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#source: cloak & dagger
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Bartimaeus: You're stuck in the mind of an insane catatonic magician! Faquarl: What's so bad about that? Bartimaeus: Everything! Everything I just said in that sentence is- is ridiculous!
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Tyrone: Have you heard from Tandy?
Clint: I’m sure everything is fine. We left her with Kate.
Tyrone: Those two sentences don’t go together.
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ervona · 20 days
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remembering I can do what I want... I can make Manshoon descendant x Fzoul descendant yuri
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our-lord-satanas · 21 days
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HECATE / HEKATE
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WHO IS SHE?
Hecate is a Goddess of magic and witchcraft, as well as the guardian of boundaries and crossings. She is often depicted as a triple-headed woman, representing her role as a gatekeeper between realms. Hecate is a powerful and mysterious Goddess, and she is often associated with the moon, the night, and the Underworld. She is also known for her connection to the spirits of the dead, and she is revered as a protector of orphans and wayfarers. As the Goddess of magic and witchcraft, she is also an expert in magic, astrology, and other arcane arts.
BASIC INFO:
Appearance: Hecate is traditionally depicted as a tall and powerful woman with a distinctive appearance. She is often portrayed as having three heads, each with different facial features, such as eyes of different colours or expressions. She is also described as having black hair and wearing a dark cloak, which further lends to her mysterious and dark appearance. In some depictions, she was said to carry a torch, a crescent moon, and a key, which is a symbol of her power over the boundaries between life and death.
Personality: Hecate is a complex and multi-faceted deity, representing the trinity of magic, knowledge and wisdom, as well as the boundaries between life and death. Her personality reflects that complexity and is a combination of contradictory traits, embodying both dark and mysterious aspects, as reflected by her position as Goddess of the Underworld, while also being a bright and benevolent figure, representing light and wisdom. She is often depicted as a three-headed woman, symbolizing her association with the crossroads and the triad of magic that she encapsulates.
Symbols: paired torches, keys, crossroads, dark/triple moon, wheel, dagger, rope, dogs, serpents, knives, and strophalos
Goddess of: Witchcraft, necromancy, ghosts, the night, boundaries, and crossroads
Culture: Greek
Plants and trees: asphodel, mugwort, lavender, rue, garlic, yew, cypress, aconite (also called hecateis), belladonna, dittany, mandrake, mint, sage, laurel, and cedar
Crystals: amethyst, obsidian, tiger’s eye, jade, black tourmaline, labradorite, serpentine, moonstone, onyx, and ametrine
Animals: dog, mare, serpent, cat, bats, and polecat
Incense: frankincense, rosemary, myrrh, and patchouli
Colours: black, grey, silver, gold, violet, green, red, and white
Tarot: The High Priestess, The Hermit, The Moon, and Queen of Pentacles
Planets: Mercury, Moon, and Mars
Days: Thursday, Wednesday evenings (new moon celebrations are typically held on Wednesday evenings), Tuesday, the full moon, Samhain (Oct 31st), and the new moon
Parents: Perses and Asteria
Siblings: none known
Partner: Apollo and Mormo
Children: Empusa and Scylla
MISC:
• The triple moon: which represents the phases of the moon and balance between the material and the spiritual, as well as the duality of light and darkness.
• Keys: which represents power and knowledge and can be used to unlock doors and paths to knowledge and power that are hidden or restricted.
• Torches: which represents guidance and illumination in dark times or when clarity is needed.
• Wolves: Hecate is sometimes depicted with three heads, which is one reason she is often associated with wolves. Wolves also symbolize strength, loyalty, and protection and can be a natural source of inspiration for your prayers or rituals.
• Black cats: commonly associated with Hecate, mostly due to her connection to the Underworld. Black cats represent protection and wisdom, and they can be an excellent source of inspiration for your prayers or rituals.
• The triune Goddess: which represents the trio of maiden, mother, and crone and the power of the feminine.
• Crossroads: where people would often seek wisdom from Hecate when they faced difficulties or had questions.
• Magic, occultism, and witchcraft: as Hecate is the Goddess of magic and spells, and she is often invoked during rituals and magickal practices.
FACTS ABOUT HECATE:
• Name: the name Hecate comes from the Greek word "ekatid," which means "the one who has power over the road."
• Relationships: Hecate is associated with the night, the Underworld, the moon, and the spirit world. She is also connected to Demeter and Persephone, both of whom are associated with the fertility of the cycle of life and death.
• Symbols: the symbols of Hecate include a three-headed dog, a key, and a torch.
• Role: Hecate is a mysterious and powerful Goddess associated with sorcery and magic, often depicted as a triple-headed or triple-bodied figure.
• Associations: Hecate is often associated with crossroads, magic, prophecy, mystery, spirits, night, ghosts, and the Underworld, serving as a protector and guide for those who have died. She is also the patron deity of witches and magic-users, and is also associated with the night.
• History: Hecate is a minor deity in Greek mythology, but she has become a prevalent figure in modern times. Hecate's origins are linked to the Greek Underworld and the female deity Selene, and she is also connected to the Roman goddesses Artemis and Diana.
• Role in Witchcraft: Hecate is widely associated with magic and witchcraft, and many witches and Wiccans revere her as a source of power and knowledge. Some witch traditions worship Hecate as a three-way Goddess who represents the past, present, and future.
HOW TO WORSHIP HECATE:
To worship Hecate respectfully, you should approach her with a sense of reverence and respect. She is a powerful Goddess and should be treated as such. You can offer prayers, libations, and offerings to her, and it's important to speak to her in a respectful manner, as you would to any other person of authority. Hecate has a strong connection to magic and the Underworld, so you can also use magic or other rituals to communicate with her. It's important to have an open mind and a respectful attitude when approaching Hecate and seeking her guidance.
HOW TO START A PRAYER FOR HECATE:
To begin, you could address her by name and say something along the lines of:
"Oh Great Goddess Hecate, I come to you seeking your guidance and wisdom. I offer myself to you, my heart and my spirit, and I ask for your blessing in this prayer."
"I thank you, great Goddess Hecate, for listening to my words and for your guidance and protection. May you walk by my side always. Hail Hecate.”
CAN I CONTACT HECATE AT A CROSSROAD?
Yes, it is possible to contact Hecate at a crossroads. This is a traditional method of invoking the Goddess that has been used for centuries. To do this, you should prepare a offering (bread, honey, and herbs, or any other items that you feel would be suitable for her) and then go to a crossroads during the witching hour between 12 a.m. and 3 a.m. Place your offering under the crossroads sign and say a prayer to invoke Hecate. Speak with sincerity and humility, and ask for guidance and aid in whatever aspect of your life you feel most in need of support. Remember to listen for signs and messages that Hecate may bring you.
WHAT ARE SIGNS THAT HECATE WANTS ME TO WORK WITH HER?
• Feeling drawn toward witchcraft, magic, or spiritual practices
• Seeing her symbols, such as the moon, keys, dogs, etc.
• Feeling a connection to animals, nature, or the Underworld
• Feeling a pull towards the crossroads or areas with a strong sense of the occult
• Having vivid dreams or visions in which she appears or speaks directly to you.
• Seeing or feeling her energies in your environment
• The number 13 keeps popping up everywhere
• You hear dogs howling at night from nowhere
• Hecate’s symbols are repeating: the key, crossroads, torch, dagger, Hecate’s wheel
• You’re drawn to graveyards and cemeteries
• You’ve had a spiritual experience (either positive or terrifying) at a crossroads in the woods
• You’re new to the craft and need guidance but don’t know who to turn to
• Hecate comes into witches’ lives who are pregnant and dying (during major transitions in life)
• You’re seeing a white dog(s) everywhere you go (in real life or on TV, etc.)
• Hecate’s name keeps showing up in your daily life (in random conversations, books, TV shows, online, etc.)
• You love working with animals, in particular dogs
• Stray dogs tend to find you and want you to take them in
• You were born under a Dark Moon or on Hecate Night
• Spirits communicate with you and have your entire life
HOW CAN I TELL IF HECATE WANTS TO WORK WITH ME?
If your request to work with Hecate has been accepted, you may notice the following signs:
• Feeling a strong connection to her energy and presence
• Having vivid dreams or visions related to her
• Experiencing a strong intuition and getting signs or symbols that relate to her
• Feeling a sense of strength, protection, or guidance.
If your request to work with Hecate has not been accepted, you may notice the following signs:
• Getting a strong impression or intuition that she is not interested in working with you.
• Getting a reading or divination that indicates Hecate is not willing to work with you at this time.
• Feeling a strong resistance or dissonance when you attempt to connect with her or her energies.

Overall you need to be respectful of deities denying your request.
OFFERINGS:
• Fire
• Three-headed candles
• Bones or skulls
• Poetry
• Chanting
• Herbs and flowers
• Food and drinks: such as grapes, almonds, garlic, red meat, water, milk, eggs, fruit, dishes with garlic, sweets that are crescent-shaped, pomegranates, dark chocolate, red wine, bread, and honey
• Painting
• Dancing
• Incense
• Olive oil
• Wands
• Keys
• A cauldron
• Crow feathers
DEVOTIONAL ACTS FOR HECATE:
• Respect the boundaries of others and yourself
• Practice self-love and self-compassion
• Take care of yourself physically, mentally, and spiritually
• Cultivate an open mind and open heart
• Follow your instincts and trust in your guidance
• Nurture friendships and relationships that are healthy and beneficial
• Learn to balance pleasure and work
• Live each day with purpose and intention.
• Doings Things in 13’s: offer thirteen flowers to her, give elaborate offerings or do ritual on the thirteenth of each month in her name, say your prayers thirteen times, etc
• Take care of our canine friends, do so in Hecate’s name. She will bless you AND your dogs or any dogs you care for. If you can’t have a dog, donate your time OR old blankets, dog food, etc. to a local animal shelter. And tell Hecate you’re doing it in her name. This doesn’t just go for dogs, but for any kind of canine species.
• Doing spirit work in the cemetery
IS IT SAFE TO EAT OR DRINK AN OFFERING I GIVE TO HER?
An offering given to her is thus infused with the energies of the Underworld and may have a powerful impact on the consumer, if eaten. To avoid any potential discomfort, confusion, or negative effects, it is generally recommended that you avoid consuming offerings dedicated to Hecate and instead pour or bury the edible offerings into the earth.
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hyunsvngs · 6 months
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kinktober !
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kink: knifeplay
pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader
wc: 3k
knifeplay: consensual BDSM edgeplay involving knives, daggers, and swords as a source of stimulation.
It was perfect. You had fake blood all over your room, staining your once blue sheets, but the costume was perfect. 
For Halloween, your friends had decided to host a party at one of the dorms. You and your best friend, Jeongin, had decided it would be the best idea to dress up as Sidney Prescott and Ghostface. Your costume was quite easy - you already had an old denim jacket you could cover in blood, and a basic lilac top to go underneath it. When put together with a simple black pair of jeans, you felt completely ready. Your costumes were going to be the best.
The Instagram pictures would be amazing, too, you decided while walking to the party. You didn’t have a long way to walk, and it was quite amusing listening to the kids screaming for candy outside people’s doors - but all you could hope was that one of the members of 3Racha had actually cleaned the dorm this time, and not left it all on Hyunjin.
Music was already booming when you arrived, reverberating around your sober brain and making you wince. Would you regret coming here?
You realised you really did regret it, when the front door swung open and you were met with fox-like eyes in a… a fucking Pokemon trainer costume. Felix emerged from behind him, sharp yellow ears perched on his head and his cheeks covered in red. 
“Listen,” Jeongin began, gloved hand reaching out to you. You sighed, shutting your eyes. “It was Felix’s idea. Look at him. He’s really convincing, and I’m sorry I didn’t text, but Chan’s put this stupid no phone ban on and-”
“Look!” Felix chirped, and when you finally saw him… well, you understood what Jeongin meant. He was in yellow dungarees, tail wrapped on a string around his waist and little ears bobbing with his glee. When he looked at you, his face fell. “Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry. Did you guys have something planned, or-”
“No, not at all, Lixie,” You murmured, pulling him in for a hug. He really was so cute. No one could resist him. “I’ll find my Ghostface somewhere.”
Felix nuzzled into the hug, wrapping his arms around you, before he was squealing. “Seungmin’s dressed up as Ghostface! Oh, Innie, did you plan this?”
You blinked, turning to Jeongin. Seungmin was your arch nemesis, but only purely on the basis that you both had some heavily unresolved sexual tension.  Jeongin wouldn’t do this to you - or so you thought, because when you looked at his face, he was looking extremely guilty. “I know you have some… issues, but it needs to end now. It’s making things awkward, and, and… you can take pictures together, y’know? Then be friends,” He was mumbling, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. His Pokemon hat obscured most of his face, but you could still see the pout on his lips. Fuck this. You had the two sweetest men in front of you apologising, expecting you to be angry at them, but even you weren’t that mean.
You sighed, finally pushing past the two figures to enter the party. You were immediately attacked by a black plastic streamer dangling from the ceiling, and you swatted it away with a grunt. “It’s fine. Let’s do the pictures, then.”
It had always been the plan - to take pictures all together before the party really got into full swing. You had a feeling you’d been a little late because there were already quite a few people there. Still, you diligently walked into the kitchen behind Felix and Jeongin anyway, where everyone was standing around, conversing.
There he was. Ghostface mask pulled halfway off of his head to reveal dark, menacing features and a black cloak draped over his slender figure. Chunky black boots made an echoing noise as he tapped his foot impatiently on the tile, sipping out of a glass with one gloved hand and the other holding - a knife. It glinted in the light as he spun it around with his fingers, playing way too comfortably with the blade. Oh. Oh, no. Someone was playing a practical joke on you. 
“Is that knife real?” You squeaked, and Seungmin turned to you with a glare. “Like, it’s not a prop…? Why do you have a real knife?”
Seungmin raised an eyebrow, then his lips were curling upwards with a smile. “To finally kill you with.”
“Haha, that’s so funny,” You deadpanned, but half of you was considering if he was being genuine about it. It wouldn’t surprise you - he was a sadistic fuck, always had been since you met him. It was why you wanted him so bad. “Let’s take these pictures. I’m already over it.”
Felix fiddled with his camera, flicking off the lens cap and trying to get it in the perfect position on the counter. You scurried in front of Seungmin as he walked over after placing his cup aside. Once Felix had set the timer, he ran in front of the lens and clutched onto Jeongin. Oh, yeah. What was Seungmin supposed to do, given that you were matching?
You had your answer quickly. With one gloved hand, he pulled his mask down and pulled you into him by the waist, and then he was positioning the knife at your exposed collarbone. It nipped teasingly, the blade threatening to draw blood. You looked down in shock, only to see Seungmin’s hand confidently holding the handle - god, was he skilled with this? He hadn’t killed people, hopefully, but… what if he was into something like this?
Wetness pooled in your panties at the thought. It’s a kink straight out of your deepest, darkest desires. The idea of being too scared to move in case the knife bites at your skin, dripping crimson liquid down your body only to be lapped up by the blade again… yeah. It was hot, and for some reason, with your fake-enemy pressed against you, it was even hotter. You didn’t even blink when the flash went off, too focused on trying to keep your breaths even. 
Seungmin dropped his hand once the picture was taken, and then he yanked the mask back again. He was staring at you with a bewildered expression, but he looked somewhat impressed. Pulling you to one side by your arm, he gripped your waist again, trapping you against the wall so he could whisper into your ear. “Did you get turned on when I held that knife to your neck?”
“No, what’s wrong with you-“
“I heard you holding your fucking breath,” Seungmin hissed. “That’s fucking insane, you know? Dressing up as Sidney and then getting all… like that. It’s like you wanted me to do it.”
You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. Seungmin’s eyes flitted around your face. “I was actually meant to match with Jeongin, so maybe I wanted him to.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Seungmin scoffed, rolling his eyes. He pinched his temples, and then he sighed. “I know you want to fuck me. God, I want to fuck you too, so bad. I’m sick of playing this stupid push and pull when I could be upstairs fucking you with this knife to your neck right now.”
Your eyes widened. You let out a puff of air, trying to find the words to say, but you only noticed that fuck, Seungmin was awfully close all of a sudden. His breath was heavy on your burning cheeks. When you looked around the room, you could see that no one had noticed the two of you - Felix was too busy still jumping around and Changbin and Jisung had dressed as Peter Pan and Tinkerbell. You wanted to coo at Changbin, his bulging arms so adorable in the little green dress and wings, but you were definitely more engrossed in what Seungmin had to say.
“The party. We can’t leave, you know?” You finally spoke, and Seungmin pulled back. You wanted to cry. He looked around the room, nodding, before he was pulling the mask back onto his face and obscuring his annoyingly perfect features. 
“Half an hour. Jisung’s room, upstairs. Is that alright with you?” His voice was muffled, and you had to crane your head a bit to hear him. You nodded nonetheless, and he gave you a quick wave before disappearing into the crowd of dressed up men. 
You sighed heavily. This was about to be the longest half an hour of your life.
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Jisung’s room was chaotic. You had literally no idea why Seungmin had decided on his room out of everyone’s - surely Hyunjin’s would be better, or even Chan’s with the mood lighting? You opened the door anyway, entering the small room and stepping over piles of clothes to lay back on the bed. At least the bedsheets were cleaned. Jisung’s lamp was the only source of light, leaving the room basked in a creepy orange Halloween atmosphere. It definitely fitted the setting.
It had been exactly half an hour. Seungmin was late. Was he ever late? In your whole pseudo-friendship, you were sure he’d never been late, and-
The door burst open and a masked figure emerged. You jolted, sitting upright on your hands and blinking at the man in costume. It briefly crossed your mind that you couldn’t even be sure it was Seungmin, and then he was tearing the mask off, throwing it aside. 
“It’s still me,” He said, tone soft. Was he a mind reader as well as a borderline psychopath? You nodded, wiggling forward on the bed when he sat across from you. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Did you bring the knife?” You responded. Seungmin burst out laughing, and then he was bringing it out from his jean pocket, beneath the cloak. 
“You are very fucked up. Has anyone ever told you that?” He murmured. You stared at his gloved palms as he threw the knife aside, moving on the bed to pin you down against the mattress. You wiggled impatiently, spreading your legs to allow him between them. Your chest heaved, staring up at him with doe eyes as he blinked down at you.
“‘M not fucked up,” You mumbled, pouting. Seungmin chuckled.
“What was it Billy said in the movie again? ‘It certainly fucked you up, it made you have sex with a psychopath’? Is that not what’s happening right now, baby?” His breath was hitting your face again, and you just couldn’t help it this time. With one hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him down, pressing your lips against his in the filthiest kiss you’d ever shared. Seungmin groaned, hands meeting your waist and delving into your mouth with his tongue. You let him nibble into your bottom lip, let him nearly draw blood with his teeth until you were whining, bucking your hips up for more. 
You whined, chasing his lips for more kisses. You heard fabric rustling, and then Seungmin was pressing an ice cold blade to your neck. You shifted immediately, laying back against the pillow and looking up at Seungmin obediently. He just smiled, appearing borderline menacing in the dim lighting of the room. You were so fucking wet.
“You do get off on this,” Seungmin mused. He leaned back on his ankles, letting the knife drag down your body. With a clean swipe, it was cutting through the fabric of your tank top and leaving you in just your bra. “Should I make you bleed, hm?”
“You can- you can do anything you want, Seungmin,” You sighed, arching your back to get more of the feeling of the blade against you. Seungmin bit his lip, dragging the blade down to your jeans. He wouldn’t be able to cut through that fabric - it’s too thick, he’d need something sharper. You could practically see the cogs turning in his head and then he was shaking his head, unbuttoning your jeans and yanking them down your legs. They balanced precariously on one ankle, and you kicked them off before eyeing Seungmin up and down. “Are you… gonna get naked, or?”
“I have different plans for tonight,” Seungmin replied quickly. He gripped the knife firmer this time, until he was dragging it down to your underwear. You knew you were wet, and you shut your eyes and moaned loudly when he pressed the blade into the wet spot forming in the fabric. You thanked every god that the music was still just as loud as earlier. “I’m going to finger you and play around with this knife. I don’t think you could handle more tonight.”
He was right. Another thing that irritated you beyond belief was the fact that Seungmin seemed to read your mind. First with your silly knife play kink, and now with the fact that you definitely couldn’t handle full blown sex tonight. You would’ve tried, and gotten yourself all fuzzy over it - but he knew better. 
“Okay,” You agreed. He hummed once more, and then he hooked the blade into the lace of your underwear, cutting them off of your body. He was a bit heavy handed though, and your legs thrashed when the blade nicked your skin just a little, causing a small crimson red cut to bloom on your hip bone.
“Oh, would you look at that?” He ogled the cut, running his thumb over it. It made you whine in pain, yet he ignored you and thrust his thumb into your mouth. The taste was tangy, a bit too metallic for your liking but the whole thing was so fucking hot you couldn’t deny him anything. “Did you like that, too? Okay. We’ll explore that another time.”
Seungmin threw the knife aside once more, and then two long fingers were pressing into your folds. You laid there with legs spread, letting him explore every dip and crevice in your pussy and examine how wet you were. You knew you were dripping, and he did too - it was just a waiting game. 
You squirmed, bucking your hips up. “I’m wet enough. I promise that I am, just-“
You gasped when he pressed the knife against your throat again. You hadn’t even seen him grab it. “Stay fucking still,” He warned. “I decide when you’re ready.”
Well, you could definitely get on board with that. Seungmin sunk his middle finger into you nonetheless, meeting no resistance. Your hole was dripping around him, leaking down to his knuckle and making him sigh in approval at the sight. He still had his gloves on, the faux leather buttery and smooth inside of your hole. “This pussy’s tight, huh?”
“I’d clench it for you,” You breathed out, letting one of your hands grab your tits over your bra. The knife was still pressed tightly against the column of your throat, but you managed to pull your tits out of the lace, making Seungmin’s eyes instantly flit down to your pebbled nipples. He started to thrust his finger inside of you, the material of his gloves dragging on your rim. “I’d- I’d clench around your cock, Seungie. Make it so tight for you.”
“Yeah?” Seungmin breathed. On his next thrust in, he pushed another finger in, and then he was curling two directly at that lovely spongy spot inside of you. “I’ll look forward to it, baby. Do my fingers feel good?”
“So good,” You gushed, tweaking your nipples with your fingers. “It’s so good, and- the knife, oh god-“
“Is it like you imagined, yeah?” He moved up to your side, easing his pressure on the blade so you could turn your head and kiss him. It was just as filthy, and he moaned in approval when your walls fluttered around his digits. When he pulled away, a string of saliva connected you both. “Maybe next time, I’ll fuck you with the handle of the knife.”
You keened, starting to bounce your hips against his hand. He obliged with your movements, pressing his palm up against your clit and letting you grind the sensitive bud into his calloused hand. It was just the right amount of soft and rough, making your toes curl in your socks and your orgasm build steadily, a white hot pleasure in your pussy. 
“It’s- I need it-“
“God, do you even know what you need?” Seungmin chuckled, kissing your cheek. “I think you need to cum for me, don’t you?”
You nodded erratically, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. Seungmin dropped the knife to his opposite side once more, replacing it with a firm grip to your throat with his spare hand. The sight of his gloved digits around your throat and restricting your airflow had you wailing once more, gripping his wrist and grinding with renewed fervour. 
“I think- oh, I’m gonna cum,” Your lips parted, letting out muted moans and whines at the feeling of his fingers inside of you. “Oh, yeah, I’m gonna cum!”
“Cum for me then, no need to make a noise,” Seungmin was still amused, and you gasped before you were cumming. “That’s it, there you go.”
You felt your hole gush around his fingers, soaking the material of his gloves with white cum and your clit throbbing through your orgasm. It felt good, not only to cum but to also finally have some tension resolved with such a prominent person in your life. 
When you finally came to, you were still gasping, breath heavy and burning your lungs with every exhale. You heard Seungmin coo at you, laying back and dragging you onto his chest. 
“Good?” He questioned, and you nodded.
Then, something hit you. “Seungmin?” He hummed in response. “You cut my shirt open. What do I wear for the rest of the party?”
Seungmin stopped breathing, and then he burst out laughing, full body laughs wreaking havoc on his body. 
“It’s not funny!” You whined, but you were giggling too, slapping his chest playfully.
“You can wear the cloak, baby,” He kissed your nose. “I have clothes on underneath.”
You hummed, nodding. “You still have to wear the mask though.”
“Fuckin’ freak,” He mumbled, but he was still grinning.
“You like it.”
Seungmin kissed you again, chaste and sweet. “Unfortunately, yes.”
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mooshywrites · 15 days
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hi there~! if its not too much trouble, can I request a halsin x reader fic where reader/tav falls in battle fails a saving throw and requires a revivify? either pre-established relationship in Act 2 or established in act 3 would be okay~ i just love comforting and protective Halsin 🥺
Revivify
Reader x Halsin
Masterlist
Art commissions
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A/N - such a wonderful prompt, I almost cried at the request ;~;
Warnings - Minor spoilers, combat, blood, death and reviving, injury, angst
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“I almost lost you.”
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Sun filtered through leaves casting a dappled blanket over the soft grass under your feet. you took in a deep breath, inhaling the soft scent of flowers and damp soil. There wasn’t many moments on this journey that you could take this kind of pause. To remember the tranquility the world could offer.
It had been a few days since you and your party had reached Lower Baldur’s Gate. A few very long days. Between trying to find the origin behind the smattering of murders, gathering allies in your fight against the Elder Brain, and typical strange happenings that followed your companions like no other, you hadn’t had time to breathe let alone relax.
Halsin gave you a knowing smile as he stood along side you in the garden, his shoulders looking much more relaxed than they had been in weeks.
“Nature seems to always find a way to remind you of her beauty,” he murmured.
You looked around the garden once more, taking in the sereneness. In the distance, a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the seemingly ancient trees, carrying with it the faint sound of conversation. You turned to see couples walking through the pathways, just as at peace with the world as you were.
“We can’t let ourself be lulled into complacency,” you sighed, your jaw becoming tense with focus yet again. “We’re up against some nasty people. We must be vigilant at all times.”
“Who would try to kill us in a city garden of all places, my heart?” Halsin asked, giving you pitying stare.
You avoided his gaze. As much as you longed for moments of peace like this, moments you could share with him, you knew the ever looming threat couldn’t be ignored.
“Even if,” Halsin continued. “We could handle ourselves in any-“
His words were cut off by a scream across the clearing, blood curdling and insistent. Your attention snapped to the source, your heartbeat quickening instantly. There stood a group of hooded figures, standing over a now silent body.
You tensed yourself, ready for attacks as more cloaked figures began to appear around you. You shot Halsin a look, checking around you to see if your other party members were ready for what looked like to be quite the difficult fight.
Without a moment of hesitation, you drew your weapon and took a defensive stance. Halsin was quick to follow, his expression determined. The air crackled with tension as the hooded figures stalked around you silently, their movements precise and almost synchronized.
As the first attacker lunged toward you with a gleaming dagger, you parried the blow expertly, feeling the impact reverberate up your arm. The fight had begun in earnest now, with spells flying and steel clashing against steel. You could hear your companions engaging in combat around you, their grunts and battle cries mixing with the chaotic symphony of violence unfolding in the garden.
Adrenaline surged through your veins as you focused on each opponent, their faces shadowed by the cloak. The shroud did nothing to hide the pure and pointed murderous malice in their eyes. Halsin fought beside you, wild-shaping as soon as the fight began. Even in the form of a large bear, his movements were calculated, precise.
One by one, the hooded figures fell before your party, their attacks repelled and countered with lethal force. You had taken a few blows, ones you knew would leave you quite sore when this was all over. Your muscles were beginning to burn with exertion, your voice raw as you threw your entire body weight behind your attacks.
Just as you thought victory was in reach, a movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention. Halsin had been hit hard enough to pull him back into his elvish form, the Druid panting as he fought two of the cultists. Nervousness rose through your chest quickly, worried he wouldn’t be able to handle the both of them.
Thankfully, he made quick work of one, turning to look to you amidst the chaos. His mouth moved in words you couldn’t hear, his expression suddenly panicked. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The only cultist left was the one in front of him. Then why was he looking at you as if he had seen a ghost? It took a moment to realize he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking behind you.
It took you a moment too long.
Blood pumped loudly in your ear as you began to turn, time seeming to slow when the shrouded figure came into your view. You brought up your weapon, your arms heavy as if they were pushing through water.
It was too late.
You felt something impact your side, the cultist smiling devilishly at you. You stumbled back, your brain fogging over slightly. You felt no pain, only a growing chill just below your ribs. You looked down to see the dagger pierced through your armor, blood dripping off of its handle.
Your blood.
Your vision began to blur, darkness creeping into the edge of your vision. Numbly, you clutched at the dagger, trying to contain the blood you were losing.
Your heart pounded as you tried to focus your eyes in front of you, looking around in a haze. You could hear Halsin’s voice, though it sounded miles in the distance. You could tell he was still fighting off the remaining enemy, the clashing of metal and grunts making their way through your disoriented state.
The world spun around you, and you fell raggedly to your knees, your grip on the dagger slipping. The wound in your side felt as if it were swallowing you whole, the ice cold chill spreading as you lost more blood.
You looked around, desperate for a way to survive, to continue fighting. But the air around you seemed thick with the scent of death, your healing potions long since depleted. You could feel your breath growing shallow, your throat tightening with every painful gasp.
Most of all, you felt tired. So incredibly tired. The ground beckoned to you like the world’s most comfortable goosedown bed, begging you to give in to sleep.
As your vision darkened completely, the last thing you heard was Halsin screaming your name.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
Everything was dim for what seemed like an eternity, a comfortable silence enveloping you. It felt as if you were asleep, the deepest sleep you had ever had. Your wound no longer stung, the air no longer drenched with the smell of blood.
Absentmindedly, you wondered if you were supposed to be sad in this moment. It was hard to feel any kind of grief in a place so comforting. So quiet. You couldn’t even remember what could have made you sad in the first place.
A light flickered in the corner of the emptiness, rousing you from your contemplation. You stared at it, watching it glow brighter and more insistent. You brought your hand up, shielding your eyes from the blinding radiance.
Suddenly it felt as if you were falling, hurtling through the empty darkness. The light seemed to stretch endlessly towards you, a beacon in an endless abyss. As you plummeted towards it, the darkness around you began morphing into the shapes of trees and stones.
Forcefully you hit the ground, your breath knocked out of your lungs.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
You awoke with a start, your eyes opening back in the blood soaked garden. You took in ragged breaths, the red hot pain burning at your side causing you to cry out.
“Hold on, my heart,” a pained voice whispered against you, a warm green glow coming from their hands as they held you.
Through the blurred tears in your eyes, you could see Halsin holding you tightly, a smoldering scroll next to him. Your memory came back to you in pieces. The fight, the dagger.
The darkness.
“Did I die?” you asked incredulously, your voice like knives through your throat.
Halsin’s eyes squeezed shut as he continued his healing spell, his mouth in a tight line. “Yes,” he answered, his voice barely audible. “I had a revivify scroll, thank Silvans.”
Your heart clenched in your chest at the words. The remaining terror in his voice left you unable to speak.
Halsin continued to heal you, his focus unwavering. You tried to speak, but the problem wasn’t the rawness in your throat, you mostly just couldn’t find the words to say.
You had quite literally been dead. Worst of all, Halsin had watched you fall.
When he finally finished, you breathed a sigh of relief. The pain in your side was gone completely, the warmth of your blood returning to the wound. You snuck a glance up at Halsin as he looked down at you, his expression pained.
“I… I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out, the words catching on your tears.
Halsin clutched you tighter, his eyes filled with a mix of relief and horror. “No, I’m sorry, my heart,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I should have been there for you. I never should have let that happen.“
You reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, feeling your heart tug at the thought of how scared he must have been. “We were all in that fight together Halsin,” you said softly. “This isn’t your fault.”
He shook his head, his eyes filling with tears before he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You held him close, feeling a sob catch in his throat.
“I almost lost you,” he broke.
The weight of his words lingered heavy between the two of you as you held the large Druid, the gravity of what had happened sinking in. The reality of your mortality felt even more tangible than ever before, a chill running down your spine at the close encounter with death. Halsin’s arms holding you so desperately was both a comfort and a stark reminder of how fragile your lives truly were in this dangerous world.
“I’m here, Halsin,” you assured him.
The Druid began to catch his breath, pulling back and giving you a weak smile.
“I know,” he murmured, his voice still strained from the tightness of his emotions. “I’m not letting you go ever again.”
You couldn’t help but giggle, craving a little levity in the situation. “You can’t keep me in your arms forever.”
Halsin’s face softened at your light heartedness, his hazel eyes twinkling with affection. He gently combed his fingers through your hair, tracing the line of your jaw with his thumb.
“I’ll have to resort to locking you up then,” he quipped, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
You allowed yourself another breathless laugh, the tension in the air finally starting to dissipate. You nuzzled closer to the Druid’s chest, willing yourself to relax.
You were here, you were alive.
Halsin had saved you.
─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───
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aroacesetitoff · 2 months
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Infinight Interns Reference Sheet + Headcanons
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Bartholomew Finn
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-Vest of Slow Descent-i made it green based off his canon design and then gave it "feathered" hems to allude to its ability
-pre-Draconic Transformation Bart-gave him silver jewelry and the only draconic traits are gold freckles, fangs, and shorter horns
-post-Draconic Transformation Bart-gold jewelry to match with his dad (Simsun), and of course claws and scales and larger horns
-boatswain's call whistle-a reference to the Jebediah + Capt. Marge
-gave him the thigh dagger sheath-cause why not. I think Bart's that character in movies that has a shit ton of knives hidden in the most improbable places
-he's got a 17 string lute, but lets be honest i aint drawing 17 strings. painted a wave design on the body and the soundhole/rosette has a dagger design
-Breath Diagem/lute pick ftw
-scars on his hands (from doing hot boi sailor shit)
-not shown but i think he's got a bunch of tattoos (like "I <3 Mom" for Marge, flowers for Gum Gum, crossed anchors, etc.)
-pupils are slitted like dragons and a very dark shade of blue
Kyborg the Mighty/Kydelius of Everwinter
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-Fun Fact: i used to do archery! so some of his gear is based off of stuff I had. But you know cooler
-Canonically his hair pretty loose, and its pretty but my god its gonna get caught up in his bowstring man. braided/tied it back for practicality
-thigh highs. no notes
-gave him an armored version w/ fur because his current design didn't feel like Everwinter-y enough
-its not terribly visible but he has the Belt of Sick Trick so i put a bird on it (vaguely Tony Hawk reference)
-the Longer Bow Krystallina-gave it a snow fall design + red accents
-scars from archery, since this guy shoots barebow
-the left (flesh arm) side is the most armored and unscarred, and the right (metal arm) side is scarred + unprotected (bc u know its metal)
-pupils are really dark shade of red as a reference to the Source Diagem
-metal arm-i took an anatomy class not a robotics one, so the structure is based off human musculature (kinda) and i put the Source Diagem in his shoulder instead of his hand
Gum Gum Galindor
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-star boi 🌟
-constellations on the inside of the brim of his hat that Bart sewed for him-(Bart's a sailor, he knows his constellations)
-the flowers (orange @ blue) on his hat represent him & Bart. The orange ones bigger bc u know thats his big bro right there
-the hoodie+pauldron+cross body strap combo is a direct copy of Bart's design bc thats what younger siblings do u know
-made the patches to repair his coat stars bc why not
-Random Axe of Kindness-the cute lil heart does not detract from the fact that its an axe
-timeskip design i went for a gardener vibe bc he works in the Orchidnage now-i think despite having the worst dad of the group, Gum Gum would be a pretty good father figure
-Staff of Flowers-i wanted to reference Dia w/ this one so I tried to have this be the most colorful part
-Bart pierced his ears at one point
-i gave him constellation freckles that showed up post Dia reveal
-he has his manacles yeah but i wanted to design friendship bracelets for the rest of the team
-Mudd's-green thread with pink & white flower beads-the charm is Gumbo
-Bart's-leather cord with blue & gold beads and an anchor charm
-Kyborg's-brown leather cord, green beads, and a red arrow charm
-made his pupils a lighter shade of blue that glows when he uses Wild Magic
-edit: lots of scars, some from fighting, a lit from just tripping and shit. Also a dog bite from that one time
Mudd Bramblecrack
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-i love him but it was so hard to come up with a design
-the pink streak keeps moving bc im inconsistent and also bc he has to redye/cut his hair constantly
-the "fur" cloak is the Cloak of the Secluded Garden, and its actually pine leaves & grass
-gave him a very simple tunic w/ a bramble design bc we would try to disguise his noble bg
-i put Mudd in a kilt bc i have free will and also he's Scottish. I dont think he would ever wear one unless for formal occasions tho bc i think they take a while to put on
-Gumbo :) + badger armor -this ones very specifically inspired by Lonna Bowstripe from the Redwall series
-originally had the purple gems on his tunic, made em earrings instead bc thats cooler
-Bramblecrack signet (?) ring-also the Virtues Diagem. Both this and his earring are purple bc its an ace reference (for me). The ring is definitely an ace reference bc i made it a black metal and put it on his right middle finger (ifykyk)
-pink paw pads + talons-less of a firbolg thing, more of a Moon Druid thing
-eyes are a rlly dark shade of green but glow a brighter shade when Wildshaping
-pupils are a rlly dark shade of purple (Diagem ref) and also horizontal like cows
Okay I think that's everything. If not ill just come back and edit it 🤷. working on the OG Infinights next so stay tuned or whatever
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tempestuous-lush · 2 years
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toss a coin
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summary: you run into an old friend, geralt of rivia, while you are on the run. he offers you a safe refuge at kaer morhen, among other things.
warnings: unprotected sex, biting, fingering, i guess technically public sex (?), some small notes of violence. 18+ only, MINORS DNI
I am slightly nervous. My first time really fiddling with Geralt and I haven't written for a few weeks really so I feel a bit rusty. Hope fully we like this. I wanna dedicate it to @sweetieswiftie.
The cold was not something to which you were accustomed.
Toussaint had always been wonderful weather.
You thought longingly of the wine and food that could be found there, even as the barkeep in Creyden sat your food down before you. It was some sort of salted meat. He poured a foul-smelling mead into a cup to accompany it. Peering up towards him, you smiled. Your lips were full and a deep red, bringing forth the beautiful white of your smile, your green eyes half hidden beneath your thick heavy lashes from that angle. You knew the effect you had even before the man stammered a “your welcome miss.” After all, it was the look you had about you that had allowed you to get so close the emperor of Nilfgaard.
Angrily, you considered your failings at assassination that had caused you to flee so far up North. After all, anywhere near home and the hefty bounty on your head might become your undoing. Granted, a few had followed in your path to try and bring you back…or at the very least your head. You massacred them. There were few things you were as good at as killing. Though, everyone always underestimated you.
You stabbed a hunk of the salted meat with your fork and tore a piece off with your teeth before chasing it with the mead. A sense of comfort washed over you. The food and drink here, at least in the harsh winter, was meant to warm you…not impress you, and you respected it for that much, at least.
Though, as the doors opened and a gust of cold blew inside, your eyes automatically drew to the source. Green eyes landed on a witcher. Not just any witcher. Geralt of Rivia…the Butcher of Blaviken. Before his eyes landed on you, your hands drew your hood up, effectively shielding you from view, mouth the only thing visible in the shadows it cast.
You could tell by the way people reacted; he was as welcomed here as many of the places he visited. You quickly finished up the food and drink you had before slipped out and back into the night. The furs that lined the inside of your cloak did what the could to keep you warm, the heavy velvet of your hood doing the same. As you walked through the snow, boots managing to stay atop most of the depth, a voice drifted from the darkness, “Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you, little blade of Toussaint?”
Reacting physically before you could process, your hand unleashed a dagger that was sheathed against your hip, coated in a poison for which only you had the antidote. Geralt expected as much. He knew what you attempted, and he knew you weren’t going to speak with ease or trust when he saw you. Even still, he only barely managed to dodge the blade, the sound of it sinking into the wood behind him unmistakable.
You heard a sigh escape him, before he spoke again, “What are you doing this far North? No one closer to home willing to hide you from the emperor?”
“They’re too scared…or too greedy. What are you, witcher? Feeling greedy as well?” With a grace that was unmistakable you unsheathed your sword, and held yourself at the ready, hood falling away to reveal your features, “Because I won’t surrender easily…and I’m feeling untrusting.”
Geralt smirked a bit, the whiteness of his hair a sharp contrast to the wild darkness of yours. He spoke up, “Well, little blade, I’m definitely not feeling scared. Not of you.”
With a steadfast resolve you swiftly threw another dagger and used that as a means to move in, Geralt barely getting his own blade out. The sound of the metal clashing would have drawn attention had it not been too cold for people to venture outside. As he deflected your attack, you side stepped and pulled the dagger from the wood that you first threw. Even as you moved in for another attack, he regained his footing and pulled back. It was then that you realized he wasn’t on the attack. In attempt to feel him out, you swung high with your sword and as he blocked, you sliced at the skin of his thigh with the dagger.
Geralt let out a hiss of pain. The effect of the poison would be instantaneous. His movement was already slowed. Satisfied that he was subdued, you looked at him with skepticism, “Why…why did you follow me out here, Geralt? If not to take me in for the bounty, then what?”
His face was twisted as he answered, “To offer you a safe place to hide at Kaer Morhen.”
“Why? There is nothing that you owe me. There is no reason for you to offer refuge.” He had fallen onto one knee. You slowly walked towards him, sliding the tip of you blade beneath his chin, forcing him to look up at you. His features were rough, but those eyes still held your attention. They had all those years ago when you had crossed his path in Toussaint.
His eyes stared into your own, and he so wanted to see the green of them. The darkness hid them, though. He huffed before answering you, “There is no reason for you to die for what you tried. The emperor won’t lift the bounty until he knows you’re dead. So come with me, where you’ll be safe. Come on little blade.”
You pulled the blade back, “Fine. But the dagger I cut you with, there is a poison laced on it that would even effect you. I have the antidote. Let me patch you up. Trust me, you’d rather me do that first.”
“…fuck.”
“Relax, Geralt. You’ll be fine. Come on.”
It was slow going but you found a clearing lit up by the moonlight and had him sit down in the snow, but only after you removed your cloak and laid it out for the two of you to sit upon. You quickly ripped back the cloth of his leg, the flesh of the wound turning a nasty purple tinged with blue. A shiver raced through you as your fingers swiftly applied the antidote, until your fingertips shook violently, before finishing the application.
Forcing your way through the cold, you finished your work and fell to the ground, hands catching you but barely. A smile before you managed to shakily get out, “I’m afraid I don’t handle the cold very well.”
Geralt struggled to get to his feet, even though his body readily took the antidote and began to work. Stepping back, he looked down at you, “I have a way for you to warm up, little blade, if you like. Can’t have you half frozen by the time we reach Kaer Morhen. Come on.”
He helped you stand before throwing the cloak back over your shoulders, the warmth you received from that feeling minimal now. Reluctantly, you followed him to where he had left Roach. He helped you up first before climbing up after you. His body heat against your back felt nice, though you knew once the horse started moving the cold would bite at your face. Not to mention…what about your things back at the Inn? Geralt interrupted you as soon as you started to speak up, “I can come back.”
Of course, he already knew what one of your objections were. You pulled your hood around your face as Geralt led Roach further out into the wilderness, teeth chattering as you asked, “What makes you think I would be safe at Kaer Morhen?”
“Because the only ones who know the location are fellow witchers…and a few others that we trust implicitly.” He leaned down so that he whispered in your ear, “Still don’t trust me, do you?”
A smile spread upon your lips before you responded, “It’s the only way I’m still alive Geralt.”
Next thing you knew, Roach stopped at a clearing. You could see steam rising from a pool before you. A hot spring. Your bones nearly melted at the idea. Geralt swung down before helping you, though he knew you didn’t need it. You walked to the edge of the pool and reached down to feel it with your bared fingers. You wanted to cry at just how good that felt. You swiftly made short work of your cloak, outerwear, and boots before turning to Geralt, “You could join me if you like. The heat would help speed up the healing process. And after the bath house in Toussaint, a hot spring can’t be much different.”
With that, you stripped off the cotton tunic, leather pants and woolen socks. Geralt stole glances of your form as you slipped under the water, looking at the pile of your clothes and back towards you. He thought of the bath house in Toussaint and slowly followed you. As you turned around in the water, your dark hair trailing behind you, you saw Geralt stalking towards you before coming up short, “Why’d you do it, risk your life for an impossible task?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
A smile hinted at your lips as the two of you stood there, steam from the hot spring swirling between you. His face was unreadable, as usual, but the question implied some sort of worry, “Geralt, I watched the emperor order his soldiers to slay my entire family, just for him to return to his throne and eat his meal and drink his wine as if nothing had occurred. And I’m not the only one. Not to mention the countless wars fought in his name that have killed hundreds of thousands. And for what? A bigger kingdom? A grab for power? He is vile…evil. Evil shouldn’t get to live, let alone prosper. I would do it again if I could.”
Geralt’s hand reached behind you and grabbed at your hair, yanking your head back, exposing your neck. Holding you there, his eyes looked you over, “It’s rare to find someone so brave, and so stupid.”
Your teeth bit at your lower lip to suppress your laughter, even as your hand splayed out across his chest, his muscles firm and unyielding beneath your touch. The two of you stayed like this for some time, observing the other, until slowly your hand began to slip lower, disappearing beneath the water. You nearly moaned when your fingers wrapped around his cock, only half hard but already so big.
At the contact, something in Geralt snapped and his mouth came crashing down over yours, that hand of his still fisting your hair. You readily let his tongue into your mouth, the taste of him as good as you remembered. His hand free of your hair fell down your back before wrapping around the meat of your thigh and pulling up so that you wrapped your legs around him, breaking the kiss.
You leaned back, arching your chest so that he could lean over you.
His mouth fell hot on you, tongue lapping at the peaked nipples, lips closing and sucking them. Just as you grew used to the sensation, he would drag his tongue and teeth across your sternum and begin again. He hummed appreciatively, “Just as soft and beautiful as I remember, little blade.”
Freeing his hand from your hair, Geralt instead rested it on your upper back, right over the only scar you had. The only reason he knew it was there was because he put it there. You thought you could best him the last time you had met, and he proved otherwise.
“Tell me”- Geralt released his hold on you, allowing you to dip back in the water, his hand traveling between your legs before a finger edged at your folds – “does this still taste as sweet as I remember?”
Just as you went to answer your voice faltered, the thickness of his fingers pushing inside of you. His finger began moving, coaxing softly, and your nails dug deeper into his skin. You barely managed to reply, “H-how would I know that, Geralt?”
“You’re forgetting, I’ve seen you pleasuring yourself, fingers covered in your slick, and you licked them clean. If my little blade is a creature of habit, it wasn’t the first nor the last.” Geralt was groaning and speaking in hushed tones in your ear. It wasn’t to try and keep quiet either. No, while he spoke, he had slipped in a second finger and the sounds that escaped you were loud and incoherent and went straight to his cock.
He slipped his fingers out of you, which left you mewling for him, until he turned you around, ass towards him. The sounds of desperation died in your throat at the feeling of his hard cock pressed against you and his fingers dipping between your legs again, but this time for your clit. Geralt’s other hand palmed one of your breasts, twisting and pinching the nipple occasionally as his fingers circled your clit, aching for him to touch. Until finally, his fingers entered you again, this time his palm pressing against you. Every motion of his fingers caused his palm to rub against your clit and had you gasping and crying out, “Please, G-Geralt, please, give me all of you. Please.”
“Hmmm, guess I will have plenty of time to reacquaint myself when we get to Kaer Morhen.” And at that, Geralt turned you back around to face him. You quickly reached your arms around his neck and at the same time he stood to his full height, your legs wrapping around his waist.
He held onto both legs as he lowered you onto him. Geralt moaned as the head of his cock speared you, your pussy taking him in eagerly. You lapped up the water beads along his chest before sinking your teeth into the flesh of his shoulder. At that, he began moving you up and down, your pussy wet and ready. The way he stretched you open, just brushing your cervix with the tip, was delicious. Hands still holding onto him, you leaned your head back again.
The sound of skin hitting skin was intoxicating and you never wanted it to end.
Geralt remembered a few things about you. One in particular was that you enjoyed a bit of pain. So, as you leaned back, one of his arms held your lower back and he bit into the skin of your neck as he continued thrusting into you before dragging his tongue over the same spot. If your cry wasn’t enough of a sign, the way your pussy tightened around him was also plenty enough to tell. He continued biting and licking along your exposed skin, the way it felt along the sensitive skin of your chest, combined with the feeling of him driving into you. You were so close to a release. Something you hadn’t had in months and didn’t realize you so desperately craved. You felt your back beginning to tighten as he held you there, the warmth of the water relaxing your muscles even as they tightened, and you pleaded, “P-please Geralt. M’so close.”
With a grunt Geralt pushed you off of him and before you could so much as protest, he had you pushed up against the deeper side of the spring, your hands fumbling for a moment before finding rock to hold onto. Spreading your legs, he rutted into you the same time his fingers found your clit, biting your shoulder just as you had done to him earlier.
His pace was brutal, and suddenly your vision grew hot, and breath grew nearly feral until you were cumming hard and fast. Instead of pausing to work you down gently, he kept fucking you until you were truly wrecked. Your body was his in this moment. He took his hand from your clit and grabbed a handful of hair to yank your head back. His breath fell against your ear as he murmured, “Mmmm, look at you. You still feel so good to me. Let’s get you so satisfied you sleep the whole way to Kaer Morhen.”
Soon, he lived up to his words, and had you crying out half formed words as you tried to find them. The sound of the water sloshing about as he kept up his brutal pace. You had already cum once, and you were about to again. His large hand slid from your hair to your throat and pulled him close to you. All that you could focus on was the way he felt stretching you, filling you. Until, suddenly, your second orgasm hit you hard and fast and as you came, he slowed his thrusts, and you could feel him filling you with his cum.
As he let you go, he stared at you, those yellow eyes feeling as though they pierced your soul.
Instead of focusing on them, you gave a good laugh.
His head tilted to the side, “What’s so funny?”
“You know when I first heard it, I wasn’t sure, but I get it now. I really, really wish I had a spare coin to toss.”
He gave his stereotypical grunt before following up with, “I’m going to kill him.”
You watched as Geralt stepped out of the hot spring across the way before pulling a blanket from his pack to use to dry off. You were convinced you could see this at any time, and it wouldn’t be an unwelcome sight. A bit absentmindedly you noted, “Your leg already looks better, witcher.”
“Blood flow always helps.”
Not sure why, a blush spread across your face.
You boldly followed behind him and felt the cold hitting your skin before you were all the way out. Quickly you stole the blanket and began to dry off, desperately wanting the warmth of your cloak. By the time you were bundled up, Geralt was sitting proud atop Roach. He extended a hand and helped you up, making sure you were sitting in front of him. At that, Geralt gave a click with his tongue and a slight tap of his heel and Roach was off at a leisurely pace.
Surprising yourself, but not Geralt, you slowly drifted off to sleep until the brightness of the morning sun slowly wakened you. Off in the distance was what you were assuming was Kaer Morhen. Geralt felt you stir beneath him and he leaned down, “Welcome to your new home…however long you need it.”
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lesbianrumi · 1 year
Text
leander, pagan symbolism, and other notes.
ok so people have already brought up that leander is covered in or surrounded by a lot of symbolism. but there’s way more where that came from. idk if someone has compiled all of them in one place but i’m doing it here bc i’m feeling crazy at the moment
first, let’s get the obvious ones out of the way
there’s the ouroboros on his earring and in his charm
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it’s a pagan symbol and also symbolizes alchemy. the ouroboros features a serpent eating its own tail and “symbolizes the eternal nature of the universe and the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. The symbol is closely associated with that of infinity, and the two are typically combined” (source)
we can see that it’s combined with the infinity symbol on the charm, which of course has to do with eternity
then there’s the triple moon/triple goddess on his belt buckle, yet another pagan symbol (credit to this post for this insight!)
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here’s some info on the triple moon: “The first crescent, the waxing moon, symbolizes new life, rejuvenation, and new beginnings. The middle circle represents the full moon when magic is at its most powerful. Finally, the second crescent moon represents the moon during its waning period. This time of the moon phase is a time that is regarded as the best to send things away, remove them from your life, or finish things.” (source)
there are also white lilies featured in leander’s CG, on his charm and pin, and in the game trailer
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surprise! it’s also a pagan symbol!
supposedly, “pagans used white lilies as decorations on May Day. Part of the festivities include young women dancing around the May Pole with ribbons with lilies in their hair. In this setting lilies represent renewed life, health and fertility.” (source)
but wait, there’s more!
like the earth symbol on the chain attached to his lapel pin
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another pagan symbol that “is also sometimes used to symbolize Mother Earth. The element of earth is associated with the colors of brown and green, abundance, prosperity, and fertility.” (source) apparently it’s the ultimate symbol of the divine feminine
finally, green is practically leander’s official colour. it’s the colour of his eyes, his magic, and is featured heavily all over his sprite and official art. interestingly, it’s also the colour of the cloaks that his bloodhounds wear
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you guessed it - the colour green is tied to paganism
it symbolizes “youth and fertility, evil and envy” and is connected to the season of spring as well as to nature (source). in the bible, green “means immortality, resurrection, growth, prosperity, and restoration” as well as fertility (source)
now onto some things that i might just be reading into lmao
like the gold points on leander’s trench coat, as well as the tiny inverted triangle between his clavicles, which is also featured in one of initial sketches for his earring. this could be the water symbol
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again, it’s pagan. and is “believed to have a strong feminine connection, and so it is associated with all aspects of the goddess. The inverted triangle used to symbolize water is felt by some to symbolize the womb and is befitting with this element's feminine association.” (source)
the same source mentions that water is a “healing and purifying element that is connected to the West. Water can be used in rituals involving love and other emotions, and flowing water in nature, such as a river, or the sea, can be incorporated into magical workings that focus on carrying away negativity or other unwanted aspects of your life.”
i included it because it mentions the goddess, the womb (so possibly fertility), and femininity, which you’ve probably noticed by now is a recurring meaning for the other symbols on him
flowing water also brings lowtown to mind, since it’s described as being eroded by some sort of flood
next i’ll bring up leander’s dagger earring again, focusing not on the ouroboros but the dagger itself
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in the demo, the mc notes that the earring is “dagger shaped.” but what if it’s not a dagger at all? what if it’s the ankh?
this could be a stretch, but note the hoop at the top of the dagger
the ankh is an “ancient Egyptian hieroglyph means life or living. Over time the ankh has come to symbolize eternal life and immortality to people from many walks of life. In ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, the gods were always seen carrying an ankh, making it a symbol of divinity.” (source)
another reach, but i was looking at pagan symbols that might be a match for the diamond that shows up on leander’s lapel pin and his belt buckle, and came across the unicursal hexagram
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this is the weakest link imo, especially because this isn’t a pagan symbol, but i thought i’d add it anyway since it seemed neat
the unicursal hexagram is a “six-pointed star is drawn unicursally, meaning that it is drawn in one continuous line. The hexagram represents the divine and heavenly forces of the universe. In Aleister Crowley's occult order Thelema, a five-petaled flower is placed in the middle to represent the pentacle and the five classical elements.” (source)
some other insights that i wanted to bring up here, though they have less to do with symbolism and are more concrete/tied to the game specifically
first up, as mentioned earlier, green might as well be leander’s official colour... so what about the red items on him? what significance do they have?
there’s this glowing red object attached to his belt, which i can’t help but think looks like an inverted version of the largest spire in eridia. you know, the spire that’s confirmed to be the senobium
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also note how the windows in eridia all seem to glow with a similar red light in this CG...
there’s also a (faintly glowing?) red gem on his dagger earring, which looks to be diamond-shaped
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what does it mean? what does it all mean?
your guess is as good as mine! but given all the allusions to the divine feminine, the (triple) goddess, fertility, etc. i can’t help think that leander might be in league with some kind of goddess or female deity. we already know that gods exist in some form or another, since ais is connected to a god and kuras is an angel, so the idea isn’t completely off base
did this goddess save leander’s life in the past, hence the constant motifs of renewed life, rebirth/resurrection, immortality, and so forth? maybe the scar that covers a good portion of his body had been enough to kill leander, or just nearly, until she intervened somehow
is he working with her to potentially overthrow the senobium, which we know he dislikes? are leander’s bloodhounds in on this? is the fact that leander’s magic is so powerful due to some kind of pact he has with the goddess?
obviously, i have no clue. i’m just throwing things at the wall and seeing what sticks msfjskfjhfd
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ant1quarian · 6 days
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I bring to thee: Witherborn!
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Look at the pretty guy
Info about Witherborn under the cut
Witherborn are a primarily landborn species that reside in the Nether Realm. They are often territorial and possess a kind of unusual, fear-inducing aura to any species that may get too close to them– even if the Witherborn shows no sign of violence.
They are mainly known for their intimidating height (averaging around 9’8”) and their very long, incredibly sharp tails with edges poking up like daggers. They’re essentially an extension of the Witherborn’s spine and look as such. Their claws and feet are as sharp as knives. Their teeth, often hidden and appearing as if they are flat, are about as sharp as a razor.
Witherborn mostly wear baggy pants and a cloak/cape with golden accessories here and there. Their most prominent decoration is the skull of whatever they primarily hunt that sits on their shoulder. What they hunt may not be their food source, but simply sort of like a game.
Under their sockets, two slits may sit. These are actually eyes and open up when the Witherborn is feeling aggressive.
Their senses are impressive, too– and like a Polar Bear, if you see them on the horizon, it’s likely they’ve been tracking you long enough to premeditate the hundreds of ways they could shred, rip, sever and tear your fragile body to pieces.
One of their species, most commonly used abilities is that of levitation.
This is often seen when they "perch" on their tail when they are in a relaxed state.
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boilingheart · 1 month
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Arcane Hunger
Pre-Relationship Gale x Male Tav (Lucius Skorn) Takes place in early Act 1. Magical items stopped working for Gale a while ago, and the symptoms have kept coming. The Ilmatari cleric Lucius wakes in the middle of the night to find Gale in the woods, pained and tormented by the Orb in his chest. With nothing else left to treat it, Lucius comes up with an idea to sate it. Rated T Read on AO3 See: Kitchen Territory for another Gale/Lucius slow burn one shot
This was a life lived on the precipice of peril.
Four centuries as the hunter and the hunted. From the delicate youth of a fawn to the wolf whose maw it was made for, to a broken dog leashed by its masters and starved — Lucius learned well not to sleep through anything. In rest is vulnerability, and every small sound in the night is the potential for a great threat.
This was the first lesson his father taught him the second he’d heard that tell-tale jingle of a belt buckle. A lesson he carried as a thief, then a leader, and then a slave.
If the foliage rustles, there’s an enemy nearby. A threat to the coalition, an incoming attack — many times in the night during the Lockjaws’ camp, Lucius had caught all sorts of aspiring predators intent on ending their reign.
Floorboards creaking, rusty doors squeaking, the faint pitter patter of feet upon the ground — Lucius never took any risks. Most of the time, it had been nothing. Others, there was the impending dagger incoming, followed by a corpse that was not his own on the floor.
The alert are victorious. The survivors are the winners. 
Lucius will not be flayed.
His head snaps up, hands instinctively reaching for their daggers as he whirls to his knees with vigilance. Try him, someone fucking try him, is all he can think, but as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes, he finds there’s no one there.
Once again, he has woken to nothing.
Lucius doesn’t rest his daggers just yet, still staying frozen in position in case anyone did dare enter his tent. One moment, two moments and three, his heart beats and echoes in his ears in time with the wind, but nothing comes.
Of course nothing comes.
He sheathes his daggers and rubs his face. How long has it been since he had a full night’s rest? Years? Decades? Centuries? Had he ever had a full, undisturbed rest? He can’t help but recall the one night Father Lorgan woke him in the middle of the night, and Lucius had very nearly assailed him before recognition flooded. Even in the two years of peace at the Open Hand Temple, he hadn’t been able to find rest.
Being in the forest with tadpoles in their heads isn’t making it any easier.
He’s about to convince himself to lay back down and sleep when he hears a noise again. His ears flick back, and he holds perfectly still. An animal? A voice? Has someone gotten up in the middle of the night?
He peeks his head out of his tent. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. The half-moon illuminates the tents with a gentle caress of blue, and the wind rustles the leaves with a soft layer of noise to fill the silence. There’s the chitter of distant nighttime animals and the occasional buzz of little bugs that have their own homes nearby. By all means, it’s a lovely night, and as far as he can tell, no one has gotten up. Gentle snores emit from the tents, and even the camp animals sleep soundly. 
Great. No source. Lucius sighs, retrieving his cloak and daggers, and decides to slip out and search around for himself. There’s no rest until he knows what it is.
And whatever it is, it feels… off.
He slips into the woods quietly, the muscle memory of a rogue taking over and carrying him with swift stealthy steps. Like a wraith, he slips through the foliage silently, unencumbered by the weight of any armor, free to stalk and to listen. Hundreds upon hundreds of times he and his gang had found themselves in forests, climbing the trees, hiding within the plants, staging the perfect ambush against those who pass by. Merchants, rival guilds, the Zhent, nobles – anyone they decided to make their victim that day. Not even daylight could stop these beasts of blood — but that was a lifetime ago. Yet still, that shadow does not leave the cleric.
Step by step, halt, listen. The wind whistles. The leaves rustle. Nothing new. Step, step, ascend, investigate, stop — and there, he hears it: labored breathing, like something, or someone is injured.
Something cold shoots through his veins. Adrenaline or fear? The sound is too humanoid to be an animal, which is far, far worse than what Lucius wanted to hear.
If they need help, they need it fast.
But if they need help, whatever put them here could still be lurking.
One quiet step after another. He has a dagger out, ready for any wrong move to try him. Step by step, he follows that hollow sound, feeling something in the pit of his gut turn when it starts to sound familiar. He’s close now — it’s most certainly humanoid, and they’re in pain, no doubt. But how? And who? And why —
He rounds a tree, and feels his blood turn to ice at the sight of a wizard’s signature purple sleepwear.
“Gale!”
Caution be damned! All thoughts of it melt away in alarm at finding Gale drenched in sweat, propped up against a tree trunk with a hand pressed tightly against his glowing chest. His head is thrown back, expression twisted and eyes screwed tight in agony, and he doesn’t seem to respond to Lucius in the slightest.
Is this fear?
“Gale, hey, Gale!” Lucius shakes his shoulder, only for Gale’s brows to scrunch further. “Gale, look at me. Hey, are you alright? Please look at me.”
Gale lets out a pained breath, peeking an eye open. They look unfocused, as if they can barely see Lucius in the slightest. It takes a few breaths before his lips quirk to a strained smirk and he gets his voice to work. “Hi.”
“The fuck you mean hi — Gale —” Lucius searches him for any injuries, his hands held out with a spell at the ready. There didn’t seem to be any visible wounds, and nothing quite off with Gale aside from the dirt and grass stains that now adorned the rich purple of his clothes. Well, aside from… 
His eyes trail up, and beneath Gale’s hand at his sternum, he can see the markings of the Netherese Orb glow up his neck and to the corner of his eye. The purple hue intensifies rhythmically, as if beating in tune with Gale's quickening heart. Lucius’ hairs stand on end.
“What’s happening to you? Why are you out here?”
Gale tries to laugh. It dies in his throat. “I was just… trying to get some air…”
“You look like you’re dying, Gale.”
“Well I certainly hope that’s not the case,” He says, struggling to get the words out. He digs the palm of his heel harder into his chest. “I’m… too close to camp.”
“Don’t tell me you were trying to go find some place to die.”
“No, no,” He takes a deep breath. “I-I just needed air.”
How long had he been out here? How long has the Orb been tearing him apart like this beyond what Lucius could tell? Had he been hiding the severity since the artefacts stopped working? Lucius raises his hands, a curing spell upon his fingertips, but there’s no place to put them. What would he do? What can he do?
Gale’s eyes are squeezed shut again, riding another wave of pain while Lucius sits on his haunches uselessly. He didn’t hear him get up. He should’ve checked on him. He should’ve thought of something. Lucius bites down the terror and buries it in its grave in his chest to speak.
“Tell me how I can help you.”
“Lucius…”
“There’s – There’s got to be something I can do,” Lucius says, leaning in closer. “Anything!”
Gale cranes his head, opening his eyes to look at Lucius as best as he can. He can barely focus. “I just need to ride this out. The Orb won’t feed anymore. I can’t… It’s fine, Lucius.”
“This is very much not fine! You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Gale.”
“I’ve had these episodes before, this is… nothing I can’t handle.���
“Sure, sure…”
Maybe he can’t help him. But he can at the very least keep him from suffering alone in the woods.
Resolute, Lucius makes up his mind. The prepared spell drops, and he slides one hand behind Gale’s back to prop him up. He slides his cloak off and wraps it around the wizard.
“What are you —”
“You see, here’s your first mistake, Gale,” Lucius says, hugging Gale close to him. With ease, he secures his other hand under Gale’s knees and hoists him up. “You’re telling a cleric of Ilmater to let you suffer alone. I think you should know by now that I’m not letting that happen.”
Gale tenses as he’s suddenly lifted, curling in closer to Lucius and shutting his eyes. “Please put me down.”
“And just let you rot in the woods? Come on, Gale.”
“There isn’t anything —”
“To the Hells with that. Maybe I can’t stop the Orb…” Lucius makes certain he has a good hold on Gale before heading back towards the camp. “But the very least I can do is keep you company.”
Gale is both lighter and heavier than he expects. Lighter, in that it was significantly easier to lift him than he imagined it would be. Heavier, in that the man is real, warm, solid, and in his arms. The darling wizard that’s had Lucius spinning dizzy for some time now was now cradled close to him. Gale likely isn’t able to fight back against him, for which Lucius feels a crumb of guilt over. He hates to whisk someone away when they don’t want it — but with how Gale collapses into himself, not taking his hand off his chest for a second and screws his eyes tight, he can’t help but feel he has no choice but to watch over him, or at the very least keep him where he can see him. Where he’s not exposed to the elements and gods forbid whatever else might be out there.
He treads the outskirts of the camp, circling away from where the others are sleeping in order to get to his own tent a little ways off. He’s long since learned that not many of the others are quite… fond of Lucius, which means his tent has the least amount of traffic in the camp. An advantage in this case, seeing that Gale needs to be away from the others in such a vulnerable state like this.
He hunches into the entrance, crouching low until he’s able to safely lay Gale down on his bedroll without tussling him, resting his head gently on his pillow. Gale peers up at him through squinted eyes, trying to follow him as Lucius closes up his tent and begins to rummage through the baskets and satchels he had around.
“Lucius…”
“Not a word, Gale,” Lucius says, pulling out a small crate from under his makeshift desk. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of protests and excuses and other words to try and discourage me from helping you, but they will be on deaf ears, my friend.”
Gale stays silent for a moment. When Lucius looks back at him, he has his head turned away.
“I just have to ride it out in waves,” Gale says weakly. At the very least he seems to have caught his breath a little. “Whatever it is you’re going to do, I’d rather save you the time. I’ve tried to feed it already. It doesn’t work.”
“Mm, I’m sure you have. I don’t doubt it. But if you’re just going with rings and trinkets, I just don’t think it’s strong enough.”
“Lucius —”
“Here, but first,” Lucius pulls out a rag, giving it a quick sniff to make sure it’s clean and dusts it off. With the quick incantation of a water spell, the rag soaks, dripping onto the floor. “Whoops, shit —”
He folds it neatly, wringing out the excess, and gently wipes down Gale’s face. Gale closes his eyes, but allows Lucius to move him when he brings his other hand to turn his head, bringing the cool, soft rag across his cheek, his nose, his chin and his temple. The process is automatic, for which Lucius is grateful for. In the Open Hand Temple, they’d sometimes take in the sick who needed help, and as one of the adorned who worked with the medicines, Lucius was often tasked with caring for them. The feverish, the elderly, all those who needed someone to care for them but were utterly alone. That’s what the Ilmatari are for. To help bear those burdens for those who couldn’t carry it. They take their places on the rack and bear it for them, for no one should suffer if they don’t have to.
He refreshes the rag and refolds it, laying it horizontally across Gale’s forehead. He’s done it a hundred times before, sometimes for faces that he often forgot, and for the faces who only had the Temple to go to. And though muscle memory shields Lucius from any strong feelings, he finds himself resting his hand over the rag, lost in observing Gale’s features up close. There’s no denying he’s a beautiful man, no matter how many times Lucius tries to convince himself otherwise. Soft brows, hooded eyelids, long lashes, laugh lines, a well kept beard, and those dark veins at Gale’s left eye that connected to his Netherese scar — he has to catch himself lest he linger for too long watching over him tenderly. It’s not appropriate.
“There we are,” He says, clearing his throat and patting the rag on his forehead before moving to the other side of the tent. “That should help you cool down. Let me see if there was any tea I salvaged. A good cup of tea ought to do you some good. Tea usually helps. Tea’s good.”
He can hear Gale huff with amusement. That’s good. He’s coming back to himself somewhat. He rummages through his inventory, trying not to bang all the pots and pans he’s found around in their travels, and finally manages to find some flowers he knows in his heart to have medicinal properties.
“I don’t have sugar on me. And I ate the last of my honey yesterday, so you’re going to have a bitter brew,” Lucius says out loud while he tries to arrange the shittiest set up of a teapot to boil without a stove or proper bonfire to boil at. He sets a wide copper pan missing its handle upside down on his table, a miniature brazier frame atop of it, and the dinked up teapot he’d salvaged on top. Water incantation fills it, and he flicks his fingers to try and light the brazier.
“Are… Are you starting a fire inside your tent?”
“Hm? Oh, no, not at all.”
“It very much looks like a homemade stove there.”
“Yes, but it’s not fire,” He pokes a finger onto the piece of charcoal laid in the metal frame. “Incende. Sacred flame cantrip — I was never good at the fire one.”
“Still technically fire.”
The made up stove lights up. “It’s sacred flame. Radiant. It’s different.”
“You’re using it to ignite something. It’s fire now.”
“But it’s holy fire.”
“Fire regardless.”
“I’m not going to burn this down, I’ve done this before,” Lucius says with a laugh, settling back onto his haunches to open the box he’d pulled out. “And even if I do, I have a water spell on hand. I’m glad I took the time to learn it. Never needed to use it so often than when I got stuck out here.”
“Oh, I hear that,” Gale huffs, wincing again as the Orb seems to coil him with pain. When he speaks again, it’s with significant strain. “I’ve gone through a handful of spells in my day I took for granted. Up until the moment I needed them.”
“That’s always how it goes, isn’t it.”
He crab-walks towards Gale, dragging the box with him. Gale cranes his head up, the rag covering his brows to create the illusion of an angry look on his face. “What are you doing?”
“You know, when you first told me about your whole uh, condition thing,” Lucius says, sticking his hand into the box and clattering all the various objects inside. “I actually went through the effort of hoarding all sorts of magical items that I could find.”
Gale’s expression softens. “Oh! That’s… very appreciated.”
“I mean I got a lot, Gale.” Lucius holds Gale’s gaze as he knocks the box over, spilling all of the items on the floor. A shortbow, daggers with various runic inscriptions, a dozen rings, a handful of necklaces that have tangled into each other, several maces, an axe, some crumpled scrolls, two pairs of gloves, a helmet that belonged to a halfling once upon a time, and other trinkets covered by the mess of items. Gale watches as all of the objects pour out and onto the floor, staring at it wordlessly, then back up at Lucius, then back to the pile.
“When did you… H-How did you… Where did…”
“This might sound hard to believe,” Lucius says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I used to be a… pickpocket, back in the day. There were just too many useful magical stuff we were finding and not very much I was able to spare, and it was scaring me. So, whenever we got to some higher crowds, I… went ahead and relieved some of them of their excess weight.”
Gale stares at the pile. “That is a lot of stuff.”
“I wasn’t about to let you starve.”
There’s a moment of silence while the two of them watched each other. Lucius can feel the distance between them — they were still strangers to each other for the most part, even if Lucius had suddenly found himself with an inexplicable infatuation for the wizard. He has no doubt he’s put Gale in an awkward position, having whisked him away bridal style into his tent while his ailment ate away at him, leaving him at his most vulnerable. He won’t pretend to understand Gale’s life story, or how this condition has treated him, or what he’s normally used to under those circumstances. He just knows that he can do what he can to ensure he can lift that burden in any way, and he wants Gale to know that he’s willing to do so.
And from that look on his face, perhaps Gale wasn’t expecting that Lucius would at all.
He tries not to feel anything about that. He hasn’t given many reasons for the camp to like him much, and that’s fine. But he’s willing to go through the effort for them. He’s not sure anyone has fully realized it just yet.
Gale’s expression drops to one more solemn, and Lucius feels his heart sink with it. “I don’t even know if this will work.”
“Will you at least try? I know you said it’s not sating the hunger anymore, but… maybe the doses were too small. Maybe you need a big go all at once. It’s… like a neverending maw, isn’t it? One ring a week can’t keep you going forever.”
Gale presses his lips together. “Are you sure you don’t want to keep some of it? It just… it all looks so valuable, Lucius, I —”
“Quit looking for excuses and let me help you damn it!” Lucius snaps, louder than he expects. It shuts Gale right up, sure, but the last thing he wanted to do was raise his voice at this man. He rubs his face, dropping into a proper seat on the floor. “Look… I told you. I set this stuff aside for you specifically. I hid this from everyone else for a reason. You think Astarion and Shadowheart wouldn’t go crazy for some of this stuff? I left it out of the inventory logs. What I gave you to help before came from this pile. Except the first one, of course, as you kind of caught me off guard — but still.”
Lucius doesn’t want to make assumptions about this man. He would think it’d be a little easier for a man of his caliber to understand and accept gifts. He pressed the urgency for having something to sate him, but now he wants to back off? Why can’t he just let him? And why can’t Lucius just let it go?
Why is it filling him with such a deep, profound sadness that Gale is hesitating?
Gale sits up, slow in his movements and carefully pulling his hand off his chest, as if doing it too fast would cause something to spill violently, the other taking the rag off his head. Up into a criss cross, he slouches dejectedly, staring at the vaguely glowing pile of goods.
“I appreciate it, Lucius, please don’t mistaken me,” Gale says softly, rubbing a hand down his face. “It’s just… I don’t know. It hurts sometimes. Not just… physically. I’m a wizard, Lucius, I command control over the Weave. I dedicate my life to studying it. It was more than just my everything. My very being, intertwined with me, at my fingertips. Even Mystra herself, the mother of magic, had caressed me once with such divine power — and now I’m…”
The Orb glows under his shirt, and he grinds his teeth as it gnaws on him from the inside out. Lucius can almost feel it. That dark, radiating magnetic power — subtle enough that Lucius could ignore it if he didn’t know what he was looking for, but strong enough that if he does, he can feel the pull of it towards Gale’s chest. It seethes and it burns and claws and chews. He can see how it’s left bruises over his skin.
“I know I brought this on myself. It’s the consequences of my own actions, my own hubris, but it doesn’t make the burden any lighter. The Orb… all it does is consume. It takes, and it takes from me. Magic is my lifeblood, and now I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life destroying it, lest it kill me and bring catastrophe to everything and everyone else unfortunate enough to be nearby.”
He takes a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. Trying to keep control. Lucius lets the silence balance, lest he knock something over with words.
“These are all very nice things, Lucius. I just… I hate that this is what it’s made of me. To consume and destroy the Weave. Magic that is my world. So many powerful and valuable items intertwined with it in this world that I’ve destroyed because I took something too far. I can’t help but feel that I am robbing you of so much utility for something I can no longer sate…”
Lucius casts his gaze back to the pile. Sure, there were some things in there he could find use for. He had already plucked some things out of the box a couple times when he realized he could make use of some of the rings and such in there, but… for the most part, Lucius felt no attachment to them. He knew when he lifted these items that they were going to be destroyed, and it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 
He decides to be a little brave and moves to sit beside Gale, close enough that their arms touch, catching his gaze. Gale makes considerable effort to focus on him, and though he’s more conscious now, it’s clear it’s taking every ounce of energy he’s got into this conversation.
“Gale, I literally let a highly suspicious vampire feed on my literal blood on the regular to sate him.”
Gale can’t help but honk a laugh at that, shaking his head.
“Look at me, Gale, I’m serious! It sounds funny, mostly because it is, but this is where I’m coming from. You think someone who’s letting in a spawn walk around the camp — and let us not forget, I am a cleric here — that I’m going to just call you, a chronically ill wizard, a burden?”
“Now, to be fair, I am quite literally a walking bomb —”
“Everyone here has some weird shit going on!” Lucius says. “Sure, not everyone’s about to blow up, but you think you’re the only one with baggage? The only one here who isn’t worth saving? A vampire spawn. A Sharran cleric. Noah being Noah. Infernal engine lady. A githyanki warrior — well, her deal is more a culture shock than anything but I won’t digress, ‘cause listen, I thought at least Wyll was the normal one here, and then it turns out he’s a fucking warlock!”
On the tip of his tongue, the precipice of his mind, Lucius imagines for one wild moment that he spills his own story to Gale. That he admits the kind of person that he was — still is, even. That he’s only been a cleric for two years, that he spent decades in prison prior to that, several more decades as a slave before that, and centuries being the absolute worst, rotten filth in Faerûn with the Lockjaw Gang. The blood of hundreds, mostly innocent, stains his hands always and forever. He still remembers the feeling of his hand around a dagger, blades plunged into flesh just for the thrill of it. How he’d first begun robbing for money and stability to live, and then became so good at it he just did it because it was fun. A horrific, terrifying menace, Lord Skorn, so awful that there had once been rumors that he was a Bhaalist —
But he doesn’t say any of it. And he knows Gale won’t ask. As far as anyone knew, he used to be a rogue, served time for being one, and found Ilmater when he came out. It’s good enough. No one needs to know. His scars and his tattoos speak for themselves.
“Besides,” Lucius continues, bumping his shoulder. “You’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t accept this. I got all of this for you, Gale. If you let it go to waste, I will be mad. Is that good enough for you?”
Gale looks at him, taking a moment longer than normal to process his words before scoffing, shaking his head. “Fine. So be it. I suppose you’re right. All this effort just to go to waste…”
“Exactly. Now, come on. I can’t stand to see you like this. You have to at least try.”
Gale takes a deep breath, staring down at the pile of magical items. Lucius plucks the rag out of his hands and scoots to give him some space. It takes the wizard a moment to find his bearings, and he watches his expression change as he drops his hands on top of the pile. Hunger. A ravenous, desperate, wild look, one Lucius had only seen on the most spurned of men who’d never been spared a moment of kindness or earned enough gold to live. The look of a starved wolf, manic over the bones of a long since picked at carcass, desperate to find even a modicum of flesh still left on the kill. The look Lucius had seen in his own eyes, his own reflection as a child when winter came, and neither he or his father were able to secure enough food before getting stuck in the snow. The look in his eyes the day he decided to cut his father’s own throat out —
Here comes the glow. Each of the items light up in a vivid violet, illuminating the tent with its brightness as they begin to pull like magnets towards Gale’s hands. Lucius had watched him consume these kinds of items before, but never this many. Never more than one at most. It was always fascinating to watch the ring or pair of gloves or mace disintegrate into Gale’s hands and feed into his chest, but this, oh, this was different. This, Lucius feels, shows him a better glimpse on the extent of the hunger, the raw, visceral, chaotic magic that plagues the wizard. It has never glowed this bright before, rattled and tangled and crumpled in on itself on its way to Gale’s hands, leaving fettering trails of flaky purple dust and an electric sting to the air. The magic funnels through and around Gale, siphoning into the center of his chest with a vacuum of sound. Sitting this close, he can almost feel the pull of the Orb, and finds himself leaning back out of sheer instinct as the items disintegrate.
He doesn’t want to call it beautiful, because it feels like a cruel thing to say to such a sight. It’s a horrible thing, this Orb and its hunger. What it does to Gale. But it’s an awe inspiring sight. The magic paints the tent in a violet hue, and he can almost taste it in the air, potent and raw as it breaks and breaks and breaks towards Gale. One by one, each item loses its form and becomes nothing. The tangled necklaces become one, and then become none. The rings lose their shape and become dust. Weapons that have likely slain many forgotten faces in the past are rendered useless. Fodder. Consumed.
Perhaps Lucius had simply always found beauty in destruction. 
Perhaps that’s what made Lucius an unforgivable man.
Eventually, the pile is rendered to nothing. Just a light trail of pink smoke to ever hint that anything existed at all. Gale still swells with magic, his hands pressed tightly over his sternum as if to cram all of it into the Orb and keep it there. His expression is screwed tight with pain, and Lucius wishes he could alleviate it, wishes he could reach out and smooth out those creases with his thumb and hold him close.
(How much longer can he pretend that these kinds of thoughts are platonic? How many times can he tell himself that it’s simply because he is Ilmatari that he feels things like this? It is his duty to bear these burdens, yes, but such feelings of care never did come naturally to Lucius. It has always been an active effort to bring himself to care about anything or anyone. Why it comes so easily when with Gale… well, how can he keep pretending there isn’t merit to these thoughts?)
The Orb releases him, and Gale slumps, the tension loose from his body after the effort it took. It startles Lucius so much that he immediately has his hands to catch him before he can fully understand what was going on. Did it hurt? Did he faint? Did it work?
“Gale, hey hey, are you okay?”
Gale trembles in his hold, and after a moment, he turns, suddenly burying himself into Lucius’ chest. Lucius freezes, unsure what to do or where to move. Gale is warm. He’s a comfortable weight, and he fits so nicely in his arms. He fell into his arms — he is seeking him out.
But he’s shaking.
Lucius rests his hands on Gale’s back tentatively, feeling Gale cling onto Lucius’ shirt. Lucius prays that it’s relief that Gale feels, that he’s simply overwhelmed with it and overjoyed with it, but he knows in the pit of his gut that it’s probably not true.
He asks anyways, in case the gods decided to grant them mercy.
“Did it work?”
His voice is a whisper. 
Gale takes a sharp breath. He’s crying.
“No.”
Lucius closes his eyes, feeling his chest twist at the confirmation. He was sure. He was so, so sure this would work… 
He wraps his arms around Gale tight, pulling him in close, and Gale throws his arms around Lucius just as tight in turn, clinging onto him. His cries are quiet, composed mostly of sharp breaths. A despair Lucius can only imagine. The pit of his gut churns with frustration at how helpless he is to the situation. Lucius rocks gently in the embrace, resting his chin atop Gale’s head and staying silent, letting him take all the time he needs to gather himself. Or to fall apart. If Gale needed to shatter, Lucius would be here to piece him together if he had to. 
Either way, Gale won’t be alone. He’ll be here. He’ll hold onto him.
He doesn’t know how long they stay here like this, but eventually, Gale does manage to settle his breaths and find the strength to pull away. He doesn’t look up at Lucius, though he can see how disheveled his hair has become and the puffiness in his eyes from the emotion. Lucius wordlessly hands him the wet rag, and Gale accepts it, wiping his face.
Silence hangs between him. Lucius wonders if that distance between them has grown any shorter than when he last felt it earlier, or if it’s become a chasm now with the raw wound on his pride.
Gale unfolds the rag, draping the entirety of it against his face, covering him completely as he keeps it pressed against his eyes. After a moment longer, Gale clears his throat, intending on gathering his bearings as quickly as possible.
“... You should check on your fire hazard.”
“My wh—”
Ah. The shitty teapot on his shitty made up stove.
“Martyred Father…”
Lucius springs up in a hurry, nearly tripping over the box he discarded and extinguishes the heat with a cantrip. The water has since boiled, some of it evaporated with the time that’s passed. He retrieves one of his chipped mugs, placing the flowers and herbs into it before pouring the hot water in. In a perfect world, he’d have some cinnamon, perhaps some cream. Some sugars and some honey. A nice, new mug with different painted decals, one that wasn’t chipped. And he’d have a real stove, a real bed, running water and a fire in a fireplace. He’d make all of this look nicer, taste nicer, feel nicer, and they’d be comfortable.
But instead, it’s their salvaged resources out in the wilds, a sewed up tent, parasites in their skulls and a ticking time bomb in a man that’s slowly convincing Lucius that there may just be some merit in the stories people tell about falling in love.
He hopes that making the tea is giving Gale enough time to recover, enough distance to patch himself up from the vulnerability he’s just exposed to Lucius. He knows keenly what this moment was, and he knows that it’ll be raw for a while. He won’t poke it. He won’t push him further than he has to. This is sacred, and this is important. He will hold it in the cup of his hands gently and take care of the trust Gale has given him in this moment, and he will simply do what he can to help him without wounding him.
Sure enough, by the time Lucius returns with the mug, Gale has laid back down, the rag folded now over his eyes and brow, and his hands clasped together over his belly. His breathing was more even, and he was more collected than he left him.
“It’ll take a few minutes for all the flowers and stuff to seep in the water,” Lucius says, mostly to announce his presence as he sits back down beside Gale. “Water’s still clear. Needs a sec before it gets that nice amber color. Wish I had sugar.”
“You’ve been sweet enough to me already,” Gale says quietly, though not moving from his position. “That’ll be enough to get me through the tea.”
Lucius huffs with amusement. His gaze can’t help but travel to the markings on Gale’s chest. The Orb doesn’t feel nearly as unstable as it did earlier, but it was still glowing, still etching into the wizard’s skin. 
He decides to ask the delicate question. “How are you feeling?”
Gale takes one long, slow deep breath. “Admittedly, better. The pain is… somewhat duller, but still…” He shrugs. “... still pain. That amount of magic should’ve held me off for at least a month. Now it just…”
He scowls. Lucius can already imagine the types of things he’s readying up to say. Apologetic and avoiding the subject of how he actually feels.
So Lucius answers. “It’s still hungry.”
Gale sighs. “Yes. Very much so.”
Lucius sets the mug aside, rubbing his hands together in thought. The fact that there was relief gained was good. It meant he could treat it somewhat, but getting a hold of that many magical items again just for a temporary amount of relief was going to be difficult to maintain. Gale says it comes in waves, so it won’t always be this bad, but it also means that he’s in constant pain. 
The thought twists something in his gut. There were a few moments recently during various combative encounters that Gale wasn’t able to focus on his spells completely. His missteps cost Lucius and Wyll a great deal of trouble with the goblins, and were it not for Shadowheart, they’d have seen a greater deal of blood on their end. He feels guilty for not noticing it before. Every moment he’s had with Gale where he seemed off was recontextualized now, and by the Rack it ached to think about. 
There had to be something he could do. Anything. A steady stream of magic to at least take the edge off, and at least provide him some relief so he’s not panting in the woods at the dead of night.
Lucius looks down at his hands. An idea brews in his mind.
“The magic helped a little though, didn’t it?” Lucius asks. “You’re at least not falling apart at the seams anymore.”
“It’s definitely helped me feel… present,” Gale says. “I… still feel like it’s going to start eating me alive at any second if I move the wrong way.”
“Do you mind if I try something else?���
Gale turns his head a little, carefully raising a hand to peek out from the rag. “Don’t tell me you have another box full of stolen items.”
“Haha, not magical ones,” Lucius says, scooting over to sit closer to Gale. He holds up a hand, feeling divinity flow through his fingertips. “I… have a theory I’d like to try. I think at this point anything is worth a shot, right?”
Gale squints at him, his gaze flickering between him and his glowing hand. There’s a quirk of his lips. “Are you putting me down?”
“Yes, actually, that was exactly what I was about to do, you caught me,” He waves his hand around. “No, Gale. You need to consume magic, don’t you?”
“The Weave, yes…”
“Well… I don’t really control the Weave like you do. Actually, I’m not sure if what I control counts as the Weave — but what I do know is this,” Lucius brings his hand closer to Gale, still tentative, and holding it so Gale can push it away no problem if he doesn't want any part. “The magic I wield is given to me by my god. Ilmater, the One Who Endures — He preaches that we must take on the burdens of others so they do not have to suffer. What’s a more noble cause for Ilmater to intervene in than to call for His power to alleviate this ailment of yours?”
Gale scrunches his brows in thought, his eyes flickering away as he tries to run the theory over in his mind. “... I can’t say I’ve tried feeding off of the magic of holy items or the equivalent thereof - though, that is mostly because I’ve not come across any of them in my tower, nor a cleric to boot. In theory, I don’t think the Orb will respond to it — you and I wield very different magics. I, of the Art, and you, of the Power — but again, I haven’t tested it. It’s… Hmm, it could be an alternative source…” His gaze flicks back to Lucius. “But… won’t it exhaust you? I don’t know how much it will need to take. It’s one thing for me to take your material things, but an entirely different thing to take from you directly.”
“Oh holy Martyred Father — Gale what did I just say? Cleric. Of. Ilmater. I let a fucking vampire take from me. Stop stopping me, damn you.”
“I’m just —”
“Stop it. Seriously!” Lucius huffs. “If you don’t want to try it because the magics don’t mix or for some other hypothetical reason that puts you on edge, that’s perfectly fine. But if you’re refusing it because you think I’m going to lose something from it or whatever, please don’t. I’m telling you right now I want to help you, and through the power vested in me by the God of Endurance, I assure you I could absolutely fucking handle it.”
Gale lets out a puff of air, looking up in thought. The Orb still glows, painfully so, and Lucius can see him running through all sorts of ideas in his head.
Finally, the wizard seems to settle, leveling his gaze back to Lucius. “... Fine. I have to admit, I am rather curious what sorts of effects divine magic will have on me.”
“There we go, there’s the nerd in you.”
“You caught me. I am always a sucker for testing theories.”
“If it doesn’t work or has a worse effect, we can stop and save the trouble, if that makes you feel better.”
“That sounds good to me.” Gale sits up, pointing a daunting finger at Lucius. “But you have to promise me that if at any point during this you experience a significant amount of pain, you must stop.”
“If it stings a little, I can bear through it man —”
“You must promise me that, Lucius Skorn. If it feels like this Orb is a threat to your life and safety, you will stop.”
Lucius tilts his head a few times in thought. “Alright. Fine.”
“Promise?”
“I swear it on my Lord.”
“Thank you.” Gale settles back down, staring straight at the tent’s ceiling ahead. “Your God is watching you, so I do hope you keep to your word.”
“Har har.”
A buzz of excitement flows through him. If this works, then they’ve found a solution to hold them off enough until they can find another alternative. Just kneeling before Gale, preparing to use the powers given to him feels holy in and of itself. Though Lucius’ connection with Ilmater has been somewhat hazy these days, his magic still flows strong, and he swears it feels even stronger as he summons divinity through his veins here. 
Lucius rests his hand over the Orb in Gale’s chest, light to the touch before fully committing. In his mind, he calls out to Ilmater, seeking a pathway to that holy power, hoping to tap into the very vein of it and channel it in one go. “Ilmater, the Tortured God, the God of Endurance, holy Martyred Father on the Rack — grant me your power to bear this burden. Give me the strength to carry it on my shoulders, offer me your divinity to alleviate my friend. Allow me, Ilmater, to take his place on the rack.”
Gale closes his eyes, and Lucius follows. There’s a moment of fear that flickers through him. What if Ilmater doesn’t respond? What if he calls out for his power and nothing happens? What if he just made a fool of himself here, and has nothing to show for?
Cruel, cruel thoughts. Purge them, cleric, and open yourself. Self doubt will get you nowhere. Bear this burden, Lucius.
The power runs through him like a shock of cold water dumped on him all at once. It crashes through his heart and travels through his veins, overflowing through his fingertips in a flurry. The Orb glows viciously, and he feels the magnetism of it pull his hand closer against Gale’s chest, pressing against him with far too much pressure. He can barely move the hand — he plants his free one on the bedroll beside Gale to keep balanced, and feels Gale immediately snap to clutch it tightly. Gale writhes with the power that flows, the glow reaching to the veins of his eye as divinity spills from Lucius’ hand into him.
Lucius has to grit his teeth to stay rooted and keep control over the sudden power coursing through him. “Is it working?!”
Gale can barely respond. His other hand has gripped Lucius’ wrist as it funnels the power, and he’s kicked his knees up to dig his heels into the bedroll, his breath caught in his throat. It makes Lucius run cold with fear, but when he begins to pull the magic away from him, Gale only pulls his arm in.
“I’m okay,” He hisses through grit teeth. “It’s… It’s doing something. Don’t stop.”
Lucius nods, and lets the magic continue to flow. The Orb has begun to shift in hue, the violets and blues changing to that of the golden oranges and yellows that Lucius funnels into him. Gale’s grip is tight against him, clawing through his sleeves and digging into his skin hard enough to leave bruises. Lucius grinds his teeth as he tries to keep his balance. He’d witnessed the hunger itself only once before when Gale had him place his hand over his heart and project the memory of the Orb through their tadpoles. But being on the other end of it, feeling an incorporeal force latch onto him and try to tear him away, all teeth and jaws and a bottomless pit of a stomach, oh, it does scare him. Every time the Orb pulls and licks at skin that his holy magic didn’t cover, it fills him with an overwhelming visceral fear, a force so strong that Lucius wonders if it’s even his at all.
The Orb pulses. Waves of magnetism shake both of the men, throttling them and pulling them into its center, knocking Lucius off balance and nearly collapsing on Gale. He remembers being told that the Orb will erupt. That just a fraction of this power is enough to level a city the size of Waterdeep. He aggravates it now with his magic, feeding it something other than the Weave, this hungry thing. It pulls and pulls, and Lucius can’t move his arm. He might be damning them. He might just kill them both, kill everyone in this camp. He might just ruin everything, ruin everyone, ruin it all.
But the divine magic is a fount he can’t stop, a waterfall that pours and pours into a maw that takes and takes. Could he possibly hope to feed it all? To satisfy it enough? How does one feed that which never stops hungering?
(How do you feed yourself, when you yearn and ache and writhe with hunger that you can’t seem to kick? When you travel the world after seeing bars and chains for years, and look for something, anything that can feed you? Can a soul ever be nourished? Can a curse ever be cured? Could the starving ever be full?)
Gale pants, throwing his head back. His breaths are uneven, and the magic seems to render him speechless. How far do they go? Is Gale present enough to figure out when they should stop? Is Lucius sane enough to let go even if it becomes too much? The force of it takes the strength out of Lucius, and he finds himself hunched over Gale, bracing his weight on his forearm on the ground and his head dropped onto Gale’s shoulder while the magic pours. Gale’s back arches, pressing further into the magic, hand still tightly wrapped around Lucius’ wrist. Like magnets they cling to each other, every ounce of their beings and the powers that claim them tangle them together, choking the breaths out of them.
It’s almost addicting, the way it feels. Like two pieces that fit together perfectly, however destructive. But Lucius always did find beauty in destruction, didn’t he?
Just when he thinks it’s becoming too much, he starts to feel the force weaken, as if the Orb was starting to release its jaws off of Lucius. Gale no longer writhes as violently, resting back onto the bedroll flat, his grip on loosening. Even the fountain of power gifted to Lucius begins to pull back, as if it too had begun to sense that it was ending. The golden glow of the Orb against Gale’s skin starts to shimmer and dim, no longer violent and uncontrolled. A burden slowly relieved, slowly lifted. 
Though the power begins to dissipate from them, Lucius still feels his hand stuck to his chest. The last bit of holy power drains from him, and he starts to feel the world spin around him. His mouth is dry, and he’s starting to wonder when the last time he breathed was. His knees slide out, leaving him practically laying on his side with his hand still stuck, his elbow bent high in the air as the last ribbons of gold flutter through. It seems like Gale’s not in pain anymore. That’s good. That’s very good. He’s not sure what he would do if after all of this, there was still nothing to be gained.
Everything flickers. Lucius blinks hard. It becomes difficult to tell whether he’s stopped channeling the magic or not.
A bit of humor washes over him. It feels funnily similar to nights that Astarion drinks a little too much from him.
Gale's hands wrap around his wrist, gentler now, and in one swift motion, he plucks Lucius’ hand off of his chest, severing the connection completely. Golden flakes of dust flutter away from his fingertips as the magic stops, and the Orb finally quiets. The relief wipes Lucius out instantly, all the tension in his body uncoiling and dropping next to Gale, not a thought spared to how he’s buried in the crook of his neck and laying atop his arm, hand flopping back onto his chest. The silence almost hurts his ears, making the sounds of both of their heavy breaths all the louder than it has any right being.
Neither of them make any effort to move, no doubt fully drained by everything the impromptu ritual put them through. It’s only when both of their breaths start to even out that Lucius cracks his voice to speak.
“Did it… work?”
Gale lets out a long, shaky breath. “It’s… To give you a short answer and save us both the time, yes. I think it did.”
Lucius closes his eyes, a swell of relief and pride washing over him. With it, he feels a warmth — whether that is from the absolute incurable affection he bears for the wizard, or the fulfillment of his holy duty to bear the wizard’s burden, he cannot tell. “God, I’m so fucking glad to hear that.”
“I… have never felt anything like that…” Gale says, his voice tired. “I didn’t think it was going to work, but… it was enough to satisfy it, I think. Between the… magical stuff you gave me and this… Gods, my eyes are heavy.”
“Same…” Lucius makes a move to shift away from him, but can’t seem to make it far. “We should… get you back to your tent so you can sleep this off.”
“A sound plan.”
Neither of them move. The last cognitive thought in Lucius’ mind is remembering the mug of tea he’d made, and he forgets the rest of everything else.
--
This was a life lived on the precipice of peril.
Four centuries as the hunter and the hunted. From the delicate youth of a fawn to the wolf whose maw it was made for, to a broken dog leashed by its masters and starved — Lucius learned well not to sleep through anything. 
In rest is vulnerability.
In rest, there is the potential to lose everything.
This was one of the first lessons Lucius learned and carried with him for centuries. 
Don’t sleep in the unfamiliar. Keep one eye open. Leap to action at any and every sound, never be caught off guard, always have a blade in hand, never sleep in, always be ready, always be sharp —
And yet…
Lucius sleeps in.
It’s a rest he hasn’t gotten in years. Perhaps never. Between his childhood, the life in the Lockjaws, running for his life in the Underdark or in prison, he’s never slept in. Never found himself comfortable. Never found himself so lost like he is now atop this warm pillow, floating soundly, dozing delightfully.
Peace. 
Is this what it’s like?
He should be awake. Instincts scream at him to wake up and get up and assess the environment and see what he’s got, get ready for the day, check on the others, get breakfast started — but they float away, carried by the river of exhaustion, ferried away to be someone else’s problems. Down, down, down…
He shifts, and sunlight dares impede his darkened vision with dapples of light. He buries himself further into the pillow, hoping to chase away the dance of consciousness. Not yet, he thinks. Not yet, not yet. Not when he’s so cozy. Not when for the first time in his life, he’s been able to just cuddle up and rest. Not when this purple pillow is doing everything to —
Lucius’ eyes snap wide open. He doesn’t own any purple pillows.
Reality dawns on him as he slowly, slowly raises his head. One moment, two moments and three, his heart pounds and echoes in his ears faster than a pulse beneath him, and horror begins to take root in the pit of his chest. His hair sticks out from every which way, clinging to his mouth as he peels away from what is very much not a pillow, and is very much a highly specific wizard from Waterdeep sleeping peacefully on his bedroll.
Gale never did make it out of his tent.
The horror continues to pile on. Their legs had tangled themselves together, Lucius’ hand stayed on his chest, and Gale had an arm thrown around his side, a comfortable position their sleeping forms must have found themselves in during the night.
They slept together.
Innocently, yes, sure, but they slept together.
This is too close. Too intimate. It wasn’t like that, surely — it was an accident. He didn’t mean to. He shouldn’t be here. Shit, shit, this shouldn’t have happened.
His face runs hot, and he’s frozen, fear rooting him in place with a quickened breath. He can’t tear his eyes away from the sight just beneath him. Gale’s hair had become a mess, splayed out over the bedroll in such a way that tugs at Lucius’ gut with affection. His face, which had been so contorted in pain not so long ago now rests peacefully, absent of that horrible despair and twisted curse, almost appearing younger with his features at rest. His brows don’t furrow and fold, his eyes closed gently and resting the skin — Lucius follows the trail of those darkened veins down his neck and to his chest. The skin was bruised all around where the Orb marks him, and Lucius gets the horrible, horrible thought that he wishes he could kiss it better. 
That ache pulls at his gut, at his heart and even his throat, this longing to kiss Gale, to follow the trail up his neck and to his cheek and kiss him awake. The ache that they could wake up like this without a problem, without it being weird, without it being some kind of situationship that Lucius would often find himself in. He aches, he aches, he aches —
Gale starts to stir. All of the alarms in Lucius’ head ring and blare, his pulse pounding in his ears. Move, move Lucius! Move, damn you! Do something, quick! How many seconds are passing? Think, damn you! Get up!
Those beautiful brown eyes — knock that off! — flutter open, blinking the sleep away and come into focus. The hand still around Lucius moves and then halts suddenly, his eyes locking with Lucius. He can practically see the cogs in his head turning with thought, booting up and bringing him to full cognition.
It’s over.
With all the grace of a startled cat, Lucius scrambles off of Gale, pushing himself up and away with haste. Gale backs away just as fast, though seemingly more in response to Lucius than anything else. Lucius’ back crashes into something, a quick burst of pain blooming and hisses, pulling his knees into his chest to rub at the spot. Damn it all.
“Are you quite alright?”
“No — Yes! Yep, I’m… fine…” Lucius fumbles, cursing his cheeks for still feeling hot with embarrassment. He feels as though he’s been caught in the act of something terrible, and all he wants to do is shrink away. “Um. Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Gale replies easily, a look of amusement to his features. Lucius tries not to focus on the color that paints the wizard’s cheeks, or the intense curiosity in his eyes that Gale rakes him with. “It appears I did not… make it back to my tent…”
“Mm…”
They stare at each other for another awkward moment longer, and then suddenly, everything about the situation just felt ridiculous. Gale’s hair is a wreck, Lucius has drool dried on his cheek, their clothes were wrinkled and pulled to the wrong corners, and they’d all but cuddled with each other in the night. All at once, the tension snaps, and the both of them burst out laughing, Lucius loud like a barking dog, and Gale with a squawk like a bird.
Lucius runs a hand down his face, pinching his nose and wiping his cheek. “I think I drooled on you.”
“That can’t be the worst thing that’s happened to me out here.”
“Gods. I hate it here.”
Gale chuckles, stretching his arms out with a yawn. “For what it’s worth, Lucius, that was the most rested sleep I’ve had in a while.”
“Man...”
It’s a shame to miss the warmth he had just moments ago. He tries not to linger on it. He tries not to think about it too hard.
There are several choice words that dance at the tip of the cleric’s tongue, but he does well to swallow them all down before he chokes.
“Well, that’s good at least,” Lucius finally lands on saying. “I uh. I hope all of that stuff helped?”
“That it did, my friend. I feel… revitalized today,” Gale says, a grin spreading across his face and a sigh of relief. “I think this is something I may have to write down. It raises so many questions about the nature of this Netherese magic inside of me. It has only ever fed on the Weave before, and theoretically, it should only feed on the Weave. That’s what it’s made of. Divine magic, the Power, is very much not Weave magic, and yet…”
Lucius can’t help but spare a look to his hand that casted the spell, startling somewhat when some of his veins seem to have retained a dim, golden glow. “The power of Ilmater, my friend. I told you so.”
“Well, it looks like I’ve got a mighty amount of thanks to give to the Broken God. Remind me to pass an offering to His shrine if we ever do make it to one of His temples.”
Lucius gives him a two-fingered salute. “I’ll hold you to it.”
Gale gives an amused huff, his attention shifting back down to his chest. He presses a hand to it tentatively, and the Orb glows dimly in return. “It’s… very strange, honestly. How all of that felt. The Orb rejected it at the beginning, as if it didn’t quite know what to do with it. By the time I felt it begin to consume… Ack, it’s so strange. I lack the vocabulary to define what it all felt like.”
Lucius rubs his chin in thought, crab-walking closer to Gale to seat himself criss cross. “Just say it badly. Don’t need to dress it all up. You can give it pretty words later.”
“Hah. Suppose I can.” Gale hums, idly chewing at his fingertips as he tries to find a phrasing he’s happy with. “Ah, I got it. I would imagine it as a proper diet. One should have enough balance in what you eat. Meats, vegetables, a healthy amount of grain and just a little bit of sweets — all the proteins and nutrients to sustain yourself, yes?”
Lucius nods along. “My greatest lament is our sad little diet out here.”
“Ha, as is mine. Now, the Orb requires proper sustenance. The Weave, in this case. You’ve given me a fraction of what it needs — but with the food analogy, you’ve given a starving man the quarter cut of a steak, but nothing more. It satisfies the hunger enough not to pang the stomach, yet still isn’t quite enough.” He gestures meticulously throughout his explanation, miming as if he’s cut the steak and served it, pointing to his own belly as he speaks. A very visualized man, Lucius thinks. “Now, nutritional sustenance will get you far. But not everyone eats well. In this case, I’ve been given an alternative. It’s like… hmm, I don’t want to say being on a vegetarian diet when one needs meat — it’s more like one has filled up on bread and butter as much as they could until they couldn’t eat another bite. You’re full, yes, but you’ve missed out on all the nutrients.”
“Are you calling my god’s power a serving of bread?”
“No no no, don’t take it too literal!”
Lucius barks a laugh. “Go on.”
Gale huffs. “What I mean to say is that the hunger is satisfied. I have filled up on enough to keep me going. I think after a while, if we were to, in theory, keep this up, it will eventually take a toll on me, but not eating is always worse than eating filler foods. It’s better to eat something than to starve.”
Lucius smiles, finding himself more than happy to hear the dissertation. “That’s good! That’s really good, actually.”
“Oh, most certainly! I must admit, I was starting to get… well, I was… starting to feel a little hopeless about the whole situation, but now…” Gale looks up at him, a glint in his eyes of awe and appreciation, a gaze that makes Lucius almost shrink back at the fondness within them. “I cannot possibly thank you for this gift you’ve given me, Lucius.”
Lucius waves a hand, rising to his feet. “It’s my duty, Gale. This is a fight we’re all in together. All I want to do is find a way to take care of all of you while we figure this hell out.”
Gale nods, rising as well. “Your efforts are noted and appreciated, good leader,” He says with a bow. “But now, I do have to ask you. Are you alright? You started to look weak after the whole thing, and considering how we’ve woken up this morning, you cannot deny that it took a lot out of you as well.”
“Well… I can’t say it’s every day that I call upon my god to grant me an intense amount of magic to feed my magically hungry friend…”
“True.” Gale raises that accusatory finger once more. “But you promised me that you would stop if it became too much.”
“I promised I’d stop if I was in pain.”
“And if it was going to compromise your safety.”
“My safety wasn’t that compromised.”
“See, there’s the trick of your words. It was compromised. Maybe at a miniscule level, but the promise was broken there.”
“In my defense! I was doing fine up until the very end. Which is when I… kind of lost it.”
“That’s what I didn’t want to happen Lucius —”
“Ah ah!” Lucius raises a finger at him now. “It was fine. I’m willing to do this again, but this time, I know what to expect. The hardest part was just handling how much raw magic Ilmater granted us. Once it ran out, it all… Well, I know when to let go now. Alright?”
Gale frowns at him, crossing his arms. Lucius purses his lips, and crosses his arms as well, staring at him.
“You promise?”
“Swear on my Lord.”
“Your Lord is watching.”
“I sure fucking hope He is. I’m His greatest little boy.”
Gale chuckles at that, shaking his head. “Very well. Thank you again, Lucius. It means more than you know. I don’t even know where I’d begin to repay you.”
You could kiss me, Lucius wishes he could say as a tease and feel nothing about it at all.
He claps a hand on his shoulder instead. “Just keep chucking spells, and we’re good. I don’t need that much but your company, your prowess, and a helping hand in our sorry little kitchen.”
Gale lifts his head with a little pride at that. “Then you will have me there to the best of my abilities.”
Lucius smiles fondly at him. Wherever did this crush start, he wonders? How did this infection spread and fester within his chest without him noticing? It’ll bring him down to ruin and rot if he’s not careful. He’ll collapse and wither and die if he can’t get a stop to this disease.
This churning in his chest… his heart does not normally stir, and when it did, it ended in blood. What about Mauve? What about Virena? Lessons they were to keep his heart anchored to this cage of bone.
But Gale smiles at him with a glint in his eye, and Lucius still feels the echo of his warmth upon his body. Where did it start? Could it be that shared moment of magic? When Gale confessed the horrors of the Orb? Or could it have been the very second Lucius pulled him from that stone?
The tremor in his hands makes itself known, and he has to bite down to keep from trembling. Curses to the body for reacting so dramatically, as if a human man could do anything to bring Lucius to true ruin. As if… As if…
Gale’s about to turn to leave. “I think I should get going. Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome, after everything you’ve already done for me here.”
“No no!” The words tumble out of Lucius’ mouth before he can stop them. He swallows hard when Gale regards him with curious eyes, and Lucius has to follow up with something pertinent. He turns Gale, taking a look at the poor abused skin surrounding the Orb marred to his flesh. “I’m not letting you go like this.”
Gale drops his gaze down to his collarbone. “Ah. Yes, this was…”
“Very bad.” Lucius finishes. He calls upon his holy power once more, and the magic flows easily through him. Moreso, even, as if channeling raw power previously had made it easier for the spell to take root. He places his hand on Gale’s chest, letting the soothing magic flow through him in his incantation. Slowly, the violets and blues of bruised skin soften to reds and yellows, and soon, to none, golden magic caressing the sites of injury and tracing the Orb’s pattern on his skin. The Orb shimmers as Gale takes a breath, for a moment taking on a golden hue before settling back to its darkened, slumbered state.
“Oh!” Gale says, touching his chest as Lucius drops his hand. “Oh, that final piece of relief — I’d been so used to this I nearly forgot what it’s like to be without that pain…”
A pang of sadness hits Lucius. “My friend, please do not hesitate to come to me for healing.”
“You’ve given me more than I could possibly ask for.”
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do if you asked for it, Gale.”
Those words tumble out again, unfiltered, and Lucius schools his expression into something casual. The severity and weight of his words can’t reach Gale like this. Not like this. Gale’s cheeks color, and Lucius pointedly ignores it.
“You are far too kind to me, Lucius. I will treasure this.”
There’s a moment where both of them linger. Goodbyes are in place. They’re to meet again anyways when they convene at the fire pit and set out for adventure. They’re to get back to the road and back to business within the hour or two. They’ll see each other again, but still, they pause. Hesitant. As if something else should be filling this moment.
Lingering looks. Awkward hands. Perhaps Lucius should reach out. Perhaps Lucius should say something more. Perhaps Gale wants to say something else. It’s on the tip of his tongue, and the air is heavy, it’s thick and hazy and Lucius is drawn to it.
But the moment ends. No spark ignites the thick air, and Gale bows his head to the cleric.
“I’ll get started on breakfast,” he says.
“I’ll meet you there,” Lucius replies.
And Gale leaves.
Lucius waits until he’s certain Gale has gone long out after before dropping to the ground and letting out a long groan. He’ll never get over this, he’s certain. Not with the way his heart pounds against his chest. Why does it stir so much? Why does it make him fumble? Where did he go wrong? Where did he possibly go wrong?
He has to get ready. He has to clean up, fix his makeup, and behave like a proper, genuine, functioning person. He has to pretend this never happened, and remember who he is. He is Lucius Skorn, and he does not get crushes. He is Ilmatari. This is his solemn duty. This is his charge.
As he moves to get to his sponges and rags, his foot kicks something, splashing liquid all over the place. He stares at the ground, watching that chipped mug from the night before roll around on the ground uselessly, spilling its soggy flowers.
He forgot about the tea.
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Protecting the Aspen Witch
Hey, sorry this isn't very specific, but I was rereading Protector earlier and wanted to know if you could maybe write more from that universe? Brain's not braining much rn, so I'm afraid that's the most detailed I can be haha. But any h/c from that universe would make me extremely happy. Maybe they actually have a conversation about Virgil's trauma? – anon
Read on Ao3 Masterlist
Warnings: panic attack/dissociation
Pairings: DLAMPR
Word Count: 4798   
 Virgil’s got a simple code when he’s not on a hunt. Don’t hurt whatever you don’t absolutely have to, and odds are, it won’t hurt you. Now and then there’s a bit of an, um, incident where that doesn’t quite work out as well as they’d hoped, but by and large they get by.
On another quest to the Aspen Witch, something goes...a little awry.
Truly, going to see the Aspen Witch isn't the worst quest in the world. In another set of circumstances, he would be grateful for such a well-traveled road, or even just to be able to go somewhere that he knows.
In this world, however, he thinks that the next time someone needs something from the Aspen Witch, he'll tell them to go themselves.
(He won't, he knows he won't, but he likes to imagine for one moment that he might consider it.)
In any case, at least this time he's not bartering for something on behalf of someone else. He's making a delivery on behalf of Elise, a sweet girl in the village who accidentally pissed off the wrong warlock. (See, this is why he'd never actually be able to tell someone else to go, because either he's bartering, which means it's for something that'll help a lot of people, or it's for someone who would definitely be in grave danger if they tried to go alone.) The warlock hadn't taken too kindly to Elise's accidental questioning of their source of magic, even though that wasn't what she was intending at all, and bestowed a powerfully cursed amulet into Elise's possession while she slept. The amulet held a potent attraction charm to coerce Elise into putting it on, and once on, induced paranoia so severe the poor girl's screams could be heard all the way from Virgil's home.
Needless to say, he's taking it far, far away to be destroyed.
He accepted nothing more than a small bag of coin—smaller than his pouch of agrimore dust, the family wasn't exactly in the position to spare a lot of money—and promised Elise to see to it that the amulet never touched her again. Truly it was just a matter of keeping it wrapped in skeldor hide until he reached the Aspen Witch to limit the potency and then, well, then the Aspen Witch would have to know what to do.
Part of him wondered if he would see any of the Five—of course there were five of them and of course they were known by some ridiculous name—when he set off, but there weren't any strange things in his garden, nor did any of them decide to appear when he beds down at the boulder, across the bridge, even when he gets into the valley. No, he manages to make it all the way to the Aspen Witch without running into any of them.
If he were still the adventurer he was years ago, he'd take that as good fortune. If he's going off of what he knows now, he knows enough to be a little wary of their absence.
And if he's being truly honest, something he does try to refrain from outside the safety of the walls of his home, he might be a little disappointed.
He shakes himself out of his thoughts as he approaches the Aspen Witch's grounds. He winces when he stumbles right into the brambles of the crimson thornbushes and feels them tear through his cloak. His fingers almost twitch to his dagger, but then he steels himself. These are the grounds of a magic user, after all, and he would treat them with respect even if he suspected these plants to be totally normal if he decided to slice them open.
With the changing of the seasons, night falls much earlier than it had the last time he ventured this far. The sun is already at the tops of the trees as he approaches the door, several candles already flickering through the windows. He takes a deep breath, takes a moment to check that everything is still where it's supposed to be, and knocks on the door.
"Yes?"
"I am the adventurer known as Virgil. I have come to deal with the Aspen Witch."
"Ah, Virgil! Yes, come in."
He feels something in the door shift and he pushes it open. The bell over the top of the door rings. The Aspen Witch smiles at him from behind her table of treasures; a brickleback spine sits under her hands where she is…obtaining something from it. She sets the tool she's using down with a clink and reaches to pick something up from her side.
"I have prepared for you a drink," she says as Virgil sits, "to ease your burdens."
"I would like to know what is inside it."
"Sunflower nectar, moon blossoms, and honey. It is meant to relax you."
"I recall a similar drink being offered the last time I came."
"You are correct, I offered you a similar drink."
"I would like to know if this one is different than the one you offered last time in any meaningful way."
One of her many rings taps against the edge of the cup. "It has less of the added moon blossoms than the last, which renders it less potent."
Less potent? "I have slaked my thirst at the last waterfall."
Something flickers across her face and she smiles, moving the drink aside. "Another time, then. You are still reeking of curse energy, but this one is different. I would like to know why."
"I have brought you a cursed amulet in the hopes that you would relieve the burden of its intended recipient."
"Show me." Virgil extends the amulet, still wrapped in the hide, and she takes it. She sets it on the table and runs her fingers over the leather strap holding it in place. "This is a fine specimen of hide, Virgil. I would like to know where you obtained it."
"On a past contract."
"I would like you to be more specific."
He says nothing. The Aspen Witch looks at him for a moment longer before she laughs and shakes her head.
"Perhaps another time." She undoes the leather strap carefully and withdraws the amulet. It glistens in the candlelight as she turns it back and forth. "This is a vindictive magic. I would like to know how you came into contact with it."
Is it his imagination, or does the Aspen Witch sound…put out? "The village I live near to. The curse befell a child."
"I would like to know the origins of such a curse, if you would share."
"It is my understanding that the child's intentions behind a question were misunderstood and the magic user sought the consequences they saw fit."
The Aspen Witch's fingers twitch on the chain. She examines the amulet anew and toys with the link near its base. Something darkens in her expression and Virgil tries to keep his hands still. "This was bestowed upon a child, you have said."
"I have said that it was bestowed upon a child."
Her mouth tightens. "I would like to tell you why this is unacceptable."
A chill runs through the cabin. "I would like to ask for clarification on your last statement."
"You may ask."
"I would like to know what it is you find unacceptable: that the child was bestowed a cursed object, that the child was bestowed this cursed object, or that I have said that it was a child to whom it was bestowed."
He must be imagining things because it looks like her expression softens, even the slightest bit. "The second of your list. It is unacceptable that a child was bestowed such a curse. I would like to explain why."
Thank fuck. "I would listen to an explanation."
The Aspen Witch lays the amulet back down on the hide and reaches for something else. She takes a long stick from a drawer and snaps it over the amulet. As the pieces of it start to drift down, they take on different colors and hover in the air.
"Curses have three main derivations," she says as she does so, "either they affect the accursed's mind, their body, or their soul. Mind curses are difficult to break as they require some level of consent from the accursed. Body curses are the most varied but are not that difficult to break, especially if they are familiar with the curse itself."
They look down to see the particles have turned a vivid bloody red. The Aspen Witch's nails scrape against the table.
"Soul curses are vile things," she spits with more emotion than Virgil has ever seen or heard from her, "and they can erase a person if they are not done with extreme skill."
Virgil's mouth runs dry. "I…would like to know what you mean by 'erase.'"
"No," the Aspen Witch says lowly, "you do not."
Alright, no, I do not. That's good enough for me.
With a flick of her wrist, she disperses the particles and wraps the amulet back in the hide. She takes a deep breath and steadies herself—what the fuck has Virgil walked into if the Aspen Witch has to steady herself?—before she looks at him again.
"I would like to know what you intend to provide as payment."
"I recall you mentioning the value of curse energy upon our last visit."
"You would offer the energy of this curse as the payment for removing it."
"I would offer the energy of the curse as payment for its removal."
The Aspen Witch looks at him for a moment longer before she nods and stands, retrieving the amulet from within the hide and sliding the hide over for Virgil to take. "I accept this payment."
He takes the hide silently and puts it back in his pack, watching as she walks over to another table. She places the amulet in a pestle and takes various jars down from the shelf above. He watches as she sprinkles things over the amulet and soft motes of light begin to emerge as she murmurs under her breath. When the glow is strong enough to rival one of the candles, she takes the mortar and brings it down.
Three things happen at once.
First, he sees pieces of the amulet shatter, ricocheting hard enough to dig grooves into the walls of the house.
Second, there is an overwhelmingly loud boom.
Third, something crackles outside and the whole building shakes.
The Aspen Witch's head whips around, staring not at Virgil but over his shoulder in the direction of the door. The mortar falls from her hands as she narrows her eyes. Virgil holds his hands up slowly, indicating that he's not about to do shit right now, and he carefully turns to look over his shoulder.
The door is still intact, but something in his instincts prickles along the back of his neck. He looks back.
"I would like to know what that was," he says as quietly as he can.
"Yes," the Aspen Witch says as she begins to walk over, "so would I."
Great, magic stuff happening that the magic user doesn't know. This is just great.
She passes him in the chair and opens the door, leaving it wide enough for Virgil to peer over her shoulder. He stands, very slowly, and tries to angle himself so he can see what's going on.
Another magic user—he's assuming, after what just happened, but he thinks it's a pretty safe guess—stands in the center of the plot of grass in front of the house. A sigil is burned and seared into the ground, and he winces.
This isn't going to go well.
"You are trespassing," the Aspen Witch says with her words full of ice and fuck it, Virgil's ready to run, "you will cease to do so."
"You destroyed something of mine," the warlock says, extending a hand, "that gives me the right to see it reversed."
"You are the foolish one who sought a soul curse upon a child?"
"I sought what was due to me for such a slight," they spit back, "as well should you know that we aren't to be questioned. And how did you hear about this, is it from the thick-headed bull that leers over your shoulder?"
Virgil's just about to edge his way out of this conversation, thank you very much, when the Aspen Witch's hand, the one behind her back, twitches.
"You will not speak of him like that."
What's going on?
"Why not? He's an adventurer, isn't he?" The warlock laughs, high and cruel and Virgil needs to get a hold of himself before something bad happens. "They're all the same, big and dumb and grunting animals that only care about coin and stopping magic users."
The words strike a chord in his chest and he tries not to let the hurt show to obviously on his face.
"Is he your pet?" The warlock's smile turns into lascivious. "Did I interrupt you in the midst of something? You of all people should understand, then, is it any harm that I wanted to make one for myse—"
The warlock doesn't get to finish their sentence as the Aspen Witch's hand flies out and a mass of thorns erupts from the earth, ensnaring them in a tangled web of crawling plant life. Virgil's hand lands on the hilt of his sword and he just as quickly wrests it away. He's not looking to make himself a target in this after all.
"Touchy," the warlock laughs—take a fucking hint, just get out while you still can— "did he tell you about that cute little thing in the village, then? Has the great Aspen Witch gone soft?"
"You are welcome to test that assumption at your earliest convenience."
Don't fucking test it. Get the fuck out. Be smart for twenty consecutive seconds and fucking run, you idiot.
The warlock doesn't. Instead, they start on about some great speech and self-aggrandizing, but Virgil sees one of their hands make a somatic component and he doesn't think.
Truly, it might be him that's gone soft. There was a time where he would already be gone, or tucked away inside out of sight. There was certainly a time where if two magic users starting casting on each other, he would not be anywhere near it.
But, he can only be who he is, no more and no less. So when he sees the component taking shape, he moves on instinct to shove the Aspen Witch out of the way and get his gauntlet up to take the full force of the spell.
The world goes black.
***
    "—il! Virgil!"
Distantly, he registers the sound of a voice. The air crackles.
"Virgil! I would—oh, hells."
Something is dragging him. His head bumps something. He's hauled up and propped against something—a wall?
"Virgil," the voice says again, he knows that voice, "Virgil, open your eyes."
He does, only for blurry things to swim in front of him. He closes them again.
"Virgil." He definitely knows that voice. "Virgil, you must open your eyes."
He tries again, blinking a few times. The first thing to come into focus is the candle on the table closest to him. The second is the hand on his shoulder, laden with rings. Only when he traces the hand to the arm up to the head does he realize who was speaking to him.
"There," the Aspen Witch says in a rush, "there. That is better."
All at once, the memories of what happened flood his brain. The amulet. The warlock. The somatic component. The spell—
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. He interfered with a magic battle. He took a spell meant for the Aspen Witch. He touched the Aspen Witch without permission, he shoved her out of the way, he—he—
"Stay," he hears as two hands land on the sides of his neck, "do not go where I cannot find you, stay here."
He blinks. The Aspen Witch is closer now, her eyes scanning his face. He swallows.
"Don't speak," she says when he opens his mouth, reaching and pressing something warm into his hand, "drink first."
I would like to know what is in it, he tries to say, but all that leaves his throat is a ruined gasp.
"It is the same drink I offered you before," she says, as though she could hear him—can she?— "it is unchanged. It is to help you relax. Drink."
He's already risked too much to afford to say no. He raises the drink to his lips and takes the smallest of sips. The warm, sweet liquid is like a balm to his sore throat and he takes another sip right away. The Aspen Witch watches him closely, one hand still on his shoulder.
"I…" He swallows, testing his voice. "I am…grateful for the drink."
"I am relieved to hear it helped." She cups his hand around it. "I will provide more should you wish it."
"Are you—I would like to know if you're—" he coughs— "if you're alright."
Her expression twitches and he knows he doesn't fully suppress his flinch, not with her this close, not with her looking at him like that. "You took a spell that was meant for me. You saved me. You defended me. And you have been hurt because of it."
Her hand moves slowly from his shoulder to his cheek.
"I…do not know what to do," she confesses softly, "we did not agree on payment."
"I do not require payment," he says as quickly as his throat will let him, "I did not—you don't—this is not an act that would require payment. You do not—I would—fuck."
He isn't lucid enough to do this. He can't do the careful and wary conversation that he has to right now, he can't—he can't—
"I will not bind your tongue," the Aspen Witch says, her hand still gentle on his face, "you…if you wish, you can speak."
No, he can't. He can't because he'll fuck it up and then—then—
Her hand leaves his face. "I will call the Five."
"No!"
Everything freezes.
He just told the Aspen Witch what to do. He just told the Aspen Witch no. He just—he just—oh, fuck—
"I mean—I m-mean—"
"I am not angry," she says, "I…you do not need to be so afraid. I will not harm you. I would like to know why you do not want your sweet ones to come and help you."
"I—my what?"
"Your sweet ones. The ones who care for you and whom you care for." She tilts her head, hair falling to one shoulder. "You do not wish for them to come, and I am curious."
"They're a lot," he manages and she laughs.
"Yes, they are. But they know you. They would help you."
"They're—" he takes another drink and feels his tongue relax. "All of this has happened because another magic user intruded on your grounds."
"These would be invited, and they would be to help you. I could bear no ill tidings against them, not when you are in need of assistance I cannot provide." At his face, her smile saddens. "You are afraid, and I cannot help you, for you are afraid of me too."
…well, there's really not much he can say to that.
"I will call them," she says carefully, so carefully it's almost a question, and he nods. She nods as well and stands. "If you would like more drink, I would wish for you to say."
Less than a few moments later, after she's gone to a table out of sight, he hears Roman's voice.
"Aspen Witch," and oh, fuck, he never thought he'd be so relieved to hear one of them, "you have called us."
"Come," she calls, walking toward the door and opening it, "your sweet one is hurting."
He blinks and in an instant, Roman is there, cupping his face, looking all worried and he can't stop the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. Roman sees them, because of course he does, and then he's cooing and leaning forward to kiss his forehead.
"Oh, baby," he whispers, "baby, what happened?"
"What happened," he hears Logan ask at the same time, "is he alright?"
"He came to me with a cursed object and asked for its removal. As I destroyed it, the warlock responsible appeared and attempted to wrest it back. He…jumped in the way of the spell."
He hears a flutter of fabric and looks up to see both Janus and Remus at the table where the amulet was destroyed. Remus curses and Janus hits the table and the noise bounces around his head—
"Shh, shh," Roman murmurs, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs, "eyes on me, baby, stay with me. There you are, with your pretty eyes, shh, that's it, you're doing very well."
"What sort of spell," he hears Patton ask, "is it still there?"
"I banished it as soon as the warlock was dealt with. He—there should be no lingering effects. I do not understand."
"Mortal minds are fragile," Logan says softly, "and Virgil has been an adventurer for many years. He has encountered a great number of things, magical or otherwise, and it would be unreasonable to assume that they have not left their marks."
"Baby," Roman calls again, and Virgil looks back at him, "hey, there he is. The others are just trying to figure out what's going on, but you and I are gonna take care of you first, okay?"
"Okay."
"Good. Now, I just want you to keep looking at me, okay? All I'm gonna do is touch you, okay? No magic, no casting, just touch." His fingers start to card through his hair and Virgil immediately feels his eyes get heavy. "You can close your eyes if you need to, just lean against me, I've got you, I'm right here."
The adrenaline from everything finally starts to wear off and Virgil feels his body decide to give in. He sags forward into Roman's waiting embrace, eyes falling shut as Roman starts to murmur sweet nonsense. After another moment, he hears Patton come over too and another hand scratches lightly between his shoulder blades. He nearly whimpers from sheer relief before he remembers that he's not at home, he's in the Aspen Witch's house, and the Aspen Witch herself is less than a few feet away.
He wrenches himself back awake, looking up at her, and to his surprise, she looks…upset? He glances at Logan, just to her left, and Logan simply smiles.
"Hello," he says softly, "are you alright?"
"I think so."
"Good, that's very good. You jumped in front of a spell and you didn't know what it was?"
"Wait," Roman says, "you did what?"
He sets his jaw and looks at the ground. Patton shoots a look at the two of them. "Don't scold him, can't you see he's already upset? Don't make it worse."
"Sorry, baby," Roman murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "I'm not mad."
"Neither am I," Logan says, "but I am…confused."
"You shouldn't be," Janus says, finally moving away from the table, "he's Virgil, of course he jumped in front of the spell."
Well, that's not helping anything either. He feels his face start to burn and tries to pull away from Roman, but he's held fast. He swallows the instinctive wave of panic and buries his face in the crook of his shoulder.
"Aww, are you embarrassed?"
"You are making things worse," the Aspen Witch says, a bite to her tone, "I called you to help, not to hurt."
"We won't tease," Roman promises, both to her and to Virgil, "we're finished, you have my word."
Did…did the Aspen Witch just defend him? What in the fuck is going on? He risks a look at her and their eyes meet and something…something feels wrong.
"Virgil?" Patton's hand stills on his back. "What's wrong?"
"I am…also confused."
"What about?"
There's no polite way to say this and no, he isn't going to risk it right now, so he just looks from Patton back to the Aspen Witch and hopes that somehow, they'll get the gist of what he's trying to say. Sure enough, it takes Patton one look between the two of them before he's smiling.
"Oh, she's just jealous."
"What?"
"I would ask that you don't speak for me," she hisses but she sounds far more like Elise than the Aspen Witch.
"Tell him yourself, then."
The Aspen Witch scowls at him for a moment before she sighs and looks at Virgil. Her mouth twists around as if searching for the words before she sighs again.
"Your etiquette for magic users is exemplary," she says, "and you…for all that we have interacted, I do not know much about you."
She gestures around.
"The Five have your trust, they have your words. They…have not known you for as long as I have."
Oh.
Oh.
"I can't help you," she continues, "I…am upset by this. I would—I—"
She closes her eyes for a long moment and then opens them once more.
"I want to help you, Virgil, I want you to let me help you."
He likes to think that on a normal day, perhaps he wouldn't be doing something like this, but this isn't a normal day, and he's already broken that glass. So he reaches out a hand to the Aspen Witch, and when she takes it, he uses it to pull her a little bit closer.
She comes and crouches next to Patton, holding his hand as though it were the most precious thing in the house. He's not quite sure what to do with that.
"Are you alright?"
She nods. "I am alright."
"I liked the drink."
"I am glad. I will offer it to you again."
"I will accept it."
"Listen to you both," Remus snorts, and Janus whacks him upside the head. "Ow!"
"Ignore him, you're both doing wonderfully. Carry on, pretend we aren't here."
And you know, that's a bit too much for him to deal with right now. So when he feels the tug in his gut to start feeling things again, he closes his eyes and goes limp in Roman's hold, letting tears spill from his face. The Aspen Witch jerks in alarm but Patton must be saying something to the effect of this is normal, he's just overwhelmed, you gotta let him be a crybaby sometimes, but he's not paying attention because he's too goddamn tired.
Distantly, he registers Roman stroking his hair again, Patton's hand on his back, and the Aspen Witch beginning to squeeze his hand every few seconds, but with the apprehension of someone who's never pet a horse before trying to interact in a way that won't upset either of them. It's quite a surreal experience, really, and he thinks he can be forgiven for not wholly understanding what's going on.
A lot's happened today, and it's late. He should be asleep.
"He is hurt," the Aspen Witch says and everybody wakes up a bit at that, "let me help him."
"What's wrong?"
"The thorns have hurt him on his way through. I have a salve for them."
"Virgil," Logan asks, "is that okay? Can we help?"
He mumbles a vague agreement and he hears Janus laugh. "Poor thing's all sleepy. He needs a rest, is there somewhere we can tend to him?"
"Upstairs, there is a bed."
"Can I carry you, baby?" Virgil nods and Roman lifts him up almost effortlessly. "There, come on, upstairs, now."
As they pass the table, he forces himself to rouse and look to find the Aspen Witch. "The amulet—the child—"
"The child will suffer no more, the curse is gone." She puts her hand on his shoulder. "Now rest. Mortals are fragile, you must allow yourself to be cared for."
"He's not very good at that," Remus stage-whispers and Janus hits him again. "Hey! Stop it!"
"Stop being an insufferable ham sack, then."
"He's right," Virgil mumbles as he's put down on a bed, "I'm really not great at it."
"You're getting better," Logan says, sitting near his head, "now, you can try and sleep. No harm will come to you, you're safe here."
He looks over at the Aspen Witch, holding a tin of salve and a soft towel. She smiles and nods. "No harm will ever come to you under my roof, Virgil. I will see to it that you are safe."
"I…am grateful for that."
"As am I."
Not how he saw the quest ending, of course, but indeed, far from the worst quest in the world.
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Threads of Fate: Chapter Six
Pairing: female!Reader x Bat Boys (FMMM)
Summary: When magical interference results in a twist of fate, the future of Prythian is plunged into darkness. When the one who spins the future is cut off from the source of her power, she must take matters into her own hands to ensure fate unfolds as it was meant to. With a little bit of divine intervention, she may yet be the one who saves them all.
A/N: Honestly, it’s so good to get back to this series. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it.
     The dark, scaled creatures slither through the trees. Their serpentine features pulled back into horrendous smiles with too many teeth and oozing with malice. I stumbled back towards the Suriel. The cloaked creature’s panicked wails seemed to feed the nagas’ bloodlust as saliva dripped from those dreadful mouths. Their black talons flashed in the low light as they began to spread out and from the corner of my eye, I saw Lucien drawing closer.
     “What gifts we’ve received,” the naga closest to me hisses, lowering itself to the ground as it prowls closer.
     “If you know what’s good for you,” Lucien intones, his arrow pointed at the naga inching towards him, “you’ll turn and leave. I won’t warn you again.”
     “That one belongs to the High Lord,” says the one lingering near the furthest edge of the clearing. “He won’t like it if we eat him.”
     “He’ll never find us-” an arrow pierces its eye with a dull thud, the only incentive its brothers need to strike. I dart to the Suriel’s side and position myself behind its body as I dig my fingers into the knot at the back of its ankle while it squeals and thrashes. Lucien takes another shot, landing an arrow in the shoulder of the naga closest to me mid-leap. It drops from the air with a pained, angry screech before another arrow pierces its temple with a spray of blood. He moves with the sure, feline grace of a trained hunter, and takes another shot at one of the two circling naga just as I loosened the knot enough to free the Suriel.
     The cloaked creature darts off into the trees without sparing us a second glance. I can’t even blame them for not staying to help. We’d trapped them, after all, we deserve whatever’s coming to us.
     The jeweled handle of Lucien’s dagger glints at me as he steps in front of me, pointing an arrow between the two naga prowling around us. The coppery scent of fresh-killed faeries will draw whatever beasts live in these strange, wild woods, we need to get out of here before something much larger finds us.
     “Lucien,” I gasped, but the male merely shook his head, his auburn hair glowing like wildfire. I can feel him focusing on the naga, trying to ascertain which one will strike first, which one is the biggest threat. I don’t know how he can tell, but there are two of them and one of him. I’m unarmed and useless at this moment, even if I had a weapon I would not know how to use it. When he makes his choice, an arrow flies towards the naga on his left but the creature darts out of the way as its brother surges forward, towards Lucien’s unprotected right side.
     I snatch the dagger from its sheath before I even realize what I’m doing and thrust it towards the hateful creature, landing a lucky slash to its shoulder as its talons connected with the High Fae male’s side. To his credit, Lucien only hissed and took another shot, this time at the naga I’d cut, landing an arrow in its uninjured shoulder. The naga stumbles back with a yelp as its taloned hands tore desperately at the arrow embedded in its muscle. I barely have an opportunity to breathe before another arrow pierces its eye. I whirl to look for its brother, but the miserable wretch is already gone.
     “Are you alright?” I ask, fighting to slow my breathing as I turn to look at the male behind me.
     “Fine,” the masked fae snarls, swiping his hand over his side. His warm brown fingers come back coated in red. “I had it handled.”
     “Did you? Only one of us is wounded–”
     “Yes, and if you hadn’t needlessly jumped into the middle of the fight, I would have felled them both in short order.”
     “And the Suriel?”
      “What of it?”
     “You weren’t even paying attention to them, what if the naga had gotten to it?”
     “Collateral damage,” Lucien grumbles, stalking back towards his pack. “We should leave before it returns with friends.”
     “Here’s your dagger,” I snap, thrusting the jeweled handle towards him. The blade is still slick with dark naga blood. Lucien glares at me as he takes it, wiping it clean on the hem of his tunic before slipping it into his sheath. Once Lucien has gathered the last of his things, he holds his hand out expectantly and I stare down at it, blinking slowly as I take in the calluses on his palm.
     “You can either winnow home with me or find your own way back,” the male says, obviously irritated with my hesitation.
     “You can winnow? You mean we could have winnowed here?”
     “It would have been an unnecessary use of power.”
     I bite back a retort and place my hand in Lucien’s, wishing for nothing more than to return to my room or meander Tamlin’s gardens and think over what we learned from the Suriel. They had told us to return to the manor, after all. The pull of winnowing is like stepping between the worlds: a flash of color and darkness I can’t quite put into words, but in a matter of moments we’re at the edge of the estate and the fox-masked lord is stalking towards the manor, leaving me to my own devices as he presses a hand to the bloody slash at his side.
     My eyes drift skyward while I linger at the edge of the estate, searching for any kind of sign that the Mother is with me. It’s a clear, beautiful day. The cool spring air is heavy with the scent of flowers from the various gardens, and the forests are still lush and green, ripe with the more volatile, untamed magic of Spring. Magic that will be completely drained by Amarantha and her court in a matter of months if I can’t find a way to stop it.
     As if presented on the breeze, the Suriel’s words float back to me: the false queen will have her seventh High Lord, Changebringer, whether you stay or go.
     Is it…an inevitability, then? No matter my choice, this court will be dragged under the mountain with all the rest? If I stay, I will go with them, there’s no way I could escape on my own should Amarantha come for us…but if I leave, the Suriel said the land would perish and take me with it. I have two choices, it seems, but is it really a choice? Stay and fight to the best of my ability, or leave and die.
     I want to be sick.
     Instead of retreating to my rooms or seeking an audience with the High Lord, I wander the gardens and take in all of the life around me while my mind churns. There are servants tending vegetable gardens, planting seeds and gathering produce for tonight’s dinner. Eventually I come upon a lovely rose garden and sink to the ground near the bushes. The blooms are lovely and fragrant, perpetually in their prime.
     “I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper, trailing the tip of my finger carefully over a thin, white petal. “I was content in my role, I never asked for more…I am no warrior, not even a hunter, I cannot fight. I am the wrong choice. How could the Mother have made such a terrible mistake? She should have chosen someone who could fight, who could lead, someone who could help. I have nothing to offer.”
     I don’t know if she can hear me, but I hope she does. I hope she can see that I am the wrong sacrifice if she has any hope for Prythian. I couldn’t even kill a naga, how am I supposed to help unite the courts? What does it even entail? A rebellion against a queen who was clever enough to trap six powerful High Lords? I sit with my thoughts as the sky fades from blue to a glorious pink and gold sunset, and a pair of dark leather boots appear in my periphery.
     “How long have you been here?” Tamlin’s voice is gentle as a warm spring rain, and I glance up to see those deep green eyes focused on me. I shrug and drop my hand into my lap, turning my attention back to the roses.
     “I suppose you spoke to Lucien.” It isn’t a question, not really. I’d assumed that once the male had fixed his side, he would have found his way to his High Lord to divulge what the Suriel said.
     “I have.”
     “Then you know…” How hopeless everything is. “There won’t be another human.”
     “No, there won’t be.”
     “I’m sorry, I…if I could find you one…”
     “Then it would merely solve my immediate predicament. There would still be the matter of the other courts.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the High Lord’s cream breeches stretch over his thighs as he kneels next to me. “The army I could amass would not be a great one, certainly not one that could stand against what forces remain from the other six courts if Amarantha commands them. Not to mention the beasts at her disposal or whatever her alliance with Hybern would rain down on our heads. What purpose would our freedom serve then, beyond granting me a little time to seek an audience with foreign courts that I have no experience with.”
     “I am neither a soldier nor a courtier, I have no experience fighting wars or forming alliances. I can’t fight Amarantha and even if you sent me as an emissary, I wouldn’t know where to begin. I led a very simple life, my lord, I don’t understand how I’m supposed to help you.”
     “I do not have those expectations for you,” Tamlin says kindly. “I’m only sorry you’ve been drawn into this, clearly not of your own volition.”
     “No.” I shake my head and take in a long, deep breath. “Honestly, I’ve been out here questioning the Mother’s judgment. I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do, how I’m supposed to help.”
     “How bold you are to question the wisdom of a goddess.” The golden haired lord’s laugh is a deep, merry thing, a ray of light shining through the steadily encroaching darkness. I look at him then and study his features around the mask, trying to imagine him without it. He would likely be rather handsome in a conventional sense, with strong cheekbones and a prominent jawline. I could certainly see the appeal.
     “Bold or stupid, who's to say?”
     “Certainly not stupid. You know, when Lucien was relaying all you learned, he mentioned a sacrifice. It seemed rather significant. Do you know what the Suriel meant?”
     “Yes and no. I…I believe I was brought here for a reason after your human died. I wasn’t certain at the time, even now I still don’t know how I’m supposed to help you or…or anyone. I meant it when I told you my life was small, but it had a purpose that I thought I was fulfilling…”
     “What were you doing? Were you serving as a priestess or…?” When I open my mouth to answer, it is as though I’ve swallowed an ember that’s lodged itself in my gullet. I press a hand to my throat and give the High Lord a helpless shrug that he instantly waves off. “It’s no matter, don’t worry about it if you cannot say.”
     A firefly blazes near Tamlin’s face, briefly drawing my attention. Have I truly spent most of the day in this garden sulking?
     “What are we going to do?” I whisper, looking down at my hands. A warm, steady hand slides beneath my jaw, shifting my gaze back to those endless green eyes. If the High Lord is worried, he doesn’t show it.
     “For now, we’ll go to dinner and after we eat, perhaps we’ll play a card game. In the morning, I will meet with my advisors and we will form some sort of plan to shore up defenses in the villages. I must prepare my people for what is going to come once we’re gone to the best of my ability-”
     “I want to help, I…I want to be useful. However I can.”
     “So you shall,” Tamlin says. “If not in the villages, perhaps you can look through the library and see if you can find anything useful in the books and scrolls we have preserved. Lucien and I have looked, but a new set of eyes might find something we missed.”
     “I can do that,” I tell him, resting my fingers on his wrist. The male’s sunkissed skin is warm and the pulse beneath my touch is strong. “I can help.”
      “Then we will start tomorrow. Come, join us for dinner, let’s not worry any more tonight when there’s nothing we can do.”
     The High Lord takes my hands in his and pulls me to my feet. As I rise, I notice the dirt staining my leggings and the blood splatters on my tunic from the day’s excitement. I’m in no state to eat in that fancy dining room, even if it’s only Tamlin and Lucien joining me. The other male is certain to have washed and changed since our excursion, I’d hate to hear the barbs I’m sure he’d throw my way.
     “I should wash up.” I mumble, wiping my palms on my leggings.
     “As you wish. We will be in the dining room, join us when you’re ready.”
     I walk to my chambers alone, anxiety roiling in my gut the entire way. When I glance in my mirror, my reflection is the only one greeting me. Alis bustles in seconds after I’ve stopped to check it and ushers me into the bathing chamber, muttering the entire way about the dirt beneath my nails. I endure her scrubbing and prattling by retreating into my mind, going over the Suriel’s words again and again and again, looking for something, anything that might save us.
     How could we have learned so much and yet still know so little?
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acotar-thirst · 2 years
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Tired of waiting (part 1)
Azriel x reader  (1135 words)
Summary: You and Azriel found out you’re mates right before he had to go on an important mission. Now, all you two want is to make everything official…
Warnings: Make out session, mention of sex and a small intruder scare. 
Part Two Here
Requests open
_________________________________________________
    The light shone brightly in Velaris's starry sky and (Y/N) looked at the dark blue cloak through the townhouse's living room window. She was waiting for the savory pie to be ready while she sipped a glass of wine, trying to keep herself busy so she didn't pay attention to the hole in her chest that ached from missing Azriel.
    He'd been on a mission for four weeks, with no expected return, and she was trying not to resent Rhys for sending her mate out of the country right after the two had finally made up. They didn't have time to make the bond official, or have intimate moments before Azriel had to leave, leaving her alone in that empty house.
    The oven timer beeped and (Y/N) sighed, emptying her glass and heading toward the kitchen. The scent of the pie reached the female's nostrils as she entered the room, making her stomach growl with hunger. She put the pie on the counter and when she was about to  get a plate, she heard a noise in the hall.
    (Y/N)'s heart raced in her chest, trying to hear something else. She wasn't expecting a visitor, and Azriel wouldn't be back anytime soon, despite the grumpy complaints she hurled whenever she saw Rhysand. She took the dagger from the holder on her right thigh and decided to find out the source of the noise.
    As she approached the hall, she saw a tall shadow in the dark room. Illyrian wings appeared and Azriel turned toward her, a smile already on his face as he pulled off his sodden traveling cloak.
    “That’s why the Mother paired us as mates.”
    The smile on his face was breathtaking as he pointed to the dagger in her hand. A flutter of joy rumbled through (Y/N)'s chest and she dropped the object as she ran towards him.
    Azriel picked her up effortlessly, wrapping her legs around his torso. His face instinctively went to (Y/N)'s neck, taking in the scent he missed more than anything. Four weeks felt like an eternity away from her.
    “I missed you.”
    She pulled back to look at him, as if to make sure he was really there. The female noticed the dark bags under the male's brown eyes, causing her to run her hand over his face.
    “Being away from you was like torture the whole time”, he closed his eyes when he felt her caresses and brought their faces closer, pressing her against him. "I'm not doing that again any time soon".
    “Good.”
    (Y/N) was smiling when she pressed her mouth to his, finally feeling that this was real. He was there with her. Azriel groaned as their tongues met and took a few steps to press her against the wall, wanting his hands free to touch her.
    Her hands went straight to his hair as her back met the foyer wall. The kiss had started slowly, for them to taste each other, but soon the urgency and longing of the two took over the moment.
    It was still hard for Azriel to process that it was (Y/N) that was there, pressed against him and panting from his kiss. Happiness and pure desire shimmered in the bond they shared and she sighed into his mouth as she felt what was inside him.
    One of Azriel's hands remained on her bottom, holding her in place, while the other was on a mission to explore (Y/N)'s entire body. Head tipping back, the female gave him access to kiss her neck, moaning as he left little bites all over her. They have never done more than make out a few times and she still couldn’t control herself around him.
    “Are you…”, she tried to form sentences, but it was hard to keep her train of thought when Azriel was so intoxicating. “Az…are you hungry?”
    The male smiled against (Y/N's) ear, a feline smile full of meaning. She felt her entire body heat up and instinctively moved her hips against his. Azriel let out a growl of pleasure as she tugged at his hair and made him look at her.
    “I made dinner.”
    (Y/N)'s tone of voice was soft and he could hear a hint of shyness with her proposal. Azriel pressed his forehead to hers, taking a deep breath and trying to calm the instincts that were screaming for her.
    He sent everything he was feeling through the bond, so that she could be sure that he understood the proposal and that it was everything he wanted most in life. (Y/N) smiled at him and took her legs from around Azriel's waist, still keeping her arms around his shoulders to steady her weak knees.
    Azriel followed her into the kitchen, one hand firmly on her waist for the simple reason that he couldn't stay without touching her, even for a moment. A feeling of excitement coursed through his body with anticipation of what it all meant. Finally, they would make the mate’s tie official.
    “I didn’t know you were coming, so if you don’t like pie I can make something else”.
    (Y/N) was insecure because of the importance of the moment. She had never cooked for him, had never cooked for anyone but herself, so she didn't want to spoil that moment with bad food.
    “It smells amazing, (Y/N),” he replied, smiling at her and touching her cheek.
    She smiled at him and walked away, picking up plates and serving them both pieces. Azriel sat on the bench seat waiting, watching her every move, as if he wanted to remember that moment forever.
    Trying to hide her shaking hands, (Y/N) put the plate in front of Azriel and gasped at the look he gave her. He smiled at her and his shadows caressed her hand to reassure her.
    She sat beside him and the two began to eat in silence. (Y/N) had lost her hunger at the sight of him, too excited to feel anything more. However, she tried to eat as much as possible while Azriel ate at a speed that made her want to laugh.
    They'd had enough meals together to know he didn't eat that fast on other occasions. Her stomach fluttered at the realization that he was doing this on purpose to finish soon.
    "It's really good".
    His praise was sincere, she could tell. (Y/N) wasn't finished yet, but as soon as Azriel had swallowed the last piece of pie, he looked at her intently. The female dropped her fork on her plate and turned her body toward him.
    Instantly, the male was all over her. She let out a laugh as he picked her up again and walked out of the kitchen.
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monstersdownthepath · 1 month
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Monster Spotlight: Stymphalidies
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(art source)
CR 8
Neutral Large Magical Beast
Bestiary 3, pg. 257
These man-eating birds of myth owe 4 points of their CR to their name alone due to them murdering you before you can even voice it fully in warning to your allies, so for the sake of my fingers I'll be shortening their name to "Stym" from now on. One could also call them "bronze ibises" or "bronze cranes" to save on syllables, names which are immediately evocative, if not entirely accurate. The metallic coating across their feathers and beaks only looks like bronze, but it's actually as hard as steel, which is likely cause for fatal surprise for anyone hoping to capture or consume what they thought was just a very large, glossy bird.
See, the steel feathers of the Stym make them practically invincible, not only having 22 AC but DR 10/Magic and Adamantine. Yes, if you want to hunt--or even just drive away--these flesh-eaters, you're going to need a weapon made of skymetal or some pretty severe muscles and a two-handed weapon! Their cloak also makes them completely immune to Fire damage, likely baffling people who try to metagame on what a Steel/Flying type should be weak to. They're not even particularly vulnerable to Electricity, but they DO have a Vulnerability to Sonic damage! Y'know, the second rarest damage type?
So their defenses are formidable. What about their offense?
Have you ever seen what a hawk can do to a squirrel? yeah. Now make the hawk 250 pounds and turn all of its edges into razor blades, and you have a rough idea of what a Stym can do to the wildlife it encounters. They have a 120ft flight speed and keen enough eyesight to spot prey hundreds of feet below them, meaning most battles with one (or several) are initiated from above as they crash down on potential prey to inflict as much bewilderment and damage as possible.
As one may expect, a Stym's primary source of damage is its rapier-like beak and its two kicking talons, which deal 1d8+6 and 1d6+6 damage (respective). What one may not expect is that it also brings its wings into the fray, each feather a miniature dagger as thin as paper, slashing victims for 1d6+3 damage each. Its wings and beak are so sharp, in fact, that they cause grievous lacerations, tacking 1d6 bleed damage onto every attack (their claws do not inflict bleed, ironically). Given that they typically hunt mundane animals and smaller Magical Beasts and Vermin, a single Full-Attack before taking back to the air and waiting for the target to bleed to death to conserve their own health. Even in the air they're no less dangerous, though; these birds can kill without even landing!
Up to five times a day as a standard action, a Stym can flick out a pair of Wing Razors as ranged projectiles with 50ft range increments. These razors deal 2d6+6 damage and cause 1d6 bleed, and likely make for a highly unusual murder scene. Prey that proves too dangerous to engage in melee is usually pelted with these feathers to soften them up before the birds land, and a Stym encountering a creature it's never seen before is more likely to use its feathers from a safe distance until it believes it can close in. They are wild animals, possessing only 2 Int, and as such they operate purely on instinct; if food takes too much effort to take down or proves to be immune to its bleed, they'll likely fly off to find easier prey. The only time one will stand and fight to the death is to guard its young... or if it's in a swarm. These beasts breed quickly and hunt in flocks of up to nine at a time, and the more of them there are, the braver they become about hunting in human-occupied areas and, of course, hunting and eating humans.
A solo-hunter Stym that's encountered something too tough to fight normally has one more trick it can use as a standard action: Glare. Useful only in bright light, the metallic bird can adjust its feathers to reflect the light as a blinding glow in every direction, forcing any creature within 30ft to make a DC 19 Fortitude save or be blinded for 1d6 minutes. There is no cooldown or per-day restriction, nor is there an immunity clause to this effect (though creatures can defend against it by closing their eyes), so a Stym that's bitten off more than it can chew can continuously try and blind its victims and then judge if their crippled eyesight warrants further action, or if it uses the cover to flee into the sky to find something else... or find reinforcements.
You can read more about them here.
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tinycoded360 · 2 months
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G/T favorite/rec list from Deviantart part 1
So I made a favorite list of all the g/t-themed stories I have found and enjoyed over the years. I've been meaning to organize it into a list for some time now, so it's easier for me to find them again. (they get lost in my favorite folder, just a pain to go through it all.) So below is a list of all the stories written by different authors, I hope someone finds one they haven't read before and gives the writer some love.
(I tried to put a description with each one because not all of them came with summaries, so I apologize if the story is poorly described, I'm pretty bad at making summaries.)
The scalpel chapter 1 by gtypewriter
it’s about a borrower named Hanna baker, she is apart of an organization that pairs borrowers with human agents. The organization is called Cloak and Dagger, an organization dedicated to the continued secrecy of borrowers and the neutralization of those who go against that directive.
Found (New earth saga) by Ladymadonna99. (they are also on wattpad)
This story’s main character is a human teenager named River; she has to navigate being human in her new family of giants. (She found out that her human mother had kidnapped/illegally adopted her, her giant family is her legal family) There are other stories in this universe, which can be found in the author's gallery.
Silver Ash by Bittykimmy13
Summary: Raiden is this year’s Offering to the forest, but he’s not going down without a fight. He searches desperately for a way to free himself from his binds, but time is not on his side. Something in the forest is looking for him. Something that towers higher than any beast he could dream of.
also on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43396059/chapters/109089948
Do No Harm by gtypewriter
Some scifi g/t fiction. A giant alien crash lands on earth.
Little Captive by GT-Kathryn
This is supernatural and borrower fiction. This story is about a borrower girl who gets picked up by a human child, and she gets help from a surprising source.
Detective Dad by prodigywithapen
This story is about a teenager that is shrunk by a mad man, and she is found by a detective that is on the case, she is put in his protective care.
(This one is one of my top favorites, I re-read it a lot, one of my comfort reads.)
Thrown together by littlelorraine
"Shoemaker and the Elves" fairy tale, but with a bit of a twist. Bisnymph are small, tailed humanoid beings that live alongside humans (Clerks or Customers to them), but only in businesses, not homes. Their way of life is similarly built around their trades, which are the lifeblood of their communities. ( I just took some of the authors summary to describe this one, it’s a good read!)
The demon of talbot woods by thebrideedawrites
A human girl finds herself in a giant world and is caught by a giant man, they mistake her at first for a little demon. (this is one of my top favorites and a comfort read for me and it is complete!)
The flower petals did not fade by batterysavermode
This is a sherlock g/t work of fiction with a borrower girl and another small species that the author created.
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