i just finished reading about iraestra so wand of twilight for her as well!
Wand of Twilight. Iraestra conjures a spirit from the land of the dead to speak to them.
FANTASY PROMPTS | @foxboyclit
Smoke floods the altar in fragrant plumes, the familiar taste of myrrh coating the back of Iraestra's throat uncomfortably. Her steps, purposefully measured and slow, sound monstrous in the cavernous wings of the ceremonial chamber. The peace is further broken by the occasional murmur of an invocation or rustling cloth. There has been no order given for silence, but the trepidation hanging heavy in the air as the incense enforces the command. They all wait in the lurch of a breathless hush, an animal instinct to a known threat. Still, so that the hunter is not enthralled by your fleeing. Anticipation before the blow.
Does their visitor scent the fear he instills in the air, like a hound? Does the chorus of thrumming hearts beckon to him like the call of war drums? Bodies, so many bodies for him to open and bleed.
Itaestra does not doubt that he often relishes it. Bhaalspawn are such curious, depraved half-beasts.
Prince of the Blood. A self-given title, perhaps, but she has heard the reverence Bhaal's faithful pour at his feet like wine libations. Their honored guest is heir to a butcher's legacy. She thinks him little more than a glorified killer draped in the dressings of grandeur.
Iraestra does not cower or draw back from him, but there is still an instinctual unease at the thought of a Bhaalspawn being familiar with her. The Dread Lord’s wicked heirs do not know friends, only warm bodies to bite with steel. The world to them is already dead, merely waiting to be torn asunder to show its truest color: the crimson of fresh spilt blood.
A hedonistic dogma. She holds her tongue due to the respect granted to Bhaal by her own unholy master.
She observes the preparations for the ritual with only half an eye, attention commanded by the ophidian silhouette haunting the edge of the room. What a disquieting picture he paints. His height causes him to loom terribly, heads and shoulders above the flock of mortal meat. He need not even draw his weapon to kill half the room should he wish it. Each finger is tipped with a talon that catches the candlelight with each of his clenching hand. When he had spoken, his teeth had stood out vividly against the stone-black gleam of his scales. The dried gore on his scales embrace him as intimately as any lover.
The wicked length of a barbed tail flickers in what may be a sign of agitation in his people, or merely a quirk of the extra limb. His attention is riveted on the altar. She half expects it to catch aflame.
She attempts not to concern herself with his growing impatience. Any fool can cast a spell to converse with the departed; a Myrkulite only does so at the behest of another and the blessings of the Bone Lord. She will not disregard the tenants of her faith even for this Prince.
"You're eager," she observes. The dragonborn has not left the corpse's side since it was brought to her. Curious. He must be thoroughly invested in the secrets it would spill. "It was good that you preserved the jaw. A wasted trip had you not," she stops by the head, only the breadth of a few steps between her and the Prince.
At that, he finally regards her. Even in his initial instructions he had been short with her. "What of a tongue?
"Is this a theoretical or practical query?" Short of the patience to wait for an answer, Iraestra snaps at one of the attendants. "Bone Talker, check the mouth."
Questing fingers find only half of the appendage still intact. If removed before death, exsanguination is as likely a cause as any.
"It will do," she decides. "I am ready to begin." Her attendants step back as one.
The body has been prepared as best they can given its mangled state. This man, who can be no older than twenty, bares the marks of a slow death. The skull, partially caved, rests unevenly on the cloth. He does not even look peaceful now, as the victims of violence rarely do.
She steps forward, hands rising from her sides. Iraestra readies herself to speak the ancient words.
"Alone," the Prince's clipped voice rings out clearly. Not a request. Demand.
Iraestra hisses her frustration. Better vexation, than dread. She knows the vestments of anger well, slips into them like a second skin. Her mouth twists, her shoulders draw tight. Her hands are half-formed claws in the air. She hears the pound of her own heart in her ears.
What is so important that it cannot be witnessed by the others? What is to be done with her, who will attend to the questioning herself?
"Mistress?" Every cowled head in the room turns to look at her. They hear the call for her death as vividly as she. One of the fools is brave enough to step towards her, as if they could truly do anything to intervene. She admires them for their stupidity.
The Prince watches her, well aware of what he asks for. Trust or faith or maybe both. Clearly, he is looking for a reaction. Will she falter, will she balk? Could he make a bouquet of the stench of her unease? He regards her with a snake's stare, eyes cold licks of fire. He does not blink.
If he thinks he can subdue her so easily, then he is sorely mistaken. She is drow. She is Oblodra. Her own mother's hands were the first to ever try to take her life. He will find no easy marks here today. Let him slake his thirsts elsewhere. There are other, weaker creatures for him to gorge himself on.
"Leave us," Iraestra does not take her eyes from the Prince. She does not speak or move again until the door clicks shut behind the last attendant. How awfully similar it sounds to the closing stone of a tomb.
She rounds on him, irritation clear. "Why did you ask for me?"
The Prince is the first to look away, back to her hands and then the body. Iraestra does not feel like she has won anything of merit. It is impossible to tell if he is pleased. "The Banite confides in you. I thought to do the same."
He does not give a name, nor does she ask for it. She wonders at what the Prince knows of her talks with the other Chosen.
"And what if his confidence is misplaced?" A theoretical. Her loyalty is not often brought into question. It is rare that she pledges it at all.
"Then I will kill you," the Prince simply states.
She laughs. That intention is only the natural conclusion of the dance. There is no greater aim for those of his depraved bent. "So you say. Did you not plan to do so already?"
His head tilts in a particularly reptilian gesture. His glittering eyes have found the pulse in her throat, her bare wrists. She cares not for his study. It feels too much like a physical caress, high beneath dress and robe. One hunger is not too different from another, and she supposes they may be frighteningly the same for him. Both indulgences of the flesh, in the end. "Do not tempt me. Your blood would spill sweetly on this floor."
Iraestra sneers. "Cast your fetid gaze elsewhere, brute. You will not find easy prey in me."
He chuckles darkly. "Of that I am sure. I would savor the challenge as much as anything else."
"I was under the impression that there were more pressing matters at hand, given your early insistence on haste."
"Time can always be afforded for pleasure, sorceress. Consider the feel of silk on the skin. The burst of fruit between teeth and the rush of the juice down your chin, the clench of a lover tight around you as they sob your name. That final, shuddering breath that flutters out of the throat at death. Do you not feel the drum of the heart in your own chest? Do you not wish to dance to it? If you are so indifferent to it, I could show you how to listen to it once more. To feel it." How reverently he speaks, as if he is at the shrine of his own father-god. His lids have nearly closed in rapture.
There's smoke in the dragonborn's mouth and anticipation in his words, thick enough to choke on. He whispers with the tongue of a snake, words dripping from the depravities he utters.
As mad as his sister, the shape-changer, Iraestra decides with disdain. The seed of Bhaal is truly cursed with madness, complete and true. It was preferable when he was barely acknowledging her presence despite demanding it in the first place.
"You have nothing that I desire." Were she younger, still a fool turned by a pretty face, she may have once allowed herself to be seduced by the offer. She ignores the answering hook of arousal low in her gut, focusing once more on the misshapen head on the pillow. Reminds herself of whose hands exactly have crushed it. There is much to do before she is ready for the grave. "Now, if you will allow me to get on with this, we may be each rid of the other before long."
“A pity that you deny yourself,” but he nods. “Perform your rites. Regretfully, I cannot linger for long.”
Iraestra does not regret that. She is exhausted and enthralled by him in equal measure. Let this be the first and last time she suffers his company.
She begins her prayer to the dead.
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Dead Boy Detectives has everything:
Co Dependent queer platonic tough to define Best Freinds who would and have gone to hell for each other. they have an office with a cupboard full of board games, and a long history of Noodle Incident cases of '04, and also a bunch of maneuvers with code names. They are also ghosts who solve mysteries for other ghosts.
One is a sassy well read diva in a stupid little bowtie. he keeps meticulous notes, and went to hell on a technicality. he has no rizz and has a sexual awakening at the hands (paws?) of a supernatural Cat King
the other is a cheerful happy bruiser, the brawn with a pocket demension only he can navigate in his backpack, a magic cricket bat, and wells of anger deep down
they team up with a cool psychic (whos also a pretty tree) dealing with her asshole abusive boyfriend who was literally a demon while also trying to restore her memories (she also has a hilarious hate off off with the nerdy one)
then they add a sweet shut in who isn't very brave but is very inquisitive and has excellent reading comprehension and is actually the most brave
and their landlady is a hot goth Sapphic butcher who is done with their shit (but not really)
and the main antagonist is a cunt serving witch with an iron cane chewing up the scenery, just camp queen obsessed with Beauty and Revenge as she should be
she turns her crow familiar into an astrology loving twink to honeypot the nerdy one but the crow catches feelings whoops
the cat king who deserves his own mention again. he's here to seduce a stuffy British detective/tease, cause problems on purpose, reluctantly help solve those problems and mostly slut it up.
a bureaucrat learns to VERY reluctantly embrace the beautiful power of friendship after being swallowed by a fish
its set in a gorgeous seaside town with a light house! and a malt shop!
because this is all A Scooby Doo homage!
It's an episodic Case Of The Episode format! with strong serialized elements!
and as if that wasn't enough there's even Death of The Endless.
what more could any person possibly want in a show.
oh and there's a lot of really interesting themes around internalized homophpbia, abusive relationships and trauma and toxic anger and learning to love and trust and help other people again in spite of and because of the bad parts.
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One Piece Monster Trio: Calling them husband when you're only dating
A random drabble I thought of after seeing a tik tok of this random girl calling her boyfriend husband. Enjoy the firstfruits of my madness >:)
Monkey D. Luffy
-You say it in passing to some random guy while apologizing for Luffy causing a scene and Luffy doesn't even realize.
-You're just like, "Sorry, my husband is a little excited," and now he's just trying to figure when the wedding was and if he missed your anniversary or not.
-Man is gaslit so hard he forgets that you aren't even married and somehow all the townspeople are suddenly referring to you as "the straw hats wife"
-After all, just like he will be the Pirate King you will be his wife.
-Only gets brought up when some lady asks to see your ring and Luffy starts freaking out when you say you don't have it.
-"Did you lose it during the fight?!"
-Man is actually sweating until you assure him you didn't because YOU NEVER EVEN HAD ONE.
-"Well, do ya want one?" After some blushing and nodding he tears off the drawstring to his hat and ties that around your left ring finger as a placeholder.
-You better start introducing yourself as the Queen of the Pirates.
Roronoa Zoro
-Sanji was making some comment under his breath about why a goddess like you chose to be with human shrek and before Zoro could even rerack the barbell to argue you were already defending him, "Don't talk about my husband that way you overcooked spaghetti haired-"
-Zoro is so shocked by the word 'husband' leaving your mouth he doesn't even recognize that the sass you'd exuded was borrowed from his own insults to the cook. The barbell just drops clean onto his chest and hes fighting for dear life to get it off.
-You've never lifted a weight in your LIFE so Sanji has to help you save him.
-Right after Sanji's yelling, Zoro is so quiet. He's just staring at you like you've got 3 heads.
-"Great, you broke him!" You yell when Sanji sees the dumb awe on Zoro's face.
-"You did that yourself, my dear. Look at the dumb look on your husbands face-" Now you're blushing and stammering because you realized what you'd said thinking you'd offended the swordsman.
-"Not my husband-"
-"Yet." Theres the tiniest smile on Zoro's face when he says it.
-HES LOOKING DEAD AT YOU TOO WHICH IS MAKING SANJI AUDIBLY GAG.
-"If you don't die from a barbell first."
Blackleg Sanji
-He calls you wife all the time but he never expects you to try to get him back for it.
-He's literally in the middle of serving dinner when one day you just drop, "Yeah, my hubby's the best cook!" After some rando Luffy had invited on the ship starts glowing about the taste.
-He hits the deck.
-Literally.
-But also the edge of the table on the way down.
-Chopper actually thinks hes had a heart attack because this man went TACHYCARDIC.
-Wakes up with a concussion and the ability to speak fluent french.
-You know he wakes up and starts mumbling nonsense like, "mon cher je suis honoré d’être votre seul et unique!" (My dear, i'm honored to be your one and only).
-I haven't taken french in years so please correct me if you're fluent.
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