I knowww” tucking your hair back velvette pulled you over to the racks that were freshly put out by the models “Don’t be scared darling go stand up there” she pointed to a small platformed area with purple and black shutters around it leaving an open space for her to see you “So with your songs you go for more flashy reds and blacks how about blacks and pinks this time yeah?” She suggested looking through the rack “Uhhh yeah I don’t think my fans would mind maybe they’ll like it, who knows” you chuckled.
Velvette grabbed a piece of clothing and held it up to your body “Mmmm this will do put it on baby” baby what did she say, baby? That was different you flushed a light pink “Y-yeah sure” looking at the clothing it was a black leather bodysuit with a zipper in the front and with pink angel wings on the back, this girl knew your modo was based around lustful angels, you were snapped back into reality with Velvette putting black leather boots that were thighed “Here and these” you looked at them and put them on they increased your height by an inch “done” you opened the shutters to show her, her face was stunned no model she has could ever look as good as you right now “Oh my god, my models could never darling, wait is that the chocker I gifted you” you had a confused look till you touched your neck “Oh I guess I never took it off” she smirked “Are you taking a liking to me baby” she spat out with a sweet tone, she was so close to you you could feel her breath on your neck “I-i uh I just like it” she chucked and pulled you to her chair and sat you down, “How about we do pink shadow with a black liner for tonight? Would fit your eyes perfectly” you nodded she went to work on getting your face ready by the time it was done, it was already 2:00 a clock, shit your show starts in 2 hours.
“Hey Velvette? My show start in 2 hours can we start heading there” she paused “God dammit I haven’t even done your hair yet FUCK!” She was getting hot head at a model for not telling her the time, as you grabbed your glasses and pulled Velvette out of the studio “Hey honey, you can do my hair at the place but right now we gotta go.” You looked at her and got in the limo that was outside waiting on you guys, she let a simple ‘Fine’ and got in sitting next to you.
After about 20 minutes of Velvette yelling at the driver to and I quote ‘HURRY THE FUCK UP YOU SLOW BITCH’ you guys finally got there Velvette rushed you in as fast as she could and seated you on the chair, she went to town doing your hair, she put It up and a high puffy ponytail and fixed up your makeup just a little till your producer
yelled “2 minutes till show time name!” You looked up at Velvette and got up from the chair, she grabbed your hand and put her other on your cheek “Your gonna do amazing baby cakes, you got this now kick some drunken no good sinners asses” you giggled she just kept staring at you as you did to, you felt your face getting hot as she rubbed a thumb on your cheek, she leaned in to kiss you until. “COME ON NAME NOW!” You flinched as your producer yelled at you.
You gave Velvette an apologetic smile and rushed to grab the microphone and step on stage taking your place, you took one last sigh and the curtains opened and your music started to play.
The music took you in letting your voice flow dancing in between the pauses, breathing getting harder and your breath getting hotter, you spotted velvette with her phone up recording you taking in your sweet presence, you stepped down and continued to sing making your way down stage to her your steps hot and smooth, your hips swaying to the beat, you met her face. As you sang the last lyric your face was inches away from hers feeling each others hot breath on your faces, velvette just chuckled and pulled you in by your chocker, she pressed her lips hard into yours, it felt like heaven and she tasted like candy and beelzebud, she parted lips letting you take heavy breaths, “Look at you baby, making a scene just to announce your mine” she chuckled pecking you cheek grabbing your hand “Lets go home yeah baby cakes?”.
She rushed you guys out of the bar and took a taxi back to her place, making it to her room but not without Valentino a vox eyeing you guys down and smirking at velvette, “welcome to your new place baby cakes” she said walking over to her closet she took out a pair of black shorts and a white off the shoulder sweater of hers and tossed it to you, “here wear those, we’ll go to your apartment tomorrow to get your stuff” you smiled and held the clothes given to you, walking to her bathroom you started to yell “so you think now that we’re together we’re living with each other”
You finished and got out of the bathroom “well duh baby cakes, I’m not having my girlfriend live without, that’s just wrong” she said waving a hand looking up from her phone, “look people are already going wild about are knew statement tonight” she chuckled giving you her phone, it was tons of compliments and dirty comments about you and your sexy outfit tonight, some were just sweet things say “awww there adorable together” and others….lets not speak about it.
You sat down on the bed giving the phone back to velvette “wow…thats uh a lot of people” she could tell you were overwhelmed “hey baby” she put her hand on your back and brought you into a laying down position with her, “don’t worry about it baby cakes, your gonna be okay, we’re gonna be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you princess” she played with your hair until you calmed down
She was warm you couldn’t deny it, and the way she was playing with your hair just made you feel so…comfortable, *yawn* velvette looked down at your sleepy state, “don’t worry darling go to sleep” she spoke in that sweet tone again, she kept playing with your hair until she heard soft breaths come from your mouth.
•.~ Wow that was long, I enjoyed writing this I’m not gonna lie!, it was quite pleasant I feel my inner pop star coming out, and of course I had to use a classic are one and only lady gaga
Hi! How are you? Can you write some Carmilla x house wife? Sometimes Carmilla is worry for her wife being helpless but she forget that the reader end in hell for killing her husband when they were alive(?
Carmilla x FEM!Housewife!reader
Warnings: Probably ooc, not proofread (as always), mentions of murder
//I'm doing great, thanks! And btw ty for sending this request, I love Carmilla 😈//
//Enjoy your reading!//
• Since you and Carmilla got married she's always been protective of you.
• She knows that you went to Hell for killing your husband, but sometimes she forgets about it.
• She tries to help you in everything.
• And Lucifer, forbid leave you alone, she would be too worried!
• Especially since you act kind and gentle all the time, it almost feels unreal that someone like you could be in Hell!
• Once a Sinner tried to break in Carmilla's mansion and steal some weapons.
• She ran there, to stop the them.
• Then, when she walked in, she saw you.
• Your dress was all bloody and you held a knife.
• Then you turned to her with a sweet grin.
• "Hi honey, how was work?" You ask her as you drag the sinner's body out.
• She felt flabbergasted, but tried not to show it.
My beloved Sophie, you will never read this. On the bottom shelf of the bookcases built into the far wall of my bedroom here in Cirenworth—Cirenworth! you say, but ah, I will explain—are my diaries, in all shapes and forms, from leatherbound quartos of heavy ivory pages to spiralbound ruled notebooks for children to use in school. There are gaps, sometimes of years, and a few that have been lost or damaged, or whose paper was never intended to last as long as I have lived. But each of them is written to someone—I never understood “Dear Diary,” as though Diary were a person I might want to know my thoughts. But you, of course, I do wish to know. And it has been many decades, Sophie, since I have started one of these diaries and addressed it to you. But today brings a fresh start in a new volume, a lovely little book of swirly Florentine paper, and so I address it to you:
Hello, Sophie Lightwood, née Collins, my first true friend in London. You have been gone so long. And yet it also seems only a moment; I turn and see your graceful figure as you hurry down the hall with a basket in your arms, or the way you smiled when you said you were allowed to speak to Will however rudely you liked (and he did deserve it at the time!) or the way you laughed with Gideon over scones.
So: Cirenworth. I live here with Jem now, you know. He is no longer a Silent Brother—well, that is not relevant to my entry today so I suggest you consult one of the earlier diaries to catch up and come back when you’re done. And we have just been visited by his cousin Emma Carstairs, and her paramour, Julian Blackthorn. (Don’t worry; the Blackthorns of his generation are quite kind and friendly!) She has been keeping a diary herself, to record their restoration of Blackthorn Hall in Chiswick, which has remained mostly unoccupied all this time and has fallen into ruin. (Well, further ruin, I suppose.) And, of course, that old pile of bricks has all kinds of magical problems that they’re having to sort out, although of course they were also eager to see us—Jem and I, and Mina and Kit.
Yes, I’m a mother again, Sophie, and that makes me miss you. How good it was to have you by my side in those early days. I remember one evening, when there was a gathering at the Institute—some sort of party, it doesn’t matter, but James was a baby and Thomas was a baby. Someone, maybe old Lysander Gladstone, was trying to engage us in conversation, and I remember we fell asleep against one another right there on the loveseat, and the babies too. When we woke up it turned out Lysander had been highly offended and Will had had to explain to him about babies and new mothers. And we both startled because the children were gone, but of course Will and Gideon had come and retrieved them and put them in the nursery, and let us nap together there.
I miss those moments with you.
Mina is only a toddler, and Jem’s daughter, and thank the Angel she has something of his temperament. It has been a long time since I had to chase a little one across the dining room floor, but she is sweet-natured and easygoing, most of the time. And we have an older son, Kit, who came to live with us after his father was killed. He is a distant relation in the Herondale line, but he does not feel distant at all. He completes our family in a way I could not have imagined, and in a way I’m sure he never expected. He is also a teenager, and he had his own life before he came to us, so between those truths he often keeps things to himself. And so—as one does with teenagers—I worry about him. He has friends—even a girlfriend, if I’m correct in my observations—and he loves Mina with a fierceness that often surprises even him. But there is a heaviness in the way he carries himself sometimes, a sadness that he won’t, or can’t, speak to us about. And maybe it is only that he’s faced so much loss so young, but I can’t help the feeling there’s something more.
I do want to tell you more about Kit, and where he came from—it’s all much more dramatic than you’re probably imagining—but it is late and I can talk to you about Kit anytime. I wish instead to digress and tell you about Julian and Emma’s visit.
They are pulling at the knots of a few mysteries regarding Blackthorn Hall—a curse on the house that dates back to guess who, Benedict Lightwood (I know, Sophie, who could have guessed). And a ghost, benign but faint and unidentified, probably trapped by the curse. There are a whole set of objects, it seems, connected to the curse, and the ghost told them to bring one of them here to Cirenworth—hence their visit, though as I say, I don’t think they minded an excuse to see Kit or Mina.
We were washing up after supper and Jem—you know how Jem is—said straightaway to them, well, let’s see these objects you found.
Julian fetched them from his bag and put them on the counter: a silver-plated whisky flask, quite tarnished, and a dagger, also quite banged up by time. Neither meant much to me at first—as you’ll know, both flasks and daggers are very common in London Shadowhunter homes, even today—but Jem recognized the weapon immediately.
He pointed at the inscription on it and read out, “I wanted so much to have a gleaming dagger, that each of my ribs became a dagger.”
Both Julian and Emma fairly goggled at him. (I also think they don’t realize that Jem does things like this precisely so people will goggle at him; he only pretends to be perfectly dramatic by nature.) “You know it?” said Julian, while at the same time Emma said, “You read Farsi?”
“I’d recognize it anywhere,” Jem said. “It belonged to my cousin, Alastair Carstairs, though it came to him from his mother’s family.”
“The ghost said to bring it here,” Emma said. “To bring it home.”
Jem picked up the flask, which turned out to have a monogram on it. “Oh my,” he said, his voice quiet, and showed me the initials.
My poor dear Matthew. He came into my mind immediately, with his laughing eyes and his bright smile. Julian said they’d already figured out it was his. But that was very strange, I pointed out, because if Benedict was responsible for the curse, he was dead almost ten years before Matthew was even born. Julian started to say it didn’t make sense to them either, and was part of the mystery still. But then there was a sudden loud clicking, which turned out to be the Sensor they had with them that their brother Ty modified for ghosts. (Ty is a whole other fascinating topic, Sophie, but he will have to wait for another day.) They—I mean Shadowhunters in general, not just Julian and Emma—are still using Henry’s demon Sensor invention all these years later!
The Sensor led us to the library. Emma seemed dubious.
“Come on,” she said to the Sensor. “I’m sure the Cirenworth library has been haunted for years.”
“Not to my knowledge,” Jem said. “Although there are houses in the English countryside where if you brought that thing inside it would howl like a police siren. Cirenworth has been well-maintained continually and the owners have always been very thorough about ghosts.”
Using a Sensor to find a ghost is not quite like using it to find a demon. You can tell you’ve found a demon because, you know—the demon is standing there. With ghosts it’s much more a game of “hotter” and “colder,” and eventually we all agreed the clicking was loudest in front of one particular shelf. We took the books down from that shelf and lay them on the table and checked them with the Sensor, and the winner was a quarto book bound in leather. Nothing on the spine, but a quite beautiful compass rose etched into the front.
We opened it, and when I saw the inside, I gasped. And I knew I would be writing this new diary of mine, to you. You would know it yourself—cramped, neat handwriting, with a strong leftward slant, and entirely in Spanish. It was your son’s journal, of course. Thomas’s. My heart! My memories raced back to you holding him, such a small child (who grew to be such a tall broad-chested man!).
Emma was looking through it. This was the first she’d heard of Thomas, perhaps (there are still Lightwoods around, never fear, but they live in New York), so of course she didn’t have the sentimental reaction Jem and I did. “The problem, of course,” she said, “is that my Spanish is terrible.”
So then Julian of course teased her a little, because Emma’s best friend Cristina is from Mexico City. Emma said that was the problem, whenever she needed to read or say anything in Spanish Cristina could just help her.
“Do we need it translated?” Julian said. “We don’t know that it has anything to do with the curse or the ghost. The flask was just a flask as far as we know, right?”
Jem was shaking his head, though. He put the flask and dagger down next to the book and gave them a look. “I don’t know if you realize it, but these three objects all come from the same era. The owners of all three were the same generation and almost the same age. They were all friends.”
And then I could see all of them in my mind—Thomas, Matthew, Alastair, but also Christopher and Cordelia and my own James and Lucie. It was all so long ago, but I could call up their faces as though it were yesterday. As I can call up yours, Sophie. I looked at Jem and I could tell he was thinking the same thing, but all he said to Julian and Emma was, “It can’t be a coincidence. But Benedict Lightwood never knew any of them, he’d been dead for years by then. Are you sure he’s the one responsible for the curse?”
Emma said they were fairly sure—that they’d been reading a diary they’d found in the house that spelled it out. Whose? Oh, Sophie, you have already guessed. Tatiana Blackthorn’s.
“She was about our age, I think,” Julian said. “Maybe a little younger. He told her about the curse and the objects.”
I think Emma saw the expression in my face and Jem’s. “Did they…” She touched the flask, the dagger, the book, one after the other. “Matthew, Alastair, Thomas, did they know Tatiana Blackthorn?”
“She knew them,” Jem said darkly.
“She hated them,” I explained. “She hated all our families—the Herondales, the Carstairs, the Fairchilds. And the other Lightwoods. She became…rather more and more unpleasant as time went on. More and more obsessed, I might say, with harming us.”
Julian had been looking into the distance. Now he suddenly turned to take in the objects on the table. “She changed the enchantment,” he said. “She replaced some of the objects. Maybe all of them.”
Clever Julian! We all knew at once it was the likely answer.
“Why, though?” said Emma. “Maybe some of the things Benedict used were lost.”
When Jem spoke, his voice was harder than I’m used to hearing it. “I don’t know how she comes across in her journal. When she was younger she was more mild. But in Tatiana’s heart was a terrible, grasping desire for power. For control. There need not have been anything wrong with Benedict’s curse, for Tatiana to have wanted to make it hers.”
He was right, my dear Sophie, and his words filled my heart with dread. Tatiana cannot hurt Julian and Emma. She is long gone. But she reaches out from the years past to bring her evil even to today. Whomever this ghost is at Blackthorn Hall, I pray, at least, that it is no one that we loved.
—Tienes que cuidarte a ti mismo Río de la plata —advirtió con severidad el rubio inglés— no puedes confiar en nadie más que en ti mismo cuando estás en el mar. Una vez que te das la vuelta todos te odian y te atacaran.
Martín oía fascinado las historias que Arthur le relataba mientras bebían vino que el inglés guardaba en sus bodegas sentados en el suelo. Al principio él podía parecer algo serio, algo que nunca podrías alcanzar aun si lo intentabas pero cuando bebía se ponía más agradable y accesible, era así como él rioplatense podía sacarle sus viejas historias.
Martin bebió un poco del vino ofrecido e hizo una mueca, era muy amargo pero no quería rechazar la buena voluntad de su compañero y hacer que se fuera.
—¿Todos ellos? Francia me cayó bien la última vez que estuvo acá. Me regaló muchas cosas.
Martín se encogió de hombros y Arthur solto una risa seca antes de negar frunciendo un poco el ceño mientras hacía una mueca.
—That Frog...he's the worst than the others, don't trust him.
Arthur se levantó del suelo sacudiéndose la ropa y le hizo una seña a Martin con la cabeza
—vamos, levántate de ahí. Prometi enseñarte como manejar el timón para volver a puerto, ¿No es así?
Martin se levantó emocionado sacudiendo el polvo de su ropa antes de apurarse e ir tras él, siguiéndolo hasta el timón.
—¿Frog? Eso no es como...¿sapo? ¿rana?. —inquirió curioso— ¿Está bien que lo llames así? Pense que eran amigos
—Me and him? Ja! —se burló con gracia, como si hubiese sido una buena broma— ni en un millón de años, ademas, el me ha llamado por peores nombres
Martin decidió no volver a tocar el tema, temiendo cometer un error. Por un momento se había olvidado que él estaba en guerra con Francia, además de que estaba aun algo sensible porque sus 13 colonias se habían independizado de él. En su lugar volvió a insistir con las aventuras de ultramar del inglés, dejándose llevar por las historias y como Arthur gentilmente le corregía la posición de sus manos en el timón al manejarlo para volver a puerto.
Ingenuamente, Martin pensó que si fuera así para siempre todo estaría bien porque le encantaba su compañía y anhelaba cada día volver a verlo para pasar aunque sea unos minutos con él, pero de un momento a otro, sin que se percatara, se volvieron enemigos.
Las tropas inglesas invadieron Buenos Aires en un parpadeo, siendo dejados desprotegidos por un Virrey ausente y un ejército mal armado no les quedó otra opción más que rendirse. Aun así, no todo estaba perdido. Sebastián y su gente desde Montevideo le ayudaron a recuperar lo que era suyo en cuestión de pocos meses pero en todo ese tiempo nunca pudo ver a Arthur para preguntarle qué estaba pasando y porqué hacía todo esto.
Un año pasó y el clima era tenso, Liniers inició una organización de milicias urbanas para defender la ciudad ante la posibilidad de nuevos ataques y el aun no podía obtener respuestas ni de Arthur ni de Antonio, ambos lo habían dejado a su suerte, sin respuestas desesperandolo aún más. No sabia porque Arthur hacia lo que hacía y no sabia porque Antonio no les brindaba ayuda si se suponía que ellos eran importantes para él.
Cualquier cosa, se dijo Martin, cualquier noticia de alguno de ellos necesitaba para estar en paz. Saber dónde estaban para intentar hablar con ellos, pero la siguiente noticia que obtuvo de uno de ellos no fue buena.
Por medio de Sebastian, se enteró que ahora las tropas inglesas habían invadido Montevideo y que seguramente planeaban seguir hasta Buenos Aires otra vez. La voz se corrió rápidamente y enviaron tropas a Montevideo mientras se preparan para contraatacar, Martin no quiere creerlo, tal vez Arthur está siendo presionado por los reyes y no desea hacer todo esto. Es un deseo infantil e ingenuo que aún prevalece en su interior pero se extingue en el momento que se enfrenta cara a cara con Arthur en las calles bonaerenses, ambos con sus armas en mano.
—Arthur...por favor
La voz de Martin que por un momento pretendio ser firme tembló, y Arthur alzó su arma apuntándole. Al rioplatense se le hizo un nudo en el estómago al ver que el inglés no retrocederia, le dolió ver la mano que sostenía el gatillo quemada por, seguramente, el agua hirviendo que los vecinos arrojaban desde los balcones.
—i will not back down, you know it well
En ese momento donde ninguno apartaba la mirada del otro se sentía eterno, a pesar de los gritos y ruidos de disparos a su alrededor parecían estar solos ellos dos en ese callejón.
Con ambos apuntando sus armas el uno al otro, Martin entendió que ni él daría un paso atrás ni Arthur lo haría. El orgullo por defender su nación era tan grande como su terquedad. Al final, fue el inglés quien bajó su arma primero.
—I won't shoot you but don't get in my way
Arthur avanzó, pasando a su lado para seguir su camino pero se detuvo un momento para decirle algo por última vez.
—I told you not to trust anyone, including me —el inglés soltó un suspiró y siguió su camino— long live to the king, Rio de la Plata.
Apretó el arma en sus manos al oír como los pasos de Arthur se hacían cada vez más lejanos. Los casacas rojas nunca llegaron a la Plaza Mayor para tomar la ciudad, los patricios los esperaban en Santo Domingo y esa sería su perdición. Ellos ganarían, era todo lo que importaba en esos momentos, ya no importaba Arthur ni Antonio. Ellos lo habían dejado solo, y él estaba mejor así
Don’t worry about the parchment scroll yet, I’ll get to it at the end of the letter.
Hello from Chiswick! It’s pronounced like chizzick, it’s just outside central London, and it is a collapsing ruin. The house, I mean, not the neighborhood, which is cozy, a little suburban, lots of green space, quiet. You’d like it.
I should have been in touch before, I know that – and I’m sorry. We had to move fast to save this place and I knew a fire-message wouldn’t reach you. Blackthorn Hall may be a ruin, but it’s our family’s legacy, one of the very few things that we’ve inherited from Blackthorns past. I feel this sense of responsibility, a need to preserve the place for Tavvy and Dru, for Ty and Liv — well. You know.
It was us or the Clave, and they would have knocked it down and put something else in its place. It’s easily in bad enough shape that knocking it down would be the practical move. But it’s ours, and I kind of love it. I mean, if we don’t love it, who will? It can be truly beautiful again, I believe that. You should visit when you get a chance—all of you there are invited, of course—but be warned that if you come in the next couple of months you will be put to work.
This brings me to the parchment, which is the estimate and contract from the faerie builders for the renovation work on the house. I was hoping you and Kieran could look it over for faerie trickery, both in terms of whether their rates seem reasonable, and also to make sure they don’t get Tavvy if we’re late with payment, that kind of thing. They came highly recommended—they’re brownies? I think? They look like big garden gnomes. I mean, it’s probably the pointy hats. They could take them off, of course, but I guess they like them. They must know they look like garden gnomes. Anyway, they seem trustworthy and industrious and all that. But faeries do love tricking humans. Let me know what you think.
Oh, I should explain that there is one part of the house that is in all right shape and has all the “mod cons,” as they say here. It was redone in the Sixties and, well… it is groovy. The cons are Mod as well as mod. I am not sure you will get that joke but don’t worry about it, it was pretty stupid. The thing is, I’d never thought about it, but I realized this must have been fixed up by our grandparents. The timing works out. So this must be where Dad lived, once. And Uncle Arthur. It was where they grew up. And I realized: they, too, must have been groovy.
Arthur. Must have at one point. Been really groovy.
I just want you to sit with that for a moment, the way I did. It creates a feeling I believe to have never been felt before by any human being in the world.
You should see the clothes. I mean, really. You should see them. There’s a consignment shop’s worth of vintage stuff here and none of it suits me at all. You’re welcome to it but it is almost all synthetic fabrics and would not go over in Faerie itself.
Aaand I know I’m rambling. I was trying to avoid saying this, but there’s something about this house. It reminds me of some of the nights you and I used to ramble around the Institute back home. Which I know is weird, London couldn’t be more different than the Santa Monica Mountains — I miss the wildfire tang in the air, the smell of the chaparral and sage, the coarse dirt under our feet. (Do you miss it too? I feel like it has to be very different where you are in Faerie.) But there were plenty of times, especially when we were younger, when we’d tell ghost stories out there and scare ourselves that something was watching us. Maybe something was, though I’m inclined to think now that it was something friendly. Here in this house I get the same watched feeling, like there are eyes on me, shadows I see out of the corners of my own eyes that disappear when I turn around.
Anyway, I really wish you were here. I’d bring it up with Emma, but I don’t want to freak her out. She’s started the massive job of sorting through decades of papers and journals that used to belong to the people who lived here, and I’ve started painting the ballroom. I know Emma has been in touch with Cristina, please send my love to her and to K as well!
Your loving bro,
Julian
PS: I realize now I don’t know where this letter will find you, so let me clarify that “all of you are invited” from the LA Institute, not “all of you are invited” from the Unseelie Court.
Jem, Kit and I are so looking forward to your visit. In preparation, Kit has been attempting to teach Mina to say your name. She’s almost got it, but you may have to content yourself with being called “Agnes,” as she has trouble with the M — very trying for her as she is so advanced in her speech, just as you say Max was. You should have heard them in the kitchen this morning. “Who is coming to visit, Mina?” “Agnes!” I feel that your alter ego, Agnes, would wear sequins and be absolutely deadly at whist.
Thank you for your thoughts about the wards. I will look for labradorite at the gem store in Exeter. I tried what you suggested with the chickens—I was able to borrow a Blue Orpington from a neighbor on the last quarter moon. Since then chickens seem to be avoiding Kit, so maybe it will work on demons too? (Though can you really tell when a chicken is avoiding someone as opposed to just being a chicken?)
Jem and I are endeavoring to walk a narrow line, keeping Kit safe and hidden while also providing him with the most normal life we can. We don’t want to lock him away in a tower like a fairytale princess—he’d be miserable. And Mina would be miserable, she just adores him and rides everywhere on his back, clutching onto his shirt with her little hands. It reminds me of the way James and Lucie used to ride on Will’s shoulders. I suppose times change, but children never do.
We’re trying to allow Kit freedom wherever we can. He’s enrolled at the small school in the village, where a few of his friends know about the Shadow World and others don’t. There’s a local pack of werewolves who we’ve become friendly with, and some of their children go to school with him. I’ve begun to suspect that Kit has a girlfriend, but he’s secretive about it. (I guess that’s another thing that never changes about children—how secretive they are. I just hope he knows he can tell us anything. Especially related to demons, or in Kit’s case, the fey. A hundred and ten years later and I’m still edgy.)
He’s a puzzle, our Christopher Jonathan Herondale. About some things he’s opened up, and is willing to talk to Jem and me about them freely — his father, and what it was like growing up being able to see all sorts of peculiar things but not really understanding why. About being taught to fear Shadowhunters. About his concerns about his heritage — what it means, what kind of power he might have. I think it frustrates him, not knowing.
Other things he won’t talk about. We have asked him about Ty, as you and I discussed, but he’s like a brick wall about their friendship. Whatever happened he won’t speak of it. I think Livvy’s death hit him harder than we guessed, too. I’ve heard him call out her name in his sleep, always in this very despairing way. Sometimes he’ll say Not if you do this. Not if you do this, Ty. I feel like whatever they fought about, it must have been awful. But people can be terrible when they’re grieving; we both know that.
You can probably tell from everything I’ve said how much I — how much we — love Kit. I just love him, Magnus, like he was my own. He is my own. I’d kill anyone who wanted to hurt him, just as I would protect Mina or Jem with my life. I never thought I’d have this again, this perfect family I love so much it hurts. Strange after so many years to be so surprised by one’s own feelings — but I imagine it’s much the same for you, isn’t it? Speaking of which, I hope you and Alec and the kids are well. Please let Max know that we found his superhero cape—it was inside the piano.
I enclose a picture from your last visit here. How adorable they all are!
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